August 2008 – You’ve got mail … from heaven!

Posted by Jeff on 8/01/2008 12:37:00 AM
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The website youvebeenleftbehind.com is one of those things that, like Cindy McCain's eyebrows, is at once hilarious and terrifying.

I first heard about the website on Wait Wait … Don't Tell Me, NPR's weekly quiz show. I almost broke my neck diving for the laptop to check it out, eager to get in on the joke. Only, it wasn't a joke. This website is as serious as the apocalypse. Literally.

Youvebeenleftbehind.com is a service that enables customers to send e-mails to friends and family, just like Hotmail or Yahoo – only these e-mails will be sent after the Rapture.

Specifically, the website is designed to enable individuals who believe they will be physically swept up to heaven after the Rapture (aka the Second Coming of Christ) to contact loved ones who have been "left behind" on earth.

By sending your recently damned friends a quick note, you can "snatch them from the flames" by convincing them to stop doing things that will make them go to hell, like listening to Nickelback. With any luck, your friends will repent and will be able to catch the proverbial second bus up to heaven, where post-grunge is definitely not allowed.

For just $40 a year, you can store e-mails to up to 62 of your closest friends whom you believe are going to hell, which is great news if you know a lot of Bush supporters. The website holds onto the e-mails until the Rapture occurs, at which point they will be sent automatically. You have the option of writing your own original letters or using one of the website's templates, including the popular "Nanny nanny boo boo, I'm in heaven, how 'bout you?"

According to the UK's Daily Telegraph, youvebeenleftbehind.com was created by Mark Heard, a "49-year-old supermarket shelf-stacker from Cape Cod, Massachusetts."

"He said he got the idea in 1999 while trading in shares online," the article explains. "It suddenly occurred to him that he would not be able to send his trading password to his wife if the Rapture suddenly took him."

This statement has some curious implications. One is that, while Heard believes he will be in heaven after the Rapture, he also thinks his wife isn't going to make the cut. He also seems to believe that, once she is left behind, in the middle of the Antichrist's rain of hail, fire and blood, his wife plans on doing some serious online trading.

"Surely," I thought while reading the article, "there must be some kind of misunderstanding." So I decided to ask Heard about it.

"Yes, unfortunately at this point in time, my wife of 17 years will not be making the trip to heaven," Heard tells me during a rather colorful e-mail exchange. "How can I say that? She is vocally not a Christian and has no relationship with God, nor does she desire one."

And you thought your dinner conversations were awkward.

According to Heard, the e-mails stored at youvebeenleftbehind.com will be sent out precisely six days after the Rapture, in what is known as the "tribulation period," during which those left behind will experience great horrors like pestilence, famine, disease and Fox News, which will be the only fully functional news team still on earth.

"I have a team of Christian couples scattered around the U.S. – four active couples and one alternate," Heard explains. "They are scattered to protect us from having the team wiped out by attack, natural disaster or epidemic. They are couples in case one is sick, injured [or] killed. If three out of four fail to log in [to the website] for three days, the system figures the Rapture has taken place.

"Also," he adds, "one team member is located near the server bank with access in case the net goes down or malfunctions."

This brings up an interesting question: Will the Internet even work after the Rapture? Does Verizon Wireless have an apocalypse contingency plan?

"I do believe that the Internet will be up and running," Heard reassures.

"Eventually, God will take it down, as he destroys the world system," he says. "That won't be until the second half of the tribulation, though."

So that's a relief.

All of the e-mails stored on youvebeenleftbehind.com are specially encrypted so that you can safely send login information and passwords for your bank account, investments, retirement fund, etc. to your doomed loved ones. Because if nobody claims your money, says Heard, "the Antichrist gets your stuff." And that's a bummer no matter how you spin it.

Heard says he will definitely not steal your private information and use it to buy himself a new car, so that's one less thing to worry about.

The idea for youvebeenleftbehind.com is, of course, genius, albeit in a potentially soulless, "exploiting the fears of others" kind of way. With a clientele "between one and 1,000" people, Heard is raking in up to 40 grand a year to do little more than provide an e-mail account with storage space the size of Bill O'Reilly's tiny black heart.

And the best part is that – if it somehow turned out to be a hoax – no one could prove it until, you know, the end of the world.

But I will give Heard this: He talks a good game, and if he sincerely believes in what he is peddling, it's hard to bash him.

"[There] are those that think we only set this thing up as an elaborate ruse to get personal information," Heard says. "Most of those calling it a scam are only repeating what someone else said. They didn't look into it for themselves.

"It has been interesting just how much this thing has turned into a ministry," he adds. "Since I launched You've Been Left Behind, the secular media attention has been insane. Over 125,000 unique visitors from 160 countries have hit the site. You've Been Left Behind has been on every Internet site, blog and newspage. It's been on National Public Radio, ABC News, Fox News, hundreds of news.coms, The London Times, The London U.K.Gardian, the front page of the Irish national newspaper …

"I must say that God has used this site to get up in people's face again."

Here's hoping there are no spam filters after the apocalypse.

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July 2008 – Hand Off My Shrubbery

Posted by Jeff on 7/01/2008 12:35:00 AM
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Last month, I devoted an entire column to a cultural phenomenon known as TruckNutz, which are pairs of fake testicles designed to dangle from the bumper of vehicles so as to let everyone know that the owner of that car is an idiot.

As per usual, prior to writing my column, I conducted hours of extensive research on the Internet in order to ensure that I wouldn't have to come up with any of my own jokes. While conducting this research, I made many startling discoveries, including the fact that I can fit upwards of three Krispy Kremes in my mouth at a time.

Another profound discovery was how very many slang words there are for "testicles." For your reading pleasure, and also for my word count's pleasure, here are several of my favorite testicle euphemisms: balls, nuts, berries, jewels, danglies, plums, stones, rocks, bobbles, love apples, teabags, cajones, huevos, Rocky Mountain oysters, Montana tendergroin, hairy grapes and Dick Cheney.

Sample sentence: "The next TruckNutz owner who sends me an angry e-mail is getting kicked right in the Dick Cheney."

Euphemisms like those have existed for thousands of years, ever since the invention of the first dirty word, which was "glockenspiel." Some of these terms were created for the sake of political correctness, like "special needs" and "nail technician." Others were invented as replacements for swear words ("dog mess"). And others were developed in order to sugarcoat, "spin" or otherwise misrepresent the truth of a matter ("mission accomplished").

Some of the earliest euphemisms were what are now called "minced oaths," or words used to avoid profanity – "Gosh" instead of "God," "darn" instead of "damn," "heck" instead of "hell," etc. Many of these words date back to biblical times, making them some of the oldest words in the history of language, along with "apple," "serpent," "Israel," "begat," "camel," "Joseph" and "Technicolor dreamcoat."

Over time, however, many great euphemisms have been phased out of common language, much like punctuation and grammar. For example, no one uses the popular Elizabethan exclamations like "zounds" (a shortening of "God's wounds!") and "gadzooks" ("God's hooks!" – referring to the nails on Jesus' cross) anymore, except for people who are actually from the Elizabethan era, like John McCain.

Some euphemisms became so commonplace over time that they eventually were deemed to be just as offensive as the original term. For example, the word "crippled," once thought to be demeaning, was replaced by the less severe "handicapped." That, in turn, became offensive, and was replaced by "disabled," which was replaced by "physically challenged," which was replaced by "differently abled," which hasn't been replaced yet because nobody knows what it means.

Other euphemisms are so politically correct that they're offensive again. Like saying "vertically challenged" instead of "short" – how patronizing is that? I mean, really! Don't these people face enough tiny little challenges in their day, what with their stumpy little arms and beady little eyes? The last thing they need is to be insulted, no matter how adorable it is when they get "angry." Bless their little hearts.

Don't say "vertically challenged" – say "short," or even "impish" or "itty-bitty." Just don't condescend. Don't waste your breath on "gravitationally challenged" – say "fat." Don't mince your words with "morally challenged" – just say "republican." And don't beat around the bush with "intellectually challenged" – again, just say "republican."

Sometimes a word has so many different euphemisms that it's hard to keep track of which is OK to use. Take "fat," for example. There's "overweight," "obese," "big-boned," "curvy," "chunky," "plus-size," "great personality," "Dick Cheney" …

Who's to say which is right? It really gets confusing after a while. For instance, you could literally have a sentence that goes, "Dick Cheney has a really Dick Cheney Dick Cheney." What does that even mean? You tell me. And while you're at it, maybe you'd like to explain what you were doing looking at Dick Cheney's Dick Cheney in the first place.

Clearly, all of these euphemisms are getting out of hand. And the situation's only going to get more kerfluffled from here.

The younger generation has started cutting out words altogether in favor of text-message acronyms like OMG ("Oh my god!"), LMAO ("Laughing my ass off!") and BILLOREILLY ("Dog mess!"). The main problem with acronyms is that if you're over the age of 13, you can't really use them without looking totally republican. Plus, if you have to explain what the acronyms mean every time you use them, it sort of defeats the point. KWIM?

I think we should just wipe the slate clean and create a new batch of euphemisms so that people can successfully not swear in a way that everybody else can understand. Or better yet, let's create a whole new set of swear words that won't offend anyone, like shrubbery, doily and kitchenette.

Sample sentence: "Bill O'Reilly is a idiotic piece of shrubbery who should be repeatedly smacked in his doily until he stops talking such complete and utter dog mess. Kitchenette!"

That way, the swearer is able to vent, and can do so without upsetting anyone, like, for example, my mother.

And if you've got a problem with that, you can go Google yourself.

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June 2008 – TruckNutz

Posted by Jeff on 6/01/2008 12:34:00 AM
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Every month, it's the same old routine. I write a column, the magazine hits the streets and 24 hours later, like clockwork, the Team Last Call office is flooded with fan mail. To the point where I have to be like, "Mom, stop it."

But in all seriousness, I don't like to brag, but I've been known to receive as many as one letter a day. I've got to hand it to them, my readers are an enthusiastic bunch, and I'd like to personally thank all 10 of them.

Each letter I receive is unique, if not illegible. Sometimes I'll get one from, say, a concerned republican offering helpful tips pertaining to my bodily orifices and the various objects I might want to consider shoving into them. Other readers send letters offering constructive criticism along the lines of, "What's wrong with you?" and, "I guess they'll give a column to anyone these days." To the point where I have to be like, "Mom, seriously."

Others write to me with questions about life and love in general, such as:

"What do you think about life and love in general?"

"Who do you think was the world's first fat person?"

"Do you think Fox News really just makes up facts, or simply gets them all wrong?"

"If Rush Limbaugh was the last surviving human male on planet Earth, would he still die a virgin?"

To which I respond: You've never actually read my columns, have you?

But by far the most popular question my readers ask – as you've probably already guessed – is, "When are you finally going to write a column about TruckNutz?"

Which is really coincidental, because I was about to do that right nowNutz.

TruckNutz, also known as Bumper Balls, are disturbingly lifelike pairs of fake testicles designed to dangle from the back of a truck, most often between a "Bush/Cheney '04" sticker and a decal of Calvin peeing on something.

These Nutz serve an important function, which is to let other drivers on the road know that the owner of this truck is the kind of man who would actually spend $40 on a pair of fake balls. And also, presumably, to communicate that he is tough and shouldn't be messed with, and the reason he shouldn't be messed with is because his truck has fake testicles.

"Look out, other drivers!" the TruckNutz say. "Nuts in your face!"

TruckNutz are available in plastic and chrome, and come with varying amounts of wrinkles and veins. They measure up to six inches in length and are available in a full spectrum of colors, the most ironic of which is blue. Some of them light up in tandem with the truck's brake lights for maximum testicle visibility.

If this is the first time you've heard about TruckNutz, consider yourself lucky. Studies show that even just reading about them kills brain cells, which explains that little hissing sound you're hearing right now. Prolonged exposure to TruckNutz has been proven to cause permanent damage to such important lobes as the frontal, the temporal, the hernial and the not-listening-to-Nickelbackal.

I've been doing some thinking about why TruckNutz are popular. There's the obvious theory that TruckNutz owners are compensating for certain unmentionable shortcomings, by which I mean their tiny winkies. But these people are already driving large trucks. How much more compensation do they need? Apparently, two balls more.

But there's got to be something more to the story, some little X factor that separates a man who rolls his eyes at TruckNutz from a man who gently scoops them up and whispers, "You complete me."

One entry on Wikipedia identifies this factor as "machismo," which is Italian for "back hair." Another entry, which I created myself, classifies it as acute idiocy. Whatever the factor is, it's apparently spreading, particularly in the South, for reasons that are too obvious to makes jokes about.

Not surprisingly, TruckNutz are receiving a good amount of backlash from a certain demographic of Americans, comprised primarily of people who don't enjoy having someone else's balls in their face. The outcry of these non-consenting ball-lookers has prompted Florida officials to pass a law fining any driver up to $60 for exhibiting his Nutz. In Virginia, a law is pending that would result in a $250 fine per Nutz.

As one might expect, the TruckNutz backlash is now experiencing a backlash of its own. Upset Nutz owners across the country are ferociously defending their right to dangle their Nutz wherever and whenever they want, like Bill Clinton. It's a matter of free speech, they say. In America, everyone has a right to express his beliefs and opinions. For some people, that means starting a prayer group in school or staging a peace protest. For others, it means hanging a fake pair of balls from their bumpers.

The last thing I want to do is judge. If some dude wants to invest his money in rubber testicles, as opposed to, say, ending world hunger or reversing global warming or sending supplies to our troops, that's his personal, private business.

I think the crux of the issue here is that, ultimately, TruckNutz are just in really, really bad taste. But unfortunately, there is no law against bad taste, or Howie Mandel would be locked away in Sing Sing on 126 counts of douchery. What we're left with, I'm afraid, is a world in which Nutz must not only be tolerated, but embraced. The sooner we can reconcile ourselves to this fact, the sooner we can shift our focus back to the issues that really matter. Like Miley Cyrus.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some mail to open.

Mom!

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May 2008 - Fat caveman

Posted by Jeff on 5/01/2008 12:33:00 AM
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The other day, I was floundering around the park on my daily jog – my lungs wheezing, my face puffed up like a swollen tomato, my belly sloshing around like a trash bag full of pudding – and all I could hear were three little words banging around in my brain like shoes in a dryer:

I'm still fat.

I've been running for four months now, and boy are my legs tired ha ha ha. But for real, it's been four months, and as far as my scale is concerned, I've spent that entire time dumpster diving behind the Krispy Kreme factory. Which is hardly even true.

I can't help but wonder if there isn't something inherently wrong with the design of my body that I can spend hours of my week lumbering around my neighborhood and actually gain weight. Seriously, that happened one month. I don't even know why I bother to jog at all. I'm about as fit to run as John McCain. (Zing!)

All my 23-year-old coworkers need to do is think about exercising and they get skinnier. They lose an average of 15 pounds a day just by breathing. They lost another five in the time it took for me to type that. But not Old Man Royer. I just sit here writing bitter columns, eating my Lean Cuisine and swelling up like a bee sting.

Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being fat, other than the health complications, the self-esteem issues and the social stigmas. And the premature death. I'm just saying that being fat doesn't work for me. Because you never know when someone might walk up and say, "Oh, hello, 31-year-old dude with a receding hairline and zero fashion sense. I'd like to give you a multi-million dollar record deal!" When that moment comes for me, I'd like for my profile to look a little more Michael Phelps and little less Michael Moore.

But there is some part of my genetic makeup that refuses to not be fat. Which is how I know I'm related to Dick Cheney.

Sometimes I think about the world's very first fat person – specifically, what made him fat, and how it might explain my present situation.

I mean, someone had to be first. Somebody somewhere, at some point in the history of the human race, was the very first person to get a little junk in his trunk. Who was that guy? Where did he come from? Did he have a record deal? Did he like to put words in italics?

Simple logic tells us that fat people date back to at least 2004, when the first "Biggest Loser" aired. However, after consulting several top scientific resources, including Wikipedia and TMZ.com, I discovered that obesity can actually be traced back as far as Meat Loaf.

But the truth is, no one really knows for sure, so I'm forced to take the Fox News approach and just plain guess. What my gut tells me is that obesity actually extends back to the time of the caveman. I believe this in part because I Googled the words "fat caveman" and got a bunch of hits. I also believe this because I conducted a scientific poll among my friends, and not a single one of them has not ever not seen a fat caveman.

Cavemen, as we learned from the classic 1970s series "Land of the Lost," were small, angry, chimpanzee-like humanoids with jutting underbites, excessive body hair and little to no grasp of language. So basically, they were Nickelback.

Cavemen can also be identified by their extremely skimpy clothing and sexual promiscuity, as is illustrated in detail in 2004's direct-to-video classic "Bikini Cavegirl," in which a young female cavebunny accidentally transports herself into the future and, in order to get back home, takes the logical route of having sex with lots and lots of pasty white dudes with moustaches.

Cavemen lived a grueling day-to-day existence full of constant struggle. They had to hunt and gather, fight and kill. They had to scrounge for every meal. It was a dangerous, terrifying world full of hazards – from saber tooth tigers to tyrannosaurus rexes to seriously spotty cell phone reception. In summary, survival in prehistoric times took every ounce of a man's strength and energy. He had to be a lean, mean, death-avoiding machine. And that's what cavemen were.

Until one day, when one of them got fat.

How did this happen? It couldn't have been hereditary, since neither of his parents were fat. But he was the very first fat guy. Ever.

And it couldn't have been laziness. A caveman had to be on the move every day just to survive. Plus, if he stayed home, he knew Mrs. Caveman would never stop nagging him about how he should be out hunting for food like the rest of the men and how everyone else on their block had nicer cave paintings than theirs and how a strange charge showed up on their cable bill for a movie called "Bikini Cavegirl."

So why wasn't this caveman out hunting and gathering and burning lots of caveman calories? Was he on some sort of caveman disability? Was his union striking for higher caveman wages? Did he become the CEO of a caveman oil company, get rich, install himself as vice president of the cavemen government, start a disastrous war, pass a tax cut for the top one percent of the caveman population and get richer, fatter, balder and uglier while the caveman economy was on the brink of collapse?

Possible, but not likely.

And there are other questions, like how did the first fat person's friends react? Did they even have a word for obesity? "Hey, Thog. Have you seen Ogg recently? He's getting really … something."

If anything, I know even less now than when I began my research. I don't know who the world's first fat person was. I don't know why I gain weight when I jog. I don't know why you are still reading this column. All I really know is that my fatness is like 30 pounds of story fodder wrapped around my mid-section, and I'm going to milk it for all it's worth. Who knows – maybe one day it will help me become vice president.

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April 2008 – Reality show hits Central PA

Posted by Jeff on 4/08/2008 12:32:00 AM
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For my entire life, it's been apparent to me and everyone around me that I am destined to be a reality TV star. It's my entire reason for existence.

I've got the looks, I've got the charm, I've got the shamelessness. I've got a boy-ish face, so I'm likeable, but I've also got long-ish hair, so you know I'm dangerous. And if there's money involved, I'm totally willing to show my tender parts on national TV. Plus, I'm short, so I can fit in a lot of interesting places that bigger stars can't.

I've got an English degree, so I could be the sensitive, bookish half in one of those mismatched-partners shows. And I have a big mouth, so I could make a show colorful, like Scott Baio. I also have a tattoo, so I could play the tough-guy role like Dog the Bounty Hunter, or maybe the lady from "Nanny 911."

In short, if there's a man out there who's got more to offer a reality TV show than I do, I'd like to meet him. So I could shoot him and reclaim that number one spot.

For all of these reasons and more, I'm so excited that a reality show is finally making its way to Central PA.

It's just been confirmed that "Whoopsie," which is tentatively scheduled to return to Fox this coming fall, will be filmed almost entirely at the Senorita Burrita restaurant in downtown Lancaster. This will be the second season of the popular reality series on Fox, and the third overall since "Whoopsie" first broadcast on FX in 2006.

Senorita Burrita was chosen out of literally thousands of potential sites as the setting for the show's next season. Although she was aware that her restaurant was being considered as a setting, owner Jen Foster admits that it didn't diminish the shock when she received the confirmation call.

"I'm excited, but a little nervous. I get stoked about it," says Foster. "I can't actually legally talk about when or how it will be filmed, but it's coming!"

Needless to say, serving as the set for "Whoopsie" will be an incredible boost for the California mission-style burrito shop, which opened its doors in 2003 at 227 North Prince Street, nestled in the heart of Gallery Row just steps from the famed Chameleon Club, record label and retail shop CI Records, mid-century modern furniture and art gallery Metropolis and vinyl wonderland Mr. Suit Records.

"I knew I had to keep it under wraps, but it was impossible," says CI's Jeremy Weiss of the recent announcement. "'Whoopsie' had been a favorite of mine. When I told the guys at work, they were like, 'What?'"

As for why Senorita Burrita was ultimately chosen, Foster can only guess.

"We've served Hulk Hogan, Gavin DeGraw, Henry Rollins," she says. "Maybe they wanted to do a show in a small town, but at a shop that attracts a lot of interesting personalities."

The show, of course, will benefit more than just Senorita Burrita. It's also sure to create many lucrative opportunities for the surrounding downtown businesses. Says Chameleon Club co-owner Holly Skiadas, "I expect the immediate neighbors to feel the impact, but only time will tell if there will be an economic boom for the 100 and 300 blocks of Prince."

As for details about the show itself, Skiadas, like Foster, isn't talking. "I am not at liberty to speak about the project," she says politely.

However, that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to speculate.

If it's anything like the original "Whoopsie," this season will involve a dozen or so contestants pitted against each other in "Survivor"-style challenges of physical and mental skill. It's safe to assume that at least some of these challenges will involve tasks like working the Senorita Burrita lunch rush with various handicaps like blindfolds, arm and leg weights and the now-infamous Whoopsie Weasel. Other times, the challenges may involve more behind-the-scenes tests, like handling employee schedules or placing produce orders. As Foster assures with a laugh, it's not as easy as you might think!

With me being (apparently) something of a "local celebrity," as well as a regular at Senorita Burrita, I was chosen to serve as one of the episodes' "local" judges. It's just one episode, but I'm optimistic about the opportunities it could lead to. Plus, my mom will finally have something to brag about to the ladies at church.

I've got to admit, even though the show is already in pre-production, it's hard to believe that it's actually going to happen here in Central PA. I keep trying to picture last season's contestants working behind the restaurant counter, and it's next to impossible. Brianne Washington in a Senorita Burrita shirt? Hotchie-motchie!

This year's roster of contestants is nothing to sniff at either. Among the people I was able to confirm so far are a few big personalities from last season (Tiffany Van Der Mar, Jimmy Kleese), as well as some B-list celebrities from other reality shows, including Tonya Marx-Davies from "Lunch Swap." Rumors are also being spread about an encore guest-hosting appearance by Marc Summers, but the producers absolutely refuse to confirm or deny it.

What they will confirm is that, as before, new contestants will be added to the show throughout the season as people are voted off – and they're looking for men and women from around the area. Filming could begin as early as this spring. Maybe you can be the Julianne to my Helio!

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March 2008 – This party’s gonna be sick

Posted by Jeff on 3/01/2008 12:31:00 AM
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Last month, the Super Bowl and Mardi Gras took place within two days of each other, making it the most barf-tastic three-day stretch in recent memory.

Lord only knows how much alcohol was consumed and expelled during that magical time period. If Lindsey Lohan had anything to say about it, the answer is a lot.

"But wait!" you might be thinking. "What about this month? Isn't there anything to barf about in March?"

Actually, there's plenty to barf about this month. In fact, March might be the single barfiest month of the year, thanks to one internationally celebrated Irish holiday I like call "Throw Up Beer In The Back Of Your Friend's Car Day." Easter!

Just kidding. It's St. Patrick's Day. Or as Amy Winehouse likes to call it, Day.

So, why is St. Patrick's Day so throw up-y? Well, according to one reputable website, by which I mean Wikipedia, many American St. Patrick's Day celebrations center around "alcohol." And if it says it on Wikipedia, then you know it's true. Or that it's totally not true. You never know, which is part of why Wikipedia is awesome. It's like playing Russian roulette, only instead of bullets, you use facts.

For example, I looked up Tom Cruise on Wikipedia and couldn't find the words "creepy," "really creepy" or "super creepy" anywhere, so that shows you just how off it can be. I wonder if Wikipedia is where President Bush looked to see if Iraq had WMDs? Just a thought.

Anyway, the point is, a lot of people drink alcohol on St. Patrick's Day. As studies show, the abuse of alcohol can have some pretty horrifying consequences, such as hangovers, automobile accidents and voting for Mitt Romney. Who, according to Wikipedia, is made of 80 percent plastic. Then again, Wikipedia also claims that Romney has withdrawn from the presidential race. So there's an example of Wikipedia being right twice in a row.

But worse than any of these side effects, drinking can lead to barfing, which, according to several top scientists, sucks. And yet, no matter how many times they might learn this hard lesson first-hand, millions of Americans will once again end their St. Patrick's Day bowing down before the porcelain god. Calling Huey on the great white telephone. Mugging the porcelain tourist. Playing with the edible yo-yo. Giggling to Ralph over the porcelain intercom. Making a pavement pizza. Singing solo in the porcelain amphitheater. And other funny phrases I found online to boost my word count.

What makes it worse is that most people don't have the faintest idea what they're actually celebrating on St. Patrick's Day.

In fact, for a lot of people (Lindsey Lohan), St. Patrick's Day is distinguished from Mardi Gras only by the fact that the beer they're throwing up is green.

The real reason we celebrate is, of course, to commemorate the life and deeds of St. Patrick, who is famous for chasing all of the snakes out of Ireland, presumably by putting on a green plastic hat and throwing up Jell-O shots on them. This feat is all the more amazing when you consider the fact that Ireland never had any snakes to begin with. And that's an actual true, scientific, non-made-up fact. As opposed to this one: George Bush was forged in the fires of Mordor.

Which is a lie because, as Wikipedia points out, he was actually the one doing the forging.

I don't mean to give the impression that I did all of my research for this article on Wikipedia. That couldn't be further from the truth. I also did some research on pukeplanet.com, which is a website consisting entirely of pictures of people barfing. That's sort of bizarre in and of itself, but the truly remarkable part is how the website advertises itself as – and I swear this is true – "the best site for puke pictures on the web."

So if you've been less than satisfied with the puke-picture sites you've been frequenting lately, you know where to go.

Sometimes I think about St. Patrick's Day and all of the barfing and wonder how things got so out of hand. Like, 400 years ago it was a holy day of obligation for Roman Catholics in Ireland. Now it's a day when people go out to bars, drink their body weight in green-tinted domestic drafts and blarney all over each other's shoes. It's like the entire holiday has been secularized, which is a really, really sad thing. I mean, what would Santa say if he were here?

Yeah, sometimes I get down about St. Patrick's Day. But then I think about those tiny little men in the funny suits who are always hiding their gold – What do you call those again? Republicans? – and I smile.

At least next year we won't have one of those in the White House.

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Drive-By Truckers interview

Posted by Jeff on 3/01/2008 12:06:00 AM
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“We’re kind of like the dirty old uncle of the music business that everybody thinks is cool, but nobody invites when they have decent friends coming over.”
It’s not the prettiest metaphor Mike Cooley’s ever used, but it’s as good as any when it comes to describing the Drive-By Truckers’ place in the music world. For years, these torchbearers of Southern rock have been smothered with stadium-sized praise, but never really managed to graduate from the sticky-floored club scene.
“Greatest band on planet Earth” isn’t a tag that’s often bestowed upon a band that most of America has never even heard of. But there’s just something about the Truckers that makes journalists get all googley. The hell’s-bells triple-guitar attack; the blue-collar laments; the blue-collar celebrations; the bottles of Jack they pass around onstage; the burning honesty of the lyrics; the intelligence and wit; the wild abandon; and the fact that they seem almost completely unaware that they’re responsible for any of these things.
The departure of Jason Isbell, one of the Drive-By Truckers’ three frontmen, between albums resulted in a lot of nail-biting among the band’s fan base. But Cooley and his musical partner of over 20 years, Patterson Hood, didn’t get the memo to be nervous. Instead, the two holed themselves up and, with some unexpected help from bassist Shonna Tucker, sneezed out what might be the finest album of their career.
Brighter Than Creation’s Dark is, as Hood has called it, a “grower.” None of the tracks is going to make it to Top 40 in our lifetime – although lead single “The Righteous Path” could have given Neil Young and Crazy Horse a run for their money in the ’70s. But taken as a whole, the album is simultaneously the calm before, the eye of, and the aftermath of the storm, a revolving mass of earthquaking rockers, hushed ballads and instant alt-country classics.
Team Last Call caught up with Cooley in mid-February to get the Drive-By Truckers’ state of the union.

Team Last Call: Patterson called Brighter Than Creation’s Dark your best album, which I know bands are supposed to say about every new album – but is that something you agree with?
Mike Cooley: This really is. I don’t think there’s any argument. The songs overall, song for song, I think are better. I think we played better and broke some new ground.

TLC: I know you get squirmy around the word “mature,” but I think it does apply to this album. It’s more songwriting, less muscle.
MC: If you can get better instead of older, then “mature” is good. [laughs] But it’s like, you know, “Oh, they’re mature now.” And the next thing you hear is, “The big summer tour – Harry Connick Jr. with the Drive-By Truckers!” Ahh!

TLC: This time around, you individually are getting the most praise for the songs you contributed.
MC: I’ve always had my fans. Some of them are a little scary, but I think overall they mean well.

TLC: Pitchfork called you the “hell-raising, yarn-spinning fuck-up” of the band. Is that fair?
MC: I haven’t been a fuck-up in a long time, but when I was, I was a marvelous fuck-up. So that’s fair. I’m just finally getting press for it.

TLC: The songs on this album stick with the same dark themes you’ve been writing about for years – the tragic characters, drinking and drugs, murder and suicide. Where does that dark streak come from?
MC: It’s just more interesting to write about. [laughs] We’ve had plenty of close associations with all those things. It makes you think and affects you on a more emotional level than the happy stuff does. The tragedy is just a better movie. When you see somebody sliding down into the gutter, it affects you a lot longer.

TLC: You said in another interview that this has been a year of highlights for you. What did you mean by that?
MC: First of all, we ended last year with some much, much needed time off the road. That had more to do with the creative streak and the quality of the songs than anything, just being able to, for me, stay in my own space long enough to get it out and get it done. So I felt real good about that. And then we shifted right into doing the Betty LaVette record. Now all of the sudden I’ve got this chance to be a part of making a really cool soul record in Muscle Shoals. You grow up loving that music, and I figured being a part of something like that just was never going to happen. But it happened, and it was fun, and now it’s nominated for a Grammy. So, even better! [Editor’s note about the Grammy: no dice.] It’s just been a great year.

TLC FM: Isbell left the band after five years and three albums. Can you talk about what that was like?
MC: It was a friendly split. It wasn’t any big deal. It was time for him to go do his own thing. He’s talented, he’s prolific. And he’s done great. It was definitely a lot better than having somebody leave in the middle of a tour or making a record.

TLC: Did you feel like you had something to prove to fans who were concerned after he left?
MC: Not really. We were a band for five years before [he joined]. I think we just wanted to make a good record. We wanted to be creative again.

TLC: It was fun as a fan watching Shonna step up with songs of her own. I think having the different writers’ voices and perspectives is part of the whole Drive-By Truckers deal.
MC: It is! If me and Patterson had to write all the songs, we’d find a way to make it work. We’ve done it before. But her coming in with songs was kind of a surprise for us. We had no idea until we went into the studio.

TLC: You and Patterson have persevered through divorce, financial struggles, mental breakdowns, Isbell’s departure. What keeps pushing you forward?
MC: I guess we’re in love. [laughs]

TLC: When people throw things at you like “the greatest band in the world,” how do you even respond to that?
MC: I’m just glad I didn’t have to say it myself. [laughs] I didn’t get into this game to lose!

TLC: I read that you’re considering moving on without a record label.
MC: Since we signed to New West, it’s like, everything is different. I think anybody at a point of making a major decision needs to sit down and do a little thinking, because the traditional record company-artist relationship and business model is obsolete now. It just doesn’t work anymore. I don’t know what we’re actually going to do, other than try to maintain our fan base and build it. That’s what we’ve built everything on. We’ve never been able to rely on all the things that artists of the past could rely on a record company for.

TLC: But you never know – maybe New West will surprise you by landing you a tour with Hannah Montana!
MC: They could surprise me by having an original idea! [laughs]

TLC: That being said, do you talk about the things you still want to accomplish together?
MC: We’ve got this year to think about it. We’ve got this record out, and it’s on New West whether we like it or not. I would love to have kept this one for myself because I like it. But we’re going to tour behind it. We’re going to hand-deliver it to our fans like we always have. I’ve always lived by the philosophy that if you take care of what’s important, everything else will take care of itself. And our fans built us. They’re why we have a job. We’ll find a way to take care of them.
*Reprinted from Fly Magazine

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