If you got butt-hurt about A&E, congrats. You got played.

So, looking back now at this 'alleged controversy' over Phil Robertson & Duck Dynasty and gay bashing and civil rights and the crap that went along with it, I've kinda noticed something funny: 

If you got butt-hurt on either side of the conversation, congratulations. You got played. The media manipulated the masses for profit. Again.

A&E had a rep with Phil during the GQ interview. They knew what he said long before the magazine was released. GQ held on to the story to release it in their January edition to coincide with Season 5's January 15th launch. GQ leaked the good parts to the media to create that controversy to sell magazines (which every magazine does), and that, in turn, led to the media overload and forced A&E's hand, which then forced the DD fans and non-fans (Sarah Palin was one of many who didn't read the article before jumping into supporting Phil and/or bashing people hatin' on Phil) to show their support. How? By being American. (Meaning mainly buying merchandise.) Right before Christmas. DD sales were flat prior to this controversy. The show, like all good shows do, was starting to plateau. It had reached the the limit of the audience it aimed to attract.  

TV Fact:  Most shows have a good four- to five-year run. DD just ended Season 4. Good shows get shaken up every so often. Seinfeld only lasted nine years, and that was probably one year too many. Dexter should have ended after Season 7. The Sopranos went six seasons. Every one of those shows built an audience for the first four or five years, then stagnated. 

I know, the numbers for DD were growing season by season, but there's only so far a show with a limited audience can go. And lets be honest, there aren't a whole lot of minorities who are going to watch the Robertson family. So what to you do to draw viewers? Since the "let's add a new kid to the mix" last worked in the 1970's, they had to do something different. Something unique. Something to make people who aren't fans become fans. 

Something like Chick-Fil-A.

Yep, A&E used the Chik-Fil-A approach: Drop a controversial quote into a magazine, leak it so the liberal media gets the conservatives in a huff feeling their free speech rights are being threatened by the gays and/or the Hollywood elite and/or liberals and watch them line up in droves to support your brand. 

A&E knew EXACTLY how fans and conservatives would react ... buying up all the DD stuff they could and saying they'd never watch A&E again until they were back and even death threats. Just like the lines of white people at Chik-Fil-A after their inflated controversy last summer.

And A&E kept playing DD the entire time Phil was 'suspended' by the network. A lot. In fact, there were more than 30 hours of DD aired the week he was 'suspended' including repeats of their holiday special and 25 consecutive hours of DD on Christmas Day. Then, while everyone's paying attention to after-Christmas sales, college bowl games and the NFL playoff picture, A&E silently reinstates Phil after a week-long 'suspension' and less than three weeks before the start of Season 5, all without anyone missing a day of filming.

So who got hurt by all of this? 


Well, maybe the two or three gay people who watched DD. And that one black guy who was a fan. Was. Oh, and a bunch of Tea Partiers got internet-butt-hurt over alleged freedom of speech issues without understanding what the First Amendment actually means. That's about it. If anyone is surprised Phil said what he said, what would you expect from a 67-year-old evangelical white guy from Louisiana?

Let's be real: The show is available in 98.4 million homes. Neilsen says 14 million people watched the show. If 14 million people watched that show, and all the gays and blacks and liberals who were offended by what Phil said stopped watching that show, they'd probably have 13,999,900 people return, plus a couple million more who had no idea who the Robertsons were, but will watch them on January 15th because of the alleged controversy. 

Who wins? 

  • GQ sells a bunch more magazines and gets a ton of money from advertisers on their website when everyone flocks to read the story because they gave up buying magazines.
  • A&E sells all sorts of merch and gets all sorts of ratings boosting free advertising all over the internet, TV, newspapers (do they still exist?) and gets lots of people who will watch the new season, which will lead to higher rates charged to the show's advertisers.
  • Wal-Marts (and other retailers) all over the country saw a run on DD stuff like one of the five books they've written, birthday cards, bobblehead dolls, camo apparel, pink camo for the ladies, Cajun-spice seasoning, car fresheners, iPhone games with beard growing prizes, and shirts and shirts and shirts galore. Hell, two days before Christmas my local Wally World had every men's T-Shirt rack with a DD shirt on display. Wal-Mart's website was out of most DD items on Day 3 of the controversy.
  • The Robertsons keep getting paid for the 'reality show' based on their life and when they start filming again after the hunting break (they have a clause that there will be no filming during hunting season) this, like Chik-Fil-A, will have been swept under the rug, probably by the next media-created controversy. 
  • Disney-ABC owns 80% of A&E. Hearst Pubications owns the other 20%. And no, GQ is not owned by Hearst or Disney-ABC. I checked. They're both going to make money.

And all of them are sleeping soundly.

So, if you got butt-hurt on either side of the conversation, congratulations. You got played. The media manipulated the masses for profit. Again. 

And I'm sure it won't be the last time.


Some days, you just have to laugh. (Also Known As Eric is trying to fix something)

I work from home, as most of you know, and rarely have to wear pants or venture out during the day, so my car doesn't get driven that often.  Since we got a brand new Honda at the end of August, it's gotten driven a whole lot less. Like maybe twice a month or so, usually if I have shit to do on a Saturday when Allie's working, or I need to go get my mail. Or I decided to take an actual lunch break, put on pants and grab some drive-thru. But apparently, I've not done either of those for a couple of weeks. 

Last Saturday, we decided to drive my car downtown for the Youngstown Beer Fest, figuring on taking a cab home, then collecting it the next morning. Parking overnight downtown can sometimes be shady, so why subject the new car to it, right?


Unfortunately, my car wouldn't start. Had that clicking sound that usually means battery. I've had my share of shitmobiles, I know that sound. Not a big deal. I'll go down on Sunday and use my portable jump starter battery pack. 

Which I promptly forget about until Allie reminded me of last night. 

And I realized the portable jump starter battery pack has been in the trunk since, oh, the car before this. Including all winter. Which usually drains batteries.


It's dead, Jim. It wasn't charged at all. Not even enough juice to register a blip.

No problem. I'll just charge it up overnight, right?


The wall charger is not in the box. Meaning it's probably in the box of miscellaneous kitchen materials in my storage unit, packed away since November. And while I probably have a charger that will fit the hole, I have no idea if it matches the polarity, amperage, or voltage. I'm not an electrical engineer by any stretch of the imagination, but I do know charging an acid-based portable jump starter battery pack with an unknown charger is probably not a good idea.

Okay, so I'll just charge it in the car as we headed to Akron for The Clarks and Erica Blinn & The Handsome Machine last night. It's like 2/3rds charged. Should work.


Before I start, being the eternal optimist, I pop the key in the ignition, turn it hoping to hear the 2.2 Liter Ecotec engine roar to life. But I get nothing and have to like it. 

Not even a click. 

No worries. I'll charge it, jump it and drive around for an hour or so. It's Saturday, I got nothing else to do until later, so I'm cool with that.

So I pop the hood and start looking for the battery. Now, mind you, I've had this car about five months, and this is the second time I've been under the hood looking for something. The first time was when the power steering stopped being power steering. I figured it needed fluid.


Electronic Power Assist Steering. No fluid. Anywhere.

So I came up empty on that. And all summer, when the wires got too hot, the power steering quits. Quality is job 1 at GM, right?


Anyway, back to the battery. I can't find it.


Like I said, I've had my share of shitmobiles. I'm quite proficient at changing batteries, alternators, tires, radiator hoses, all the things that go wrong in shitmobiles. 

But I can't find the battery.  

I see a post that looks like a battery post, but it's connected to the fuse box. Okay. This makes no sense. And what do we do when things make no sense these days?

How To: Change The Battery In Your Cobalt

Step 1 Open truck, remove anything in there, and remove the carpet panel, exposing the spare tire well and battery box.
WTF? Really, Google? It's in the trunk? THE TRUNK? 

Whoever designed this car must have been higher than Snoop on a day off.


Further googling tells me there is a way to jump start it. That post I mentioned? Totally the positive connection. And I don't see ... oh, wait, there's the Negative symbol on ... it looks like ... yep, the shock absorber bolt.


I use their suggested method of jumping the car with the portable jump starter battery pack, and I'm getting nothing. Turn the key?

The Sounds of Silence. 

Great song, but a bad result when you're trying to jump a car with a portable jump starter battery pack. 

Then I remember I have jumper cables in the trunk. Because I've owned my share of shitmobiles. They're very handy to have. I recommend them to everyone. No worries. I'll get the new Honda, park in front, use the suggested method of jumping the battery. Yeah, that'll work.


I can't get the key out of the ignition.  It won't go from ACC to LOCK without power, apparently, because of the security system I still haven't figured out. 

Yep. I can't get the key out of the ignition.


I have a trunk monkey button. I'll just use that.


The internal trunk release relies on power. And I have no juice. I mean, none.

Some days, you just have to laugh. 


Comfest 2013 Schedule!

It's the happiest weekend of the year, for me: Because it's time for 2013 Comfest! New beer mug rules aside, I'm gonna go have a blast, see a bunch of great friends, super bands, and all around fun, including my first ever "Stage Crew" volunteer shift on Sunday at the Offramp Stage, along with two clean up and recycling shifts because the park doesn't clean itself!

So if you're looking for Allie and me this weekend, this is probably where you'll find us. We will be primarily camped out by the Offramp Stage in the shade if we're not out seeing these bands:


04:25 Solar    Aaron Lee Tasjan
05:55 Gazebo    Erica Blinn & The Handsome Machine
06:50 Jazz    Jen Miller
07:40 Solar    Micah Schnabel
07:55 Main    Happy Cinchester
09:10 Live Arts  The Ooh-La-Las

After Comfest: 
Rumba Cafe for Aaron Tasjan (solo), J.P. Olsen and Tim Easton
or the Treebar for Erica Blinn,  Shane Sweeney and Matt Monta


12:15 Solar    Megan & Larry
02:35 Gazebo    Salty Carmels
03:30 Main    Willie Phoenix
04:45 Offramp    Post Coma Network
05:30 Offramp    The Girls!
06:00 Gazebo    Erika Hughes
07:00 Main    The Floorwalkers
07:20 Offramp    Strangers in Daylight
08:15 Offramp    The Receiver

After Comfest:  
Rumba Cafe for Aaron Tasjan (with Mark Nye and Matt Mees), Tim Easton & The Floorwalkers


12:45 Offramp    The Real California
01:00 Gazebo    Colin Gawel & Lonely Bones
02:50 Main    The Spikedrivers
03:00 Offramp    The Smoking Guns
04:50 Main    Out Of Our Tree
05:00 Gazebo    Angela Perley
06:25 Offramp    The Whiles
07:15 Offramp    Two Cow Garage


Happy Dog Cleveland is Dead To Me

There are very few thing I hate worse than piss poor band management by venues who book live, original music acts on a local, regional or national level. Because there are a great many people who like to see bands play original music, and who will hop in the car, dedicate a night, a few hours or a few hundred miles of drive time to go see a band they like who’s playing somewhere in their geographical reachable area. And usually it’s on a tight schedule … “If we leave by midnight, we’ll be home by 1:30 and I can sleep for six hours before work” kind of schedule. I’ve done it more times than I care to count, and enjoyed damn near every single lost moment of sleep.

And I’m not the only one. I have MANY, MANY awesome music-loving friends who’ve piled in cars, pinched pennies, scrounged for beer money and parking and tolls and cover charges and eaten the shittiest truck stop food to make the trek to see a band they love play live and spend the next day sore from sleeping in a car, cranky from not enough sleep in a car, and loving every minute of it.

Because most of the time, it’s worth the sacrifice.

To see the band. To live that moment. To be in that room. Whether it’s 20,000 fans at the arena; 15,000 fans at the amphitheater, 1,000 at the club or 10 of you in a dive bar, those are the moments where you connect with the music and musicians who matter to you, and nobody can take that away. It’s pure magic.

However, in the unlikely event of a water landing … when you don’t get to see the band through no fault of your own … shit get super serial. Super fast.

I’ve had any number of roadtrips cancelled for any number of reasons: Flat tire. Car problems. Work issues. Family crisis. Weather. Car accidents on your way to the venue blocking traffic for hours. Friends who promise and bail. Bank account issues. And honestly, I’ve had them all. And I hate it, but I suck it up, realize I missed them this time and promise to make better plans to avoid some or all of the above next time THAT BAND I HAVE TO SEE is anywhere near where I am.

But when the stars and planets align, and you have four working tires, good engine, you’re not working and not on call, have no family issues, beautiful weather, everyone is safe on the highways you travel, with a friend by your side and a positive bank balance with cash in your pocket and you get to the venue far enough in advance to get a prime seat or standing position close enough to satisfy your needs, desires and camera capabilities and the band you want to see isn’t playing until several hours AFTER their advertised time, and oh, they’re not the opener but the ‘closer’ now? Or they never play at all?

That, my friends, is a completely different story. And why I will never, EVER, go see a band at Happy Dog in Cleveland again.

About a month ago I got an email from someone who saw this here music blog, and knew it had a Columbus connection, and was playing the Tree Bar (great venue, great management) and asked if I’d share the word.  To be honest, I get, on average, 10 of these a week. Most of the time I have no idea who the band is, and they provide little to no information about themselves, their style, etc. They just want me to pimp their shows. And I listen to them, and don’t like them, and usually ignore the request, because if you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all, right?

But Jeremy Porter was different. I read his email. He’s an old school 80s punk turned 90s rocker turned indie rock Americana guy. I dig that. That’s basically me. But with much more musical talent, as I learned after I went to his band’s website and listened to their music.

I liked it. Hell, I liked it so much I bought the new CD. Wrote a review. Promoted the Columbus show, the Cleveland show and the Pittsburgh show on this here blog, my other regular ass blog, and Facebook and Twitter. Because I really liked the sound of the band. Hell, I even created a Facebook event for the Cleveland show and invited about 60 of my Cleveland-area friends. Eight of which showed up at Happy Dog, Friday, April 5th at 9:00ish to see see Jeremy Porter & The Tucos.

Just like I did.

And after paying our cover charge about 9ish, and having a few fine craft beers, and some food, and listening to 90 seconds of the soundcheck, we were wondering when the band was going to start. Because at 9ish the place was about 80% full. Now it’s 10ish and it’s 60% full.  And it’s 10:30 and it’s 50% full. And still, no music.

So imagine our surprise when at 10:45 the ‘headliner’ (Bill Fox who was with a band called The Mice from 85-88, disappeared until 96, and after a few years disappeared again, only to re-emerge in 2007 … yet I’ve never heard of the guy, so I wasn’t there to see him) starts playing. After a good portion of the crowd that was there an hour ago has already left the building. And nobody’s paying attention.  (Sorry, Bill, I’m sure in a different venue under different circumstances I’d like you. Hell, GBV likes you. And Robert does no wrong, so odds are I’d dig ya plenty, just not tonight, man. Sorry.)

So I walk the 10 feet from where I’m sitting to where Jeremy Porter is sitting. We talked, earlier in the evening, I told him I was excited to see the show and had like 8 people there with me. He thanked me for that, for my review of the album, the Facebook event, blah blah blah … the mutual admiration society rules were in effect and we called it a draw.  So as I walked up to him at 10:45, those rules were gone. I was upset about him NOT opening. And said that.

Then, when he answered, I left upset behind and became hot pissed when I found out he not only knew that they weren’t playing first, he was fine with it. Yet he never took the time to tell that to anyone via Facebook, Twitter, or, oh, yeah, that dude who came to see us and brought his friends sitting 10 feet away from me. That’s just a shitty thing to do to someone who just became a fan, and promoted your shit.

So we left. Two songs into Bill Fox’s set and without seeing anything but 90 seconds of Jeremy Porter’s soundcheck.  Because, after driving 75 miles one way, dropping about $100 in dinner, drinks, tolls, parking and cover charge, hoping to see a band I wanted to see play at 10ish because I had to leave by midnight because of work, it sucked to realize the band I wanted to see wasn’t playing until about midnight because the ‘headliner’ or venue or booking agent or whothefuckever decided that a 9 pm show should start with the alleged headliner starting at 10:45 and the alleged opener should start at midnightish or later, we left.

Had I known that was the timetable, I’d have said Fuck Jeremy Porter and Fuck Happy Dog I would have driven an extra two miles down the road to Brothers Lounge to see Erica Blinn and the Handsome Machine who was allegedly starting at 9:15 … and well, holy shit, they actually started at … wait for it … 9:15.

See, that’s a good venue. And a good band.

So fuck you, Happy Dog. And fuck you, Jeremy Porter, for letting Happy Dog fuck you, and fuck me and 8 people I brought to see you.

Go back to that state up north.


Jeremy Porter & The Tucos – Partner In Crime – CD Review & Tour Dates

One of the cool things about a music blog that two or three of you read (Just Another Crappy Opinionated Music Blog) is hearing from artists who are putting out music that I might not find … the latest being Jeremy Porter & The Tucos. Hailing from That State Up North (but we don’t hold that against them), JP has been rocking and rolling the heartland in bands like The Regulars, SlugBug, The OffRamps, and Fidrych, as well as playing solo. He’s played Columbus before, sharing the stage with bands like Watershed and rocking out at Stache’s and the like … and now he’s back, with a new album, “Partner In Crime” and a mini Rust Belt tour that visits Ohio, twice: Thursday, April 4th, at the Tree Bar in Columbus; and Friday, April 5th at Happy Dog in Cleveland; and playing Rock Room in Pittsburgh on Saturday, April 6th.

The new CD, “Partner In Crime,” was released on New Fortune Records in March, and is a great piece of Americana. The 12 songs flow across 46 minutes of heartbreak, heartache, tales of falling for the pizza girl and lamenting about the one who got away. While those sound like pretty much every indie rock album, the music behind the songs, and Porter’s delivery, make them unique. From the rollicking “Pizza Girl” to sad-bastard “Barely All The Time” to the sadder-bastard “Wedding Day” this is a great collection of music, and I’m glad Jeremy brought it to my attention, and hope I can bring it to yours.  I know I’ll be at the Cleveland show … Come on out and support live music and hit the Rust Belt Tour!

Rust Belt Tour:
Thu Apr 4 • Columbus, OH • Tree Bar
Fri Apr 5 • Cleveland, OH • Happy Dog
Sat Apr 6 • Pittsburgh, PA • Rock Room
Fri Apr 19 • Mt. Pleasant, MI • Rubble´s
Sat May 11 • Detroit, MI • Lager House
Sat May 18 • Saginaw, MI • Hamilton Street Pub


Where 20 Words isn't 20 words, apparently

So I do a lot of side work fixing people's laptops and desktops and networks because, well, I'm kind of an IT legend in these parts, and know lots of people who are great at what they do, but not IT people, so they need help from time to time, and, well, I need beer money, so I do it.

See a need, fill a need. I learned it from Robots. Don't judge me.

And from time to time, I need to buy products for upgrades. I try to keep it to local, reputable vendors (i.e. Microcenter in Cleveland, or my new favorite local business, Green Computer Doctor in Champion, I wasn't able to make it to Cleveland, and GDC was out, the two alleged computer stores in Austintown suck balls and never have what I need, or aren't open, so I resorted to Amazon, because they were cheaper than New Egg. This time.

And got exactly what I needed at a great price with super fast delivery. And I made a nice little 25% profit on the part, because web-searchin' and memory installin' like pimpin', ain't easy, playa.

This was probably three weeks or a month ago. Today, I got an email from Amazon asking me to review my product purchase. So I do. My first attempt was apparently too brief ... it was rejected with the message that  it has to be 20 words long.  So I rewrite it so it's exactly 20 words long. I mean, what else can you really say about a memory DIMM?  Here's what I wrote:
Memory DIMM was as described. Fast delivery. Great price. Easy to find and easier to order Will buy from again.
Yep, exactly 20 words. And, yep, rejected. Again.

And while they gave me no obvious reason, they rejected that one, too, but thankfully, gave me "tips" about writing product reviews:

  • Written reviews must be at least 20 words long. The ideal length is 75 to 500 words.
  • Your review should focus on specific features of the product and your experience with it. Feedback on the seller or your shipment experience should be provided at www.amazon.com/feedback.
  • We do not allow profane or obscene content. This applies to adult products too.
  • Advertisements, promotional material or repeated posts that make the same point excessively are considered spam.
  • Please do not include URLs external to Amazon or personally identifiable content in your review.

Then, well, I got an idea. They want a review between 75 and 500 words? Piece of cake. I mean, really, you're here. You've obviously read my stuff ...  I can write me some words. To excess.

So here's my new review:
The Patriot Signature 4 GB PC2-6400 DDR2 Notebook Memory PSD24G8002S is perhaps the single greatest piece of computer electronics I've purchased in my 20+ year IT career that ranges from my time as a graphics designer on the Mac SE30 to my current position remotely managing more than 4,000 servers at a Tier I data center for a Fortune 40 company. 
Side Note: I also happen to run a computer consulting side business that assists local individuals and businesses with their hardware, networking and software needs, and this particular customer of mine wanted a memory upgrade. 
Luckily, Creepy Steve bought a laptop preloaded with 64-bit Windows 7, so we could bump him up from the paltry 3GB he had installed (one 2GB DIMM and one 1GB DIMM) to 6GB (he was too cheap to go to 8GB). So I searched Amazon and found this great DIMM from Etaratech with a superb price and I pressed the "Add To Cart" faster than Honey Boo Boo grabs a plate of sketti. 
Within four days it was in my mailbox, and later that day, over a cold frosty beer at a local watering hole, I carefully removed the battery from Creepy Steve's laptop, pulled out my small Phillips head screwdriver, carefully removed the cover over the memory slots, pulled out the 1GB DIMM, replaced it with the Patriot Signature 4 GB PC2-6400 DDR2 Notebook Memory PSD24G8002S DIMM I purchased on Amazon, replaced the cover, replaced the battery, powered it on and BAM! Just like that, we were cooking with 6GB of memory. 
Creepy Steve was never happier. As far as I know.
I wonder if that will pass muster.


Good thing she likes football ...

As I approach one year of dating Allison, especially over Super Bowl weekend (you'll understand more on that soon), I find myself laughing at all the interesting and amazing ways she and I even managed to become an item.

I'll start with January 2, 2012, which is the day we met. We know this because I have a note in my iPod about the book she was reading, she has a note in her iPhone about a book I suggested to her. We figured that out one day after February 5, 2012. Why? Well, because from January 3 until Super Bowl Sunday of last year, Allison didn't talk to me.

At all.

Why didn't she talk to me?

I defiled her book.

The same book that attracted her to me to begin with.

Let me explain:  Allie is to books like Eric is to technology ... she loves her books. And my 'defiling' of her book was me writing my name and number on a piece of paper (not part of the book) and slipping it between the pages while she was in the bathroom.  Harmless, no?

As it turns out, no, it wasn't harmless. 

She said she found it the next morning while reading in the tub. It fell out of her book. She was hot pissed I touched her book, and proceeded to tear up my name and number, say something along the lines of "Forget that guy" and then gave me the cold shoulder every time she saw me after that.  In fact, I got the back of her head for most of the night when we were celebrating a mutual friend's birthday smack dab in the middle that stretch of 34 days, January 19th for the 32nd Annual Davidus Celebration. Completely ignored me, right up until the night of February 5, 2012, the Super Bowl between the New York Football Giants and New England Patriots.

I wanted to watch the game, but didn't want to watch it alone, so I went down the road to Austintown, Ohio's most diverse meeting place and watering hole, Bill's Place, to watch the game. I haven't counted seats, but I'm guessing there are probably 50 seats at the bar. Bar is a rectangle, all four sides have flat-screens, so it's easy to watch the game from darn near any seat at the bar.

The only problem:  There was one seat left at the bar when I got there.

Next to Allison.

Who I was pretty sure hated me, for reasons I didn't know, or understand. 

But I walked up, and said hi and asked if it was okay if I sat there because there was no other seat at the bar. None.

"If you have to," she said, with a disgusted look.

I sat down, told her that if her friend showed up, I'd give up the seat. 


And that's how it was right up until about the middle of the first quarter where my series of  witty quips must have broken through the fortress around her books I had built up by defiling her Compendium of The Walking Dead a little over a month prior.

Ten days later we kissed. It was the day after Valentine's Day.

Four days was our first 'real' date ... and it's been all great since then.  I just make sure to ask permission before touching her books now!

So yeah, it's a good thing she likes football, otherwise she might not have ever talked to me again. 

Love you, Allie :*


It's time for an Oasis reunion. I have a plan.

Andy Harrison. Years ago you worked with my friends in the X-Rated Cowboys. Now we beg you to help us in this struggle between the Gallagher brothers. I regret that I am unable to convey my request to you in person, but my finances have fallen under attack, and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to England has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the music into the memory systems of this Internet Music Blog. My hope is that you will know how to retrieve it. You must see this blog safely delivered to the Gallagher brothers in England. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Andy Harrison. You’re my only hope.

I say this for two reasons:

1. Allison and I were out one night when “Wonderwall” and “Champagne Supernova” were played on the jukebox and we looked at each other with that “Damn, that shit was sweet, right?” look. And then we grumbled about Liam and Noel’s inability to get along. And how we wished they could suck it up for the sake of the music.

2. You know Noel Gallagher, I assume. If not, you have ways to reach him. You’re the guitar tech for Tim Smith, who plays in  Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds and with Sheryl Crow, so logically, short of hoping he Google ego-searches himself and by some freak of nature actually reads this blog on his own, you’re my only hope.

In all honesty, I don’t have a brother, and have never owned a guitar, but I do have two sisters who I’ve fought with many times. And my oldest sister did break several of my toys and prize possessions, so I understand the anger Noel must have over Liam breaking his guitar during a fight … but to deny the world the greatness they made together because of a guitar, to me, just seems like a crime, especially in a world where an overgrown Oompa Loompa called Nicki Minaj is a judge of a glorified karaoke competition that picks our next pop star on one network, and a bevy of low-to-no talent ‘singers’ are doing the same on, apparently, every other network. Since “Dig Out Your Soul” was released in 2008, eight new singing shows have launched. And, in my opinion, they all suck.

Every time I see a new singing contest show starting, or, as Fox tells me, the one that started it all is coming back with a “TWO NIGHT TELEVISION EVENT” I ask myself why is the world searching SO HARD for talented singers? (And since when did shitty reality shows, or any TV show, become an ‘event’? Stop that, right now. You’re a television show. That’s all.)

That night, at a bar that features live original music two or three times a month, while watching a completely meaningless college bowl game (The Big Corporate Sponsor Bowl at Other Big Corporate Sponsor Stadium, I think it was) and listening to the jukebox, it hit me:

We search because we have no new Oasis music to satisfy our needs.
And this has got to stop.

I’m tired of dodging shitty singers sitting in judgment of other shittier singers on every shitty network channel every damn night.

Please, I beg of you, kind sir, please do whatever it takes to get Oasis and the Gallagher Brothers back together. Unlike Lorne Michael’s attempt to reunite The Beatles to play three songs for $3,000, divided up as they see fit, I have no playlist, and I sure don’t have a check for $3,000.

All I can really offer is a $25 Starbucks gift card and Quinn Fallon’s first two solo CDs. You can give Liam the CDs. If you get Oasis back together.