I have been a DEVO fan- a “DEVOtee”, if you will- for a very long time. 35 years ago, I was witnessing the video for “Whip It” for the first time, on the brand-new cable channel MTV. I knew a lot of spoiled kids.
When a good time turns around.
It’s not one of my favorite DEVO singles, but I appreciate its historical importance. Even today, it sounds truly weird. However, it came to be so closely linked with DEVO and their visual style, eventually it was the only song anyone brought up. Continue reading →
I meant to use that title four years ago, when I turned 40. Then today, when I turned 44, I figured that using the title unchanged would confuse Jimmy Buffett searches. Buffett’s song, “A Pirate Looks At 40”, is one I have not heard before, but I’ve read the lyrics, and I understand it’s one of Buffett’s better tunes. So I replaced “40” with “44”, to set it apart.
Originally, I planned to use “butt pirate”, but there’s really only one definition to that phrase, and it’s not one that describes me. It would have made a funny title, but it also would have netted me a lot of attention, mostly unwanted. From pirates of butts, I’m guessing. They’d email me pictures of their hooks and peglegs, with the message “YARRRRR!!! I BE PLUNDERIN’ BOOTY!!!” Right? I’m not caught up on my pirate culture. Continue reading →
As Halloween approaches, we celebrate by getting sick on weird candy. To kick off this recurring feature, here’s an article from October 31, 2007.
What, you thought I was too busy to hand out treats to you fine kids? Hell no! How could I show up empty-handed, with all the hard work you guys put into your costumes? Sure, maybe you’ll be a little disappointed with what I have to offer, but since I at least made an effort to please you nice kids, maybe you won’t huck eggs at my quaint little Web 1.0 home here.
I’ll be blunt; my choices aren’t very original, but I hope you nice kids won’t hold that against me. I can see the glimmer of apprehension in your eyes behind those clever masks, no doubt caused by the realization that my home smells like compacted ass. Perhaps my shambling and tattered clothes suggest a feral man easily spooked by traffic’s roar. I assure you the corpses on the lawn are decorations and not interns.