OPF (Original Pompous Fan)

Bill Hicks famously said: You do a commercial, you’re off the artistic roll call forever.

When I was a young lad, green and pretentious, I seconded that notion. I thought: How dare Pete Townsend sell his songs for use in commercials?

Now that I’m older, I see that it is not so simple. Making money from music is a very rare thing (and getting rarer by the hour). Ever notice how few musicians DON’T have stories of embarrassment and disgrace? Ever wonder why so few bands are able to wear that stamp of so-called “integrity?”

When you’re one of those precious few like Springsteen who crashed the 1% party by selling albums and going on tour, you can pick your spots and “keep it real.” You can say no to commercials, no to scene-ruining cameos in movies, no to inhumane duets with younger, hipper acts. But remember, the Springsteen elite is a very tiny elite. Even lots of popular acts don’t get rich from their music due to unprofitable deals with their managers and labels.

Those acts that aren’t part of that precious elite have to find other ways to make money. The fact that you’ve chosen to be “an artist” doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay your bills. Your landlord doesn’t care about your legacy.

This leaves you with two choices:

1) Try to make a living by touring long after your voice and body has given out, leaving your fans with the memory of the rickety, expired version of you trying to make some coin by flailing through the hits.

2) License your song for a Land Rover commercial.

At least when you let your songs become jingles, you’re not disappointing your fans in a direct, visceral way by subjecting them to a live show that could be mistaken for an open casket wake. Selling your songs for commercials is a much more passive (and dignified) way to disappoint.

Some might say: why don’t they just get a job like the rest of us? C’mon, you know better than that. What kind of job do you suddenly get when you stop being a full-time punk bassist at 38? What special skills do you list on your resume? Faking a British accent? Drilling Frankenstein Monster knobs into your neck? People with real resumes can’t even get jobs these days. I doubt prospective employers are going to be excited about your second stage blowout at Lollapalooza ‘97.

Next time you’re ready to mount your high horse about bands embarrassing themselves with commercials, THINK OF ALL THE EMBARRASSING THINGS YOU DO FOR MONEY IN YOUR JOB. Is selling a song to Suburu any worse than watching an HR sensitivity video and taking a multiple choice test about it afterwards? Is it worse than fetching coffee for a guy who misquotes Office Space without realizing it is about him?

You’re telling me you wouldn’t appear as a chipper chirping chicken in a KFC ad if it meant never having to see your boss again? Of course you would. Pete Townsend doesn’t even have to play a chicken. All he has to do to rake in the cash is let “Happy Jack” play while some thespian bites on a burger in a Jack in the Box ad. If you can’t understand why he might say yes to that…I CAN’T EXPLAIN it you…(yuck, yuck, yuck).

P.S. It probably isn’t a coincidence that the black and white, NO COMMERCIALS MAN! rant usually comes from young people. Young people usually don’t have grown-up bills. They usually don’t have kids. They usually don’t have mortgages (or even rent payments). They usually don’t have a body that cries out for pricey medical attention. When you’re 23, your only medical bill is that once every three years dentist appointment you make to get your girlfriend to shut up. It is easy to be pretentious about the tug-of-war between art and money when your problems fit in an Altoids box.

Heckled by a Prostitute

Once upon a time I was in Amsterdam, and like any sane man, I found my way to the Red Light District. Any guy who sneers at the Red Light District is a disingenuous sack of novelty dog plop (not even good enough to be the real thing). Even the ones who go there "for a laugh" are clearly being titillated in some way. It's not like they're just there to see another canal.

The Red Light District is a legal sex buffet where a bunch of attractive, half naked chicks stand around waiting to service you. Don't pretend that's not exciting. Next these guys will be telling us they go to Bourbon Street for the hush puppies...

So I journeyed to the RLD, but was undecided about what I was going to do. Of course I wanted to partake, but wasn't sure I could actually go through with it. Also, being a comedian, I identify with prostitutes. An open mic is only a hair away from open legs. Hookers should be asking me how I got trapped in that life.

As soon as I made my first turn down the Red Light, I was given the hard sell by a woman who looked like a slutty Famke Janssen (Bond Girl from Goldeneye). She was all smiles, and as I walked by, she opened the glass door they stand behind and said, "F*ck and suck. 50 euros. All the positions. I f*ck you good."

Much more appealing than the pitches I get from credit card companies.

I desperately wanted to accept, but sadly, couldn't muster the courage. I even tried giving myself a pep talk, which I should have known wouldn't work. If you're about to punch someone, you can always psych yourself up by shadowboxing. But when you're standing in the middle of the road shadowjerking, it typically doesn't end well.

I continued to browse the scene, but didn't find any girls as sexy as the one who cold called me. In fact, I probably passed her seven or eight times while making the rounds.

Two doors down from the Bond Girl (the doors are very close together) was a glamorous looking chick who was tall, dark, and handsome. Hot, but about three inches too tall for my indefensibly diminutive frame. She rapped her window at me a few times, but never said anything.

That is until I made maybe my eighth trip past. Mind you, I hadn't even made eye contact with her since my first glance, so I was quite shocked to hear a sultry, exotic voice say, "Hey, I ask you question."

I turned around and the woman shouted: "You. Come here!"

I am used to hot chicks aggressively soliciting me for sex, but they usually aren't already in their underwear. The Too Tall Chick continued:

Her: I ask you, why you walk by every two minutes? (It wasn't THAT frequently, but yeah, fair question)

Me: I'm a tourist.

Her: But I show you something.

Me: No, I don't think so.

Her: But I show you something.

Me: (Dying to say yes) No, sorry.

Her: But I show you something. (Hopefully where to find my manhood, which had obviously gone missing)

Me: No, just looking.

Her: Then go on back to your hotel, man! If you're tired, go back to your hotel!

As she said that, the slutty Famke Janssen who first approached me banged on her glass and yelled, "Yeah, go back to your hotel!"

And with that, they both threw their heads back in laughter.

Inexplicably, I still couldn't find the strength to have sex with them.

Even more inexplicably, I couldn't find the strength to throw myself in the canal.




Put on the Red Tweet! Put on the Red Tweet: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne

No PC, No iPhone, No Service

For a long time, not having a television was seen as a sign of intelligence and sophistication. We’ve all known that scarf-draped prick that can’t wait to tell you he doesn’t own a TV (and he probably says “idiot box” like he invented the term).

In its early days, TV had to battle with the movies for respect. Then, maybe starting with The Sopranos, many shows became more cinematic (a more “respectable” medium), and TV finally seemed to lose some of its stigma...just in time for the Internet to come along and dilute television’s newfound relevance.

In my estimation, the Internet never suffered the kind of smirch that befell television. Why not?

Maybe because the Internet was announced as the important sounding “information superhighway,” whereas television was just another entertainment tool (just consider the tone of the nicknames: “information superhighway” vs. ”boob-tube” and “idiot box”).

Maybe because the Internet was something you had to tinker with to operate (meaning you needed some know-how to experience it), whereas early televisions were just something you plugged in like a radio (in the days before television, did folks without radios fancy themselves superior?)

Which brings us to today. Today, not having a TV is still viewed as a sign of intelligence. Not having the Internet (and its associated devices) is seen as a sign of being backward, even though everyone with the Internet complains it is a cesspool of porn and misinformation (and ironically, pirated shows from the boob-tube). While it has had its detractors, most of them are seen as dinosaurs, and the Internet very quickly shook off any stigma it might have had; unlike television, which took decades to attain any degree of respectability. You might say the rapidity of the ‘net’s rise to respectability is a sign of the frenzied pace of the Internet Age.

I’m Andy Rooney, for The Interesting Times Herald.

The Last Thanksgiving

It is Thanksgiving week, so people are taking their seasonal interest in the homeless. Despite all the focus the homeless receive this time of year, all they end up receiving is one meal (on Thanksgiving). But the people who serve them that one meal act like it is the answer to all of their problems.

Homeless Guy: I have a big festering wound.

Soup Kitchen Guy: Pour some gravy on it!

Homeless Guy: My baby needs insulin.

Soup Kitchen Guy: Hope she likes taters!

And if one of the homeless should ask for some change while he is being served, suddenly it becomes like any other day of the year...

Homeless: Hey, can I get a dime?

Soup Kitchen Guy: Lazy bum, get a job. More stuffing?


Buck the trend and give some of your Black Friday slush fund to the homeless.

Empty money clips are the new black

For the last several years, hipsters have been slumming it fashion-wise; dressing like truckers, carpenters...very faux blue collar (ironic given their obsession with "calling out" scary blue-collar hill-people who live nowhere near them. Perhaps this is part of the overall irony package?).

Now that the banks are collapsing, you have to wonder: are hipsters going to start dressing like laid off investment bankers? Are we going to walk in The Gap and see tattered pin-striped suits with the pockets turned inside out?

Coming soon, the perfect accessory for fall…and winter…and spring…and summer: The Skinny Wallet!

I HATE MYSELF FOR BIRTHING YOU

Self-hate is a big problem for many people; so much so that the topic is now very much out in the open. What I find strange is when someone who struggles with self-hatred tries to remedy it by having children. Because what are your children? They’re just more of you. If you hate yourself, having kids is just expanding the problem.

My self-hatred is the reason I don’t want kids. The last thing I want is another me riding sidecar for 18 years.

If you hate yourself, there is a decent chance you hate your parents too. What better way to show your distaste for mom and dad then to discontinue your lineage. Refusing to procreate is a far deeper criticism of your parents than quitting law school to start a punk band.

Think about it; going childless means you are JUST SAYING NO to your bloodline. Picture all the folks who preceded you in your ancestry…people who battled through war, famine, floods, disease, poverty…all to help make you who you are. Telling them all “thanks for nothing” is more rebellious than an army of middle fingers (Army of Middle Fingers...not a bad name for that punk band).



Don't leave me barren on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne

THINK DIFFERENT, but act the same

Since Steve Jobs' death, there has been ample talk about his eccentricities and whether he was a "nice" guy.

Why is anyone surprised when someone who thinks in nontraditional ways behaves in nontraditional ways? He didn't get where he was by thinking like everyone else, so why should anyone expect him to act like everyone else?

Did you seriously expect Jobs to do exactly what everyone else does--overpay to attend an fourth-rate out-of-state college (thus gaining the debt of a brand name education without the brand name education), stay too long with his college sweetheart because he'd heard others say they regretted not marrying their college sweethearts, settle into a stultifying administrative job with a long title and a short salary, work to put enough cash away to qualify for a house he couldn't afford in a neighborhood he didn't like because it's "what you do," then one day just choose to start thinking out of the box? I don't think that's how it works. Rare is the individual who makes 30 years of mouse decisions and then one day wakes up a lion. Deep inspiration isn't a 9-to-5 task accomplished with 9-to-5 methods.

The hero-anointing masses often wish to believe their heroes are just like them. This is part of the reason biographies sometimes trigger such outcry. For instance, many sports fans couldn’t fathom that Michael Jordan, a man who maintained his lust for domination long after he’d become hugely rich and dominant, was a fanatical, pitiless competitor. For Jordan, there was an I in team, the same I that is in M-I-chael. That is part of what it takes to still care about winning after you have accomplished enough feats to last 23 lifetimes. Sorry if that makes you feel dirty about wearing his shoes. Ironically, if MJ lacked that unfaltering need for trophies, you wouldn't want to wear his shoes in the first place.

Also, famed innovators like Mr. Jobs are the folks the masses want to know more about, so it is inevitable that every nook and cranny of their personalities ends up under a microscope. The clerks who work in Apple stores have quirks too, but no one cares enough about them to chronicle their oddities.

None of this is to suggest that Mr. Jobs totally ignored the herds. He needed those herds to believe iPhones were in short supply so that they would rush out to buy them at full price. He then needed the rest of the herd to watch that first herd's antics so that they could rush out to copy them. And so on. Innovators and herds play cat-and-mouse. Or maybe it should be called lion-and-mouse.