Hurtin' for Certain

I've neglected my blog for over a year. For shame. As a blogger, I FAIL miserably. In my defense, I've been spending my spare time in the studio working on music -- no time to blog.

I still read blogs regularly. In fact, one of my favorite bloggers, Cameron -- over at Get the Stink Off -- inspired my most recent song. His post, "(Blog) Gang Wars," was so entertaining that I was forced to make like a Bollywood movie and bust out in song.

The song is called Hurtin' for Certain and was intended as a soundtrack, of sorts, to his hilarious Blog Wars post.

And of course, for my first post in over a year, I figured it would be a good idea to piss off all the members of our two local forums . . . and Billy. :)

Without further ado . . .

<----play

Hurtin’ for Certain

I am just yer average boy

Raised in Central Illinois

Searchin’ for enlightenment somewhere

I am just yer typical guy

The night-life barely gets me by

I can feel Peoria’s despair

Cause they be hurtin’ for certain over there

So, I went down to PDC

Them Neocons, all gun crazy

To get myself some Kool-Aid that they drink

But I can’t seem to get along

Them right-wing nuts just can’t be wrong

You’d think that Rush Limbaugh lived over there

Man, they were hurtin’ for certain

They be hurtin’ for certain

They were hurtin’ for certain over there

Man, we all gotta put our faith in somethin’ sometimes, but Rush Limbaugh sure ain’t it.

Now, go reward yerself with a cold, delicious beer.

Now we’re talkin’!

I clicked on PeoriaSpeaks

To hit that bong with them hippie freaks

All them girls got flowers in their hair

And all them dudes, they got no jobs

They whine all day on liberal blogs

Spreadin’ Commie bullshit everywhere

And they were hurtin’ for certain over there

So, I went down to Billy’s site

Man, all them typos can’t be right

Where the fuck did that dude learn to write?

He steals his crap from PJ Star

From your friends’ blogs you will be barred

If you leave a comment he can’t bear

‘Cause they were hurtin’ for certain

They were hurtin’ for certain

They were hurtin’ for certain over there

Everybody now

They were hurtin’ for certain

They were hurtin’ for certain

They were hurtin’ for certain over there

Credits:
Words and Music by Kevin Lowe
Kevin Lowe - acoustic and electric guitars, mandolins, harmonica, bass guitar, drums, vocals, tambourine
Howie - beer

Copyright © 2009 Kevin Lowe

Download here (right click, "Save target as")

One Life Down

But, 8 lifes left . . . U not rid me yet.

Let's Review . . .

My diet over the past twenty-four hours:

1. Friday Morning Breakfast

Large cafe latte. Brewed at home with my trusty Tassimo machine. One-third milk; one-third half-and-half; one-third espresso. Breakfast of champions, I tell you.

2. Friday Lunch

Five pieces of chocolate that I appropriated from Judge Borden's clerk, Lynn.

3. Friday Dinner

Beer and cigarettes. Too many beers; too many cigarettes (I'm trying to quit smoking, but the beer makes it difficult)(I'm trying to quit drinking, but the cigarettes make it difficult).

(Actually, that was at the Peoria Oktoberfest, not last night - but the thought remains the same.)

(Yeah, nor was that last night - but the thought remains the same. The Usual Suspects, from left: The Great Howenski, My Girl, The Usual Suspect)

4. Friday Late-Night Snack

Nacho Cheese Doritos (Dude!), Lay's Potato chips, one bite of an uncooked Pop-Tart (frosted strawberry, naturally). More beer.

5. Breakfast This Morning

More Doritos (Nacho Cheese, of course, Dude), a McDonald's Sausage and Egg Biscuit with Hash Brown. Two large cafe lattes. No more beer, mercifully.

Of course, I should have gone to Hardee's for something like this:

Or perhaps, turn on the deep-fryer for something a bit more respectable:

Richard Simmons would be so proud.

(Oh, and I want to generate some hits on this post, so here's a cool picture of Johnny Depp:)

(And Julianne Nicholson:)

6. Now, What's for Lunch . . . ?

The Jessica Alba Experiment

Introduction: The Value of a Blog, or Why My Blog Sucks Ass

I have no idea what makes a blog valuable. Over at the Peoria Speaks! forum, Katie posted an interesting link. It's a site that purports to determine the value of a blog. In other words, it attempts to answer the question, "How much is your blog worth?" To find out, you simply enter your web address. The site will then perform its voodoo calculation of your blog's dollar value. For example, Peoria Pundits, a popular Peoria blog, returns a value exceeding $50,000. Wow.

Not surprisingly, I was anxious to discover the cash value of my blog, The Usual Suspects. All my hard work and effort. The countless hours spent toiling over my keyboard. The long nights laboring to ferret the intriguing nuggets of wisdom and wit from the dark recesses of my stagnant mind. In all honesty, I fully anticipated that the Internet Gods would reward my labors with a significant sum. I'm talking a substantial dollar figure.

So, last night, I ventured to the site and plugged in my url.

The anticipation was killing me.

And the result was immediate: "My blog is worth $0.00."

Huh? Say again?

"My blog is worth $0.00."

Shit, that's what I thought you said, MoFo.

It's Official: I Suck

Armed with the declaration that I officially suck, I did what any self-respecting blogger would do: I got drunk. And not just a normal drunk. This was the kind of drunk that causes you to wallow pathetically in a world of sorrow and self-pity on the living-room floor, trying to eat a double cheeseburger David Hasselhoff style. The proclamation of worthlessness thus reduced a once proud blogger from pillar of confidence and strength to pile of quivering jello.

For shame.

Thankfully, the drunkenness wore off by mid-afternoon. I declared myself sufficiently sober to play hookie from work while attempting to regain my self-composure. So, regrouping on the couch, I resolved to share my suckiness with the rest of the world. After all, I wouldn't want to propagate the illusion that my blog has value. As a result, I embarked on a journey that has become this post: a confession of sorts. A manifesto of uselessness and futility. The ineffectual words of an ineffectual, inconsequential little dude.

So, Why Do I Suck So Bad?

The question haunted me: Why? Why do I suck so bad?

Determined to answer myself, I curiously delved into the logs of my StatCounter. You know, the free web service that tells you how many hits your blog gets and where those hits come from. The numbers would surely reveal the reason for my ineptitude. After all, numbers never lie. Right?

To my immediate dismay, the answer was obvious: Not many people read my blog. But beyond this trivial concern, another not-so-apparent issue revealed itself. Namely, of the few hits I receive, almost one-third of them comes from Hasselhoffing MoFos trolling for pictures of Jessica Alba and Julianne Nicholson. You heard that right: About one-third of my hits comes from TWO pictures on my blog. The guilty post? Here: "Top 10 Reasons Why I Wanna Be a TV Lawyer."

Well then. I guess it's pretty obvious. I suck because I don't post more pictures of Jessica Alba.

A Declaration (of Sorts)

I hold this truth to be self-evident: Pictures of Jessica Alba generate serious hits, dude. In order to create a More Perfect Blog, I've concluded that additional pictures of Jessica Alba will be required. Furthermore, having resolved to create a "perfect storm" of blog hits, I've decided to launch an experiment to answer a fundamental and persistent question: How many hits can a simple blog generate, within a twelve-month period, posting little else than pictures of Jessica Alba? My hypothesis: the more pictures I post, the more hits I will get.

To answer this question, I deem it necessary to start a new experimental blog. I therefore solemnly publish and declare: This new blog shall be dubbed, "The Jessica Alba Experiment."

Methodology: This is How We Do It

At The Jessica Alba Experiment, I will regularly post pictures of Jessica Alba. I will accompany the pictures with a short caption, which is necessary to ensure that search engines properly index the posts. For example, a post might include a pic along with, "Here's a picture of Jessica Alba not naked." Or, "Jessica Alba, shown in this picture, not video, is not nude."

For good measure, I might occasionally throw in additional pics of other hotties. Of course, I recognize this might skew, or otherwise contaminate, the scientific potential of my research. However, I deem this step necessary to ensure the greatest possible hit potential (also, because I Do Not Know Me will applaud my valiant efforts).

Therefore, without further delay, here's the first pic, which I've borrowed from my TV lawyer post. (My attorney tells me that my use of these images constitutes "fair use," because I am conducting legitimate academic research.)

This picture, not video, shows Jessica Alba not naked (i.e., Jessica Alba not nude):

Conclusion

I encourage all bloggers to approach their own blogs with similar academic zeal. I implore you to implement the scientific method. Identify and diagnose the cause of your worthlessness and/or lack of blogging prowess. Generate a sound hypothesis. Conduct the appropriate research and experimentation. Then, apply creative and pragmatic solutions that squarely address the problem.

Someday, all of us will be worth more that $50K.

P.S. To verify my low self-worth, I again submitted my blog to the value checker. Overnight, despite making no changes, its value skyrocketed from $0 to $1,129.08. It's as if the mere thought of adding more pictures of Jessica Alba had caused my blog to appreciate. Or, perhaps the Internet Gods felt sorry for my pathetic ass and have decided to placate me with a token gesture of worth -- a mere pittance. (I wonder which few words warranted the extra eight cents on that price tag.)

$27 Snap On Face

It's not what you think. It's not a Halloween mask. I don't think it's the face you wear in public to hide your real persona. Nor the alter ego that hides you from yourself in those internet forums. In fact, I've never figured out what the hell a $27 Snap on Face actually is.

Well, that's not technically correct. While I may not understand what a "snap on face" is, I do know that the "$27 Snap On Face" was a '70s band from Northern California. More specifically, it was my uncle's band.

The Snap On Face released one album in 1977 called "Heterodyne State Hospital" on the independent label, Heterodyne Records. The cover features the band (my uncle is second from left, on the walker) posing as patients of the fictitious Heterodyne State (Mental) Hospital. The back cover reveals additional photos of the band in their asylum poses, faces and limbs contorted and wacky. Politically correct it ain't. Funny? Well, reasonable minds could differ. Personally, I find it hilarious.

These guys were seriously crazy. Well, as one reviewer suggests, "they weren't really asylum inmates (perhaps quite a damaged crew, but not certifiable)." A recent article about the band, verified by my mom, describes their seemingly insane antics in concert: "Onstage, the band lived up to their self-created persona as mentally disturbed individuals by dousing themselves in ketchup, lighting stage props on fire and, at one show christened 'Jacques Cousteau's 25th Annual Toga Party,' performing in a homemade bathysphere on a stage littered with helium-balloon fish." Sounds pretty fuckin' nuts to me. Not surprisingly, mom insists they were very good entertainers and a lot of fun to watch.

I was too young to ever see the band work their magic. I have fond memories, however, of listening to the album as a young child. In fact, I was -- and remain -- in awe of my Uncle Bob and his insane asylum posse. The album itself was cool. Not your standard dark vinyl. This album was blue. A fuckin' blue album. How cool is that?

Some additional links to articles about their album: here and here.

Musically, I love the $27 Snap On Face. Their sound was actually fairly straightforward pop/rock with a few alternative gems thrown in for good measure. My only complaint? On a few tracks, the lyrics could have used some enhancement. If I recall correctly, one of the catchier songs, "Let's Have an Affair," was fairly uninspired lyrically:

Hey, Baby, Let's have an affair

It makes no difference if it's here or there

Hey, Baby, it looks like you could

It may not last long, but its gonna be good

And the very wacky "Tie Your Boots Tight:"

Tie your boots tight

Tie your boots tight, buddy

Tie them up good (as tight as you can)

WTF? Well, what more can you expect from five dudes who made the Looney Tunes seem pretty fuckin' sane?

Another cool thing? My uncle's guitar. It was beautiful natural wood and carved in the shape of a dollar sign. I wish I had a picture of his unique axe. In fact, I'll email him, and if he sends a pic, I'll amend this post to share his pride and joy with everyone.

Oh, and one more cool thing: this record is apparently considered a rare collectable. One site lists it for sale at $125. Another one wants $100. Not bad for an album which, when originally pressed, didn't sell all 1,000 copies.

Now, if only I could sell my CDs at anywhere near $100 a pop . . . Of course, instead of relying on MySpace, I might need to start dousing myself in ketchup, lighting stage props on fire and, at a show christened 'Jacques Cousteau's 25th Annual Toga Party,' perform in a homemade bathysphere on a stage littered with helium-balloon fish.

I'm sure folks would pay some good coin to see that.

I Can Has More Kofee?

It's Sunday morning. I can has more Kofee?

How to Change Guitar Strings

Nary a week passes without some want-wit accosting me for advice about changing guitar strings. To better accommodate the guitar-string-changing public, I will therefore outline the basic steps comprising this simple procedure.

Step 1. Name Your Guitar. This initial step is essential and separates the the neophyte from the pro. The meek amateur hasn't the gusto to name his axe. Whereas the confident player struts upon the stage, trusty companion strapped upon him, boldly espousing the virtues of his named compadre.

Only the feeble-minded would ignore this step. After all, your guitar is your friend. And changing your entire set of guitar strings is akin to undressing your guitar. So, ask yourself, "When was the last time I undressed a friend whose name I didn't even know?" (Okay, perhaps some of you should not answer that question).

B.B. King's favorite guitar was named "Lucille." I call mine "Super Fly."

Behold "Super Fly":

Step 2. Grab a Tasty Friend.

Perhaps this should be Step 1.

Anyway, changing the strings will take a while. You don't want to get thirsty. So, grab a friendly beer, or two.

Step 3. Assemble Your Tools.

From the top (approximately 11 o'clock), counter-clockwise: (i) Guitar tuner, (ii) Wire cutter, (iii) New set of strings (choose your gauge wisely), (iv) String winder, and (v) Kazoo.

Step 4(a). Do It. Undress Your Friend. In the guitar context, this is done by loosening the strings with your tuning keys, turning them until the strings are sufficiently slack to slip out of the erect tuning peg and off of the nut.

(Huh, huh . . . he said, "Erect.")

When the strings eventually come off, they will attract special visitors, who want to play with you and your strings.

My visitor was not helpful.

I digress.

So, at this point, your trusty friend should be naked:

(Note the whiskers of my unhelpful visitor, right.)(I know, I know: The wood floor needs refinishing. I'd have the money to get it done, if I didn't spend all my extra cash on guitars.)

Note: some guitar aficionados would cringe upon my removal of all the strings, which reduces the pull upon the neck. They fear this could lead to unhealthy warping of the neck. Fear not. The axe will be re-clothed quickly. Tension will be restored without undo delay. No need to incite a widespread panic.

Step 4(b). Clean Your Nude Friend. It's a great opportunity to do it. So, just do it. With the strings removed, you can easily penetrate those otherwise hard-to-reach places.

Just be sure to use a mild detergent solution on the lacquer. Be especially cautious with the wood fretboard: Here's some fretboard tips from another site.

Step 5. Grab Another Tasty Friend.

I warned you this would take some time. Fear not the flavor, my main man. Quench the thirst.

Step 6. Put Your Clothes Back On. Thread the strings through the retaining tailpiece, over the bridge, and through the tuning peg. (Note the detachable tailpiece, which is another hazard of removing all the strings. Fear not, Guitar Gods. I will obey your commandment: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Tailpiece).

Use the proper method to minimize slippage at the peg. It's too involved to explain. So, just do it.

The YouTube video, below, illustrates the proper technique at the peg. (Please note: this method assumes a Gibson-style peg, which is the most common. Fender-style pegs will require a similar, but different, method. Don't fret: I know this post will be wildly popular. So, for my encore, I'll add similar instructions using my Fender Stratocaster.)

To make life easier, remember to use the string winder.

It's the little things that make life so enjoyable.

Step 7. Recoup. Wow, that was exhausting. See Step 2 (which should actually be Step 1) and Step 5.

Step 8. Time for a Haircut. At this point, the hair is looking a bit unkempt:

Use your wire-cutters to do the deed:

Ahh, that's much more presentable:

Step 9. Tune Your Trusty Companion. Now that you've cleaned and dressed your amigo, it's time to add the finishing touches: The smell-good. Cologne or perfume, depending on the gender of your strap-on member. You accomplish this with a tuner.

Some Guitar Freaks out there can tune by ear. Good for them. I can do that too, but I prefer the reliable and easy method of plugging my axe into a magical box that tells me when I'm good to go.

Don't be a pretentious chump -- use a tuner.

Also, don't throw away the cover that came with your package of strings. Put it in your guitar case. Why? Well, admit that you are a guitarist: you will eventually forget the gauge of string you put on your guitar. When you break a string, you'll simply retrieve the cover, enabling you to find a suitable replacement of similar thickness. And remember: it's the thickness, not the length, that really matters. (Note the info in the upper right-hand corner of the package.)

Step 10(a). Pump Up the Volume. Once you've achieved proper tunage -- implementing the correct methods and devices -- no barrier on the face of our grand planet should prevent you from plugging your axe into the nearest amplification system. No force of nature can withstand your natural inclination to RAWK hard. Therefore, find the Good Amp and plug in.

Of course, mine goes to eleven.

Step 10(b). RAWK Hard.

(Ten extra points for anyone who can tell me which two chords I'm playing in the above pics.)

And don't forget to invite your other friends:

Also, don't discriminate. Drums are friends, too:

A word of caution: All hell will break loose when The Party finally arrives.

So, never forget to invite your kazoo.

Step 11. See Step 2, Step 5, and Step 7.

This post just had to go to eleven.