The End Of The Blog

This is my last blog post.

I’ve been doing a little thinking. I’ve been thinking about the various blogs I’ve had over the years. I’ve been thinking about how useful they were. And mostly, they were not useful. Mostly, they were a lot like the rest of the internet—a complete waste of time.

I’ve decided a writer and musician needs to write the songs and write the book. That’s how it works.

I’m done blogging and facebooking and going to forums full of people who spend their time talking about what they should be DOING.

My new web site will be located at www.happyjoe.net. It’ll be done soon, so check it out.

RONNIE JAMES DIO

Didn’t I just write a eulogy for Malcom McClaren? And now I have to write one about Ronnie James Dio, who I never even listened to?

Jill ate dinner at Dio’s house. Well, it was his mother’s house—I forget the story, but she was friends with a cousin of his and they went to eat at Mrs. Dio’s house up in North Jersey. Her names wasn’t “Dio” though—it was some other name, but she was his mom. She had his curly black hair. She had a five octave range.

I saw Dio live. It was an accident. I went to see Motorhead, and it just so happened Dio was also playing, along with Iron Maiden.

Dio was impressive. The band sounded awesome (in fact, they were the best sounding band of the night), and RJD was a real nice guy. He slapped hands with everyone in the first few rows and showed sincere appreciation for his fans. I recall his between song patter was oddly polite—Keith Beck described him as a “heavy metal Neil Diamond.” But then the band would start playing, and he’d slide right back into the “Dio thing.”

They played a shortened version of Heaven And Hell. They cut out the Iommi guitar solo. Too bad. But overall, Dio did a great show, and I left the Garden State Arts center with true respect for the man.

RIP, Ronnie.

$1000 Pizza

Nino’s Bellissima Pizza in New York City used to sell a $1000 pizza. Maybe they still do—I was too lazy to call them and find out. Look, if you want real reporting check out Time Magazine. Oh, wait, did I just call Time a news magazine? Did I just name a publication that considers Lada Gaga to be one of the 100 most influential people in the world? So maybe you can check out the Village Voice or something, I don’t know. I get all my news from Guitar Player.

Anyway, I was wondering what kind of effort goes into a $1000 pizza. I was wondering what kind of society would support such an asinine extravagence. It turns out the effort involves lobster, caviar, and something called creme fraiche. It turns out the society is ours.

Creme fraiche, in case you’re wondering, is the snot of an exotic oyster. Or maybe I’m just hoping that’s what it is.

The $1000 pizza also includes chives, salmon roe, and a little bit of spice with wasabi. In other words, a whole bunch of crap that does not belong there. Would you call it a tragedy if the guy who bought this pie choked to death on a gob of fish eggs?

I’d call it justice.

Nino’s is at 890 2nd Ave (212) 355-2355

Heating Pad

I was using a heating pad on my elbow, which I injured fighting with a gang of bikers or maybe shoveling snow. And I noticed a warning on the pad that said “DO NOT USE IN AN OXYGEN ATMOSPHERE.”

Since I’m pretty sure Earth has an oxygen atmosphere, I started wondering where I was going to use this thing. Then I turned on the TV and heard the President say we’re going to to Mars. I recalled the last President said the same thing… And now I’m wondering what’s so great about the place. I’m wondering if I can use my heating pad there.

I’m pretty sure Mars has a nitrogen atmosphere.

How I Spent My Weekend

Bill and Karen came over on Saturday night. They brought a box of cannolis with them. A cannoli is a kind of pastry.

Bill pulled out a .45 revolver and forced me to eat a cannoli. Well, I might be lying about that… I chose to eat the cannoli, okay? I snatched it into my hand and shoved it into my throat while the sound of a heavenly choir sang orgasmic strains of glory. So I’m saying IT WAS GOOD. I also ate three pieces of pizza and drank two bottles of Bass ale.

And just as I’d feared, I woke up the next morning to discover I’d gained fifty pounds. I immediately did forty-thousand push-ups and lost the weight — but then my arms fell off.

I contemplated calling in sick at work, but have you ever tried to use a phone without your arms? It’s difficult because you need your hands, which of course are attached to your arms. So I arrived at work and I’m thinking they might fire me soon. They usually fire the guy with no arms pretty quick.

Dear Ivan Seidenberg, CEO of Verizon

Dear Ivan Seidenberg,
I want you to call Verizon. Yes, I want you to call the company you run.

Call them and listen to the robot lady lead you through ten voice prompts. Stay on hold for 20 minutes and then experience the pleasure of talking to someone who seems a bit comatose. But don’t worry—that person will put you on hold, and after a long while you’ll be disconnected.

Call back again and enjoy the ten voice prompts once more. Several of these prompts will ask you for your phone number… Eventually, if you hang in there, you’ll reach a real person who’ll ask you for the phone number you’ve already entered three times.

Listen as they explain how the new modem will be sent on Monday. Call back Wednesday to verify it was sent. Talk to a disengaged girl who says, “Uh, it was probably sent out,” but who doesn’t know how to look up the information. Discover on Friday that it was never sent out. But don’t worry, it’s being sent now, and it will arrive on Monday. Unfortunately, it will not work.

Call back again. Go through the beloved voice prompts another time. Reach yet another person brimming with misinformation. You’ll be put on hold again, and then guess what? You’ll suddenly hear an agonizingly familiar menu of voice prompts! Where did the guy go? The guy who was making a futile attempt to help you? Apparently, he has vanished, and you’ll need to call back another time.

Call back again. Finally, you’ll get someone who says Verizon will “test the line.” Someone else will call “within 24 hours and give you the results of the test.” Of course, you have no internet connection, and you already know THE LINE DOESN’T WORK. But if they can verify this information, they will “send a new modem.”

You better sit down and wait for that call, Ivan.

Hang up the phone. Call Optimum Online and talk to a real person. They’lll be here tomorrow with a modem, and they’ll set it up for you.

Call Verizon again. Another 20 minutes on hold. Then another 5 minutes. Then some more holding followed by an attempt to get you to not cancel the DSL. Then an offer to lower the fee for the line that doesn’t work. Hey, that sounds like quite a deal—pay less for something that doesn’t work! I’m glad to see someone is now concerned about the situation.

Bye-bye, Verizon.

PS Ivan Seidenberg has announced plans this year to lay off thousands of people despite record profits.

Jimi Hendrix Underwater

The iPad is finally here. Well, not for me—I’m not getting one. I’m still working up to a “smart phone.” Apparently, it’s smart to spend lots of money gaining access to thousands of “apps” that cost more money and don’t do anything I actually need. Naturally, I’ll be getting a smart phone soon.

One thing I love about the guitar is the way it doesn’t require me to keep up with technology. I don’t have to trade in my Gibson SL 20 Standard Plus every six months for version 3.0 or whatever. Just change the strings every so often and eventually get the frets replaced.

No doubt some computer conglomerate is hard at work developing a “virtual guitar”—an instrument that doesn’t actually exist until you press a button, and then with a chiming noise it magically appears in your hands.

Of course, every now and then it freezes up and you get stuck playing the same chord for nine minutes. And the latest software is not compatible with older hardware, so you need to keep buying new virtual guitars. But you can twiddle a touch screen and the guitar will sound exactly like a tuba. In fact, if you purchase the cool new plugin, you’ll sound exactly like Jimi Hendrix playing a tuba underwater. Because that’s a sound we really need to hear.

The Exercise Bike

We moved the exercise bike. It was getting no use in the bedroom so now it’s in the living room. It’s right near the bar, so I can drink a beer while I ride.

Okay, I’m kidding. I mean, I might drink a beer—but I have no intention of riding that damn bike.

New Jersey On TV

Images of concrete and calzones are flashing across your television screen. In recent years, shows like Real Housewives Of New Jersey, The Sopranos, The Jersey Shore, and Jerseylicious are making New Jersey famous—but not in a good way.

If you’re not from New Jersey, you might be wondering about the accuracy of these programs. After all, quite a few local residents are complaining about the unflattering portrayal of their state. Since I’ve lived in New Jersey my whole life, I thought I’d settle the issue once and for all.

Is New Jersey an industrial wasteland full of greasy sleazeballs dumber than the average slab of eggplant parmagiana? Is New Jersey a state filled with jealous shopping-mall floozies who spend half the day down at the nail salon and the other half scratching each other’s eyes out with their full sets of French tips? Are we a bunch of fat, swaggering slobs in SUVs with no class and no etiquette, despite having the highest per capita income in the country?

Yeah, maybe.

Last Song

What will be the last song you ever hear?

We’re all going to die. There might not be any music playing when it happens, but you’ll hear a final song sometime before you go… What will it be?

If you’re sick in a hospital bed, you might get to pick it. If you die in a car wreck, you probably won’t. It’ll just be screeching tires blending with whatever’s on your car stereo at the time.

Now here’s the real question: What do WANT it to be?

If I’m really unlucky, I’ll be killed in an elevator accident, and I’ll be hearing an orchestral arrangement of Whitesnake—or maybe the asinine ear-torture of Yanni. But if I get to choose, I’ll probably pick something loud and fast with a sense of humor. Probably something by the Ramones, like Blitzkrieg Bop or Can’t Give You Anything.

What would be your ultimate last song?