Well, at least I think I’m funny.

First off, don’t get me wrong, I was reading through Music Think Tank today and I think it’s a great site. Here is a group of people trying to do something different within the music industry, and quantify and qualify exactly what it is that leads to an optimal end-user experience when it comes to purchasing music.

I love that. I love that people are finally rethinking the utter chaos and stupidity that is the record label structure. But there seems to be a flaw inherent in all of this thinking that these guys might be missing (I’ll be fair as I haven’t read more than the most recent posts): music should NOT be created with the intention of selling it or making money.

That’s the problem. That’s why the old music industry fell apart, and that’s why the new one probably won’t do a whole lot better.

There seems to be a lot of focus on things like peoples’ opinion, with mention even of an artist posting his song and subjecting it to users to see if they like it, and if not, how to change it. Or how to make it more marketable. Or how to develop complex algorithms that will help people find music they like based on previously selected tastes. But that’s completely absurd if you’re an ACTUAL musician. Why?

1) If you’re submitting something for someone’s approval, you’ve just created a work-for-hire, and chances are you are either writing music for a commercial, TV show, film, or what have you. Some entity is paying you money so that what you write for them comes out how they want it - so, you’re already making money. This actually makes sense and is a great way for musicians to cash in and use their talents to pay the bills, and yes, potentially happen upon a really popular bit of music (though the chances of the latter happening are quite slim).

2) If you’re an ACTUAL musician, you DO NOT care about the end result of your music. The point is not for you to become famous, the point is for you to express yourself. Should this result in commercial success in some way, fantastic. But no ACTUAL musician will do something TO MAKE MONEY.

THAT is the REAL issue.

True artists create art because they love it, and because they need to. Not because they want to become famous and make money. Anyone who is in it for the money will ultimately fail. The true musicians will stand out.

Now, notice I say “true musicians” and “actual musicians.” There are A LOT of people who play instruments, who are in bands, who write music, who get something right - the one hit wonders and joe schmoe guitar player. Money and fame for people like this is an oddity. These people probably, as a whole, aren’t terribly profound or talented, but managed to put their act together or work hard enough on something to create something that just kinda got stuck in someone’s head, or maybe they knew someone who knew someone who needed to do SOMETHING and got lucky.

I’m not saying everyone shouldn’t play music and write songs: quite the contrary, it will make you a better person, but if it isn’t happening for you commercially, there is a reason for it. Put your song in an iPhoto slideshow for your girlfriend or your mom - no doubt it will be greatly appreciated there. But if you’ve REALLY tried to get it out there…REALLY worked to get it heard by people who can do something and they’ve listened to it, and REALLY busted your butt to play publicly in any venue that will take you and you still haven’t gotten anywhere? There is a reason no one knows who you are, and it isn’t because you’re a tortured, over-looked genius who needs a business degree to get some great marketing chops in order to get his stuff sold.

The answer to the music industry is to forget the industry part. Forget that people will pay you money to make music.

Go create sound that you love to listen to, that fascinates you, that captivates you. THEN bust your ass to get copies of it to everyone you know. THEN start playing publicly. THEN create the bond with the people.

You simply can’t do it the other way around - people aren’t smart enough to tell you what they want, and you’re not good enough to come up with it anyway. No one is.

Do it for love.

Last night I went out and had a few drinks for my birthday, starting off at the ever-delicious Yuca Bar, and then moving on to whatever random place we stumbled across next.

The random place we ended up at, I’ve actually been to a couple of times before. They have really good food and good specials, but it’s usually empty. When we walked into the place, it was indeed pretty empty, so we walked up to the bar, ordered our drinks, and then sat at one of the two outdoor tables.

Nothing really exciting happened other than some conversing about Flight of the Concords, when all of a sudden a pack of hiply-dressed ruffians came outside and stood nearby to smoke a cigarette. Naturally they were immediately the subject of our ridicule. This went on for a few minutes as we polished off our final round but as we got up to leave, I heard something come from one of their mouths I never expected:

“…dude, Pat Metheny. I LOVE Pat Metheny! Have you ever heard him? He is incredible!”

Naturally this guy’s friends had never heard of Metheny and began to ridicule this guy, but in my brain-holes, I immediately took back everything derogatory I said about that guy, and instead shifted it onto his friends.

So kudos to you, random dude who loves Pat Metheny, you have a brain and put it to good use a decent amount of the time. As for your friends? Well, screw them.

Every year everyone has a day when people’s friends get together and celebrate, in whatever fashion the person’s choosing is, that individual’s right to be a complete an utter asshole for a day. Oh right, some people call it a Birthday too.

They can go to whatever restaurant, followed by whatever bar, that costs however much money, and if you go, you can’t complain because everyone will say “Shhh!!! It’s their birthday! You can’t complain!!”

I like to do things a little differently. Instead, my birthday is the one day a year when I just want all my friends together and have a good time; it is the one day of the year when my friends can count on me NOT being an asshole. The Italians do things this way, and I think that’s pretty cool. Of course, the birthday person is also the one who buys all the drinks so…I’m not sure how keen I am on that.

However, I AM very keen on going out and having a great, not-so-expensive time and just laughing my ass off for a few hours, other than insisting we do what I want and have YOU pay for it.

Also I’m curious to know, to I have to respond to everyone who wrote “Happy Birthday!!” on my Facebook wall? Or do they know how insane and time-consuming that is? Maybe I’ll just change my status to “appreciates your birthday wishes but doesn’t feel obligated to tell you so individually on your wall because, well, that’s a lot of work.”

So, what am I doing for my birthday today? Well, so far I have a track workout at 7pm planned. Other than that…I’m undecided. If you’re in the city and want to find me at a bar somewhere, send me a text.

Never in my days have I experienced a more obnoxious personality on television. No amount of fiction-writing or Real World hijinx could match up to the monotonous, nasal, arrogant ramblings of an over-inflated, over-fed woman.

I have wanted you dead since the very first episode Jen, and now, you finally are gone. I HOPE you don’t come back for the finale, but I am sure you will. And you will fuck something up, and then blame someone else for it.

Die.

http://kingofspills.tumblr.com

You know, I’m open about my rampant homo-crush on John Mayer - he’s a great musician, hilarious, and a great thinker. Thanks Brewer for sending me the following -

Today at lunch time I figured I’d venture on down to grab my copy of Grand Theft Auto 4 - it’s being touted as one of the greatest video games of all time and I, being a huge nerd, need to own it (and pwn it!).

As I got to the Game Stop at Herald Square I knew there’d be a huge line. I am okay with that for two reasons: 1 - I wait in lines a lot in New York for pretty much everything, and 2 - I no longer live in Miami so even the longest of lines generally moves quickly and efficiently.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was that the top floor had been the area designated for people who own Wii’s and PS3’s to buy GTA, while the downstairs was for Xbox 360 purchases. Already the line is cut in half. Then, in what can only be described as genius, there were not one, but TWO cashiers for each line.

“Terrific!” I thought. “I’ll be out of here in no time!”

I got downstairs and went to the back of the store to get in line only to find 3 older hispanic women pouring over about 4 pages worth of emails that had been stapled together. They were jibba-jabbering in Spanish and had another piece of paper that had been scribbled on in English, though, I didn’t really recognize any of the words on the paper as having anything to do with video games other than vagueries like “ACE” and “BONUS!”

My heart immediately plunged. This scene was all too familiar to me. People who don’t speak a word of English hurriedly getting involved in situations they simply aren’t qualified to comprehend and navigate. At this point I told myself I might as well just leave, because the chances of them figuring out what they were even doing in the store by the time they got to the register would be directly proportional to ruining my chance of getting a copy of GTA 4 all in one, fell, idiotic swoop.

Then I remembered I live in New York City now.

I decided to be patient and play it cool. The line was probably a good 15-20 minutes long but there was no scare of running out of the game and it was moving along relatively quickly.

As I continued to wait in line, the hispanic women did quite possibly THE BEST imitation of Miami residents I have ever seen since leaving that Godless shanty-town. They left the line and came back, they pronounced “Xbox” as “Cheesebox,” and they sifted through those same 4 pages of emails probably 15 times trying to figure out what game they were buying (Call of Duty 4).

Five minutes left to go to get to the register and, after two previous failed attempts, managed to bring two copies of Call of Duty 4 to the line (of course, they had to leave and come back to do this). One of them was a special edition, one was the regular version. The special edition was $10 more. This baffled them to no ends. 4 minutes to go ladies, figure it out quick.

To my shock and surprise, they chose the one that was $10 cheaper, and the title of the game and console it was for matched not only what was on their email, but they were also in the correct line in the correct place in the store for it! I simply couldn’t believe it. If these women moved to Miami, my guess is they would be the most esteemed professors or the most successful entrepeneurs the city has ever seen. And all this with 2 minutes to spa—wait…wait a minute…what are you doing?! No! Put that cell phone down!

She didn’t. One of them women picked up her cell phone and decided to make a call. On the phone I could tell she was checking with whoever sent the email to make sure the game was correct. Not good. She got through explaining the title to the person on the other line and then…”allo? allo?”

One of the women in the group asked her compatriots if they shouldn’t just let me pass in line (thanks, fluency in Italian for allowing me to get the gist of pretty much all latin-based languages) - this suggestion was largely ignored. The other women didn’t even seem to notice the suggestion (as it had nothing to do with them, getting what they want faster, or getting something better or cheaper for themselves). The phone was dead. The signal was gone, they took the next spot at the register.

As you’ve read this, if you’ve lived in Miami, you probably already noticed a number of things that went FAR better than the typical Miami scenario - the fact that the whole line wasn’t comprised of people like the ones in front of me, the fact that it was actually a line in the first place, the fact that there was more than one person working incredibly slowly at his/her job at the register, the fact that there was any organization of the lines/areas at all, and so on. But here’s where it gets good.

The group of ladies steps up to one of the cashiers and the second cashier finished with the guy before them so I step up at the same time. In Miami, these women would’ve occupied both cashiers, not understanding anything, not moving out of the way, not getting what they want, and would’ve been misinformed by both of the cashiers. It would’ve taken 25-45 minutes to resolve their “problem,” they would’ve left with the wrong thing anyway, and…well God knows what else.

But I live in New York City now.

The cashier with the women spoke slowly in very deliberate English and pointed to things on the email and game to assure it was the same. Then the women put down two PS3 games (remember, you are supposed to buy those upstairs). This is the best part. This is the part of the story that would NEVER happen in Miami.

The second cashier (my cashier) spoke Spanish. Not only was she able to ring me up, give me the right game, with the right freebie-stuff in a bag, and process my payment, but at THE SAME TIME she explained IN SPANISH to the women what they had to do, where they had to go, and what they were able to do at this particular register.

No extra time of mine was wasted. I wasn’t frustrated or angry. The line continued to move along fairly smoothly (though the 1st cashier was still occupied with the ladies when I left, no doubt they were trying to pay with a driver’s license or a CVS discount card), and I went on my way, happily, video game in hand.

And that my friends, is the difference between America, and Miami.

I have caller ID on my phone at work, and today the phone rang and it was my good friend, the internet!

Andy: Hello internet! Long time no talk!

Internet: Beepboopbeepbahboop!

Andy: Oh you did? Audrey too?

Internet: BopBoop!

Andy: Wow, Internet, you are a playa, son!

Internet: Boopbeepscreeeeeaaaahhhh.

Andy: Oh no she di-ent!

Internet: Boop. Beep bop. Boop boip beepbaboop. Beepbawp. Bawp. Bawwwwp.

Andy: Well it’s no wonder you’re feeling unfulfilled. All these fast times with loose women - it’s bound to wear on you after a while.

Internet: Meeaarrr…bwoohp.

Andy: Well you bring it upon yourself don’t you? I mean, I dunno. I can’t talk, I’m not better off. It’s just the lives we’ve chosen, you know?

Internet: Bweep boop boop!

Andy: Oh well that’s good, I’m glad to hear at least your basket-weaving class is as fun as you’d hoped. Look, I have to get back to work. Thanks for calling! I’ll talk to you later.

Internet: Boopley beep-beep!

Internet is a said soul really, but I’m glad he is my friend. Feel free to give him a call to cheer him up, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.

Then you are retarded.

Those of you that know me, or read my blog, know that I am a huge fan of John Mayer. Musically, lyrically, and mentally.

Read this.

And if you want to know about other things I like then read this.

And finally, to help you figure it all out, read this.

They all say it better than I can. But I’d like to at least do my part to point the way.

Kudos Andy Roddick. After being constantly compared to you my entire life and shocking random tennis fans when they ask “what’s your name?” and I say “Andy,” you have finally pushed me far enough over the edge that I want to kill myself.

It’s bad enough that your bad imitation of my devastating good looks allowed you to bag the likes of Mandy Moore and Maria Sharapova, but now, you lousy Lykens knock-off, you’ve gone and married Sports Illustrated model Brooklyn Decker.

You make me sick. Stop using your imitation Andy looks (all puns intended, hey-o!) to steal away all my ladies. Go be terrible at tennis some more instead.