I’m tired. I’m going to bed early, so this is the post for Tuesday.

Contact my lawyer for a refund of your purchase price.

Bullgrit

Cowgrit and I were just winding down from our Sunday activities by watching the last few minutes of “The Top 100 Songs of the 90s” on VH1. We saw numbers 15 through 1, and many of the songs brought back memories of our courtship days. But some of the songs we had never heard — the commentators went on and on about how these songs we’d never heard were great and decade defining. What?

After having watched a few of these “Top 100” shows of various flavors on VH1, I’ve come to believe they determine the order for the list by agitating a howler monkey and recording where his poo splats on a wall listing the 100 songs. And the commentators must have all been around 14 years old, and the songs they talk about must have been their first experience with any music, or the specific artist.

I won’t go into depth about the whole 100 list, but I have to gripe about the number 1 song — Smells Like Teen Spirit, by Nirvana. The band and the song and Kurt Cobain has been so over hyped as to cross into absurdity.

I remember when I first heard the song: A player in my D&D gaming group brought his CD to my apartment (where we played D&D at the time) and played it while we waited for the others in our group to arrive. The tune was hypnotic, yeah, and it stayed (and stays) in your head for a long time after hearing it. But what the hell were the lyrics? I’ve heard the song (or at least parts of it) a couple dozen times over the years, and I still don’t know anything Kurt sings other than, “Here we are now, entertain us” — and I wouldn’t bet my life that I’m actually understanding those lines correctly.

Generally, it’s a decent song, despite Cobain’s lyrics being less intelligible than Stevie Nicks’. I’m not knocking the song itself. I don’t put my hands over my ears when I hear it. But it ain’t great, and Cobain ain’t a genius.

My gripe is with the hype and hysteria over the “genius” of it and Cobain. For full disclosure, I was around 24 years old when it came out in 1991. Maybe I was just harder to impress, having a much larger catalog of great songs because I’d lived longer. It wasn’t my first introduction with songs that supposedly had deeper meanings.

At the time of Cobain’s death — just 3 years after Teen Spirit‘s release — I didn’t care. I noted the hysteria among the college music crowd, but “So what?” I thought.

But then, about five years ago, I saw “The Top 100 Shocking News Stories in Music,” (again on VH1). Kurt Cobain’s death was number 3. “You have got to be kidding me,” I thought. A one-hit wonder singer couldn’t take the stress of fame and fortune and commits suicide just three years into his “genius”?

Now, I’m not really belittling Kurt Cobain, or his death. My point is that it’s ridiculous that this is ranked as the third top shocking news story in music. I compare this rank with John Lennon’s death — ranked at number 7.

I’m not a big Beatles or John Lennon fan. I like their music, some better than others, but I’ve never owned any of their albums. In the grand scheme of things, surely John Lennon’s murder should rank as a more important news story than Kurt Cobain’s suicide. I mean, hell, Lennon had more hit songs than Cobain had years of life. Yet Cobain’s death ranks as more shocking and important than Lennon’s?

So, for VH1’s “Top 100” anything shows, they should just drop the ranking of the items and just discuss them in no order. Leave the howler monkeys alone.

Bullgrit

I took one of my favorite games — Blokus Classic — to my hometown during the Thanksgiving holiday. Calfgrit7 and I managed to make some time to play it together, but I couldn’t talk anyone else I asked into playing.

Then, at night I caught both boys playing on the floor with the board and all the pieces spread out. “No, no, no,” I almost screamed in horror.

“Honey,” Cowgrit said, “just let them play with it.”

“But, but, they’ll loose the pieces.”

“No they won’t. I’m watching them, and we’ll make sure to get everything back in the box.”

I was almost distressed, seeing my precious game (clearly labeled for “Ages 5 – adult”) being played with (as a toy) by a 7 year old and a 4 year old, in the middle of a cluttered floor. I wanted to immediately clean it all up and put it away. There are 84 very small pieces to Blokus, and loosing even one can completely throw off the play of the game.

But I was surrounded by family, in front of whom I didn’t want to seem like a ass of a father. So I let Cowgrit talk me down from my high-pitched whine.

The next night, when we were all back home, and our clothes and such were all put away, I checked my Blokus game box. I opened the game and started counting pieces. One was missing. Aaargh!

I called my mom to ask her to keep an eye out for the piece. So far, there’s been no sign of it.

I’m saddened. And it does no good to say to Cowgrit, “See, I knew they’d loose a piece!”

But do you see? I knew they’d loose a piece!

Bullgrit

If I was a billionaire, I’d teach jerks and idiots what can happen when they take up two parking spaces. Or park on the line. Or otherwise make finding parking spaces a pain in the butt. Especially at malls during the Christmas shopping season.

I’d spend a few days a week cruising through parking lots looking for cars/trucks parked in impolite ways. You know, that hot little sports car that the owner things is too special to allow anyone to get near — the one parked diagonal across two spaces. I’d drive my own car right into one of the spaces, smashing and scraping up on the jackhole’s car. It might take a few tries, pulling in — CRASH — pulling back out — SCRAPE — driving in again — GRIND.

Then I’d turn off the car, get out, lock the doors, and go in the store. I’d go to the customer service desk and tell them to announce, “The owner of the hot little sports car parked in two spaces, your car has been damaged.”

I’d go ahead and call the police myself, because I’d love to hear the idiot explain to the cops how this situation came about — after all, my car would be properly parked in one space.

I would, of course, own up to the collision (after the jerk got all worked up), and pay whatever expenses were required. It’s not the money, it’s the moral. If your car is so special that you want to hog an extra space in the parking lot for it, don’t drive it to the store.

The rule is: one space to one car. If you break the rule, expect a chance that your car gets broken.

If this plan turns out to be criminal (punishment more than money), I’d use a tow truck. I’d still cruise the parking lots looking for cars parked stupid, but instead of smashing them, I’d carefully hook up the cable from the truck to the car. I’d then easily just slide the offending car over into just one space.

Then I’d wait in the parking lot, with my tow truck, for the jerk to come out of the store. I’d explain what I had to do, and I’d hand the owner a [very high] bill for the service (with a due date and a collection agency’s address). I’d get in my truck and drive away.

Of course, I’d never expect or pursue payment for the service (billionaire, you know). But maybe it would make the idiot think a bit about how he’s being an annoyance to the general public.

Bullgrit