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Thursday, March 29, 2007


THE GREATEST THING YOU'LL EVER SEE

Not being a particularly educated, grounded or well-rounded man, I tend to be hurt and disappointed when writers I like stop blogging. As I've mentioned innumerable times before, I'm one of life's more celebrated losers. Ask anyone who has dated me if you don't believe me. You would think that being the source of seemingly unending, life-changing cunnilingus would be enough, but it really isn't. I'm not sure why, either. Go figure. I just wish I got that memo when I was five so I could've developed something approaching a human personality.

But I was talking about bloggers I like quitting before I veered off onto another missive about my gifted tongue, wasn't I? Last fall, one of my personal favorites, Dewey In Toronto quit for a particularly galling reason, she fell in love and was happy. This is, of course, an almost unforgivable breach of blogging etiqutte. One quits because one has lost their job because of their blog or as a result of a court order. Quitting because of personal happiness is almost unheard of.

Frankly, I should be the last one throwing stones at anyone for not writing. I've written a grand total of six posts in the month of March - a record low. I used to easily do that in a week. And none of what I did write is particularly good. There are two reasons for this. First, I bought a new computer last month and I've been at war with Windows Vista ever since. For what the goddamn thing costs you'd think it would actually let me do something.

Second, I'm not particularly excited about anything. There really isn't much going on that has me excited enough to write about it. There's no lack of material out there, I've just found that I increasingly don't care about it. I'm not entirely sure why, but I suspect that the events of the last six months are catching up with me and I'm constantly either exhausted, depressed or both. What I have put up has been forced and it shows. I really can't see the point in writing something I hate and that no one else enjoys.

Besides, it seems that I have a natural basement of about 240 hits a day. Those come in whether I post or not, so what's the difference?

Dewey's a smart girl and she figured out a way that her blog can be reconciled with her now enjoyable existence. I doubt that anyone was more pleased than me by her return. Few things are more heartening to me than little people with big vocabularies and enough anger for everyone. She'll probably want to punch me until her arms are tired for saying this, but Dewey is like a dwarfish, bizarro Jesus - she has enough hate for everyone. That I like this in a woman should go without saying. In a life without Joy, the return of Dewey is about as good as it gets.

Last night, Dewey gave us what might be the Greatest Gift of All. I bring to you, via Dewey in Toronto, the Johnny Cash arrangement of Trent Reznor's "Hurt" as sung by Kermit the Frog!




Having been fortunate enough to see any number of cool things, that video may very well be the coolest of them all. It certainly beats trival shit like the fall of the Berlin Wall or the collapse of Apartheid in South Africa. The only neater thing I can think of off the top of my head was seeing Miss Nude Philadelphia 1987 smoke a cigarette with her cooter. And blow rings. I can't imagine that anything will ever top that.

I've always hated Nine Inch Nails. There's nothing worse than the faux agony that Trent Reznor epitomizes. How tormented can you really be if you're getting blowjobs from models in a silver porsche? Kurt Cobain was sad, so Kurt Cobain killed himself. This, my friends, is the natural order of things. Trent's angst buys him houses and Marilyn Manson.

However, it seemed that being a self-involved asshole was the easiest ticket to success in the early to mid nineties, and Reznor rode that train to glory. If the loathsome twin evils of nu-metal and boy bands can be praised for anything, it is driving Nine Inch Nails from our collective conciousness.

That's not to say that everything Trent did was garbage, just most of it is. Actually, "The Perfect Drug" and "Hurt" weren't just good songs, they were great. Rick Rubin's production and arrangement of Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" revealed what a truly great song it is once you get Reznor away from it. The video for it accomplished one of the rarest things in show business, it was compelling with a nary a booty-shaking ho in sight. It was high art!

It turns out that I might actually be able to develop some measure of respect for Trent Reznor if only he could be prevented from having anything to do with his own music.

Even the magnificent Johnny Cash version of "Hurt" can't hold a candle to Kermit the Frog's intrepretation. It changed my life and I know that it'll change yours. If it doesn't, then you're not someone I want to know.

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