Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor | Pye in the Face

Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.

Archives for January 2005

How Not To Get Picked For American Idol.


in Television

I got an excited instant message from my sister last night, commanding me to Tivo American Idol. I immediately remembered why – her and her roomate, Aaron, went down to Washington over the summer so he could audition for the show. Those tapings were edited together into the beyond amusing 2 hour episode which was broadcast on Fox last night.

Aaron is a member of the Boston-based acapella group, Ball in the House, and I’ve seen them perform 4 or 5 times. They’re all really talented – especially Aaron. So when he was cut after surviving the first three eliminations we were all surprised. But after watching the show for the first time last night, it quickly became apparent why he wasn’t chosen. It’s less about talent, and more about your story, your appearence and how you’ll compliment the overall dynamic of the final group that is chosen.

In addition, based on photographs I got from Fox’s website last night, I’ve outlined a few more ways in which to increase your chances of getting chosen to go on to the final round:

First of all, don’t tempt fate. If you tell Simon and Randy that you borrowed bus fare to get to Washington, haven’t eaten in four days all the while smelling like fromunda cheese – they’re probably not going to want to spend much additional time near you, regardless of your talent. Also, don’t fashion kooky clothing in an attempt to better your odds: “Lady in the green t-shirt… I’m guessing… bust.” Some of the contestants get really mad after they’re dismissed and start hurling insults at Simon Cowell. There’s nothing wrong with that – it’s the reason most people watch the show. Listen up, guy on the upper right: if you want to get into a room with him in the first place, maybe don’t resemble Bernard Goetz so much next time.

Speaking of resemblences, a lot of the contestants dressed to resemble their favorite pop stars. There were Britneys, Alishas, Beyonces – I think I even spotted a Stefani or two. But making yourself up to look like your very bestest chanteuse, and then dressing like them to boot, is not a good way to express your individuality or uniqueness. No, that’s actually called ‘Halloween‘. Also, make sure that if you are going to attempt the impersonation strategy, your choice isn’t the principal from the Smokin’ In The Boys Room video.

Those were the major lessons I took away from last night’s installment. A few other quick notes: tell the screeners that you do have a day pass from your respective mental institution – even if you don’t. Be gay. If you have a lovely voice, put on a few pounds – say 400 – just to make it fair for everybody else. Wear your trailer park’s commemorative t-shirt – I heard Paula Abdul grew up in one. And above all else – never, ever, bathe prior to your big day. Good luck to us all.

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Lock Up Your Daughters, Tater Tots.


in

I don’t know who these cats are, I don’t know where one would aquire that many death-defyingly awful sweaters, I don’t know which Lord of the Rings DVD release they’ve convened to celebrate. Now I know what you’re thinking (Wow, I sounded like Magnum there): “Dave, People who live in glass houses…” – I mean, I did spend the majority of the weekend building websites, afterall. But this photo is absolutely breathtaking.

I have to get to work. I’ll beef this up later with more hypocritical nerd-bashing.

(Time Passes)

It was a long walk to the office during which I came up with a few possible explanations for this photograph. I’ll write them down quickly while my 174 long-weekend emails download. Please feel free to contribute some of your own:

1.) “Yeah we were totally playing. But then Erwald rolled a +6 for invisibility and now we have to pretend we can’t see him.”

2.) A press junket photo from the sequel to Capturing The Friedmans. Capturing The Friedmans II: Let’s stop pretending we come over here for Commodore Pet lessons and start the circle-jerk.

3.) Early auditions for the role of Kip were postponed due to a lack of nacho cheese and steak.

4.) Louis Skolnick‘s bachelor party was a bit shit until repeated cart-slot-blowing got the Nintendo back online.

5.) The motion is on the table and let’s put it to a vote: Those in favor of changing our name to the “All New Wil Wheaton Fan Club” raise your hands.

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New Addition: Leaving Comments Made Easier!


in Pye in the Face

In rare cases, insomnia can lead to surprising productivity. It’s nearly 6 in the morning and I’m still cranking. And cranky.

Let’s face it – one of blogging’s main charms is the ability people have to leave comments on your posts. A little community sprouts up and people can chat to one another or simply badmouth the original author (me). The problem I’ve been having is that until now it’s been quite a task to comment. You had to register with Blogger (Google), log in, provide a blood sample, etc.

As frustrated as ever with the limitations of the pedestrian ‘Blogger‘ software, I did yet another search for a suitable hack that would do the trick. And I finally found one! In a nutshell, you will no longer have to login to avoid leaving an anonymous comment. Just click through to the comments page for a particular article and fill in the form at the bottom. You can even preview your post or opt to have it remember your information. I am psyched – this is just what I’ve been searching for. Well done Ebenezer!

I need to make a few tweaks so it fits in better with my design, but it’s functional as of 10 minutes ago. So I hope that going forward even more of you will comment here on Pye In The Face. I’ve made it ridiculously easy, and you now have no excuse. Unless, of course, you have a life.

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Pye In The Face’s Greatest Hits. And Drunk Broads.


in Pye in the Face

I wouldn’t be able to sleep right now if I paid someone to come by and hit me in the head with a snow shovel. Although I’m sure there’s a few people on this planet who would do it for free. So I’ve made yet another tweak to the blog. A “Classics” section, on the sidebar to the lower left, which I’ll update once a month or so. Think of it as a “best of” area where I’ll post stuff I think deserves a second look. Articles can get buried in the archives rather quickly. Some deserve it – some don’t.

In addition to my blogging nerdery I did do some socializing over the weekend. Friday I hung out with my friend Sarah for the first time in over a year. We had a great time leaning against the wall beside the SideBar’s jukebox and exchanging gossip about former co-workers. But I was dismayed to discover that the Tragically Hip song has disappeared. From the jukebox, that is. I don’t think Gord Downie has ever worked at TechTarget. But thank God the nine Jay-Z albums have remained intact.

Then Saturday night I ran into Christina whom I went to high school with. We talked for a couple hours and brutally judged the lives of our many mutual friends. She showed me a picture of her adorable baby son and I wondered for the eighteenth time this week if it’s not time to stop pretending I’m 22. Then I got back to my apartment to find it full of drunk, 22 year old girls – and decided I’ll put off the maturity thing just a bit longer.

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Accidental Video Game Porn.


in

Well blow me down and stroke my pixels. Since it’s a holiday today and most of us aren’t working, here’s a nice little time waster to giggle at and then possibly masturbate to. The Accidental Video Game Porn Archive is a delightful tribute to the famous (Ring King blowjob, Moonwalker pedophelia etc.) and not-so-famous gamery embarassments of the last 20 years.

So click on through and enjoy the collection. I’ll be sitting here trying to figure out who in their right minds has the time to put something like this together – and also why I’m so aroused.

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Sing A Song Of Six Pints.


in Heartwarming

Two Mondays ago Tiernans had it’s annual staff appreciation party and Monster and myself were asked to join in on the festivities. That is to say, I was asked and Monster was allowed to come so long as I was with him to babysit. Any of you who were at my last Cinco De Mayo party know exactly from whence this probationary period stems. You guessed it – extreme violence.

Pistol Pete Massa was there playing the guitar and singing, and towards the end of the night encouraged some of us to get up and try our hands. That was all the motivating Monster needed, and he quickly ran up on stage to treat us all to an unprecedented 3-song-set!

With a tear in my eye, and just a bit of preliminary vomit in my throat, I watched transfixed as Monster gave us one for the ages. The breathtaking trainwreck included the Gambler, Southern Cross and quite possibly the most dreadful rendition of Country Roads in human history. Bravo, buddy. That was truly some funny shit.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Show Me All Of The Blueprints!


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: If you had a free password to an online service, which would it be?

One that combined stock-trading, music downloads, debt-consolidation and fantasy cartoon Star Wars porn. Leia wasn’t chained to Jabba to keep her from escaping. She was into that sort of shit.

Soup: Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).

Do smears count? It’s a tiny North End bathroom. Tub, sink, towel-rack. Purple crayon mark on one of the walls because Jim Fitzgerald thought that might be amusing one New Year’s Eve several years ago. And, get this, a toilet-brush! Feel free to come on by and check it out. Just follow your nose.

Salad: What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?

That other Mel Brooks Nazi pardody movie where all the gays had to wear pink triangles like the jews used to have to wear identifiers in WWII. Hitler: All I want is peace. Peace! Peace! [singing] A little piece of Poland, a little piece of France…

Main Course: Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.

Being born North American. Being born rich. Being born without any sort of physical deformity. One out of three ain’t bad.

Dessert: What was the last really great movie you watched?

I’ve been on a tear lately. All great films. Hotel Rwanda made me realize that machetes are an excellent way to hack someone to death. The Aviator teaches us that in addition to being hilarious, obsessive compulsive disorders can help you amass huge financial fortunes. The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou – Bill Murray in a Speedo. ‘Nuff said.

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I Spit On Your Guestbook.


in Pye in the Face

Guestbooks were one of the first interactive website features and date back to the very early nineties. Heck, I even have an old one myself. But who needs a guestbook when you can have a guestmap? That’s right, folks. I’ve added a guestmap link in the new list at the very top of each page. Please have a look and then join the global party yourself.

So plant your pin, write your silly little greeting and join the www.davepye.com international community. You can select your icon, flag and then leave a message that pops up on the map when someone moves their mouse over you. It’s so nutty, I’m nauseous.

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Now Go Home And Get Your Fucking Shinebox.


in Movies

I have officially attained bloggish success. I rank #6 in Google for the phrase “billy batts shinebox”. I know this because I can see where my visitors come from, what search engine they used and what keyword phrase brought them here. I also aspire to sleep with a woman again someday despite my abhorrent nerdery.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I can die now.

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Any Which Way But Moore.


in Movies

Eastwood’s best gunslinging days are far behind him. Responsible for more on-screen deaths than Charlie Bronson, nowadays he’s content to kick ass behind the camera. But Clint had that old glint this week at an awards dinner where he addressed Michael Moore during an acceptance speech.

“… Michael, if you ever show up at my front door with a camera – I’ll kill you. I mean it.”

I don’t think you want to mess with the dude who played both Dirty Harry and The Man With No Name. If Moore still really wants to work with Clint in some capacity, might I suggest a remake of Every Which Way But Loose? Not for the title role – that would obviously go to Johnny Knoxville. I’m thinking of Mike because they’ll need a replacement for Clyde the fat hairy orangutan. Alternately he should be talking to the Beethoven people.

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Mark Steyn Is The Man.


in

As one of the only living and admittedly conservative Canadians, I feel some solace in now knowing that there is indeed at least one other. Actually, I’ve been reading his stuff for a year now via the Chicago Sun Times – but this is the first time I’ve felt a powerful urge to quote him:

“As for the most striking photograph of this disaster, it’s by AFP’s Jimin Lai. I haven’t seen it in any of the papers, oddly enough. It shows a tsunami-devastated village in Galle on the southwestern coast of Sri Lanka: a couple of rescuers are carrying away a body while, behind them, smack dab in the centre of the picture, a young man looks on. He’s wearing an Osama bin Laden T-shirt.

I gave up worrying “Why do they hate us?” on the evening of September 11, 2001. But, if I were that Osodden bin Loser guy watching the infidels truck in water, food, medical supplies and emergency clothing for villagers whose jihad-chic T-shirt collection was washed out to sea, I might ask myself a more pertinent question: “Why do they like us?”

New Year’s Eve I got in a fight with some chick regarding the USA’s lack of tsunami relief. I think the first reported number was 35 million. She went on and on about how she was ashamed of Bush, etc. I asked her where she’d gotten that figure, and when. “CNN,” she replied. “A few days ago.” I then asked her if she knew that the official death toll had since quadroupled -and that the USA had ponied up another 100 million (which has, in the last 2 weeks, risen again into the neighborhood of 375 million). She had no idea. And by then I was so utterly sick of talking to her that I abandoned any hope of a dry handjob in the SideBar‘s bathroom. That particular night, anyway.

I might ask myself a more pertinent question: “Why are my political views skewed the way they are?” But I already know the answer – In between handjobs, I read the news.

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The ‘david.pye.com’ Memorial And Other Changes.


in Pye in the Face

Over 5 years ago I started my first website – david.pye.com – and it grew into a silly little exercise that became quite popular amongst my friends. When I switched to the blog format, and changed my domain name, many of you were upset – having grown used to the larger galleries, the accompanying jokes and many other silly components. I was flattered yet torn, having decided the new format was really the way I wanted to go.

But as I’ve built out the new davepye.com, and ripped-off a lot of other people’s sites in the process, I’ve come to realize that a blog doesn’t have to conform to any convention over and above just exactly what I want. And there’s no reason I can’t work some of the former elements back into the new version of my own personal web shrine to… me.

You’ll notice a new series of links underneath the dot graphics of my face at the very top of each page. There’s now a link to an archived version of david.pye.com that will remain there for all time! The ‘gallery‘ button links to the old gallery pages (if you’re a new reader check them out – funny stuff) for the time being but will eventually become a new gallery much in the style of what I was doing before – with each photo having a funny caption, etc. I’ll figure out what else I’m gonna add in the months to come and for now there’ll just be placeholders.

As of this very afternoon, my old URL and email address are DEAD. Please update your favorites and address books. It’s all about www.davepye.com from here on in. I love doing this and am going to keep developing it into the most kickassiest of blogs, EVAH – I hope you stay tuned.

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Christmastime in Torontooo II: Citizen Candy Cane


in Heartwarming

So – like I said before, eh? – we’re hanging out at the friggin’ Apartment 58 nightclub right over Frank & Stein’s in Guelph and Gooch disappears into the bathroom. Which he’s been known to do. Holy fuck. Anyways, Gooch comes out of the bathroom like friggin’ 9-O and starts talkin abooot some new fangled christmas drink or something. So he goes “lemme through to the bar, eh?” and we stand back while he orders 7 kife Candy Cane Martinis. Fuck right off, eh? And… scene.

After I drank the thing and resisted the strange urge I suddenly had to slap a cock against my forehead, we all agreed that they were quite tasty. And you thought you had to be German, homeless or both to enjoy the mentholated madness of peppermint schnapps.

That’s it. That’s the story. I thought these photos which Art sent me today were funny and needed an excuse to fire them up. Not all my tales will be winners, folks. Possibly even somewhere less than half. But I keep them coming, and nobody’s got a gun to your head.

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How Do You Tell… If You’re Aging Well?


in Reminiscent

I was watching Reno 911 last night (now that Tough Crowd With Colin Quinn has gone the way of the Do-Do, things are tres bleak on Comedy Central) and I heard the line “white women don’t age well”. And it got me to thinking. What about white men? What about me and JJV? Can I get away with an article like this in Massachusetts, or will people start drawing comparisons between me and Josef Mengele? Anyway, I was looking for an excuse to use the photo you see below, which was taken in October 2004 – and was suddenly reminded of a very similar picture taken all the way back in 1999. Hence the painful carbon-dating which is about to commence. And subtle racism.

I think we’ve done extremely well. Herb wins for overall youth retention. Although I’m not entirely sure the shaved head of recent years is meant entirely for law-enforcement intimidation purposes. JJV wins hands down in the hairline category, as I’m having a few issues in that department, but has admitted to me recently that he’s like 240. Is it in bad taste to discuss a friend’s weight in public? Oh without a doubt. But he had it coming.

I’ll have to give myself top marks for keeping the weight down, and my recent health kick of the past year has really paid off (or let’s face it – I wouldn’t have written this). So all-in-all we’re not doing too badly. Come see us in another 5 years, when Herb is a stunt double for Al Roker, JJV pulls a ‘Brando‘ and I develop an intimate relationship with Sy Sperling.

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Revel In My PS Prowess: Sebby Reproduces.


in

Sebby owns one of my favorite haunts, the SideBar on Bromfield St. in Boston’s Downtown Crossing, and he recently celebrated the birth of his daughter – Molly. Now, I very much enjoy busting Sebby’s chops so I decided to whip up a little Photoshop on the subject. And he fucking hated it:

I printed it out about 3 months ago on a color printer at work and brought it down on a Friday night. Sebby was working behind the bar and I slowly started passing the photo around to the regulars who began dying with laughter. “What the fuck is so goddamn funny you jerks?” he demanded repeatedly. I waited until he was distracted and then hung it on the wall near the cash register while we all continued to snicker. After about 10 minutes he finally noticed it, shot me a dirty look and then tore it down.

I figured the photo had served its purpose so I didn’t take Sebby’s rejection too personally. But when I went down to the SideBar a week later – he asked me to print him out another one! You can see it, now laminated, hanging on the wall behind the bar on the right hand side of the building. Better a late-good-sport than never.

P.S. – Are we still resurrecting wing night? The plan lost steam over the holidays. I may stop in for a lovely plate full of delicious deep-fried dead poultry slathered in vinegary hot-sauce as soon as tomorrow night. The backlash of living with a vegan.

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