Random crap.

WHO’S NEWS
I worked on Who’s News a little bit yesterday, but couldn’t make it funny. At least not yet. Someone actually wrote a letter to USA Weekend inquiring about Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie, so my numerous attempts at an answer invariably ended with the violent death of the letter-writer.

ASHLEE SHITSON
Is everyone all set to hand your hard-earned money to Ashlee Simpson on Tuesday? She has a new album coming out, you know. Oh, and she was recently afforded the opportunity to redeem herself with another appearance on Saturday Night Live, this time actually singing rather than lip-syncing.

It’s sad, really. Ashlee Simpson is what, 20 years old, and already sits atop a pile of money that will last her ‘til the end of her days. She is a celebrity intentionally created and molded by faceless individuals in a board room. Her job is to shake her tits and ass and sing computer-generated bubblegum horseshit written by people who know the psychology of pop music. Simpson’s awful vocals are rendered passable with technology, and teenaged girls across America will flock to record stores tomorrow in order to shell out $15 for her latest, immediately-forgettable release.

Meanwhile, real bands comprised of real musicians playing real instruments still struggle to survive. They play dive bars in the middle of Iowa to a bunch of unappreciative farmers, they get bent over by record companies making impossible demands but offering no support, and they eventually leave the music business utterly jaded and crushed, donning ties and obtaining “real” jobs, getting married and having children, giving the children an allowance, with which the brats have the audacity to purchase the latest turd popped out by Ashlee Simpson and her corporate masters.

Do yourself and your family a favor. If you have a youngun tugging at your coattails begging you to take her to Sam Goody so she can purchase Ashlee Simpson’s album, sit them down and explain the facts of life. “When a record company and an overbearing stage parent meet and experience a connection, they get together in a board room and sign a contract. Then, several months later, they squeeze out a being devoid of all conscience and talent, created in a sterile marketing department for the sole purpose of earning millions of dollars for everyone in on the cruel joke.”

Then buy your kid an album with some fucking guitars on it, for crying out loud.

MOON
Did anyone catch the partial eclipse of the moon this morning? I have a 30-minute commute straight west, and observed this phenomenon, and it was simply incredible. The moon was the size of a quarter on the horizon, the craters clearly visible to the naked eye. A portion of the specter was blotted out by the Earth’s shadow, and I was of course struck by the fact that while the Universe continues it’s impossibly complicate dance, me and millions of other people were on our way to shuffle very important papers all day.

OUTSIDE THE BOX
Perhaps I’ll have more of consequence to add later. In the meantime, I want to direct your attention to the Outside the Box I’ve linked to. I know little if anything about the author, all I know is I wish they would post more. She’s very introspective and not afraid to take on weighty subjects. Her recent post on “Never Debate Evolution” was just a delight to read.