The Price is Wrong, Bitch!

Ok, now that I’m retired from the music game, I have some free time to immerse myself in the iTunes app store. If you have an iPhone or iPod Touch then this post may be of interest to you. If you don’t, then maybe it’s time for you to put down your outdated piece of shit phone, grow a pair and head on out to the Apple store to get hooked up.

Here is a list of my top 10 apps. Keep in mind that I am not a full fledged app geek, and I’m sure there are a ton of great apps that are not listed here. Please feel free to leave a comment with your favorites.

I am omitting the obvious stuff like Google and Facebook and trying to dig just a smidge deeper into the catalog. Did I really just say smidge? Am I a 50 year old housewife who got her own cooking show? “Bake at 425 and then add a smidge of cinnamon to top it off”. Shoot me now!

10. FML (Fuck My Life) – I like this app when I need a little pick me up during the day. Here is one of my favorites: “I was messing around with my boyfriend who was ignoring me and I said to him ‘you could at least pretend to love me’ and he replied ‘I pretend to love you all the time’ -FML”

9. The Price is Right – This app has everything except the fat fucks with the retarded homemade t-shirts sloppily rolling down the aisle to contestant row. You get to “come on down”, play some classic games like Plinko, spin the big wheel and rock the showcase showdown. What more do you want for the sale price of $.99. Just don’t bid a dollar for this one or you’ll get the dreaded “ehh-ehh-ehh, sorry you’ve all over bid”.

8. Toobz – Even though I often have a large exposed crack, I am not an actual plumber. In this puzzle game, you connect various shaped pipes to try and get the water off of the grid. Just like in real life, don’t lay your pipe the wrong way or things could get drippy.

7. Lyrics+ - This is a new one for me, but it shows the lyrics to the songs you play from your music library. This is a great app for settling disputes over misheard lyrics. “Did he just say ‘tip them in the bacon cut?” “Uh, no he said “tip ‘em and they make a cut”. Good, cuz a dollar bill jammed into your bacon cut might pinch a little.

6. Stone Loops! - I have to admit I was skeptical of this one at first. It sounded, for lack of a better phrase, really fucking gay, but once I played it, I was in the game. It has the old Space Invaders game concept of destroying all of them before they destroy you. If you have a nice long drive or flight coming up, this one will kill the time like a bullet to Morris Day's temple!

5. Flight Control – I always thought that I had the personality to be a air traffic controller, but it’s obvious after playing this game that I’ve killed way too many brain cells to be in that profession. This game makes you land various aircraft of different sizes and speeds onto the appropriate areas of the screen. Just like learning a foreign language, it seems easy at first but after a few minutes you are fucked.

4. iheartradio – I’ve lived in various parts of the country over the years, and in each city I’ve found at least one radio station that wasn’t total dog shit. This app lets you listen to radio stations from different cities. It really takes me back in time to when I was a poor Mexican child listening to La Bomba while picking oranges in East L.A.

3. Wurdle – Change the settings to 6x6 and make the shortest word 4 letters and you are ready to rock this Boggle rip off. My grandmother just turned 169 and she stays sharp by doing crossword puzzles. Well, that and masturbating twice a day, but hey who doesn’t do that right? I use this game instead of doing crossword puzzles to focus the mind, and make myself feel smart while making the wife feel dumb.

2. Paper Toss – This is yet another app that my brother turned me onto. If Wurdle sharpens your mind like a number two pencil, then this will break the point off and make you dumber than Daisy from VH1. This game is addictive like huffing paint, and it kills about as many brain cells, but you find yourself coming back to it over and over again. You flick a wadded up paper ball into a waste basket while adjusting for wind that comes from a fan. Like my daughter says while quoting Yo! Gabba, Gabba “Try it you’ll like it!”

1. Shazam – This is the fucking rock star of the app store. You click it, hold your phone up to any music that is playing and it gives you the artist, album, lyrics and lets you buy it immediately. I was on the shitter the other day and a commercial came on with a tune that I liked and I had the song on my iPhone before I flushed. That my friends, is what you call a cock strong, game changing app, and get this, it’s free.

So there you have it my top 10 apps. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to pass on this showcase showdown and pray for a new car and a Broyhill Dinette set in the next one.

Time to Move On

It’s official, my career as the music guru is officially over. Last week on a message board I was called out to suggest some new music and for the first time since I was 16, I had nothing to say. I’ve only been to two concerts so far this year, and they were both company sponsored events with bands that I had little to no interest in seeing. I listen to talk radio more than my iPod these days, and when I do play the iPod it’s more “Chicken Dance” and “Itsy Bitsy Spider” than it is “For Those About to Rock We Salute You” and “Mama Kin”. Like Bret Favre, I still want to play, but the time has come to hang it up.

Gone are the days when I’d look forward to new releases like Kate Moss looks forward to her next coke score. Gone are the days when I’d sleep out in the snow at the local mall for concert tickets, waiting for the music store geek to let us in so that I could crash next to the Orange Julius until the tickets went on sale. Gone are the days when I’d spend hours on a Saturday afternoon at the used CD store rummaging through the plethora of Ace of Base and Hootie and the Blowfish discs looking for that elusive Doors import that you couldn’t buy in the US. Gone are the days seeing up and coming bands in old asbestos infested warehouses crammed together with the other 50 who were “in the know”. Gone are the days hanging backstage drinking beers with the band and mingling with the music industry folks. Gone are the days writing reviews for music sites, and pretending that my opinion meant something.

I had a good run. I’ve seen hundreds of great shows and I have enough music to last me a lifetime. I used to manage a record store and I had this guy working for me who was ten times the music lover I will ever be and he would always say with that kid on Christmas morning look in his eye “Dude, you have to listen to this album it will take you to worlds”, and he was usually right.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to put on my headphones, crank up the Tom Petty and re-organize my concert ticket stubs. After all I’m not dead, just retired.

“It's time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It's time to move on, it's time to get going”

Wake up Maggie

Warning, this will be a Daddy post for all of you non-breeders.

The other morning Maggie discovered the differences between boys and girls. I was trying to sneak into the guest bedroom when I heard “Daddy I’m Awake!” So I went into her room, sans clothes, and she immediately points at my junk and goes ‘What’s that Daddy?”. I said “Honey this is a giant cock”, well that’s what I thought, what I actually said was “That’s a penis”. She then paused for a brief second grabbed her crotch and said, “Daddy, I don’t have a penis”. Which was pretty impressive, considering she had her pajamas on which blocked her visual. Using the famous Kindergarten Cop quote I went on to explain that boys have penises and girls have vaginas.

Then we had to go through the entire family trying to figure out which were boys and which were girls. It’s 6:45 AM on a Tuesday morning and I’m naked talking to a two year old about everyone’s genitalia. “Yes honey, Uncle Bruce has a penis, except when he orders the ‘light and fancy’ at the Virginia Kitchen” “No sweetie, even though Aunt Jen excels at sports and could probably pin a small bear in a wrestling match, she does not have a penis that I know of.” Finally, I just broke into her favorite song, Oh Canada, she lost her train of thought and I was able to slip into the shower.

With the penis confrontation behind me, it appears that another battle is brewing at my house between my OCD and my daughters. I thought it was cute when she needed to touch pictures on her way out of school, and it was cool that she and her Mommy had a morning routine, where she has to do things a certain way, but now her OCD has conflicted with mine and it is on like Donkey Kong.

As you may know from a previous post, the lamp post in our front yard has a rod through it and I need it to be centered, after all I am a Libra. Well, my little miss sunshine gets out of the car the other day and yells “Daddy stick”. So I take her over to the lamp post and she pushes it all to one side. We start towards the house and I reach back and push it to the center. “Daddy NOOOO!” She then pushes it all the way to one side again. I give in and leave it be, knowing full well that it will bug the shit out of me until she goes to bed. The next day we get home and the same thing happens. I’ve decided to keep the peace for now, but if she starts turning over the change in my car from heads to tails, then she better be wearing comfortable shoes for her walk home.

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to prepare for the closing ceremonies of my week long tribute to the man with one glove who liked to grab crotches. No, not Michael Jackson, I’m talking about my hernia doctor. Turn your head, cough, and then give me a hee-hee-oooh!

The Bang Blended in with the Day

Fourth of July means only one thing for the Crawford clan, a week of alcohol and mayhem at my Uncle’s house in Pittsburgh. We had representatives from nine states come together in an effort to kill brain cells, get fat on crazy delicious eats and catch up on the latest family gossip. There was also a lot of rough housing going down. I was throwing half naked kids around the pool so often that I expected Chris Hanson to sit me down at any minute.

During our visit, my uncle Vince introduced my brother and me to this little beer joint that was an oasis in the desert of jean shorts and mustachioed men who love their Iron City. From the outside it looked like a little hole in the wall until you walked inside and realized that the micro-brew gods had smiled upon Natrona Heights, PA. Here’s the deal, you grab any beer from the cooler and for $2.50 you can sit at this little bar in the back and imbibe. They track all of the beers you consume and after you drink 25 unique beers you get your name posted. My Uncle said that getting his name on the wall was more rewarding than earning his PHD.

As we headed out of the store I saw a random box of lighters and after picking through a few I saw the Holy Grail. A Daisy Duke/Dukes of Hazzard Zippo lighter. Katherine Bach may not have aged well in real life, but her redneck “come pound me in the back of a car while listing to the Charlie Daniels Band” look from the 80’s was preserved forever on the cover of my new two dollar lighter. SCORE!

Now that I had my lighter it was time to find something to catch on fire. Pack it up boys, it’s off to the liquor store and the fireworks stand. Per my redneck handbook you must always visit the liquor store first, so that your liquor and your explosives are in the proper ratio. On the back of the fireworks box it said, light a fuse, take a shot, count your fingers, repeat. Words to live by my friend. The grand finale of our hillbilly fireworks display ended with me soaking the front row of viewers by doing a cannon ball into the pool ala Shamu. The only way it could have been better is if someone tasered me as I got out of the pool.

Finally, I’ll leave you with an EZ Cheez fail that I realized over the weekend. On the back of the can, it says “For best results, first remove cap.” Absolutely, fucking priceless. I’m not sure what was more sad the fact that they had to print that on the can or the fact that I was eating EZ Cheez and reading the directions.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to open up an ice cold Tommyknocker Maple Nut and fire up the Daisy Duke a few hundred times.

The Old Man is Down the Road

Holy shit what a weekend!

Friday:
The Pens went dancing with Lord Stanley. I watched game seven with the wife alone in our basement to avoid all distractions. I’m not sure how many of you watched it, but in the opening sequence they had members of the NBC crew give their versions of the pre-game speeches in the team’s locker rooms. I’m pretty sure if I had been watching the game with Richard Simmons he would have turned to me and said “Wow, this is really fucking gay” and I would have nodded and said “It sure is. Now pass me my next Deal-a-Meal card bitch, and it better say nachos on it.”

NBC’s awful coverage aside, the game delivered three hours of gut-wrenching drama. I paced, I screamed, I pounded on doors, I prayed to the hockey gods, I lost my mind when Talbot lit the lamp twice and I added yet another layer of disgusting sweat to a jersey that hasn’t been washed since mid-February. Finally, when Crosby lifted the cup I sunk back into my couch and basked in the afterglow, like I just banged a super model.

Saturday:
If you stop by here often enough then you know about my previous TV purchase debacle. Well Saturday morning rolls around and we stroll into Costco for margarita mix, soft pretzels and EZ-Mac, then we leave with a 32” TV for our bedroom.

They don’t have any salespeople at Costco, but they up-sell me every time I go in there. I go in for steaks and come out with a couch. I go in for milk and come out with a Wii. I go in for wine and come out with a monkey that teaches you a foreign language. How does this shit happen? It’s like they brainwash you and by the time you get home it’s too late. You end up just saying fuck it and keeping everything. Because of Costco I find myself saying stupid shit like: “Honey, I need to pick up some day laborers to help move this couch have you seen the goddamn bilingual monkey?”

Sunday:
The day started innocently enough, we went to the grocery store, picked up some lunch and then I sent one little text message to the family “Margaritas and cornhole anyone?” and it was on. In a matter of minutes I had a cold drink in one hand a cornhole bag in the other. After a few games, and a few drinks, the competition escalated into a two-on-two game of whiffle ball. Now, its 85 degrees, we’re playing on blacktop, I’ve had a bunch of sugar and alcohol and I haven’t exercised regularly since Clinton was President. In other words it was the perfect storm for a hospital visit.

My first at bat, I step up to the plate in flip-flops and when I swung my foot rolled over and I jacked up my big toe. It turned bright red and had a nice pool of blood forming under the nail. I called time-out and borrowed some shoes. Being competitive males, we ended up playing a full six inning game. I’m pretty sure that Helen Keller’s Easter egg hunts took less time to complete than this stupid game. In fact I think the girls went inside and watched every single episode of ER and then came back out and we were still in the fourth inning.

We finally called it a day and I rolled inside looking like a black man coming from an Alabama Klan rally. I was sweating, I felt nauseous, there were blisters all over my feet, my big toe was fucked up and I’m pretty sure I was within inches of a heat stroke. I pounded some water and then grabbed a shower that was so cold my junk looked like a stack of dimes. (My brother-in-laws description not mine. I mean his description of his own cold shower experience not of my junk you sick bastards)

We ended up winning the whiffle ball game and all but one round of cornhole on the day. So, let’s all raise a glass to all of the old men who can still bring the heat, even if it means they end up feeling like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler. If we keep up this weekend routine I may need to start juicing.

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go out and get some Ben Gay, a Penguins Stanley Cup shirt and a banana for that damn monkey.