Hi. I hope you still read this.

2013

So. 2013. You certainly happened, didn't you?

Calmedy Part Whatever (A Comic's Lament)

Calmedy Part Whatever (A Comic's Lament)

 

What do you do when you tell a joke? I'm not talking about a joke that your Uncle Bob told you at cousin Katie's wedding over the weekend and you're filtering through your own unique perspective Monday morning to your captive coworker audience. I mean a joke that you came up with from scratch. It developed, was nurtured, hatched and successfully born entirely in your cranium. Did you rewrite the set up? The punchline? How many times each? Did you obsess over the wording and placement of certain wordings? Did you entirely over think everything about the joke to the point where it wasn't even a joke to you anymore? It just became a collection of words that, if you didn't fail miserably, might elicit an approving grin from 1/10 people you tell it to. That is, if you summon the courage necessary to tell it in the first place.

 

No? Ok then.

The Ram and the Wall

Preface: I haven't done this in a while. Well, I mean, I've written things. Like my name and stuff. But as far as cohesive streams of thought, I've been limited to one or two line jokes about jerking off on deer (sorry). So this will probably be kinda disjointed. Pretty sure I used that word wrong. Wrongly? In a wrongish fashion. Wrongedly. Also, I realize how absurdly pompous it is to write a preface to a fucking blog post.

 

Some stuff has happened. My mom died last month. I'm going to write about that. My brain has felt constipated with thoughts and ideas for longer than I care to admit. So this is my enema. You'll want to stand down wind. Or up wind. Whichever.

Calmedy (part 2) (no Gary Glitter)

What up. Since I last wrote about calmedying, some stuff done happened. I was in a calmedy competition. That was cool. So, I gots some thoughts about things. That's what this is gonna be.

Album Review: Mike Eagle - 4NML HSPTL

Way back when, in the infancy of my flooding the webbernetz with my very important opinions, I had a (non-paying) gig writing album reviews for a hip hop website. One such album I reviewed was by none other than Master P's little brother, p/k/a C-Murder. It wasn't my choice. Not that I didn't like No Limit. But C-Murder was to No Limit as, say, Scott Norton was to nWo Hollywood. Yeah, technically on the roster, but...c'mon. So I did what any too smart for his own good 17 year old would do. I wrote an incredibly mocking, scathing review. I think that was the last review I wrote for that site. What does the No Limit B-squad have to do with Mike Eagle's new 4NML HSPTL? Read on...

calmedy

Hello. Been a while. I'm writing this at 4:50am on a Monday. Not sure I'll even publish this. If you don't believe me, I have about 20 other posts written in a similar time and place that will likely never see the light of day. Some of them are actuall quite good, too. Anyways, this is just gonna be a lil refresher course to bring yall (and myself) up to speed on what's been going on the last few months.

My Breakfast With Sylis: Reviewing Andy's Diner

Here's a fun lil' fact about me: I love diners. No. You don't understand. I. LOVE. DINERS. I don't know if it's the night owl hours they keep, the readily available breakfast at any time of the day or the general air of sexual permissiveness they support. At any rate, my priorities are God, country, diners, etc... (don't worry, family is pretty high up on my "etc..."). There is nothing like a good diner. A place where you can kick back after a night of whiskey and bad decisions, get some pork roll and maybe break down a bathroom door or two. Conversely, there's nothing as bad as a bad diner.

And so, it is with a heavy heart I present my review of Andy's Diner.

The Stuart Pankin Drinking Game

Ed. note: We at Required Reading do not endorse/condone/advocate binge drinking in any shape or form. Even if it is in honor of a character actor whose heyday was the late 80s-mid 90s.

I can hear you now. "Who the hell is Stuart Pankin?" Well, who the hell are you? Seriously. Did you play Michael Douglas' buddy in Fatal Attraction? How many installments of the Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century trilogy did you appear in? Cause Stuart Pankin was in all three. Yes, that includes Zenon: The Zequel, bitch! Oh, and was that you flexing that raw acting prowess in a little film called Honey, We Shrunk Ourselves, alongside none other than some Ukrainian ex-pat actress by the name of Mila Kunis?

Now that we've established just who the F Stuart Pankin is, let's get to the drankin'!

syPod shUfflin'

Ed. Note: This is a new feature, which I'm blatantly ripping off of The Onion's AV Club. For more information on how you can help your local The Onion's AV Club, please visit www.avclub.com

As alluded to in the above note, this here is a fancy new feature. The premise is simple. I fire up the old syPod (my vain pet name for my iPod, being as my name is Sy..and..well, I've already spent too much time explaining this)....anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes. The point of this post. So yeah, I put the old syPod on shuffle, and the first 5 songs that play get highlighted in this very prestigious space.

I'll drop random factoids, personal anecdotes relating to the songs, and maybe even shoot some t-shirts into the crowd. Cause who the hell doesn't love a free t-shirt? A caveat: my collection of songs is kind of ridiculous. Not ridiculous in the "wow, there's a lot of songs here!" sense. Rather, ridiculous in the "my God, why would anyone admit to having that song on their iPod?" vein. (Note to self: two points for two separate and correct uses of vain/vein in consecutive paragraphs!) I hope this venture is as informative for you as it is embarrassing for me. On we go!

Song: Mrs. Robinson

Artist: Simon and Garfunkel

Released: April 1968

Ah, a fine song to start with! It's not my favorite Paul and Arty tune, but that's mostly due to its ubiquitous use in just about everything ever. As a stand alone song, it's quite nice. Its prominence through the film The Graduate has lent it a tone of bawdiness that, in my opinion, betrays its themes of hope, despair, and, ultimately, the foretelling of the celebrity worship that would continue to this very day ("Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?/A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.") It's light on production, with simple, yet memorable lyrics that make it easily digestible. This makes it one of the best examples of a pure pop song I can think of. 

Song: Rabbit Run

Artist: Eminem

Released: October 2002

Maybe I should credit this song to Eminem's 8 Mile character, Jimmy Smith, as it's rapped from his point-of-view. As we now know, this movie spawned the monster hit Lose Yourself. But I say this song, as much as any other on the soundtrack, exemplifies what Mr. Mathers was trying to get across in the film. The hunger, the anxiety, the sense that the clock is moving faster than your pen can write. In some way, we all can relate. It's that feeling that as much as you're doing, you're not doing enough. Eminem's rhymes are in a foot race with the beat, and an impending sense of failure is hot on his heels. If I had to point out to a current Eminem fan why I've been disappointed with the majority of his output over the last decade, this song would be exhibit A. The pitfall of having his talent is that he can be "good enough" and get by, but I like to think he knows that when he gets down to business, he's as good, if not better than anyone.

Song: Heaven

Artist: Last Emperor

Released: 2003

Ah, yes. The Last Emp. From West Philadelphia, born and raised. A cult favorite of the indie backpacker movement of the late 90s/early 00s, he was signed for a minute to Dr. Dre's Aftermath label. Accordingly, his album never saw the light of day. This is one of his signature songs. Sampling the main theme from the Otto Preminger film Exodus, Emp waxes on what he expects to see when his run here is done. If nothing else, it provides food for thought and some truly beautiful music to listen to. So fresh. So fly.

Song: Sussudio

Artist: Ol' Dirty Bastard

Released: 2001

Oh, you have no idea how happy I am this song popped up. Few people know of it, and even fewer know WHY it exists. If I recall correctly, there was a Phil Collins tribute album by the R&B/hip-hop community. And why not? Phil is funky. I don't remember any of the other covers except this one. And really, what else do you need when you have Ason Unique paying homage to the Genesis gawd? Just...just listen to it. It's incredible.

Song: The F Word (RJD2 Remix)

Artist: Cannibal Ox/RJD2

Release: 2001

Man, this is a gem. Cannibal Ox (Vast Aire and Vordul Mega) released a critically acclaimed album in 2001 called The Cold Vein. It put fledgling indie hip-hop label Definitive Jux on the map. Honestly, I don't even remember how the original version of this song sounds. RJD2 did such a great job with capturing the emotions of Vast Aire's unrequited angst. Its structure is kind of peculiar for a rap song by a duo. Vast handles all the verses while Vordul doesn't so much provide a hook as he does a mantra wedged in between Vast's therapy sessions. RJ uses driving guitars and fading drums at exactly the right moments to create an instant classic for anyone who's spent time in the friend zone.

Well, that's the first installment. I noticed it's heavy on hip-hop. I listen to a lot of stuff. Just so happened to be hip-hop that popped up on the first 5 plays this time. I'm sure with each edition the genres will vary in reflection of my eclectic listening habits.

Peace

Sy



90

 My grandmom is going to be 90 at the end of February. 90. That is, like, really old. But she's still very much with it. After a recent visit with her, I kinda just stopped and thought for a while about what it means to live that long.

(Warning: the self-aggrandizing thoughts of a deluded blogger lay ahead)

Your Guide To 2012

Well, hey there, kiddies! Been a while. How were your holidays? You're right, I don't care. Me? I spent New Year's Eve avoiding Chinese people as I didn't want things to get awkward at midnight. It's not really their day, is it?

You don't realize it, but I gave you all a gift this year. I didn't subject you to any of my year end lists. You're welcome. See, I'm not a dick like most people. I'm a dick like me. And I know my opinion doesn't mean shit to most of you, so I figured I'd save us all the trouble and just fore go the whole "year end" thing.

But you're not getting off Scot free. Never understood that saying, as most Scots I've met are such filthy, mangy beasts that they have no use for our material possessions anyway. Most wouldn't know how to trade or barter if their disease ridden lives depended on it. Seriously. Scottish people are just the worst. Truly awful, foul smelling human beings. If you can even call them that. But I digress.

See, I have some powers. And I've chosen to use them, typically, for evil. But in this instance, and in the spirit of giving, I've done you all a great service. See, I can travel into the future. I'm all about the element of surprise, so I don't often employ this power. But for you, dear reader, I made an exception. Now, I should note that everything is subject to change, given the whole "Free Will" thing that us humans possess. Ugh. But I'm pretty sure I nailed everything. So without further Gerard Depardieu, I present:

Sy's Handy Dandy Guide To 2012

Ridiculous(ness)

Ah, MTV. That bastion of integrity. The molder of minds. The universally accepted metric for that which is both normal and popular. I'd like to state from the jump that this is not going to be a "y dusent MTV play muzik nemore?!?" rant. There are enough of those out there, and they all suck.

This also isn't going to be a "lol Rob Dyrdek suks!" diatribe. I don't find him particularly entertaining. But that doesn't mean I think he's a bad person. This is about a giant media conglomerate willfully profiting off of a human being's death.

Occupy My Street

Allow me to preface this by saying that I try to abstain from overtly political posts. This blog is intended to be funny. Whether it succeeds or not is up for debate. I ask your indulgence on this topic, however.

Look, nobody with a rational brain thinks that corporate America are angels. But this is the worst possible representation of the opposition.

As I watch these protests, what I mostly see is young white people. And the people that I personally know who support this are young white people. Most with college education. The same people who, without the system they're railing against in place, would not have that precious college education.

Take A Look At My (Cloud) Girlfriend

We here at Required Reading are not in the business of advertising. If that were the case, I'd advise you to click that pretty little banner you see above. I'd tell you how easy it is to click that banner, and how I'd get a small bit of money each time you clicked it. I might even point out how much effort each of these seemingly effortless posts take. And how I embark on this Herculean task for you, my dear reader. And that to click on a banner really isn't asking all that much, is it? SO JUST CLICK ON THE GODDAMN BANNER!

Sorry. There was a point when I started writing this. Oh yeah, I remember now.

Are you a single fella? Looking for that special someone? Nightlife not your scene? Don't auto-erotically asphyxiate yourself just yet, Johnny! The answer lies over yonder jump!

Fan Mail

Man, I loved this whole thing from start to finish. Your writing style is amazing. I've dealt with bullies & nasty racism for 12 years. The emotional pain was excruciating & I don't think I'll ever recover. However, the side effect was a blessing. I too developed a broad sense of humor & was a counselor & campus ministry leader in high school. I held positions that required confidence. The only thing was I never had confidence, I only faked it. I cant assert myself verbally or stand up for what I think is right. That's why I admire who you are & the character you molded yourself to be. I'm glad to know there's someone I can relate to. Never change yourself for anyone & never stop being a cynical ass hole.

That's a comment from my I'm A Cynical Asshole post. To be honest, that's one of my least favorite posts. It's not funny, it's not clever and it's way too honest for my liking. I wrote it at a time when I was hurt. And being hurt oft leads to overly emotional outbursts. Having distanced myself from the piece, I think I somehow managed to avoid that. But the responses it evoked, both in the comments section and in real life (you know, like, outside of the internet) are something I could never have expected. The above selection in particular touched me. To think that there is someone who would read the silly little words I type, and that they take something positive out of it, something that might make their life just the slightest bit better...it's too much for me to fathom. 

I don't know the person who made that comment. And I'd prefer not to. Selfishly, it's better to help a complete stranger than a friend. Or maybe it's easier for me to deal with the complex problems of someone who's not so intertwined with my daily life. Trust, I have plenty problems that I avoid answering. I'm sure most of you can relate. Physician heal thyself and all that. 

I recently had the honor to eulogize a friend of mine's grandfather. Frankly, the family felt that they couldn't do it. They would be far too emotional. And there were others considered before me. They, too, felt as if they wouldn't be up to the task. When asked, I immediately accepted. You know that saying "anything I can do to help?" Well, that was what I could do to help, and I knew it. See, I was detached enough to be clear, while still being close enough to bring a human element to it. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. To summarize an incredible life in a concise 5 minutes in front of their grieving loved ones. A Herculean task if ever I'd been charged with one.

           It's funny though. I wrote in a purposely upbeat manner. I deliberately avoided certain words and phrases. I'm seldom ever pleased with my first draft. That goes for blogs to papers to music reviews. But this one...this one I knew I got right on the first try. I read it from start to finish exactly one time. The morning of the funeral, I was blindsided with the task of reciting a poem that someone didn't feel up to reading. Ok. I'm a pro. I read it over a few times, making sure of my inflections. I was nervous about being seen as a hog, taking up too much time. I actually tried to get someone else to read it. Then I was informed that I was the sole speaker. In other words, if I didn't do it, it wouldn't get done. 

I read the poem. I damn near lost it on the first line. Some pro. Then I beseeched the room for its indulgence as I read my own thoughts. I blacked out at this point. The only things I remember are my legs shaking uncontrollably and my friend's uncle loudly chiming in with each anecdote I relayed. I'm told everyone clapped for me at the end. I have to take their word for it, because I don't remember that.

Why do I tell you this? Because several people came up to me afterwards and told me how surprised they were by my eulogy. How eloquent and poignant I was. How they didn't know I had that in me. How skeptical they were of me doing the eulogy.

I tell you this story to say this: You can change people's perception of you. It doesn't matter what it is. Chances are what people see you as is not what is inside of you. YOU determine your perception. It's entirely in your hands. Your story is still being written, and you have the amazing gift to craft your own ending. Do it.

On a personal note, I'd like to express my immense gratitude to a group of people who took me in as one of their own and entrusted me to send off their hero. I can never repay the faith you showed in me, but I hope my words did something to ease your pain. Someone's watching M*A*S*H reruns forever and he's happy.

What's So Funny?

When I was in grade school, one of my teachers told me I'd make either a great stand up comedian or cult leader. Thus far, I've played it down the middle, not committing wholly to either. At that age, I never understood why people told me I should be a comedian. To my young brain, the idea of standing in front of people, their eyes expectantly burning through you, waiting for words to spill out of your mouth that change their mood, it just seemed gross to me. What kind of masochist would put himself through that, I thought.

To a degree, I still feel that way. To my way of thinking, if humor is discussed, it ceases to exist in that situation. Sure, you can then turn the situation humorous by commenting on the lack of humor, but why go through all that? Having said that, I decided to write about humor. The laughs stop here. You've been warned.

Allow Me To Re-introduce Myself

My name is Sy. It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you. Every now and then, though, I just...don't....feel like writing. It's not so much writer's block as it's "writer's not giving a fuck." But, in keeping with the self-centered theme I've neatly established here in my own little corner of the webs, I believe a little re-introduction is in order. Let's, yeah?

Real Sitcoms: Perfect Strangers Part I

Ah, sitcoms. That little half-hour slice of conflict, comedy and resolution. They're as American as hot dogs and birth control. As a product of Reaganomics, with both parents working, I was more or less raised by TV. And I turned out TV. It was TV that taught me that any situation can be handled with a perfectly timed one-liner and a knowing wink to the audience. TV encouraged me to pursue whatever crazy get rich quick scheme I hatched that particular week. What harm could there be? At the very worst I'd be back where I started from, but richer for having gone through the experience and wacky mishaps.

Life, however, is a cock block of imagination. Like the fat friend that ain't getting any, it likes to interject itself where it doesn't belong. And now, the real world (no Miz) has gone back in time and rubbed its greasy, smelly paws all over our favorite TV shows.

In the first of an ongoing series, I present: Real Versions Of Sitcoms: Perfect Strangers.

IWISYDHT: Confessions Of A Superhero

There is not one American child who grew up wanting to be something other than a superhero at some point in their childhood. Most of us grew out of that fantasy when we realized how impractical codpieces were. Others carried it on, and are known as LARPers, or Live Action Role Players. LARPers are the creepy guys at the park that make the guy in the trench coat with candy seem like a good babysitter.

And still others, such as those featured in Matt Ogens' fascinating documentary Confessions of a Superhero, found a way to make money pretending to be superheroes. At least on the outside, anyway.