Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Lay your head down child, I won’t let the bogeyman come.

Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums.

A Perfect Circle, Pet

Here’s your Halloween-hating update: I had more than five hundred trick-or-treaters tonight.

No, I don’t live in fucking Tokyo, I live in a sleepy little Midwestern burg. Oh, wait, another Spider-Man is at my door. You know what, Spidey, I’ve already spent the Gross National Product of Albania on candy tonight, here, just take my last five-spot. Take it, I don’t care. Yeah, happy halloween.

Oh, fantastic, your parents are also dressed up. Wait, that’s Kansas City Chiefs tailgating gear. And wheeling around a five-month old in a funny hat, who can’t possibly eat Laffy Taffy. Yep, they’ve got a pillowcase and they’re filling it for the little cherub. Seriously, kid, that‘s what I hate most about Halloween. Nope, not trick-or-treating, not jack-o-lanterns, not the douche working at McDonalds who takes an hour to disperse correct change because he can barely see through the eyeholes of his hulk mask.

OK, Spidey, the light’s going off. Oh, crap, another pirate. Here, matey. Yes, it’s a shoe. Just take it.

Fucking halloween.

Twenty-seven, everyone was nice.
Gotta see ‘em make ‘em pay the price.
See their bodies out on the ice.
Take my time.

Am I evil? Yes I am.

DiamondHead/Metallica, Am I Evil?

You’d probably be surprised to learn of Mister Faded Glory’s distaste for Halloween. Sure, we may dabble in black magic and drugstore Satanism, but it’s all reactionary, designed to inflame losers who aren’t immediately convinced of our irreverent cool. Failing that, it’s simply a testament to our devotion to heavy metal.

But Halloween is lame. First, costumes are annoying. They’re annoying on kids, they’re way annoying on adults, and it’s an indictment of our stupid country that Halloween costumes are a billion-dollar industry. A billion-dollar industry. Seriously, moms and dads are outraged at slinky girls’ costumes, but isn’t it more outrageous that each year, bands of idiots fork over life savings just to escape failed personas?

Even now, an entire department on my floor dressed up as witches and goblins, at work, all day today. How in the world a person has the energy, much less the motivation to spend all morning in makeup to look like a fool is beyond me. (Full disclosure: I almost joined the masses and wore my Bob Sanders jersey, going as the baddest motherfucker on the planet, but I decided against it.) Work is bad enough – it’s even worse when including special-occasion camaraderie, displayed by Bonnie in shipping passing out fucking candy corn balls.

Secondly, it invades my relentless TV viewing. For two weeks leading up, we’re forced to stomach reruns of The Simpsons’ interminably tired Treehouses of Horror instead of actual shows. Also, at night don’t plan on channel surfing, unless you like watching cheap-to-air horror flicks five hundred times in a row, like Halloween H20, or the remake of Night of the Living Dead, or stupid TV shows’ special Halloween episodes. (Although Quantum Leap’s 1990 episode was awesome, when Sam tangled with the Devil in a dream.)

Finally, it’s the kids. OK, fine, it’s fun to dress up and play scared, but it’s not so fun for me, now that I live in midtown America, confronted with thousands of whiny trick-or-treaters. (Note: to commemorate this holiday, I will be wearing my new (!) Angel Pagan Cubs shirt. A joke sadly lost on these packs of rugrats.) Anyway, my idea of a good time is not tossing Kit Kats at third-graders, who promptly spout off, wishing we had Twix and then asking for a second bar.

In case you’re wondering, our house is giving away Blow Pops, not just because they’re cheap, but because of the juvenile sex undertones I get while watching Ms. Faded Glory suck on leftovers, plus I giggle each time we discuss the candy, often misconstruing the name ‘Blow Pops.’ Oh, stop judging me. I’m married, this is about as close as I usually get. Hmm. Maybe Halloween isn’t so bad.

In case you were wondering, top five worst Halloween Candies:

1. Nerds. Kids love these pure sugar monstrosities. But try getting purple dye off your tongue. Gross.
2. Almond Joy. Seriously, there’s no freaking joy in almonds. None whatsoever. Hate to break it to you.
3. Those horrendous orange and black wrapped mush balls. You know what I’m talking about. Nice treat, cheap-o. I don’t wish to use extreme hyperbole, but people who dole these out should be shot.
4. Bit-O-Honey This stuff has been getting a bad rap lately, first on Scrubs, then on ESPN’s FirstTake. It’s deserved, this stuff is poison.
5. Smarties. Gee, thanks for lacing my candy with meth, strychnine, crack, or heroin, weird guy. Much appreciated.

I know I was a man…
who worked the night shift…
I was lucky to get a job and some pay.
Now I like every minute…
of the day…

Pearl Jam, Blue Red Grey 

As you know, Alex Rodriguez, formerly (well, currently) of the New York Yankees, announced Sunday night he intended to opt out of his megadeal with the Bombers, forever scorning the Yankees, and mostly sticking New York with either no third baseman or no Texas-sized subsidy. A-Rod, or Captain Rod, as we’ve affectionately derided him in the past, is now a free agent.

And say what you will about the announcement upstaging a World Series (a Series totally worth upstaging, mind you), what’s particularly galling now is the media crescendo vilifying A-Rod, ripping baseball’s supposed best player to shreds. (I’ll except Jemele Hill, because a jarring lack of charisma in baseball’s best player as well as basketball’s best player is worth probing.) Everyone scowls at A-Rod, and as large as his ego may be, justification exists for him to (a) leave the New York circus, (b) make more money, and (c) seek another, final, long-term deal. Labels follow him, harped on by a media scorned – greedy, Prima donna, gutless, classless – talking heads each weigh in, decrying Captain Rod.

Appropriately, Deadspin – such as it is – also ripped A-Rod’s ego; chastising him for spurning the Yankees’ extension, admonishing him for interrupting the Series, and excoriating him for leaving behind a media/fan circus that’s done almost nothing but scowl at Rodriguez’ every move, even while he posted two MVP seasons. That’s fine.

Not two posts later, however, DS poked fun at Joe Girardi, new Yankees manager, for his recent entry into Zoo York and the howling Bronx fan/media circus. Girardi, apparently, is stupid to join the Yankees, while A-Rod is a selfish jerk because he decided to leave.

So which is it?

Not to pick on the inimitable blog; it simply provides a convenient example – teeth-gnashing over everything, simply par for the course for the enigmatic Rodriguez. For whatever reason, Alex Rodriguez is a pariah. A Hall-of-Fame player who can’t quite become popular. Not relatable to Joe Fan on any level, seeking desperately to be liked but always proving hopelessly unlikable. Too perfect for media scags and baseball fans in general – inspiring only petty jealousy, rage, and condescension rather than simple awe or admiration. Surely a monumental, fat contract (about to get fatter) doesn’t help, nor does his relentless agent. How did Michael Jordan pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, exactly?

Forever would A-Rod be labeled a Yankee failure, no matter the size or scope of his extension. Some would cite a downturn in playoff statistics (Then Gary Sheffield must be Public Enemy No. 1). Some point to his childish glove-slap of Bronson Arroyo in 2004. Still others cite his disturbing lack of “clutch” hits (Where were all of Derek Jeter’s clutch hits against the Indians?). Forever, including his MVP season this season, he would never be good enough. The Yankee brass let him know it, the Yankee fans let him know it, the New York media let him know it. From his perspective, how, exactly, would another fat contract correct any of this?

So he left. Choosing to bolt from the Yankees, knowing it’s best. Finally, A-Rod struck a nerve by thumbing his nose at the pinstripes that never embraced him. Maybe he hoped that his opt-out would be lost among the Red Sox second title. (Doubtful). Maybe he just wanted to go. Think about it. He left an employer who didn’t appreciate him. He’s exploiting a window to make more money. He’s seeking final, long-term, liquidity and security beyond his dreams. He hated his job, wants to make more money, and is looking for security.

Stripped of baseball, Yankee stadium, and sports talk radio – who among us wouldn’t have done the exact same thing? You’re unhappy at a job, you’re unappreciated, you want more money – you leave.

And, what, exactly, is wrong with that?

Well I know what I’ve been told…
Gotta break free to break the mold…
But I can’t do this all on my own… No I can’t do this all on my own…

Lazlo Bane, Superman.

In between indecipherable, incessant promotions for DreamWorks’ Bee Movie (Have you heard? It’s about a bee!), NBC finally unveiled its full, vaunted must-see Thursday lineup, altogether with no repeats on October 25. The gimmick (Earl), the savant (30 Rock), the life-support (The Office), and the survivor (Scrubs).

Even though you can get full recaps of each and every episode on the now-NBC-owned Television Without Pity (Picture formerly happy bloggers now in a basement with peacocks cracking whips and chains), MFG is still prepared to offer biting, incisive analysis on the only shows on TV we watch.

Yes, last year we took the plunge into godawful new shows and standbys (Remember The Nine?). But this year we’re satiated only by  NBC Thursday nights and the resulting It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (Talk about wearing thin…). This will change in January. Now, onto last Thursday. . .

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Like most mid-size companies, ours relies on a mysterious “interoffice mail courier” to deliver paper copies of useless paperwork to others in satellite locations around our great community. One such satellite location is located on “Oak Avenue” in a Midwestern city, and those of us who send dispatches from Corporate Headquarters (God, we’re freaking regal) often refer to the destination as “Oak Office,” on mystifying interoffice envelopes * and even more often, abbreviate it as “OO.”

And each time I send a perplexing interoffice envelope, abbreviated with “OO,” I look at it and giggle uncontrollably, immediately thinking of boobs.

Hee..

It’s a little more than one-third of the way through the NFL season, about the time we’ve figured out what we were right about in our season-beginning column (Cleveland, Minnesota, Chicago, New England, the AFC East, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Denver, Washington, Arizona, Seattle, etc.) and what we were wrong about (Kansas City, Tampa Bay, Green Bay, New York Giants, San Diego and Philadelphia, and oh, so much more.)

Wait? Who did I leave out? The Colts? Well, I guess. (snickers). I guess we were wrong about the Colts.

Maybe they’re not a 10-6 team – though the upcoming stretch of tough games (at Carolina, mammoth tilt on Nov. 4 vs. archenemy, Nov. 11 at San Diego) should fully determine how serious any repeat title aspirations are. They do play in a tough division (Oh, yeah, I was wrong about that, too), and not repeatedly against the sisters of the poor, like their douchebaggy rival. (Consider this: New York, Buffalo, and Miami could merge into one team, and they still couldn’t stay on the field with the Patriots or Colts.)

So, sure, our expectations were lower. But another 6-0 start, and we tend to raise these expectations – 12-4, 13-3, and even a No. 1 seed aren’t out of the question. Still, even with relaxed expectations, nothing that’s happened this year has totally surprised us – but stellar defensive performances against two of the teams (Tennessee, Jacksonville) whose running QB attack have always given us fits – have bolstered our contention that the Colts are the class of the NFL. Here’s what we knew and what’s been answered up to this point:

1. The offense is awesome. Another ho-hum year for Manning, Harrison, Clark, Wayne, and Addai.
2. Bob Sanders is the defense. It’s quite a different season when the ubersafety is totally healthy and the backbone of the Colts defense. No record-setting run failure, anyway. Also, Antoine Bethea is a stud – no one talks about him.
3. The D-Line is better and younger. Actually more of a surprise than we thought – MFG assumed improvement from Freeney and Mathis, who no longer totally rely on the sack – last year’s playoff run really helped them fill gaps instead of solely bull-rushing upfield. Ed Johnson and Raheem Brock have been much better than expected.
4. Everyone the Colts lost on defense was a liability. We weren’t sad to see Cato June, Nick Harper, Jason David, or Corey Simon depart. We knew Freddie Keiaho, Tyjuan Wagner, Kelvin Hayden and Marlin Jackson were ready to play – we just didn’t know how productive they would actually be.
5. The team did their homework on Tony Ugoh. I know I really shouldn’t doubt the Colts in the draft – but Tarik Glenn was pretty good. Ugoh has stepped in nicely to an already-stellar O-Line and the offense hasn’t missed a beat.

And on, and on. The Colts have confidence, a swagger, and get this – they actually make tackles and play a cerebral game on both sides of the ball. I’m not prepared to toss out the no-respect card that some media are this week (Indeed, we already have a rival who perpetually does that), nor am I going to get all Gregg Easterbrook and salivate over a Colts’ imaginary moral compass, but I am going to mention that the Colts are stacked with professionals on both sides of the ball: Manning, Harrison, Freeney, Sanders, Wayne are the team’s luminaries – but everyone, almost all evaluated and drafted through the Colts system, follows suit. Read more

No. 1

Pearl Jam

Life Wasted 

“Darkness comes in waves. Why invite it to stay?

You’re one with negativity,

Yes, comfort is an energy…

Why let the sad songs play?” 

Pearl Jam’s blistering return to prominence in 2006 is of course, appropriate at the end of our countdown filled with manufactured angst. A strangely uplifting tune, Life Wasted is also Pearl Jam’s best song in nearly a decade. And of course, true to band form, it fits within my current life seamlessly. It’s either a lament of wasted potential or an assurance that nothing’s been wasted at all. Indeed, why let the sad songs play?

30. Nirvana, Serve the Servants
29. Vendetta Red, Shatterday
28. Pearl Jam, Porch
27. Guns N’ Roses, Patience
26. K’s Choice, Not an Addict
25. Metallica, Creeping Death
24. Danzig, Mother
23. Foo Fighters, Breakout
22. Pearl Jam, untitled
21. Metallica, Breadfan
20. Staind, Outside
19. Sonic Youth, Bull in the Heather
18. Tom Petty, I Won’t Back Down
17. Pearl Jam, Who You Are
16. Smashing Pumpkins, Siva
15. Neil Young, Don’t Let It Bring You Down
14. Audioslave, Your Time Has Come
13. U2, October
12. Weezer, The Good Life
11. Pearl Jam, Parting Ways
10. Mad Season, River of Deceit
9. Mother Love Bone, Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns
8. Pearl Jam, Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town
7. A Perfect Circle, 3 Libras
6. Alice In Chains, Don’t Follow (Bonus: Pearl Jam, Corduroy)
5. Soundgarden, Zero Chance
4. Toad the Wet Sprocket, Come Back Down
3. Porno for Pyros, Kimberly Austin (Bonus: Pearl Jam, Long Road)

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I like to watch her sway.
She’s luck before I’m going away…
I like what she sees in herself.
Gives me all of her confidence…
Kim…
Kim…
Kimberly Austin

No. 3. Porno for Pyros, Kimberly Austin.

Yeah, I’m a hopeless romantic, so shove it, jerks.

I married my Kimberly Austin, and she makes all the other stupid narcissistic and self-deprecating notions in this entire countdown disappear. Yes, you’re right. I have enough perspective to know I spend my time wallowing in minutia, even though Ms. Faded Glory is my sole reason not to.

Want another, less romantic but still tear-jerking song?

And the wind keeps rollin’
And the sky keeps turning grey
And the sun is setting
The sun will rise another day

I have wished for so long…
How I wish for you today

Pearl Jam, Long Road.

Pearl Jam’s best song outside Porch and SOLAT always makes me think of the fantastic Ms. Faded Glory, but also friends and family and chapters closing, reopening, or drifting away throughout life. Yes, I’m aware I’m redundant. Yes, I’ve cried during this song for no reason, asshole. You happy?

No. 4:

Why doesn’t anyone believe in loneliness?

Stand up and everyone will feel your wholeness.

Soundgarden, Zero Chance.

So, yeah. This is turning into a depressing countdown, and I hate feeling like I need to quote High Fidelity: Am I depressed because I listen to [grunge] music, or do I listen to [grunge] music because I’m depressed?

But honestly, for crying out loud, we’ve all been mopey and alone, Mister Faded Glory, we fucking get it. Even though Zero Chance is maybe Soundgarden’s very best song, precise, patient, and aching, that’s exactly what we don’t need – yet another gut-punching melancholy song.

So here’s your bonus:

I’ve quit this a million times, can’t quite stay away
Just one more time…I’ll be ok
But I’m so damn tired …

When I come back down,
Though I’m crazy to
Anything you want from me I’ll do…

Toad the Wet Sprocket, Come Back Down

Toad’s low-rent masterpiece probably has deeper meanings in addiction, recovery, or reliance on someone you care about. But for me, instead, it’s the perfect bar song – not for a singalong, exactly, but for its expression of the vicious but blissful cycle of weekends out on the town, even for no real reason other than because.

If you’re social at all in your twenties, of course you can’t quit going to the bar a million times. You can’t quite stay away, sitting with friends, reminiscing, watching sports and playing darts, drinking pitchers even though you shouldn’t, and if you’re desperate – hitting on nearly anything that smiles, certain she’s the one. If you’re truly nostalgic and narcissistic, you’ll probably write a caustic book on the subject. Not that we would know either way. (About writing a book or wasting time on a barstool).