Get Ready

Hello friends,

I would like to formally announce my candidacy to take over the position currently held by Oprah Winfrey. I will go on yo-yo diets, choose books, give away crap and interview people without faces. I will carry the banner. I will be the greatest talk show host to ever live. I will be an icon to middle-aged women everywhere. If I tell them to jump, they will jump. If I tell them to stand on their heads for 25 minutes, it's a done deal.

Once I get the show rolling along, I will start my own production company called Tap. I will become the publisher of my own lifestyle magazine, P. I will go on vacations with my "friends." I will star in movies directed by famous dudes. I will rename my one-bedroom apartment "The Promised Land." I will befriend Maria Shriver and date Roger Ebert.

I will be everything Oprah is and more. Please, please, please: I beg for your support. You know I will do a wonderful job. I will even let Tom Cruise jump on my couch, even if I secretly wish it was Katie Holmes. The first book that I will choose for book club will be "Everyone Poops."

Thank you for your time and patience. Send all campaign donations to Pat Ferrucci, New Haven Register. I will spend them on beer.

I love you all and, of course, God Bless.

-Patrick Richard Ferrucci

Metal Mania

Here's some ticketing info:

On sale at 10 a.m. Friday
American Carnage Tour with Slayer & Megadeth with Testament
Tuesday, February 9th
Oakdale Theatre
$59.50 General Admission Pit, $39.50 Reserved
Tickets available online at LiveNation.com

Tuesday Morning Video

As I sit waiting for the day to begin, I deciding to add a little treat here. So, my gift to you is this Antlers video for the tune "Two." Enjoy it. I do.

Well This Stinks

When I was a young little Patrick, my favorite television program, no joke, was "Remote Control." I can still remember getting home from elementary school on winter days and watching the game show. I swear it's a primary reason why I'm so good at pop culture trivia today.

Well, it turns out, sadly, that "Remote Control" host Ken Ober died over the weekend. He was 52. While many people just three or four years younger than me probably don't remember the MTV game show — which was one of the first original programs on the then-fledgling network — for people my age and a little older, it was a fun show that introduced such future stars as Adam Sandler, Colin Quinn and, of course, most memorably, Kari Wuhrer, my first real crush as a child. (Well, besides Belinda Carlisle.)

So it’s a very sad day. There’s really not much more to say. “Remote Control” has been off the air for 19 years, and most folks probably don’t remember it. But don’t think it was just a silly little show that nobody watched. Heck, there was even a Nintendo game based on it. I actually downloaded the game no more than a year ago. I still kick ass at that show.

It’s too bad about Ken Ober. Fifty-two is damn young. Maybe to honor him MTV will bring the show back for a bit. It’ll be the first time I watch the network in ages. I just hope Ober's death was natural, and not something more awful. Anyway ...

Here’s an old ad for the show:

You Call That Super?

Here’s hoping everyone had a nice weekend. I’m going to write this post while consoling myself with the knowledge that Bill Belichick did, in fact, make the statistically correct call last night. That makes me feel a bit better.

Unlike Coach Bill, though, one person who did not make the right call this weekend was Bruce Springsteen, who lived a Southwest commercial. Too funny. Poor Bruce, he’s getting a bit old, you know. He forgets. It’ll be OK.

Speaking of the Boss and football, I’d like to talk Super Bowl music now. You see, it’s been announced that The Who (that's them pictured) will perform this year. I just don’t get it.

Did music stop being made after 1975? Why can’t a modern act ever play the big game? Radiohead, Coldplay ... heck, I’d take John Mayer just for the actual point. He stinks, too. What about The Flaming Lips? Would anything be more fun? There are so many options. Wilco? But, no, we get half of The Who, one of the most overrated bands I can think of, and an act that can’t even sell out concerts now. If you’re going to stick to older acts, just bring on Buffett or, gulp, The Eagles or something.

Look, I know some people love The Who, and I know the band has three huge songs that it’ll play on that iconic Sunday. But, really, nobody’s cared about The Who in forever. Doesn’t it make sense to get someone relevant? And if you want to reach the most people, wouldn’t Coldplay work even better? I say this as someone who doesn’t even really like Coldplay. Producers are running out of old bands. Next year we’re going to get a double shot of Kansas and America, teaming up to perform the new mashups “Dust in the Golden Hair” and “Carry On My Wayward Highway.” And, yeah, I know those were lame jokes, but not as lame as The Who during halftime of The Patriots’ fourth Super Bowl victory.

I’ve never seen or read “Secret Diary of a Call Girl,” but for those of you who have, well, now you know who actually wrote the thing. A British scientist decided to become a prostitute while working on her Ph.D. If I ever go back to school, I think I may turn to the sex trade and write a blog. It’d probably be kind of boring though. Poop.

Am I the only one who could give a crap whether Sarah Palin knew if Bristol was having sex? Am I the only who just wishes this utterly unqualified woman would just go away? I’m not a Republican, but I sure hope the party can find better candidates for future elections. If one wins, I don’t want it to be somebody as ... You fill in the blank.

Woo hoo, another “Scream” movie is coming to the big screen. Wait, before we celebrate that, let me see if I can remember how awful films two and three were. Oh, yeah, do we need this?

And with that, I'm going to do some work on this wonderful Monday afternoon. We'll talk soon. Yep.

Not A Bear, But A 'Pear'

I've been meaning to post this for a while. Here's a video for the song "Gold Pear" from New Haven's own Titles. It's a cool video, but it's also an example of the (sort of) new direction of the band.

Some Swine Fever

New Haven rock legend and Saturday Night Live Band lead singer Christine Ohlman will locally release her new record, "The Deep End," at a concert Saturday at Cafe Nine. You can read a big article about all that come Friday in Weekend. But I wanted to share this clip of Christine that aired on "SNL" last weekend. This is a fake commercial. Ohlman, of course, is the woman in the band.

Okkervil ... Woo Hoo

Here's an Okkervil River performance of "Unless It Kicks" from last week's episode of "Austin City Limits," something you should really, really watch in its entirety. Have I made myself clear?

Say It Ain't So, Sammy

Apparently, former baseball slugger Sammy Sosa dreams of being of being the Dominican Michael Jackson ... minus all those pesky pedophile rumors. You see, over the last few days, a photo of Sosa looking awfully white has spread across the Internet, thanks to the technology that the great Al Gore invented at his kitchen table some three decades ago.

Seriously, supposedly Sosa’s going through some “rejuvenation process for his skin.” It’s all the rage amongst women, apparently. Of course, Sammy ain’t a woman. And if this “process” made all women look a cross between Herman Munster and a dude who ate Robert Pattinson, I highly doubt they would, um, continue the process.

So what else is in the news? Apparently Randy Quaid is a wanted man now. The actor supposedly skipped out on a large hotel bill, and now the police are looking to lock up the star of the criminally underrated “Quick Change,” which should have taken home dozens of Oscars. I guess Quaid owes about $10K for the room, which means he must have opened the cashews in the mini-bar.

Speaking of actors that are now criminals, “Friday After Next” actor Katt Williams was arrested for burglary. I would have arrested him after participating in the crime on society that was “Norbit.” Nuff said.

Taylor Swift will be the center of attention come Wednesday, when the Country Music Awards go down. Everyone should be OK with this because I, your trusted columnist, will be doing a diary about the show for the second time ever. Woo hoo.

I can’t find any corroboration for this, but according to my friend Eric Danton’s blog and the Boston Globe, Steven Tyler has quit Aerosmith to focus on ‘brand Tyler.’ I guess both sources got this info from reading Joe Perry’s Twitter updates. I’m not exactly sure what “brand Tyler” is, but I can assure you of one thing: It will include crappy music that nobody cares about. Look, Aerosmith has sucked for years, but they get paid by going out on the road and playing old songs. If Tyler thinks anyone cares about his wrinkled, Botox-ed ass outside of the band setting, he’s going to be really saddened. Him and his scarves and bad singing are in for a rude awakening.

And with that said, I’m in for a rude awakening when I wake up tomorrow and teach after a long game of racquetball. I’m doing that in a second, so goodbye friends.

And The Winner Is ...

So let's talk Elm City Cocktail Competition, OK? Register food columnist Stephen Fries invited me to judge this a couple months ago, and that's a good thing because I came to a major, major conclusion: I can consume some mixed drinks without making funny faces. I'm serious. It's possible.

I'm a beer guy. You pour me a good ale, and you'll have my heart forever. Sadly, none of the nine bars that competed in this first annual event gave me a Dale's Pale Ale in a martini glass or anything. I had to drink (some of) nine cocktails. I haven't had nine real cocktails in my life. Well, maybe I have, but it's really, really close.

Out of all the entrees, the one that scared me the most beforehand was coming from Leon's, a little concoction that included cucumber, my mortal nemesis. I did not like that drink. It turns out, Bespoke won the event. I have to say, that drink tasted like a Sour Patch Kid to me. It wasn't that great. Way too sweet. Way too sweet.

Personally, I was a big fan of the drinks poured by the very nice people over at BAR, Bar 19 and 116 Crown. I guess I like things with "bar" and numbers in the name. Who knew?

The big surprise, to me, was that I tended to like the manly drinks. I had a feeling I'd like the girl-friendly stuff because, you know, I don't do mixed drinks and fondly remember $1 mixed drink nights freshman year Providence College. I personally consumed many, many screwdrivers and Midori sours. Girly. I grew out of that crap quickly though. At this event, I liked the stuff with whiskey and bourbon best. That's amazing to me.

That’s what you all missed today. You might regret that, but you certainly shouldn’t regret the heartburn that I got. Too many acidic drinks left me with some burn. But it’s good burn because, you know, now I'm officially an adult. I can drink a cocktail without making a funny face. Woo hoo.

Technical Difficulties

OK, a couple things.

Mark over Manic Productions just texted me so that I would remind everyone that the very funny Neil Hamburger is over at Cafe Nine tonight. What I would add to this is JP Incorporated is opening. I've written about him before. Hysterical.

On to the difficulties, I'm trying to make this blog wider, but can't figure out how to make this border wider, so there's a line in the middle of the posts. Does anyone know how to fix this? Later, aligators.

Tonight, On 'The Needle Drop'

If you're looking for something to do tonight, I highly recommend buying some beer, building a fire and listening to Eric Danton and I guest on "The Needle Drop," the music show hosted by Anthony Fantano on WNPR. The show airs at 10 p.m. tonight on 90.5 FM out of Hartford. We had fun recording our segment yesterday.

What else? Well, I'm back in Boston for a cousin's engagement party. Woo hoo. Just a reminder, if you're interested in giving to charity and drinking some booze, I'll be a "celebrity" judge at tomorrow's first annual Elm City Cocktail Competition. The event kicks off Restaurant Week. I like food. I like alcohol. It's truly a no brainer.

But, yeah, the event's for charity and only costs $30. You'll get to drink and eat. You can't go wrong. Oh, and you can also corner me and make me answer questions. That should make the cost no big deal, too. See you there, OK?

The Bare Facts

So let me try to put this into words:

I would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than see Barefoot Truth again.

I would rather walk barefoot through a whole lot of goat poop than see Barefoot Truth again.

I would rather eat a bucket of mayo while barefoot than see Barefoot Truth again.

I would rather have my head chopped off while barefoot than see Barefoot Truth again.

You get the point, right?

For a variety of reasons, I saw Barefoot Truth in the Lily Pad at Toad's Place last night. For a variety of reasons, I didn't enjoy this particular experience. Not one bit. The only thing that made it even the tiniest bit tolerable was the particularly crazy woman who was standing in front of me.

Before we get to her, though, let's talk about my personal nightmare. Most people reading this have probably learned over the past six or so years how much I hate jam bands. Now, wait, let me say there are exceptions, but not many.

So you probably think that's my least favorite type of music. You'd be wrong. I really, really hate white-boy reggae. More than anything. Frat boys who grew up listening to Bob Marley trying to play a bastardization of Marley and Mayer ... well, that's my personal hell. Maybe I'm going there someday (I doubt it; I'm a nice person), but I should not have to visit now.

Barefoot Truth manages to synthesize all three: Marley, Mayer and the Allmans. But all three of those acts have some decent characteristics. This band, which formed in Connecticut a few years back, neuters them all. There’s nothing dangerous here, just some bland music and more lyrical cliches than you can count.

Watching the guys play - and I'm sure they're all nice people - I couldn't help but feel the only people, by and large, that could like this music is college girls and older people who think it might be cool. I know that sounds harsh, and it is to a point, but I sure had that feeling numerous times last night.

Now, there are some good things to talk about. These guys are all good musicians. The singer has a good voice, even if he hasn't found anything close to a unique way to deliver it.

Why try so hard to sound like other people? Why try to make your pretty-boy folk have a reggae tinge? Why? Why? Why? Why have band members switch instruments when it only lessens the level of play in both cases? Why do a cover medley of old R&B songs mixed with Sir Mix-a-Lot? It's a lazy way to get laughs and, more importantly, it's borderline insulting. Why did HBO just begin playing "Sweet November"? Why? Why? Why?

Look, I know I’m just crapping on a band here, but, of course, if you play music in public you should know some a-hole critic might be watching. I just don’t understand why bands are so happy to be completely ordinary. Do you really want to sound like DMB without any kind of testosterone? Do you really want to sing like you’re Bob Marley and constantly mock Beenie Man (who was playing the main room downstairs) during your set? When you can only hope that someday your crappy take on reggae can even be in a conversation with Beenie Man?

Every one of the band members has talent. They should use it to find their own voice. Or, just keep on going doing this thing, playing to a rotating group of college girls who, while you get older, they stay the same age.

Wait, maybe I have the wrong idea here? Maybe Barefoot Truth is a lot smarter than me.

The End?

Well, last night was probably Pedro Martinez's last professional game. That's not an absolute, but, sadly, it is more than likely.

He's my favorite athlete of all time; and it makes me sad to think that was it. So, because of the end, here's Jonah Keri's piece about the greatest pitcher to ever play.

More later, but this needed to be put up now. Woo hoo.