2008.10.17 Gentlemen start your watches
2008.09.30 More Theatre Etiquette
2008.09.12 Oh, I have to pay?
2008.08.29 Neuroses
2007.07.18 Why Movie Theatres Are Losing Money
2007.03.03 I'm a Texan Too!
2006.11.11 Mallrats
2006.09.25 Hidden Tracks
2006.06.21 Moving Day
2006.06.01 Silk Boxers
2006.04.27 Texan Pizza
2006.04.22 No Brainer
2005.11.14 Not much creativity today
2003.07.25 Peeves

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Hidden Tracks
Who's with me in rounding up every artist who's ever put a so-called "hidden track" on their albums, lining them up along a dirty wall, and one by one giving them a quick kick right in the yarbles?

I mean, perhaps we offer an exclusion for any album made before, say, 1986, when CDs were new and cool and the whole idea of having discrete track definitions could make for some interesting experiments, but after that very first time when a band tried it out — sorry guys — it makes the rest of you look about as clever as sack of snot.

Even in the hidden track heyday, there was nothing cool about:
1. startling the holy hell out of people who thought the album had ended, and
2. making people wait for minutes at a time to get to that last track, assuming it was even worth waiting for in the first place

And now, in the digital age of ripped music and mp3 players, it's even less cool:
1. forcing me to fast forward through eight minutes of your holier-than-thou silence, or
2. making me have to edit your damn song to either split it into two tracks if you're lucky, or simply to shear off the whole trailing ten minutes of crap if you're not so lucky, and even if I do take the time having to split it,
3. having to psychically determine, deduce, or simply guess the name of that hidden track when I try to save it, before I relent and simply title it "Stupid Ass Hidden Track"

So (in no particular order) Trent Reznor, Darryl Purpose, you Belgian Front 242 guys whatever your names are, the people in Soulstice, Kurt Cobain (I never liked you anyway, you suicidal freak), Mirah, Ace & the Ragers (just because I know one of you doesn't exempt you from the nut-kicking), and David Lowery . . . you can all bite me.