rarely will a day go by when i dont listen to a ramones song

how weird is that?

never have i ever said that they are my favorite band. not that i dont respect them. of course i do. i love them. love.

i saw the ramones play one time. in a little place in isla vista called the Anaconda which is now a small lecture hall at ucsb.

they had their jackets and black pants and striped shirts and they kept their legs apart and joey sang at us through his hair and sunglasses and ripped through 40 songs in an hour.

one two three four


theres a deeper level to the songs. theres also a sweetness. but live there was a power that i didnt expect from the old guys.

last night founding member Johnny Ramone died after fighting prostrate cancer. he was the lead guitar player of a band not at all known for any guitar solos.

are there any guitar solos in ramones songs?

21 albums and i cant remember one solo. but it’s cool.

without the ramones you wouldnt have the donnas. without the ramones you wouldnt have U2 bono tells us, but we all know he lies. without the ramones you wouldnt have the thousand garage bands that turned into your favorite bands.

the ramones taught us that you could keep it simple, that you didnt have to be pretty, that you didnt have to be the best singer, drummer, or lead guitarist.

they taught us that what mattered was the band.

they kept it real through and through and for that reason i keep them playing in my iPod and boombox and up here in chopper one.

and cuz their music is classic.

they will be missed.

moxie + baddaboom + jim gilliam + rusty

dear avril,

there were two paths you could have taken and you took the jessica simpson off-ramp.

i dont know why i had higher hopes for you but i did.

i dont know why i expected you to see the comedy in femme-ing and whoring of snaggletoothed Jewel which you are obviously mimicking, but you missed the point.

the promise of a snarling canadian teengirl who shops exclusively at hot topic is that you imagine that with age she would evolve into something else than just another same-old pop chick off the assembly line of same-old pop chicks.

even though your first album was pretty much nothing more than top 40 pop chick syrup, you had a style and an attitude that gave this blogger hope for an edge that is oh so needed in this prozac nation.

believe it or not, we do not need avril lavigne in an oktoberfest-meets-cheap-trick dress, a matching guitar and blonde extentions.

believe it or not we need a return to the rock.

thank you for selling out teenage girls everywhere because now i can rest assured that my curling iron stocks will be fine.

oh avril.

look what theyve done to you.

little girl who once sat indian-style on a sink doing her own makeup before her gigs, flipping off the papparizzi, and shamelessly getting hammered with the classy dames of hollywood like ozzys daughter.

remember when you would go club hopping on sunset making out with pretty girls on the dancefloor, spitting at the cameras of celebrities uncensored, and giving the world a different idea of the girl who sang about skaterboys.

i knew the jig was up when you not only agreed to appear on the now-defunct ryan seacrest show, but when asked by the prettyboy if you prefered britney or christina you raised your fist and yelled BRITNEY to the approving squeals of the barely-teen young ladies in the crowd.

put your tie back on, take off that ridiculous dress, and yank those extensions out of your beautiful hair.

your country has yet finished working off the fine of giving the world celine dion, don’t you start with this bullshit.

they gave celine 5 years in rehab at caesars in vegas, keep this up and im going to make you open for kittie so that you can learn first hand what rock is about.

for it’s rock that is inside of you miss lavigne, not sugar and spice and everything nice.

please go back to mispronouncing david bowie’s name, and giving a look of whatevah when corrected.

when ashlee simpson is more punk rock than you someone has led you astray.

fire that motherfucker and come to the light, avril, come to the light.

a weekend with raymi is what you need + sk smith + rabbit blog