Radio Killed the Radio Star

Music, while driving, is terrific. Commercials and bad music, while driving, is scourge of my existance. I haven't had to listen to the radio, other than occasional instances, since high school. That was five cars/seven years ago, in my huge Olds. I loved that car, God rest it's soul, but it was the original radio which I had to slam very hard almost everyday just to get the damn thing works. I keep a baseball in the cupholder specifically for this task. But that was forever ago, and I thought my time of surfing the frequencies was over. Well fast forward to 3 months ago, when the events of my Honda getting broken into, and then dying all together, brought me to the point that in my new v-dub I was going to leave in the AM/FM/cassette stocker until it got stolen. Well, as of yet, hasn't happen. So I've been listening to Philadelphia's "finest" stations for a while and this is the conclusion I've come to: Radio sucks. I always knew that, but it more unbearable then I ever imagined. Here's my review of the stations on my quick buttons.

1/REW: 102.9 WMGK- Our ONLY Classic Rock

My default station. Classic rock can't be all that bad. True, but the same god damn songs over and over again is horrible. It's tough working in a narrow time frame pre-1982, but still there's more than hit singles. I know these songs by heart, especially Heart, but that's not always good. Listening to this station has ruined, by repitition, more Classic Rock songs for me than Cadillac's whole advertising campaign. Road Rage makes a whole lot more sense to me now that I've heard "Keep on Loving You" by REO fucking Speedwagon three times in a day.

Possible Stay of Execution: The "Beatle Break" is my favorite thing on radio by a large margin. You can't get tired of Paul/John/George/Ringo unless you have to look at Ringo. (Note: I'm excluding weekend programs like the fabulous "Breakfast with the Beatles" to focus on commuting radio.)

Nail in the Coffin: Top 40 only and Diversity (lack of). Goddamnit, The Police have more songs than "Roxanne" and "Don't Stand...", why can't you ignore their singles like the rest of their music.

2/: 93.3 WMMR- Everything that Rocks!

Everything I said about MGK goes double for this station. Rock & Roll didn't die in 1975, it just got awful, pop anyway. Nickelback is pretty much my explanation for 9/11. If that guy is Jesus, I'm raping children (see: Police singles) until I'm sure I'm going to hell.

Possible Stay of Execution: Preston and Steve can be funny.

Nail in the Coffin: These assholes. Stone Sour.

3/FF: 93.3 WYSP- Free FM
Cookie cutter station just like WMMR except they tend towards harder music. Sounds great, especially nice stints of Ozzy and I like Wolfmother, but apprently Chicago falls under the blanket of "harder" rock. And what the fuck is Free FM? We get it, you're terrestrial radio, that's not better than the other kind. That's like bragging about your GED on your resume.
Possible Stay of Execution: I don't know...did I mention Ozzy?

Nail in the Coffin: Jazz Fusion/Soft Rock

4/Stop: 88.5 WXPN- UPenn College Radio

I love college radio. For a music nerd like me this should be an easy choice, but there's one problem, Adult Album Alternative. AAA kills me because as much as I try, I don't like singer/songwriters. I want drums and feedback, not a song about your travels to Bangladesh. I want a band that claims Animal from the puppets as an influence, not Woody Guthrie. This is no Rowan radio. I would love to listen WKDU but their signal is too weak and my antenna is shit.

Possible Stay of Execution: Every now and then they sneak in an LCD Soundsystem track which is great. Funky Friday is pretty good too.

Nail in the Coffin: I need a wall of sound. The bottom line is that Jeff Buckley is not going to do it for me like DFA79.

5/REP: 98.1 WOGL- Old Gold
This might seem like an odd choice, but while I loathe Smooth Jazz they play a good mix of rock and Motown, which is a nice break from the same 500 classic rock songs I previously mentioned. 60's and 70's but they even sneak in a 80's song once in a while. Honestly this is probably my favorite station just because it's different. And an occasional Elvis song can't hurt.
Possible Stay of Execution: The Fab Four at Four, just gets me more pumped for the Beatle Break.
Nail in the Coffin: Just not enough to keep my attention. Soul is great but only acts as a break from the Rock.

Well that's it, and I can't wait to install my MP3 player in my next car.

God's Favorite Person Part II

Perhaps since the last installment of a day in the life of Mike Kilgarriff you have seen Mike and have noticed some of the, shall we say, “Peculiarities” of his existence. Maybe it was a compliment a little too nice; a task a little too undemanding; an obstacle a little too effortless. Whatever “it” was, let me reassure that it was no coincidence. This was not a momentary offering from chance, not just luck. The powers that be have made damn sure that Mike is always lucky. Actually, calling Mike lucky is more of an understatement than calling the Sun the brightest star in the sky. Mike is God’s favorite person.
Without rehashing what I already said about Mike, let me tell you this. God’s favoritism is biblical, he can put a mark on your head that allows you to kill your enemies or he can have your ass swallowed by a huge fish. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t really matter in the least who/what/where you are; you’re either sanctified or fucked. I’m just happy that I fall somewhere in the gray area of the spectrum. As for Mike, he has a big thumbs-up from some higher authority. To further illustrate the reality in which only he exists, I have prepared the end to Mike’s typical day. My first idea was to have Mike reacting to a “bad” day, but as soon as I got the idea my computer crashed and I got a nosebleed. I haven’t thought about Mike having a rough day since. We’ll continue where we left off.

4:20PM – After a strenuous hour-long day of classes, Mike is ready for his usual wind down activities.
4:34PM – Walking into the DAC, Mike gives the finger to security guard at the desk. She buzzes him in.
4:37PM – Setting his clothes on the bench. Mike opens up a random locker and starts dressing with the clothes inside. He has no idea that these are not actually “complementary” as he is accustomed to. He is responsible for the consistent rash of thefts occurring at the gym.
4:45PM – Walking down to the aerobic area, Mike moves his bike machine from its location to directly behind the treadmills where three girls are jogging. He finds the incentive gives him a more complete work-out.
5:07PM – Walking to get a drink, he glances in on the yoga class. A few of the girls smile at him, while other try to avoid eye contact. A month ago, he attended a class here, mainly because it’s where his “incentive” was heading. He wore a pair of “borrowed” shorts that were about to two sizes too small. The ensuing erection caused quite a commotion in the class. First, the instructor gasped in horror, to which Mike retorted with something about ancient, leotards, and moose knuckles. When the rest of the girls turned around stunned, he responded, “What, is it my fault that you’re limber and I have an imagination?” He then got up to go, but not before punching the one other guy in the class in the face for not having an erection.
5:41PM – Walking past the recently closed bar, Moka’s, Mike has no recollection of any incidents. However, as the police reports indicated, there were some incidents there, in which he was involved. After having a particularly heavy Tuesday night of drinking, Mike stumbled into Moka’s and demanded a drink from the bartender. After receiving a rinse cup full of Lite, Mike laughed at the barkeep and proceeded to chug the can of paint thinner left on the floor by the closet. Now sufficiently intoxicated, Mike saw a group of guys smoking a hookah and talking about literature that they didn’t understand. Grabbing one of them by his popped collar, Mike took a lungful of what, much to his dismay, was not a controlled substance. He realized that these douchebags were just faking being high. He then stormed out of the bar, and searched for the nearest thing to get him buzzed.
Smelling something pungent enough to be weed, Mike followed the smell to what turned out to be the bum in front of 7-11. Not wanting to touch him, Mike pushed him into the bar. He then proceeded to yell at him to stuff himself into the bowl and simultaneously tried to light him on fire. Realizing that smoking the homeless was not working out the way he had planned, Mike left the bar in the chaos that he had created, with firemen, cops, and terrified freshmen all trying to figure out what was happening. Taco Lou, thankfully, was unhurt.
5:48PM - Strolling into the 7-11, Mike was greeted kindly and given complimentary taquitos. He, of course, took it without question, but the owners were trying to thank him for eradicating their homeless problem. Free items and a lifetime discount were, however, redundant with Mike for two reasons.
The first being that he got discounts already from the Hindu night clerk because Mike often told him that he "saved another cow" recently. While the clerk took this literally, Mike was actually referring to letting a fat freshman blow him at a party as "saving a cow". The second reason that Mike had no concept of goods for money, and had actually been the store's biggest shoplifter. Often leaving locks of his hair in the Give a Penny/Take a Penny jar as an attempt to barter for the food he took. Sometimes he even left his hockey mask on in the store after his practice. Mike is the infamous "Masked Terrorist/Shoplifter" of West Philadelphia that is often reported in the news.
6:10PM - Walking back into Moka's and into the back storeroom, Mike sat down and ate his dinner. He had padded the floor and walls of the bar’s back room, and had started his own "Yoga" class. It was an excuse for him to flesh out some of the ideas he had back in the DAC's yoga class with many of the same girls. He took his pants off, and waited for his pupils to arrive.

Well, that about does it for the typical day of Mike Kilgarriff. Hopefully, Mike (and God) will understand I was just trying to bring the joy of His favorite creation to a wider audience. As well as to alleviate some of shock most people have when the hang out with Mike for the first time. Take my word for it; it really is like this ALL of the time.

God's Favorite Person

I believe in God. I believed in God before I met Michael Kilgarriff, but now, I’m sure that there is a God. For those of you, who do not have the privilege to know Mike, let me fill you in. Mike is an average guy in almost all respects. He’s tall-ish, kind of smart, enjoys a good time, likes metal, a solid pong partner, you know, a decent guy, but a dime-a-dozen. However there is one very special thing that makes Mike unique. Mike is God’s favorite person.
How that plays out during the course of his life is simple; everything Mike has ever wanted has been given to him. He has encountered no resistance in life. Things come easy to him. If Mike got a little short on cash, someone would give him money. If Mike got hungry, food would turn up nearby. If Mike got bored at work, his boss would tell him to take the rest of the day off, with pay. Picture if you had a problem weighing on you, and then suddenly the problem resolved itself in your favor. Except imagine if that happened every day of your life without once screwing you over. That is what it’s like to be Mike Kilgarriff.
But why you ask; is he devoutly religious? No. Is he extraordinarily kind? Nope. Does he put others before himself? Ha! My theory is that Mike is given everything, not because he’s earned it, but because he enjoys the moment without asking questions. He figures, correctly, why mess with a good thing? He’s just living the good life. Actually, I don’t like calling what Mike has a “life”. Not because I think he is wasting it or anything like that. I just find it hard to think that going to a perfect “after-life” would change things all that much for him. Seriously, Mike going to Heaven would happen something like this; Waking up in his apartment, and finding exactly the same surroundings just with a better stocked fridge and a PS3.
If you’re still having trouble visualizing Mike’s existence, allow me to recreate a day in the life of Mike Kilgarriff.

2:24PM - The day starts early for the Michael. Usually, he would be midway through his rock star dream at this point, but this was Thursday, which is right in the middle of his work week; his work week begins Wednesday at 1 p.m. and ends today at 5. This is the heaviest class load Mike has ever taken in a single term.
2:35PM – Mike walks outside his apartment door naked to find the Chinese food has been delivered to his neighbor. He thinks that it might get cold before the guy realizes that it’s there…
2:39PM – Watching TV between bites of General Tso’s Chicken, Mike decides that he will actually attend class today. He wouldn’t if he had any good videogames left to conquer but, all of the games automatically enter “God Mode” whenever he starts playing.
3:14PM – Mike, getting out the door early for his 3 O’clock class, picks a twenty dollar bill off the tree outside his apartment in case he needs some cash. Now, of course, money doesn’t actually grow on his tree. A few weeks earlier, Mike, who was drunk, thought nailing money to the tree would, when he woke up, have accrued interest. Normally this would have been stolen, but some retarded hippie thought it was a protest, charity, or some other noble cause, and began a crusade to ensure, unknowingly, that Mike would always have pocket change. The tree currently has about $450 of Mike Kilgarriff petty cash fastened to it.
3:19PM- Mike spots President Papadakis walking with some of his PR people. Mike remembers that someone, who is not himself, has to pay money on his behalf to Papadakis. So Mike yells at him, “You fuckin’ tool!” which Papadakis mishears as “I love this school!” Swirling around to see that hairy, tanned man before him, Papadukes takes Mike to be Greek exchange student with a heavy accent. He ends up giving the confident looking Mike a full scholarship and offers to repay back this term’s tuition. A blasé Mike replies, “Whatever, I still wouldn’t fuck you wife.” Watching Mike walk away, Papadakis realizes what Mike just said, but oddly feels no anger towards him. All he can think is that he should have done more for Mike.
3:28PM- Mike walks into class, sees that there are numbers on the board higher than his age, thinks fucks this, and walks out.
3:35PM – Mike wanders into a fashion design class since it’s closer than his apartment. Being the only man not wearing pink in the room, he likes his chances. Before he sits down next to her, the bi-curious Dutch exchange student has just whispered to her friend, “I’m going to have sex with him.” Mike is happy about the quality and quantity of the women surrounding him, but is slightly disappointed since he thought that in all art classes there is a naked woman standing in the middle of the room.
3:52PM – After forcing eye contact then trying footsie, the exchange student resorts to rubbing Mike’s thigh; to which Mike replies, “If you want it, just go for it.”
3:53PM – Unbuckling his belt, Mike is glad that he decided to go to class today, but still thinks that he might have a better time with Guitar Hero and cartoon network, well at least the weekend is almost here.

Hopefully this glimpse into the life of Mike helps illustrate what it’s like to be #1 in God’s book. As you can see, Mike didn’t do anything wrong or ridiculous, he just accepted the absurd as normal. It’s like Mike is in bubble surrounding him in which reality as we know it does not apply. If he expressed any doubt or disbelief about the bubble, it would immediately pop, not that he would ever do that. Don’t be mad at Mike, he’s just doing what we all wish we could do, which is taking things at face value and live the good life. If you can’t accept that, and still don’t believe me, then stay tuned for the exciting conclusion to Mike’s lucky adventure; or as he would call it, “A Normal Wednesday”. Also, in the course of writing this article, a situation that I thought would surely screw me over has disappeared, so apparently thinking about Mike hard enough has some positive benefits, by transitive property. That really makes me feel for the unfortunate few that Mike considers enemies. Actually they all probably died of some horrible disease by now.

I have probably pictured you naked.

While this may or may not have been enjoyable for me, the above statement is true. I am just an animal; a tall, dark, and handsome beast that is driven by desire. I've come to the conclusion that I rarely do anything that I don't want to do, and only look out for number one. I mostly spend my time pursuing solely my interests, I don't bite my tongue ever (it arguable whether or not I even know how to do this), and I'm most certainly not apologetic. Now I'm not saying I'm perfect, you can though but I can't because humility is important. I say dumb things, drink too much, drive way too fast, and generally rock faces off when said rocking is not appropriate. Also, I love oversimplified comparisons as opposed to structured arguments. That being said, here is the pro's and con's of being Mark Whitmarsh II:

Pro: I am 6'4''; not only am I tall but I have good posture which helps me see over mere mortals in a crowd. However, Wawa likes to put their signs (in spite of my numerous objections) at eye-level for me, which is moderately annoying but brings attention to the fact that I am gigantic; so I'll call that a wash.
Con: I laugh at my own jokes. Just like my fondness of Uwe Boll movies, I enjoy horrible jokes, especially when I tell them. On a good note, my laugh is ridiculous and distinctive. So that's almost worth the pain of the joke in itself.
Pro: I know how the heel-toe shift. While you may have no idea what this means, trust me it’s awesome. Just because you can't drive your cousin's Corolla that's a 5-Speed, does not mean that driving stick isn't important or cool. It just means that you suck at life that much worse. Plus, chicks dig guys who can drive stick, at least that's what I've based my entire life around thus far.
Con: I ran over 9 miles the other day. Not really a con, just wanted to everyone to know that, because my knee freaking hurts now. But seriously that's like the entire width of my state at the top. Super powers? Not out of the question.
Pro: I drink Martinis and listen to super-cool indie music, and like to talk with others who do as well.
Con: I will talk about Martinis and my awesome music with you whether or not you like them too, and you will get the feeling that it doesn't matter to me anyway (which is true).
Pro: As my 5th grade math teacher once told me, I have a superior attitude which makes me think that everyone does and should like me and my antics, as well as the confidence to try things I would otherwise not.
Con: I have a superior attitude which hides from me that some people do not enjoy my antics, and that I can't do some things, theoretically anyway until I can find some who doesn't actually like me.
Pro: I am an engineer, which means that at some point in my life I might actually contribute to the good of society, which would negate the bad things I have done/will do.
Con: On that plus/minus scale I just mentioned above, I am only looking to, at best, break even.
Pro: I usually have a good time and hope every around me is having fun too. People sometimes take this as trying to be the life of the party, but it's just that I like to enjoy life as much as possible.
Con: I write blogs that I actually expect anyone to read and to enjoy. And if you ever talked to me about it, you would probably realize that it doesn't matter to me anyway.

The first auto blog, you knew it was coming: The SUV part 1.

The demise of the automobile. Sure, it started off simple enough, Henry Ford, carrying your goat, "...Any color as long as it's black". Simple thinking from a forward-thinking visionary. He was also a huge racist, but that's another article plus it's not February, and I don't have to care yet. (Just kidding, fight the power!) Anyway, back when the only gas-powered car in the country (almost) was the model T. It got you were you wanted to go, and what else should an automobile be? Boy was that wrong. Where's the creature comforts? The dual climate control? The superficial off-road capabilities?

Ok I wasn't alive to see a Ford's revolution in anything other than a museum where I had to keep my distance, but I was alive in the 80's and that was a different time as well. Sure mainstream TV has gotten me convinced that everyone was on cocaine and had unprotected sex, but in addition to these perks of the era there was also a vastly simpler car market. You had a car, with 2 or 4 doors (if you were poor, maybe a hatch in there too, for further research ask Muto about his Cavalier). If you didn't have a car, you needed to haul shit to your job and so you had a truck. If you were shady/hippy you had a van, and there were also some sport cars, but mainly cars and trucks. Then, the scourge of my life emerged from the darkness, the SUV.

The SUV started out simple enough. It was mainly derived from military vehicles such as the Jeep. Since, the returning GI's were so fond of the reliable transportation and the army cash was burning a hole in their pockets, they took the logical step and demanded a civilian version. Willy's was happy to oblige and the first real Sport Utility Vehicle was born. Though several incarnations which I will not bore you or myself with, the modern SUV (like the Explorer) flourished in an environment, which like most things that piss me off grow in, a Republican run America. Regan's 80s brought cheap gas and the utter burning need to look (and act like) an asshole. So every soccer mom, slowly but surely, traded in their cute efficient minivan for a monstrosity that could handle arctic tundra (special thanks to that indie rock band for teaching me how to spell that word). I liken the rise of the SUV to a trend in history that I call the Kevin Federline Syndrome. You see in a typical KFS (Kentucky Fried Shit?) case, a mildly annoying but harmless entity is transformed, through a diet of morbid fascination and general indifference, into a thing so awful that it basically serves as a mockery for every noble value that we, as a species, have achieved and revered throughout history. I will go into further detail in my upcoming entry, "Kevin Federline is the reason why over 5,000 people in Africa die of AIDS every day".

This all culminated in my experience a few weeks back, and to be honest is the real reason I wrote this. A kid, a 18 year-old inexperienced driver at best, was licensed by the State Department of Transportation to drive a 2 Ton Instrument of Destruction into my 2,700 pound compact while I was doing less than the speed limit in the right lane. Granted I'm still kind of bitter about the whole thing, but still I'm out a car, and he still drove home with barely a scuffed tire. I don't hate the kid; I hate the society that felt insecure enough to need the SUV in the first place. I would like to go on the record right now and say that every person that owns a SUV would be better suited with a wagon or minivan. Honestly, when is the last time you actually used (or needed) the full-time four wheel drive, oh yeah never. There are exceptions to this rule, and I would be remiss if I didn't point out that I went surf fishing this weekend. But as I pointed out to my father, I could have made it out there with a regular Subaru, no H2 required. Sorry for taking so long to write another entry and having it be this long, but then again if you read all of this, you must really like me...sexually.

Seizing the Carp

The fact that I am in college has recently dawned on me. Now I knew that I have been going to classes at a place of higher education, sure, but I really haven't thought about it in a way to convince me that I wasn't just in 15th grade. I went an hour away from home, and I still hang out with what seems to be the same guys I was friends with in high school. Not that this is a problem, I like those guys just fine and they get my humor (read: they put up with my bullshit). Hell, I just got back from a bar with Will Muto. Basically identical to 4 years ago except we are drinking beer in public view and not wearing ties. Where the change in mindset took place, is that I am now realizing just how good I have it. I am in school all summer, with a light (for an engineering major) class load, constant 3 day weekends, and guys who will drink with me at the drop a hat. There are worse fates. The thing that really is making me retrospective all of the sudden, especially for a guy who seems to only be thinking about the next party, is that I know that this won’t last.
I am going to be in school longer than most since I got this 5-year BS going on, so I'm about half done. That means I'm that much closer to a 9 to 5 and mortgage payments. Now I don't fear the future like a stereotypical college kid, I'm actually looking forward to being a real engineer and owning a home. I just don't want to have to say that I had an "alright" time at college. I want to live it up to the best of my abilities. That being said, I don't mean holding the record for keg stands/one-nights/bong hits at some house. Those are all noble endeavors which I respect, but I just want to enjoy the freedom that college affords me. I want to experience more than I have at the moment. This doesn't mean going over Niagara in a barrel, even though getting out the county would be a start. I just want to maximize the time I'm working towards a goal rather than wasting my time, for instance, writing a blog.
I think that having this desire in the front of my agenda will be the best way to accomplishing my goals. This is good since realizing you have a problem is the first step to recovery, something I need to do in other areas of my life, because once that degree hits my hand, I go from hardcore party animal to full-fledged alcoholic. I have now decided, again taking a page out of Munto's book, to jump out a plane will it is flying at altitude. What better way to start living than put yourself in a fatally high-risk situation. We all gotta go sometime right? And I would to do it with a man I don't know tethered to my ass. Plus, I would like to try out that whole water acting like concrete deal, I'm sick of people not believing that shit. I would quite literally be dropping knowledge, and I dig that. Always good to give the family a good pun to put on the tombstone. If I can make people laugh every time they go to the cemetery, I will have considered my life a success. Anyway, I hope to do some cool stuff with the time I have left in school. Also, getting an education would be cool too, I guess.

The beginning...of what will probably not last long.

The first question on your mind: Why the hell does Mark Whitmarsh of all the people on the face of this planet have/want/need a blog? Well I must tell you that it had humble beginnings (about 10 minutes ago). I thought about my good buddy, Will Muto, while looking at his Facebook profile. This is nothing out of the ordinary since the frequency at which I check my friend's profile would probably be criminal except for the fact that I do indeed know them in real life. (By the way, his picture is of him in freefall after jumping out of a plane; allow me to repeat this, because it bears repeating; Will Muto, this kid, jumped out a fucking plane. Awesome.) Anyway, I recently gave him an ear-load (half ear-full, half-assload Mark Whitmarsh©2006) about writing a blog. While checking his blog out again today, I thought to myself that maybe I was in error. Now normally I would shrug self-doubting ideas off in a millisecond, but I think that Muto just might be on to something here.

First of all, I am very good at talking. Ask anyone, I am a gold medalist of talking about practily nothing at all, and I am AMAZING at talking about myself, seriously perfect 10's from the East German judge type stuff. So an entire blog about all the stuff I think and say is as close to a perfect fit as your going to get. If there's any more qualifications for writing a blog (which I don't think there is) I've got that covered too. I have what all true blog masters need to succeed: a huge ego. My fourth grade math teacher told me that I had a superior attitude, to which my father replied, "Damn right, we're raising you that way!" A healthy sense of narcissism is the foundation for any successful blog, don't believe me? This is good since I am absolutely in love with myself. I could go on for hours about this, but take my word for it, there is no greater champion for Mark Whitmarsh than Mark Whitmarsh.

But here is the real reason why this is happening, I can't for the life of me find my keys. Seriously I looked everywhere, but I can't find them. So here I sit, after knocking on my door twice in the span of an hour, trying to visit Irene, taking a long walk, I finally ended by myself in the honors lounge at quarter to ten at night after my night class with nothing better to do (does nobody update daily anymore?). So who knows maybe I'll keep at this, unlike any other endeavor I tried so far in my life. In any case, you just wasted minutes of your life which you can never get back (sucker), and the thought of people wasting time on me while I'm not even in the room with them, gets me off like no drug ever could (except smack, that stuff is the shit). But I digress, and Nate is probably back at the house by now; so like so many fine journalist of yesteryear did, I will bid you goodnight and Bone Appetit.