Dolla', Dolla' Bill, Huh?

More than anyone, I understand the plight of the American rapper.

They try so hard I'm surprised they don't sweat blood. From what I know of the hip-hop world, rappers need to fight out of the hood, fight their way into a select group of elite rap royalty, and then fight stay fresh to def. Yea, there is lots of fighting. And then, you need to deliver a bumpin' beat and something to say with a voice as smooth as Ja Rule. Yea, that serious.

They develop sexy new dance moves. They rock ice colder than Hitler's heart. Who doesn't want that? They roll on 22's for goodness' sake. Clearly, these rappers want to be taken seriously.

With that, I want to everyone to respect their rappers. Hell, even hug one. They love that. And, above all, I want the American people to excuse rappers from their ridiculous use of slang terms for the great American dollar. Just let them have one thing without fighting everything in sight for some recognition!

Look, regular Joes like me and you can call dollars bucks, moolah, or smackers, but these poor, innocent rappers have to recognize that rubber band banks and cheese are, for lack of a better term, "stupid"? C'mon.

You can understand how big pockets easily conjure images of pants sagging with the weight of cash. Paper stacks are just another way to measure how much money you made once you sell your soul to a record company and some fancy equipment. And what, you enjoy dough, but not bread? That's money being baked into money! DOUBLE WIN!

So, People, what I want to express is simply this: All these fellas want to do is sing some songs. Let them live their lives with their hoes and Courvoisier. Ok? And maybe when we all can live in a more accepting world, we can all share those bones in a more progressive way. Like maybe giving back to the communities that told us we wouldn't make it.

HOT, HOT, BABY

In our modern world of convenient impatience, you're telling me there is not yet an adequate appliance for freezing things quickly!?

The beautiful, awesome power of the microwave oven made American life that much better around the mid-century. Radiation-charged shrunken heads and the switch from TV dinners to microwaved Ramen in front of the computer mark its amazing life. It is astonishing. After all that, we can progress to a point in human evolution that we no longer have to spend long, rough hours over the fires of the Earth just for some sustenance and survival. We can just press buttons and consume.

Now, I want you to think about the opposite end of the spectrum. Is it completely unreasonable for me to demand speed when freezing things?

Freezing things is cool and I have the evidence to back up that pun:

Exhibit A: Arnold Schwarzenegger in Batman Forever. Batman may be Forever, but ice is pretty damn uncomfortable for attackers after a few minutes.

Exhibit B: Sam Jackson as Frozone in Disney's The Incredibles. Suck it, public transportation, I got my own way around New York City traffic.

Exhibit C: You can make icepops in your own damn freezer with whatever liquid you want! I use Smirnoff Ice.

Which brings me back to my question of why can't we freeze with ease? And now, I think I have the answer. It scares me to say it because I think I have stumbled on the biggest conspiracy of the new millennium. The very core of this thought could very well have me killed by sundown tonight, and here it is:

The iced coffee industry wants you to impatiently heat everything!

Forget freezing forever! They want you to burn everything and buy their cold, cold coffee! If we stay used to scalding hot coffee all year round, the iced coffee machine wins!

I took Microeconomics in high school and it's finally starting to sink in. Iced coffee is so damn pricey because there is a demand. Idiots, like myself, will buy something cold for a buck more when they could get it hot and wait up to three or four hours. Even then, coffee doesn't turn iced, it just turns lukewarm. So, we buy the ice. THE ICE! WE BUY ICE, just cause we're scared of what the iced coffee industry will do!

It is time to stand up, people! We need to develop the technology to say "NO MORE" to hotter-than-Katy Perry coffee. Stop paying outrageous prices for some liquids that taste delicious together; that's what rum and coke is for! Coffee beans are born equal and they should have the same opportunity to get to my lips as Katy Perry does. Yes, two Katy Perry references in one post. I'm wild with rebellion! BRING IT ON!

London Bridge Bit It, And So Do We

My name is Dan Scharch and I have a problem.

I am severely entertained by people falling down. I may have graduated from college with a healthy resume to sit on, but most of my brain power seems to reside in where to find my next fall fix. America's Funniest Home Videos has legitimately kept me alive and happy for 20 years. Failblog was a gift from Heaven.

But thankfully, every time summer rolls around I not only get to see bikinis and eat popsicles, ABC returns one of its most popular shows to the boob tube: Wipeout. My weeks are now consumed with surviving till Tuesday where I can get an evening dose of people bouncing on big red balls and giving off the Wilhelm Scream all the way to the water. It is pure joy.

Somehow we're wired to crack up at the moment of Grandpa biting it. Is it a cultural movement or is it brain chemistry? One way or the other, I think my insatiable craving for spills is reflected in my own. I've drunkenly stepped on a skateboard (don't remember), swallowed a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sword going up my back-porch stairs (don't remember), and celebrated New Years by (drunkenly) launching myself off a trampoline (kinda remember).

We all fall down as the London Bridge song goes and it makes total sense. We all figuratively wipeout every once and a while. I think we're all just laughing to outwardly admit that, hey, it happens to the best of us.

It is much sweeter when someone asks for it, though.

Am I right, old people?

Castro? C'mon.

All Kinda Pills Give Us All Kinda Thrills

Does anyone else miss the drugs in music?

I can't remember ever seeing a band as high and mighty as this performance by Dr. Hook. While they may have been higher than a bunch of potheads sitting on Stonehedge in their time when drugs ran rampant, but I think we're sober now and we're boring.

Just today, reports are being passed around that Amy Winehouse has quit drinking and smoking because of her new filmmaker boyfriend. 50 Cent battled cocaine rumors even after he was caught on-tape, overseas, sniffing a table. We all know Fergie used to be a methhead and Eminem used to swallow pills and spit rhymes. Now Ke$ha is hot and just as boring because boys are her new drug and I'm sure she smells as bad as she sounds.

I'm not saying I need my musicians to be smashed. There is just this little part of my brain that longs for that excitement and revolution. Woodstock easily comes to mind as this beautiful cultural sphere, where bands were doing some amazing things and just floating with the flow. And there were more afterwards. Think Jefferson Airplane, Johnny Cash, the Sex Pistols, and, oh, I don't know, the Beatles.

It must have something to do with our lost of community. Instead of harboring around a scene like the punks or political ideology like the free-loving hippies, we circle around ourselves and our personal top 40. Drugs used to do one thing well: fuck shit up. They could bring our gears to a screeching, grinding halt and throw a monkey wrench in the other end. Communities sprouted on either end of the fence and tensions rose. Either you were groovy or square, hip or not. But finding others like you was harder, so you latched onto something that felt real.

Now we build our own castles in the sky, sober, and with earbuds jammed into our ears.

Oh, and Rolling Stone is now old and out-dated.

They do get out of tune, ya know?