RICHARD PATRICK IS AWESOME, CREEPING ME OUT

There was a point during Monday's Jeopardy when I was like dumbfounded at the amount of creepy-ass shit going on in the show. Right off the bat, the very first contestant to be announced was leering, mouth agape, openly attempting to mentally undress the home viewing audience; just as announcer Johnny Gilbert (hotness) hits the last syllable of the boytoucher's name, he suggestively raises his eyebrows like the grossest perv to ever grow a rapist beard. Then you hear the Miley Cyrus superfan's voice and goddamn if it doesn't sound like a seventh grader's. I'm afraid to go near Sony Pictures even though this shit was taped weeks ago.

But Alex Trebek is a glory hog and wouldn't allow attention to focus on the guy who eats people's faces. So when time came to give the correct response for a botched Daily Double, he actually acted out the definition of bashful to the lone female player. My family is Italian but I'm not exaggerating when I state unequivocally that I nearly ralphed at his attempt at boyish innocence. It was like Mickey Rooney as Fallout Boy. It was like Fall Out Boy. Then, while I'm still choking back -- and back down -- my dinner, Trebek says the word Alcock followed by the completely hilariouser Alcock & Brown. Oh oh oh and then, Trebeck, just smoldering with white hot animal intensity, read a clue that referenced Warrant's "Cherry Pie" and now I hate sex.

In other creepy news, some creeps made a movie about the creepiest male relation ever, the stepdad (silver medal: uncle). Somebody in this organization has half a brain cuz, to sing a potentially mega-creepy song, they enlisted Richard Patrick and his Filter guys. And the result (here, stay for "American Cliche") is the most potent popular expression of windowless-van creepiness found outside a Dennis Lehane book or a movie by Todd Solondz (above). Great references, right? I'm like Dennis Miller in here, cha-cha. 'The fuck off me.

NO GUN NO FUN

So hey if your first question this sunny Monday morning is Hey Anso, how was your Saturday night? then the answer is Well, after taking in a few minutes of Showgirls edited for TV, I proceeded to wrestle furniture all over my goddamn place in a vain attempt to get the fucking couch close enough to the fucking TV to actually make out which one's Kobe. OK if you're creeped out by the words make out and Kobe so close together, it gets much better, friend. I then poured a few drinks, overdosed on my girlfriend's answer tone (C-rap omg kill me), and screamed silently for an hour or two. Next, an interlude with oreos. And while details are sketchy at this time, evidence indicates that I then may have enjoyed internet video of a naughty school girl begging for her strict teacher's hot load. Next weekend, maybe I'll find time to blare opera and do bench presses while weeping.

This is what Filter's Richard Patrick must've had in mind when penning the cynical but oddly beer jingle-esque "The Best Things." Stupid life.

FILTER FILTERED

I'm a regular dude and as such my love for certain uncool bands embarrasses me thoroughly. Like, say, last summer, as I stood pumping my fist at an under-attended Filter show held at a drink-and-punch outdoor festival. Throughout most of the show, I mentally chalked up the crowd's inactivity to casual fandom, confident that when Richard Patrick & co. kicked in to "Hey Man Nice Shot" or "Welcome To The Fold" or the car commercial ballads, a roar would issue forth from the hands-in-pockets rubes present. No dice, really, cuz by that time, we'd all been lulled to sleep by the four anonymous dudes (and Rich) soberly douche-rocking their way through lifeless new songs (from the latest record which is so forgettable that the title escapes me) peppered with the occasional semi-informed political rant. You read that right, political rants at an outdoor festival in July. Unnecessary. 

Get ready for more unnecessary cuz Filter is releasing a greatest hits album! From a press release via Blabbermouth:

The Very Best Things (1995-2008)'s 14 songs encompass studio recordings, rare radio edits and a scattering of soundtrack contributions. It begins with "Hey Man Nice Shot," the Top 10 hit that put the band on the musical map in 1995 and pushed debut record Short Bus to platinum status. From there, the retrospective touches on songs that reflect the evolution of the band's music, including "Soldiers Of Misfortune", from their 2008 album Anthems For The Damned.

The Very Best Things track listing:

01. Hey Man Nice Shot

02. Welcome To The Fold (Radio Edit)

03. Jurrasitol

04. (Can't You) Trip Like I Do

05. Take A Picture (Radio Edit)

06. Soldiers Of Misfortune

07. Where Do We Go From Here (Single Edit)

08. Dose

09. I'm Not The Only One

10. Skinny

11. One (Is The Loneliest Number)

12. The Best Things

13. The Only Way (Is The Wrong Way)

14. Thanks Bro

Cheesy title that plays on a song name? Check. Ostensibly the "best" music by the band yet almost solely consisting of singles? Check (listen to "Skinny" below crank it). A contract obligation fulfilled? Check! Reading this, I was so numbingly bored that I scanned the user comments to find a lotta dudes griping about the presence of radio edits on a greatest hits collection. Reader's Digest versions of songs are annoying as shit (except for Great White's "Save Your Love" which is an improvement), but their inclusion here makes sense since The Very Best Things is pointedly marketed toward shoppers, not fans; fans would already own the (awesome) albums and the soundtrack cuts and covers are Boresville so fuck that. 

What is completely stupefying is that Filter actually plays the radio edit arrangements live, as I found out the two times I actually showed my face at Filter shows. Puzzling over the phenomenon back in Spring 2000, I'd figured I musta been super-wasted and misremembering the set cuz honestly what band would do that? Which is what brought me to last summer's show, when sure enough, they played abridged versions of like four different singles. What what what??

DIME, DAVE, RAY: OH MY GAAAWWWWD

My Monday crawled by due to lotsa Dime-related pouting. After whaling on Jeopardy, I got the sense that the late, great axeman wouldn't want me to just throw the whole day away. But what could turn my frown upside down? It was then that I remembered Dime's last words on that awful night four years ago, and on every night before taking the stage: Van Halen! Honestly, can any human resist a smile when David Lee Roth does his thang (above, with a little Michael Anthony)? 

Which got me thinking about the trio of splendid summer evenings I've spent front and center at orgiastic DLR shows. At the most recent gig, Dave's mood turned foul and venomous in a hurry thanks to newly-enlisted drummer Jimmy DeGrasso (Megadeth, Alice Cooper). DeGrasso rips but, oddly, is apparently the only fucking dude on earth not DNA familiar with classic Van Halen cuts; I'm no drummer yet could play those songs with my asscheeks, and my entire lower torso has been high since Reagan. 

DeGrasso wouldn't have been there if not for Ray Luzier, who left DLR's band to join the DeLeo brothers (STP) and Filter mainman Richard Patrick in Army Of Anyone (and now, Korn). But twice prior to his departure, Luzier thrilled me behind Dave with his hyper-energetic and singular playing; when AOA's record came out I felt a bit of weird pride at being a fan of each of the short-lived supergroup's members. But that's the power of Van Halen, and all those they've touched. Anyway, if that hi-larious "H4T" action doesn't do the trick, check out Luzier outplaying those other three guys (below). Van Halen!