Grampa

I don't usually post stuff about the "hot" topics going on the media. Usually it is because they are usually things that are of very little importance that are only there to serve the purpose of distracting the populace from the actual important issues going on in the world. Rush Limbaugh acting like a jerk is one of those moments of "so what else is new" and should generally be ignored. But the media usually falls right into his trap of changing the issue to something pointless, so he can do the GOP's bidding of getting everyone to stop talking about Iraq and the crappy economy.

And he has done it again with a sad display of ripping on Michael J. Fox and dismissing his disease. What's even worse than what Rush did, is some of the media's way of framing the issue, with the exception, once again, of Keith Olbermann, who hit it on the head. A number of media outlets have headlined the story with "Michael J. Fox causes a controversy," when the lead-in should have been "Rush Limbaugh acts like a jerk...again." And the mind-numbing Matt Lauer actually said "Didn't Rush Limbaugh just say what a lot of people were privately thinking?" Umm, no Matt, nobody sane was thinking that. And you are a tool. There is no debate or conversation to be had about this. Rush Limbaugh should be denounced by all decent people for bashing disabled people.

Generally, the big fat idiot is best ignored, and I usually do just that. But I have a reason for jumping on this one: my grandfather.

My grandfather, Vernon Dietz, was the kind of guy that Limbaugh pretends to speak for. A man who came of age during the depression, but struggled and got a job to take care of his family and never asked for help from Uncle Sam, except for my grandmother's odd fondness for the government cheese. He worked in the same meat packing plant from 1934, at the age of 18, until he retired in 1977. His wife never worked at any job other than homemaker and primary caregiver to their four children. He worked hard everyday, went to church every Sunday, paid his taxes without complaint (which, I suppose is not a position Rush would support), kept his lawn in impeccable condition, flew his U.S. flag every day (and he didn't just leave it up, he raised it during the day and took it down in the evening and didn't fly it in bad weather) and loved to fish and watch baseball on TV.

He also had Parkinson's disease.

One of the things that's been missing from the whole "debate" over the "faking it or not taking his meds" comment is a perspective from people who know. Michael J. Fox has done a great job explaining it, but it would be easy for the media to go find some random everyday people living with the disease to confirm that Fox is completely telling the truth and Rush is an idiot. I suppose settling the argument doesn't make for good "infotainment" though.

My grandfather was diagnosed in 1970, the same year I was born. So to compare where Michael J. Fox is in the progression of his illness to my "grampa's" timeline, all I have to do is think about what age I was at the time. This means that the summer I was 15 Grampa was at the same place that Fox is right now. And seeing him on TV reminds me so much of my grandfather around that time period. The shaking and the head and body movements are eerily just like looking at Grampa.

And Rush is right. Like Fox, Grampa wasn't always shaking. I remember being a teenager watching him clean his electric shaver using a little screwdriver, a little brush and a toothpick with no problems. But a few hours later at dinner he spilled his water and dropped food because his arms wouldn't stay steady. And it wasn't because he skipped his meds or took too many. Even if he entertained that thought, no way would my grandmother have put up with that. And he wasn't one for "acting" either. It was what it was, and he had no control over it.

I have great memories of my grandfather. He taught me several things. How to properly fold the flag, how to fish, shuck corn and mow grass. Granted, I don't actually have a use for any of these things. I find patriotism silly. Fishing is cruel, gross and boring all at the same time. My number one rule for a place to live is that there is no lawn care involved. But I do occasionally shuck corn when we see some nice looking ears during the summer.

Still, I'm glad he took the time to try to make me appreciate these things. Showing his grandkids how to do stuff made him happy. He was a simple man. Got married, raised a family, never got a traffic ticket, took naps during baseball games.

He died about two weeks shy of his 60th wedding anniversary, after living with Parkinson's for over 24 years.

Those last few years were hard on him. Not being able to start a sentence when he wanted to say something. Taking sometimes up to 5 minutes to take his first step when he tried to walk somewhere, and muttering "goddammit" to himself in his frustration. His mind being completely sound made it all the more frustrating that he couldn't get his body to do what he wanted. Seeing him go through that made getting Parkinson's my biggest health fear. It's a horrible thing to see.

That is what Michael J. Fox has to look forward to in a few years. And he knows it and takes it in such great stride. His interview on CBS was an example of grace, dignity and class. A great interview (see the full unedited version here), despite Katie Couric being the one conducting it. (Example of Couric's stupidity: She asked him if he would ever do a commercial for a Republican who supported stem-cell research, when he already did -- two years ago. Hey Katie, how about walking down the hall and introducing yourself to the CBS research department?)

Limbaugh defended himself with the same bullshit line used by Ann Coulter when she attacked the widows of the World Trade Center, that the left uses "infallible" people for their arguments so they can't be questioned. He claims he was just questioning and "analyzing" Fox's arguments. But that's not what he did, and he knows it. Instead of engaging in a conversation of ideas on the merits of his position, Limbaugh can only make fun of a person for showing the symptoms of their disease. And, with no reason whatsoever, call him a liar and a faker.

So on behalf of my grandfather, FUCK YOU, you OxyContin addicted, fat-ass, bald, Viagra-popping, brainless, bloviating jerk.

I Just Don't Understand Rich People Sometimes

I was reading the paper yesterday and came across an article on Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter. One of the delicious things about New York failing to get to the World Series is that for months afterward, as a Yankee-hater, you get to revel in the prolonged misery of Yankees fans. They wander around in a daze like little children whose father just split town with his secretary, wondering what happened, asking why, why, why? The arrogance of Yankee fans acting like the World Series is their birthright becomes a wonderful depression that makes all other fans giggle with glee.

So that's what this AP article on Jeter was basically about, getting his comments on everything from A-Rod choking in the playoffs (again, tee-hee) to tension in the clubhouse to manager Joe Torre. And we learn during the article that Jeter apparently calls Mr. T for some odd reason. I doubt Torre says "pity the fool" a lot, so we'll probably never know. Just one of those dumb jock, everybody-must-have-a-nickname things, I guess. Rappers and jocks, I'll never understand the need to force nicknames on to everyone and everything.

But I digress. The thing that caught my eye when I was reading it, and I saw this in more than one person's article, was this line:

"Back from his first European vacation, the Yankees' captain..."

His first European vacation?!?!?! What the Fuck?!?!

For those of you who don't know, Jeter has been on the Yankees for 11 seasons. That means he's been a millionaire for a good decade. And he's never gone on a European vacation?

What the hell kind of person is that young and rich but doesn't take the opportunity to see the world? I mean, except for that dumbass who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

If my wife and I had those kind of seemingly endless resources we would be out of the country for just about every vacation and long holiday weekend. Hell, we'd probably buy a place in Rome because we would be there so often.

Just about all of the people I know have traveled somewhere in their lives, mostly Europe, and scrimped and saved to make the trip happen. The only thing that has held them back from more international trips, or any at all, is the lack of funds. My list of countries I've been to would be a lot longer if money was no object. I just can't get people like Derek Jeter.

Damn Derek (or should I call you Dr. J? Get it?), is your jock brain so tiny that the only part of the world you are interested in is the one between white chalk lines and in the VIP rooms at Manhattan's swanky nightclubs? Have you no desire to see the Pyramids of Giza, the Coliseum, the Cliffs of Mohr, the canals of Venice, or even the Louvre?

He probably only ended up taking the trip because one of his bimbo/model girlfriends made him.

This utter lack of curiosity about the world from some people just boggles my mind. When I dream of being rich, the thing I dream about is seeing the world. By train, of course.

I suppose I should be easier on him. And more understanding. I come from an extended family of Podunks whose idea of seeing the world is driving to Canada to go fishing. But I don't get them either.

The theme song for today is (with apologies to Willie and Waylon), "Mammas Don't Let your Babies Grow Up to Be Dumb Jocks."

Or my cousins.

Caesar Marches On Rome

Caesar is sacking Rome and the populace yawns. Or worse, applauds.

That is what is happening in America today. I would call it sad, except that it is more horrifying and desperate than that word suggest. Sad is how conservatives stop gays from marrying. Sad is the tax cuts for the rich. Sad is the blaming of immigrants for our problems.

No, the signing of the military tribunal bill Tuesday is not sad. It is the complete selling out of everything our so-called democracy stands for. It is the most frightening thing to happen in our country in my lifetime. And how are people reacting? Some have cheered, most have shrugged, but only a few have screamed out.

And besides Keith Olbermann, most of the mainstream media is eerily silent on the issue. What they are failing to get through to people is what has actually happened here. While the press did a bang up job of covering the so-called "revolt" by three GOP senators led by John McCain, who pretended to take on the president when what they really did was give him what he wanted.

There will be torture of suspects by our government. There will be no recognition of the Geneva Convention. And worst of all, the president can suspend the writ of Habeas Corpus, the very thing that protects innocent people from being imprisoned either by accident or for political purposes, for anyone he deems an "enemy combatant." With on stroke of the pen, the very foundation of our judicial system has been wiped away while the crowd applauded.

To my readers who voted for Bush (which is probably just my step-dad and that loony stop-immigration.org fascist): DO YOU FUCKING GET IT YET? Have you begun to understand with your tiny little jingoistic minds what is happening here? Do you see why we hate him? It is not because he's a stupid hick or a privileged rich kid who has had everything handed to him, though those were good enough reasons to vote against him. No it is because he is evil. While he was bribing you with you tax rebates and cutting taxes for the rich, and telling you it would be good for you, not just the rich, and distracting you with fake issues like gay marriage and immigration, he has been undermining the very democracy that he had been claiming to protect.

And for this, you like him?

Apparently the way he is going to bring democracy to Iraq, as he has stated he will do, is to give them ours. We don't seem to be using it anyway.

What we have is an unprecedented consolidation of powers to the office of the president, unchecked by Congress, creating, in effect, a dictator.

Just as Caesar took power by giving shallow gifts to the masses and distracting them with unnecessary wars to rally support, all while slowly dismantling the republic, our leader does the same. And like Rome, thousands cheer, bow at his feet and kiss his robe.

He claims to love us, when all he really loves is power and his self-perceived greatness.

A tragedy and a farce rolled into one.

I only hope Brutus shows up soon.

'Bee Season

A couple of Monday's ago I went to Central Park to throw the Frisbee with my buddy Joe. Oh by the way, Happy Birthday Joe.

Anyway, he had the day off work because it was Yom Kippur (he's not Jewish himself, he just teaches in the New York public school system) and it was an absolutely gorgeous day, so we went to do what is basically our favorite thing to do together. Well, besides drinking, criticizing bad movies and whining about getting old (HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOE!).

So we were in the Sheep Meadow section of the park getting some great air in perfect Frisbee-throwing weather having a great time and a tall skinny guy who looked like a younger version of Tony Kushner walked up and asked if he could join in. So we spread out and had a good three person throw going for a while. The guy who joined in at first threw pretty horribly and I was worried we made a mistake letting him in (Joe and I can be real Frisbee snobs), but once he warmed up he was fine.

A short time later a guy in a shirt and tie walking through the Sheep Meadow went up and spoke to Joe. Joe nodded and the guy took off his tie, rolled up his sleeves and joined in. And this guy could throw. Nothing like a great foursome in Frisbee to mix things up.

If that weren't enough, we had another guy jump in.

A hippy looking couple had been throwing three Frisbees to each other, real short distances trying to do some trick-type stuff, right by where I was standing. She eventually got bored or tired and went to sit down, and he turned towards us and asked in to our group. And he put another Frisbee in play. So we had five guys and two discs going. It was Frisbee Utopia.

Hippy Guy and I even started tipping the 'bees to each other, working in tandem as if we actually knew each other for more than three minutes

So here we were, Hippy Guy, Skinny Jewish Guy, Business Guy, Joe and me. For us I can't come up with anything but "Nondescript Late Thirties White Guys," which I guess is its own stereotype. Not a very interesting one, but there it is.

But what a great time. And of course the one thing I couldn't help but think to myself was just how happy I am that we don't live in fucking Boston anymore.

This kind of thing wouldn't have happened in Boston at all. Not only are people not social enough to walk up and talk to someone, but if one were to ask some people if they could join in their Frisbee, hacky-sack or other group activity, they would more than likely be told to fuck off.

So yeah, nice to be out of there.

But also thought, "Hey, for a couple of guys in their mid-thirties, Joe and I can still fucking do this. And well, dammit."

Probably helps that we both quit smoking years ago.

Welcome To The Neighborhood

When we were getting ready to move to New York, I had a conversation with my brother about it. He's your basic whacked-out Republican who, like the rest of them, became even more insane after the World Trade Center attack. He actually said at one point that we should move all the Jews from Israel to the U.S. and then nuke the entire Middle East. Yea, he voted for Dubya. Twice.

So when I spoke with him on the phone a while back after we found out we were moving here, he expressed concern about our safety living in New York.

I told him how ridiculous that was, especially for a guy who takes a much bigger chance with his life by climbing into a car every day, which is the most dangerous thing you can do in this country. I explained to him that we will be living in an Upper East Side high-rise, far away from downtown and the chances of anything that major happening up there was pretty remote.

So what happens less than three months after we move in? A guy crashes a plane into a high-rise apartment building a few blocks from ours.

And this only a few months after some nut-ball doctor blew up his Upper East Side townhouse right before we moved (about five crosstown blocks away).

Then last night there was a three-alarm fire, with explosions to boot, that destroyed another townhouse in the 'hood.

The locusts should be arriving any day now.

Just A Game

I don't really write about sports that much. Mostly it's because I disdain sports in general. And also because I hate jocks of all shapes and sizes. Probably has something to do with high school, which, at the age of 36, I should probably get over already.

But no matter how much I try to hate all sports, I can't help that I love baseball. I just love it. I've tried to not love it so much, what with my opinion that sports is for stupid people. One look at the average knuckle dragger known as the American football fan is all the evidence you need. I have struggled for years to reconcile my hatred for all things competitive-athletic with my love for baseball. I finally just reasoned that if Studs Terkel loves it, then it must be OK.

I just try not to think about the fact that a huge number of the guys that play it are right-wing, Bush supporting, gun-toting, Bambi hunting, Skoal dipping, bible loving, homophobic ass holes.

It is playoff time after all.

And what great playoffs so far. The underdog Tigers wipe the floor with the dreaded Yankees asses (hee-hee). And Alex Rodriquez, the most overpaid of the hundreds of overpaid players, had one hit in 14 at bats (double hee-hee). On the down side, baseball on TV requires that you put up with annoying announcers, especially on FOX.

The announcing business is weird. The stupid jock might be a broad stereotype, but the broadcast booth is where the ex-jocks go to prove it. And there are none stupider than Steve Lyons.

Along with his booth partner, the annoying-voiced Thom Brennaman, who, as Richard Sandomir wrote in the New York Times, sounds "like a parody of what a sportscaster is supposed to sound like," Lyons takes you right back to the days of the 10th grade gym class locker room.

The highlight of their juvenile behavior was a Dodgers-Mets game last week. The cameraman found a guy in the stands wearing a large, odd-looking contraption with a lens over his eyes. Brennaman and Lyons did the only thing sophomoric jocks (redundant phrase I know) can do when faced with the unknown.

They mocked it.

For almost a full minute these two dunderheads made fun of the guy with remarks like, "psycho-meter," saying the guy was in virtual reality and "should stay there" according to Lyons, and proclaiming that he got a digital camera stuck to his face, among other unfunny and juvenile remarks. It was a wonder that Lyons didn't just jump down in to the stands and start whipping the guy with a wet towel. They gave themselves, but I doubt anyone else, quite a chuckle. (Side note: this was during an at-bat, they basically ignored the game so they could make fun of somebody).

I remember thinking to myself during this little figurative swirly they were giving the guy that it would probably turn out to be a contraption that helps blind people see.

Guess what? It was a contraption to help blind people see. Which led to a required apology during the next game. Dumb asses.

Bob Costas would never be so stupid.

Of course the on-field reporters have their own brand of idiocy. Like over-dramatics.

In case you don't know what "hitting for the cycle" is, here is a short run-down. A player get a single, double, triple and home run all in the same game. It is the most over-hyped and meaningless stat in the game. Really, it is just a statistical anomaly. Lots of things are better. Like hitting three home runs, or three triples and a double, or three doubles and, well you get the point.

A guy on the Tigers last night hit a single, a double, and a home run. A great game to be sure, he was the star of the game, in fact. But at the the end of the interview, when sending it "back to the booth," the reporter said, "Brandon Inge, who came just a triple away from being the first player in playoff history to hit for the cycle."

Oh really? He came just the hardest hit to get in baseball away from hitting for the cycle? In other words, he didn't hit for the cycle and no history was made at all. What a stupid thing to say. Seriously, what a dumb stat. It's not even a stat, it's a non-stat. And being a triple away? That's like saying a runner came just ten miles from finishing a marathon. Or that Tiger Woods came just fifteen strokes away from par.

Hell, get away from sports even. You could say, "Hey I missed winning the lottery by just three numbers!" With that reporters way of looking at things, I'm not broke, I'm just $999,970 away from being a millionaire.

I'll have to watch an episode of Ken Burns' Baseball to see the likes of Studs Terkel, Bob Costas, Shelby Foote and the wonderful Buck O'Neill wax poetically and intelligently about the game, so as to cleanse myself of the stink of stupidity from watching the games on FOX this week.

Hey Katie Couric, This Is What A Real Journalist Looks Like

I was watching Keith Olbermann earlier tonight and, something that has become a regular feature lately, he had a special comment at the end of the show.

And what a comment it was. I'm sure a lot of you have seen his recent commentaries about Bush and 9/11, Rumsfeld's comparing people who don't agree with him to Nazi appeasers, or Bush telling us we are allowed to think. While the one from September 11th was the one that got the most notice, and was probably the most poetically written, the one from tonight might be his best one yet.

Olbermann is by and far the best journalist on TV (I know that's not necessarily saying a lot), and watching him take Bush to task tonight for his lies was more evidence to that claim. While the rest of the press sits there and lets Bush build his bullshit straw men and none of them will call him on it, there is finally someone who will call a turd a turd.

It's a shame that he stands out from the crowd in his field for doing something that they all should be doing. When Bush gets up and makes his claims about what his critics say, from his claims that we say that Arabs don't deserve democracy to saying that Democrats voted against listening to "terrorists' phone calls," no one in the White House press corps stands up and says, "who said that? Name just one person Mr. President." And back in the studio with Katie, Soledad, Miles or some other brain dead bimbo with nice hair, no one will point out that Bush is making shit up, even though they all know it and it is easy to check the facts. They usually play right in to Bush's hand and title the story something like, "Bush speaks out against his critics," when, in fact, what he is doing is speaking out against the straw men in his head.

But thank god for Keith. Someone in the media who's not afraid to call Dubya a liar, and call him out for his all out assault on the Constitution and abuse of power.

Thank you Keith.

Tie A Yellow Fuckin' Ribbon

My friend Barb sent me this link the other day to a video on You Tube by the Asylum Street Spankers. It's a song called Stick Magnetic Ribbons On Your SUV, and it is my new favorite thing.

It is a great satire of the idiocy and hypocrisy of the yellow ribbon "pro-troop" (i.e. pro-Bush) crowd. Funny as hell and a great tune to boot. But don't take my word for it, go watch/listen to it for yourself.

Evan Kremin - A Legend Of Guestian Proportions

A few Saturdays ago I went to a club here in New York called Snitch. My buddy Joe had a friend playing in a battle of the bands there as part of something called the Emergenza Festival, and we decided to go and offer some support. Now, battle of the bands type gigs are high up on the list of things I hate a lot, but I am really happy I went that night.

First of all, Joe's friends were great. Which was a relief. It would have been so uncomfortable talking to them afterwards if I had hated them. But it turned out that they played the kind of music I love (singer-songwriter/alt-country-ish stuff), and did it well.

But the highlight of the night was the side-splitting laughter caused by the group before them, The Evan Kremin Band.

You really had to see them to believe them. Or I should say him, it was all about Evan himself. Before the show I noticed that there were a line of "Evan Kremin" CDs lined up along the top of a corner booth, wrapped in a cellophane bag with a little box included. And there were lots of CDs, possibly hundreds since there was a huge bag with even more of them. But more on that later.

When they started, we noticed that there was an old couple standing in front of us close to the stage. They were obviously Evan's parents. That's another thing to hate about battle of the bands contests, too many biased family members show up.

From the opening riff it was obvious that this guy listened to waaaaaaay too many power ballads in the 80s. The dead give away was the god-awful lyrics that were nothing more than a series of strung together clichés, and the hilarious rock star posturing by a guy pushing (maybe even past) 40. Throw in the guitarist, who looked about 50, trying to do his best Jimmy Page impression, and you had just a hilarious sight. And the range of songs would go from sounding like Journey to Great White to Poison to, believe it or not, Michael Bolton.

And such deep lyrics like, "I'll sing the songs I've never sung, I'll do the things I've never done, I'll sow the seeds I've never sown."

And, "If you reach into a fire you're gonna get burned"

There was also a song, the name escapes me, where he kept singing about rats in a maze that was bringing on laughter and gag reflexes from me simultaneously. It was a song that could have competed for the title of Most Cliché-Ridden Song Ever if it weren't for the existence of Poison's Every Rose Has Its Thorn.

I had the hardest time holding in the loud laughter, what with his parents standing right in front of me.

He ended his night, thanking everyone for coming, telling everyone to give it up for the Emergenza Festival, thanking his wife for doing the CDs (aha, she's the big-haired middle aged woman shilling those out) and generally acting like the headliner, even though this is a battle of the bands. He introduced the last song, called Monsters Under My Bed, wasting no time and getting to the clichés right in the song title.

It was the performance of this song that really solidified the feeling that I had found myself in the middle of a real life Christopher Guest movie.

Evan, an aging, pudgy, almost mullet-headed, struggling front man of what could probably be a really decent wedding band (for those suburbanites who like those bland top 40 cover bands to play at their weddings) if they would stop doing his songs, fancies himself to be a major rock star. To call it delusions of grandeur would be an understatement.

He jumped off the stage during the performance of Monsters and walked into the crowd to sing straight at a girl for a little bit, and then point and scream/sing at a guy in the audience. Now I'm losing it (along with the girl he was singing at) and am just openly laughing because I can't help it. And I'm so happy at this point I got to see this, because just when you think that the characters in Christopher Guest's movies are too far over the top, you get to see living proof that they're not. It was beautiful.

Somebody really needed to tell this guy that you can't get away with rock star moves unless you actually are a rock star. Bono going out to sing to a girl is cool, a chunky middle-aged nobody from Jersey doing it is creepy.

And to top it off the song had a dramatic pause toward the end. The music stopped like the song ended, but the band kept a dramatic pose. A smattering of people were clapping like it was over, and Joe leaned over and said, "wait for it." And there it was, they started back up to finish the last chorus, and then ended the song with Mr. Kremin singing London Bridge Is Falling Down in a high voice to a fade-out. Oooooh, how dramatic.

Of course they won that night.

It was decided by audience vote, and from the looks of all the hugging Evan did after he got off stage it appeared that, along with his family, all of his old high school friends were there. He had definitely done a great job of stocking the audience. This poor guy really thinks that the path to a record contract and rock stardom is getting your friends to vote for you at a local battle of the bands contest. It would be sad if it weren't' so damn funny.

You might think I'm being a little too hard on the poor guy. After all, he is just trying to follow his dream, as unlikely as it is to ever come true. And I would agree, except for the fact that the only things more over the top than his over-wrought, clichéd lyrics, are his gigantic ego and shameless self-promotion.

The ticket I had for the night seems to have come through his allotment of tickets to sell. It had a sticker slapped on it that said, "THE EVAN KREMIN BAND LIVE AT SNITCH!!...Don't be late...your vote could be the one that made the difference." You've got to be kidding me.

And then there was his wife and the CDs. She was going around the bar after the set shoving them at anybody and everybody, "Did you get a CD? Here, I've got one for you." Oh goody, just for me?! I did take one, jut so I could get a laugh and to find out what was in the box that was wrapped with it.

I opened it, the outside of the package said, "Thanks for your support!" Inside the box was a miniature Magic 8 Ball. On the side opposite the answer window is was he Evan Kremin logo like on the CD cover, along with his myspace address (you really should check that out, it's got samples of his overwrought, cliche-riddled songs). And above the logo was the line, I kid you not, "The Answer Is In The Music..." I was laughing the whole subway ride home after seeing that.

People told me I shouldn't rip on the guy in my blog. Or at least don't use his name because it might hurt his feelings. And I thought about that, but hell, if his friends won't tell him his music sucks and he's never going to be a rock star, at least someone should write it. Now he may or may not see this, I'm just a dude with a blog, not a paid rock critic or a published writer. But something tells me he googles his name a lot.

I really decided is was OK to rip on the guy after checking out his myspace site and reading his description of himself. He truly is a legend in his own mind. Here are a few highlights:

Birthed as one of Bleecker Street's truly protected children, Evan Kremin has been mastering his craft on this legendary New York music strip since 1983. As a compellingly gifted singer, songwriter and musician, Evan was quickly adopted by club owners and industry professionals as Bleecker's own "favorite son".

As an independent, original artist Evan Kremin has matured into an "authentic rock reward".

His performances are invigorating - as he is not shy on warmth or sex appeal. It is Rock and Roll with all the quality and authenticity you would expect from a great performer. Hollywood can't make artists like Evan Kremin...they can only aspire to find them.

Remember, he wrote this about himself. And what the hell does "authentic rock reward" mean anyway?

Can you think of anybody who deserves to be made fun of more than this? I mean, besides George Bush.