Welcome to “Things I Hate,” a semi-regular installment (assuming I continue to find ways to be annoyed) in which I discuss something that bugs the shit out of me. This week’s recipient of my loathing: shitty headphones.

As I write this, my headphones are coiled in juuuuust the right way so I can continue listening to music on the train without the sound going in and out, but I know it’s just a matter of time before one of the earbuds stops working entirely, leaving me shit out of luck (and music) until I can buy another pair. And there is no worse feeling than having to acknowledge the impending death of something upon which I rely so heavily.

Imagine having a pair of glasses (or, if you have glasses, just continue to occupy your normal frame of mind,) and they work perfectly for almost two months. Then, one day, one of the lenses goes completely blurry. You hope for the best, but in the pit of your stomach you get the sinking feeling that something is hopelessly, irretrievably wrong. But just as soon as the blurriness comes, it’s gone, and they work for a little while longer, and you begin to fall prey to the delusion that “Hey, maybe it was just a one-time thing! EVERYTHING IS OKAY, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME, GLASSES! [hysterical laughter immediately followed by uncontrollable sobbing]” And then, just when you’re coming home from a shitty day at work and you don’t think things could get much worse, the lenses of those glasses pop out, and as you search frantically for some way, ANY way to make things go back to the way they were…a homeless man runs up and spits in your mouth. That’s roughly what I’m going through right now.

It’s totally my fault that my headphones keep falling apart, too. Not because I don’t take of care of them; my as-yet unborn first child would seethe with jealousy if they saw how lovingly I treat my headphones. It’s my fault because I continue to buy shitty headphones which, after 4 months and without fail, completely fall apart. On top of that, I never get the Best Buy insurance. You’d think I’d remember all the times I’ve had to go back to that fucking store to get a new pair of headphones when my current pair shit the bed. You would be wrong. Every time I go back, it’s the same thought process:

1) “I’m gonna get some decent headphones this time. No more fucking around. RYAN ROSS PLAYS FOR KEEPS.”
2) “Oh, that’s right- a good pair of headphones costs $150. RYAN ROSS IS NOT FINANCIALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO JUSTIFY SUCH A PURCHASE.”
3) “Well, these don’t look too bad- they’ve got the little microphone and play/pause button. Those are high-end features, right? AND they’re only $30! RYAN ROSS KNOWS A BARGAIN WHEN HE SEES ONE.”
4) “A protection package that costs $10 for $30 headphones? I’ll pass. RYAN ROSS IS A RESPONSIBLE HEADPHONE OWNER.”

[Two months pass, headphones break]

5) “RYAN ROSS IS A FUCKING IDIOT.”

I was so mad about it this last time that I actually tweeted at Skullcandy to voice my displeasure, which is just impossibly sad. Want to know the worst part? I had a daydream where someone at Skullcandy said “Uh-oh. This guy with 19 followers on Twitter and practically zero social media presence is going to blow our scheme wide open. SHUT HIM UP WITH FREE HEADPHONES.” I’m pathetic.

Next time, I’m definitely springing for the good headphones, because this shit is for the birds. But in the meantime, I’ll cradle these headphones like a dying fawn. Maybe they’ll fix themselves!

I was listening to Eminem’s “Monster” the other day (not by choice, mind you- it’s just been on repeat on the radio since its release), and a somewhat jarring thought occurred to me: Eminem is old. The guy’s in his forties now, with a daughter who just got named homecoming queen at her high school. I don’t know how you feel about that, but to me, it’s incredibly weird. And “Monster,” which will probably disappear from the radio in 2 to 3 months, is probably the closest thing to a ubiquitous song he can release nowadays. It’s the proverbial march of time, and even someone as talented as Eminem can’t escape its inexorable grasp.

I remember when I was a teenager listening to hip-hop and I always used to think “Man, it’s weird to know that I’m going to be listening to hip-hop when I’m old.” We’re really the first generation that grew up with and will grow old with that genre of music, which is kind of awesome. Imagine being 75 years old and saying “Oh man, remember when jazz came out? Those were some crazy times!” We have the opportunity to say that about hip-hop. Of course, it’s entirely possible that hip-hop will be something completely different/shitty/watered-down by the time we’re old enough to reflect upon it, but just the fact that the possibility exists is, I think, really cool.

On the other hand, though, as we grow old with hip-hop, so will the artists with whom we associate hip-hop grow old and eventually fade away. In some respects, it’s already happened; unless you’re a big fan of the genre, you’ve either never heard of or already forgotten about most old-school rappers. I don’t mean Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg or the like, either- I’m talking about Kool Moe Dee, MC Shan, Grandmaster Flash, etc. Hip-hop is unique in that there’s really no market for “classic” rappers, and no room for nostalgia. Because it’s largely driven by youth culture, you don’t get people going “Oh shit, Rakim and Eric B. are doing a show at Madison Square Garden and charging $125 for a ticket! WE HAVE TO GO!” the way they do when Journey reunites for a quick cash-grab tour. I don’t know about you, but when I hear about old-school rappers doing a show, I just kinda go “Oh…they’re still doing that? Hmm.” Maybe it’ll change once we’re a generation or two removed from the inception of hip-hop. I don’t know.

It’s also peculiar to remember that Eminem used to be a shock value machine. Everything he did or said was endlessly covered by the media, his lyrics were dissected in a way that historically hasn’t happened and, most of all, people seemed legitimately terrified by the prospect of someone like him getting through to the youth of America. I remember the first time I heard “Kim,” and it spooked the hell out of me. He was rapping about murdering his daughter’s mother, for Christ’s sake. But if he did it today? I’d be bored. There’s a law of diminishing returns that comes with being edgy- eventually everybody else catches up or outpaces you, and they can do that because the original “shocking” artist numbed his audience to what he was saying to such a degree that what was once shocking is now mundane, and what is now shocking was once abjectly terrifying. None of this is to say that Eminem isn’t immensely talented, because he’s probably more technically proficient today than he was in the earlier years of his career. But something of a paradigm shift has occurred: we’ve stopped looking at him as a talented rapper and looking at him more as a talented rapper for his age. We’re no longer impressed by the things he does, per se, but rather by the fact that he’s been able to do these things consistently well for such a long time.

The reason I invoked Kurt Cobain in the title is because I think Eminem gives us a good idea of the kind of artist Kurt Cobain would have become had he not committed suicide. I never really subscribed to the theory that Kurt Cobain would have turned out the way Billy Corgan from Smashing Pumpkins did (that is, like a total fucking space cadet); Cobain’s music was visceral, coming in largely short, violent bursts before it flamed out from sheer exhaustion. Conversely, Corgan’s was more cerebral and almost orchestral in its arrangement. Eminem is talented at nearly every type of hip-hop, but he’s at his best when he’s being absolutely insane, and it is in that regard that Cobain and Eminem are most closely related.

Part of the reason why people still mourn Cobain is because he brought to the mainstream consciousness a genre that would come to define a generation, and one can’t help but wonder what else he might have accomplished had he not killed himself. Would he have mellowed with age? Would he have stayed with the grunge thing until he died at age 67? Or did he have something else in him that might have molded another generation? We’ll never know. I don’t mean to imply that Eminem popularized hip-hop in the same way that Cobain popularized grunge, but I think you’d be hard-pressed to name another rapper who resonated with pop culture fanatics (i.e., whites) the way that Eminem did. He was a cultural phenomenon, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever see another one quite like it within hip-hop. So whether you like him or not, I would keep an eye on his career trajectory from this point forward. He might turn out like Billy Corgan, but you can’t discount the possibility that he’ll give us the hip-hop equivalent of an older, wiser Kurt Cobain. And who knows? Maybe the next generation will be downloading his 18th album on Spotify some day (and Eminem won’t be getting paid for it. OH WELL.)

Hopefully they don’t download “Monster,” though. That song kinda blows.

Spotify might be the greatest app ever invented. For those of you who don’t use it (what the fuck is wrong with you?), a quick primer is probably in order. Spotify is essentially a mix of iTunes and Pandora, but it completely eliminates the shitty parts of both of those apps. The reason you can’t search for a specific song on Pandora is because they’ve classified it as “streaming radio,” which eliminates the need to secure licensing for every song on there. An unfortunate consequence of that, however, is that if you really want to hear one particular song and not 36 songs that they claim sound similar but really don’t, you’re shit out of luck unless you pay $1.29 for it on iTunes. Unless there’s a sale going on, in which case you might only pay $0.99 for that song, which is what iTunes used to charge. Basically, their idea of a sale is to sell you an item at their former retail price, which already cost too much. But for some reason, people go “OMG SAVINGS!1!!1!11!” and buy them. (Seriously, the brass balls on the folks at Apple are nothing short of remarkable. “We know you can get this item for free in about a million different corners of the internet, but we’re going to charge you an absurd markup anyway. Want a shitty digital booklet that you can never delete? HEREYOUGOIT’SYOURSTAKEITFUCKYOU!” Really, you have to admire the soaring levels of fuck-you arrogance they’ve achieved.)

On the other side of this increasingly lopsided scale sits Spotify, the neat little app that gives you access to almost as many songs as iTunes and Pandora, with the added bonus of being able to search for and stream any song you want, all for the incredibly reasonable price of $10/month (it’s free on the computer, but I pay the $10 because I can afford it. Take note, ladies.) With that $10/month, I can create a playlist on my phone and make it available offline, which downloads the music to my phone so I can listen to it whenever I want and eliminates the need to pay full price for a song or be reduced to searching around for bargain-bin music like a pig rooting for truffles in a French forest. In the 18 months since I started using Spotify, I’ve probably downloaded well over a thousand songs. You can do the math on how much money I’ve saved in that time frame. (Ugh, that sounded so fucking smug.)

So now that Spotify has supplanted iTunes as a method of obtaining music, you’d think they’d be content with that, right? Fucking WRONG, because then they went and added a radio feature and a “Discover” tab, which suggests music based on the artists to whom you’ve listened in the past. Were they done? NOPE. To top it all off, you know what they do when an artist I like releases a new album or song? They e-mail me! (Granted, whenever I get these e-mails I go “UGH Spotify, I’m busy!” because I’m an ingrate, but still, what an incredible feature.)

I had a hard time figuring out exactly how Spotify works, considering the sheer volume of music they let people download for a pittance, so I read some articles about it and I’m happy to report I’ve found the key cog:

They don’t pay the artists shit.

No less an authority than Thom Yorke has decried this practice, saying essentially that new artists get the short end of the stick when it comes to having their music available for streaming on Spotify. Which is categorically, undeniably true, but…I kinda don’t care. My reasoning is twofold; yes, new artists get hosed on Spotify, but how many people would discover their work otherwise? Most artists make their money touring, so wouldn’t drumming up (AH A PUN!) interest in their music from new parties benefit them when they go on tour? My second reason is far more shameful, but I’ll admit it anyway: I’m not a musician. I understand that it’s completely unfair for musicians to be treated like this and to have their work so dramatically undervalued, but my concern is having access to all the music I want at a reasonable price. And until somebody perfects this business model so that the artist is fairly compensated and the consumer isn’t paying an arm and a leg for it, I’m going to fall on whichever side costs me less money.

In summation: Spotify is horribly unfair, and I love it.

Hope you enjoy this song, even though the artist probably hates me for posting it. Whatever. BACK TO THE SOUP KITCHEN WITH YOU, LADY.

I saw a poster the other day for “The Best Man Holiday,” with Taye Diggs, Terence Howard, (probably) Morris Chestnut, and a bunch of other black actors, and a thought occurred to me:

“Why?”

Nearly every comedy with an all-black ensemble cast has the same basic story: There is a major event going on (a holiday, a wedding, etc.). The men and their girlfriends/wives travel to a location, and the men and women immediately separate for almost the rest of the movie. (For reasons unexplained, the men and women never have many scenes as a group; when they do, it’s almost always near the end.) They do so begrudgingly at first, but through a series of humorous mishaps and deep conversations, they realize how much they’ve enjoyed being around each other. All problems are solved by the end of the film (the catalyst is usually one member of the group in a life-or-health-threatening situation) and there is usually some sort of group dinner scene where we can see everyone getting along. On occasion, one of the members of the group will die, but it’s never one of the bigger names. R&B music plays, end credits, everyone goes home. And it is a complete waste of time.

(I’m not including movies like “Friday” in this category, because while the leads in those films ended up being superstars in their own right, they weren’t at the time the movie was produced. I’m talking about all-black ensemble comedies with actors who have already achieved a certain level of mainstream popularity.)

Look, I totally get why a lot of people like seeing movies with all-black casts, and I don’t mean to imply that there have to be white people in the movie for it to be worthwhile. But all too often, these movies fall into the same recycled tropes we’ve seen a thousand times before, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how these movies continue to be greenlit. They have absolutely zero ambition and eschew breaking new ground in order to stick to a formula that has had success in the past.

(It also doesn’t help that most established black movie stars won’t touch these ensemble pieces of shit with a ten-foot pole. Why? Because they know the truth: these movies are horrid. If I ever see Denzel and Will Smith teaming up in a Tyler Perry flick, I’ll hang myself with my belt.)

From a business standpoint, I get it. These movies typically have a $15-20 million budget, and they usually make around $45-50 million, which is a pretty decent profit. But that guaranteed profit also handcuffs the studios, black writers and black actors into saying “Well, this formula has worked in the past, so let’s not kill the golden goose.” Thus, we’re left with a surplus of shitty, formulaic, unimaginative movies. After all, nobody’s going to take a chance on an adventurous black comedy when they can make “Madea Goes To Rehab” or whatever the fuck for $25 million and generate $40 million in profit every single time.

I asked a black coworker of mine (I KNOW BLACKS) what she thought of most black comedies, and her response was noncommittal at best. I’m paraphrasing here, but the gist of it was “Yeah, they don’t break any new ground, but they’re entertaining and they focus on things that black people see more commonly than white people.” Fine, fair point, but I still think that’s a lazy way to make a movie, just like I think black comics who only talk about “black” topics are lazy hacks. When trying to entertain people, relying solely on race is a total cop-out. Good comics and writers can make their work accessible to everybody; Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, Louis C.K. and George Carlin are all examples of that. Earthquake, Michael Blackson, George Lopez, Dane Cook, Daniel Tosh, et al are examples of lazy comics limiting their works to a specific group of people instead of trying to broaden their horizons.

One other point: the aforementioned black coworker asked me “If ‘Knocked Up’ had an all-black cast, would you see it?” If they kept the same story, then of course I would, because it was a well-written story. If they changed it to a “black” comedy, with all the lazy jokes and stereotypes, probably not. And maybe I’m way off-base here, but it seems like all of those movies have the same jokes:

-“You’re so country!”
-“You grew up poor!”
-“You grew up rich, so now I’m gonna make fun of you for it!”
-“My aunt sure is crazy!”
-“WHITE PEOPLE ARE STRANGE!”

If that’s how the all-black version of “Knocked Up” unfolds, then I’ll be saving my money, thank you very much.

Another note: I’m fully aware of the existence of “white” comedies, like “Road Trip,” every “American Pie” movie, etc., and I detest those movies for the same reason: they’re lazy, they’re formulaic, and they don’t take any risks because they make a set amount of money as long as they follow all the beats of all the shitty comedies that have come before. And you could make the argument that I’m unfairly singling out black comedies when white comedies can be just as inaccessible to non-white people. Plus, I’m sure there’s a history of good comedic scripts written for black audiences (yet still accessible to all audiences) getting passed over in favor of mediocre-to-shitty scripts written for white audiences. I’m not saying it’s fair, because it most certainly isn’t, but I don’t think that’s a valid excuse for not writing a movie that everyone can enjoy, regardless of race or ethnicity. If the script is good enough, the movie will get made. In fact, you know what’s a good test case for this theory? The Chris Rock version of “Death At A Funeral.” It was originally a British dark comedy starring Alan Tudyk and Peter Dinklage, and Chris Rock remade it with a black cast. And you know what? It’s a good movie. It sucks that there are only a handful of black actors who have enough clout to push through a movie like that, but that doesn’t diminish my point that a script doesn’t have to be aimed solely at black audiences to be accessible to black audiences.

Also, no more Eugene Levy. In any movie. We’ve had quite enough.

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these, and I think I’m well past due. It’s raining here, which always puts me in a writing mood. I think it’s because rainy days fill me with motivation to do absolutely nothing, but if I write something I feel like less of a piece of shit. It’s not the most clear-cut system, but it works for me. Anyway, off we go.

I really love music. I’ve played the bass since 5th grade, can pick out a tune here and there on a guitar, and I’m a world-class air drummer. In fact, if you see me air drumming, slide an actual drum set in front of me and guess what happens? MAGIC (I assume). I listen to all genres, am constantly searching for new music, and to me, there’s no greater feeling than when I listen to a song I haven’t heard before and it turns out to be an amazing track. I am, in no uncertain terms, a music junkie.

Which is why it bugs the shit out of me when people A) say they love music but really only like certain kinds of music, or B) tell me they don’t really like music.

I have a hard time finding words to express how that makes me feel, but if I had to come up with a descriptive phrase, I think I’d go with “puzzlement which borders on alarm.” How can you not like music? I get if someone doesn’t like a particular song, an artist or even an entire genre, but music as a whole? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I would say that that’s straight-up serial killer shit (“I don’t care for musical compositions. I prefer the warm embrace of an enveloping silence coupled with my ragged breaths. Those are all the dulcet tones I need.”), but even Buffalo Bill listened to music. Granted, it was the creepiest song ever:

Still, at least he liked something. Aside from the skin suits, of course.

I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that someone can go through a day without listening to music. Not incidentally, like when you’re at the store and they’re playing music over the speakers; I mean people who can go days or weeks at a time without looking for a cool new song or illegally downloading buying an album or a song. That’s just so fucking weird. I was talking about a song I love the other day, and the guy to whom I was talking (NO DANGLING PREPOSITIONS HERE) replied with the following:

“Eh, I don’t really like music.”

Not, “I’m not into that genre” or “I don’t really like that artist,” just “I don’t like music.” How can you not be into music?! To me, that’s like saying you’re not into breathing or electricity. Just jarring and weird.

I also don’t like people who say they love music but are completely resistant to being introduced to new artists. If you listen to a handful of artists and you really love them, but you aren’t interested in finding new songs, don’t say you “love music.” Say you love certain artists; otherwise, you’re lying. DON’T BE A FUCKING LIAR.

Fifteen minutes are up. And as long as we’re on the topic, here’s a song I’ve had on repeat for the past few days. Enjoy it, or don’t. But at least listen to it.

Enjoy your Saturday. I’ll be at goddamned work.

Note: This is, of course, completely subjective- everyone finds different things humorous, and comedians affect individuals in different ways. That being said, if you read this and go “WAIT WHAT ABOUT KATHY GRIFFIN SHE’S SO SAUCY!”, feel free to get the fuck out of here and never come back.

I was talking to a woman the other day about Chelsea Handler; more specifically, why I don’t like Chelsea Handler. She couldn’t understand for the life of her why I don’t think Chelsea Handler is funny and, filled with rage by the mere mention of her name as I was, I couldn’t properly elucidate my quarrel. Now that I’ve had time to cool down, I thought it might be good to write what qualities I think make a person funny, and why Chelsea Handler doesn’t exhibit any of those qualities. Seriously, she is just fucking terrible.

Self-deprecation

Self-deprecation is a valuable weapon in any funny person’s arsenal. It’s a defense mechanism, usually borne from childhood teasing or an abusive home environment. (Right, DAD?!) To be self-deprecating is to take away someone else’s ability to hurt your feelings; if I call myself fat before someone else does, it doesn’t have the same sting.*

*Yes, it does 😥

The thing about self-deprecation is, you have to be willing to take on the stuff that really does make you feel shitty inside. Take, for example, Louis C.K.- he talks about being fat, divorced, selfish, old, kinda ugly, etc., and it works for him because the audience can connect with that. He’s not making up flaws just so he can poke fun at himself, he’s actually analyzing himself onstage. As a result, there’s always an undercurrent of discomfort- the audience doesn’t know if Louis C.K. is going to like what he finds, so by extension, they don’t know if they’ll like it.

Meanwhile, Chelsea Handler brays about her gaping maw of a vagina, and everybody thinks it’s a hoot. But she’s not actually self-conscious about her body (and why should she be?)- she’s just pretending to be because she thinks it’s relatable and funny. It’s the same as a millionaire making jokes about the price of gasoline- you don’t hear it and go “This guy gets it!”, you go “OH, FUCK YOU.” It’s the same thing with Chelsea Handler. When Dave Attell says “I have a drinking problem,” you believe it. When Chelsea Handler says “I LOVE VODKA SO MUCH LOLOL I’M SUCH AN ALCOHOLIC,” it’s just a shameless attempt at getting people to pay attention to her.

Shutting Up.

You know what I love about Louis C.K.’s, Richard Pryor’s, George Carlin’s, Patton Oswalt’s and David Cross’ standup? Not everything they say is a joke. They’ve mastered the slow build, where the beginning of the joke and the punch line can be 10 minutes apart. You can hear it in the audience, too- there’s a slight chuckle at the beginning, then it increases, finally cresting with an explosion of laughter at the end. And the best comedians know how to keep the audience laughing throughout the entire joke, even if what they’re saying isn’t technically a punch line. Chelsea Handler might do this too, but I can’t hear her jokes over the sound of the wind passing through her vagina.

Now THAT’s a Chelsea Handler joke.

Conversely, shitty comedians like Handler and Robin Williams (yes, I said it) never seem to shut the fuck up. They could tell 10 funny jokes in an act, but instead they choose to tell 100 mediocre ones. The best comedians know how to budget and hone their jokes; the shitty ones just dump them in your lap and say “ENJOY THIS, YOU FUCKING PLEBE.”

This isn’t really a comprehensive list, but if you want to be a comedian, it’s a good jumping-off point. And for God’s sake, nobody watch Chelsea Handler anymore.

Side note: I know I haven’t been posting a lot, but that’s largely because I’ve started writing a book, so most of my writing lately has been related to that. I’m going to try to balance both, but I figured it’d be fair to warn you first.