Back.

What the hell happened? The last time I updated this was in 2007. Seriously. What happened? I just tried to sign up for a WordPress page. What is that? I have no idea. I got an email from them and signed up and now it exists but I don't know how to use it. I swear I didn't just wake up from a five year nap. At some point, technology and social media got together and fucked and made a baby that just punched me in the dick as it ran by me.

Seriously. I also signed up for a Tumblr page. I have even less of an idea of what a Tumblr page is than I do a WordPress page. Am I the oldest 28 year old person on the planet? I have no idea what to do with a Tumblr page but I have one. I don't know where it is or what it's called but I signed up and it exists somewhere.

I signed up for Blogspot in 2004 when I was young and spry and because it looked slightly more sophisticated and sounded less effeminate than a LiveJournal. Remember them? That's the speed I run at. LiveJournal speed. Write your little entry and then put a little smiley face or a frowny face depending on whether you feel smiley and frowny.

I've already given up on my blog's resurrection before I've even finished writing. I believe that's what the kids call "Fail." Am I pronouncing that right? "Fail."

I have a Twitter account but I don't use it very often. Sometimes I do but it tends to drain the battery in my phone. Blogger asked me if I'd like to learn how to Blog from my phone? No. I certainly would not. "But you could take pictures of things and post them and then write about the pictures?" I could but I will not.

Goodbye for eight more years...

April 28th

My girlfriend loves/hates Cat Power

Sometimes I worry that all I'll ever write about is music and concert reviews and open letters to members of the Wu-Tang Clan. Surely, I can find something else to write about? Eh... it's just safer this way. I could probably write about comedy and stuff but then I run the risk of a) burning bridges and b) turning into ericcheung. But I think about music because truly that's all I have to let people know how cool I am. If my iPod doesn't have the newest, hippest, most elite bands on it, then what do I have to identify myself with? If I don't think non-stop about trying to listen to cool music, I'll never be able to be have as hip as say a Max Silvestri or a guy that is comparable to Max Silvestri. (How's that blog? Two comic bridges burned in one opening paragraph. Suck it, Max.)

In the last week, I've made my girlfriend to Mix cds of music I think is the bee's shit. I did it mostly because I'm eternally 15, partly because I like to condescend, and slighty because I have hopes that I won't have to go to concerts forever holding hands with Steve Wilkinson.

I give her the cds. She digests them for a week and then I quiz her on what she likes and dislikes. It's a fun game filled with unexpected surprises and expected unsurprises. So far, I'm two for two with Bloc Party ("Modern Love" and "I Still Remember") and two for three with Sufjan Stevens ("Something slow that I has a million words in it's title," "the song from seven swans that was on the oc soundtrack, and "chicago." Metric has hit twice and Feist, Broken Social Scene, Belle and Sebastian, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Cat Power have all gotten on base without striking out.

Cat Power. The reason we are here. The second song on the first disc is "He War." A song so great I had diddly guitar part stuck in my head at work and I could not figure out what the fuck it was to the point where I contemplated taking my own life (mostly because I was at work, partly because I was really frustrated, and slightly because sometimes sean sad.).

I played it in her car and she was singing a long. I said, "Wow. You like Cat Power. Cool." At which point, she turned the song off and said, "Cat Power? Really? I hate it now."
ME "But you were just singing it?"
HER "Yeah but Cat Power is a stupid name. I won't listen to anything with a name that stupid."
ME "But you like it!"
HER "Not anymore. That name stinks."
ME "What's wrong with the name?"
HER "I just imagine little mangy dirty cats with fur covered in shit and cat litter wearing capes."

My girlfriend shut out Cat Power because the stage name of the artist made her think of dirty, shit-covered, super-hero cats. This is why I keep her around. Also, it's the reason I will continue to go to concerts with Steve.

NEW BRIGHT EYES REVIEW IN MAY!!!

Regrettable Decisions: Concerts Edition Part I

I have made some mistakes in my life. Most of the mistakes have strangely worked out in my favor to the point where I guess you couldn't really call them mistakes anymore. Apparently, I haven't made any mistakes in my life. But there have been moments that I regretted and generally, these moments occur when I am at a concert and usually the regret goes something like, "Wow, I really regret coming to this concert." I'm not at the concert by mistake. I went of my own volition. If it had been a mistake, I would have been like, "Hey. I wasn't supposed to be at this concert. What the hell?" If it were a mistake, I could have very quickly corrected that mistake by leaving the concert. But a regrettable decision is different. There have been a number of concerts and moments at concerts that I regret having made a regrettable decision. Over the next week or so, I'm gonna share some of these regrettable concert decisions because frankly, they are the most relatable stories that I can share. There are others but it's is going to a lot easier to understand these then to tell you why I regretted going to see my little brother's high school's production of Godspell because I'd just be boring you because who gives a fuck about Godspell? God certainly doesn't. And besides, hearing about how I saw Fall Out Boy open for two different ska bands on two different occaisons is going to allow you to respect me a lot less then my eloquently worded treatise on stupid fucking Godspell.

Spring Concert UMass 2002 (Guster, The Roots, Ludacris)

Every year, UMass puts on a big concert with a ridiculously unbalanced lineup of the strangest mix of bands and musicians conceivable. My sophomore year it was Reel Big Fish and 50 Cent but I left after Reel Big Fish (cause RBF is the shit) so there isn't a fun story there. My freshman year, however, I stayed the whole time and man, oh, man was it worth it.

First off, there is nothing funny about Guster because Guster is Guster. Guster is the kind of music I wouldn't be mad that my girlfriend listened to (she doesn't) but I wouldn't be proud either. When I find out people like Guster, I go, "Eh." I don't think you can hate Guster because I don't think anybody can really care that passionately about them. Guster evokes almost absolutely nothing in me, positive or negative. It's like a band of three John Mayers but none of them are funny. Guster just is and it's existence doesn't really bother me. Though the guy drumming with his hands is kind of annoying in a he-could-kick-the-shit-out-of-me-without-even-kicking-me way.

There is also nothing funny about the Roots but for the exact opposite reason of Guster. The Roots are amazing. That's it.

Now, the headliner on the other hand was a man named Ludacris. Remember, this isn't the Ludacris from Crash. This is the Ludacris from move-bitch-get-out-the-way-get-out-the-way-bitch-get-out-the way. Ludacris is a man, two hypeman, and a dj an HE STILL TOOK A FUCKING HOUR TO SET UP! Unbelievable. The Roots played for an hour and a half. Ludacris played for about 20 mins once he got going. But the best part of this story is that Ludacris does a lot of between song banter that is mind-boggling poetic. First, he made all his "dawgs" bark. Fine. "dawgs" gotta bark. Then he asked where the fellas were at and we all barked again. And then he asked for the ladies. He said, "All ya'll ladies, if your pussy's clean, scream."

I wish I had a decibel meter for the Mullins Center that day because when he said that, the room went insane. INSANE. I thought for a second that it was 1969, 1985, and 1999 all at the same time and that the Beatles, Michael Jackson, and NSync had stepped out onstage at the same time. And this was a concert at ZOOMASS! Party school #1!!!!

All of these girls had clean genitals? Really? I kept looking around for the one honest girl who was gazing at her shoes, kicking the ground, CharlieBrown style but she wasn't there. It's an amazing testament to the safe sex education going on in the dorms at UMass Amherst that there was not one female not screaming. Though to fair, I bet if Ludacris yelled "All ya'll fellas, if your dick's got cheese, scream!", you would have been able to hear a pin drop.

College. It ain't honest.

Brand Spankin New BRIGHT EYES review!!!

Easily my most popular blog entry report essay ever was my open letter to Ghostface Killah.

But perhaps my second favorite post was my review of the very first time I saw Bright Eyes aka Connor Oberst aka Bright Eyes. I remember it like it was yesterday (I have a very poor memory and often time-travel.) Sitting in a pew in Harvard surrounded by crazies that made me want to punch, I watched as Bright Eyes and his band, the Brighter Eyes, played I'm Wide Awake It's Mourning pretty much in it's entirety and it was good. But that was two years ago and in that time, Sister Bright Eyes has come back around a couple of times and each time I don't go. Why? Cause fuck you, that's why. I do what I goddamned well please.

But a couple of weeks ago, I heard that Bright Eyes was packing up his shit and hitting the road (which couldn't be that hard as I suspect he lives in his car because he is bohemian as fuck.) I went to the only person I know gayer than myself (STEVE MFING WILKINSON!!!) and said,

SEAN
We cannot miss this show.

STEVE
But we've missed him the two or three times he's come back since

SEAN
(slapping Steve)
Shut up.

So I ordered tickets and they mailed me the tickets. But what ho? My older brother, PFunk, got free tickets for being a poster hanger upper or something and guess what? Those tickets were way better. So fuck you, tickets I bought. We're going with the free tickets. But.... PFunk's tickets come at a cost. That cost? My soul or $30. Either way, he needs to be paid in full the next time I see him or slap. Ouch. So me and Steve pile into my mom's trusty 2006 KIA mini-van (which for the record is a hell of a lot gayer than going to see Bright Eyes but we'll get to that once we sell these tickets.) So we sell the two tickets.

Let me pause for a second. Going to see Bright Eyes is not gay. I don't even know what that means. First of all, I'm led to believe that gay people have much better taste and probably wouldn't go see Bright Eyes. Secondly, I did not go into the concert and all of the sudden was "gimme a guy cause I'm gay." Going to see Bright Eyes is not gay. Being as excited as I was to see Bright Eyes is a little bit gay but I'm fine with that because as i've said before i'm 49.9 percent gay (that covers the part about loving musical theater and getting into long winded discussions about how Liza Minelli was the absolute worst possible casting decision for the film adaptation of Cabaret, not because she is terrifying and big-headed but because she's an American and an American Sally Bowles complete destroys the political alleghory of the piece but i digress.) So to my girlfriend Kassandra, Tom Dustin, Chris Walsh, June Politano, this chick I work with who heard Tom Dustin call me gay on the phone, Renata Tutko, Ken Reid, Brandon Hagan, seangeorge, and my own self-loathing, I say "quit pickin on me. aw jeez."

We walked into the Somerville Theater (which is awesome) and sat in our seats (which were awesome) and waited. And then waited some more. I got so bored waiting that I went and got some popcorn and an ice tea. As I was sitting back down, I poured most of the popcorn into Steve's lap and poured most of the ice tea down my throat. Around who-knows-what-time, MWard came out. I was not a huge fan of MWard before the show. I heard Post-War and thought it was ok. I'm not one for overly reverby vocals that sound like they're being recorded in a well but I am incredibly pretentious so I when I heard he was opening, I was glad because it meant that somewhere down the road, I could potentially be pretentiously condescending to someone and that's a good feeling.

But holy fuck, he was amazing. MWard? More MWarding-off-bad-times-by-being-such-an-awesome-one-man-band-machine. Sweet fuck. The guy can play and apparently, he sings all echo-y so it wasn't just studio effects (you like how I did that? dropped in "studio effects" like I know what I'm talking about). My only complaint. The man's hands are freakishly limber. He plays acoustic guitar and sounds like there is a full band on stage. But it's because he's either triple jointed in his fingers or something because his fingerpicks and his hand was moving in ways that suggested he had shattered all the bones in his hand with a hammer in order to be able slap them around so much. Next time you see me, ask me for a demonstration.

So MWard plays only like 25 mins and then he's done. And then we wait. Which is insane because MWard played his own guitar for 25 mins without touching anything else on the stage. All of Bright Eyes and the Bright Eyes Seven's shit was untouched and was perfectly laid out from the minute we got there. Why did we have to wait 30 mins for Bright Eyes then? Why? There was a chick sitting in the row behind us who started doing her homework. Seriously. She kept asking me what the square root of pi was and I peed my pants cause that's how I roll when birds (n: dames, skirts, or broads) start talking.

Me and Steve decided to use the bathroom and check out the merch table. What the fuck happened to you, Bright Eyes? When did you become such a corporate whore? 10 bucks for a 5 song ep? Suck a dick, Bright Eyes. No way. I'll buy your EP at Best Buy on Tuesday (where I'll also buy the new Arcade Fire. Boner.) It used to be about the melodramatic emoting and now, it's all about the money, huh? You know why they call you Bright Eyes, Bright Eyes, because your eyes are so bright from reflecting all of the money that you are stealing from all your bright-eyed disicples. Unbelievable.

But anyway, we went back to sit down and holy balls, the lights went out and the show started and WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT'S THE GUY FROM AFI DOING SINGING LEAD FOR BRIGHT EYES!?!? seriously. If I could figure out how to find pictures of both Davey Havok from AFI and Bright Eyes from Bright Eyes, I would post them so you can compare them. Bananas.

The show was good. For the first time in a long while, nobody was so annoying that I wanted to strangle them which was nice for a change (I've been going to a bunch of shows with Steve and it never fails that somebody standing around us does something so ridiculous that my enjoyment of the show is put on hold because I go silently mental about how insane what I'm seeing is. It's a curse.)

Bright Eyes is the kind of cat that plays songs that aren't yet available which is good but come on, man, play some of the hits. All I ask for is one or two of your fucking standout tracks. How bout "Bowl of Oranges" or "From A Balance Beam" or "The Calendar Hung Itself" or the song about how your imaginary brother imaginarily drowned in a bathtub before you ever learned his name and that's the imaginary reason you came up with for why you drink so much? At the very least play "When The President Talks to God Part Two: THE RESPONSE!"

Bright Eyes closed with "Laura Laurent" which me and Steve questioned at first but then stopped questioning once Bright Eyes started his nervous breakdown and jumped into the crowd (for the record, I don't think he was really breaking down but that's cause I have a degree in theater and apparently gay).

On the way out, we followed a kid into the lobby and this is what he said in an exacerbated or more appropriate word, short of breath fashion: "Oh my God, I can't believe it. HE WAS SO GOOD! It was an honor to have him come out in the crowd and be right near me. I wanted to cry with Connor!"

Best heckle of the night in responce to a "I love you Connor": "Who's Connor?" shouted by someone who was not me but must be a fan of mine.

The show ended. Me and Steve, satisfied, climbed into the mini-van and drove to Hilarium where we drank PBR and I almost broke Joe List's neck from moshing to the Walsh Bros/Grown Up Noise.

All in all, not a bad time.

Borat in Sweeny Todd? Color me erected...

I just read this article.

http://productionweekly.com/2006/10/12/cohen-may-join-depp-in-burtons-sweeney-todd/

So sweet. So sweet that I decided to post about it on a blog that no one reads nor cares about.

Hooray.

Also, TV on the Radio is awesome live. So awesome. Almost as awesome as Borat in Sweeny Todd.

Sean's Plant World

I recently opened a plant world in Raynham called "Sean's Plant World."
I also recently filmed a commercial for my new plant world.
It airs exclusively during the Phantom Gourmet but I'm putting it on the internet. For the kids. It's arguably the greatest commercial ever made.