Words cannot possibly express how little I care about the fact that you are playing a show

We all have our naive friends/acquaintances who harbor delusions that they'll be able to make a living acting or playing music. This is tolerable when you're in high school and everyone thinks they have a shot at being famous - hell, some of my favorite concerts were performances by high school pals. However, after skipping out on college, playing in Sidewalk's Anti-Folk Hootenanny every Monday and every other low-end shithole in Lower Manhattan and still finding yourself without a record deal seven years later, it's probably about time to hang up your acoustic guitar and join the rest of us in reality.

Unfortunately some people apparently still don't get it, judging by the daily influx of "I'm performing at [flavor of the week Lower East Side dive] this week, be sure to come check me out even though an audience of one looks worse than zero!" e-mails I receive. Honestly? I just. Don't. Care.

Maybe as a 22-year-old with nothing to do I might have given a shit about your fledgling music career. But not now. I am busy. I have shit to do, and it doesn't entail trekking out to see your sorry ass play boring, unoriginal music.

Additionally, we haven't even hung out in five years; why the fuck am I still on your mailing list? I know the pains of self-promotion all too well - several years ago I tried to compile an e-mail distribution list of everyone I knew to send out weekly reminders about my first ever e-zine, and you know what? People didn't care.

Because people don't care if they don't know you that well. Are you my best friend? If you are, then I probably already am coming out to support your show, and have done so countless times in the past. Also, if I'm your best friend, I already know about it and don't need to be on your mass e-mail reminder. It's like the hundreds of bands who try to friend you on MySpace every day. You think just by trying to add me as a friend that I will feel an overriding urge to subsequently check out your music?

Oh but wait - you mean you're opening for a Pitchfork-approved band that might be signed to an indie and if you just have enough of your friends in the crowd the label might think you guys are good enough to merit a record deal too? Sorry, but I just don't give a fuck.

Manhattan needs the Angus Third Pounder NOW

I experienced quite the rollercoaster of emotions yesterday upon discovering that McDonald's recently launched a new burger called the Angus Third Pounder.

Initially I began to flip out harder than I've ever flipped out before. Three new delicious-looking burgers, with a variety of spectacular toppings? Sign me the fuck up.

I'm an unabashed McDonald's fan, and have been since I was a kid. Admit it, you like Mickey D's too. Everyone loves to say how unhealthy it is and how the burgers taste like crap, but once you're in a McDonald's not even a vegetarian can resist temptation.

But my utter glee was shortlived, upon reading the fine print that so far McDonald's is only rolling the burgers out in Southern California. What the fuck? Isn't SoCal home to the most health-conscious hippies in all the land? Why on earth would they choose the west coast as the launching point for their giant, mouth-watering new burgers? Unacceptable.

Fortunately, initial reports have the new burgers selling like hot cakes, so continue to eat up, SoCal. New Yorkers need the Angus Third Pounder ASAP.