by Ryan McKee

The yearbook staff at Payson Junior High would give each homeroom a nickname for their class picture. The names changed each year depending on the staff. My eighth grade year, the staff loved alliteration to the bitter end.

While Goble’s Gold Nuggets isn’t the most inventive name, it’s strong alliteration and positive. You can see the class is happy to be Gold. This name isn’t too offensive. Although, if we had a larger Italian American population, I’m sure they would be upset. The Mafia is a blemish on their culture. You wouldn’t see Kilgore’s Killing Fields in a school with Cambodian Americans. If I were Italian, I would have be even more offended by the illustration. It looks like a gay French cat burglar. Who drew these? Sure, we didn’t have The Sopranos yet, but we still had The Godfather and Goodfellas. We knew what mafiosos looked like. This could have just been a reference to the Spice Girls’ song (if it had been released yet). However, in my school, “wannabe” and “wigger” were constantly yelled at anyone wearing Cross Colors. You could argue this isn’t racist, but how is it in anyway positive? Why do some classes get to be Gold Nuggest and others are Posers? And let’s talk about the illustration again. At first look, it’s a white kid trying to be black. But if you look closer, he’s wearing John Lennon sunglasses, a peace-symbol necklace, a jumpsuit, and giving the peace hand signal. Did the illustrator even talk to the rest of the staff? There’s no arguing around this one. This is blatantly racist. Sure, most of our town was white, but we still lived in Arizona. There were Mexicans around. I suppose we’re just lucky no teachers had a last name starting with ‘N.’

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Ryan McKee at The Comedy Studio

Home, Pictures & Moving Pictures

Home, Pictures & Moving Pictures

Ron’s new video series. Here are the first two episodes. Many more to come.

Home, Pictures & Moving Pictures

Home, Pictures & Moving Pictures

by Ryan McKee

Geraldo Rivera, your friend and mine, just published His Panic. It’s a landmark in not only race relations but clever wordplay. I’m happy for him, because his last three books really missed the mark.

LA Tino
A child’s book about a rough and tumble Latino boy named Tino growing up in Los Angeles.

Mex, I Can
A historical novel about a motivational speaker fighting at The Alamo . . . but on the wrong side.

Chick Ana
A fantasy novel about a chicana feminist named Ana, who is turned into a chicken by an evil white sorcerer. She struggles to learn the chickens’ language and begins advocating for hen’s rights.

Now that’s a Man!

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by Ryan McKee

I really enjoyed the music in Once, so I got the soundtrack. I listened to that on repeat for awhile and decided to get Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova’s other album, as well as Hansard’s band The Frames latest. The songs “Falling Slowly” and “When Your Mind’s Made Up” appear on all three albums, while “Lies” and “Leave” appear on Once and Swell Season. Had I not illegally downloaded all of these albums, I’d feel jipped.
In fact, I still feel jipped because I had to look around the Internet for awhile before I found Swell Season. That’s 10 minutes of my employer’s time that they’ll never get back.

It’s obvious what’s going on here, greedy Irish big business. Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova, and Once aren’t real. They’re manufactured by the same evil corporation who created U2, The Cranberries, and the boy band Westlife. All to take advantage of the poor, trusting American consumer: “Buy three different CDs with the same songs on them? Okay, Irish Big Business, if you say so. You certainly didn’t steer me wrong with U2’s Pop.”


Marketa hailed indie bands everywhere in her Oscar acceptance speech, but she’s a robot. Not metaphorically. If you lift up her hair, you’ll see her fuse box. The MAN created her, programmed her with that cute Eastern Bloc accent, and unleashed her on American romantics who need to believe that love can happen for everyone, even unattractive street buskers.

Be sure to still watch the movie with your female ladyfriend though. Nothing makes a girl more desperate for love than watching people who are less attractive than her fall in love. She’ll think, “Wait, if they can love, why can’t I?” and jump on your cock faster than a stripper pole.

And speaking of stripper pole . . . a lot of people have been taking potshots at Diablo Cody and her Oscar outfit. I won’t say anything, because I think 2 Live Crew said it best, “Can a nigga get a table dance?”

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by Ryan McKee

My friend Emily Stone used to date the writer John Sellers, so I read his book on her recommendation. It’s called Perfect From Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life and now I can’t stop making lists. Song Titles That Could Be Guided By Voices Songs (But Aren’t)
Captain Suckface
Duder of Bowling Green
Fine Old Cannibus
Crusties in Pilot Eyes
Timorous Plan for Local Heroes
Big Ugly Girl
Fireball Generator
Drilling the Space Air
Crap Death
Saturday Morning Football Reviews
Complex Drinking Lethargy
Glider Plane to Love
My Face is Aaron Burr’s
Walk In, Punch Out
Rumple on This
You’re in my Flip Flop
England (?)
Cyclops Sucks Colossus
Jane Punched JesusFive Ska Bands That Should Exist (But Don’t To My Knowledge)
Skahumbug
(plays one show a year, on Christmas morning)
Battleska Galactiska
(leader singer named Edward James Skankmos, cute Asian female bassist named Skabuck)
F. Ska Fitzgerald
(rich kids that never play live, only pine in their mansion across the lake, which they’ve nicknamed Lake Skaperior)
Barack Oskama
(tour schedule depends on which primary is next. they sing about health care and superdelegates, however, their favorite candidate refuses to acknowledge them)
The Hutu and the Tutska
(biggest career failure: not being included on Hotel Rwanda soundtrack)

Current Band I Can’t Stop Listening To
The Builders and The Butchers

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Ron’s on an extended vacation. Want to be the new Ron Babcock? Watch the video for details on how:

EMAIL YOUR ENTRIES TO THERONOFF@MPEMPIRE.COM

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by Ryan McKee

BackstoryWith my BA in English Literature and Summa Cum Laude honors, I landed a cush job at record store right out of college. There I listened to old punk rock on vinyl and snorted cocaine in the backroom with my manager, Jeffy, a thirty-something year old dude with an English degree from Notre Dame and a long “cocaine fingernail” painted black.In stereotypical High-Fidelity style, Jeffy and I made fun of all the customers musical tastes. Our favorite target was the Wil-Lows. This is what we called the Wilco Heads, sad, shapeless men in their late 20s to early 40s who wore glasses, clean haircuts, and had skin the color of Wonderbread. We hated how they “thought” they were listening to indie music, when in reality they were only a step away from Dave Mathews fans. We just knew little tears would form in their eyes when they listened to “I’m Always in Love.” We just knew they love a concert entitled “An Evening with Wilco” at a theatre (a pretentious place that puts the ‘r’ before the ‘e’) where they could sit down in seats and nod their heads to “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart.” Who goes to a concert to sit down?

When Ryan Adams’ Gold came out and we noticed a surge of Wil-Lows buying it. Quickly, anyone buying an Adams’ or Whiskeytown record became a Wil-Low. Our hatred for them grew as Ryan Adams’ success rose.

This week

So imagine how disappointed Jeffy would be in me if he found out that last night I attended “An Evening with Ryan Adams and the Cardinals” at Royce Hall, a theatre where people sit down to enjoy their concerts?

As we waited for the concert to begin, two 40 something year old men sat behind us, discussing, at length, what songs Adams had been playing on this tour and breaking down their favorite albums of his song by song. They even threw Wilco comparisons in there. I shit you not.

After a few songs, a douchebag in the front row stood up, turned around, and screamed, “Come on people! Stand up.” Immediately, I thought, “Please, no, I’m having such a nice time sitting down.” I started to chastise myself for thinking that. “How old am I?” But when none of the other 1800 people made any motion to stand or even respond to the douchebag, I was fucking glad.

Later the douchebag stood up again and screamed, “Isn’t this a concert? Fucking stand up!” Again, no one moved and I thought, “Ha, ha, isn’t this a delightful evening.” Ryan Adams turned to his guitarist and said, “What that guy say? Sarkofagus?” People laughed. “That would be the best heckle ever. Sarkofagus.” People laughed harder. “Or maybe he’s requesting “Sarkofagus.” Adams starts playing a metal riff and his band joined in. They belted out a 45-second long song, complete with vocals, that sounded like something Dethklok would play. At the end, Adams’ said “Sarkofagus!”

The crowd laughed and cheered, but did not stand up. Despite myself, I laughed too. Comedians can’t stand when musicians try to be funny. It’s so easy for them to get laughs because the audience already loves them, they’re not expecting them to actually be funny, and it breaks whatever tension is built up by the songs. This leads musicians to think they’re actually funny. That’s why we get “skits” on rap albums, Doggy Fizzle Televizzle, and John Mayer’s standup comedy.

Ryan Adams, however, said some funny things on stage. “You know, I still get nervous before concerts,” he said. “Then I think, ‘Why am I getting nervous? I hate most of those people in the audience.”

So, sorry comedians, I laughed at Ryan Adams. And to Jeffy, I really enjoyed sitting down during a concert. I even enjoyed the intermission. I’m sure your ears are ringing in the record store as I write this. That is, if you haven’t died from shooting speedballs.

This is me right before the concert. I’m already kind of having a good time.

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