I made this mixtape mainly to be about walking around the in the snow and how that alternates between being shit and being deadly. I say it’s “about” that, it’s more or less exactly the tracks I listened to on Thursday when I went on a walk around the snowed-in area I’ve just moved to. I will probably fill in the tracklist a bit later on but I’m not entirely sure where some of them came from. There’s a good variety, around 40 or so tracks for the hour. It’s a bit of a journey but it’s a pretty nice one.

I’ll be moving No Chorus to tumblr soon, so consider this the goodbye post.

When I was younger I took this moron seriously, how embarrassing.

“That’s a very famous book I wrote, the audiobook won a grammy”

As you might of guessed, this is my favorite time of year. I usually watch a load of horror movies but might give that a miss seeing as that all I’ve done for the last month.

You should listen to this new Danny Brown track though and then give me zero credit when you claim to have heard of him before he was famous. He is fucking amazing, has an incredible range, is goon as fuck and should be a lot bigger than whatever stupid bullshit you think is worth listening to at the moment. Might post more Halloween raps in the morning, also might just fall over though.

Alternatively, pick a relatively obscure act and champion them. When it comes to being superior about music, this choice pretty much constitutes bush league sucka shit but I guess you have to start somewhere. Loving Life Without Buildings help you learn how to belittle Wilco fans (although you shouldn’t need much help with that, Wilco are an irredeemable bitchmade crapfest).

If you want to hit top difficulty hell-mode with this shit though, then you’re going to want to pick a band that had a one hit wonder and champion them. This shows you’re able to transcend the consensus. For instance, thinking Kick Out The Jams is “one of MC5′s weaker tunes actually” means you’ve won. (Back In The USA is a shit album MC5 fans, eat a dick straight up).

Shirts:
At gigs it goes without saying that you shouldn’t wear the t-shirt of the band. No matter how cold you are or how damp your Daniel Johnston t-shirt is (always a safe gig shirt, awards mid-level cred and is impossible to be interrogated over as no one actually fucking listens to Daniel Johnston): do not wear the shirt you got from the merch table.

Wearing a side project shirt is acceptable. The level of acceptability grows the more divorced the side project is musically from the kind of stuff the main band plays. So wearing a Foxboro Hot Tubs shirt at Greenday is okay (aside from the fact you’re at Greenday so should be stabbing yourself in the neck with your own shinbone). But wearing a Relaxed Muscle shirt at a Jarvis Cocker gig is better (relatively, people at Jarvis Cocker gigs should only be smothering themselves to death with a pillow….a pillow made of shit).

Gigs
If people start shouting the names of popular songs, shout the most obscure one you can think of. Then go “aweee” sadly when the musician pulls their fake-surprise-at-deep-cut-request face (they all have this face, it is part of the business). If the musician makes a joke, laugh at it out loud. This might be difficult as, apart from a man named Jon, all musicians fall in line with the “Musician Humor Paradox”. This being that Dave Ghrol is the funniest musician, but Dave Grohl is also not funny.

Fans
If you meet another fan, imply the closer their opinion of the band is to the general consensus the less they have really thought about the band. Complain about people who came to the band after they released their good album that made their name. The other fan is likely to be one of these people, revel in their attempts to pretend otherwise.

Sadly, the internet has made it easier for everyone to hear a band’s whole discography. Don’t worry however, you will have a secret weapon. Talk about the band as if they’re an annoying friend of yours. For instance, be irritated “Noah’s” new album cover is ‘heavy pedo’. Talking about a musicians as if you’re friends shows you’re a true fan. And a dick. Same thing really.

Me and Karl, from Those Geese Were Stupefied, talk shit for 45 minutes. Subjects include: Gigs, New York Being Alright If You Like Saxophones, Children’s Tv, Sean is Pretentious, Lil Wayne is sort of stupid and Ian Mckaye should not be taken seriously by anyone ever.

The play sean talks about is real

Where Karl’s blog got its name

The coolest thing kevin smith has done

The character of Spencer

A Mili

That bit in the American Hardcore Documentary

Thusly, conventional wisdom dictates that if comedians are going to podcast, they should talk less about performing comedy and ease off on the 4th-wall-breaking self-depreciation.

And, like all truly worthwhile pieces of culture, Walking The Room bids a full and emphatic “fuck you” to conventional wisdom. Maybe it’s because Greg Bernhardt and Dave Anthony have been friends for years or maybe it’s because of their previous experience in radio together but in their short run of podcasts they’ve already created something than stands apart from the crowd.

Since Walking The Room is a guestless 2-man ship, its potential to entertain lives and dies with the chemistry between Dave And Greg. Luckily, this chemistry mainly is mainly acidic and weird. Theirs is a shared sense of humor based on vicious insults and exaggerated mutual disgust all filtered oddly through pop culture, self-help speak and a barely visible flicker of genuine human warmth.

When Greg and Dave talk about how shitty Walking The Room is it comes across as both a genuinely self-effacing move and a perfect opportunity to viciously eviscerate each other. Nothing about it smacks of an excuse or apology. This is indicative of both of their personalities, even if they arrive their unapologetic nature from completely different angles.

Greg Bernhardt is a walking paradox. He’s a hip dad who plays in surf guitar band and has Concerns about sweaters. Yet he manages to not to be annoying. There’s another hit against conventional wisdom. Instead he seems to have his shit supernaturally together, or at least know what he has to do to get to that state and is also remarkable humble about all this. He’s already written the book on relationships (literally, but don’t ask him any questions on the subject…sadly the answer is on the cover) but it’s great to hear is take on any topic he feels free to hold court on. Most importantly, he’s funny and his style of humor lends itself very well to podcasts. And also to stand up comedy, so go see him do that too.

Dave Anthony always reminds me of a Z-Ro lyric that goes: “I love nothing, make the barber to write a Fuck You in my head”. Dave really doesn’t seem to affect this attitude, the way a lot of other comics seem to (how mad can Lewis Black be at music videos?): he lives it. Dave’s natural curmudgeonly attitude and his laser-like ability to find the logical fault with anything would make for a horrific monster if he didn’t seem to be unable to express this rage through anything but excellent indignant off the cuff humor. Nothing is funnier than when Dave Anthony is so angry at something he blurts out the first thing that comes to his head. This is usually a threat of some complex violence, the kind usually reserved for Greg. Oh and when I emailed the guys a few questions about the podcast, Greg took the time to describe Dave as “a fictional character cobbled together from equal parts mud and sadness.” And Dave didn’t insult Greg at all. Which is pretty great.

As you can imagine, this vast difference in personalizes along with a long storied friendship leads to some great banter. This usually takes the shape of one person trying to tackle a subject or relate a story sincerely while the other insults them in exponentially harsher ways until the other is forced to respond. The other form the two of them take, when they combine into a comedy Voltron, is even better. When the two of them focus in on one subject, they become almost Sklar-like in their ability to do overlapping, complementary riffs. This, like most other things you can say about Walking The Room, is fairly redundant as the guys have said this already on one of their casts.

When any topic is broached on Walking The Room, it seems to be treated as an investigation into human behavior and what someone, usually one of the two hosts, could have done to not appear manic in a certain siuation. And it’s genuinely interesting. Even when they cover comedy, as mentioned above, it’s always with regard to how they or someone else is making life hard for themselves and others on a personal level. They know how lucky they are to be stand ups but still convey very well the weirdness involved in the job. No condescending talk of “civilians” here.

WTR stance on politics is also willfully apathetic. As I’ve said, Greg and Dave often discuss personal politics but never engage in the semi-informed, disastrous political rants which ruin whatever shows they turn up in. Even though Dave had a fantastic political blog, which would indicate a smaller potential for smug rants about the Bilderberg group than exists in other podcast, he only brings up politicians to explain why they’re failing as people. Sadly, many comedy podcasts occasionally recall that disastrous and preachy recent Neil Young album. However Walking the Room is a bit like the Minutemen. Funny, shambolioc but deceptively deft banter peppered with hilarious caustic and inclusive stream-of-consciousness calls to get your shit together.

You’ll notice Walking The Room doesn’t feature any guests. Most podcasts seem to do this and I was curious about the choice. I sent a few questions to Greg and Dave and Dave’s answer shows that this choice was more thought out than you might imagine:

“If you listen to comedy podcasts you’ll notice a common theme: Interviews with comedians. It gets redundant, especially because there’s only so many comics and everyone seems to be interviewing the same comics over and over, so you have a repetition of conversations and stories. “

Walking The Room is a fairly stringently honest podcast. They are more inclined to call people out and mention names than most other comedy podcasts. Now, I assumed Dave doesn’t care about someone not being happy with hearing his opinion of them and indeed with want his ire to be transmitted as widely as possible.

(I aksed him, just to be sure:
“Yeah, I don’t give a shit.…
Dane Cook’s a dick. Everyone should know that.”)

But I wondered if Greg felt the same:
“You are correct about Dave and I haven’t to my knowledge said anything I wouldn’t also say in person but still behind the person’s back.”

It’s, as refreshingly honest an attitude as you’d expect from these guys, who seem to be tired of compromise and faking it from their time on a TV talk show.

Obviously you can see I’m on Walking The Room’s side but it’s not perfect. The first few episodes still have the inevitable training wheel-feel and the sound quality of the first ten sounds like they recorded them with Alan Lomax in a field in Mississippi. If you’re new to Walking The Room I suggest you start from 11 up, paying special attention to episode 16. The last segment of episode 16 is the only vital piece of running joke lore you’re going to need not to get lost and is also possibly the funniest thing they’ve ever done.

To finish I asked Dave what was different about Walking The Room compared to other podcasts:

“The difference for us is that we do a terrible podcast. And that seems to be the thing people are responding too:) We also call it a podcuddle which is cute and stupid like our show. Which could also be called Cute and Stupid.

And I asked Greg what he liked about podcast fans:

“The thing I like about the podcast fans is that they are the hard cores. They are the ones who keep your career alive when you have no career and seem like or hate you for the person you are rather than the person they need you to be. Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit. Maybe they are sad trolls. But either way we call em Cuddlaz and they are clown from the neck down.”

If you want to see what I’ve said holds up (or just what the hell Greg’s last sentence was about) listen to Walking The Room Here or subscribe on Itunes.

Oh and it’s also important to note that a couple of people have labeled this The Best Thing McTiernan Has Ever Written. I don’t think the word “best” should be applied to my writing, that implies consistency or something. I like it though, it’s probably the most sincere thing I’ve written. I’m basically a sad awkward dude. Tell no one though.

I spent the summer in Canada. Big fucking deal I know but it is important with regards to putting what comes next into context and if we don’t have context where would we be? Not even Mexico my friend. That was a reference to the Simpsons, a TV show we both enjoy. Doesn’t if feel like we’re proper mates now? Now I don’t feel so bad for drinking some of your cans.

While I was in Canada (I have to keep having to reminding you I was there because this is print and you cannot see my I-was-in-Canada-on-the-Student-visa hat. It is sort of like a pope hat but it has a Maple leaf on it. I used it to beat a man to death in the chipper recently because he thought my spice burger was “bent”. I didn’t even wait for him to clarify what sort of “bent” he meant, I just took off my hat and hammered him into the ground.) I went on a date.

A date with a girl from Craigslist. Anyone who has seen me in person knows that not only do I look exactly like the person who has to turn to online dating, I also look like I will eventually have my face on the news with “online dating murder ends in sheep rampage” under it. As they say in the west of Ireland, I am an “unfortunate looking” person. I am also intensely shy and use hostility as a defence mechanism. Not exactly adding up to Joseph Gordon Levitt here. No pity required, I just know I write like a handsome man and I didn’t want you too be confused when she had no interest.

By the way, very funny. I know Craigslist is known for it but she wasn’t a prostitute. I am nearly certain she wasn’t a prostitute. If she was though she was a really really rubbish one. Like profoundly rubbish. No, she almost definitely wasn’t. So that’s cleared up. I think.

She did turn up drunkish with an empty bottle of cider though. And she was pretty disgusted I had to ask for a fork in the sushi place we went (Sushi is a lot more common in Canada, where I lived for the summer. Remember?) She was bummed out my accent was not stronger. She had super pretty eyes which she covered in sunglasses 95% of the time. She got mad I keeping cutting my stories off halfway through and apologising for being boring. She was quite happy to talk about Twin Peaks for ages which was fine with me. She did not enjoy my comparing it to the OC. I supposed I’ll have to remember that in two years time when I am high enough to try internet dating again.

Both of us were being dangerously quirky.I had been lulled by cutsey independent movies to think that the second we awkwardly sat together on a bench faith would take over.. She would start talking about Star Wars, Jim Jaramush would arrive with a handcrank camera and the Shins would roll in on a flat bed strumming away. It didn’t. All we were was two awkward nerdy people trying to look cool in front of each other. They should put a warning on the recent crop of Garden State style movies, if you try to pop-culture-banter and self-consciously-weird your way through a date you just look like a total dick.

As you and I know, an important anniversary has just passed. Six months ago, Sean Mc Tiernan went to a nude beach for the first time and only. That’s right friend, next Miller time, raise a glass and celebrate this special day.

I hate the way I look, I have crippling social anxiety and crisp in the sun like one of those roast chickens you see in Supervalu. I know right, why exactly hadn’t I been to a nude beach before? Sounds like top of the bucket list right? Well it wasn’t, for a number of reasons.

First and foremost of course is my physical appearance. Me having more body disgust than Jeff Golblum in The Fly means I’m not exactly rolling my shirt up and showing people the Situation at the best of times. The prospect of naked me in front of people with eyes and the ability to judge does not inspire any happiness. And disregarding me, what about the other people on the beach? Naked Sean is pretty panic inspiring. They’d probably call The Ghostbusters. “Stay Puft is back, we need you to cross the fucking streams!”

The other thing is the abject horror I feel when considering what I’ve been told is one of the main reasons to visit nude beaches. This is, of course, to scope out the naked ladies. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not coming out against naked ladies. In fact I have so much respect for naked ladies, I’m not going to employ the obvious pun the last sentence sets up. But as much as naked ladies are totally in line with my thinking (high fives for you nude women!) me being around them in public just sounds like the worst thing ever. For instance strip clubs seem to me to be a sort of hell. Both sides are humiliated and awkwardness is everywhere. Now I’m not saying nude beaches are like strip clubs, they smell equally bad but in different ways and beer is far more expensive in strip clubs, but you pick up what I’m laying down brother. Publicly leering at naked women when they get to see you and go “oh look, that dude is leering heavy” is horrific. (But if it’s in private, obviously; wagons ho!)

So both of the pitched advantages of nude beaches (leerage and hot-body-flaunting) are the worst things I can think of. Why did I end up there at 2pm on a Sunday? Maybe I wanted to challenge myself, go outside my socially anxious shell and have an adventure. It wasn’t though, it was drugs and alcohol. So I took of my shirt and ventured in. That’s right, only half nude. If you think 17 years of attempted Catholicism wasn’t going to keep my lower half clothed then you’re mistaken. I was also wearing sunglasses so my toes wouldn’t see me staring at them, all embarrassed.

Once I stumbled onto the beach, I realized my mistake. I had fallen victim, as I’m sure many have, to the narcissism of imagined nudity. Cause I am a man and because the internet is a thing that happens, I have a certain ideas of nakedness. It involves unrealistically and excitingly appendaged men and women who look like cartoon characters staring sadly into the camera. What it doesn’t involve is men and women over 50 who are obese, high, leathery from the sun, adverse to showering, in possession of bongos and sporting inexplicable dreadlocks. But guess which category 95% of people on this nudist beach in Vancouver, Canada fell into? Well, you’re a better man than I Gunga Din because I was bloody shocked.

The last thing a person wants to see when they’re not in full control of themselves is massive middle aged women doing the booty clap as they run up the sand to join a drum circle. Actually that’s the second last thing. The very last thing is creepy old dudes who look like they consist solely of sweat, hair dye and High Society magazine having conversations in the buff, hands on their hips, gyrating like Ravishing Rick Rude. Yet that is exactly what I saw. I sat on a log, mournfully sipped my beer and sadly tried to convince myself the slapping sounds I heard were rounds of applause.
Not all anniversaries are happy ones, but they deserve to be remembered.