r.i.p. britanny murphy

Brittany Murphy was always kind of a hero to me.  In addition to her scene stealing performance in one of the best movies of the last decade (Sin City), she was also an unrepentant disciple of pleasure.  Her erotic sexploits and on-going drug use was the stuff of legend in Hollywood.  And Cash Wood for that matter.  Brittany was a hot and vicey vixen indeed.

Something you might not know?

She also had an incredible voice;  silky, sensual, and oozing with sex kitten charm.  She probably had as bright a future doing guest vocals on innuendo laced club anthems as she did on the silver screen.

A taste of what might have been?  Paul Oakenfold’s seminal “Faster Kill Pussycat”,  featuring Murphy at her foxy-feline-finest.  Submitted now for your listening pleasure.

Brittany Murphy, you will be missed.

cash approved: apple genius review

Die MySpace, Die.  It’s been a mantra of mine for years.  Between the seizure inducing layouts, relationship destroying drama, and general idiocy of most people’s profiles, MySpace has proven the very definition of ‘anti-Cash’ establishments.  Still, it’s never pissed me off more than a couple of weeks ago, when it bought my beloved imeem (see here).  And shut it down the same day.  Fuckers.  Scrambling to procure a suitable replacement, I found myself returning to an old friend.  My iTunes collection.  13,213 songs strong, it’s been a labor of love 20 years in the making. Unlike most people, Read more

watch for the signs (you have amazing friends)

This past week, a disaster.  A turn of events so awful, my world was rocked to the core.  A clusterfuck of poor choices made by someone close to me was poised to destroy an otherwise wonderful week.  Thankfully, I have the best friends on planet earth.  A cavalcade of support was soon upon me, starting with a text exchange with my good Read more

trophy wife vs. trophy wise

Mark my words.  One day.  I will have.  A trophy wife.  How do I know this?  Two reasons.  First, I know myself.  Second, I’m trophy wise.  What the hell is ‘trophy wise’?  Glad ya asked.  “Trophy wise” is the state of knowing that anyone, be they a short term girlfriend or boyfriend, long term live-in-lover, or wife.. especially wife, should be a trophy.  To you.  Your personal trophy.  Based on your core values.  Your true goals.  Your honest beliefs.

Traditionally, “trophy wife” is a derogatory term used to describe a physically attractive woman (with no other redeeming qualities) married for the alleged ’status’ the partnership conveys.  This concept is bullshit on so many levels I wouldn’t know where to begin.  Anything acquired or desired as a ’status symbol’ (see here) is a one way ticket to hell.  The Reality of Superiority will own you before your first alimony check clears.

A trophy, in a more accurate sense, is something Read more

watch for the signs (i will kill you)

There are plenty of people I hate.  “Plenty?”  Um.  That’s an understatement.  I’d need a brand new website to keep track of them all.  “Your-Days-Are-Numbered-You-Smug-Fuck.com?”  That sounds about right.  There’s one breed of despicable demon however,  that deserves a circle unto themselves in Cash’s inferno.  These are the people who think it’s okay to treat servers like shit.  To treat servers as anything less than the princes and princesses of society their impossibly difficult jobs have crowned them.  I’ve never worked in the service industry.  Two of my closest friends?  Read more

may the cookie of cash be with you

A wonderful start to the holiday season?  Baking cookies with your favorite girl.  Returning to the kitchen from a smoke break, I discovered the goodies pictured above.  Cash, in cookie form.  Look closely, you’ll get the uh, resemblance.

And, after the ‘flour’ has worked its magic:

Tres fancy indeed.

anger mismanagement class

I spend a lot of time thinking about my delicious girlfriend.  A.  Lot.  Of.  Time.  In fact, the only person I spend more moments pondering is Cash himself.  Duh.  This is good, as it allows my concept of “more love, less importance” to thrive and prosper.  Thinking about her is infinitely more blessing than curse.  It reminds me how lucky I am, how good relationships can be, and gives me hope for women in general.  This hope hasn’t always come easy.  One thing I’ve found myself reflecting on is how she pisses me off.  More to the point, how quickly I turn said pissiness…off.  Oh, she knows my buttons well.  Rare are the times she pushes them.  Rarer still are the times she does so on purpose.  She’s incredibly bright, and one way she demonstrates this is by learning from her mistakes (see here).  Still, being in love with someone always opens a pandora’s box of emotion.  There’s no way to avoid occasional blow ups, anger and upset.  It’s part of human nature.  How one handles said anger?  Doesn’t have to be.

Anger, like disappointment (see here) is a devious demon indeed.  It has a Read more

muy mal mood = muy mal music

I’m a big believer in certain things.  Odd numbers.  Omens.  Ramen noodles.  One of the biggest things I believe in is also one of the most important.

My mood.

Mandates.

My reality.

No exceptions.  No debate.  For the most part, this is a blessing.  I’m an optimistic guy who spends most days with an almost ever-present smirk, smile or grin on his face.  Dorky, I know.  Fortunate, I am.  Like everyone else though, I have my moments.  A shitty mood mysteriously mutates into a shitty day.  Before you know it, I’m scrambling to find the reset button.  To teleport back to Cash Life as nature intended.  Happy.  Upbeat.  Inspired.  These dark days are impossibly few and far between, but they happen.

What’s interesting to me is watching the gradual decline of every element of my experience when I’m in a bad mood.  A gaggle of stinky, obnoxious heifers in front of me in line at Rite Aid.  The vending machine eating my last dollar.  An excessive amount of pushy, toothless panhandlers.  It starts bad and only gets worse.

“Typical” Cash Life would go more like this.   No line, cute clerk.  The vending machine dropping two bags of chips for the price of one.  Beggars bothering everyone else.

The musical implications of Read more

watch for the signs

I.  Love.  Foreigners.  Especially foreigners doing an accidental homage to me.  “Accidental”?  Make that “Appropriate“.  Picture the scene.  Strolling down the 16th street mall.  Cash en route to the Hyatt Convention Center for some lunch-hour reading.  And a Reese’s Peanut Butter Bar.  (Don’t kid yourself.  Tis the lunchtime of champions.)  From a block out?  An annoying sound.  Some drunk hobo, strumming a Read more

cash: striking fear into the heart of tracy since 1997

My good friend and longtime knower Tracy is not what you’d call a ‘timid’ man.  He doesn’t have to be.  This bald beaut, over six feet tall, built like a Mack truck and having several wild stints as a bar bouncer in his past, is no stranger to danger.  He often refers to the two of us as “the warrior and the sage”.  With good reason.  Tracy’s also incredibly well-read, a successful entrepreneur, and one of the wittiest guys I know.  (See here, here and here.)

It never fails to amuse me then, when a random comment from lil’ ol scrawny me freaks the big boy out.

Two examples, spread over the last year.

Via text:

Cash:  u know what would be fun?

Tracy:  When you say that, I get worried.

-February, 2009.  Getting ready to propose an upcoming Cash sponsored event: “Vice Vice Baby”.

And then, more recently:

Cash:  i have a sick fucking good idea

Tracy:  I knew I had a chill for some reason.

-December, 2009.  Getting ready to propose another upcoming Cash sponsored event: “Randification.”

Calm down buddy, I know you’ve got my back.  :-)   .

Who’s got yours?

what am I, a prophet?

(Don’t answer that.)

(Just yet.)

stay tuned for details on the events in question

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