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For the Love of the Gut

A cartoon GIF of a stomach—or some may say the "gut"—digesting a hamburger.

Gut.

It’s a word that’s existed for centuries, though nowadays it’s become more popular than ever (or maybe I’m just noticing it more). My question is this: Why?

It’s not like “gut” is a descriptive term. It’s unpleasant to hear—and to say, for that matter. Try saying it. “Gut.” It’s so guttural.

Furthermore, this word always gives me the same visual: Someone’s soft, flabby stomach getting slapped and/or punched. “Slugged in the gut.” That’s what comes to mind.

Despite its shortcomings, I hear this term everywhere, especially in the fields of sports, nutrition, and dating. “Gut check.” “Great for your gut health.” “Do you have a fire in your gut?”

That last question was recently posed by Arizona Cardinals head coach Jonathan Gannon. He was addressing a roomful of NFL players, and his speech was meant to be a motivational rallying cry and/or a practical joke. Either way, millions of internet pundits found it hilarious, including me, partly because of Gannon’s gratuitous invocation of the “gut.”

It only gets worse in health contexts. “Gut health” has become a catchall term for the stomach, or maybe the gastrointestinal system, or maybe, I dunno, the gallbladder. I’m uncertain because so-called “health experts” on Instagram insist on using the word in all their content, though they never define it. It’s like a contractor pointing at your roof and saying, “Your house has a leaky hat.” There’s no faster way to kill your credibility.

Aside from sports and health, the place I hear “gut” most often is on the Bachelor franchise, which is the most damming evidence one can present. Contestants on the show constantly refer to their gut as if it’s a personal confidant, e.g. “At the end of the day, I had to go with my gut.”

This conjures an image of the gut as a wise counselor, some shriveled, pink, slimy mass of tissue in your abdomen that holds a notepad and wears glasses. When you present a moral quandary to your gut such as, “Should I trust Chad even though he has toxic masculinity issues?”, your gut replies with a sagely, “No, but the producers will appreciate it if you keep him around a few more weeks.”

In this context, the gut is like one’s own personal Yoda, only it can’t use the Force and its home address lies somewhere between your pancreas and spleen.

Or not. And this is my issue with the term to begin with. Its meanings are so varied it has no meaning.

According to the New Oxford American Dictionary, for instance, the noun “gut” has five different definitions, from “entrails that have been removed or exposed in violence or by a butcher” to “a narrow passage or strait.” It’s also applicable as a verb, or as a component of common phrases such as “hat[ing] someone’s guts.”

Is it possible to hate the guts of the word “gut”? Because I’m getting there.

I believe the primary application of the word should be comedic, and more specifically, ironic. For example, if you were to say, “I went with my gut and gave myself a gut check because there’s a fire in my gut, and I should probably go to the hospital to get it checked out,” then I salute you. Otherwise, I think it’s overused.

So next time you’re tempted to use the G-word, heed my warning. It might just change your life.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

One-Sentence Story Notes for “Mild Buffoonery”

My dog Osi (pictured above) recently read my new book, Mild Buffoonery. Her review: “Woof.”

Hopefully that’s positive. I don’t speak dogish. All I can tell you for certain is that Mild Buffoonery is a collection of humorous essays on topics ranging from parenting to music to sports to reminiscence about a cruise I took a decade ago. In other words, I think I’ve really lived up to the title.

If you haven’t read the book yet, maybe these one-sentence story notes will get you interested. If you’ve already read it, maybe these notes will deepen your appreciation (or distaste). Either way, that’s enough stalling from me. Let’s get to the essays!

“A Dad’s Review of Disney on Ice”

After posting this story to my blog and getting a warm reception, I became inspired to write this entire book.

“Irrational Fears of the Possibly Supernatural”

Ghost sightings always make for good stories—even in nonfiction.

“The Land of Buckets and Honey”

I enjoy essays with strange subjects, and I don’t think it gets any stranger than porta-potties.

“Grand Theft Auto: Nassau Edition”

Thus far, this has proven to be the book’s most popular entry, despite potential embarrassment for myself and/or my dad.

“Is All Art Really Quite Useless?”

I wrote this piece on my blog several years ago, though I added three mini-stories here to underscore my points and make it feel more substantive.

“Hilarity at the Movies (Accidentally)”

“What? No!”

“Famous Person”

My wife Sara is fairly unimpressed with celebrities (unless they happen to be Tim Shriver), so I really tried to win her over with this one.

“The Return of the Albany Book Festival”

I was trying to write my version of David Foster Wallace’s “Ticket to the Fair,” in which the author wanders around making witty observations, though I’m unsure if I succeeded.

“Hot Sauce and the Importance of Humor”

I often write in fits and starts, finding dead ends and doubling back until I discover the proper route, yet this was one of those rare pieces that simply flowed.

“In the Absence of a Drum Kit, Tabletops Are a Decent Substitute”

Perhaps the most Sedarisian essay of the bunch, specifically reminding me of “The Understudy,” in which the author vividly describes a bizarre babysitter.

“The Losers’ Game”

My editor, Matt Price, described this one has the most “wistful” essay in the collection, and I think he’s spot-on.

“Giving Thanks for the Applause”

I tried expanding this one, but after re-reading it several times, I concluded its brevity was a strength, not a flaw.

“I Admire Poets”

I think the lengthy digression in the middle of this essay adds flavor to what’s already a fairly tasty entry—and if food isn’t poetry, I don’t know what is.

“Three Hours and 64 Ounces”

I apologize in advance; this is the second essay in the book centered around bathroom humor.

“Sideburns”

I like this piece because it’s specific yet universal, in that most of us wear styles in the past that embarrass us in the present.

“A Tale of Two Gigs”

Yes, the band is still around, but no, we haven’t returned to Randy’s.

“Remembering Gizzvember”

Perhaps the most self-indulgent essay of the bunch—and considering the aforementioned one about porta-potties, that’s really saying something.

“Five Rules of Karaoke (Plus One More)”

Nostalgia is a powerful force.

“Why Tapas Restaurants Fill Me With Nothing But Rage”

Probably better described as a rant than an essay.

“Slut Life”

Proof that I need a stronger optical prescription.

“Birds, Bets, and Sarcastic Texts”

I’ve changed my mind—this is my favorite entry in the book.

“On Being Descended from an Extreme Cheapskate”

After years of wanting to write about Jeff Yeager, I finally found the opportunity.

Grab Your Copy

Ready to read Mild Buffoonery? It’s available in ebook, paperback, and hardcover from tons of places. Get your copy today!


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

A New Book, and This Time, It’s Personal (Essays)

Greetings reader,

I’m happy to report that Mild Buffoonery is available right now in ebook, paperback, and hardcover. There’s no film adaptation, but we’re working on the script.

I’m pleased to report that early readers have commended its “good humor,” “fun and lighthearted writing style,” and its “essential contributions to humankind rivaled only by the wheel.” (That last one was completely fabricated.) It even peaked at number 25 on Amazon’s Rural Life Humor category, which I consider a major victory.

In no particular order, here are some of my personal favorite excerpts from the book:



You get the idea. You can purchase your digital copy right on my website, paperback at Amazon, or hardcover at Barnes & Noble. (Note: The B&N link is active as I write this, but I think they’re still building it. Might want to check back an a bit if it’s not active.)

Whatever you choose, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy it!

Best,

Kyle

P.S. I’ll be reading some essays from the book live this Sunday, September 17, at 10am EST. Hope to see you there!


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

A New Hope: My 2023 New York Giants Season Preview

New York Giants quarterback Daniel Jones calls an audible at the line of scrimmage.

All-Pro Reels, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Football season is back, and this time, I promise not to be emo. Yes, if you joined me last September, you might’ve noticed a certain nihilism regarding my New York Giants.

…Not this year, baby. This year, we’ve got the Coach of the Year!

All Hail Brian Daboll

After suffering six seasons of being coached by an underachiever, a clown, and a man wielding a Denny’s menu, the Giants finally hired a legitimate head coach in Brian Daboll. I wish I could say I’d been a fan of the decision.

I wasn’t. In fact, before last season began, I described Daboll’s hiring as a “dubious offseason move.”

I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Though there were many reasons for the Giants 9-7-1 record, Daboll was the most impactful. Unlike his predecessors, his game management was excellent, his game plans were even better, and he maximized a below average roster. Which brings me to my next point.

A Not-Below-Average Roster

Yes, it’s improving. General Manager Joe Schoen and his staff were singing “Hello Goodbye” this offseason to the following players:

Goodbyes

  • Nick Gates signed with the Washington Commanders, for some reason.
  • Jon Feliciano joined the San Francisco 49ers, which seems like a good decision.
  • Richie James went to the Kansas City Chiefs, where he will now drop passes from Patrick Mahomes.
  • Fabian Moreau departed for the Denver Broncos, though he might return to the Giants after spending a day or two around Russell Wilson.
  • Julian Love left us for the Seattle Seahawks, and that feels like a legit loss.

Hellos

  • Deonte Banks was drafted in the first round, which should address a glaring hole.
  • John Michael Schmitz was drafted in the second, a move ESPN described as “an excellent pick in terms of value and filling a need.”
  • Jalin Hyatt arrived in the third round, and the dude’s got wheels.
  • Parris Campbell, Jamison Crowder, and Cole Beasley all add depth at receiver.
  • Bobby Okereke comes from the Indianapolis Colts, and he’s improved every season.

The Helloest Hello Award goes to tight end Darren Waller, who came over in a trade from the Las Vegas Raiders. Waller’s a high-ceiling, low-floor guy; his ceiling is Willy Wonka’s Glass Elevator (1,196 yards and nine touchdowns in 2020), while his floor is the basement from Barbarian, since he gets injured so much. That metaphor didn’t really work, but whatever—it’s very on-brand for Waller to be questionable for tonight’s game.

On the brighter side, the Giants re-signed Saquon Barkley, Daniel Jones, and Dexter Lawrence, all of whom made huge strides last season.

So, after a year in which they weren’t all that talented, the Giants suddenly have a solid roster. The question is, will this translate to another successful campaign?

My Prognostication

It’s strange to write this, but I’m feeling good about this team. They’ve got more talent, a great coaching staff, and even a reliable quarterback.

If you told me last year that the Giants would sign Daniel Jones to four years and $160 mil, I might’ve vomited. But thanks to the tutelage of Master Daboll, Jones set career highs in passing and rushing yards, completion percentage, and games played, while setting career lows in turnovers. Plus, he did it all with a lousy offensive line and the league’s worst receiving core. With both those units improved, Danny Dimes should improve with them.

In fact, the only compelling argument I’ve heard to counter a successful Giants season is their schedule. FanDuel set their Over/Under at 7.5 wins, which is shockingly low (not to mention hurtful). Their schedule will be harder, yes—but Week 1 schedules are notoriously unreliable.

Take last year’s Giants themselves, for example. They performed far above preseason expectations, while teams like the Broncos and Packers performed far below.

Looking at the Giants schedule, I see similar possibilities. Are we sure Seattle and Geno Smith can run back their success from last year? Are the Jets really going to be as formidable as their fans believe? Will Dallas be overhyped as usual? Bookies undervalued the Giants all season long last year, and I think they’re doing it again now.

Then there’s the albatross of the Eagles. If preseason hype alone could win a title, the Giants greatest divisional foe would already be hoisting the Lombardi Trophy. Sorry to break it to you, Philly fans, but the season just started. (If you don’t know my feelings about such people, you can learn more in this essay.)

They’ve got talent, yes, but they’ve centralized most of that talent around old guys. Jason Kelce? 35. Lane Johnson? 33. Brandon Graham? 35. Fletcher Cox? 32. I mean, I’m 31, and last month I suffered a random swollen toe with no clear origin, and I’m not even a pro athlete (as far as you know). Once a pro football player hits their 30s, injuries and regression are more likely than sustained success.

Also, the Birds lost their coordinators on both sides of the ball, and they might suffer a Super Bowl hangover. Am I claiming the Giants will finish with a better record than the Eagles? No, I think that’s unlikely (and possibly irrational). All I’m saying is, results aren’t guaranteed. Let’s play the games before we decide them.

Good Luck, Giants

The New York Giants season begins tonight at 8:20pm EST on NBC. Cris Collinsworth will probably still be talking about Patrick Mahomes, but we’ll have to tune in to find out.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include four books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

The World Without Taco Bell

The World Without Taco Bell

Would a world without Taco Bell be worth existing in?

I’m unsure, reader. But sometimes the best way to appreciate greatness is to imagine our lives without it. So, in the spirit of celebrating everybody’s favorite subpar brand of cheap, grade-D ground beef-based fast food, let’s start imagining. In a world without Taco Bell…

…There Would Be Far Fewer Five-Year-Old Taco Sauce Packets Stuffed Into Drawers

I love Taco Bell, but seriously, they give you way too many sauce packets. Sometimes they’ll stuff them in there without even asking, making me wonder how the bag doesn’t rip from the weight of all those individually packaged condiments. It feels like a waste to throw them out, so you’ll end up cramming them away, only to rediscover them years later in the dark recesses of your cabinets.

The good news is, there’s so much sodium packed inside that they’ll never go bad, no matter how many decades into the future you rediscover them. Enjoy!

…We’d Have Fewer Late-Night Options

We all know why people order food after midnight, and it’s not because they’re looking for fine cuisine. It’s because they’re drunk, high, or both, putting them in the perfect mind state to make bad decisions. Enter Taco Bell.

To be fair, Taco Bell is like Samuel Adams beer, in that it’s always a good decision…or maybe it’s simultaneously good and bad. Good in that it tastes good, bad in that it’s bad for you.

…Sylvester Stallone’s Acting Career Would’ve Ended

Let’s step back into the 90s for a moment. Sylvester Stallone is making a lot of movies, though few of them are any good. I mean, when’s the last time you watched Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot? Other than 1993’s Cliffhanger, it’s a rough decade for the Italian Stallion. But there was another glimmer of hope: Demolition Man.

I first watched this movie with my dad, who specifically encouraged me to see it. When I asked him why, he answered, “You’ll see.”

In this sci-fi action flick, Stallone plays a reckless cop who’s cryogenically frozen in 1996 and thawed out in 2032, finding himself in a puritanical future. I enjoyed the explosions and the random cameo of Jack Black as “Wasteland Scrap #2.” But most of all, I enjoyed the police banquet scene.

Why? Because the banquet is catered by Taco Bell. Yes, according to Demolition Man, we can all look forward to a future where Taco Bell is given the respect it deserves. My dad knows me well.

In a world without the Bell, this movie would lose a critical plot point. And without this movie, Stallone would lose one of his only two good movies in the decade. Talk about Live Más.

…I’d Be Deprived of Treasured Childhood Memories

Once upon a time, there was a young lad who lived down the street from a combination KFC-Taco Bell restaurant.

The young lad’s favorite item on the menu was a combo meal of two chicken strips and two tacos, plus two sides of his choosing. This was not a healthy meal, nor was it high-quality, but it was delicious. Whenever the young lad’s parents asked him what he wanted for dinner, lunch, and sometimes breakfast, he’d answer, “A number six combo meal, please.”

When the young lad grew into a man (or at least a little less of a lad), his beloved KFC-Taco Bell closed down, ceding its building to an ostentatious conglomerate known as Starbucks. Nowadays, the man often drives past that Starbucks location, and when he does, he sighs longingly, thinking about what once was and what will never be.

In other words, down with Starbucks. Bring back my KFC-Taco Bell!

…I Would Lose Out on a Favorite College Tradition

Yes, the Bell has been a lifelong obsession. When I was a student at Ithaca College, for example, I formed a tradition for myself. I would stop at Ithaca’s Taco Bell (still thriving to this day), then order a chicken quesadilla and a Crunchwrap Supreme. Next, I’d head down the road to the nearest gas station and purchase a Monster energy drink. As you can see, I was a very health-conscious individual.

During my three-hour drive back to Albany, I’d eat, drink, and listen to  an audiobook on my iPod Classic. This tradition was enjoyable for two reasons: First, because I got to eat Taco Bell, and second, because there were no viable rest stops between Ithaca and Albany, so I always made excellent time. 

…Long John Silver’s Would Die

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Long John Silver’s fast food location without a Taco Bell attached to it. This is likely a parasitic relationship, with Taco Bell being the proud lion on the savanna, and LJS being the tape worm living inside the lion’s colon.

…A Thriving Community Would Vanish

And I’m not talking about the Roanoke Colony. I’m talking about Taco Bell fans.

For people who revere the Bell, meeting another aficionado is a momentous occasion. For instance, my brother-in-law and I have had no fewer than 30 separate conversations about the greatness of Taco Bell. Sometimes we even discuss how long it’s been since we’ve last eaten there, often in sad and wistful tones.

And that’s not all. Have you been on the Taco Bell Instagram account lately? At least 20% of their posts are pics of people heading inside after attending prom or getting married. There’s even an online literary magazine called Taco Bell Quarterly that I desperately want to publish a story in. Wish me luck.

…The World’s Collective Happiness Would Decline by 6%

I’m docking one percentage point per decade Taco Bell has existed (the first Bell opened in 1962). We have to be scientific about these things.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

So would a world without Taco Bell be worth existing in? Alright, fine, I guess so. But it certainly wouldn’t be the same. I, for one, am glad it’s still here.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include four books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

A Fan’s Review of King Gizzard’s New Album “PetroDragonic Apocalypse”

PetroDragonic Apocalypse Pillow

Album artwork by Jason Galea, converted to a pillow (for fun) by the author.

They promised it would be “heavy as fuck.” They weren’t lying.

PetroDragonic Apocalypse is here, and it spits pure fire. It’s the latest album from my new favorite band, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, and I’ve got some thoughts about it.

Opening Remarks

Billed as a sequel to their 2019 thrash metal classic Infest the Rat’s Nest, PetroDragonic Apocalypse shares an unexpected lineage with a different Gizzard record: 2022’s Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms and Lava. Ice Death is known for its long orchestrations, and we see them here with Petro, too; only “Gila Monster” runs shorter than five minutes. The rest are lengthier explorations, with “Motor Spirit,” “Dragon,” and “Flamethrower” all approaching double-digits.

Still, like Rat’s Nest, the album uses heavy riffs to underscore its apocalyptic lyrics, i.e. “coal-black cloud horizon,” “miasma of hair and bile.” You get the idea. The concept of environmentalism shines through once again, albeit in a fantasy milieu rather than the science fiction of Rat’s Nest or the aquatic bliss of Fishing for Fishies.

Petro emphasizes guitars and drums throughout, with a hint of synths and throbbing bass. Ambrose’s harmonica is absent, as is Stu’s flute (though honestly, the latter would’ve surprised me). A little disappointing, but certainly not enough to slay this dragon.

Now let’s take a track-by-track look.

1. “Motor Spirit”

Stu’s doing his best impersonation of a smoker on this song, which I’ll admit is not my favorite vocal delivery. Still, the riffs are nasty, especially when we enter the track’s third act at 4:55. The two-word lines here are effective: “Burnt rubber/Grave robber/Fire starter/Spark imparter.” Really makes you want to buy a Tesla.

2. “Supercell”

This one’s appeared on touring setlists for a while, so it’s nice to hear the “official” version. It’s pure energy, with a chugging central riff and a fun call-and-answer chorus featuring Amby and Joey. There’s a pretty cruel inversion of The Wizard of Oz in the first verse, too, with lines like “Bodies flying on a rainbow/Run Toto” and “Angle grinder, a welcome friend/Dorothy’s end.”

Such lyrics could get a little eye-rolley, but fortunately, Gizzard has a sense of humor about it. In an interview with SpinStu described Petro like this: “[It’s] about humankind and it’s about planet Earth but it’s also about witches and dragons and shit.” Even at their most dramatic, they show a healthy sense of self-deprecating self-awareness.

3. “Converge”

I’m actually one of the first people to hear this song—or see it, for that matter. They debuted it live at Boston Calling on May 28, and let me tell you, the crowd went nuts. Seriously. I almost got swallowed by the mosh pit.

The album version inherits that same energy, opening with rapid-fire mute-strumming and progressing into vaguely Shakespearean lyricism. Stu’s guttural bellow at 4:15 is a highlight.

4. “Witchcraft”

If MacBeth was a musical, it might’ve sounded like this. “Witchcraft” is perhaps the most fantastical they get on this album, complete with a guitar solo at 3:02 that conjures Ritchie Blackmore’s fretwork from Rainbow. I feel like there’s an excellent acoustic take on this track somewhere in the aether—or maybe that’s just wishful thinking after their June 4th acoustic show.

5. “Gila Monster”

This one feels the most like a Rat’s Nest track, waiting until the final 55 seconds to depart from its main theme. It’s also another number I saw live in Boston. I must say, there are few things in life more fun than screaming the word “gila” over and over.

6. “Dragon”

After initial skepticism, this has become my favorite track on the record. I never love when artists just repeat the song’s title and call it a chorus (feel’s like AC/DC at their laziest), and at 1:17, that’s where it seems like this track is going.

Yet at 2:42, we get an unexpected callback to “Tetrachromacy” from Polygondwanaland. Next, at 4:08, Stu growls these truly badass lyrics: “The eye dilates/The air gyrates/A gate in the sky/A portal to die,” leading into a chorus of evil backing vocals at 4:25. I assume they’re sung by Amby and/or Joey, though it honestly sounds more like a bunch of dwarves from Middle-earth (they’re speaking Latin, not Dwarven, but still). At 6:27, Cavs goes ham on the double bass drums.

I counted seven distinct acts in all, with the first and penultimate overlapping on a pseudo-80s-metal-style riff. This is an epic worthy of Mordor.

7. “Flamethrower”

The album’s closer is as heavy as the rest, though we get a surprising shift to spacier sounds at 4:19, first with Cavs on toms, then joined by some layered synths. At 7:40, we hear the return of “Motor Spirit,” fading out to the end. It’s a nifty callback, giving the album a circularity hearkening back to 2016’s Nonagon Infinity.

…Unless you have the vinyl edition, in which case you’ve got one more track.

8. “Dawn of Eternal Night”

This vinyl-exclusive, 14-minute epic is another collaboration with longtime Gizzard co-star Leah Senior, who you’ll remember from Murder of the Universe. So far as I can tell, there’s no digital version of this track, so alas, I haven’t heard it. Maybe someday I’ll dust off my record player—or perhaps they’ll play it live.

Closing Remarks

King Gizzard has greatly improved as metal musicians in the four years since Rat’s Nest. Where those songs were hook-based, four-minute compositions reliant on repetitive (albeit sick) guitar techniques, PetroDragonic Apocalypse is far more varied and daring. It reminds me of Black Sabbath’s Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, wherein the band leads each track with a heavy riff, then ventures off into new directions. It doesn’t always work—for example, “Converge” probably would’ve played better as a tighter song—but when it does, you get gems like “Motor Spirit” and “Dragon.”

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little review of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard’s PetroDragonic Apocalypse. Feel free to crank the volume.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Some Notes from Boston Calling 2023

12:57pm

As I near the Harvard Athletic Complex for the third and final day of the Boston Calling Music Festival, I hear a Red Sox game playing on the radio. As a Yankees fan, I’m obligated to hate the Sox, yet instead, the broadcast gives the city a pleasant, cozy feel. I must be going soft.

1:24pm

Outside the Athletic Complex, I’m feeling a bit lost until I spot a guy about my age and an older woman (his mother?), both of them wearing King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard shirts. I follow them. These are my people.

1:36pm

As I combine with the tide of eager concertgoers, two things occur to me. First, that I must look like a complete tool, what with my clear drawstring bag packed with SPF 50 sunscreen, water bottle, and box of tissues. Second, that I forgot to pack my cough drops. (I’ve got some sort of cold.)

1:43pm

Juice opens the day on the Red Stage. They’re energetic and fun, with three lead singers and a guy on electric violin who’s absolutely nasty.

I try to navigate around a metal barrier protecting the center of the viewing area, but I’m informed that’s reserved for VIPs. Now I feel like a pleb.

1:43pm (continued)

Not even a full minute later, I leave this note for myself: “And by the way, where are the bathrooms?” I consult the festival app, but my phone is getting sluggish and I realize it must be overheating. So am I, since there’s a high of 87. Next priority: Finding something to drink.

1:53pm

I discover the bathrooms, which end up being a small village of portable toilets. On the way back to the Red Stage, I notice a woman in leather pants.

…Leather pants? I reiterate: It’s 87 degrees out. When does fashion supersede personal safety?

1:55pm

You know you’re in Boston when the line for the Dunkin Rewards Lounge is 100 people deep.

2:05pm

And now I purchase my first beverage of the day, a Truly Strawberry Banana hard seltzer. It costs $12.50, which really irks my inner cheapskate. What’s worse, it tastes not only bad, but slightly nauseating.

2:06pm

I find my way back to the stage to see Juice’s penultimate song. I decide their drummer looks like the son of David Bowie and Harry Styles.

2:19pm

There are some eccentric characters at this festival. Example: A shirtless guy with a green mohawk and tattoos of Pichu, Pikachu, and Raichu scattered across his back.

2:56pm

I next opt for a Twisted Tea, saving a whopping 50 cents compared to my previous purchase. This goes down much better.

3:30pm

The line for merch looks like a standing army. I give up on my idea of buying a new King Gizzard shirt.

3:41pm

I catch the Linda Lindas, again on the Red Stage (because it’s the only stage I can find). They urge people to “Stay hydrated!” Also, they ask, “Do y’all have a favorite kind of dinosaur?”

3:51pm

It’s hot as hell and everyone’s fighting for shade. I catch random snippets of conversation:

  • “Oh my god, I texted you, I said, ‘Where you at, bitch?'”
  • “I’m the Jacob that hates being called Jake.”
  • “Back in our day, it was weird to punch people in the face.”

4:02pm

Another Twisted Tea. I don’t feel so much as a buzz, probably because I’m instantly sweating out anything I put in.

4:14pm

I tally the shirts I spot. Gizzard count is at five, Taylor Swift count is at two. BTW, T-Swift isn’t playing at this event. I find it remarkable that her appearance in the film Cats hasn’t damaged her popularity whatsoever.

4:18pm

I search for the Blue Stage, because that’s where Gizz will be in about four hours. I catch a band called Brutus, a three-piece hard rock/heavy metal group that I like but don’t love. I sit on the grass with a bunch of other people, roasting like a turkey that’s paid for the privilege.

5:11pm

I return to my trusty Red Stage to find a band called Bleachers. With the singer’s tucked shirt and blue jeans, along with not one, but two saxophone players, I’m instantly reminded of the E-Street Band. Then the singer’s like, “I’m from New Jersey!”,  and he invites his dad onstage to play a song, and I’m wondering if his dad is actually Bruce Springsteen.

(Addendum: He’s not.)

5:55pm

There’s a hidden stage. It’s called the Orange Stage, and I find it more or less on accident. Ali McGuirk sings there with three backing musicians, and they’re outstanding. I enjoy them all so much I forget to take notes.

6:34pm

A hairy man passes me, points at my chest, and asks, “You ready? You ready? You ready?” It’s only when he passes that I realize he’s talking about Gizzard. (The shirt count is up to nine, by the way.)

6:47pm

The merch line has not moved. At all. For all I know, those are the same people who were there this morning, now forever locked in a Sisyphean struggle for a new t-shirt.

7:08pm

While standing between the Red and Green Stages waiting for Queens of the Stone Age, I see him again.

“You ready? You ready? You ready?”

This time I’m ready. I accept his fist bump and say something to the effect of, “Yeah!” My voice is reedy and hoarse, not from screaming, but from that annoying cold.

7:10pm

Re: Maren Morris: She’s very talented, but I just can’t do country. I’m sorry. I can’t.

She’s playing the Green Stage while I wait for Queens at the Red. There’s a definite schism between these two fan bases. Nobody on my side is clapping, or even reacting, to her.

7:20pm

Queens of the Stone Age hits the Red Stage, and it occurs to me that, as a musician, you’re frequently photographed with your mouth wide open.

8:01pm

I leave Queens early to get a good spot for Gizzard. That ends up being the front-right of the Blue Stage, about 10 rows back. My right shoe sticks to the concrete.

8:10pm

20 minutes until showtime and the band’s already here. They’re practicing a song I don’t recognize, though only a few of their instruments are plugged in; all I hear is Lucas on bass and Cavs on drums (we’re on a first name/nickname basis). Could they be debuting a new song?

8:20pm

Gizz goes live. People go crazy, including me. A swirling mosh pit emerges, and I back up to avoid it. At some point, I stop taking notes.

10:05pm

A mass swarm for the exits. Paramore is still playing on the Green Stage, yet this crowd doesn’t seem to care. I overhear someone behind me say, “Aderol and weed was the perfect mix for Gizz.”

Glad he had fun. I did, too, though without the assistance of substances (unless you count the Twisted Tea). They did indeed debut a new song, and I was one of the first people to see it.

Now I need to get some sleep (and possibly a shower). I steel myself for the walk back.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

The World Without “Star Wars”

Star Wars

Four days ago, in a galaxy super close…

…It was May the 4th. As the nerdiest holiday on the calendar, it’s a celebration of all things Star Wars. So today, we’ll be discussing this glorious franchise, and how different our world might be without it.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. But, in a world without Star Wars

…We’d Be Missing All the Memes

Youngling memes, Darth Plagueis the Wise memes, “Hello there” memes. So many memes! Granted, most come from the prequels, since they’ve got such hammy dialogue. But the point still stands. Like the execution of Order 66, Star Wars memes are works of art. As such, they must be celebrated.

…Scrolling Credits Would Never Be an Acceptable Form of Exposition

Not that I’ve ever seen goldenrod paragraphs floating through space in any other movies. But Star Wars set the precedent, meaning the next time you need to explain the rise of a totalitarian military regime in your galaxy, here’s your method.

…The Mid-Budget Adult Drama Would Still Exist

Along with Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, Star Wars pioneered the Hollywood summer blockbuster. It popularized big-budget, effects-laden film franchising, which evolved into cinematic universes several decades later, most notably the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And, because of Marvel, what movies rarely get financed anymore? Mid-budget adult dramas. Thanks, George Lucas.

…George Lucas Would Have a Rough IMDB

Speaking of George, if you extract Star Wars from his credits, he’s leaning on Willow, Labyrinth, and Indiana Jones. All good stuff, though he tarnished Indy with the whole ancient aliens thing. Here’s hoping Dial of Destiny is better; the title keeps reminding me of Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny.

There’s another blemish on George’s resume, and its name is Howard the Duck. I’ve never seen this film, but I’ve heard podcasts about it, and let me tell you, it sounds horrendous. I mean, here’s the opening sentence of the Wikipedia synopsis:

“Howard the Duck is 27 years old and lives on Duckworld, a planet similar to Earth, but inhabited by anthropomorphic ducks and orbited by twin moons.”

No wonder it won four Razzies.

…Some of Our Greatest Nerd Debates Would Never Be

Did Solo shoot first? Was Jar-Jar Binks a secret Sith Lord? Should Midi-chlorian count be an official stat at the NFL combine? I’ve had many similar debates with my friends, and they often get heated.

For example, as soon as we left the theater for Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, we were arguing. Jeremy and Robby maintained the prequels were better than what we’d just witnessed, while I countered with the mere existence of Jar-Jar Binks. I still don’t know who won that argument—but at least we could have it.

…No More Jar-Jar Binks

While we’re on the subject of Jar-Jar, he gets more hate than Howard the Duck—which is really saying something. In fact, I’ve only ever met one person in my entire life who doesn’t despise him, and that’s my wife, Sara.

“What?” she said. “I think he’s funny.”

This statement proves Sara is the kindest person on the planet, and perhaps in the entire galaxy.

…I’d Lose My Hottest Take

Even with JJB, I honestly believe Star Wars: The Phantom Menace is a magnificent film.

This isn’t a bit. I really mean it. If I could dial up any Star Wars film on Disney+ (not that I can, because I’m too cheap to buy a subscription), this would be it. It’s got incredible production design and imagination, not to mention the greatest lightsaber duel in the franchise’s history. Where’s my DVD player?

…We’d Have Far Fewer Culturally Relevant Weird Sounds

It’s rare that a film’s sound effects become as recognizable as the dialogue. The hum of the Lightsaber, the respirator of Darth Vader, the beep-boop of R2-D2—all great. Even the silly, ululating call of that lizard thing Obi-Wan rides in Revenge of the Sith caught on with my friends. To this day, we’ll shout it at each other across rooms, usually in public, making people wonder what’s wrong with us.

…Phish Wouldn’t be Phish

My brother- and sister-in-law are big fans of the jam band Phish, so they tell me all about the group’s special lingo. For example, if you spot a shirtless, hairy, sweaty, and high man at a Phish show, you’ve just spotted a Wook. Though the origin of the term is difficult to identify, I’m thinking it must be from Star Wars’s Wookies, as in Chewbacca, as in space Bigfoot.

Wooks are a mainstay of the jam band scene, as I understand it, and are therefore essential to Phish’s economy. Without Wooks, could Phish even afford to be the band they are today? I think not.

…Walmart’s Shelves Would Be Barren

I’m being a little facetious. I know Walmart carries far more than just Star Wars collectibles. But have you seen how much Star Wars stuff they have? Whether it’s action figures, video games, t-shirts, replica lightsabers, or Lego crossovers, I’d venture a good 25.75% of their inventory is from a galaxy far, far away.

What would they do with all that extra shelving? Probably stock more Minions merch.

…I’d Need New Dad Jokes

When you become a dad, you make dad jokes. You can’t stop it or control it. It just happens.

So it went for me when my daughter Sasha was born. During the winter, for example, she often wore oversized hoods, which made her look like Emperor Palpatine. From that day on, I dubbed her “Baby Sith.” Fortunately, Baby Sith hasn’t yet exhibited any Sith-like tendencies, i.e. killing the person who named her, i.e. me.

Now that she’s a year-and-a-half old, she makes lots of weird sounds, many of which are gurgles, and sometimes she sounds a lot like Chewy. Hence, “Baby Chewbacca.” If she ever starts complaining about the coarseness of sand, I suppose I’ll have to call her “Baby Ani.”

Of course, the most obvious dad joke in Star Wars is the Vader classic “I am your father” line. I’m being careful with that one, though, because I don’t want Sasha reacting the way Luke did: “No, no, that’s not true. That’s impossible!” Even if you’re the enforcer of the Galactic Empire, that one’s gotta hurt.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

May the force be with us. Always.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

The World Without Haircuts

Haircuts and the World Without Them

This might seem like an odd subject for our “World Without” series, but we’ve reached a point where we need to jump the shark. You know, like when The X-Files replaced Mulder and Scully, or when Fonzie literally jumped a shark on water skis. Plus, as I wrote this one, I realized it was pretty interesting.

So, without further nonsense, in a world without haircuts…

…Pantene Would’ve Produced The Rings of Power

In a world without haircuts, we’d have a lot more hair. And in a world with more hair, shampoo products would become even bigger than Silicon Valley tech giants. With their surplus income, I can imagine Pantene entering the streaming game with their own service: Pantene+ (just $7.99 a month, plus tax).

What’s the first IP they would adapt? Lord of the Rings, of course, because everybody has long, silky hair in Middle-Earth.

…Except Aragorn. His is kinda greasy.

…Edward Scissorhands Never Would’ve Found His Calling

Or maybe he’d put his scissorhands to different use. Why not circumcision?

…Wigs Would Become Obsolete

This would give my wife, Sara, and I quote, “extreme mixed feelings.” Let me explain.

According to Sara, French aristocrats of the 18th century used plaster to keep their big hair looking big. Apparently, this attracted rats who’d burrow inside the plaster while the aristocrats slept, inspiring the French to develop hairpins not for fashion, but for skewering nesting rodents.

This claim seems dubious to me, especially when Sara says they’d go about their days with dead rats rotting in their hair. There must be more to the story, but the ending always dissolves into unintelligible giggling. I’ll circle back if I ever hear the rest.

…My Hair Would Be Extremely Fluffy

My hair doesn’t grow down—it grows out. I’m fortunate that it grows at all, especially considering my grandpa began balding in his 20s, but headbanging to “Mars for the Rich” just isn’t the same when your hair has the approximate shape of a cream puff.

…I’d Have No Newsletter Subscribers

While we’re on the subject of my hair, I once sent a newsletter about it to all my subscribers. This was during the early days of the pandemic, so I, like many, hadn’t gotten a haircut in far too long.

My subscribers were not amused. In fact, 26 of them unsubscribed, which is a personal record.

Without haircuts, I’d probably send tons of newsletters about my crazy hair, losing more and more subscribers until I had none left. But hey, at least I’d save on my Mailchimp subscription.

…Scaling Towers Would Be Way Easier

Rapunzel’s hair is her calling card, but without haircuts, there would be a lot more Rapunzels. Hence the ease in tower-scaling.

…Long Nails Would Be the New Countercultural Statement

It was against the law to have fun in the 50s, so if you were a dude, society demanded you wear your hair short. That’s why the 60s countercultural movement embraced the flow. (For more information, I recommend the 1973 Who song “Cut My Hair.”)

However, long hair would be far more common in a world without haircuts. That’s why I think long nails would’ve become the new countercultural statement instead. “My nails are like my spirit, man: Dirty and untamed!”

…The World at Large Would Endure an Abject Tragedy

Aside from bellowing, cursing, and general lunacy, a hallmark of Nicolas Cage’s career has been his ever-changing hairstyles.

Compare the receding mullet of Con Air to the jet-black quasi-Pat Monahan spikes of Ghost Rider. And we can’t forget the California surfer flow of Season of the Witch. At a rough estimate, Cage’s unpredictable haircuts provide 28.9% of the fun of his performances, leaving the other 71.1% to the aforementioned lunacy. He’d still be great—just not as great. And if that’s not tragic, I don’t know what is.

…I Might’ve Avoided Not One, But Two Traumatic College Memories

I’m a bit of a cheapskate, so when my college chum Jason offered me a free haircut during our freshman year, I said, “Sure, buddy!” I should’ve asked for his credentials because, as it turned out, he had none.

I requested a cut like Leonardo DiCaprio in The Departed. What I got was Friar Tuck from Robin Hood. Jason kept clipping my sideburns, and, deciding they weren’t even, continued to clip them up and up and up until I no longer had any. He also left me nearly bald in the back, for reasons that remain unclear.

The result was so heinous I hid it beneath a hat for weeks on end. You’d think I might’ve learned something from the experience, but when senior year arrived, I asked my friend Erik to cut my hair next. In my defense, he cut his own and it looked good, so I figured he could do the same for me.

Again, I was mistaken. Erik took chunks from my scalp at random, making me resemble a head of broccoli nibbled by a rabbit.  I still don’t understand how this happened. Sabotage, perhaps?

Whatever the explanation, in a world without haircuts, I might’ve been spared several weeks of people asking, “What happened to you?” (Also, this makes me think Ithaca College should offer a degree in hairstyling. Seems to be a common gap in our education.)

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Haircuts are pretty important, I’d say, especially after writing this article. Good thing they’re still a thing.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

The World Without the New York Yankees

Yankees

Scottkipp, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. Modified by the author using Canva.

They’re the greatest franchise in American sports. They’re the juggernauts of the AL East. They’re the team that employed George Costanza. They are the New York Yankees.

I myself am a fan of the Bronx Bombers, so I think I’m qualified to imagine life in their absence. (And I’ll even try to be objective.) In a world without the New York Yankees…

…I Might’ve Had a Happier 2004

This is the year I got into baseball. My grandpa had always loved the Yankees, but I wasn’t hooked until I met several school chums who followed the same sport.

Bad timing on my part. Any baseball fan worth their salt (or infield dirt, as it were) remembers 2004 as the season the Boston Red Sox reversed the Curse of the Bambino and won the World Series. On their way, they surmounted a three-games-to-nothing series deficit against my beloved Yankees—the first such comeback in baseball history.

There are moments from October 2004 that still haunt me. Tony Clark’s ground-rule double. Johnny Damon’s Game 7 grand slam. My friends Jimmy, Jake, and Ben cackling like hyenas when the Sox finally won, making me wish I’d faked an illness to skip school.

If the Yankees didn’t exist, I might’ve been spared all this anguish. But, to quote the late great Yogi Berra, “You wouldn’t have won if we’d beaten you.”

…New Yorkers Would Have to Root for the New York Mets

Look, even Mets fans don’t want to root for the Mets. They’re either abjectly terrible or painfully close to (yet always short of) greatness. The recent injury to big-money closer Edwin Diaz is just another example.

To be fair, the Mets have appeared in the World Series more recently than the Yankees. But one of my best buds Jeremy is a Mets fan, and he’s currently reading a book about his team called So Many Ways to Lose. Its very existence proves my claim.

…The 50s Would’ve Been a More Interesting Baseball Decade

I’m a lifelong Yankees fan, but even I have to admit the 1950s must’ve been a boring time to watch baseball. During that decade, the Yankees appeared in eight World Series and won six of them. I’ve never even had that kind of success in video games, and I always play on rookie mode.

…The Baltimore Orioles, Toronto Blue Jays, and Tampa Bay Rays Would Be More Relevant

Aside from the Red Sox, no other AL East team accomplishes much (usually because the Yanks double their payroll). Without the Yankees, the Orioles might have more championships than three, the Blue Jays might have more than two, and the Rays might have more than zero. Plus, all three teams might have more fans in general.

For example, the only Orioles fan I’ve ever met is my friend Cole. When people discover this, they all ask him the same question: “But why?”

…The World Would Lose a Beloved Folk Hero

I am, of course, referring to George Herman “Babe” Ruth, the man many consider the greatest baseball player of all time. As I alluded to earlier, the Red Sox infamously sold Ruth’s contract to the Yankees in 1919, kickstarting nearly a century of misery in Boston and glory in New York.

If the Yankees hadn’t existed and Ruth had remained a Red Sock, he might’ve continued primarily pitching, in which case he would’ve needed new nicknames, like “The Pitchino” or “The Thane of Throw.” They just don’t have the same ring.

…And What About the Candy Bar?

Without the Yankees there’s no Ruth, and without Ruth there’s no Baby Ruth candy bar. What a tragic loss!

JK, this would change nothing. In my life, I’ve met more Orioles fans than Baby Ruth fans.

…Sports Fans Would Lose a Bitter Enemy

Red Sox Nation hates the Yankees, as do pretty much all other fans. But deep down, they all know sports are better with rivalries. After all, how compelling would Star Wars be without the Empire?

…Pinstripes Wouldn’t Be a Thing

Other teams wore them first, but nobody wore them better. One of the earliest uses of the word in English came in The Canterbury Tales, proving beyond a doubt that even Geoffrey Chaucer was a Yankees fan.

…Judge Judy Would Still be the World’s Most Famous Judge

She had this title on lock in the 90s, and though Judy’s still famous, she carries a little less cachet these days. I mean, are people entering her court wearing judge outfits?

Nope. But they sure are for Yankees captain Aaron Judge. All rise.

…Joe Torre Would’ve Been Remembered as a Scrub

If you know baseball, you know Joe Torre. He led the Yankees to six World Series appearances, winning four of them (including three consecutive from 1998 to 2000).

Yet people forget that when the Yankees hired him in 1996, many considered Torre a failure. In fact, the previous three teams he’d managed had all fired him. The New York Daily News even went so far as to run this headline: “Clueless Joe.”

A sick burn, though one that hasn’t aged well. Good thing for Joe and us Yankees fans alike.

…I Might’ve Turned Out a Little Different

Growing up, my role model was Yankees shortstop and captain Derek Jeter. Not only was Jeter a Hall of Fame baseball player and leader—he was a genuinely good guy. I always strove to be like him (though the only time I played shortstop, I made three errors in one inning).

Without such a positive role model, who might young Kyle have idolized? The list is narrow and filled with fictional characters: Fox Mulder, Homer Simpson, and Gollum. Good thing Jeter existed.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Whether you love them or hate them, the New York Yankees are one of America’s defining franchises. And in a few short weeks, they’ll return for Opening Day. Here’s hoping this season doesn’t end with yet another painful elimination by the Astros.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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