1. Guy Fieri: I usually enjoy watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs on Versus, but certain things—the random intrusion of the Bruins’ color commentator Andy Brickley, Mike Emrick’s beady eyes, Brian Engblom’s roadkill haircut—certainly detract from the experience. Yet those quibbles pale in comparison to the routine airings of a T.G.I. Friday’s advertisement starring Food Network star Guy Fieri. If shoving his over-tanned skin and shocked-blonde hair into my face isn’t bad enough, he immediately tells me what I am going to eat at T.G.I. Friday’s. No, Guy Fieri, I will not eat that shoe-sole piece of sirloin steak. Sorry, Guy Fieri, I do not intend on buying drinks for the townie skanks at the next table. I will leave that one to you, pal. Do you want to know the next thing I’ll eat at T.G.I. Friday’s? Fucking crow, that’s what.

2. My Bloody Valentine Tour Dates: My finances will not allow me to attend what basically amounts to my dream festival this September, at which My Bloody Valentine will beckon the apocalypse by performing live and proving their existence, Built to Spill will perform the entirety of Perfect from Now On with the necessary thirty guitarists on stage for overdubs (I’m probably lying about this), Tortoise will trot out Millions Now Living Will Never Die in hopes of making me forget their post-TNT output, and Mogwai, Shellac, Polvo, Dinosaur Jr, Low, Thurston Moore, Lilys, and the Meat Puppets will combine in to form a Voltron of past and present indie credibility with the sole purpose of melting my soul. No, I will not be able to attend said event unless I drain the blood from my body and sell it to vampires. So finding out that My Bloody Valentine did not include a Boston date on their announced U.S. tour dates angers me just a tad. I need to experience the inside of a jet turbine, Kevin Shields, and I will hold all of your chinchillas hostage until that happens.

3. Missing The Narrator’s Last Show: For reasons similar to those behind item two, I will not be able to make it to The Narrator’s last show in New York City this Saturday. I imagine the following things will happen: they will perform “Son of Son of the Kiss of Death,” “This Party’s Over,” “Ergot Blues,” and “Now Is the Time for All Good Men” (none of which were performed at their last Boston show); Jesse Woghin’s guitar will spin around as if it were in a ZZ Top video; the band will spontaneously combust while performing “Roughhousing”; and finally, their ashes will sing an affecting cover of “All the Tired Horses” as a final encore. If any Boston gas stations would like to hold a Turn Back the Clock sale and charge $0.99 a gallon, I could make the show, but, as is, I’ll just have to read the police report.

4. Ongoing Democratic Primary: I can no longer pay attention to the national news because of the unrelenting teeth-gnashing on the part of both sides. Do you know what that leaves me? Human interest stories on local news. Please, a candidate, defeat the your opponent, behead them with a victory guillotine, and drink their blood during Deal or No Deal to show John McCain who’s really ready to take office.

Or, you know, convince the populace that you are a better fit to lead the nation.

5. Tautologies as Profound Insight: The next person, whether friend, sports analyst, or renowned blogger, who says any variation of “Well, you know, it is what it is” deserves to have any held degrees revoked. Oh, you graduated high school and think such clichéd sayings deserve mantra-like status for those accepting of certain conditions? Sorry, you’d better re-enroll. Don’t forget to stock up on school supplies.