I am tired of the snow, I'm tired of the ubiquitous soy sauce concoction on the ground, I'm tired of the alleged "vegetables" at Valentine, and I'm really tired of the Dave Matthews Band. Their latest album, "Everyday," has helped to further solidify my opinions-well, about said group, anyway.

Although I certainly can blame them for being excessively derivative (both of the Dead and their recent counterparts) and charge them with shamelessly catering to the questionable tastes of Abercrombie and Fitch-wearing co-eds everywhere, I can't blame them for the soy sauce, or the vegetables. Not just yet, anyway.

Granted, DMB's earlier music is compelling, fun and at times original. Granted, this particular band isn't quite as annoying as their fluffy fratrock counterparts. Nevertheless, Dave Matthews and company never cease to amaze me with the level of ire they seem to inspire throughout the very core of my journalistic being these days. In this era of the Bunny Rabbit in which the general public seems to only appreciate glitter, bellybuttons, and male and female Lolitas alike whoring themselves out to the over-commercialized marketplace from cozy little hit-factories in Florida, one would think that all of my bitterness would be spent elsewhere. I have found, unfortunately, that this isn't necessarily the case. In their first full-length studio effort since 1998's "Before These Crowded Streets," DMB has left listeners everywhere with the as yet unanswered question: Dave, what the fuck was it that you were doing for three years, anyway?

He certainly wasn't coming up with anything new. "Everyday," as it turns out, is nothing more than an insipid rehash of everything else that the DMB has produced over their 10-year tenure in modern rock. With the only major discernible changes on this album being the song length (read: my nerves were only grated upon for up to five minutes instead of eight or ten) and the slight proliferation of electric guitars and punchier lyrics, Dave Matthews has proven once again that he has little to offer the world of pop music besides his now-standard energetic, oversexed, gravel-voiced ramblings - though by the looks of "Everyday," he could use some Viagra.

Aside from the lukewarm musical quality (or lack thereof) of "Everyday," the lyrics certainly leave something to be desired. Devoid of any of the endearingly quirky ballads of earlier efforts "Under the Table and Dreaming" and "Crash," this album's writing succeeds only in stooping to a new lyrical low.

It offers an exceedingly uncomplicated and exceptionally irritating sentiment on such songs as "When the World Ends." Matthews croons such pick-up lines as "I'm gonna rock you like a baby," leaving me feeling like I'm in a dimly lit Alabama bar, simultaneously dodging overwrought country music and evil men with mullets.

Unlike the other things I am growing tired of, this album won't stop me from driving anywhere, it won't cause me to have a Pavlovian aversion to Chinese food, and it isn't neon green. However, like the other things I am growing tired of, it doesn't look like Dave is going anywhere anytime soon. Hopefully he'll use his time more wisely next time around.