This is a short work week, thanks to Canada Day, Everybody is losing their jobs day, the 4th of July. And I ain't got shit else to do, so here's a bunch of Internet crap.
Ever at a loss at what to say during sex? Here's a guide that could come in handy. Although its unclear what kind of reaction "I just pooped ... a lot ... on your dog" would get. Probably good right?
Transformers 2 is out in theaters. As difficult as it is to resist the ostensible lure of giant robots (with balls!), explosions, and Megan Fox running in slow motion, the lack of coherent plot may just keep me away. Plus the fake Michael Bay twitter is probably more entertaining. And this is coming from someone who owns Snakes on a Plane on DVD.
That's about all I can muster for now. I'll leave you with a music video via this list of 100 from Pitchfork in 2006. Because why not?
Seriously, this is what I would produce if I had access to the video production technology. Oh wait, I do? Hmmm, perhaps its time to start working on my fake animal cutouts. Although I did make a video one time about winter weather that prominently featured a coworker sliding down the hill outside our building on a snow shovel.
Before you ask/demand answers: I have no clue what the hell that is, yet somehow the giant falling snowflakes and spikey-haired pudgy dutch kid are entrancing, no? Although, I've never made it past the minute mark ... can you do better? It's a challenge, for the eyes and ears.
In me-related news, I somehow broke the frame on my old-ass bike last week, which was exciting, and dangerous. I was mourning that shit more than Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett combined. But! It gave me the motivation to go out a get a brand-new bike -- this guy! It's pretty great, possibly the best thing to happen to me since I did some (really fun, yet unidentified) drugs on Easter. That last part about the drugs was a lie. I knew exactly what they were.
What wasn't a lie was that thing I mentioned in the post from last week about the Capture the Flag game on the streets of our town. In fact it even has a facebook group, which you could potentially join! It even has a shitty photoshopped poster that I threw together while I was supposed to be working. Just like now!
So last week, I was putting the finishing touches on my dragon-flavored canoe (which I was planning on using to commute to work, but then it finally stopped raining. I'll post photos later when I figure out how to make my dreams reality.) I thought to myself -- what the heck, its wet out but you gotta get out and do something tomorrow, being that it will be Saturday and all. But what? Clearly it had to involve hipsters. Just look at those fucking hipsters. The tattoos alone justify your stares.
So I quickly narrowed my options down to two: Go to some sort of street festival in the Northern Liberties section of Philadelphia, or play capture the flag at a farm-like place in the suburban paradise of Newtown Square. Both had their pros and cons, which I will not get into. Suffice it to say I ended up playing capture the flag, which was the correct choice. I knew it was right when I showed up and there was an Asian guy with a wispy moustache wearing a greek fisherman cap sitting on the porch. But then that's not really surprising if you think about it, because is there ever a time when the answer to the question "Should I play capture the flag?" is no? I submit that there is not, unless maybe you are in a wheelchair.
The only negative to the day was when I got bit by some sort of weird animal or insect and now my leg is turning slightly gangrenous. A small price to pay, considering that in addition to the flag-capturing, the dudes at the farm had the greatest potato gun (or "spud gun" if you are a hick) I have ever seen. Surely you are familiar with the typical design of a potato cannon, with a fire chamber attached to a long tube? These use flammable gas, which when ignited propels the potato at high speed. They had one of those, but they also had a dual-chambered cannon that was powered by compressed air, and could probably shoot a potato through a garden hose, or a person. I'm not going to try to describe it further, as its best left to the imagination.
The day was rounded out by a viewing of Iron Man on a giant television, cooking stuff on a grill, and songs around the campfire, including an acoustic version of "Saw Your Head Off" which was just lovely. ("Saw Your Head Off" is a song written by a little-known independent musician whose other works include "The Robot Song" and "Swine Flu").
The final upshot is that my telling of a less nonsensical version of this story at Taco Tuesday inspired other bar patrons to try and organize some sort of "urban" CTF game in West Chester, which will hopefully result in arrests and/or crippling injuries.
I don't know how many of you are following the "Confederations Cup" soccer tournament that's going on over in South Africa, but its worth noting that the U.S. team improbably made it out of the group stage. I'm not going to get into specifics, because who wants to read about goal differentials? Mexicans? The bottom line is everything had to go right, and for some reason it did.
And for those of you who care less about the kicking of balls and more about nationalistic jingoism, heres a paraphrased quote from the Wire's Deputy Police Commissioner Rawls, to possibly get you amped up for their mid-week semi-final matchup with Spain. "American Soccer -- Let's show those third world fucks how it's done."
Yeah, I know Spain isn't technically the third world, but screw you. They torture bulls.
There are pranks, and there are epic pranks -- like this sign posted on SEPTA trains all around Philadelphia. SEPTA is certainly the worst public transit systems in any city I've ever been to/lived in. Even Denver's bus system puts it to shame. That said, here's the text from the sign, which I will try steal if I ever see one:
SEPTA Notice to the Public
The Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority (SEPTA) is committed to providing non-discriminatory transportation services to all of its passengers, including schizophrenics, drug addicts, Irish Catholics, hipsters, homos, prostitutes, gentrifying transplants, raging maniacs, tourists, obnoxious Penn students, corner boys, pimps, drunk rich kids who still think Old City is cool, and terrified suburbanites who tremble with unease at the sight of everyone.
Any person who is or seeks to be a patron of any SEPTA public vehicle shall be entitled to the same depressing experience of loud cell phones, obese people eating McDonalds, parents telling their toddlers to “Shut the Fuck Up!,” and a constant inch-deep layer of urine-soaked trash and debris.
No person or group of persons shall be discriminated against on any grounds with regard to routing, scheduling, or quality of transportation service furnished by SEPTA, with the following exceptions — race, color, socioeconomic status, and proximity to the suburbs.
Any person who has experienced a cleaner, more efficient, more extensive and better managed public transportation system in the U.S. (e.g. most if not all) can feel free to notify SEPTA about potential improvements, which shall promptly be ignored.
Do you ever wake up at 3 a.m. because someone is calling you after they have had a bit too much fun? It's usually wise not to pick up, because the conversations are slurry and painful. Plus, the sleeping.
Here is one such message from a friends phone. Consider it edited for accuracy.
Hey it's me I'm trashing my apartment (pause) (screaming)BECAUSE OF YOU (Crashing sounds) Also I'm naked while I'm doing this. (More crashing sounds) So fucking naked. Oh god everyone can see me. (anguished cries) It's terrible. Aughhhh! Aghhhh! (click)
Researchers were able to identify nearly 30 varieties of glowing rectangles that play some role throughout the course of each day. Among them: handheld rectangles, music-playing rectangles, mobile communication rectangles, personal work rectangles, and bright alarm cubes, which emit a high-pitched reminder that it's time to rise from one's bed and move toward the rectangles in one's kitchen. "We discovered in almost all cases that Americans find it enjoyable and rewarding to put their faces in front of glowing rectangles for hours on end," said Howard West, a prominent sociologist on the Stanford team. "Furthermore, when citizens are not staring slack-jawed at these mesmerizing shapes, many appear to become lost, confused, and unsure of what they should be doing to occupy themselves."
Here's a couple items about how fucked we are, on the planet.
1) Remember when I sounded the alarm bells about the growing menace of wind power? Well you all should have listened, because now scientists have come forward with potential evidence that wind speeds are diminishing. Sure they say its "too early" to "draw definitive conclusions" but still this means all wind generating turbines should be torn down and sold for scrap, or made into giant bongs. It's the environmentally friendly thing to do.
2)In giant garbage patch news, you may have seen something about plastic collection the size of Texas, or possibly France, floating in the pacific. I may have linked to something about it before. In honor of World Ocean's Day, which exists for some reason and was on Monday, here's a story about one guy sailing through it. It's a terrific downer, plastic. Yet so cheap and strong!
Anyway, your kids or grandkids are screwed, and that's assuming birds don't grow arms.
This movie works and is funny. It's also got a hard R rating. Probably not as quotable as Old School, but close. I feel like I should offer some more here, but meh. The presumably gay Asian mob boss character played by the guy who was the LARP king in Role Models is pretty epic. Tootleloo motherfuckers.
*paraphrased from a speech prepared and given by Zach "Fat Jesus" Galaifanakis's(sp) weirdo brother-in-law character on the rooftop of a Las Vegas casino. Before he slips the whole group a roofie.
The situation where people have to deny, hide or, if found out, regret their drug taking is simply absurd. The public is tired of the artificial representation of drugs in society, which is not truthful about the fact that all sorts of people use drugs. If we are to have a fair and effective drug policy, it must be premised on this reality.
It is time for the public to challenge the mantra adhered to by politicians and much of the media that society must continue to fight a war on drugs, as if they are an enemy worth fighting and ones that can be defeated. The implication that drugs are evil and that users of them ought to be made to feel ashamed suits this status quo, but in fact does not reflect most people's experience of drugs.
Talking about yourself is inherent in nature of blogs, and to a lesser extent, all narrative writing. I guess that newswriting in the purest sense lacks all self -- in J-school they teach you its all about the who, what, when, where and why. Inverted pyramid structure, with the most important facts at the beginning and slowly getting less important it goes on.
But the gaping maw of the Internet requires constant updates if you want to maintain any kind of readership. The problem is, there just isn't enough quality material to fill the void. But if you post intimate details of your life, people will probably read it. Thus you have "oversharing," in which internet writers post so much information about their lives reading it crosses the line from voyeurism into the kind of shared-living-space banality. Thus you learn the most interesting part of a person you vaguely knew in high school's life is the color of their latest bowel movement.
I don't like to overshare, it is an exercise in narcissism. A desperate cry to be heard, to maintain a sense of self-importance among a million voices. And its probably true that this blog suffers because of my tendency to err on the side of the meek. Putting every aspect of your life online is just grating, and can be a recipe for a train wreck.
All that said: I spent last weekend just cold helping folks move their shit to new locations. First I helped Sinclair move for the third time in nine months. But that doesn't even really count because as a "move" per say: He has like 9 items to his name, two of which are giant speakers. So that was the warm up move for the main event -- helping the sister move 2 miles in Brooklyn. Which was ... fun?
No, it was good. As I said, I don't like posting personal details of my life on the internet, so let's just say there there was a lot of biking and some drinking. Also we went to some place called Hot Diggity Dogs. But a big reason I enjoyed myself, and what I think is the point of this rambling nonsense, is the altruism. Shocking, really, I know some of you like to think of this blogger as an angry asshole, but in fact I do actually enjoy helping others. Usually.
There is a certain sense of satisfaction to be gained by a job done well with no tangible benefit to oneself. That feeling is reimbursement, I suppose, but you can't actually touch contentment, it's not a physical thing. Plus if you aren't getting paid the person you are helping can't really complain when you accidentally put a hole in their wall with a box-spring mattress (surprisingly easy). And with that, I'm unceremoniously ending this rambling mess of a post.
"When I am king, you will be first against the wall" -Radiohead, Paranoid Android
OK. So this is embarrassing, but I watched that show I'm a Celebrity: Get me out of here last night. In my defense my roommate had it programmed to record on the DVR, and I was too lazy to go upstairs. With any luck I'll never see it again and all memories of it will fade to black. The only reason I watched this episode in its entirety was this torture tank thing that looked like it might be a mass-waterboarding device, for the last segment of the show. As it turns out they just dumped some bugs in it. Also: The Phillies are on the West Coast.
Another thing that got me through this terrible terrible show was imagining what it would be like if Richard Dawson was the host. The idea of Schwarzenegger killing that jerkoff from the Hills (pictured above, with some rapper) is appealing. At one point the hills guy calls up some studio exec to whine about how being on a show with VH1 personalities and Lou Diamond Phillips is "devaluing his fame." Lou Diamond Phillips was in Young Guns, you fucking ingrate. And now my blissful ignorance to these Hills people's existence has been destroyed. Thanks, NBC.
In the interest of killing off a Friday morning -- a post of filler! It's gotta be more productive than columns written about Keyboard Cat. Another step forward in trying to get the most absurd content possible in print. Still, it's doubtful I'll ever top this one.
The big "news" around here this week was about a woman who called 911 to report being rear-ended by "black men" who then stuffed her and her daughter in the trunk of a car. The woman being blond and photogenic meant the cable news stations picked up on the story, making the reality of the situation somewhat hilarious. Because, ho ho, they were actually at Disney World!
Speaking of politics, you have undoubtedly heard about this Hispanic woman (or Latina, in parlance of our times) who was nominated for the supreme court, which I really don't care about. Far more entertaining are the photos of a "Roman Catholic priestess" who was forcibly removed from Air Force One.
I don't care to read the article, but the headline certainly lends itself to some sort of classy joke-making in regards to Hitler. Swine Flu does what Nazi's couldn't.
Running empty, that's just about it. I'll leave you with this collection of photography. Highly recommend scrolling down to the 20th century stuff, you could kill hours looking through it.
A good job requires a field of action where you can put your best capacities to work and see an effect in the world. Academic credentials do not guarantee this.
Nor can big business or big government — those idols of the right and the left — reliably secure such work for us. Everyone is rightly concerned about economic growth on the one hand or unemployment and wages on the other, but the character of work doesn’t figure much in political debate. Labor unions address important concerns like workplace safety and family leave, and management looks for greater efficiency, but on the nature of the job itself, the dominant political and economic paradigms are mute. Yet work forms us, and deforms us, with broad public consequences. The visceral experience of failure seems to have been edited out of the career trajectories of gifted students. It stands to reason, then, that those who end up making big decisions that affect all of us don’t seem to have much sense of their own fallibility, and of how badly things can go wrong even with the best of intentions (like when I dropped that feeler gauge down into the Ninja). In the boardrooms of Wall Street and the corridors of Pennsylvania Avenue, I don’t think you’ll see a yellow sign that says “Think Safety!” as you do on job sites and in many repair shops, no doubt because those who sit on the swivel chairs tend to live remote from the consequences of the decisions they make. Why not encourage gifted students to learn a trade, if only in the summers, so that their fingers will be crushed once or twice before they go on to run the country?
The best part about this is it would theoretically combine the talents of McG and Michael Bay. Two great tastes that go great together. And by best I mean worst.
Well its memorial day weekend, which means I'll be celebrating one year of carlessness. Let's break out some bike and bus-related highlights. Transport!
-I don't want to turn this into a car bashing extravaganza(although I could, easily). So here's the nut -- a lack of driving will quickly turn thoughts of automobiles as a necessity into to a mix of disgust and fear, especially of luxury SUVs and sports cars. Also, drivers? It's kind of unnecessary to excessively speed up you pass a bicycle. Although it probably is vital to make up those few seconds you were inconveniently stuck behind someone pedaling their hardest. Dicks.
-One time I missed the bus coming back from Philly, so I found myself with an hour to kill in Upper Darby. (For those familiar with Chicago, think Howard Street El station/Rogers Park). So I went to some extremely ghetto bar/lunch counter. And I lived!
-Going over the handlebars on a bicycle can be fun and educational for the whole family.
-Sometimes its better to just leave your bike locked up in town rather than try to bring it back to your place when you are fall down drunk, because you might get mugged/pistol-whipped after the front wheel falls off.
-Yelling quotes from There Will Be Blood at passing motorists can draw some interesting looks. Examples: "DRAINAGE!" or "Give me the blood, and let me get away."
-Nasty weather has a lot more influence on one's day to day when you do not have the ability to travel fast without getting wet or cold. Thank god its summer now.
That's about all I can think of at this point. I'm off to recreate the video posted above on the Schuylkill Expressway.
Hey did you know that there was some sort of election yesterday? Don't worry if you didn't vote though, it was one of those stupid primary elections where no one actually takes office. Unless! They are running unopposed in the November general, and securing the party nomination essentially secures the seat. See: Big cities where there are no Republican candidates.
Oh and to the pig-faced Congressman above, let's dust off an old chestnut: What you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Is it bad that the best possible response to a member of the United States Congress is a quote from an Adam Sandler movie? Probably, but how else can one counterpoint arguments that compare global warming to the smooth fizzy taste of Dr. Pepper. Still, that video is almost genius in its downward spiral of mixed metaphors and sheer lunacy. How does this man manage to make each progessive sentence increasingly idiotic? I don't know, but it's probably why the good people of the Texas' 6th District voted for him.
The other day I discovered that my cable has an on-demand option, and that some episodes of the The Wire are available. Specifically, the last half of Season 3. To refresh your memory, its the one with Maj. Bunny Colvin's Hamsterdam enforcement strategy. For those who haven't watched this show -- what are you, racist?
Anyway, here's the plot. Desperate to make some impact in his final months as a cop, Colvin instructs his police to push all the outdoor drug trade in his district into specific, particularly-dilapidated "free" zones. He introduces the concept with an apt paper bag analogy.
The plan has predicable results. Minus the drug-element, West Baltimore enjoys an all too brief renaissance. Meanwhile the addicts flock to the free zones or "hamsterdam," which one deacon describes as hell. The word of drug-legalization travels up the chain to the police commissioner and mayor. And it all goes to shit, when the the TV news people show up. In the end Rawls orders the free zones taken down Western District-style, to Flight of the Valkyries.
I think my point is that although Bunny Colvin is a relatively minor character on this show, he still has a lot to offer. It takes a strong person to see the worst terribleness of man on daily basis and not become jaded. Not to mention the talk he has with Carver is a fantastic indictment of the drug war. He clings to his idealism, even after some 30 years as a police officer in the inner city. And he's also a tragic figure, when his plan falls apart, he falls on his sword to protect those he led.
So here's to Bunny Colvin, a fictional man who did everything he could to make the world a better place in the face of futility, incompetence, apathy, and an overall lack of viable options. Truly an inspiration for our time.
This picture best represents my feeling now that my laptop is back and badder than ever. Even though the "h" key still only works sometimes. Today? Yes.
"Naturally, when you try and take the bone away, even if they didn’t deserve that bone in the first place..."
I found that quote buried deep in a New Yorker article in which Wall Streeters bemoan their loss of status amid the current financial downturn. It's all "very" disturbing stuff, about how terrible it is when 8-figure salaries are somehow looked down upon by members of the public, on the subway. The selfarrogance here is simply amazing -- that they deserve to have a GDP bigger than that of Haiti because they manage markets. Oh yes, and create wealth. Sweet sweet wealth, the one thing you can never get enough of, much like coke.
But now thanks to some good old-fashioned populist rage its no longer cool to be a banker. As it should be: Bankers are inherently nerds. It's what makes the late gangster accountant Herbert Kornfeld funny. But somewhere along the line that idea was lost and number crunching became a "prestige" profession, desired by Ivy League popped collar types. I think this occurred sometime in the 80s. Greed is good, Reagan and all that. But when financiers has carte blanche and runs amok for 30-odd years, it's going to be particularly heart-wrenching for them when the lights finally get turned out. Not to mention the hangover.
And it does seem those lights are getting turned out, or at least dimmed. The crazy bender of deregulation is mercifully coming to an end. Shit, the government is actually talking about maybe regulating the derivatives market, a little. Curbing profits to cover losses, will wonders never cease. Multi-millionaires have enough power to get what they want -- they don't need Washington's help to get what they want. I assume these people have butlers.
The problem with class warfare is the rich are much better at it. Its common sense -- money and influence makes it easier to push your ideology. Setting aside lobbyists and the moneys that actually change the rule of law: The country has long embraced idea that anyone can get rich, buy a house, make their way. And do not get me wrong: I agree with this. There are few things better than life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (maybe the golden rule). But again, somewhere along the line that American Dream (for lack of a better term) got twisted up in the desire to buy more and more stuff, just to keep up with the Joneses.
But what can be done? Populism is always appealing, and one would think it could be an important tool in evening the playing field, or at least bringing those rich fucks down a peg. Power of the mob. But it tends to be right-wingers like Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck who best stoke the fires of poor morons, in pursuit of profit and ratings. Screaming nonsense about kenyan socialism and lighting people on fire draws in more eyeballs than a reasoned analysis of, well, anything else. So populism is out, and that's just about as much wrong-headed analysis I can manage at this point.
Gotta put a plug for my cousin's band up in here. I went down to the WXPN's World Cafe Live to see them on Monday night. Called Strength in Numbers, they are a 9-piece band, based out of Burlington, Vt. The sound is a kind of a hip-hop, jazz, funk fusion. Not something I would listen to at home, but quality live.
And they put on good show, won over the crowd -- who besides myself and my pops was probably there to see the next act Philadelphia Slick and Akil the MC (from Jurassic 5). Possible future post topic: Going to see a hip-hop show with your near 60-year-old father.
Anyway, here is the only video I could find of them on Youtube. Gives you an idea, but I think the show on Monday was better.
But opinions, however insightful or provocative and whether expressed online or in print or in prime time, are cheap. Reporting the news can be expensive. Some of it — monitoring the local school board, say — can and is being done by voluntary “citizen journalists” with time on their hands, integrity and a Web site. But we can’t have serious opinions about America’s role in combating the Taliban in Pakistan unless brave and knowledgeable correspondents (with security to protect them) tell us in real time what is actually going on there. We can’t know what is happening behind closed doors at corrupt, hard-to-penetrate institutions in Washington or Wall Street unless teams of reporters armed with the appropriate technical expertise and assiduously developed contacts are digging night and day. Those reporters have to eat and pay rent, whether they work for print, a TV network, a Web operation or some new bottom-up news organism we can’t yet imagine.
Informational update: My laptop has some sort of terrible virus, possibly swine flu-related. But seriously, there were over 1000 infected files. The point is it may be a while before I get back to posting normally, because I need mind-altering substances to come up with ideas, which cannot be done at work. In theory.
It is a pastoral sport, man. The famous Dead Comedian George Carlin did a whole "Baseball vs. Football" routine, wherein he made clear the Militaristic Theme of Football vs. the Lovely Day in The Park Theme of Baseball, so you can go and Google that shit while I ask the Rhetorical Question: Why the fuck are they always trying to make the Baseball like Football? Can't we have stuff be different? I have attended and enjoyed Football games and it's usually way fucking colder than I would like it to be and everybody is all amped in the fullest non-military expression of Militaristic Society, and that's the Football, man, bring a Pocket Flask, all kindsa Greco-Roman Weirdness, people hollering with painted faces, screaming, "Tailgating" with Feverish Consumption of Mass Quantities of alco-beverage, Roasting of various Meats, lotsa BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA, and vomiting in the parking lot. Good Times, man, seriously. It all makes sense in the Gladiatorial Empire of a sport that celebrates the Big Game with Roman Numerals, totally fucking awesome, man, just don't get your Football in my Baseball, OK?
A variety of factors including the confickr virus, making facebook pages at the behest of creationists, rummaging though trash bins for used air conditioners and tea-bagging have put severe limits on my time. Maybe something more later this week, but for now enjoy this video from the whitest kids you know.
Just wanted to point out that white-boy rapper Asher Roth in that clip went to West Chester university. So his most popular song I love college is presumably about partying on Walnut Street and maybe even 15 North, if he was lucky. According to newsroom sources the guy even made an appearance at a recent local council meeting requesting the borough shut down a couple blocks on 4/20 for his CD release party. Request was denied, and he had it at Bam Margera's bar. West Chester is a veritable hotbed of culture (not really).
And in Rick Ross news, how about a NYTimes review of the new album, which includes passages like this:
And what a relief that is. Like all great pop music, rap is theater, and Rick Ross, now 33, is one of its most ambitious characters. He arrived fully formed in the summer of 2006: the busting-out gut, the outsize presence, the scratchy voice, the always-there sunglasses. At worst he was a Young Jeezy clone, spewing empty drug talk in comically repetitive fashion. At best he was an utterly believable and improbably charming exponent of the cocaine-rap making the rounds at the time. Clipse may have done it with more technical precision, and Jeezy with more magnetism, but Mr. Ross sounded in charge, his voice a gravelly threat.
In an effort to type a bunch of words that actually "make sense", I'm scrapping a post I was struggling with (class warfare! exciting!) and just doing another DVD rundown. That other post will probably make an appearance later, if only to make use of the awesome pictures I found. Anyway, here are some more films sent to me through the miracle of the U.S. Mail.
Blue Velvet
Why is Cavil lip-synching Roy Orbison? Who knows, but that clip sums up the creepy vibe that permeates this movie. Also, the early scene where the camera moves through grass until it reveals disgusting bugs. I've avoided David Lynch films since I was terrified by the worms in Dune at a young age. Watching this I realized I'm kind of glad I did, but at the same time I want to see some more of his stuff. Call it morbid curiosity for lack of a better term. Blue Velvet's certainly worth seeing, if only for the awesome performance by Dennis Hopper as Frank Booth. Lines like: "Heineken! Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!" make me want to a devote a whole post to it. Which I may. Candy colored clown indeed.
A Boy and His Dog As if Blue Velvet wasn't strange enough. This 1975 sci-fi flick is set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, following a young Don Johnson and his wise-cracking intelligent dog that communicates with him telepathically. They have a mutually beneficial relationship in which Johnson finds food for the dog, and the dog finds women for Johnson to rape. Eventually after falling in love with a girl while hiding from zombies, Johnson ditches his dog friend to follow the girl to an underground fascistic society where everyone has on clown/mime makeup. And then things get really weird. This movie has a jaw-dropping surprise ending.
Punisher: War Zone This movie is fucking awful, but still better than the first Punisher. There's a part where the Punisher puts a chair leg through some guys face. Also it has Newman from Seinfeld playing a nerd, and McNulty from The Wire plays the horribly make-upped bad guy.
RocknRolla The latest from Guy Ritchie is what you expect, in that its about the criminal element in England, with overlapping plotlines and a dark comedic streak. Although at times it seems like they are just making it up as they go along. Not as good as Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, maybe comparable to Snatch.
The Last Detail Jack Nicholson and some other guy are Naval men charged with transporting a young seaman to prison for a trivial offense. They decide to show the guy, played by a young Randy Quaid, one last good time along the way -- meaning lots of drinking, fighting and fucking. This is a classic road movie, know what I mean?
Sex Drive You might remember the previews for this one because they had a talking Mexican donut (which actually factors a good bit into the plot). It's a boilerplate road/teen-sex comedy highlighted by an appearance by Seth Green as a sarcastic Amishman.
Hard Boiled Great action movie? Or Greatest Action movie? The main character's name is Tequila for christsake.
The Wackness This is a coming of age tale, set in the 90s in New York City. The best part about it is the music, tons of great old-school hip hop. This is the movie where Ben Kingsley plays a pot-smoking psychiatrist, who at one point makes out with an Olsen twin.
Zack and Miri Make a Porno This is probably my favorite Seth Rogen movie ever, even better than Donnie Darko (He's the guy who says, "So I heard your dad, like, stabbed your mom." and "I like your boobs." Classy.) But Observe and Report looks promising, being directed by the Eastbound and Down guy and drawing comparisons to Taxi Driver somehow. I think I watched Zack and Miri not sober, because I don't remember much of what happens. For some reason I'm confusing the high school reunion scenes with those from Grosse Point Blank. Anyway, I do remember that this movie is laugh out loud hilarious.
Gosford Park Speaking of class warfare, there's this ensemble production directed by Robert Altman set at a mansion party in the English countryside. Arguably the best film on this list. Both the well-to-do and the servants who serve them are well-developed characters in a carefully plotted murder-mystery.
Repo Man Something about aliens living in the trunk of a car and Emilio Estevez.
That's it, I'm off to enjoy the 80 degree temperatures this weekend.
In other news, it figures that the day I actually have an idea for a thoughtful post I am swamped with "work" at my "job" but hopefully it'll get up here sooner or later.
The best thing about this chart is using your imagination to anthropomorphize these news organizations a la schoolhouse rock. Who doesn't like to imagine the NY Post repeatedly kicking the back of the NY Daily News' chair? Not too mention the sitcom-level hilarity of NPR and the Washington Times sitting next to each other. Ho ho, they are quite the odd couple those two. Good thing Helen Thomas is there as the lovable granny who keeps everyone in line.
Image gratuitously stolen a month and a half ago from the nerds at fivethirtyeight.com.
I sure picked a good Sunday to be laid up on the couch with some sort of back strain (related to biking 50 miles in two days, to breweries?). Because all the day's sports results seemed to work out according to my tastes. Rather than try to construct a narrative, here's a list in reverse chronological order.
Sixers beat Orlando Some may have counted the Sixers out when they fell behind by 18 in the second half. Including me, because I fired up the sky level on Mario 3. But its a good thing to check in after some boot-related hijinks, because then you get to see an epic comeback capped by 18-foot contested fadaway from Andre Iguodala. I think FreeDarko put it best when they said he's "like a Youtube clip that eats and plays Wii" even though that makes little to no sense. Or does it? Also this is further proof that Superman sucks.
Phillies beat Padres If there is one thing to be determined from the first two weeks of the baseball season, its that Raul Ibanez has god-like powers. It's true, I just edited into his wikipedia page. You gotta appreciate any come from behind walk-off win, even if it is in April -- or as Skip (possibly Chip) Carey said, "If this was the NFL, we'd just be starting the fourth quarter of the first game." Relevance!
Flyers beat Penguins I just hope the Flyers can make it out of the first round so my annual "caring about the Flyers" period lasts longer than a week or so. Also apparently there is quite a rivalry between the Penguins, probably the biggest Philly-Pittsburgh sports fan feud. Still, I think its setting the bar a bit low.
Manchester United loses to Everton in FA Cup Can't forget the schadenfreude. I know most of you don't care a bit about English football, but here's some perspective. This year the Red Devils, as they are called, were going for something called the "quintuple" or five separate trophies, which is totally absurd. They are the Yankees times 10 in their hubris. This loss knocks them down a peg, in that the quintuple is no longer possible. That the loss came by Everton is a bonus because they are a like-able squad. They have this guy, and are Paul McCartney's team of choice.
A brief linky consideration while watching something called Werder Bremen vs. Udinese Calcio. The UEFA Cup is neither relevant nor exciting (for soccer). Where is the marking indeed, announcer whose accent I can't place. Argentinean?
I'm not sure if I've ever linked to Hey Okay before, but its my go to place for some random visuals, on occasion. Also good is Eat Sleep Draw. Both should probably be in the sidebar, but I'm too lazy and forgetful. It's a deadly combination.
Hey look, Bush torture memos. Somebody read them and tell me what they say, cause I sure as hell ain't reading some grainy-ass PDFs on HuffPo. If there is one thing Ariana Huffington knows, its that the kids love them their PDFs.
Here's a pretty awesome Inside Edition piece on Nintendo from 1988. Make your Bill O'Reilly joke of choice below. PLAY IT LIVE!
You know, if you are going to protest "taxes" by dressing up like a tighty-whiteyed President Obama, you better be sure to bring an inflatable Elmo to clarify your message.
I had never heard of David Foster Wallace before he hung himself last fall. Upon his death I read a bunch about him from various sources, and a few of his essay's available online. That whet my appetite, but I doubted that jumping into his work with the epic-long novel "Infinite Jest" was the best idea. So I went to the local bookstore to see what was available, hoping for either this collection of nonfiction pieces or Consider the Lobster. This is what they had.
Wallace's style takes some getting used to. The prose is as good as it gets, but the advanced vocabulary and numerous lengthy footnotes can be tricky. But where else can you read an essay on the Illinois State Fair that uses the word "rictus" not once but twice. That essay, along with the titular piece in which Wallace takes a Caribbean cruise are the clear highlights of this book. But it also includes five others including an analysis of David Lynch's Lost Highway, a trip to the Canadian Open (Wallace was big into tennis), and an article about television that I quoted before.
It's a hilarious book, particularly when Wallace immerses himself in Americana. He's a bit of an elitist, but the elitism is grounded in a kind of self-concious earnest voice. And that voice has got a hell of a way with words. The state fair expo is a "Xanadu of chinzola." His bathroom on the cruise ship is "bitchingly nice." A tropical moon is "a sort of obscenely large and dangling lemon." I could go on and on with this stuff. In fact, just for the hell of it, here's a couple grafs gratuitously copy-pasted from some random blog found by googling "xanadu of chintzola":
Booth after booth. A Xanadu of chintzola. Obscure non-stick cookware. "EYE GLASSES CLEANED FREE." A booth with anti-cellulite sponges. More DIPPIN DOTS futuristic ice cream. A woman with Velcro straps on her shoes gets fountain-pen ink out of a linen tablecloth with a Chapsticky-looking spot remover whose banner says "AS SEEN ON 'AMAZING DISCOVERIES,'" a wee-hour infomercial I'm kind of a fan of. A plywood booth that for $9.95 will take a photo and superimpose your face on either an FBI Wanted poster or a Penthouse cover. An MIA--BRING THEM HOME! booth staffed by women playing Go Fish. An anti-abortion booth called LIVESAVERS that lures you over with free candy. Sand Art. Shredded-Ribbon Art. Therm-L-Seal Double Pane Windows. An indescribable booth for "LATEST ADVANCE ROTARY NOSE HAIR CLIPPERS" whose other sign reads (I kid you not) "Do Not Pull Hair From Nose, May Cause Fatal Infection." Two different booths for collectible sports cards, "Top Ranked Investment Of The Nineties." And tucked away back on one curve of the mezzanine's ellipse: yes: black velvet paintings, including several of Elvis in pensive poses.
And people are buying this stuff. The Expo's unique products are targeted at a certain type of Midwestern person I'd all but forgotten. I'd somehow not noticed these persons' absence from the paths and exhibits. This is going to sound not just East-Coastish but elitist and snotty. But facts are facts. The special community of shoppers in the Expo Bldg. are a Midwestern subphylum commonly if unkindly known as Kmart People. Farther south they'd be a certain fringe-type of White Trash. Kmart People tend to be overweight, polyestered, grim-faced, toting glazed unhappy children. Toupees are the movingly obvious shiny square-cut kind, and the women's makeup is garish and often asymmetrically applied, giving many of the female faces a kind of demented look. They are sharp-voiced and snap at their families. They're the type you see slapping their kids in supermarket checkouts. They are people who work at like Champaign's Kraft and Decatur's A. E. Staley and think pro wrestling is real. I'm sorry, but this is all true. I went to high school with Kmart People. I know them. They own firearms and do not hunt. The aspire to own mobile homes. They read the Star without even a pretense of contempt and have toilet paper with little off-color jokes printed on it. A few of these folks might check out the Tractor Pull or U.S.A.C. race, but most are in the Expo to stay. This is what they've come for. They couldn't give one fat damn about ethanol exhibits or carnival rides whose seats are hard to squeeze into. Agriculture shmagriculture. And Gov. Edgar's a closet pinko: they heard it on Rush. They plod up and down, looking put out and intensely puzzled, as if they're sure what they've come for's got to be here someplace. I wish Native C. were here; she's highly quotable on the subject of Kmart People. One big girl with tattoos and a heavy-diapered infant wears a T-shirt that says "WARNING: I GO FROM 0 TO HORNEY IN 2.5 BEERS."
RIP. As much as I want to toss up the Old School quote, I just can't. There are some things even I won't mock the day they happen, and the death of Harry Kalas is apparently one of them. It's difficult and sad, almost like the death of a grandparent. Except it was millions of peoples grandparent. Listening all the announcers voices cracking during today's game fills me with despair like a memorial facebook.
Longtime baseball announcers enjoy a special place in the collective regional consciousness. For generations of Philadelphia fans, Kalas will always be the voice of the game. Think Harry Caray or Vin Scully. Hopefully the Phils don't construct some bizarre statue of Kalas rising from the depths of hell like the Cubs did with Caray.
So old that he has to use his bat as a cane after hitting game-winning home runs. Also the Denver altitude makes him tired with its thin air.
That game plus a thrilling end to the Masters (for golf) plus a delicious dinner of kung pao chicken and crab rangoon (burrito plans were foiled by holiday hours) equals the best Easter ever. He is risen, etc.
To commemorate the start of the baseball regular season, here's something for every team. We can only hope for the same level of prognostic success I had in forecasting the last season of The Wire.
AL East Tampa Bay Rays - Promising future for young, talented team ends in tragedy when bandwagon fans take next logical step from "rayhawks" and start scalping opposing fans. Baltimore Orioles - Finally bounce back from retirement of Cal Ripken 8 years ago to finish fourth in division. Boston Red Sox - Red Sox Nation finally gains the sovereignty it has worked so long and hard for after the battle of Lowell. Toronto Blue Jays - How about that Roy Halladay? He'd look good on whatever team you happen to root for, eh? New York Yankees - Miss playoffs for second straight year because "Yankee mystique" was based on old stadium, not stocking roster with overpriced frauds.
AL Central Cleveland Indians - Continue to sell out home games regularly, because what the hell else are you going to do in Cleveland. Chicago White Sox - Owner Jerry Reinsdorf ignores conventional wisdom to hold a 30-year anniversary event dubbed "Disco Demolition Night 2: The Breakening" Minnesota Twins - Commemorate final year of the Metrodome by having another solid season of above .500 baseball based on strong fundamental play. Detroit Tigers - Magglio Ordonez finally learns Brandon Inge's name, but still calls him bendejo. Kansas City Royals - Just glad baseball has not yet adopted the European soccer concept of "relegation" in which the three worst teams are sent down to a lower echelon league.
AL West Oakland A's - Jack Cust hits 30 home runs to the delight of fantasy baseball owners. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim - Chone Figgins gets the 73 singles he needs to pass Bobby Grich for seventh place on the team's all-time list. Seattle Mariners - In strange case of life almost imitating art, Ken Griffey Jr. forced to retire due to radiation poisoning. Texas Rangers - Tom Hicks is impeached as owner of the team because of war crimes, and George W. Bush takes over.
NL East Philadelphia Phillies - Worst record ever for World Series champion tempered by every win coming in absurd, 7-run behind fashion. Atlanta Braves - Management makes critical error of underestimating the importance of Mike Hampton. New York Mets - Another September collapse, this time with more hilarious crying. Florida Marlins - Crack researchers finally crack the code of why anyone would think playing baseball in July in South Florida is a good idea. The answer may surprise you. Washington Nationals - Promotional tie-in day for new slugger Adam Dunn based on nickname "Big Donkey" goes horribly awry.
NL Central Chicago Cubs - Win World Series. Ha ha, just kidding, actually Lou Piniella will have a heart attack mid-season when Alfonso Soriano asks him how to bunt. Milwaukee Brewers - Prince Fielder's vegetarian diet gains popularity in Wisconsin, surpassing that of former culinary leader Jeffrey Dahmer. St. Louis Cardinals - Albert Pujols suffers severe emotional damage from hecklers telling him to "put it in her Pujols" all season despite his wife's refusal to do anal. Houston Astros - That stupid ass train thing they have at their stadium derails, killing hundreds. Cincinnati Reds - Forgettable season highlighted only by Edwin Encarnacion dying his hair blond in an ill-conceived attempt to pick up the sexy ladies of Cincinnati. Pittsburgh Pirates - City unites behind team after pitcher Ian Snell dies in tragic smelting accident, only to forget about them once football preseason starts.
NL West Arizona Diamondbacks - Ride strong pitching and situational hitting to another division title, even though they are all totally into dudes. Los Angeles Dodgers - Manny being Manny takes bizarre turn when outfielder tries to incorporate his unrequited love of Miley Cyrus into fielding fly balls. San Francisco Giants - Fans, management wistfully remember the Will Clark era. San Diego Padres - Effort to reach out to the nearby Naval Base doesn't work as well as planned due to unfortunate misspelling in ad campaign dubbed "Balls with Seamen." Colorado Rockies - Kaz Matsui gets in trouble with team, stadium sponsor when a picture of him shotgunning a can of Milwaukee's Best surfaces on the internet.
Productivity here this week plus factors means I'm not posting for a minute, or day. You have such things to look forward to as a David Foster Wallace Book Club, some ill-defined post on sports fandom that may or may not ever see the light of day, perhaps a dissertation on the nature of blogs vs. other media, or baseball. Til then, enjoy this trailer made better by Arcade Fire.
The countless hours that drivers waste stuck in traffic when they could engage in more productive activities like watching television is one of my chief concerns. Often times I lie in bed at night, unable to sleep due to the crippling traffic problems that plague our cities. Why doesn't someone invent a smaller, two-wheeled vehicle that theoretically existing drivers could use to get to their jobs that also exist? This is the question that haunts me day and night.
And once again it seems our friends and beneficiaries at General Motors have their respective fingers on my neck, and thus on the pulse of the American motorist. This week they unveiled a new vehicle sure to revolutionize the way one gets around in a city. Dubbed the Personal Urban Mobility and Accessibility project or PUMA, it seems destined to fill the hole in U.S. transportation industry left by the inexplicable failure of the Segway, which is a partner in this enterprise.
It figures that it would take teetering on the brink of bankruptcy for a Detroit automaker to finally get its act together and embrace the gyroscope technology that has long eluded them, despite public clamoring. Everything I've read on PUMAs is exciting and innovative, sure to cut to the quick of hip city-dwellers who don't get theirs on the very first day they become available. A veritable iPhone of the road.
So GM, to you I extend a salute and hearty handshake. May you be successful beyond your wildest dreams in this new endeavor. I don't see how it could possibly go wrong. There simply aren't any other two-wheeled options available for urban commuters who want to travel just outside walking distance. And no, I'm not forgetting the rickshaw, I just think that the time of a man pulling another man on a cart has come and gone.
Perhaps the above video isn't as iconic or classic the meta-cultural I'm on a Boat, but for my money it's funnier. Plus the lower production values. Maybe my preference lies in that Rick Ross' boss-like nature pleases me. Whatever the reason, the video is a good example of the "Lonely Island esthetic" if such a term deserves to exist. The Lonely Island is a comedy group including Andy Samberg and two other guys, they just released some album.
Another example: Hot Rod has been on cable a lot lately. Surprisingly watchable, although I can't figure where it stands on the comedy spectrum. There is a high level of absurdity and satire, which are traditionally associated with high, sophisticated laughs. But the absurd elements tend to be extremely stupid and low -- for example there's a punch-dancing montage, a taco fights a sandwich, and (spoiler) Al Swearengen shits himself.
Here, of course, is where the ultra-right and ultra-left unwittingly crash into each other, when Communism becomes Fascism, or communes giving way to cults. I doubt it ever works the other way—a sinister consolidation of power and crushing of all opposition giving way to egalitarian sunshine and light? But certainly, the nexus is both unlikely and potential ammunition for both sides, even if it's that moment where you look across the battlefield and realize your enemy is human. We all want the same thing, sometimes.
Submitted for your consideration and my catharsis: Which is "worse" -- that 4 Fast 4 Furious dominated its opening box office weekend, or that the World Fucking Champion Philadelphia Phillies were booed in the second inning of their home opener. Both upset me on an an vaguely guttural level. Let's just lay out what's wrong.
4 Fast 4 Furious is a successful movie Yes I know that isn't technically the name of the "film." But Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ, you cannot simply add/remove the articles from a film title, and expect not to be mocked. It has got to be some kind of rule. I thought I lived in a world where there was no possibility of a movie called The Batman. Now I'm not so sure. It's probably true that 4F4F (terrible) has plenty of thrills, spills and probably kills. Still, as one reviewer said, "The plot is utterly incomprehensible, but the legions of street racing fans hopped up on NOS and Full Throttle energy drink aren't going to care." Ha ha energy drinks, ZING. This flick is just one more step in the dumbing down of the American cineplex, where mediocre drivel is hailed as groundbreaking. Also, it means the continued viability of both Vin Diesel and Paul Walker as "film actors," a tragedy in its own right.
Phillies booed THEY JUST FUCKING WON THE WORLD SERIES YOU DUMB ASSHOLES. THE FIRST CHAMPIONSHIP IN THIS TOWN SINCE 1893 OR SOME SHIT. THAT BUYS SOME SORT OF GRACE PERIOD, YOU CUNTS. THERE ARE 162 GAMES IN A BASEBALL SEASON. THIS ISN'T YOUR PRECIOUS EAGLES. LOOK ON THE GODDAMN BRIGHT SIDE OF SOMETHING, FOR ONCE IN YOUR PATHETIC, GREEDY LIVES. Indeed. Anyone want to start a vacation travel service to go boo Donovan McNabb in his daily off-season activities? It would be a gold mine.
In conclusion: I'm going to see/do both of these things very soon, and will enjoy them. It's a race to the bottom and Ima gonna win.
Here's a case of life imitating art: Skinner: Well, I was wrong. The ants are a godsend. Lisa: But isn't that a bit short-sighted? What happens when we're overrun by ants? Skinner: No problem. We simply release wave after wave of Chinese needle snakes. They'll wipe out the ants. Lisa: But aren't the snakes even worse? Skinner: Yes, but we're prepared for that. We've lined up a fabulous type of gorilla that thrives on snake meat. Lisa: But then we're stuck with gorillas! Skinner: No, that's the beautiful part. When winter rolls around, the gorillas simply freeze to death.
How about this thing: Kid's internet toy, or crazy acid experience? You be the judge.
I highly recommend checking out the Norm McDonald monologue from the ESPY's back in 1998, which was posted Deadspin yesterday. Ho ho, Anthony Mason is a statutory rapist.
Don't mess with teenage mutant ninja turtle fans who are interns at The Onion, cause if you do, they will send you harshly worded letters.
That's it for now, maybe I'll add some more stuff this afternoon, but I doubt it.
And then the robots became self aware, signifying the beginning of the end for humanity. First baker's yeast, then the Matrix or Skynet. It's science.
Well it seems my earlier confusion and dismay regarding LOST was a bit premature. It seems that you can't just jump in and watch this stuff. Because as this season has chugged along it has become steadily more engrossing, and then BAM! you get one like last week's Sayid-centric "He's Our You" that blows any and all doors completely off. Revelations galore, mostly related to the relationship between everyone's favorite back-stabbing weasel with the creepy stare, Ben Linus, and good-old Tortury McMurderer, Sayid.
This is what I want in television: Something that makes you think. Like when Ben says to Sayid "It's what you are, you are a killer." Does Sayid think about that when he's interacting with the pre-teen Ben back in the 70s? I assume so, especially when he shoots him. That little cliffhanger had many a viewer highly anticipating what would be resolved this week, if anything.
Unfortunately it was with a Kate episode. Sure Evangeline Lilly does a good job emoting after having her stolen child go missing in a grocery store, but I can't watch her without the suspecting that her best work may have been in phone sex commercials. Not as embarrassing as Liz Lemon, but still.
Where was I? Oh right, Lost. I'm not going to get too deep, because frankly, who cares? It's a TV show, and there are already countless online resources. But I will say Hurley as audience proxy was in fine form last night, asking all the right questions, wondering when he would start disappearing a la Back to the Future, etc. It helps a labrynthine show to have a character offering some sort of voice for the viewer. Makes me feel less like I am watching a live action Escher painting.
There are many evils in this world: Terrible desert wars, godless communist presidents, pyromaniac rapists, rap music, and drug-abusing abortionists. It can be quite scary out there on Earth, in "real life." Shadowy, inconceivable bogeymen lurk around each and every corner, often baiting your kids into vile temptation with delicious candy.
Fortunately there was a man who understood the pains and ills of the world, and took it upon himself to forgive all of us for our awful acts of sin and malice. I am referring of course to the one and only man on the cross, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It's amazing the confidence and love one can instantly attain, simply by accepting this dead Jew into your heart. It's power could be described as unconditionally irrational.
Some mock those who have accepted God's love -- even in this very space, verily. They mock what they do not understand: That there is a plan for all of us. Some are more noble than others, but anyone can earn their place at the Lord's side. You might think killing heathens is somehow "better" than spreading The Word in devoutly-atheist internet forums, but killers don't risk virtual humiliation and banishment. Plus, if even one person opens up to God, your online evangelizing was a success.
Those that do not accept Jesus' love will soon be smited, and hard. I had a vision last night that the end times are nigh. It was a guy in a skeleton costume riding a donkey, which I can only assume signifies the four horsemen will soon be making their charge. Also there was a talking dog. Although it didn't move its mouth so maybe it was communicating with telepathy. The bottom line is all true believers will soon be called home to be with their Lord in Heaven, and those who deny God's love will be left behind. So get out there and spread the Good News.
