So I'd like to know why everyone is bashing on WALL-E? Okay, maybe "bashing" is not the right adjective, but it's hard to find very many completely pleased with this cinematic masterpiece. And yes, godamnit, it is a masterpiece. What movie in the past, oh, I don't know, say 20 years at least, has presented itself with such heart, emotion or depth? A story about robots has turned out to be more humanistic than any crap hitting the big screen recently or in the future. Slap my balls and call me Billie Jean!
At my time of viewing, to be fair, I had not seen the last Pixar hit, Ratatouille, and as of late, I have remedied that situation. Here's my account of that half-ass excuse for a kid's movie: Two turds down! With second-rate character voices such as Patton Oswalt and whoever the fuck voiced the whiny, perpetually annoying chef accompanied by a tired story of child/family seperation I found myself more interested in my dog taking a shit on the floor in front of me. Seriously, I was so bored that I'm even willing to believe that VH1's Celebrity Fit Club would have been a much more suitable alternative for some shits and giggles. The point is, with the exception of Finding Nemo (trust me, I know you think it's awesome!) I have now witnessed, first-hand, every major Pixar production. At least I think so.
Actually, other than Toy Story, when I was 10, I had never experienced any other Pixar film on the big screen. Maybe that's why I don't find Ratatouille entertaining, clever or original, but still, it just wasn't very good. You want me to believe that a rat can't speak our human language, but that it can prepare our food? It should be a rule, if you're lead character can cook, then he better damn well talk. Well, I mean if he's a rat in a children's movie anyway.
This summer, so far, I've seen a new movie on opening weekend for at least the past month and a half, not to mention indulging in various DVD rentals and maybe even a trip or two to the discount dollar theater and yet, none of these films have come close to the magic of WALL-E. The Incredible Hulk was certainly not incredible and pales to the pacing, story, humor and wit of its summer blockbuster predecessor Iron Man. A pleasant surprise Iron Man, as it is the best super-hero movie in ages, and Jon Favreau has outdone himself in the genre. Of course, that title is contingent upon the release of The Dark Knight, flying into theaters very soon. Hancock was a fairly-well executed attempt at a humanistic portrayal of superheroes but the translation and execution of the premise was lost around the last fourth of the film. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was better than most want to give it credit but still only ranks as the fourth best Jones flick. However, I must add that it's simply frustrating to think that there might be additional installments in the franchise. Steven Spielberg surely knows when to let a series go, via Jurassic Park, but Georgie Boy Lucas, on the other hand, seems to love marinating in the stew of shittiness that are his franchises.
Sadly, I've missed out on some films that look like winners such as Kung Fu Panda, but as for other "acclaimed" silver screeners like Wanted, I have to say, I'm relieved I didn't get conned into. Trust me when I say that I'd much prefer sniffing a dirty bum's asshole than view any Angelina Jolie vehicle. With the exception of About Schmidt, I have never witnessed, or better, experienced another film that had the ability to elicit tears (that's right, tears) when I considered the legacy of my future and the fragility of my existence. 700 years from now, the amount of time WALL-E spends roaming Earth by his lonesome before his encounter with E.V.E., who will remember you or what you did last week? What happens to our treasured materials, our favorite TV programs, our beloved books, our precious music? It's dramatically disheartening to ponder on such a future and wonder what kind of fodder our lives will be for someone, or some robotic life-form, in 700 years. Hell, for that matter, how about even 100 years?
If you want to know the real truth though, I actually found the sweet and compelling love story between our hero WALL-E and his synthetic girlfriend E.V.E. the true tearjerker, though not because it's sad in any way, but due to its buoyant optimism. Little WALL-E shows no fear, even in the face titanic challenges, in his attempts to rescue his new found love. The concern the two have share over each other is so innocent and true, you'll find yourself wishing you behaved more like WALL-E or E.V.E. within your own personal relationships.
I've had friends and acquaintances alike inform me of their perceived faults with WALL-E which have culminated into an interesting conclusion. Parents, young and old, seemed to have faulted the movie mainly on the content of its message (but I've also heard these same people snort krazy-glue). It seems that WALL-E is too "preachy" concerning the portrayal of a scorned and useless earth stemming from years of human abuse, and, as well, concerning the plight of the incompetent humans wasting away deep in the galaxy aboard a luxurious space station while Earth sits to rot. People, or more specifically, adults, don't seem to find enjoyment in watching a "children's" film where they're lambasted as complete fucking morons, where Pixar admonishes us with a warning: "See what happens, you shitheads, when your waste, want and greed plunders our fragile little planet?" Adults, I believe, would rather see humans characterized as "bad" guys that are capable and intelligent rather than ignorant fuck-ups. Which just so happens to be more realistic and closer to the truth of human nature. But hey, who wants realism in a children's movie? WALL-E simply never dumbs itself down to a certain demographic, a feat rarely attempted by any "children's" movie. Though if a studio could be credited for maintaining certain adult elements in their films, it would be Pixar. Sure, there's not much dialog in the first 40 minutes or so. Sure, the message comes on strong and extremely obvious, albeit draped in a love story between two robots, WALL-E and E.V.E. And sure, it makes you think on and question matters you might not find desirable when enjoying a "children's" film. That's exactly why this little animated production has pushed the envelope much farther than previous "cartoon" movies. Name any other movie, children's or not, that has forced the parent and the child to consider their far-off futures and where a desolate future, such as the one in WALL-E, has its origins. Well, maybe WALL-E's "disturbing" content is too much for the mind of a young child to ponder upon. Of course these same lame-brained, anti-intellectual parents, who condemn WALL-E's urgent message, will also be the ones taking their little ones to see The Dark Knight, which, I'm sure, is much more suitable for kids.
If this all seems a little too "preachy," well, it's probably because you understand elements of the truth that WALL-E shove in your face. Maybe you don't want to hear it, maybe you don't believe it or maybe you're just scared as hell. Ignoring it is probably the best way to go about, I'm sure.
I don't hear anyone complaining of adult films presenting the same type of messages, so why must we pick on our little friend WALL-E?
Until recently, I had been feeling quite apathetic toward the music world. Once my dearest love, it had fallen to the wayside in the last several years, replaced with movies, jobs, masturbation and what have you. I must credit my friend and Three Minute Record blogmate in assisting in the re-ignition of my dying flame, as I have recently come soaring back to the world of music and all the treasures it has to offer.
Unfortunately, there are way more turds than golden nuggets (unless you count corn niblets) and it's taken great patience to weed out those unworthy of mine, or for that matter, anyone else's time as well. Over and over again I have encountered bands/musicians touted as the next best thing or that they were the best thing. Hardee har. As for the hunt of new tunes, I don't hesitate to say that for every one quality band/performer I encountered, there were seven to ten acts so stinky, it makes my ass smell sweeter.
Traversing magazine after magazine, and music site after music site, mainstream and underground alike, it's not to hard to place your finger on the pulse of the music world today, though, admittedly, it's different for everyone. I wanted to enlighten the world about what musical acts I considered decent and intelligent and the list presented here is my conception of that. This is most certainly not an all-encompassing list, but more like a list of music that has either struck a chord with me or took a shit in my ears. It should be apparent that I'm not including many genres and their sub-categories and so on, but like I said, this is by no means a universal listing. More like a starting point if you're wanting to discover some new bands or avoid bad ones like the plague. Some of those listed are already famous and for that I have no other excuse other than that I just enjoy raving on about those I despise.
Not every band/performer listed is new, per se, but have been currently active or have recently released musical work of some kind. Everyone one the list has produced some body of work in the pat few years. As far as the order goes, it's in no particular order, with the exception of the first few on each list, as those bands hold the honor of catching my fancy much more significantly than others, or in the case of the bottom half of the list, raising my ire like no other.
Obviously, this is one man's opinion. I hope I encourage debate or aggressive argument in posting this list. However, I doubt it, as the Second Perspective's fan list is quite short.
I have to immediately apologize to any friends who would disagree with me. Most assuredly, I would disagree with them as well. The Good Stuff
Why?- These guys can and have been under-appreciated but it's time for that to stop. Lead singer (or lyricist if you prefer) Yoni Wolf and company have put together a masterpiece on their latest album, Alopecia. Low-key, but catchy and atmospheric music provides an excellent landscape for Mr. Wolf to paint his pictures with his clever rhymes and rants such as "I sleep on my back/cuz' it's good for the spine/and coffin rehearsal." It's moments like these that you can identify with, the sadness mixed with humoring smart-assness.
Man Man- I could go on and on about these guys. I've heard their live shows are what helped make them, and after YouTubing some of their performances, it's easy to see this is probably true. To sum them up succinctly: Man Man could be the mutinous crew of a pirate ship with Nick Cave as the captain and Tom Waits as first mate. If that doesn't pique your interest, well, you probably lack imagination.
Bon Iver- Simply one of the most haunting solo acts I've heard. Every song will crush your heart with its dire sadness and utter despair. And to think Justin Vernon did all this all his lonesome, in the bitter comfort of a cold Wisconsin forest.
The Cave Singers- Folk music with heart and catchy sensibility. Weirdly enough, this band emerged from the now defunct Pretty Girls Make Graves. If that's what it took to create this band then let's thank the god of indie music for allowing PGMG to die.
The Black Ghosts- Two rad dudes from England are making some of the poppiest and soulful (eww, I hate that word as much as you do) electronic music around. Don't let the "soulful" part fool you though. You can dance if you want too, but you can also still hear great melodies not robbed from the trains of previous acts.
Adam Green- The other, and way-better half of Moldy Peaches. Green is much more preferable and enjoyable than his counterpart Kimya Dawson, from Juno fame, who seems to find pleasure in making goofy children's songs. What's the most appreciated aspect of Green's work? Other than his 2002 album Garfield, not one of his songs are over 2 and a half minutes, with only a handful nearing the 3 minute mark. Please, for Juno 2, (nooooo!) let's see what Green can do.
The Dodos- Wow. A tw0-man group NOT doing some version of the blues. Is this legal? Of course, technically, the White Stripes have eschewed the bluesy sort of music as well. Of course, technically, the White Stripes suck.
Foals- Fun Brits make pop, with nice little oddities thrown in for good measure. All of their songs from Antidotes are good enough to make you play with yourself. Why do you think I enjoy listening to them?
Jay Reatard- Is it Reatard, as in retard, you think, or more French sounding, like re-uh-ta-ard? Either way this fella from Tennessee kicks ass. Since most punk bands suck now, and officially, aren't even punk, Reatard is a welcome breath of fresh air. Quick and to the point, he is, which is very similar to how one would enjoy sex with a minotaur.
Lykke Li- See the Shit List below for my small rant of ordinary, everyday women singer/songwriters and how wretched I find them to be. A striking opposition to these feelings are the ones I have developed for Lykke Li. If for every rough there's a diamond, this gal is as polished and pretty a diamond as you are likely to witness. Mixing some electronic blips with her smooth as hell voice and devastatingly elegant and touching melodies, Lykke Li can make you cry like a little titty-baby. Trust me, I know. Check out: Everybody But Me and Little Bit from Youth Novels.
Silver Jews- There are still a few good alt-country-ish bands out there, but it just so happens that Silver Jews are the cream of the crop. Now that Ryan Adams has fallen off his rocker, and Wilco can's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot as well as they once could, the torchbearers for tears falling in beers has been placed in the Jews' lap.
Small Sins- Nothing to get too worked up over here. Small Sins have developed some catchy and slightly dramatic tunes, though nothing out of the ordinary pops up. Some songs, such as Prove Me Wrong are downright creepy though, perfect for dark moods and darker thoughts.
Vetiver- Just as good, but probably better, than his labelmate co-captain Devendra Banhart. And without all this foolishness about crabs, birds, monkeys, et cetera. Though who doesn't enjoy some tasty crabs on their little monkeys?
Windmill- To be fair, many could find lead singer Matthew Thomas Dillon's vocals quite maddening. They are on frequency level of a very high nature. Fortunately, his songs are soaked with heart that bleed with considerable longing, propped up by catchy-as-hell melodies. Fluorescent Lights, a song from Puddle City Racing Lights wistfully draws up images of people, places, memories and things you love, will always love, and an understand that you can't get a way from them. But what if you want to escape the memory of getting a bathroom blowjob from the sloppy-joe lady in high school? Well...you're fucked.
Genghis Tron- While everything else on the list has mostly been centered in the broad category of pop, though a few delve from this, Genghis Tron is located smack dab in the metal section. While there are certainly several worthy metal bands currently, Genghis Tron have mixed heavy riffs and bloody vocals with electronic experimentation to the right degree. Certainly not your run-of-the-mill metal up your ass! (Bonus points earned for one of the coolest names of this century)
The Shit List
The Hold Steady- I guess their music is okay, if not a little generic at times. However, Craig Finn's vocals sound like horseshit, and the very thought of them severely grates my nerves. Calling them cheesy (and annoying) would only be an insult to dairy products. (Yes, I stole that last insult). But really, what's with all the praise? You'd think they were the new Radiohead or Beck the way some fools make such a fuss about them. Don't you just love the cliche, Bruce Springsteen thing going on too? Maybe, a more appropriate moniker would have been the Mini-Bosses? Well, okay. The Shitty-Bosses.
Albert Hammond, Jr.- Uh, stick to the Stokes dude. No. Really.
Uh Huh Her- Great. Another duo of chicks singing to damningly cookie-cutter, electro-dance, groove beats. It's not that their just awful, it's just that it's so goddamn boring. And, to the dismay of some, their not even lesbos. By the way, that's a real deep P.J. Harvey nod with the name. Like, sooooo deep!
Coldplay- Some say their newest album Viva la Vida sounds like the Coldplay we all know and love. Some say it's a new direction for the band. I say it sucks.
My Morning Jacket- This native band of Louisville, at one time, pumped out excellent tunes of lonesome despair and small-town emotions. Now they insist on feeding us overstuffed, half-baked jams accompanied with their worthless imitations of "soul" music. This is what happens when you let undeserving praise from the likes of Rolling Stone and Spin Magazine fill your head with dreams of saving the music world. You become bloated and obsolete, albeit unknowingly, because retarded fans still buy your rotten albums. Though it's lame as hell and uber-generic, I'm sure hardcore MMJ diehards posit this album to be the second coming. If you're referring to the second coming of the food in my stomach, sirs, you are absolutely correct.
My Brightest Diamond- Actually, you could throw in any number of Tori Amos wannabes here. I just picked this little lady out because, well, she's one you encounter often when perusing the current music scene, or maybe because she's the first one I thought of. Who cares or knows. Is this crap supposed to evoke some type of emotion in me? Are these overly dramatic croonings meant to make me swoon in the arms of a lover or choke up on thoughts of a long, lost love? You'll get more heartbroken by drinking a bottle of Beam's Eight Star and then smashing the bottle over your own head. And if you enjoy this pap, you should smash something much more life-threatening over your head. Please. Other copycats and piano-driven drivel: Joan as Police Woman, Sam Phillips, and Jessie Baylin. Avoid at all costs, unless you're an angsty, bitchy teenage girl who enjoys cutting themselves for attention. Or for fun.
The Futureheads - Uh, is any song different than the last? Good god, kill these insipid bitches.
Sounds Like Violence- Music can't get any dumber than this. Sounds Like Violence? Sounds more like dead hookers stuffed with rotten eggs. Wait a second. Let me think about that last statement. Mmmmmmm.......delish!
Circuits- Too close in similarity to one of the worse bands of all time, Cage the Elephant. It's likely that you haven't heard of Cage the Elephant and if this is just world, which it's probably not, you never will. Don't you just love shitty Americans who add English drawls to their shitty voices and mix it with their version of shitty white-boy funk? Oh, wait. Seems they are British. And it seems they still suck something awful.
Van Tramp- In all of my recent findings, no band has made me gag and puke, not unlike Carnie Wilson at a Ryan's Steakhouse buffet, than this silly excuse for a band. Basically, if you enjoy horribly generic, contemporary Christian rock, you will like this band. Hell, if you're that bananas, you'll love these pathetic whores. If God's responsible for this mess, then I'm personally pole-axing his dumb kid, JC, when he comes back for a second go-round. Amen.
R.E.M.- Question: Does anyone give two greasy shits about what Mikey Stipe, the poor man's Bono, has to say? I doubt it. To further comparisons of lameness, R.E.M. even worked with Jacknife Lee, a former U2 associate. Thanks to their new album, Accelerate, which is shockingly receiving critical merit, we can all enjoy 11 new tracks of complete mediocrity from a band who has made a career on peddling complete mediocrity.
That's it for now folks. There's plenty more I'd like to applaud and plenty more I'd like to condemn, so tune in later for some more down and dirty insight!
I have to admit something. Its been exceedingly difficult to write about shit on here. Initially, I wanted to navigate this blog with singular purpose, poised to astound minds with my witty insight and blasphemous humor. Well... damn. Harder than I thought. What would make anyone want to read what I have to say? I'm a no- name, vaguely talented, egotistical peon who's a downright dumb ass (and I say that as confidently as a self-deprecating bastard can). Indeed, I do desire a vast legion of readers and adoring fans but, unfortunately, it's eclipsed by one ironic paradox: I'd probably (no, definitely!) hate most of these motherfuckers. So you can see the predicament of my endeavor. May you be cursed to perform fellatio (or more likely cunnilingus) on Boy George if you can't.
Should I review music? Three Minute Record, a blolleague (blogger colleague) of mine, seems to have that down just fine. I'm sure he'd accommodate any reviews I might want to do. Movies? Books? Fashion? Art? Farts?!? Enough of that crap. Please. There is currently to much lame ass excess in those departments. Actually, it's precisely due to this that I know there's no God as sure he would have Sodom and Gomorrahed all these bitches a long, long time ago. I don't mean to rain on any parades, but if you're going to pursue any of these courses do it with some originality and thought, maintain some passion and purpose. Don't let your work be smeared in with the pap. (Pun most certainly intended) That's my biggest fear. That and being bit on the penis by a King Cobra.
Sure, I'm aware that what I'm doing here isn't exactly ground breaking. While there are definitely some creative and innovative juices pissing somewhere upwind in this ol' noggin of mine, a trend-setter or award-winner, I ain't. But unlike most people who just want to write their daily thoughts on their job, girlfriends/boyfriends or the type of peanut butter their dog licked off their balls last night (which is fun) , I want to do it just a wee bit differently. I want it done right, with plenty of humor, satire, wit, intellectual insight, purpose, and interest rampantly screaming all throughout. Basically, I don't want to bore anyone. Or their dogs.
So I guess I'll be writing about whatever the hell I want to on here. With no publication procedures, editors, fans, or an ethical compass, I've got nothing but wide open lanes, and, in the words of Judas Priest, I'm heading out to the highway. You'll see me. I'll be speeding home, fresh jar of peanut butter in tow.
So you see, I do have something to write about. And I hope you can find some entertainment in nothing at all.
I don't think I've ever been terribly upset upon hearing of any particular celebrity's death. George Carlin may be the first. It's not that I want to cry about it or anything, and besides, ol' George wouldn't really want me to do that anyway. He knows I didn't know him (or did know). But he is the first person of note to die in several years that mattered a wit, at least to me. He's well knows for his stand-up comedy performances (though quite unlike most other cookie cutter comedians) than he was a blazing, acerbic, pissed off, musing, curious, and no-bullshit social commentator. Yeah, sure, it was kinda sad to hear about Timmy Russert, but let's face it, Carlin actually gave honest and truthful insight (sometimes misconstrued as mean) on the shitty and dark side of our twisted humanity, whereas Russert only reported it. Russert was a reporter, informed and educated, sure, but George was an enlightened philosopher of the world, consequently dismissed through the use of harsh and vulgar language. Which is exactly the way his world (and ours) tends to be.
I Actually, I got to see the man when I was 14 or 15, to young to understand everything he had to say, but at least wise enough to understand that he possessed a keen passion that many lack in any field in which they might endeavor. And it was a ferocious passion that he never lost, even through old age, as he was doing shows up until a week before his death.
As tiring as it is to hear, Carlin is best known for his Seven Words You Can't Say On TV bit, but spending hours reviewing many of his highlights, new and old, it becomes painfully obvious that he was much more important than that alone. Like myself, he thoroughly enjoyed ranting of his "psychotic fucking hatreds" concerning those that take themselves too seriously. You know the ones: religious fools, feminist fanatics, environmentalist do-gooders and the like. And you gotta admit, who doesn't enjoy soundly belittling and berating these self-righteous pricks? He wanted to do away with all those annoying bastards we all have to deal with every day and even devised creative and entertaining ideas about how to off these shitheads. Such as disemboweling "up-scale, yuppie, green peace, environmentally conscious assholes" with a wooden cooking spoon somewhere deep in a forest. Social injustices and an apathetic world population were also another matter that vehemently invigorated Carlin, something he never failed to touch on in any of his performances. He never felt sorry for those he felt dug their own whole, and in return, desired no quarter himself.
It wouldn't be hard, from listening to descriptions of Carlin's opinionated raves and rants, to succumb to the misconception that the man is simply an angry miscreant whose only wish is to stir up trouble. Tsk, tsk. Not only was the man a comedian of the highest order, unlike many of his ilk, he provocations were meant to make you think, not just laugh. No doubt, many of his convictions are a hard pill to swallow, for those who take life just a wee bit seriously, which that was fine by him. Wildfires engulfing the west and levee-breaking floods in the mid-west, to Carlin, were just desserts for those residing in those areas. He told the "sassy" and "tough" hostesses of the View that man had tested nature to the limits and they saw fit to build, build, build, where building should have ceased some time ago, and only "unenlightened half-wits" could have destroyed our once beautiful land. He believed in using words, plain and simple, such as "cripple" (now physically "challenged" or "disabled"), and violently disagrees with substituting "constipation" with "occasional irregularity," and to use anything else was only a "grotesque evasion" of the truth used by "smug, greedy, well-fed white people." He believed that people were becoming whiny, soft, wasteful, negligent, obese, greedy conspicuously consuming asshole fuckheads. And, you know what? He was right. Carlin's realistic and gritty beliefs go on and on, most of which, I staunchly agree with, and now that he's gone, there are a rare few left to disseminate these essential p.o.v.'s with as much bravery as he did. There'll be no replacing him.
There's so much to say about George Carlin and I could keep going for quite some time. The man's got way too many brilliant insights and commentaries to discuss thoroughly in one dumb little blog, so I'll leave it up to you to find your favorites. Nearly all his stand-up performances are on YouTube, along with various other clips. If you don't think he's funny, then you're probably part of the problem Mr. Carlin so violently railed against. And I don't doubt he'd think you deserved to be hit repeatedly in the face with large pieces of mining equipment.
50 Good Ones From My Man George (Ok, 51, but the shit about Helen Keller is too funny)
I don’t have pet peeves — I have major psychotic fucking hatreds!
Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.
Swimming is not a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning. That’s just common sense!
A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.
Have you ever noticed that their stuff is shit and your shit is stuff?
I wanna live. I don’t wanna die. That’s the whole meaning of life: Not dying! I figured that shit out by myself in the third grade.
I used to be Irish Catholic. Now I’m an American — you know, you grow.
You can’t fight City Hall, but you can goddamn sure blow it up.
If the Cincinnati Reds were really the first major league baseball team, who did they play?
Honesty may be the best policy, but it’s important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy.
If it’s true that our species is alone in the universe, then I’d have to say that the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little.
No one knows what’s next, but everybody does it.
There are 400,000 words in the English language, and there are seven you can’t say on television. What a ratio that is! 399,993 to 7. They must really be baaaad. They must be OUTRAGEOUS to be separated from a group that large. “All of you words over here, you seven….baaaad words.” That’s what they told us, right? …You know the seven, don’t ya? That you can’t say on TV? Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits.
The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.”
The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.
Just when I discovered the meaning of life, they changed it.
Religion has convinced people that there’s an invisible man…living in the sky, who watches everything you do every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten specific things he doesn’t want you to do. And if you do any of these things, he will send you to a special place, of burning and fire and smoke and torture and anguish for you to live forever, and suffer and burn and scream until the end of time. But he loves you. He loves you and he needs money.
Weather forecast for tonight: Dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered light by morning.
If it requires a uniform, it’s a worthless endeavor.
If you live long enough, sooner or later everybody you know has cancer.
You know the good part about all those executions in Texas? Fewer Texans.
Soft rock music isn’t rock, and it ain’t music. It’s just soft.
Reminds me of something my third-grade teacher said to us. She said, “You show me a tropical fruit and I’ll show you a cocksucker from Guatemala.”
As soon as someone is identified as an unsung hero, he no longer is.
If a movie is described as a romantic comedy, you can usually find me next door playing pinball.
The IQ and the life expectancy of the average American recently passed each other in opposite directions.
I knew a transsexual guy whose only ambition is to eat, drink, and be Mary.
I put a dollar in a change machine. Nothing changed.
If you’ve got a cat and a leg, you’ve got a happy cat. If you’ve got a cat and two legs, you’ve got a party.
You can prick your finger — just don’t finger your prick.
By and large, language is a tool for concealing the truth.
Ever notice that anyone going slower than you is an idiot, but anyone going faster is a maniac?
Isn’t it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do “practice”?
I don’t like to think of laws as rules you have to follow, but more as suggestions.
I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.
When you’re born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you’re born in America, you get a front-row seat.
Eventually, alas, I realized the main purpose of buying cocaine is to run out of it.
I never fucked a ten, but one night, I fucked five twos.
I never joined the Boy Scouts. I don’t trust any organization that has a handbook.
I would never want to be a member of a group whose symbol was a man nailed to two pieces of wood.
Have you noticed that most of the women who are against abortion are women you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place? There’s such balance in nature.
So I say, “Live and let live.” That’s my motto. “Live and let live.” Anyone who can’t go along with that, take him outside and shoot the motherfucker. It’s a simple philosophy, but it’s always worked in our family.
Catholic — which I was until I reached the age of reason.
Here’s a bumper sticker I’d like to see: “We are the proud parents of a child who’s self-esteem is sufficient that he doesn’t need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car.”
I love and treasure individuals as I meet them; I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.
Beethoven was so hard of hearing, he thought he was a painter.
Don Ho can sign autographs 3.4 times faster than Efrem Zimbalist Jr.
God bless the homicidal maniacs. They make life worthwhile.
I’ve never seen a homeless guy with a bottle of Gatorade.
One great thing about getting old is that you can get out of all sorts of social obligations just by saying you’re too tired.
If Helen Keller had psychic ability, would you say she had a fourth sense?
Late last year, a friend of mine introduced me to a most imaginative and creative fellow by the name of Lasse Gjertsen. Gjertsen's YouTube videos have made the rounds, for sure (with one video at over 10 million hits), but I'm still surprised at how many have never encountered his productions. This Norwegian lad of 24 or so began submitting the videos of his creative work in 2006 and currently has the 31st most subscribed channel.
I don't doubt that many Gjertsen haters (and I'm sure there's a few) believe he uses only simple effects and techniques common among filmmakeng, but then again, that's a large order to fill!rs. Or, more appropriately, "filmmakers." It's not all about how he gets it done, but his creative expressions and techniques that make him much more original and exciting than 99% of the other bull-shit found on the 'Tube.
I'm providing a few Lasse videos, to pique your interest. There's a helluva lot more on YouTube of course, and you can hit him up on Myspace as well. Just think, if we had more directors like this behind videos and advertisements, or what have you, our lives might be (or at least seem) a little less boring. I wouldn't doubt that Gjertsen could even make Sarah-Jessica Parker or Cameron Diaz seem interesting. But then again, that's no short order to fill.
*In case you didn't know, that's a Wayne's World II reference... And I know you didn't know.
Jonathan Lethem knows how to spin a 'purty' good yarn. Not unlike like Scott McClellan, I suppose. Although his most recent novel You Don't Love Me Yet (Doubleday, 2007), has been receiving some mixed reviews, I'd still like to check it out. Unfortunately, I've got a summer book list as long as Patrick Swayyze's dick (which I've heard is, like... long), but I'd like to squeeze this one in. Possibly right betweenthe Kama-Sutra and Lolita. Weird, huh? However, I will, ever so highly, recommend checking out Gun, with Occasional Music (Harcourt Brace, 1994), Lethem's debut novel.
This book is completely fucking odd. As in Ridley Scott (pre- Russell Crowe) could have one hell of a field day with Gun if it were ever optioned. It stars a straight-thinking and quiro hero, Conrad Metcalf, a hard-boiled detective from the near-future, with the erogenous zones of a woman Metcalf could have been perfectly played, 20 years ago, by none other than a young and dreamy Kurt Russell (*sigh*). Alas, he's practically a senior citizen nowadays (at 56) but damn, if he's not just as dreamy(*sigh*). But, I digress. For reasons of expediency, here's Wikipedia's plot synopsis: "Metcalf is hired by a man who claims that he's being framed for the murder of a prominent urologist. Metcalf quickly discovers that nobody wants the case solved; not the victim's ex-wife, not the police, and certainly not the gun-toting kangaroo who works for the local mafia boss."
Sounds intriguing right?
A few more teasers:
-Thanks to technology, children can become smarter and more cynical than adults; such children are known as baby-heads.
-Animals, too, can be given the intelligence of a human being through bioscientific techniques.
So what makes something underrated? How can one define it? Certainly, the notion of what's underrated (or overrated) manifests itself quite differently with all of us. Where I might say Sylvester Stallone is (though I probably wouldn't), you might say Angelina Jolie is (which you probably shouldn't). Maybe I feel John Fante is a colossally ignored author and maybe you think whoever it was that wrote The DaVinci Code is "totally badass." What I'm driving at is that we all have our little secret delights, our guilty pleasures; those "things" in life that no one seems to appreciate but you. Take the recent revelations of one Alex Kozinski, a Federal Judge of the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals (see inset) who apparently believes the idea of bestiality is underrated, and proved his undying devotion to the ill-appreciated art by posting a sweet, sweet video of a man, a horse, and the ensuing good time on his personal site. Of course this only makes me wonder: a) what have I been missing? and b) how have I not come to this same conclusion? Looks like ol' Judge Kozinski, also knowns as "Spanks With A Horse," his god-given Indian name, has been holding out on us (for shits and giggles, I'm sure). Maybe we're all holding out, but thanks to the inspiring example set forth by the good judge, I intend to promote my own treasured (and not so treasured) secrets for any who might care to know. Obviously there are certain levels and different degrees of being under-appreciated, and these parameters can't be ignored when judging the criteria of underrated (or overrated) material. Let's take Indiana Jones, for example, since the Spielberg/Lucas franchise has become freshly relevant with the release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. To fanboys, the Indiana Jones trilogy is top-notch Hollywood; heroic, macho cinema at its finest. To critics and less enthusiastic bastards the Jones series is nothing more than simplistic action stories set to the beat of a glorified treasure hunt. Another example; the music duo Ween. They could be classified as underrated, for rarely are the mentioned in mainstream circumstances, yet they have a massive cult fanbase who, at behest of the band, would eat their own family. Raw. I personally believe the measure of Ween's talent lays some where between a dried up, rotting, semen-filled, week-old condom and a really gnarly booger. Although I'm sure my ugly comments directed at this "whimsical" band will upset fans, that last statement might earn me my Rushdie-like fatwa I've so eagerly desired. So, to sum this point up: finding anything that can be universally agreed upon as underrated (or overrated) presents a problem nearly as difficult as trying not to scoop out your eyes with a melon-baller whenever Rosie O'Donnell waddles her happy ass on your television screen. Actually, that's an easy one. You melon-ball those bad boys.
But just like our old pal Judge Kozinski, there are a great deal of things, from books to ideas to three-toed sloths to yes, even bestiality (could sloth+sex= $$$!?!) that barely flicker on the general Joe-Shmo's radar. In some cases, it's because things can get clumped together, like the 80's "hair" band Faster Pussycat. These guys actually made some quality tunes in the latter part of the 1980's, but their status as a "hair" band (clumping!) keeps them relegated to a forlorn prison of spandex and hairspray. You don't have to pull a dramatic Cruiseian (as in Tom) maneuver if you give them a chance and decide they're worth more than two rat's asses, but you can take satisfaction in knowing you're experiencing something not too many can or ever do. Which is kickin' it with Faster Pussycat. Hell, even "Spanks With A Horse" was simply exploring some new avenues of entertainment which, understandably in his case, are often eschewed by the general public. But I for one would like to shake his hand. Unless that hand had just been wrapped around a nice, juicy horse shlong, in which case I'll just settle for a wink and a nod.
No doubt many of the things I'd like to discuss here will be seen (if ever seen at all) as silly, trivial, offensive, pathetic, down right goofy, et cetera. But hey, what's our existence worth if you can't piss somebody off or start a nasty argument every once in a while? I sure hope I can, here, on this puny, ridiculous blog. Maybe what I have to say is not as fun or stress-relieving (or sexy!) as bestiality, but it might be able to provide good, cheap, and guilty thrills, even if they are, at heart, only brief encounters with pleasure.
After careful and very deliberate consideration, I have decided, though most hesitantly, to join the blog world. If all these other jerk-offs are doing it, then I can do it too, and I think, maybe, better than most. (But I didn't say all!) Basically, I want to get back to writing. It is something I used to do quite passionately but has since been tossed carelessly in the garbage, along with many other "hobbies" (porn, midget wrestling, swashbuckling, etc.) or whatever the hell you want to call them. I have no desire to ramble on about my own boorish, useless and random daily thoughts (do bloggers even do that?) so I strive to compose with purpose, virility, and a minute dose of moral ambiguity. Once I had developed my "concept," if you will, I decided to cast my stones among the wizard's circle and forge the fires of Thor. Or what the fuck ever. Essentially, I intend to concentrate on the underrated elements of life and art. Anything as wide and varied from vanilla ice cream, Kurt Russell, post-Taco-Bell farts and Keystone Light are possible subjects for deliberation (as they are all generally overlooked and undervalued). Any suggestions and/or contributions are welcomed of course, provided that you are right, which in turn is subject to my opinion. Yeah, I know, it's a vicious damn circle. As well, I would like to occasionally tackle overrated bullshit such as Madonna or whoever wrote the DaVinci Code. So bear with me, any who read this, and I'm sure it's maybe one or two at the most, but I'm trying to bone up on any talent I might have swimming somewhere in my enlarged ego. My jokes may fail, my words not as clever as I'd like, and there is possibly (actually, undoubtedly) too much cynicism for one dumb blog, but hopefully I'll improve. Feel free to tell me what I'm doing wrong, as I am sure you could do it better. Wow. Sounds like someone I know.
Can't See The Forest For The Swords
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Forest Swords - Engravings
(2013)
By 2013 standards, the sounds on Forest Swords’ *Engravings* are unique for
an "electronic" album. The year thus far h...
I'm Not Alone
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So I recently stumbled upon a pair of connected sites that have really made
me feel good about my personal opinions. By now my readers (do I really
have re...
back to the muse(um)
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If anyone remembers that dull period last year after my red hair faded to a
mousy brown, you can blame one of my muses, Jenny Lewis. Lately I've been
obs...
n indulging in various DVD rentals and maybe even a trip or two to the discount dollar theater and yet, none of these films have come close to the magic of WALL-E. The Incredible Hulk was certainly not incredible and pales to the pacing, story, humor and wit of its summer blockbuster predecessor Iron Man. A pleasant surprise Iron Man, as it is the best super-hero movie in ages, and Jon Favreau has outdone himself in the genre. Of course, that title is contingent upon the release of The Dark Knight, flying into theaters very soon. Hancock was a fairly-well executed attempt at a humanistic portrayal of superheroes but the translation and execution of the premise was lost around the last fourth of the film. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was better than most want to give it credit but still only ranks as the fourth best Jones flick. However, I must add that it's simply frustrating to think that there might be additional installments in the franchise. Steven Spielberg surely knows when to let a series go, via Jurassic Park, but Georgie Boy Lucas, on the other hand, seems to love marinating in the stew of shittiness that are his franchises.
Albert Hammond, Jr.- Uh, stick to the Stokes dude. No. Really.
Joe-Shmo's radar. In some cases, it's because things can get clumped together, like the 80's "hair" band Faster Pussycat. These guys actually made some quality tunes in the latter part of the 1980's, but their status as a "hair" band (clumping!) keeps them relegated to a forlorn prison of spandex and hairspray. You don't have to pull a dramatic Cruiseian (as in Tom) maneuver if you give them a chance and decide they're worth more than two rat's asses, but you can take satisfaction in knowing you're experiencing something not too many can or ever do. Which is kickin' it with Faster Pussycat. Hell, even "Spanks With A Horse" was simply exploring some new avenues of entertainment which, understandably in his case, are often eschewed by the general public. But I for one would like to shake his hand. Unless that hand had just been wrapped around a nice, juicy horse shlong, in which case I'll just settle for a wink and a nod.
and/or contributions are welcomed of course, provided that you are right, which in turn is subject to my opinion. Yeah, I know, it's a vicious damn circle. As well, I would like to occasionally tackle overrated bullshit such as Madonna or whoever wrote the DaVinci Code. 
