The vibrations are different here

The Bible (~300 A.D.) sure is an intersting book Holly. Why, it reminds me of something jazz musician Sun Ra (pictured left) said about it. He said that it should be in every American classroom; he didn't think anyone should read it, but it should be in there. He's right. Think of all the wobbly tables that could be steadied if only there were more bibles in classrooms to stick under their legs. That Sun Ra was a wise man indeed. That only makes sense, because he was from Saturn. People from Saturn are always smart, and gaseous. He also recorded one of the most grooviest (and far-out) albums of the 1960s--Atlantis (1969)--with his Astro-Infinity Arkestra. The first time I heard it I thought, "Dude!" The second time pretty much confirmed that I would have to go to Saturn someday. I hear that the vibrations are different there.

Turtledaub had it made when he fell into that sweet cult. Usually it takes months if not years to find the right one. I am frustrated with how difficult it is to choose a cult these days (something perfectly captured in episode 102 of TV Funhouse). I just can't seem to find the right one for me...with confortable yet intimidating compounds, tasty yet dangrous cerimonial beverages, etc. I considered the catholic church. With that new pope, I think I would be safe in assuming that women will continue to have no authority and homosexuals will continue to be persecuted for the foreseeable future. As a bonus I'll also tap into a lot of baseless hostility towards muslims. But if you read an earlier post, you know that catholic fashions just aren't up to date. Still, the Vatican is a primo cult compound. Although I've always had a preference for something in a northern Idaho location. It pays to be close to a bunch of other cults, and not isolated in some boot-shaped region where everybody is in the same one. I guess I'll just have to keep looking.

Speaking of looking around, did you know that a Google image search for "fish fuck" will produce this picture as the #2 result?



Who is this person? And did she ever live in Minneapolis? She probably is no high ridin' woman with a whip. Barbara Stanwyck was something of the sort in Samuel Fuller's Forty Guns (1957). It's nowhere near the classic western that Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar (1954) is, but hey, is anything? But Forty Guns at least alternates between the inventive shots characteristic of European cinema and the maudlin songs and one-liners that old Sam Fuller always put to such good use.

Atomic Dog

I found this story in the May 23, 2005 edition of the Washington Post Express--no joke:

A St. Louis dog owner is protesting the city's attempt to force him to neuter his dog, saying the Bible says the move would prevent his pet from going to heaven, KSDK-TV reported. The city took control of the animal two weeks ago after it escaped from its yard and was picked up by animal control. Owner Oran Ambus was given until Saturday to neuter the 9-month-old Rottweiler, as dictated by a city ordinance requiring strays to be spayed or neutered before they're returned to their owners. Ambus maintained that the ordinance violated his religious freedom.

[Note: The Washington Post, Inc. owns Newsweek. Given their reputation for retracting news stories, I'm not entirely sure this one is legitimate.]

According to Deuteronomy from the King James Bible, "Thou shalt not bring the hire of a whore, or the price of a dog, into the house of the LORD thy God for any vow: for even both these are abomination unto the LORD thy God" (Deuteronomy 23:18). Truer words were never ejaculated. However, in Judges, it says, "Thou shalt not descecrate the jewels of the hounds, for without them, thou shalt not enter unto the Lord's house" (Judges 22:13). The Bible is one interesting book, that's for sure. I'm hoping that the Lord is kind enough to let Oran Ambus's dog into heaven, regardless of its reproductive capabilities. I wonder if that cult Turtledaub was considering joining would let neutered dogs into heaven?

PS. I'm giving a shout-out to my internet love-slave toocuteforradio ... indeed!

PPS. Cat, you might want to name your soccer team:
a) So, then, what are my opposable thumbs for in this game?
b) I Get No Kicks from Cocaine
c) Pele Lady Lay

I came into this world like a puzzled panther

Holly, I want you to know that I came into this world like a puzzled panther. But I'm gonna leave it with a haircut like this:



I figure I owe it to our loyal reader(s). So riddle me this, Holly: What weighs six ounces, sits in a tree and is very dangerous? Wait, that's too easy. It's a sparrow with a machine gun. I'll ask you something more difficult. What is a good name for my soccer team? "New Kind of Kick"? Help.

They May Be Drinkers, Robin, But They're Still Human Beings

RIP Frank Gorshin (1933-2005)

The Riddler died earlier this week. Nominated for an Emmy in 1966 for his work on what is arguably the greatest television series in history, Batman, Gorshin had a long career, spanning from bit parts in the 50s to a bit part in Terry Gilliam's Twelve Monkeys (1995). But he is most known for saying, "Riddle me this, Batman."

Well here's a riddle ... What's the best thing that can happen when you beat a dead horse? That's right--the answer is "it'll make a good Star Wars film!" Star Wars 6 is certainly no better than any of the first three films, as those critics whose judgments have been clouded by the Dark Side of the Force have been claiming. But it is hands-down the best of the second set of films. The pacing is excellent, there is a very clear sense of who you are supposed to love, hate, and feel sorry for (as opposed to the previous two films, where issues of character development were sacrificed to the drudgery of the laborious plot) and the special effects are better--improved by the relative lack of CG characters (Yoda excepted). I will not offer any more than these generalities so as not to spoil the film's more notable plotpoints. Honestly, it does lose some bite since every viewer knows what will happen. Presumably, they've seen Star Wars (1977).

So what do you think, Cat? I give it a "Surf's Up!" (here, a reference to the most beautiful recording ever produced under the name of the Beach Boys, as it appears on disc two--performed solo by Brian Wilson--of the Good Vibrations: Thirty Years of the Beach Boys [1993] box set). It's by no means a masterpiece, but it is a worthy installment in the ultimate dork filmcycle--and I say that with pride!

That big gig is up

Well, Star Wars 6: episode III hasn't even hit theaters yet and already the reviews are in. I must say that the best line I've read in a review comes from Anthony Lane of The New Yorker:

The general opinion of Revenge of the Sith seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, "The Phantom Menace" and "Attack of the Clones." True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.

I won't be able to offer my own opinion until I've seen the movie, and had my opinion validated by 3-4 independent blogs, and my mother. Mother, why won't you listen?!?

No really. I think I'll ride to the midnight Star Wars premier tonight on my double-decker bicycle. Mine is kind of like this guy's, only with a *much* better starburst paintjob. I am not going to dress up though. I'm not going to be THAT GUY. That'll be the day! I'll just go with my usual, everyday look--Oh Boy! I'm a modern Don Juan. So rave on about that.

Candy Shop

Cat, are you rarin' up for the big gig on Thursday? I already got me tickets.

Paranoid

Last weekend, I went record shopping. For some reason, I was in the mood to listen to some cheesy French music. Lo and Behold! I found a copy of the album pictured above ... and voila (dig my francais), my need was satisfied.

First things first, I don't speak French. But Holly, you ask, I thought you were a French-Canadian chest-thumper. That's true, but after seeing this one Julie Andrews classic on TV the other day, I became fully Americanized: in other words, monolingual. I now speak only one language--English.

Remember a few years ago when everybody was mesmerized by Sigur Ros? I was one of them, but always felt uncomfortable giving them a hearty thumbs up because I couldn't understand what they were saying. But Holly, you point out, you like My Bloody Valentine's Loveless (1991), and you can't hear a single word on that album. What can I say? Good point.

But I always get the impression, especially when I hear people speaking in languages (read those that aren't English) that I don't understand, that I'm being personally insulted. For instance, here is my translation, albeit an idiosyncratic one, of the first verse from Francoise Hardy's "Je Veux Qu'il Revienne" (a.k.a. "Holly Obviously Forgot Her Medication"):

[original lyrics]

je sais bien pourtant le mal qu'il a pu me faire
mais c'est lui que j'aime
je me rappelle aussi tout ce que j'ai déjà souffert
je veux qu'il revienne
pour ne plus avoir à souffrir
j'ai cru qu'il valait mieux partir
sans lui j'ai trop de peine
je veux qu'il revienne

[Holly's completely unofficial translation]

Holly, even Christ would have aborted you
You were obviously an incest victim
That's right, a brother and sister
Made sweet sweet dirty love
And you were born one of their hideous brood
Did your aunt, er, I mean mother
Drop you on your face when you were a kid?
By the way, you totally totally suck

Not that I care what ya'll really think about me or anything ... But if anybody out there speaks French, or took it in college, let me know how close my translation really is.

Co-opted again

Corporate America has a way of sucking the life out of everything. Not even spinners are safe. They have been co-opted too--for diamond-studded gold teeth no less. If there were any justice in the world, people would realize that spinners were only meant for Sprewell shoes.

But corporate America has once again proved me to be the trend setter that I am. In this paid advertisement (please don't confuse it with journalism), you can get a flavor of how my carefully disheveled hipster look is going to be the next big thing among pre-teen middle-class girls. You see, socks no longer need to match. Does this mean the White Sox and Red Sox will join forces against the Yankees? Does anyone care what happens to the White Sox? I'm not sure. Maybe a celebrity can explain it to me. Celebrities know everything. I learned everything I know about semiconductor physics from Britney Spears.

Next thing you know, people will be wearing their belts backwards. Yes, I said it.

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy!

Well folks, it looks like Craig Newmark, the robot/founder of craigslist (for earlier remarks, read the following post), is going to take over the discipline of journalism. Soon, CNN will stand for "Craigsnewsnetwork," replacing the old name, "Clinton News Network" (damn that Ann Coulter for wrapping me up in her "conservative indoctrination"). Here's the story:

http://www.lasvegassun.com/sunbin/stories/tech/2005/may/09/050907815.html

Ann II

Holly, it's a wonder that Ann didn't have you arrested.

Ann

The date was, man, like, twisted. You know the first line of the Stooges' song "Ann" (1969): "You took my arm and you broke my will ..." Well, that's what Ann Coulter did to me. There wasn't anybody there to tape the thing, fortunately, though I was hoping Roger Lodge and the crew over at Blind Date might waltz on over and have a gander at our lousy date. Even though Miss Coulter has four New York Times-bestsellers, she made me, poor ol' Holly, pay for her expensive, top-shelf cocktails. Then every time I tried to make a pass at her--me being the dom--she'd get all defensive and mutter something about the "liberal indoctrination" of my adolescence. And Cat, dig this, she's a total vegan. She wouldn't stop yammering about my porterhouse steak and how I was "killing God" by eating it. She started to sound like you! Then, she had the total nerve to berate me for pouring A-1 sauce on a nice cut of beef. Unfrigginbelievable.

So my mainman Turtledaub shows up--flask in hand--quoting Barry Goldwater, Ayn Rand and William F. Buckley like some sorta neocon historian, even going so far as to raise his eyebrows like ol' Buck-dogg, throws her down on the table, and starts making out with her right there ... Talk about Slander. I'm not mad atcha, Turtledaub. To quote Snoop Dogg, "It ain't no fun if the homiez can't have none."

I just wasn't made for these times

Quiz time Holly. If we surveyed a random cross section of 100 Americans (who haven't been subjected to any dreaded communist conspiracies to sap and impurify our precious bodily fluids, of course!) in name-that-tune fashioin, which song would the fewest people identify as being recorded by Beach Boys ?

My first nominee is "New Kind of Kick" by that classic rock band The Cramps. I don't think anyone would guess that The Beach Boys recorded it. My second nominee is "Leaving This Town", from the 1973 Beach Boys album Holland. It featured relatively new South African members Ricky Fataar and Blondie Chaplin.

A portrait of the artist as a young blogger

Holly, I think Ann Coulter is as pretentious as some Irish author whose name I can't seem to remember. She is as tired and played out as the rotting corpse of Paris Hilton. But really, she's perfect for you! I mean, she probably has no idea what dry humor is about, so you will have plenty to discuss. I think the right wing is in need of a real rocker, not just a diva. The right wing could also just go with The Guitar Power of Dan & Walt. Maybe I spelled that wrong, sorry. Turtledaub knows it!

What has really confused me lately is how anybody could confuse cheese curds (a/k/a "squeaky cheese")



with cheese nuggets

.

Do I need to go all Wisconsin on somebody's ass? Clearly, cheese curds do not need to be deep fried. Cheese nuggets, however, are what you get after you bread and deep fry some kind of cheese. This is why the qualifier "deep fried" is customarily added to any description of cheese curds that have been breaded and deep fried.



I hope this clarifies I few things for people. This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the un-pretentious and never-mean-spirited people at PEHOC&C.

Also, in the interest of providing more of the cutting-edge journalism readers have come to expect from this blog, I will burst the bubble that "white cheddar" is no different from "yellow" cheddar cheese. In fact, all cheddar cheese is white until it is colored yellow. In your face Cheez-Its (we all know Cheese Nips are better anyway).

Break on Through (To the Other Side)

Here Here (not to be confused with the Radiohead song "There There"): my selection for WORST STAPLER EVER goes to:

http://www.virtualstapler.com

In my next post, I will relate some bad news. I'll have to tell you about my disastrous date with the Right-Wing Diva Ann Coulter. She may be conservative, but she ain't no prude (just ask Turtledaub!) -- I mean, what's she doin' with me? My French-Canadian accent and chest-pounding emotion indeed make me much sexier than Mary Cheney.

Genius of Love

Genius? Pompous buffoon? One and the same? Cat, "allow me to retort" (Pulp Fiction reference).

To serve my point, here is some dialogue from the 6th greatest film of all time, Hal Hartley's Trust (1990):

DAD: Where's Matthew?
BRUCE: He doesn't work here anymore.
DAD: What?
BRUCE: He got fired.
DAD: You mean he quit.
BRUCE: No, I mean he got fired.
DAD: Bullshit. Nobody in their right mind would fire Matthew. He can fix anything.
BRUCE: Look, I'm telling you. He got fired. He scared the customers.
DAD: Well, what the hell do the customers know? Matthew's a genius.
BRUCE; Well, we don't need a genius. We need somebody who can fix TVs.

James Joyce wrote 3 1/2 of the greatest books published in any language ever spoken (or written, for that matter): Dubliners (1914), A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), Ulysses (1922) and whatever you want to call it, Finnegans Wake (1939). But he also said, "I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality." What a pompous buffoon [insert appropriate emoticon here]! For the record, Samuel Beckett, another "genius" who couldn't fix televisions, once wrote, "Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattman of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly." Lucky (Beckett's stunt double) here proves that ... well, I don't know what he proves. I just like the passage, quaquaquaqua.

In other news, Ann Coulter wants to be my friend and agreed to a date with me (thank you, sweet wrathful Hova; thank you myspace)! I hope Paper Cat will film us, then send the footage to Steven Soderbergh so he can start making good films again ...

Now with 20% more shazowie

I was busy getting some wood today,

and it got me thinking. If you ever saw Basquiat (1996), you might remember when Rene Ricard tries to convince Jean-Michel Basquiat to quit his band Grey and only focus on painting. He makes a comment about Tony Bennett not being known for painting. Well, I was thinking that Carl Lewis will ultimately not be remembered for his track & field accomlishments, but for his musical abilities. I think this music video pretty much says it all.

Will you sell me that Rothko "No. 2" Holly? I'm thinking I can just cut a big hole in your wall and take the plaster and everything.

The Empire Strikes Back

This photo was lifted from the Drudge Report, May 2nd, 12:57AM.

Matt Drudge reports:

Paris Hilton eager to make leap from globetrotting sex kitten to savvy business titan. 'I'm glad I got the partying out my system when I was young, because now I'm so over it and I can focus on my career,' Hilton said. 'Now I'm trying to build an empire'... DEVELOPING.

The incomparable Drudge must've been reading this very blog! Plus, this headless whoresman got the date wrong. It was April 13th.