Rob Long in Slate: "There are two kinds of people in the world, famous people, and people you have to Google." Long's take on the GOP convention measures up with what I've been hearing from the peeps in the field, yo.
Surely you have seen the decapitated friend story.
Now that I think about it, DON'T steal it. I want it for myself. Even if I never start a band. If I did, it would be called The Raw Kin. Say it three times fast. To me, it seems like a totally flexible name. Slightly country-ish, but vague enough to work for anything.
The electro-death-dancepunk side project would be called ALT-0246, of course, for the keypad-code for ö.
I'll be damned if the ol' Cold-Eeze don't actually work. That metal flava gets a little old after the third dose or so, but when you can feel the disease dissipating from yer throat, it's worth it. "Lozenge" ... it's such a Beavis and Butt-head word.
NOTE: I'm aware of the screwup over the drummer's name -- Jason Kourkounis (ex-Delta 72) took over for Mike Ambs awhile ago. I could get into a lengthy explanation of how I created the error, but that would be boring. Let's just say that my fact-checking skills got twisted, and I didn't actually have a hard copy of "Leave No Ashes."
ALSO: The Explosion was one of the opening acts -- hoo boy, lotta fun, in that unstoppable-ball-of-energy way. Never been a die-hard fan, but I'll probably be digging out their discs again this week. (The night's other undercard band, the garagey Rolling Blackouts, were tame by comparison, but not bad.) In fact, if I could create a dream tour of "fun hardcore-ish bands that formed relatively recently," it would look like this:
The assumption, of course, is that we could reunite Kid Dynamite.
The star of the "The Motorcycle Diaries," to Britain's Telegraph newspaper:
The trouble with British films, sighs Gael Garcia Bernal, is the British people. "You always seem to boycott yourselves," he explains. "You have this incredible resource of talent, yet your movies have a total absence of spontaneous form. I think the most harmful thing to happen to Britain was Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. It just reinforces this stale identity that you sell abroad and buy into yourselves. No wonder so many of your countrymen lack impulse, lack passion. Britain becomes a self-parody, and it's so sad."UPDATE: I have a feeling that my wife would leave me for Gael.
From a Wall Street Journal article about track & field coach Frank Gagliano:
The reasons for America's long, distance-running decline are varied. Some coaches believe it stems from the sedentary ways of a hyper-advanced society, where even farmers seldom need to descend from their combines. U.S. couch-potato culture, this argument goes, is particularly ill-suited to a sport where the requisite endurance and lung capacity are built up over many years. Studies have shown that, by age 13, many East Africans -- now the world's premier distance runners -- have walked or run between 10,000 and 15,000 miles, compared with 4,000 to 6,000 for American kids.
The latest Olympiad has me yearning for the glory days of ABC's "Wide World Of Sports." Yeah, there was a time when at least once a week you could see something besides baseball/football/basketball/hockey/golf/racing/tennis on a Saturday afternoon. Y'all know the routine: pro bowling early on, then "Wide World" afterward. It's not that I have an eternal jones for sports like badminton, judo or dressage, but it sucks that some of the relatively interesting Olympic stuff track, gymnastics, diving, boxing, volleyball, weightlifting etc. has been completely marginalized by network TV. "Wide World" served the function of familiarizing audiences with our top Olympians. "Sportscenter" sure as hell ain't doing it these days.
Somebody needs to keep Bush away from "Alien Vs. Predator" (not that I've actually seen it myself). I can almost see the press conference on Monday: Alien is adaptable, but Predator is tough. We must secure our borders against the threat of these evildoers. Maybe somebody already made that joke. I'm slow sometimes. In the more academic sense, I wonder how the over-arching metaphor of this flick compares, semiotically, to the Nazi-ish stuff in "Starship Troopers." In real life, the aliens and the predators aren't necessarily fighting with each other. Sometimes they're the same person, adaptable and tough. And they're all coming for us. Time for Code Red, no?
My grandmother just told me a story about a guy she once saw in the supermarket on the south side of Bethlehem: He had on a big Russian hat, and there was blood trickling down his forehead. One of the managers stopped the man and asked if he was ill or had bumped his head, because otherwise the store might be liable for any injury. No, the man replied, and he took off his hat. Inside was a pilfered pot roast.
She also said that she saw a woman steal an entire cart full of groceries from the same store the woman waited until the bill was tallied and then rushed the cart outside to a waiting car, where a driver and another person helped her shove all the booty into the back seat.
Despite today's announcement by Jim McGreevey, the best coming-out line of the year still belongs to Keith on "Six Feet Under." He told fellow bodyguard Javier, nice and simple, "I have a lot of sex and it's really, really gay." Quantity and quality. Can't top that. To boot, Keith lost his job for having straight sex. (If this is a spoiler for some of you TiVo/I'll-wait-for-the-DVD types, I offer no apologies. The moment demands it.) In McGreevey's favor: The "gay American" line was a bold touch. And the fact that he apparently would've been blackmailed otherwise adds some street cred. One last thought: "Queer patriot" might've been more appropriate for this era of homeland security.
I've propped The Hold Steady already, but this lyric has been stuck in the "In" pile for awhile: "Some people call me
Andre Simone Andre Cymone/'Cause I survived the '80s one time already." Finally googled the dude today, and I shoulda known already: He was a Minneapolis bass player during the Prince era. Found this quote, all ready, from Bass Player magazine:
UPDATE: Thanks to the Titan for the pointing out the correct spelling (see comments below). I guess I could've looked at The Hold Steady's lyric sheet. Dunno where Bass Player got its spelling.
Yet The Artist has plenty to say about the dangers of ego in a musical context. "My first bass player was Andre Simone," he remembers, "and Andre’s ego always got in the way of his playing. He always played on top of the beat, and I’m convinced that was just because he wanted to be heard. Andre and I would fight every night, because I was always trying to get him to sound like Larry Graham. Larry’s happy just going [mimics thumping open-string quarter-notes]–he’s not interested in showing off. When you’re showing off it means you aren’t listening."
I know that the neo-Kabbalah phenomenon has been covered incessantly, but I offer this one observation: Has there ever been a movement that attracted a more concentrated collection of crackpot celebrities? That's some sticky-icky spiritual flypaper. Check the names listed in that Village Voice article: Sandra Bernhard, Barbra Streisand, Roseanne, Demi Moore and Britney Spears. Bernhard might be the most sane person on the list. That's sayin' something. Some would argue that Scientology is the all-time champ, but maybe it's a guy/girl thing: The men (and some women) like the success-ladder L. Ron bullcrap, whereas the women (and some men) prefer the softly symbolic and New Age-y red-string routine. Why don't we call 'em "Dickanetics" and "Kavaggah"?
The immensity of D.C.'s parking Zone 2 is one of the few pleasant surprises about registering a vehicle in the District. Today I only had to go into work for a few hours, so I was like, "I can park on the street even though it's a weekday." On Sunday, we were like, "let's run a few errands in Georgetown" trust me, these were errands we could only perform in that fashionista hellhole and when we got out of the car, we were like, "look, we're still in Zone 2, and we can park here all day." I'm sure my attitude will change once I park on the street in an unfamiliar Zone 2 locale and somebody breaks into my car. Just wanted to say that as an un-jinx.
1. Jeremy Piven on "Entourage"
2. Wilco's "A Ghost Is Born"
3. Salmon steaks grilled with fresh dill and Polish mustard
4. The guy at Hair Cuttery who distracted me from my hangover by soberly discussing Rick James
5. "Give It To Me Baby" by Rick James
6. Using a Leatherman tool to remove an ingrown beard hair
The Sunday Washington Post had this in an article about Beenie Man:
In 1991, at the age of 21, Beenie Man performed at a concert in Kingston honoring Nelson Mandela, when he made a misstep that could have cost him his career. He performed "Green Arm," about people with malodorous armpits. "I think I sing the wrong song at the wrong time," he says. The audience booed him offstage.Would they have booed Biz Markie performing "The Dragon"? Behold:
Now this is a difficult subject
About something that's crazy oh, what the heck
They know they have something that people don't like
And they still continue to disrespect
The thing I'm talkin' about is an essence
A foreign fragrance with a presence
That you can't see with the naked eye
But to the nose it's a nuisance
It comes in so many forms, it's camouflaged
And it will sneak upon you like espionage
You might not know it cause it won't show it
And you will swear it's just a mirage
It can be with you when you're talkin'
It will be so close, you think it's hawkin'
With a bit of a twang, it got its own slang
Is even known in New York, and
Everybody know what I'm sayin'
From here to the Himalayan
If you don't know, you must be doo-doo
This is what I'm sayin'
About the dragon
I think i should go more into depth
About a secret that is quiet as kept
If you have it like Richochet Rabbit
It can ruin your rep
There are ways of preventin' this
Check your hygenie and your dentist
You might think I'm messin', but this is a lesson
Godliness is cleanliness
But if you think I'm misguiding you
By sayin' there's somethin' inside of you
That bothers everybody when you're at a party
And your reactions to it is: "pee-yew!"
You're sittin' there baffled and puzzled
Whatever you have, you wish you was muzzled
But if you want a clue, between me and you
It could be the beverage you guzzle
But if you listen to me
The diabolical energetical B
The i-z Mza-Mza-a-r-k-i-e
I'm tryina give you h-e-l-p
So I'ma end it off like this
Before you give somebody a kiss
For the one you adore, check them before
You get a crazy whiff
Of the dragon
I once knew a guy by the name of Tock
He was one of them kids from like around the block
The kid was cool, had the right gear, and slim
The only thing was wrong, he smelled like a gym
In secret tellin' rumours, his right guard went left
And his band was playin' a song that was funky to death
He was kickin' like Bruce Lee and Jim Kelly
Word is bond, that kid was smelly
Even if he would shower and shower
Or sprinkle a day, wouldn't last for a hour
He would always wanna like hang around
His underarms had bass with scents around
I tried to tell him, but he just wouldn't listen
He thought from my heart I was tryin' to diss him
I started beatin' around the bush cause he thought I was naggin'
I said, "Yo Tock, you got the dragon