It hit me today, out of nowhere: Bruce Willis should be noted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for one reason: He made it permanently uncool for white men to play the harmonica. It's like a super-möbius Spinal-Tapping of the instrument. That is, if you see any rockin' white man play the cross-harp or blues-harp or whatever you wanna call it -- even a known talent such as Mick Jagger, whose reputation precedes Willis's hackery -- the specter of Bruno floats on the margins, poisoning the moment. His honking is a cosmic parody, an unshakable one.
Man, this usually isn't a forum for "OMG GUESS WHAT I HEARD ON NPR TODAY," but damn, guess what I heard on NPR today: Some middle-aged writer guy who sounds like he believes most of his own Baby Boomer bullshit. The highly successful James Ellroy says lots of slyly self-aggrandizing things that *might* be intended as a parody of cockiness, but probably are just plain-old cockiness (even though he says self-deprecatory things, too). But he's not funny the way that, say, David Lee Roth can be in very brief instances. Maybe Ellroy's cockiness is warranted (or completely calculated), but still, ugh, he's hard to listen to, precisely because he's an author, and he has too much time to think about what to say when the time comes to hype a book. Some allegedly deft verbalizations just cannot qualify as "microphone skills," no matter how you slice 'em. NPR: "James Ellroy Divulges A Few Dirty Secrets"
Oooh, here's an idea: Let's round up some totally nonthreatening teen models and have them act like they're an assassin squad. Nobody has thought of that before! They'll wear thigh-highs, of course. And because we have to sell shoes to dudes, let's make sure the victim gets away from those crazy bizzitches!
Hi, we're Sonic Youth, and nearly everything we love has been bastardized, battered or trivialized by the Internet and/or high finance. We're not exactly at "self loathing" stage yet; otherwise, we never would've made this cool punk song or spent any money on a video. So let's get some art-school babes and boutique them up. Yes, "boutique" is a verb. They'll be naughty. The point: Fashion never dies. The riot grrls knew it a long time ago.
Today I got a bee in my bonnet about Lil' Boosie, but he'll have to wait, because while scratching that itch, I came across this number from block1100. It's not directed at me (duh), it's not 100 percent smooth (what's up with that kid in the back?), and I'm not sure I could define the *exact* audience for it (Waco dudes?), but anybody who dreams of being the next great motherfuckin' video blogger should take note of his dash-mounted cinematography and his authoritative driver's-seat swag:
NOTE: The reason I was pondering Boosie: "Sportscenter" in HD was creeping me the fuck out because all the anchors have nasty orange skin. Thus: MTV Jams.
DISCLAIMER: I cannot throw a 94 mph fastball. Nor can I hurl a scrotum-snapping slider. But let's be honest: This year, Brad Lidge is totally annoying -- and I'd argue that being "annoying" is much worse than simply being "bad." With those truths evident, I offer you a triptych from tonight's 5-3 win over the Nats, which was only a 5-3 win because Ryan Madson relieved the annoying Brad Lidge.
1. PHILLIES MANAGER CHARLIE MANUEL (BOTTOM RIGHT) KNOWS THAT BRAD LIDGE IS GOING TO BE ANNOYING:
2. INDEED, BRAD LIDGE DOES SOMETHING TOTALLY ANNOYING. NOTE THE BALL IN MID-FLIGHT. THE BALL IS ON ITS WAY TO THE BACKSTOP:
3. CHARLIE MANUEL PULLS BRAD LIDGE FROM THE GAME BECAUSE BRAD LIDGE IS ANNOYING AND NOW THE FUCKING BASES ARE LOADED:
(photos by JW, yo. click on the photos to enlarge them, bruh-dudes)
As nature embraces change and young men prepare their sexual-experience-acquisition schemes, we at Pop Cesspool choose an autumnal mood. This is the season of the nerd. To wit: Uriah Heep, "The Wizard," which seems to be about a real wizard, not your mountain-dwelling stoner uncle, or, for that matter, your dungeonmaster ... still, though, nerdfactor: high:
... I get this song in my head. I blame it totally and unequivocally on the hooks, not on my own morbid sense of humor, which tends to be well-checked when dudes start catching on fire through no fault of their own. Here you can get it live, prefaced by some talk about Die Toten Hosen: