Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Zombie Love
Today I am thinking about the concert that sold out beneath my feet yesterday. Imagine this: The Zombies and Love. A real Western Shizzler.
Today I am thinking about the concert that sold out beneath my feet yesterday. Imagine this: The Zombies and Love. A real Western Shizzler.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Record Reviews Written in Less Than a Half-Hour, While Incredibly Drunk
Installment one, of a series.
At least two glaring textual errors are not mine...
Installment one, of a series.
At least two glaring textual errors are not mine...
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Friday, September 24, 2004
content-free movie reviews (with special bonus content-free tv reviews)
13 Going on 30: okay
Mayor of the Sunset Strip: real damn good
Mr. 3000: alright
Napoleon Dynamite: not that great
Kill Bill Vol. 2: excellent
Jersey Girl: perfectly acceptable
In America: also excellent
Jack and Bobby: kinda dull
Lost: real interesting but some dangerous levels of cheese
The Benefactor: tv's greatest ever portrayal of shallow arrogant assholism
13 Going on 30: okay
Mayor of the Sunset Strip: real damn good
Mr. 3000: alright
Napoleon Dynamite: not that great
Kill Bill Vol. 2: excellent
Jersey Girl: perfectly acceptable
In America: also excellent
Jack and Bobby: kinda dull
Lost: real interesting but some dangerous levels of cheese
The Benefactor: tv's greatest ever portrayal of shallow arrogant assholism
i've spent way too much time on this...
Much of my distaste for Shrek and Pepsi ads stems from the fact that, as Hillary notes in the comments below, they are, in a sense, each pretenders to a crown. That wasn’t the thrust of my argument, though. What bugs me about both is the way in which they choose to engage their superior and more entrenched counterparts. It’s reminiscent of the attitude Fox News has towards the networks and CNN, that petty and amateurish braggadocio that I presume is supposed to be “edgy” and “attitudinous” but instead comes off as desperate or assholish.
The mocking of the Magic Kingdom and Disney-style fairy tales in Shrek isn’t as bad as Pepsi’s utter inability to not mention Coke in any of their commercials, but both are little more than overblown cases of sour grapes. Pepsi is demonstrably worse about this, of course. They reach new heights of disingenuousness with that recent ad for Pepsi Edge, where the obsessive Coca-Cola memorabilia collector trades in all his junk for Pepsi merchandise after tasting their knock-off of C2. The voice-over mentions that Edge has half the sugar and calories of Coke as if it’s the most amazing development since the Gold Dust Trio started fixing wrestling back in the 1910’s. Of course they never mention that Coke had the exact same product on the market months earlier. Almost every commercial Pepsi has ever made explicitly references Coca-Cola, and every time in supposedly humorous manners that are always objectively not funny. Pepsi’s ads make them look desperate and pathetic. Shrek’s Disney jokes aren’t nearly as annoying or self-damaging as Pepsi’s commercials, but in attempting to make fun of it’s competitor Shrek succeeds more in reminding the viewer how superior Disney / Pixar movies are to itself.
But what pisses me off the most is that both are entirely too smug and self-satisfied with their own fallaciously assumed hipness. There’s nothing hip about a god-damned soda, ever, and Pepsi’s eternal attempts to saddle itself up on top of that youth market stallion reveal how desperately square they really are. And just because Shrek’s soundtrack eschews Peabo Bryson and Elton John for the Smashmouths of the world does not in any way make them any cooler or more relevant than Pixar or even traditional Disney movies. Ditto with Shrek’s facile, annoying irony and post-modernist flourishes. It boils down to the fact that, unless you’re the Fonz, saying you’re cool does not make you cool. Furthermore, adopting the easy hallmarks of shallow, meaningless psuedo-post-Generation X culture in order to pander to college kids and dumb-ass twentysomethings has very little place in family films.
There’s no denying that Coke kicks Pepsi’s ass in every possible way, and likewise with Disney/Pixar and Dreamworks/Shrek. Every notable and successful upgrade to the basic soda format has come from Coke; diet soda, prepackaged flavored sodas with cherry, vanilla, and lemon, and the new lower-sugar, lower-carb, non-diet soda all were first brewed up down in Atlanta. Pepsi’s only attempt at a new soda paradigm was the inimitable Crystal Pepsi, which was about as successful as clear gravy. Pepsi is constantly playing catch-up with the original, and their pathetic advertisements only put an emphasis upon their vainglorious quest.
Finally, Shrek’s shortfalls become blatantly obvious when compared with Finding Nemo, A Bug’s Life, or either Toy Story. I feel like I’ve been a bit too harsh on Shrek, as I didn’t really hate it. Much of it is funny. The humor, however, can’t mask the movie’s emotional deficiencies. The Pixar films have more resonance, more sweetness, more heart; they are family films that can be enjoyed by all and that don’t pander or condescend to any age group. They also don’t let the celebrity voice overwhelm the character. The worst aspect of Shrek is Mike Myers. Myers, the laziest man in Hollywood, hasn’t made a consistently humorous film since maybe Wayne’s World. Wayne’s World 2, So I Married an Axe Murderer, and the first Austin Powers were all okay, but every Mike Myers movie since then has been god-awful (except Shrek). And although Shrek isn’t terrible, Myers performance is. When I watched Shrek I wasn’t hearing a character, I was hearing Myers recycle his old Scotsman accent. Eddie Murphy was good, but he was basically playing his dragon character from Disney’s great Mulan. And although there have been a few shit-fart-piss jokes in Pixar movies (I think – the only one I can remember is clever enough to not count – when the spider in A Bug’s Life is frightened and lets loose a sudden swift stream of webbing), Shrek can’t wait to start rolling around in the unfunny scatalogical muck.
Anyway, I lost my train of thought about three paragraphs ago, so this probably doesn’t make any damned sense. I’m probably completely wrong here, anyway.
Much of my distaste for Shrek and Pepsi ads stems from the fact that, as Hillary notes in the comments below, they are, in a sense, each pretenders to a crown. That wasn’t the thrust of my argument, though. What bugs me about both is the way in which they choose to engage their superior and more entrenched counterparts. It’s reminiscent of the attitude Fox News has towards the networks and CNN, that petty and amateurish braggadocio that I presume is supposed to be “edgy” and “attitudinous” but instead comes off as desperate or assholish.
The mocking of the Magic Kingdom and Disney-style fairy tales in Shrek isn’t as bad as Pepsi’s utter inability to not mention Coke in any of their commercials, but both are little more than overblown cases of sour grapes. Pepsi is demonstrably worse about this, of course. They reach new heights of disingenuousness with that recent ad for Pepsi Edge, where the obsessive Coca-Cola memorabilia collector trades in all his junk for Pepsi merchandise after tasting their knock-off of C2. The voice-over mentions that Edge has half the sugar and calories of Coke as if it’s the most amazing development since the Gold Dust Trio started fixing wrestling back in the 1910’s. Of course they never mention that Coke had the exact same product on the market months earlier. Almost every commercial Pepsi has ever made explicitly references Coca-Cola, and every time in supposedly humorous manners that are always objectively not funny. Pepsi’s ads make them look desperate and pathetic. Shrek’s Disney jokes aren’t nearly as annoying or self-damaging as Pepsi’s commercials, but in attempting to make fun of it’s competitor Shrek succeeds more in reminding the viewer how superior Disney / Pixar movies are to itself.
But what pisses me off the most is that both are entirely too smug and self-satisfied with their own fallaciously assumed hipness. There’s nothing hip about a god-damned soda, ever, and Pepsi’s eternal attempts to saddle itself up on top of that youth market stallion reveal how desperately square they really are. And just because Shrek’s soundtrack eschews Peabo Bryson and Elton John for the Smashmouths of the world does not in any way make them any cooler or more relevant than Pixar or even traditional Disney movies. Ditto with Shrek’s facile, annoying irony and post-modernist flourishes. It boils down to the fact that, unless you’re the Fonz, saying you’re cool does not make you cool. Furthermore, adopting the easy hallmarks of shallow, meaningless psuedo-post-Generation X culture in order to pander to college kids and dumb-ass twentysomethings has very little place in family films.
There’s no denying that Coke kicks Pepsi’s ass in every possible way, and likewise with Disney/Pixar and Dreamworks/Shrek. Every notable and successful upgrade to the basic soda format has come from Coke; diet soda, prepackaged flavored sodas with cherry, vanilla, and lemon, and the new lower-sugar, lower-carb, non-diet soda all were first brewed up down in Atlanta. Pepsi’s only attempt at a new soda paradigm was the inimitable Crystal Pepsi, which was about as successful as clear gravy. Pepsi is constantly playing catch-up with the original, and their pathetic advertisements only put an emphasis upon their vainglorious quest.
Finally, Shrek’s shortfalls become blatantly obvious when compared with Finding Nemo, A Bug’s Life, or either Toy Story. I feel like I’ve been a bit too harsh on Shrek, as I didn’t really hate it. Much of it is funny. The humor, however, can’t mask the movie’s emotional deficiencies. The Pixar films have more resonance, more sweetness, more heart; they are family films that can be enjoyed by all and that don’t pander or condescend to any age group. They also don’t let the celebrity voice overwhelm the character. The worst aspect of Shrek is Mike Myers. Myers, the laziest man in Hollywood, hasn’t made a consistently humorous film since maybe Wayne’s World. Wayne’s World 2, So I Married an Axe Murderer, and the first Austin Powers were all okay, but every Mike Myers movie since then has been god-awful (except Shrek). And although Shrek isn’t terrible, Myers performance is. When I watched Shrek I wasn’t hearing a character, I was hearing Myers recycle his old Scotsman accent. Eddie Murphy was good, but he was basically playing his dragon character from Disney’s great Mulan. And although there have been a few shit-fart-piss jokes in Pixar movies (I think – the only one I can remember is clever enough to not count – when the spider in A Bug’s Life is frightened and lets loose a sudden swift stream of webbing), Shrek can’t wait to start rolling around in the unfunny scatalogical muck.
Anyway, I lost my train of thought about three paragraphs ago, so this probably doesn’t make any damned sense. I’m probably completely wrong here, anyway.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Cobb County's own Ray "Big Bossman" Traylor apparently died last night, according to this report over at Dave Meltzer's website. Maybe he wasn't the best wrestler around, but as far as wrestlers from Cobb County go, he definitely beat the shit out of Marcus "Buff" Bagwell. And whoever cared about the Armstrongs? But this is some sad news, here; I'm hoping it was natural and not drug related, like 110% of wrestling deaths are.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
A Ringing Endorsement by Me, Chris Rogers
Ok, the new cd by Athens' own Drive-By Truckers (The Dirty South) kicks major ass. Seriously. It's one of the best straight-ahead rock records I've heard in quite a while. I'd put it in the same ballpark as The Boss' Nebraska and The River, only with more venom and bambast.
There's a song about a woman whose husband gets sucked out their living room window by a tornado. TWO songs about Buford Pusser and Walking Tall, from the point of view of an outlaw. And that's a word they throw around quite a bit, outlaw. Which I like. There's also some talk of rot-gut-moonshine and a comment that some "politicians (are) sucking left-hind-tit." I like this record, though it's not completely flawles. One song does remind be of Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive. Which may or may not be a flaw, depending on personal taste.
Ok, the new cd by Athens' own Drive-By Truckers (The Dirty South) kicks major ass. Seriously. It's one of the best straight-ahead rock records I've heard in quite a while. I'd put it in the same ballpark as The Boss' Nebraska and The River, only with more venom and bambast.
There's a song about a woman whose husband gets sucked out their living room window by a tornado. TWO songs about Buford Pusser and Walking Tall, from the point of view of an outlaw. And that's a word they throw around quite a bit, outlaw. Which I like. There's also some talk of rot-gut-moonshine and a comment that some "politicians (are) sucking left-hind-tit." I like this record, though it's not completely flawles. One song does remind be of Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive. Which may or may not be a flaw, depending on personal taste.
desperate and cynical
This morning I realized that I dislike Shrek for many of the same reasons that I dislike Pepsi ads. While showering and ironing I constructed a lengthy, reasoned, well worded treatise within my mind on the myriad of reasons that I dislike Shrek and Pepsi ads. Somewhere between my living room and my cubicle, however, every single last word disappeared, save one (or maybe two): Smashmouth. But this is the least important and irksome of all the great number of things that bother me about both Shrek and Pepsi ads. I can tell you why Shrek pisses me off, and I can go on for years about why Pepsi ads completely suck in every possible way, but the common thread that connects the two has escaped me for now. Maybe I can finish the drill later on today at some point. For the good of humanity, let's hope so.
This morning I realized that I dislike Shrek for many of the same reasons that I dislike Pepsi ads. While showering and ironing I constructed a lengthy, reasoned, well worded treatise within my mind on the myriad of reasons that I dislike Shrek and Pepsi ads. Somewhere between my living room and my cubicle, however, every single last word disappeared, save one (or maybe two): Smashmouth. But this is the least important and irksome of all the great number of things that bother me about both Shrek and Pepsi ads. I can tell you why Shrek pisses me off, and I can go on for years about why Pepsi ads completely suck in every possible way, but the common thread that connects the two has escaped me for now. Maybe I can finish the drill later on today at some point. For the good of humanity, let's hope so.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
it just makes sense
I feel my long-predicted-but-as-yet-unrealized sudden obsession with the Mekons coming on...
I feel my long-predicted-but-as-yet-unrealized sudden obsession with the Mekons coming on...
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Where The Red Lady Live At?
The puddle of sweat collecting at my feet grows larger by the second. At this point nerves are shot. Gone I tell you. The shakes have taken over as my mind races. The one in the center or the one on the left? Dudes, I may really be fucked this time.
"Negro, lay it down. You ain't picking until you lay down the cash."
Confusion. You see, I'm white and while the South Florida sun has blessed my skin with an unseasonal bronzing, I'm still as blanco as they come. I have no idea why this flim flam man would want call me that.
"It's easy my brother, just put the 400 dollars in my hand and tell me where the red lady live at."
A shrill voice, belonging to the thick young lady standing by my side calls out, "the one on the left! It's the one on the left! I was watchin'! I was watchin' good!"
"The Left", I nervously say, while white-knuckling my wad of cash.
"Lay down the money," orders the flim flam man.
"The one on the left"
"Look, I ain't turning nothing over til your money's on this street."
Going against everything I've ever known, I put my cash on the curb. "The one on the left."
The flim flam man reaches toward a row of three playing cards, each with a lengthwise crease, laying facedown on the sidewalk. He quickly flips over the one on the left. It's a 2 of clubs. My heart sinks, and I turn to walk away.
"Hold on a second negro. You want to check out the other two? Make sure I ain't fucking with ya?"
"I guess."
He flips the other two cards. The queen of hearts was in the middle.
"Pssssshht. I told you to pick the one in the middle, mother fucker," my thick friend cries.
Dejected and much poorer, I sulk away, passing the flim flam man's burly enforcer friend.
"Now that's what I call an easy 400 dollars. Easy as mutha fuckin' apple pie."
Three Card Monte is not for the thin skinned or the thin walleted.
The puddle of sweat collecting at my feet grows larger by the second. At this point nerves are shot. Gone I tell you. The shakes have taken over as my mind races. The one in the center or the one on the left? Dudes, I may really be fucked this time.
"Negro, lay it down. You ain't picking until you lay down the cash."
Confusion. You see, I'm white and while the South Florida sun has blessed my skin with an unseasonal bronzing, I'm still as blanco as they come. I have no idea why this flim flam man would want call me that.
"It's easy my brother, just put the 400 dollars in my hand and tell me where the red lady live at."
A shrill voice, belonging to the thick young lady standing by my side calls out, "the one on the left! It's the one on the left! I was watchin'! I was watchin' good!"
"The Left", I nervously say, while white-knuckling my wad of cash.
"Lay down the money," orders the flim flam man.
"The one on the left"
"Look, I ain't turning nothing over til your money's on this street."
Going against everything I've ever known, I put my cash on the curb. "The one on the left."
The flim flam man reaches toward a row of three playing cards, each with a lengthwise crease, laying facedown on the sidewalk. He quickly flips over the one on the left. It's a 2 of clubs. My heart sinks, and I turn to walk away.
"Hold on a second negro. You want to check out the other two? Make sure I ain't fucking with ya?"
"I guess."
He flips the other two cards. The queen of hearts was in the middle.
"Pssssshht. I told you to pick the one in the middle, mother fucker," my thick friend cries.
Dejected and much poorer, I sulk away, passing the flim flam man's burly enforcer friend.
"Now that's what I call an easy 400 dollars. Easy as mutha fuckin' apple pie."
Three Card Monte is not for the thin skinned or the thin walleted.
Friday, September 10, 2004
i've selected my benefits
This fucking nose of mine is oozing all over the damn place. Over the last few days I’ve generated more mucus without feeling sick than at any other point in my life. It’s been a steady sequence of seriously precious moments up here, as my nose does its damnedest to piss me off.
Nothing much in particular is up. My future missus was upset to hear that the New Kids gave VH1 the cold shoulder. They were the first (and remain the greatest) love of her life, and their potential reunion almost had her ready to order cable. As it stands, I’ll have to hit the bars to see the Braves lose in the Divisional Series this year.
There’s some place out in Chinatown that’s hosting a good show tonight. No Doctors, Air Conditioning, Eloe Omoe, and some of the Twisted Village folks are gonna be there. Having never been to Chinatown after hours, though, I have no idea if I’ll make the trek. I’ve heard told that a certain level of unseemliness is expected when in the environs of the wily and cruel Chinese, and I am not well versed in self-preservation. And I only let American blades puncture this skin.
Oh hell, as I type this, a co-worker of mine is relating her experiences backstage at the Ozzfest show in Tampa this week. Apparently she knows Slayer? She’s saying they asked her to fly down and see them play. Maybe she’s talking about somebody else, but the only names I’ve heard her say are Slayer and Ozzy. So she met Ozzy, who gave her a dress shirt with skulls on the shoulders, or something. She’s one of those life-long rocker chicks whose age is completely impossible to determine. She could be sixty or thirty or anywhere in between. She looks exactly my mental picture of Kaedy Kiley, but less feminine. She’s like a leather sack that always smells like smoke and wears Iron Maiden shirts to work. She’s simultaneously amazing and hideous, and is the person I most admire in this world. Other than Shaq.
But so, before this random dribble took over, I had meant to post a link to a good Comets on Fire review from DOA. I don't know the guy who wrote this (I don’t know anyone over there), but it’s some good work. This guy’s written about some good music, though, so he seems pretty alright. Yes sir.
This fucking nose of mine is oozing all over the damn place. Over the last few days I’ve generated more mucus without feeling sick than at any other point in my life. It’s been a steady sequence of seriously precious moments up here, as my nose does its damnedest to piss me off.
Nothing much in particular is up. My future missus was upset to hear that the New Kids gave VH1 the cold shoulder. They were the first (and remain the greatest) love of her life, and their potential reunion almost had her ready to order cable. As it stands, I’ll have to hit the bars to see the Braves lose in the Divisional Series this year.
There’s some place out in Chinatown that’s hosting a good show tonight. No Doctors, Air Conditioning, Eloe Omoe, and some of the Twisted Village folks are gonna be there. Having never been to Chinatown after hours, though, I have no idea if I’ll make the trek. I’ve heard told that a certain level of unseemliness is expected when in the environs of the wily and cruel Chinese, and I am not well versed in self-preservation. And I only let American blades puncture this skin.
Oh hell, as I type this, a co-worker of mine is relating her experiences backstage at the Ozzfest show in Tampa this week. Apparently she knows Slayer? She’s saying they asked her to fly down and see them play. Maybe she’s talking about somebody else, but the only names I’ve heard her say are Slayer and Ozzy. So she met Ozzy, who gave her a dress shirt with skulls on the shoulders, or something. She’s one of those life-long rocker chicks whose age is completely impossible to determine. She could be sixty or thirty or anywhere in between. She looks exactly my mental picture of Kaedy Kiley, but less feminine. She’s like a leather sack that always smells like smoke and wears Iron Maiden shirts to work. She’s simultaneously amazing and hideous, and is the person I most admire in this world. Other than Shaq.
But so, before this random dribble took over, I had meant to post a link to a good Comets on Fire review from DOA. I don't know the guy who wrote this (I don’t know anyone over there), but it’s some good work. This guy’s written about some good music, though, so he seems pretty alright. Yes sir.
