Up In Smoke

An international mental health conference in London will be the locus Tuesday of results that state marijuana use can trigger temporary psychotic symptoms in some people, including hallucinations and paranoid delusions.


Oh God, please let me be one of the lucky ones.

So Say We All

I am coming out of the geek closet to profess my devotion to Battlestar Galactica.

I have long been a comic book reading, fanboy that gobbled up kitschy pop culture as long as it was not nostalgia for the sake of a buck (a healthy, hearty fuck you to the modern version of The Honeymooners – Jackie Gleason is spinning like a turbine in his grave). The 70’s, a vile wasteland of entertainment that even a seasoned cultural anthropologist like myself tries to steer clear of, has often been mined, often with devastating results. The Brady Bunch, Starsky and Hutch, Charlie’s Angels, and The Dukes Of Hazzard are obvious attempts to wring every last cent out of an already spent franchise. Which brings us to Galactica.

As a child, I used to cower when the robotic Cylons would advance on us at the Universal Studios tour, only to be saved at the last minute by a Colonial Warrior. Their oscillating, single red LCD eye was both cool and markedly inhuman. The show itself was so very 1970’s in it’s production and view of the future, but it had a legacy nonetheless. Knight Rider’s K.I.T.T. was clearly a Cylon. And who else but the Cylons did the voiceover “Freakzoids…robots…please report to the dance floor” for Midnight Star? It was hardly the type of show that screamed for a return to the public eye, but was one of the few sci-fi pieces of the era that was unique.

When I heard they were re-introducing the series I cringed.

Not out of reverence for the single season it aired or the even shorter spin-off that followed. Not out of love for feathered hairdos. Not out of fear of hulking chrome toasters. I cringed out of pure befuddlement. Like any remake, I questioned the necessity. Peter Jackson’s King Kong was a perfect example, using technology to distract from the fact that the story is exactly the same. Except for the part in the middle when the movie became Jurassic Park.

Now three seasons and a miniseries in, I cringe that I waited so long to check it out.

In this post 9/11 world (I almost want to punch myself for using that phrase), people live in fear of enemies they can’t see, who infiltrate their world and strike when they least expect it. That is why 6 seasons of Jack Bauer magically saving the world somehow passes as entertainment. Battlestar Galactica takes the very current themes of paranoia and xenophobia and gives it a sci-fi twist. Mankind is still fleeing the Cylons, trying to find Earth, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end. The Cylons, no longer the thrall of an alien race from the original series, are the machine children of man, who fled to the stars after being defeated by their human creators 40 years past. Their surprise return and virtual obliteration of the human race was facilitated in great part to the fact that Cylons are no longer bulky and robot-looking. They can now look like humans, and guessing who is and who isn’t one of the 12 models of humanoid Cylon provides a constant atmosphere of tension.

The show also takes liberty with the original characters. Commander Adama still leads the fleet, but he has to balance his role as a military leader and as a father to Captain Apollo, as father and son often find themselves drifting into odds against one another. Two of the most prominent pilots, Starbuck and Boomer, are now introduced as women, and by mini-series end we know that Boomer is just one of many clones of a Cylon model – and she herself doesn’t know it. Dr. Baltar, the human turncoat of the first series, is now played as a slippery yet brilliant scientist who unknowingly aids the enemy. Seduced by a Cylon who later reappears in his mind as either his insanity or an implant, he plays both sides in order to not let his secret out.

Conflict is the drive of the show, and there is just as much between the humans and Cylons as there is between members of Galactica. With a diverse group of characters with complicated backgrounds and goals, they all are forced to weight their personal desires against their obligations to the fleet, and the results are not always happily accepted by others. Sometimes it gets a little soapy with some of the relationship triangles, but most serial dramas mix it up that way, and the relationships here at least develop organically and reasonably, not just to mark plot points.

One of the show's other strengths is its style. The production and art direction is very utilitarian, and that realism in space helps sell the show. As a military vessel, Galactica is almost a space submarine, with hatches and corridors and ladders leading about the ship, and there's not a lot of super high tech gizmos. The future is fairly sensible, by design. The camera work is documentary style, which is great when they do space shots -- quickly moving and readjusting to follow motion the way a sudden movement would catch your eye. There is also a sense of real physics when they pilot their Vipers -- thrusters fire as they pitch and roll to give their ships real motion in what would be still space. Whenever on planets, the contrast in color and exposure gives extra texture and more dimension to the scenes, and when you watch you never feel like you're looking at effects.

All in all, it's a terrific show and fun to watch...I wave my Battlestar Galactica flag high and encourage all to check it out.

ps. Some extra geeking out uncovered a character named after my friend - her pop writes and produces on the show. That's frakin' cool.

Spring Cleaning

Rehab queen and sometime rocker Courtney Love recently told AOL's Spinner.com (wow, talk about making a splash in the press -- that's a step up from passing a note in class) that, after 13 years, she has finally milked the last drop of attention from being the widow of Kurt Cobain. The grunge Yoko Ono has decided to pawn, er, auction most of her late husband's remaining belongings.

"We'll make a lot of money and give a bunch of it to charity," she said, not clarifying what "a bunch" was and how much that would be of "a lot".

No word on where the bidding will open for daughter Francis Bean.

Take This Image Into Your Weekend

A Skank Mother Comparison

NAME

Britney Spears____________________Madonna

MUSICAL STYLE

danceable pop_______________________whatever’s popular at the time

AWFUL MOVIE

Crossroads______________________to many to list

SONG THAT DESCRIBES THEIR VAGINA

"Toxic"_________________________"Frozen"

WIGGER SEX PARTNER

K-Fed__________________________Vanilla Ice

STILL MUSICALLY RELEVANT

no_________________________not since 1989

STUPID CHILDREN’S NAMES

Sean Preston, Jayden James_________________ Lourdes Maria, Rocco John

DRESS STYLE

young white trash hooker__________________young white trash hooker

FANS

12 year old girls__________________32 year old homosexuals

CAREER SUICIDE

beaver shots_________________________not going away

CoacHELLa

The premier US festival of the last 10 years, Coachella, begins today, having expanded beyond the weekend into a 3 day fight for survival. Out on the Empire Polo Fields in Indio, over 100,000 attendees will try and outlast exposure to severe elements, overpriced sundries, mediocre indie music, and annoying people next to them. What an amazingly awful challenge to undertake. When I was a babe, I had a few encounters with Lollapalooza, so I understand how these mega-festivals operate, and that’s reason enough to avoid this desert clusterfuck.

First off, there’s the bill. Perhaps the grab all is that after you’ve spent $250 to get in you’ve got over 110 bands to choose from. I scan the multitude of acts and barely see a handful I would pay money to see, even breaking down the per band cost to about $0.45 each. I may have CDs of some of the artists, but I wouldn’t drive out to the desert to bake all day even at standard concert pricing. Two of the headliners, Rage Inside The Mansion and the Red Hot Junkie Peppers are enough to keep me away, period. And sorry if the likes of Tokyo Police Club, CocoRosie, and Junior Boys don’t quite compel me to haul ass out towards the venue.

I mentioned the cost already, but have you looked at the rules and regulations? Here are some suspicious items from the banned list – outside food and beverages, camelpacks, blankets. You can bring sunglasses, lip balm, and sunscreen – c’mon, they’re not evil. But they will provide them for you…for a fee, of course. They may pride themselves on maintaining a $2 price on a little bottle of water, but how many of those are you going to go through while you’re there? And at least two overpriced meals for the three days? Have no illusions about it…this is not the legacy of Woodstock and free love. It is a corporate event, promoted by Goldenvoice, sold though Ticketmaster, and sponsored by AT&T, and if they didn’t turn a pretty penny there’d be no event to go to. I don’t like the idea of voluntarily submitting to 3 days in the desert without food or water, relying on their gouged supply line if I want to survive. Because dying of exposure and starvation would totally kill my buzz.

Looking at the sheer number of people that will be there is another dealbreaker. We’re not Battlestar Galactica, forced to band together to survive. I don’t want to be surrounded by that many people in that much space unless I’m in Manhattan, and even then I’d have my reservations. I don’t want to deal with tens of thousands of drunk, stoned, ecstasied idiots bumping into me. I don’t want to overhear countless lame comments or insight into social circles I avoid. I don’t want to deal with passed out, vomiting, crying, or rowdy folks who pushed it too hard. I don’t want the body odor, the patchouli, the porta-potty scent. Do. Not. Want.

I say you’re welcome to the 22 year old girl from Silverlake who was able to get that ticket I didn’t buy. I’ve been there and done that, and if it’s not going to be standing on the stage, I’m not doing it again.

This Corpse Is Not Yet Berated

The credits rolled yesterday on Jack Valenti, who is best remembered as the father of the MPAA’s modern film ratings. He is also worst remembered as the figurehead of a mysterious organization whose self-declaratory authority and oversight on film ratings forced some of the most brilliant and progressive filmmakers of the last 30 years to tamper with their art. Yes, Valenti fought against piracy of Hollywood’s output in China and abolished the ancient nearly-Puritanical Hays code, but for all the good his easy to follow ratings system did, there was plenty of unchecked and unchallenged perversion of it’s original purpose that, as captain of the watch, Valenti and MPAA raters became the gatekeeper of Hollywood.

The documentary This Film Is Not Yet Rated aptly explores and exposes the MPAA star chamber, which, if you have not seen already please do so. Testimonials from many an auteur of their attempts to fight arbitrary and illogical edits to their work illustrate both the awesome power of the group and the sickly moral high ground Valenti and cohorts extol. You have to wonder how, in modern day America, that censorship is not just allowed but flourishing virtually unchecked.

Spielberg gushed of the accomplishments of the man, as had many other stuffed shirts in the film business. Words like pioneer and visionary were offered. But I challenge that notion and side with the directors and writers who tried to evolve film and make the art form grow. That is why satirical fare like A Dirty Shame and South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut kick so much ass – they stab at the MPAA rating double standard with knives fashioned by out of the same bizarre guidelines imposed on them, and ultimately get away with more.

Valenti did he what he thought was best, but like so many protectors of our well-being, he lost sight of what it meant to be fair and just because his standards were what was being applied, not one based on the needs of the many. When you stand on the moral high ground you lose perspective. Like Republicans and the religious right, it ends up being hypocrisy – publicly preaching in the name of goodness but being just as wicked outside of the limelight. They are the most dangerous of all figures because the truly believe the bullshit they are saying, and Valenti was no different. Let us hope we can undo some of the damage the MPAA has done at our expense, and see that of Valenti has a legacy it is for the right reasons.

And Now, A Word From Our Sponsors

TV's 1337

On one of the monitors at the gym last night they were showing whatever interchangeable ensemble cop drama airs on CBS in that time slot -- it wouldn’t have mattered what channel or which night it was, but it was on. And while I watch very little television (and even less when doing my workout), I instantly noticed my favorite of all the ridiculous characters – Human Computer Database Internet Search Engine. Y’know, the clutch member of the bunch who can tell you in a matter of seconds that Joe Suspect had a parking violation in college or triangulate their locations based on spectrographic analysis of background frequencies and how they uniquely modulate according to solar flares. Too Hot To Be A Cop White Chick? Dime-a-dozen. Non-Stereotypical Minority Guy? Nope. Gruff Yet Sage-Like Leader. Yawn. Give me nuevo-hipsters with their earpiece headsets instantly accessing your kindergarten fingerpaintings online any day.

Of course, real h4x0rs are too busy cracking software, pirating movies, and phreaking Ma Bell. And if they’re not flooding message boards with inane babble over whatever minutia they hold sacred, they are MMORPGing or camping out in line for a movie to open. I am referring to the American subspecies – the Euro-h4x0r is quite the opposite. Skinny (yet still pale) and favoring track suits, they often find time to DJ at clubs or watch soccer. But on television, these altruistic warriors of knowledge and obscuria are all that stands between the slow turning wheels of progress and actual detective work. God bless.

Hugh Grant Has A Tub Of Baked Beans

And he is not afraid to fuck you up.

It's Not A Play And There's No Music

Last night I saw the Janeane Garofalo / Marc Maron / Henry Rollins bill at the Silent Movie Theater. All three delivered solid sets – a total of about 3 ½ hours worth, and I was pleasantly surprised with both Garofalo and Maron having never seen them live. Rollins, as usual, had many interesting stories to tell, comically infused with his anger and sensibility. He was looking slimmer and a touch grayer than when I saw him with his band last August, but still spry and fit for being 46…no matter how much he self-effaces about other people being able to kick his ass, I still wholeheartedly believe he would pound a lot of folks into the ground, myself included. Garofalo (who was shorter than I imagined) added charm to her deadpan, almost conversational delivery and Maron (who was taller than I thought) was sharp and introspective with his musings.

All three ran the gambit from personal to political material, and the line-up was well suited to the audience -- sure they were preaching to the converted, but aside from Sarah Silverman or David Cross, there's not a lot of other commedians that fit the hipster / intelligencia mold with such savvy. Although they have their own personality and style distinctions, they are like the offspring of Bill Hicks to me -- edgy, satirical, informed, and frighteningly accurate. It was not a Dane Cook / Carlos Mencia crowd for sure, thank God.

Anyway, there’s still a couple more shows this week, so if you can get your hands on a ticket I highly recommend it…but if you can’t swing it, I’d say any one of them on their own is a safe bet.

Is One Of These Things Not Like The Other?

Everybody in Hollywood dies in threes, but their ideas come in pairs. If you ever had a strange sense of déjà vu at the theater, it’s not your imagination. One may be good and two is twice as nice, but who has time to watch the same thing just to see which is better?

Leviathan vs. Deep Star Six

The Abyss showed it was profitable to put people in peril underwater, but they did the sci-fi angle so well, Hollywood had to change the game to a more horror flavored genre in order to not totally rip off it’s predecessor. Be it a crew of miners or a crew at an experimental nuclear facility, both stumble across an unwanted guest that spends 90 minutes at the aqua-buffet. If the possibility of drowning and explosive decompression don’t suck enough, add being mangled by Aquaman’s pissed off pet. Sounds like a fun time under the deep blue, yeah? Just know our protagonists try to escape to the surface and kill the monster before moviegoers escape the theater.

Winner: Leviathan

Mitigating Factor: Casting. Greg Evigan? Nia Peebles? Matt McCoy? Where’s the star power? Clearly in Leviathan. It’s got Robocop, a Ghostbuster, and the Colonel who was Rambo’s C.O. – plus the monster looked like the moat beast from the Duran Duran Wild Boys video. That’s awesome.

Wild Boys always shine

Volcano vs. Dante’s Peak

Lava! Hot lava! Look out, that smarts! Disasters are terrific fodder for replication, so when the volcano epic got it’s due, Hollywood doubled up. I guess permafrost wasn’t lethal enough and overcast skies had too obvious a happy ending. Here, Mother Nature strikes the City of Angels and an idyllic paradise -- with a vengeance! For what I’m not sure. Last time I checked, volcanoes erupted due to pressure released from shifting tectonic plates, not from human abuse of the environment, man’s stupid scientific folly, masturbating, telling lies, or even littering. Although if it did, I’m looking at you, jerk off.

Winner: Dante’s Peak

Mitigating Factor: Lameness. Tommy Lee Jones is to no-nonsense gruffness as Pacino is to histrionics, and he chews a decent amount of scenery here. But worse is the whole premise – a volcano emanating from under the La Brea Tar Pits. Yeah, you heard me right. Los Angeles gets the Earthquake treatment and lots of familiar things get destroyed, but still – the Tar Pits! The only thing at the bottom of that sinkhole are the corpses of a few teenage runaways. And the producers of Volcano.

when the Earth has it’s period

Armageddon vs. Deep Impact

We plum used up everything we could find here on Earth to kill us…Hollywood, got anything left? How’s a pair of asteroids? Thankfully, Hollywood took the fork in the road and gave us the blockbuster version and the reflective version to cover as wide a spectrum as possible. An introspective cross-section of lives get effected including President Morgan Freeman (shit yes, black president!) and hottie Tea Leoni as death comes hurling in from the cosmos. If only they had a rag-tag group of lovable blue collars roughnecks to mount a secret mission to the asteroid’s surface to destroy the space rock. Well, in a Michael Bay world, they do. Take that, Morgan Freeman!

Winner: Deep Impact

Mitigating Factor: Aerosmith. At the peak of their bland ballading, the sequel to Cryin’Amazin’Crazy was so paint-by-numbers obvious that it was the most ridiculously hard to swallow cherry on top of an already excessive sundae. With more plot holes and impossible stunts than you could jump a space rover through, the slick studio heads decided an Affleck-Willis combo wasn’t lowest common denominator enough for America, so they asked co-star Liv Tyler to phone daddy and have his band crap out a cheesy anthem to seal the deal.



Underworld Saga vs. Blade Trilogy

Why did I pit these two series against each other? Because they came out overlapping, but more so both have tons of leather and bondage gear clad vampires duking it out to defeat the evil factions amongst themselves. Swords? Yep. Guns? Check. Mutant vampires and werewolves? Damn it, this is Hollywood, we can put all of it in a movie. The Matrix spawned a million gun-fu sophisticated CG laden action movies, and both canons load up on as much as they can. Granted, there needs to be some acting and character development to slow things down a bit, because no human can withstand 10 hours of gothic action and special effects compositing. A fanboy can, but no human.

Winner: Len Wiseman

Mitigating Factor: Both movies have sexy starlets in tight fitting outfits, crazy fight scenes, and rivers of blood, but director Wiseman sealed the deal with star Kate Beckinsale in turn. Directing – the best job your penis can have.



Capote vs. Infamous

The biopic is friendly and fertile territory for Hollywood. It’s good that the events and actions of one person’s life can be reinterpreted time and again, emphasizing the same turning points and timeline…with the same results! Wouldn’t that be cool if at the end of The Doors, Oliver Stone made Jim Morrison live? Or Andy Kaufman stopped being an avant-asshole in Man In The Moon? It’s biographical, so no, you don’t get to spice it up. You only get to retell it. Truman Capote wrote In Cold Blood, and both he and it were so fascinating that it merited Hollywood portraits of the same period.

Winner: Middle-aged, bohemian, green, NPR listening, bi-sexual, vegan / vegetarian hipster literati

Mitigating Factor: Vampires. Truman Capote never wrote a single word about bloodsucking nightcrawlers with automatic weapons able to do twisting back flips. How the hell am I supposed to care about a diminutive homosexual writer when even there’s 10 hours of vampire violence (which, by the way, is my favorite MPAA disclaimer of all time).

even Tru would approve of Ryan Reynolds in Blade 3

The Prestige vs. The Illusionist

Hollywood prides itself on being elaborate and detailed, but also dollar conscious. That’s why there are giant warehouses full of costumes and set pieces waiting to be reused. Not surprisingly, productions start up looking to use the same clothes and flats all the time. That’s competition, man! You can reach into a hat and draw out the most obscure topics, like turn of the century magicians, and abra-cadabra, there’s a twin billing of secrecy, illusion and double crosses. Kinda like Dallas and Dynasty, except with petticoats and card tricks.

Winner: The Prestige

Mitigating Factor: Grit. This Christopher Nolan flick just got dirtier and worked harder to have be edgy. You’ve got your preference between leading men Ed Norton and Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. What’s your fetish? Because you can choose between Jessica Biel’s legendary ass or Scarlet Johansson’s killer rack. Magic, deception, and Victorian backdrops a plenty are there for the viewer, but The Illusionist is too pretty and too happy an ending. The Prestige starts and finishes raw and dark.

These were ones that came off the top of my head…further research shows scores of others. So for fun, start a blog, read this, and make your own comments.

I Dare You

Watch this and try to not have a good weekend. Try, damn you! TRY!

The Parent Trap

Hollywood has lots of famous families, but I think the most interesting are the Baldwins. Elder statesman Alec paved the way for his less talented siblings, and like a roll of Life Savers, you get a different flavor each time you move along. Stephen is a straight up Jesus freak now, which is awesome since he used to be the wild, partying brother of the bunch. Bio-Dome to Celebrity Fit Club…dude, you rule! Daniel picked up his slack with a Ronnie Dobbs-like rap sheet of drugged up behavior and narco arrests. That’s irony or something because he was on CSI:Law & Order. William quietly made some movies and spends most of his time banging remaining hotness out of Chyna Phillips. There’s maybe 6 years left according to scientific studies. But Alec, he’s got enough career and visibility to be a set of brothers onto himself.

When not offering steak knives or combating the Republican empire, his main activity seems to be antagonizing his ex-wife Kim Basinger. To me, she’ll always be Nadine, the drunkard from Blind Date (lots of guys point to her sex scenes in 9 ½ Weeks, but I had no interest in seeing anyone crawling all over Mickey Rourke, so I what I have seen isn’t so tantalizing). The latest chapter in their saga is a protracted custody battle over their 11 year old daughter, and his antagonism has strangely turned on her. This is the audio and transcript from a gnarly voice mail he left her.

A transcript: "Hey I wanna tell you something okay, and I wanna leave a message for you right now because again its 10:30 here in New York on a Wednesday and once again I've made an ass of myself trying to get to a phone to call you at a specific time. When the time comes for me to make the phone call I stop whatever I'm doing and I go and I make that phone call at eleven-o-clock in the morning in New York and if you don't pick up the phone at ten-o-clock at night and you don't even have that god damn phone turned on. I want you to know something okay, I'm tired of playing this game with you. I'm leaving this message with you to tell you, you have insulted me for the last time. You have insulted me, you don’t have the brains or the decency as a human being, I don't give a damn if you're 12-years-old, or 11-years-old, or that you're a child, or that your mother is a thoughtless pain in the ass, who doesn't care about what you do as far as I'm concerned, you have humiliated me for the last time with this phone, and when I come out there next week, I'm gonna fly out there for the day just to straighten you out on this issue, I'm gonna let you know just how disappointed in you I am and how angry I am with you that you've done this to me again. You have made me feel like shit and you have made me feel like a fool over and over and over again, and this crap you pull on me with this god damn phone situation that you would never dream of doing to your mother and you do it to me constantly, and over and over again. I am gonna get on a plane or I am gonna come out there for the day and I'm gonna straighten your ass out when I see you, do you understand me? I'm gonna really make sure you get it. Then I'm gonna get on a plane and I'm gonna turn around and I'm gonna come home. So you better be ready Friday, the 20th, to meet with me so I'm gonna let you know just how I feel about what a rude little pig you really are. You are a rude thoughtless little pig, okay."

That’ll be part of the nominations for Parent Of The Year. Dina Lohan, looks like you’ve got some competition now!

Now, I’m not going to pile on quite yet, but damn, that was pretty intense – When Actors Attack! I don’t know what the context was, but that kid sure as hell pissed off her dad, and now we all know what happens when you get Alec Baldwin mad. He’s one of a few actors who just scare me -- if I was ever to have an altercation, I would avoid him, James Caan, and Robert De Niro. I don’t know why but they intimidate me, even though they’re all old and I think Jimmy C has a fake hip – they are just intense. Hollywood has had it’s share of tantrums (David O. Russell, Brian Grazer, anyone?), but this is a nice little mommy dearest moment that is causing a major backlash against Baldwin as a parent and painting him as a grade-A dick…not that I’m going to disagree, either.

I’m taking this post in a different direction than you’re probably expecting because it was this whole incident that got me thinking about the point I am going to make.

Kids these days are assholes. Parents these days have no business having children.

In the last 15 years, I’ve seen an awful new crop of children being raised that have no manners, no discipline, and no respect for adults. In this era of two-income families and an over 50% divorce rate, children and step-children are multiplying at an alarming rate, and many of them are spoiled, obnoxious brats. Having spent many years working in restaurants, I saw firsthand the wild, undisciplined behavior and lack of parenting that spawned it. Go to any public place and you’re likely to see the tandem of shitty parent and out-of-control child.

I think that in the modern, politically correct era adults have lost their fangs. We can’t yell at children. We can’t spank children. We can’t punish children. Everything is geared towards not damaging their fragile little psyches. If I talked back to my parents the way some of these kids do I’d have woken up with a sore jaw and a hand print on my cheek. There’s no fear anymore. If I was told “wait until I tell your father”, I was in a state of panic. Not anymore with these kids. And how do you punish a kid by sending them to their room when it’s full of awesome toys and gadgets? It was no joy seeing the teens from the movie Kids, because it was the harbinger of this era’s youthful lack of restraint or proper upbringing.

If you’re planning to have children, or worse -- already have them, you owe it to society to pay attention to their upbringing, to mold them and shape them properly into good, conscious people. Shitty children come from shitty parents, so do your part and the kids will turn out half decent. And if you can’t do that, don’t have kids.

Pedophile Marketing

I have to be careful what websites I look at at work because some of the banner ads are for American Apparel, and they look like underage porn.

Another Seal Broken, Apocalypse Pending

I can’t see how anybody could think this was a good idea.

Official Press Release
Marvel Studios has confirmed that plans are underway to produce a Broadway musical based on Marvel’s ever popular Super Hero, Spider-Man. Produced by Hello Entertainment/David Garfinkle, Martin McCallum, Marvel Entertainment, and SONY Pictures Entertainment (billing in formation), the musical will be directed by Tony Award-winner Julie Taymor with U2’s Bono and The Edge creating new music and lyrics for the project. A reading is scheduled to take place this summer. No dates for a Broadway opening have been confirmed at this time.

The Spider-Man musical will mark the first time a Marvel character has been the subject of a show on Broadway. In addition to co-producing the show, Hello Entertainment is arranging all financing for the project.

The moving ballad “My Uncle Got Killed By A Mugger” and the rockin’ “I’ve Got All The Powers Of A Spider, But I’m A Man” will probably be the highlights. That, and watching someone dance around in blue and red pajamas in front of a chorus of background actors pantomiming spiders.

All I hear is the lone cheer of Sal Murguia.

(Pal, really, it’s over for your band. You want to put a track in a superhero movie, fine. But score a musical? Clearly they have too much money and free time, because if they still had any talent or dignity they’d have steered clear of this car wreck. Kinda puts those last couple of crap albums in context though. So, when’s the Superman / Green Day collaboration?)

American Assholes

While there’s still room on the bandwagon I’ll say my piece about American Idol and Sanjaya, the lil’ Injun* who could.

I think you’re a moron if you idea of entertainment is a hackneyed “talent” competition where some average Joe gets retooled and marketed so that a formulaic set of tunes can be sold to all the fat secretaries in the Bible Belt, and teens can flock to the Mall Of The Americas for the most awesome display “musicianship” of in a food court since Tiffany and the New Kids. Clearly, you have bad taste in music. For six seasons, the lowest common denominator of musical showmanship has been showcased, yielding album after album of pop garbage that only differs in the packaging. The amalgam that passes for pop music these days is a sick blend of quasi-religiously underpinned, country tinged, half-ballad / half anthem, over-produced, inoffensive, ball-less, soulless crap that only a 8 year old should listen too because they don’t know any better.

Some people like to pass off their viewership on the “train-wreck” phenomena, as week after week of attention-starved losers make asses out of themselves for what is nowhere close to 15 minutes of Warholian shame, but with the internet and countless sites full of wacky pictures and videotaped stunts gone wrong, the bar is being set pretty low in terms of finding a chortle in their badness. If you’ve done some karaoke – and you really only need to once – you know that most people can’t sing, and it’s excruciatingly difficult to endure. So why would watching that on television be any different? Having these rejects from the Let’s Make A Deal audience wank about how they know they’re destined for greatness and that the judges are idiots afterwards is needlessly allowing them a televised platform to masturbate their over-inflated egos. That is how a retard (yes, with a clinically diminished IQ) like William Hung became anything different than the guy who has probably never touched a woman’s breast who works in your office as a file clerk…and it blows my mind. I want to punch these people in the throat so I never have to hear another off-key rendition of an already bad pop song.

Outside the ever-rotating cast of stock characters (the ghetto superstar, the one who’s sexy pictures show up online, the make-over, the All-American girl next door, the one with a trace of vocal ability), we have our lovable host and judges. I think that we’ve all figured out that Ryan Seacreast is gay (even though he hasn’t) and would only bat an eye if when he finally does come out, that it’s the most hardcore possible. Pyramid? Bukkake gangbang? If I don’t see a whole lot of leather and moustaches I’m going to be disappointed. Simon Cowell, our Bar Sinister, is the only voice of reason in a chorus of ass-kissing, but his boredom and snobby baiting twat attitude is stale and obvious. He’s like Sam Jackson in Deep Blue Sea – trying to make sense and rally the troops but ends up eaten by a shark – to our satisfaction.

Simon L. Jackson?

Prime talking head and the other injection of estrogen besides Seacrest, Ms. Paula Abdul is the living fate these competitors face. She’ll be back to appearances at car dealerships once the show goes off the air, but in the meantime, her slow self-destruction at the bottom of an alcohol soaked pillbox is her role. Finally, the one black guy less threatening and happier than Al Roker, Randy Jackson, is there because Journey once had a black bassist. That’s it. Everybody gets a gold star and a pat on the back from him, so it just makes sense that we need to be reminded of the years following Journey’s glory when half the band left.

After hearing of Sanjaya’s awfulness, I was initially happy to see that there was a movement afoot to sabotage the show and vote him into the finals. He was like Rasputin, surviving each attempt on his life. In bad teen comedies, this would be the moment where the protagonist ends up prom king / queen on what was a goof. However, in real life it’s not the triumphant victory of right over wrong. It’s not any victory. It’s scary. I’d seen that kind of pranksterism and misfortune before, the thinking that it would be a hoot to see what happens when you go with the worst possible choice – it’s called George W. Bush, and two terms of elevating the mediocre gave me pause. America continues to dumb down and gravitate towards the least logical choice, but accelerating the process is a bad idea. Let’s only hope he fades into (un)reality television obscurity, because it’s hard enough stomaching the thought that great entertainment like Arrested Development disappears yet According To Jim and Two And A Half Men will live forever.

Sanjaya, I hardly knew ye, thankfully…

*I know he’s the dot and not feather variety, so piss off

Team Spirit

A million years ago when he was still funny and neither shilling for discount long distance nor flying the rightist flag, Dennis Miller knew how to make a good point. I am reminded of this because of the slowly settling sadness as a result of the Virginia Tech slaughter and the victim’s identities are brought to the public’s attention. Let me explain the connection.

On his brilliant Off-White Album, he espoused:

"If you're so lost or tormented or in pain that the only way for you to deal with it is to take it out on some innocent defenseless child, well, you've simply got to kill yourself. You've got to lean in over the plate and take one for the team. And you'll earn big karma points, believe me. Once you get to heaven, you can tell God, 'Y'know, I was gonna do that kid, but I thought about it and blew my brains out instead.' 'You did?' (mimes God affectionately grabbing the guy around the neck) 'You little mensch, you! Here's some Yahweh noogies for you'"

And he was right.

The gunman, Cho Seung-Hui, is now living up to our clichéd expectations with an emerging history of being the troubled, picked-on kid. His psychiatric hospital visit and harassing transgressions are pieces of a puzzle of which we already know the finished result. The bizarre behavior, antisocial tendencies and violent writings were an ominous foreshadowing of things to come.

It doesn’t take a bloodbath to remind us there are some severely unhappy and mentally unstable people out there. Get yourself some help, and if that doesn’t work, the first order of business is to make friends with a bullet and take a nice, permanent dirt nap. We’re not going to miss you, so just step aside and let the rest of us who can cope with the harsh reality of life carry on. It doesn’t matter how you choose to do it – suck on a tail pipe, dine on a bottle of pills, hold your breath and count to dead, practice your triple gainer off a building, or wrap your lips around a shotgun like a big black cock of death --just get it done. Because truly, whatever your message is, you’ll have at least some credibility if you lipstick it on your bathroom mirror and hang yourself with a belt instead of concocting a rant and using the innocent blood of others to get it across. Seriously, kill yourself. You’ll be doing everyone a favor.

We now return you to your buffet of dick jokes and bitter observational humor.

I Has A Post

Until something sours my mood and spurs a more…legitimate post, I am full of mirth because there is a place on the internet for all the LOLcat pictures I could ever want. I must do further searching, because there has to be a consolidated site for Do Not Want pictures and the like (although Detroit Luv had a good run of them).

You Have To Make A Choice

Of the two thoughts in my head, I knew only one would ultimately be worthy of posting. Had the decision gone the other way, I’d be questioning why that freaky bald female VT student was the one interview from the campus massacre that kept being shown. I know lots of innocent kids got hosed by the quintessential troubled loner type (although the Korean angle is an interesting twist) and I’m supposed to bow my head and pretend to look serious, but other than a lot of shaky camerawork of pavement, what I’m taking away is there’s a strong liberal arts and women’s studies program there. So instead, enjoy a picture of a one-legged woman who fell dancing on a nationally televised celebrity competition.

There’s upskirt, too.

CYUWALK -- Originally Posted April 15

I went to the opening night of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters, and the opening scene is the most brilliant, hilarious thing of the year. Download the track and sing along!

Mastodon - Cut You With A Linoleum Knife

Don't talk, watch!

Don't talk, watch!

You came here. WATCH IT.

Don't like it? WALK OUT.

We still have all your fucking money!

Do not nudge, kick or jiggle the seat in front of you.

I'm sitting there!

I am everywhere at once

and I will cut you up.

If you make out here,

I will cut your lips and tongue

from your head

with a linoleum knife.

Do not explain the plot.

If you don't understand, then you should not be here.

Your money is our money

and we will spend it on drugs.

Do not crinkle your food wrappers loudly.

Be considerate to others,

or I will bite your torso

and give you a disease.

Did you bring your baby?

Babies don't watch this.

Take the seed outside.

Leave it in the streets.

Run over it after the show.

If I see you videotaping this movie,

Satan will rain down your throat with hot acid

and dissolve your testicles

and turn your guts into snakes.

This is copyrighted movie for Time Warner.

If I find that you've sold it on eBay,

I will break into your house

and tear your wife in half.

Guilty Pleasure -- Originally Posted April 13

This past Tuesday I went to the previously fabulous and great westerly Forum for one of my guilty musical pleasures, Muse. It's been at least a decade since I'd been in lovely Inglehood, and let me tell you, the place retained all the charm and allure of years past -- I am speaking of the man fleeing two bicycle cops in the midnight hour. My friend Rebz took the plunge on my extra ticket, because my buddies had approximately zero interest in going -- and if they had, I think we'd have looked like either a couple of fish out of water, or worse yet, a couple.

As was my last concert experience seeing the band in the more intimate Wiltern, the show was fantastic. Their songs are full of catchy hooks and the band plays as tight as fuck, plus you get your money's worth with of two hours of show and encores. If you are ever looking for something to counterbalance your Nine Inch Nails, this is the band. Hell, the singer is about as close as there is to a Jeff Buckley voice out there.

Going to the show made Muse more the guilty pleasure than before, due to the young crowd. And I mean young. I still pass for a half dozen or so years below my age due to my genetic superiority and timeless good looks, so I didn't look like the adult weirdo come to lurk at the concert -- and thank God for that. There were some clearly adult looking adults there, and they didn't come with kids...although they probably thought about trying to leave with one or two. But seeing kids who's only taste of alcohol may be what they sneak out of their parent's liquor cabinet sitting along side of me and enjoying the same music is not a testament to my hipness, but a reinforcement to the guilty nature of the pleasure. Good music is ageless, but I'm not the Hot Topic demographic that was out in force that night.

So what have we learned?

1. I don't know anybody else my age that likes Muse
2. no guys that I know are fans
3. I was probably in the elder 5% of those attending the concert
4. The Forum is in a shitty neighborhood
5. guilty pleasures are okay
6. clearly, I'm blogging instead of working

Tale Of The Tape -- Originally Posted April 12

NAME

Kurt Vonnegut____________________Don Imus

AGE

84_____________________________undead

VOCATION

author__________________________blowhard

MOUSTASCHE

yes____________________________sometimes

PUBLIC PERCEPTION

genius____________________________idiot

HAIRSTYLE

professorial mini-fro_______________80’s hair metal

CULTURAL IMPACT

significant____________________________none

CLAIM TO FAME

Slaughterhouse Five__________________"nappy headed ho”

FANS

free-thinking, educated__________________who?

APPEARED IN “BACK TO SCHOOL”

yes___________________________________no

What's In A Name? -- Originally Posted April 10

Banners all across internet pages are frantically trying to convince me to get the new, deluxe edition of the last musical loaf Beyoncé pinched out. If the name of your album is the same as a fancy device to clean your ass, I guarantee that's not the only thing it has in common with turd.

Best. Fake. Interview. Ever. -- Originally Posted April 10

Audioslave was perhaps the worst "supergroup" ever conceived. On paper, the music of Rage Against The Machine and the vocals of Soundgarden makes sense, but in practice it was a aural nightmare.

I listened to the demos that leaked prior to the first album and hoped they were a hoax, given the proliferation of mislabeled and blatently wrongn items...but they were the real deal. The band eschewed them, claiming they were rough and unfinished, but they were basically the same shitty tracks that ended up on the album. After three albums, Audioslavery was abolished, and while Chris Cornell can return to his solo artestry (albeit tainted, giving us blandness a la Casino Royale's 'You Know My Name' which lifts it's melody in the chorus from both 'Paint It Black' and 'Secret Agent Man') and Rage is reforming after going M.I.A. during the fertile W years, the damage has been done musically.

The split is no longer a hot topic, but whoever came up with this finely crafted yarn should have their likeness put on currency. Like the lotus, it blooms for me again and again, and so having enjoyed it once more I share it with you...



"Due to irresolvable personality conflicts as well as musical differences, I am permanently leaving the band AUDIOSLAVE. I wish the other three members nothing but the best in all of their future endeavors."

Interviewer: Chris, good to see ya. I want to get to your new solo album - which is fantastic by the way, but first, we gotta talk about the question on everyone's mind - what the heck happened with Audioslave?

Chris Cornell: Well, we just kind of did all we could do. I mean - that's it. We made our mark on rock, and I hope it's a lasting one, but for all of us, it was just time to move on.

Interviewer: Come on man - that press release said there was a lot more than that going on...what's the real deal?

Chris Cornell: Alright - you want to know the real deal?! And fuck my publicist, cause I'll throw her down the same well I did my former wife when she tried to shut me up, I've been quiet too damn long about this shit.

Everyone knows Audioslave was a fabricated band. I was getting ready to do a solo record, Rick Rubin was going to produce it, but he was also working with those Rage guys - or what was left of them. He begged me to meet them, jam with them, you know, try to make something out of nothing…

We met in some studio in Irvine, and those cats bothered me off the bat. They were all up in my shit, asking if I knew Jerry Cantrell, what's Seattle really like, what's the best combo meal at Domino's - you know - crazy stupid shit. And that fucking bass player was creeping me out - staring at me like I was Gandhi or something.

I was outta there after jamming on some Stones and old Soundgarden stuff. It sucked - I mean "Hey guitar player - can you play a fucking song straight ?!?!" We get to the solo in "Black Hole Sun," and the guy unplugs his guitar and starts wrapping the chord around it, then scratching it against the bass player's head. I'm like, come on guys - quit playing around - but they were dead serious.

We exchanged numbers and called it a day – that was right before the drummer started setting up trucker mirrors and turning his fucking kit around.

Well Rick goes and tells the label how great it is, and while I'm in line at Cingular to change my fucking number, Susan (Silver – Cornell’s then wife and manager) rings me up and tells me how it would be a great career move to do an album with these guys, it could resurrect my career, whatever. I’m like “Susan – what do you mean resurrect – I’m a fucking grunge icon . I was in Soundgarden.”

And she says “Yeah – but you also cut your hair and made Euphoria Morning. You’re just as relevant as Eddie Van Halen these days.”

Interviewer: Ouch!

Chris Cornell: I know right? So anyway, Susan, Rick, and the label convince me that these guys are a tight unit, they have a ton of respect for me, are easy to work with, blah, blah, blah. I ask what happened to the jumpy little black kid who used to sing for them, and everybody stammered shit about him being “too political” this and “Zapatista” that…so finally I cave.

And I regret it to this day.

First of all, let me tell you about political. That singer probably left because the guitar player was too political. We do this great song, I mean, it really clicked, and afterwards we were all like, “Cool – what do we call it?” And I’m like, “I don’t know, how about “Save Yourself,” since, like, I say “go on and save yourself” like 30 times in the song.” And the fucking Mexican guitar player…

Interviewer: Tom Morello?

Chris Cornell: Is that his name?

Interviewer: Yeah – I don’t think he’s Mexican though…

Chris Cornell: Whatever. He’s like, “How about we call it “Cochise.” And I’m like, “Did I miss something here? What the fuck is a “Cocheese” – is that what you put on your rice and beans?” Because honestly – I didn’t know where he was coming from.

He’s like, “No Chris, see, Cochise was the last great war chief. Back when Custer was massacring Native Americans –“

And I stop him right there, “Whoa, whoa! What the fuck is with you dude? That song is about my alcoholism and solitary time in my basement, you know, deep, real problems, not about some fucking Indian.”

And the drummer pipes in and is like “Chris, we’re actually called Native Americans – it’s politically incorrect to use the “I” word.”

I look him dead in the eye and say, “Look dude, I don’t give a shit about being politically correct. I don’t even fucking VOTE.”

Well holy shit, you would’ve thought I took a dump on an amp head. The room went dead silent.

Finally, the guitarist speaks up, “Chris, I thought it was clear we were going to be an agenda band.

”I’m like “Agenda band? I’ve got an agenda: to make a lot of fucking money, get laid by lots of chicks and open a restaurant in Paris.

”They were aghast. The bass player is like “Dude, you used to care about the common man – remember the flannels!” And, swear to God, he pumps his fist in the air.

I look at him and say, “They were from the Salvation Army.” And he gets a big smile on his mug like, all gleeful and shit. And I get right in his face and yell “Cause I was fucking POOR!!”

Interviewer: Wow – I guess that’s why A-Slave never got too political.

Chris Cornell: Oh they tried. Those fuckers tried – especially that guitarist. I’d come to the studio, and there'd be like, a voter registration card taped to my mic stand.

Why do you think I started breaking them? That trick started in the studio.

And he’d always be inviting me to rallys, like “Save the farmer” and “Stop genocide in Chechnya.” I’m like, “Yo, I’m not into it dude – back off. Why don’t you start living like a rock star – you’ve got the star part – they’re all over your hats, your armband…”

He says “Chris, these stars stand for the plight of the Zapatista.”

And dude, I just turned and walked out of the studio right there. Fucking Zapatistas. Fuck ‘em.

Interviewer: Tell us about Tim Bob.

Chris Cornell: Who?

Interviewer: The bass player?

Chris Cornell: Oh yeah – that fucking guy. Well, see, he’s the only white guy in the band other than me, so I guess he thought we could bond or something. He’d always be like, “Chris man – want to go to the gym after practice?” And I’d say “Dude, the gym? Come on – I’m going to fucking drink this day away like I do all the others.”

But like I said before, he was really creepy. He’d drive by my house at all hours blasting Ultramega OK – like, what am I gonna do, come out and sing the songs for him? I’d be like “Dude, stop acting like a kid in high school trying to impress a girl.”

He always get real red and be like “Dude, I was getting tattoos last night – I wasn’t anywhere near Seattle.”

And I’d be like “Yeah – than why do you have a poncho in your backseat? Uh-huh – fucking busted!”

Interviewer: Tell me about the “Like A Stone” controversy.

Chris Cornell: Oh yeah, you heard about that? After we lay down the basic tracks, he (Tim Commerford) sneaks all up in my shit and whispers “Hey!” in my ear.

I’m like, “What the fuck dude?!”

“What’s the song about?”

“What song?”

“You know, come one, “Like A Stone!”

“What?”

“Come on – tell me!”

So I told him the truth; I said it was about sitting in bed, you’re messing around with your girl, but she has her goddamn period, and she has to go into the bathroom and clean-up first. So I’m a little drunk, but still rock hard, and I’m like, “That’s ok baby, I’ll wait for you here, like a stone.” Get it? It’s a boner song – you know?

Interviewer: Wow, right on – but what about his interview on the DVD?

Chris Cornell: Well he wouldn’t accept the answer, he wouldn't stop pestering me, and finally, I made up this story about it being about death, and I swear, he was on cloud nine for days.

I think he was really beginning to piss off the guitarist too. The engineer would tell me that whenever I wasn’t there, he’d be telling him what a genius I was, and the guitarist would be all “Come on man!! He’s nothing! He’s not smart – wake up! Like Zack said! He’s playing you the fool! I’M the genius in this band.”

Interviewer: Looks like an ego problem.

Chris Cornell: With who – the guitarist? Man, I couldn’t do anything right. One day I come in with some Taco Bell. I’m eating it, and he starts lecturing me, all pissed off and shit about “migrant workers” and the “evils of the food industry.” I’m like “Look dude, I know this is your favorite food – I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up some!”

I’ll tell you what; I got so pissed that day, I threw a fucking gordita right at his damn head.

He didn’t talk much after that.

Interviewer: So when did you know it was over?

Chris Cornell: You mean other than the first day I met these fuckers?

Interviewer: Yeah.

Chris Cornell: Well, I got tired of the guitarist saying every song we did was going to be the next great rock song. The next album was gong to be our “Zeppelin moment.” I’d be like “Dude, we aren’t that good – stop talking smack about us - it's a paycheck.”

And just to spite me, he started doing solo gigs with his acoustic.

Interviewer: As the Nightwatchman?

Chris Cornell: Yeah, whatever – and I’m like, this fucker is trying to throw it in my face. That is where I want to be, just in a café somewhere, you know, like Singles, but in Paris. This guy is throwing it in my face by covering Arlo Guthrie songs!

Interviewer: But he’s been doing that for years - why put out the press release the day after Valentine’s Day?

Chris Cornell: Truthfully? I was fed up with that bass player, man. He sent me six dozen roses – six-fucking-dozen! Like, where did he get that kind of money? He gets a 10% split in the band. How many fucking pesos did he borrow off of the guitarist?

But the worst part, was in a card that came with the flowers, he had written new words and a video treatment for a song I am doing. You know, the Michael Jackson cover?

Interviewer: “Billie Jean?”

Chris Cornell: Yeah – well he rewrote the lyrics to say “Timmy C is not my lover, he’s just a guy who knows I am the one.”

Interviewer: Whoa…

Chris Cornell: Yeah, so I called the whole thing off right then and there. I was gonna kick that guy’s ass. But a restraining order seems to be working just fine.Interviewer: So tell us about that “Billie Jean” cover….

END INTERVIEW

When My Slumber Is Disturbed... -- Originally Posted April 5

That's for you, Dan...

Join The Army -- Originally Posted March 15

The Cube Army, that is.