Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor

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Don’t Be Afraid Of The Dark. Seriously.


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My first, and let’s face it – probably last – acting foray begins this Sunday evening. Don’t be Afraid of the Dark hits the stage at the Improv Asylum this week to I’m assuming awesomely rave reviews and soggy-eyed packed houses. This will be my final pre-play shuck and jive, and I encourage you all to come check out one of the performances. I have almost 20 friends confirmed to come to the Tuesday 7pm show – as that is the last performance and I intend to have a celebratory cockytail or two afterwards in a licensed North End purveyor of adult libations. If you want to come, make it Tuesday night and let me know so I can reserve you a ticket. While you’re making up your mind, have a gander at our first cast photo:

Let’s see… you’ve got the vamp, evil monster, ingenue, shrew, maid, butler, nerd, nurse, male nurse, lawyer and cop (me). And let me save you the trouble – I’m obviously also a huge nerd, just not dressed as one in this particular example. Listen – I know it’s a school night, and some of you will have to drive a fair spell to get here, but I want everyone to be aware and have the details should you want to come and marvel at my almost unspeakable narcissism.

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He Wears Short Shorts. And Is A Twat.


in

There’s a new fad sweeping the city of Boston and I’m going to need a little help from my readers in order to ever fully hope to fathom it. I’m talking about college age men, or slightly thereafter, walking around outside in 40 degree weather with shorts on. Cargo shorts usually, which end just above the knee and contain lots of interesting, and I’m sure integral, pockets. Without meaning to sound harsh, please kill yourselves.

Let’s say we’ve been in the middle of a cold snap, and then suddenly the temperature rises five points one sunny afternoon. These little bastards run home to change and come out in full force – inappropriate shorts just a’ blazing. I’m taking the time to write about this not because it offends me or because I’m concerned for their immune system or anything. It’s simply one of the most retarded things I’ve ever seen. It has to be the most uncomfortable and useless fad since the fucking corset.

Enthralled, annoyed and disturbed at the same time, this journalist looked for more re-re instances of this silliness online. Here’s what I found:

– A related discussion featuring some Canadian twat who says he wears the shorts just to see people’s shocked expressions. Wow – that is so punk rock.

– The Senior VP of HR at Microsoft wears shorts in winter. And eats concentrated orange juice cans full of bacon fat by the vanload, apparently.

– Someone visiting Brussels was so alarmed by the sight of shorts wearers that they snapped a picture and blogged it. Personally, I would have been more concerned with the man standing off to the right with his hands down the front of his pants – who also seems to be ‘enjoying’ the exposed flesh.

– A local Boston blogger originally from California also shares my bewilderment: There’s always the crazy guy who wears shorts all winter (I’m sure just to stand out–people call him the “shorts guy”). First of all, I’m glad you get to help pick the nicknames, cause that one is world class. Secondly, of course he does it to stand out. He was probably raised in a closet by an uncle, and digitally bum raped multiple times on poker night.

This article is taking a sharp turn for the worst. Just stop wearing the shorts in winter people. Fauxhawks and bad lower-back tattoos serve the same purpose, and don’t lead to pnemonia.

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Good Luck With The Crashing Night Guilt.


in

Did anyone else think that Crash was an exceptionally mediocre film? I just finished watching it and I may never bother to sit through the Oscars again. I am fairly good at explication, but just what is the goddamned theme supposed to be anyway? All races are capable of racism? I already knew that. Predjeduces may be innacurate? Prejeduces may be extremely fucking accurate? Terence Howard looks like he uses a crimping iron? The movie should have been called “Guilt”.

I also watched Good Night and Good Luck last night. As much of a fan as I am of historical and biographical movies, I was tempted to paint one of my bedroom walls halfway through. So I could watch it dry instead. I need films that have a little something extra in order to be fully entertained. Like “Ernest Goes To…” tacked on to the beginning of the title.

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Wednesday Wadio: Pogues’ Sick Bed Of Cuchulainn


in Wednesday Wadio

Interviewer: What’s your poison these days?
Shane: I like wine, and I drink Peach Schnapps. It’s only 21 percent.
Interviewer: That sweet stuff’ll rot your teeth.
Shane: I haven’t got any teeth. – Playboy

Sick Bed is my very favorite Pogues song, and I listen to it constantly. I had the distinct and unlikely pleasure of seeing them last night at the Orpheum here in Boston. I say unlikely, because anyone who knows anything about Shane McGowan is well aware of his severe drink problem, and the fact that he comes close to death as casually as you or I flick off a lightswitch. When I heard they were touring this year, I figured it was without Shane (as they did from 91-to 2001) so imagine my pleasant surprise. It was a truly great time.

In Irish mythology, Cuchulainn “is taken ill when he is attacked in a dream by two women with horsewhips (he lay asleep in his sickbed for a year as a result)”. That’s kinda hot, especially if they feed you whiskey in your hospital of choice. Horsewhips aside, not only is this song catchy, rocking and pleasing to the ear – it tells a crazy story about a man who, among other things, pisses himself, gets thrown out of a bar, has his head kicked in and then vomits in a church. Shane is a little hard to understand at times, and you can read the full lyrics here:

When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne
And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan bought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid
And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was cursing all the Yids
At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair

Anti-semitism, venerial disease and whorehouses – now that sounds like a Saturday night. Here’s Shane himself talking about the ditty from his book “A Drink With Shane McGowan“: “It’s about how every old dosser you meet on the street has got a history. He’s got a history of probably fighting in a couple world wars, maybe the Spanish Civil War.” And how did the book come to be? Glad you asked: “It’s a bunch of interviews that she did while I was drunk. I said a lot of things about people that I wouldn’t have said if I hadn’t been drunk and talking to my wife. But what’s done is done, and I think it’s a good book.” While we’re at it, here’s a great collection of drinking references in Pogues songs.

You can listen to the song for yourself by clicking Radio Pye to your left. The pictures you see were taken by myself last night during and after the show, and I’ve also uploaded a few video clips of which the audio and picture isn’t too bad. If you’re a fan, check them out. First off is their rousing performance of Sick Bed, during which I swear I felt the Orpheum’s balcony shifting with the weight of drunken, dancing Irishmen. The twat you can hear singing along is none other than yours truly:

I also got clips of Lonely Pair of Brown Eyes, Fairytale of New York and you can even enjoy watching Shane shoot a hat that is thrown at him like it’s a clay pigeon. From the size of the whiskey bottle you can see him take a pull off of in the Fairytale clip, skeet was probably only one of many foreign objects he saw floating past him on stage last night. And as it happens, I’ll only stop listening to the Pogues when pink elephants fookin’ fly. I’m thrilled I can now cross “See the Pogues Live” off my list. And throwing up in a church.

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The Play And The Pogues.


in Musical

In about 15 minutes I have to rush back to the North End for a 5pm play practice. Our first performance is Sunday at 2pm, and there’s precious little time left to work out the many kinks. It is very time consuming, and I’ll be glad when it’s all said and done a week from tonight, but it’s been a fun experience. Again, if you need tickets – email me. They are going fast and Sunday’s shows are nearly sold out. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday – done. Get on it.

I’m ducking out around 1/2 way through the second act to sneak back up to the Orpheum to see the mighty Pogues who are on tour with Shane McGowan for the first time in 15 years. Apparently someone in Ireland has finally figured out how to reanimate dead tissue. I am insanely excited, and will give you a full update and a related Wadio tomorrow.

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Oh Long Johnson. Oh Don Piano.


in

Sorry for the lack of any posts today. Blogger was down. I am chiming in now because I’ve been laughing about this video all day and I want to share. I think it’s from America’s Funniest Home Videos or something, and it shows a variety of talking cats. They don’t really talk, but they mimic human voices and it’s really freaky and hilarious. Make sure you watch it all the way through, as the black cat at the end is the best part. Oh I eyes ya.

UPDATE: Here’s another great cat-related video. The theme here seems to be attacking infants, which is always a treat.

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You Bastard. You Bruined Everything!


in

Lynch and I went to the hockey game last night, as he got sweet tickets from his Mammy as a Christmas present. Thanks again, buddy. Much appreciated. I got some great photos and posted them and wrote the evening up over at GoonBlog. This is called shameless-self-cross-promotion if anyone’s still fuzzy on that.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: The Birds And The Threes.


in Monday's Quotelet

In keeping with tradition, I’ve stolen another quiz for everyone to try. I’m extremely late for work, as I wait for a charming gentleman with more hair on his neck than on his head to fix my dishwasher. So I’ll get this nonsense out of the way in the meantime.

Three things I plan to do before I die:
Reproduce – Travel to Greece – Act.

Three things I can do:
Play guitar – Make people laugh – Write.

Three things I can not do:
Fix cars – Snowboard – Eat seafood.

Three things that I find attractive about the opposite sex:
Scent – Empathy – Behinds.

Three things I say the most:
Holy Fuck – Comprehensive – Eh?

Three books I love:
The Power of One – Life of Tom Horn – Borstal Boy.

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Fun With Live Boston Crime Statistics


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It’s amazing how creative and inquisitive one can become when they haven’t had an adult alcoholic libation for nearly 2 weeks. I think I need to go on booze sebbatical a lot more often. Anyhew, during my hyper online meanderings last night I came across this simple yet fascinating section of Boston-Online that you’ve just got to have a gander at.

I’m proud to present – a live Boston Crime Map. Shortly after any little bugger shoots, stabs or robs a citizen of our fair city – they’re plonked onto this map for the rest of us to rubberneck. The homeless guy who was set on fire in the North End on Sunday? Check. The two teenagers randomly stabbing people on the Common Saturday night? Check. Let’s move over to Fenway for a second – two men hit in the head by suspect who allegedly was first spraying people in the Pilgrim Parking Lot with a fire extinguisher? You betcha. Two teenage girls arrested at the Broadway T-Stop after robbing two females at knifepoint? Par for the course.

Have a look at this fun and wonderful tool, which is constantly updated by an RSS feed, and see what other crimes against Massachusetts humanity you can find. Feel free to post them here, and I really shouldn’t be this amused.

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Wednesday Wadio: The Gorillaz ‘DARE’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“‘DARE’ is a staple song used by several car audio enthusiasts to test their sound system’s performance, as it contains both human voice, plenty of treble and a very strong bassline.” – Wiki

Granted, I am WAY behind the bell curve on writing about this song – but I love it, I love the 2 legendary bands whose former members are involved with it and we just mentioned ‘Dare’ as part of the gym mix post from yesterday. I built a Happy Mondays related site recently, and in the process read a few articles surrounding how the song came to be. It’s interesting stuff. I’ll elaborate.

Damon Albarn, formerly of Blur and the current mastermind behind the Gorillaz, had always wanted to work with Shaun Ryder. The only problem is, Shaun Ryder has been a drug-addled mess for the last 20 years, and getting him involved in a project is tantamount to slamming your dink in a door. Don’t get me wrong – I love the man’s work. The Mondays and Black Grape are two of my favorite audio guilty pleasures. But he likes the hallucinogens and has been in some trouble as of late.

“Shaun Ryder… threatens another Lazarus style comeback with his best contribution to a record for well over a decade. It’s his Manc whine that steals the show and makes Dare and so enthralling, he might have his debts paid off in ten years if he keeps this sort of performance up.” – Beat Surrender

The song is hella fawnky, with great spooky sound effects, a catchy chorus and an interesting vocal alternation between Ryder’s marble mouth, Albarn’s falsetto and the Gorillaz only female member, Noodles. The video features Ryder’s disembodied cyborg headed singing away just as soon as the Gorillaz release him from his closet.

Ian Brown, a proper media shit-disturber who also incidentally happened to be the lead singer of The Stone Roses, recently claimed that the song was originally supposed to be called ‘There’ – But Ryder had a little trouble enunciatingg that very tricky word. Brown smirks, “They were going to call it, ‘It’s There’ but Shaun couldn’t say ‘there’, so they called it Dare. I know the guy who was the recording engineer on it and he was like, ‘One, two, three, four…’ and it took Shaun five hours to come in.” DARE to keep Shaun off Drugs.

The video is equal parts disturbing and brilliant, and the song is just brilliant. Watch the full clip here, or listen to the song by clicking Radio Pye in the left hand column.

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The Distant Call Of The Hamster Wheel.


in

When I started my current job in 2003, I was pleased to learn that I’d have access to the office building’s gym. And access it I did. In fact, I accessed the frig out of it – I got down to about 210 pounds at one point, and was looking pretty twatting svelt if I do say so myself. I like going to the gym. Once it’s in your routine, it’s easy to make time for and you even miss it when time does not allow. But it is so, so easy to fall out of step. And oh how the svelt have fallen.

With a little effort, my body gains and drops weight like Barbapapa in a trailer park meth lab. A lot of my friends have started back after long hiatuses – even DVS has been going daily – so I think it’s high time I joined the let’s-get-physical-fray. I went down to City Sports at lunch, got me some socks, a cool Under Armor water bottle, a pair of lacrosse shorts and tonight will be spent creating an audio steriod mix. During my last gym phase, I had a crappy 20 song 128MB MP3 player. I had to choose my workout tunes very carefully, lest I go crazy listening to the same songs for a week on end. Now I have a 60GB iPod, so I’m going to compile the biggest, rockingest gym mix derived from all iron pumping playlists of the past.

With no further adue, I will now share my top ten favorite gym mix songs of all time. There’s not a lot of rhyme or reason here, and it has nothing to do with BPM. These are simply songs that get me fired-up for whatever reason. I’m not going to write them all up, as I do actually need to actually get to the gym this evening.

  1. Where the Rose is Sown – Big Country
  2. Humbolt County Massacre – Frank Black
  3. There Goes the Fear – The Doves
  4. 100 Miles and Running – N.W.A.
  5. Acquiesce – Oasis
  6. You Think I Ain’t Worth a Dollar But I Feel Like a Millionaire – Queens of the Stone Age
  7. Springtime in Vienna – The Tragically Hip
  8. House of Pain – Van Halen
  9. The Queen is Dead – The Smiths
  10. Irish Pride – House of Pain

A lot of houses, and a lot of pain, I just noticed. But then, isn’t that what a gym is? Regardless, if you wish to know more about any of these songs or artists, Google them or simply trust your friend. Your big, fired-up, sweaty, dry-heaving, dead-on-an-elliptical Canadian friend.

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George Clooney Is Not Cary Grant.


in Movies

The George Clooney kudos crescendo is caving my head in. 10 years ago he was a regular on Roseanne, lest we forget. Jake Gyllenhal had to play tongue-hockey with another stinky man repeatedly for his nomination, and what did he get? Sure, Clooney had his fingernails pulled out with pliers, but I actually really enjoyed that scene. Most folks probably cringed watching the torture, but I stood up on a chair and cheered: “That’s for Return of the Killer Tomatoes, ya bastard.” And quite possibly for this.

“Actually, it would probably be easier if I just said ‘Anyone who wasn’t in Crash please stand up’.” – Jon Stewart

I wanted Munich to win, because it actually deserved to, but had no pipe dreams about that happening. I cashed in my chips and went downstairs to watch Life on Mars long before the Oscars had ended. I fully expected to see Brokeback on the front page of CNN this morning, so imagine my surprise. Crash is an OK movie, but I think the Academy really lost the PC plot this year. If you’re on the fence about that last statement, you need only be reminded of Stewart’s most prolific joke of the evening:

“Once again, for those of you who are keeping score: Martin Scorcese, zero Oscars. Three-Six-Mafia, one.”

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Alright, So I Might Have Lied.


in

Yes, it’s another Squidoo-related post. Some fellow lensmasters and I are starting our own related site called SquidooItYourself. I launched it today, and want to get it spidered… So here we are.

I honestly believe that Squidoo is going to be enormous, in case you haven’t noticed. This site will be an objective 3rd party source of external news and tips, and it’s the first of its kind. If you think I’m crazy, you might not get a ride on my cigarrette boat in 2 years. So just watch it, buddy.

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