Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor
Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.
Site favorite Detroit Velvet Smooth works for the Lowell Lock Monsters as an off-ice official, and he’s invited me several times to accompany him to a game. I finally tagged along last night, and I have to say – AHL hockey is considerably more enjoyable than its older brother. I may be hooked.
I will be going to the Monsters’ game a week from today to continue my new obsession. It’s healthier than niche German pornography, anyway. Let me know if you’d like to accompany us.
That’s right. It’s guilty of being original. It’s guilty of being hilarious. It’s guilty of being a fucking milestone – and today – it’s also guilty of being cancelled.
Bateman will now be able to join the support group for “brilliant shows which were axed by stiff suits before their time”. Colin Quinn and Chris Elliott are bringing the donuts and coffee this week, while Peter Griffin moderates via satellite from the Drunken Clam.
Other tragedies include: The Tick, Freaks and Geeks, Sports Night, Firefly, NewsRadio and, of course, Mr. Show. Where is Susan Powter when you need her? Cancelled, I’d assume.
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In Canada, you used to learn this poem in the 2nd grade or so. You would memorize it and recite it every November 11th with your classmates – I remember saying it out loud in a gym once with every other kid at my school at an entire assembly devoted to Remembrance Day. We’d all be given poppies, in keeping with the poem, which we would wear on our little lapels for the entire day – and usually for a few before and after. Veterans would come and speak to us, and most kids were well versed on the major wars before they were old enough to fully appreciate G.I. Joe. Although I cut and paste it into this page, I could have still typed it out from memory. And it gets me every time.
I say ‘used to’ because the current Canadian climate is not really conducive to mentioning war, or the soldiers who fight them, in any sort of favorable light. It’s probably been stricken from most curriculums in favor of repeated viewings of Ellen. Regardless, I wanted to share Flanders Fields with my American friends who have likely never heard of it – and say a sincere personal thank you to all those who have fought and died so far from home over the last hundred years. See another tribute over at GoonBlog.
You may remember my half-hearted post from a few weeks back – when bored and starved for material I spent 15 minutes Photoshopping a “Frat Pack” image. This combined an original photograph of the Rat Pack performing at the Sands in the early 60’s with the heads of our beloved modern day dummies. I also mentioned a site which was thoroughly devoted to the Wilsons, Ferrell, Vaughn, Black and Stiller – and gave him a little kudos for his efforts.
Well apparently – it’s turned into a circle jerk. My silly little collage is now featured front and center on his very popular site. I first noticed this when I saw the abundance of traffic coming through from that domain. He even mentions Pye In The Face in his latest Podcast which, if you’re a fan of the boys, I highly reccomend. Thanks for the hat tip, Kevin – and keep up the good work.
City Kitty reels with befuddled disgust, shot through with a clammy sci-fi movie organ and the rattle of screwdrivers on fretboards — until the strings start soaring above a bridge which is one part Ennio Morricone, one part Glen Campbell. “Slinky and winky, stinky and drinky.” – TeenBeat
Hi everybody! This is Nate, guest-blogging because my esteemed roommate is off making a hamhock sandwich. He LOOOOVES his pork. But at the end of the day, who doesn’t want to tuck in to some salty hog? Here’s the deal: there are 3 kinds of people I hate:
More specifically, their best song – City Kitty. A song of mystery and mystique. A song of black-eyed susans and chilled potatoes. A song of triumph and adversity. It’s a song I have been screaming for them to sing for the 13+ years I’ve been going to see them, to which they consistenly reply: “fuck off, Nate.” Real funny, jerk-offs. It’s a song I have only heard once in concert, and that’s because they were drunk one night and tried to appease me. But they gave up. Unlike this song, they were weak. They did not try to persevere.
The song is about positivity. About achieving one’s goals. About heading into the realm of the unknown. Okay, fine. It’s a song about drugs. And I’m drunker than a poet on payday. Enjoy, and stop checking out my package, perverts.