Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor
Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.
Unfortunately, it’s not “sleeping with Angelina Jolie” or “crapping $100 bills” today. Rather, my silly little Trailer Park Boys Squidoo lens has reached #1 in the top 100 – out of several hundred thousand. It’s kind of a big deal. Here’s where the screenshot for posterity comes in. In your fucking face, ‘Grandmothers Rule’:
I need some Squidoo methadone, stat. Methadoo.
My beloved sister just sent this image to me, as she knows that nothing touches my heart quite like the underground Thuggee religion. Touches, tears from my chest and ignites, to be exact. A sincere and heartfelt happy Valentine’s day to all of my readers – real and imagined. The love, and narcissism, conquers all.
Timmy’s habit of falling down the well grew tiresome for Lassie, who struck off with her brothers to form Dunkin’ Dounuts, McDonalds, Burger King and Nabisco. Not many people know that.
Appetizer: What was a class you took that was a total waste of time?
It’s all good practice. Although I imagine silk screen printing with Mr. Fratto could have been put to better use across the hall in the auto shop. This one time, I mistook my engine’s dipstick for a fondue spear.
Soup: Who is the tallest person you know?
Marky Mark Tonizzo. The guy makes me look like a dwarf infant with polio. The Richard Simmons hairdo adds another good foot, too. The guy can, however, make a hell of a Pilly Packer.
Salad: What’s your favorite midnight snack?
Ambien.
Main Course: Have you ever found money somewhere?
I usually find 10s and 5s in my pockets after heavy nights out on the razz. That’s 1.5 rocks of crack, if anybody’s keeping track. Can you guess how I know whether or not I stumbled into Chinatown the hazy night before? By the bye, I hope this Boston Interior Designer site gets indexed soon.
Dessert: Where would you like to retire?
My parent’s place on the Rideau. But they constantly warn me they’ll have to sell it and move into nursing homes some day. So I am hoping I become rich very soon so I can buy it and let them live there. But honestly – if their boat had brake lines, I would have cut them last summer.
I will settle for the new ‘middle-of-the-road’ over the former Canadian Government, anyday. But then, I will settle for a 3-day-old piece of rodent-family roadkill covered in liquified batshit over the former Canadian Government, anyday. Go, Harper.
“Canada’s new Conservative government is condemning the violence over incendiary editorial cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad, while also advising that freedom of expression be used responsibly.”
How is this refreshing? Thanks for asking. Paul Martin’s response would have been somewhere along the lines of: “Come to dis country, our completely non-dongeeerous rioting friends – just show a hand-drawn cartoon of yourself for hhhhhI.D. at de bordaire – and show dose hhhhhAmerican cawksawkeeers dat eeef dey make fun of Muhammed, dey make fun of Canada!” Or something.
I will miss the Pinko Panther. Did I just coin a phrase there? That’s a good one. It’s still OK to make fun of white, French Canadians right? Just checking. I love our little talks. No more politics, David. There’s a good lad.
Taz hasn’t chimed in for a long, long while. I love the way the man writes, and his knowledge of 80s/90s indie rock makes me look like a Menudo fan, so I wanted to share. I added a few hyperlinks for the uninitiated:
“Imagine my delight as I had my first proper shufty of the year at The PyeMan’s magnificent Blog (been on holiday in Thailand for 3 weeks folks, so that explains the neglect of this otherwise essential source of info for the Hamid Zeitgeist…) when I saw that 4AD post-Pixies Great White Hopes, LUSH came into the focus of the red hot laserbeam of impeccable taste that is Pye In The Face!
It warmed the cockles of my retro-indie loving heart! Took me back to days as a black denim 501s, trenchcoat and suede brogue wearing grad student in the early 90s and the late late nights wallowing in Lush’s dreamy soundscapes from the ‘Scar’ mini-LP and their first 12″ EP featuring De-Luxe, Thoughtforms, etc. Shoegazing was indeed a much maligned sub-genre of a great time in underground Brit popular music. The pioneers were the peerless My Bloody Valentine and the groundbreaking dronesters-par-excellence Spacemen 3 but the torch was then manfully carried into pastures newer and poppier by Lush, Pale Saints, Chapterhouse, The Telescopes, Slowdive, Catherine Wheel and many many more.
Some fell by the wayside, some enjoyed a modicum of success… ALL were interesting and worthy of both fiscal and emotional investment! These were heady times for guitar-driven bittersweet bedsitland indie-rock, and like Dave, my iPod still has a corner occupied by classic albums by the above, plus the other subsequent bands who kept the dream alive like Spiritualized and Low.
The great thing is, Shoegazing has now morphed into ‘Newgazing’. Check out my favourite exponents of this artform for the enlightened, NYC’s very own Ambulance Ltd. Their debut album is magnificent in it’s own right but will have you clued-up indie-kids digging out your old Lush and MBV albums with a wave of nostalgia. Respect to you PyeMan… once again your cultural barometer is giving all the right readings and the calibration is faultless! De-Luxe indeed…Taz, Frankfurt.”
There are worse things to have in your inbox first thing in the morning, like animated elf porn. Wait – did I say “worse”? Good to hear from you, homesnake!
“Repeatedly described as shambolic stoners in the press, as if their music was the result of some serendipitous sensimilia incident rather than hardwork and talent, their importance was consistently exaggerated while their talent was dismissed. You think the trumpet at the end of “Dry The Rain†was an accident?” – Stylus
I’m cycling this diddy back through the lineup. It’s been live on Radio Pye for a while now, but I’ve never written anything up on it. Is this a cop out? Nah – It’s a lot harder to write about something than it is to simply fire it up on a server. Besides, it’s long overdue and practically buried now with over 50 songs and 6 months worth of tuneage jammed into my little corner of the ether.
Most of you probably know Dry The Rain as ‘the song from High Fidelity‘. You remember – John Cusack makes a claim to his record store co-workers that he can sell multiple copies of a song immediately, just by placing it on the store’s sound system. “I am now going to sell five copies of The Three EPs by The Beta Band.” All of the patrons start bobbing their heads to the music like Romero zombies before lining up at the cash register to start their unhealthy obsessions with The Betas.
I met a girl recently who told me a story about spending a night drinking with the Betas here in Boston at Bukowskis. The band hasn’t recorded together in a couple of years, and I never got to see them live, but her description of the silly fat little Scottish troupe had me laughing – she thought they were completely winding her up until finally someone else recognized them too. They were like the Wizard of Oz and Phil Spector, rolled into one anonymous lump behind a lush wall of sound – so complex that it takes 100 listens to catch all the nuances. Dry the Rain reminds me of There Goes the Fear in that respect. I would have therefore bought them around 657 rounds. Another song I just cannot get tired of.
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsbR2dEmHGc[/youtube]
“The Beta Band’s “Dry the Rain” achieves a level of pop euphoria rarely reached since, well, “Oh! Sweet Nuthin” by the Velvet Underground.” Audio-Ideas
If you can catch the cowbell, washboard and rain stick by your first listen, you’ve probably also noticed that it’s about 3 separate songs jammed into one. First the drums pick up intensity about 2 minutes in, turning it from groovy to downright danceable. Then, for the last 3 minutes, it completely changes pitch and a new sing-song chorus assures you “I will be your light” and rounds the masterpiece out. If you’ve never listened to me before, listen to me today – listen to this fucking song.
There’s that famous story about the little Russian boy who gets all kinds of overzealous with the wolf sighting claims. I feel a bit like like that panicky, potato-eating pest right about now – because I’m about to do it again. Yes, folks, I’m announcing some immediate and most unfortunate lifestyle changes.
It snowballed. It was just too much packed into one weekend. Thursday I went out for beers after paintball. Friday I went to a birthday party. Saturday I was invited to a co-worker’s day BBQ at his new house in the burbs, and then last minute was invited to Central Square for someone else’s going away party that evening. Sunday morning someone poured me in the direction of North Station for an early Bruins game before sufficiently Superbowl Sundaying the shit out of myself until about 10pm. I woke up yesterday with a sore throat that looked like a python vivisection, and called in sick. Not good.
If you take my list of weekend activities and look at them each separately, it could all come across as good clean fun. I held a baby. I rooted for the home team. I played with a dog. I went undefeated in a sporting event. I cooked burgers, ribs and steak for 10 people. I saw some folks I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. But you have to understand, with the exception of the first 5 minutes of my being in the same room with the baby, all of these events were soaked with enough booze to make Courtney Love stop and suddenly scream “Now just hold the fuck on for a minute here people“.
I have had a great life, and my friends are the most important things in my silly existence. Many would kill to run in the circles I’ve developed over the years. But I can’t keep up anymore. I’m going to be that creepy guy who comes to the party and doesn’t drink, making everybody else extremely uncomfortable. I may also be employed – which is really where this whole diatribe stems from.
The inhabitants of the Mars Lander upon its return to Earth after a 7-year mission were considered ‘adorable’ until they used eye lasers to eradicate all human life from Cape Canaveral.
I’ve played paintball several times. And I personally think I’m quite good at it. Why then, was I riddled, tatooed, welted and swiss-cheesed last night? Don’t get me wrong – it was a heck of a lot of fun – but there were so many people on the field. There wasn’t room to move, duck or anything else. Because it was a special event, they loaded up the teams so everyone would get to play and it was just too much. So I made a little animation last night when I got home which pretty much sums up my recent paintball propensity.
A great laugh, and I met some great kids. My crew did pretty well, and I have to mention that my team – R1 (Republicans 1) – went completely undefeated, even if I have more bruises today than Rodney King with a broken tail light. Have a look at the rest of the ridiculous paintball photos here, and please send ice.
UPDATE: Here is an article about the event from the Crimson.
You’ll be pleased to know that I am far from finished doing embarassing things with my new camera. Last night Boss and I brainstormed for about 3 hours and came up with the heart-wrenching tale which you’re about see. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you – BossBack Mountain.
His line at the very end – “Maraaaaanch” – transcends both racial and special boundaries, and I only wish we’d gotten this in the can prior to Sundance. Keep an eye out for this hot new star. He’s 70 in cat years, but I predict a late blooming Olympia Dukakis/Hume Cronin sort of success for him. Cocoon 3: Ass-Dragging on the Carpet”. You’d see it.
UPDATE: I put this retarded thing up on YouTube an hour ago, and it’s already been viewed 72 times.
I just got my slammin’ new Canon S500 Powershot in the mail, and wanted to kick the teezees on it, bilznatch. Lemme holla at you for a minute. Peep dis:
And while I’m at it, why not big up my awesome new desk location while I’m spittin’? Yeah, that’s a view of Boston Common barely visible behind me. Yeah, those are some University pictures on my desk and Some Rat Pack parephanelia on the wall. Ill-fitting Maple Leaf cap? Check, bitches. Don’t funk with the sick office stylings, B!
I’ve been eluding to my acting debut somewhat recently, and have been receiving many questions from friends and talent agents alike. Perhaps it is time I just came clean about my impending thespianism. And all the necrophelia. But I’ll just stick to the silly play for the time being. It’s called Don’t be Afraid of the Dark and was written in the early 90s by a guy named Tim Kelly. Here is the official synopsis from my copy of the script:
“Weird playwright Sebastian Sly, author of such all-time bombs as Dial M for Morose, The Cat and the Canard, and Ten Little Ninjas, lives in a creepy old mansion called The Shadows. His arch enemy is the clever, but snide, drama critic Sylvia Frye. She hates stage thrillers and with her ruthless reviews, has forced Sebastian into retirement. In revenge, Sebastian invites her to his home where all manner of chills and thrills are trotted out to convince her she’s wrong about his work. We meet an hilarious “cast:†The murderous Creeper; an old actress noted for her shattering screams; a butler named Skull and a housekeeper named Bones and that’s just the beginning. Two likeable innocents, Zip and Lilac, show up and are terrorized by the insane goings-on. Ultimately, Sylvia exposes the plot. But Sylvia gets hers in the end!”
So which one of these ridiculous sounding characters do I play? What persona will be my first foray into the acting world? None of them. I play a stupid cop who shows up 2 or three times, scratches himself and looks for the escaped mental patient. The scratching admittedly was my idea, and the very flexible director has excitedly encouraged me to stop it immediately. But I got some laughs last night during the first real rehearsal, and I think I can make it funny and memorable. Right now I’m working on this whole Puddy meets Ace Ventura thing which I think will work.
My audition went something like this: My co-worker Sean – “You look kinda like Vincent D’Onofrio and I think you could play a big stupid cop in this play my friend is directing.” Dave – “Thank you?” After the tragedy of yesterday, there’s a new opening, afterall. I just didn’t want anyone to think the spectre of Lee Strasberg had visitied me in a dream or anything and told me to stop wasting my life at my current job. Because my father tells me that enough for the entire cast of Thir13en Ghosts.
The schtick will run March 19-21 (5 performances) at the Improv Asylum in the North End, and all proceeds will go to the North End Music and Performing Arts Center of which I am now apparently a supporter. I’m also now officially a member of the ACT 1 Players. Tickets are $10 and I’ll provide more details to anyone who’d like to come closer to the date. It’s a great group of fun people, and I’m having a scary but educational time. We’re looking to make this as funny as possible, and we’re working with an experienced director with whom I’ve become fast friends. You may just enjoy yourselves if you decide to stop by. May.
I was a huge Chris Penn fan. He could play tough, straight or funny with the greatest of ease, and his talent and charisma were indisputable. This is absolutely awful, and I will likely Penn a more fitting tribute throughout the course of the day. That couldn’t have been less funny, but I ain’t exactly laughing right now. No Wadio, moment of silence. Obit. Nifty graphic in his memory:
From IMDB:
Way back in the days of Footloose and At Close Range I was sold, and his recent downward spiral made me very sad. Someone told me recently that they had seen Penn passed out in a hotel hallway while they were visiting Chicago, and the dread outweighed the jealousy – even though I’m sure I would have posed for a picture with the sprawling mess and then put it on this stupid website. You’ll be missed, Chris. I’ll call you a hearse, and this is for Cody.
