I really hate ALL of the FreeCreditReport.com commercials, but the one that especially bugs me is the “Dream Girl” one in which the guy sings that if only he’d checked his wife’s credit he’d “be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard”.
So…the only reason she was your dream girl was because you thought she could buy you a house? Why don’t you get a real job so that YOU can buy the house instead of sitting around in the basement playing your shitty songs while she does the laundry. Asshole.
Am I in favor of a Bill Hicks biopic? Of course. Despite being the most intelligent, thoughtful, dark, hilarious stand-up comedian in the history of guys telling jokes to an audience, Bill Hicks is still relatively unknown. At least in the states. In Britain, he is worshiped for the comedy profit he is and it was in Britain that I first learned about him. Still, you can see his influence in the more popular “indie” comedians of today: Janeane Garofalo, Patton Oswalt and especially David Cross.
Bill Hicks died from cancer at age 32. This was, as they say, too young; not just because of his age, but because we desperately need Hicks around today. Hicks was angry. Anger was a huge part of his act. Of course, it wasn’t an act. When he was on stage, he utterly exposed his soul. You could see it and hear it. Probably touch it if you got close enough. He had a lot to be angry about. We were a nation involved in a futile war, having been driven there by a poor “Commander-in-Chief”. Mental junkfood filled our television networks and air waves. The American public had become a reactionary mob. Sound familiar?
Hicks saw through all of it and had the balls to talk about it plainly. He did this because it troubled him and he wanted to bring these problems to light so that we wouldn’t destroy ourselves. He also threw some jokes in there. He was a furious fireball surrounding a big white light of hope. I get misty just typing these words. I hate to sound all “Candle in the Wind” about it but I miss him terribly and I never even met him. He died when I was 16. I didn’t even learn about him until 2 years later. But at least I learned about him. And I want everyone to know about him. I want his message spread to the young people who still think comedy is Dane Cook and to the older folks who he somehow eluded. But not this way. Not with a two-dimensional, middle-aged goon filling his shoes.
I’m referring to Russell Crowe, the “actor” who is rumored to be donning black urban cowboy threads and learning to bellow into a microphone for an upcoming Bill Hicks biopic.
Well, I’m with those South Park boys. Russell Crowe is an awful person. That is why it literally pains me to hear there’s a good chance he will be the one bringing Bill Hicks into the collective consciousness. Since Hicks is still relatively obscure and Crowe is a big overrated movie star, his portrayal will become Bill Hicks’ shorthand. The worst part is that Bill Hicks would have hated Russell Crowe too. He would have loathed his vapid pseudodrama roles in A Beautiful Mind and Cinderella Man. And he would have been especially appalled by Crowe: the man whatwithwith his awful vanity band and hooligan tendencies.
So before this happens, I’m going to fire on all cylinders to spread the gospel of Hicks…the REAL Hicks. First, drop whatever you’re doing and spend the afternoon watching the man in action. Language is NSFW so wear headphones or sneak out of the office.
Next buy this book: “American Scream” is a fantastic biography. I knew the ending and I still bawled like a baby.
Finally, do yourself a favor and buy the entire audio catalog. Load up your ipod and jump into the River Hicks to, as the man himself would say, squeegee your third eye. That way you’ll know the truth on the day that Russell Crowe drops a metaphorical turd onto the memory of this great American poet.
Mark my words, this child will destroy us all:
See more disturbing pictures of Suri Cruise here, including one in which she tells her doll about her plans for banding together with the JLo twins to usher in the End of Days.
I am so over Quentin Tarentino. Granted, he wrote (but thankfully did not direct) the pitch-perfect “True Romance”. (Though there is a theory that his jilted writing partner, Roger Avary, actually did the bulk of the work on the script.) Sure he helped change the face of independent cinema with Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. But Quentin Tarentino has run out of original ideas. And with all the talk of his next two projects, I think it’s possible he never had any to begin with.
Tarentino is a professional fan boy who has made a career out of copying all the stuff he likes. Fortunately for him, he likes kind of obscure movies so it is a rare bird who will recognize what he has borrowed from. That is probably why he decided to go from plagiarism to straight up remakes.
First up is “Inglorious Bastards”, based on the 1978 Italian film about a group of insolent WWII soldiers whose only chance to save themselves from punishment for their misdeeds is by sneaking into a heavily guarded Nazi compound and stealing a secret weapon. So far there are a lot of casting rumors (Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio), but only one confirmed cast member: Quentin’s protege and BFF, Eli Roth.
Roth is the man who, in conjunction with the “SAW” franchise, helped popularize torture fetish films (Who needs character development or dialog when you can just bleed people slowly for an hour and a half?). Roth is as much of an actor as Tarentino himself. That is to say that he smirks his way through his lines while his more talented cast mates play around his high-school-drama caliber performance. I’m also sure there will be plenty of rambling monologues for everybody. Needless to say, I’m not so much looking forward to this one.
Then we have a remake of Russ Meyer’s “Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!”. Early casting rumors name Britney Spears for a starring role. Why? I HAVE NO IDEA. Russ Meyer was known for casting ladies not as much for their acting ability as for…other…assets. And Quentin certainly has experience exploiting the ladies. But does Britney have any sex appeal left? She is a professional Jerry Springer tragedy, not a busty sex kitten. Is anyone still attracted to that? I bet she smells like Chicken McNuggets. I hate to say it but if Tarentino really can’t be creative about finding lesser known Russ-worthy ladies, he should just re-borrow the cast of “Sin City” and be done with it.
Why are we still celebrating the work of this middle-aged fan boy geek? Why are we still entrusting the Comic Book Guy with big budgets and A-list names? His early films were either a fluke or a scam. I got a baaaad feeling about this.
When I first heard that Richard Branson was opening an American version of his airline, Virgin Atlantic, I wondered if it would be as top notch as his European line. American airlines are SO unpleasant these days but they blame it all on gas prices. Since Virgin America would be using the same gas, would his airline be only a shinier version of the turd that is the American airline industry?
The answer is a resounding NO!!
This past weekend, my Mister and I flew to San Francisco for my Brother-In-Law’s wedding, and so we finally had to the opportunity to fly Virgin America. I’m pleased to report that it is everything an airline should be:
And all this inside a groovy aircraft with pink track lighting and pristine white paneling! I felt like I was flying in a 70’s vision of the future and I loved it. To say that all these new fees other airlines are tacking on is justified in the current economy is rediculous. There is still such a thing as customer service and Virgin has it. They have plenty of things you can spend money on without making you feel like you are being forced to pay for your creature comforts after having dropped a couple hundy on the flight itself. (And by the way, we paid only $160 round trip from Seattle to San Fran). Flying is a travel necessity, but that doesn’t mean it has to be unpleasant. I’m glad someone finally understands that.
One additional perk which probably won’t last too long is that the flights were only half full. This means that the chance you’ll have a whole row to yourself is pretty good. I have a feeling this Virgin thing is going to catch on so you’ll probably have neighbors on both sides soon enough. But who cares? Just one of those leather seats is 50 times more comfortable than a whole row of sub-par competitors seats combined.
Virgin America is the way forward. I can’t wait for them to expand their routes so that I can fly them everywhere. That old coot, Branson, is really onto something.
I’m seriously considering changing the name of my blog to Effed by Hollywood.
First up is the sad news that dear old John Waters has gone senile and decided it’s a good idea to make a sequel to his movie musical based on a Broadway musical based on his movie which contained music. He hopes to reunite the original cast of the movie musical based on the Broadway musical based on his movie which means that he actually thought John Travolta in a fat suit was a suitable substitute for the bad ass legend, Divine. This makes me sad and pukey. I usually cry when I puke, so I’m crying twice as hard for this one.
In other neutering of beloved sexually progressive films based on musicals, some shitheads at MTV are planning to remake The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I don’t understand how a film which STILL plays to packed houses of rabid fans can even be considered for something like this. Apparently, they don’t fear rabid fan mobs anymore. Or perhaps they never did…
Even though I watched most of “Rock of Love 2” (I started the season late), and was well aware all the while that I was witnessing some horrible portend of doom, I didn’t really figure it all out until last night, when I watched the “reunion special”. This post-season wrap up was a concentrated dose of R.O.L. in which Riki Rachtman (good to see you!), fresh from the Ricki Lake Training Camp, psychoanalyzes every member of the “cast”. This lasts approximately 5 hours. At one point the old one sings. It is perhaps the most surreal television program I have ever seen.
New shit has come to light, man. And that is the fact that Brett Michaels, formerly thought to be just a lame ex-butt rocker, is actually the world’s biggest misogynist. And no, I am not one of those neo-feminists who sees gender bias in everything. He truly hates women and loves to see them suffer. It helps that he, as he admits on more than one occasion, LOVES crazy girls. This helps because crazy girls are more than willing to do whatever he says, including, but not limited to, giving him lap dances, allowing him to photograph them scantily clad, playing FOOTBALL in the MUD and then HOSING EACH OTHER OFF, and taking turns making out with him in the back of his Hummer limo. If he were just a normal 46-year-old doosh, they would not fall for this. I mean, the guy plays acoustic air guitar. But he is Brett Michaels, former lead singer of one of the most inexplicably popular butt rock bands of the year most of these girls were born. For some reason everyone involved thinks that makes this OK.
In a way, Brett Michaels is a genius. An eeeeviiiil genius, but a genius nonetheless. He has found a way to find large groups of his type of lady (crazy strippers, both professional and amateur…and TV HOSTS, also crazy) and assemble them in his fantasy environment (a mansion littered with pictures of himself and stripper poles, no shortage of booze or motorcycles) and make out with them and/or sleep with them, sometimes in FRONT of the other girls, but always in front of America. Every week he is allowed to dump one of them without any of the real-world recourse (i.e. they continue to call him and stalk him and throw drinks in his face when he is on a date). Eventually, he settles on the one that he feels he can sleep with about 15 more times before quietly dumping her and gearing up for the next season of the show.
I’m not letting the ladies off the hook either. It’s pretty clear that each of them wants something from this show other than “love”. Some of them want to “break in” to the biz. (Megan being the newest career reality show slut. I am so angry at myself for ever rooting for her bitchy ass on “Beauty and the Geek”.) Others just want attention (Daisy) or to be told they are pretty on national television (also, Daisy). Their success is pretty much directly proportional to how good they are at convincing Brett that they “are here for him”. Yet I hear the word “competition” at least 250 times per episode. So perhaps some of them are really just tired of their amateur volleyball league and want a new hobby.
If you had shown me “Rock of Love” in 1990, I wouldn’t have believed it. I would have thought you were showing me an extended scene from Paul Verhoeven’s new film, or something penned by Margaret Atwood about a dystopian future. I would have laughed. Sure, I laugh when I watch “Rock of Love” now. But it is that hysterical cry-laughing that you do when you can’t fully process the horror that you are witnessing.
Cheers, Brett Michaels. You really have reached your full potential. You are not only allowed to be a total cad with no social consequences, it has become your job.
The Slog, by way of the P.I. reported yet another stabbing on Capitol Hill on Saturday. What the hell, Seattle? This time, it's not just the stabbing itself that is weird, but the reaction of the witnesses and the reporting paper.
“I don't know what to make of that. I surely don't.”
At least this time the victim is still alive to tell the tale.
I hadn't looked at the JLO twin baby pictures until today because I really don't care what JLO does…until now. As Gawker points out, one of her babies might end up playing a significant role in future events. I mean, just look at that thing! Color me profoundly disturbed.
I especially love the juxtaposition of the unsuspecting smile above the calculating baby head. It almost looks like a movie poster. This kid is one to watch!
Saturday, even after a very lovely day of BBQing and pokering and general merriment, our little love nest was once again invaded by some jerks. Beer had been flowing steadily since 4pm so we had some people crashing out in our guest room which is why, even though I currently sleep with a knife under my mattress ever since the robbery, I wasn't immediately startled when I was awoken by a noise at 3:30am. At first I thought perhaps it was one of our guests causing the banging noise. But the banging continued and I became increasingly concerned (and awake). I tried to wake B. who had only recently finished expelling the beer of the day. I asked if he heard the noise. “Uuuuuuuuh”, he responded. So I said I was going to check it out myself. Again, I thought it was just a pre-ordained house guest, so I wasn't too worried about it. I was just going to see if they needed some help!
But as I left the bedroom, I saw both house guests slumbering soundly in the guest room. This gave me pause and I grabbed my knife. The sound had been coming from the basement and the light was on, but I think it had already been on from our rad band recital earlier. Anyway, as I walked down the basement stairs, I noticed a draft and then I saw that the basement window was utterly shattered. There was a broom handle sticking through the window, so I ran back upstairs and peeked into the back yard. I didn't see anyone there so I went back upstairs to the bedroom and woke B. up, all the way this time. I told him what I'd seen and this seemed to aid in his becoming more lucid. Unfortunately we were both still a little drunk. Nevertheless, he grabbed a bat and we both walked around the house looking out the windows. I saw that the gate was open and surmised that a person entered through there and used our broom to smash the basement window but, having seen me running down the stairs, possibly even seeing the knife, decided to take off.
In the morning, we learned that they had also stolen our solar lights that lined the front walkway and brutalized our mail box. I was pretty freaked out. B. only slightly less so.
After our guests departed, we decided to call the cops. I didn't think to call them when it happened because a) the person(s) were already gone and b) last time, the cop that was dispatched wasn't a very big help so I didn't feel like dealing with someone who wasn't going to be helpful at 4 in the morning.
When the cops arrived, we showed them what had happened and they came to much the same conclusion that we had. Someone tried to break in but, for whatever reason, changed their minds. One of the cops, who looked like this:
gave me a bit of a lecture about brandishing a knife. He said that in most cases, the weapon is taken away from the homeowner and used on them so it's better to be unarmed. He also gave us some advice on how to beef up security. We were already working on getting those curtains put in so we don't live in as much of a fishbowl. We are also going to get some motion sensor lights and a security system. His advice for next time (considering this is the second home invasion in 3 months!) is to stay upstairs and call 911 right away. I see his point. If the perp hadn't seen me, he might have stuck around and the cops could have come and nabbed him. On the other hand, I'm less than enthusiastic about lulling a perp into my home with a false sense of security, on the off chance that it takes the cops a while to get there. Either way: WFT?!
I'm just starting to realize how exposed we really are. In the event of a zombie epidemic or other apocalyptic scenarios, House of B.P. must be evacuated for higher ground. We will immediately head to the homes of our friends in second floor or higher condos. Or maybe we should build a moat.
My co-worker mentioned that crime is up everywhere due to the recession. I can understand that. Seeing as how we didn't get our pay checks on Friday, I know that money is tight. And there's always desperate people in the world, but it's shitty that it was us again. And so soon.
Effed by the Wind 