Highs, Lows, and Demos

Will Ferrel's character in the "Old School," Hank the Tank, is a perfect fit with today's post. The highs: Dancing to The Dan Band during his wedding, reffing ky wrestling. The lows: Getting his ass kicked by Andy Dick, getting his ass kicked by Jeremy Piven, getting his ass kicked by an elephant tranq dart. And, well, what made it all real for us, the viewers - the demos: Passing on Bed, Bath, and Beyond for the sweet, sweet funnel, licking the face of a co-ed, "streaking," and the floor routine of a virgin spring (what ribbon work).

With those moments of glory, defeat, and alcoholism in mind, here we go with a quick rundown of the ups, downs, and burn-to-the-grounds of the past week (or four):

HIGH: The Harper government showing its committment to its citizens, and re-investing value into that document called a passport (in addition to the international law banning torture), by compensentatin Maher Arar and formally apologizing for Canada's involvement in his illegal rendition and abuse at the hands of both the Americans and the Syrians.

LOW: The US government refusing to recognize the credibility of the commission, which exonerated Arar, and deciding to maintain his placement on their "terror" watch list (and further having the gall to suggest, via the American ambassador to Canada, that we should mind our own business when it comes to how the US decides who's in or out of the "terror clique").

DEMO: Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vermont), the new Senate Judiciary Committee chairman, tearing a strip off of US Attorney General, Alberto "C'mon, Torture Isn't That Bad" Gonzales, for the Bush administration's handling of the case, and its refusal to recognize the legitimacy of Canada's justice system. The power of Senator Leahy's words cannot be taken lightly, or discounted, or shrugged off. They are indicative of the state of the US of Amnesia; the "beacon of human rights" is dimming quickly...



HIGH: A new music bonanza - discs just out, or upcoming, from a ton of incredible indie bands, including Of Montreal, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Beirut, Deerhoof, and, hell's yeah, the new one from Bloc Party.

LOW: The state of "Music" Television, aka MTV, aka "We Employ 10,000 People to Shoot Shitty Reality TV Shows, Play 1 Music Video a Week, and Host an Awards Show Lamer than the MMVA's". In all honesty, after having watched 48 hrs of MTV, I had to lance my brain and drain the fluid that had collected as a result of watching the same episodes of "Real World Denver," "Twenty-Four-Seven," and "Made," at least 32 times in a row. The whining, the complaining, screaming, and the overall loser-ness of the whole scene - it was as if I was in a visual meth trance, or watching prime time war crimes of my generation's soul death. I'm telling you, I could make millions off of Crotch Kicker Incorporated... all I would have to do would be a) get some damn good insurance, and b) get the location schedules for these shows, and c) show up with some solid-ass steel-toed boots.



(NOTE: If you're feeling low about your life, the state of world affairs, or you've just got the runs from a bad McFlurry, watch this piece in full. I thought the actual show was bad, and bad as in appendicitis bad. No... this is much, much worse. "Partying" in Toledo, riding in an 80's limo, pretending to be important, getting your picture taken with braces-wearing tweens back from 4H Club in the local strip mall, and wondering if you'll get a part in that Jamie Kennedy "film" you read for... hell isn't nearly as hot...)

DEMO: The Smashing Pumpkins reunion tour ANNOUNCED!!! Sicksicksicksicksick... a taste of what's to come... back...



HIGH: Nelson Mandela speaking on Monday of the need for the world to return to the philosophy of non-violence of Mahatma Gandhi, especially in a time when so much of the globe is aflame.

LOW: Failing to turn on his Whisper 2000, Dubya warns Iran to stay out of Iraq's business, and threatens the aspiring nuclear power with a "firm response" if they don't heed his words of idiocy. These remarks follow his earlier State of the Union threats, his suggestions that Iran has been funneling weapons into Iraq (without any evidence to support such claims whatsoever), and his ramblings that Madman Ahmadinejad would soon have a nuclear weapon, even though US intelligence estimates that Iran's nuclear capabilities would not be substantial for another 10 years.

DEMO: Bush wanting another war, despite overwhelming opposition, becuase he's the "decider." In all seriousness, things couldn't be more serious. If we thought lessons were learned from Iraq, the only one's to sink in were those involving the use of tactical nuclear weapons and giving a bigger war role to the Navy.


This has to stop...

The Magnifying Glass is Burning

Source: www.crimelibrary.com

The rain keeps raining on a day when two men, on either side of this dinasaur-hopping continent, are making news like a Lohan appendectomy or a Britney crotch-shot (as an aside, isn't it refreshing to have tales of horror and presidential ineptitude to steer the mind away from Hollywood gossip sites and paparazzi porn?).

The conversations, like shotgun blasts, have been pumped out non-stop the past 48 hrs. The pig farmer's trial opens with the Crown prosecutor invoking scenes reminiscent of a little known horror film called "Motel Hell"... prostitutes drugged, murdered, and cut into pieces across his farm... heads saved in garbage pails, with the hands and feet of some of the victims inserted like they were piggy banks for a rainy day... public health warnings to local residents, warning of the possibility that human remains may have been mixed into lovely party platters tasted by the hundreds who had frequented the farmer's rural/baby boomer/redneck raves. The millions spent on the forensic investigation, the police plant in the farmer's cell, the boasting of other murders, the botched investigation, the chorus now signs on... and we see/read/hear/salivate over it all. Our altar is the flashbulb.


Lonely mountain ranges and silent plains away, another man with a straight face asks a country to continue sending their best and brightest off to their own "Motel Hell," another pig farm of body parts. Surrounded by a victorious Democrat-controlled Congress, the claps can still be heard, drowning out the meat grinder of IED's blowing up new recruits who still don't, or won't, have the necessary body armour. They'd do better with a shield of sand and Rumsfeld zen. Ah, but those were the good old days, when the lies could be lied, and everyone listened, and nodded yes, and pretended levees couldn't break, and thought Tom Cruise was fun to watch jumping on sofas (oh, you silly Tom Cruise), and mass media congregated for annual sermons in the Rose Garden, and the fucking on beds of money and oil and illegal aliens and bankrupt retirees never felt so good.

And yet, there were still claps. And yet, he still won't listen to 70% of his country. And yet, we have the lessons of Iraq and the bloodlust to test out those oh so cool trinkets called tactical nuclear weapons is being fed and swallowed because it tastes better than Subway's toasted sandwiches.

It all comes back to the two men, and what we want to hear and read and see and feel. No wait, more importantly, it all comes back to what we want to do with what we hear and read and see and feel. We need the news of the pig farmer, and his alleged passion for dead flesh. We need the news of the other man, and his trouble with words, and his longing for the End of Days. We need it all on the table, because the alternative is no table all, a single boom mike, and a starved rat, caged and strapped to your face. It's what you do. It's what you do.


The rain keeps raining, but somehow the magnifying glass is burning.

Ode to a Squared Circle Goliath

Rest in peace, Bam Bam, rest in peace.

9/11 bin Laden's work? Ha!

(Hat tip to Crooks and Liars)

The best evidence yet that the War on Drugs is an abject failure in the US: Pund-idiots like this paint-chip-eater arguing, without a single ounce of irony or wit, that September 11th was entirely the fault of, um, liberals... ok, liberals and 98 Degrees, but mostly liberals.


The Colbert Report at its "fake news better than real news truthiness" best. Enjoy... and heads up for the maggots at the next gay wedding you attend. You couldn't make this stuff up, unless of course, you were on mescaline... or a fan of Anne Coulter.

And the rockets' red glare...

EXT. DAY

Two boys, JIMMY and TOMMY, are shooting the shit on their way home from a gem of a day at school. Both carry their country's flag, red and white vertical stripes, with a single blue star in the middle resembling the face of a former president.

JIMMY: Wow, that was a killer assembly! I mean, four hours never went by so quickly!

TOMMY: You're tellin' me, blood. And my arm didn't even get sore from all the flag waving. I'm definitely a little hoarse from the singing, though (TOMMY laughs and coughs a bit).

JIMMY: Yeah, me too. But it was worth it! I mean, heck, we're only a year away from being eligible to take the oath. Honestly, and don't tell my parents, but I've already filled out my forms to head out for Reframing Training. I can only pray I hear from the Microphone and they send me out East to fight the mud left over in New York.

TOMMY: I can't believe they even call themselves Americans!

JIMMY: Well, they know what's coming. God told us, and now we're gonna tell them, with a double-tap, ha!

TOMMY: We should have opened Gitmo's all over Cuba after Castro died. Hey, did you hear about Brian's dad? I never would have thought.

JIMMY: I know, I saw the black vans last week. But, like, you saw all that new stuff Brian was bringing to practice and school. His dad must have been making money out East, or maybe even in the "clean-up" of Iran. I mean, they're not even going to build malls over there on top of that mess.

TOMMY (kicking a stone): Yup, he was into some bad stuff. Like the Mic says, "Make money, but make it for the right reasons." You could tell he was on the wrong side - and well, the Mic knew.

JIMMY: Exactly - hey, you in for practice tonight?

TOMMY: Naw, I'm having dinner with my fam, then watching the new torture tape from that base in California. I think it's on Fox at 9. You should come over! We're doing up sundae night!

JIMMY: Cool! I'll see if I can convince my parents that I'll read to the Mic before bed. Hey, who's on tonight?

TOMMY: I think it's a few of those clowns from, what was it called, the ACLT? No, U... that's right.

(The boys realize they've arrived at their street. They begin to part ways.)

JIMMY: Sounds good, blood! I'll scan you later. Forever, we are!

TOMMY: Back at ya, blood! Forever, we are!

FADE OUT

Rice-a-Roni

Source: AFP

So far, the best headline of 2007:

"Olmert, Rice, and Abbas to Hold 3-Way Summit"

Gist of the Lists

A few days late, a wallet-full of bucks short, but at least I say and do. You've all likely read Best Of 2006 lists from Ebert, Rolling Stone, and blahblahblah commercial losers while you were sucking the bone marrow out of the last turkey drum stick. Well, time to go beyond the magazine rack at the local "Eee-gah" (that's "IGA" for all you townies who think the "East Coast" equals the shores of T-Not) and get into some real lists, of all the greats you missed, and even the pieces of shit you hoped no one saw you leave behind on the sidewalk after taking out your Labradoodle.

MOVIES

David Denby over at the New Yorker puts together a interesting best of list that combos his fave flicks of last year (e.g., "The Last King of Scotland" with "Blood Diamond"). I have to agree with many of his choices, save for the fact that "Children of Men" is missing (but arguably, due to its staggered release, the Clive Owen sci-fi fest might be an '07 pick).

A shorter, but more interesting overview comes from Kevin Biggers at Filmstew.com. While at first glance, it looks like Biggers is set to slam Scarlett Johansson harder than JT in his new music video (3 movies this year and all came nowhere near the acting calibre she showed off in "Lost in Translation" or "Ghostworld"), he gets into a pretty quirky review of the obscure "best of" in acting, directing, and films in general. His reasoning behind including "Brick" in his top 5 is priceless and needs no further ranting from this Peter Griffin impersonator.

MUSIC

One need look no further than Pitchfork's, um, needle in a haystack (wow, that was an awesome pun) best of 2006 list. If you know more than 15% of the bands listed, you're a) the lead reviewer at Pitchfork, b) a serious speedfreak with cable Internet and a bit torrent program, or c) a dot com millionaire owner of 20 different indie record labels. Don't be afraid - bands like Mastadon can be your friend...

... what else has best of lists?! Books?! TV?! Yeah, I could go there... but this is way funnier:

THE BEST COMPUTER APPLICATIONS OF 2006

I couldn't resist. Check out the, um, Lifehacker blog for a rundown of last year's geek orgy when it came (another pun - awesome) to fondling the latest tech software... by the way, I got halfway through the review of "Google Reader" and had to blind myself with half a bottle of Aquavit just to bring me back to reality. Funniest part of the blog: Geek critics slamming the writer for not including Firefox 2.0 in the list.

Maybe I should have rundown the top 10 adult videos of 2006 instead... oh wait, the awards aren't handed out until next week... seriously.

Leave it to beaver...

Late night posts are usually full of random drunken discoveries lodged in the middle of a dance floor, promises to get former presidential candiates to help you kick your coke habit and taser your career-killing abilities, and pre-unconscious tales of your shaolin-chain-smoking building manager warning you to watch your shit because a shady female... GHOST has been floating through your apartment door for the past couple of months (more on that in a future post).

And I say, "Eff that." You know what you want... you've had enough dick. Time for some box. Enjoy.


Belated "best of" 2006 lists reviewed tomorrow... stay awake until then and learn how to make meth to keep you busy.

Puzzles and Mysteries

Sure, I could waste everyone's time taking potshots at Rona Ambrose and her unceremonious demotion from the Ministry of the Environment (but then, it would be much funnier to point out that her continued lack of understanding of the effects of global warming can clearly be seen in the picture above as she dresses a 3-year-old in more clothing than Mr. Dress-Up after a foray into the Tickle Trunk. I mean c'mon: That kid looks "I need Depends" scared... and she's already sweating!)

Or, I could rant and rail that despite the Democrats take-over of Congress earlier on Thursday, Herr Dubya continues the goose-steppin' to a police state south of the border.

Better yet, I could link you up with Lindsay Lohan looking aych-double-ay-tee "haat" and (incredibly) un-coked out for a GQ photoshoot (of course, as of today, she's now back in hospital, with "appendicitis.").

But no, I'd rather point you all in the direction of one of the most well-written and interesting pieces of analysis I've read in the past few years. What was Enron all about? Was it a cover-up? Hell no. If anything, the public had too much information about all the free-basing accounting techniques Skilling et al. were up to prior to the Goliath's collapse. That said, take a look at this week's New Yorker. Really, Enron was all about puzzles and mysteries, just like Nazi propaganda, cloak and dagger during the Cold War, and deep throating Watergate.

Check out Malcolm Gladwell's piece. You'll get it... and without a pipe, I promise.

Holiday Hiatus Comes to an End...

Source: National Archives of 18 Reed Street

Surprisingly, it wasn't the late night sleepovers beside the cold steel of a Keith's keg that kept Fatty McGee away from the posts. No, the holiday hiatus can only be attributed to cannon shots from a Garrison, drunken wordplay involving "habus," freaking family members out with Aristotelian rants on the soul and leading them to believe I practice Wicca, and causing Steve-O puke-laugh-fests with incessant impersonations of "Dick in a Box" (Step 2: Put your junk in that baaaaxxx!).

That said, there have been a few lessons learned and notes taken while crossing this Great White North twice in two weeks. Let's begin with Cow-Town, the land of ten gallon stetsons and dirty needle drop-off programs... at the airport.

1. I thought I'd be frowned upon on my way home to ask for a cold one at 0930 hrs while I slammed back a farmer's breakfast and looked out at the Rockies bearing down on the plains outside the city like a perfect storm wave. But this is oil/cowboy/I make $25/hour serving Tim Horton's coffee-land. No sooner had I chugged back the neck of a Pilsner had the entire family next to my booth ordered a round of Buds, with tar sands chasers. The eight-year-old could have stared down a family of rabid cougars and blinded them all with spits from his mouth full of chewing tobacco. I raised a toast to them all and said I'd see them at the Stampede in June. They challenged me to a hog-tie and I quickly settled my bill.

2. Surprisingly, the Calgary airport and those who frequent it have a severe drug problem. So severe that when I went to use the washroom (and this was a handicap washroom - I ain't messin' around in some 10x10 ft Guantanamo cell while I get my shit done), I discovered after washing my hands that instead of a towel dispenser next to the sink, I almost lodged my hand inside a dirty needle drop-off site. I thought it was only a forward thinking public health initiative, until I walked to my gate and saw numerous dentist offices in the airport, offering 2-for-1 check-ups for meth addicts. I began to long for the cougar-stare-down-kids as I got onto my plane.

3. On my way back West, I thought of all my New Year's resolutions, how quickly I had chosen to delay 3/4's of them until 2011, but then realized that I had to put my best foot forward when it came to meeting new people: Step up and start the conversation... especially with those homo sapiens wearing blond pony tails, carrying bags worth more than me, and vacancy showing on the fourth finger, left hand.

Which is just what I did on my flight back today. Finally, the scan of the airline, chalk full of flu-vessel grandmothers and leather jacket-wearing bushmen from Yellowknife, left me realizing that I was actually going to get to sit beside someone fairly, um, hot. I sat down, and started with the "disinterested" vibe. Read my book, look out the other side window, read my magazine, yawn a bit, glance briefly at my co-passenger's nervous playing of her jewelry and top button on her shirt, yawn some more, and pretend to close my eyes.

But then, I realized I had to throw out the "Nice guy" intro. "Been traveling a lot today?" I asked. And just like that, it was convo time for the entire flight. Chats about planned trips to Europe. Family time over the holidays. Getting drunk and laughing at people bringing their babies to New Year's parties. It was a solid side-by-side get-to-know.

And then... the Question: "So, are you working now, or finishing school?"

"Yeah, I'm just finishing school. I'm going to start up a hospitality management course next September."

"Fantastic," I say. "Where are you finishing your BBA before you get into that program?"

"Oh," she said. "I meant I'm just finishing HIGH SCHOOL. And I'm so psyched for Grad."

Thankfully, there were no Morality Police or Air Marshals sitting next to me, seeing as how I had to continue the conversation by pulling out the recipe cards in my memory of how lame "dry grad" can be, what Prom Queen really means to an 18 year old girl, and how hard it is to get a really good fake ID. I kept on truckin', though, and ended the flight not knowing if my new friend had any clue that on a very bizarre Oprah, or an everyday Maury Povitch, I could have been her dad.

Double-oh-seven is off to a great start... Bond would be proud... Wonder if the junior high needs any new coaches this year?