Punk Show of the Day #2

Is he half man, half snake? Is he punk as fuck? He is gonna rise above.

Punk Show of the Day

Do What You Want, 1991. One minute of late 80s SoCal punk genius. This is strong evidence that lead singer Greg Graffin is the hardest rocking member of UCLA's life sciences faculty.

A Sad Case of Peaking Early

As you may recall, I selected a Hacking Mass team: the Tobias Funke All-Stars. It was one of the 1,052 teams entered in the competition this year.

As of today, my team is fourth.



Sadly, this is probably the high-water mark as sore-armed batting-practice server and Hacking Mass superstar Matt Morris has been released by the Pirates, who sadly understood sunk costs well enough to realize those $10M weren't coming back.

It will be a long drop to the middle of the pack now.

Behold The Man With The Three-Point Plan

President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho.

I remembered this morning. Damn you boozerooni!

Biscuits fill me up ... with hatred and sadness

I signed up with one of those marketing survey services that collect data for corporations, spurred by the promise of entry into a $5,000 draw and the need to have even more reasons for procrastination.

Anyway, today I was asked what I thought about this ad:



And then I was asked to rate my feelings.



And I have to wonder: what response are they hoping for? And what will the final ads look like?

"Dammit, it's not repellent enough. And no-one's feeling guilty! I guess it's back to the drawing board ..."

It Beats Pickin' Cotton or Waitin' to Be Forgotten

In honor of the release of the first four remastered albums from America's Favorite Slacker Band here is a quick review of the first ten randomly selected Replacements songs to come up in my iPod. Yes, I'm stealing this from the recurring Random Rules feature in the AV Club.

Election Day
We start with an outtake from the Nothing for All leftover track disc. It's a pretty good mid-tempo song with completely apolitical ("I don't care who gets elected") lyrics.

Nobody
From their last album, the exceedingly depressing All Shook Down, this is a none-too-cheerful description of an ill-considered wedding.

Kiss Me On The Bus
This suitable-for-Earth-Day ode to making out in public transportation boasts a cheerful melody and awesome couplets like "your tongue, your transfer/your hand, your answer." From Tim, quite likely the peak of the group.

Something to Dü
"Half-priced drugs/stolen guitars/What else is new?" That neatly summarizes the vibe of Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out The Trash their first album, which answers the question of how would an '80s US hardcore band sound like if fronted by a decent imitation of a late '60s Rod Stewart? Better than you would think is the answer.

No More The Moon Shines On Loreena
This is a fairly competent (given the context) live rendition of an old Carter Family tune, from what may be the funniest live album ever, When The Shit Hits The Fans. The album captures the band playing a half-empty bar in Oklahoma while completely pissed. It's forty-five minutes of half-finished covers, obscure originals and futile attempts at tuning up.

Kick Your Door Down
A loud, stupid, bratty, punkish tune from Sorry Ma. They don't all have clever lyrics.

Date to Church
Perhaps because they couldn't sound drunk enough on their own, they recruited Tom Waits to sing along on this outtake from Nothing for All. This is a nice gospel-like number that could fit in a Lyle Lovett disc.

Can't Hardly Wait
There are several versions of this song. This one is the hard-rocking one from Nothing for All, not to be confused with the more R&B version with horns and full stops featured in Pleased to Meet Me or the never-released solo-acoustic version recorded in an elevator shaft. All are great in their own way, basically because you can't screw up lines like "Jesus rides besides me/he never buys any smokes."

I Will Dare
From Let it Be, this may be close to the perfect poorly-recorded pop-rock song. "Fingernails and a cigarette's a lousy dinner" captures the slackeriffic motif, while the jangly guitars and sing-along chorus are pure joy. To add the cherry on top, REM's Peter Buck delivers a sloppy mandolin solo. One of their best.

Skyway
A gorgeous acoustic ballad from Pleased to Meet Me with an O. Henry twist ending. It's difficult reconciling that they could play lovely music like this while at the same time prompting the studio owner to ask their producer "how did they get the vomit on the ceiling?"

Bad Walken Impressions

This SNL skit of pretty much everybody in the cast doing really crappy Walken impressions is especially entertaining in that Walken himself is doing a bad Walken impression.

They really could have used Kevin Spacey.

Search o' the day

"Twenty bucks, same as in town"

Scientifc Proof of the Colbert Bump

Finally, somebody's doing worthwhile research. This has to be the easiest way to get yourself invited to the show, other than naming your junior hockey mascot Steagle Colbeagle.

The Hollowed Femur Bone of the Overpopulating Howler Monkey

Flak Radio brings us perhaps the best artist bio ever. A sample:

By the time he was eleven R Nicholas had become deputy chief of his tribe and was the most skilled poison dart maker in the region. At the height of his poison dart making career, just a single dart made by R Nicholas could be traded for the entire decapitated body of a mature female boar

And the Oscar® for best cameo goes to

The five greatest. cameos. evar:

5. Godot in Waiting for Godot
4. Christopher Walken in True Romance
3. Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross
2. Martin Scorcese in Taxi Driver
1. Christopher Walken in Pulp Fiction

Runners up: Marshall McLuhan in Annie Hall, Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now (heh).

Gleaning Obama's Thoughts on The Hills

Apparently, Bill Simmons tried to get an interview with Barack Obama on his podcast, but ESPN refused. As SOSHer Jose Melendez notes, we'll now be deprived of learning Obama's views on bad MTV programming.

I can't tell if this would have been kind of interesting to hear because presumably Obama can carry a conversation about whatever or horrendous because Bill Simmons is a lightweight who doesn't really understand anything other than the NBA and crappy reality shows. For proof of the latter view, read this train wreck.

Best. Bar. Ever.

Barbara Lynch's review of a hot-dog dive-slash-hidden-bar in NYC:

P.D.T/Crif Dogs 113 St. Mark’s Place
On a side street populated by restaurants hawking hummus and falafel, there was no sign of the bar P.D.T (Please Don’t Tell) ... The entrance is located inside Crif Dogs, a hot dog joint that takes gilding the lily to a new level. We walked inside, stepped into the red phone booth, picked up the phone and spoke with a woman who promptly opened a door which revealed the hidden bar on the other side. Perhaps a bit theatrical but definitely a fun way to begin the cocktail experience—it certainly channels a prohibition-era mood. In contrast to the bright fluorescent lighting of Crif Dogs, P.D.T is a dimly-lit narrow room with a low ceiling, dark brown leather banquettes in the front half of the room and a bar that seats about 15 in the back half.

We met friends and ordered cocktails: a dark and stormy, a cranberry cobbler, and two vespers. Despite having just finished dinner, we had to try the dogs from next door and were not disappointed. Our server brought us a sampling that included “Chang” in honor of Chef David Chang (a bacon-wrapped dog crowned with kimchi) and our favorite: a hot dog wrapped in bacon, deep fried and served in a bun with cream cheese and everything bagel seasoning—so beyond gluttony but so good. Abnormally delicious tater tots plus waffle fries and a side of cheese whiz rounded out the bar snacks. All washed down with very well-made cocktails.

I'm just sayin' ...

GTTFD with Henry Rollins

The odds are he’d scream at you first, then slam your head in the wall for being a pussy, and then release the whole thing as a spoken word CD.

Indeed, very easy to find.

Anyone for Spunkball?

The Guardian, always happy to fill web space with lists, has come up with 15 fictional sports that we could (or should, or then again shouldn't) expect to see on ESPN at some future time.

This thirst for sports novelty pervades the zeitgeist; which is why every single comedian in Christendom is currently doing gags about how the global game of put-out-the-Olympic-flame (aka pigs vs hippies) is a new sport just screaming to be born. And they're right. With its multiple teams - running cops, rollerblading cops, the 6ft 3in-plus phalanx of paramilitary Chinese thug cops, bemused past-their-sell-by-date athletes, "the-torch-ceremony-was-invented-by-Hitler" factoid-spewing sports hacks, and the hand-knitted woollen flag-waving, mung-bean curry-munching Western Buddhist demonstrators - it makes American football look safe, sane and uncomplicated (especially with the totally awesome introduction in Paris of a new team of cops on jet-skis).

And before you ask, yes, Rollerball is on the list.

Some monkeys shouldn't be allowed out in polite society

Missing from my public review of the Dr Katz show at the Somerville Theater is my rant about the jerkhole who was sitting behind us. When we got home, I fired off a missive on Craigslist, more as catharsis than because I expected him to see the error of his ways:

Dr. Katz show: loud moron in second row (Somerville Theater)
Not sure if this is you? Here are some more clues:

You and your girl turned up after the show had started, and took your seats in C2 and C3.

The fact that there were people on stage, performing, did not deter you from continuing your conversation audibly, as though you were at home watching TV.

You became quite excited when Matt Siegel came onstage; this was, in fact, the only time you spoke in a whisper, gasping "Holy shit! It's really Matt Siegel!" in a hushed, reverent tone.

What really excited you, however, was the presence of the guy sitting next to you. Apparently, he was in the wrong seat. We know this because you wouldn't shut up about it.

Your girlfriend got up at some point (possibly to go to the restroom; possibly to gain respite from your ape-like behavior). When she came back, you fussed because C1 guy didn't stand up for her. Your knowledge of basic manners in this instance is surprising, given the extent to which you lacked awareness of them for the rest of the evening.

You continued fussing (loudly enough that people sitting on the other side of the theater wondered what was going on) until an usher came over and told you to shut up.

Here's a tip, slick: next time you go to a theater, take a moment to look around. See all the other people? They bought seats, too. They didn't pay to listen to you whine. And however much your night was spoiled by one guy's behavior, rest assured you spread the virus much, much further.

But hey, I'm sure your girl was reaaaally impressed.

The Tobias Funke All Stars

Once again, I signed up for HACKING MASS 2008, the Baseball Prospectus fantasy game that requires you to select a team of players that will perform poorly, yet continue to get the opportunity to do so. A good team will be littered with faded stars, bad contracts, alleged defensive wizards, players in ballparks unsuited for their skills and San Francisco Giants. The deadline for sign up is midnight Pacific tonight, just in case anyone is interested.

Anyway, here are the TFAS:

C Paul LoDuca (sans steroids supposedly)
1B Rich Aurilia (an aging shortstop playing first, Giant)
2B Juan Uribe (of the crap-hitting Uribes)
SS Tony Pena, Jr. (like father, like son)
3B Jose Castillo (former Pirate, now Giant, that says it all)
LF Eric Byrnes (ill-considered long-term contract)
CF Joey Gathright (in his defense)
RF Brad Wilkerson (after much debate, it's official: he sucks)
SP Matt Morris (ill-advised contract, Pirate)
SP Steve Traschel (walks more than he strikes out, Oriole)

Your Very Own Chinese Democracy

The other day I told a co-worker "really, aren't we all working on a version of Chinese Democracy?" This totally bummed him out, because just like the War on Drugs, the Trix Rabbit, Wile E. Coyote, the Cubs and the Iraq War, I was implying that we are each involved in a never-to-be-fulfilled quest that cannot be abandoned. Work in general is like that. I mean, why else would they keep handing you money in exchange for it?

Well, maybe I shouldn't be so gloomy. I guess we could have our very own 2004 World Series too.

By the way, a Mortimer dollar says the album is not released in 2008. Any takers?

"Something caught my toe"

The Yankees/Indians game with all the bugs? Now we know what really happened.

Scariest. Carnival. Ever.

You know what the problem is in this country? No-one takes risks any more. Your coffee cup reminds you that the contents are hot; your bag of peanuts warns you that it may contain peanuts, your toilet brush tells you not to use it orally. We've become too safe for our own good.

It's certainly true of amusement parks, where every ride requires an assessment of height, weight, fertility and predisposition to myocardial infarction before boarding.

Wouldn't it be great if we could be more like our friends south of the border? When they want to have a good time, they don't worry about warning signs and safety mechanisms. They know how to put the "fun" back in "funfair".

Worse Than Gigli

Upon the release of the Paris Hilton crapfest The Hottie and the Nottie famed hatchet man Joe Queenan takes on the discussion of the worst movie of all time. You pretty much have to agree with his conclusion, but really it's the debate leading up to it that makes it worth reading. It's sentences like this: "Madonna's Swept Away ... seems more amateurish on each viewing, like a morass that starts out as a quagmire, then morphs into a cesspool and finally turns into a slime pit on the road to its ultimate destination in the bowels of Hell."

As an aside, I have to disagree with Queenan on one point. LimeyG and I can report having watched La Grande Bouffe and found it to be pretty interesting in a decadent 70s European sort of way. It's really not on a par with Sextette or anything.

Visiting the Soylent Green Factory

I think with Charlton Heston's timely demise we can assume he takes the final spot in the Oscar's death montage away from previous occupant Heath Ledger. To keep up with other possible candidates, there's always IMDB's handy deaths in 2008 list.

Baseball Movie All-Stars

In more silly list news, EW checks in with its ten baseball movie all-stars. To save you the ten clicks, here's their lineup:

P Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn (Major League)
3B Buck Weaver (Eight Men Out)
2B Jackie Robinson (The Jackie Robinson Story)
RF Jimmie Piersall (Fear Strikes Out)
P Amanda Wuhrlitzer (Bad News Bears)
RF Roy Hobbs (The Natural)
LF Shoeless Joe Jackson (Field of Dreams)
1B Lou Gehrig (Pride of the Yankees)
C Dottie Hinson (A League of Their Own)
C Crash Davis and P Nuke LaLoosh (Bull Durham)

Besides the obvious issues like the lack of a shortstop or centerfielder and that two of them throw like girls (Anthony Perkins and Tim Robbins I'm looking in your direction) this isn't even close to the greatest baseball movie team you could assemble. I'm not even talking obvious ones like adding Babe Ruth or Reggie Jackson. I'm thinking the best movie lineup you could possibly assemble would look something like this:

C Bugs Bunny
LF Bugs Bunny
RF Bugs Bunny
P Bugs Bunny
3B Bugs Bunny
CF Bugs Bunny
1B Bugs Bunny
SS Bugs Bunny
2B Bugs Bunny

(Note that you would presumably replace P Bugs Bunny with DH Bugs Bunny in an American League game. While obviously P Bugs Bunny is a fantastic hitter, substituting the equally fantastic DH Bugs Bunny would free P Bugs Bunny to just paste pathetic palookas with his powerful, paralyzing, perfect, pachydermous percussion pitch.)

If you don't believe me, please check out Derek Zumsteg's ultimate word on the subject: Bugs Bunny, Greatest Banned Player Ever. It's baseball analysis at its finest.

"And ... *that* happens."

This is the video we mentioned last night: musician John Mayer adding his own commentary to the Red Sox-Oakland game in Tokyo.

Iconic photos, Lego-style

I thought the Lego versions of contemporary art (and artists) were pretty good.

I thought the Brick Testament was pretty impressive.

And then I found these recreations of iconic photos. Construction workers on a girder above 1930s Manhattan? Check. Sailor kissing girl on VJ Day? Check.

Viet Cong prisoner getting shot in the head?

In Lego?

Checkity-check.

Gym Man

We see you. Don't worry, we all see you. You in the gym, the cock of the walk, strutting around with your high-n-tight buzz cut, rockin that iPod, sporting your Under Armour® HeatGear® Tactical Compression shirt. Look how it squeeeeeezes that already ripped torso into a platonic-ideal inverted triangle, and sculpts your tiny tiny gut into a seventh ab! Hoo-ya! Strap on that big leather dip belt and chain up what, another twenty pounds on your pull-up? Balls! But what's this—only six reps? Of course, of course, this is your third set, you're working. it. to. failure, man. Work it heavy.

And take another big swig from your Gallon Hood Milk Jug. The Man needs his agua! You show those pint Dasani and Poland Springs sipping pussies! Those twice-a-week bitches can't even fuckin LIFT that jug. Drink it like the Under Armour® chiseled iron giant fucking triangle man that you are.

Oooh, Chimpanzee That!

Ricky Gervais has started a blog whose sole purpose is to get Karl "Head Like A Fucking Orange" Pilkington to get off his arse and do more podcasts. It may not be working, but it is pretty funny.

Howditgetburned!!!

Two weekends ago we drank a bit too much during our Easter lunch and decided, hey let's watch that craptabulous Wicker Man remake that the Flak Radio guys assured us was hilarious. Directed by Neil LaBute, the homeless man's David Mamet, and starring Nic Cage in full-on "I want to be my generation's Shatner" mode, the movie is certainly terrible. As expected, it had absolutely nothing to do with the original, which at least had the decency to feature gratuitous nudity. Unfortunately it wasn't insane enough or hammy enough. Mostly it was just dull. Even worse the version we saw On Demand was missing the key "ARRRGH!!! THE BEES!!!" scene that sold us on the movie in the first place.

What we should have done is watch the two-minute version. This covers every interesting scene in the movie. The bee helmet scene is definitely worth the two minute investment.