“Godard is counterfeit money. Rouch is rock solid.”

Dictated by staunch opinions and unpredictable whimsy, Herzog’s unique taste in media is uncanny for its specificity. He boasts of a longstanding affinity for “The Anna Nicole Show” and its late star. “Years ago, when everybody dismissed it as vulgar and cheap, I kept saying, ‘Watch it closely. This is big. This is important,’” he says. “It depicted something in our civilization that is very important. Now that she has died, all of a sudden it dawns on everyone how important this phenomenon has been. I wish I could’ve made a film with Anna Nicole Smith.” - from this article on the Werner Herzog documentary retrospective at the Film Forum in NY

Don't worry, Deuce Bigalow is well-repped too.

I just discovered Nostalgia Party No. 2, a livejournal community that posts film stills. Lots of 'em. These may serve as highly effective rental suggestions, or maybe just reminders of what you liked about a particular film. Or in some cases, maybe the only thing you liked. Here's a bunch I selected that should give you the idea... you'll just have to be a slave to my taste and click on them:

01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Speaking of movies, I was recently flabbergasted (as opposed to merely flummoxed) after reading this quote from Universal exec Cathy Schulman that ran in Variety a couple of weeks ago:

A highlight of the Mandalay Pictures’ slate at Universal is the remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” scheduled to be in production by early fall.

“We think we have a very contemporary take,” Schulman said. “In the original, the birds just showed up, and it was kind of like, why are the birds here? This time, there’s a reason why they’re here and (people) have had something to do with it. There’s an environmental slant to what could create nature fighting back.”

I've gotta say, I can't fault their logic here. I can't tell you how long that lack of explanation bothered me... and the reason why I can't tell you is because it never did. Because I can actually, y'know, grasp the point of things. Wait 'til their next remake when they reveal the REAL reason James Stewart had Vertigo: he was stressed out about Colony Collapse Disorder.

Oh, and just who's directing the Birds remake? None other than Michael "I want Armageddon in the Criterion Collection" Bay. Forget explaining the birds' motivation, I'm still waiting for him to explain why he had Ben Affleck incorporate animal crackers into a love scene.

Someone's been tampering with Hank's Memories...

Before The Office, before Curb Your Enthusiasm, before Alan Partridge, before, uh... the upcoming Geico caveman sitcom (?), there was The Larry Sanders Show, Garry Shandling's acidic, impeccably acted talk show satire that revitalized HBO's original programming and set a new standard for edgy tv comedy. Or at least that's what I remember reading and hearing secondhand during my HBO-less teenage years, when I could only dream of one day being a big shot w/ premium cable, just like Biggie Smalls in "Juicy," (and if you don't know, now ya know... fella). I've caught up with the show in bits and pieces since then, mostly through edited, syndicated reruns; I recall a long stretch a few years ago where I was staying up til 2:30 to watch it, nurturing a Wallace Langham-like bitterness while my clueless fellow collegians were out drinking and having fun. Poor clods.

Unfortunately, the show hasn't thrived on dvd either. The first season - released before either the tv-on-dvd market or popularity of the name "Larry" took off - didn't sell well, precluding the release of subsequent volumes until now. The new (Not Just the) Best of the Larry Sanders Show collects 23 uniformly great episodes in peculiar fashion. It's packaged with a plethora of special features that delve deep into Shandling's weird headspace, as he seeks to catch up and/or make up with many of the show's big name guest stars (emphasis on big name -- maybe Garry isn't as interested in reconnecting with, say, Robert Hays). The result is a series of what Garry calls "intimate, personal conversations" w/ the likes of Alec Baldwin, Sharon Stone, Jerry Seinfeld, Tom Petty, Ellen DeGeneres, David Duchovny, Carol Burnett and Larry's fictional late night rival Jon Stewart (what, no Elvis Costello?). Some of these segments, especially Garry's oddly competitive boxing match with Baldwin and a Botox breakfast with apparent ex-flame Sharon Stone, are awkward and weird enough to make this set recommendable even if you're pissed about the whole seasons remaining in limbo (although the first season has been rereleased and Shandling says the rest are coming eventually).

Among the other highlights:

- Seeing again just how many rising actors and comedians passed through the cast: Stewart, Janeane Garofalo, Bob Odenkirk, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Scott Thompson, Sarah Silverman, Jeremy Piven. Dave Chappelle and Norm MacDonald also make memorable guest appearances.

- The Seinfeld interview demonstrates how shrewd he is, particularly when he and Garry discuss ending their respective shows on top (at least critically, in Garry's case). It also somewhat unflatteringly shows him using a Bluetooth or something to track the progress of a lost jacket.

- Bruno Kirby's final bit of acting, putting in a funny cameo at the end of the "Making of Larry Sanders" doc

- Garofalo admitting her "naturalistic" acting was the result of putting in minimal effort, as she was more focused on stand-up and drinking at the time.

- A completely nerdy argument between Shandling and Judd Apatow (later of Freaks and Geeks and The 40-Year-Old Virgin) over a scrapped joke involving a child on a leash.

But what distinguishes Larry Sanders from its imitators most of all is the high level of acting. The performances by Rip Torn as bulldog producer Artie and Jeffrey Tambor as Larry's talentless, tacky sidekick Hank Kingsley are unparalled. Torn steals plenty of scenes, but Hank is my pick for THE GREATEST TV CHARACTER OF ALL TIME; an angry, self-loathing imbecile trapped in the nightmare of being a poor man's Ed McMahon. Just look at the character's range in the episode "Hank's Night in the Sun," where he fills in for Larry as host and morphs from endearingly nervous schlub to raging asshole literally overnight. Someone on the dvd comments that Tambor basically played the character as Greek tragedy, and by the time of his scary meltdown in the series' amazing final episode Hank has become an epic portrayl of showbiz despair. As far as I'm concerned, you can throw Archie Bunker and his chair out of the Smithsonian and onto the street to make way for Hank Kingsley sitting uncomfortably on the couch.

Ricky Gervais in particular has acknowledged how much his career owes to Larry Sanders. If you haven't seen his faux-awkward interview with Shandling from a couple of years ago, these highlghts were carefully chosen by the YouTube poster to make Gervais look hopelessly outmatched and omit the barbs he gets off in the full version (or at least the portions I actually watched).

Consarn it, get me Avon Barksdale on the horn.

Television Without Pity has recently started recapping The Wire beginning with season one. Considering how badly BET is supposedly chopping up season two in reruns, that site might be your best bet if you don't have HBO and have been too busy watching all your old Airwolf tapes to make the leap to dvd in the last ten years. As you'll immediately notice upon first visit, TWOP uses little cartoon icons next to the title of each show. Some of them are more closely related to the show's actual contents than others. The one they're using for The Wire, however, leaves me a tad mystified:

I get that this humorous, crotchety caricature is "listening in" on someone or something, in keeping with the crack investigative skills of some of (damn you, Herc) the Major Crimes unit, yet I'm struck by how completely he fails to embody anyone on the show. I guess he might vaguely resemble the Greek, but then again I don't recall the Greek hoisting any unwieldy ear horn thingies while conducting his nefarious dealings (that's what flunkies are for). Granted, this antique hearing device does resemble some of the Baltimore PD's moldering surveillance equipment, but even Valchek makes a more sightly specimen than TWOP's cartoon codger. Personally, I might have doodled McNulty and Bunk puking outside an Irish bar, or maybe Stringer Bell scribbling away in a community college business class; or perhaps even Bubbles visiting Space Camp and spilling crack vials while floating in the zero gravity chamber (now that was a Very Special Episode). Now that the damage is done though, I hope David Simon still has time to incorporate this mysterious character into season five; perhaps as Lovable Lou, a quick-tempered, cantankerous ex-colonel who speaks to Prez's math class about the dangers of both improper ear horn insertion and B-more's latest street drugs. Which reminds me, in keeping w/ past topical drug names such as "WMD's", I predict next season's corner kids will be slinging "Global Warnings"* and "Of Montreal Sex Tapes" (that last one's just a hunch).

*with apologies to Philly Boy Roy

UPDATE: I can't believe I actually wrote about this today. Could the topics of this blog be any more pointless? What happened?!?

"Roy Orbison sits impassively like a monochrome Buddha."

WFMU's Bronwyn C alerts the world that some of the greatest stories I've ever read on the internet, Ulli Haarbürste's tales of wrapping Roy Orbison in clingfilm (or plastic wrap, in U.S. parlance), have been compiled and expanded in novel form. You can still read the original stories here, and at the risk of hyperbolizing, if you don't enjoy them at least a little then I don't want to know you. Or if you don't enjoy them and I already know you, then it's too bad I can't undo the circumstances that led to our acquaintance :(

My Big Fat Greek WHAT?!? (cue "surprise" take; cue "BoOoOIiing" sound effect; cue eternal shame)

Last night I forwent my usual, lascivous, Dov Charney-like Friday night plans ("Who are you kidding, hermit boy, you were probably building a model monorail and posting L.A. Law clips on YouTube, as usual." "Shut up. A lot of Larry Drake fans watch those clips.") to attend a gala cinematic event in DC. Earlier that afternoon, whilst browsing the "Weekend Picks" on DCist - as I often do, in case a hot new indie band like Milk Was a Bad Choice or The Willie Aimes Dysphoria are in town - I saw a listing for a free, ultra-obscure, "Greek exploitation" film called Death Kiss playing that evening at the Library of Congress. The description on the theater's website included the following passage:

Gigolo Jim Preston, disenchanted during the anniversary of his marriage to his wealthy, older, alcoholic, shrill of a wife, Ellen, concocts a plan to rid the planet of her presence and enjoy the breadth of her fortune with many a young plaything. In his plight, Jim calls upon his seemingly normal friend Mike to drop the axe. Unbeknownst to Jim, Mike is a heroin-addicted psychopath with hobbies that include kidnaping, rape, addicting others to heroin, storing live people in coffins, etc. and is considering taking up necrophilia.

As I mentioned earlier in my Grindhouse post, it's easy to get burned with these movies that promise almost-surreal levels of outrageousness but either don't deliver or quickly get boring - or are otherwise just plain unwatchable. Maybe Quentin Tarantino has been a worse influence on me than I thought though, as the description sounded so wacky I wondered if the Greeks had anything new to offer the world of sordid, grade-z movies... besides maybe foustanellas. So I decided to hoof it over there after work ("'Hoof it over there?' What are you, a Montana survivalist or something?" "Haven't you done enough damage already, parenthesis?").

There were a couple dozen others in the audience as our gregarious host gave a brief introduction. He confirmed the screening was more or less a fluke, as they happened to have a rare Greek exploitation film (a micro-genre I'm going to offensively and not-so-catchily dub "Unilowbrow") and decided to schedule it for an open date. They had also promised trailers beforehand with titles like Black Samurai and The People Who Owned the Dark, but instead the first thing that appeared on screen was... a 70's porn flick. After what felt like a looong few minutes of graphic on-screen fucking, the host ran into the projectionist booth to shut the thing off, then came back and apologized, saying the wrong film was in the canister. "That was supposed to be a Pasolini trailer," he pleaded. Yeah, right.

So anyway, then it was on to the main course; the souvlaki, if you will. Hey, remember how the description of the movie sounded potentially fun? Well, would you believe it turned out to be... misleading *gasp*? First, this print of the film was actually called The Rape Killer, not Death Kiss. Second, the psychopath wasn't nearly as outrageous as he was made out to be. He was just a sweaty little Polanski lookalike who liked to rape women, slap them in the face OVER and OVER and then strangle them. Whoops! Oh, and the wife wasn't "shrill" or "alcoholic," she was just the usual brainless female victim. The heroin vacuum who played the mistress was a non-entity as well. The audience sporadically laughed at the usual inane dialogue, horrific clothes and implausible plot points (not to mention an undending succession of compact cars), but the rape stuff stopped everybody cold.

So overall it was a disappointing couple of hours, but at least it was free, aside from the metro fare. Plus, now I'll be able to say I watched some hardcore porn at the Library of Congress. I feel just like a Congressional page! For a much classier cinematic antidote, here's a link to a wild, 8-minute car chase from the French* action movie Blazing Magnum.

*EDIT: At first thought it was an Italian movie, I think because some music from this was on that Beretta 70 soundtrack comp. So at first I wrote - get this -"Italian? Now, uh... that's-a spicy meatball." Ha ha ha! Get it? 'Cuz... that old commercial... ("Do you comprehend how much you deserve to die for that?" "...Yes. Yes I do.")

Regret #57,432

I should've read more Vonnegut.

Now I feel like an

The Grindhouse Report (in which I'm too lazy to italicize anything)

I couldn't care less about many of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez's obsessions (e.g. the careers of B-movie veterans like Michael Biehn, Jeff Fahey and Danny Trejo), and until now I've flat-out hated every Rodriguez movie I've seen, with the exception of certain aspects of Sin City (and a case can be made that major credit for that lies elsewhere). However, I found the bulk of Grindhouse to be entertaining anyway, and Planet Terror's (Rodriguez's section) over-the-top, over-the-moon onslaught can probably be appreciated either as genre parody or tribute. Not so with Tarantino's film, Death Proof; I think they released this at Easter because Tarantino inflicts Christ-like suffering on bored audiences waiting for the payoff.

Give Rodriguez credit for making a film that turns his weaknesses (storytelling, trashiness, allegedly breaking up his marriage to bang Rose McGowan) into strengths. There probably wasn't any need for ANOTHER zombie movie, but the combination of McGowan eye candy, "missing reels," ridiculous violence/explosions and Texas freakiness made me laugh out loud probably more than I did at Shaun of the Dead. So if that's what you're looking for, it delivers.

But I wouldn't have bothered w/ Planet Terror at all if it weren't for the Tarantino double feature. I don't know if there's anyone whose movies I have enjoyed, or at least found interesting, against greater odds. About 70% of Death Proof is SO! FUCKING! BORING though! Dear GOD! If you thought listening to David Carradine in Kill Bill was tedious, get ready! Most of this film consists of a bunch of "tough chicks" sitting around bullshitting while we wait for Kurt Russell (good here, especially at the end) to do something. Now I for one would be a happy moviegoer if more films ditched their usual routine plot machinations to focus on fascinating conversations and odd tangents; Plus, making a second film as over the top as Planet Terror would've been just as tedious. But Tarantino seems to be locked in a contest with Kevin Smith to see who can write the most interminable, artificial dialogue imaginable. I found Uma Thurman and Maria de Medeiros engaging to listen to in Pulp Fiction, and I liked Pam Grier in Jackie Brown, but the women in this film don't resemble anyone you or I know (women, I'm... uh, looking at you here). They reek of the seedy confines of Tarantino's head and come solely adorned with his obsessions. Yuck. Plus, there's more of his awkward, allegedly good-natured racial banter on display. In a way Death Proof IS an interesting oddity; it could never stand on its own as a feature release but it contains one well-executed middle sequence; a crazy, extended car chase ending; and one of the best "The End" title cards I've ever seen. None of that redeems the preceeding tedium though.

Finally, the fake trailers at the beginning and "intermission" are easily the highlight of this thing; similar to how the amusing trailers to those old exploitation films are usually more entertaining than the features themselves. Maybe 2-3 minutes is the ideal length for these kinds of films.

Perhaps the creepiest scene in all of "Twin Peaks"

And no, it's not the quaint, charming BOB appearance that immediately follows it. It's this song (or as the YouTube user labeled it: "song"). Watching the new season 2 dvds reminded me of it. I don't know whose voice that's supposed to be, where the other instrumentation is coming from, or what Lara Flynn Boyle is actually thinking when her character has to gaze longingly at über-doofus James Hurley. You know how Boogie Nights permanently recontexualized "You Got the Touch" from the Transformers movie? If someone ever gives me a motion picture green light I'm gonna find a way to re-imagine this.

Song of the Year 2007. It's ovah, Seance!

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists' (great) new album Living With the Living has apparently already locked up album of the year in some quarters and has been on heavy rotation at my palatial estate for the last week or so; but their ridiculously stomping cover of Chumbawumba's "Rappaport's Testament: I Never Gave Up" from the accompanying Mo'Living EP (actually a brief song cycle about some of the lesser known Wayanses*) is what's really rockin' my... uhm... palatial world right now. It's the only song I've listened to obsessively in gods know how long as well as the first one to fill me with some "Eye of the Tiger"-style get-up-and-go since... well, Ted's recent cover of "Rock n Roll Dreams'll Come Through." In fact, I think the only way I'll give up now is if they don't play this song when I see them tomorrow night in DC. For now you can listen to it at the very end of Omar's latest Best Show on WFMU recap.

*Yes, I went for a bad Wayans pun instead of a bad Rappaport pun. I daren't attempt both. I simply daren't.

"See you at the Oscars!"

This post serves as something of a public service (as opposed to the rest, which are more like saintly missives kissed by seraphim), as I think - think - at least a couple of my readers have never read anything by George Saunders, who I'm almost certain they would go unabashedly batty for in no time. Many of Saunders' recent stories initially resemble an expanded, satirical McSweeeny's feature or some other internet-era feat of whimsy, but are eventually fraught with uncommon humanism and Vonnegut-like pathos that distinguishes him above so many other contemporary writers. I just finished his latest short story collection, In Persuasion Nation, and it really clicked with me beyond anything of his I'd previously read, which includes the fantastic Pastoralia and the earlier CivilWarLand in Bad Decline (which I felt at the time suffered from seemingly forced miserableness). In short, Saunders is the funniest writer I know of working today, certainly one of the most clever and original, and if it catches you right his work is also genuinely affecting.

Wait, did I say George Saunders? I meant Tom DeLay w/ Stephen Mansfield. That's a mia-gulpa for yours truly.

One of those all-link posts that I hope ultimately doesn't count

- SOYA has a preview of Showtime's version of This American Life - which I'll check out in whatever decade Comcrap gets around to fixing my cable - with an animated segment by Chris Ware.

- Things every comedy-loving person saw before me part 437: On Fiona's right shoulder, a good angel. On her left, a bad one.

- Said the Gramophone's posted a gorgeous Medicine Head song that I flipped over last winter, which evidently was one of John Peel's faves. I originally heard about it as part of a news story on the suitcase full of singles he carried with him most of the time. I then found it as part of a subsequent flurry of mp3 postings that, like an Andy Goldsworthy piece, was too fragile and beautiful to last.

- Here's another mp3 blog w/an oft-great selection. It's worth checking out just to see how many films you can identify from the still frames.

- "The President should be allowed to fire everyone..."

- "...and senators should be allowed to take all the cheap shots they want without anyone being able to respond."

Oh, and I'm diggin' this hard (and no, I haven't picked up the rest of the stuff in the box set yet):






I'm told that after the early 70's, the Bee Gees briefly emerged from obscurity to appear in some reggaeton-themed, coming-of-age drama with Daddy Yankee, the girl from Puce Moment, and Tom Noonan from Manhunter. Oh, and they apparently rode Rick Dees' coattails by releasing a disco record. However, anyone who likes the Beatles, Beach Boys, Zombies, etc. even a little would do well to check out their remastered, reissued (with bonus tracks that stack up just fine against the non-bonus kind) debut album from '67, which is utterly in the same vein as those groups. Take the weirdly brilliant flourishes of "Every Christian Lion-Hearted Man Will Show You," which proceeds from mock-Gregorian chant into ye olde 60's pop majesty. You know what a Gregorian chant intro would portend these days? Some depressing, 22-minute post-rock instrumental w/ a title that looks like a page from Absalom, Absalom! that's what! To quote Brian Wilson by way of Tom Scharpling, "I just wasn't made for these times."

Which is not to say depressing music doesn't have its proper place. Take El-P's new one, for instance. I've only listened to a couple of tracks so far, but any hip hop album that opens with a Twin Peaks - Fire Walk With Me sample automatically earns five mics and a couple of "garmonbozias" for good measure.

Please God, let there be three more Artie Bucco episodes.

While a Simpsons movie is finally hitting theaters this summer, in perhaps the most flagrant-ever defiance of the "strike while the iron is hot" rule, another dragged-out series is coming to an end as the final episodes of The Sopranos air beginning in April. Recently there was a news story about a shooting permit dust-up between the producers and Bloomfield, NJ. Series creator David Chase wanted to film the alleged final scene in the final episode at Holsten's Ice Cream Parlour but ran into some resistance from stereotype-scarred locals, who were eventually forced to relent and let the filming take place.

The ice cream thing is a fascinating tidbit. If we assume that the final scene of the series really does take place in an ice cream parlour, then I present the following theory on how the ending will play out:

FINAL SCENE:

TONY and AJ enter an ice cream shop. Robert Patrick's compulsive gambler character from season two is manning the counter, but Tony fails to notice. AJ glances up at the menu.

AJ: I want an ice cream cone... and a hamburger... and french fries.... and some fucking ziti (wink to the camera)... and...
TONY (shaking him furiously): YOU'LL GET NOTHING AND LIKE IT!*

Just then, the INDESTRUCTIBLE RUSSIAN MOBSTER who eluded Paulie and Christopher in the "Pine Barrens" episode from season 3, storms into the shop and stares down Tony. We see he is still badly injured but holding clumps of wingtipped hair in his tightly clenched fists, indicating he has already enacted revenge against Paulie off-screen.

TONY: No! It can't be you! We all thought you were dead!

The IRM says something in Russian, but some jackhammer noise outside drowns out his voice, so even if you speak Russian you don't know what he's saying, and it's supposed to always remain ambiguous.

Suddenly, the IRM attacks Tony, first attempting a bear hug w/ no success, then slamming him through a table in a feat of mom-rescuing-trapped-child-like strength. A horrified AJ stands there watching because he is useless. Robert Patrick has fled the scene. The IRM then drags a stunned Tony over to the soft serve machine, where he slowly empties its contents down Tony's throat, choking him to death.

The camera then pans from Tonly's lifeless body over to a tub of ice cream marked BEN & JERRY'S DUCK DUCK GOOSE. We hold this shot and superimpose it over a flashback of Tony frolicking with the ducks in his pool at the beginning of season one.

CUT TO:

A blank, bright white screen, in front of which stands the creepy, silhouetted old woman Tony has previously seen in his dreams. The figure steps slowly forward and is revealed to be... DAVID CHASE in drag. Chase then smiles knowingly at the camera as we fade out. The Rolling Stones' "Rough Justice" plays over the credits.


*It's never too late in the series for a Caddyshack homage.

The Ides of March

I remember always hearing something about this day but I can’t remember what it is. You’re supposed to remain generally oblivious, run with/toward sharp objects and wear a leafy headband, right?

This doubles as my submission to the 33 1/3 series, by the way

Recently while listening to Prince's greatest album, Sign O' The Times, on the way to work, I began to have new, serious reservations about the lyrical content of a song I've always dug, "The Ballad of Dorothy Parker." While I haven't always exactly shared the same value judgments as His Purple Badness, let alone the characters in his many salacious songs (hmmm, now I smell a potential blog miniseries), something about this particular title character seemed especially off-putting on this occasion. Let's break down the song's lyrics and see if we can pinpoint the sources of my consternation:

Dorothy was a waitress on the promenade
She worked the night shift
Dishwater blonde, tall and fine
She got a lot of tips
Well, earlier I'd been talkin' stuff
In a violent room
Fighting with lovers past
I needed someone with a quicker wit than mine
Dorothy was fast

OK, so far I think most of us would have a favorable impression of Ms. Parker. Plenty of charming, alluring young women have held down food service jobs at some point in their lives. My ideal personifcation of this type might more closely resemble, say, Salma Hayek than a "dishwater blonde," but whatever. Plus, Dorothy of course shares her name with a revered writer, so any moment now I think we can expect her to serve up a platter of bon mots with a side of sly come-ons (or onion rings), right?

Well, I ordered - "Yeah, let me get a fruit cocktail, I ain't 2 hungry"
Dorothy laughed
She said "Sounds like a real man 2 me"
Kinda cute, U wanna take a bath?
(do you wanna, do you wanna, bath)

Uh oh, right away discriminating listeners probably are getting the feeling they've been sold a bill of goods concerning Ms. Parker's alleged "wit." I can just picture the kind of woman who'd say "sounds like a real man (to) me." She'd probably fit squarely in either the white trash or Francesca Fiore camp, neither of which I particularly want to visit. Plus: "U wanna take a bath?" That just about tops the list of most UN-clever things a person can say upon first meeting . "Hi, my name's Chri - WILL YOU TAKE A BATH WITH ME?!?" Although today that sentence might look more forgivable in the low-stakes era of text messaging, where Prince proved 2 B ahead of his time, spellingwise.

I said "Cool, but I'm leaving my pants on" (she say)
"Cuz I'm kind of going with someone"
She said "Sounds like a real man 2 me"

We'll address the pants issue in a minute, but you'll recall how that last sentence set off alarm bells the first time she used it. Now she's just repeating the same stock phrases like a mentally challenged person approximating flirtatiousness. A part of me wonders if this song should've been called "Riding the Bus with Dorothy Parker" instead.

"Mind if I turn on the radio?"
"Oh, my favorite song" she said
And it was Joni singing "Help me I think I'm falling"

Oh good, I'd have to listen to Joni Mitchell with her as well. Normally I don't think music taste is that important but by now I'm less and less inclined to cut her any slack.

(Ring)
The phone rang and she said
"Whoever's calling can't be as cute as U"

Ugh. Keep going...

Right then I knew I was through
(Dorothy Parker was cool)

My pants were wet, they came off
But she didn't see the movie
Cuz she hadn't read the book first

Dorothy not having read a book? As one bonafide comic genius was fond of saying, "get out of the city!"

Instead she pretended she was blind
An affliction brought on by a witch's curse
Dorothy made me laugh (ha ha)

Great, now we can apparently add bad improv acting to the list of "cons." The fact that this guy is laughing at it doesn't exactly cast him in a good light either. Maybe Prince is channeling Drew Carey here?

I felt much better so I went back
2 the violent room (tell us what U did)
Let me tell U what I did...

I took another bubble bath with my pants on
All the fighting stopped
Next time I'll do it sooner
This is the ballad of Dorothy Parker

At this point I think I'm most concerned about Prince's wardrobe, as I'd wager the kind of pants he wears wouldn't lend themselves to frequent bubble bath immersion . I don't know if his leaving his pants on (at first, anyway) nullifies the whole "cheating" aspect either. Worst case scenario, that resembles Francis Wolcott from Deadwood's logic, and I'm sure we all remember how that turned out.

Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker
Well
Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker
Well

Yes, yes, Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker. Maybe someday Prince will write a follow-up song called "The Ballad of Virginia Woolf," about a schizophrenic lunch lady who ends up running around in an gorilla suit like at the end of Wise Blood. Save that for your next comeback, Your Paisley Majesty!

I've been shamefully negligent

...in declaring my love for 30 Rock on, of all things, this very blog of admiration and/or scorn for the works of others. Count me as the 3,000,000th unoriginal person who saw last week's episode to say I love it so much I want to "take it behind a middle school and get it pregnant." You can always watch the last 5 or so episodes for free on nbc.com and I strongly advise everyone to take advantage. It's become my favorite show while Real Time w/ Marlo Stanfield is away. I always thought Tina Fey was just ok, but if I'd known she would eventually create something so brilliant that also just happens to feature recurring Ghostface Killah appearances, I would've subjected you all to beguiling/creepy .gifs like this more often:

Kelly Clarkson Survived a Broken TV Home.

Despite having already written the self-described "definitive treatise on American Idol" (still the second most popular blog post in MySpace history, following Joe Rogan's legendary 2005 flame war with a Thai restaurant waiter). I made another couple of mild attempts to get into it this year (well, the auditions anyway) without success. You want just one reason why I'm not furiously texting each week on behalf of, say, a moisturizer-loving white guy warbling "A Change is Gonna Come?" Here's just one:



Forget for a moment that the other two "judges" on this show are a crackpot choreographer who got lucky and a guy primarily known for using the word "dawg" more awkwardly than Sean Connery. I think I'd have more musical taste in common with just about anyone - even Ryan Seacrest, a guy who makes Carson Daly look as gonzo as Hunter S. Thompson - than Simon Cowell.

All this time I've had absolutely no idea what this guy had done in the music industry that even qualified him to critique the handwriting on a setlist, much less anyone's singing ability, so I looked up his entry on the perpetually super-accurate Wikipedia (and by the way, the NY Times running an article about someone else's inaccuracies is a bitter laugh indeed). Turns out in addition to signing a bunch of UK pop drones I'd mostly never heard of (note: as bad as you think American pop music might be, just rememeber the British scene is always substantially worse), Cowell's also got the following credits under his belt:

"He also released several novelty recordings featuring the likes of wrestlers of the World Wrestling Federation, Zig and Zag and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, that were huge successes."

Wrestlers? Power Rangers? Zig? Zag? Before looking at his resume, I always thought Cowell's idea of a perfect pop star would be a trilly-voiced, mall-ready sexpot who finds herself irresistibly attracted to a flat-topped sleazoid seemingly oblivious to his own prissiness. Turns out it would be Jet Jaguar.



Meanwhile, from elsewhere on the interwebs, here's your first, tantalizing tease as to the contents of The Wire season 5 (Thanks to Recidivism for the link). With all due respect to UBM, I kinda consider Maniac Cop to be the "Dr. Strangelove of police procedurals." I'm gonna go waaaay out on a limb w/ a prediction for the final season: McNulty will die, while Omar and Bubbles will both survive. Oh, and Clay Davis will resign as state senator and join the Comedians of Comedy tour. I think they've been building up to that one for some time.

Live Oscar blogging beats the Apollo moon landing any day.

7:55 PM - I've been wearing an unwashed grey suit for over a month to support Borat's screenplay nomination. Tonight's where it pays off!

8:35 PM - Surprisingly, Errol Morris' opening interview montage did not include a Fred Leuchter appearance.

8:40 PM - Ellen's suit is the visual equivalent of "Oprah, Uma."

8:47 PM - Woo hoo, first award... What the FUCK! The Good Shepherd lost Best Art Direction?!? Fuck! This! Evening ruined. Kiss my ass, Hollywood. Is basketball on? Pacers vs. Kings... uh...

8:53 - Man, this Kings game is weird. Ron Artest just started singing about fighting Peter O'Toole. Wait, which show am I watching? Fuck, this is actually kinda hard.

9:07 PM - GUYS!!! IM sO DRUNK!!!1!

9:23 PM - OK IM BACK. SOMEone told me Tim and Eric r presenting later.

9:30 PM - guys yu think Jon Heder will evr win an oscar? ppl never tjought eddie murphey wld win one either and look what just happened.

9:32 PM - OH SHIT JAMES TAYLOR GUYS I LOV THIS SONG!!!

9:34 - Aand now its that convenient truths song. look yall i know its easy to be cynical abouit the oscars but ten billion people watch every year. ITS STILL REAL 2 ME DAMMIT!

9:37 PM - HEY ITS SORE LOSERMAN HA HA HA

9:40 - gUys Im sorry abt that sore loserman joke. this aint the half hour comedy hour on fox news, you dont come here for that sorta thing. Also, I just saw on yahoo eddie murphy didn't actully win. sorry.

9:56 - Shit, sorry again I was lookin for that gif of the cat jumpin out of the hedge and attacking the little kid bt i cant find it. I just thought it wouild be funny. i dont even know whats goin on on the oscars. I'm sorry... this blog sucks. im not fukin funny eitehr which is why i only have 2 readers.

10:01 - you know what the worst part of tonigt is, i got stuff i should be workin on for work but i keep puttin it off. WTF is wrong w/ me why am i so unmotivated. Plus im fukin drunk and i only had 1 beer.

10:03 FUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuck.

10:06 god i fuckin suck. i suck i suck i suck. Can you at least make friends on match.com or is it only for dating? Im lonely and i suck. i need to take this fukcin suit off, it stinks.

10 ? im going to bed early. i'll catch tim + erics bit on youtube tomorrow. sorry for sucking.

Plus, I'm Pretty Sure This Blog has Been Read as Many as 23 Times Since June!

Above: I didn't know Biohazard were still together, much less that they had an opening for a saxophonist

This weekend sees the release of The Number 23, which I believe stars Jim Carrey as an accident-prone fire marshall with bladder control issues who becomes obsessed with the alphabet or something. As hard as it is to believe that I could pass on the new Joel Schumacher movie, I think I'll be spending my $9.50 elsewhere this weekend. Nevertheless, this film has gotten me thinking about the significance the number 23 has played in my own life. For example:

-On my 23rd birthday I ate 23 pounds of macaroni and cheese over a period of 23 hours and subsequently shat 23 times, all while having 23 seperate crying fits.
-When I was a kid, I was a big fan of Michael Jordan (No. 23), but now I know there are at least 23 reasons to find him loathsome.
-There are at least 23 states in the US that I have no desire to ever visit, although I've heard the western part of the 23rd state, Maine, is pretty happening.
-I abide by the little-known comedy "rule of 23," in which the setup is established 22 times and then the 23rd time is the punchline. Unfortunately, the audience is usually hurling too much abuse by that point to hear the punchline, but that's what makes it edgy.
-It’s a little known fact that Spike Lee bought the rights to my 23rd novella, The 23rd Hour (which followed my previous efforts 22 Cigarettes and The 21st Jump Street) for $23,000 and adapted it into The 25th Hour. I just wish he hadn’t changed the original ending, in which Edward Norton’s character is mauled by 23 mutated lemurs.
-One day in high school – Dec 23, to be exact - I received 23 swirlies in the bathroom after I wore a pink t-shirt depicting 23 members of Menudo.
-I’m pretty sure I've masturbated to at least 23 different Sherilyn Fenn movies in my life. This eventually cost me 23 friends when a few of us got together to watch Of Mice and Men.
-In the early 70’s my uncle Tyrone “Donkey” Duncanhurst (23 letters!) was in a funk band called the Two Threes. They recorded a song called “The Funky 23 Corners" that was banned from 23 different radio stations due to the second and third verse, in which my uncle threatened to shoot Spiro Agnew 23 times in the face.

I could go on and on, but if you'll excuse me I have to go buy a cobb salad at Whole Foods for about... $23 bucks!

And it seems to me you awarded custody of the body like a candle in the wind

I really, really, REALLY didn't think I would care about any aspect of the Anna Nicole Smith debacle, but this crying judge is just off-the-charts bizarre. The video is easy to find elsewhere, of course. Sure, the world appears to be "melting like an ice cream cone," and the Bush administration is using its same old tricks to provoke conflict w/ Iran, but still, a crying judge! The only thing funnier would be if this character changed careers and handled the case. Enjoy the apeshittedness of 2007 before it just turns to regular shit.