I can't believe how funny this dude is and I just learned about him last night. That's poor form on my part. This video is part of a larger movie/stand-up dvd that is not to be missed. Also that song is Hustlin by Rick Ross and my loose leaf white ass worked out to it everyday for a good two months so that opening is spot on.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Like a Fine Wine
It takes a long time for a person to realize they're young
- Pablo Picasso
Last night I went to Radar Magazine’s toast to the “New Radicals” - not the band - which they were billing as a celebration of the “most exciting rogues, renegades, and rule-breakers of the year.” I don’t know about all that but Ed Koch was there as well as Bret and Mel from Flight of the Conchords and a bunch of people who wear funny hats and feel comfortable with open displays of homosexuality.
The event was held at the newly renovated New Museum (I could devote a whole post to complaining about this name but for readability sake I wont) and there was an open bar which proves that you don’t only get what you give.
I got plastered on free Svedka vodka, and stumbled around trying not to knock over any of the coke heads. At one point I thought I saw John McEnroe and then I realized it was just an old guy. That was the type of party it was. Everyone was young and everyone was trying to see famous people. There is a certain look people assume when trying to see famous people and it requires they look through everyone who is not famous. Many of the individuals at the party struck me as the type of people who always look through everyone who is not famous.
Anyway, the party was generally forgettable much like the magazine which I always confuse for a music mag but the McEnroe incident did get me thinking about age.
One day last summer I went out to the east end of Long Island to visit my grandparents. We were all sitting in their den when my grandfather complained that often times he doesn’t hear what my grandmother says because the pitch of her voice is not picked up by his hearing aid to which I said “it’s either that or the 60 years of marriage.” For the next three seconds (the longest of my life) there was dead silence in the room and then thunderous laughter from both of them.
They laughed because they thought it was funny but more importantly they laughed because they would have laughed at such a joke for their entire lives. I’m slowly coming to realize that we’re always the same. No matter how old I get I’ll always be the same person as I am right now. Getting older might change my activities and behavior but it is not going to change my outlook on life or who I am at the core. I’ll still laugh at the same things I think are funny now and I’ll still get angry at the things that anger me now. And as far as behavior goes I’ll still want to get drunk and flirt with pretty girls. The fact that I wont be able to is inconsequential because I’ll still want to do it and that’s what really matters. That’s who I really am.
- Pablo Picasso
Last night I went to Radar Magazine’s toast to the “New Radicals” - not the band - which they were billing as a celebration of the “most exciting rogues, renegades, and rule-breakers of the year.” I don’t know about all that but Ed Koch was there as well as Bret and Mel from Flight of the Conchords and a bunch of people who wear funny hats and feel comfortable with open displays of homosexuality.
The event was held at the newly renovated New Museum (I could devote a whole post to complaining about this name but for readability sake I wont) and there was an open bar which proves that you don’t only get what you give.
I got plastered on free Svedka vodka, and stumbled around trying not to knock over any of the coke heads. At one point I thought I saw John McEnroe and then I realized it was just an old guy. That was the type of party it was. Everyone was young and everyone was trying to see famous people. There is a certain look people assume when trying to see famous people and it requires they look through everyone who is not famous. Many of the individuals at the party struck me as the type of people who always look through everyone who is not famous.
Anyway, the party was generally forgettable much like the magazine which I always confuse for a music mag but the McEnroe incident did get me thinking about age.
One day last summer I went out to the east end of Long Island to visit my grandparents. We were all sitting in their den when my grandfather complained that often times he doesn’t hear what my grandmother says because the pitch of her voice is not picked up by his hearing aid to which I said “it’s either that or the 60 years of marriage.” For the next three seconds (the longest of my life) there was dead silence in the room and then thunderous laughter from both of them.
They laughed because they thought it was funny but more importantly they laughed because they would have laughed at such a joke for their entire lives. I’m slowly coming to realize that we’re always the same. No matter how old I get I’ll always be the same person as I am right now. Getting older might change my activities and behavior but it is not going to change my outlook on life or who I am at the core. I’ll still laugh at the same things I think are funny now and I’ll still get angry at the things that anger me now. And as far as behavior goes I’ll still want to get drunk and flirt with pretty girls. The fact that I wont be able to is inconsequential because I’ll still want to do it and that’s what really matters. That’s who I really am.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Hit 'Em Up
Before we get to the worst film in the history of modern cinema I’d like to acknowledge the J-train subway conductor who sounds like Ving Rhames. Few things cheer up a dreary winter morning like imagining your subway conductor saying “Please stand clear of the closing doors…and wait for the Wolf who will be coming directly.”
That guy could put a smile on my face in the middle of a rectal exam.
And Now: & Thank you for coming to Lowes, sit back and relax, enjoy the show &:
About 45 minutes into Hitman, a soon-to-be victim of Agent 47 (i.e. Hitman), says “you think it’s done but it’s only just beginning,” the exasperation on the face of Agent 47 was matched and surpassed by the horror on mine. I knew he was right, I knew we had at least another hour left, but how was this possible, how could they expect so little from me while taking so much?
I had gone into Hitman with some serious reservations. I was suspicious because a good deal of money was spent on special effects and marketing but the producers had been unable to secure a big name actor for the lead roll. My reservations were further aroused when I was informed (about an hour before the movie) that it was based on a video game. There are two formulas that I find useful when predicting the quality of a film:
Lots of production money – big name actor = shitty flick
Video game movie – ninja turtles = shitty flick
And a new one after seeing Hitman:
Lots of production money – big name star – ninja turtles = bonding with fellow movie goers as thoughts of ritual suicide pass through our collective minds
Still at the outset of the film I was willing to give it a chance. I wanted to like Hitman, I wanted to relax and enjoy a Bond type film. I don’t mind suspending a bit of disbelieve, I liked The Transporter. But this shit was unbearable.
Absolutely unbelievable scenes:
1. Our hero, Agent 47, wears a suit and has a bar code tattooed on the back of his shaved head yet at no point does this arouse suspicion FROM ANYBODY. This premise might be acceptable if he spent his time in underground vampire clubs but he eats at nice restaurants and walks the street in squares in which Russian dignitaries are about to give speeches (and he’s about to assassinate them). I get the feeling somebody might notice a fellow like that.
2. At one point Agent 47 walks into an abandoned train car and is greeted by a man with a gun trained on him. He too has his gun trained on the man. Then, two other men step on the train and each of the four have two guns trained on them and two guns trained on other men. They all walk toward each other to the point that they are almost touching when Agent 47 announces “lets die like men” and they all drop their guns, pull out swords and fight to the death. The only problem is that they are all fighting him. If they were all going to fight him why did they have their guns trained on each other only seconds earlier? (Alright, that is not the “only problem” with that scene but it is a fundamental one). This movie was so stupid it made me wish I smoked crack.
3. A love interest develops between Agent 47 and a former concubine of the Russian President. I was going to elaborate, but that sentence stands on its own.
Other notes:
I’m fairly certain Agent 47’s name is an homage to Forty-seven Ronin but that might be giving the minds behind this way too much credit.
The film takes place in 5 or 6 different cities throughout Europe and Russia. Each time a scene opens in a new city the name of the city is typed along the bottom left of the screen in addition to the country with no other information. The amount of credit the film gives its audience is evidenced by the need to tell us that Big Ben is in London, England - Oh, I had thought London, Texas, and St. Petersburg? They have one of those in Russia too? Crazy shit man.
That guy could put a smile on my face in the middle of a rectal exam.
And Now: & Thank you for coming to Lowes, sit back and relax, enjoy the show &:
About 45 minutes into Hitman, a soon-to-be victim of Agent 47 (i.e. Hitman), says “you think it’s done but it’s only just beginning,” the exasperation on the face of Agent 47 was matched and surpassed by the horror on mine. I knew he was right, I knew we had at least another hour left, but how was this possible, how could they expect so little from me while taking so much?
I had gone into Hitman with some serious reservations. I was suspicious because a good deal of money was spent on special effects and marketing but the producers had been unable to secure a big name actor for the lead roll. My reservations were further aroused when I was informed (about an hour before the movie) that it was based on a video game. There are two formulas that I find useful when predicting the quality of a film:
Lots of production money – big name actor = shitty flick
Video game movie – ninja turtles = shitty flick
And a new one after seeing Hitman:
Lots of production money – big name star – ninja turtles = bonding with fellow movie goers as thoughts of ritual suicide pass through our collective minds
Still at the outset of the film I was willing to give it a chance. I wanted to like Hitman, I wanted to relax and enjoy a Bond type film. I don’t mind suspending a bit of disbelieve, I liked The Transporter. But this shit was unbearable.
Absolutely unbelievable scenes:
1. Our hero, Agent 47, wears a suit and has a bar code tattooed on the back of his shaved head yet at no point does this arouse suspicion FROM ANYBODY. This premise might be acceptable if he spent his time in underground vampire clubs but he eats at nice restaurants and walks the street in squares in which Russian dignitaries are about to give speeches (and he’s about to assassinate them). I get the feeling somebody might notice a fellow like that.
2. At one point Agent 47 walks into an abandoned train car and is greeted by a man with a gun trained on him. He too has his gun trained on the man. Then, two other men step on the train and each of the four have two guns trained on them and two guns trained on other men. They all walk toward each other to the point that they are almost touching when Agent 47 announces “lets die like men” and they all drop their guns, pull out swords and fight to the death. The only problem is that they are all fighting him. If they were all going to fight him why did they have their guns trained on each other only seconds earlier? (Alright, that is not the “only problem” with that scene but it is a fundamental one). This movie was so stupid it made me wish I smoked crack.
3. A love interest develops between Agent 47 and a former concubine of the Russian President. I was going to elaborate, but that sentence stands on its own.
Other notes:
I’m fairly certain Agent 47’s name is an homage to Forty-seven Ronin but that might be giving the minds behind this way too much credit.
The film takes place in 5 or 6 different cities throughout Europe and Russia. Each time a scene opens in a new city the name of the city is typed along the bottom left of the screen in addition to the country with no other information. The amount of credit the film gives its audience is evidenced by the need to tell us that Big Ben is in London, England - Oh, I had thought London, Texas, and St. Petersburg? They have one of those in Russia too? Crazy shit man.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Beliefs Without Reason ie. Religion
Last week my friends and I were debating the relative merits of drawing a red X on the front door of the apartment building in which one resides. As far as I can figure the only real "pro" that it delivers is tremendous comedic value. The "cons" include frightening/horrifying neighbors, possible arrest and the unintentional demolition of ones own living quarters. I endorse virtually any and all behavior done in the name of comedy but I cannot endorse this act of vandalism.
The reason has nothing to do with jail or (the admittedly unlikely) destruction of my building. It's rather due to interpretation of the red X by my neighbors, and there is an ethical inconsistency in that logic.
Every action we take is subject to the interpretation of those whom the action affects. Every time we joke, every time we avoid eye contact, every time we make eye contact, every time we avoid small talk, every time we ask a question, anything, can be misperceived as a slight of some sort. So why would I have any reservations about a joke that poses no physical harm to other people (barring building demolition)?
I don't know.
But I do.
Why has our generation failed to produce any "cool" men?
I'm not sure I can live in world in which Shia LaBeouf and Ryan Gosling are the "it" guys. I have nothing against either of these two gentlemen, I'm not even sure if I've ever seen a movie with either of them in it. But I am certain that they are not cool in the way that Johnny Depp and Frank Sinatra and Steve McQueen and Samuel L. Jackson were/are cool. What is it that has prevented our generation from producing the icons of cool the way that previous generations have? Why is the coolest man under the age of 40 - according to virtually any objective metric - the former lead singer of a boy band? We can't do better than that? I mean could we please find some one respectable for Scarlett Johansson to have sex with for Christ's sake.
The wonders of google analytics.
Google analytics allows me to track the amount of hits this blog gets. It's pretty neat and a useful tool to see if I'm writing anything that is worthwhile and/or what people enjoy reading about. It also allows me to see what terms people search on google in order to arrive at my blog. Below are some of the stranger searches that have resulted in hits:
stripper art portrait
tom tancredo's logo, button, or campaign slogan
cool asian cliques (the logic behind someone searching this escapes me entirely)
cliquish asians
passed out asian chick
older men than 60 y o fucking eachother (this one is particularly disturbing and I have no idea how this blog possibly shows up on that search)
garbage man party
dr. phil + sleezy
and last but certainly not least: bestiality bloger (yikes)
With that, enjoy being thankful.
The reason has nothing to do with jail or (the admittedly unlikely) destruction of my building. It's rather due to interpretation of the red X by my neighbors, and there is an ethical inconsistency in that logic.
Every action we take is subject to the interpretation of those whom the action affects. Every time we joke, every time we avoid eye contact, every time we make eye contact, every time we avoid small talk, every time we ask a question, anything, can be misperceived as a slight of some sort. So why would I have any reservations about a joke that poses no physical harm to other people (barring building demolition)?
I don't know.
But I do.
Why has our generation failed to produce any "cool" men?
I'm not sure I can live in world in which Shia LaBeouf and Ryan Gosling are the "it" guys. I have nothing against either of these two gentlemen, I'm not even sure if I've ever seen a movie with either of them in it. But I am certain that they are not cool in the way that Johnny Depp and Frank Sinatra and Steve McQueen and Samuel L. Jackson were/are cool. What is it that has prevented our generation from producing the icons of cool the way that previous generations have? Why is the coolest man under the age of 40 - according to virtually any objective metric - the former lead singer of a boy band? We can't do better than that? I mean could we please find some one respectable for Scarlett Johansson to have sex with for Christ's sake.
The wonders of google analytics.
Google analytics allows me to track the amount of hits this blog gets. It's pretty neat and a useful tool to see if I'm writing anything that is worthwhile and/or what people enjoy reading about. It also allows me to see what terms people search on google in order to arrive at my blog. Below are some of the stranger searches that have resulted in hits:
stripper art portrait
tom tancredo's logo, button, or campaign slogan
cool asian cliques (the logic behind someone searching this escapes me entirely)
cliquish asians
passed out asian chick
older men than 60 y o fucking eachother (this one is particularly disturbing and I have no idea how this blog possibly shows up on that search)
garbage man party
dr. phil + sleezy
and last but certainly not least: bestiality bloger (yikes)
With that, enjoy being thankful.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Living to Kill Yourself
I saw a band called Scotland Yard Gospel Choir at a small venue in Brooklyn last night. When we walked in they were playing at a verrry slow tempo and it appeared as though the lead singer might hang himself with the microphone chord. Somehow by the end of the show the band was dancing around the stage and singing about their feelings for young men (quick aside - so the name of the song – which happens to be their second single – is, I never knew I could feel this way about a boy, (which I think is a joke) and the band is all dudes minus the bassist who’s a rail thin, punkish-looking rock chick. So it occurred to me that it would be funny for them to say the lyrics were written by her. Further aside – rail thin bassist chick was wearing a green tank top that said “This is the Irish Curse” and she also happened to be an overwhelmingly pail, red haired, freckled woman. If she has the gall to make fun of her own appearance to that extent she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen).
The show was free and more than worth the price of admission. The band reminded me of Belle and Sebastian but I thought that might just be because Belle and Sebastian are Scottish. Upon a bit of research this morning I discovered that they did in fact remind me of Belle and Sebastian (that linked review was fucking harsh btw).
After we went to a place called Trash Bar that served $4 PBR’s. Honestly, if your gonna serve $4 PBR’s you don’t get to call yourself Trash Bar. How about Overpriced Place That Sounds Badass but Really Isn’t Bar – fit that on your sign bitches.
Several entirely unrelated notes and some links:
Rail thin has funny cocaine connotations
I just finished Killing Yourself to Live and Of Mice and Men. Both were excellent. That John Steinbeck might be on to something.
This story has some pretty interesting implications for the future of media, I’m not sure where I stand.
RIP Norman Mailer, I wish more writers could paint a picture with a pen like you.
I had seen this link on Reddit and Digg for a couple days before finally watching the trailer. Not sure if it’s going to be good or funny or worthwhile but it’s certainly unique.
Have a good weekend.
The show was free and more than worth the price of admission. The band reminded me of Belle and Sebastian but I thought that might just be because Belle and Sebastian are Scottish. Upon a bit of research this morning I discovered that they did in fact remind me of Belle and Sebastian (that linked review was fucking harsh btw).
After we went to a place called Trash Bar that served $4 PBR’s. Honestly, if your gonna serve $4 PBR’s you don’t get to call yourself Trash Bar. How about Overpriced Place That Sounds Badass but Really Isn’t Bar – fit that on your sign bitches.
Several entirely unrelated notes and some links:
Rail thin has funny cocaine connotations
I just finished Killing Yourself to Live and Of Mice and Men. Both were excellent. That John Steinbeck might be on to something.
This story has some pretty interesting implications for the future of media, I’m not sure where I stand.
RIP Norman Mailer, I wish more writers could paint a picture with a pen like you.
I had seen this link on Reddit and Digg for a couple days before finally watching the trailer. Not sure if it’s going to be good or funny or worthwhile but it’s certainly unique.
Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Morning
Not again.
Already?
Struggle, stretch, cold, cold, cold, piss...
Shower.
Did I already use the shampoo?
Clothes. Day.
I walk fast, I'm late (most of the time), I pass people.
Subway. Read, try not to look at phone for time, look at phone for time.
8:58: "Last stop, Broad St."
I want to be the first one out of the subway. Not out of the car or train but out of underground. I derive a frightening amount of satisfaction from this success.
Walk. Fast.
Pass two asian cops, never seen two asian cops together in New York. I've seen two asian cops in Tokyo, are there two white cops in Tokyo?
Boots. God bless the women of New York.
Eyes. She gives'em, I squint.
Bagel, coffee. Same cart, same pleasantries, same order. I have cart brand loyalty.
$2.00, "Have a good day fellas"
Elevator, desk, 9:06.
Asleep 40 minutes ago?
Already?
Struggle, stretch, cold, cold, cold, piss...
Shower.
Did I already use the shampoo?
Clothes. Day.
I walk fast, I'm late (most of the time), I pass people.
Subway. Read, try not to look at phone for time, look at phone for time.
8:58: "Last stop, Broad St."
I want to be the first one out of the subway. Not out of the car or train but out of underground. I derive a frightening amount of satisfaction from this success.
Walk. Fast.
Pass two asian cops, never seen two asian cops together in New York. I've seen two asian cops in Tokyo, are there two white cops in Tokyo?
Boots. God bless the women of New York.
Eyes. She gives'em, I squint.
Bagel, coffee. Same cart, same pleasantries, same order. I have cart brand loyalty.
$2.00, "Have a good day fellas"
Elevator, desk, 9:06.
Asleep 40 minutes ago?
Monday, November 12, 2007
Southspacebook
My new recommendation/prediction/suggestion is for South Park to do an episode on social networking communities. Myspace and Facebook have taken over the social existences of people between the ages of 3 and 30 to a degree that is unfathomable (and certainly would have seemed completely preposterous no more than 5 years ago). The communities - the way they shape our lives, the way they alter our perspective of others, the way we try to alter others perspective of us, and the bizarre goups and events they spawn - are a comic goldmine just waiting for prospectors Stone and Parker. I would be very surprised if a full season goes by before they take on this topic.
Interesting note: I watched Saturday evening's Mosley/Cotto fight at a friend's place on 34th Street in Manhattan. He lives on the 13th floor and has a clear view of the Empire State Building from his living room (where we were watching the fight). The fight took place at Madison Square Garden and at one point a camera shot panned around the City and particularly the Empire State Building as Jim Lampley described what a wonderful night it was in New York. Lampley was correct in his description of the evening and the camera displayed the ESB in a radiant red towering over the city. The only problem was that the Empire State Building was yellow on Saturday night. Apparently the $50 pay-per-view subscribers offer up for fights only allows for stock filler footage. I guess we can't complain though, if boxing had structured its business model after the NFL or MLB they wouldn't even have money for that - oh wait, that's not true at all.
Movie thoughts: I saw No Country for Old Men last night. Afterwards I described it as Texas' American Gangster and although I haven't seen AG it seems to fit. The pacing is slow and at times painfully slow but the story is excellent and having read Cormac McCarthy's work in the past, I think the Coen's probably did the book justice. The cinematography is amazing, particularly to someone from the Northeast who isn't accustomed to seeing past the corner delivery truck. The ending is unexpected, original and unusual. All in all, I'd give it a Pitchfork score of 8.267.
Be back soon with the moronification of Yfbfb's reading interests.
Interesting note: I watched Saturday evening's Mosley/Cotto fight at a friend's place on 34th Street in Manhattan. He lives on the 13th floor and has a clear view of the Empire State Building from his living room (where we were watching the fight). The fight took place at Madison Square Garden and at one point a camera shot panned around the City and particularly the Empire State Building as Jim Lampley described what a wonderful night it was in New York. Lampley was correct in his description of the evening and the camera displayed the ESB in a radiant red towering over the city. The only problem was that the Empire State Building was yellow on Saturday night. Apparently the $50 pay-per-view subscribers offer up for fights only allows for stock filler footage. I guess we can't complain though, if boxing had structured its business model after the NFL or MLB they wouldn't even have money for that - oh wait, that's not true at all.
Movie thoughts: I saw No Country for Old Men last night. Afterwards I described it as Texas' American Gangster and although I haven't seen AG it seems to fit. The pacing is slow and at times painfully slow but the story is excellent and having read Cormac McCarthy's work in the past, I think the Coen's probably did the book justice. The cinematography is amazing, particularly to someone from the Northeast who isn't accustomed to seeing past the corner delivery truck. The ending is unexpected, original and unusual. All in all, I'd give it a Pitchfork score of 8.267.
Be back soon with the moronification of Yfbfb's reading interests.
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