Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category
Dear Phil Spector,
Way to go with the whole inventing modern music production thing. That’s awesome. Oh, and also great job on FUCKING KILLING SOMEBODY IN YOUR HOUSE, WALKING OUT WITH THE GUN, AND SAYING “I THINK I KILLED SOMEBODY” LOUDLY ENOUGH FOR THE NEIGHBOR TO HEAR. That’s inspired.
As a soon-to-be college graduate – which to date it had never occurred to me to equate with “unemployed” – I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. Namely, how do I get to where I want to be? The answer isn’t important. What’s important is what the fuck is the deal with people who are totally ALL SET doing really fucking stupid things and screwing it all up?
To-do list of wildly successful, happily retired music producer:
1. Don’t kill the hot actress I’m shacking up with!
2. Whatever else
What, Phil, did she lose that lovin’ feeling? Too bad instead of grabbing your bro and weeping about it you popped one in her face. Cause even with a bloodstain on the carpet, your big house is a lot better than the big house.
Maybe you got jealous of Michael Vick, TI, Paris Hilton, Martha Stewart, etc, etc, et-fucking-cetera, who were getting all the attention.
So really:
Dear Rich and Powerful,
Stop screwing it all up. Leave the murder, gun posession, dogfighting, drunk driving, and insider trading to those of us who need the free food. If you want butt sex, you can afford it.
In short, let it be.
Love and kisses,
The Culturefuckers
16
Mar
09
More like “SUCKdog Millionaire!”
After seeing Slumdog Millionaire (“Mill-a-naire!” as that adorably dot-headed Regis Philbin wannabe excitedly cries all the time), I turned to my mother, my date for the evening, and asked her what she thought of the movie. “It was awful!” she cried, and with a furrowed brow I asked her why. “Because no one took care of all those poor, starving children. How could they just leave those poor Indian children there to die? They need to give the money to the children. This is ridiculous.”
“But what about–”
“No, just-just no. It was awful. I can’t believe that with all the talk about the movie, no one’s talked about that.”
Okay, so her reasoning doesn’t quite add up, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I started to really hate Slumdog Millionaire. It’s not that it’s a bad movie, per se; in fact, I thought it was phenomenal (at least, at first), so I’ll admit that the (absolutely brilliant and clever) portmanteau pun of the title above is really just me being facetious. Hell, I’ll even admit that I structured the previous sentence the way that I did just so I could use the word “portmanteau” in it (which I did. Victory!). So as long as I’m being honest with you, I would implore you to be honest with me in return and just admit that, while it was certainly a good film, Slumdog Millionaire did not nearly deserve the ridiculous amount of praise, adoration, and bukkake that it received.
So why did it win so many awards (aka, everything)? Because Americans, especially wealthy Hollywood moguls, are completely enamored on all things “cultural.” We look down at every non-white civilization in the world, and not necessarily in a condescending way; it’s the same way we look at a puppy dog. “Aw! Look at those Indian people with their brown skin and crazy cloth patterns and beads! Ooh, and the way they worship cows? How adorable! Who’s my little Slumdog? Yes you are!” It’s fucking kitschy! We’re too blinded by adoration for these delightful indigenous stereotypes to notice things like, oh, how come every single question Jamal was asked on the game show ran chronologically parallel with his life? OH HAY WELL THAT’S JUST A BIG COINCIDENCE. Right. Just like the coincidence that an Indian actor from a wealthy upper caste would ever fly randomly into the middle of the slums by helicopter, right where our protagonist is swimming in poop (unless I’m just being terribly ignorant on this like a real American?)
Most importantly, do we think that Danny Boyle was at all aware that is movie consisted almost entirely of flashbacks-within-flashbacks? If any other film maker had tried this stunt, he would have been crucified. And sure, the idea of revealing through flashback how Jamal knew every answer was a clever framing device. It also became an incredible tedious crutch after the millionth time it was used. Allow me replay the entire movie for you in broad strokes:
- We are from India!
- Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
- How could you know the answer!
- I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
- Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
- OMG FLASHBACK
- Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
- I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character!
- My brother is a total douchebag!
- OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
- More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
- Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
- DRINKS CHAI TEA
- We are from India!
- Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
- How could you know the answer!
- I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
- Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
- OMG FLASHBACK
- Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
- I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character whom I met briefly over 12 years ago, but love knows no boundaries!
- My brother is a total douchebag!
- Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
- OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
- More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
- Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
- DRINKS CHAI TEA! Wait, I thought I drank this already!
- We are from India!
- Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
- How could you know the answer!
- I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
- Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
- OMG FLASHBACK
- Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
- I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl (*now with a sexy sexy scar!) who is devoid of all personality or character whom I knew for all of 2 months about 12 years ago and I am still completely infatuated with her even though my brother is a total douchebag!
- OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
- More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
- Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
- DRINKS CHAI TEA
- We are still from India!
- Completely contrived and stereotypical Hollywood ending cop-out that rivals even 28 Days Later!
- Exploitative tongue-in-cheek dance sequence supposedly created as an “homage” to the Bollywood films that the movie otherwise barely references but pretends to!
I read a review somewhere praising the movie for, “The best use of flashback I’ve ever seen.” This person must have written that review after just the first one, when it was still new and exciting, and not after the credits where its tiresome repetition turned it into little more than a cheap, over-glorified and wonderfully forced plot device. Such glaring errors and plot holes were, of course, easily overlooked by the feel-good nature of the thing (which I personally felt great about while watching), and the fact that it featured those cute widdle India people and their silly cultures. Aw, look! That God has tusks! And that one has lots of arms! Isn’t that just precious?
Well, at least the Indian chick was sexy. And that scar! Rawr.
06
Feb
09
Ex-Fried Chicken?
I’ll be completely honest: I’m trouble coming up with witty things to say about this. I really want to say something clever but, well, I’m pretty sure it speaks for itself.
While I realize that I’m inadvertently marketing them by showing this, which is something I’d rather not to do, I simply had to show this. If Jesus were still in his tomb, he’d be rolling over in it now. More than likely, he’s too busy partying like a Rock star up in H-town to really notice.
 Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that Jesus, being the political revolutionary that he was, is a-ok with rebels. Moving on… |
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 No. Actually, you’re not. (Because slavery ended in America almost 150 years ago. Not because he’s black, which, ya know he is) |
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 This is the only shirt that comes in Unisex. Hee-hee. |
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 Man, why you gotta let those bitches know you settled down? You got yo’ girl, she know you faithful, ain’t that good enough? Shit, yo. |
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 …’cause that’s really such a bad thing? Mariah Carey’s going to hell, I guess! |
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 Lest I remind you that Jesus hung out with, and in fact defended prostitutes many times in his life. Besides, you see that smile? Those be dick-suckin’ lips. |
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 “Newly Agnostic.” Also, how come the “a” in “atheist” is lowercase, when all the other shirts have capital letters? At least have some brand consistency here! |
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And the winner, ladies and gentleman…
 |
I’m quite torn: as much as I’d prefer not to support this group any more than I already have, I am tempted to shell over $10 and buy this shirt because, well, quite frankly, it’s fucking hilarious. Think of all the friends you’d make, all the great conversations you could have, and all of the beautiful women you could pick up at the bar (or you’d be ostracized from the whole of society when some little old lady stops you on the train and says, “If masturbation is cool, you can call me Miles Davis!“). It kind of reminds me of the time I gave up masturbation for Lent.
I mean, wait, what? Oh hey.
Maybe this is just how they deal with the fact that African-American heritage month is the shortest month of the year. I mean, damn, someone found a way to screw the black man out of equal rights and honor and celebrate him at the same time! Let me tell ya, that’s somethin’ (hell, even the women get more days than that).
Goodbye, extraneous facebook friends about whom I really don’t give a shit. Hello, free lunch.
08
Jan
09
Girls on Film
My girlfriend hates me. Not in a mean way, just in a general loving hatred kind of way. She likes to remind me daily that I am one pretentious fuck and that only me and a few of my friends are amused by or even care about, well, stuff like this.
She’s probably right.
More often than not, when I receive a new NetFlix in the mail (sign up today! Starting at $4.99 a month for our really shitty offer, but getting good around $8.99 a month which is still a good deal!), she gives me one of these endearing-but-scornful eyerolls that she does so well. In my mind, curling up together to watch a movie (especially in the dead of a Boston winter) can be sweet. But not if that movie is a film, which, as my darling lady friend often reminds me, mine usually are.
Film? Movie? WTF?
Granted, there are movies like Koyaniquatsi or Un Chien Andalou ( “Got me a movie/I want you to know/Slicin’ up eyeballs/I want you to know,” as so immortalized by The Pixies) which have their, uh, artistic merits, thanks to the, uh, inherent brilliance and progressive exploitation or manipulation (…yeah) of the medium through which they are expressed (Liberal Arts College Bullshit Seminar 101), but even I realize that these are hardly passable as date movies. But again, as the point of this whole blog is concerned, there are plenty of movies that go beyond the cookie-cutter mold of big-budget action flicks starring Vin Diesel (3 Fast 3 Furious on DVD Tuesday!) but don’t veer quite as far into the abstract and avant-garde as the aforementioned few. Most of these movies are what I would categorize as “good.”
See there? I called them “movies.” Not “films.” Sure, the overall idea and intention of these terms is similar, but they aren’t entirely synonymous; we’re not exactly indulging in the art of culturelovemaking here, are we? Of course not! Where’s the fun in that (somewhere discarded in a condom flushed away, I’d imagine. Too soon?)?
Pop Quiz: When choosing between Love Actually and The Cremaster Cycle (which my roommate has been unhealthily obsessed with lately), which is more likely to get you laid?
In general, it would seem like any movie on my NetFlix queue that did not receive a wide release in MultiPlex (such as Fido or Amelie) would be considered a “film.” But what about 12 Monkeys? Or Milk (which, by the way, was excellent)? I would certainly call these “films” if you were asking me to put things into two different categories using a delightfully arbitrary set of criteria. Hell, I could go through every DVD I own and tell you which ones could pass as “films” and which ones would simply be “movies,” but that wouldn’t mean I was bullshitting you with self importance any less, especially because those that I would categorize as “films” (if you so asked) would still undeniably be “movies.” According to the end-all-be-all source, the Almighty Wikipedia, “‘Film’ is more often used when considering artistic, theoretical, or technical aspects, as studies in a university class. ‘Movies’ more often refers to entertainment or commercial aspects, as where to go for fun on a date.” As with most things on Wikipedia, this fun fact is without a footnote or reference, which basically means some self-gratifying asshole like myself who actually thinks these kinds of arguments are worth dedicating your thoughts to just decided to put it up on the “Film” Wiki because it made him feel good about himself. He was making a contribution to society (and inadvertently, this blog. Which is society. So really, it wasn’t all that inadvertent).
Recently, my girlfriend signed herself up for NetFlix as well (refer a friend!), most probably so that she’ll always have an alternative whenever I suggest watching one of my stupid “films.” She spent the better part of an afternoon last week building up her queue which she later showed me, and what did I find? Why, a number of movies on her queue were movies that I had already watched from my queue, and about a third of the remaining films overlapped! She pointed out a movie to me (exactly which, I can’t recall) that she said she was particularly excited for, and after reading the synopsis and cast/crew list, I replied, “But that’s exactly the kind of pretentious ‘film’ shit that I always watch and you make fun of me for! How is that any different?”
She looked at me with the sweet, patronizing-but-still-oddly-comforting eyes of a dog owner whose pet just ran into a screen door. “Yeah, but…your movies suck.”
D’oh.
Like I said, I’ve got credentials. I’ve immersed myself in enough culture to know what sticks, what doesn’t, what leaves a rash, and how people feel about it (culture, I mean. Not rashes).
Take music, for example. As a musician, I make it my business to expose myself to as much music as possible; one’s personal taste should not take priority over the objective enjoyability of a song. I’m a firm believer in the atmosphere and mood that music can establish, which is why I have Metro Station’s “Shake It” on my iPod: I may not listen to it all the time, but it’s a damn catchy song, and if you’re at a party and you’re in the mood to dance, well, you’re in luck. I just whip it out. Do I respect Miley’s brother as an artist? Oh, hell no. But do I respect solid pop songwriting? Absolutely. And this song is a great example (Eve6 is probably the greatest example of this. Just sayin’). I’ve played guitar in punk bands, jazz bands, folk groups, Irish sessions, indie rock bands, and musical theatre pit orchestras. And you know what? I’ve enjoyed them all, because there is something about each style that is enjoyable, both to listen to and perform.
Being a musician hasn’t paid me much (though it’d be nice if it did), so I work in theatre to pay the bills, which admittedly sounds ass-backwards, but it works. Theatre is something often considered to be a “high” artform: people pay ridiculous amounts of money to see a show, and many of these shows simply don’t hold up. Sure, it might be an enjoyable evening, but does that make it good? There are some people (hi, mom) who love nine out of ten plays that they see, simply because it is theatre and therefore it is classy and artsy and therefore it is good and therefore you should like it. Personally, I think that’s a pretty shitty reason to spend $80 on something, which is why I generally scorn theatre-goers. And yet I still work in the business. Look, “High Fidelity the Musical” was fun–I certainly wasn’t contemplating suicide or anything during the show–but does that mean it was good? Do big ensemble music numbers or melodramatic sentiments that sum up the play make it worth the price of admission?
Sometimes they do. I think “Jesus Christ Superstar” has plenty of artistic merit. “Cats,” on the other hand, (insert dreadfully inappropriate but somehow still hilarious Holocaust joke that serves as a hyperbolic comparison here).
On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have comic books. I’m not going to sugar coat it and call them “graphic novels,” unless they are, in fact, graphic novels (that is novels, with pictures, rather than serials). Most people who know me–hell, anyone who’s spoken to me for 5 minutes–can attest to the fact that I love comic books. And I’ve been able to turn plenty of other people on to them as well. That’s because, even though so-called “funny books,” might be considered fluff, or nerdy, or childish, there is, in fact, some phenomenal Art being produced in the medium. Writers like Grant Morrison and Alan Moore can easily hold their own against Tom Stoppard or Kurt Vonnegut. Hell, Mark Millar does Michael Bay’s job better than he does (this doesn’t mean I’m insulting Michael Bay; his is a very important position in our culture, as Vice Chancellor of All Things Mindlessly Fun and Full of Explosions)! These writers just happen to work in a medium that doesn’t demand as much respect, and often choose subject matter that wears tights.
I could wax intellectual about comic books for a while (and I’m certain I will, in coming entires), but the point is this: there is some work of greater artistic merit being produced in comic books currently than there is in theatre. But there is still plenty of theatre that reminds us why comic books are looked down upon (see: anything by Kushner or Stoppard, really). Look at television today: after the dreadful reality show explosion of the early aughts (a dead horse that MTV, a former zion of underground/alternative culture, has insisted upon flogging), we were suddenly faced with a renaissance of well-produced, well-written, creative serial programming for television (most of which, side note, takes it’s cues from comic books. Ahem). LOST? Heroes Season 1? House? Arrested Development? Weeds? You can’t possibly question the quality of these programs; just because they’re aired on network television for mass audience consumptions, doesn’t mean they’re bad. Contrary to popular (studio) belief, it is entirely possible to produce something in any medium that maintains its artistic merit and demonstrates high-quality work on the part of the creators and still appeals to the general public and entertains.
Generally, this blog will feature similar (albeit more focused…hopefully) musings on art and culture (and occasionally, fucking). Perhaps I will review various cultural things that I consume (doesn’t that give you a great visual image of some weird primordial blob-like amoeba thing all blobbing around eating and assimilating everything in it’s path? Yeah, that’s me. But way better looking)(but still a little blobby). Perhaps I will use this as a sounding board when someone at my job really pisses me off (which, when dealing with the “High Class Art Consumers” that my line of work typically caters towards, is especially likely). Perhaps I’ll offend you! Hopefully, you take most of what I’m saying (especially in this asides) with a grain of salt and a sense of humor (could a single grain of salt really make old medicines taste better? Why not sugar? Or robots?)
But for now–lunch.
