HEY! Something NEW! Here’s a guest blog from our very excellent friend Pavel Podolyak. You can check out his rantings about current politics (and now celebrity commentary) at his blog The Pragmatist. Here’s his take on the career of Nicolas Cage. – DJ

Hollywood has reached a special milestone with the most ridiculous movie of the decade.

(major spoilers ahead)

In every area of entertainment there is always a goofy but lovable character or group that keeps trying regardless of the endless failures and social ridicule. Basketball has The Knicks, music has Christian metal, and Hollywood has Nicolas Cage. This man carries the heaviest of burdens: trying to appear as a lead actor in one good movie (by his own criteria) before he dies while playing a role of somebody who dies.

You might be confused and object, “but what about Spike Jonze’s Adaptation? That was great! and The Rock! That was neat too! err, Leaving Las Vegas!”

It would seem that Adaptation is the pinnacle of Cage’s career and also a good movie. And it is. However what really got imbeded psychologically into Cage’s brain is the Oscar that he got for playing an alcoholic on a mission to drink himself to death in Leaving Las Vegas. He was 31 years old when playing a tortured soul on a mission of self destruction provided the greatest positive reinforcement an actor can get.

Cage thus learned a valuable lesson back in 1995. “To become great I must destroy myself on film.” He set out to do just that on a life project that grew beyond his control.

Obviously he didn’t think he was already past his prime after getting the Academy Award. At that tender age, people are at the peak of their cognitive powers and think they’ll keep improving indefinitely. What ended up happening is that no other actor has appeared in more movies where the role seems to be to either directly or indirectly commit suicide or be killed during some martyrdom operation. No, this is different than stuntmen actors or typecast Mafia wiseguys who die often by somebody else’s hand. This is self inflicted.

Lets begin with a few examples to see what led to Cage’s pinnacle of madness that is Knowing.

1. The Rock – Cage goes on what appears to be a suicide mission to rescue hostages. As he dies from chemical weapon, he jabs a saving andrenaline needle into his heart (which if done in a wrong way will kill). He saves many lives and appears to be killed by a fiery explosion. Yet he lives.

2. Face Off - Cage goes on what appears to be a covert suicide mission by cutting off his own face and putting on a face of a mass murderer (played by another epic tortured soul John Travolta) who killed Cage’s wife. Cage is a good guy wearing the face of a bad guy. He is driven to madness but saves his son and lives.

3. City of Angels – Cage commits suicide right away for love. What? Well he is an immortal angel you see who falls in love with a human and becomes a mortal human to be with her. He doesn’t even get to be with her since he dies.

4. Snake Eyes – Cage decides to risk his life for love. He helps a woman who is marked for death. He lives but goes to prison.

5. 8mm - Cage decides to risk his life to find out who killed a young woman. He continues on even after it increasingly becomes a suicide mission. He is driven to madness and slaughters the perpetrators. He lives but dies inside.

6. Bringing out the Dead – Cage saves lives while slowly dying inside. He finds salvation in a young woman but merci kills her father. He lives.

7. Windtalkers - Cage goes on repeated suicide missions during WW2. He is both a good guy and a bad guy who mercilessly slaughters Japanese. He saves the life of a comrade while getting shot and killed.

8. Adaptation - Cage plays two characters who are twin brothers. The fun loving happy and life filled brother gets killed. The loser writer brother lives. Cage manages to die and survive in one movie.

9. World Trade Center – Cage is a firefighter goes on a borderline suicide mission to save lives in a burning WTC. He gets trapped in the rubble and goes into a coma. He lives but everybody else dies.

10. Vampire’s Kill – Cage thinks he died and became a vampire. He tried to kill himself (again in his mind) but doesn’t have what it takes. Not to worry since somebody else kills him later.

Now things start getting strange as Nicolas Cage decides to consciously kill his own serious career by appearing in movies for children and obvious B movie horror flicks. First we see National Treasure and then the final legs of the journey are completed.

11. Ghost Rider – Cage is playing a person who goes on suicide mission stunts. He is also committing career suicide by starring in a B movie designed for the borderline retarded. Cage dies in a fire but is brought to life as an anti-hero who is on fire and in constant pain. Cage goes full circle and goes from being human to an angel of death by dying. He err, lives as an undead avenger who is always on fire.

12. The Wicker Man – Cage is a cop and fails to save a woman and a girl who dies in a fire. He drinks lots of liquor and finds out that his ex-wife is missing. Yes, out of love Cage decides to find her and goes to an island controlled by a matriarchal pagan cult. He increasingly begins to believe that the woman he’s looking for was either killed by being burned at the stake or is about to. He finds out that not only is she alive but the whole thing was an elaborate set up to burn Cage alive in a ridiculous ritual. His mind snaps. Cage finds himself trapped in an unnecessarily large wicker man and dies in a fire.

*drum roll*

Move aside The Passion of the Christ. Knowing has Nicolas Cage as both Noah, a willing martyr dying a horrible death, and the father of the only male chosen to be in the new garden of Eden.

What? Yes, we’ve come to the most ridiculous movie of the decade and one that Cage will not be able to top. This movie also combines an incredible number of genres. It is a horror movie, an action movie, an apocalyptic movie, a movie catering to Christians, a mystery movie, a sci fi movie, a B movie, as well as a Blockbuster summer movie. It is a movie to end all movies. The equivalent of a deep fried Big Mac broken up onto a deep crust pizza. An epic movie that will liquefy your mind and spirit into goo. This movie represents a dimensional flux where Cage and Hollywood merge together in an attempt to make the audience surrender and join them in a self destructive behavior of watching and enjoying movie trainwrecks (in turn, becoming part of the wreckage themselves).

13. Knowing - Cage’s wife died (not in a fire) and he has a son that he looks out for. Cage is a meteorology professor who drinks a lot. His son gets a letter from a 1959 time capsule. The letter lists all the dates of major disasters and numbers of people killed by them. Yes, some disasters didn’t happen yet. Cage risks his life trying to save people but they all die anyway and he is almost killed. A jetplane for example almost smashes into Cage’s car as he is waiting in traffic. He runs to rescue survivors who are burning alive. Total insanity.

He then meets a woman whose mother wrote the letter all those years ago. She has a daughter. It appears that Cage found a love interest but all is in vain. He finds out that the final disaster will kill everybody on the planet by burning them alive. It will be caused by a solar flare that he cant do anything about.

Yes, Cage comes to a realization that he cannot save anybody this time and also has knowledge that he and his son will die. This is it. Also, Cage’s apparent potential love interest dies before he can even die with her a little later. He is stuck with her daughter.

Ah, but wait a second audience. In the final minutes of the movie, an alien mothership descends and tells Cage’s son telepathically that he is chosen to go with them along with the little girl (they are all special and connected of course).

Cage logically wants to go on the mothership with his son and a young girl. The aliens say that he can’t go since only the two children were chosen. Cage insists that he go with them and aliens appear to be fine with that. Then Cage changes his mind at the last moment and decides to stay behind and burn alive with everybody else. His son could care less and the children go into the mothership that leaves Cage whimpering on the ground in madness and horror. Then he goes back to his city. The solar flare comes and all of humanity burns alive.

Cage’s son and the young girl find themselves in Eden by a tree of knowledge.

It is the end of the line for an actor who is used to playing characters at the end of the line. Knowing has increased chances of Nicolas Cage committing suicide in real life 10 fold. Hopefully that doesn’t happen and Cage is reborn to save us all another day.

Many of you may not know this, but I’m a pretty well-read guy. I’m not implying I’ve read any particular library of classic books – I’ve made it a point to never read a single Charles Dickens book no matter how many I was assigned throughout high school, I have a particular disdain for Ernest Hemmingway and, frankly James Joyce can suck my hog (I assume based solely on his name that he’s of the homosexual persuasion). However, I do read the news every day. The real news. The New York Times – not Metro NY, The Post, anything posted on CNN or any of that other silly hogwash. (Morris Day and) The Motherfucking Time(s). That shit is the MAD notes!

Anyway, I was reading an article yesterday about Michael Jackson’s memorial (Michael Jackson: The Memorial, rather) and I came to a phrase that was totally worthy of a tweet, however Twitter tells me “Arrow_on_red” and to “watch a video,” which I never do.  So, unable to share this hilarity in my normal manner for quips of such insignificance, I decided to let it stir for an entire day and be evacuated from my body in a long form post. My original tweet will be followed by my elaboration:

yesterday the ny times referred to the michael jackson memorial as an ‘orgy of mourning’ http://bit.ly/ZSqkY sounds like an awful goth band

(Note how I refuse to use proper punctuation for my tweets.)

Indeed, Alessandra Stanley decided to equate the ramblings of a bunch of aging stars and the sobbing of a child to a sex act involving three or more people. For this, I cannot fault her. I’m almost positive it’s the first time I’ve ever laughed while reading the Times – unfortunately for me, I was drinking hot coffee and ended up with second degree burns inside my nose, but that’s neither here nor there. What I can fault her for, is the exact words she used. An orgy of mourning carries a ton of possible connotations. For one, had her left pinky slipped and hit the shift key, she would have ended up with an “orgy of Mourning,” conjuring images of retired Miami Heat basketball star Alonzo Mourning having all kinds of kinky sex with other people with the last name Mourning.

Pimp.

As my tweet above will inform you, though, this was not my initial reaction. At first, I thought it sounded like a bad high school “goth” band. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what the term goth actually means. In middle school I know we used to call anyone who listened to KoRn goth. I don’t think I used it in high school, but if I did, I’m relatively certain it was in reference to the fat asses who watched Anime (and by association Hentai). In college, I realized both the definitions were wrong as I became more entrenched in what I know as “metal” and listened to idiot girls refer to other idiot girls who happened to be wearing a black t-shirt as goth.

Now, I tend to associate it with darker rock acts and (at the risk of upsetting either a frigheningly fat or skinny mongrel of an outcast) some more feminine black metal acts and people who still insist on wearing trench coats and ponytails. (Ghaal, I’m looking directly at you.) With that, let me set the scene for how Orgy of Mourning came to be:

Greg Schmidt (or Devastatorious as he liked to be called, not realizing how retarded and off-base it was) was a skinny lad, aged 15. At one time, he was very much into N*SYNC, but never told anyone. As a direct result, he was driven head first by the denial of his own homosexuality to black metal. First it was just once in a while, when he was bored of his Metallica CDs, but with the advent of high speed Internet and P2P networks, he found he needed to own and know everything about every band ever, which brought him to his current position in life – trolling message boards, blogs and news sites to point out whenever someone forgot to mention the latest Abigail Williams release.

One particularly rainy afternoon, Devastatorious was ham-handedly playing something resembling a ham-handed Mayhem song on his Line6 Pod Pro, which he got on eBay for “like half of list price.” As he came to what some would call a chorus, his buddy Mike Shea (Khhal for our purposes) came running down with a great idea, “Let’s start our own band!” Of course, this sounded like a great idea to Devastatorious. “Ok, well first things first – we need a totally bitchin’ name,” he explained.

“Well, yeah of course. What should we call ourselves?”
“The most dark and hardcore thing ever.”
“Nothing was darker than when my mother mourned the loss of Sprinkles (the shivering family Teacup Something or other).”
“Fuck yeah, the idea of mourning is deep as hell.”
“What else should we include?”
“How about something sexual? Not because we’ll end up having sex six months from now, or anything.”

As he said this, Greg shot a look to the right to avoid eye contact with his new bandmate. Mike continued looking at him awkwardly for a moment before breaking the silence:

“This might not be cool, but check it out.”
“Ok”
“Remember that totally gay band from back in the day Orgy.”
“Yea, they suck.” No they don’t, he thought to himself.
“Well, how about we take ‘Orgy’ back and make it cool again?”

As if they had both sprung rods simultaneously, Greg and Mike looked up from their in-progress black painted nails and exclaimed triumphantly:

“ORGY OF MOURNING!”

-END-

And that’s how I imagined that going.

This week we interviewed Vetiver an American folk band led by singer-songwriter Andy Cabic. Vetiver is a great band for the outdoors and I’ve been listening to their latest release “Tight Knit” over and over this summer. For more information on the band (tour dates and all that) check out here and here.

Also, here’s a couple free downloads, courtesy of Sub Pop Records:

Everyday and Strictly Rule

Enjoy!

Who are your favorite musicians? Is the music you listen to similar to the music you write?

It’s hard to pick favorites, and I listen to a lot of different artists, all the time. Skeeter Davis, Slapp Happy, Michael Hurley, Fleetwood Mac, Erasmo Carlos…it’s an endless litany, my favorite music.

I’m not sure I hear obvious similarities, but perhaps there are allusions in the details, in the feeling, between the music I write and artists I admire.

Last year you recorded some covers of older folks artists (Townes Van Zandt, Michael Hurley…etc) How did you begin to admire these artists? What sort of influence have they had on you?

The way I came to know each songs we recorded on “thing of the past” is different. Some I stumbled across myself in record stores, others were passed onto me through friends. Each has made it’s own unique impact on me lyrically, melodically, in sound and feeling, both just listening to them a lot, and by learning them and recording them with my friends.

How is it different playing and composing a song on your own and playing with a full band?

Writing on my own feels private and obscure. Sharing and reworking the songs with others often lends clarity and insight, providing an opportunity for new perspectives, and adding greater emotional resonance to the songs.

What made you choose the title “Tight Knit” for your latest album?

I chose the title because I thought it fit the album and the artwork, and the pocket my band had been playing in up to and during the recording of the album.

There are lots of names that people have used to describe your music and the music of other artists you’ve work with (Psych Folk, Freak Folk, Naturalismo just to name a few). Do you like the idea that you are part of a certain movement of music or do feel limited by the categorizing?

I don’t care one way or the other. I like that people listen to my music. Categorizing things by nature limits them, tries to define perception, and I don’t find that necessarily useful, though others might.

How did your music relationship with Devendra Banhart begin?

In San Francisco years ago, on a foggy night, at his apartment, sharing songs and wine.

Where do you write your songs? Do you purposely sit down to write or do the ideas build up in your head?

Yes, all of the above. There’s no one way to go about these things. at some point sitting down to write is required and I find being in comfortable, familiar surroundings helps.

Do you have any reoccurring dreams or a particularly interesting dream to share?

I don’t often remember my dreams, so no.

What should a great song do?

It should make you want to listen to it again.

If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go and why?

I’m not sure. I’d have to think about that. Maybe Thailand. Or Patagonia. Some place with a combination of natural beauty and remoteness.

What was the last delicious thing you ate?

Collard greens from Sandra Dee’s in Sacramento.

I love the last song (“At Forest Edge”) on your latest album; what was the inspiration behind those lyrics?

The lyrics are inspired by the melody. I expanded from one line or image to peek inside a mythic vignette about disorientation and desire.

Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever seen one?

I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts or not, probably because I haven’t ever seen one.

Everyone has heard the sad news about Michael Jackson and I like to think that everyone was at least somewhat saddened. I mean if you don’t like Michael Jackson songs, then what’s the point? While everyone was upset, some people, some very deeply devoted fans, were nothing short of devastated…physically , emotionally, spiritually. One of these people was our good friend Megan Riebesell.  She won’t be able to see Michael in London this summer, but the least we could do was let her share some words with you. – Roy

Hello.  My name is Megan Riebesell and I am here to talk to you about the biggest tragedy this planet has ever seen.  As you must have figured out by now, I’m referring to the death of Michael Joseph Jackson.  During this period of confusion, referred to by psychologists as “Stage 1: Denial” in the model for the five stages of grief, it is hard for people to see clearly to the issue at hand.  In hopes that this article will make it easier to cope, at least for the mere few it may reach,  I am going to use this forum to share some of my experiences with Michael, and discuss how his passing has affected me, Megan Riebesell.

It was obvious from a young age that Michael was probably not supposed to have ended up on earth.  Something went wrong, somebody messed something up.  Whoopsies!  Typo, wrong planet, something like that.  People kind of started to realize this when the J5 made their first appearance on Ed Sullivan in 69.  If you saw this you’d probably notice what could develop into a debilitating overload of soul and groove.  Certainly too much to be contained by the small, frail body of an11 year old.  If you went even further and watched this one you’d additionally notice that he’s not moving the way that a child who probably just advanced to having legible handwriting should move.

So lots of people were sort of catching on, J5 ruled with 4 consecutive number one hits on the billboard chart, which was the first time this had ever happened.  I have to assume that people who actually lived through his emergence were desperately rationalizing: “Okay this kid will probably grow out of it in like 4 years when he’s a fucked up teenage mess.”  I think a lot of people would have been more comfortable with that scenario.

Instead, Michael decided to fucking unleash his maniac talent on everyone full throttle.  By the time when most kid stars would start to totally burn themselves out, realizing they completely missed out on childhood and collapsing beneath the pressure of the limelight and everything, Michael invented a new way of dealing with all of it.  He figured since he was irreversibly damaged and would probably never fully work through it, he might as well use the one thing he did get out of it, which was being raised as a fucking psychotic perfectionist.  So he decided to just like create everything.  He focused all of his dysfunctional shit as well as his superhuman talent-energy, and took music and entertainment to a level that didn’t even exist yet. Flawlessly.  Pretty much: wake up, think of the bass line to Billie Jean, brush your teeth, oh start doing THE MOONWALK, um go downstairs, grab a banana,  redefine music videos , and then finally head off to work at the studio inventing pop music, etc. Day in the life of MJ.  No biggy.

By 1994, Michael has already released Thriller, which is still the top selling record of all time, and is onto his 4th best selling album already (and has done all that other shit that you’ll wikipedia later.)  People as a whole are immersed in the new world of entertainment he has created.  I’m starting to feel a little weird about how many consecutive times I can jump all over my couches screaming to the Free Willy theme and still get emotional at the end.  Ironically enough, this is around the point when everyone starts to turn on him.  He’s just doing his thing, inventing everything that people ever like ever so that everyone can copy him forever.  Yea, he’s fucking crazy as fuck considering everything, but he’s still just pumping all of that into amazing visual and auditory masterpieces for the whole world to enjoy.  He’s touring selling out shows on every continent by now and it’s a little bit daunting for humans to discover that one being can pretty much hypnotize a good amount of their entire species at one time.  It’s to the extent where an alarming amount of people literally become incapacitated or unconscious, sometimes needing medical attention, when in his presence.  I mean yea, I know, Beatlemania and everything, but seriously this is different.  Full grown men had to be lifted out of the crowd, sobbing and hysterical. The physical reactions people had just to seeing him on stage was unsettling.  Humans detected an unmistakable cause for concern.

If you’re going to watch one video in this post, watch this one. With the lights off.

Everyone flipped out when they realized Michael Jackson had too much power over the human race.   So we just did the thing where we criticize someone until we bring them down to our level.  We thought it was weird that he was had a chimp named Bubbles, wanted to buy the elephant man bones, made his house into a peter pan amusement park,  cried at the end of Men in Black, etc.  Personally,  I don’t see what’s so weird about being a fucking CRAZY person after having a dramatically shitty life, and having to be a vessel for all of those insane songs and dance moves that needed to reach earth somehow. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty confident that a normal, psychologically sound person would not be capable of even one of his countless feats.   Still, most people were feeling uneasy about the whole situation.  We felt compelled to exploit all of his quirks until we had completely forgotten about all of his contributions.  On top of being the victim of a really unfortunate skin disease analysts agreed that MJ suffered from another shitty condition, body dimorphic disorder.  Jeez, what a weirdo, feeling like he needs to change his physical appearance.  Anyway, as it turned out, no one could see past his physical appearance, so his music became secondary to gossip about his strange lifestyle, and he was slandered for the rest of his life. After this, Michael decided that he would rather hang around chimps and little kids only.  Again, to me this seems like a pretty basic cause-and-effect type situation we have here.  However, the masterminds of mankind determined that he must have been molesting kids.  Not the monkey though, oddly enough.

So somehow by the time his last album hit, which was of course no Thriller, but still better than most things, lots of people were too embarrassed to go into a record store (remember those?) and ring up the latest from the world’s  most renowned child-molester at the time.  And who could blame us?  The trials got way more publicity than, lets say, when he founded the Heal the World foundation, whose mission was to  provide medicine to children and fight world hunger, homelessness, child exploitation and abuse.  Or his being a major contributor to 39 additional charities in his career.  They got even more coverage than when all of the profits from smash hits “Man in the Mirror” and “Heal the World” went to charity.  Probably even more well known than the “We are the World” video, which he coordinated, gathering the biggest musicians at the time to record a song that raised millions of dollars for famine relief.  Or how on the 123-show world tour for “Bad” he invited underprivileged children to watch for free and sing with him on stage, and then gave donations to local hospitals, orphanages and other charities in every place he visited.   The trials, which were unsuccessful in providing any actual evidence of molestation, are still more widely acknowledged than how the “Dangerous” world tour, where he danced like a fucking maniac for 65 shows and then gave all of the proceeds, I repeat, all, ALL of them to Heal the World.  After that he sold the broadcast rights for the show to HBO, took that money and put it towards HIV/AIDS research.  And remember when his afro caught on fire during the filming for that Pepsi commercial? Haha ha ha!! Guess what?  He took the money from that lawsuit and gave it to the hospital where he was treated and started a burn ward for research and technology in severe burn treatment.  Then he got plastic surgery because he was self-conscious about his scalp and we made fun of him for the rest of his life.  And said that he touches babies.

So after trying to withdraw from the public eye, (unsuccessfully, as tons of brilliant journalists and psychoanalysts made whole careers out of obsessing over his weirdness) Michael comes back at the world and announces “THIS IS IT.”  A 50- show tour taking place at the 02 stadium in London, possibly his last performance ever.  In tradition of MJ, he had invented some kind of crazy 3-D background scheme that would transform the experience of seeing  a live concert.  He committed to giving the world one last show, granting everyone the chance to forget all about the baby-dangling and plastic surgeries and just enjoy the fucking immaculate presentation of all of the songs that make everyone dance no matter where they are.   He agreed to subject his 50 year old body to putting on 50 more seizure-inducing performances which would have allowed millions of people to enjoy the same magic that had possessed them for decades.  It would have given millions the opportunity to experience the intense, uplifting energy that looks more powerful and mind-altering than any drug trip.  An experience that is unexplainable, but proven by concert footage of full grown adults losing the ability to hold themselves up.  I was going to be one of these people.

Michael Jackson has left behind a whole world of humans who were touched by his timeless legacy.    I’m sure that even those of you who didn’t spend $750 on airfare to London have the same feeling of emptiness in your lives as I do right now.  But remember, we are all in this together.   Take advantage of your neighbors and comrades who have probably all have attempted the moonwalk at one time or another, and might need someone to commiserate.  Talking it out feels good.  Even if it leads to both parties drunkenly agreeing that Michael Jackson was more important than Jesus, or the holocaust, and then the conversation becomes a little uncomfortable.  Just get it all out.  Letting yourself come to terms with how you feel will help you to reach the final step in the grieving process: Acceptance.  Make this tragedy easier for yourself and those around you.  Heal the world. It’s what Michael would have wanted us to do.  We’re all going to get through this.

Every viewing of the Back to the Future trilogy provides the audience with something new. I don’t think I need to go into much depth as to why Back to the Future is one of the greatest series of films ever put to the silver screen. The creation of Back to the Future was a watermark in the history of entertainment; they are nothing less than legendary. At the end of every single Back to the Future movie I cannot help but think “this is true art.”

Absolute Perfection.

The beauty of the movies is the plethora of questions, conundrums and paradoxes that they conjure. I just breezed through the first couple Back to the Futures this weekend and I noticed a couple things. First a quick one: What is going through Jennifer Parker’s head at the end of the first film? This is what we know about Jennifer Parker: 1) She is dating Marty McFly, 2) Though they are dating it can’t be too serious yet because Marty is so pumped just to get her grandmother’s phone number, 3) Jennifer and Marty plan on going to “the lake” soon…and I think it’s safe to assume that they are so excited about this because it will be their first time sleeping together…don’t tell me that no one else thought that was implied.

So, that’s the little bit about Jennifer Parker that we hear early on in the movie, during the “exposition” if you will. Then everything else happens in the movie and we don’t see Jennifer Parker again until the end of the film, the “conclusion” if you will. Everything seems hunky dory; Jennifer and Marty are ready to “go to the lake” in Marty’s “new car.” Wait, wait, wait!!! BAM!!! The Back to the Future guys are already sure they are making a sequel!!! Doc Brown pulls up in the new DeLorean and has news to tell the young virgin Jennifer Parker.  He so discretely announces: YOU TWO GET MARRIED AND THEN SOMETHING GETS FUCKED UP!!! QUICK HOP INSIDE MY FUTURE CAR AND LET’S GO ALTER THE SPACE TIME CONTINUUM.” Doc Brown then added, “So you won’t be able to go to the lake yet.”  Then, looking towards Jennifer Parker, he says, “Hello, my name is Emmet Brown. I built this future car. Nice to meet you.”

Jennifer Parker has roughly eight seconds (while Doc Brown loads old beer and a banana into the future car) to think about what she has been told. Without much delay she loads herself into the future car with her future husband and heads off into the future. What, I ask, is Jennifer Parker thinking?

Feel free to respond with your own thoughts in the comments. For now I’ll go with my first instinct: Marty McFly is just that good-looking.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, THE MAIN EVENT!!!  Here are my top three times that a member of the Tannen family got covered in shit. Let the games begin!!! The third place prize goes to:

3) When Buford Tannen Gets Covered With Shit

By the time the audience reaches the last movie in the trilogy everyone is asking the same question, “How is a truck full of shit going to crash into Biff Tannen?” As you should know, the movie is set mostly in the Wild West, a place devoid of Biff Tannen. But lo and behold! Buford Tannen is Biff’s great-grandfather and he is also a dick and he also has a grudge against the McFly family. Parallelism!!! Let me fast forward, Buford Tannen eventually gets covered in shit. It is still a gratifying scene, but I have some problems with it. First, it’s not a truckload of shit. When I see a Tannen get covered in shit I like it to be a literal truckload of shit. I understand there are no trucks in the Wild West, but I would have also accepted a train full of shit crashing into Buford Tannen. Also, the shit that he gets covered in is too green. I like the 50′s style brown shit. It has much more of a “classic shit” appeal.

My qualms aside, it is still a terrific scene. Getting completely covered in shit is such a horrible fate. No one ever wants to get covered in shit. I don’t know what you do after you get covered in shit. Well, I guess, shower. Showering is a good first step, but what then? You still always know that you have been covered in shit at some point. Shit, something that another being has deemed useless and smelly, now covers your entire body. Think about that.

2) When Biff Tannen Gets Covered With Shit Again

My second favorite time a Tannen gets covered with shit is in Back to the Future Part II. After unsuccessfully chasing down a hover-boarding Marty, Biff crashes right into a huge truck full of shit!!! Ha ha ha!!! Perfect!!! Biff really deserved it too. He had this great, powerful, villainous, Ford sports car and he had a good quarter mile to catch up with Marty, who is foot-pumping a floating skateboard. Of course, Biff fails and then comes the shit. The beauty of this scene is that Biff’s car gets covered in shit….RIGHT AFTER HE GOT IT BACK FROM THE SHOP THAT CLEANED THE SHIT OUT OF IT!!!

Shakespeare himself could not write that kind of irony.

1) When Biff Tannen First Gets Covered With Shit

Yes, of course, the big winner. My favorite time that a Tannen gets covered with shit is the first time that Biff Tannen gets covered with shit. A terrific scene. Marty stands up to the Biff crew, thereby sparing his father a lifetime of shame, and then invents skateboarding. The chase ends with Biff careening into a massive truck full of shit. Hilarious. Some of Biff’s goons could have easily died. Imagine getting covered in so much shit that you died? Not even metaphoric shit. Not an end-of-the-semester “Oh, I have so much shit to get through.” No, literally buried in shit. I wonder what Biff would say if you told him that in just a week or so he would be getting covered in shit again. I think I know what he would say. He’d say what he’ll eventually say, “I HATE MANUREEEE.”

Let me ask you this, reader: How many times per year does an American get covered with shit by surprise?
I’ll explain those stipulations. I say American because, let’s be honest, for all I know those other countries are jumping around in shit all day. Next point: they have to be completely covered. Getting a bird crap splatter does not count. If a flock of birds unleash a hailstorm of shit that leaves you immobile, that would count. You have to be completely covered, so that only your head and shoulders reach the surface. Lastly, it has to be by surprise. Maybe there is some job out there that involves shit-swimming. That wouldn’t count. It must be a surprise and/or accidental shit burial.

I’ll go through some other memorable times people have been covered with shit on film (all of these don’t fit my criteria above):
8 Crazy Nights: One of the characters gets covered in shit from a port-a-potty, thus creating a “Poopsicle”.- Disqualified because it is animated and unrealistic.
Slumdog Millionaire: The kid falls into shit in the beginning.- Disqualified because it is not in America.
Shawshank Redemption: Andy Dufresne crawls through shit to his freedom. -Disqualified because it was not an accident or surprise…Andy planned to crawl through that freedom shit.

I can’t really think of any other instances. Maybe the guys from Jackass jumped in shit once; I can see that happening. I asked DJ this question and he guessed 150 or something per year. I figured 30-40? But, I’m thinking about it now and even 30-40 times per year seems high. I can’t think of a situation aside from falling into a cesspool somehow. Also nowadays we don’t have those troublesome shit-trucks that Biff kept running into.

I’ll leave the voting up to America. We got to vote for “Dancing With the Stars” and we got to vote to decide if Jon and Kate would get divorced, so why not just vote on a statistic:

[poll id="10"]

HELLO VIETNAM!!!

I hope you all have been enjoying this gorgeous sunny, summer weather. I know that, at least here on Long Island, it is really starting to warm up. Finally that comfortable outdoor weather that everyone longs for all year!! Anyway, if you’re like me, warm weather means it’s beach time!! It’s time to load up the woody with inner tubes, shave the snow cone ice and oil up those biceps… we’re going to the beach!!!

Sun, Sun, Sun!!!

Now while at the beach it’s imperative that you have everything set up so you are ready to relax to the max. That means proper attire: wet suit, flippers, goggles, snorkel, swimmies and peg-leg. It also means proper snacks: hot pretzels, fondu, fresca, grape twizzler pull-n-peels, a bottle of ether and a rag. But most importantly it means having the right music to listen to while you relax to the max.

And if you still haven’t found the right songs for the summer, you have come to the right place. I have always been ahead of the curve when it comes to music and I have found the perfect beach album for the summer: Mastodon’s 2004 release “Leviathan.” I picked up this vinyl last week and did not hesitate to put it on during my ride to the shore this past weekend. It was the most fun I’ve had next to the ocean in years, let me tell you why:

If your day at the beach isn’t this exciting you are fucking it up.

I woke up early Saturday morning (I wanted to beat the beach rush). The cooler was loaded to the brim with Bud Light Red Onion and, of course, grape Twizzler Pull-n-Peels. I unwrapped the “Leviathan” vinyl, the sun shining on my skin, and set it gently on my car’s record player. I did a quick preliminary squirt of sun-screen, stepped into my flip-flops, set the needle on the record and listened to the happy-go-lucky sounds of the first track ring out as I drove off for a day of fun in the sun:

I think that someone is trying to kill me
Infecting my blood and destroying my mind

Now I realize this is not your typical beach music (let’s say that Jack Johnson or Red Hot Chili Pepper singles are typical beach music), but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. I mean if you really listen to the album you’ll see that it’s about fishing, and what is more nautical than fishing? Answer: nothing. Better answer: the ocean. I know that “Leviathan” and Mastodon in general can be a little, let’s say…sandy?…but that did not stop them from making a terrific album for metal-heads, surfer dudes and sea critters alike. Also I know whales aren’t fish, but please – I’m just trying to relax here.

It was a little after nine in the morning, but already the sun was glaring. I opted to just roll down the windows, rather than use the A/C. It was totally worth it. The fresh air, the sweet smell of hibiscus in bloom and the sun, the shining glorious sun!! The lyrics, “I am completely immersed in darkness As I turn my body away from the sun” blazed just as brightly from the stereo and my face was all smiles.

I arrived at the beach in exactly three minutes and forty-nine seconds, removed my portable record player and carried it to the beach as the second track of the album came on “I Am Ahab.” Another fishing reference!!! So beachy!!! The first lyrics are so, so true: there is “a magic in the water that attracts all men”…the magic of boogie boarding!!!  Yay!! In a full wet-suit and with a mouth full of grape Twizzler Pull-n-Peel, I grabbed my boogie board and hit the surf.. The water was cool and refreshing and the next song, “Seabeast,” was the perfect soundtrack for when I started to drown.

This is what DJ looks like during the groove in “The Last Baron“

An undertow was pulling me, my boogie board and my purple-colored Twizzler-tongue down to Davy Jones’ locker. I was a little scared, but also kind of just digging the song. The gentle lap of the guitar, the pitter-patter of the kick drum. So beach-y, so aqua-rific. Within inches of my life I started to think about how great the word “aqua-rific” is and made a mental note to include the made-up word in my next blog post. Mission accomplished.

With my last breath extinguishing itself in my lungs, I was somewhat saddened that I would soon be no more, but I was also fairly content that I died after having such a great day at the beach. Also, one of my favorite tracks on the album, “Island,” was coming on next….but wait at these depths the music was fading away?! I needed to hear the next song!! I thought, “Oh well, I guess I should at least try to survive…” And so I did. With the giggling tom-toms a-poundin’ and the wavy screams a-screamin’ I made it to the surface and washed ashore beside an orange Italian eating an orange Italian ice. I raised my head to comment on the hilarity, but then I passed out because I had almost drowned.

I woke up around noon, half buried in the sand, and burnt to a crisp. Not from the sun, but because tracks 5, 6, 7 and 8 had melted my face. I crawled my way over to my blanket just as the summerjam tune “Hearts Alive” came on. Glad to be alive myself, I looked around the now-crowded beach and thought about just how terrific this album was for the sand-swept scene. I started to relax on my towel, but had trouble moving my newly burnt arms. I felt almost as immobile as Brent Hinds did after his brain hemorrhaged. ZING!!! As the song began to soar as high as the seagulls and banner-trailing planes, I looked at the children digging in the sand and thought of drummer Brann Dailor trying to dig up his dead sister while tripping on acid. ZING!!! I looked at the lifeguard stand and could imagine Queequeg climbing it like a crow’s nest. NOT REALLY A JOKE!!! I saw a young lady sucking on a popsicle like it was a harpoon. JOKE?? I saw a young albino boy devour a man’s leg.  LIKE MOBY DICK!!! Yes, I thought, “Leviathan” is the perfect album for the summer.

By the way, I’m just kidding…Twizzler never made a grape flavored pull-n-peel.

STAYED TUNED FOR MY NEXT SUMMER MUSIC REVIEWS:
“Blood Mountain” the Perfect Album for a Day of Family-Hiking!!
AND
“Crack the Skye” the Perfect Album for Your Flight to Disney!!

It’s my understanding that we have a lot of international readers. So for their benefit, I’ll briefly describe what we in American call an “election.” You see, once every few years, when hack comedians run out of bad jokes about our beloved president, another man challenges his throne. Then we watch “pundits” bicker about the merits of these two men on TV for about three years. When the American people decide they can’t take it anymore, the men choose other men as their partners through civil union and the pundits argue about the partners’ merits for another six months or so. Finally, if the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, three states get to choose who our next president will be. This year, the man who won wore black face in tribute to the great minstrels of our country’s glorious past. Of course, he’s not any different than you or me or the last president, for that matter.

Apparently they’re holding erections in Iran now- Did I jus- HAHAHAHAHAHA. OHHHHH WHEW! Wow… that was crazy. Iran is holding elections over there now. As with any election, this one has had its fair share of problems. Held on Friday(?), the elections were really important, I guess. According to some reliable sources, Iran has been fucking around with nuclear weapons, or something. Unlike in the good old US of A, the Iranians couldn’t choke down the cold hard facts. Instead of realizing that they are a silly display not unlike the WWE, Iranians expected the words “change” and “hope” to actually mean something. It’s like they believe every movie they see over there. In their defense, there are only three movies available in Iran and they’re all documentaries.

You really want the Iranian Steven Spielberg running your country? Didn’t you see the last Indiana Jones?

So, in an unprecedented display of machismo and huge fucking nuts (being the opposite of giant, crying, pussy), Presidential Candidate Mir Hossein Moussavi claimed the elections were rigged in favor of current President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. To be honest, I don’t see it. I mean President Ahmadinejad did get 62% of the vote (a total of 13 voters made up mostly of his own staff) versus 33% for Moussavi and the obligatory 5% of crazies split between Ron Paul and Ralph Nader.  Mr. Moussavi, you should be ashamed of yourself. Seriously, your country is suffering from riots, its citizens are having their rights taken away and war with a super power is imminent and all you can think about is how you didn’t win an election? What are you going to tell me next, that this Pall Mall 100 isn’t going to soothe my sore throat? Puh-lease!

You see, here in America, we accept the harsh truth that a puppet government forces us to – we have no control over what happens ever. So what? You want to be burdened with making decisions which might affect someone other than yourself? Say Moussavi got elected and turned out to be a total nutjob and didn’t wear pants to work every day. You want to be responsible for that? Didn’t think so. A wise ex-English teacher once taught me a valuable lesson: the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Which generally holds true, unless that devil has demonstrated his inability to lead or string together coherent thoughts time and time again, James.

This guy gets shit done.

The point is this – it doesn’t matter and it never will. In fact, I’m fairly certain that every event I just mentioned was entirely fabricated by the media for their own amusement. No shit. For instance, I caught Anderson Cooper saying the following at dinner the other night:

We make everything up. There are more factual events taking place on Spike’s Deadliest Warrior.

I may or may not have actually heard that at dinner the other night. Come to think of it, I’ve never even met Anderson Cooper, but I did once hear his voice set to ominous music in a documentary on Google Video, so he might as well have been sitting in my living room revealing all his dirty, silver haired secrets, of which I’m sure there are many. According to some of his peers, that old queen hides a secret about as well as an elephant hides its trunk.

In the end, what will probably happen is the American people will once again be forced to watch the same view of the Missile Command championships in night-vision on CNN, ABC, NBC, Fox, CBS (yeah, assholes, you got listed after Fox), and a plethora of other shit-stain networks as our country bombs the fuck out of Iran for one reason or another. After two weeks of that, it’ll probably be football season and, frankly, most of us can’t be bothered – with the way the league is shaping up this year (what drama!), who could even blame us? Football rules and Iran drools.