This Sex is On Fire: an Essay

    'This Sex is on Fire' is a song by the band Kings of Leon. The guy who wrote it thought it was really badass. Like, s***, man, "that friction was so abrasive our genitals literally caught fire!" It's like Hendrix's guitar, except it's his junk. It's the kind of edginess that only the most seasoned of pop bands peaking their head into the dirty room at Family Video could muster. SEX. Now that I have your attention. It's on FIRE. And he's CONSUMED with what's to transpire. It's letting all the kids know just how awesome being naked and touching ladies can be when you reach peak-MOR-rock-stardom. "My sex is the best", says the King of Leon (is that Leon like a Spanish conquistador? Or Leon like a gas station employee?)

I guess I'm just curious as to who gets that excited at the prospect of sex? It's great and all but what dude sits around in horny contemplation of the act? "Consumed" by the carrot of future sex dangling over his afternoon? The rubbing and heavy petting get me excited, but before that I'm mostly going about my day nauseous and thinking about how to contribute least to the downfall of civilization. If I'm consumed by anything, it's about what's about to transpire after I eat an entire La Bamba's Super Burrito. And who plans sex that far ahead? Or is he just that confident he's going to get some, and wants us, the listener, to know that he knows?

How far ahead of time is he getting consumed? Could he be better spending that time writing a better verse for his song?

Also, I looked it up and this is the only use of the vocab-delight that is "transpire" to be used in a song. So, the Kings do get some points for that, and for not rhyming "fire" with "desire"... or "higher". Thanks.

Are we supposed to be impressed at whatever transcendental, tantric experience Leon thinks he's having?

The music video takes place in a barn within The Matrix where the Kings of Leon are fated to live in a perpetual state of sweaty, lip-licking horniness. The singer wakes from a horny coma and starts throwing a sex tantrum. The sex is on fire and it makes him really colicky. No one believes HOW on fire it is! "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD! THIS SEX IS REALLY ON FIIIIIRE! MAAAAAH!" Someone change his sex diaper already!
With the lead singer lying prostrate, one of his bandmates reads from a large encyclopedia (or maybe a book of spells, looking for an expecto boner reductus patronus incantation) while another eats broiled chicken. Later they all perform an exorcism on the lead singer who seems to be possessed by an African fertility demon (most likely a relative of Pzsuszu) who, later in the video, is vomited out as a black, smokey plague dust. Amazingly there are no women in the video.

VERSE 1: THE SEX IS SO AWESOME THAT IT IS A TOPIC OF CONVERSATION AT THE CAT PARK NEXT TO KING LEON'S CASTLE

VERSE 2: DOING IT IN BACK ALLEYS AND GETTING ROAD HEAD. SWEET.

VERSE 3: WE'RE THE GREATEST AT SEX. OUR BONES JINGLE IN A HOT JUNGLE JIVE FEVER LIKE WE'RE IN AN OINGO BOINGO VIDEO

Singing about being horny is only cool if you're Prince.
Prince turned desperately-needing-to-bone into a ballet. "Listen, for you naked I would dance a ballet, would that get you off? Tell me what will. l If I was your girlfriend, would you tell me?" Okay, that's stupid too, but all I'm saying is that you have to reeeeaally own that s***. You're technically rock stars, so you should technically be bored with sex after a certain point and into throwing tied up groupies into hotel pools as your only means of getting off.
The Kings of Leon spend the entire song and video playing coy, as if feeling the inflation of the nether regions is some long-held rock n roll secret that they're finally revealing to the world; breaking some ancient code of rocking ethics. Hendrix had a revolving-door harem. The world is not set alight by King of Leon's personal revelation that fornication is imminent... and 'twas dope!
An-ti-ci...pation? Copulation? Am I missing his intended point of transpiration?

OPTION 2:
2.
BOTANY
(of a plant or leaf) give off water vapor through the stomata.

If they're referring to the botanical definition then a lot of the song actually makes a great deal of sense. The road head parts don't though. That's clearly still just about road head.
The Kings seem like maybe they had spent their adolescence CONSUMED by the TRANSPIRATION of the band and had simply missed sex altogether. So, when they came up with that sick, two-note verse riff, and the foxes started nipping at their henhouse perches, they freaked out and tried to play it as cool as they knew. "uh, YEAH, um, my sex is totally on fire! And stuff. I know how to do it in back alleys!" *voice creaks* "MY SEX SCARES KITTENS!"

Beatles' Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds Lowrey Organ Sound (using VST)

So, I scoured the internet and couldn't find any decent Lowrey organ emulation... or really any suggestions on how to approximate the unusual plucked/synthy organ sound The Beatles used on the song; so I decided to try myself, and since I got pretty close I thought someone else might find this useful...
This is using the programs: VSTHost and the ScP5 vst (Prophet 5 emulator) with preset 7 'harpiscord' as the starting base. The delay doesn't get quite precise enough so if you want it exactly correct you'll have to turn it off and add it yourself using another program. The rest of the switches are rather difficult to fine tune so you'll have to spend about a half hour tweaking the sound to your liking. It's not perfect, but about as close as you're gonna get using a free virtual instrument synth. Enjoy!
If you'd like the fxb preset file for VSTHost, I can probably send it to you.
Brettwarren85@gmail.com

'Pumped Up Kicks' is Not Offensive. In Bad Taste? Possibly. Poor Storytelling? Yes

  I know I'm way behind the curve here and at this point who really cares, right? but the few times I've heard this song since its release the question has kept springing up in my mind; 'why does this bother me?' I always experience this knee-jerk, semi-nauseating reaction that hits when I hear Foster The People's song Pumped Up Kicks. I've decided that it's probably best to reflect on and validate or dismiss those feelings since I don't want to end up being one of those people who just takes offense for the sake of taking offense, and not really knowing why (or if) it's a real issue. At first my thought was; well it's inappropriate to juxtapose this subject matter (a song about a school shooting) with a throwaway candy-pop tune. But is it inherently in bad taste or does it simply go against songwriting convention that sad/dark lyrics need "sad" instrumentation? And am I unfairly blaming the song itself because of the fact that people don't really listen to the lyrics of catchy songs? (Brown Sugar?) Although I would argue that lyrics and music function in much of the same way that a film's score does with the image, I'll just give Foster the benefit of the doubt and say that he was attempting to go against songwriting norms.
His explanation of the song? To be clear, I don't care what the reasoning behind any art is (and I use the term 'art' loosely here). With a few rare exceptions art exists and should be judged for what it is, not what's it's supposed to be. Nevertheless, he says;   

"I feel like the youth in our culture are becoming more and more isolated. It's kind of an epidemic. Instead of writing about victims and some tragedy, I wanted to get into the killer's mind, like Truman Capote did in In Cold Blood. I love to write about characters. That's my style. I really like to get inside the heads of other people and try to walk in their shoes." 

For me this whole issue would have been a moot point if Foster's reasoning behind the song had been "I just wanted to prove that people don't pay attention and you can say whatever you want if it's catchy enough" or "I wanted to show how bland, mass consumerism drowns out and dilutes real-life tragedies." A more cynical answer in this case would have made perfect sense, but that wasn't his answer, so I'll judge the song according to his given excuse. Foster is saying that the song is meant to take us inside the head of a killer. Alright, this approach (identification) is done all the time, in fact it represents the MAJORITY OF ART so the real question is why are you exploring this subject? For the sake of this argument I'll use the lyrics to Peter Gabriel's 1980 song Family Snapshot as contrast; an introspective tune that takes us into the mind of a Lee Harvey Oswald-like assassin. The difference? Well, Foster's song gives us one reason (possibly two if you count the repetitive, superficial jealousy of the chorus) behind the kid's actions; his absent, careless, possibly abusive father...

"Yeah! He found a six-shooter gun in his dad's closet, with the box of fun things"
"Daddy works a long day, he be coming home late, and he's bringing me a surprise 'cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice"

The song has two short verses, verse 1) the kid has a plan. Verse 2) it's implied he is physically abused.
Beyond that the song doesn't actually explore the kid's motivations, or even his immediate flood of jumbled emotions. It's just a detached, generic synopsis. Every line and action are details that could have just as easily been conveyed by an uninvolved third party. There's nothing that only the kid could know, no inner monologue or private detail. The whole point in a song like this is not necessarily to make you feel sorry for, or establish a person's motives (this isn't a trial), but to explore the actions. It's voyeurism to a lesser degree. It's why people enjoy tabloids and true crime shows. It's why people are endlessly fascinated by violence. What are the mechanisms that drive the action? What is the person trying to accomplish in their warped soul?
Peter Gabriel's song demonstrates:
1) The killer's desire to shake people out of what he perceives as their apathy: "I have been waiting for this, all you people in TV land, I will wake up your empty shells"
2) The desire to be remembered "peak time viewing blown in a flash as I burn into your memory cells, 'cause I'm alive" - "I wanna be somebody, you were like that too" - " I need some attention, I shoot into the light"
3) Obsession: "I don't really hate you, I don't care what you do, we were made for each other, me and you"
4) Never learned to give love: "If you don't get even you learn to take, and I will take you" 
5) Because he was never given love (absent parents): "All turn quiet, I've been here before, a lonely boy hiding behind the front door, friends have all gone home, there's my toy gun on the floor, come back mom and dad, you're growing apart, you know that I'm growing up sad"

So, then... what's the point of Pumped Up Kicks? It certainly wasn't to make a statement, because we don't learn anything about ourselves via the character. Action A leads to consequence B, rinse and repeat chorus. We don't learn anything about the kid other than that he shoots up his school-mates for two reasons that a large percentage of children in America can claim; lousy, possibly abusive parents and jealousy. Nihilism? Is the point that anybody could be that kid? Well, that's not really true, most of us have enough of a filter or moral compass to not do something so drastic... and haven't. And that's where storytelling comes into play; somebody did do it and we want to know what's going on (as much as can be understood from an outside perspective). What is the traumatic link to the listener? What catalyst could we conceivably identify with where we could therefore imagine ourselves put on that slippery slope or terrible trajectory? But Foster doesn't really tell us anything; just a sing-songy hook pleasantly gift wrapping a horrifying incident.

Again, Peter Gabriel, who's talented at taking on the personae of deranged individuals, demonstrates this well in another of his songs; Intruder (from the same album as Family Snapshot), this time playing a voyeuristic burglar. I bring it up because it's probably closer in line with Pumped Up Kicks in that it's not about anything else, really, just the act: burglarizing and defiling others' belongings and private spaces. But here the intruder tells us what he likes, what he wants, and we are taken deep inside his psyche by showing the fetishism involved. If Pumped Up Kicks was intended to be a character study then it is an abject failure. Regardless of whose perspective this is meant to be seen from - outside narrator, perpetrator, or an open morality play for the listener to project themselves - the effect is the same: ironic detachment. And here one might say "well, that's the point, it's the detachment that allows a person to be able to commit such acts".
But the clinical sterility and coldness only comes from the lyrics. The music itself, as well as the singer's tonality, makes the kid sound like a mindless killjoy... not as someone committing a desperate act in an attempt at finding some warped sense of meaning. So, then, who is the narrative voice? Is the kid cold and detached or is the narrator? A narrator-driven perspective sounds deeply unsympathetic as well and, with the vocal delivery, almost unaware of the subject matter altogether.

The objection here is not to violence, of course. I have no problem with Johnny Cash singing about "shooting that bad bitch down" or the numerous Blues or Rock songs about the dispatching of people. The question is in how it's presented; is it autobiographical? Is it tongue and cheek? Is the artist making commentary on said event? Do we learn anything from the troubled mind of the perpetrator? I don't feel any of those things listening to Pumped Up Kicks. Hell, the song barely even attempts basic metaphor. What conclusion can we gather about the song then if there's 1) no voyeuristic character study 2) no consequences to actions/moral 3) or statement on how "youth in our culture are becoming more and more isolated?" Because this song is certainly not a commentary, it's merely saying 'this happened. The end.'  The song itself feels isolating. It's presenting a scenario with no implication: either through the inflection of the vocals or the instrumental choices. It just drifts off into a nihilistic haze.

And that's where I'll leave it; the narrative is superficial. Irresponsible? Nah. In poor taste? Maybe? The overall effect is just... "cool." An off-putting "coolness" that just seems to absolve itself of any need to frame the subject matter. Which is weird considering Mark Foster decided to write about it in the first place...
Which brings me to my own personal theory: that the chorus existed long before the rest of the lyrics and that Foster simply filled in the rest because it sounded too good to change. That the line "all the other kids... better run faster than my bullet" existed before any of the other lyrical content and he shaped the rest of the "story" around that phrase, doing his best not to make it sound too sadistic.

Some might say "dood, it's just a pop song", but that's precisely it, if you can't use the format to do justice to the subject matter, then you probably shouldn't bother at all. Truman Capote had three-hundred-odd pages to construct a profile of the men involved in In Cold Blood. Perhaps Mark was drawing from far too ambitious a character-exploration model to compare to his 3 minute, 4 chord pop song. What I'm saying is that, maybe, in the end, pop isn't the best avenue to explore certain subjects... especially if those pesky lyrics that delve into the dark recesses of life interfere with the effectiveness of your radio jingle.

Dark Knight Rises Review

   I'm just going to skip the setup and say that I thought this was very mediocre. Director Christopher Nolan takes the predictable, safe route and throws the kitchen sink into his final Bat outing, while at the same time finally realizing his ultimate goal of making a Batman film that doesn't have Batman in it. What would have been brave, an actual risk, is if he had gone smaller, had Batman come back a worn out man to solve that one last case. Or just a tired Batman going through the motions night after night in a relatively safe Gotham until something catches him off guard, maybe a simple serial killer mystery. 
Instead we have a movie with just way too much shoehorned in, most of which has little emotional payoff. There's so much going on that the film constantly has to make assumptions and vast leaps in logic. Characters simply tell us what is or what has happened in order to speed up plot details because there isn't time to satisfactorily show it.
Examples: Bruce immediately getting back to Gotham through the power of editing. Alfred knowing all about Bane as if it were common knowledge to everyone but Bruce. Blake knowing who Batman is (and seemingly everyone else except Gordon). Bruce having a vertebrae protruding from his back and then returning to fighting form in a few months (even though he's living in a hellish dungeon) The scientist making the reactor functional in just a few seconds.
And with the added layer of thin characterization and pounding, Albert Glasser-caliber film score, you have an overly ambitious film that forgets the value of simplicity and instead projects "big" for big's sake. High concepts and lofty ideas that when glossed over seem to suggest "epic" but which are rarely explored to any meaningful degree.

First of all, Bane - the lynch-pin of most of the film - is a complete dud. Because of the mask and the obviously dubbed voice I almost immediately found myself not even watching his face as he spoke. There was a clear disassociation with him and the voice coming out of the speakers. To me Bane almost felt like a mute because it never seemed like he was actually speaking or emoting to anyone in a scene, only standing there while Hardy narrated from a distance... a man trapped behind a mask, as opposed to Darth Vader whose large "eyes" added a kind of detached mystique. And on top of that the voice was a rather silly choice*, he phrases everything like a question and after a while it started to actually feel comforting, not alien and creepy (like they were probably going for) There was no reason why he couldn't have had a gruff whisper or something. Modelling himself after Dr. Zoidberg probably wasn't the best choice. Not only that but his character ended up being little more than a thug. Whatever justification or drive he felt for wanting to destroy Gotham and Batman was not at all conveyed in an intimidating or meaningful manner. He was programmed to destroy and we're supposed to accept that. Unlike the comics Bane doesn't have a personal vendetta against the symbolic creature of Batman, he's merely an obstacle for his brainless League of Shadows cleansing. And in the end he just wanted to break the bat to prove his love to Talia, of whom he is a pet.
We have over two hours of buildup which attempt to turn Bane into a kind of uber-Napolean/ultimate-death-machine-of-reckoning, and in less than a couple minutes he turns second-fiddle and then goes out like a total, irrelevant chump, all for the sake of a pointless twist-ending revenge plot. Why? Because it was never about Bane, it was just about the bomb from act 1 onward.
Why did Bane and Talia necessarily need to have the same objective? 
In the comics he wasn't out to destroy Gotham (or watch it fall apart like the Joker), he was out to own it. Talia could have simply manipulated Bane's arrogance and lust for dominance into unknowingly carrying out her own secret desire for revenge against Bruce Wayne, who killed her father. Perhaps the League of Shadows had come back once more to eliminate Batman specifically, whom they see as having become too powerful, and to do what they do; restore the balance. With this initial goal both villains could use the plan to suit their own purposes: Bane supplanting Batman's dominance and Talia getting her own brand of slate-cleansing, psychotic revenge. 

Something that's bothered me about the character of Bane in both of his notable appearances (Rises and Nightfall) is the fact that when he does face off with Batman it's with a mentally and physically depleted hero. But at least in Nightfall there was something methodical and sadistic about unleashing all of Batman's rogues gallery before finally breaking him. It was like running up the score. I understand this film is more about Bruce Wayne jumping one last major hurdle, but it further makes Bane appear rather toothless when all he really does is cripple a man who's been "peeing in mason jars" for the last eight years. He's not the beast who seizes control over the Gotham night. He's just another force of nature... like the Joker, but humorless and forgettable. 

Both times I've watched this film I've found myself totally spacing out by the time the bat-plane starts chasing the bomb through the city streets, due heavily to the feeling that the stakes are just too unrealistically high; One of the symptoms of Bane's broad characterization. There's always a certain level of suspension of disbelief in a film, you always know the good guy will come out on top, but when the stakes are many-millions of lives it just becomes too unacceptable a loss to let yourself believe and thus feel tension about the outcome. In Batman Begins we have a fear gas that's tearing a city apart and we actually see the results. In Dark Knight we see the Joker's reign of anarchy and manipulation of the various aspects of city infrastructure. Rachel is in constant danger and her fate is unclear. Will Harvey Dent's integrity stay intact? Who knows? Plenty of tension in both cases.
in Rises we have a broad threat of an impending nuclear blast which is revealed far too early in the narrative, so we spend the majority of the film knowing that nothing of such magnitude will occur. Which is why I think they should have disguised Bane's intentions for as long as possible, revealing Talia earlier and at that time revealing that they have a dirty bomb. Where did it come from and why? Who cares, they're terrorists, they have one. 
I don't think they put nearly enough emphasis on the "liberation" ruse. It could have been much more of an "oh ****!" moment when we realize that Bane has no intention of anything but destruction, but unfortunately they played their hand too early narrative-wise. The idea was similar to the Joker's populist 200th anniversary ruse in Burton's Batman (and Penguin's sympathy ruse in 'Returns'), but even there I think they telegraphed it less, and it was a more effective moment when Vicki Vale screams "he's gonna kill everybody!". (Bane: "he stole my balloons! I mean... fusion bomb") I didn't feel like there was that moment of dread realization here. Everyone in the film seemed to already know from the beginning and from there it just became a routine, ho-hum "gotta stop the bomb" picture. 

Hathaway as Selina Kyle is interesting but essentially truncated (like most every other character) and doesn't serve much purpose at all. She's living on the fringe, making her own way on the hard streets of Gotham, but other than that we have no idea as to her motivation. She's looking for a McGuffin that will erase her police record but are we meant to sympathize with her? And why? Is she really a modern Robin Hood like she claims? What was the past event that is meant to make us relate to or root for her when she finally makes the right choice? There isn't one. She's only a catalyst for the first plot point which is getting Bruce out of the house. And from that point on she is repeatedly forced back into the narrative because, you know, she's a well known character so we have to find something for her to do.
On top of that, her character arc, as involved with Bruce, required such a huge suspension of disbelief it was almost comical. She functions to lure Bruce out of seclusion, steals a necklace from him, betrays him to Bane (for some vague reason) and then disappears for a great chunk of the second half. Bruce then reappears, seemingly not caring in the least that she almost got him killed, and they proceed to share a few vague moments... and then, in the end, we're supposed to believe he leaves Gotham and the mantle of Batman to be with her. Yeah, I don't think so. 
Batman Returns' Batman-Catwoman relation was significantly more interesting because of the duality of their relationship. In Rises they both know who each other are (or least Bruce knows) so there isn't the complexity of the two simultaneous relationships between the 'freak' persona and the 'normal' persona. Selina isn't even "Catwoman" here, so there's not a clear dividing line separating her form her costume. The costume is just a costume: a tool, not a persona. It's also the same with Batman this time around who no longer acts as a separate entity, only as Bruce's work clothes. Also In the new film Selena doesn't lure Bruce to toe the line of vigilante-ism. He isn't meeting another lost soul that forces him to confront his own moral stance, he's just half-heartedly cooing after a slightly wayward cat-burglar. He seems to be drawn to Selina Kyle in the same way I'm drawn to a nice looking pie in a bakery window. In Batman Returns you could feel a kind of passion between two of the loneliest, craziest people in Gotham city.  
But really this is all a moot point since there was never enough time in this film to adequately build a convincing relationship.  

And that brings me to the characterization of Bruce Wayne; except for when he's trying to escape from the M.C. Escher jail, and when he later unleashes on Bane, he always comes across as emotionally meek and lame, aimlessly drifting from plot point to plot point and never actually taking charge of anything. There's no intensity and I never get a strong sense of what Bruce really wants out of life. He retired for 8 years in solitude because he couldn't have Rachel, but WHY exactly did he quit being Batman? If anything he'd be absorbed by the persona but instead he just languishes in self-pity for years because crime is so thoroughly eradicated by the Dent Act that there's absolutely nothing for him to do as Batman? Please. So ultimately I assume that Bruce's only drive was to become THE symbol and that he always regretted Dent becoming Gotham's symbol of peace. If that's the case then he really is just a sad, emotionally broken man. In the comics he always loses himself in Batman to hide these shortcomings, here he runs from it and I don't know why. 
Another major issue with the handling of the character is that (besides the brief "no guns" quip) Nolan abandons the "one rule" dilemma that weighed so heavily on Bruce Wayne in the last two films. In a moment that should have been his ultimate test the writers simply use the tired device of having Catwoman show up in the nick of time - conveniently ending Batman's war with Bane - instead of posing the hard questions: will Batman let Bane die the way he did Ra's Al Ghul? Yep, and apparently with no moral qualms whatsoever. It doesn't seem like he's learned anything since the first film. In fact, after dealing with the Joker's unyielding and impossible shenanigans it seems like he's contented himself with letting another vigilante kill for him. Great message for the kids. 
Not only would comic book Batman be seriously pissed at having been betrayed by Selina Kyle, he would be even more pissed that she shot a cannon through Bane's chest. 

Now for some positives... Batman's first appearance was handled well. There was something satisfying and oddly more heroic about him just showing up without much fanfare (although I would have liked at least one grand entrance in the film) 
I enjoyed the look of Gotham City this time (compared to the last film, at least) This time (using New York mostly) It felt more like a dark, mutli-layered, murky, metropolis. 
The John Blake character was well done and had a pleasing arc and was really the only fleshed out, developed character in the film. 
The scenes between Bruce and Alfred were nicely handled per usual. 
And I really, really liked that there weren't any eye-roll inducing, comic-relief one liners from extras. The only thing that comes close is when the cop says "you're in for a show tonight". So I was pleased with that. 

On the whole The Dark Knight Rises has enough interesting sequences, spectacle and performances to make it a worthwhile viewing, and that may be enough to tide over most. But to me it felt mostly like a grab bag of assorted goodies that fail to connect in an overarching, satisfying, emotionally deep way. You get to see a lot but you don't get to see enough of any one thing for any of it to really matter. It's one great bloated skeleton infrastructure constructed with sweeping narrative signposts that lead nowhere. 

Side Note to Mr. Nolan:
Thank-you for putting Scarecrow in the last two movies and still missing the blatantly awesome opportunities to revisit his fear gas, especially with Bane. To quote Prince: "I mean real-leh?!" Of all the things that you decided to bring full circle from Batman Begins you forget THAT? It was bad enough that the Joker didn't use Crane as a source to dabble in his trademark chemical fixation, you miss yet another golden moment - a moment that would have nodded perfectly to the Knightfall series while still being based in "reality" - where Batman could have once again been dosed and seen Bane as a nightmarish behemoth. Sheesh, can't wait to get a little fantasy back into the Batman series. 

*I don't want to make any assumptions, but I got a strong impression that the "Bane voice" was a direct response to what Heath Ledger did in his Joker role; a "well, he came out of left field and surprised people, so I guess I have to come up with a weird villain voice" sorta thing. The problem is that you can't really catch people off guard a second time.

The Other Half of the Bi-Annual Art Project

"Guy Who Kinda Looks Like Harrison Ford Haunted by Mannequins"

"Skeleton in Repose in Tecnocolor"

Er, uh, hello. The first in today's offering is an extremely mixed-medium thingy that I did on the back of a Justin Bieber poster. It's supposed to be about the film Blade Runner, and that's supposed to be Harrison Ford holding the gun, but it ended up looking remarkably similar to yours truly. I heard it has something to do with artist self-identification or something. We spend so much time looking in a mirror and adoring ourselves that when he or she lacks artistic talent, or attempts to fill in the blanks from memory, the subconscious mind fills in our own unfortunate features for those of Harrison Ford. Fortunately I have just enough talent and look just enough like Harrison to result in this passable likeness. 

Next on the menu is a colorful marker on woodboard abomination that was created mostly through a series of scribbled accidents as I assembled the pedal board of my electric guitar... turned it sideways and thought "Hey, this looks vaguely artsy and abstract. Maybe I can pass it off as art before I plaster velcro all over it!" And I did!.. All thanks to my very deep and unnerving subconscious that assembles form and meaning out of even my most banal noodlings and nonsense!

Have a great five months until my next posting!

Batman vs. The Petty Arsonist

yo

I know I don't post with much frequency on the actual blog, but check out the movie reviews (link to the right >), I'm always posting new ones and they're entertaining, sometimes. So, there ya go.
new stuff in the music section too. Do it.
and some new drawings...bye.

Original Trilogy Beat-down

Hayden Christensen can't repel firepower of that magnitude.  

 

SeNor Lamppost

Today is the day that Senor Lamppost decides whether or not he will continue lampposting for a living. 
Will he go on standing for hours on end, providing a valuable service to a small sector of society, walking down the street illuminating perfect strangers and places that prefer to remain in shadow?

"The pay is nice." He thinks to himself, fidgeting with his clip-on tie. "The work load isn't so bad either. My head is rather cumbersome, but it's a good conversation piece." 

Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a worn wrist watch, silver with a dark leather band and dropped down one too many flights of stairs. It reads 5 ante meridian. This is the only time he ever looks at it because it's the only hour he ever gets excited about (and plus it's his favorite number); end of the graveyard shift (and plus his favorite television program starts in half an hour).

He can now stop debating himself over the pros and cons of resignation and make the thirty-three and a half step commute back to his apartment. Around the corner, up an escalator (the only residence within a thousand miles that has one), down a short hallway and there he is. Though being unusually long and winding for an escalator it certainly cuts down on the actual effort involved in getting home. 
He always wondered why the landlord chose to cram a moving staircase into a rickety, old tower of a building in lieu of a simple elevator...or stairs. Space obviously isn't the issue as the casual observer on the street instantly notices the lopsided, inversely stacked mess that is the Lavender Arms. 
He says the old coot (half building manager, half crazy-failed-inventor) only enjoys the challenge of seeing how long it takes to accomplish things the wrongest way possible. Given his penchant for spectacularly failed ventures Senor just assumes that the "Lavender Arms" was previously a shampoo emporium (and a thousand other things) before finally crumbling into the appropriate condition for bachelors to wallow in their own filth. 

...

Vegas Dream

This is the first and last in a series of artwork based on Nintendo game screenshots. #1 is from a game that probably no one played (except for the step-dads who picked this up instead of Mario Bros because they thought "all them Nintendos were the same", and in an attempt to keep his kid from hating him forever he sits down and plays it to prove how much fun it really is, only to end up drowning in a pool of vodka), and certainly never owned, called Vegas Dream where you control a dwarf-hobbit-manchild who wanders around casinos losing money at keno and video poker. Kind of like Pokemon but with cash instead of adorable mutants. Wait..nope, that's Casino Kid. This game doesn't even have walking, that's how bleak this is. Clearly it was a great way for a child to learn about the emptiness of overindulgence and placing false hope in an illusory dream. Even if you win there isn't anything to spend your money on. All you have is heaps of imaginary cash that you can burn for warmth when you're sleeping in the back alley of the Circus Circus. In real life little Timmy is out 25 bucks and doesn't even get the shrimp cocktail.
On the other hand the game does have an intriguing desperation to its graphics. The dealers stand emotionless like mannequins, uncaring and distant. There is no joy in this "Dream", which is used in the broadest context. Detachment is the only currency. Maybe this was part of the old NES' fascination with dark, psychedelic fantasies in the vein of Mario 2, Little Nemo and Tetris. Who knows.
And speaking of shattered dreams, that's all I found after searching for the real "Glitter Gulch".

Say It Better! With Michael McDonald...

Ever been in a situation where impact is key? Where standing out is vital? Where the competition is brutal and you need that extra something to push you over the top?
Well, my friend, dig this, if you dare...
The Michael McDonald daily vocal harmonizer software!

"I constantly have to reintroduce myself to people. Nothing I say ever seems to get through! If I don't find some new and helpful software based on a 70's rock legend I might just put my head in the oven and bake it! Will that get your attention then, Darlene!? WILL IT!?" Says Stewart Jeffies of Tallahassee, FL

Stewwww, don't tell yourself that it's over!
Using our proven technology the Michael McDonald harmonizer recognizes your natural speech pattern, reinterprets it SCIENTIFICALLY and accentuates your words with beautiful (patent pending) Michael McDonald harmonic stylings!
Imagine yourself hosting a big business meeting, or out to dinner with that girl of your dreams... what are you supposed to say in these situations? Thinking of stuff to talk about is hard work and even if you do carry on successful banter who's to say that your voice won't come across as pathetic and infertile? Odds are you'll be alone for the rest of your life. THAT'S WHERE MICHAEL McDONALD COMES IN! (Michael McDonald not included)
Before heading out of the house simply attach the included (BARELY NOTICEABLE) speakers to your suspenders, headband or belt. Then insert the appropriate disc; 12 of which are included in your purchase and all of which apply to specific situations. Finally, adjust the setting to your liking: "Doobie", "Solo" or "Steely".
Doobie is perfect for casual, social situations when you wanna cut foot loose but find yourself too emotionally crippled to have fun. Leave it to Michael McDonald. Say whatever, it don't matter, he'll chime in at the right time making whatever you mumbled in the corner seem wonderful!
Solo is perfect for individuals with grating or irritating voices. Turn it to "Solo" and you'll be takin' it to the streets with a smooth, soothing new voice...MICHAEL McDONALD'S!
And Steely, that setting for the guy or girl who only needs the occasional assistance. That "every once in a while" accentuation for your active lifestyle.

Sweet Freedom indeed! Order yours today and as a bonus offer we'll include a 40 oz bottle of silver-gray beard and mustache dye at no extra cost to you.

The Year We Make Contact

Is it just me or was 2001 a more futuristic year than this year has been? Is it possible to regress, become less futuristic? Granted it's only five days along but I've still yet to see a single shoe-hat or helmet, which have all but evaporated from the cultural style vocabulary. Listen, helmets are closest to our brains and so it was only natural for them to become the center of all in and outbound communications. Phones, music, bluetooth, vision correction, snack depository, snuff repository, heads up display, Darth Vader breathing assistance, etcetera, etcetera. Light, pithy headgear that gently accentuates daily living and ensures against head injuries. Anyway, point being, I assumed there would be a lot more crap in 2010, lots and lots of hideously designed crap. Crap on walls, crap in cars. Wires and tubes connected to everything everywhere. Need lunch? There's a tube for that. Superfluous design elements, useless facades and vast arrays of lights that serve no purpose other than to advertise for eye cancer treatments.
Instead all our products are becoming lighter, whiter and faster. Mr. "Joe Average" doesn't want to be bogged down by machines, he wants to pretend like he's living a snappy, spontaneous, on-the-go, purposeful lifestyle...and so he compacts all of those machines into a convenient, hand held device that he can stare at throughout the day, that he can stare at while his kids grow up Cat's in the Cradle style. Checking scores and watching mascot bloopers during his wedding. And as he lay on his deathbed, for the first time looking up from his smartphone, and notices that there's no one by his side, it won't matter because they already posted their sympathy on his facebook page.
Jeff says: "Dewder, sry 2 here u got teh cancer."
Lisa says: "omg thats sooooo sad!"
Steve doesn't like this (thumbs down) luckily this was added as a feature after the great "we're starting to get a lot of dead members" debate of 2025.
Illusion, or disillusion, whichever is the most disconnected and over-saturated and tweaked out; there is your future.
Wanna get divorced online? Got thirty seconds?

Fashion predictions and exasperating pessimism aside I now turn my attention to other pressing matters: AS SEEN ON T.V. products
or
"THE Tormented Lives of the Brand X'ers"

Stephanie is a stay at home mom. Every waking hour of Stephanie's black and white existence has been a living hell. In the morning she wakes up to a shrieking, piercingly loud (and four hours behind) alarm clock that she has trouble reading because of the poor quality LCD. And since her reading glasses aren't conveniently clipped to her lapel they might as well be at the bottom of a well. She blind...blind as hell. Rushing to get to work before lunch her faulty bathmat then slips from under her feet, causing her to lose balance and reach for the shower buddy that isn't there. With nothing to grasp onto she falls and cracks her head on one of her sons' toys that should have been picked up by a roomba. Blood that could have easily been mopped up with a shamWOW pours from every orifice! You get the picture.
And now it is five o'clock. Father struggles with ordinary keys, mother struggles with ordinary doorhandles and it's not until seven thirty that dinner finally makes its way to the table, barely. But not after little Timmy has soiled his traditional potty training shorts several times and mother has struggled to clean up the mess with traditional toilet paper dispensers.
A burnt, incoherent mess of a dinner is clumsily flopped on the dinner table while father tries desperately to slice a tomato with ordinary household cutlery. It's a disaster. A sordid affair. Amazingly this was one of the Stevensons' good days.
Each night as the family shivers under traditional blankets they think of the Joneses next door, grossly swimming in unmanageable debt but living a life of effortless, whimsical, ease and bliss thanks to all of the television based products that have now replaced the items that so torment the Stevensons. It's good to live in color!
THE END.

THOUGHTS!

Dear Street Fighter II,

Your cabinet is very popular in our meeting halls.

sincerely, the White Knights of Alabama



And now for a brief summary of things I plan on writing about in varying lengths...

1. This summer: he's a cop who plays by all the rules... and he gets along perfectly amiably with his partner.
2. Cat obedience schools
3. Televised baseball's greatest tradition: zooming in on attractive women
4. Creating your our own personal Bond theme
5. Living the smooth jazz lifestyle
6. You can get away with anything as long as Harry Belafonte music is playing
7. The Professional Juror - this Fall on CBS
8. The golf scene in Navy SEALS vs. the volleyball scene in Top Gun
9. What's the deal with 80's teenagers always going to the lake for the weekend?
10. Kanye and others: shocking pre-fab publicity stunts OF THE STARS
12. People who are anal about Americans calling themselves Americans even though they know exactly what it means and there are no other countries that have "America" in their title. 
13. Xtreme History-ing and history flash mobs: reinactors perform impromptu raids on old fortifications during the height of tourist season.
16. Action Movie Ambulance Denouement Scene: THE MOVIE and or TV SHOW! Picture this...a movie that follows around the hard working folks who hand out blankets to action stars, zany sidekicks and their families at the end of hard-boiled action flicks.
17. Using modern technology to trick your loved ones into thinking you're really far away, but then actually being there to surprise them while they're busy staring at their laptop or phone. Personally I prefer spending years out of touch and then showing up without warning.
19. The Lord of the Rings Eagles: Always there to bail out your cornered narrative!
20. 1-800-Prove It. The joke's on you Old Spice, I use a $3,000 deodorant from Milan! HA-HA!
21. Following people around until they pay what they owe you...like they do in the movies!
22. The Adventures of the Most Interesting Man in the World: Wes Anderson and Dos Equis, a match made in quirky, cinematic heaven.   
23. The imaginary third wall: the future of home architecture AND the future of LIVE reality sitcom!
24. Drive hammered, get nailed...LITERALLY. Crucifixion is back in the State of Illinois' increasingly extreme drunk driving deterrence program. Be sure to vote on proposition 23: no more parking lots for establishments that sell or serve alcohol.  
25. People seeing characters in movies do stupid crap at weddings and then deciding that it would be a good idea to do it at their own wedding.

RANCH STYLE HOMES - It's the 1950's and you're a newlywed swinger who wants the most out of life, but the kicks are running thin. It's true, you'll never be rich enough. Ranches are for oil tycoons and drug lords. So how is Johnny Square ever going to afford that fabulous ranch style home outside of Dallas? Answer: why not bring the ranch to you... at an affordable price!
Realtor: "Function and aesthetic are out. Ranch is the new trend in illusory wealth."
"We'll take it!"
Crusty 1950's party-guests swooning with envy: "A ranch!? Here in Chicago? Well, I'll be, they must have large sums of acreage hidden somewhere, then!"
I picture a loving family standing portrait style by their front door, father gazing confidently out across the street at the other houses, "traditional" houses with two or three stories that a child could easily fall from. Tall houses unable to withstand the harrowing winds of the Skokie 'burbs. "Only a flat, shoe-box shaped house can withstand the imminent nuclear attack from the Soviets, son."
Timmy nods appreciatively as his beaniecopter hat spins with a whirl and Susie takes a big lick from her over-sized lollipop.
A lesson as old as the Scripture.
But that was then. In current times these monuments to patriarchy of olde sit like mausoleums on aging street corners where ghosts of formerly-murdered inhabitants replay incidents which are visible through one of the many front-side bay windows as you drive home to your lesser housing.

Random: Not What You Think It Means...
helping bored and shallow youths believe in their specialness since 2004

Dear people, you are not random. You are not being random. Random does not equal odd or unusual. The only things that are random are lotto numbers, police lineups, brownouts and lightning strikes...unless they are sent specifically by Zeus to kill golfers. I know it's hard being young and trying to differentiate yourself in the same way that the rest of your peers are differentiating. So what better way than by letting everyone know that there's no rational apparatus governing your decision making process, in other words; you have tourette syndrome. Watch out for this person! They may just go to Dairy Queen and have a Blizzard with gummie bears on top! That is SO 2009!
Don't get me wrong, being "random" is a lot easier than developing genuine interests in things. "Things" are not all that cool and take way too long to learn. Sometimes it's more fulfilling to keep people on edge wondering what you might do next (and wearing a t-shirt that warns them of such). You're a Mentos commercial waiting to let loose and amaze your Facebook friends with a status update that has the lyrics from a song that just played on your i-Pod, RANDOMLY! Oh snap!

Rock & Roll...Literally

Secrets of the Ninja Part 1: The Basics

CHAPTER ONE PART ONE: THE BASICS OF NINJITSU

Welcome, I am he who shall not be named, but if you must then you shall name me MASTER, in all capital letters. I was looking at the internet recently and discovered how much garbage there is regarding the sacred Ninja tradition, it makes me want to rip your throat out and sautee it with some poisonous mushrooms and then feed it back to you while you are still alive.
What I hope to accomplish here is to crush and make weak all those who defile the name of NINJITSU. Gaiden? Shinobi? Turtles?! HA! CHILD'S PLAY-THINGS! Avatar the Last Airbender!? I hate that little Buddhist freak. Speaking of childs, do they not realize that Karate lessons are futile since they are still too young and pre-pubescent to inflict a killing blow on a human adult? HA HA HA! Scum! In my village children must till the rice with bare hands and sharpen the MASTER's blade with their tongues until the day comes when they are truly prepared to learn the necessary skills.
This is the only lesson you need. Every other book you own, destroy with fire. Destroy your loved ones also, their affection and care (and calling your cell phone asking you to pick up the dry cleaning) will only hinder your path to true invisibility.

Q: What is ninjitsu?

A: If you have to ask this question then it is likely that I have already climbed down your chimney and poked you in the eye with a hot coal poker thing. NEXT QUESTION!

Q: Are you wielding a ball-peen hammer in that photograph? If so, why? Is it a traditional ninja weapon?

A: Are you a traditional ninja weapon!? Listen, yes, I am, and no, it's not...but who's going to notice the difference whether they were killed by a huge sword or a plastic lunch fork. Dead is dead, and the hammer was there, so I used it. Get over it. If I were where you are now I would smash your face in with your keyboard and then strangle you with the mouse chord. If it's a wireless mouse then I'll blind you with the infrared light on the bottom. NEXT QUESTION!

Q: If I become a ninja will I be allowed to use guns?

A: Sure, why not, and while you're at it why not just fly around in an airplane and drop bombs on people like the loser from Aero Fighters 2...
My life is lonely and difficult, wah! Wah! Instead of tracking my prey for thousands of miles and then engaging him in a three hour duel like a real ninja I just fly around and drop bombs from the safety of my airplane, waaaahh!
In case you missed it I was being sarcastic. NO, YOU CANNOT USE A GUN! If you want to go duck hunting like a redneck then THIS IS NOT THE PROFESSION FOR YOU! Real life is NOT like Walker the Texas Ranger. 99.9% of the time you will shoot your enemy in the face given the option...so we strip you of that option and force you to think of all the creative ways in which you can end a life. You are totally missing the point of ninjitsu if you think it's "lonely and difficult", probably because you're confusing the ARMY and AIR FORCE with BEING A NINJA ON THE GROUND KILLING PEOPLE AND GETTING HOT BABES. At least HALF of a ninja's skills are employed in the evasion of groupies...HALF!!! And if there is one thing I have learned it is that HOT BABES will always choose the man in black with the blood soaked katana. While you're busy reloading your musket, I've already disappeared in a puff of smoke with all the babes. If there is one thing to remember, NINJA = ROCK STAR x 10. We are NOT Monks, Samurai or Jedi Knights. After the training is complete there is no, I repeat NO, self control or sacrifice involved.

Q: Is there a dress code for being a ninja?

A: YES, THERE IS A DRESS CODE! And NO you cannot dress up in your World of Warcraft cosplay or pretend to be a Ninja Pirate or Ninja Cowboy or Ninja Indian. Also, Ryu and Ken are not ninjas, and neither is Goku, or Naruto, or the Power Rangers (except for Tommy, he was neat) so STOP ASKING! The rules are very clear, many of which are taken advantage of and stretched to obscene limits by so-called "Ninjas" (Gaiden, I'm talking to you. Stop riding the fence, you're either a Ninja or a Samurai. PICK ONE!)

Different Ninja colors:
Here is what you need to know about the various colors: each one is assigned to certain levels of skill, and while you are of that particular skill you must viciously attack the other kinds of ninjas (as well as repel ambushes that occur at the most inconvenient times). In other words, we are in constant battle against rival ninja factions. Every color but your own = EVIL. THE ENEMY.
The Ninja Turtles would lead you to believe that there are also purple, orange and blue ninjas, but that is just silly. Have I ever mentioned how crazy I am for turtle meat?

Level ONE and TWO: Black Ninja and American Ninja

Your basic level one black ninjas are the biggest pieces of scum on earth. They are the Tito Jacksons of the ninja world...blubbering, dime-a-dozen idiots who couldn't sneak into a starbucks for a latte. Notice how easily and submissively he is being beaten down by the American ninja, truly pathetic. Yes, I know, black ninjas are the most "iconic" of all ninjas, but that's only because they are SEEN the most. I kill literally HUNDREDS of black ninjas throughout the day without even realizing it, they're like flies on a windshield. Total scum.
Notable blacks include: the "ninjas" from Mortal Kombat, if they can even be called that...freaks.

Next on the food chain is the American Ninja. With greater financial backing and a nuclear arsenal to cover up any mistakes that may occur during ninja-ing, this ninja pulls slightly higher rank than the traditional black ninja. In other words, they're just as crappy as black ninjas and I could kick them in the face I hate them so much...and always with the moral angle on everything, "Waaah! I have to avenge this, waaaah! I need to right this wrong." Etc, etc. Seriously, do we ALWAYS need a legitimate reason to kill things? Idiots.
Notable stupid American Ninjas include: Chuck Norris, Bruce Wayne, Snakeyes, Cole, Joe.


Next are red ninjas, the commie bastards of ninjadom. These flamboyant killers take pride in being the most annoying they can possibly be. EVERYWHERE, all the time, it's red ninjas here, red ninjas there! They appear from nowhere no matter where you go. I'm at the grocery store and, look, hey, it's a red ninja in the produce isle. Of course you just kill them all and go about your day but it is very frustrating. The most you can do for some peace and quite is either; hire some Mexican ninjas to keep a lookout at your apartment, or set a trap using tacos. It is a well known fact that red ninjas are cuckoo for hardshell tacos. And the costumes...garbage! The only time they provide effective cover is if you're working in a cranberry bog or flying through a bloodstorm of your own creation. But that probably means you've already killed half the town's population already, so it's a little late by that point.
Very few of this type of ninja are found in popular culture, mostly because they suck. There's Strider Hiryu with his stupid spiky hair and then there's Elektra, except she's a woman...and women ninjas are laughable at best. HA HA HA! Well, Cho's Granny in Revenge of the Ninja held her own pretty well until Braden shoved a sword through the wall and, by result, through her spleen. HA! Only women and red ninjas hide in walls.
On a related note, wasn't it really great (for a black ninja) when Cho beats up the Village People on the children's playground. Yes, great scene. It would have been better if a few of the kiddies had by-accidents.

Thirdly we have the white ninja, the most holy and magnificent of ninja warriors, of which I happen to be. Like a pure, elegant snowflake we glide silently and then attack with the viciousness of a snow monkey. So precise is our methodology that we rarely have to remove stains from our death shrouds. Even the victims will likely not show any signs of trauma though their major organs be missing...most of the time they don't even know they were struck until the top of their skull slides off into their bowl of Cheerios.
Famous white ninjas: Me, Storm Shadow, Raiden, Master Splinter, Gandalf.

And finally we have the elusive nude ninjas who, even more-so than white, have fully transcended the need for physical concealment. Steven Seagal is rumoured to be one but it is hard to know who and where since White ninjas on the cusp of nudehood are rarely (if ever) heard from again.

That is all for today's lesson. Thanks for all the stupid questions. You were a pathetic student. You learn nothing...scum! Next week I will give some practical tips for stalking women as well as answer the question: do we have a license to kill? No, but when has that stopped us before.

Thoughts on Big Whiskey & the Groo Grux King

Ever since the meltdown that ensued in the aftermath of the abandoned Lillywhite Sessions the Dave Matthews Band has managed to avoid the fade into total irrelevance suffered by many of their 90's pop counterparts. Due in part to their ongoing enthusiasm for live performance and their ability to give birth to new songs and allow them grow over the course of a tour. My biggest gripe in recent years, however, is seeing them come up with some genuinely interesting tunes (Loving Wings, Sugar Will, Good, Good Time) that seem to fade quickly into the memories of all but the hardcore fans, rarely seeing the light of a recording studio. Somewhere from tour's end to the studio the band feels inclined only to start fresh and give themselves another motivation for touring... As opposed to collecting and sorting out their newly budding works. It started with Everyday and since then Dave seems to have been looking for a way to keep the band relevant and interesting for not only himself but for his band mates. Trying new producers, new sounds, trying to give something new to the fans. Trying to balance a whole plethora of expectations and keep a good thing going without worrying about creating a masterpiece.
And so, reconciling the need for a fresh approach started to become the band's mantra. A preoccupation that resulted in mediocre albums, compounded by 2005's paper thin Stand Up. An album that sounds like a band trying to have fun, but who have become too lazy to write songs that are actually fun.
Fast forward to 2009 after the unfortunate death of saxophonist LeRoi Moore. Death is always some sort of a catalyst for art but I find conjecturing about it's relevance as a means to success distasteful. It is a powerful agent of change, needless to say, and represents a major signpost and moment of reflection for any long-lived group. And, I believe, what happened next would either signify the group's death or it's rebirth, rarely ever is there an in-between.
Because I used to consider myself a fan I felt at least a little compelled to check out their next project and give it a fair yea or nay. Even with the jaded attitude that comes from two or three albums worth of downhill disappointment (and its effect on my first listening) I have to admit it wasn't difficult at all to allow myself to be absorbed by the mood of this album. Where with Stand Up and Busted Stuff I was either grasping desperately for something to love or trying to remember why a song was good. With Big Whiskey I'm able (for the first time in a long time) to sit and enjoy the flow of the overall work. You can tell that the band is finally relaxed and making natural decisions in their songwriting.
Dave says this is their best album. Clearly that isn't the case. Before These Crowded Streets is untouchable, a once-in-a-lifetime sort of album that captures the entire group at their pinnacle. That's not to take away from what they've done here though. Big Whiskey is a return, of sorts, to renewed interest...at the very least. Maybe not in the same ballpark as the original three but certainly a step up from the bottom of the barrel they've been scraping the last few studio outings. Some of the issues that I believe keep this material short of excellence are; the lazily authored lyrical content (nothing new as far as Dave is concerned but it's probably better if he just keeps mumbling like he used to), their inclination toward attention deficient pop stylings that often forgo the subtle in favor of the "jam". And finally, the "official" exclusion of Boyd Tinsley who hasn't been relevant to a Dave Matthews Band album since 2000 and all but disappears here, leaving us with the Dave Matthews Trio. It's not the same Band anymore and it's certainly not the same understated Tim Reynolds either. No longer can we as fans fantasize about reclaiming the glory days of the "old sound" because it's gone. What they have found, fortunately, is a new magic that they can call their own. One that might be enough to light their creative fires for the forseeable future.

Dave Matthews Band Big Whiskey & Groo Grux King: 7.875/10

This isn't a Stick-Up, It's a Freak Out

After looking over my current bank statement I began thinking about the exciting possibility of robbing a bank. It seemed only natural I thought to go directly to the source. But I wanted to steer clear of the boring and predictable armed robbery route so I decided to try something that was crazy, but not so crazy that a jury of my peers would send me to the gas chamber of secrets...
After weighing several options... such as; a reverse pyramid scheme, something involving a hot air balloon and or gyrocopter, asking nicely while gradually increasing in desperation, and a plan to turn every employee into an accomplice by blackmailing them with photos I would doctor on MS Paint...I finally decided on constructing an elaborate heist based on a good old-fashioned, P-Funk freak out. Activities that are normally mundane such as following yellow brick roads and touring candy factories are often turned into freak fests when they're combined with certain "elements", and by elements I mean drugs...and the exploitation of those suffering from their effects by subjecting them to jarring contrasts of happy and surreal. So, why not wield that power in a way that's beneficial to me.
Here's the plan, as read by the formerly deceased Vincent Price:

The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom

Yes. I just copied that from Thriller. Anyway, cowering in anticipation and be-wonderment the bank denizens will gasp and clutch their children as the glass doors dramatically open; revealing I (sporting a cane and top hat) and four or five midgets emerging from the purple haze. Tip-toeing at first, sneaking through the shroud of smoke to the sound of rattling change and printed receipts. Stepping in time with my gun-wielding Munchkins, and Oompas and Ewoks until the famous bass line of Pink Floyd's Money starts in.
Thump, bum-ba-dum...
In perfect synchronous terror we skip and prance two by two among the bystanders with money bags outstretched. Without a word the helpless and awestruck victims drop their valuables inside while the ghoulish parade continues before their eyes. Midgets appear from drawers and handbags and suddenly the room is flooded with bizarre creatures from all rings of hell. Here the come jesters, 1, 2, 3...Plasticine porters with looking glass ties...crystal blue persuasion...incense and peppermints...fire walk with me! The walls begin to melt...goo-goo-ga-choo.
Meanwhile I begin to recite Wonka's wonderous boat ride speech.
"I'm high on the drugs!" screams an elderly woman as she throws herself out the nearest window.
And still, not a single word of protest or ultimatum given, because even the bravest of men do not want their linens soiled by the greasy hands of a gnome. The security guard stands poised inches away from the alarm but is frozen, and may never recover, and may never testify. For he knows that:

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men.

It's that simple! And then off I scamper with a briefcase full of loot to catch the next flight to Ooomp-Loompa Land.

The Coming Advances in Weekday Avoidance

If there's one thing people generally don't enjoy it's their jobs. Even if they say they like their work they're lying, or covering up the fact that they have nothing else to live for. Alright, that may be a tad harsh as a blanket statement of fact, but what is true is that our society has become firmly rooted in the quagmire-like dystopia as predicted by Marx in regards to capitalism. If say, in the 19th century people were detached and unsatisfied with their interaction with industrial machines and mass production, then how are we to feel now in the digital age? We still rarely encounter, have a connection to, or any notion as to the destination of our final product. But what's worse is that there is no product. It's all in some country most people don't know exists. Today the average job involves sending and receiving, customer relation, finances, sorting and sorting...in short: a middle-man for residual effect of a product that was likely created thousands of miles away with little to no input from yourself, and then being forced to feign excitement and firsthand knowledge in it's eventual pimping to the masses.

And so here's the deal; with the majority of our workforce sitting on the sidelines of the creative sphere (the "natural", primitive desire to produce through trade and craft as a means of not only support but also a satisfying means to spend the major portion of our days) we are left with only one important question for the future: how do we skip to the weekend? And as even our most banal of information jobs are continually outsourced, the question becomes even more pertinent.
"Weekday avoidance" will soon become a major issue in future presidential elections and it's time that we start addressing the issue head on.
Contrary to popular opinion I'm not a wizard, nor a prophet...that would be sacrilegious. I have no answer to this puzzle, but I do have a few outrageous solutions that would benefit us all, especially me, who will be rich beyond your wildest dreams when it comes to fruition.
Here is the list...patent pending...
1. Clones - unethical, per say. Only to be used as a last resort so long as we can prove they don't have souls.
2. Robots - a more viable, conscience friendly option. Anyone who chooses this would have to first buy their own personal "W.O.R.K.I.E" (Weekend Ovoidance Killroy Industrial Employobot) and pay all the attributable taxes and upkeep fees. The only downside to this is that if they happen to develop a "ghost" in their "machine", an independent intelligence, and realize they're being used to make hamburgers and telemarketing calls, they're going to be very pissed off...resulting in our long dreaded robot holocaust.
2.5. Cyborgs - All the advantages of Robots and Clones without (as many of) the ethical burdens and possibilities of our own massacre. Downside: they're usually really ugly. Bad for customer service.
3. Time travel - Always a possibility is that we could simply wake up on a Monday and take our personal time traveling vehicles to 5 pm on Friday. This option is filled with all kinds of problems, however. If John Doe gets to Friday and realizes that his weekday self has gunned down his office in a fit of rage, or sexually harassed a co-worker, what happens when he decides to fix it? Yep, see, the fabric of space/time would be torn like a Kleenex after the first day. Unless of course safe guards could be placed on when and where you could go. "Fridays Only!" Still...
4. Memory erasers - When the week is over just zap away the mind numbingly boring memories of the week! This is interesting but seems redundant since it's essentially what people try to do when the week is over anyway. And then there are all those details that might be valuable to remember; wedding dates, births of children, surgeries. Added up these would cause society to go haywire rapidly. Forget this one.
5. Rapping genies with attitudes - oh yeah! Wish #1: that I can get fired from my job!...Wish #2: that it'd be the freakin' weekend twenty-four hours a day! Wish #3: more wishes!

And finally, 6. Let the alcohol industry grow exponentially by instituting a week long "weekend bender". Everyone wins! The only trade off is that it would promote the denigration of our values, culture and government since it would basically place booze industry lobbyists in the seats of all major power...and none of us wants Jimmy Buffet as our commander and chief.

Five excellent options for us to ponder. Think about it, will you?

*I am not responsible for any deaths that may occur in the deployment of said ideas.