Recommended Rental: They Live (1988) 3.75/5

Before I saw They Live, the undisputed champions of movies featuring 80’s professional wrestlers were Predator and Suburban Commando. However, now John Carpenter's cult classic has been tagged in.

This film is 80’s cheese at it’s best with former WWF star “Rowdy” Roddy Piper taking on the role of down on his luck, homeless laborer John Nada and his quest to enlighten his fellow Earthlings to the fact that aliens have taken over the planet and are profiting through human ignorance in a twisted form of capitalism and media control through subliminal messaging and a signal that hides their true form. Much of the acting and dialogue will get you rolling on the floor laughing, but this dark comedy is a perfect satire of 80’s consumer culture, something viewers can identify with today in our current gimmie, gimmie society.

They Live teachers viewers why they shouldn’t just wear their sunglasses at night as, while lazing about his shantytown dwelling, Nada uncovers an underground revolutionary movement creating sunglasses that allow its wearers to see through the aliens’ subliminal signal. The effects are shocking as Nada finds the truth is a black and white reality where magazine and billboard advertisements are replaced with sayings like “OBEY” and “MARRY AND REPRODUCE.”

Look out for one of the longest and most hilarious fight scenes in movie history as, after what looks like a murderous rampage to the unenlightened public, Nada tries to convince his fellow down on his luck best friend Frank Armitage (Keith David) to the truth. Here we see why Piper was cast as he continually takes punches and body slams Armitage while repeatedly wiping the blood from his lip and saying “Put on the glasses,” until Armitage finally does, sees the world for what it really is, and joins Nada and the underground revolutionary movement.

I’ll leave it up to you to see how this ends but I will say it concludes with a perfect middle finger before death. Check this movie out if you are looking for something to quote and laugh along with while receiving a strong satirical, sociological message.

THE HIGHS: Classic dialogue. Examples: Nada to Armitage, “Brother, life's a bitch... and she's back in heat.” Nada walking into a bank during his alien killing spree, “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass... and I'm all out of bubblegum.”

THE LOWS: Acting from crazy eyed actress Meg Foster that is amazingly worse than Piper’s. For her sake, I hope her dismal performance is due to an accidental Piper elbow slam from the top rope.

Guerrilla Charity: The T1000 of Solicitation

For those of you who don't have a cyborg sent from the future to protect you from weekend morning solicitors, turn off the lights, shut the blinds, and lock the doors.

Anybody who has walked through the city with me will tell you that I’m the kind of guy who looks the downtrodden in the eye. When they want something I give it. Call me what you want; my friends always blast me for my giving nature, but I don’t care how these folks have gotten into the mess they’re in. If I can spare some change or the rest of my bottled water I will. If a guy needs a buck to purchase a 40 of Steel Reserve, I’m like Superman swooping in and extending a crumpled Washington. But, before you start throwing Nobel Peace Prizes at me and spitting at Mother Theresa’s supposed generosity, when it comes to certain other solicitors, I’m not so understanding.

Until recently, my resentment scope has been aimed at the Jehovah’s as they are always willing to walk up in their white button up and black slacks and ruin a perfectly good Saturday afternoon. I remember as a kid working with my dad in the garage and us running inside when we saw them approach. I think my dad might have even shut the garage door but the brain cells holding that memory have been sucking on an exhaust pipe.

Not even my pop, a pretty tough hombre, wanted to deal with these characters. Upstairs, we wiped our nervous sweaty brows and chuckled, knowing we had pulled off a James Bond like escape, and watched them, shoulders hung, walk next door to terrorize our neighbors. We had escaped, but, like the ending of a good film-noir, there would always be the “Until we meet again…”

Also, in this same category, are the Sunday pamphlet wielders ready to ruin a good hang over as they push their beliefs on my just rolled out of bed, alcohol oozing, hair fairy self, forcing me to awkwardly half smile until I can make up some lame excuse of why I need to go inside. “Umm…yeah…I hear what you’re saying, but…ummm...I think my laundry’s done.” Most of the time they are easy to avoid as judges aren’t allowed to grant them warrants into your home, but they have a knack for timing their arrival perfectly as I’m putting the keys in the door, breakfast in hand. No wonder the Chinese don’t want missionaries in their country.

The two above solicitors cause my heart to plummet every time I hear a knock on my door, but this rant is really aimed at Guerrilla Charity. At least Jehovah’s and pamphlet wielders have the cohones to stand in the open and fight in a gentlemanly manner. But, lately, I’ve been bombarded at retail stores and fast food eateries by at purchase, Vietcong foot in a spike trap box style $1 donations. The charities launching these missiles from afar vary quite a bit and sometimes the name tagged solicitor just says the dollar is “for charity.”

Very cunning. Very sly. No longer can I shut off the lights or ignore the knocking door. They’ve taken the battle out in the open and have used my good-naturedness against me. Either I give the dollar or feel like scum for not donating “only a dollar” and worry about the consequences. At PetSmart I’ll usually give $1 to help homeless animals but today at Taco Bell I declined giving a dollar to the Boys and Girls Club. Clearly, based on my dollarmenuaire order I only had so much moola, but did my refusal cause a loogey to be donated into my cheesey double beef burrito?

I have nothing against giving to charity. In my current financial state I try to help out when I can, donating old clothes and what not, and, when things improve, I would like to help more. But, sadly, right now, all of those dollars add up. In the meantime, until I’m winning eight gold medals swimming in piles of cash, it would be nice not having to feel like an asshole whenever I buy a crunchwrap supreme or some cat food.

Book Review: Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life by John Lee Anderson, 754 pp. 5/5

Revolutionary Robin Hood. Murderous despot. Father. Husband. There are many titles you could give to Che Guevara depending on your political and ideological leanings; however, no matter what your opinion is, nobody can dispute that he is one of recent history’s most controversial and mysterious figures. Who is this man whose face appears on countless dorm rooms and t-shirts? Why could pundits argue for hours about his legacy? Who is Che Guevara?

These are the questions I wanted answered when I picked up Jon Lee Anderson’s Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life. I wanted to get past the newsroom truths and passionate following surrounding Che and find an objective, truthful voice to share his life story. With Anderson’s biography that is exactly what I found. There are many other “biographies” of the revolutionary out there, but even though Anderson’s was published 11 years ago, I challenge any of them and future Che biographies to match the scope and objectivity that is found in this masterpiece.

The biography begins with the birth of Che and ends with his death in Bolivia at the hands of the Bolivian military and the CIA. In the middle you learn countless things. Che was not Cuban but Argentinean. He suffered from debilitating asthma his entire life, which makes his treks through the Cuban jungle even more remarkable. He was a doctor. He is a father of today’s guerilla warfare as he constantly improved his tactics and wrote guides on the subject. His socialist cause did not end in Cuba as he left the island after the successful revolution and tried to spread his ideas to Congo and Bolivia.

You also see why so many people could love him and why others could despise him at the same time. As a youngster, Che saw people suffering throughout his travels and could not understand why they received no aid. As he grew older, although his means spawn countless arguments, he wanted to create change so all would be provided for. Che was not like the leaders of today who preach one thing and do another. He truly believed in socialist reform and the “new socialist man,” people who shunned individualism and worked for the whole, and was willing to give his life for this cause as he eventually did. He lived in a modest home and received modest pay, and even participated in his own program that called for citizens to take one day and volunteer one’s self for society with no consideration of payment.

However, while it is honorable that he followed his own example, it is easy to see why he could also be hated as his socialist passion and anti-individualist ideals caused him to be often ruthless towards those who did not share his vigor. Also, from an American standpoint, his principles differ completely with the capitalist, “winner take all” U.S. mindset. He also believed the only way to end “Yankee imperialism” was through all out war, which almost came to be during the Bay of Pigs incident.

People who read this biography will, of course, learn about Che, but Anderson also does much to illuminate the Cuban Revolution and Fidel Castro, being that Che’s relationship with both is pivotal in fully understanding the revolutionary. Much of the middle of the biography is devoted to Castro’s beginnings, his clash with America’s imperial influence in Cuba, and his rise to power after the Revolution with Che at his side.

At an epic 754 pages this biography may seem daunting to the casual reader, but curiosity and Anderson’s quality writing will keep you going. I recommend this book to anybody who was as curious as I was about Che and to those out there who truly want to know how powerful the image on their walls and t-shirts is.

Ninja Gun CD Release Party at CR's August 9

Ninja Gun front man Jonathan Coody belts out "Eight Miles Out" (my favorite song of '08 so far) at the band's CD release party Saturday night at CR's. So, who wants to give me a Nikon?

Saturday couldn't come soon enough as Chrissty and I headed up to CR's to see the much anticipated Ninja Gun show. I've been wanting to see these guys since January when I first heard them on Myspace, but because of weeknight shows and weekmorning work drudgery, my responsible side wouldn't allow me to attend.

We met Santanna there at 9, which we should have known was way too early. Knowing this fact, you would have expected us to show up in a Lincoln Towncar, Chrissty fashioning a broach and me boat shoes and a nice pair of slacks on the way to an early bird prime rib, but at least we only had to wait 10 minutes for a cold brew (specifically a $4 32-ouncer; very nice) and another hour for the show to begin.

Ninja Gun didn't get on until about 12:30, but it was well worth the wait as the three opening bands showed off some of the true original talent that exists admits Valdosta's obsession with three 45 minute sets of covers.

Leading off was False Arrest.

This young band proved that quality hardcore punk rock does exist in Valdosta with its 30 second AK-47 blasts to the eardrums. For those out there not into this style of music, the band's stage presence alone was worth witnessing as the lead singer windmilled and convulsed among the guitarist and bassist frenzying at finger tip bleeding speeds. After each conniption/song, the lead singer would plop down on the drum stand, chest heaving, down some water and converse with the crowd. It would have made for the best Vh1 Storytellers since Meatloaf's.

I welcomed their sound as I hadn't experienced any thing like it in a long time, but, at the same time, I cringed at what poor Chrissty and Santana were going through behind me as False Arrest is definitely not their cup of tea. Luckily, things calmed down some or I would have ended up on the Rock 'N' Rodeo dance floor doing the Souja Boy.

Next was No More Analog

Chrissty and I had no idea that our friend Taylor was in a band until he told us before the show. Then, an hour or so later, there he was looking like the Cheshire Cat as he banged on the drums. It's quite a sight witnessing somebody enjoying themselves so much. The Captain's deep, fast vocals sounded superb on "No Vacancy" and later meshed well with Jack Dean's, higher vocals on one tune I missed the name of. No More Analog's brand of punk rock was intense but more laid back than False Arrest's in the sense that a fire bombing isn't as destructive as an Atom Bomb.

Next was Second to Edison

This is a band I've heard a lot about but had never experienced until Saturday night, and I wasn't disappointed. The lead singer's voice was amazingly powerful as it resonated through the entire bar. The band mixed in this amazing slow song I wish I remembered the name of; it's pace and the despair of the lead singer's voice made you cling to every word. The guy was also hilarious between sets. I don't know if it was him or the booze talking but, either way, you sir deserve an invitation to the Bob Saget roast.

Last but not least: Ninja Gun

As the band took the stage the crowd pushed towards the foursome like a group of 5 year olds listening to a grandfather' s old wise tales. The bands who played before them stood among us and looked on like apprentices watching their master craftsman pound steel.

Ninja Gun was well worth the wait as they sounded better live than on their album. They were true showmen as they put on a fun show much helped by Coody's "crazy eyes," "'Preciate it," a foul-acting guitar strap that constantly came undone, and the hilarious buffoonery of the Second to Edison lead man joining Coody on the mic on numerous occasions.

The band began with the self titled track from their new album "Restless Rubes," and followed with the faster paced "Eight Miles Out," which got many of the few remaining table dwellers out of their seats and up to the stage. The songs get hazy from there but they also played "Darwin was a Baptist", the crowd going nuts and joining in on "Can I get a little church in my state/Give me one more reason to hate everything around me," "Asking Price," "Permanent Press," and "Smooth Transitions" from their debut album Smooth Transitions; the crowd going crazy and screaming along at "God bless me, God bless me, God bless me."

All and all a perfect Saturday night. Good beer. Good friends. Good music.

The Freshman's Guide to a Successful College Experience: 1st Edition

"Back to school. Back to school, to prove to Dad that I'm not a fool. I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don't get in a fight. Ohhhh, back to school. Back to school. Back to school. Well, here goes nothing." (Billy Madison, 1995)

Baytree is filling up with solemn looking parents driving empty mini-vans home, and beamers driven by 17 year olds way too young to deserve them; therefore, another Fall Semester must be upon us where Valdosta is bombarded by the newest crop of deer in headlights looking Freshmen taking their next step towards the Real World (of course not the drunkin’ orgy in a hot tub, but the business casual, jeans on Friday, maybe drunkenly hook up with the new hire after happy hour deal). I was them once. I was you. I remember those anxious nervous feelings, eons ago, back in ’01: the excitement of new found freedom, the anxiousness of new surroundings, the fear of making new friends, the anticipation for the future.

As the old-timer that I am, I want to take the lessons I’ve learned and act as your Sherpa (China sucks!) through the perilous mountain range that is the college experience. First, I applaud you for making it this far, but it isn’t all Van Wilder, Animal House, Back to School and Saved by the Bell: The College Years as the American media would like you to believe. In fact, the stakes are against you; about half of all college students who start with the best intentions won’t graduate.

Of course the “experts” will give you their reasons for this, but it’s simple really: successfully completing college is about finding a balance, the yin of studying and making the grades and the yang of having fun and paying the rent. That’s it. For the most part, those who find the balance succeed, and those who don’t are yanked off the stage with a giant cane. So, to help you find that balance, here are my tips and suggestions for success.

1. Graduate Past Your High School Relationship – This goes 10 fold if said person lives more than an hour away. Look, I know this sounds cruel, but stop getting all Notebooky on me. Honestly, this should have been done long ago, but, now that you’re down here, the dawn of text messaging will make the confrontation much easier. I know you pledged your undying love to this other person, but, realistically, it cannot work. You both are at two different stages in your life. Eventually, you will resent this person and break-up three months later anyway because you’ll feel obligated to pack up your room and return to mom and dad’s every weekend so you can spend nights eating pizza at your old hang outs and snuggling up to Touched by an Angel reruns before the long journey back to Valdosta. This choice of lifestyle totally defeats the purpose of going to college and will only stunt your growth. If you two are meant to be, life will find a way to make it happen. I don’t care how good the sex is, end it!
2. Form a Fellowship (Your Roommate Shouldn’t be Your Only Friend.) – I know you two have everything in common right now, but, as the college experience takes its toll, your straight-edge roomie will quickly turn into a smoking, rolling, techno vampire. It is vital that you make friends with as many people in your dorm as possible so you’ll have somebody to switch rooms with later. More importantly, your posse is your support system; they are the people you’ll laugh and cry with, and as Mystery might say, “Even the best pick-up artists need a wingman.”

3. You’re a Citizen, Not a Tourist. Assimilation: It’s the Tops! (Followed by a Foreigner’s Awkward High-Five and Thumbs Up) – Don’t lay your clothes out the night before the first day of school and become the Hawaiian shirt, Panama Jack hat, Velcro sandal wearing island visitor. While you may look smoking in your dress and heels or designer jeans and witty t-shirt, there is nothing sadder as VSU veterans will only snicker at you because it is obvious that you are a newbie and are trying way too hard to impress. For now, stick with gym shorts or sweats, a wrinkled t-shirt, flip flops and that “Oh, God am I really up at 9 a.m. look,” and learn from there.

4. Older People Are More Than a Good Game of Bridge or Backgammon –Where would Luke Skywalker be without Yoda? Dead. He’d be dead and we’d all be screwed. Therefore, making friends with upperclassmen, people who can show you the ropes, will help you avoid many of the pitfalls that trap newcomers as your newfound friends will always be ready with sage advice. Also, you’ll need someone to buy you booze because your fake sucks; it may have worked back home, but there’s no way you’re going to pass for a 55-year-old Asian here.

5. There’s More to Them Than Free Food – While it may be fun to play Halo all night with your dorm mates, you need to get out there and mingle with some actual living, breathing human beings. There are clubs and intramural sports abound on campus so take your passion and find others who enjoy it too, except if it solely involves a bar. If you find yourself skipping class at 10 a.m. to talk about “that damn war” with some Grizzly Adams looking guy named Shorty at the local pub, your passion and the club you have joined is called alcoholism.

6. HAMMERTIME! Whoa, Whoa – Walk, skip, roll or do anything necessary other than drunkin’ driving to get to and back from your favorite watering hole. But if driving is the only way to the fine establishment on the other side of town, find a designated driver. Seriously, it’s not worth your life or somebody else’s. Plus, that kid who plays Dungeons and Dragons down the hall would love any excuse to get out of his room; unless, of course, you’re interrupting his late night web cam date when things are starting to get very interesting. A quick tip: When a door is locked, always knock.

7. Ride the Rails: Hobo It!– There is no keeping up with the Joneses when you are in college. You are a student so you are supposed to be poor. Eat Ramen and drink Natty Light while occasionally splurging on the good stuff. Learn which restaurants and bars have the best specials on what days. Do not apply for a credit card “for emergencies” or take out a high interest private student loan for that 80 inch plasma to accent your room. While your loans may seem like free money now, you will have to pay them back with interest later and, sadly, a college degree, in this day and age, does not guarantee a high paying job. I’m starting to wonder if my $30,000 debt would have been better spent at the craps table throwing the bones.

8 If You Paid For a Clown You’d Expect More Than Cigarette Butts in Your Children’s Tears – Following up on tip #7, you more inquisitive types probably already noticed that your tuition includes a lot of other things besides classes like a rec center fee, an athletic fee, and a student activities fee. In a slightly underhanded way, you are paying so you can work out at the rec center, attend VSU sporting events, and participate in various student activities brought to you by the Campus Activities Board, even if you never had any intention of doing so. But, hey, if you’re already paying for these things, take advantage. The Rec Center is a great place to work out and master your peripherals with all of the hot ass to check out, CAB usually has finger lickin’ good BBQ’s at Palm’s Quad and if you’re stuck up UGA’s ass and aren’t aware, the Blazers are the DII National Champs so screw “Go Dawgs,” and take a Saturday morning walk down to Bazemore-Hyder.

9. It’s 2008. Shouldn’t We Be Able to Teleport By Now? – In my experience, finding an available parking at space at VSU is like finding a politician who tells the truth. I know the powers at be probably told you during orientation that the parking decks will provide more than 2000 new spaces and solve VSU’s notorious parking problem, but, as a veteran who fought in The Great Parking Wars, I’m not optimistic. I hope I’m proved wrong, but there are a lot more of you now and these decks should have been built at least five years ago. I say save your money and find your own special spot somewhere off-campus. This is where making friends with upperclassmen (even sophomores) is important because they may make their driveways available to you…for a price, muahahahah!!! Sorry. But, if that ain’t happenin,’ there’s usually some parking at random apartment complexes near campus, College Street, Boone Drive and Williams Street. Most importantly, if you’re going to park illegally, park in a marked VSU staff or reserved space because your fine will usually only be $15, which is substantially less than the more than $50 the city will fine you for parking on a yellow curb.

10 The Real World Can Wait (I Love Money and The Entertainer are the Shiznit) – Don’t be one of those overachievers who takes summer classes to graduate early. Similarly, if you took AP classes in high school I pity you. College is not meant to be a piece of paper balled up and thrown at you on the way to a house in the suburbs. Slow down and take it all in. College is two fold; it is a place for learning and a place for growing. Years from now you’ll forget mostly everything that you learned in those core classes you were forced to take, but you’ll always have the memories, the crazy stories and the friends you made along the way.

Photos taken from actual CD and movie covers, IMDB.com, music.aol.com and city-date.com. Article also published in Valdosta's entertainment magazine The Glass Onion. For those of you away from Titletown, I hope you enjoyed it here.

Book Review: Can't Find My Way Home: America in the Great Stoned Age by Martin Torgoff 4.5/5

Can’t Find My Way Home: America in the Great Stoned Age, 1945-2000 by Martin Torgoff, 545 pp.

Drugs have become an inevitable part of life for many Americans. Our drug fueled society has created a revolving door where back alley trenchcoaters and grinning pharmaceutical companies Irish jig all the way to the bank as rehab centers later pick up the pieces and collect their reward. Add this to the bejillions of tax payers’ dollars the government spends on the War on Drugs, and we’re talking about more than enough coins to fill Scrooge’s money vault. Money aside, just considering the lives lost to mind altering substances, and the hypocrisies surrounding how different drugs are viewed and punished, clearly, drugs are a force that cannot be ignored.

In Can’t Find My Way Home: America in the Great Stoned Age, 1945-2000, author Martin Torgoff explains how society has gotten to this point by taking readers on a magic carpet ride through the drug cultures of the last half century. Mixing his own drug raveled accounts with experiences of drug aficionados/celebrities and policy makers, he provides readers with a “true-life chronicle of the use of illicit drugs in America without sensationalizing, apologizing, moralizing, or demonizing.” As he states in the book’s preface, his intention was to provide readers with the objective truth and let them draw their own conclusions, and he does this to perfection.

I decided to read this book after seeing Torgoff appear on the documentary “The Drug Years”, which VH1 shows about as regularly as MTV airs NEXT. So, if you happen to see it come on, I highly recommend it. The documentary and Can’t Find My Way Home follow similar lines as both describe the many different drug cultures that turned the Great American Century into “The Great Stoned Age:” The Beat Generation and the bebop jazz scene of the 1940s and ‘50s, the clashing West Coast psychedelic scene and New York Andy Warhol amphetamine underground of the ‘60s, the use of amyl nitrate by the gay sexual culture of the 1970s, cocaine in the ‘70s and ‘80s, the impact of crack in the nation’s inner-cities in the 1980s and the ecstasy fueled rave cyberculture of the 1990’s.

Clearly, Torgoff embarked on a huge undertaking, so it is no surprise that this book took him 12 years to finish. His objectivity is superb as he provides sources from both sides of the reformists/prohibitionists drug spectrum like LSD guru Timothy Leary who wanted an amendment added to the constitution which gave individuals the right to seek an expanded consciousness, and former Head of the Office of National Drug Control Policy William Bennett who “told Larry King that the beheading of drug dealers was ‘morally plausible.’”

Also, the many whacked out tales told by the drug vets and VIPs. will keep the pages turning: Party girl Suzie Ryan on a cocaine high getting it on with her husband Richard Stoltz in front of his business associates, Woodstock MC Wavy Gravy discussing his encounter with Charles Manson and Jimmy Carter’s progressive drug policy czar Dr. Peter Bourne snorting coke at a Christmas party put together by the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, just to name a few examples.

While Can’t Find My Way Home was as satisfying as a puff of Columbian cannabis, it made for a long read as it took me several weeks to digest the vast amount of information that Torgoff provides. I recommend this book to cultural history enthusiasts and people who want an outside of the box look at the history of America during the last half century. Also, anybody who wants insight on today’s drug culture will have a much clearer picture after finishing this work.