Until “Inglourious Basterds,” ultra-violence never seemed so funny or fist pumping –all it took was Quentin Tarantino’s pithy dialogue and Nazi’s being blasted to pieces to get the audience into a cheering uproar.
In his latest revenge flick, the writer/director presents a spaghetti western turned violently humorous, World War II fantasy that manages to produce laugh out loud hysterics with gallons of bloody carnage.
While “Basterds” doesn’t quite reach the echelon of Tarantino’s masterpiece “Pulp Fiction,” he smashes any lingering feelings of disgust from his last installment, the deplorable yawn fest, “Death Proof.” The film triumphs with its perfect mixture of suspenseful banter and hammer dropping action.
Tarantino is also helped by terrific turns from Laurent, Diane Kruger as German actor/spy, Bridget von Hammersmark, and “Hostel” director turned “Bear Jew” Eli Roth.
Brad Pitt looks like a kid throwing off his school clothes and running outside to play as he gleefully dusts off his Hollywood sheen embracing the southern-fried Lt. Aldo Raine, whose thirst for “Nat-Zi” scalps is only matched by his debauchery of the “I-Talian” language.
But amidst the scalpings, throat slashings, baseball bat skull smashings, and swastika skin carvings, Austrian born actor Christoph Waltz steals the show as the devilish Jew Hunter, Col. Hans Landa, a Nazi detective so evil he manages to create more fear than Tarantino’s Hitler and Joseph Goebbels combined.
Overall, Tarantino hits this film out of the park as well as his “Bear Jew” cracks Nazi skulls with his Teddy Ballgame death swing. Of course there are gimmicky scenes such as Samuel L. Jackson’s random voice overs, but such deviations are quintessential Tarantino, something fans have loved to loathe over the years.
“Inglourious Basterds” is the perfect bookend to the summer that “Star Trek” started.
Tommy: Did you hear I finally graduated? Richard : Yeah, and just a shade under a decade too, all right. Tommy: You know a lot of people go to college for seven years. Richard: I know, they're called doctors.
Baytree is filling up with solemn looking parents driving empty mini-vans home and coiffed 18 year olds, veins bulging, eyes wide, high on freedom uppers. Yes, 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 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 Maid in Manhattan 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 wingmen.”
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 Febreze soaked t-shirt and flip flops as you zombie it to class 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 25 year old Hawaiian organ donor 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 9 a.m. to talk about “that damn war” with some Grizzly Adams looking guy named Shorty at the local pub, the club you have joined is called alcoholism. 6. Why Kill Trees When There’s Wikipedia? - College isn’t like high school where you borrow a textbook free of charge. Here you have to buy your books and your HOPE book allowance isn’t going to cut it. Thankfully, the prices on kidneys are sky rocketing in the Bangkok black market because, especially for you bio majors, you’ll need every penny you can muster. There is hope though because “required reading” does not necessarily mean that you will actually open your $200 textbook once during the semester. Professors are required to have reading material attached to their class. Some may use them, but many will actually tell you the first day that their “required reading” is only a study aid and no material from the text will be tested during exams. So, wait at least a week or two before you decide whether a textbook is worthy of purchase. If you don’t, at least you’ll have plenty of leather bound books to accent your apartment’s musk of rich mahogany because you’re kind of a big deal.
7. 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 World of Warcraft 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 shut, always knock.
8. 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.
9 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 (you weren't accepted, get over it) and aren’t aware, the Blazers have one of the best division two football programs nationwide so screw “Go Dawgs,” and take a Saturday stroll to Bazemore-Hyder.
10. It’s 2009. 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. Sure, there are parking decks now (a victory for the alumni who fought in The Great Parking Wars) but save your money for more important things like booze, 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 on 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.
11. The Real World Can Wait (Puck, Get Your Nasty Finger Out of the Peanut Butter) – 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 9 to 5 gray flannel suburbia. 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.
After a mostly hellacious week peppered with customer service blues and legends morphing into shams (Big Papi), I skipped out of work Friday, elated, school's out for summer style, to change, pick up Chrissty, get the Mazda's oil changed, and head up to Macon to see friends and the Whigs return to The Hummingbird Stage and Taproom.
It's a place where the elevators go up but not down, laptops and CD's are hidden in trunks, and where the views don't include rivers of any kind, instead settling for dilapidated brick buildings and a probation office for gazing. Though, to the Riverview's credit, the sheets seem clean (although I forgot to borrow 20/20's blacklight), the A/C works, and we've never experienced a 3 a.m. hooker and/or crack addict's tap tap on the door wake-up call.
It was great seeing Travis and Steph, especially considering it had been a few months since their Valdosta visit. To my surprise, Dickey had decided to come to the show, which was great because I would have felt terrible making the trip to Macon without seeing him. It was early so we stopped for a bite to eat at Acapulco. I cannot say much about the food as I only ate a single taco, but it was tasty, and what I would expect from any similar Valdosta Mexican eatery. Everyone else seemed to enjoy their meals with no complaints. The margarita pitcher Travis and I split was a bit watered down but it did its job inducing the buzz that got the night started off perfectly.
After making our way into The Hummingbird, and realizing I wasted $4.44 in ticket processing fees because I bought our tickets online and Dickey purchased his at the door for the same $10, we made our way to the bar. I had every intention of sipping a frothy black and tan but the $2 PBR special played its siren's song into my belly all night.
The Hummingbird is the type of watering hole that Valdosta desperately needs. It boasts the laid back vibe of a college bar while still providing a dimmed lights hang out where conversation then quality, original music thrive over underages throwing up their fourth meal on vintage suede. The front boasts rock posters of bands to come while the brick walls inside are decorated with music paraphernalia including the infamous poster of Johnny Cash flipping the bird above the bar.
It hadn't changed much since my last visit to see Modern Skirts a few years ago. Although, out back, a deck with cornhole and a massive screen showing the stage for the outsiders viewing pleasure had been added. While Chrissty and Steph secured a table near the stage, we enjoyed a few games of what I called "bean bass toss" until I was corrected and learned that cornhole is actually taken pretty seriously. We tossed the bags long enough for the smell of soured vinyl to seep into my skin (10-15 minutes) and made our way back to the table for the opening band, Vulture Whale.
I sat back and enjoyed the Birmingham, Ala. quartet as I sipped on number three. At times they reminded me of The Replacements, Modest Mouse, and Valdosta's own Ninja Gun. They were good, don't get me wrong, but nothing got me off my seat to join the masses nodding around the stage. Maybe it was the contemplative mood I was in, or that I had achieved the perfect angle of slouch. Either way I enjoyed their set from my seat and anxiously waited for The Whigs.
When the time seemed right I made my way to the front of the stage where I met Travis and was later joined by the rest of our posse. The stage at the Hummingbird is the size of a train station locker and is raised maybe a foot off the ground. Therefore, being at the front is practically standing amidst the on-stage thrash. The Athens trio made their way out egged on by the Atlanta Braves' tomahawk chop chant. Grabbing their instruments they got into two newbies, then grooved straight into "Production City," a track off their second album "Mission Control."
From the beginning it was clear that Parker Gispert, lead vocals/guitar, has been getting the hang of things since the two years I had seen him last. He and the band put on a great show then, but now his Gumby contortions weren't just confined to the basement. He was more involved with his audience, weaving ice cold (alright, alright, alright) stares with one legged pogo-stick antics and even bringing it to the masses, once getting so close that he almost knocked my teeth out with his guitar neck. Luckily for my parents, their hard earned money on orthodontia was not wasted.
Bassist Tim Deaux looked comfortable and has clearly found a new home replacing founding member, Hank Sullivant, while drummer Julian Dorio continues the awe inspiring work that led to an Esky award for best drummer in 2007 by Esquire magazine.
As David Letterman remarked after the trio rocked his show, "thatta boy, nice going, now that was cool," the same goes for Saturday night's performance. Highlights included "Violet Furs," "Half the World Away" and "Nothing is Easy" from their debut "Give 'Em All a Big Fat Lip," and "Already Young" from "Mission Control." The night culminated perfectly with dripping sweat and the bar erupting to "Right Hand On My Heart," which would have been the perfect ending to their set but they decided to end with another tune, which I don't remember. I'll blame it on number 5. (yes, journalism at its finest.)
The new stuff sounded pretty good and I'm anxious for more listens before their new album comes out either late this year or in early 2010. The band played "Technology," the single highlighted by "Rolling Stone" during The Whigs' 2006 "Band to Watch" days, which is usually one my favorites, but this live performance seemed to lack the alt pop flair that makes it so. Instead it was churned with rock heavy guitars that caused Travis to lament that the band had sold out. I don't agree and I think for him it was probably the 420's talking or maybe the bitterness over Ron Paul not being pres projecting itself. Correct me if I'm wrong, good sir.
As the band is about to tour with Kings of Leon, opening for them at places like The Forum, it was remarkable that they returned to such a small venue. I never thought they would play The Hummingbird again, so Saturday was an unforgettable treat.
Travis introduced me to this band at The Hummingbird a few years back, and considering their increased following, I never thought they would play at this small venue ever again. I look forward to drinking a black and tan with Chrissty, Travbo, Steph, hopefully Dickey, and any other Valdostan who makes the trip to what will be an amazing show. Tickets are available off a link from the Hummingbird's myspace. See you there.
Eyeball cake, nosebleed geysers, evil spirits mouth fisting the living, an old lady gumming her oppressor, and a corpse spewing embalming fluid all over the protagonist. Yes, horror fans, rejoice -- Sam Raimi is back.
The "Evil Dead" writer/director makes his triumphant return to horror with his brew of frightful, gorefilled slapstick in “Drag Me to Hell.” Fans of the Evil Dead films (notice I didn’t say trilogy. That’s a bar debate for another night) will be ecstatic as Raimi brings more of what fans have become used too, including his yellow 1973 Oldsmobile.
Christine (Allison Lohman) conjures Ash Williams, sans chainsaw, delivering his campy one-liners, as she tries to rid herself of an evil spirit that wants to, drum roll please, drag her to hell. Along for the ride is boyfriend Clay Dalton (Justin Long) who, despite the hip philosophy professor job and Prius, still manages to act like an uptight Windows user for most of the film until he realizes that his lady’s outbursts may not be easily explained away by Freud or as an early indicator of Tourette’s.
Add a decrepit, doe-eyed, yellow-fingernailed gypsy villain played brilliantly by Lorna Raver who, pissed that Christine denied her a third extension on a bank loan, returns the favor with a curse (while still stealing all of the complementary candy) and a Carl Jung quoting psychic (Dileep Rao) turned supernatural savior, and Raimi has produced a living “Tales From the Crypt” style movie.
“Drag Me to Hell” is a return to true horror greatness, arguably even surpassing the "Evil Dead" films. Where those films delivered lovable over the top, disgusting slapstick comedy, Raimi’s latest installment has more substance as it continues to gross out and deliver laughs while also leaving viewers terrified. The twist at the end won’t win Raimi any 1960’s dance-offs, but it is still more than enough to leave movie goers satisfied.
Based on “Drag Me to Hell,” we can only hope that Raimi will give the “Spider-Man” style blockbusters a rest and save movie goers from the overproduced teen screams, Japanese rehashes, and snuff film horror of today. If he doesn’t, hopefully Peter Jackson will take note and start filming fright-filled slapstick again. The world can always use more 10 minute scenes of zombies being mowed over.
I've done it. I finally joined Twitter. And wow, only 2 months after the 24 hour media outlets started having their Sanchez's and Fox and Friends report on it. By the way, have you kids seen the new Chaplin flick and what's with the charleston being all the rage?
Actually, I've known about Twitter for quite awhile; I just never understood what the point of it is. Really, though, I could ask the same question for facebook and MySpace. Is it some pathetic form of 21st century loneliness that makes us post drunk pics for friends and HR managers to see? Maybe its cyber revenge at its finest as people post their wedding pics for the still single, Snackwells scarfing, high school tormenters to see. Or maybe its just a way for us to validate our existance in our small bubbles. Look at me, I'm a man about town. I have 234 friends.
I like the sites because they allow me to keep in contact with friends, who are now scattered across the country. But, Spock would then ask, wouldn't a telephone be better? Then you could have a more meaningful conversation without submitting your information in a voluntary Orwellian fashion. To that, I would say, Obama still hasn't gotten to the wire taps on my phone (do they really expect you to sit at home and wait from 8 to 12 or 2 to 6) and your death grip is no match for my phaser.
Meaningful conversations are out of date in the Internet age, anyway. Who actually mails hand written letters anymore with correct grammar and spelling that are more than 50 words, besides my mom? In the land of Wi-Fi hot spots and drive-thru liquor stores, convenience is king.
So, with that, I'll get with the times and post on there somewhat frequently, so you all can keep tabs on me. In the meantime, just be thankful that we have smart phones and 3G networks for solace while McDonalds takes a ridiculous 5 minutes to prepare our Number 1 Big Mac Combos.
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge.
This is the dimension of trying to find one’s self and place while tap dancing like an organ-grinder’s chimp to avoid layoffs, licking return envelops for 80 years worth of student loan payments while leaning back in a papasan chair that perfectly accents your parents’ basement, and living it up on Washingtons Friday and Saturday nights and sleeping off the hangover on Sundays so you can start the whole 9 to 5 all over again Monday morn. It is an area which we call The Real World.
First, let me just say congrats to all of the folks who just graduated. Now, I hate to break it to you, but when you shook hands with the older guy who has something important to do with VSU and walked back to your seat, you crossed through a worm hole taking you from Academia into the Real World. Great Scott, Marty.
Here’s a paper bag. Just breathe into it. It’ll be okay. This dimension is a lot different than your former college life, but there still is a lot of fun to be had. For those of you who didn’t get off the Gravitron, there’s still grad school to spin around in. For others, there’s a cushy desk job lined up for you by your parents at Callahan Auto.
For the rest, many will tell you there’s years of weekly 40 hour cubicle living, settling for a career which has nothing to do with what you spent four to six years working towards, or lounging in three day old boxers and a Dorito stained wife beater searching Craig’s List for the perfect job you thought was waiting for you as soon as you threw your cap in the air.
Sure, the Real World can be a lot like this and it is full of toolbags as MTV illustrates, but neither of these has to be your life. Sure, you’ll have to sell out a little bit, but that’s better then being thrown in debtor’s prison and being shipped to Australia. So punch in, collect your check, and enjoy your passions when the whistle blows. Never stop searching for your perfect career, and never stop learning. Your local library will allow you to build on the $50,000 library card you’ve already started for free.
So, heed this advice and always remember, “Where you’re going, you don’t need roads.” If this doesn’t do it for you, and you’re still freaking out, hopefully the following wisdom will calm you down. If not, try a horse tranquilizer or start researching graduate schools.
Where There’s Kid, There’s Play – When the infamous rap duo wasn’t in the lab crafting timeless rhymes, they were enjoying not one or two, but three unforgettable house parties. The same should go for you. Don’t let work control your life. Put in the time and sweat, but always remember to have fun. For the best results, try combining the two. I’m sure you’ll have no problem convincing your boss that a House Party style dance off would be a good team building exercise.
Welfare: The Real World’s Excess Check – Many of you are used to a hefty check at the beginning of every semester to pay for life’s necessities: food, water, Louis Vuitton handbags and Jet Fuel. For those of you who don’t find a job and/or refuse to cut back, fear not as the government is here to help.
Channel Your Inner Kardashian: No, I’m not telling you to profit by taking your clothes off and then complain that people only know you for taking your clothes off. I’m saying, in this economy, your diploma is certainly not a golden ticket to automatic employment, so master the art of making money by doing absolutely nothing.
Start stalking one of the celebutants until you become best friends, so you can profit from their version of the pyramid scheme (The Hilton Chain of Friends). If you cannot do this, try the newest do nothing and get paid thousands rage: life coach. Just remember that zombies aren’t technically living so they can’t be clients.
The Light Saber, TIE Fighter, and Dental Benefits Aren’t Worth It: It’s sad, but some of you will be forced to work jobs you despise in order to pay the bills until your real calling surfaces. For others, you’ll be faced with two roads diverged in a wood, one taking you to vast financial glory working a job you hate, or one of sweatshop level pay working a job that you love and are passionate about.
Take the latter. Sure, being able to buy a bunch of crap you don’t need seems great (check out the new app on iPhone that measures the emptiness a person feels inside), but it won’t be worth the toll the job takes on your soul. Doing something you love will be worth it because it will almost be like you’re never working at all, although your fingers will start getting sore after the 26th soccer ball.
Win the Lottery: Thousands of people have done it, so who says the odds are against you? With financial independence you can rise above the Real World by having complete freedom to do everything you want. Don’t believe anything you hear about a lottery curse. Sure, some past winners have lost everything and even died, but you’ll be fine. Sure, Hurley crash landed on the island and is now stuck in the 70’s, but Locke will fix everything, don’t worry. If Ben and Richard get in the way and he can’t, remember that true happiness lies inside. It’s your destiny.
The guy runs a red light, slowly, emergency lights flashing--nobody is injured, Communists don't start chucking Molotov cocktails, the world doesn't implode-to see his dying relative, and instead has to deal with Robobastard drawing his gun like he's thwarting the Hamburglar's latest hungry raid as he requests proof of insurance.
Then, even after a nurse comes out to tell Powell that Moates' mother-in-law is in fact really dying, Powell responds with "Alright, I'm almost done." and later, after Moates isn't able to say a final goodbye, Powell defends himself by saying "all you had to do was stop" and "remember attitude" before STILL writing him a ticket (it has since been dismissed) for running a red light and finishing with a, My bad. Next time stop and let them know what is going on and they'll let you go, just like he did of course.
Thanks Officer Powell for your provocative "The More You Know" lesson. I'm sure Moates will remember your sage advice the next time he has to rush to a hospital in order to have a few precious moments with a loved one before he or she passes.
Some thoughts here:
1. There are good cops out there, although this incident reminds me of my own tale of dealing with a bad cop. Long story short, after a night in Savannah for St. Patty's day a couple years back we returned to our original meeting place about a mile or so from our hotel room, and I, after hours stuck downtown waiting for a ride and unable to go to the bathroom, sober mind you, took a South Georgia style pee in the woods only to be thrown in the back of a squad car handcuffed until my sobbing, inconsolable girlfriend and her friends could gather up $300 to get me out. The cop claimed the jails were full because of St. Patty's and that would be my penalty anyway, so the officers on duty were instructed that exchanging money at the scene was acceptable. In the end, he told me never to come back to whatever county it was like I was some sort of drug dealer pushing to 5 year olds. He gave us his business card with a case number and sheriff's office info, but you be the judge.
2. When will the bad ones figure out that their cruiser has a dashboard camera, and that every 10 year old skatepunk has a camera phone?
3. If Moates wasn't an NFL player would the public have any idea that this actually happened?
4. Somebody needs to find a way in the police officer application process to screen out the people who ripped the legs off of spiders as a kid and/or were the last picked in dodgeball as they picked out an atomic wedgie.
5. Heartfelt apology - Yeah right. I love how Powell all of a sudden has a change of heart after he is suspended WITH PAY.
I was listening to NPR tonight and they had one of Powell's supervisors on to discuss the incident. The host of the program asked him if he thought Powell's actions were race related. Hmm...ya think? I would hope that something this horrible, if it had to occur, would happen regardless of color, but I think we all know that isn't the case. Hopefully Obama would have at least made it to the elevator though.
Here is Andrew's most recent performance at the Comedy Zone in Tallahassee. By the way, Donnie Darko is one of my favorite films but I just realized yesterday that Seth Rogen plays one of the bad kids. "Err, well I mean...didn't your dad stab your mom?" What an A-hole. Quite some range for the ultimate funny slubbish guy.
The following is the transcript from President Obam'a inauguration address.
My fellow citizens:
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebearers, and true to our founding documents.
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the fainthearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long, rugged path toward prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.
For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.
For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.
Time and again, these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.
What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship.
This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."
America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Today at noon marks a new beginning. Gone is arguably the worst presidency in our history, a time sandwiched between the worst attack on our soil and one of the worst financial collapses we have ever faced. The amount of rotten, stinking, maggot infested meat in the middle is staggering: lies, deceit, the War in Iraq, the mishandling of Katrina (good job Brownie!), Darth Cheney, the Patriot Act, Guantanamo, and so on. The list seems endless.
Obama has yet to step one official foot in office, but with him comes a new hope. Gone are the crummy prequels and now begins the true trilogy. Obama is not Luke Skywalker. He is not an all powerful Jedi who can wield tremendous power, but he is a true leader. He is a guy who seems to get it and will actually work to make good, real changes happen. He is not the Messiah. He is not a face on a commemorative plate to pray to before hogging on meat and mashed potatoes, but he is an elected official whom we can be proud of. We are the world's fart joke no longer.
He will make mistakes. He will have his Bay of Pigs, but he will be honest with us. He will speak to us as equals and not as a trumped up king reciting PR rubbish from an ivory tower. He will treat us as fellow citizens and not cows to throw money at in order to bump up approval ratings. Hopefully gone are the days of Hummers garnished with yellow ribbons, but it will take time. People poor today will still be poor tomorrow. People losing their homes today will still be losing their homes tomorrow. People searching for jobs today will still be searching for jobs tomorrow. We must be patient and we must be willing to work.
These are my hopes for our 44th president. He has a lot of work to do in order to turn around the mistakes of the past administration and our partisan cynicism, and he cannot do it alone. We cannot expect him too. This truly is a historic time, and we are a part of it. Now we must figure out what we're going to do with it. Will we help create real positive change or let our apathy continue to control us? Will our generation be celebrated or blasted in high school history classes 20, 50, and 100 years from now?
I'm excited to see what Obama is capable of. I hope he makes cynics of government like me reconsider our libertarian stances. If he can live up to half of the hype that he has generated we can expect great things. Hopefully the Dark Ages are over and America is on the cusp of a Renaissance.
This week my life will have meaning again as LOST returns Wednesday at 8 p.m. Season four is hazy so here is a great recap I found. Longtime LOST fans know we cannot expect any answers in the first episode, such as to questions like how did Locke end up dead and where did the island go, but I'm hoping we'll find out if Jin is alive or dead.
For those of you looking for something to do tonight, according to the Valdosta Daily Times, Extras Casting Inc. is holding auditions for folks wanting to play zombies in the film "Zombieland" at Black Crow Media, 1711 Ellis Drive, from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m.
It sounds like a fun way to make some moola. I'm trying to figure out what style zombie I'll use for my inspiration. Do I go old school with "Night of the Living Dead" or kick it up a notch with a "28 Days Later" rendition? I'm thinking Resident Evil style, lumbering into gun shots until either my head is blown away, or I get lucky because Leon runs out of bullets and healing herbs allowing me to gorge myself on his throat.
A friend posted this link on MySpace and I had to share it with all of you because it is one of the funniest things I have ever seen online. Sammy Hagar must be so pissed. He needs to start his own sound board so fans can decide once and for all who the best Van Halen front man truly is. Singing aside, Hagar could never match Roth's high kicks, flying splits, and other various quasi rock 'n' roll ninja techniques, but Hagar had the perm, so the debate rages on.
Enough of this woman, please. This latest edition of Palin rambling comes from conservative documentarian John Ziegler's next film "How Obama Got Elected."
This clip is laughable as Palin rambles and blames the "mainstream" media (mainstream - the term used by the ultra-right when describing the liberal media like the Limbaughiacs are toiling away in basements, hiding from "the man" in order to feed the real truth to the masses. Viva la Fox News!), the entire world, and any and every animal, plant, or mineral except herself for not being able to hang moose antlers up in the Oval Office. I could also ramble on for days about the glaring hypocrisy that is Sarah Palin, but here is my condensed rant.
The "mainstream" media didn't ruin your chances, you did. You gave the press the middle finger by refusing interviews, and when you did dare to speak to them, watching the interviews was like watching the Hindenburg disaster. Oh the humanity! You are a caricature. You are a marketing research burrito, wrapped up and served to the starving, zombified masses who bought the down home cookin', gosh darn "I'm a real person like you" George W. Bush in 2000 and 2004.
Stop blaming the "mainstream" media and the blogosphere for your ignorance. You and your followers act like you are not to blame at all for your loss, like you were this perfect candidate and the Hellish "mainstream" media made it its mission for you not to succeed. You act like journalists wanted you to harness cold fusion. Katie Couric, for instance, just wanted to know what news publications you read, if any. You were asked questions that a future vice-president should be able to answer and you failed miserably, thus one big reason why you are sitting at home cooking moose chili.
Sure, outright lies were reported about you. But you provided plenty of head scratching fodder yourself, and you perpetuated outright lies about the guy you were running against as well (Ayres, "palling around with terrorists" for example). We can only hope that you become a pop culture footnote by 2012, but I'm losing hope now that you've figured out how to use the "mainstream" media to keep you in the public eye. Just don't go the Paris Hilton route. Keep the lights on.
Our only hope is that the Kool-Aid you are pouring is misplaced with Ecto Cooler Hi-C or that Alaska's moose nation will finally storm Achorage and send you packin' on your snowmachine into the icy tundra. Look out, Russia can see you too.
A family walks into a talent agent's office claiming they have a terrific act that will make tons of money. The talent agent replies, let’s see it, and the family begins committing the most disgusting, revolting acts imaginable. They finish, TA-DAH!, panting, teeth gleaming, jazz hands shimmering. The talent agent nods, sits back in his chair, and asks what the family calls this act. Their response: “THE ARISTOCRATS!”
The 2005 documentary, “The Aristocrats,” co-created by Paul Provenza and Penn Jillette celebrates the grotesque genius of this joke as the creators document 100 of their comedian friends, such as George Carlin, Drew Carey, Sarah Silverman, Paul Reiser, Whoppie Goldberg, and Gilbert Gottfried, sharing their versions of the joke. The set-up and punch line are always the same: family walks into a talent agent’s office, the agent asks what the act is called, and they respond, “the aristocrats,” but the different versions of disgusting family acts are infinite with the only barrier being the extent of a comedian’s own vile imagination.
It takes a certain type of mind and sense of humor to truly enjoy this joke and the documentary as the different versions of the joke frequently feature bestiality, incest, sodomy, vomit, feces, urine, and other bodily fluids. Many out there will laugh hysterically throughout the entire film but most will turn it off in disgust. Some will probably even gouge their eyes out, or scream “Hallelujah” and run to the nearest church to repent.
If you have the stomach for it, Bob Saget’s version of “The Aristocrats” alone is worth seeing the film as his is beyond nasty and therefore the funniest. In comedic circles, he is known as one of the dirtiest comics out there, but mainstream audiences won’t believe the filth that comes out of Danny Tanner’s mouth. His rendition is definitely not the advice DJ would be looking for after Gibbler stole her boyfriend. How rude!
I laughed throughout the entire documentary, although it did get a bit repetitive towards the end. The most shocking part for me was that not the amount of crap being thrown around or the numerous family members committing sexual acts, but that Paul “Mad About You” Reiser actually made me laugh. It’s a good thing Helen Hunt wasn’t around. Also, it was a treat watching the late George Carlin recount the history of the joke.
“The Aristocrats” is a must see for dirty-minded individuals and comedy connoisseurs, but I suggest keeping a six pack of soap nearby.
Today, while I was driving downtown, I saw my first car - a red 1996 Oldsmobile Achiva SE. I knew it was mine, the one I sold for the low, low price of $500 because of the "Williams, Dover, NH" dealership tag on the rear bumper. I was surprised at the wave of emotions and memories that came over me. I still cannot believe I sold that car in the first place. At the time, it was part of the Alamo's yard, like the bent over polka dotted bottoms that grace gardens. It sat beside the house in a state of perpetual unmotion, the grass rotted underneath it while the grass beside grew like weeds. I was too poor to afford car insurance and registration fees, which included fines from car insurance lapses. Thus, she was stuck rocking away, remembering the old times.
Except nobody brought out a pitcher of sweet tea or lemonade. Chrissty's Honda became our primary transportation. Hopefully it didn't laugh as it waited for our return, engine still warm. The day eventually came when we had to say sianara to the Alamo and, needing the money, I priced the car to sell quickly. It did. I defended my selling of the Big Red Machine by saying that I couldn't afford her. She had sat for so long and was a mess. She was a dog that I drove out to the country and abandoned by a farm. She had aged before her time, maybe she secretly shot whiskey at night while I slept. Maybe she grew complacent, never having to struggle and eventually start on a knuckle aching, below zero January morning since my move south.
The passenger window was arthritic, moving in spurts never to roll up fully. The CD player developed Alzheimer's and no longer recognized CD's. Her A/C couldn't compete with Valdosta's simmering summer heat and puttered out. The back seat was a refuge of yellowed newspapers from my editor days. The driver's side floorboard became the home of a cat and her litter of kittens. A-Mac ran inside one day, "Guys you'll never believe this." We left the door open so they could get out freely because we were afraid to move them. Subsequently, the battery died and had to be replaced. The cat and kittens eventually moved out to the woods never to be seen again.
I spent a few hours cleaning Big Red before I stuck on the black and orange "FOR SALE" sign. Cleaning her up didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. She went from sleeping in an alley to nailing job interviews. She looked like her former self, the day I test drove her with my dad, us laughing as we turned around in a dirt lot and screamed out kicking up dust. The way she looked in her first photograph, posed behind the smiling dealer and the smiling me. Him happy with a sale and me happy at my new freedom. She was the first and only car I test drove that day.
The SE stood for sports edition, the insurance company charged more because of these two letters and because of the red paint. She has two doors and a spoiler, but she certainly was not a sports car despite what GM claimed. My brother laughed at me when I asked his advice on customizing it. He said I would be a laughing stock if I put rims and a giant spoiler on an Oldsmobile. He drove a hunter green Mustang and did not have that problem. I relented. At least my car had a black interior and a switch to engage into all-wheel drive - a nice edition for icy, winter roads.
She took me to and from soccer practice and my high school, weekend afternoon until 2 a.m. job as a hotel porter. She took my friends and me to the mall and movies. My dad's Silverado pulled her the 1,271 miles to Valdosta and sent my parents back, my mom weeping, minus me and Big Red. I started at VSU a few days later. Back and forth. Back and forth. School. Work. Girlfriend. Friends. All over. To and Fro. A summer trip 1,271 miles back to New Hampshire. Then 1,271 miles back to Valdosta.
Eventually, I moved closer to VSU and my left foot was able to pound the pavement instead of the gas pedal. My roommates' cars had four doors so she was rarely driven when it was time to pile to Wal-Mart or the bars. She grew older. I called less and less. I rarely visited. When I did it was for meaningless two minute trips to What-a-Burger or Taco Bell. Her last great hurrah was a sweat soaked ride with A-Mac to Tampa for our first Tropicana Field Red Sox/Rays series. It was the first time I looked forward to seeing a ballgame indoors in the refuge of air conditioning. We cursed her the whole way. We were just thankful that she made the trip, although she should have left us on the side of the road. Then she sat....and sat....and sat.
Seeing her today, I wish I hadn't sold her. My mind turned into a crystal ball briefly allowing me to see this future sentiment the second after I finished cleaning her. I saw this feeling again when I allowed her new owner to drive her around the block, and again when I told the buyer I would take her off the market for a day so he could get the $500 together.
I miss the Big Red Machine. She had just over 150,000 miles and would have run for many more years. I could have gotten the money for fines and a tag together. If not, I could have towed her to the new apartment until I did. We love our new younger Mazda. Mindy's modern four cylinder would crush Big Red's older six and saves us money at the pump. But we could do without the monthly payment. Big Red was all mine but not anymore.
I'm glad to see she's still running. I'm glad to see that she is being used. That she is a car again and not a lawn ornament, a piece of modern art depicting time's cruelness. I should have taken better care of you. You deserved better. You were my car and now you're an old photograph laying in an old album. Every now and then I'll take it out or I'll see you around town and remember. You will always be my first car.
There was a lot of great music in '08. Here are the top 50 lists from Pitchfork,Rolling Stone, and Myspace. I didn't listen to 50 albums thoroughly all year so I going to take MySpace's approach and just list the albums that I enjoyed most in '08 in no particular order. The first album, "Restless Rubes," belongs to Valdosta's own country punk heroes Ninja Gun. I know the National's "The Boxer"came out in '07, but I didn't discover it until '08 and I cannot get enough of it.
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