R.I.P J.D. Salinger

J.D. Salinger, the author known for his solitary lifestyle almost has much as his literary talents, died two days ago at the age of 91 at his home in Cornish, NH. I'm not going to attempt any kind of essay on Salinger as the New York Times has it covered, and it will only serve as an injustice to the man who wrote "The Catcher in the Rye."

I've only read two of Salinger's novels, "The Catcher in the Rye" and "Franny and Zooey." The latter was read in my high school honors English class manly in passing as I had to write a research paper comparing and contrasting two novels written by an author we read that semester. I don't remember the novel at all as, like many papers written back then, it was done in between games of HalfLife, CounterStrike and online chatting.

But I'll never forget "The Catcher in the Rye." I've always enjoyed reading, but as many of us can agree to I'm sure, reading for school can be a chore. Often students feel forced to read novels by authors long dead about topics long forgotten in forms of English that are barely understandable today. Sometimes there are books that go against this norm and "The Catcher in the Rye" was that for me.

Finally a book for school that I actually enjoyed. This hadn't happened since sophomore English when we read the "Odyssey," and, let's just say, Salinger far surpassed Homer. We were only assigned to read the first two or three chapters the first night, but I found myself unable to put the novel down. I read at least half the book that night, only stopping because there was other homework to attend too.

"No wonder kids needed a permission slip to read this book back in the day." I thought as I flipped page after page filled with the profanities and "phonies" of Holden Caulfield.

Almost a decade later, a few years back, I re-read the book, and was amazed at how I still identified with it even though high school seemed one hundred years away. I decided then to re-read it at least once every five years or so to see how my opinion of it would change. Would I still identify with Caufield or view him with an adult's cynicism?

We'll see.

Thank you Mr. Salinger for giving us this book. I wonder how much you laughed between 1961 and 1982 when it was the most censored book in the United States.

Looking Forward to The Whigs' "In the Dark"

As January comes to an end, my anticipation is growing for The Whigs' latest album, "In the Dark," which has an official release date of March 16.

The Whigs have to be one of the most underrated bands out there. The band's first two albums, "Give 'Em All A Big Fat Lip" and "Mission Control," are what Christopher Walken as The Producer Bruce Dickinson would refer to as pure gold although neither feature one nanosecond of cowbell.

So, I'm excited to see what the trio have in store. After hearing the title track live at the Hummingbird Stage & Taproom a few months back and listening to more of the new stuff online, its pretty clear that "In the Dark" will be a new step for The Whigs.

Lead singer/guitarist Parker Gispert reaffirmed this in a November interview with Rolling Stone as he discussed the different approaches the band was taking with this album: its the first album with new bassist, Tim Deaux, the first with producer Ben Allen (Animal Collective’s "Merriweather Post Pavilion"), the first where Gispert channels the lyrical directness of country music, particularly that of Johnny Cash and the first after connecting, shiver me timbers, with Kings of Leon.

Well, the Whigs haven't disappointed yet, so I expect more greatness. I just hope "In the Dark" is more Cash than Kings.

The Hidden Genius of Home Alone

Ahh, there you are. Welcome cinephiles, one and all, to these hallowed pages where we, masters of the craft, can hide from the weekend box office smash watching rabble. I am Pavarotti Killington, your guide to the movies.

Movie critics agree that there have been numerous ground breaking pictures followed by, arguably, even greater sequels: “The Godfather” and “The Godfather II,” “A New Hope” and “The Empire Strikes Back” and “The Fellowship of the Ring” and “The Two Towers,” to name a few examples. But all of these films must bow to the greatest one, two combination of all time, the Ruth and Gehrig of movie pairings: “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2.”

Surely you jest, sir, you are saying, as you grab the nearest pitchfork and wrap this lighted article around your freshest torch. But, please, sit, and instead grab your monocle and pipe and light your finest tobacco as you ponder my argument.

At their surfaces, these two films are already high in the canon of cinematic taste for good reason. Both are hysterical, emotionally touching, and feature the fine acting of Macaulay Culkin, who is perhaps the greatest young thespian to ever grace the screen, matched, perhaps, only by Haley Joel Osment of “The Sixth Sense.”

However, in its simple packaging as a classic John Hughes comedy revered by young and old, it’s easy to miss the nuances and messages which these films truly wish to convey. Do not feel depressed or curse your supposed good taste. This is something even the greats of the illustrious American Film Institute have failed to realize with all of their tweed jackets and beard rubbing.

Enough cannot be said of the sheer genius of Hughes. Take his satirical portrayal of the suburban family in all its greatness: the big house, the fancy possessions and the wealth to send themselves and Uncle Frank’s family on not one, but two vacations.

Yet, somehow amidst this capitalist prestige, society’s model family manages to forget their youngest son, not once, but twice, causing a chain of calamity that only comes to an end thanks to the street smarts of said youngster. Would an inner city welfare mother working two jobs to make ends meet be met with such forgiveness and robust laughter, or would the forgotten child, soaked in tears, be ripped from mother’s arms to the repeated cries of “I did the best I could. It was an accident.”

The brilliance does not stop there. In “Home Alone 2,” Hughes shows us one of the grandest five stars hotels the world has ever seen. But, with all of The Plaza’s glitz, glamour and supposed hospitality, the young Kevin turns to a feces covered bird lady, who is so much of a hermit that she does not even chant, “toppins for a bag.” Hence, the two stereotypes are flipped upside down as she befriends Kevin and ultimately saves him, which the dolts at the hotel fail to do.

Sure, they were tricked by a Talkboy and foiled by the antagonist of “Angels with Even Filthier Souls,” but as adults responsible enough to run a fine hotel, society would expect them to possess the wisdom of forgiveness to save the boy. Again, Hughes’ shows that society’s labels are not always so fitting. Furthermore, that a world with no labels would perhaps be a true utopia.

The examples of such genius in these two cinematic achievements are endless, so I will digress no further as you clearly get the point. Every artist aims to create something unreachable and ever lasting. May there be hope that these “family” films are not perfection. That artists will not pack their creativity, forever depressed by the revelation that these films make future cinema irrelevant.

Movie Review: Inglourious Basterds (95 Nat-Zi Scalps Out of 100)

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.

Opening classically with a deafeningly quiet, cuticle tearing confrontation, the film’s volume turns up to 11 as a team of Jewish American soldiers, under the command of Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), are given a mission to hunt and brutalize Nazis while, simultaneously, Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent), an escaped Jewish girl turned theatre owner, plans her ultimate revenge, creating an ending where both storylines converge to create one uproarious bloodbath.

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.

In the words of Lt. Raine…R-Vee-Der-Chee.

The Freshman’s Guide to a Successful College Experience: 2nd Edition (Few Changes, More Pie Charts, Your Used 1st Edition is Now a $150 Paperweight)

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.

Don't Blame Me...I Voted For The Whigs

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.

After the three and a hour trip, long because of 300 yards in 45 minutes due to an abandoned SUV and sedan in the emergency lane (I'm guessing it was an accident) and scattered Amazon Forest rainstorms, we made it to The Riverview Hotel and Ballroom where Travis and Steph had already rented a room to pass out in after the show. We've stayed there before during past quests for fine original tunes and stayed there again, not because of its service and quality, but for the price and proximity to downtown.

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.

The Whigs at the Hummingbird Stage and Taproom, Macon, Ga. 7/31 10 p.m.

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.