My Life So Far (The Original Motion Picture Motion Pictures)

When I said I wouldn't be posting here on a near daily basis anymore ... well, today is an anomaly.  I think.

Like the songs, these aren't necessarily my favorite films, though certainly a good chunk of them qualify as such.  Some of them are pretty bad, in retrospect.  In the end, these are movies that remind me strongly of a particular year in my life (whether personal or in a historical context).

1962. Days of Wine and Roses
1963. Irma la Douce
1964. Dr. Strangelove (Or How I Stopped Worrying And Learned To Love The Bomb)
1965. A Patch of Blue
1966. Batman 
1967. The Graduate
1968. The Producers
1969. Midnight Cowboy
1970. M.A.S.H.
1971. Klute
1972. The Godfather
1973. American Graffiti
1974. The Godfather Part II
1975. Dog Day Afternoon
1976. Rocky
1977. Star Wars
1978. Grease
1979. Apocalypse Now
1980. Raging Bull
1981. Reds
1982. Fast Times at Ridgemont High
1983. Local Hero
1984. Splash
1985. St. Elmo's Fire
1986. Platoon
1987. Barfly
1988. The Last Temptation of Christ
1989. Heathers
1990. Goodfellas
1991. The Silence of the Lambs
1992. Glengarry Glen Ross
1993. True Romance
1994. Pulp Fiction
1995. Leaving Las Vegas
1996. Beautiful Girls
1997. Boogie Nights
1998. The Big Lebowski
1999. Being John Malkovich
2000. Almost Famous
2001. Vanilla Sky
2002. Minority Report
2003. Lost In Translation
2004. Garden State
2005. Sin City
2006. United 93
2007. Gone Baby Gone
2008. The Dark Knight

2009. District 9

A Whole New Meaning To "How 'bout them Cowboys?"

"Go Long!"

That's Jimmy Johnson's tag line as the new spokesman for ExtenZe, the "male enhancement" product.  That's not a joke.  I saw it myself early this morning on TV, his jovial fat face stuffed under that silver pompadour of his, yakking away about how everyone loves "bigger and better."

And  Johnson, the longtime college and pro football head coach and current Fox Sports NFL analyst, is no cynical paid celebrity stooge, just in it for the buck.  No, he's apparently a long-time enthusiastic customer.  He might have a few Super Bowl rings on his fingers to boost his ego but they did no good I guess in boosting the length of his disco stick.  And thus, "go long!"

My Life So Far (The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

These aren't necessarily my favorite songs (if that were the case, songs from 1965 and 1977 and 79 would consume almost every slot).  No, rather these are songs that remind me of a particular year in my life.  I might have been obsessed with the song, or heard it a lot on the radio.  For the songs prior to 1972, they remind me of a year in a historical rather than personal context, since I didn't really pay attention to music as such prior to my 10th birthday.  I've added more than one song per year only when I felt that one alone could not convey those 12 months for me (the mid-60's and late-70's, mostly).

I'm not sure why I felt the urge to list these here, but the compulsion was strong nonetheless.  I'm sure books, films and TV shows are soon to follow, I must warn you.  Or not.  You were warned.

1962. The Wanderer by Dion
1963. Please Mr. Postman by The Beatles (ironic that my favorite Beatles recording is a cover?)
1964. Don't Worry Baby by The Beach Boys
1965. Desolation Row, Ballad of a Thin Man and Positively 4th Street by Bob Dylan followed with You've Got To Hide Your Love Away by The Beatles
1966. California Dreamin' by the Mamas and the Papas followed with Rain by The Beatles
1967. Heroin by The Velvet Underground followed with Suzanne by Leonard Cohen
1968. Ball and Chain by Janis Joplin/Big Brother and Holding Co.
1969. Suspicious Minds by Elvis Presley followed with Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones
1970. God by John Lennon followed with Dress Rehearsal Rag by Leonard Cohen followed with I Think I Love You by The Partridge Family (which one is my favorite now?)
1971. Moonlight Mile by The Rolling Stones followed with Yo-Yo by the Osmonds (which one was my favorite at the time?)
1972. Layla by Derek and the Dominos
1973. Captain Jack by Billy Joel
1974. Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks followed with Kung Fu Fighting by Karl Douglas (we could play records on Friday in math class at George Washington Carver Middle School 7th Grade)
1975. Backstreets by Bruce Springsteen
1976. Dancing Queen by ABBA followed with Blitzkrieg Bop and Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue by the Ramones followed with I've Loved These Days by Billy Joel followed with Night Moves by Bob Seger
1977. Alison by Elvis Costello followed with Career Opportunities by The Clash followed with Anarchy in the UK by Sex Pistols followed with Sheena Is A Punk Rocker by the Ramones
1978. Badlands and Racing In The Street by Bruce Springsteen followed with Big Shot by Billy Joel followed with (I Don't Want To Go To) Chelsea by Elvis Costello followed with I Wanna Be Sedated by the Ramones
1979. Dance This Mess Around by the B-52s followed with Oliver's Army by Elvis Costello followed with Discovering Japan by Graham Parker followed with Alternative Ulster by Stiff Little Fingers
1980. London Calling by The Clash followed with Los Angeles by X
1981. Shot With His Own Gun by Elvis Costello followed with Seven Year Ache by Roseanne Cash
1982. Mexican Radio by Wall of Voodoo followed with Add It Up by Violent Femmes
1983. Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2 followed with An Innocent Man by Billy Joel
1984. Country Death Song by Violent Femmes followed with Don't Go Back To Rockville by REM
1985. Just Like Honey by Jesus and the Mary Chain
1986. Dear God by XTC
1987. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2
1988. Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen
1989. Fight the Power by Public Enemy followed with Tramp The Dirt Down by Elvis Costello
1990. Last Day of Our Acquaintance by Sinead O'Connor
1991. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana
1992. Runaway Train by Soul Asylum
1993. Flower by Liz Phair
1994. Doll Parts by Hole 
1995. Sinaloa Cowboys by Bruce Springsteen
1996. Criminal by Fiona Apple
1997. Tubthumping by Chumbawamba
1998. Intergalactic by Beastie Boys
1999. Sleep Now In The Fire by Rage Against The Machine
2000. Stan by Eminem
2001. The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice
2002. Complicated by Avril Lavigne
2003. Knockin' On Heaven's Door by Warren Zevon
2004. American Idiot by Green Day
2005. Reno by Bruce Springsteen
2006. Black Cadillac by Roseanne Cash followed with Dancing Shoes by Arctic Monkeys
2007. Sweet Jane by Cowboy Junkies
2008. The Bright Lights of America and The Modern Rome Burning by Anti-Flag

2009. Sulfur To Sugarcane by Elvis Costello followed with Lust For Life by Girls followed with Bad Romance by Lady Gaga

POL Wars Redux: The Loxodonta Empire Strikes Back (Linger on ... Your Palin Blue Eyes - apologies to Lou Reed)

I'm re-posting a July musing of mine, partly because I'm lazy and partly because it's even more relevant today given the current political environment.  Yesterday's satire and hyperbole become tomorrow's news, sadly.  But still, it'll be mostly a "Re-run."  That's for you late 70's TV aficionados.

It's snowing another couple of feet today after getting nailed with two feet just a couple of days ago.  I already shoveled last night's eight inches of the sleet infused sno-cone filler off my walk this morning, taking advantage of a break in the storm. It's going to be mighty painful shoveling for sure, after today's blizzard dumps another foot or so, with nowhere to put this new load of frozen H2O except to the top of the piles already there (lots of back twisting and muscle spasms in my future).

Before I re-post, I have to note two things I learned last night flipping through the channels that I really didn't want to know:

1. Michael Jackson made a habit of peeing into bottles rather than a toilet, often doing so in front of others, even casual acquaintances, without a hint of self consciousness.  Apparently, half empty bottles of his wiz littered the Jackson estate.  They say it started back in his prepubescent Jackson-5 days when there were often no bathrooms within easy reach of the stage at the venues in which they performed. Thanks for expanding my Jack-o knowledge to new depths, E.
2. There's a product called Kitchen Guard for those people who really hate the mess left behind by traditional fire extinguishers.  Damn, I saved my house from burning down but just look at all the foam on the stove!  I guess if the price is right, it might be a fine addition to my kitchen essentials.  Maybe it serves two purposes, a la New Shimmer.  In this case, instead of being both a floor wax and a desert topping, perhaps it's a fire extinguisher and a PAM-like no-stick cooking oil (it is an aerosol spray, after all).

And now, a re-post from early July 2009, enhanced with linked references, illustrations and an updated 2010 present tense!

I figure we're in the early stages of the Empire Strikes Back if one were to apply 'Lucas'-onian ('Lucas'que?) principles to current American political reality. The election of 2008 was the attack on the death star, the climax of A New Hope.  Or, more appropriately, A New Audacity of Hope.  But we're a couple of years yet away from Obama losing his hand to Dick Cheney and finding out the uncomfortable truth about his lineage. (Kenya is not Wyoming? They have similar forms of democracy, I've heard.)

Rom Emanuel is Han Solo; David Axelrod, Yoda; Hillary, Leia

Joe Biden is Chewbacca (or maybe he's Jar Jar, arriving appropriately inappropriate into the wrong movie).

Or maybe I have it all wrong and Cheney is the Emperor.

The appendage, perhaps then, is due to be lopped off by Darth Palin ("Barack, I am your Mother").

Perhaps, too, I also have wrong the particular appendage that is in peril.

It sort of fits, though.

Think about it. Okay, don't think so much - feel about it - the truthiness can't be denied.

They both apparently enjoy basketball (or, in Darth Sarah's case, at least basketball analogies and how apparently all the great basketball players like to leave the game in the 4th quarter). She can see Russia from her house - he saw Russia from his mobile home (Air Force One).

You'd think that her youth would rule such a thing out, but I always thought that she had a little 'Highlander' in her ('There can be only one - please God').

This would all imply that he got his literacy, poise, and sanity from his father's side of the family.

But the opening credits have barely trailed off the screen - we have a long way to go before we have to worry about Ewoks roaming the planet, Hip waders drying in the east room, book burnings and literature lynchings, and Michelle's garden giving way to a smelt pond.

A while to enjoy things before Mrs. Maverick and her Alaskan Geese (apologies to Dr. Green) go to Washington while Jimmy Stewart does cartwheels in his casket.

And that's another movie for another time.  But be forewarned: put your affairs in order while you can.

"I found America hiding in the corner of my wallet

It's a well kept secret, thought that I had better swallow it

Before they make me spit out the truth

Before they find you're lying about your youth

B movie, that's all you are to me

Just a soft soap story

Don't want the woman to adore me

You can't stand it when it goes from real to reel

Too real too real

You can't stand it when I throw punch lines you can feel" - Declan Patrick MacManus, 1979

Dyslexic Misanthrope

Dr. G is now on the Discovery Science Channel!  So there's a chance Oprah's destruction of Discovery Health next year won't mean the end of my favorite Medical Examiner (sorry, Dr. Quincy).  There's some solace in that.

Meanwhile, in other important television doings, Five-0's Steve McGarrett was on the witness stand on WFMZ 69 this afternoon.  Steve was testifying against some super villain loan shark and talking turkey about the exorbitant interest rates in the leg-breaking business, or "the juice, as it's called in the underworld parlance."  Classic McGarrett-speak.  Shuffling between that and a Twilight Zone marathon on the SciFi Channel brings to an end my last week on the dole, topped off with a rousing snow storm to boot.

And down the snow tumbles.  I can hear all the fuckers up and down my block cackling with glee at the chance to rock and roll tomorrow with their machines of destruction.  You know, I can't believe, we're on the eve of destruction.  They're probably already hunkered down in their garages, greasing up their Sno-Blower 10000s for the big day tomorrow, anxious to gun the engines and shoot that snow a mile high in the sky before crashing it back down to earth all over my freshly hand-shoveled walk, erasing the fruits of my manual labor.

The idiot across the street from me was revving up his monstrous contraption this afternoon before a flake had even hit the ground.  It was like qualifying day at the Indy 500.  Better find my headphones so I can drown out the screams of 20 Blowers doing their synchronized dance tomorrow while I'm breaking my back with the ol' faithful $5 plastic shovel.  I think a little Never Mind the Bollocks on the iPod will serve as a gentle alternative soundtrack to my back breaking efforts.  My body is already aching just thinking about it.  Of course I covered this neighbor problem in a December post, where I swore I'd break into my each of their garages at the dawn of the next big snowfall and fill the gas tanks of their blowers with nitroglycerin.  Better set my alarm early tomorrow. :-)

But who am I kidding?  I'm a dyslexic misanthrope: whenever I get especially angry at someone or something, I tend to take it out on myself, no matter how much I may want to lay into the true target of my fury.  It's perhaps just something ingrained into my DNA?  Nah.  Odds are, it was tattooed onto my psyche by off-brand byzantine parenting since recalled. 

I'm going to be signing off from this blog for the most part while I get back down to the business of business.  That means more postings on my technology blog at the expense of this one.  I'll still be checking in from time to time but probably not at the near daily clip I'd been posting to date, tossing globs of drivel-laden keystrokes at the web and watching precious little of it stick.  Which is not to say that the quality will improve just because I have a go at it less.  But I'll feel more guilty if it isn't.  So I'll try.

"Dip - ri - van! It's my life and it's my wife ..."

Lots of slow - and not so slow - dancing going on this week ...

First, Rush Limbaugh boogied on camera to the beat of Lady Gaga at the Miss America pageant on Saturday night, no doubt helped by the halo of Oxycontin-based opiates tap dancing down his brain stem. When Rush is "rushing on his run" - which is always - bet he "feels just like Jesus' Son."




The dancing will be (mainly) verbal as John Stewart heads back to the O'Reilly Factor tonight and tomorrow for a two part taped interview between the Daily Show razor wit and the "No Spin Zone" host and resident wit of nits.  Should be something to behold.  Stewart was on Bill-O's show a little more than 5 years ago during an equally volatile time in American Politics (it was just a few weeks shy of the 2004 election). A good time was had by all.  Gitcha popcorn ready.

To get us primed, how about a golden oldie from Bill O'Reilly back in the early 1990's ...

Meanwhile, Michael Jackson's really, really slow dancing coach and Pusher/Doctor is finally "ready" to turn himself into the authorities.  Jesus, this thing is dragging out, almost as slowly as your heart beats when Heir Doktor Conrad Murray puts that spike into your vein.  The good Dr. Murray was Jackson's "travel agent" of choice, sending him off on many a Diprivan-fueled "anesthesiologist's holiday" with a skillful drip of the IV into MJ's blood stream.  I hear tell Michael was thinking of remaking the Velvet Underground's classic "Heroin" as "Diprivan" but I might have heard wrong ...

Speaking of dancing (and heroin) ...

Leif Garrett, former 70's Tiger Beat mainstay (he of "I Was Made For Dancin'" teenybopper fame; see below), was busted for heroin possession for the second time while loitering around LA's mass transit system (Los Angeles has mass transit?!?).   His previous LA transit bust occurred when he attempted to jump the turnstiles for a free ride and was caught holding.  This time, Cherry Valance's evil Soc boyfriend Bob was apparently shaking and sweating up a storm on the train platform when the cops came upon him.  Garrett has been dancing with Mr. Brownstone for nearly 30 years now and apparently has not quite hit bottom just yet.

I didn't fit Leif's teen idol target demographic and hated his sort of "music" but do remember his picture plastered everywhere in the late 70's and I did dig his 1999 VH1 Behind the Music special.  Seems they need to write yet another chapter.  He's just about my age and so serves as at least one Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, or Future for my generation. Which one? Depends on your perspective and outlook, but I'm hoping he's not the Ghost of Christmas Future.  He's certainly one barometer of where you stack up/how far you've come since the disco days of yore. Here's hoping you measure up fairly well when judged relative to Mr. Garrett.  Leif, we hardly knew ye ...

A Rip Roarin' Time ...

And the Hunter S. Hunter Memorial Intoxicated Revelry Lifetime Achievement Award for 2010 goes to ... drum roll ...  Elmore "Rip" Torn!

Mr. Torn has not only built an enviable body of work in this arena over the course of his long career but is perhaps at the top of his game today, at nearly 79 years of age, when many of his contemporaries have slowed down, retired or passed on to their great reward.

From the knife-wielding confrontation with Dennis Hopper during pre-production of Easy Rider (after which he lost the part to Jack Nicholson, even though it was written specifically for him) to his inebriated hammer fight with Norman Mailer in 1971, right up to his arrest Friday night for attempted burglary of a Connecticut bank blind drunk with an unregistered gun, he's done it all.  Admittedly, this last masterpiece appears to be unintentional (the "breaking into the bank" part, not the "get smashed to beat the band" piece): he apparently thought he was locked out of his own house when he broke in.  But that only makes his talent instinctive, primordial.  There is no pretense to his handiwork.

Mr. Torn hasn't slowed down in his golden years, having turned the streets of Manhattan into his own personal pinball machine through much of the 00's, as demonstrated through numerous DUIs there.  My favorite performance of his involved him apparently going to a bar and getting hammered after picking up a Christmas tree and then attempting to drive home from the watering hole after last call, weaving through the streets with the evergreen tied to the hood of the car. 

Maybe it's telling that he has a degree in Animal Husbandry: he's been doing research into their psyche ever since.  "He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man" - Dr. Samuel Johnson.  Hunter Thompson included it in the epigram to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and often used the quote when describing his work and lifestyle.  Fittingly, Rip Torn follows its creed as well.

Oh, Rip has also managed to find to squeeze in some movie and TV show appearances to pay for what has always been his first love, revelry.  In fact, he's as much a prolific actor as he is a batshit drunken loon.  Ironically, Torn often chooses to play the stable, in-charge character on screen, in sharp contrast to his real-life John Blutarsky / Raoul Duke proclivities. 

Still, Torn's career is not yet complete.  I'm speaking of course about his obvious pairing with Rip Taylor, the crowned queen of confetti and fellow master thespian.

I'm still waiting patiently for the Vegas act of "Taylor and Torn: Rip Squared" to hit the strip.  Or maybe a series of buddy movies with the two (a Lethal Weapon/48 Hours remake, perhaps; maybe Grumpy Psychotic Men?)

Or - yes, this is it! - a further re-imagining of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, with Torn as Raoul Duke - out of his mind on booze and drugs behind the wheel through Barstow, motoring toward Sin City - and Taylor as his wacky attorney Dr. Gonzo, riding shot gun and heaving ginormous bags of confetti out into the wind and onto the desert highway behind them.