I was going to post this a long time ago. But I didn’t. But Carter’s little foray into online customer service with AT&T reminded me of my little tet a tet with Comcast upon moving into my new apartment. Also, it reminded me how hard I’m getting dicked by their pricing scheme. I don’t even understand what possible reason they would have to force me to get tv too.
Click to enlarge.
Actually, after re-reading this, I’m not entirely sure that there’s not a sophisticated cyborg operating the other end of this. Using its synthesized emotions to toy with mine and lulling me into an all too common organic sense of camaraderie and security. I must remain vigilant. If you’ll excuse me, I think “Jolie” is going to be getting a house call from Dr. James, Humanologist and Bounty Hunter.
Pity me oh pity me dear reader. Not just because I have had Ke$ha’s “Tick Tock” stuck in my head for the last 3 days, though that is reason enough. That damn synth sound…so infectious. Anyway, don’t pity me for that, however deserving it may be. Don’t pity me because I just ran out of Coffee Bean Vanilla Iced Coffee (read: crack cocaine) and am stuck in the San Fernando Valley with no car and no means to procure more caffeinated deliciousness. No, don’t pity me for that, however pitiful it may be. Don’t pity me because I just spent the better part of an hour trying, to no avail, to find an embeddable version of David Bowie’s “Ashes to Ashes” video because it’s fucking hilarious and amazing. Pity me because not only are all of these things true, but I won’t ever be able to experience the first time I heard this song, late at night, coming over the top of the hill dividing Los Angeles proper from the Valley, the irony* of listening to a song about Brooklyn on the left coast not lost. Sigh**.
Grammys (Grammies?) There are only 2 reasons to play live at the Grammys.
1. You suck, but are incredibly popular. You will wear sequins, there will be lights and tons of backup dancers and no one will notice that you’re not singing. Not even close really.
2. You are talented, but probably under appreciated by the marketplace. You are probably relegated to singing a bunch of covers by someone who just died, next to a giant projection of their head. The kids aren’t really sure who you are, but the parents all know as they bought your album on CD, because your song was in that movie, and it doesn’t sound like rap music.
(3. You are Beyonce.)
Lady Gaga at the Grammys the other night, managed to do something outside the bounds of both conventions here, but at the same time was doing both of them at the same time. It was confusing and the only thing that wasn’t a the least bit surprising about the performance was the fact that it was, in fact, totally confusing.
Let’s look at the play by play here. First, there’s an….announcer? In a tuxedo? Doing some cross between a circus big top introduction and the beginning to the Dr. Suess book about Lady Gaga. Then Gaga appears herself. She looks appropriately preposterous, but is notably incongruous with the post-apocalyptic industrial landscape going on around her. It’s kind of a steampunk Thriller vibe, and she’s all sea green and sparkles. Pantsless and wearing what appears to be a version of Nightwing’s mask from the Batman comics, she proceeds to….sing?
And as stated before, she actually can sing, she just CHOOSES not to. But sing she does, a soulful rendition of her smash hit “Poker Face” which, as a song, is not soulful, not even a little. After a few bars of that, we’re snapped out of our bewildered “did that voice just come from that sparkly thing?” thinking , back to vintage Gaga and we’re whisked off to her bizzarro world of Muffin Bluffin, strobed-out mummy parties (or whatever the hell is going on) and she plays the hits. Gaga’s droll, monotonous hum issues forth and there is much dancing and merriment around her (which is confusing given the nature of the work conditions in the Fame Factory, I suppose you just can’t repress the masses when they need to dance. See also: Footloose). We’re left wondering for a while why in God’s name did someone decide it was a good idea to bring back the high waisted, vagina covering, hip showing 80s swimsuit onesie look. It makes me think of the more maternal aspects of the female reproductive system. Then I start worrying about whether or not she’s going to fall – anyway. Before long we’re hurled mercilessly into the chorus of the song, which is so flooded with backing track it makes Katrina seem like a quiet encroachment. It seems like someone was trying to tell her she’s in the wrong place by turning up the actual song so she could remember. This is all delightfully accompanied by some of the most uninspired choreography I have ever seen, even for an award show, but I can’t really complain I mean what do you expect out of the working class egyptian undead? Then suddenly the song is over but -
And that’s a big BUT dear reader, for our sprightly little songster hath returned as the backup dancers force Gags from the spotlight. Our satyr in a penguin suit proceeds to narrate what’s happening….sort of. It’s something about pop music and the G-ma’am being too much and ruining his business? I thought he was in the business of introducing Lady Gaga? Anyway, Gaga is taken up the stairs despite her strong protestations. The lady DEFINITELY doth protest too much and producers who are playing along at home can strike “Acting Crossover Sensation” from their list of How To Make Money At This Years Grammys (Home Edition). Gags is dropped into a vat of fire (who keeps fire in a vat?) and emerges, predictably triumphant and unpredictably covered in ash at a mutant piano opposite an also ashen Elton John (research, can you look up if Sir John was also dumped at one point in his career into a vat of fire? Maybe this is a serial thing..) They sing. Sir Elton John is wearing some kind of futurist advanced gay gyroscope on his ear that probably shoots lasers if you fuck with him. They sing. Everyone except social conservative men and their cowed wives goes home happy.
Now, I’ve spent far too much time in post-game, because I know you could have gotten just as much enjoyment out of that without my wry voice whispering snarky comments in your ear. Let’s get down to what’s actually going on here.
1. A Narrative frame
2. Dancing, singing, speaking in an imagined landscape
3. A live audience
waaaaaaaaaaaaaaait a second. is this theater? is this avant-garde theater? AT THE GRAMMYS? Gaga what are you doing to me? Is the tuxedoed man representative of the major label attitude in the 21st century? Is Elton John some kind of god figure in Gaga’s messianic quest to change the very landscape of socio-sexual and mass culture politics? IS THIS SYMBOLIST THEATER!?
Or maybe it’s not. In fact, it’s probably not. In point of fact, nowhere and at no time, did anyone even remotely consider this. But someday dear reader, someday we might MIGHT be able to get there. As for right now, I believe that this is just another image, just another 10 second clip to be shown when she’s reached maturity and legitimacy. This is the beginning of the middle section of her televised documentary retrospective. Becoming the Madonna of our generation, we will all look back and say “Oh remember when she played with that old gay guy our parents liked?” She seeks fame. No that’s not right, she doesn’t seek fame, she seeks the ineffable thing above that. The thing that bends culture around her persona, instead of the opposite:
INFAMY
She doesn’t want to change the world, she wants the world to change; to turn it’s insatiable eye for entertainment on her, permanently. Her outlandish behavior (with no hallmarks of actual destructive behavior) and her carefully protected talent, all point to one thing. A meticulously planned infamy. In 2 years, when she’s run out of stunts to pull, the drugs will take hold and she’ll go away to rehab (supposedly). Then she’ll come back, a reformed party girl, with still a little bit of starlet in her. She will sing soulful love songs, and be embraced by the masses. She will win universal appeal when she marries a man. She’ll do a country album and not like Madonna. She will be the biggest thing since the Beatles. And she probably knows all of this.
Hats off to you Lady. You’ve done it.
*Grammies sounds like a cookie made from Grandmothers. Like Soylent Green, but with false teeth and pictures of children, not in a creepy way. SCREENPLAY!
Ok, Japan, you’ve got two ways out of this one. Either you admit that you cheated evolution by accepting help from some benevolent alien society that visited Earth preceding WWI** or you’re Robots. I mean how else could you, a relatively small island nation, actually begin to take over large sections of the globe and assert your dominance as an international pow- note to self, investigate England for signs of Robots. Anyway, do you actually expect us to believe that you went from being a pre-industrial civilization for 7 CENTURIES to being a power player on the international stage in just 60 years? Wait…. Note to self, investigate US for signs of Robots. Wait, is it possible that Commodore Perry was in fact the Mastermold and Japan was colonized by Robots at the turn of the 19th century interrobang!? Either way, Japan, who suspiciously leads the world with desire for robot servants and has an unnatural obsession with giant city-destroying robots and robot sex and pretty much all things transforming, also has NINJA WARRIOR. Ninja Warrior, in case you aren’t familiar, is a show with a lot of crazy ass obstacle courses. And it’s not like American Gladiators, there aren’t pads and cages, there’s just a pool of muddy water under this cyclone of possible sprains and dislocations. Almost no one has ever finished the final stage, it’s a goddamn joke. It’s steel mountain covered in six inches of fresh pain. Remember Paul Hamm, that American super gymnast from the olympics with the crazy high pitched voice? Yeah, watch him get wrecked here. Then who’s the guy who comes up after him? A FISHERMAN. Japan, the case against you guys being robots is not good.
Ok so we’ve got that, but at least Makoto Nagano is pretending to be human, like a good Japanese person. Now if you watch more of this video, you realize that most of the people on it are menial workers. A gas station manager, a fireman, office dude etc. These are people who comprise the bulk of society. They are the kind of jobs a superhero takes when they want to keep a low-profile. So if we’re looking at the mean physical aptitude of Japanese society, WHAT IN GODS NAME IS THE UPPER ECHELON DOING. Space research? Time travelling crime fighting? OR, plotting the robot insurrection? Now, I’m not suggesting that Japan is NECESSARILY spearheading the secret robopocalypse (pronounced ro BOP ocalypse) but otherwise, what are they doing with all that physical talent? And why don’t they have an army? Oh, the self defense force established by the post-WWII constitution? Sounds pretty suspicious to me. If I had THIS GUY on my team, I’m not sure I’d let any piece of paper dictate my ability to defend freedom wherever I wanted.
Be afraid fellow Americans, be very afraid.
**
The Setting: Japan 1894
The Players: Japan and Aliens (not Ridley Scott aliens)
Aliens: Attention People of Earth, we are here to make grant your desires and improve your world with advanced technologies, artificial intelligences and tiny keychains! We offer you, UTOPIA!
Japan: Sweet. We’ll take it.
Aliens: Now, can you point us in the direction of other human societies so that we may seed this world with our benevolence?
Japan: Uh… no actually… we’re it.
Aliens: Seriously?
Japan: Yeah, we’re all the humans.
Aliens: Why do you live on this small island?
Japan: We like to fish and…beachfront property…major plus!
Aliens: There’s a fair point. Farewell Humanity, we hope that you may see the light!
Japan: Goodbye Aliens! Ok, cool, now let’s put this stuff in a secret lab so no one knows we have it and then go invade Russia and China! Sweet deal!
UPDATE:
So upon closer inspection, and actually paying attention this time, the robot destroying the course at the end of the second video is the same fishmongering robot that humiliated Paul Hamm in the top video. Now, how could someone feasibly go from being in what appears to be peak physical condition (at 134 lbs mind you) to being THAT MUCH MORE IN PEAK PHYSICAL CONDITION? Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Robo-Fisherman MARK II. That’s right A BRAND NEW MODEL. It’s the only reasonable explanation.
To me, this is the sign we were waiting for that autotuning things that are not music has reached critical mass. Thank you Gregory Bros, thank you legion of multitrackers that can’t actually sing, and thank you T-Pain. It has been a wonderful year, but now, I think we can put this on the shelf and break it out again over Christmas 2015 with a sense of warm nostalgia. Either that or this is, like everyone has feared/speculated on, the next generation of music. All music will be increasingly esoteric and abstract forms of autotuned layered nonsense.
Well, at least it’s not trance.
Though, I have to say, this is a cut above the Autotune the News productions. There’s some real thought that went into this, and they did autotune Stephen Hawking, a man who’s only voice is ALREADY DIGITAL. Redigitizing the already artificial, even further dehumanizing it? I’m pretty sure Shirow Masamune is telling you right now that he told you so.
Hello dear reader, sorry for the lack of updates in the last 2 days. Paul came over and I lost about 2 days of my life to Modern Warfare 2. BUT in much better news we’re having a party for Carter’s birthday tonight! It’s a surprise, but Carter has been so remiss in posting here, that I’m going to do what he did to me to him, follow? I’m going to reveal Carter’s birthday surprise on this blog, and then see if he checks it by 6pm today when we pick him up, SO:
At 6pm today we will pick up Carter outside his apartment in a stretch hummer, then drive to the airport where our good pal Chris has taken the liberty of getting us a Gulfstream that is going to fly us to fabulous KENNYBUNKPORT! Where we will have a fantastic dinner of fresh, seriously fresh, Maine lobster. Then since Carter wants to go home and see people, we will fly back to New York, drop him off, and then the rest of us are going to SANTA CRUZ for the weekend. Should be good times. Anyway, let’s see if Carter responds to that.
OK (did you know that OK is a sideways person? Shit blew. my. mind the other day)
OK so that was a lie. What we are actually doing is picking Carter up in a party van and driving him to an Arby’s about 3 hours upstate! We’re going to party all the way up, get some roast beef, and then party down! WOO! But someone needs to stay sober and drive and I say it now, not me, so when this comes up later I can say I already said not it.
Let’s see what happens. Also, I don’t have time now, but the last two days have shown me something, something that I want to share. COMING UP (probably tomorrow) 10 Reasons Why Modern Warfare 2 Is Better Than Sex, Cheese and Your Mom’s Homecooking.
Oh and just so you don’t think I shortchanged you on this post: Did you see Kristen Wiig’s impression of Natalie Merchant a couple weeks ago? Holy crap.
I know, I know. Shocking. I have been told many times that due to the roughness of my prose and truncated sentence structure that I read more like a child from the inner city. Coupled with my innate lyricism and frequent use of the lexicon of “the streets” it might be easy to confuse suburban Whitey McWhiterson over here with someone with a little more ethnic panache. Like Jay-Z for instance. Are we so different?
I would like to cite The Blueprint 3. Yes, I know, through the first two Blueprints, Jay-Z was Ragged Dick and Struggling Upward, but now, on this album, Jay-Z has revolutionized hip-hop music. He has infused it with the one thing that it never managed to achieve.
Old-Rich-WhiteGuyness.
In one of the masterpieces on the record “Off That,” Mr. Carter claims to drive a hard-top saab, own a loft in tribeca (where the median sales price currently according to Trulia.com is around 2.5M, sitting a comfortable 1.5M above the median sales price for the rest of manhattan) and own Art. THIS IS OLD WHITE GUY RICH. I love old rich white guys. They have terrible stories generally, but would have been amusing ten years ago, and they have a lot of money to throw around. Old rich white guys buy weird shit too, like after they have a yacht and a mansion, they’ll spend 200 bones on a bottle of scotch, or 1000 bucks on a useless end table that really wasn’t necessary because the coffee table was right there, but it totally “ties the room together.” Old rich white guys are weird and freaking awesome, I hope to be one someday.
Also, they have hot younger wives. A lot of the time, except for the really awesome ones who married young and nailed the hottest thing on the market at the time. Which is awesome. Early investing pays dividends in the long run (read: hot kids. who doesn’t want hot kids?)
Anyway, Jay-Z is like an old rich white guy now, because he’s so stupid rich and has a hot wife. What was I actually talking about? I meant this to be a comment on the progress of hip hop culture toward the mainstream and it’s influence on the constantly shifting amalgam that is american culture, but really I just want to go on Jay-Z’s yacht. I think it’d be fun.
I’m wearing a jumpsuit right now, and it’s awesome. And I’ll tell you why.
1. College kids look at me with pity.”Oh I’m getting a college degree so I’ll never have to put one of those on. I’m never going to be working class” WRONG DBAG. You’re going to be working class, and you know why? SUB LIST
[1. Bachelors degrees dont mean shit. They're a dime a dozen. Honestly, you'll make more money getting your associates in criminal justice or whatever than you will working at brueggers waiting for your writing career to "take off" *sob*
2. You're an asshole, and no one, not one person, except maybe Paul, likes assholes]
2. NO NONSENSE. I mean, no pants, no shirt. Just SUIT. No buttons, no lining, no frilly bullshit, just pockets and canvas.
3. It’s roomy. Like 1995 roomy. Like “dot com stocks are booming and my kids are wearing jncos cause the economy is so strong and we can buy as much fabric as we fucking like” roomy. I read something about that once. Anyway, there’s room in there.
4. I know I touched on this before, but fucking POCKETS. The pockets are awesome.
Reasons I don’t like wearing a jumpsuit.
1. Sometimes, your balls can get caught on the zipper. This list would not exist except that that just happened. To me. And it sucked.
I’m a janitor for halloween, what are you, dear reader?
People really hate on Cracked.com, but goddamn, those motherfuckers are REALLY funny sometimes. For example: Take this post where Cracked.com writer Chris Bucholz attempts to buy a pirated copy of Windows 7 on eBay. Here is what showed up:
Amazing. He then continues to write a thousand word review discussing hardware and network configurations. It is one of the funniest nerd/tech stories I’ve read in a LONG time. Bravo.
