Schrodinger's lolcat

yes! I know! A whole month without convergences must have been hard. We're sorrrry. Poor you. But really, come on now. Look around you- there are convergence everywhere you look- you can't just rely on us twos to keep you informed of such matters. It's a very blinkered way of doing things, even if the blinkers are a lovely set of 'em.
The LHC experiment for example- that had a lot of scope for convergence recently. You know, that big proton collider thing in Switzerland; the LHC! The LHC! The LHC. The LHC? Everyone's talking about the LHC. Don't tell me you haven't learnt your Higgs Bosons from your Schrodinger's cats? You really can't have missed any of the coverage that the proton... um, 'thing' was given, seeing as it was pretty well covered everywhere (and then subsequently forgotten once the news media realised that it's a bit of a 'black hole' excitement-wise, and that it's going to take weeks before they find all the cool sh*t).
Now, that was a pretty big convergence, right on your metaphorical doorstep, as it were (-let's just never mind writing about the actual convergence of writing about the massive, earth-altering science spinny on the actual day it took place). Just imagine the protons as they went spinning around that big loopy thingy, propelled by magnets, just below the speed of light... just where did they get them from? The proton farm?
What if the ones they selected to smash into each other- potentially causing another big bang- were actually the same protons that caused Big Bang I? Or, were the same protons that split the first zygote in the first human embryo? Or that the protons sent around in that experiment came from space and had hitched a ride on the asteroid that 'brought the noise' to the dinosaurs? Wow, huh? Now that's convergence* (note: these might not be convergence. But seeing as I'm taking liberties with a lot of science in the above (are protons reusable? zygotes? ) mangling some English isn't a big concern- I'm just trippin' the light fantastic over the keyboard in front of me, here. Do you think Fred Astaire knew exactly where each and every tippidy-tap went on the old dancefloor? Really??)

Anywayz, both Tiffany-darling and I really couldn't have brought you any postings on whatever was floating through our mind convergence-wise this past month, because we were both having a pretty big convergence of our own in the middle of August at the 'Grand Convergence Convention, Philadelphia '08'. It's hard to believe but we actually met up, face-to-face, jungle-to-jungle in glorious IMAX 4D where during the event many issues were brought to topic in what some commenters are calling Pop Culture's Versailles Treaty- such as; Play/Pause/Rewind tattoos, beach volleyball sexism, musical sustainability, parallel parking, Corey cubed... Yes, indeed. We were basically living like a couple a' clever young Turks.
And although the world didn't end with the big experiment on Wednesday, the earth certainly did move when we two met for our brief encounter this summer at the Con-Con. In a word, this commenter said it was 'smashing'. I've thought about this subsequently though, and feel perhaps only this convergence of rap and country's biggest stars coming together in one song can only just about sum up how I feel:



And that's just the thing- this correspondent, now back in the land of Roast Beef, feels ever so slightly strange ever since I've been back. It's like when you're walking down the same set of stairs you've known for ages, but you misjudge the last step and it catches you out unawares, sending you clattering into the floor- and for a second, you don't know what the F is going on, because you've walked, run, skipped down these stairs hundreds of times (this happens a lot to me, what with my marionette limbs flailing about in the manner that they do sometimes). Now, imagine that one second of shock but prolonged for about a month, and you've got me these past few days. I don't know where I am, what I'm doing... I'm leaning up against walls, trying to workout what's going on... My temporal re-emplacement has been hindered also by the weather here in Blighty. I can honestly say since returning from the glorious east coast of America, there has been four complete sunny days. Four. That means for 86% of the time, it was raining. Now, when it rains for 86% of your time, maybe you'd feel a little bit strange as well. Take a read here what our own country's Meteorological Office has been describing the month August as...

Holy smokes- even the whole country even describes ITSELF as 'exceptionally dull'. The first sentence takes care of the general weather description- it's nothing to slit your wrists over- but the next one is just there to rub it in, reminding people of the general, dismal feeling about the place. It's just sooo depressing, in more ways then one I can tell you. So, I made this lolcat to make me feel better.



He he! It sorta worked.

....(not quite)BREAKING NEWS on the CONVERGENCES NEWS TICKER.....a new, even younger work experience kid came in to work a couple of weeks ago; he HAD seen Pulp Fiction...(not quite) BREAKING NEWS on the CONVERGENCES NEWS TICKER....


Convergence alert! Tiffany talks about the funtime pic Kindergarten Kop and the very same day I found myself accidentally/deliberately tuning into another Arnie Schwaz 80s 'dramady'....Spooky!
In its genre's prime Saturday mid-afternoon slot, the film I'm talking about is Twins(!)

And oh, what a terrible film. I remember watching it when I was much much younger, remembering that I quite enjoyed it- specifically the scenes where he picks up the car to turn off the alarm scene and the 'ahh, they both have twin babies at the end!' bit. I remember quite enjoying these bits:
1. because I liked the sentimental drug overdose climax of the twins having twin babies and
2. because as a young lad, watching Arns lift that car up off the ground, I thought it's only a matter of time before I became a man like that and have to do the very same thing, all the time- as if it were a chore I imagined grown-up men were always having to do for women; grudgingly doing it, but secretly enjoying the chivalry. Lifting a car off the ground to turn off the alarm: surely it's just like opening jam jars, my young mind equated.
So, I watched Twins again but even those bits were quite bad to watch. Even the look of the film was an assault: everything seemed to be in soft-focus and looked akward in a not-quite-eightes, not-quite-nineties way: everything was either peach or beige coloured.

For the purposes of this blog, I I took notes during the film. Here they are:
-they're twins?!
-smoking in the supermarket
I was amazed during that scene- the two lead women were smoking-in a supermarket. It was supremely incongruous- like the stature difference between the film's two movie star actors. I was half expecting the big baby payoff at the end of the film to now feature the wee bairns smoking down on some Woodbines. If that were to happen today it would make the news(supermarket smoking, not babies smoking- that would be a You Tube smash)

I feel asleep during the film. While sleeping on the sofa, my mind drifted to "Twins'" sister 80s (slash 90s!) funtime picture sisters- like the alluring sisters that feature in The Virgin Suicides. Pour example:
The Flight of The Navigator,
Three Men and a Baby/Little Lady,
Innerspace,
Big,
Crocodile Dundee,
Back To The Futures 2 and 3,
Working Girl,
Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead,
Bill and Ted,
Weird Science,
Big,
Universal Soldier,
California Man,
Beethoven,
The 'burbs,
The Secret of My Success,
Taking Care of Business,
Romancing The Stone,
Short Circuit...
.. you know the films I mean. I thought about them, and picking up on Scriff's point, why aren't Hollywood making this type of film anymore? Films like Turner and Hooch weren't really blockbusters and they won't win any Oscars (although Hooch's saliva-based tomdroolery was at times memorably side-splitting grusome), but they were decent, alright films. Had I paid to see them in the cinema, I wouldn't have really felt like I'd been robbed, say: they weren't bad, they weren't great, they were just "nice" movies. Lamenting the past in a misanthropic way, it seems to me that films today don't aim for the middle ground like The Money Pit did. Making comparisons, does 'Stepbrother' look like the kind of film I'm talking about? Films coming out today are films that are either The Most Amazing Film To Be Released This Year! or they are just terrible terribel! movies. Supreme case in point: The Pacifier (obviously in the The Most Amazing Film To Be Released This Year! category). If I turn on the TV in 2028 at 3.30pm, will 'What Happens In Vegas' be on? Will I want to watch it, like I would Innerspace (hooradio! Innerspace is such a good movie, a fact Tiff and I have already converged) today? Probably not- around 2028 is when you'll find me lurking around inner-city car parks, hoping to lift up women's cars should their alarms go off. If I start with the stair-master now, I should have the muscle power in about 12 years. Either that, or I'll be popping out my first sprog like Arnie does in Twins' afterbirth of a movie, Junior

I haven't posted for ages I know, so here's a picture of my sunburnt feet to make up for it

"Hey, I got a Mel Annomer on the phone... wants to know where his lobster dinners are?" The first and LAST time I wear flip-flips, I can tell you. In a strange quirk, I use my feet to type instead of my hands, so...
I don't really. But I'm having hurricanes of fantastic blog ideas, so keep your eyes peeled and your skin peeling

On the subject of being old, starring Vin Diesel

Firstly, I totally just gmailed myself the link to East Village Radio, which sounds awesome, as to remember to coordinate it on the computer I’m allowed to download things like iTunes on. Which ones do you like best? The descriptions are hysterical [i.e. “(((Attuned))) with DJ AT: mood driving psychotraumatic stuff,” and “The Continuous Mammal with Niall: audio adjustments and consciousness calibration. prepping you for the portal in 2012.” Pyschotraumatic?! What’s that?, I wonder – For some reason I can only think of Slipknot, who would probably describe themselves as way more psychotraumatic than their music merits…

Secondly, on the subject of being old. My jaw literally dropped with the Pulp Fiction bit. Has it really been FOURTEEN years?! I know I know that it is sooo ironic or whatever for people as young as we to be harping on our old age, but it truly is coming into a new age when you realize, for example, that people who were born the same year as Pulp Fiction now look old enough to purchase cigarettes illegally at less reputable establishments. I recently had a similar experience when someone I know, a senior in high school, reminded me she wasn’t BORN for the fall of the Berlin Wall. And she’s not like, a toddler now? Impossible.

On the subject of convergences [and being old], I truly was having a similar experience at about the same time as the last posting. This guy proposed a social gathering centered on the Arnold Schwarzenegger Drinking Game, in which you drink whenever Ahhnold says something that would kill the mood in bed [as in, “I'm not a pervert! I was just looking for a Turbo Man doll!”]. While any choice would have easily been a real gem [Hercules in New York, Conan the Barbarian, Twins, etc.] we selected Kindergarten Cop. Naturally, the game was wildly entertaining [“it’s not a tumah!”] – but I also remembered that I kind of really legitimately like Kindergarten Cop.

I got to thinking about WHY I like Kindergarten Cop, and, as in musings on similarly-liked films, I wanted to figure out how much of my childhood wonder is coloring my current estimation. Do I only like Kindergarten Cop because I remember finding its proliferation of potty jokes, slapstick humor, and Schwarzenegger’s steely antics hysterical when I was 8? I’d like to think that, as in the case of the aforementioned similarly-liked film, that Kindergarten Cop DOES have some transcendent quality, Arnold a particularly capable turn of muddled Austrian phrase...

But then I tried to compare KC to its modern day equivalent - and the only thing I could come up with was The Pacifier, starring Vin Diesel. And actually, as soon as I thought of it I realized that it was the PERFECT comparison. Don’t get me wrong, I still refuse to submit myself to that particular two hours of pandying, pandering, schmaltzy tired Disney rigamorole – but even without seeing it, I can tell its premise is near identical to my beloved Schwarzenegger vehicle: Über-tough serviceman meets conniving and wily children, hilarity ensues.

Except for one thing: The Pacifier is obviously terrible. Terrible! A quick Rotten Tomato reveals that its overall critical rating was 21% - and we can assume that 20% of those were Disney-Time Warner-owned publications. To be plain, there is no way in hell I would ever have the remotest interest in seeing this film, and I could guarantee that if forced to sit through it, I would not find a SINGLE instance of slipping on ice or vomit REMOTELY laughable. Please reference this pretty lame interview chock full of Diesel "witticisms" for more evidence... they even cite Kindergarten Cop.

The point of the matter is that I feel old because Kindergarten Cop came out in 1990, when I was in fact, in kindergarten. Bizarrely, though, I feel MORE bad about myself for liking Kindergarten Cop – and it’s only because I am now comparing it to The Pacifier, which I hate. I realize that were I in kindergarten now, I would probably like The Pacifier, and for some reason I feel like that fact nullifies a lot of my movie-related musings and defenses. It also makes me doubt the universal merits of KC… I mean, it DID get a 50% on the Tomatometer, and quoth the TV Guide entry, when it played one of bazillions of times in the past 10 years: “Actually fairly entertaining, buoyed by Schwarzenegger's self-deprecating charm and easy chemistry with his capable costar, Pamela Reed, and the hammiest bunch of tykes ever assembled for a movie.” Yeah!

I am kind of terrible at ending these bloggy ramblings, but perhaps our only consolation is that we can “still feel young” by continuing to enjoy some of the simpler pleasures of youth, even if those pleasures are laughing at an overmuscled immigrant wrestler as he is thwarted by a 6 year old.

Happy Birthday Gary Busey!

Yes, that's right- it's ol' Mr, Joshua's birthday today! The Oscar-nominted artiste is 64 today (and before you incredulously look it up on imdb, he was nom'ed for The Buddy Holly Story- and not 1999's Hot Boyz, or his role as the 'Mr Katz' in the exciting-sounding 2006 film 'Shut Up and Shoot!'). Unfortunately though this isn't a continuation post of the theme of Gaz Buze, but merely (merely!) more pop culture fluff.
The topic of hilarious band! names immediately made me think of a story I heard a long time ago; precisely 2004/5 and the aftermath of the horrific Asian Tsunami. Now, it's a good thing I started this post with the happy celebration of The Buze's birthday, but you needn't worry- the only thing depressing and tragic about the rest of the post will the manner in which it is written.
Anywayz, the tsunami prompted many fund-raising events, one of which being concerts. There was a big one in Cardiff I remember, as well as many others- one of which featured a headline act of the rather unfortunately-named punk rock band "Million Dead", with posters for the event reading, of course, you guessed it... "Asian Tsunami: Million Dead". 

Grim-sounding band names have their place in insinuating fear and dread and whatnot, but in times of actual fear and dread, the band's attempts can only look wholly out of their depth. Remember the anthrax Anthrax scare/mix up a few years ago? Maybe, in today's heightened terror risk, axis of evil world we now live in (hey now...! North Korea! I see you made it off the axis list! Well done, guys!), bands now have to resort to off the wall names in order to be more P.C? "Test Icicles" surely proves this infallible suggestion (?)
Regardless of  P.C. or not, I still find them quite insulting to the point where I'm just put off listening to such bands by their name alone; Does It Offend You, Yeah? is a case in point. One trend I have picked up on is that the bands young Tiffany has pointed out is that they are all British bands (right?), which kind of makes sense, in that as long as you've got a funny! name over here, it's more likely that people will buy you and hype you beyond belief, such is the dearth of half-decent music and the clamour for the next big noisy thing. It's become conversely a useful compass: decent band names point to decent sounds: The Carpenters, Bowling For Soup, The Wonders. Crap names find the needle pointing to crap music: Fucked Up, Fuck Buttons and Cribshitter- ALL true names. In summary, if your band's not called "The Cars", I won't like you.
Now, on my old pop culture radar this week: Being Old.
At work this week, I have had the dubious pleasure of having to share the burden of making coffee and loading the dishwasher with a work experience kid (or, "intern" as I have been informed of for the benefit our American audience(e)). The kid is indeed a kid, barely over the age of 16, which is hard to swallow; it's not enough that I'm worried about his overshadowing of me in a job that you have to be pretty inept to be undershadowed in, but he already has this 8 years thing on me. Eight years! He was born in 1992. I can actually remember existing playing Scatch in 1992 for christsakes! (you can already pretty much guess the tone of the rest of this subsequent post). I have already regaled to Tiffers some of the magic moments the generation gap between us has presented (i.e. "Shaggy's "It wasn't me"? It's a classic song"), but I have saved the best moment for convergences.
Whilst working, we listen to a lot of East Village Radio podcasts (and you should too, because they're great!). The podcasts are just playlists of music, and part of the enjoyment of listening to them is not knowing what's on there and finding new sounds- (...and discovering new music this way circumvents the aforementioned band name problem I have). One such podcast myself and the kid were listening to had this song on it.
I call it 'this song' because it's that song; I, you, and everybody else in the world, doesn't need to know who it's by or what it's called because we all know what the song usually signifies and what it is now forever entwined to. Well, I say "I, you and everybody else", but what I really mean is "I, you, and everybody else WHO IS OLD". For, when listening to the song, the young boy pipes up, in all seriousness, "what is this song? A remix?". "A remix," I reply, quite confused, but starting to sense inside of me that something is beginning to die. "A remix of what?". "You know, of the Black Eyes Peas song. Where's all their rapping?". I tried to tell him that, no, ha, this is the original- before the Peas came along. You must know- "it's a famous song....

...what, ha, haven't you seen Pulp Fiction?"

"No."

And there it is. The coffin is rolled behind the curtain. Maybe (probably) I am making too much of this, but after he said he hadn't seen Pulp Fiction, I was honestly floored for five minutes, reduced to stuttering questions at him like "what?", "is this a grey hair to you?" and "can you recommend a decent mortgage?". I was honestly shocked, but a special kind of shocked. Okay, so, he hadn't seen a film- it is 14 (choke) years old now after all. But I feel I should refine my surprised state; it wasn't like a sneering Jack Black in High Fidelity type thing I sure you know- I wasn't being some sort of film snob, laughing at someone who's filmic knowledge was considerably less then mine. My shockery was based on the fact that everyone in my generation sort of has to have to seen the film; that it was part of our co-existence that you have seen it and experienced all the culture that went with it; the soundtrack, the suitcase, the plaster on Marcellus Wallace's neck. I'm not even that crazy about the film, but it was part of my generation's culture and I'd always figured that my generation was the young generation- that me and all the youngster were all the same band of people. Yet what this Pulp Fiction brouhaha had demonstrated to me was that there was in fact now a tangible difference between another young person and myself, and that he and his contemporaries now had or will have their own films, music and trends, and that I am no longer with the young generation. My own band had broken away and moved on to talk about and be invested in different things to the youth culture, with which from now onwards I shall be further and further out of step with; for it now seems that I am getting older. Console me, please. I'll console myself- for I have a three-month cushion over a certain co-blogger should the world suddenly go Logan's Run Seven years to go, dear!

Bad Decisions! at the Record Store

One of my biggest pet peeves is being gimmicky, or, as I like to call it, doing something for the sake of doing it—as opposed to doing something because it makes sense or is a good idea. In other words, I despise most things that come from a conversation along the lines of, “We should totally JUST communicate in LOLcatsspeak… man, people wouldn’t know WHAT to do!,” or “I might as well start smoking – I mean, what’s the point of life anyway?,” or “My birthday party theme is just going to be, like, anti-fashion.” Such lines of pseudo-reasoning inspire a particular look from me [even if no one is around I still make this face! I might be making it right now!] that’s been described as a mix of incredulity and disgust.

A prime example of this can be seen in band names. I hate when I feel like a band has looked at the entire catalogue of life’s words and phrases and chosen a particular one ONLY because it will be difficult to print on posters or will incite discussion that has nothing to do with their music. Examples would be Prince’s turn to that weird symbol, any band with F*ck [or other words I can’t say to my mother] in their name, a reference to some disgusting bodily function, or—even though I used to kind of be okay with it—a long title with incongruous! punctuation.

A band that selects a gimmicky, complicated, or eff you, the man! sort of name is telling you something about them right off the bat: being shocking and/or annoying to “squares” or “tools” or “gen Y” or “adults”, or whoever they think will be shocked or annoyed, is more important than their music. For the most part, I don’t want to listen to any group that considers gross-out humor part of their act. I would rather not even listen to a band that has to think about HAVING an act.

However, I say “for the most part” in the above qualifier because I have been foiled in this stubborn assertion of mine before. Exhibit A: the short-lived Test Icicles. Their name was ridiculous, yet I think it accurately reflected the scummy dance thrash pop of three chavvy little London teens who broke up within a year just because they felt like it. I thought [and still think] their album was pretty rad. Exhibit B: Holy F*ck. I REALLY did not want to like them out of principle [principle being its stupid to name yourself something just for the sake of making certain people grimace], but of course they make lovely gorgeous ambient rock music that is one of my favorite things of the moment.

And finally Exhibit C, the impetus for this post. Does it Offend You, Yeah?: I HATE this name. I wouldn’t even listen to them, assuming it would sound like Vampire Weekend or some other newish pop I’m supposed to like a lot but that actually sounds a lot like the Arctic Monkeys [yeesh, another winceable name choice there…]. But just like Holy F*ck, they snuck onto my Hype Machine a few times and before I knew it, I kind of liked it. There, I said it. Maybe I’m just FINALLY over my post-Justice weepy folk kick or something, but I thought it was kind of catchy…

For Rob: What’s the consensus on, err, DIOY?Y….? Is it inexcusably cliché? Or perhaps more than BEARABLE?

Checkmate!

ScarJonesin'

I know this project dropped over a month ago, but I don’t care what anybody says: I STILL think Scarlett Johansson is a terrible singer.

After the initial incredulity regarding the whole project wore off [ScarJo pulling a LinLo? Of Tom Waits covers?!?!], this project seems to have passed into the realm of “superliminal ironic favor” in the music blogosphere, i.e. Scarlett Johansson covering Tom Waits is so obviously a poor choice that I am going to go against the grain and deem it “surprisingly good.” Or maybe all these music bloggers’ megacrushes on the lovely and talented chantreuse got the best of them. Either way, its comparable to Pitchfork’s annual obligatory favorable review of a bubblegum pop song [e.g. Kelly Clarkson and Rihanna cracking the top ten on their best of the year lists] to counter attacks on their pretentiousness. This measure is futile, as most of their writers seem to be trying their best to impress freshman year creative writing professors with the longest possible concoction of grandiose phrases and convoluted metaphors.

I’ve been spouting this whole Johansson soapbox for awhile now, usually too loudly and usually while drinking. Granted, I DID only listen to the first 30 seconds of the first single I found on the Hype Machine before deciding that no, everyone is wrong, this is not ironically interesting, this is really just terrible. So today I decided to revisit the project and make sure I wouldn’t be eating my words. But no. It really is seriously terrible. How could anyone think this could be interesting and/or pleasing to listen to? And I dig ScarJo, I really do. I think she wears great clothes and is a good actress who picks interesting projects. But I think that makes me even more fed up with her singing debut—since she took the so obviously Hollywood indie chick route of choosing an artist with sickening hipster cred, and then didn’t follow through with something that I could even secretly like.

Things I secretly like: Extreme Makeover Home Edition. That Finger Eleven song that rips off Franz Ferdinand with paralyzingly bad modern rock lyrics. Franz Ferdinand. Chee-tos. Justice mashups. Dudes in khaki cargo shorts.

See, it’s not that difficult!

inTEDmission

Due to reasons beyond our control, MacRiff has been unable to post much to these here convergences- boy, am I sick of always being the one who has to do everything in this relationship(!) In a very British manner, I have rigidly stuck to the idea of queuing, waiting for my turn and fair play, and so have waited for her next post. And waited.
So then, like Axl Rose, I thought to myself 'what about the fans, man?
What. About. The. Fans?
No, it's not the Pulitzer-troubling 'women crying' thing you've all been waiting for, but at least it's something. You can imagine what the loveable fellows are saying/thinking, like I do.

Get your mind out the gutter- they're giving each other high fives.

kinda reminds me of this

bearz out

Gary Boozy

It appears to me that with these Drunk History videos, the humour lies in the person rather then the tale; as those witty t shirts say, 'beauty is in the eye of the beer holder' (will those such t shirts ever stop just being so funny right now! Stitches!). The best and therefore funniest bits were the cranberry spill and the sophisticated way the large man began his recounting of Glen Johnson, or whoever. Drunkz iz funny, yeah? Not all the time though; we've all shirked the sexy looks of the beer-for-breakfast-beer-for-lunch-smelling tramp on the bus. That aside though, to me it seems the real stories these renditions are based on are pretty hilarious anyway. Glen Michaels and electric key business to me seem lame, frilly, fairy tale Grimm's fantasy (it appears now I've decided in every one of my own blogposts to lightly mock American History). I need to ask you, Tiffany- did that key thing actually happen? Really? Drunk History works because they're drunk. Think of it like this; imagine a sober man telling you about this particular highlight in British social history.
(props also for George Michael for the when he gets out his mobile phone to tell his friends about his pledge).
On my own pop culture radar this week was me being hunted down by a civilian on Carnaby Street for an interview (translation: some work experience guy from a radio station no one listens to wanted a vox pop from me. It wouldn't have surprised me if it was just him doing his homework or something. I was on Carnaby Street though- it was just a shame it was Carnaby Street 2008 then Carnaby Street 1966, really.). He turned on his microphone and asked me straightaway "what's the word on the street?". Wha'? It's a hard question to answer, especially since I'm by no means a baller in 1992 and because there is so many things you can say to that question. My answer, you ask? I spurted out genuinely the first thing that came into my head- or rather, my eyeline: "Puff ball skirts". It was the first time I had ever said the word(s) 'puff ball skirts' yet it was all anybody was talking about on my cerebral street upstairs ("women crying" would have been the perfect answer! If only...). Not a day goes by when I don't wish I could Biff Tannen that one. Thinking about it in the time since (and not 'puff ball skirts' as you might not expect), it appears that this here blog is the perfect space to do it. So...
"What's the word on the streets?"
"Meat. Meat is the word on the streets. I'm sick of people thinking it's cool and eco-friendly to be all vegetarian and eat hummus. Only 2 years ago, hummus was served in restaurants with an apology. Now, it's like they're sending hummus to the moon with a copy of Thriller to show extra terrestrial life what humans are like. Meat is coming back. Any girl who doesn't like a banger in the mouth is a dirty liar"
Makes me wish I had a coach in how to interview, really...
Oh, what, like P Diddy, you mean?
I only wish I could have found the video clip of his interview I saw on MTV today. Now, this section of the post comes very close to becoming a trashy celeb blog, which it may well one day become. Who knows? The interview is basically transcribed here, but the sight of seeing the P the D the I the D the D the Y flummoxing in this interview was ridiculous. He said he's currently in Cannes as part of his 'future movie-star in training' regime. Is there une Stanislvaski ecolé on the plage or something? Erm, no. P Diddy is instead observing the great ones- Brad Pitt, Clint Eastwood, Gwyneth Paltrow- and how they deal with interviews on the red carpet. Bright spark that he is, he notices that "they are always breathing. They're not rushing". But the way Diddy said it on TV, it was more like he was saying "they're not Russian". If P 'Detective' Diddy just about noticed that they're breathing, I give him credit for spying out they're not former Soviets. I wonder, what could his first major film role be? By the sound of things, hopefully it could be a remake of the hit espionage comedies "Spies Like Us", or "The Man With One Red Shoe" (maybe The Man with One Red 'Ice Cream'? Boy, this cutting edge is hard to stand on, let me tell you...)

For a moment there I forgot that Gary Busey was in Lethal Weapon

Mr. Joshua, oh man. What a ridiculous name. This is all of course in reference to Rob’s LW clip closing the last post, which, I have to admit, is more hysterical than I expected. I choked on my coffee at 1:32. So far what is funniest is the comments below the video clip – which for the most part actually seem to be REALISTICALLY dissecting Gibson’s use of the “textbook triangle choke” [even though he forgot to hook his ankle! The amateur!]

It’s May, and it’s a rainy terrible day that’s only TUESDAY instead of being an awesome sunny weekend May Saturday or something. Right now I am lacking the energy for witticism but am also recognizing that it’s my turn to wax poetic on a meaningful/less pop culture subject - so forgive me if this lacks the appropriate fortitude of convergence… but these videos recently made a resurgence in my daily “sending people funny links on facebook” routine because there's a new one I hadn't seen AND all of them never CEASE to be wildly hilarious. [I suppose the convergence of imagery here miiiight be that my original idea for a header for this blog was a 90’s style DJ-MC homage to Ben Franklin and Winston Churchill a ‘la me being from Philadelphia and Robbo being from London… and two of these vids are about Ben Franklin… err..]

ANYWAY, what I’m curious to know is, how much does the American historical slant play into the laughs? Or maybe, what is the humor ratio of a drunk person telling a story about specific historical occurrences, versus a drunk person trying to tell a story about anything? [i.e. Mr. Rob “Union Jack” D., is this as funny for you as it is for me? Or does it lack the multifaceted humor reference of Aaron Burr, that sawnbetch, and that wily Ben Franklin?]

Drunk History Volume 1

Drunk History Volume 2

Drunk History Volume 2.5 [my current fave! though a bit coarse in language...]

She hums it, I sing it

Decending the illuminated staircase in this Showcase Showdown of a blog is me, good old Roberto. Perhaps the weaker part of the convergences duo; you might say the Milli to Vanilli, the Robin to Batman. An example of this is my suggestions for topics to write about on this here blog, one which was my experiences of 'women crying'. Tiffany never did get back to me about that, so it's perhaps something for you all to look forward to in the future (!)
Nevermind that though, as this past week I found myself watching National Treasure on television, starring... Nicolas Cage. Yet, the next day, with no way of her knowing that I watched Nicolas Cage in action the previous day, Tiffany writes about... Nicolas Cage. One might call that a 'convergence' (although no guarantees). That's how we roll.

Now, I think she was pretty harsh to criticise Nicolas Cage in the film in question. He was okay it in- but, really, he could have only been 'okay', as though-out the film he was constantly being overshadowed by the incredible real life historical facts I understand the film was based upon. It was true, in case you didn't know; The Declaration of Independence does indeed have a secret message on the back of it- 'it' being the treatment for the film National Treasure.
Having also put on the back there the treatments for Weekend at Bernie's and Look Who's Talking, the founding fathers of America were early fans of the high concept comedy, and the guys served as early inspiration for the movie industry-based TV show Entourage.

Is that the truth? It all probably might not be, but I can concretely reveal to you now that I have had first-hand experience that Nat Treas could have been entirely based on fact. I was lucky enough to visit Philadelphia a couple of years ago and I, like Nicolas Cage, saw the shadow cast by the top spire of Independence Hall- in the shape of a giant 'X'.
Now in the film, this signifies to Nicolas Cage the location of a special pair of glasses that enable him to read the intricate design on the back of the Declaration (the Look Who's Talking treatment). I was unaware of this phenomena having never seen Natl Treas before then, but never-the-less I did notice that this particular 'convergence' could carry some sort of significance. Only moments later I did work out what the significance meant; as the giant 'X' appeared in shadow over the front doors of the Liberty Bell Centre, it appeared to deliver some sort of mysterious sign- a lot like the 'X' motif in Howard Hawks's Scarface. The sign was there purely to warn people not to go in to what could be the most uninteresting exhibition probably in the history of the world. There's a bell. And it's got a crack in it 'cos it's old. Oh, and that thing it was famous for, the ringing out the victory over the British? Yeah, well..., that never happened. It was different bell. Jeffo might have leant up against this bell here, perhaps on a hot day to mop his brow as he was hot and a bit flustered. At some point. Maybe.

So, as I said, the weaker part of the 'convergences' duo. I've rambled on, and it also appears trampled on an item of great historical significance and haven't really said anything remotely related to the previous post.
What I will say though is that I too care and consider perhaps too much for the particular actors Tiffany mentions. I'm not lying to you when I say that lot of the time I wish I was George Clooney, particularly his character of Dr Doug Ross in the hit TV show ER. I admire the way he was a 'real cool guy' in the show and always knew what to say- which is the polar opposite to me, a quivering wreck of a man, who gives off more then just a suggestion that because his arms and legs are so far away from his brain, there must often occur some sort of 'time delay' in ordering them to do things. To counteract this, I have recently bought some sunglasses that I am very proud of as they are similar to the ones Roger Thornhill wore and so hopefully projecting some coolness onto me when I wear them (for all the non film buffs, Roger Thornhill is Cary Grant's character in North By Northwest... there you go, dear!). Now, Nicolas Cage's humanitarian-esque approach to filmmaking can be explained by probably the thing that has had most baring on his career- cocaine. He's the Chevy Chase of the nineties. Leaving Las Vegas and Face/off were some of his best (?) performances, and looking at the research I have conducted, this era coincides with various peaks and troughs in the street value of power powder, sending him out of his mind but turning him into the wide-eyed, maniacal energyball he is in those films. Now that Ghost Rider grossed all that money, his addiction is probably under control and explains his more languid performances in front of the camera these days... hence Nat Treas. Finally, I have great affinity also for Mel Gibson (like a medal of honour, I constantly remind Tiffany I have seen What Women Want around-about 5 times and it's not because of Helen Hunt). Conversely, I happen to like Mel Gibson upto and including his mental, off-his-face rant; well, at least until the 'sugertits' section of it. Anything surrounding that I fully don't condone. But sugertits? Come on- it's the petname all women love! (despite the five times, it appears the message of What Women Want is yet to sink in). As much as Tiffany urges you to look at the most excellent miniature ponies link previously, I urge you as much to watch this video and fully understand my riff on Mel Gibs, for this is perhaps the greatest wet t-shirt scene ("do ya'd like a shot at the world title?") ever to be committed -definitely to YouTube, probably to celluloid. Specifically the moment at 2.42; the way he growls "NO" is hilarious. That is acting.

He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper

Itttt’ssssss Tiffany! Isn’t this neat? I think so. Though I DO feel somewhat inferior as a student of film [“student of film” actually meaning that I half-assededly took a smattering of film courses in my college years] who didn’t peg the Hitchcock-homage header… ESPECIALLY since that flick is like THE textbook example for anything anyone has ever needed to learn about filmmaking ever, at least according to any introductory level textbook. I swear I’ve had to take notes on Alfie’s storyboards for that crop duster scene approximately 18 times.

And now for the convergence: in a recent correspondence, Robbo brought up the film What Women Want starring Mel Gibson. I’ve always liked that movie more than I think I should [much like Major League, or The Wedding Planner… no, now that I come to think of it, The Wedding Planner is pretty inexcusable] – but anyhow, it got me to thinking about the charm of Mel Gibson [Pre- controversial anti-Semitic ranting Mel Gibson, of course]. I’ve always kind of thought that Mel Gibson’s schtick was a huge rip-off of Cary Grant. The same goes for George Clooney, actually. Have you ever noticed this? That whole debonair, slightly befuddled, grinning sort-of-a-jackass who’s actually a sweetheart underneath it all demeanor… I just think they should give credit where credit’s due, you know? Kind of like how I should be getting my rightful props for re-popularizing miniature ponies. [Please click that link. I found it when legitimately looking for some mini pony stuff—I don’t speak any Russian[?] but as far as I can tell it has nothing to do with little horses and everything to do with the greatest amassing of inexplicable photos mine eyes has ever seen. Am I missing something here?]

I’ve gotten to thinking now about movies and actors that I like more than I should, as a reasonably responsible consumer of arts and culture. The first one that comes to mind is Nicolas Cage, who I have defended tirelessly [Adaptation! Raising Arizona! Moonstruck!] against some pretty rightful criticism [Wicker Man! Ghost Rider! National Treasure!]. I read a cracked.com list that I think summed him up pretty well: “Nicolas Cage seems to be conducting some kind of experiment, wherein he intentionally takes only the best and worst projects offered to him, and absolutely nothing in between.” On the surface this seems entirely apt, but at the same time, I would tend to offer the Con Air Counterpoint, which states that Nicolas Cage possesses a supernatural power to make ridiculous movies [Con Air, Valley Girl, Amos & Andrew, The Rock, etc.] into really likeable, always watchable fare.

Perhaps Cage is actually a covert humanitarian, who takes on bad projects just so he can redeem them into, if nothing else, ideal early afternoon weekend movies, when you’ve got nothing to do but sit in your jammies with some cereal, nursing a hangover or whathaveyou with an easily-understandable comedy or action thriller. And maybe, just maybe, this is how we’ll start to see movies like National Treasure in a few years. Ooorrr maybe he’s just losing his magic touch…

What?!

My stay in Philadelphia was very short, but what I saw of its society, I greatly liked. . . .
In the outskirts, stands a great prison, called the Eastern Penitentiary: conducted on a plan peculiar to the state of Pennsylvania. The system here, is rigid, strict, and hopeless solitary confinement. I believe it, in its effects, to be cruel and wrong.

In its intention, I am well convinced that it is kind, humane, and meant for reformation; but I am persuaded that those who devised this system of Prison Discipline, and those benevolent gentlemen who carry it into execution, do not know what it is that they are doing. I believe that very few men are capable of estimating the immense amount of torture and agony which this dreadful punishment, prolonged for years, inflicts upon the sufferers; and in guessing at it myself, and in reasoning from what I have seen written upon their faces, and what to my certain knowledge they feel within, I am only the more convinced that there is a depth of terrible endurance in it which none but the sufferers themselves can fathom, and which no man has a right to inflict upon his fellow creature. I hold this slow and daily tampering with the mysteries of the brain to be immeasurably more than any torture of the body; and because its ghastly signs and tokens are not so palpable to the eye and sense of touch as scars upon the flesh; because its wounds are not upon the surface, and it extorts few cries that human ears can hear; therefore I the more denounce it, as a secret punishment which slumbering humanity is not roused up to stay. I hesitated once, debating with myself, whether, if I had the power of saying "Yes" or "No," I would allow it to be tried in certain cases, where the terms of imprisonment were short; but now, I solemnly declare, that with no rewards or honors could I walk a happy man beneath the open sky by day or lie me down upon my bed at night, with the consciousness that one human creature, for any length of time, no matter what, lay suffering this unknown punishment in his silent cell, and I the cause, or I consenting to it in the least degree.