Speaking of the election, the second Presidential Debate is tonight. Odds are it won't be nearly as funny as the Vice Presidential debates, but we can hope. And if that's not the "hope" that the Obama-Biden ticket offers, maybe it's the hope that McCain will actually show his legendary temper on stage. Don't get me wrong, I'd hate to see anything horrible happen to the man, but that's mostly because I think there are enough stupid people in this country to give Sarah Palin the sympathy vote if tragedy were to befall the man. That being said, how cool would it be if McCain exploded on stage? Not figuratively, but if he literally exploded. Two words, people: Awe and Some.
Then again, if McCain did explode on stage, he might win the election anyway, because really, how the hell do you follow that? Maybe that's why he wouldn't look at Senator Obama in the first debate . . . because he knew that to do so would make him blow up and he wants to save that for the final debate.
Of course, this hasn't kept the campaign itself from going up in flames like a cheap Halloween costume. As John McCain has already explained, when he says "fundamentals of the economy," he means "American workers." And today, with the Dow closing under 10,000 for the first time in years, I believe that the "fundamentals of the economy" are pissed. Or possibly despondent. Of course, before this election cycle, I was pretty sure that the "Fundamentals of the Economy" was a psychedelic acid-rock band from the early 70's.
And now the McCain-Palin ticket is campaigning on the promise of change. I truly believe that if elected, they will bring change. Unfortunately for them, I believe I'm in the majority of Americans who would prefer "foldin' money."
Wow . . . just wow.
In honor of the end of the KCRW summer pledge drive, here's a list of the top 10 subscriber premiums that should have been offered but weren't:
1. Incorrectly half-completed book of word jumbles filled out by a very intoxicated Puzzlemaster Will Shortz
($75 premium)
2. Dinner for 3 at French café, "Ménage à Yum" and one night in the "bridal suite" at Le Motel Huit Superbe
($300 premium)
3. "Fuck Scientology" coffee mug
($25 premium plus legal fees)
4. CD - Digitally remastered "Sha-Doo-Bee Shatnered!" William Shatner sings the hits of the Rolling Stones in the style of the Tuvan Throat Singers
($50 premium)
5. Cookbook - "Chopped Liver and Chocolate: Discarded Recipes From the Files of Good Food"
($75 premium)
6. Hipster brunch for 2 at Silverlake's own Le Greasé Mullét"
($100 premium)
7. "A Thomas Guide to the Human Heart: DIY Manual for Home Cardiac Surgery" by Dr. Michael Wilkes, host of NPR's A Second Opinion
($125 premium plus basic malpractice coverage)
8. Box for 4 at the Hollywood Bowl for "Boxing at the Hollywood Bowl" Complete with picnic dinner that includes raw eggs, protein bars and BulkStacker brand energy drink, courtesy of Mickey's Gym
($275 premium)
9. Lunch for 1 at "Asparagus, Beans and Coffee" vegan cafe and 6 month membership to Match.com
($100 premium)
I don't want to rain on anyone's parade, but I've been thinking about the Olympics and America's place in the world over the past week, and I've been feeling . . . well, a bit underwhelmed. My pride in America's athletic achievements is tempered by what we've allowed our nation to become under the current administration. When President Bush spoke out against Russia's invasion of Georgia, I gotta say it kinda reminded me of those old anti-drug PSAs. . .
(President Bush walks in on Vladimir Putin and Dmitri Medvedev invading the former Soviet Republic of Georgia)
Bush II: "I can't believe you're doing this! Invading a sovereign nation based on a weak argument that you pumped up based on faulty evidence . . . Who taught you how to do this stuff?"
Putin & Medvedev: "YOU, George, OK? We learned it from watching you!"
And at this point, I've got to tell you how excited I am that Dmitri Medvedev is the Russian President because sometimes when I drink while I'm watching the news, I can almost hear President Bush unknowingly quoting President Merkin Muffley while engaged in his special brand of diplomatacy . . . "Well, it's good that you're fine and I'm fine! I agree with you, it's great to be fine! Now, then Dmitri . . . "
But I digress. . .
Some of the events that are part of the Summer Games aren't really summer games at all. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch table tennis when it's played at the supersonic speeds we generally see in Olympic level competition, but when I was a kid, playing ping-pong during the summer was a sure way to get mom to suggest that we go outside and get some fresh air. Then you've got the trampoline event. Again, fun to watch, but it's an indoor event. As a summer event, trampoline competition should really be held outside. Where athletes risk getting hit by passing birds. Really close to the skeet shooting competition. And speaking of the shooting events, I would have expected America to do much better than we did. I mean, it's not like we're teaching it in school, but still. . .
No, I think that the summer games should include more true summer games. Games like kickball, tag or hide and seek. At least in that last one, America would still be a strong contender for the Silver . . . maybe even the Bronze.
Aah, the spirit of the summer games . . . Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm not the most politically correct person, but even I know that if you're going to be racially insensitive, you have to make sure the group you're insulting isn't going to find out about it. Full page ad in a sports daily in your home country? Sorta lacks the subtlety you might have been aiming for. And the real bitch of the whole thing is that 30 minutes after this photo was taken, they wanted to be racially insensitive again.
Strangely enough, the Olympic scandal involving the Spanish basketball team is being overshadowed by the scandal involving the little girl who allegedly soloed on the performance of Hymn to the Motherland during the opening ceremonies. While we were all led to believe that Lin Miaoke was singing as she soared through the air behind her giant kite, she was actually lip synching to vocals pre-recorded by Yang Peiyi, who Chinese officials thought wasn't as aesthetically pleasing.
Now let me get this straight, the nation hosting the Olympics . . . y'know, the communist nation with an atrocious human rights record; the one that supports rogue regimes like Burma, Sudan, North Korea and Iran? The place with less than stellar freedom of the press, . . . they were less than honest with the world in their representation of the great People's Republic?!?! Well, color me surprised.
But all is not lost . . .
Madonna's friend Rosie O'Donnell is looking to get back into TV, we know she loves her some show tunes, and she already speaks the language, so how about the Rosie O'Donnell Happy Family Fun Time Hour featuring Lin & Yang!
And hey, America already loves Karaoke, The Happy Family Fun Time Hour could start the new trend of "LinMiaoke" in which both the music and the vocals are provided for the performer! That kind of thing is already a proven hit with the kids!
C'mon folks, it's SO crazy, it just might work!
On the left, the billboard for action-comedy Tropic Thunder.
On the right, close-up of the same billboard, but now it seems to be lacking an ampersand.
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A long time ago, I used to work in radio. In addition to being on air as a DJ, I also wrote, produced and voiced radio ads. As a music geek, comedian and someone who enjoys radio if it's done well (which it usually isn't, but IMHO, Los Angeles has a great commercial station, a fantastic public radio station, and Jim Ladd's weeknightly rock odyssey on another station) I approached radio advertising as a necessary evil. Stations have to pay their bills (and their employees) so, they're going to run ads. As long as it's something that has to be done, it may as well be enjoyable for the listener, as well as something that's fun to make. And if the listener stays tuned in for the ads I made, I'm happy, the station's owners are happy, and most importantly, the advertiser is happy.
Occasionally, you'd get a client that made you spin your wheels; coming up with several concepts, writing scripts and sometimes even production samples, only to decide to go with a simple read over a music bed. In one such case, I used George Benson's cover of "This Masquerade" as the music bed, fading the music up after the copy was read, so the first line of the song, "Are we really happy here . . . " was the last thing you heard in the ad. Not so surprisingly, the client didn't notice. They were just happy with the success of their little power play. Again, everybody wins. The client is happy, which makes the station's owners happy, and I get to keep my job while essentially insulting an ignorant bastard in the public square on their dime.
So when I see an ad like the billboard campaign for the movie Tropic Thunder, in which Robert Downey Jr. plays an actor who undergoes a controversial process to make him look like an African-American, I do a little happy dance inside. I know how closely studios scrutinize advertising materials, but I also know about the politics that go into the order stars are billed on these materials as well. So, is this an example of something the studios overlooked in order to please the three stars of the movie? Is it an example of a vengeful art director along the lines of a rumored phallic symbol in the art for the Disney release The Little Mermaid? I couldn't tell you. But I can tell you that I'm amazed no one else has caught on to this yet.
In other news, President Bush spoke out against Russia's incursion into Georgia, adding that if the Russians make it to Atlanta, they're Ted Turner's problem.
The drummers were followed by soldiers marching the flag of the Republic of China out to the strains of their National Anthem known as "San Min Chu-i" or in English, "Suck it, Tibet!"
The ceremony featured sections to honor the three schools of thought in China, Confucianism, a philosophy based on the teachings of Confucius; Buddhism, a philosophy based on the teachings of the Buddha; and Taoism, which is a philosophy based in the fluctuating nature of the Chinese market - also known as the Tao Jones Index.
Of course, the opening ceremony was sporadically interrupted by commercials for the building blocks of every Olympian athlete's diet; McDonalds, Coca Cola and Budweiser (The Great American Lager . . . now brewed by Belgians), as well as ads for Exxon/Mobil (Corporate Motto: Hand Over Your Wallets, Bitches!) and some computer that isn't a Mac. While I understand that NBC has to pay the bills, the ads completely disrupted the flow of the proceedings. I only hope that the opening ceremony is released for sale on DVD, though something tells me that the DVD will be overpriced and subsequently recalled due to it's high content of lead based paint.
Looking ahead, past the 2012 games in London; Madrid, Rio de Janerio, Tokyo and Chicago are the four finalists to host the 2016 Olympics. Although I would swell with civic pride if Chicago got the hosting gig, I think Godzilla vs. Rodan would be a much more intriguing theme for the opening ceremony than Mrs. O'Leary's Cow vs. the whole fucking city. Then again, there's something to be said about the possibility of a CIrque Du Soleil re-enactment of the 1968 Democratic Convention Riots featuring the Blue Man Group. Of course, we can't rule out potential ceremonies in Madrid with the theme "For the last time, we are NOT Europe's Mexico!" or Rio's salute to Carnival and the nation's most popular export, the Brazilian Wax. The anticipation mounts!
Having absolutely nothing to do with mounting; After American Idol runner-up Clay Aiken became a father this week, his fan club (affectionately known as the Clay-mates) has adopted the turkey baster as their official symbol.
It may as well be awesome. . .
Possibly more shocking than the affair itself is the fact that the National Enquirer actually broke the story. While our nation's great newspapers rage, rage against the dying of the light, they're getting their asses handed to them on a silver platter by a craptacular tabloid that dwells in the gutter and tempts passersby from the impulse buy racks at supermarkets across the country. But the scariest thing about the Enquirer breaking the story about John Edwards' affair, is that I'm now forced to question my doubts about the existence of the Bat Boy.
For the record, I know that the tomato is actually considered a fruit rather than a vegetable, but I feared that some readers may get the wrong idea from a piece titled "Peer Pressure in the World of Fruits."
Though the news of the affair effectively takes Edwards of the short list for Democratic VP candidates, you can bet the Republicans will try and use this to impugn the entire Democratic party. When this inevitably happens, I hope someone in the party has the balls to respond by asking John McCain how married he was when he started dating his current wife, Cindy. . . y'know, the one he refers to by that cute pet name?
On a totally different note, regarding yesterday's entry, the second beer Lil' Agnes brought was cool and refreshing, but as I mentioned, I can't really say much about it beyond that.
Gotta go get my inoculation against Olympic fever. Peace, out. Kill Whitey.
When people ask me if I LOVE Los Angeles, I often tell them, "Sure . . . in the same way that you love a retarded stepchild." I've been thinking about this statement a great deal recently, and I don't think it's really fair. Mainly because I've never been married to a woman with a developmentally disabled child from a previous relationship. Earlier this week, I considered finding such a woman to marry, but I don't think it would be fair to her or the child. Either way, I'm pretty sure my description of my adoration for the city is spot on. I mean, Los Angeles can be lots of fun, but it can also provide endless frustration and often does. And just when you think you're ready to throw in the towel, your heart is thawed by the goofy grin she gets on her face when she brings you a cold beer from the fridge.
Little Agnes (L.A. . . ooh, I'm so clever) brought me two beers today. The first came in the form of Indie 103.1 broadcasting a Sex Pistols concert recorded at the Isle of Wight festival earlier this year. I truly believe that this is an amazing time to be a music geek in your mid-late 30's because half of the bands you loved but were too young to see when you were a kid are reunited and touring (not to mention the ones who've stuck it out all these years,) and for the other half, there are bands that have copped their sound, but do it amazingly well (I'm looking at you, Interpol and Editors . . . ) On that note, Ready The Jet kicked some serious ass last night. If you were ever a fan of Hüsker Dü, Sugar or Dinosaur Jr., you really need to check them out. (Disclosure: The Dr. is a friend and fan of the band, but would dig their tunes even if he didn't know them personally) Of all the sounds from the 80's and 90's that have come back in the form of new bands, I'm kinda surprised at the lack of folks revisiting that fast, crunchy power-pop sound that RTJ is rockin'; especially considering the size of the crowds I've jostled with at Dinosaur Jr. and Bob Mould shows over the past couple years. But I digress.
I'll be getting that second beer from Little Agnes later today. I'm not sure I'm supposed to be talking about it just yet, so let me just say that it's the kind of thing that's pretty specific to L.A. and I think it's going to be way fun. But isn't that what we usually think about the potential of the next beer? Hey, sometimes there's true evil hiding behind Little Agnes' smile . . . the kind of evil that rips your freshly thawed heart from your chest and stomps it into the sidewalk while Little Agnes maniacally laughs her creepy, retarded laugh.
What can I say, sometimes I love Los Angeles like a trailer park wife loves her drunk abusive husband.
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