Books

Surveys that ask stupid questions like what's on my mousepad or what I ate for breakfast annoy the shit out of me. How self-involved do you have to be to ruminate on your Cocoa Pebbles? Jackassery, I tell you.

However, I think this survey is a good thing.

1. One book that changed your life?
High Fidelity - Finally put to words what I couldn't all those years. Then other people caught on, and now I feel like an open book at all times.

2. One book you have read more than once?
Screenwriting for Film and Television - William Miller - My grad advisor at OU, now retired. I practically memorized his book. It's not the best book on the market, but it was perfect for me at that stage of my writing.

3. One book you would want on a desert island?
David Copperfield - I'd have that kind of time, anyway.

4. One book that made you laugh?
Dave Barry Slept Here.

5. One book that made you cry?
Where The Red Fern Grows

6. One book you wish had been written?
Fargo Rock City. Klosterman is a hack. If I had the time and inclination, I could write circles around that guy. And if not for torque and leverage, I could kill the Incredible Hulk.

7. One book you wish had never had been written?
Anything by Ann Coulter, Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, et al.

8. One book you are currently reading?
Jonathan Franzen - How to Be Alone

9. One book you have been meaning to read?
David Copperfield.

And you?

Orb Studies

Rented the first disc of "The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr." this week and took my first (yes, first) look at Bruce Campbell as a gunslinging old west bounty hunter. I never paid attention to this show when it first aired, mainly because I was 17, and frankly I had better things to do, such as staying home every weekend, having no life whatsoever, and listening to Rush. Somewhere in there, I had an evening job in a grocery store, so that shot TV watching to hell.

This year, finally, Brisco hit DVD, and I gotta say — it's just okay. It doesn't blow me away. It's predictable, the writing is average at best, the special effects are just okay (and are not aging well), and Bruce Campbell is by far the only interesting person in the series (at least during Disc 1). I had high hopes when I saw R. Lee Ermey and M.C. Gainey in the pilot, but both were dead by the end of the series opener, leaving Campbell and Ed Chigliak's dad.

I'm torn. Should I rent the remaining discs?

Thanks.

Fun Fact: More than 90 percent of visitors to this blog stay for less than 5 seconds.

After some thought, I decided that's pretty awesome.

Promotion and consumption can be beautiful. However, some of us — a marginalized few — want things to ourselves. It's the pop culture equivalent of being the first person on the block, but we go even further. We want to be the only person on the block. Leave the indie band or the great film alone so I can enjoy it in my own way, without sharing with a blue million vacuous, opinionated assholes, imitators, and soccer parents clawing out for their own dying relevance.

Some of us find things we like and don't want to share. Our interests lose luster when other people catch on.

Holly had James Blunt's Back To Bedlam in the CD player on the night of our first date. We sat in the car and listened to that CD a full three times through before going home separately. We attached memories to that album. How unfortunate, given how many soccer moms ended up with that album in the SUV's CD player.

You love a song, but then it ends up on the soundtrack to "Grey's Anatomy" or Garden State and you think, "Shit, that's not mine anymore." Sure enough, the next day the stores are flooded with people requesting something they never would've touched had Dr. McFuckstick not bedded a woman to the tune the night before.

Pop culture placement is product placement. During my last retail job (Borders, downtown Chicago), I used to marvel at how easily consumers can be manipulated, often just with a fleeting mention. One night during an episode of "The Sopranos," Tony mentioned Sun Tzu's The Art of War. The next day, every Borders store in Chicago sold out.

Customers used to line up for Oprah's latest book club selection. If we didn't have pallets of copies, there'd be hostile customers. In a four-story bookstore, they couldn't find anything to read unless Oprah told them what to buy.

Many Americans need to be told what to buy, what to read, what to ignore, what to pay attention to, what to know. So many minds have been co-opted.

A few of us don't want to be co-opted. We don't even want to give that impression. Some of us — a marginalized few — don't need to be told. We find things on our own. We don't wait for Zach Braff or Oprah Winfrey or Tony Soprano or Paste Magazine to tell us what is worth our time.

So, for those 10 percent who found this blog and took the time to scroll down and read something, thanks. Maybe this is a thing that is truly ours for a while, and maybe forever.

Partially Fake News: Fox shelves Michael Richards project

Michael Richards' book and television show, "If I Hated Black People, Here's How I'd Do It," has been announced and immediately cancelled by Fox.

"Everyone knows I don't hate black people, but this book and television project would have illustrated how I would hate black people," Richards said.

Richards, who played Cosmo Kramer on the long-running television series, "Seinfeld," exploded onstage at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood, belching forth a firestorm of racial epithets directed at hecklers of color.

Richards appeared on "Late Show with David Letterman" Monday night to apologize publicly for the incident.

Immediately after the broadcast, Richards announced his agreement with Fox for a project that would discuss a hypothetical scenario in which Richards truly does get angry at people of color and spout racial epithets in public, and possibly even from a stage, and actually mean the things he says.

Fox pulled the plug seconds later after instant public outcry.

This is the second project cancelled by Fox. "If I Did It," O.J. Simpson's project that discusses in purely hypothetical terms how O.J. Simpson hypothetically really did hypothetically kill those people in 1994, also got axed.

Whether Richards hypothetically would hate O.J. Simpson specifically is unknown.

Blogtacular.

I'm plugged in at NUVO online.

I Want A Husband

Judy Brady's "I Want A Wife" makes for some interesting discussion. Reading this antiquated piece of feminist literature some 35 years after it was written, it's obviously got some problems. Today, this piece appears to assume that all men think this way, which is a terrible generalization. Teaching this without historical perspective would be a mistake.

As the first few waves of feminism have changed the roles and perceptions of women in society, they've also changed the roles of men. What's interesting to me is how men have compensated. In many cases, not so well. Several films have tackled this theme, including American Beauty and Fight Club, showing how repressing that which is "traditionally masculine" has a way of manifesting itself elsewhere, almost predisposing poorly adjusted men to some sort of impending rebellion/regression.

There's also this nugget, which appears dubious after closer inspection and a brief visit here.

Alas, after scouring the web, I can't find a male response, which I find interesting. You'd think some asshole would've responded by now. I guess I'm that asshole.

NOTE: Keep in mind this is only a parody of Brady's slightly dated essay, and is based on similar generalizations mentioned in the same. This is meant for entertainment purposes only, and although inspired in part by actual people, it is in no way directed at anyone or meant to incite or offend. If we can't laugh at some of this stuff, then we're probably taking ourselves too seriously. Besides, if I wanted to fight with you, I wouldn't do it over Blogger. That's stupid.

**READ THE NOTE ABOVE BEFORE PROCEEDING, DAMMIT**

I Want A Husband/Man

I want a husband who will kill every insect/arachnid within two miles of our home.

I want a husband who can read my mind so that I don't have to articulate my feelings, and accept my need to falsely accuse all males of not articulating their feelings.

Basically, I want a husband who can articulate his feelings, but doesn't out of respect for my complete inability/refusal to deal with that.

I want a husband who is okay with my view that, as a man, he is accountable for all the misdeeds of every man ever, and any disagreement or objection on his part is viewed not as an intellectual challenge for healthy debate, but as outright sexism.

I want a husband who will tolerate me complaining about how disgusting men are in the bathroom, even though I can drop trow that will send maggots scurrying for air.

I want a husband who does not fart, ever, and accepts me for the gaseous anomaly I am, especially when he is spooning me.

I want a husband who won't leave shaving stubble on the sink, but won't mention the long, stringy hairs I leave everywhere, including in our dinner.

I want a husband who does not collect useless junk, but ignores that I have every feminine hygiene product, pair of shoes, and piece of trinket jewelry I can stuff into my home.

I want a husband who can provide multiple orgasms for me even though he is only biologically designed for one at a time. Also, I still want the freedom to bitch about dissatisfaction in the bedroom.

I want a husband who allows me to trump any argument about social status by mentioning the pain of childbirth, as if it's his fault that his idea of agony is only getting kicked in the balls.

I want a husband who will watch every Julia Roberts movie ever made, and then allow me to go to bed early when he wants to watch Die Hard.

I want a husband who will accept that I know all the lines in Grease, but who will allow me to ridicule him for knowing all the lines in Star Wars.

I want a husband whose interests are my interests, whose things are my things, and who doesn't mind when I always want a bite/drink of whatever he's eating/drinking rather than getting my own portion.

I want a husband that I can treat like a Ken doll, dressing him in clothes that I like with no regard for his taste or comfort; I also want to paint his fingernails as a joke.

I want a husband who never mentions anything in reference to my weight, but is okay with me putting him on a diet.

I want a husband who doesn't fawn over buxom women in popular culture, or point out that my walls are covered with pictures of Brad Pitt.

I want a husband who is unaffected by the pressures society puts on males, and accepts that pictures of magazine models can reduce me to an insecure mess.

I want a husband who will treat me like the strong, independent woman I am, until I feel the need to break down and cry for no reason whatsoever.

I want a husband who will cry, because a sensitive man is sexy; however, him crying more than once per year makes him a sissy.

I want a husband who is exactly like my father, but if he is looking for a woman just like his mother, that's just weird. [EDIT: Seriously, that's pretty weird.]

I want a husband who will not buy expensive electronic gadgets, unless they are for me.

I want a husband who will buy expensive household items such as vacuums or kitchen utensils when I ask for them, and not argue when I call him sexist for expecting me to use them.

I want a husband who will not buy anything for himself, because any man who purchases anything for himself with his own hard-earned money is obviously selfish.

I want a husband who is perfectly secure in the notion of having children, and if he is not, he never mentions his insecurities, because they would burden me.

I want a husband who shows no emotion whatsoever and remains stable at all times, because any deviation from level-headedness is unacceptable.

I want a husband who will surprise me for no reason with gifts, flowers, and thoughtfulness, even though the last time I got him anything was 1972.

My God, who wouldn't want a husband?

"He was a Marine..."

Jason Isbell of Drive-By Truckers performs "Dress Blues."

Keep some tissues handy.

Moby: So Six Years Ago.

So what if Moby's last album, Hotel, was greeted with collective shrugs, groans, and whines from literati and philistines alike? We wondered: Had our favorite bald, vegan, enigmatic technodude "lost his touch," or had we perhaps expected too much, given how important Play was before he licensed all of the songs for commercial use and burned images of diamond retailers and fancy vehicles into our interpretations of "Porcelain," "Bodyrock," and others?

Moby's downward slope: Play was groundbreaking. 18 was a capable followup. Hotel just blew.

Before Play, Moby's music appeared on the soundtrack to Michael Mann's film Heat. "God Moving Over the Face of the Waters," while frighteningly pretentious on its own, works perfectly in tandem with the film's resolution. Resolved: Moby was unafraid to provide backing music for Hollywood. We should've known he'd pull what he pulled. Commercials gotsta have hip music, too.

I still stand by 18 as an achievement. Look no further than this video. That's Kato Kaelin. Corey Feldman is in there too. The video is a brilliant statement about the surreal nature of Hollywood. Angelyne? There's no greater example. Further, I contend that Moby is aware of the tenuous state of his own relevance, and the parade of "has beens" in the video seem to underscore the idea. Fame is fleeting. Play might've been Moby's peak. "We Are All Made of Stars" comments on the downward slope we all must face, famous or not. We are all stardust. We are all fading.

Then, of course, Hotel sucked. "Raining Again," "Beautiful," "Lift Me Up," and "Temptation" are only moderately listenable. Only "Raining Again" stands up to repeated listens. Hotel was no Play, or even 18. Hotel was Moby's stamped ticket to Irrelevantville.

Lest we forget, Moby already has a "best of" collection available, but it's limited in scope. So the release of Go: The Very Best of Moby is curious. There's just no reason for this, unless there's added value. (Spoiler: There's added value.)

This new Moby compilation features a second disc of intense remixes of some of his best tracks. Sure, some of it is typical techno; the disc probably should come with a free pair of glowsticks and a hit of Ecstacy. However, the reinvented "Jam For The Ladies", "Natural Blues," and "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" are must-hear versions.

Moby was (and still is) a crucial figure in the rise and relevance of techno. That other DJs have remixed him is a fitting tribute, and the bonus disc alone is quite an incentive. Still, I'm left wondering: What's next for Moby?

Hugh Jass, Harry Taynt, Enormous Balls still searching for work.

Today the Cincinnati Reds named Dick Pole as the team's pitching coach.

Just when I thought Rusty Skoog was getting all the glory.

"British for harmonica. American for inspiration."

So says the packaging (well, the little sticker at least) for Gob Iron's Death Songs For The Living, Jay Farrar and Anders Parker's side project of classic American folk standards and a few originals. Farrar, formerly of Uncle Tupelo and currently of Son Volt, and Parker, formerly of Varnaline, have cranked out a 19-track musical look at the big dirt nap. Among the chestnuts, listeners will find new interpretations of Stephen Foster's "Hard Times" and Rev. JM Gates' "Death's Black Train." This is a dark collection, to be sure, but something here resonates — the sparse instrumentation and melancholy vocals seem to echo simpler times. Also, there's twang and slide guitar in full effect. Farrar's "Buzz & Grind" makes this listener quite happy.

To keep things legal, here's Gob Iron on iTunes. Simply put, I'd rather not maintain this blog from prison, or while wearing a barrel, or both, because the RIAA is the devil. So you get iTunes links. Apologies to PC users who still haven't figured out that iTunes is superior to WinAmp.

For those not iTunes inclined, here's Gob Iron on Amazon.

Gob Iron reminds me a bit of DBT, but with Farrar at the helm, everything sounds a bit like Uncle Tupelo and a lot like Son Volt. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Farrar's music is slow and tonal, almost ethereal in parts, and his shows are often lethargic (albeit passionate). People can compare Jeff Tweedy's Wilco to Farrar's latter day endeavors, but for my money Jeff Tweedy doesn't strike the same visceral feeling as Farrar — just one blogger's view.

I met Anders Parker at Radio Radio over in the Fountain Square section of Indianapolis. We talked about the guest musicians on his albums, which include Richard Buckner and Farrar, among other notables. He's a nice guy. He has a fine beard. He kind of looks like Sam Beam from Iron & Wine.

This is not a music blog. However, sometimes it might feel that way.

The Chief Export of Chuck Norris is Jesus.

Chuck Norris unironically addresses Chuck Norris irony, resulting in more irony fodder, then proselytizes

Chuck Norris, who earned millions of dollars making violent, profanity-laden films such as Delta Force, Invasion, U.S.A., and Missing in Action II: The Beginning (Note: Yes, the sequel was "The Beginning.") and the long-running "Walker, Texas Ranger" television series, is back with fists blazing for conservativism, family values, and what's right for your children. Let's all listen to the nearly 70-year-old former action star tell us what's right for American families.

Witness Chuck Norris (or someone posing as him) as a conservative columnist for "leading independent news service" WorldNetDaily.com.

Witness WorldNetDaily's reasoning.

Chuck Norris owes his career to the Republican zeitgeist. His three Missing in Action films and two Delta Force films opened during the Reagan-Bush years of 1980-1992, when Hollywood capitalized on Cold War paranoia and Vietnam regrets with one-man-army action vehicles such as the above, or Rambo, or hell, even "The A-Team."

With the election of Bill Clinton, the political climate of the country shifted, and violent, dumbed-down one-man-army films went away (sort of — Van Damme lives on). Norris took his one-man-army approach to television and began work on "Walker: Texas Ranger," dispensing justice in a poorly written and laughable program designed to excite viewers with base instincts for displays of violence.

Now, Norris is a conservative columnist for a Web site with the following mission statement:

"WorldNetDaily.com is an independent newssite [sic] created to capitalize on new media technology, to reinvigorate and revitalize the role of the free press as a guardian of liberty, an exponent of truth and justice, an uncompromising disseminator of news. [sic]

"WorldNetDaily.com performs this function by remaining faithful to the central role of a free press in a free society: as a watchdog exposing government waste, fraud, corruption and abuse of power - the mission envisioned by our founders and protected in the First Amendment of the Constitution."

Among the other voices on the fiercely independent news site: Ann Coulter, Jerry Falwell, Pat Buchanan, Michelle Malkin, Judge Roy Moore, and in the archives, Bill O'Reilly.

In Norris' first column, he not only denounces evolution, but denounces several alleged "Chuck Norris Facts" using the rhetoric of the Christian right, and even makes a bizarre allusion to Christ that comes off sounding as if he believes Superman really existed.

To folks who saw his clueless cameo in the mediocre film, Dodgeball, this stuff should come as no surprise. The man is so far removed from reality, he'd need to dial 011, plus the country code.

For teenagers and college students, the people chiefly responsible for the "Chuck Norris Facts," this might not be funny at all.

Then again, maybe Norris just made the bonfire of irony even bigger.