Ever a Dull Moment

Sadly, the similarities far outweigh the differences.

Is It Me?

Um, didn't anyone find the "Lotion" video to be profoundly rad? The management sincerely regrets any trauma it may have caused, but come on, people! Only one e-mail response?? WTF??

Some brief comments in the aftermath of my recent retail orgy:

The Star Wars DVD is... eh. Whatever. I think George Lucas might have ruined the whole thing for me. I am starting to realize, however, that Jabba the Hutt is really funny and likeable. Smile is interesting. I'm glad Prozac poster-boy Brian Wilson got his shit together, but this would have sounded a lot better coming from a younger set of pipes. Still, it's pretty damned impressive. The 25th Anniversary Legacy Edition of London Calling is mad neat-o, son! I haven't watched the DVD or listened to the outtakes/new tracks yet, but the remastered album sounds fucking fantastic. "Brand New Cadillac" is the reason I still wanna learn guitar even though I'm old. The October issue of MOJO revisits the making of the album (along with a Greil Marcus article on Buddy Holly AND an article recalling the filming of the Stones' Rock and Roll Circus) and includes a cool free CD compiled by Mick Jones and Paul Simonon.

And finally... *imaginary drumroll*

Interpol's Antics is unbe-fuckin-lievable. I mean, its quality has been well known for months, but hearing the whole thing with the benefit of post-production and mastering was, as MTC put it earlier today, like hearing it for the first time. "Slow Hands" was looking like the frontrunner for the full-on hott jam title, and it is the most danceable song on the album, but "Not Even Jail" is just plain beeyootiful.

In fact, I'm going home and giving it the stereo + expensive headphones treatment right now. And the management urges you to revisit that Greenskeepers video. Seriously, WTF??

Would You Fuck Me? I'd Fuck Me.

Buffalo Bill
Originally uploaded by the management.

Once in a great while, a band comes up with an audacious musical... nay, artistic, statement that simply cannot be ignored. Greenskeepers have produced such a song, called "Lotion," with a brilliant video to match. It downloads the video for "Lotion" or else it gets the hose again. (Link via Stereogum.)

It's Not "Disabled," It's "Differently Abled"

Anatomy lesson
Originally uploaded by the management.

For the first time ever, I am on the Disabled List. After taking a knee in the quadriceps and the tensor fascia lata (pictured above) during a pickup basketball game (and, admittedly, seriously aggravating the injury by subsequently playing in my first league game), lifestyle-threatening gimpitude has set in. The Doctor is guessing muscular and vascular damage to the area, the result of a serious deep-tissue contusion, has messed up the iliotibial band (see above), leading to pain in both the hip and the knee. Plus, the interior of my thigh is one giant, plum-colored bruise. Rest assured, those pictures will be posted later. I can't play ball, dance, stand for long periods of time, or walk without pain in my thigh, knee, hip, and back. Sweet, sweet lovemaking, although painful, will not be denied.

In the meantime, I've missed another game, and I'll miss tonight's as well. While I doubt there's any connection to my absence, given my overall lack of skill or fitness, the Magic Johnson's are now 0-2 with only six games left to play. In short, the Injured List sucks donkey cock.

In the meantime, fevered work continues on the reopening of MoMA in Manhattan. Work is a horrible, horrible thing, suitable only for the poor, the stupid, and the deluded. Unfortunately, at least one of the above applies in my case.

Now here are the very cool things that keep me going: 1) Interpol's Antics hits stores today. Of course, it's been on heavy rotation for months, thanks to the glorious internet, but post-production, packaging, and the sheer euphoria of commodity... of OWNERSHIP make for a heady cocktail. 2) I will also be purchasing Brian Wilson's Smile, the 25th anniversary edition of The Clash's London Calling, and possibly the Star Wars DVD set (although I hate giving self-obsessed mini-Satan George Lucas any of my money) today. It's so great when freelance checks finally arrive! If nothing else, my desire to consume with such reckless abandon proves that I am a good American. 3) Jalapeno sent me the official trailer for Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. It gave me chills. A video game trailer gave me chills.

Sweet Jesus... based on the above entry, one can only assume that the Management, rather than being a hip, sexy, metropolitan, overeducated aesthete, is, in fact, a fourteen year-old boy with no prospects for social interaction whatsoever. I am exactly the same person I was in high school, only fatter and slightly dumber (thanks again, drug and alcohol abuse!).

Strength... failing. Can't... blog.

No, I am not on vacation or dead. The closing of MoMA QNS, The Museum of Modern Art's temporary home in Queens, has turned my life into a living hell of actual work, and my recent leg injury has all but eliminated normal ambulatory capabilities. More as soon as I have a moment. At the very least, a morbidly detailed and disgusting medical report is forthcoming.

Breast in Peace: Russ Meyer, 1922-2004

Russ Meyer
Originally uploaded by the management.

Russ Meyer, beloved pioneer of pulchritudinous nudity and kitten-with-a-whip cinematic belligerence, died at his home on Saturday, aged 82. The utter fucking genius of this man cannot be overstated. In addition to his abiding love of strong, violent women with great big natural breasts, Meyer brought a sharp wit and a truly liberated sexual vision to his films (of which he made some 28 in total). Career highlights include the cult classics Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill! and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (which was co-written by Roger "Big-Tit Man" Ebert), as well as my personal favorite, Mondo Topless. Although his work is celebrated by both the film-critic and cult-film communities today, Meyer was vilified as a smut merchant for most of his carreer. He eventually slowed his cinematic productivity when the exploitation pictures were devoured by the hardcore porn and VCR booms of the late 1970s. Instead, he turned his attention to his rather accomplished photography... primarily featuring curvy chicks, of course.

Well now he's up where he belongs, floating on a billowy cloud of titties with a cocktail in his free hand. We salute you, sir, and your tireless work for the advancement of funny, lusty art.

Being "Over" Is So Over

The Carpenters
Originally uploaded by the management.

Does just looking at The Carpenters make you want to yell, "fuck!" or "Hail Satan!" and run around throwing furniture and stuff? Just me? I love The Carpenters and truly believe that Karen's was one of the greatest voices of the 1970s, but their wholesome little faces make me wanna Hulk out and act like Jello Biafra. Maybe it's just a knee-jerk reaction to how fucking good they are. (Although, now that I've seen Todd Haynes's Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story I grasp the truly harrowing reality behind their ultra-honky image.) Anyway, no idea where this is going. I just found this picture of them and felt compelled to bring them up. In fact, for an unexpected musical perspective on the Wonder Bread dynamic duo, check out the If I Were a Carpenter tribute album. The Sonic Youth cover of "Superstar" is (as they say in tired Boston satire) wikkid retaahdid good.

The Chicago Bears not only pulled out a win yesterday, they did it against hated midwestern rivals the Green Bay Packers. I love the Bears despite the fact that they have sucked steadily since 1986. I even love the "Super Bowl Shuffle." I don"t even follow football that much anymore, but something about football season and crisp autumn weather gets me all fired up. Halloween isn't that far away, apple pie starts showing up on windowsills, and domestic violence reaches its frenzied peak.

Despite earlier promises that all the Misshapes boostering was coming to an end, the New York Times article was too good to ignore. In addition to being the most dreadfully behind-the-times publication imaginable (Remember when they "discovered" the iPod's shuffle function?), the Times is also the ultimate fad death certificate. That being said, I hasten to add that all this "over" stuff is both premature and foolhardy. I mean, it's not over until it's not fun anymore. As it was still a blast last time I went, it's still so hott right now. Remember when Electroclash was pronounced DOA about 15 minutes after it got started? Well the good part of that trend (the music) got totally fucked but the fashion is still going strong. So skinny ties are okay, but we're gonna drown Miss Kittin and Felix Da Housecat in backlash? Let's stop right here. This paragraph just got really boring all of a sudden. In the words of Digital Underground, "Doowutchyalike." Hottness is in the eye of the beholder.

Finally, thanks to Lane for this link to the Greatest Search Engine Ever.

Life: 1, Management: 0

Yesterday was not a good day. My cat, Pasta, was put to sleep. Keep in mind that I named him during a spaghetti dinner at the age of 11. After hanging on for roughly 19 years, he succumbed to the inevitable deterioration that awaits those of us who aren't lucky enough to have a massive coronary while having sex with an entire squad of cheerleaders. He was, however, lucky enough to live out his later years as most elderly Americans do: in Miami. Last night was also our first game in the Urban Professionals Basketball League. (No, I am not making this up.) Our team, The Magic Johnson's, got creamed. (Yes, of course I realize the possessive is superfluous, but naming the team had nothing to do with me.) The final score was something like 54-38, but that barely captures the depth of our (my) futility. Now I'm not gonna lie to you; bereavement was not a factor in the suckitude. I didn't get the news about the kitty until I got home. I believe I played basketball poorly because I am a) white, b) uncoordinated, and c) a heavy drinker and occasional drug user who exercises... um, infrequently. I don't think getting trashed and dancing at clubs counts as "working out."

Needless to say, I am taking all the wrong lessons out of yesterday and will be having many drinks tonight.

Proving that life moves on, many surprises awaited us in the news this morning. The biggest shocker is the final word that narcotics played a role in the death of Rick James. Although an "enlarged heart" was the official cause of death, no less than nine drugs were found in his system, including cocaine, methamphetamine, valium, xanax, and vicodin. The man went out straight River Phoenix steez! I was unaware that James once referred to himself as an "icon of drug use and eroticism," but now that I know... well, let's just say that I'll be using that phrase regularly for the rest of my life.

More surprises: Apparently, Edward Furlong is drunk, surly, and committed to the crustaceans' rights movement. Okay, the last one is somewhat surprising. The new format of the Miss America Pageant, which, according to Reuters, basically boils down to "more skin, less talent," is also a real shocker. And speaking of anorexia, the Olsen Twins will be the newest spokesmutants for McDonald's Happy Meals in France. Um... what? That really is a surprise, as Happy Meals tend to contain food. Even more bizarre are the prizes that you can get with your Happy Meal: a denim purse, a pencil box, or a photo album. Americans usually get cheap, cross-promotional toys, but this is France. Frankly, it's surprising the little froggies aren't chosing between a half-bottle of Montrachet, a pack of Gauloises (lights, for their tender little lungs), or a gift certificate for a first sexual experience with a kindly Belgian whore.

***UPDATE!! In case all this death is a portent, I've set my affairs in order at MyDeath.com. On the other hand... my boss's water just broke!!! It's all ups and downs, people.

And I Do Mean Stuffed Animals...

Wow. Thanks to Lindsayism for this disturbing little find. Anyone else feel like putting on some fur and hitting the produce section? Just me?

R.I.P. Johnny Ramone

After a five-year battle with cancer, Johnny Ramone passed away yesterday afternoon at age 55, leaving drummer Tommy Ramone as the only original member of the band still with us. As usual, the Times obituary is the best one out there. Further tributes are sure to pop up in the Village Voice, Rolling Stone, etc. in the coming days and weeks. I say we remember him by getting drunk and playing his music loud enough to piss off the neighbors. Have fun up there, Johnny. Give Joey and Dee Dee our love.

Behold: FAUNA METAL

Beak of Putrefaction
Originally uploaded by the management.

There is an article on Hatebeak on The Black Table today. As you may recall, the management covered the release of their 7" a few months back. Although the music was a little disappointing, the article pays brilliant tribute to the genius behind the very idea of Hatebeak. Fauna Metal is definitely the next great frontier in evil music. In fact, Caninus, fronted by angry dogs, is at the forefront of a burgeoning Canine Grindcore movement.

Speaking of evil, Resident Evil: Apocalypse was distressingly not bad. Well, of course it was bad, but it wasn't bad. Hereby recommended to all people of the stoner/comic book/video game/never get laid/George A. Romero-type persuasion. Also suitable for fans of Slipknot.

And speaking of "Evil," Matador is putting one hell of a push behind Interpol's upcoming full-length (September 28, people). They needn't bother. Antics is a fine album. A good American album. T-minus 13 days and counting.

"I'm So Exci-i-i-i-ted..."

Advance praise for Le Tigre's upcoming album, This Island:

"This Island kicks all kinds of ass and you should run out and buy it because it's, like, really good and fun and all that kinda stuff."
-The Management

I can't recommend this album enough. It comes out on October 19, and is worth picking up right off the bat. Maintains the fun-yet-politically-aware vibe of "Deceptacon" without being overly self-derivative. The cover of the Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited" is an instant classic, and is sure to become a staple of the Ebony & Ivory DJ set. Who's Ebony & Ivory? You'll see.

So despite suffering a crippling thigh injury last night -- just three days before our opening game in the "urban professionals" basketball league -- there is reason to rejoice today. The Packers beat the Carolina Panthers 24-14 on Monday Night Football. Go big cheese! Also, I'm going to see Resident Evil: Apocalypse tonight. Now I know what you're thinking: that movie is for dumb 13-year-old boys. True enough. But consider the following. According to Dave Kehr's review in The New York Times, "If you are in the mood for leggy heroines (the film has two) blasting down zombie armies with absurdly large automatic weapons, the film gives very good value for the money." Who the fuck isn't in the mood for that?? Despite (or, perhaps, because of) the modern-day ubiquity of car bombings, hostage-taking, unidentified mushroom clouds, etc., I find that I often need cinematic doses of a little of the old ultra-violence. My tastes are simple and unrefined.

"I'm a white male, age 18 to 49. Everyone listens to me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are!"

Hey, Has Anyone Seen My Will to Live?

Squirrel Suicide
Originally uploaded by the management.

Okay, it's not as bad as all that, but this weekend was heavy on excesses and endings. Misshapes was, well, not quite disappointing... but certainly a step closer to jumping the shark. Management favorites and former crushes Ultragrrrl and KarenPlusOne (known collectively as Tarts of Pleasure) played a deeply cynical greatest hits set that showed they're finally getting bored with the whole thing. The amazing Ilirjana, meanwhile, played an intense, inventive set (that included The Raincoats' cover of "Lola"). Unfortunately, the crowd stood around and looked confused because they hadn't heard these songs in exactly the same order every goddamn week. Not to go all Tricia Romano on your asses, but sometimes I have my doubts about New York and the hipster commitment to trying new things/having real fun.

Malibu Stacie is absolutely right: this is becoming the Misshapes site. Well, the madness stops today. The Management hereby reclaims this site. This means, however, that your help is desperately needed. My life is not that interesting and my time is severely limited. Send interesting things. Make witty observations. Share astounding insights. The management will happily post these items, taking full credit for your wonderful ideas in the process. Everybody wins. With the possible exception of you.

Speaking of jumping the shark, the season finale of Six Feet Under was bo-ring. Great brain-splattering suicide moment at the end, but it hardly made up for the self-indulgent, snail-paced snoozefest that led up to it. Has anyone else noticed how inconsistent Claire's character is getting? Cool, lame, cool, lame. Figure it out, writers. Cool or lame? All in all, despite the beautiful weather, Sunday was rife with letdowns. The Bears, Ravens, Bills, and Chiefs all lost. Only Minnesota justified my love. Maybe the Packers will score 40+ points in tonight's game and revive my already-waning NFL enthusiasm. Who am I kidding? I just want to spend all my time on the couch with chips and beer. I'll watch home shopping or Designing Women if I can have tasty chips and beer.

P.S. The squirrel suicide image was stolen from here.

"We'd like to go to town but we can't risk it."

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits. Jarvis Cocker, sultry man about town and rock-and-roll poet, will be spinning records at MisShapes tomorrow night. The Tarts of Pleasure are along for the ride as well, as is the management's favorite new DJ, Ilirjana. No guest list. No holds barred. See you all in the emergency room. This one's gonna hurt.

"I wonder to myself... Will life ever be sane again?"

EuropeanVacation
Originally uploaded by the management.

The management wishes to apologize in advance for the length of the following. Just remember, reading is fun-damental.

Let's just get this out of the way:

Miss-Shapes UK 1 - MisShapes US 0.

After ending up at some massive club called Cirque at the Hippodrome, where we somehow got set up in a VIP booth behind the DJ where we were force-fed champagne, we (the management, the lovely Secretary of Spousal Affairs, our fantastic host Leo, and new pal Alex) stumbled through Soho to Ghetto, home of Miss-Shapes. So how fun was it? Let's just say that within one minute of entering this seedy basement of wonder we were soaked in sweat, dancing our faces off, and grinning like idiots. Imagine a hotter, gayer, funner, Britisher version of MisShapes, and you're halfway there. Leo has provided photographic evidence of our drenched bliss. Before you make any cute comments about our huge, shit-eating grins and scrunched-up dance faces, ask yourself this: ever seen your face during an orgasm? Then shut up. Eventually you will come to grips with the fact that you are just jealous.

While it is unfortunate that we walked in just in time to hear the final note of Avenue D's live set, we nonetheless enjoyed one of the best nights out ever. Highlights: the guy with the huge mohawk and equally huge yellow hoop earrings; big 20oz cans of Red Stripe; "Dark of the Matinee"; (surprisingly) No Doubt's cover of "It's My Life"; Madonna (whose music becomes infinitely more fun when you're surrounded by every hipster fag in London); not having heard every song over and over every week; the feeling that the experience was surpassing our unreasonably high expectations.

After about three hours of sleep (which put us at three hours out of the previous 48), we hopped on the Eurostar to Paris. Can you say ROCK STAR? I knew you could. Another full day of eating and drinking ensued, after which we finally went to bed. Final tally: roughly four hours of sleep over 60 hours of travel, drinking, etc. Our fabulous host, Chris, had rented a car for the next day, and it was off to Chartres (which was awe-inspiring) and Versailles (which was... not). All in all, our three days in and around Paris were fantastic, despite the oppressive heat and the ubiquitous dog shit. Total piles of shit stepped in: one.

Back to London for one last day of fun. Finally made it to Rough Trade and spent too much money on Graham Coxon, Mahjongg, and The Futureheads, among others. The Futureheads continues to grow on me, although so far it's disappointing for an Andy Gill-produced album. After a sorrowful last day, we endured the worst fucking flight of all time to return to a flooded NYC. Why is it that every time I return to Brooklyn, my first thought is, "Why the bloody hell do I live here?" The management should stop using phrases like "bloody hell" (along with "crisps," "dodgy," and "flat") in about a week.

Okay, okay. So this has gotten lengthy and hearing about someone else's vacation is a lot like hearing about their dreams, their children, or their opinions. In a word, mind-numbingly boring. That's more like two and a half words.

In conclusion, the management would like to thank Leo and Chris for their generous hospitality; the beautiful Secretary of Spousal Affairs for being the best travel partner in the history of history; and Alex for the illuminating discussion of the current state of indie music and the greatness of St. Etienne. Special thanks to The Futureheads, Republic of Loose, No Doubt, Postal Service, The Libertines, The Smiths, Snow Patrol, Franz Ferdinand, and Madonna for providing the ideal European Vacation soundtrack ("Look, kids! Big Ben! Parliament!"). Finally, a very special thank-you to Jameson, Southern Comfort, Red Stripe, Kronenbourg 1664, Stella Artois, Kriek, Effligem, Carling, Molson Canadian, Amstel Light, Heineken, and, of course, Budweiser for all their support during this trip. Drugs were not readily available, and you all filled in quite nicely. Way to step up, alcohol!

Sweatin' to the Oldies

Sweatin' to the Oldies
Originally uploaded by the management.

Miss-Shapes London. Notice the copious sweat. Better than my beloved Misshapes, NYC. More later. Sweet Jesus, when will we sleep???

September is...

National Food Safety Education Month, National Alcohol & Drug Addiction Recovery Month, National Preparedness Month, Self Improvement Month, International Square Dance Month, Cable TV Month, National Bed Check Month, National Chicken Month, National Courtesy Month, National Honey Month, National Mind Mapping Month, National Piano Month, National Rice Month, National Papaya Month, Classical Music Month, National Hispanic Heritage Month, Shameless Promotion Month, National School Success Month, Subliminal Marketing Month, National Little League Month, Children's Good Manners Month, Fall Hat Month, and National Gynecologic (Ovarian) Cancer Awareness Month.

Most importantly, September is Be Kind To Editors and Writers Month.

If you keep writing "month" over and over, it loses all meaning and starts to look misspelled.