RAZZING THE RAZZIES
As disappointed as I was with this year's Oscar nominations, the usually-dependable Razzies let me down too. This year's nominees have a glaring omission—how could they possibly leave out Snakes On A Plane? That piece of cinematic caca makes Anaconda look like Jaws...
CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #2
"Signs"—FIVE-MAN ELECTRICAL BAND (1971) "Now hey you, Mister, can’t you read?" Again, on the AM radio when I was a kid, songs sounded less clear to me then: "Now hey you, Mr. Tangerine!"
YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST
Just as I predicted, head-butt butt-head Zinedine Zidane is being courted by Major League Soccer's Chicago Fire. I'm not one to brag, but did I call it or did I call it?
IT'S A BLOODY REUNION...
Too bad I'm not referring to one of my favorite Molly Hatchet songs here, but sadly, I'm referring to the impending Van Halen reunion tour as reported by Billboard.com, featuring the three Van Halens (Alex, Eddie and Wolfman—er uh, Wolfgang) and Diamond Dave. As someone said in each and every Star Wars flick, "I have a bad feeling about this..." In a similar maneuver, a Canadian radio station (C3PO, or some such thing) is reporting that The Police are rehearsing for a 40-date reunion tour this summer. This can only mean that Sting has finally given up on his wimpy solo career. At least he and Andy and Stewart are still halfway civil to each other to begin with, so this tour might actually be worthwhile. Could that Led Zeppelin reunion tour (with Jason Bonham on drums) be far off?
HE WAS A HOUSEHOLD NAME
I'm rather bummed to report the death of Hall of Fame hockey goaltender Lorne John "Gump" Worsley of a heart attack at age 77. The only man I know of to "out-Gump" Forrest Gump, he played his entire career in goal minus a mask except for his final season in the mid-'70s. In the words of Weird Al Yankovic, "He's Gump, He's Gump, but he's alright..." And that's all I have to say about that...
WE DISTORT, THEN DERIDE--STARDATE 012407.FNC
http://hotlineblog.nationaljournal.com/archives/2007/01/obama_versus_fo.html
I wasn't quite ready to board the Barack Obama bandwagon just yet, but seeing's how Faux News Channel is bashing him already, then I might well be swayed...
A little advice, Mr. Murdoch: Your little news channel would carry a helluva lot more credibility with yours truly and millions of other free-thinking individuals across the country if you actually reported the news instead of MAKING SHIT UP! To wit: John Kerry does NOT look French—the late Herve Villachaize didn't even "look" French, and yet he was! BTW, your boy Steve Doocy has to be the biggest dork this side of Jack Osbourne and Bob Saget...
One other thing while I'm here, Rupert, ol' buddy ol' pal: Tell your blonde morning news tart (the one who sits between Doocy and that other dork) to either wear pants or put some pantyhose on—it's fucking January, not June, for Chrissakes! I've seen prettier legs on fricken' Dalmatians...
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Radio Ga-Ga, Part II
The saga continues...
After the demise of the Mighty 1030, I interviewed at a few radio stations within shouting distance of home. I actually turned down an offer to work at a Country music station in Knob Noster, MO, about 45 miles from Raytown, because I didn’t know squat about Country music, and I felt part of my strength in being a DJ was my working knowledge of Top 40 music, plus the town was too damn small for me—it would have been culture shock for me to live there. Knob didn't even have a McDonald's. They do now, tho...
After about three months on the shelf, I managed to snag my second radio job—a part-time weekend gig 50 miles away in St. Joseph, MO with the rather ironic call letters KKJO (as opposed to the station I’d just left, KKJC) doing the graveyard shift from Midnight-6AM. Actually, it was an AM/FM combo station that did a mix of oldies and current soft Rock on the AM side (very similar to KKJC) and Country on the FM side, which was automated at night, so while I was on the air on the AM side, I had to babysit the FM side as well and make sure the commercials were all plugged in and the music tapes were all cued up and update the weather forecasts. A bit of a challenge at first, but it was fun once I got the hang of it. I made the 90-minute trek up I-29 to Joetown on Fridays and Saturdays (and the occasional weeknight fill-in shift) throughout the spring and summer of ’88 until my big break came along when the morning DJ went AWOL and was fired. The graveyard shift became mine six nights a week, beginning in late September, and I got an apartment in St. Joseph moved there in October.
I went by my real name on the air initially at K-JO (as I also did in Blue Springs), but because of my devotion to the Kansas City Comets indoor soccer team, I obtained the nickname "Captain Comet" with some of the K-JO staffers, so I started using it along with my real name for a while, and eventually went by the nickname exclusively when I went full-time. In addition to my air shift, I also got to run the board for St. Louis Cardinals game broadcasts that ran late, as well as tape-delayed hours of the "Tom Snyder Radio Show" which was actually a lot of fun to listen to—a helluva lot more exciting than Larry King’s nightly drone-fest. There were some nights I wouldn’t even get on the air until four or five in the morning if the Cards game ran late because of rain delays or they played on the West Coast (or both), followed by three hours of Snyder, but I kept myself entertained all the same. Unlike in Blue Springs, I also got to do some commercial spots and a few promos from time to time, and I ran through the ball scores a couple times a night on the air too.
A few other noteworthy things happened during my stint in Joetown. I was on the air the night singer Roy Orbison died, so I had the honor (if you want to call it that) of breaking the news before the networks did. I even got on TV during our charity softball game that pitted the K-JO staff against the KQ-2 TV staff (or "I.Q.-2", as we called them), in front of a whopping throng of 52. They showed me hitting a seeing-eye single past their weather tart at second base—and thankfully they cut to another shot just before I damn near fell on my ass as I rounded first! I also got to meet singer Ray Stevens backstage at a concert we promoted heavily on the station.
The fall and winter of ’88-’89 was a fun time for me, but changes were on the horizon for the radio stations as they were sold to a radio mogul from Sioux City, Iowa who came in and changed everything around. In March, he moved the very profitable Country station from the FM to the AM (which pissed off a lot of loyal listeners) and changed the FM format to Top 40. This was the beginning of the end for me, because my on-air delivery style is fairly low-key (think Dick Clark, for example), and Top 40 requires a more energetic style. I kept my same air shift on the new FM and gave it the old college try at being a screamer. Even though we did play some cool stuff like Def Leppard, Guns ‘N’ Roses and Van Halen, I was never comfortable with that format because I found it damn near impossible to feign enthusiasm for playing crap like Milli Vanilli, New Kids On The Block and Tone-Loc, ad nauseam, so I only lasted about three months and change trying to sound like Rick Dees. In a mutual parting of the ways, I resigned in early June and the last words I uttered on my last air shift were, "I am history…" and I was. Thus endeth my radio career. I knew I shoulda made that left turn in Albuquerque—er uh, Knob Noster...
I shopped myself around a little and interviewed at a couple other stations over the next few months, but I soon came to the conclusion that I really wasn’t cut out for a long career in the radio biz. As a DJ, I’d describe myself as adequate, and maybe over time I would have improved, but to be honest, I didn’t really excel at it. You have to be quick on your feet to be a really good DJ, and there were many times I would have something clever to say, but during the transmission of that thought from my brain to my mouth, it would come out all garbled, or my mind would just go blank altogether, and I'd sound like Bullwinkle! This still happens in normal conversation too. I’m pretty good with words and grammar, but just not verbally. In retrospect, you’re looking at the field I should have gone into—writing!
Anyway, I also feared falling into a pattern of my radio gigs only lasting a year or so, and I heeded the words of the singer on the "WKRP In Cincinnati" theme who "got kinda tired of packing and unpacking", so I bagged the radio career in favor of getting a real job. It was fun while it lasted and I do miss working in radio now and then, but there’s just too much instability, and it’s a very funny business (not in a good way) sometimes. There are too many egos to deal with (that was my other downfall—I had no ego, to speak of), and a lot of phonies too. Don’t get me wrong—I encountered a lot of GOOD people too, but there’s about a 2-to-1 phonies-to-good people ratio in radio. To put it in "WKRP" terms, for every Andy Travis in radio, there are TWO Herb Tarleks, and I grew tired of dealing with the majority real quick.
It’s a very cutthroat business, too—not nearly as glamorous as people think—and it’s gotten even worse in this era of multiple-station ownership by these big corporate monsters like Entercom, Susquehanna and Cumulus, et al. I read about mass firings all the time at these broadcasting entities, and it makes me glad I’m not a part of it now. I plan to delve into all that in a future chapter...
After the demise of the Mighty 1030, I interviewed at a few radio stations within shouting distance of home. I actually turned down an offer to work at a Country music station in Knob Noster, MO, about 45 miles from Raytown, because I didn’t know squat about Country music, and I felt part of my strength in being a DJ was my working knowledge of Top 40 music, plus the town was too damn small for me—it would have been culture shock for me to live there. Knob didn't even have a McDonald's. They do now, tho...
After about three months on the shelf, I managed to snag my second radio job—a part-time weekend gig 50 miles away in St. Joseph, MO with the rather ironic call letters KKJO (as opposed to the station I’d just left, KKJC) doing the graveyard shift from Midnight-6AM. Actually, it was an AM/FM combo station that did a mix of oldies and current soft Rock on the AM side (very similar to KKJC) and Country on the FM side, which was automated at night, so while I was on the air on the AM side, I had to babysit the FM side as well and make sure the commercials were all plugged in and the music tapes were all cued up and update the weather forecasts. A bit of a challenge at first, but it was fun once I got the hang of it. I made the 90-minute trek up I-29 to Joetown on Fridays and Saturdays (and the occasional weeknight fill-in shift) throughout the spring and summer of ’88 until my big break came along when the morning DJ went AWOL and was fired. The graveyard shift became mine six nights a week, beginning in late September, and I got an apartment in St. Joseph moved there in October.
I went by my real name on the air initially at K-JO (as I also did in Blue Springs), but because of my devotion to the Kansas City Comets indoor soccer team, I obtained the nickname "Captain Comet" with some of the K-JO staffers, so I started using it along with my real name for a while, and eventually went by the nickname exclusively when I went full-time. In addition to my air shift, I also got to run the board for St. Louis Cardinals game broadcasts that ran late, as well as tape-delayed hours of the "Tom Snyder Radio Show" which was actually a lot of fun to listen to—a helluva lot more exciting than Larry King’s nightly drone-fest. There were some nights I wouldn’t even get on the air until four or five in the morning if the Cards game ran late because of rain delays or they played on the West Coast (or both), followed by three hours of Snyder, but I kept myself entertained all the same. Unlike in Blue Springs, I also got to do some commercial spots and a few promos from time to time, and I ran through the ball scores a couple times a night on the air too.
A few other noteworthy things happened during my stint in Joetown. I was on the air the night singer Roy Orbison died, so I had the honor (if you want to call it that) of breaking the news before the networks did. I even got on TV during our charity softball game that pitted the K-JO staff against the KQ-2 TV staff (or "I.Q.-2", as we called them), in front of a whopping throng of 52. They showed me hitting a seeing-eye single past their weather tart at second base—and thankfully they cut to another shot just before I damn near fell on my ass as I rounded first! I also got to meet singer Ray Stevens backstage at a concert we promoted heavily on the station.
The fall and winter of ’88-’89 was a fun time for me, but changes were on the horizon for the radio stations as they were sold to a radio mogul from Sioux City, Iowa who came in and changed everything around. In March, he moved the very profitable Country station from the FM to the AM (which pissed off a lot of loyal listeners) and changed the FM format to Top 40. This was the beginning of the end for me, because my on-air delivery style is fairly low-key (think Dick Clark, for example), and Top 40 requires a more energetic style. I kept my same air shift on the new FM and gave it the old college try at being a screamer. Even though we did play some cool stuff like Def Leppard, Guns ‘N’ Roses and Van Halen, I was never comfortable with that format because I found it damn near impossible to feign enthusiasm for playing crap like Milli Vanilli, New Kids On The Block and Tone-Loc, ad nauseam, so I only lasted about three months and change trying to sound like Rick Dees. In a mutual parting of the ways, I resigned in early June and the last words I uttered on my last air shift were, "I am history…" and I was. Thus endeth my radio career. I knew I shoulda made that left turn in Albuquerque—er uh, Knob Noster...
I shopped myself around a little and interviewed at a couple other stations over the next few months, but I soon came to the conclusion that I really wasn’t cut out for a long career in the radio biz. As a DJ, I’d describe myself as adequate, and maybe over time I would have improved, but to be honest, I didn’t really excel at it. You have to be quick on your feet to be a really good DJ, and there were many times I would have something clever to say, but during the transmission of that thought from my brain to my mouth, it would come out all garbled, or my mind would just go blank altogether, and I'd sound like Bullwinkle! This still happens in normal conversation too. I’m pretty good with words and grammar, but just not verbally. In retrospect, you’re looking at the field I should have gone into—writing!
Anyway, I also feared falling into a pattern of my radio gigs only lasting a year or so, and I heeded the words of the singer on the "WKRP In Cincinnati" theme who "got kinda tired of packing and unpacking", so I bagged the radio career in favor of getting a real job. It was fun while it lasted and I do miss working in radio now and then, but there’s just too much instability, and it’s a very funny business (not in a good way) sometimes. There are too many egos to deal with (that was my other downfall—I had no ego, to speak of), and a lot of phonies too. Don’t get me wrong—I encountered a lot of GOOD people too, but there’s about a 2-to-1 phonies-to-good people ratio in radio. To put it in "WKRP" terms, for every Andy Travis in radio, there are TWO Herb Tarleks, and I grew tired of dealing with the majority real quick.
It’s a very cutthroat business, too—not nearly as glamorous as people think—and it’s gotten even worse in this era of multiple-station ownership by these big corporate monsters like Entercom, Susquehanna and Cumulus, et al. I read about mass firings all the time at these broadcasting entities, and it makes me glad I’m not a part of it now. I plan to delve into all that in a future chapter...
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Radio Ga-Ga, Part I
Time for yours truly, Sir Rant-A-Lot, to go to work on the very business I once sought to have a long career in—radio! Is it any small wonder that so many people are buying satellite radios these days, given the current pathetic state of terrestrial radio? I’ve thought about doing the satellite thing myself, but considering that I now have a CD player in my car and enough CDs to (literally) start my own radio station, I can’t really justify it. Sad to say, but radio as we know and love it, is dying a slow and painful death, with the blame due mostly to lack of imagination on the part of programmers and their desire to make every station sound the same. I plan to delve into all that down the road, but first I’d like to give you a little background on my brief, but somewhat eventful radio career.
My dream of becoming a disc jockey was born at approximately 3AM in the middle of the night sometime around 1978 or ‘79 while listening to KBEQ-FM in K.C., aka “Q104”. I distinctly remember thinking how cool it would be to just play records and talk about them on the radio all night, and how easy it would be for me, given my knowledge of Top 40 Rock ‘N’ Roll history and all. So, I wasted five years going to college to learn how to be a DJ (not realizing, of course, that there are far easier and shorter paths to that same goal), and I wound up with a totally worthless degree in Communications Studies from the University of Missouri-Kansas City (Class of ‘87). However, I was lucky enough to secure an internship at KKJC-AM in suburban Blue Springs, MO, or as it was affectionately known, the “Mighty 1030” (or on occasion, the “Dirty 1030”), beginning in the late fall of 1986.
The year 1987 will go down as my all-time favorite in terms of gainful employment, even though I didn’t make squat. My little internship quickly evolved into a part-time job with yours truly manning the very same control board once operated by the legendary Wolfman Jack (during a one-time guest appearance in 1985). I was living the dream (however humbly) with our modicum of listeners—all three of ‘em! I started off being strictly a board operator, plugging in commercials and such during our satellite hours on the Transtar Radio Network, during which I got to deliver the weather (on tape) twice an hour. Other dreams came true for me over time, including getting to read off the school closings when it snowed 14 inches on December 20, 1987 (as my car got buried in a snowdrift in the parking lot, all the while, and my friend Tom had to drive me home), running the board during Kansas City Comets indoor soccer broadcasts (that team being another MAJOR vice of mine during that time), and eventually having my own live shifts yapping on the radio and playing the hits.
It was the best of times and the worst of times, as the station was teetering on the brink financially and was tantalizingly close to being sold and combined with an FM station that would have made for a dandy AM/FM combo, but the deal fell through at the last minute because some horse’s patoot negotiator decided he wanted a little extra gravy for himself. Thus, the "little station that could" quietly faded into oblivion on Super Bowl Sunday, 1988 while the Redskins were pummeling John Elway and the Broncos in San Diego. We gave no prior notice to our loyal listeners (all three of ‘em) that we were signing off for good and there was no fanfare at all. I was rather miffed that no other station personnel were even present at the studio that night (just me and my best friend Tom were there), and I don’t think it was all because of the Super Bowl either—hell, we had the game on in the studio anyway. It was like I was the only person from the staff who even gave a shit about it, and it was very surreal to me.
The plan was to just let the final hours play out as normal off the Transtar satellite, but long about 9:00, I said to Tom, "This is wrong!" so, I hopped off the satellite and rounded up every song that we had on hand that had "Goodbye" or "Bye Bye" in the title ("Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "Bye Bye Love", "Goodbye To Love", "Never Can Say Goodbye", etc.) and just played them back to back for the final 40 minutes of the "Mighty 1030"’s existence, culminating with The Nylons’ version of "Na Na Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye" (dammit, I wish I had the original Steam version that night!) just before the clock struck 10PM CST and I uttered, "Music from yesterday on AM 1030, KKJC, Blue Springs." Thus, I was bestowed the very unique distinction of my voice being the last one ever heard on a radio station—something I’ll take to the fucking grave with me. As I switched the transmitter off, I turned to Tom and said, "It’s dead, Jim…" A couple minutes later, I get a call from the station owner, Dick Pryor (yes, I can truthfully say I once worked for Richard Pryor!) and he said, "Very appropriate," regarding my choice for the final tune.
R.I.P., KKJC-AM-"The Mighty 1030" (1984-88)
Little did I know at the time that my radio career was already halfway over, too—stay tuned for Part II…
My dream of becoming a disc jockey was born at approximately 3AM in the middle of the night sometime around 1978 or ‘79 while listening to KBEQ-FM in K.C., aka “Q104”. I distinctly remember thinking how cool it would be to just play records and talk about them on the radio all night, and how easy it would be for me, given my knowledge of Top 40 Rock ‘N’ Roll history and all. So, I wasted five years going to college to learn how to be a DJ (not realizing, of course, that there are far easier and shorter paths to that same goal), and I wound up with a totally worthless degree in Communications Studies from the University of Missouri-Kansas City (Class of ‘87). However, I was lucky enough to secure an internship at KKJC-AM in suburban Blue Springs, MO, or as it was affectionately known, the “Mighty 1030” (or on occasion, the “Dirty 1030”), beginning in the late fall of 1986.
The year 1987 will go down as my all-time favorite in terms of gainful employment, even though I didn’t make squat. My little internship quickly evolved into a part-time job with yours truly manning the very same control board once operated by the legendary Wolfman Jack (during a one-time guest appearance in 1985). I was living the dream (however humbly) with our modicum of listeners—all three of ‘em! I started off being strictly a board operator, plugging in commercials and such during our satellite hours on the Transtar Radio Network, during which I got to deliver the weather (on tape) twice an hour. Other dreams came true for me over time, including getting to read off the school closings when it snowed 14 inches on December 20, 1987 (as my car got buried in a snowdrift in the parking lot, all the while, and my friend Tom had to drive me home), running the board during Kansas City Comets indoor soccer broadcasts (that team being another MAJOR vice of mine during that time), and eventually having my own live shifts yapping on the radio and playing the hits.
It was the best of times and the worst of times, as the station was teetering on the brink financially and was tantalizingly close to being sold and combined with an FM station that would have made for a dandy AM/FM combo, but the deal fell through at the last minute because some horse’s patoot negotiator decided he wanted a little extra gravy for himself. Thus, the "little station that could" quietly faded into oblivion on Super Bowl Sunday, 1988 while the Redskins were pummeling John Elway and the Broncos in San Diego. We gave no prior notice to our loyal listeners (all three of ‘em) that we were signing off for good and there was no fanfare at all. I was rather miffed that no other station personnel were even present at the studio that night (just me and my best friend Tom were there), and I don’t think it was all because of the Super Bowl either—hell, we had the game on in the studio anyway. It was like I was the only person from the staff who even gave a shit about it, and it was very surreal to me.
The plan was to just let the final hours play out as normal off the Transtar satellite, but long about 9:00, I said to Tom, "This is wrong!" so, I hopped off the satellite and rounded up every song that we had on hand that had "Goodbye" or "Bye Bye" in the title ("Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "Bye Bye Love", "Goodbye To Love", "Never Can Say Goodbye", etc.) and just played them back to back for the final 40 minutes of the "Mighty 1030"’s existence, culminating with The Nylons’ version of "Na Na Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye" (dammit, I wish I had the original Steam version that night!) just before the clock struck 10PM CST and I uttered, "Music from yesterday on AM 1030, KKJC, Blue Springs." Thus, I was bestowed the very unique distinction of my voice being the last one ever heard on a radio station—something I’ll take to the fucking grave with me. As I switched the transmitter off, I turned to Tom and said, "It’s dead, Jim…" A couple minutes later, I get a call from the station owner, Dick Pryor (yes, I can truthfully say I once worked for Richard Pryor!) and he said, "Very appropriate," regarding my choice for the final tune.
R.I.P., KKJC-AM-"The Mighty 1030" (1984-88)
Little did I know at the time that my radio career was already halfway over, too—stay tuned for Part II…
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Day The Music Got Shot?
I read today that Jay Richardson, son of the late J.P. Richardson (aka The Big Bopper) has hired some forensics expert to exhume his father’s body in an effort to confirm the urban myth/legend that gunfire may have been a factor in the famous plane crash on "The Day The Music Died" in 1959. While it’s well-documented that a gun (supposedly belonging to Buddy Holly or Bopper) was found in the wreckage of the doomed plane, I’ve read and heard several detailed accounts of the crash, and none of them mention gunfire on board the plane. What the hell would be the motive for that anyway? Bopper was pissed because he couldn’t ride shotgun (no pun intended) on the plane? Buddy was annoyed because Bopper farted and stunk up the plane? To paraphrase the late Ritchie Valens: Come on, let it go, already!
Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You had a inexperienced pilot, one Roger Peterson (who wasn’t even yet qualified and/or certified to read some of the instrumentation on that particular model of plane) being called in unexpectedly late at night to fly (on overtime, making fatigue a factor), in poor visibility against the wind straight into a snowstorm using fairly primitive (albeit state-of-the-art) late '50s aircraft and weather forecasting technology. If that ain’t a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is!
Supposedly, the exhumation of Bopper’s body will allow the forensic expert to find bullet debris in his bones—never mind that the man’s been dead for damn near fifty years! And, don’t you think if there were bullet wounds involved, the coroner would have spotted them during the original autopsies in 1959? I’ve read the autopsy reports on Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly, and trust me, they’re pretty detailed (not to mention downright gory), so I doubt if Bopper’s autopsy would have been any less thorough to the point where the coroner would have whiffed on bullet wounds or anything of that sort.
While I’m at it—what the hell were those Winter Dance Party Tour promoters thinking by staging a concert tour in the Upper Midwest in January and February?!? One can only imagine how miserable that must have been riding on that cold, rickety old bus at night, especially when you consider they didn’t have the Interstate system to get around on back then—it took a whole lot longer to travel 300 miles or more at a time than it does now. That’s the time of year they should have been touring Florida or Texas or the West Coast and saved the Upper Midwest for April or May when the weather was at least halfway decent for traveling by highway. That whole tragedy could have easily been prevented if those sleazy promoters had been thinking with their brains instead of their wallets. What a waste…
Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You had a inexperienced pilot, one Roger Peterson (who wasn’t even yet qualified and/or certified to read some of the instrumentation on that particular model of plane) being called in unexpectedly late at night to fly (on overtime, making fatigue a factor), in poor visibility against the wind straight into a snowstorm using fairly primitive (albeit state-of-the-art) late '50s aircraft and weather forecasting technology. If that ain’t a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is!
Supposedly, the exhumation of Bopper’s body will allow the forensic expert to find bullet debris in his bones—never mind that the man’s been dead for damn near fifty years! And, don’t you think if there were bullet wounds involved, the coroner would have spotted them during the original autopsies in 1959? I’ve read the autopsy reports on Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly, and trust me, they’re pretty detailed (not to mention downright gory), so I doubt if Bopper’s autopsy would have been any less thorough to the point where the coroner would have whiffed on bullet wounds or anything of that sort.
While I’m at it—what the hell were those Winter Dance Party Tour promoters thinking by staging a concert tour in the Upper Midwest in January and February?!? One can only imagine how miserable that must have been riding on that cold, rickety old bus at night, especially when you consider they didn’t have the Interstate system to get around on back then—it took a whole lot longer to travel 300 miles or more at a time than it does now. That’s the time of year they should have been touring Florida or Texas or the West Coast and saved the Upper Midwest for April or May when the weather was at least halfway decent for traveling by highway. That whole tragedy could have easily been prevented if those sleazy promoters had been thinking with their brains instead of their wallets. What a waste…
Where bad ideas come from...
What goes around comes around, even when it comes to bad fashion. Witness Exhibit A, circa 1967, from the Intergalactic Wal-Mart Collection:
<----"Never fear, Smith is here!"
<----"Never fear, Smith is here!"
And the misbegotten Exhibit B, circa 1982, Vancouver, Canada, which was copied from Exhibit A!: 
"Run, Will Robinson!"
What's wrong with this picture?
Saw a blurb in the paper today that says "Judge" Judy makes $100 million a year—more than all the Supreme Court justices combined! Think about that—this phony judge, in this phony courtroom, with phony litigants and a phony baliff (who does crossword puzzles during the show)—not to mention a woman who utters such tripe as "She’s the boss, applesauce!", rakes in more salary than the very people who are entrusted to interpret the laws of our country! Is it any small wonder the rest of the world hates us?
Oscar nominations
The Oscar nominations were announced today. Of all the award shows, I think the Academy Awards have the most integrity and the most relevance, but as usual, the Academy members appear to collectively have short-term memories, since most of the nominations went to films that came out in or around December. Screw all those good flicks that came out last summer, huh? And Meryl Streep again for best actress? I don’t mean to imply that she hasn’t had some Oscar-worthy performances in the past—she certainly has—but I swear, this woman could play a crash test dummy in a film and get nominated! Sorry kids, but The Devil Wears Prada sucked (yes, I have seen it), and Streep’s character was too over-the-top, totally unlikable and unbelievable, and impossible for me to buy into. I truly hope Kate Winslet kicks her hiney in the voting...
Meanwhile, why the filth-flarn-filth wasn't World Trade Center nominated for Best Picture? For the first time since Platoon, Oliver Stone finally nailed one, and the Academy is sleeping at the wheel again. Excellent film, if you haven't seen it yet...
And a round of applause please for Jackie Earle Haley's nomination for Best Supporting Actor in Little Children. which I hear is quite good, but haven't seen yet. Talk about being picked up off the Hollywood scrap heap and being put back into circulation. This guy was (literally) on skid row at one point, and he's now the equivalent of the New Orleans Saints in terms of being the sentimental favorite at this year's Oscars...
Meanwhile, why the filth-flarn-filth wasn't World Trade Center nominated for Best Picture? For the first time since Platoon, Oliver Stone finally nailed one, and the Academy is sleeping at the wheel again. Excellent film, if you haven't seen it yet...
And a round of applause please for Jackie Earle Haley's nomination for Best Supporting Actor in Little Children. which I hear is quite good, but haven't seen yet. Talk about being picked up off the Hollywood scrap heap and being put back into circulation. This guy was (literally) on skid row at one point, and he's now the equivalent of the New Orleans Saints in terms of being the sentimental favorite at this year's Oscars...
Monday, January 22, 2007
General meanderings...
MAYBE LIKE PEYTON MANNING'S TEAM, MAYBE
That's my pick in SB XLI in two weeks. I was quite pleased to see Peyton and Tony Dungy finally get that simian off their backs yesterday by getting to the big show. I was hoping the Saints would make the big show too, but it was not to be, darn it. However, I was quite pleased that we won't have endure any more sideline shots of Patriots coach Bill Belichick this year--great coach, but I'm as sick of looking at him as I am of Bill Parcells (who did the world a big favor and retired today). P. Manning's been a class act throughout his career, and it's nice to see the good guys get rewarded here, especially after all the hell Dungy when through this time last year when his son committed suicide. As for the Bears, I have trouble getting behind a team with a head coach named "Lovie"--reminds me too much of Mrs. Howell on "Gilligan's Island". Therefore, GO Colts! BUT--in the event that Da Bears do indeed win the title, I'm going to ask them nicely to spare the world a sequel to their infamous "Super Bowl Shuffle" from the first time they won it all...
YA GOTTA BOOK A BOOGIE?!?
A little history was made recently in the National Hockey League, as the first Japanese-born player made his debut with the L.A. Kings, goaltender Yataka Fukifuji. One can only imagine what fun Chris Berman on ESPN is going to have with that name...
NICE PANTS, RANDY!
Was watching a Journey video on VH-1 Classic the other day from that misbegotten period when current "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson was their bass player. Couldn't help but get a chuckle out of seeing him waddling on-stage with his fat ass in those tight leather pants. He had about as much business wearing those damn things as I would at my current weight...
IN TRIBUTE TO TRIBUTE BANDS...
Top 3 Tribute Band Names Ever (So Far)
1) We Got The Meat (All-male gay Go-Go's tribute band)
2) A-She/D-She (All-girl AC/DC tribute band, featuring guitarist Agnes Young--And I presume singer Bonnie Scott or Brianna Johnson!)
3) Bjorn Again (ABBA tribute group)
UGLY BETTY
Have to admit, I was wrong in my original judgment of this show—it ain't half bad! The show's title made me immediately skeptical—sounded too gimmicky to me—but just for hoots and hollers, I tuned it in the other night and was pleasantly surprised. The premise is not unlike "Less Than Perfect", with the main character working in an office with a bunch of elitist snobs and/or "beautiful people" and constantly getting the rubber end of the plunger from them. The girl that plays Betty, America Ferrera, is actually rather cute when not made-up like Betty. The jury is still out on how long this show will last, but it's a damn sight better than "Desperate Housewives" or "King Of Queens". Worth a look, if you have the time...
That's my pick in SB XLI in two weeks. I was quite pleased to see Peyton and Tony Dungy finally get that simian off their backs yesterday by getting to the big show. I was hoping the Saints would make the big show too, but it was not to be, darn it. However, I was quite pleased that we won't have endure any more sideline shots of Patriots coach Bill Belichick this year--great coach, but I'm as sick of looking at him as I am of Bill Parcells (who did the world a big favor and retired today). P. Manning's been a class act throughout his career, and it's nice to see the good guys get rewarded here, especially after all the hell Dungy when through this time last year when his son committed suicide. As for the Bears, I have trouble getting behind a team with a head coach named "Lovie"--reminds me too much of Mrs. Howell on "Gilligan's Island". Therefore, GO Colts! BUT--in the event that Da Bears do indeed win the title, I'm going to ask them nicely to spare the world a sequel to their infamous "Super Bowl Shuffle" from the first time they won it all...
YA GOTTA BOOK A BOOGIE?!?
A little history was made recently in the National Hockey League, as the first Japanese-born player made his debut with the L.A. Kings, goaltender Yataka Fukifuji. One can only imagine what fun Chris Berman on ESPN is going to have with that name...
NICE PANTS, RANDY!
Was watching a Journey video on VH-1 Classic the other day from that misbegotten period when current "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson was their bass player. Couldn't help but get a chuckle out of seeing him waddling on-stage with his fat ass in those tight leather pants. He had about as much business wearing those damn things as I would at my current weight...
IN TRIBUTE TO TRIBUTE BANDS...
Top 3 Tribute Band Names Ever (So Far)
1) We Got The Meat (All-male gay Go-Go's tribute band)
2) A-She/D-She (All-girl AC/DC tribute band, featuring guitarist Agnes Young--And I presume singer Bonnie Scott or Brianna Johnson!)
3) Bjorn Again (ABBA tribute group)
UGLY BETTY
Have to admit, I was wrong in my original judgment of this show—it ain't half bad! The show's title made me immediately skeptical—sounded too gimmicky to me—but just for hoots and hollers, I tuned it in the other night and was pleasantly surprised. The premise is not unlike "Less Than Perfect", with the main character working in an office with a bunch of elitist snobs and/or "beautiful people" and constantly getting the rubber end of the plunger from them. The girl that plays Betty, America Ferrera, is actually rather cute when not made-up like Betty. The jury is still out on how long this show will last, but it's a damn sight better than "Desperate Housewives" or "King Of Queens". Worth a look, if you have the time...
Sunday, January 21, 2007
After further review...
Gene Simmons' stock hath fallen even further with me today. I watched a couple episodes of his lame reality TV show today (btw, ain't that a redundant term--lame reality TV show?), "Family Jewels". In one such episode, Gene and his lovely family were on some sort of vacation to do some snowboarding in the Colorado mountains, and our favorite wacky demon was freaking out about having to board a ski-lift to take him to the top of the mountain. This is the same guy who breathes fire and has absolutely no fear of being transported via fairly precarious cables to the top of the Kiss lighting rig in an attempt to give his audience the illusion of "flying" night after night in concert, and yet he's scared of a ski-lift? Riiiight. Hell, yours truly has ridden on a ski-lift (minus the snow on the ground, no less) without fear, not to mention the "Big Shot" ride 900 bloody feet above the earth on the Stratosphere tower in Las Vegas, and I didn't bat a fucking eyelash! Either Gene was play-acting or was truly scared shitless on his little TV show, and either way, he looked like a total wuss!
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