model/ACTRESS

South Dakota is Sioux for Pigheaded Bastards

2006-03-08T01:49:00.000-05:00

Well kids, Yr Uncle Johnny's back from his whirlwind Danish-Iranian Unity Golf Tourney, and let me tell you that was a cuddly good time. I am of the belief that the whole rioting over comics thing was solved by roasting our guests of honour--Salman Rushdie and Kid Rock--with jokes and the occasional flaming effigy. But what is really concerning me in this missive from the underground's subbasement is a little state called South Dakota. Now, I understand that there isn't much to do in South Dakota other than marvel at statues of dead white men who are only vaguely impressive and pass crazy legislation so that various urban centres remember you exist, but what they're doing now is just... well, offensive. And kidlets, I'm a hard man to offend outside of a tiajuana pony show, but this is disgusting. Granted, in a perfect world there would be no need for abortion but that's no reason to make it illegal for women to have one. By making it a crime for DOCTORS to perform this procedure/surgery/whatever you like you're simply inviting more coathangers into the profession, and the last time I checked coathangers have never gone to medical school and certianly have never sworn to first do no harm. This may save the lives of a few fetuses who have never breathed a breath, but it will also in all likelihood kill some women who have. So I have a couple proposals for those whacky SD Democrats and 'Publicans: You could enact a law that enables you to shoot pregnant women in the face, or you could elect to have the whole state government castrated in order to prevent a legacy of stupid from leaking out.

BAH, Here's 10 songs by Women making Choices

10. Ring of Fire -Johnny Cash (sure I know he's a man, but June wrote this puppy and she was a force of nature)
9. Survive- Gloria Gaynor
8. Respect- Aretha Franklin (If you do not repect the queen, she will hurt you, so you better think about what you're trying to do to her)
7. Back to Me- Kathleen Edwards (Sexiest Woman in Canada, if only cause she could out drink and out fight me and I'd like it)
6. Fuck the Pain Away- Peeches
5. Me and Bobby McGee- Janis Joplin
4. Stand by Your Man- Patsy Cline (Sometimes, it's hard to be a woman... if that aint the truth I don't know what is)
3. Rebel Girl- Bikini Kill
2. Rock N Roll Nigger- Patti Smith
1. The Pill- Loretta Lynn (Loretta doesn't take shit from anyone. Not her man catting around town, not the women sleeping with him that Loretta will soon relocate to Fist City, and certainly not from some moralising sonuvabitch pharmacist at Walmart who won't fill her perscription... this is a woman who chooses power and Uncle Johnny Likes!!)

jc.

2006-01-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

Dear Fox,
Why, in the name of all that is holy, do you insist on messing up so badly. I'm beginning to think that you don't like television. I'm beginning to think you don't like me. Remember back in college when we were pals? We'd sit together for hours just staring at each other lovingly. Now, I'm not sure I can stand to be in the same room as you. I've been just lying back and thinking of the good old days while you crap on everything we once had for far too long now. If GOB goes, so do I.
formerly yours,jc.

2006-01-10T01:28:00.000-05:00

Good Morning Campers! Your funky uncle Johnny's back after a festive layover back at the nowhere ranch with a visit to the second smelliest city in Canada. And, for those of you concerned with the simply scandalous sartorial habits of yours truly, let me tell you that, Yes Virginia, it is possible to buy a suit for $20 (Greenbacks, so that's like $25 real money). Anyway, I've been through airports more than I like so I'm giving you a couple of lists about that. I was going to give you a list of the all time greatest game endings in honour of Vince "Screw You Reggie Bush" Young and the Longhorns, but the gravol has me a little on edge and foggy memory wise as well, plus my infinite psyche is more occupied with the hot English Blonde with the ass of death and wonder that I saw during a layover at O'Hare.

Airports are for Lovers and Fat Hamster Brained Women Top 10

10. Homeland Security: If you fly, you've seen these cheery chaps and chapettes, they're the ones with the big black guns on their hips and the ability to give you the closest thing to an autoposy that a live person can stand. The thing about the DHS people is that they seem to be a touch bi-polar... are those sirens in the distance? What your law-abiding, freedom-cherishing, apple-pie lovin' uncle means to say is that the Man or Manettes at the airport only come in two flavours: Cheerful, helpful and a general delight with extra whipped cream or humourless and utterly convinced that, while you may not really be a threat to National Security, you should be made to feel the suffering that Buddha claims all existence is.

9. Plenty of Opportunities for PDA

8. Every Magazine stand sells porn. I love this. How much fun would it be to read a porn while sitting in coach where you practically know the people beside you carnally anyway? The cellophaned issues of Club International hidden behind a makeshift screen is proof of a loving God.

7. Children Screaming During Landing: Notice to all parents who must travel with their spawn, If you don't drug the kid so it shuts up, I will.

6. Kittens.

5. Lone fat women on planes. A study should be done, because everyone of these I see seem to expand to envelope all that surrounds it. It's like the Blob, but without Steve McQueen and the ability to eat popcorn while you see it.

4. The Dream of a Stewardess. Remember when Stewardesses were sexy little minxs? Me neither, but TV and movies have poisoned my mind. Sure, I know that it is all but impossible to enjoyably have sex in a airplane bathroom, but I can dream can't i? Did I mention the sexy british blonde I saw in Chicago? Not a stewadess but......

3. Personal DVD players. Now if airports just sold video porn....

2. Unchecked and Bulky Luggage not stored neatly in the overhead compartment.

1. Assigned Seating. IF your seat number according to your ticket is 17 C, THEN you do not sit in 17 A because you were there first. I could've been a small child fool of whimsey and then you would've still been a bitch.

Five Really Great Airplane Songs

1. Leavin' On a Jet Plane- Various.
This is a song that can alternate as something drunk people sing or a touching, moving song about loss and distance and pain. Ha Ha, your Girlfriend likes Armageddon.
2. Snoopy and The Red Baron- The Royal Guardsmen
Please pass the Root Beer please.
3.Coming Into Los Angeles- Arlo Guthrie.
His Dad gave us songs that were like Steinbeck novels for the eardrums, Arlo gave us a truly great song about smuggling Coke through the Airport. An Inspiration to all of us who aren't sure if tea is food as far as the customs officers are concerned.
4. White Rabbit- Jefferson Airplane.
Further explanation will be given by Bentio Del Toro and Johnny Depp
5. That'll Be the Day- Buddy Holly.
"...You say you're going to leave, you know it's a lie, 'cause that'll be the day that I'll die..."

jc.

Afternoons, Coffee Spoons, Proletarians

2005-12-07T03:29:00.000-05:00

Five Books that are Enhanced when read in Prison, the Hospital, and an Airport

1. Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paolo Friere
Comp Theory is boring. Critical Pedagogy is hopelessly optimistic. I still love Paolo Friere. I read this in the Emergency Room of Hotel-Dieu Grace (which would be an excellent name for a prison or a hospital, but a lousy one for an airport) and I think that made it much easier for me to understand the disenfranchised Brazillians and the teachers how love them.

2. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
Winston Smith lives in a world of claustrophobic paranoia, minutes of hate, and large somewhat bizaare advertising. This also describes getting through security at McLaren in Vegas.

3. The Naked and The Dead by Norman Mailer
When else are you going to have the time? Have you seen this thing? It's a goddamn brick. Haliburton should by Henry Holt so they can sell these to the US Gov for use in the Iraqi reconstruction. Plus, the exquisite frustration of fug.

4. The Princess Bride by Morgenstern or Goldman or Andre the Giant
The idea of thousands of lonely prisoners, eyes marked by tattooed tear drops, writing letters asking for the extended kiss scene fills me with a perverse joy.

5. old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
Old Possum spent years as a Political Prisoner in Wiemar during which time he produced this revolutionary tretise calling for the end of law and the dawning of an age of anarchy. The worker to achieve this utopia was to gain class consiousness by ignoring the laws of gravity, licking themselves rudely in full public view and dancing in spandex. This inflamatory document, while being banned in Poland, Macedonia and East Timor, circulated quite freely until recently the broadways of New York's street and the finer Children's worker's reading groups.

jc.

Kirk Cameron has me Marked for (ETERNAL) Death

2005-11-16T14:08:00.000-05:00

Good morning campers! I hope you've gotten your rest, cause yr Uncle Johnny has another heavy revvy to lay on your shattered little skulls. According to manperm enthusiast Kirk Cameron, Uncle Johnny here is going to hell. Yes, apparently I'm going to hell and so are you. Kirk Cameron espouses a brand of Christianity that would make Saint Augustine himself lean back and say "Woah, dude, Chill." Mind you, from the vibe I was getting on Little Mikey Seaver's webpage St. Augustine wouldn't be welcome in Kirk's heaven (What with the Whore of the Seven Hills and idolatry and all that clap trap). Now kidlets, Uncle Johnny believes and he believes in a relatively righteous manner, but he sins, also in a righteous manner. Brothers and Sisters, I lust in my heart. Everytime I see the new Victoria Secret commercial with Giselle, I commit adultery according to Father Kirk. I covet, I cuss, I drink. I live, baby. I wish I was perfect, but I have this little problem called humanity. We had people in the garden all of a week and we managed to mess that up. And it was such a nice place too. Anywho, Mikey Seaver wants me to go out and convert the sinners and the pagans and all that so I think I will. Although I hear the first ring of Hell is pretty rockin' what with all the virtuous pagans, so I'm going to convert you...

Top 10 Songs for the Long Days Journey into Sin

10. Warm Beer, Cold Women- Tom Waits
Is the life of a desperately lonely booze hound enviable? Hell no, but Tom Waits makes it sound romantic.

9.Ring of Fire- Johnny Cash

8. The Only Good Fascist is a Very Dead Fascist- Propaghandhi
If I have fallen short and sinned and am therefore destined to burn, I might as well take out a few assholes on my way down. Cogent advice for all of you confronted by stupid: "Kill them all and let a Norse God Sort'em out"

7. Sympathy for the Devil- Rolling Stones
Damn if this isn't catchy! Stryper was right, the devil does have all the good music.

6. You Light Up My Life- Debbie Boone
If you play it backwards Debbie commands you to "pass babies through the fire to Moloch" and "Eat the Flesh of the Innocent." And you thought that this was just super annoying.

5. Rock N Roll Nigger- Patti Smith Group
Intelligent, check. Has a point, check. Uses a politically loaded and "dangerous" word, check. Where's the PMRC when you need them?

4. Kill The Poor- Dead Kennedys

3. Saw Her Standing There- Beatles
"She Was just 17, if you know what I mean"

2. Anything by the Misfits
Glenn Danzig is makes ripping the heads off little girls sound so sweet. Brings a tear to my eye.

1. Highway To Hell- AC/DC
Der.

2005-10-20T01:00:00.000-04:00

Hey kids, your Uncle Johnny's back! I'm sorry I left you all alone on your winding winding scary scary woody world for so long, but I had to play messiah and philosopher king to a group of far less deserving snot-nosed, cherry-goober-pussed chilluns for a while. But I came back just for you my melancholic firebrands! The reports of Uncle Johnny's death--and that he could be something as pedestrian as a mere man--were highly exagerated. So now, without further ado, I will provide you with the 10 songs you must play at every wedding, and the five you shouldn't. Johnny's here, babies, Johnny's here.

Ten Wedding Essentials!

10. I'm in Love with a Girl- Big Star
To quote the pilsner poet laureate, Paul Westerburg, "Children by the millions think of Alex Chilton, and he comes running. They say, 'I'm in love, what's that song?'"

9. Let's Get it On- Marvin Gaye
We all know that weddings are great places to hook up with desperately single members of the wedding party or someone's sister or cousin who's imbibed a tad too much, but let's look at this from a strictly legal point of view. The wedding isn't a sure deal until it's consumated... and there you go.

8. Twist and Shout- Beatles
White folks dance to this. White folks dancing is funny in a way that no other ethnic group dancing is.

7. Kiss- Prince
Nobody notices, but this song will get the hips to switch moving from side-to-side to front-to-back. And that's just the dancing twinkie cream filling.

6. Angie- Rolling Stones
A subtle goodbye to all those who failed to bag the bride or groom and will be the cause of marital strife. We all know men/women/badgers who despite never talking to a particular person for years on end will figure prominently in marriage councelling. This is the wedding equivalent of pouring a 40 on the curb for your dead homies.

5. Every Rose has its Thorn- Poison
Der. Plus, now available with Irony.

4. Check the OR- Organized Rhyme
Chemists have proven that this song plus alcohol results in a chemical reaction producing party. Party is good. The more party you can provide the cheaper you can go on food.

3. The Chicken Dance
'Cause I promised someone very dear to me once. Oh, also, fun.

2. Lust For Life- Iggy Pop
Yes, I know this song is about drugs (really, which song isn't about some vice?) but it's fun, and if getting married doesn't make you want to jump around like a crazy freak to an excellent beat then you're doing it for the money and I'm sure whores like this song too.

1. Let's Stay Together- Rev. Al Green
Do I really need to explain this? Are you that dense? Read the title again. Are you with me yet?

Songs That never ever ever never ever should be played at a wedding.
5. A cute song (Bob Carlisle, I'm looking at you and Butterfly Kisses) for the bride and her Daddy. This will throw the diabetics in the crowd into a coma and make everyone else--with the exception of your weepy, drunk aunt who eats this shit up with a spoon--get the dry heaves.
4. "Your Song" if you are stupid enough to have a bad song as your song. You know that Celine, backstreet boys, Maroon 5 are all crap so choose a better song. Oh, and "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel is not your song because you are not as cool as Lloyd Dobler, deal with it.
3. Fuck Tha Police by NWA
2. I will Always Love You by Whitney Houston. Two reasons here: 1/ There is an infinitely better version by Dolly Parton and 2/Whitney has dead, dead, dead eyes.
1. YMCA by the Village People. Seriously, is your wedding really about cruising for like minded gayboys? It is? Really? Cool, I've said it before and I'll say it again: The Maple Leaf Forever (sorry Georgypoo)

jc.

It's like Belle & Sebastian... on happy drugs... and Americana

2005-09-20T01:28:00.000-04:00

Well, well, welly, well, well kidlets, your Uncle Johnny is back with a report of a musical nature. Last night, as I have decided to have a social life, I rode the very bus that may have inspired Paul Westerberg to write about kissing on the bus (probably not though, this bus didn't looke like it had been in service in the 80s, nice cushioned green pleather seats though.... I'd do naughty things while people watched on them) downtown to the venerable First Avenue to see Sufjan Stevens. First Ave, as you might've recalled, was the setting of the triumphant finale of Prince's Purple Rain.... Prince made it look bigger. Also, perhaps the darkest club I have ever been in (which may explain why some random bit of girlflesh tried to pick up your hideous Uncle Johnny.... that Livejournal thing had to be a line). Anyways, the show was... surreal. The pep and cheer and joy from an artist with a ballad about John Wayne Gacy was both frightening and entertaining, and as one of my companions happened to note: "like Belle & Sebastian doing Godspell".

I Got Soul, but I'm not a soldier

2005-09-02T01:16:00.000-04:00

Listen kittens, sorry it's been so long but your Uncle Johnny has had some business to attend to... grown up man sized biz that he didn't want you to worry about, but I'm back now. Yes, I'm back and I've been watching Rock Star: INXS. It's American Idol for the Mohawk set of course and utterly cheesetastic at it's core (Why do they really want to be in INXS anyway? The good part of INXS fucked Paula Yates and died, and even he wasn't spec-tack), but there is something compelling about it. What's been eating at your Uncle Johnny is that the latest cast of, Mr Plastic Fantastic Ty Taylor, played the ubiquitous race card. That's right reality TV voters, you didn't like him because he's black and it had nothing to do with the fact that when he performs he comes off as a souless creature bereft of human emotions or a Ken doll that's been even further emasculated (dude, you are not Tina but I'm sure Ike would give you the backhand). I'd like to think that in general race relations have advanced beyond the it's because I'm black point, though I know this isn't always the case, and when it comes to music--particularly that which rocks--it certainly has. Ty may not have noticed but rock fans over the years have embraced Little Richard, Jimi Hendrix, Bad Brains, Living Colour, Prince, and though rock may not be a perfectly integrated art it is at least a tolerant one. And I think Ty maybe needs to look at his own comments and preconceptions before casting aspirtions. He seems to believe that the colour of his skin grants him some kind of inherrent soul... let's just say Van Morrison and Otis Redding he's not.

jc.

BONUS: A TC EP

2005-09-02T00:39:00.000-04:00

Five Ultraslick Tunes From the Twin Cities:

1. 1999- Prince

2. Surfin' Bird- The Trashmen

3. New Day Rising- Husker Du

4. I Hate Music- The Replacements

5. The University of Minnesota Fight Song (or that Soul Asylum song where Claire Danes grows weird angel wings in the video (which is "Just Like Anyone" I believe))

2005-07-29T01:27:00.000-04:00

Well kiddies, it's been a while but daddy's been busy. I'm currently in the process of moving my base of operations to the remains 0f the Justice League sattelite or a Twin City Soda can, whichever is more convenient (PS to Time Warner: Some of us may still want BASIC cable). Also, unlike most of you slack jawed yokels I have a job, a shitty, dirty, time consuming job which I have been utterly thankful for but has kept me too tired to spew venom and wisdom, but I'm back. Oh I'm back. And I'm back with a newish format, lists broken up with the occasional rant if something pisses me off. It'll be fun, root canal-esque fun.... oooo Gang of Four (sorry it's the drugs)

Top Ten Overrated things

10. Sean Penn. Marlon Brando, he is not. Spicoli, he is. Unfortunately somewhere in pursuit of a tasty wave poor Sean lost his sense of humour and now we're left with the yelly-cry-cry school of acting. Penn is rarely the best actor in his films anymore and I seem to have an overwhelming desire to punch him in the face, something that I never get from Johnny Depp.

9. Lord Byron. I get it, I get it, writing poems means you can screw anything that moves.

8. SUVs. Sure it's a truck, that's why they built it on a van chassis. Now get your mommy shorted fading yuppie ass to soccer practice.

7. Goat Cheese

6. Soulpatches.

5. Coldplay. The music is pretty. That's about it. This is coffee shop music for the Starbucks era, when all the real rockers and ne'erdowells hang out at timmies. Comparing them to Radiohead demeans everyone involved.

4. Martin Scorsese after Good Fellas. Remember when Scorsese used to make gripping intelligent movies that made you just absorb everything no matter how ugly it was? Me neither, that was before my time, but Gangs of New York and the Aviator are not gripping as much as they are long. At least Spielberg can still crank out ENTERTAINING pictures.

3. Don Cherry. I love Grapes, and firmly enforce the no talking during Coach's Corner rule, but seriously?

2. Guinea Pigs and Poodles.

1. U2. Remember when U2 was the greatest band in the world? neither do I. Also, Bono has become insufferable. I'm glad it's difficult to work with our government, 'cause Mr Vox that means they might have been working on the myriad of problems they face domestically . Maybe if Geldof had asked... Geldof, he's awesome. Oh by the way, I'm pretty sure that if the revolution were to happen today as I hope it will, Bono would be among the first we round up and kill if only because U2 really only has two songs: introspective Jesus Christ Posey and "hard rocker #4".

bah! I like puppies and ice cream!
jc.

What happens in vegas is fodder for a mad blogger

2005-07-01T00:10:00.000-04:00

Alright kidlets, it's your uncle Johnny again, and because of a hectic travel schedule and sheer laziness you get another top ten list. This one is of course going to be based on my recent travails in that city of sin and home of former strippers turned scientists... Las Vegas. It's the top ten questionable things about Las Vegas.

1. Bringing the kids. This is not a good idea. This is a town predicated on all of our loveliest vices. Hell, one night some frat boy who couldn't hold the urine like hooch americans pass off as beer almost puked on me... and it was relatively early and I was on the street. Nevermind the strungout husk of a hooker I saw propositioning fat, nascar loving, fortysomethings. Is this family entertainment? I think not. Though it is entertaining to see a soccer mom wandering the strip at 10am with a beer in one hand and a kiddie in the other.

2. Sigfried and Roy's tigers never seem to show up at the Mirage, no matter when I go.

3. Chubby-girls with back tattoos showing off their wares. I appreciate that beauty is all around us and that you need to love your body, just don't be 16 years old and 170lbs and try to dress like Paris Hilton. I don't like it when she does it, and I really don't like it when you do.

4. Geeky academics who don't see the casinos for the roundtable on Ursula Le Guin.

5. Frat boys drinking in the pool. I wanted to peacefully swim in the pool. Maybe get some excersize. Definitely flirt with my SO. Drunken frat boys you ruined this, may you burn in hell.

6. The Excalibur's dedication to historical accuracy.

7. Aladdin, ditto.

8. The labryinthine shops at Caesar's. Sometimes I just want to go to the casino and not buy gucci, prada or a maseratti.

9. What no Canada casino?

10. Wayne Newton has retired.

jc.

2005-06-17T01:39:00.000-04:00

The following are ten things that will make the world a better place.

1. Spaying and neutering our popstars, rockstars, falling stars and living cars. This would prevent future generations from enduring the inevitable career of Britney's make-Liza-look-like-she's-super-normal spawn, Blanket Jackson's talkshow and more Herbie movies.

2. Something, anything whatsoever, interesting along the interstate between the Twin Cities and Madison, Wis. It's like the land of the lost up there. I expect to see pterodons and bigfeet it's so empty, but I won't cause it's boring.

3. A burlap sack full of leprachauns/Brownies.

4. Field Goal kicking Asses.

5. Jetpacks and hovercars. The future is now people, or at least it's supposed to be! And what does a guy have to do to get some Tang around here?

6. Frappacinos that taste like coffee crisp.

7. A man like Herbert Hoover agaaaain!

8. We need to get Rivers Cuomo laid, and then heartbroken again. He's batshit insane (did you see the Rolling Stone article?) and the new record lacks in the super awesome category. Japanese women, I'm looking at you.

9. Steve McQueen

10. A soundtrack. I'm thinking kinda Bacharach, so we can chill and smooch and be happy. Oh, and the theme from Shaft for when Uncle Johnny needs to feel some righteous anger.

jc.

Pink Triangle on the Sleeve, let me know the truth

2005-06-04T00:46:00.000-04:00

I've got to get my arse out of this poor little, redneck, podunk, backwater burg. They just don't seem to understand your friendly uncle Johnny here. They don't appreciate dry witticisms or comics fans who bathe. They don't understand why a record store should have collectors singles by Mudhoney or Weird Al or, god forbid, something by Sam and Dave instead of fourteen copies of Kiss Destroyer. And they really, really don't understand that a man can like a poem or two and still love the ladies. Yesterday, as I laboured in the Dickensian Hell that is my current profession a strange girl asked me two questions based on rumours she'd heard (and not that rumour, which by the way is true... gargantuan). The first question was: "I hear you're a poet?" and the answer as some of you well know is yes. I don't like to toot my own horn, or at least the personality who does the writing doesn't, but I am a reasonably skilled and mildly successful poet who writes in a post-modern vein when not writing about pre-modern vascular surgery. That question is not a problem. That's a welcome question, though generally any follow ups tend to enduce a doughnut like glaze. The scarlet-headed trollop's follow up was a tad queer. She asked me if I was gay or straight. I love the ladies. Just love them. More than Rock N Roll, Comic Books or bubble gum. I am very obviously straight, though as queer friendly as I can be (like Pierre Trudeau's government I don't care what happens in the bedrooms of the nation). Apparently all male poets are gay. I blame Byron. Most of the writers I know are either Lesbians or heterosexual men, and this is because that chicks dig poems. Poems can get you laid. I know from experience. Being a poet has at least gotten me up to the plate if not round the bases if you catch my drift. So why did these people assume I was gay because I know the difference between a glossa and a ghazal? Ignorance and the fact that they work in a shitty textile mill. What does this say about societies perception of educated, well-read men? I shudder to think, but if this kind of thinking previals I may need to start watching Nascar and pelting my signif other with empty bottles of bud.

jc.

Take Me To The Limit/One Good Dose of Thunder

2005-05-27T23:30:00.000-04:00

To appreciate the Eagles unironically requires snowdrifts of cocaine and the kind of asshole yuppie thinking that was banned in these parts during the last round of rioting. There, that was a sufficently punk way of starting this post. Here, a week after it was teased, is my explanation of how I came to be a punk before I knew I was punk. Sure, for the most part I'm over the bands on the epitaph roster except the really good ones. No one should ever be over Bad Religion. And, sure, I grew the mohawk and haven't really dyed my hair in the last twelve months but that doesn't mean that I wasn't harDCore back in the day. See, I was a geeky smart kid who enjoyed in his own way stirring shit. My distaste for Parkhill, the asshair little town where I spent my teen years, was widely known, and I took potshots at such sacred cows as the Teacher's Union and the popular kids in the local paper all the while wearing enough black and plaid to make Lou Reed jealous. Or not. I don't think Lou Reed has real feelings like jealousy. I don't think that Lou Reed is human. But that's neither here nor there. Back in the day I was in a band with some of my friends, who for reasons I can never remember decided that we should call ourselves Tomb. The guitarist and "leader" of this outfit was heavily into metal and playing the guitar. He wanted us to sound like Metallica with the wristslashers perfected by Cobain and Co. I think he wrote his downtuned opusses in blood and actively worked at killing every speck of irony or humour from his songs. I, on the other hand, listening to Zepp, Sabbath and all the other major influences of Black Flag, was more interested in sexy little fuck you songs about lunch meat, running from fat girls crazy with sexual desire, and aliens. Oh, and fucking. So without knowing it, I was attempting to bring the band inline with the Ramones, Misfits and the Pixies. And I was straight edge..... by default.

jc.

Peter MacKay's Dog Just Moved In With Ed Broadbent

2005-05-20T23:29:00.000-04:00

I'm going to say something rare. This has been an exceptional week for TV. Everybody Loves Raymond finally left the airwaves (who watched that?). Doctor Who continues to make me wish I was moving to England rather than the US and featured a guest spot by my second favourite weilder of a cricket bat, Simon Pegg. And then there was Peter MacKay. My world is brighter because he got dumped. And not because I'm nailing Belinda Stronach, though I think it is now clear who wore the pants in that relationship. No, Poor Poor Peter made my life better by appearing in his pappy's garden as the proverbial morose motherfucker who had someone shit in his cereal (bong!). There was something so genuine and plastic. You felt for him as you would one of the boys, but then realised that if anyone could've telegraphed Belinda's stroll across the floor it would've been him. Just thinking of him on the CBC, leaning his chin on his hand at the end of a garden fork with his loyal dog laying by his feet, turning his breakup into a photo-op ten times more dishonest and inherently corrupt than Paul Martin has done in the last two weeks. Oh, and Peter, please tell yr boy Harper that if the people in Calgary want an election that doesn't mean we want it one in the rest of the country. Of course, the real fun was had a few days later when Chuck Cadman stood up and millions ( okay me and a bunch of other parliamentary wonks) watched the Tories twist in the wind. No one on that side of the house is even remotely electable anymore ( I'm an anarchist and miss the days of Preston and Deb in her Majesty's Loyal Opposition), so Jack layton better shave his moustache.

And did I mention that Quentin Tarantino directed CSI with former Karate champ and B movie player John Saxon as the batman-esque villain? Did I mention how incredible that was? No?

Anyway, off to see Star Wars, hope it doesn't suck.

jc.

Uh Uh I'm Peter MacKay, Saddest Man in the World... Take that Morrissey!

2005-05-20T23:28:00.000-04:00

Now if only they had Free Make out with Zooey Deschanel Day

2005-05-11T15:47:00.000-04:00

As some of you might know, last Saturday was Free Comic Book Day (FCBD for the Ubergeeky). When geekdom rises up and takes over the Earth FCBD, along with Star Wars Openings and Sarah Michelle Gellar's Birthday, will replace conventional holidays with an orgasmic rush of free floppy funnies. As it stands now FCBD is just another reason for me to go and buy comics. On some of the comics message boards longtime readers who take part in FCBD have been chastised and rebuked like those who stalk Sarah Michelle Gellar for defeating the purpose. Alright, sure, I'm not a new comic reader. I've been reading comics off and on since the age of 3 and I currently have a $150 a month subscription list so I'm not a new reader, but that doesn't mean that my comic shop doesn't have a chance to make more money by giving me free comics. Ignoring the fact that I bought a $45 trade paperback on a whim when i went in on saturday, the reason I went to FCBD was to see if there wasn't some exciting little arty or indie comic deserving of my love. Because I grew up on superheroes I tend to stick with superheroes, but I want to read otherthings .... bah!#%@$^$*

This isn't going as I had planned. I sound like an asshole. long story short: read Johnny Raygun and the Adventures of Paul for free. Liked them. Plan on buying more. Recomend you do same. There. Done. Alright, I promise that next week this'll be better. I'm tired and my back hurts. Thank you Spinrite for the job. So see you next week where maybe you get an essay on "Before I was Punk" that I've been planning on doing unless something pisses me off.

jc.

F-Bomb Authority

2005-05-04T00:13:00.000-04:00

Well Kiddies, something has your old Uncle Johnny spittin' mad. I haven't spent this much time yelling at the TV since the Super Bowl and this time there are considerably more expletives to be deleted. It seems that people are up in arms about a little film and are so concerned that they've written letters to their MPPs asking for the film to be banned. Our fine little ferret of a Premier, Dalton McGuinty, in yet another toothless bout of political expediency stopped breaking campaign promises to play film critic. Though Roger Ebert he is not, McGuinty did have this to say: "I certainly will not be viewing that movie, and my advice and encouragement to Ontarians is that they would do the same. It's an unfortunate development for people to choose to capitalize on a terrible and horrific tragedy."I may have neglected to mention that this film is about two of the perhaps worst examples of human beings ever to walk Ontario streets, Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka, but that really shouldn't matter. In a society that embraces free speech--which, thank you Pierre Trudeau, we happen to--censoring a film because we are uncomfortable with its subject matter should be anathema. Murder and rape should also be anathema, but that's beside the point. Art, which whether this film is good or bad it is, should make us uncomfortable. It should hold a mirror up to the ugliness of the world on occasion else we ignore it. Art, to paraphrase Shelley, is the unacknowleged governor and it would be a fatal mistake to remove its teeth. Censorship belittles us all. Besides, there is no way that any film could glamourize what those monsters did. Let's show some sense and let this one live or die at the box office.

jc.

When CyberJello Attacks

2005-04-26T23:46:00.000-04:00

There must be a few wires crossed in my head, because I just cannot comprehend narrative structure in Asian films. You'd think that the Graduate work I have/am doing in literature would equip me to decypher it, I read bill bissett and Grant Morrison for chissakes, but nope, I'm as lost as Britney's birth control or Wilmer Valderama's career post-70's show. Movies like Akira or Hero or THe House of Flying Daggers have me stymied. I watch them, I recognize skilled filmmaking and beautiful visuals (and whenever possible the simple beauty of Zhang Ziyi), but I'll be damned if I can find a logical plot progression or even a real plot in the traditional, eurocentric conception of a plot. Maybe it's just arty films or films with a kung fu background, I mean Godzilla movies make sense to me and The Seven Samarai must not be afflicted with the-plot-is-arbitrary-look-at-the sweeping-and-ultimately-symbollic-scenery-itis or else the Magnificent Seven would be shite and it certainly isn't (I really need to watch some Kurosawa, but you try finding it in the video stores around here). I don't even think it's the language gap, though that may be a contributing factor. Maybe I'll get kicked out of the snooty movie geeks, though this will likely put me in tight with North American Comics geeks who blame asia for decompression, but maybe these films demonstrate what happens when style completely conquers substance, when substance can only be found through style. Even Oscar Wilde was not this bold, and he wrote a play that monkeys could perform and all the punchlines would still hit true.

Call Me Snake

2005-04-18T23:40:00.000-04:00

Due to somekind of international law that restricts good television to Tuesdays and Sundays, I was forced to rent a couple movies. I rented Sideways--and found that the buzz around it was well-deserved--and I rented Resident Evil Apocalypse. REA is a bad film and not even watching a thermonuclear device strike Nathan Phiilips Square can do anything to change that, though Milla Jovovich's boyish breasts probably will sway a few opinions. That's not to say that it fails as a movie or that I spent 94 minutes attempting to use the rental slip to open a vein in my wrist because I didn't. I did however spend about 85 minutes running through all of the films that REA was inspired by/stole from. I hope that at the very least they sent a cheque to George Romero and John Carpenter (not to mention whoever put their names on the script for Alien Resurrection, I'm looking at you Joss Whedon) because it is impossible to deny the impact of Escape from New York and the Dead films on this movie. I think that REA is the logical evolution of the B-Movie in a way that most of the present crop of big budget, plot-light actioners aren't. This movie can never pretend to be anything other than the grandchild of the great drive-in b's that it is because it simply cobbles together the elements from those movies that worked and let those elements create a movie around themselves. There was not a winking at the screen exersize in irony campers. This is the post-modern movie.

Shawn Desman, marked for death

2005-04-15T23:55:00.000-04:00

I was watching muchmusic this morning and I was reminded of the manifest sins of the music industry. It shouldn't take much to remind me of this, they are the industry that for some reason believes that the biggest wigger since Al Jolson (take that Elvis Presley) has street cred coming out his focus-grouped pink ass despite a stint in the artistic black hole that was the Mickey Mouse club. But Justin really isn't the focus of today's tirade. No, that dubious destinction belongs to Canada's own Shawn Desman, who, in the thirty seconds of his new video I saw, managed to illumine the plastic facade that passes for mainstream, in-offensive r&b/soul or what I guess people call "pop" these days. To refresh your memory, Desman's past videos have shown a propensity towards large title cards, group dancing and white kids from etobicoke or Richmond Hill in velour track suits and thugged out denim (not mention a subliminated homo-erotic vibe). My Bloody Valentine, he is not, but the new video was so much more offensive on a psychic level. It was so bad I could feel my soul leeching out into the cosmos, utterly polluted and grey. Here Desman sits at "his" synth and starts banging out a nice little electronic riff and his name and song title in a fancier version of his title card fetish roles across the little lcd screen of the sequencer and off he goes into his shmaltzy, overwrought, hands extended towards the screen schtick. All in all, an average Canuck answer to similar crimes in the States if only I hadn't been able to instantly place that catchy little synth trill: "Don't Go" by Yaz. Am I bothered that the video implies that Desman composed the sample? Yes, I think so. Am I bothered that such utterly corporate music is now adding 80s synth pop to its pretend urban arsenal? Definitely. Do I have a solution? Well, we could gun down Desman, Timberlake and the whole no soul crew record execs and all in the street, or we could slap the Donnas on the turntable and stare lustily at the jacket photos. I'll leave the decision up to you.

jc.

My New Glasses

2005-04-15T00:39:00.000-04:00

I knew it would happen eventually--every blood relative excluding my sister wears them--but the optometrist said yesterday that I need glasses. Its a bit of a shock. I like the idea of glasses, the better half wears them and looks damn sexy with them, all the really cool geeks have them, but I just don't know if I want them. The point is moot of course since everything has a slightly hazy undefined edge to it and the glasses would take that away, but this is a life altering thing. How soon hath time stol'n on his wing my three and twentieth year? Oh well. I would like some suggestions on what kind of frames to buy. I have an Irish-Canadian potato, big ass rugby ball of a head. Little help?

The Beginning: Oh what a lovely tea party!

2005-04-14T23:58:00.000-04:00

Welcome to model/ACTRESS, a pop-culture clearing house!

It has been suggested that Franz Ferdinand sounds both "New Wave" and just like Joy Division leading to some ridiculous claims that they are spearheading some kind of 80s revival. They don't. They aren't. If they sound like anything, it's something very 70s: I don't know, maybe Richard Hell and the Voidoids? The riff on "Take Me Out" sounds a bit like "Blank Generation" and it builds like something Patti Smith would play, but that could just be me. I think the JD/80s thing really is a result of the drums. Those are some syncopated drums. Hem.

Beck, Guero ,,,, Very nice album. Back to the old Beck that I knew and loved in high school where he was rocking, dancing and folky all at the same time, kinda like a Tom Waits for people who liked "Play That Funky Music White Boy." My favourite track is either "E-Pro" or "Girl." Go buy it.

I'm trying to write like the record reviews in Punk Planet and it's making my thoughts read funny to me. Everything is so disconnected. I blame Campbell's Soup. ( long eeerie pause) I work there and they haven't called me in all week so I'm getting a little bored and punchy. Campbell's, Dairy Queen... My resume reads like some kind of sick Americana exhibit.

To Brian K. Vaughn et al: Very sexy issue of Y. Maybe my pick of the last two weeks. Though I think the cheesecake pinup cover on Zatanna did make me giddier. Anyway, I continue to enjoy the comic and not just for it's rare purient moments. People, buy that comic!

And on a final note, everyone go buy a copy of the latest Windsor Review. It feature three poems by yours truly and has the distinction of being technically my first professional publication. Hurrah!

jc