Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Come on now, WMATA.

People. Sorry for the dearth of content. I continue to ply my trade over at the Huffington Post and will continue there until the end of the day on Monday. So catch me there, along with the tenacious Glynnis MacNichol and, joining the fray later this week, the inimitable Julia Allison. And BTW, Rachel Sklar=RIDICULOUSLY fun to work with. We should all fight crime or something.

So, today, I am waiting for a bus when I was struck, pained, with a perplexing sight. On the side of the 4B, an advertisement for Code Name: The Cleaner. That's right! Motherfucking Code Name: The motherfucking Cleaner. Didn't that movie come out in 2005 or something? Does WMATA just not want to sell ads? Or did the producers of Code Name: The holy sweet shittington shit Cleaner buy two decades worth of ads, as if this movie was going to run forever?

I don't know. I don't think I want to know. I'm afraid that the lingering ads for Code Name: The mother of all buggery Cleaner are trying to tell us something: perhaps about the follies of man, the insignificance of our great works, the lasting futility you invite when you attempt to forge a career while having the last name--and I quote--"The Entertainer." When you gaze into the void, what stares back? Probably an ad for Code Name: The Jumping Mexican Jesus Zombie Cleaner.

Lucy Liu's people ought to be told about this, because at some point, reminding the world she was in this movie MUST constitute libel. It simply must.

Va. Tech

Wow. I just found out that my friend and neighbor John's father was one of the people who was wounded in yesterday's shootings at Tech. Thankfully, by all accounts he's okay. John and his gf Stephanie have gone down to Blacksburg. I imagine John's been hit hard by all of this--he's from Blacksburg, and his family have been knit up in Tech's community so tight that sometimes, when we talk about the ACC, I have to remind him that he went to NC State.

I've tried my level best to write cogently on this whole thing, but man, I take absolutely no joy in it. Can't they fire Wolfowitz tomorrow and get a YouTube up of him walking dejectedly out of the World Bank with a box full of his personal effects? America could really use the laugh.

Congrats Cast of Arturo Ui!

And especially Grady and Scott!

Thursday, April 12, 2007

OMG! Don Imus is THE REAPING!

Holy shit! NBC News is reporting that Jon Corzine was hurt in a nasty looking hit and run accident. The kicker? He was on the way to meet Don Imus! Cripes: the man is becoming a literal magnet for pain and despair, now. How long before we find out that Imus has simply become a remorseless magical killing machine who sucks the blood right out of the necks of unicorns?

We were going to write a post urging Ana Marie Cox to reconsider her position on going on Imus, our reasoning being that she is the sort of upright and kind citizen who we think needs to be on the air with Imus, countering his nonsense because you know that douchebags like this Coach McGuirk fellow who helped yes-man Imus' career into oblivion are going to live their lives without ever amounting to sweet goddamn. But after tonight, we are changing our position. ANA: PLEASE do not go near the JOWLY DEMON LORD.

"I like you young man, you shall run my university!"

Fuck yeah!
TOTAL UVA SHOUT OUT ON 30 ROCK! And, yeah...Tracy Morgan should ABSOLUTELY decide John Casteen's successor!

A certain sort of sadness.

Wow. On the same day we hear about Johnny Cash's house burning to the ground, we get news that Kurt Vonnegut is dead.

They're out there, gunning for All the Good Things. Look sharp, people.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

DCeptette: I used to say fuck it, wouldn't placate the functionaries version

  1. What? You haven't yet checked Busdriver's crazy-good jawn "Casting Agents and Cowgirls?" Really? Download the madness over at You Ain't No Picasso, and make plans to see the man weave lyrical knots at the Rock and Roll Hotel on May 8. [You Ain't No Picasso]
  2. Larry Birkhead greets fatherhood with an immortal line: "I'm ready to get this over with." Cheer up Dannielyn! Every year, we get a birthday card from our parents that says the exact same thing. [Defamer]
  3. Of previous incarnations of the Six Points Music Festival, the Going Out Gurus declare that they, "felt thrown together and lacking in any real focus." Yeah, yeah, we know. We're updating the "Pot Calls The Kettle Black" Wikipedia page even as we speak. [GagBlog]
  4. After The Big Hunt suffered an attack from Insta-Poop wielding drunks, owner Joe Englert expressed regret: "'If he [the first victim] wants to have a poop-less event for his family and friends,' the Big Hunt will happily host, Englert says." Still, you just KNOW that a few days after it happened, gears started turning in Englert's mind: "Hmmmm...canned poop...H Street...theme bar...me likey!" [City Paper]
  5. In praise of Blades of Glory, critic Tricia Olsewski says, (in the print edition, anyway): "More impressive, there's not a lowbrow bathroom gag to be found among all the wieners, boners, and dongs." Oh, no? We take this to mean that the sight of Jon Heder laying on the floor of a bathroom, furtively manipulating a trash begrimed strip of toilet paper WITH HIS TONGUE, is, to Tricia, a positively Shavian bathroom gag. And, you know what? Fuck it! We totally agree! Well played, Trish! [City Paper print edition, maybe it'll be online someday]

Random Thoughts inspired by American Idol

I'm listening to this kid absolutely drown in the shallow waters of that Rob Thomas/Santana mashup that AOR couldn't get enough of. Ick. Ick.

I think Paul K. and I have the exact same opinion on Santana, and what he does to music. It goes like this:

A song starts up, and all sounds well. It's trucking its way through an inoffensive verse, on the way to a not altogether hateful chorus. All seems right with the world. And then, out of nowhere, Santana, this crusty-ass douchebag jumps headlong into the mix, laying down some horrible, frenetic, ass-sounding guitar solo, wearing a pained expression as if the full-tilt horror of Albert Gonzalez's tender mercies have been visited upon him. The solo lasts about five-minutes too long and the sound of it causes the spirits of tiny infants waiting to be born to shrivel up and twist into misshapen, sorrowful snots on their way to their mothers wombs. Then, finally, after all the good taste has been permanently drained from the listener's mouths, Santana finishes up, leaves the room, and every Baby Boomer in Christendom falls to their knees, begging: "Oh, you golden Latin Jewel! Please, please, AURALLY RAPE US SOME MORE!!"

I mean all of that LITERALLY.

To Explain This Blogs Forthcoming Dormancy

Hey folks, if the pickings around here seem a little leaner (than they already are) over the next few days, it's probably because over the next few days, I will be offering my nonpareil guest-blogger skillz to my good online buddy Rachel Sklar over at The Huffington Post's "Eat The Press" blog. Rachel and I have, in the past, collaborated together on making sure as many people as possible knew that the mind behind the South Dakota abortion ban was one that also loved to entertain sicko rape fantasies. You're welcome, South Dakota!

The prospect of eating the press is definitely interesting, and by interesting, I mean terrifying. So, if you have the tips, please pass them along to imadcver at yahoo dot com. I've been told that the following options are not open to me: profanity, mean-spirited snark, inside-y knowledge, the word "assfucking", any posts about Butterstick, any commentary on the sleek and masculine bathroom fixtures in Nick Denton's apartment, any referring to Tim Russert as a "pancake makeup wearing twit", or any naked shilling for the series 30 Rock. I mean, way to tie my hands behind my back, Ariana!

Also, no sentences that begin: "I mean..." They're freals serials, man.

Inevitably, this will be good for this blog, as I've been suffering from "Too many ideas not enough time oh fuck it I'm just going to watch third season reruns of Alias jesus can you believe they let Sark get away AGAIN" syndrome. Anyone who wants to contribute a Lost recap or a 24gasm knows where to find me.

Now: everyone go home tonight and pray that Don Imus refers to the Indianapolis Colts as a "shimmery pile of gaybait." That is all.

The Next Big Thing: References to Salvador Dali Make Me Hot


Over at the 'Schach we've got a big opening this weekend, with Jose Rivera's beautiful play References to Salvador Dali Make Me Hot. We're walking that "magical realism" path once again, this time with a play that very imaginatively details life after war. It's directed by Shirley Serotsky, who we've come to like very much. And speaking of liking very much, the show has Scott McCormick and Yasmin Tuazon from the company, and features Gabriela Fernandez-Coffey, Danny Gavigan, Cesar A. Guadamuz, and Andrew Price.

All the details can be found here, and, please note: Pay-What-You-Can performances start tomorrow and go through Friday. Even if you get out to the theatre a lot, this play is likely to be a different sort of animal than you are used to seeing--different in ways you are likely to find very pleasing. Hope you can come!

Thursday, April 05, 2007

"Yeah, that's gonna scare a lot of people."

Tonight's climactic bit on 30 Rock involved the ill-advised decision to launch three hours worth of pyrotechnics on a day other than the Fourth of July. Hilarious, believe me. But also, a tad poignant for those of us who live in the DC area, because this actually happened here, and, naturally that fool George W. Bush was involved.

Where were you on the night of September 6, 2001? I was driving back from my friend's house, wondering why shit was exploding. Turns out it was because Bush was wrapping up a state dinner with Vicente Fox when he wanted to show Fox what a loco motherfucker he was, so he started shooting off fireworks in the middle of the night, you know--just as if Washington wasn't home to several hundred thousand people!

Anyway, total dick move, but it achieved a larger purpose--warming us up for five days later and the massive pants-loading dumps we'd be taking. When you think about it, if I had some perspective, I wouldn't still be all pissed about the Vicente Fox fireworks! But suck it. If the President pulls that shit again, I'ma shove a bottle rocket up his ass!

Oh well. I guess what I'm trying to say is: "Only in DC!"

Hooray for the TeeVee!

FIRST:
We are super super happy that The Sheinhardt Wig Company, who own General Electric, who own NBC have made the entirely toward decision to renew 30 Rock for a second season. It was seemingly touch and go there for a while, which is surprising considering it, and perhaps The Office, are far and away the funniest show on network television. Sadly, the cock has crowed for the other metatheatrical exploration of sketch comedy, Studio 60, has met with the axe. It was kept alive because the advertisers felt Studio 60's viewers were of the more affluent variety. Presumably, the advertisers have visited my apartment and learned the horrible truth: we eat downmarket sushi and do not own an HD Anything. (The cats, meanwhile, eat venison--don't say that nobody's reaping rewards in the aftermath of the world's pet food being laced with poison!)

Aaron Sorkin will rebound--he's working on staging some sort of Flaming Lips musical. Uhm...okay: so maybe he won't rebound. Those guys will hook him up with some good LSD, though. Ultimately, if we had to choose, we'd have chosen to save 30 Rock, because Tina Fey is good people and because someone really should be pointing a camera at Tracy Morgan.

SECOND:
I never, never, never in a million years thought I would ever do this, but I am fully recommending a show on the network known as MTV. Ordinarily, I'd do no such thing, as the channel has made it very clear that their main intent is to run shows that exclusively cater to the anthroplogical study of douchebags and vapid twats. But Thursday, at 10:30pm, they will be premiering a comedy show by The Human Giant, and The Human Giant--whose members include Aziz Ansari, Paul Scheer, Jason Woliner, and Rob Huebel--may be the funniest fucking thing going. If you just can't wait until tomorrow night--or if you are the sort of person who can only watch video content on a tiny ass screen--the first episode is available on iTunes right now.

By the way, both shows share a common ingredient that may be the secret to television success: The Ghostface Killah Cameo. You still doubt the man shouldn't be President?

DCeptette: I'm bailing water 'cause I like the shape of the boat version.

  1. Hmmm. Now, does, "Last night a Sound Engineer from the Northwestern University Law School Musical saved my life" have the same ring to it? No. It does not. [Thrown For A Loop]
  2. Old news, new thoughts: So, last month, the 'sphere was all atwitter over an incident on Bloggingheads, where Ann Althouse went nutcake at Garance Franke-Ruta. Now, to know the ins and outs over why and how it happened, you'd have to have a whole lot of knowledge over past controversies in the world of political blogs--and trust me, the fact that I can follow the storyline does nothing but fill me with despair. But it occurs to me: Althouse has to be a conservative's wet dream: first, there's the whole dutiful water-carrying bit--let's face it, good help is hard to find--but second, and critically, people like Ann Althouse pay back end dividends by helping to reinforce the notion that women are, in the classic, sexist sense of the term, hysterical. I'd include Coulter in this category, except it's been like, seven years since the last time anyone associated her with anything remotely womanly. I think she photosynthesizes.
  3. Also, in other idiot news, Glenn Reynolds is out of joint because Pelosi wore a headscarf to a mosque. Apparently, the concept of a "dress code" is lost on this complete fucking moron, but I figure I can make things edifying by showing up at his preferred house of worship wearing nipple clamps and chaps. And when he complains, I'll invite him to take a nice, long, lingering draught of my sweet dick. Let the choir sing, y'all!
  4. Normally we'd endorse the idea of someone rising up--with fists!--against Jim Rome. Especially in defense of soccer. But when that would-be soccer defender is the previous generation's Landon Donovan...err, an overhyped pretty boy who never delivered in the big game, the best we can hope for is a yawning chasm to open up beneath both of them...or for Ron Artest to whack them both with a tire iron. [Deadspin]
  5. Uhm...nice shoes. But I'm holding out for something more in a "Gene Loves Jezebel." [Idolator]

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

DCent Days and Nights

TOMORROW:

The secret to the Strokes success is the way they blend to art and the artifice. One fantastically well-rehearsed group of musicians hitting on lockstep, and a singer who slyly shifts from being coy and aloof one minute, surprisingly direct another. That shit works, at least for me it does. When it's not "Juicebox", anyway.

I'll confess to being a smidge skeptical about the prospects of an Albert Hammond, Jr. solo album. I mean, isn't Johnny Marr proving right now that being part of a great band is infinitely better than say, being the principal party to Boomslang. Turns out I needn't have worried. First, you apparently cannot take the Stroke out of the Strokes without yadda yadda blah. Hammond's guitar work on his Yours To Keep still rings with otherworldly precision as it slinks out the sort of chiming melodies and fingertip singing solos that have powered the Strokes over three records. Here's the great part, though: as a frontman, Hammond brings an altogether different sort of artifice--and it turns out to be really enjoyable. Vocally, Hammond is more intimate, more broken in--like the spine of familiar book or a comfortable shoe. And he seems to be supremely capable of channelling the same sort of golden Cali sounds his father famously did. Different strokes, then, for yadda yadda blah.

Hammond, Jr. will be at the 9:30 Club tomorrow night with the Mooney Suzuki, who have suffered mightily at the hands of The Matrix. (Haven't we all.) Tickets are $15. I, of course, can't go, but you should!

YESTERDAY:

We could get used to this: Another Tuesday, another great three band lineup at the Rock and Roll Hotel. This weekm Wife of DCeiver came along because she is on Spring Break and had some time to kill before the next beer bong and wet T-shirt contest. Leafblower, I guess, wasn't born to play on a team, because he did not come tonight, as expected. (And where were Les Pygmalies? I thought they were fans, but they had pre-emptively ghosted the spot as well.) Company was had in the form of our friend P. Vo, Read Express blogger guru Mike Grass and his friend Ben.

Stars of Track and Field and the Long Winters put out two of my favorite records from last year, The Broken West have so far done right by me this year. There are disparities to be had between all three bands, but there's nothing like a little variety, especially at the nice price of 12 bucks.

I like the whole space-rock thing the SofT&F do, and if we can take what's been leaked at face value, you will be glad to have The Broken West around once the dull dishwater triteness of the new Wilco jawn finally hits you full in the face.


But The Long Winters...man. They are on another level entirely. Just a great, great band. Love their hooky melodies, love the way the songs skip and jump like a heart murmur, especially love the way they've got these big refrains that feel like they are all misshapen and weird but then they come together and leave you feeling all: like, wo! But it's really all about the John Roderick, man. Instantly engaging, Roderick had me in a good fucking mood before he was through the first verse of "Teaspoon." One of the best frontmen I've ever had the pleasure of watching. They played a great set, "It's a Departure," "Honest," "Shapes," "Cinnamon", "Carparts"--so many great fucking songs. Probably the high point though was hearing their fucktastically beautiful take on the Challenger disaster, "The Commander Thinks Aloud" and the so-perfect-its-sick "Hindsight." Believe me: if you EVER get to see this band, see them. I already wish they were coming back. But it will be awhile: Roderick says they'll soon be back in Seattle to work on their next record.

He also wanted to pass along the info that every band in Seattle is in need of a bass player. But, then, you already knew that.

Gentry On Gentry Violence: AU vs. Karl Rove

We're officially excepting Elizabeth Chomko and Jordan Suderman from this unfair generalization, but in our experience, if there's one thing that defines the American University student, it's their willingness to get pissed on at a birthday party in the hopes of winning an iPod nano. And then the way they'll ask you to delete their names from your blog even after they gleefully gave quotes to the City Paper.

But, after that, we have to admire the general sense that the phrase, "Wow. I can't believe nobody's every thought of that before!" is never far from escaping their lips. True, true: 90% of the time they're talking about something that TONS of people have thought of a million times before. But every once in a while, it leaves the realm of the banal and enters the realm of...well...attempting to execute a citizens' arrest of Karl Rove. It was like the Alexander Cockburn Fan Club teaming up with the American University Model War Crimes Tribunal for all the marbles!

From WaPo:

Heckling protesters briefly delayed the car carrying top White House aide Karl Rove last night as he left the American University campus, where he had just given a speech. No arrests or injuries were reported after Rove's invitation-only talk.

About 20 students lay in front of the car as it prepared to leave, a witness said.

Josh Goodman, an AU junior, said other students kicked the car "and tried to stop it as best as they could."

They tried their best! Check the video at DCist. Who can doubt that these intrepid young toughs weren't mere inches away from shaving Bush's Brain's entire body in the middle of Tenley Circle, we're sure!

Sadly, Rove and his lovely lady lumps emerged from the incident unharmed. But there are lessons to be learned, though ultimately, what this incident reveals is that if AU really wants to confront MC Rove and stand a chance of winning, the University is going to have to invest in a much better Defense Against The Dark Arts professor. Thanks a lot, Ben Ladner!

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

The March Top 20.

March. Fine songs. Bookmarkable music bloggers. Enjoy.

1. The Arcade Fire, "Intervention"
[live on SNL from Sixeyes]

2. The Long Winters, "The Commander Thinks Aloud"
[d/l: Moistworks]

3. Elastica vs. The Gossip, "Standing in the Way of Connection"
[d/l: MashupTown]

4. Albert Hammond, Jr., "In Transit"
[d/l: The Pelican's Perch]

5. Maximo Park, "Girls Who Play Guitars"
[d/l: Orangejello Lemonjello]

6. Modest Mouse, "Florida"
[d/l: Pretentious Prattle]

7. Ted Leo/Rx, "Bomb. Repeat. Bomb."
[d/l: Blogs Are For Dogs]

8. Andrew Bird, "Scythian Empires"
[d/l: Music For Kids Who Can't Read Good]

9. Arcade Fire, "Windowsill"
[d/l: The Briefcase]

10. Charlotte Hatherley, "I Want You To Know"

11. The Cinematics, "Chase"

12. El-P, "Tasmanian Pain Coaster"
[d/l: Pretentious Prattle]

13. Emm Gryner, "Pour Some Sugar On Me"
[d/l: Can You See The Sunset...]

14. Kaiser Chiefs, "Everything is Average Nowadays"

15. Laura Veirs, "Wandering Kind"
[d/l: Faronheit]

16. M. Ward, "To Go Home"
[d/l: Puddlegum]

17. Maximo Park, "Russian Literature"
[d/l: Cause=Time]

18. Son Volt, "Satellite"
[d/l: Indieblogheaven]

19. Uffie, "Pop The Glock"
[d/l: Nialler9]

20. Modest Mouse, "We've Got Everything"
[d/l: Say Anything Syndrome]

Monday, April 02, 2007

Q. Are We Not Men? A. We Are Kriston!

"Kriston Capps is a Man" may be the best article ever written. I think a future revenue stream is possible here: for one's birthday, send one of America's elite newspapers on a mission to fully confirm basic facts about your life, then publish them on the web. Until that day, consider me jealous as hell. Also, as always:

All hail the Supreme Turkmen!