Sneaking up on Mr. Prez

Alright, so the title is from a Division of Laura Lee song and has barely any connection to the subject at hand, but I still like it.

Anyway, I now have two special treats. First is the letter to the editor response by our school's President, decrying my article posted here. Following that is my own response I'm having placed in the Opinions section right alongside the letter to the editor. I think the letters speak well for themselves. (Names have been omitted to protect the inflammatory.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

I think some comments are in order on Gabriele -------’s article “Converting Television: The New Catholic Channel.”

I’m not surprised the Catholic Channel doesn’t hold his interest. It isn’t meant to be entertainment, and college students are not its primary target market. In our culture, we are more and more seeing “entertainment” as the primary benchmark to judge the worth of all communication. I think our Core Curriculum shows that entertainment isn’t the only or even primary purpose for communication, at least not in serious books, films, or TV programs. The Catholic Channel targets viewers seeking to increase their capacity to know, love, and serve God. If you are not into that, then I suspect the programming won’t hold you.

Although there is much more that could be said, I would like to mention two points that make me rather sad. The first is about Communion hosts. In Dachau, the Nazis had a special “Priest Block” numbered 25487. It contained about 3,000 Catholic priests and some other clergy at any one time on their way to death. How many frightened men in trembling fear consecrated a bit of stale bread from dinner so Jesus could be with them as they passed into eternity? Finally there is Mr. -----’s “Amazonian Nun.” I hope this isn’t an oblique reference to Sr. Dorothy ----- who received posthumously an honorary degree from SJC. Upperclassmen will recall Sr. Dorothy was murdered with a gunshot to the head by a hired killer while she sat in the dirt reading her Bible. She was an activist nun trying to save the Brazilian rain forest and its indigenous people. Our award was to recognize her martyrdom.

Editorials like “Converting Television…” attempt humor by mocking others and their beliefs. It is a difficult way to get laughs because it relies on bigotry as do jokes about gays, women, and minority people. Such material often backfires as the audience widens. To some extent, it reminds me of the bigoted humor of the early part of the 20^th Century when we Catholics were often hated and ridiculed for our Faith.

As President and thus publisher of “-----------,” I apologize to any readers who might have been hurt and/or offended by “Converting Television: The New Catholic Channel.”

Sincerely,
-----------------
November 12, 2007

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since it was my article that has inspired some controversy, I thought it prudent to better explain it and myself.

First of all, I was in no way thinking of Dorothy ----, or any nun in general, when I wrote of the Amazonian Nun. In an attempt to further the super hero joke, I was making a reference to the comic book and television character Wonder Woman, who is an Amazonian. I would never belittle the memory of Dorothy ---- or anyone would give their life to make this a better world.

As for the rest of the article, the target audience was as much Catholics as anyone else. Further, I am not anti-Catholic, and I am a Christian myself, sharing most of the same beliefs. Part of the intended humor of the article is what happens when entertainment and religion attempt to merge. As shown, I do not view the media’s affect on religion as positive, nor do I support the misuse of religion for entertainment purposes that is often evident in the real world.

Finally, I did satirize many elements of the Church and Christianity in general. I believe that an important role of both college and journalism is not just to inform but also to inspire debate and discussion about our views. Beliefs and faith, of any form, are the foundation of our lives. Left untested, they may falter under the pressure of crises and true attacks. By challenging our own beliefs, and even being able to find humor within them, we make sure that foundation is strong and resilient.

Inciting Chaos is FUNdamental

Image looted from http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/0/0c/Chumbunt.gif

Just an update from the article I posted before, that I believed would get me crucified:

It seems I have managed to anger the president of my college with said article. Yeah, the president. I'd find it an even greater achievement if our college wasn't so small, but still, it's an achievement. Of course, the professors seem to love it, along with most of the student body. And by most of the student body, I mean my friends and like minded malcontents.

However, the resulting chaos is putting somewhat of a pinch on my creative abilities, both because of time dealing with the problem and potential censorship because of it. I'll be composing a response to the controversy that I will post here and hopefully have printed. However, there probably won't be any updates until that and my other articles for the next issue of the paper are finished. After that, though, the semester is practically over. Other than exams in nearly every class. Eh, life would be boring if it wasn't chaotic and maddening.

The End, or Not.....

Just a general note of achievement, this is my last blog post required for my blogging class. It's a rather beautiful feeling, since I really don't like required writing. Kind of like assigned reading, I might enjoy it otherwise, but having it assigned just makes me not want to do it. Ever. Guess its a bit of a rebellious streak somewhere in the blood. Anyway, I may or may not continue this blog, since I'm not sure if anyone reads this other than those obligated to follow them for the class. We shall see, I guess.

Finally, go buy Ratatouille on DVD and the new Hives album The Black and White Album right now. Don't finish this sentence even. Just go.

Why are you still here? I said go.



You just don't listen do you?



Fine, well then, if you're not leaving, I'm going. Good Night (Morning?), and Good Luck.

Bond, James Bond

Last year, Casino Royale revitalized the floundering James Bond franchise. It managed this difficult feat through style and grace, re-setting the story with a Bond just starting his career as a 007. The movie even used the first Ian Fleming novel as its basis, truly bringing everything back to its roots.

Because of this rejuvenation, all of the James Bond movies are finally being released individually on DVD. At first, they were only available in boxes of four movies at a time, each set spread out through the entire series’ history. This proved annoying, as it was impossible to buy Bond movies from a certain era, and often packaged outright bad films alongside the classics.

Now that these movies are available in a more convenient form, it is easy to examine the true origins of the Bond franchise. Two of the first 007 movies, Dr. No and Goldfinger, both show how the original Bond formula was set while still proving to be some of the best secret agent movies ever.

Dr. No is rather low-key for much of the first half of the movie. The Bond staples, like the famous music and the gun barrel scene at the beginning, are all here, along with the beautiful woman that are both friend and foe. However, much of the movie is less action and more espionage, as Bond explores the Jamaican cost trying to discover who might be interfering with American rocket launches.

Once 007 reaches the mysterious Crab Key, the action starts becoming familiar. Fantastic machines, like a flame throwing “dragon” vehicle, and bizarre enemies await. Dr. No himself possesses the bizarre characteristic of having metal claws for hands. Of course, Bond must stop the villain, escape the island lair, and get the girl, all with little blood and no nudity. It isn’t the best movie in the series, but it is a pretty effective beginning.

While Dr. No may be the first movie chronologically, Goldfinger is the first movie everyone thinks of. While Dr. No introduced some of the Bond staples, Goldfinger contains them all. 007 faces off against three different beautiful women, a massive Korean henchman who throws a deadly hat, and Goldfinger himself, a jovial but ruthless gold smuggler. Bond receives his mission from M, flirts with Moneypenny, and visits Q and his gadgets. He even gets the iconic Aston Martin.

The movie itself is almost a mess, spanning the globe and including car chases, a golf game, nighttime raids, gangsters, and even an ejector seat. The pure insanity of it all is really the movie’s charm, as it becomes something purely entertaining. It also contains both the girl covered in gold and one of the greatest exchanges in movies history. “Do you expect me to talk?” “No, I expect you to die!”

As an additional note, both of these movies feature Sean Connery as James Bond. While there is still debate over who is the greatest actor to play James Bond, Sean Connery is still the man who defined the role. Even today, his James Bond proves a suave yet deadly figure, though occasional moments of misogynism prove troublesome.

Being that these movies are over 40 years old, giving them a star rating is somewhat pointless. Instead, these movies are highly recommended for anybody who enjoys entertaining adventure or is interested in a piece of film history.

Saving Television: The New Catholic Channel

Since my school newspapwer was unfortunately delayed a day, I felt like putting up my article from the next issue. The article that may get me stoned by somebody. Note that this is the unedited version, so there's a joke early on that doesn't appear in the finished article itself. Also, probably some grammatical errors, so please ignore them.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

After years of attending a Catholic College, I believe I have learned a few things about the faith. For one, it defines “dry campus” as having alcohol in only three or four different places. Also, apparently the Church was not being that bad when they placed Galileo under house arrest, they were just doing it for his own good. And by “his own good”, I mean so they did not stone him the moment he left said house.

One of the essential things I have learned is that Catholic television is possibly the most boring television in the world. I have watched golf games on TV that are twenty times more exciting and have spectators that don’t look, well, dead. Some of the people on those religious shows look like they are the first wave of a zombie apocalypse. The only thing more terrifying than a zombie apocalypse is one where all the undead are droning on about Catholic Dogma.

Honestly, if I wanted to hear Father Gregori or Sister Mary Clarence bore me to death, I’d just go ahead and attend mass. At least there I can get wine, in the form of transubstantiated blood. Communion, the only place where eating flesh and drinking blood doesn’t make you a cannibal or a vampire.

I have made it my duty to improve this intolerable situation. In conjunction with the World Institute of Catholic Communications Associated, or W.I.C.C.A., I am proposing a plan for The New Catholic Channel, which will revolutionize religious television. These shows will provide real entertainment and useful knowledge for today’s Catholic, rather than acting as an insomnia cure.

What follows are some of my proposals for the great new shows on The New Catholic Channel.

Mornings with Mary Magdalene
A new morning talk show with the second most famous Mary in the Bible, the show will feature many of today’s most famous Catholics as guests. These people are famous enough they probably haven’t attended Mass in 20 years, but they’re glad to exploit their religious background if it means they can make even more money. On the first episode, director and actor Kevin Smith appears to talk about the irony of being persecuted by people of your own faith for supposedly being a heathen.

Unfortunately, the show has been cancelled after taping only one episode. Apparently, every guest and audience member asked Mary the same exact question. “So, is it true what they say about you and Jesus?”

Mealtime Salvation
Another daytime television show, Mealtime Salvation, features cooking tips both for those looking to make gourmet meals those cooking on a budget. For example, the first episode shows poor college students the 12 ways to use leftover host from communion to make a hearty meal. Tip Number #4 is to combine host with Cheez Whiz for a hearty snack. Just make sure the host is unsubstantiated and you don’t bring the cheese to mass.

There is some worry that Mealtime Salvation may lose some viewership during Lent. A show can’t air infinite variations on preparing fish without losing some people’s interest.

Dogma Digest
A how-to show, Dogma Digest shows Catholics ways to use loopholes in Church law for fun and profit. On the first episode, how to encourage your priest to re-instate plenary indulgences and get him to split the proceeds from people buying their way into heaven. Also, a short segment on how travel dispensations can save you from ever attending Mass again.

N.O.M.A.
In the tradition of science shows like NOVA comes N.O.M.A. It’s actually pretty much the same show, covering about the same scientific topics. However, N.O.M.A. also features constant reminders that the Catholic Church doesn’t contradict science and repeated attempts to justify past oppression of scientific thought.

Catholic Justice League
An after school cartoon show, Catholic Justice League follows the exploits of the world’s greatest religious superheroes. Following direct orders from Heaven, because they claim they can talk to Jesus, the Catholic Justice League faces the threats of heathenism, atheism, and worst of all, Catholics not fulfilling their moral obligations.

Thrill to the exploits of characters like the Amazonian Nun and her sidekick Altar Boy. Watch as they race onward in their supervehicle Catholic-1, running on incense and complete with holy water cup holders. Coming this winter, your children will be brainwashed before they can even begin to think for themselves.

Late Night with the Confessional
Every network needs its exciting and slightly risqué late night shows, and we definitely have ours. Late Night with the Confessional lets viewers call-in and confess their most salacious and naughty sins live on the air. Adultery, sex, binge drinking, all will be revealed in intimate detail. Listen as callers say their Hail Mary very, very slowly.

Finally, through the night we’ll air infomercials and advertisements featuring products and services targeted towards our audience. Currently we’re still in negotiation with a company wanting to advertise new tapes called Catholic Girls Gone Wild. Other than that, we have already received our first completed commercial. What follows is the transcript:

“Come on down to Father Levesque’s Vatican Supply Warehouse, where we’re having some of our greatest deals of the year! For a limited time only, we’re throwing in a free hat with every used Popemobile! Come on down and see prices so low, even the Devil has to look down to see them. Due too a mistake in blessing, we’re drowning in holy water, so it’s all 20% off. Prices this low have to be sinful, so come on down before it’s too late!”

All exciting stuff and all coming soon to a television near you. The New Catholic Network is going to revolutionize the collision of TV and religion, if we actually manage to get on the air. However, you have to admit that we’re more interesting than most of the things they put on television, and probably still less offensive.

Note: Some may say I’ll be excommunicated for this article. Well, as my good friend Antigone says, you can’t be excommunicated if you weren’t communicated in the first place. I’m also not expecting the Spanish Inquisition any time soon.

However, I’d like to assure everyone that I do not hate the Catholic Church. Neither do I hate the aforementioned cannibals and vampires. Some of my best friends are Catholics and vampires. I just believe that any institution that has only had two revisions in 2000 years is in need of some lampooning.

Note Note: I’m not making a joke when I say the real Catholic channel is possibly the most boring thing in existence. The paint-drying network probably beats it in ratings.

An Explicit History of Music

This article will appear in the next issue of my college newspaper. We've had some people complaining about articles lately, for mostly stupid reasons, so I felt it fitting to focus on a bit of censorship for my music column.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This issue, we have a bit of a musical history lesson. Over a decade ago, the Parental Advisory label was born. This label has adorned music from so many genres, probably only polka and folk dances have been untouched.

Before the days of the label, the music world was a lawless place, lots of cuss words, violent imagery, and sex. You could not step into a record store without being bombarded by albums encouraging people to rape, pillage, and burn. At least, that is what politicians, moral and religious groups wanted the public to believe.

These groups began to apply pressure to the music industry in any way possible. They rallied behind charges against the heavy metal band Judas Priest when two fans tried to kill themselves while listening to an album. Infamously, they claimed subliminal, backwards messages in the lyrics encouraged suicide. The message they claimed to have heard? “Do it.” As Rob Halford, Judas Priest’s lead singer later commented, “Do what?”

Another prime example of this moral panic actually resulted in legal issues. Hip-hop group 2 Live Crew released their new album, As Nasty as They Wanna Be, filled with their usual sexually explicit lyrics. The first single was the song “Me So Horny,” and the album only degenerated from there.

Obviously not music for kids, the album created such a panic among the moral majority that some police departments marked it as obscene. It became a crime to carry the album in certain communities, and was sold under-the-counter by the few record stores that would dare stock it.

Such chaos only continued to build. The final straw was when Tipper Gore and several other Washington wives heard their children listening to filthy lyrics, especially those of Prince. This group of wives formed the PMRC, Parents Music Resource Center, with the goal of pressuring the RIAA, and thus the music industry, to self-police and self-censor its artists. When they’re actions resulted in Congressional hearings, the RIAA quickly capitulated, even while recording artists such as John Denver and Frank Zappa vehemently opposed potential censorship.

The result was the labeling of offense albums with the Parental Advisory logo. One of the first albums labeled as such was Frank Zappa’s Jazz from Hell. This was somewhat bizarre, as the album was instrumental and contained no lyrics.

The warning label has had some impact, but probably not what was expected. Wal-Mart, along with other stores, refused to stock any albums with the Parental Advisory, demanding censored versions of supposedly offensive albums. The symbol itself has become a staple of pop culture, used more for its rebel credibility rather than warning any parents. Not satisfied, moral groups continue to attack the music industry, recently focusing on the hip-hop and rap, whose albums usually feature the warning label anyway.

The more things change, the more things stay the same.

Guilty Pleasures

PicJacked from Last.fm

In a world filled to the brim with both pretentious critics and psychotic fans, almost every opinion under the sun is at least somewhat valid when discussing pop culture. However, sometimes there are albums or movies or books that are so terrible, even the most dedicated fans or the least critical tastes still find them irredeemable. This is the territory where the guilty pleasure lives. A guilty pleasure is not liking a Britney Spears song when you only listen to metal. No, a guilty pleasure has to be something so terrible, you have to acknowledge its probably awfulness but still enjoy it for some reason.

What follows are two of my favorite guilty pleasure songs, and a guilty pleasure movie. Everyone has there own, so this is just a jumping off point as always. Be afraid, be very afraid.

1. Artist: Moby
Album: Animal Rights
Song: "That's When I Reach For My Revolver"

Really, this should sum everything up right here: It's an alternative rock song, a cover even, about the harshness of life, sung and played by a bald techno artist best known for being a wimpy vegan and selling ripped-off gospel songs for commercials.

In more detail, Animal Rights was Moby's attempt to try a new direction, the aforementioned alternative-rock. It was at best boring and pedestrian, and at worst completely laughable. So why do I like this song? Even though it was trashed for being a poor cover of a great song, I've never heard the original song. As such, the cover is actually pretty interesting, sounding like a milder version of one of the recent Nine Inch Nails tracks. Nothing amazing, but still kinda fun.

2. Artist: Insane Clown Posse
Album: Bizaar
Song: "Tilt-a-Whirl"

I should be shot for this one. Insane Clown Posse are in the running for possibly the worst popular musical group ever. They're a pair of white "rappers" from Detroit that dress up like clowns and record songs about killing people, carnivals, sex, and illicit substances, usually in some combination together. The rapping itself is awful, usually more like sing-song rhymes rather than actual performance. Pretty much their entire career is built on ridiculous live shows and a sick sense of humor.

Which is probably why I find "Tilt-a-Whirl" entertaining. Unlike many of their songs, it's not extremely vile or misogynistic. It's still about killing people, just in a very silly way. There's a demonic Tilt-a-Whirl, and it violently kills anyone who rides it, and ICP play the two ride operators making sure the bad people in line make it on the ride first. Really, really stupid, but somehow it's catchy and entertaining, in a train wreck sort of way.

3. Movie: Hudson Hawk

Speaking of train wrecks, here's one of the great examples in cinema. There was a time when Bruce Willis was not one of the great action heroes, a man so tough an entire family of German mercenaries couldn't take him down. No, at one time Bruce Willis was mainly a comedic actor. That's part of the reason he's such a successful actor; he has far more range than most action stars.

However, this experience in comedy and action made him believe he could create a great movie that could combine both elements equally. The movie was Hudson Hawk, and it failed to create anything great. It's the story of the world's greatest cat burglar, Hudson Hawk, who sings, loudly at that, while pulling of intricate heists. He's recruited by the villains to steal artifacts of Da Vinci, which contain a crystal that will...

It's not even worth completing, really. The plot is as bad as the jokes, which are as pathetic as the action sequences. Even Richard Grant can't save the movie. Even worse, some of the violence gets pretty gruesome, making the whole affair seem more mean spirited than necessary. So why do I like it? Because it's so awful, I can't help but be fascinated by the disaster in motion. It's like a guide on how not to make a movie, and thus is both a valuable tool and a good laugh at it's expense.

Stream of Consciousness

Note: I'm tired, behind on sleep, possibly grumpy, definitely loopy, exhausted, and just realizing that I have yet to make a blog post this week. Not usually the first thing on my mind when I have a test in HEL (History of the English Language) and essays and such due. Along with excessive classes. And other random tasks. Anyway, since I've been subjected to Virginia Woolf lately, and I now know why people might be afraid of her, I've decided to inflict the stream of consciousness style on the few people that actually read my blog. If this is somewhere other than my blogger blog, then it's just me deciding to subject everybody to my random thoughts.

Because I'm cruel and unusual. And thus violate at least one amendment. And several international treaties. Anyway, my latest inspiration for exhaustion was the campus coffee house Halloween party I just attended. Halloween kind of snuck up on me this year, with my costume coming together all of 2 days before the festivities. I spent the morning alternating between writing an essay on the theme of T.S. Eliot's play The Glass Menagerie and figuring out the perfect way to recreate blood splatter from battling zombies.

For those wondering, a great way to recreate blood spatter requires only two things, a cheap plastic squirt bottle sold with travel toiletries at most anywhere, and a bottle of realistic looking but not extremely thick fake blood, like the big bottles Wal Mart sells every Halloween for 5 bucks or so. Anyway, take the blood and fill the water bottle to the top. Then, make sure to set the shirt or other object that is about to become blood covered on some surface where, well, bleed through won't cause any damage. This fake blood stuff really leaves a stain.

The rest is just fun. Spray the blood in somewhat of a random pattern, standing a good couple of feet away from the target. Make sure the sprayer is set to a direct jet and not a mist, or things might get misty and messy. Once firing has completed, let the now bloody object dry for several hours.

If you're wondering, all this bloodying was for my costume, Shaun of the Dead. Shaun of the Dead is one of the funniest movies ever, and British to boot. Basically, zombie apocalypse comes to London, and the protagonist Shaun has to survive it while also making up with his girlfriend. It's funny, scary, gorey, and even a wee bit touching, all in one.

The basic costume of Shaun required some improvising but turned out beautifully. I'll probably post pictures once I get them from someone at the party. Anyway, the party itself was fun, though I was plagued by the endless madness and hordes of freshman. Even a cricket bat couldn't fend off their sheer annoyingness. Yes, annoyingness isn't a word, but I'm an English major, so I can invent it. (Note: If any freshman from my college are reading this, I'm probably not talking about you. Maybe. Depending on the weather and the alignment of the planets.) The only thing that made it tolerable was a particularly sarcastic vampiric friend of mine. Having her fellow twisted world view around was about the only thing saving me from madness induced by obnoxious younglings (2 invented words). Well, sinking into some other form of madness. Something more akin to being post-lobotomy, rather than pre-.

And now I'm staring at a stuffed rat sitting on my desk. I should say stuffed animal, as it's green and fuzzy and comes from a crane game. It's a personal addiction, if I think I can win a crane game, I have to play it. Anyway, I was going to take the rat with me to the Halloween party, but it completely slipped my mind as I ran out the door.

Which leads me to the end of the party. We finished with our annual Scary Story Night, which is a recounting of the college's "infamous" tales and the telling of any personal paranormal experiences. Every year I find myself so out of place, since I have no story to tell and find myself internally tearing apart the more ridiculous aspects of stories. I'm an ingrained critic, what can I say? Maybe someday something will change my world view.

Anyway, that was Halloween and my exhausted mind. Maybe I'll be more ready next year. Until then, until tomorrow, until sometime, it's bed time. Sleep sounds beautiful, with or without haunted dreams.

Blood, Guts, and Transvestites

Halloween has arrived, and thus its time for people of all ages across the country to scare themselves silly. Haunted Houses open across the land, pumpkins are mutilated in various ways, and the college campus is overwhelmed by paranoid ghost stories. I’ve made it a goal to add at least another 3 of them to the local canon. And I’m sure I can get plenty of people to believe them.

Possibly the most popular way to induce scares and get into the spirit of the holiday is cinema. Horror movies have long been a staple of Hollywood, ever since the days when Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff terrorized audiences as classic monsters like Dracula and the Mummy. Over the years, Horror has become a goldmine for the movie industry, with a never-ending audience. As long as there are young people willing to pay 8 bucks to be scared, there will be horror movies.

Since they’re so readily successful, no matter what the quality, most scary movies these days are of dubious quality. And by dubious quality, I mean they’re absolutely atrocious. Currently, most of these movies fall into two categories. They’re either movies that scare the audience by things constantly jumping out and going “Boo!,” or they wallow in a sewer of gore, leaving the audience feeling dirty and needing some theater equivalent of air-sickness bags. Saw IV is the latest in the latter category of movies and has become a new Halloween tradition, at least for Hollywood.

These movies will continue to come out like clockwork, the occasional good, but mostly the bad and gruesomely ugly. For those tired of this endless stream of mediocrity, or those just looking for another good scare, here is a list of some classic movies befitting any Halloween.


1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)
Subjected to a far inferior re-make a few years ago, the original Chainsaw Massacre is still one of the landmark films in horror cinema. The entire proceedings resemble some twisted home movie, as seemingly innocuous individuals are subjected to increasingly horrifying situations. The amateur level of acting simply adds to the atmosphere, making things seem just a little too real.

The “monsters” of the movie spawned a long string of imitators. The family of cannibalistic maniacs, headed by the mute, chainsaw wielding Leatherface, makes for unsettling viewing even when they’re not preparing people for dinner. The infamous dinner scene is still one of the most disturbing and terrifying moments in film, and all without a single drop of gore within sight.


2. Silence of the Lambs
Not traditionally considered a horror movie, this is another tale of cannibals and killers that will disturb anyone with an open mind. A mind that can be served with fava beans and a nice Chianti. Anthony Hopkins plays his most famous role as serial killer Hannibal Lecter, a man who balances culture and psychosis. He’s not even the villain, leaving the main attraction to Buffalo Bill, a man who takes cross-dressing to horrifying new levels.

The film is a staple of pop culture and infinitely referenced, but it still has the same impact it did over a decade ago. Skins still crawl whenever Hannibal makes his famous slurping noise.


3. Rocky Horror Picture Show
So it’s cheating a bit. Rocky Horror Picture Show is not horrifying in any traditional sense. However, any movie that features Tim Curry in drag and encourages random people to do likewise is at least a little disturbing and unnerving.

If you’re in college and haven’t heard of Rocky Horror, you’re a pitiful virgin. And I don’t mean in the sense of not having sex. The film is one of the greatest group experiences in movies, being a ridiculous musical about a transvestite named Frankfurter who creates the perfect man while also entertaining, and seducing, a young couple. It’s the most popular midnight movie ever, with a cult following devoted to dressing like their favorite characters, shouting out comments, and throwing props during the film.

This list should provide a starting point for any Halloween movie fest. These aren’t the only good Halloween movies out there, and even the bad ones can provide some great unintentional humor. It doesn’t really matter what you watch, as long as you embrace one of the greatest holidays, when grown men and women can dress up any way they want and not receive dirty looks.

Album Review: †

French techno is a genre that screams annoying and pretentious. The name itself evokes images of bored looking people standing in a dank club, clutching half-finished cigarettes, listening to some repetitive beat interrupted with the occasional random hiccough in the sequence every hour or so. Music that is nothing close to danceable unless the listeners are under the influence of some illicit substances. And nothing you’d want to listen to outside of a dance club.

The French techo duo Justice obliterates any such notions. Having already found
success abroad with remixes and collaborations, the duo released its first album, comprised of both brand new material and previously released singles. The album is simply titled †, called Cross for those who don’t like using cryptic symbols. While some songs have biblically epic names, the music is definitely not some wimpy Christian rock. This is hardcore dance that will obliterate eardrums.

The album starts with the appropriately titled “Genesis,” a song that has a stuttering start, just enough to fill the dance floor, before it takes off. The rest of the album barely stops for rest, sequenced so that every song bleeds into the next, leaving 48 minutes straight of music. Highlights include “Let There Be Light,” “Phantom,” “Phantom Pt. II,” and “Stress.” “D.A.N.C.E” is the potential crossover hit of the record, being a tribute to Michael Jackson that sounds like a spiritual remix of a long lost Jackson 5 single.

Almost the entire album is instrumental, but the lack of vocals is to the records advantage. The sounds themselves are metallic, loud, driving, and energetic. Lyrics would only get in the way of the music. This becomes obvious on the one song with proper vocals, “Tthhee Ppaarrttyy,” which is the low point of the album. It drops the speed to a near halt, and includes some of the most benign rapping heard in ages.

The record soon recovers its energy, however, and powers on through the last few songs. It’s an exhilarating rush that will make anyone ready to dance, even those who don’t appreciate techno. While maybe not a religious experience, † is still a thrill.

4 out of 5

Despoilment of My Childhood, Take 2

Comic books, the cornerstone of any geeky youth. I (vaguely) remember the days when I would eagerly buy any comic book I could afford, usually either something Marvel or one of many random titles. I was actually pretty young when I stopped caring about comic books and started reading slightly more challenging fair (I read a novel by paleontologist Robert Bakker when I was in elementary school. Raptor Red, a really strange book if I remember correctly.) Anyway, still, comic books proved a valuable part in the first growing spurts of my love of reading.

Thus, when I came across one of my forgotten favorite websites, I found my childhood once again laid waste. Sort of.

May I present, SuperDickery.com

I say sort of, because most comics featured on the website come from before I was even born. However, it's still one of the most hilarious websites on the internet. Comic books are naturally bizarre, but sometimes the weirdness exceeds itself into hilarity. The website started by showing old Superman comics where Superman was being, well, a dick. The site has expanded to cover other randomness in old comics, including war propaganda and unintentional corrupting of the youth. The war propaganda is especially interesting for history buffs, as it really shows both the national attitude during past wars and some of the sheer racism exhibited (watch for the character named "Whitewash.")

What follows are some choice examples from the site. There's a wealth more to be found on the site itself, so please go and enjoy laughing at the absurdity of it all. (Comments with pictures are taken from the website as well.)

"Superman's Catholic?"

" Having them mention boner once or twice is mildly funny. But the fact
that they just kept on saying it made me shoot Coca-Cola out my nose."

Rage Against the Machine (of Low Prices)

Ah, Wal-Mart. My eternal foe. Whenever I feel there is something wrong in the world, Wal-Mart is always somewhere on my list of scapegoats. It could be a plague in Malaysia, but somehow, Wal-Mart must be connected. They're just that evil. Or maybe I'm just that delusional.

Anyway, one of my continuous rants about Wal-Mart is there policy on music. As a reaction to the creation of the parental advisory label, Wal-Mart made it a company policy to never stock music labeled explicit, requiring all such music be edited for content before they would carry it. Thus, for years I've been forced to spend far more money at other stores or travel long distances just to find the same cd my local Wal-Mart carries, because the Wal-Mart copy has been edited to ribbons. They'll sell R rated movies filled with sex and violence, but a record says one too many naughty words and its banned from the store.

That's my standard music rant. However, today I found myself further frustrated by a specific Wal-Mart, my college's local Wal-Mart. The music section is so pitiful that for the last month I have not been able to find a single new release that I know my home town store carries. Further, Wal-Mart is the only place in town that actually sells new music, with the next closest place being a 40 minute drive away. So, someone who tries to blog about music and writes about music for the school newspaper is left with no decent avenues to get new music.

Did I mention I hate Wal-Mart?

Random Thoughts #3

1. If I had a cd for every random musical style and genre, I'd have music for years. Genres and styles have little to no meaning, with the same band often labeled dozens of different things depending on which critic is writing, which fan is gushing, or which detractor is complaining.

I understand this completely, and know to be wary of those labels. But I still find myself enticed by the briefest mention of certain genres. If someone says a song is a Krautrock homage, I suddenly have to listen to that song. And the weird thing is, I really don't even listen to Krautrock. I don't even own a Kraftwerk album. Yet I'm listening to the Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Animal Bar" because the song is supposed to be imitating Krautrock. I confuse myself so much.

2. I did link to Wikipedia in the previous thought, but to those wondering, Krautrock is a term applying to bands that came from a certain musical scene in Germany in the 60s and 70s. It was based on heavy use of electronic instruments and repetitive beats to create "rock" music that was both coldly robotic yet still interesting and beautiful. And also very danceable if slightly remixed.

The leaders, and most well-known, of this genre were/are Kraftwerk, who had an obsession with bicycles and robots. They often even sent perfect replica dummies in place of themselves for many things. Their song "Tour de France" is probably the best song ever about a bicycle race.

3. Music fans are incredibly ungrateful. Now that the previously mentioned Radiohead album has been available online for a day, a certain group of fans have begun complaining about the slightly reduced sound quality. They get the newest Radiohead album for free months before it'll even be available in stores, and yet they still complain like they've been injured somehow.

Looking. Gift Horse. Mouth.

The Revolution (and Rainbows) Will Be Downloaded

Today is a big day for music. Why? Because Radiohead releases it's new album. Now that would be important enough, as a Radiohead album is always an interesting event for the world of music. But it's especially interesting because the album is available online. From them. For any price you wish. And yes, this includes the price of $0.00.

There is a caveat, of course. The album isn't the greatest sound quality in the world, due to the file size, but it's still supposedly perfectly listenable. Only the true audiophiles will be that disturbed, and they can wait for the physical album release sometime early next year.

Still, this is a revolutionary move. One of the biggest bands on the planet releasing an album for any price including free, with no record label attached. It's pretty much embracing the fact that people will download the album illegally to preview it before they spend the money for their own copy. It should be interesting to see if this makes any impact at all upon how albums are released, if there will be any imitators, or if this experiment will fail miserably.

Either way, cheap/free Radiohead!: "Purchase" the Album

Note: The website is running a bit slow, mostly because people from across the planet are flooding it to download the album. I'm surprised it's holding up this well, really.

Random Thoughts #2

1. It's odd how I can completely forget I bought an album and liked it, but never really listened to it, until someone or something sparks interest in it again. Last night a friend ecstatically borrowed all of the My Chemical Romance cds while at our campus coffee house, and someone then proceeded to start playing The Black Parade on their laptop. It really is a fun album, and I'm re-listening to it finally.

2. In a related note, Teenagers don't scare the living shit out of me, but they do make me point and laugh. Especially when I walk by a Hot Topic in the mall. I've never seen so much money spent to look dark, grungey, or retro. And yet I still go in the place, for some reason. There's always the clearance rack, I guess.

3. There is no 3. Except there is, therefore the previous statement is false. Which would mean there is no 3, which would mean that statement is true, which would mean....

I really shouldn't try and think while I'm still technically sick.

I'm not dead yet....

Complete inactivity on the blog for about a week usually signifies laziness and indifference. Even though I'm nigh constantly guilty of these two things, for once I have an honest excuse. I was temporarily incapacitated by major illness, including fever, chills, exhaustion, aches, and a sore throat that felt like rusty nails were being shoved down it every time I swallowed. It was probably divine vengeance for something I've done, though I continue to blame the cafeteria food.

For once in my life I actually listened to common sense and decided to visit a doctor. This decision was spurred by the loss of my voice and the increase or pain level to rusty and searing hot nails being shoved down my throat. The doctor fit the mold of our little town's fanaticism perfectly. I was sick, I'm a college student, thus, I must have mono. I was even subjected to a blood test for mono, meaning needles, the bane of my existence. This all would have been unnecessary if he would have read the strep throat test closer, as the nurses eventually did.

Thus, I was finally diagnosed successfully with a particularly nasty case of strep throat. Seriously, the nurse who first checked my throat was doing that thing with other nurses where she tries to outdo them with the worst thing she's seen, and my throat was her latest example. Anyway, I received a prescription for penicillin and was sent home. That was it. Penicillin. No pain killers, no magic throat spray, nothing to help with the whole hot-knives-down-throat thing. The joys of modern medicine.

Anyway, its day five for the strep throat, and I'm finally feeling close to normal. Still exhausted, but that's nothing new anyway. And if I ever do get mono, I know I'll be well taken care of apparently.

In a Metal Mood

Forced to make an emergency trip home due to a slightly suicidal laptop, I found myself yesterday with no ability to make my usual random mixes for long boring drives. These mixes contain the most bizarre transitions possible, creating a jarring mixture of every genre I can think of. Without such a mix, I often find myself falling asleep during the more repetitive parts of the drive. And when the entire drive is composed of highway nothingness and flight farmland, the repetitive part is the entire drive.

However, I discovered my saving grace while searching through the random cds hanging around my dorm room. Metal. Or more specifically, super fast scumbag thrash-until-your-ears-bleed metal. It's the perfect accompaniment to driving, keeping a nice fast tempo that matches the speed of the car while being loud and obnoxious enough to keep a narcoleptic awake.

In tribute to remembering this saving grace for the road, here are three bands to look for if you need something for those long drives.

1. Metallica- Alright, so picking one of top three metal bands ever, at least in popularity, is a bit obvious, but still it has to be said. Take anything from their first, Kill 'Em All through the Black Album, Metallica. After that, things start to get a bit iffy, slow, and occasionally boring, which is the last thing anyone needs while trying to stay awake on the road.

2. Megadeth- To those who know of metal but aren't really fans, Megadeth can seem like the K-Mart to Metallica's Wal Mart. They're mainstream and have a large fan base, but they seem to be the lesser of the two, with a lead singer who's a Metallica alumni. However, Megadeth is probably even faster than Metallica, more ridiculous and therefore more fun, and also have some awesome songs. "Peaces Sells...," "Symphony of Destruction," and "Hangar 18" are incredible.

3. DragonForce- A more recent pick, these guys take pride in how fast they play. The drumming sounds more like heavy automatic weaponry rather than any kind of instrument. Of course, there's also the disadvantage their lyrics sound like Dungeons and Dragons rejects, with more over-the-top fantasy and falsetto singing than anyone could reasonably desire. However, if you ignore the lyrics, the playing is amazing and the songs are energizing. And anyway, sometimes driving on the highway with semi-trucks and bad drivers feels like an epic life-or-death battle.

There is plenty more metal music out there (Sepultura is amazing, but South American death metal is a little too much for most people), and plenty more music that's perfect for driving. Anyone else have any particular favorites for the road?

Review: Era Vulgaris

The release of every Queens of the Stone Age album brings some level of mystery. It’s impossible to tell what exactly the new album will sound like, as all of them have featured a change in musical style. Starting with the repetitive but efficient rock of their self-titled debut, their songs have explored new ideas expanding the boundaries of what can be called “hard rock.”

Era Vulgaris, their latest album, is supposedly their dance album. It leads off with “Turnin’ on the Screw,” a track that is too weird for dancing. Instead, it revels in Silence of the Lambs while grinding to a slow industrial beat. First single“Sick, Sick, Sick” points towards the dance direction with a breakneck punk pace that retains that new industrial sound.

The next couple songs and the last few fly completely off the rails and seem to each explore their own musical territory. “I’m Designer” mates drums and guitar that sound schizophrenic to lyrics bashing youthful apathy, while “Into the Hollow” and “Suture Up Your Future” are gorgeous songs of dark longing.

However, it’s the middle of the album where the dance party really occurs. “Misfit Love” and “Battery Acid” are industrial punk metal dance songs, creating one of the world’s weirdest new genres. They’re propulsive, loud, and simply fun. “Make It Wit Chu” is the slow dance, a slow boogie rhythm that makes no attempts to disguise what its really asking for.

Although the last few songs of the album are too exploratory for their own good, the album as a whole proves to be another awesome addition to the Queens of the Stone Age’s catalogue.

5 out of 5

Random Thoughts #1

1. Indie record labels are thoroughly amazing. Not because of the music, but because they give you tons of free stuff. I'm going to make this point in an article I'll get around to eventually, but this week's haul was particularly amazing. From one cd and one vinyl single I ordered online, I received about 5 stickers, several cool tiny mini-posters, and a free promotional vinyl single from some artist I've never heard of. Remember, order indie!

2. It's amazing how much a cd can brighten someone's day. I let a friend of mine borrow my British copy of Era Vulgaris by Queens of the Stone Age, and he was so excited he called me out on his campus radio show the next morning and played one of their songs dedicated to me. Brings on the ole' warm fuzzy feelings.

3. Apparently Zack de la Rocha has finally finished his solo album. I'm expecting it'll actually get released right after Axel Rose completes "Chinese Democracy." I.e., right after never, and right before not going to happen. Of course, I'm a pessimist sometimes.

Sublime Songs: "Black Friday Rule"

The Song: "Black Friday Rule"
The Artist: Flogging Molly
The Album: Swagger

"Celtic punk" is one of those musical combinations that should be horrendous, but somehow works brilliantly. Maybe because the music of Ireland, even when gentle or beautiful, has always possessed a strong sense of rebellion and freedom, much like punk rock. The Pogues are the standard bearers for celtic music with punk attitude, while The Dropkick Murphys play punk rock with a strong sense of their Irish heritage. Flogging Molly has always tread the line in-between the two, and "Black Friday Rule" is their ultimate anthem about belonging to two different tribes.

At 7 minutes and one second, it is unusually long for a punk song, but not excessively so. Still, on the extended live version released on the Whiskey on a Sunday album, lead singer Dave King quips once finished, "I don't know about you bastards, but I grew about five years fucking older during that song." The song works so well at its length because it allows the band to explore their entire sound, from punk fury to celtic beauty and back again.

The entire song feels like a journey, which fits the lyrics so well. The song speaks of a mournful departure from native Ireland to strange California, in search of oppurtunities and jobs no longer available "in the old free state." Flogging Molly covers many classic Irish tunes, and though original, Black Friday Rule feels like it belongs with those great songs. The theme of departure and stubborn survival are universal while the sound could inspire a teetotaler to raise a pint of lager.

Download the song from iTunes:

Further Despoilment of My Childhood

Parental Advisory: For extreme animated violence against villagers, puppies, and kittens.

I was raised a child of Disney. My favorite movies were Disney movies, many of my favorite characters are Disney characters, I longed for the Disney channel when we only got back cable, and I dreamed constantly about the next trip to Disney World. Even to this day, I love Disney for its history and imagination, and can't wait to see Ratatouille when it comes out on DVD. And I'm still a little disappointed I never got to Disneyland Paris when I was in England for the summer.

So why have I tagged this with a parental advisory? Well, in my random journeys through the internet, i.e. my wasting time so I don't have to read literature, I came across a video that wonderfully violated a classic Disney movie. Set to the tune of the Little Mermaid's "Part of Your World," "Slaughter Your World" follows an evil undead being as it slaughters an entire town of villagers in the most graphic of ways while joyfully singing all the way. Its all animated and tongue-in-cheek, so nothing too graphic, but it is completely hilarious. Especially since I never liked Little Mermaid much anyway, much preferred the older Disney Princess movies like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. I mean, at least Sleeping Beauty had a giant dragon as the ultimate threat, rather than a narcissitic octopus woman.....

Anyway, I digress horribly. Without further ado, here is "Slaughter Your World":

The King is Dead, Long Live the Prince

Music is filled with royalty and titles. Elvis was the King of Rock and Roll, James Brown was the Godfather of Soul, and Solomon Burke is the King of Rock and Soul. Unlike real titles, however, these titles are not handed down upon death or disgrace. So, I see its time for a coup against one of the longstanding music nobility. The King of Pop must abdicate his crown, and let (the) Prince take up the throne.

Michael Jackson and Prince were electrifying opposing forces in the 80s, providing a musical rivalry comparable to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Though Prince never lacked in success, Michael Jackson took greater success and the King of Pop title in the end. Both artists seemed poised to continue their brilliance through the 90s and into the next century.


The rest of the story everyone knows. Both artists went completely nuts, and their careers seemed over. In this aspect, Prince's insanity seemed more interesting. He seemed tortured by conflicts of faith, freedom, sex, love, and creative control, bubbling over into wars with his record label, disavowing his name, and generally acting really strange. Michael Jackson, on the other hand, overdid the plastic surgery, became obsessed with young children, and spent too much money. I'm sure you could find a few guys like that in every county prison.

Michael Jackson has steadily grown more bizarre, and his musical output ceased completely. Which isn't such a bad thing, since his last album was a complete disaster with more time probably spent on the music videos than on the music. No new albums, no new live performances, and backstabbing moves like stealing The Beatles' catalogue out from under an actual Beatle all show that Michael Jackson has abused his power and position.

It is time to recognize our mistake and give the title of King of Pop to he who is truly deserving, Prince. Although his musical output in recent years has ranged from great to relatively uninspired, he is still extremely prolific and releases albums in unique ways, such as with concert tickets and the infamous Daily Mail giveaway. Prince's greatest achievement is that he remains possibly the greatest live performer in the world, selling out the largest venues and receiving rave reviews. He even managed to put on an amazing show at the Super Bowl, after years of aging rock stars phoning it in and young stars lip syncing their hits. Prince's music even holds up better, with mature and controversial themes like social disorder, religion, and sex, not just the mostly harmless dance songs like Jackson's.

It is time for Prince to become the one and only King of Pop. Viva la revolucion!

Sublime Songs: "O'Malley's Bar"

The Song: "O'Malley's Bar"
The Artist: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
The Album: Murder Ballads

Johnny Cash summed up his musical influences when he released a box set entitled "Love, God, Murder." Add an obsession with the nature of evil, and you pretty much have Nick Cave's musical output as well. Especially with his collective The Bad Seeds, he has meditated on all of these three topics through three decades of dark, theatrical alternative-rock. On Murder Ballads, Cave set out to master one of his obsessions with an album containing one of the highest body counts in music.

The epic centerpiece of the album is "O'Malley's Bar," 14 minutes and 28 seconds of sheer carnage. The song is essentially the ending of a novel without the rest of the story. A lone man enters a bar, orders a drink, and then proceeds to murder everyone inside, providing detailed narration of all his actions. He provides no explanation or reasons, but its obvious the man has deranged spiritual inspiration, often referring to his "wings" and lack of free will in-between snide remarks about his victims.

There are two things that save the song from being intolerably bleak and unsettling. First, Nick Cave is a master of dark humor, and its here in abundance. Punch lines are set up and completed a minute later, while the narrator/murderer switches between elegant and vulgar without missing a beat. The other wonderful part is the music itself, a piano led tune that takes back seat to the narrative, but still manages to create an almost danceable barroom shuffle. It sounds like a song that might be played in an O'Malley's, at least before everyone died. Altogether, its a brash achievement, a 14 minute long song that never grows boring or less shocking.

Sympathy for the Independent: Vincent Black Shadow

My favorite author is Hunter Thompson. I may never be able to give a favorite director, movie, musical artist, song or album, but I can easily name my favorite author. Hunter Thompson was insane, cared nothing for what people thought, but managed to write some of the most insane and truthful journalism while under the influence of copious illegal substances.

Thus, when I found a band named after one of Hunter's great obsessions, the Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle, I was ecstatic. It was serendipity, fate that I would find this band, who sounded so much like what one of Thompson's acid trips must have been like. It was perfect. Until I realized there were two bands named Vincent Black Shadow.

The one I'm not talking about is The Vincent Black Shadow, due to the fact that they're:
A. More well known
B. Goth/Punk/Cabaret

Really, if you're going to pick a weird genre, do something that wasn't played out by a single band, The Dresden Dolls, over only two albums. In truth, I've never listened to this Vincent Black Shadow, but when a band has promotional photos like this:

I tend to be wary. Anyway, they aren't the point of this article, so let's move along.


Now this:
This is a band worthy of a Hunter Thompson reference. The other Vincent Black Shadow doesn't need a "The" attached to their name. If there was a "The", one of their songs probably disintegrated it. These guys are loud and brutal listening, but in the good way. Though hailing from Baltimore, Maryland, VBS sound like they belong to the same desolation in the desert that spawned Kyuss, Queens of the Stone Age, and Nick Oliveri (See nude bass playing).

They've released one self-titled album with only 8 tracks, but every single one sounds energized and deranged. VBS cite Iggy Pop as their sole musical influence, and it shows. They sound alternatively like vintage Stooges and aforementioned stoner rockers Kyuss. The singer sounds like he gargles battery acid every morning, and the music is disorienting and bottom heavy. Dumb, unpracticed, and a lot of fun.

Though definitely not for everyone, Vincent Black Shadow are a wonderful treat for those of us with calloused ears. They're currently on Heartbreakbeat Records, who are so small they don't have much more than a website and a cool name. VBS plan on releasing a new album within the year, and they're current one is still available online, with a limited pressing of only 1000 cds. Get them while they're still available:

Heartbreakbeat's Mail Order Page: http://www.heartbreakbeatrecords.com/mailorder.htm
Vincent Black Shadow's MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/vbskicksoutthejams

Thoughts of a dying hypochondriac

As I find myself overwhelmed by some immense level of stress, caused by my decision to take on a suicidal number of classes and responsibilities, I finding that I'm sure, completely sure, that I must be dying. At least on the verge of death. I may not have any fancy proof or doctor mumbo-jumbo, but I do have a sore stomach, exhaustion, and don't sleep very well. Sure, some might say it's a combination of the aforementioned stress and a changing diet. I prefer to anticipate my imminent demise.

Specifically, I have lived with the constant belief that my appendix is constantly on the verge of bursting. No matter if my stomach feels sore, bruised, shook, or the pain is on my right or left (you never know, organs might switch sides), I take every discomfort as a shocking sign that my body has a ticking time bomb ready to explode. I should know better, I do know better, but I always manage to scare myself, at least for a moment, and think that I'm in mortal danger.

Why do we do this to ourselves? It's not a cry for attention, acting like some deluded character from a Jane Austen book. Much of these hypochondriac tendencies, I think those of many people, are personal foibles and fears, not public spectacles. Maybe we all enjoy the little rush that comes from momentarily facing some (imagined) grave danger, seeing our mortality for it's (somewhat) true nature, and want to feel it however possible. Or maybe we're just a nation of worriers who need something to induce a little personal panic. If the news on televisiton is any indication, the latter is probably more true...

1, 2, 1-2-3-4

First entries are like breaking up, they're hard to do, painful, and quite possibly humiliating and embarrassing to all involved. They're supposed to say something about the writer, but yet not be cliched. Which means you're supposed to do the impossible. What are the options? Basic about me? Boring. Answer a massive list of questions? Too MySpace. Make a list of my favorite 100 things? Most readers will probably get to #23, cute puppies and dressing them up, and either thoroughly tune-out or become a little disturbed.

Which means first entries should be a non-entity, something ignored, treated as if they never existed. Start the blog sixty entries in, even. Refer to content that never existed. That way, not only do you avoid the work of developing a blog, but you also gain instant authority on topics. If anyone asks where the missing posts are, simply act like they're simply too stupid to understand your blog and dismiss their opinions.

Upon reviewing this, it seems I have violated my own advice. I have written a first entry. Welcome to the personal Hell of the creators of the internet: yet another in an endless stream of directionless blogs. Beware all ye who enter here. And bring plenty of tea.