Art - 2023

Here are a few of my paintings from this year. It's only a fraction of the work I did, but perhaps by this time next year I'll want to share more.

"Incoming"

acrylic on canvas 

2023

"Spirit/Fractal"

acrylic on canvas

2023

"Year of the Rabbit" 

acrylic on canvas 

Jan. 2023

"The Candyman" 

acrylic on canvas 

2023

This? This goofy pink bastard gave me fits. First of all, that nose was a real bitch. How do you paint a nose that resembles a buttplug that's supposed to look like a nose? 

My inspiration was the packaging for Cosmic Candy, a discontinued Pop Rocks-type confection from my childhood. To my delight, around the time I was working on this painting, I discovered that there's a trippy foreign film of the same name that centers around a benzo popping neurotic with an obsession for the titular candy. 

I'll write more about that in the near future. Trust me, it's a whole thing.

IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!

Behold, my Spotify Wrapped! Yes, that brilliant marketing gimmick that gives us all an opportunity to do a little navel-gazing, and I'm here for it.

My genre sandwich for 2023 (on multi-grain bread, natch):

Top 5 artists: 

My top song is no surprise to me, since I've been playing it at least once a day since its release:

Speaking of.....

More selections from my Top 20: 

You know how once in a while an artist comes along that makes you think, "Holy shit, I must now listen to everything they've ever recorded?" This year Noah Kahan (see above) was that artist for me. His catalog does not disappoint; he's like the love child of Paul Simon and John Prine, if such a union were possible.

Psst, wanna guess the Velveeta in my Indie/Classic Rock/Country/New Wave/Indie Pop sandwich? Buried way down my Top 100 playlist, number 82 to be exact....

You don't have to guess, I've got it circled. Hey, if digging the occasional hair metal power ballad is wrong, I don't want to be right. 

 "Something is fucky on this planet." 

That Love Has Won documentary is entertaining in a trainwreck kind of way. It's the story of a cult started by a former McDonalds manager--Amy Carlson, a.k.a Mother God--which, I had no idea a basic middle-aged white bitch could start a cult; I thought you had to be of east Indian descent to get people to buy into your woo-woo guru claptrap bullshit. I guess I haven't been paying attention. 

Really though, the best thing about a cult that considers Robin Williams a divine messenger is that they seriously consider Robin Williams a divine messenger, leading to many moments of unintentional hilarity. 

"We have another message for you disgusting bitches and assholes from Robin Williams." 

 ---One of the Love Has Won cult members addressing viewers on a livestream

Also, there's a scene that could be straight out of a Mr. Show sketch. It's a clip where Mother God's minions are sitting around the living room doing a livestream, looking all glum-faced while their dear leader is heard raging in the background like a disturbed toddler. Then one of them speaks up and explains: 

"I have taken Mother's joy by making her the worst quesadilla in all of creation."

Yeah, I'm totally incorporating that sentiment into my everyday life. 

"Dear, you took my joy by not turning on the poop fan in the bathroom after you dropped a deuce." 

The possibilities are endless.

Back to the Robin Williams thing, though. Now, I might be able to buy the dude as some enlightened soul based on his performances in films like Dead Poets Society, Fisher King, The World According to Garp, Good Will Hunting, et cetera. But being an actor with a pretty varied filmography, he made some absolute stinkers, too. Was he a holy messenger in the crappy Hugh Grant comedy Nine Months, for example? 

Yeah, I'm not feeling it. 

Anyway, the documentary is broken up into a three-part series and it's now available on Max, if you're into that kind of thing. It's really....ehrm....something. 

  

 HALLOWEEN QUICKIE 

In honor of Halloween (or Samhain if you're old school Gaelic), I thought I'd pay tribute to a few horror films that scared the pants off me over the years. 

FRIDAY THE 13th (any of the early installments, but particularly Part II)

I wasn't seeing these in the theater as a kid, because I was only like seven years old when the first one was released. But then around 1981 something awesome happened, and my parents and every other family in our neighborhood got premium cable (including HBO, natch), so of course we young'uns were forever trying to sneak glimpses of forbidden R-rated flicks like the raunchy teen comedy Porky's and any and all of the gory slasher flicks that movie studios were cranking out at the time. And the undisputed Mack Daddy of all '80s splatter fests was definitely Friday the 13th. 

My favorite memory of this film was in the summer of 1982 (yeah, I don't know why I have a freakish memory for dates, I just do) and I was over at Ridley and Rianne's house, the next door neighbor kids I was tight with. It was also the summer I was finally allowed to play outside after dinner, which was a HUGE deal to me at the time. Anyhoo, Ridley and Rianne had a babysitter one night--Joe P--a teenager who lived in the house behind us. Yes, people hired teenage boys to babysit back then; parents of Gen Xers were chill like that (plus everyone knew everything about everyone in our 'hood, another hallmark of that era). Personally, I thought Joe was super cute and I was a bit jealous several years later when I heard from my Mom that he'd gotten engaged. Maybe I thought somewhere in the back of my mind I'd have a chance with him one day, because that's how teen girls think. But whatever. 

So I was hanging at Ridley and Rianne's that evening, and since their parents were off at a fondue restaurant or a key party or whatever hip '80s parents did on their nights out, the three of us kids tuned in to HBO to try to catch us some Friday the 13th Part II while Joe was preoccupied with a phone call (probably chatting up some girl). It was the part in the movie where a female camp counselor goes skinny dipping alone in the lake at night (as you do), and a male camp counselor happens by and takes the opportunity to steal her clothes. The skinny dipper chick climbs out of the lake butt naked to chase the guy through the woods (as you do), then the dude steps into a rope trap that snatches him up and he's hanging there upside down from a tree when the girl catches up to him and she's all, "You prick, why'd you steal my clothes? Oh, you're caught in a trap. Hold on, I'll go find something sharp to cut you down with." And the girl wanders off into the darkness and the guy is hanging there like a slab of beef and that's when Joe finally notices what we're watching, and he's like "Hey you little shits, turn that off! These two are about to get killed. Believe me, you DO NOT want to see it." And the three of us beg to differ--we kind of do want to see it but we're also more than a little freaked out by the whole scene, so we turn off the movie and Joe sends us outside. So we're sitting on the driveway and it's just beginning to get dark, and we're of course discussing the skinny dipping and the guy hanging upside down in the trap and the almost-killing we just saw, i.e. "How do you think the killer gets them?" et cetera.

Then suddenly from out of the near-darkness, a wadded-up candy wrapper whizzes by our heads and the three of us shriek and jump about eight feet into the air. We turn to see Joe standing behind us, laughing his ass off. Ah, Joe. What a loveable scamp you were.

Epilogue: Years later I watched the film in its entirety and finally learned how Jason Voorhees offed the clothes stealing guy and the skinny dipping girl. It was gross, but strangely anti-climactic. In my mind, I think I'd built it up to be something pants-shittingly horrific, when really it was just a run-of-the-mill, slasher-flick knifing for both of them.

That said, the theatrical trailer still gives me the willies: 

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS

Yes, it's the original "The calls are coming from inside the house!" babysitter movie, and it fucking terrified me back in the day. It's got some odd pacing though, because the really messed up shit happens during the first 20 or so minutes of the film, and then it turns into sort of a police detective thriller, then ramps back up again in the final 10 minutes. But as a kid who did a lot of babysitting between ages 12 and 17, When a Stranger Calls scared me shitless, yet I never missed it when it was on TV. 

One time I was around 16 years old and at the home of the Walkers, some family friends that I babysat for frequently whenever I was home from boarding school. I put their young son to bed and I was channel surfing when I came across WaSC, and made the ill-advised decision to go ahead and watch it, even though I knew damn well how much it freaked me out. (Did I mention it was late at night and the Walkers' living room had several large windows? Yeah.) So I watched the whole movie, got predictably spooked, then when it was over.....the telephone rang. I sat there on the couch for a minute, thinking how fucked up it would be if I answered the phone and no one was there. I answered it anyway though, because--duh--it was 1989, caller ID didn't exist yet, I was the babysitter, and therefore expected to answer the phone. So I picked up the receiver, said "Hello," and....dead air.

Dun, dun, DUN!  

Spoiler alert: I'm still alive to tell the tale, obvs, and so is the Walkers' (now 36 year old) son. Still, the asshole who called and hung up on me that night? Fuck you, whoever you are.

CARNIVAL OF SOULS

Damn, I love this one so much. LOVE. IT. 

It's not exactly horror movie sort of scary; it's more Twilight Zone-esque, which--truth be told--is my favorite kind of scary. If you haven't seen it....for God's sakes, why not? 

None of the trailers do it justice. The film is BRILLIANT. 

One of my favorite bits of trivia: Sidney Berger, the actor who plays John the creepy neighbor, ended up having a long and distinguished career as a theater director and drama professor at the University of Houston. He died in 2013, and by all accounts was a real sweetheart of a guy. 

Read his obit here. 

But go watch Carnival of Souls first. 

Well I wanted to make this list longer, but I procrastinated and now I'm all out of time, kids. Time to go put on my costume and get spooky! 

  

 Sinead was just a badass.

I agree with this statement from Moz. He is 100% correct. The music industry and the media treated Sinead like absolute dogshit, and then one day she's gone and immediately we are waist-deep in sniveling, insincere, bullshit "tributes" from the same people and corporate entities that mocked, degraded, and dismissed her while she was alive. 

So I won't go there. I'll just say that Sinead O'Connor was a true artist and a genuine feminist, and how fortunate everyone--particularly Gen Xers who grew up with her music and her no-fucks-given, THIS-is-how-you-stage-a-fucking-protest badassery--was to have her around, unapologetically pissing off the mainstream, and doing her thing on her own terms.

I remember the Bob Dylan tribute concert in 1992, taped shortly after Sinead's infamous appearance on SNL. The show was an all-star event featuring (among others) Tom Petty, Eddie Vedder, John Mellencamp, Tracy Chapman, Willie Nelson, June Carter Cash and Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Chrissie Hynde, Sinead O'Connor, and of course Dylan himself. It was a concert to celebrate Dylan's 30 years in the music industry (which is funny to think of; while it's certainly a milestone, 30 years doesn't seem as long now as it did back then). 

My Mom taped the concert when it aired on PBS and we watched it together. It was generally a good show, but the thing that everyone remembers today is Sinead getting booed by the audience when she took the stage for her performance. Mom and I were appalled. We both had the same reaction: WHY THE HELL is an audience at a FUCKING BOB DYLAN SHOW booing an artist for staging a protest? Had they ever heard "Masters Of War," "Chimes of Freedom," "The Times They Are A-Changing".....literally ANYTHING Dylan has ever recorded or performed? Or perhaps they got lost on their way to an Anita Bryant concert? 

Seriously, FUCK that audience, every single one of them. 

   Kris Kristofferson has my undying respect for standing up for her.

But enough about that. Sinead was an amazing artist and deserves to be celebrated for her work, too. 

It's kind of a bummer that "Nothing Compares 2 U" is considered her signature song, when (in my opinion) it's so inferior to everything else she recorded. Take "Mandinka" for instance, which still sounds as fresh and innovative as the first time I saw the video on 120 Minutes back in the late '80s.

"I'm dancing the seven veils, want you to pick up my scarf...."

And this one, from the summer of 1991.
Gorgeous, devastating.
(The video features her firstborn son, Jake.)

But the quintessential Sinead O'Connor song in my mind will always be "Emperor's New Clothes." It was my favorite then, and still my favorite today. It just says it all really, encapsulating her whole career and so many other aspects of her life.

"Everyone can see what's going on.
They laugh 'cause they know they're untouchable,
not because what I said was wrong.
Whatever it may bring,
I will live by my own policies,
I will sleep with a clear conscience,
I will sleep in peace."

***Mic drop.***

 GONNA PUT IT IN THE WANT ADS!

Hot damn, I dig this song. It really "slaps," as the young people say.

Recently I was paging through a couple Rolling Stone issues I held on to from the early nineties. One of them is the July 11, 1991 edition featuring Rod Stewart and Rachel Hunter on the cover (incidentally, I had this cover pinned to my dorm room bulletin board my senior year of high school, alongside a Mickey Rourke calendar--hey, it was 1991).

Early '90s fashion wasn't the best, but I do miss the vibrant colors.

I loathe all the beiges and greys and muted tones of today.
 

The other RS issue I saved from that era is the one with Beavis and Butthead on the cover, dated August 19, 1993, my 20th birthday, thankyouverymuch. 

Yes, I kept this one, too. What can I say? My sense of humor is very refined.

I love vintage Rolling Stone. The interviews, the political commentary, the endless Joe Camel cigarette ads....but my favorite section just might be the classifieds. Man, you could find the goofiest, most random shit in the back of magazines during the pre-internet days. 

Without further ado, here are some of my favorite classified ads compiled from the two issues above.

Putting the "ASS" in Classified! I love that "Lusty audio tales of Good, Clean SIN" 

is listed along with that KNOW GOD PERSONALLY ad. 

Come to think of it, $3.99 seems like quite a bargain 

for a book that promises to "change your life forever." 

More bang for your buck than Dianetics, anyway.

Not sure what the hell ECKANKAR is, but at least their brochure is free.

That's more than you can say for HOT LIVE GIRLS and HOT GAY TALK.

How much do I love that an ad touting "Unfulfilled fantasies explored" 

is listed under the SELF IMPROVEMENT banner? Well, a lot.

BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES! Is it me, or does that address painting turnkey business 

up there sound almost legit? More so than starting your own travel agency at home. 

That one's gotta be a scam.

I'm thinking that you'd have to be pretty bored to call the DIAL-AN-INSULT line.

Like, so bored you're practically dead. 

Of course, it's the PICKING UP GIRLS ad that stands out here. 

"Video with attractive girls revealing secrets and showing you what works!"

"Why should some guys get all the girls!" 

(I am 100% sure 'Cybernetics' is a legitimate business and the girl-getting techniques 

advertised on the video are completely and totally effective. 

Too bad the errant exclamation point ruins its credibility.)

This MISCELLANY section is, like, really miscellaneous. 

Relationship tips, a Grateful Dead hotline (in Crystal Bay, Nevada! Hey, I've been there!), 

a gay dating service, Radio Caroline tapes, 

and WICCAN WISDOM, STRENGTH AND POWER 

from "Gavin & Yvonne." 

There it is, that VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS sticker! 

I ordered one of those and stuck it on the bumper 

of my 1988 Toyota Corolla back in the day. 

Most people who noticed it found the sentiment hilarious, 

but some folks totally didn't get it. 

One lady followed me into a Kroger in Carmel to ask me what it meant. 

I tried to explain the joke....really though, how the hell do you explain it 

to someone who doesn't get the "whirled peas" pun in the first place?

I think I just confused her even more.  

So much to say about this one. First of all, SHIRT NOT CENSORED! 

But if "FUCK" is too risque, you can order the also available, 

PG-rated "SHUT THE HELL UP" version. But why would you? 

Don't half-ass it, dude. The design is in 3-D....whatever that meant 

in the early nineties....so you might as well go balls-to-the-wall, F-bombs away!

Also it comes in NEON, because of course it does! 

Oooh! Here are some even shoddier T-shirt designs! 

BART KILLED KENNEDY (?) and DO THE NASTY.

Also, BEER IS FOOD--BUSH SUCKS--WHO CARES--SHUT UP.

Hey, do you think The Underground T-Shirt Factory is still in business?

'Cause I'm ready to order! 

Okay....I really have no idea. 

I heart explosions? And, uh, waves? 

And SEX. Well, at least that one is clear.

I appreciate the anti-Rush Limbaugh sentiment, but what the hell is that drawing?

Is Rush sucking on a lawn dart? Taking a giant hit off a weirdly shaped bong? 

So many questions. 

But the "This is your cat on crack" shirt? I'd legit wear that. 

It's completely bizarre and no one would get the joke today, but I don't care. 

It's brilliant in its randomness and I must have it.  

IN HONOR OF PRIDE MONTH:
TOM ROBINSON BAND

Tom Robinson Band is the best punk band most Yanks have never heard of. 

Their debut single, the radio-friendly "2-4-6-8 Motorway," peaked at number five on the UK charts in October 1977. This is their appearance on Top of the Pops that same year. 

Note the pink triangle badge on Tom Robinson's shirt. It was a brave statement in 1977, especially on a mainstream primetime show like TotP. But it wasn't just a statement of support for the gay community; it was a declaration of the singer's identity. As the narrator of the band's 1978 documentary quaintly puts it, Tom Robinson "freely admits he is homosexual."  

TRB's next single, "Glad to be Gay," peaked at number 18 in the UK. Wikipedia says the song has been called "Britain's national gay anthem," which is funny because I don't think it's what millennial and Gen Z kids would consider an anthem. The song is slow, acerbic, and angry--not the kind of feel-good "YAAAS QUEEN" sort of thing you get nowadays with Sam Smith and Lizzo--but it only makes it that much more powerful. Would the irony-deficient youngsters of today agree? 

But their best song, "Power in the Darkness," goes even further. In the documentary (posted below, see part 3 for this particular clip) there is an epic live performance of this track:

Power in the darkness
Frightening lies from the other side
Power in the darkness
Stand up and fight for your rights 

Freedom, we're talking 'bout your freedom
Freedom to choose what you do with your body
Freedom to believe what you like
Freedom for brothers to love one another
Freedom for black and white
Freedom from harassment, intimidation
Freedom for the mother and wife
Freedom from Big Brother's interrogation
Freedom to live your own life, I'm talking 'bout 

Power in the darkness
Frightening lies from the other side
Power in the darkness
Stand up and fight for your rights

At this point in the song, Tom "interrupts" Danny Kustow's guitar solo and approaches the mic, having donned a tweed sport coat and a large rubber nose. Now the nose might look problematic these days with its antisemitic connotations and all, but it's soon clear that the singer is mocking toffee-nosed conservative types who were then (and now) railing against gays, immigrants, people of color, the poor, and basically anyone outside the mainstream, while extolling the virtues of traditional morals, law and order, Christian values, et cetera. (SOUND FAMILIAR?!)

"Shut up! Stop this bloody noise at once! Good grief, I said shut up, you bunch of long-haired hippie communist perverts! This noise level in this hall is unacceptably loud, these damn speaker things. We've been measuring them with a decibel meter; you young people will be deaf by the time you're 30. (crowd cheers) The Oxford Distressed Gentlefolks Association, just over the road, has been severely upset by the vase vibrating on the mantelpiece. (crowd cheers) Shut up! Have you no respect for your elders and betters anymore? Be quiet. Good grief, look at you. I thought Oxford was the seat of learning. Look like you could do with a good bath, some of you. Do you mean to say you paid money to come and listen to this drivel? Good God. 

"What we need to do is see a return to the traditional British values. Bring back the cane at the grammar schools. Church on Sundays. A spell in the army would do you all a lot of good. National Service. We need to see a return to discipline, obedience, morality, virtue, and freedom."

And the song continues.... 

What we want is
Freedom from the reds and the blacks and the criminals
Prostitutes, pansies and punks
Football hooligans, juvenile delinquents
Lesbians and left wing scum
Freedom from the n------ and the P---- and the unions
Freedom from the Gypsies and the Jews
Freedom from longhaired layabouts and students
Freedom from the likes of you (whips off rubber nose) ....and me

Power in the darkness
Frightening lies from the other side
Power in the darkness
Stand up and fight for your rights

The entire documentary runs about 45 minutes and is broken up into four parts on YouTube. I highly recommend it. 

FIGHT FASCISM!

By now, everyone knows about the mass shooting at the outlet mall in Allen, Texas....although by the time I post this, it may well be forgotten and the national news cycle will have moved on to the next tragedy. But since I'm a resident of Collin County (the shooting happened two miles from our house), I thought I'd take this chance to provide a little backstory on some of the local politicians involved in this shitshow. 

So just sit right back and you're hear a tale, the tale of what I like to call: 

THE SLUT, THE ISIS BRIDE, AND THE SLAPHEADED "CHRISTIAN"

In early 2022, we were bombarded by TV ads extolling the virtues of Van Taylor, a Republican congressman running for reelection in our district, and trashing his (Republican) opponent, Keith Self. Around the same time, we began receiving dozens of mailers per week urging us to vote for Taylor in the upcoming runoff election that March, mailers that also made sure to point out that Keith Self was a mean old poo-poo doodyhead. They were coming so fast and furious that it started to get comical, and I had fun marking up the flyers and decorating the house with some of the more outlandish ones. 

I ended up tossing them out eventually, but I did manage to scrounge up one that didn't make it into the recycling bin. Sadly, it's not one of Van Taylor's funnier campaign mailers, but you get the idea:

"Keith Self writes his emails in Comic Sans! Keith Self tips ten percent at restaurants! 

Keith Self was the second shooter on the grassy knoll!"

"Excuse me officer, do these trousers make my butt look big?"

"Alone, bad. Friend, good. 

Friend, GOOD!"

Normal politics stuff, really, but wait! Ready for a hackneyed, totally predictable plot twist? Here it is! Van Taylor's greatest nemesis was not Keith Self, who ***spoiler alert*** went on to handily beat Taylor and win his seat in the election. No, Van Taylor's real enemy was---duh, duh, DUN!---his own penis! Yes, the calls were coming from INSIDE HIS PANTS!!! Tale as old as time....for Van Taylor was just your typical garden variety slut. 

But his side piece wasn't one of the usual suspects, like a campaign aide or a secretary. Taylor went for something more exotic, 'cause he's a man who lives on the edge. He had to go and hook up with Tania Joya, reformed religious extremist and the ex-wife of a white guy from Texas who converted to Islam and became "the highest-ranking American in ISIS." (Now that's a bloke you want to bring home to mom!) 

So yeah, not only did Van Taylor step in it, he tracked it all over the house and then stepped in it again. 

Naturally, The Daily Mail was all over this shit. Taylor's paramour (and "former ISIS bride") had this to say about her fling with the disgraced congressman:

"He didn't take me on a single date in eight months. He was like, no, I'm too famous, everywhere I go I get harassed." (Well smell you, Harry Styles!) Joya also talked about Taylor's sexual appetites: "For me it was making love, but for him it was just sex....four, five times a night, he was all over me." ('Scuse me while I fetch ye olde barf bucket.) 

"I'm not much of a man by the light of day, 

but by night I'm one hell of a love-ahhh."

But Joya wasn't the one who ran to the media to spill the beans about her affair with Taylor. Instead, she sought out a homeschooling Republican "supermom" named Suzanne Harp, who "arranged" the interview between Joya and The Daily Mail. Would it surprise you to know that Harp ALSO happened to be vying for Van Taylor's congressional seat? In fact, she was touted by her campaign as "the conservative, pro-Trump, America First candidate." 

Ugh, you can almost smell the MAGAtry wafting through the screen.

Although she was erroneously named in The Daily Mail as "Suzanne Hart," Harp at least got to insert herself into the drama and score some more brownie points with Dear Leader Trump, which I'm sure thrilled her to no end. 

Seriously, there are NO sympathetic players in this entire farce. Zero, zip, zilch, none. Which brings me to last Saturday's mass shooting. 

I'm not even going to name that dead fuckface shooter, since posthumous notoriety was one of his goals. I will say that it's been amusing to watch Fox News and other conservative outlets tie themselves in knots trying to argue that there's no way the killer could've been a right-wing nut and of course the shooting had to be gang-related, simply because the dude was Hispanic. Well, bullshit. White supremacy reaches far and wide, and today's neo-Nazis are all too happy to accept acolytes who don't fit the stereotypical "master race" ideal, as long as they're willing to help further the cause. I know it, Fox News knows it, even the idiot QAnons know it. 

When news broke about the mass shooting Saturday, John and I turned on the TV to check out the reports on the latest violent rampage in the only economically advanced nation in the world where this sort of thing happens regularly.  

That's when Keith Self popped up on CNN to offer his two cents. John and I were like, hey, it's that guy! Up to that point, we'd never heard him speak; we'd only known him as a big, bald, static character from Van Taylor's endless campaign ads. Then he opened his gob, and we suddenly loathed him as much as VT did. 

Keith Self started in with the usual, "What a terrible tragedy, thoughts and prayers, yadda, yadda, yadda," bullshit. And then this happened:

PAULA REID: "You know congressman, that is a common refrain after mass shootings, but many people argue that prayers are not cutting it. Prayers are not preventing the next mass shooting. What is your response to that criticism?" 

KS: "Well, those are people that don't believe in an almighty God who has, who is absolutely in control of our lives. I'm a Christian, I believe that He is."

Translation: "Let's not kid ourselves. We all know that, as a Texas Republican lawmaker, my ass is bought and paid for by my true Lord and Savior, the NRA. As a matter of fact, I'd drop to my knees and suck off Wayne LaPierre in the town square at high noon if need be, just to keep that sweet gun money rolling in. But since I'm on national TV, I'll take this chance to throw my Evangelical base a bone and proclaim that the only logical solution to gun violence is MORE JESUS. Now, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. Hallelujah!"

So that was the story of a man named Taylor, who fucked a former religious fanatic and flushed his political career down the crapper, thus paving the way for an even worse type of fanatic to swoop in and take over.

And they all lived miserably ever after!  

THE END

(....or is it?)

HULU'S CANDY VS. THE OTHER ONE

Fine, I'll admit it: once in a while I'll give in and watch a sensationalistic "ripped from the headlines" miniseries on streaming. Last summer I caught the Hulu miniseries Candy, based on the true story of the Texas church lady who got bored with her marriage, had an affair with another church lady's husband, and.......things didn't end well. 

As shows like that go, it was entertaining, and the acting was surprisingly good. I especially appreciated how they nailed the look and feel of middle America in 1980, when even healthy 30-year-old adults looked like they were pushing 55 because the hairstyles, clothes, and eyewear of the time made everyone appear all middle-aged and dowdy.  

Jessica Biel in Candy

Now there's another miniseries about the Betty Gore murder, HBO's Love & Death. Even before I tried to watch it, I knew it would be inferior to Candy. First of all, what a generic title. I know, I know, it's an allusion to the famous article that inspired the book (see above), but still. Second of all (if I may continue whining), it's the same title as one of my favorite Woody Allen movies. Of course, I'm sure the show's target audience isn't aware of Allen's 1975 parody of Russian war novels, but I am, dammit. I even own it on DVD.

Watch this one instead.
 

Then there's the poster: a wet Elizabeth Olsen gazing beatifically at the camera. I'm sorry, I can't get behind Elizabeth Olsen, and it's not just because her nose job bugs me. 

Hypocritical of me, I realize.

Lastly, this promotional still looks like it's from one of John Waters' lesser satires, a la Serial Mom. 

I tried to watch the premier over the weekend. I wanted to like it, I really did. But the opening scene featured the key characters sitting around, vomiting exposition at each other, and I hate that. Long story short, I only made it 20 minutes before I gave up completely.

Maybe I'll try again with it at some point. But probably not.

And now for an embarrassing confession: John and I drove by Betty Gore's old house to rubberneck. 

The address is public (unfortunately for the current owners) but the house is fairly difficult to find, so there's that. We passed by a couple in another car who seemed to be circling the block for the exact same reason we were. Really embarrassing. 

I took a half-assed photo. 

So, that happened.

IT'S OSCAR NIGHT!
WWWSS?*

 

*Who Would Will Smith Slap?

Of course we know who he slapped at last year's Oscars, but WWWSS this year? Oh wait, Will Smith is banned from the Oscars for like 10 years or something due to his violent assholery. Oopsie! Sorry, bitch. Maybe you and the wife can order in some Door Dash and console yourself with a Jada Pinkett film festival. May I recommend Jason's Lyric, Woo, and Set It Off? (Not being sarcastic here, I actually enjoyed those films when I saw them 25+ years ago.) 

I have to say, as fucked up as the whole asinine incident was, that pic above of The Infamous Slap kinda cracks me up. The way Will's flinging his hand back makes him look sooooooo nelly, which I'm sure was NOT his intention, since he was all hopped up on that rage-y macho alpha male He-Man bullshit. But seriously, check out his hand. Will Smith couldn't have looked more ridiculous if he'd marched up there and thwacked Chris Rock across the face with a pair of white gloves. "Sir, you go too far! Pistols at dawn!"

And then the Academy went and gave WS the Oscar anyway! And for King Richard? WTF was the thinking behind that film? "Hey, you know Venus and Serena Williams? Let's make a biopic! But maybe not about them. Hold on, I know! Let's make a movie about their dad! BRILLIANT!" Oy, like tennis isn't boring enough. The only sport more boring than tennis is golf, which, come to think of it, Will Smith also made a golf movie back in the day, The Legend of Bagger Vance. I didn't see that one either, because it looked dull as a dog's arse. But Will--for real--stop making movies about boring sports. And dumb futuristic sci-fi flicks with your untalented offspring. And earnest manipulative tear-jerkers with your untalented offspring. Also? Your wife is a tiresome self-righteous hag who loves the smell of her own farts. But you already know that.

So okay, since Will Smith is banished from the premises, who will administer the onstage bitch-slap at tonight's ceremony? Place your bets! I'm guessing the entire cast of Everything Everywhere All At Once will storm the stage if nominees Michelle Yeoh, Stephanie Hsu, Ke Huy Quan, and Jamie Lee Curtis all end up getting the shaft. Although wouldn't it be amusing if Stephanie Hsu--Best Supporting Actress nominee for EEAAO--won over Jamie Lee, also a Best Supporting Actress nominee for EEAAO? Especially given the way JLC has been campaigning her ass off with her over-the-top Michelle Yeoh worship and all that cringey grandstanding? I swear, she's morphed into a character from (her real-life husband!) Christopher Guest's movie, For Your Consideration, which I maintain is his greatest film. I mean, I liked Waiting for Guffman and Best In Show, but IMHO For Your Consideration (and A Mighty Wind, for that matter) are criminally underappreciated. 

"I love that you did all this work, and it will serve you well. But not on this movie."

A part of me wants to believe that Jamie Lee actually is trolling everyone with all these overwrought interviews and bizarre antics during this award season, as an homage to the sort of characters her husband writes. 

For instance, did anyone catch this performance piece?

Gee, do you think she's grateful to MICHELLE YEOH? I couldn't quite tell. If only she'd cleared that up. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, terrified that Jamie Lee Curtis doesn't adequately appreciate MICHELLE YEOH. Does she fully grasp all the contributions that MICHELLE YEOH has made to humanity? I mean, come on! MICHELLE FUCKING YEOH, BITCHES!

I read a funny tweet pitching an idea for the next Halloween installment: It should open with Michael Myers repeatedly stabbing MICHELLE YEOH, while Laurie Strode stands by shrieking, "MICHELLE YEOH! MICHELLE YEOH! MICHELLE YEOH!" Cut to the next scene with Laurie in a padded cell, rocking back and forth, softly murmuring "Michelle Yeoh, Michelle Yeoh, Michelle Yeoh....."

Now THERE'S your Oscar-bait!