Why is Lola dancing on my brain?

Jetlag is going to make this week a bitch. I thought going out and getting amazingly drunk on Saturday after only having slept for 3 out of the last 36 hours would be enough to totally reset the sleep schedule. I was wrong, but I love being that kind of wrong. Probably too much for my own good.

My difficulty getting to sleep this week is leading to ugly mornings. Ugly mornings lead to totally inability to control exactly what pops into my head until I slam about 3 cups of coffee at the office. What that means is that shortly after I drag my sorry carcass out of bed, my music-addled brain starts playing random songs that I generally loathe non-stop, at least until I get to the car and my CD collection rescues me. The DJ is always the same and his playlist is disgustingly limited.

The songs that insidiously worm their way into my sleep deprived brain are as follows:

Milli Vanilli - Girl I'm Gonna Miss You
Even in Fab and Rob's heyday when people thought that the voices emanating from the brightly colored spandex and dreads were actually theirs, I hated this song. Why this one? Blame It On The Rain I could have lived with. Not this.

Bon Jovi - Never Say Goodbye/Raise Your Hands
Despite my current status as a full-fledged music snob, I was a total Bon Jovi dork in the 80s like so many others. I didn't have long, permed hair and acid-washed jeans or anything, but that was probably more due to the fact that I was a pre-adolescent and my parents obviously loved me too much to let me dress that way. I totally dug and still dig both of these songs, just not the grotesque medley that forms in my brain like a fungus at 5:30 in the morning.

Barry Manilow - Copacabana
This is God's revenge on me for every girlfriend I've pissed off by refusing to let them listen to any Clear Channel radio station in my car, ever. There is no other explanation. I'm not sure I've ever listened to this song from start to finish (although I can't vouch for certain that a vindictive babysitter didn't play this song non-stop while watching over my crib. That shit happens people!). My only familiarity with the song stems from Friends when Jennifer Anniston got her ex-fiance's wedding guests to sing it along with her. Barry f-ing Manilow.

These are the songs that haunt my mornings. Is it any wonder that I still highly prefer to sleep until the afternoon whenever possible?

It's not like I can get them out of my head, either. You'd think that someone who listens to as much music as I do could simply will the demons out of my head by thinking of a different, better song. Oh...have I tried. But the caffiene-free mind always steers it's way back to whatever dark dark place that allows Barry Manilow to reside unmolested. For example, I might try to push a great song, like Shine a Light by Wolf Parade into my noodle, only to have a lyrical degression such as follows occur:

It's just a matter of time
No one gets out alive
At the Copa
Copacabana

'Tis truly the stuff of nightmares.

"Aloha" means two weeks without posting

Ahoy, hoy!

After spending a week in Maui biking down volcanos and sunburning my feet until they resembled seared tuna steaks, I thought it might be time to attempt to justify the bandwidth that this poor excuse for a blog is taking up and actually, you know, post. Not that anything I post could actually justify the bandwidth that I'm taking up, but there are worse sites on the internet, I'm sure. There have to be.

I'm sure more reputable sites than mine steal links like I do. But I try to give credit. Like in the case of whatevs posting this utterly disturbing mash-up of Toy Story 2 and Requiem for a Dream. Whoever you are that came up with this, you are my kind of twisted bastard.

In fact, that would have been the funniest thing I've seen all day if it hadn't been for this video at Stereogum.

Well that's my triumphant return. Stealing links from websites that people already read so you can be slightly less amused by them when you finally get here and see them for the second time. Whoo!

Happy Valentine's Day

A non-meat for a non-holiday. Hope everyone has a good one.

The Real Genius of Real Genius

Honestly. Who can get enough early Val Kilmer? Real Genius is one of those great, great 80s flicks that will always make me sit down and watch, no matter what other pressing things I might have to do.

Yesterday was one such day. I think I flipped it on in the middle of the first study montage (as opposed to the great Karate Kid-esque training montage). The tones of I'm Falling were enough to draw me into the adventures of Chris Knight et al. I watched Mitch get it together, get even with Kent and foil the nefarious Jerry Hathaway with a fury of popcorn. Lazlo came out of the closet and hooked up with the ridonkulously hot chick (a brain groupie? Ahhh...fiction!). And Chris got the Darlington job...all set to brilliant 80s music that may or may not have been written explicitly for this movie (apologies to Bryan Adams and Tears for Fears).

I would murder for this soundtrack.

But as the credits rolled and Everybody Wants To Rule The World played, I saw something slightly disturbing: "Shuttle Pilot" was credited as Stacy Peralta.

Say it ain't so! Dogtown? Z-Boys? A skateboard legend given as much screen time and credit as some guy who played Laser Ray Victim? Research indicated that this might have very well been his first role since Charlie's Angels in 1979! And Mitch got more play than him in this film!

How bad does a guy need work that he lets Gabe Jarret outscore him as a 15 year old science geek in a movie? I'd be cool with Chris Knight, because he had mad game (although the 'moment' he shared with Ick at the end was a little suspect, Brokeback style), but don't let Mitch mack the hoes when your face never even makes it on-screen.

But at least Kent didn't hate on ya, Stace. Then again, I think he was more into his car's tailpipe.

End of a Slow Week

I'm just starting to get back to normal after the XL. I didn't even think I partied that hard but damn if I wasn't worn out. I was at work to get rest.

It didn't help that I couldn't think of anything to talk about this week. In general, I'd prefer to say nothing that to say something that I didn't consider interesting or worthwhile. But that does not a good blog make. Onward and upward...

Joy Division movie. In a word? Sweet. I am really looking forward to Ian Curtis getting more treatment than he did in 24 Hour Party People. And I'm looking forward to the soundtrack being done by New Order.

Mad points for calling the movie Control, rather than the stupidly obvious Love Will Tear Us Apart. Kudos, I say.

When the Arctic Monkeys get here, can they help but disappoint? Will all of the hype coming across the pond, it's going to be tough to listen objectively. Now they're getting to make short films based on one of their songs. Right. Nothing says Next Big Thing like going all R. Kelly on us. Can't wait for Trapped In The Closet U.K. to make the rounds on the 'net.

At least let's hope that's the pertinent video that makes the rounds.

Looks like Arrested Development is dying it's final death tonight. I can't say I've become a passionate fan of the show, but I've enjoyed what I have watched. However, it never made me feel that there was an urgent need to watch it. The USA Today article makes an interesting point that while the characters are hysterical, many of them are inherently unlikable, and that makes it difficult to get an audience to root for them, or feel the need to watch them. Provacative argument, there.

Now, the show did get royally f-ed in the ass by FOX scheduling, only getting moved to the moribund wasteland of Mondays after the Family Guy revival. And then they have the balls to state that The War at Home was doing better in the ratings. Well duh.

I'm sad to see it happen. Looks like another show that may have been too smart for it's own good. Bummer.

It's weekend time. Get ready for Valentine's Day by checking out Ain't It Cool News's comparison of the X3 add campaign to the posters for Rent. Thank my one-man street team J-Rob for that piece. Kelsey Grammar really makes pink look manly, no?

Detroit: Yay! Public Transit: Boo!

This weekend...Detroit was awesome.

This weekend...the shuttle buses to and from Detroit were not.

It seems to be getting surprisingly little press coverage but God have mercy on the souls of anyone else who had to ride the Super Bowl Express back to their park and ride lots this weekend. It was pretty obvious that Kwame and Co. didn't blow the city's meager Civic Transportation budget on getting the party people back home.

On Friday night I spent lots of spectacular quality time in line with a bunch of other drunk and cranky sports fans who were joining me in having their memories of such a fantastic event ostensibly tainted by the fact that there seemed to be relatively no rhyme or reason to the lines to get on the buses. Far too many people in far too little a space with far too little organiziation to the lines and the system for getting the buses in and out of the lot.

And, on Friday, there was one portable pisshouse.

Oh what a glorious sight that was. By the time I was fortunate enough to see the "facilities", there was a small fecal shrine protruding from the rim of the bowl. The damned thing was overflowing.

As I told the line of three women behind me, "You really gotta want it tonight."

However, on Saturday, the city completely overcompensated by installing like 30 new ones. And a heated tent to protect a mostly hometown crowd from the inclimate conditions that they damned well should have expected and been dressed for. All these wonderful new amenities had the effect of making the chaotic overcrowding even worse. Smooth.

Was this enough to overshadow the experience? No. No fucking way. On the whole, The D really came through and put on a hell of a party.

But it should have known better than to allow us to leave like that. No way in hell should anyone have been left with the burning image of a port-a-john and a parking lot overflowing due to piss poor planning.

Is This Really Necessary?

Pick any five people you know and I promise one of them has SNL: The Best of Will Ferrell. This DVD has become ubiquitous and with good cause. Frankly, I used to think that Big Willie was fucking obnoxious, mostly because I never watched enough SNL to know him as anything more than that cheerleader dude. Then, on the day The Content Room died at NetGen, myself and several other newly unemployed friends of mine cracked open some 10am Rolling Rock and watched said DVD. Before we headed to the Clem to get wasted and play bocce, I was converted.

But The Best of Alec Bladwin? Are you fucking kidding me? Again, I am not the most SNL-saavy of individuals, but has Alec ever done anything worthy of it's own "Best of" DVD? So when this little paradox presented itself on the bargain rack at Best Buy, it was all I could do to resist what I perceived to be a giant black hole of suck. I am a paragon of strength.

I'm hitting the NFL Experience at Cobo tomorrow to demonstrate my distinct lack of football skills. And hopefully get some free shit. Maybe I'll even take pictures.

Madonna The Undead and Apparently There's A Football Game This Week Or Something

Aiiiiggghhh!!!!

Isn't Madonna dead yet? Apparently not since her re-animated corpse will be joining the animated Gorillaz on stage at The Grammys. (Thanks Pop Candy) I'm all for re-invention to stay up-to-date but Jesus...this chick fucked Warren Beatty and Vanilla Ice. Nobody gets that kind of multi-generational lasting power without drinking the blood of virgins or something.

Seriously. Now she's slowly draining Guy Ritchie of life. Remember when he used to make movies? Soon there will be nothing left but a dry husk in a good looking suit.

They say Keith Richards looks the way he does because of hard living and drug use. I think he just dated Madonna before she assumed this latest vampiric identity.

Speaking of the Stones, my sources inform me that some kind of Super Bowl football game is going to be played scant miles down I-75 from me (how's that for a segue!). There will never again be an event in Detroit like this that I can enjoy as a mid-20-something so I plan to spend the better parts of Friday and Saturday skulking around town, getting drunk in whatever bars a useless nobody like myself can get into and stalking Skip Bayless along with whatever other C-List celebrities are out "keeping it real". As much as I hate to give Mayor Kwame "Kennedy" Kilpatrick any of my hard(ly) earned money, I have no doubt it'll be worth it.

Party on.