The young warrior wended his way through the trees in darkness, spear at the ready. The previous day’s mastadon hunt had left him muscles weary, but his mind was alert, and he knew that great prey, enough to feed his vast tribe, was within reach. His thoughts darted momentarily to the beautiful female who awaited him back amongst the tribe. Her long dark hair captivated him in some way he did not fully understand. He swatted at a large insect that had nested in his hair, and returned his focus to the task at hand.
Legends abounded that somewhere in this dense jungle he would find the fabled beast, and were he to slay it, he would be recognized as the most fearsome warrior that had ever lived. Fire would be invented and named after him. Caves would be adorned with his image. No one had accompanied him on this journey. He endeavored to kill this monster alone.
Up ahead, in a clearing, stood some kind of shelter, much more advanced than anything he had seen. Smoke rose up from its canopy, and he could see light like the sun coming out through magical holes in the strange cave’s walls. It was not a cave, though, for it stood on its own, and it confused him. Caves did not confuse him.
As he approached, walking quietly, careful to disturb nothing underfoot, he found the mouth of the not cave opened, and stepped inside. The floor was made of stone, and yet was soft, and the walls were smooth. Ahead of him, he could see some kind of berth, and movement inside. He raised his spear and now moved more quickly to secure the kill.
A noise ushered forth from the crib. “Not the mama!”
Larry Murphy (Adult Swim)
Andres Du Bouchet (Conan O’Brien)
Dan Allen (Comedy Central’s Premium Blend)
Megan Ganz (The Onion)
Colleen Werthmann (Law and Order, The Sopranos)
Jon Friedman (Ritalin Readings)
Hosted by Lindsay Robertson (cable subscriber) and Gabriel Delahaye.
Afterwards, DJ Marzipandrew will be spinning mostly Lil Wayne’s “Da Drought 3″ in chronological order after the show. Very niiiiice (Borat! Still relevant!)
See you there!
Monday, March 3rd
The Slipper Room
167 Orchard St (at Stanton)
Womp womp. Oh well. It seemed like a dream team, Mariah Carey and Jack McBrayer could have been our generation’s Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, or at least this year’s Heat-caliber casting powerhouse. Instead it is obvious that someone just said “We need a nerd, any nerd,” not realizing that they had gotten the caviar of nerds. I do like the part where the giant dining table is a set of race cars, but you could have put Mariah Carey at one end of the table and a cardboard cut-out of Urkel at the other end, same diff. I will say this, though, I do not agree with the original description [HERE] of this video being a look into the nerd’s fantasy of what it would be like to be with Mariah. On the contrary, I can tell you with the clarity and confidence that only comes from an over-priced Masters Degree in the Humanities that this is definitely Mariah’s fantasy of being with a nerd. In a fantasy, one’s Self is idealized as well as idealizing the Other. In this instance, Mariah remains the embodiment of sensuality and femininity (sex qua sex, if you will), while the nerd becomes some kind of half-retarded dog-boy (nerd qua nerd). Moreover, if it was his fantasy, the two of them would be fucking, but since it is her fantasy, the two of them are competing for camera time.
AICN reports that Universal has struck a deal with Hasbro that would result in four movie adaptations of popular board games. With the fabulous job that was done on Clue, it’s no wonder they want to make more of them. They just waited 23 years to make sure everything was perfect.
But they can’t just take a board game and make a movie (can they?), they need to base their storylines on something more substantial.
Sachar sent me a link today to a very Web 0.5 style homepage for Sugar Bush the Squirrel, the world’s Superstar Squirrel. It’s a squirrel wearing costumes related to the news. There’s a Super Tuesday one, and a squirrel watching the Super Bowl one. You know, the kind of stuff that the internet (n.b. The Lawnmower man, which is how I’m going to refer to the internet from now on) was invented for. The stuff that makes it useful and solves problems in the world. Oh, also this one:
Fuuuuuuuuuck. I don’t really know where to begin. Just kidding, yes I do. We begin here:
And we don’t stop until the Lawnmower Man is destroyed.
Dear Audience from Last Night’s Magnetic Fields Show at Town Hall,
Fuck you. I hate you. With your glasses and your sweaters and your need to let everyone know that you are enjoying yourselves. Granted, I was wearing glasses and a sweater and enjoying myself. But the thing that really got me was when you would scream and applaud at the beginning of songs with this seeming surprise, as if you couldn’t believe that the Magnetic Fields were playing Magnetic Fields songs? The set list last night was great. They played “Epitaph for My Heart” and “Yeah! Oh Yeah!” and “All Dressed up in Jeans” and “The Book of Love” and “Take Ecstasy (With Me)” and cetra. But some of you were laughing a little too hard, and some of you needed the people around you to understand that you got it a little too desperately.
Last night I had the same experience I had when I saw Being John Malkovich, a movie that I hate, perhaps because of the experience of viewing it with people like you. I’m not saying people should always be quiet, although maybe that’s a good base rule and we can define exceptions from there. You don’t hear me laugh-coughing so hard that flecks of dinner got on the back of the Oxford collar of the guy in front of me. You don’t see me turning to my friends and stage-whispering “I remember this song from when I listened to it.” The effect of an audience is the same as a movie adaptation of a book. It forces an impression into your head of how you’re supposed to react, and just as much as I don’t want to picture Robin Williams as Garp, I don’t want to have to guffaw just because Shirley Simms sings “I Hate California Girls,” which is not, btw, that clever or interesting or even amusing of a song if you compare it to the gender-and-genre-bending catalog of House of Tomorrow. Impress your girlfriend some other way, please, Row M, seat 121.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I was disappointed in you, audience. You weren’t unique or exceptional in any way. You were totally a normal audience, and overwhelmingly well behaved, and still I detest you. It’s like Spinks said, “I think these are my people, but I am not sure I’m happy about that.” Put that in your ecstasy tab and take it.
After all of your years of complaining, I have changed my commenting security system (security so that spam comments about boner medicine go directly to my printer and then into the three ring binder where I keep “IMPORTANT INFO”.)
See how you like it. If you’re really stupid, this might not work for you. It’s kind of like school.