Author: kim

Earles on Grindhouse

Enjoyable. Fake Danny Trejo trailer….sort of funny. Must side with R.R’s first half – more subtle nods to exploitation nuance (massive plot holes, stunted and meaningless one-liners, lots of shit that doesn’t make sense, etc). Be warned, though, of the flip-side: There’s also a plenty of ham-fisted, over-referential crap (the fake worn-out film stock). The violence in Planet Terror is cartoonish and everywhere….the squeamish among you should not worry. I don’t like realistic gore/torture, yet this one didn’t bother me at all. Laughed out loud at some childish splatter scenes, truth told.

Now, Tarantino’s half is a different story. Dialogue-heavy, and I’ve been known to enjoy his dialogue about 50/50, but it’s weaker than usual….and boring. There’s far less violence, but it’s more effective/disturbing. That’s probably just due to my queasiness re: realistic car accident scenes. Car accidents send me up the wall; the thought of them, the sight of real ones, the sound of them, and when they are realistically depicted in film, I tend to shudder. Death Proof packs one that is alternately ridiculous and jarring. The second half (of the second half) is dumb-dumb surprising and fun. The Vanishing Point references could have been cut in half, however.

The intermission trailers:

Eli Roth, a director that I care nothing about, delivers the best one, especially if, like me, you grew up watching crappy horror on crappy TV sets on crappy Saturday afternoons.

Recommended. Another complaint before I close: You’d think that the three hours would blow by. That’s not entirely true. Most of Tarantino’s yip-yapping scenes drag. And of course, the whole experience is aided if you are a serious movie nerd that’s padded your life with loads of film-garbage.  

 

Wallbunnies

The other day, I made a hasty decision to leave the S-Bahn at the Wedding station due to an expired ticket, and figured that, since it was almost a nice day, I’d just walk home. Reaching the former East-West border, I was gratified to see that one of my favorite bits of unknown Berlin was still intact. The last time I was around it, the sidewalk was under construction, and I figured that, being unauthorized, this delightful installation was probably long gone.

But no. And since it’s Easter weekend, I went back to shoot it today.

This little fellow is set in the pavement just beyond this familiar marker:

In fact, that’s why he’s there. He and his brothers and sisters decorate a swath of sidewalk where Chausseestr. meets Liesenstr. — a pretty obscure corner of town occupied by not much:

This patch of earth was a no-man’s land. Now, as all Berliners know, and few outside of town do, there were two Walls. There was the big, thick one with the rounded bits stuck on top, and, some dozens of meters away, there was a thinner one with less fortification. Inbetween was no-man’s land, with a path down its middle. This area was filled with all manner of impediments, with the aim of making an escape over the thin wall, across the bare area, and over the big wall to West Berlin, impossible. As we know, it was pretty effective, and it not only sealed Berliners out, but it sealed the no-man’s land in.

And that’s where the rabbits come in. I remember my first visit to Berlin in 1988, and climbing one of those observation towers at the edge of the Tiergarten, from which I could see the area which had once held Potsdamer Platz, the lonely scrap of a once-grand hotel the sole witness to what had stood there before the War. Inbetween, dust, rocks, scraggly shrubs and weeds, and rabbits. Lots of rabbits.

Given that I saw the Wall as a symbol of terror, as a structure which had added immeasurably to world tensions, as a (literally) concrete representation of the Communist Threat back then, it was unnerving to look over it and see…cute.

“Oh, yeah,” said one of the friends who were showing me around, “they got in there somehow, and since there’s nothing to threaten them, they, well, they did what rabbits do.”

The Berlin Wall. And lots of rabbits. Apparently they were everywhere.

It’s not that there were no threats, though. There were trip-wires attached to automatic firing devices. Hip hop hip trip, KABOOM. One less bunny.

And what about the guard dogs who patrolled with the guards? They must not have had a lot of fun: if they caught a skinny East German trying to defect, they had to give him to the humans. And since Germans love dogs — even the brutal youth who were conscripted for guard duty on this extremely unpopular assignment must have loved dogs, being German — who could begrudge faithful Odin a rabbit now and again?

Mmmmm! Bunny sushi!

And that’s how the rabbits got in the sidewalk. After discovering them for the first time, I mentioned them to a friend who told me that an artist — an American woman, as I remember — had installed them in memory of the rabbits who used to live between the Walls, and who, of course, vanished as soon as the Wall was dismantled. When I first saw them, they were a bright coppery color, but as you can see, they’ve tarnished. There’s no signature, no tag, no nothing. Just rabbits. (And just today, this friend said she had no knowledge of the rabbits or the artist, so my information may not be correct, although it’s what I remember from four or five years ago). I love that this group exists in a place almost nobody has any reason to visit, on the edge of a garbage-strewn lot, on the corner of a street nobody lives on.

Not that Liesenstr. is without interest: maybe nobody lives there, but there are a bunch of graveyards, one of which has a French chapel, a French war memorial for soldiers who died in defense of the “King of Paris,” and the gravestone of Theodor Fontane. I once collected some big pieces of Wall in this graveyard, and still have them in storage in Texas.

And, at the end of Liesenstr., where it stops at Gartenstr., there are two rotten railroad bridges and, recently stripped of its protective coating of vegetation, a rather large remnant of the Wall:

And, at night, rabbits. Maybe.

He’s on a roll…..

The instant coffee must be hitting hard.

(pasted from www.cracked.com)

Somebody steer me in the right direction….

“A good CI is like a good set of legs, a good police chief, a good steak, a good heart, or a good boat without a slow leak….they simply don’t exist in my life.

This time, I had a severe situation, a severe hangover, and needed the tip BAD. Lately, my main has been a street derelict by the name of “the brick.â€Â Once slipped a 40-spot, he promised some golden info. I returned four hours later. He handed over an envelope and disappeared into the shrubs.

“That’s your info, shit-drawers, use it wisely.â€Â

The paper inside held this revelation:

(Mc Ren)
Prisoner like a hostage
Yo, you should of covered your muthafucking head like an ostrich
Deep in the dirt ’cause you’s a sucker
And you ass up high so I can kick the muthafucker
Don’t try to hang your best abroad
‘Cause my foot will be so far up you ass, you’re get hemroids
Before you try to fuck wit Ren
I’ll put two in your ass and you’ll be shitting a size 10

(Dr. Dre)
First come, first serve, whoever’s got the nerve
Step up and get what you deserve
Other words if a muthafucking hip-hop maniac
Brainiac, so what you oughta do is step the fuck back
But how the fuck you think a rapper last
Wit your ass saying shit that is said in the past
Yo, be original, your shit is sloppy
Get off the dick you muthafucking carbon copy

(MC Ren)
Falling deep in the drums so many of styles
Is one of the reasons a nigga ran a hundred miles
Cheating and not beating, the crowd I kept seating
But weak muthafuckas biting off and they kept eating
Styles that kept them full of bull
‘Cause the vocals were local in nightclubs and not getting paid in full
They got the nerve to cuss
Only reason niggaz pick up your record is cause they thought it was us

(Dre)
Yo, giving what I gotta give, doing what I gotta do
You don’t care for me, so who gives a fuck about you
You can’t harm me, alarm me
‘Cause we’re the generals in this fucking hip-hop army
The niggaz wit attitudes if you didn’t know
We blow, flow and getting loose slow from the get go, yo
Try us and take it
Yo, fuck this shit, Yella, kick the break in

(Chorus)
It’s the real thing, you are now real, real niggaz, niggaz

(Ren)
You can run but you can’t hide, you know I’m a find’cha
‘Cause a nigga like Ren’s only 2 steps behind’cha
Don’t look back, ’cause you’re shaking and all scared
A nigga in black can be your scariest nightmare
So sleep wit the lights on, forget that the mic’s on
Don’t step on my muthafucking stage without nike’s on
Don’t say it’s psychoand then you just might go
Mentally fucked up when I let the right blow

(Dre)
All these niggers wit the jibber jabber
But couldn’t kill a fly wit a muthafucking sledge hammer
Gangstas in black are out there
But only because, yo, it’s the shit we wear
On my muthafucking dick
But I’m a love it when you drop like a muthafucking brick
So, yo, step off, go to bed, ’cause if you’re mislead
You get a muthafucking bullet in your dome head

(Eazy-E)
Black, the good, the bad, the ugly, you see
A little streetwise nigga, you know me
Rolling wit some real niggaz playing for keeps
But you muthafuckas know who run the streets
Wit that hardcore hip-hop rap shit
(Ren)(Now how much harder can another nigga get)
Trying to be like us, sound like us, dress like us
(Dre)(Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
So nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, please
Since you’re on the dick why don’t you drop to your knees
‘Cause I’m a muthafucka that’s out to kill
Eazy-E, a nigga that’s real

(Dre) Real niggaz, straight off the streets of Compton
Quick to get in your shit without second thought
And if your ass get smoked, it’s my bullet you caught
So if you’re talking shit about the niggaz in black
Bow down to the King’s and Raider’s hats

(Ren)
They played out, that’s what niggaz were chanting
One nigga left and they said we ain’t happening
People had thought we was finished and then done wit
But if you think about it, yo, we really ain’t done shit
Yet, so cover your ears and wipe your tears
And quit sniffing all over my dick for new ideas
And when the new record come, I’ll come like a fucking bomb
Asking for fucking money, don’t buy you a fucking crumb
You’re on the dicks of four niggaz not one
And when it comes to dicks, you don’t even have one
So brace yourself to make sure you don’t get fucked up
Because if I let you slide, it’s just ’cause you lucked up
Don’t come in my face again, because I’m a floor ya
And if you’re a bitch, I’m a fucking ignore ya

Because my attitudes a little bigga
‘Cause MC Ren is one of the real niggaz

(Dre)
Lost in a muthafucking world of madness
Sadness, but Dre is just a nigga that gladdest
Sucking muthafuckas like you, making wack jams
Because it only shows you how dope I am
Never try to ignore us
When I’m expressing, stand still like you’re full of rigamortis
‘Cause I’m a real nigga, but I guess you figure
You can break me, take me, but watch me pull the trigger
Dre is just a nigga wit hard, a nigga that’s smart
A nigga that’s pay to say what others are scared to play
We started out wit too much cargo
So I’m glad we got rid of Benedict Arnold
Yo, NWA, criticize for what we say
But I’m a do the shit anyway
‘Cause I’m the muthafucking doctor,never faking
Yo, Yella, kick the muthafucking break in

Chorus

(Ren) NWA , straight ouut muthafucking Compton
Taking over shit in all of the 1990’s
Yo, Dr. Dre, DJ Yella, Eazy-E
And I am MC Ren, yo, NWA taking over this muthafucka y’all
Lyrics > N.W.A Lyrics > N.W.A Real Niggaz Lyrics
Can I get a fuckin’ translator, please?â€Â
 

 

THE NIGHTS AND DAYS – “GARBAGE CAN” EP

It didn’t seem fair to anyone, let alone me, to sit on the debut 1988 7â€ÂEP from Rob Vasquez’ NIGHTS AND DAYS when it was well within my power to put it up here for your listening pleasure, and when the kids have been clamorin’ for it. Oh, and it’s one of the great records of the 80s to boot, and an all-time second-wave-of-garage-punk landmark. One critic who shall not be named had this to say: “….Big, loud, stomping basement rock that approximates a runaway boulder hooked up to a set of clanking chains. Their sorta-cover of Beefheart’s “Diddy Wah Diddy” could almost be no-wave inspired, and the frantic chords played on this sound like they’re shooting sparks. Rob Vasquez was and remains a singular talent who deserves to be handsomely paid for his genius, and lionized & feted the world over….â€Â

I could not have said it better myself! I bought mine on a whim because they were from Seattle and had a Sub Pop connection – which in 1988 was a mark of quality, or so I reckoned at the time – and have until now yet to look back. 600 made, released on REGAL SELECT records to a handful of record dorks in ’88, and now ready for you to download and celebrate with your pals all weekend long.

Download THE NIGHTS AND DAYS – “Garbage Canâ€Â (A-side)
Download THE NIGHTS AND DAYS – “Diddy Wah Diddyâ€Â (B-side, track 1)
Download THE NIGHTS AND DAYS – “Goes Without Sayingâ€Â (B-side, track 2)

WILD SIXTIES PUNK TWOFER

No, not these guys – these guys are THE SONICS, still the standard-bearers for the form, but two low-circulation screamers from 1966, both of which are absolute monsters. Listen and marvel as the singer for the REASONS WHY goes absolutely apoplectic over a girl – quite possibly the most over-the-top, “savage” vocal performance of the day. Thrill to the stunning, wall-of-guitar intro to THE SPLIT ENDS’ “Rich With Nothing”, and then quietly add this to your mental list of the rawest & best 60s punk songs.

I know both numbers because of a bootleg LP called “I WAS A TEENAGE CAVEMENâ€Â , yet both are also available on various semi-legit LPs and CDs as well. They’re also available right here, at no charge to the customer.

Download THE REASONS WHY – “Don’t Be That Wayâ€Â
Download THE SPLIT ENDS – “Rich With Nothingâ€Â

Changes?

Yeah, like I’m going to stop the futile exercise of pitching this paper.

Dear Bob,

Will you write me a wrestling script that pits me against my irritating neighbor? In the front yard?

Dear Bob,

I was clearly the best candidate for writing a 33 and a 1/3 about Flip Your Wig. How come a road dog like me can’t catch a break?

Dear Bob,

I was thinking of throwing a dance record into my otherwise rock-heavy discography. Is this a wise idea?

Dear Bob,

Do you ever call customer service lines using that Modern Country vocoder?

Dear Bob,

I’m trying really damed hard to be funny right now. How come I’m failing?

 

 

 

Don’t forget about this old friend.

From Cracked.com…..

Read it here (with funny graphics), or read it below.

Where has Skag Winesack been?

“Well, I’ve been working on my cookbook, Jazz Casserole. I got a publisher (McSweeneys), so I haven’t had much time to blog. I plan on changing that. I’ll never get that book deal from Cracked unless some diligence is shown.

I can’t afford a lawyer, nor would I invite one onto my boat if the financial situation was otherwise.

The publisher has shown opposition to some of my chapter and dish titles. Scrapped completely is the chapter titled, ‘Recipes That Will Tear Up Your Asshole.’ True, I like spicy food, and I drink, and the combination thereof does indeed have a tendency to, uh, make my bathroom experiences akin to a scrapping match with Randall ‘Tex’ Cobb. Let’s just say that I’m glad they put those bars in the handicap stalls.

They also had a problem with the cover art. My initial concept was an artist’s rendition of me cooking in the kitchen, apron on and all, while my ‘wife’ is locked out of the house, forced to make a burrito in the pouring rain.

Speaking of burritos, it was another ‘no-go’ for my tasty ‘Dysentarito.’

I thought I was dealing with a progressive publishing house here. I could be wrong. I’m a little, as they say, ‘out of the loop.’ As you know, I’m a semi-retired Private Eye that lives on a goddamn boat, and living on a boat in a South Memphis harbor can do alienating things to a man. I have to run a dial-up cable from my parlor all the way to the marina office/restaurant, and they keep unplugging it to run credit cards.

Oh yeah, I guess another problem area is my choice of certain ingredients. I thought most people liked seafood. There’s nothing wrong with gar, drum, carp, or bowfin. And fowl? I’ve made a fantastic stew from the various winged vermin that swarm the marina. Getting shotgun pellets out of sparrow meat is NOT EASY.

Anyone out there up for some free legal advice? Jazz Casserole will not see the light of day as a neutered dog, and I mean it.â€Â

 

Let me draw your attention to two of my favorite l…

Let me draw your attention to two of my favorite links over there on the right.

Over at Clown Central Station, Leonard Pierce (aka The Kong of Clowns) makes right-wing punditry look like the clown car that it is by (and get this, because it’s brilliant) taking the blowhards at their word. He treats them like the words they write actually mean what they say, and instantly – poof! – they are revealed as petty half-wits. The man is in the same league as Colbert or the Daily Show, which I don’t say lightly.

Meanwhile, over at Boy On A Stick And Slither, Steven L. Cloud has created the most thoughtful and funny comic strip since Calvin & Hobbes. OK, since I’m out on a limb, I think it’s actually better than Calvin & Hobbes in some ways. Take some time and flip through the archives.

Li’l Sphere has written a song that goes:(to the…

Li’l Sphere has written a song that goes:

(to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”)

No-no no-no no-no NO!/No-no no-no no-no NO!

You can imagine the rest.

In other news, I emailed my editor at Continuum today to ask for yet another extension to my deadline for my 33 1/3 book. I’ve been rewriting it since February and really, really like my current direction. I described it for him and hope that he sees it as a valid way to go.