Cee-Lo Green Gets It Off His Chest In Top-Drawer Fashion: Is This Funny?

I won't go into any review or analysis as this one speaks for itself. But I will say that I found it refreshing that rather than write a standard break-up song about having to be strong in the face of heartbreak and trying to heal in a positive way, Cee-Lo Green goes all emotionally incorrect and literally spells it all out in the video embedded below. Special thanks to my brother for sending me the link.

Cee Lo Green "Fuck You"
Uploaded by Push36. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

Ghost In The Machine: An Old Medium Unravelled Is Today's Badass Art

Step 1: Dislodge Nick Cave tape stuck in truck cassette player.

Step 2: Unravel tape.

Step 3: Make painstakingly complex and beautiful art.

Step 4: Call it Ghost In The Machine.

Guatemalan Flight Data Recorder: Is This Funny?

Here is a spanish language video reporting that authorities investigating the crash of an Aero Guatemala Flight in La Masilla have recovered the plane's flight data recorder and begun to release limited information about what may have happened onboard flight 1134 prior to the crash. Preliminary reports point to equipment failure as the likely cause. The flight data recorder suggests that the Fairchild F27 suddenly lost altitude and plummeted out of the control of veteran pilot Manuel De Iglesias and his crew. The clip shows a source from within Aero Guatemala, his face hidden to protect his anonymity, stating that the company had known of and ignored reported problems with the aging engine, a claim which Aero Guatemala denies.

Is this funny?

Shutter Island: Martin Scorsese Drifts A Little Further From Himself

Something must happen to a person when they're repeatedly denied the pinnacle of success in their chosen profession. Naturally, some of us are simply role players in this life and that suits the majority of us just fine. But professionals such as athletes, scholars, scientists and even filmmakers, those that operate in the public eye, are often further compelled by the force and scrutiny of their audiences to not only grab the proverbial brass ring, but to dunk the mo-fo in a piping-hot cup of gasoline, set it afire with telekinetic energy and down it without even chewing. To be recognized as the best, you have to win championships, Nobel or Pulitzer prizes and of course, get the nod from the hit n' miss judgement of The Academy Awards. Much like a woman who has been a bridesmaid over half a dozen times but has never herself been married, there have to be some mental obstacles to overcome when squeezing one's self into yet another dress that matches the floral arrangements and venue decor but doesn't quite feel like you.

Chump Change: Dan Fante (Harper Collins)

There is a weatherman on one of the local networks here in Salt Lake City who is what can only be described as second generation "meteorologist". His father was a weatherman for two stations, spanning nearly four decades, in an era preceding cable television and long before the the advent of the internet that can now provide a person with weather information in their hip pocket, thereby relegating the talking heads of all meteorologists into the bin of obsolescence. Still, there are those that habitually tune in to watch this particular weatherman yammer on and on in his banal efforts to continually present his occupational standing as somehow relevant when the truth is that if it weren't for his father and his well deserved reputation of professionalism, this guy would have peaked hawking Sno Cones or perhaps even doing the lord's work; serving as a parking lot attendant or an insurance salesman. The sad fact is that when a son tries to follow his successful father into the same profession, the results are often meritless and pathetic. Sure, becoming a professional athlete or politician or even a dentist can work, perhaps even solidify a family business for a few generations. But there are far too many painfully grating examples of sons following too closely in their father's footsteps resulting in the proverbial "flat tire" effect usually caused by the toe of one shoe stepping on the heel of the other in a crowded hallway or stairwell landing.

Neil Young: Live At Massey Hall 1971 (Reprise Records)

Easily Toronto's equivalent, if not outright one-upsmanship of Minnesota's native son and folk legend Bob Dylan, Neil Young is in that whole different class of artist who can boast a following that spans nearly five decades and several generation's worth of musical craftsmanship. Arguably, much of his catalog falls into an overly expansive sector of the rock and roll landscape to reasonably classify it as one thing or another as Young took an independent, if not erratic approach to realizing his musical inspirations ranging from country and folk to hard rock and experimental electronica. Because of his broad range of musical interests, Neil Young falls heavily into the category of acquired taste. Young's lightly polished, high register singing style is not for everyone. Some listeners may first encounter Young's distinctive voice and declare it to be an insurmountable stumbling block when trying to access the full breadth of his work. But if the ear is allowed the chance to adapt to the lilting nature of Young's shaky falsetto, the unimpeachable evidence of his other worldliness becomes difficult to deny. Young's delicately crafted songs, with their intricate guitar and piano work, coupled with his frank, narrative approach to lyrics and songwriting in general was never designed for the purpose of commercial success, but served first and foremost as the most direct means in which the artist could keep a sort of public musical diary for interested strangers to thumb through.

The Beginning Of The End: The Failing Experiment Of The NBA In Utah

As a once devoted fan, now a simple observer of the Utah Jazz, Salt Lake City’s unlikely NBA franchise, I couldn’t help but bear witness to their most recent and unceremonious exit from the playoffs at the hands of the much hated and much higher profile Los Angeles Lakers. As recent custom would have it, the Jazz went down with little resistance; four straight games in what would ideally have been a best of seven series. Once again Jazz fans are forced to reevaluate the team assets a few weeks earlier than they had hoped and must now convince themselves that perhaps we'll get 'em next year, drawing hope from what has emerged as an insane and seemingly inexhaustible supply of "we'll get 'em next year"s. Some fans are contrite in their denial following our perennial dismissal from the party, suggesting that perhaps some harder defensive play and maybe a few key moves in the off season might be just what the doctor ordered to finally get past those pesky, talent-rich teams out west. Less grounded fans exhibit their denial by concocting what-if scenarios; hair-brained schemes that somehow incorporate the miraculous acquisition of a big-name/big-game free agent that could never possibly come to fruition, with some theories so far-fetched that they teeter on the edge of sports science fiction. The entire culture here in Utah has a rich history of powerful denial. A denial so long carried and engrained into this valley that you can almost feel it in the air as you come off an airplane. That same denial has permeated the Jazz since the end of the era in which they made two unsuccessful trips to the finals against the Bulls. The time for them to address the encroaching realities of owning a National Basketball Association team in today's market may be irreparably past due and the once sturdy ship of the Utah Jazz basketball franchise is beginning to show serious cracks in its hull.

Flight of the Conchords: Less Is More For New Zealand's 4th Most Popular Folk Parody Duo

When my crack research team and I first began to watch HBO's Flight of the Conchords, the first thing that caught our attention was it's infectious theme song. The song is just simple bass, guitar and drums set over a  rhythm of synthesized bleeps and bloops and probably wouldn't get much notice if not heard again and again  throughout a television series. But what I discovered was that as we got into Season One, I was quietly becoming more and more mesmerized by the catchy steel string acoustic guitar part of the theme song. But by the time we had begun the second season, the theme had become showcase for the bass line as the layer grabbed at my ear, transforming the theme into something that it had not been before, and all without ever having changed a note.

I Like Killing Flies: Comfort Food Made With An Angry Kind Of Love

My brother once cooked at an awkwardly undersized breakfast place in the Greenwood neighborhood of Seattle that was once reviewed under the headline: The Unhappiest Place on Earth. The cafe featured cramped tables and mismatched furniture that looked more cheap than campy as well as a perfectly stereotypical, dim-witted, busy-body owner that just wouldn't leave diners alone to eat their meals, acting more as a nuisance and agitator than a hostess. The full-time indifference of the twenty-two year-old waitress was palpable in such a cramped space. The way I remember it, she'd suffered the loss her boyfriend in an automobile accident and although it had happened several years before breakfast, she was engrossed in such a profound and prolonged anguish that she just didn't feel up to bringing out toast or topping off coffee or really even taking orders in the first place. The short review also mentioned the visible anger of the cook, our hero, barking at the waitress's absent-minded, time-consuming mistakes and grumbling aloud from behind the pick-up window about every little break in his routine. The author of the review may even have suggested that he find another line of work. I'm pretty sure Corey would have agreed with him just before suggesting that he shove it up his ass.

Buffalo '66: Vincent Gallo & Christina Ricci Span Time

Even thoughtless jackasses secretly long to be loved. Take me, for instance. Or there is also the case of Billy Brown. Billy has just been released from prison on a cold, winter day and, after serving five years for a crime he didn’t commit, finds that there’s nobody waiting outside the gates to pick him up. He tries to shrug himself deeper into his jacket as he takes a seat at a nearby bus stop and promptly falls asleep. When he comes to, Billy needs to pee. He shuffles back to the prison gates to ask if he can use the facilities where he’s flatly turned down just as the last bus of the day pulls up. Billy then has to take a long, lonesome ride back to Buffalo with a painfully full bladder and the dreadful certainty of only one thing; that his day is going to get worse.

Wall Street Journal: Tim Burton Exhibit Opens at MOMA

While loitering about one corner of the web this afternoon, I came across this article in the WSJ about a new exhibit at New York's Museum of Modern Art featuring the work of multi-faceted, artistic behemoth Tim Burton, whose unique approach to everything from illustration to film has left an undeniable, if not slightly smudged fingerprint on the art world since his sudden emergence some three decades ago. Apart from his work as a film director and producer, Burton's book, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories is a sentimental favorite of mine and contains a full compliment of his highly-stylized, mildly disturbing drawings which I often return to from time to time for both inspiration and/or a good cry. The body of Burton's illustration work alone is enviable, capable of tempting someone like myself into tossing a favored drawing implement into the nearest and deepest body of water and immediately taking up needlepoint. Bully for you should you find yourself in New York between now and April 26th and are able to see the exhibit up close.

Look for the gorgeous collection The Art of Tim Burton at your local independently-owned bookstore.

Hank and Mike: Thanks, Easter Bunny!

Back in the dark days of video rental, a person had little choice other than to travel to the video store and rub elbows with the public in order to rent a movie for the weekend. In an effort to avoid having to spend any more time than necessary at the nearby rental chain, I always kept a list of movies that I wanted to see close at hand which generally allowed us to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible rather than have to spend time browsing among the collective of ever-present mouth breathers and videogame vampires that didn’t seem to have homes to go back to. Unfortunately, there were a handful of times when I was overly excited about the trip to the smoothie joint adjacent to the video store and I’d leave my list behind, thereby condemning myself to the pathos of the browsing process and becoming that which I hate; a slump-shouldered box turner with bad posture and no apparent purpose. 

Being There: Be there

Veteran filmmaker Hal Ashby was on one hell of an unprecedented hot streak during the 1970’s. Though he personally won only a single Oscar in his entire career, (not for his direction, but for his editing of 1967’s eventual Best Picture winner, Norman Jewison’s In The Heat of the Night) the ten year period that followed his directorial debut with The Landlord in 1970 saw six of Ashby’s films accomplish to rack up 7 Oscar wins and manage 16 other nominations, all in a decade that boasts the release of arguably some of the greatest films of the last century.

Visioneers: Misery, Discomfort & Chronic Uncertainty Love(s) Company

Most of us have seen it all before… The everyman character, struggling to remain in control of a rapidly deteriorating situation while trapped in the unnerving dystopia of an all-too-likely and not-so-distant future. We’ve seen Terry Gilliam’s brilliant and heartbreaking Brazil. We met an unspoken social requirement by enduring The Matrix and traversed a rite of passage by seeing Stanley Kubrik’s disturbingly violent A Clockwork Orange. Some of us even go back far enough to remember B-listers like Logan's Run, the original Rollerball, A Boy and His Dog and a good number of similar films that were mass produced during the 1970’s, interpreting the future as a world full of technological wonders that most often culminate in humanity adopting a less than ideal level of detachment from itself. The general idea behind Visioneers is certainly nothing new, but the execution is a fine mix of the delightfully fresh and the hauntingly familiar.

Harold and Maude: The Perfect Marriage Of Music & Moving Pictures

It was only a matter of time before I got around to posting a review of my favorite film of all time, Hal Ashby’s 1971 black comedy, Harold and Maude. Sure, there is no shortage of more contemporary pictures available for a good panning and a current film called Avatar seems to be all the rage right now. But this movie is my fave of faves and rather than put off the inevitable review I'll eventually be compelled to write, I figured I could just pound it out now and check it off my “To Do” list.

The Horror: Brando Gets A Contemporary Makeover

While trying to put together a better avatar for this blog, I began experimenting with the stock filters in Photoshop and thought I might try my hand at recreating the now famous Obama "Hope" poster. Naturally, I am not the first person to co-opt this now historic design for my own use. Far from it. The web is actually rife with enough of these rip-offs to classify any such effort as passe. Fortunately for me, not only do I not have any high resolution photographs of myself, but I have a short attention span, and became distracted by a flying insect above my desk and lost interest in the avatar project.

Accept Nothing Les: Woodgrain Gibson Les Paul (Studio Model)

Ever since I began the "skeletons" project last month, I've been trying to think of a follow up to "Your Board Sucks". (Steep Spiral Staircase: December 24th, 2009) I contemplated a skeleton behind a drum kit, but over the last week, became caught up in drawing all of the components to a Gibson Les Paul, my brother's instrument of choice and, for my money, the finest looking solid body electric guitar in the galaxy. After several days of painstakingly detailed work creating each individual screw, knob and switch, I suddenly found myself beyond the point of no return. It took much longer than I had anticipated, but finally applied the finishing touches this afternoon: the strings, the tuning pegs and the transparent pick guard. (Click here for a closer look.)

Blood Meridian: Cormac McCarthy (Vintage International)

Author Cormac McCarthy has received quite a bit of attention over this past decade, and for good reason. Beginning in 2000, the film adaptation of his 1992 New York Times best-selling novel All The Pretty Horses catapulted him into the mainstream, garnering more press than even McCarthy himself may have been comfortable with. Though the film version, directed by the multi-faceted Billy Bob Thornton, didn't perform well at the box office, much of Hollywood took notice (including film veteran Tommy Lee Jones) and there emerged a certain renaissance for McCarthy's brand of bleak, gritty tales of the soft-spoken cowboys and brutal outlaws that once crisscrossed the deserts of the Southwestern United States.

X-Ray Specs: Sleeplessness, Worry Usher In Year's First Flash of Fleeting Genius

I couldn't get to sleep last night. Nor did I have much luck the night before. The constant concern over my sate of joblessness has got me all tied up in strangling knots of worry and crippling self doubt. I tend to lay awake all night, groaning out loud over perceived missteps and rolling over and over on a pillow that can't seem to settle on the right temperature. Always too hot or unreasonably cold. I sing songs to myself and try with all my might to think of nothing. Trying to seek out some sort of impenetrable psychological darkness that'll distract my aching brain long enough that I can slip into it's folds and away to sleep. But I've gotten nothing of the sort in the last 48+ hours. Though I did find something that I had forgotten I was looking for.

The Wire: David Simon's 5 Year "Love Letter" to Baltimore

If you spent any part of the last decade wasting your valuable entertainment time with The Sopranos, only to feel slighted and spit upon by the creators when the series finally wrapped while still embroiled in a sea of creative controversy and airing its final insulting episode on June 10th of 2007, I know a way you can almost recoup that time via a better series that never quite received as much attention, yet was more truthful and engaging to the discriminating viewer.