Friday Thoughts and Links
So far this week in Los Angeles I have witnessed annoying Silverlake Herpsters using agave in their coffee, a frustrated actor run into traffic waving his headshot, and Robert Blake buying rotisserie chicken at a Gelson’s in the Valley.
And all the vampires walkin’ through the Valley move west down Ventura Boulevard.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB CD Pick of the Week: “Well, she moved down here at the age of eighteen, She blew the boys away, was more than they’d seen, I was introduced and we both started groovin’, I said, ‘I dig you baby, but I got to keep movin’… on… Keep movin’ on….'”
The great Terry Gilliam picks the best animated films of all time.
My Kingdom to anyone who can get me a copy of Jerry Lewis’s infamous and never released The Day The Clown Cried. I will never find peace in this world until I can see this film.
The incredibly sexy and ubertalented Jennifer Damiano, already a star on Broadway, will someday be the future ex-Mrs. DB1. Oh yes. She most certainly will.
If you, like me, are a huge fan of the genius that is all things Vonnegut, this letter, written just after he was a prisoner of war in Dresden (recreated in “Slaughterhouse Five”) is an incredible read.
Patriots quarterback Tom Brady gets crap for wearing a fauxhawk.
But you are not here to posit theories about whether Giselle has ruined Brady’s athletic prowess through succubus power. You are here for Pear:
Like two hemispheres of Global Fondling.
“Bro My God”?
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Seriously?
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All is lost.
Four Prong’s half brother, soft prong, scores Selma Blair Semitic flat-chested hotness.
Tom Petty? Rly? He’s got a Nascar name, looks like Gene Wilder with a bowl cut, and sounds like a hillbilly doing a bad Bob Dylan impersonation. His contribution to music is not unlike MSG’s contribution to Chinese cuisine. Zombies take us all.
I used to rock my Friday morning rituals listening to Tom Petty in 1979 before high-school. And by high I mean stoned. On Lenny’s new Chemo crop today, groovin’ Son. Gone too soon!
Thought this was hilarious:
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There are few songwriters named so well as Tom Petty. His position as elder statesman of a nearly defunct genre belies the general insignificance of his writings, flaccid skeletons of songs defined entirely by their chord progressions. Perhaps the amicable and rote churnings of his backing musicians are simply not meant to withstand much scrutiny, and perhaps Petty’s failure to adopt the style of a song to its lyrical content is clever juxtaposition, or perhaps these songs are simply so innocuous and weightless that their radio ubiquity has led to their canonization by supposedly serious music listeners. For those whose enjoyment of music derives significantly from structure and thematic development, Petty’s tunes offer very little, as they are generally four minute loops of a thirty second passage. Distinctions between verse and chorus can be known almost exclusively through lyrical repetition; vocal melodies and instrumental backing certainly don’t register any change. Petty’s voice is slight on all accounts: slightly nasal, slightly smarmy, slight in range and slighter still in comprehension of the words it proclaims.
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Of the songs themselves, “I Won’t Back Down” is ill-conceived posturing, declaring that “You can stand me up at the gates of hell” in a manner so light and goofy that I almost believe Petty wrote this song in the voice of a Sunday School smart-aleck. Similarly, “Learning to Fly” sounds nothing like aerial pedagogy, “Free Fallin'” is stagnant and restricted and employment of the “Refugee” metaphor is downright insulting to people who have fled war-ravaged nations. The dubbed backing vocals that inevitably begin to echo Petty one-third of the way into any of his songs guarantee trivialization of whatever subject he may be addressing. This collection of Petty’s alleged best work solidifies his position as a pleasant and worthless third or fourth tier American songwriter.
– Cale Weatherly (some Amazon reviewer)
How dare you John Paul Jesus. Tom Petty may look like a prettier Carly Simon but his music is legit. So many classics.
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Anyway, I think they put that Jerry Lewis movie someplace safe so noone would ever have to watch it. It’s in the Ishtar vault where it belongs.
If you want to see ‘The Day The Clown Cried’, just break into Jerry’s private office and blow open his safe. I don’t know why you or anyone else would want to see it. I guess its the same reason people slow down to look at car accidents.
Bro my god, I am tried of my wifes prolasped ass.
Oh my lady gaga, use a broom or something to push it back in.
His fingernails are longer than hers.
Mmmm…..Daisy Dukes Pear!!!
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Kurt Vonnegut is brilliant and that letter is quite poignant.
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Papa’s got a brand new bag and by new bag I mean I digs me some Single Barrel Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey .
^ Glad you like it. Throw one back for me. Even though I’m still at fuccen work. On a Friday. Shit.
What are we drinkin, Et tu?
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Wait there’s more than one Tom Petty song?
Douchey Wallnuts can rest easy.
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http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/01/cdc-denies-zombies-existence_n_1562141.html?ref=mostpopular
Jesus H. Christ, Chief. Talk about mailing it in. I did this pic back on May 12th.
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http://img225.imageshack.us/img225/7610/bradytintin.jpg
Sure Rev, that’s how Night of the Living Dead started. So called, “experts” said there were no such things as zombies…
@Douchble Helix, maybe you should go back to your classic side by sides. You know, boobs and whatnot. But you know, since you can’t post the actual picture in the comment, that’s probably why noone remembered it. Hmmm. Tough break kiddo.
And Tom Brady has made one of the classic blunders. The first is never get involved in a land war in Asia. But the second is never fall for the bullshit that you are so good looking that you can make this kind of grooming decision.
If you fellas know what’s good for ya you would use this whole Zombie Apocolypse thing to get some “This Could Be Our Last Night on Earth” sex from the ladies. Hey, it works in the movies.
Looks like they’re trying to break the record for most NBA fan-rubes jammed in Shaq’s locker
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Tom Petty? Agree w^ above trouncing. However, with a caveat, I never begrudge someone that finds a market for their art no matter how trite. Cash in, baby
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Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cats Cradle’ is a work of genius.
Nice, nice, very nice
Nice, nice, very nice
So many people in the same device
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All this end of times stuff got me to thinkin’ about philosophy.
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Me and Joey Bishop used to read a lot of Bertrand Russell’s stuff. Funny guy, that Bertrand Russell. I learned in one of his books about a psychological school of thought that called themselves “Behaviourists.” This guy Professor John B. Watson and a Professor John Dewey, who were also considered to be founders of Pragmatism, held the view as “behaviourists” that nothing can be known except by external observation. Now this may sound obvious to the average jamoke, but when you think about it, it makes your head hurt. Madon, these guys in the early 1900s really needed to get laid.
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Anyways, these guys denied altogether that there is a separate source of knowledge called “introspection,” by which we can know things about ourselves which we could never observe in others. Like Ass Pear. Ass Pear, I says. Ain’t that the truth, na mean? I know when I’m thinking about laying pipe to a cute little filly, there ain’t no way she knows what I’m thinking unless I tells her what I’m thinking. How smart were these guys? And think about it, I know I’m thinking about eating her Vertical Bacon Sandwich, and she could be thinking about giving me a little blowski on the schmeckle, but neither of us really know what the other of us is thinking. Man, it feels like I’ve been smoking the marijuana!
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It’s like the time I was on a collection run with a guy named Mervyn the Finger, an unassuming little jerkoff who could disable or kill a guy by pressing his right index finger into a variety of places on a person’s person. Mervyn had the habit of saying, “Ayna?”, which was short for, “Ain’t it?” For instance, if we was walking down the boardwalk in AC on a nice day, Mervyn would turn to me and say, “Hey Wallnuts, it’s a nice day, ayna?”
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So anyways, we went after some low-life skells who owed the Scarfos some decent cabbage. Now these skells see Mervyn coming and they don’t know what he’s thinking. If anything, they are thinking they are going to kick his ass for walking past ’em. Introspection is a real twat. So they’s getting ready too tee off on Mervyn and he walks up to this half a Titsune wise guy and presses his index finger into that little notch right below his Adam’s Apple. The guy goes out like a fuckin’ light. In another 15 seconds Mervyn clips two more of the crumbs by jamming his finger in various other areas of sensitivity, which leaves only one guy conscious and with piss stained slacks. Of course we collected the juice, but this incident serves as one heck of a great illustration to prove the Behaviorists’ point of view that true Introspection is bullshit.
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Come to think of it, most made guys and other wise guys would be considered Pragmatists in the classic sense, even though they wouldn’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea what we’re talking’ about. Since inquiry begins with real doubt, as Charles Peirce wrote, in order to understand a concept in a more fruitful way, mob guys are by definition Pragmatists. Fruitful, I says.
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In the Mervyn the Finger story, we had real doubt that the aforementioned skells couldn’t pay up on the marker they owed the Scarfo boys, and so our inquiry into this matter was based on our real doubt. Am I right when I say that?
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One thing is for sure, if anyone had called Mervyn or Skinny D’Amato Pragmatists back in the day – no matter how true it may have been – these guys would have done the things they do to folks that they did to make their bones. Capice? Behaviorists have another good point when they say that in the observation of human behavior there is no proof that from watching people any thought actually occurs. Just cuz I think I think don’t mean I actually think. Ya mean? I tells ya, I can vouch for that. Most guys I know don’t show much in they way of thinkin’.
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Now Rickles followed the Monism position as espoused by Spinoza. Rickles always has been a Stunada Head. C’mon, who believes there is no difference between mind and body?!? The ironic thing is that Rickels’ inability to get laid could have thrown a Monkey Wrench into the whole Behaviorist gig, because sure as shit you could say no broad ever thought about throwing him a boff, never. So that blows their whole Behaviorist shebang since you can say that in this case you absolutely know what another human being is thinking; “I’m not fuckin’ Rickles!”
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Alright, I gotta go lie down now.
@DW, maybe you should just go back to jizzing on stuff so you don’t have anurysm. Leave the deep thinking to the pros.
@Doucheywallnuts
Eagle Rare 10yr old courtesy of the fine Doc. I might have to save your most recent opus for later reading when I’m enjoying a little after dinner.
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@Doc
Will do!!
Rolling dirty thru the hood at a fairly high speed
trippin’ on bath salts and high on fuckin weed
ain’t got no safety shit ’cause that’s the way i rap
t-shirt, yo, and a fuckin Yankee cap
gotta get back to da crib before it turns night
’cause this nigga’s crazy Honda ain’t got no headlight
don’t burn up no front tire cause i only need one wheel
the brothas say i’m krazy, but i’m the real deal.
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I’m so hopelessly white, but seriously that dude is badassss!
^ Hermit
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Where I’m from we call these types of idiots “organ donors”.
Bertrand Russell and Mervyn the Finger in one story. Wow. I follow the Nihilist doctrine. I believe that you are all figments of my imagination placed in my mind to humor my disembodied mind. I am only thought. I am therefore I think. If only I could unthink the worsening Zombie Apocalypse.
@Hermit, it is considered gauche in some circles to let the front wheel touch the ground. I am a member of this school of thought as well.
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Bath Salts are the new Nyquil
If Doucheywallnuts didn’t exist, we’d have to invent him.
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And so it goes.
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Billy Pilgrims.
I’m afraid just about every film geek in the world is looking for a copy of “The Day The Clown Cried”, my friend. Rumor has a it a few VHS copies leaked out back in the day, but it is ridiculously hard to come by. The most hardcore collectors of obscure slop ain’t gonna have that puppy–you’d need to snuggle up to someone in the biz, close to the source, methinks. If, on the other hand, you manage to score, please share the love and set it loose for the rest of us!
I hate both of these people,where’s my hammer?
Man what a douchey review of the Jerry Lewis movie. Wow, a hero who isn’t heroic enough? Real human beings aren’t captain fucking America. And it’s not even because we’re not good enough. He’s illustrating the fact that it was so demoralizing in those times that even if you stood up, nobody else would back you and you’d just get beaten.
Fucking Hollywood douchebags. Lost their fucking souls to a moving screen. Now everything falls short of their silly childhood fantasies.
Truly annoying pic. I ll give her a finger…or size 13 shoe.
Chubby Chan
Daisy Dukes Pear: barely any “Dukes” of which to speak.
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As it should be.
I’m pretty sure the first half dozen posts of this thread are Nancy Dreuche mainlining bath salts…