The Contrarian

Flame On.

The internet is a curious place. I'm equally fascinated and repulsed by the reply comments I read at various sites, mainstream and otherwise. Depending on the temperament and medication intake of those who feel obliged to mark digital territory with their grammatically-challenged offal, such comments can either provide a chuckle or make one pray for a planetary collision with a colossal meteoric object.

[An aside: Godwin's Law states, "As a Usenet discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches one." I find this to be mostly irrefutable.]

I usually enjoy the comments on Idolator. This is because the readership is, by and large, comprised of snarky musical elitists, which means I'm in good company. Sometimes I go against my better judgment and chime in myself.

The other day, Idolator scribe Dan Gibson posted an out-of-the blue diatribe against The Doors. Now, I understand that for many, appreciating the band is merely an adolescent rite of passage. Others, like myself, revere them for the giant permission slip they gave to rock 'n' roll to indulge its lusty, metaphysical urges. (But if you don't find humor in the band's stylized nihilism, you're totally missing the point.) Some, including people I respect, absolutely abhor the group. This doesn't prevent me from occasionally rushing to their defense, especially when I've passed my productivity point at work. (You know, like now.)

So if you have some time to kill, you should check out this Idolator post and its attending comments. Not only did yours truly get firsties, I also managed to land a couple of zingers. If you make it through that thread, you might wanna read today's (somewhat) pro-Doors retort from Idolator's Anthony Miccio.

Or you could just skip the whole thing, and listen to this genius song from Bruce McCulloch of Kids in the Hall fame. I'm not asking here. This is an order.

In other news, my brilliant, beautiful wife and I are taking a long weekend in San Francisco in June. Well, one day will be work-related. But after that, we're gonna visit with Arthur and enjoy us some California dreamin.' Maybe we'll even have a Democratic nominee by then. We'll definitely have a house. Did I tell you we close on May 23 — my birthday?

The Nonconceptual Awareness of Intrinsic Reality.

Happy Grand Theft Auto IV Day!

I finally broke down and purchased a Playstation 3, just so I could run over hookers and crackheads in Grand Theft Auto IV. GTA is the only video game I actually play, and I knew there wouldn't be a PS2 version, so here we are.

Blu-Ray's victory in the hi-definition DVD war was also a factor in my decision. Since the PS3 uses that format, I thought it would be a cost-effective way to dive into the hi-def video pool. Dudes, this game is gonna look so fucking hot on my 42" flat panel TV.

OK. Take a deep breath and try not to be so materialistic. . .

The only bummer is that I ordered the game and console from Amazon, 'cause I hate going into big boxes. (I also don't want to get stabbed over a copy.)

Amazon shipped the game (and HDMI cable) this morning, but have yet to get the PS3 out the door. It's supposed to arrive on May 5, which means I won't even have it by the weekend. Now I'm wondering if I should just scrap that part of the order and rush over to Best Buy.

In other news, I had to do a one-day turnaround on some Congressional testimony. I'd have panicked, if it wasn't a semi-regular occurrence. I'm not complaining; I like to work under pressure. Plus it's about the importance of net neutrality to the independent music community — a subject I'm pretty familiar with.

Here's something I forgot to tell you: Jebson's post on Aleister Crowley's Temple of Thelema in Cefalu, Sicily was entry number 666 ! I know, I can't believe it, either. We're magickal up in this mofo.

Here's some links about GTA IV, and a video featuring music by the almighty Mastodon:

New York Times poops its editorial pants over the game's witty repartee and ultraviolence.

Slate praises its "narrative richness."

This guy just thinks it's naughty.

But the game is already selling like hotcakes. Hotcakes that have been run over by a crazed Eastern European thug in a supercharged v8!

People REALLY Hate Metallica.

I mean, the band is a therapy-addled husk of their formerly brutal selves, but it really amazes me how much vitriol is directed at them. Sure, they haven't released a decent album in nearly two decades and their drummer is a coked-out loudmouth with a pricey modern art collection and no sense of what people ever liked about their music. But that hardly makes him unique. So why all the haters?

People stick behind other consistently disappointing acts. There's only two dudes left in The Who, and Pete Townshend is an incorrigible asshole who may or may not have downloaded kiddie porn while doing "research" for a "book" that still hasn't seen the light of day. Yet they still sell out arenas, and even suckered a few balding bastards to buy their last album, terrible as it was.

Metallica, on the other hand, get no love. It's clearly because of that whole Napster thing. You remember when Lars and the boys went after their "fans" for illegally trading their music on the web? Don't get me wrong, stealing music is theft, plain and simple. But this incident made them pariahs, even among typically loyal metalheads. That their music had taken a sharp turn for Suckville couldn't have helped matters. (Bands, take note: this is how you squander your legacy.)

Now, Lars is saying they might "pull a Radiohead," and release their records online. For free, even. One wonders if they could give their music away, at this point.

"You know, this is our last record under contract with Warner, so we're looking at how we can embrace everything," Lars says. You mean like they embraced hair gel and over-processed snare drums? I don't care how the hell they release their music; I can pretty much guarantee it'll be utter crap.

Check out the comments field of this Wired Listening Post report on Metallica's digital conversion, and feel the hate! No wonder they need therapy. Maybe they can use this ire to make some suitably aggressive music and start winning back those listeners who abandoned them long ago. Ah, who cares? I feel like an douche even writing about them. But hey, it kept me from posting about Hillary!

La Dolce Vita and Soak Me in Cognac. . . By Jebson Interlandi

For the past twelve days, I’ve been sauntering through the healthy climes of Italy. When the Prez first gave word of my “assignment,” I booked a flight to Palermo and eagerly waited my expense check. This was his faxed memo to yours truly:

“Foreign Correspondent Interlandi: The Contrarian will provide supplies and means for your immediate travel to Cefalu, Sicily, in order for you to take photographs of Aleister Crowley’s Abbey of Thelema. Western Union has your money."

It could’ve been my Great Shark Hunt, but that cheap bastard of a Prez only wired me 15 bucks with a pathetic note: “Hey Jeb, be sure to learn about Cefalu and have some 'Za on me." Luckily, I had recently won a fair amount of cash in a game of chance with some street urchins in Amsterdam. Let that be a lesson to those scamps — never bet against a blue-eyed Italian on a hasheesh bender.

My time in Cefalu was flush with hiking, sun, gelato, vin della casa and seafood. On the last day I finally managed to find Crowley’s old residence, which proved to be a difficult search as there are no signs advertising its whereabouts. Situated beside the soccer stadium, the decrepit compound of that charismatic and influential magus still stands, enshrouded in palm tree-overgrowth.

The house has surely seen better days — its roof is crumbling away and the rooms are littered with rubble. In fact, there’s no reason at all to visit the Abbey, other than to see Crowley’s now-faded artwork on the sanctum's innermost walls.

I experienced a warm, tingling sensation, however, as I stood on the floor where Crowley once performed his unique rituals. Hashish, goats, yoga, sodomy, cocaine, Egyptian incantations, 69ing. . . the energy still lingers. No, not really. Any sensations come solely from the historical imagination. But all in all, it was pretty cool:

The Wickedest Bungalow in the World.

Rec Room Window of the Damned.

DirectTV Antenna picks up "Cooking with the Scarlet Lady (a.k.a. Rachael Ray.)"

Satan's housekeeper is clearly on vacation.

The smiley cock-boobs demon makes you feel right at home.

Translation: Perdurabo gives good head.

Better soak me in Michelob Ultra instead — I'm counting carbs.

A similar design can be found in the Romney family room.

If you want to know how it all really went down during those dark nights at Thelema, watch this clip. Yes, that is Ron Jeremy as the priest.

After Sicily I took a Ferry to Naples. I’m not a fan of that burg, and I don’t expect I’ll ever go back.

Rome is, other than Paris, my favorite city for overall aesthetics. Any metropolis that's laden with statues and fountains (especially fountains) naturally wins my endorsement.

My favorite region in all of Italy is Cinque Terre. On the northern coast of the Mediterranean, these 5 coastal villages are all connected by an 8 mile hiking trail with bedazzling views of the verdant surroundings. The ambrosial air is perfumed with a sweet, floral fragrance. I also read a lot of Maupassant and Gautier on this trip.

Last stop was Florence, which is another open-air museum. I thank The Contrarian for granting me a period of renewal and professional leisure.

For anyone interested in Aleister Crowley, you might like to know there’s a new book on the way entitled, Aleister Crowley and the Temptation of Politics by Marco Pasi (my current professor). The English translation should hit the stores in a month or two.

What's Anthony Michael Hall's Finest Acting Performance?

With an illustrious career including such roles as "that geeky 80s kid" and Bill Gates, one might have a hard time narrowing down Anthony's greatest thespian achievement. For my money it's his turn as cheese-metal producer Mutt Lange in The Def Leppard Story, a made-for-TV *movie* currently shown at least twice a week on VH1 Classic.

Don't believe me? Feast your eyes on this:

What range. Such control. And soooooo dreamy. By the way, whatever happened to Noah Wyle, who played Steve Jobs to Anthony's Bill Gates in Pirates of Silicon Valley? Maybe he's working in an Apple store.

Life These Days.

 

Garamania!

Watchoo lookin' at, kaiju?

Nerdstrom, a.k.a. Mondhexe, a.k.a Weird Mike (the latter alias is my own invention) has a new blog celebrating the Japanese toy-creature-cultural obsession Garamon (a.k.a. Pigmon). It's called, somewhat unsurprisingly, Garamania.

What ever happened to stamp collecting?

Happy Birthday!

Today is my co-worker Chhaya's birthday. She might not update her blog often enough, but she's still good people. We'll be celebrating her existence with a drink or two at this place later tonight.

Slate Does the Delegate Math.

A somewhat more encouraging take than The Contrarian's Doomsday Scenario. But I'm still sticking with my prediction that Clinton finds a way to steal the nomination.

Of course, some have put forth the "scorched-earth" theory — that she's trying to destroy Obama in hopes she can run again in 2012. But I'll be boarding the Mayan mothership at that time, so what does it even matter?