|
x I'M A PC AND I BUST HEADS 1.20.09
x Look out, folks. Ol’ Carl has his propeller hat on again, and he’s
about to lay another technology-themed smackdown on you. The focus of today’s rant? Apple computer devotees. Why?
It seems that an off-hand comment I made in an earlier ‘Unmuzzled’ rant about Apple products being overrated set
off a minor storm of critical responses from Apple fanboys. x This aggression will not stand. x Full disclosure. I have a history
of responding negatively to products that I feel command a level of popularity that is vastly disproportionate to the products’
worth (see earlier references to Pearl Jam, Harry Potter, pants). And mind you, I recognize that Apple makes some good products,
and I don’t harbor any ill will toward your average Apple product user. I myself am an Apple customer (more on that
later), and many of my friends swear by Apple products. All well and good. x But there
is a special subset of Apple loyalists who gravitate to the Apple brand as if it was a status symbol – a lifestyle brand,
vs a computing platform. Resembling a cult in its unblinking devotion to His Holiness Steve Jobs, Apple zealots maintain an air of pseudo sophistication that Apple itself cultivates via its outbound marketing campaigns. And that’s
bullshit. x Here
are my primary points of contention with Apple, in no particular order. x Issue # 1 - Openness - Apple encourages users to ‘think different,' and embrace computing as an enriching
social experience. And yet, Apple is notorious for locking users into proprietary computing schemes. Exhibit A - Apple operating system Mac OS X. OS X cannot be legally
implemented on non-Apple hardware. You can operate Microsoft Windows on any Apple machine and dozens of other vendors’
machines, but you can’t run OS X on any PC. x Exhibit B - Apple’s
continued insistence on leveraging DRM technology to sell iTunes audio files as DRM-locked Fairplay AAC files, ensuring that said files can only be played on Apple devices. Sure, Steve Jobs issued a ‘groundbreaking’
statement decrying DRM technology in early 2007 (on the same day he ate a ‘groundbreaking’ pancake breakfast, and later
took a ‘groundbreaking’ dump in the Apple executive suite men’s room), but non-Apple Kool-Aid drinkers called bullshit on that, exposing the statement for the slippery PR move that it was. For you see, at the time, Apple was facing legal action from no less than five European countries over Apple iTunes/device lock-in, and Jobs had inside knowledge that music conglomerate
EMI was set to begin selling its music catalog without DRM restrictions – a much-applauded and long overdue move that
Jobs was merely trying to get ahead of. Oh, and he continues to whistle an entirely different tune on DRM protection for movies, with an eye on his massive shareholder stake in Disney Pixar. So here’s your golf clap, Steve-o. x Mind
you, somewhere out there an Apple fanboy is digesting that bit of insight re: users not being allowed to utilize Apple-controlled
software assets on non-Apple hardware, asking aloud with a shit-eating smirk, ‘Well, why would you want to?’ Dear
fanboy, please lean closer to your screen so that I can reach through it and punch you in your turtlenecked throat. You just
don’t get it. x Issue
# 2 – Smug marketing – Holy shit, folks. The ‘I’m a Mac, I’m a PC’ ads? Let me tell you that I’ve fantasized about the many, many ways I’d like to inflict physical pain on the
Mac guy (picture me jumping up and down on top of him with all four hooves positioned directly over his balls, crushing his
nutsack with the grace of a ballerina and the force of a jackhammer…ooooh…yeah…that’s the stuff).
With a squeaky voice that presumably owes to the many years he’s spent breathing deeply of his own intoxicatingly-fragrant
flatulence, and sporting that rumpled yet carefully cultivated, scraggly-goateed slacker look that screams ‘I shop at
Diesel with my dad’s Am Ex card when I’m not doing Ecstasy with my androgynous same-sex friend who looks at me
longingly while wondering if tonight’s the night he gets lucky and I re-discover my bisexuality,’ the
Mac guy practically begs you to cave in his testicles with all four of your hooves…sorry, sorry… there I go
again. x We get it,
Mac guy. PCs are for stodgy, button-down drones and Apple systems are for creative, free-spirit types. Again, a lifestyle
play, vs a computing play. What’s that you say? PCs are more susceptible to viruses and malware than Macs? Maybe that’s
because it’s more profitable for hackers to target Windows PCs - which host 90% of the world’s most valuable information
assets – rather than try to steal the Dangermouse mash-ups off your MacBook. x And of course, if Apple ever did command a majority share of the market, not only would it be targeted by the very same hackers that currently target PCs, but – dread of dreads - it would
no longer be cool to use Apple computers. Apple users would no longer be ‘unique,' and Apple would cease to be Apple.
Apple would be Microsoft Lite. x Issue # 3 – Brand devotion – Many Apple loyalists pride themselves on being the first to own Apple’s
latest and greatest products. Thus the lines that formed outside Apple stores in the days before the original iPhone went on sale. Lines that stretched across multiple city blocks.
For a fucking telephone. Some Apple devotees couldn’t even be bothered to wait in line themselves – they paid other people to do it for them. And how did Steve Jobs thank these folks for their slavish loyalty? Why, he slashed the price of the original
8GB iPhone by one-third and discontinued the 4GB iPhone just two months after the initial product launch. Those line-waiting, first generation iPhone buyers with any dignity swore to never buy another Apple product ever again. Predictably,
many others resolved to grab their ankles and wait in line for the iPhone 3G just one year later. x * * * *
* x In
case you’re wondering, I myself use a laptop from Texas-based Dell Inc to manage 4TH-HORSE.com. You know
what they make computers out of in Texas? Recycled beer cans and bullet casings, epoxied together with a mix of whiskey and cowboy sweat.
You know what you won’t find anywhere near a Dell computer? Rainbow colored fruit. x And again, I’m not saying that everyone who uses Apple products is
a pretentious tool. I myself continue to use a second-generation iPod - the deck-of-cards-sized, pre-video playback,
spinning hard drive edition that’ll get you laughed out of any Apple store ‘Genius Bar’ - now accepting appointments. Anyone who knows me personally will tell you that I’m not a pretentious tool (a tool, maybe, but not a pretentious
tool). x But if you’re
a Starbucks half-caf soy latte-drinking, Radiohead on vinyl-spinning, eco vacation-taking, Whole Foods-shopping, Ron Paul-voting,
yoga-doing, Mini Cooper with a ‘Free Tibet’ bumper sticker-driving, scarf as an accessory-wearing, vegan-cuz-it’s-trendy-eating,
Chimay-sipping, Web 2.0 social network-pimping, Sundance Film Channel-watching, personal carbon footprint-offsetting, New
Yorker magazine-reading, iEverything-using Apple devotee, there’s a good chance that I’m speaking directly to
you. And you, my friend, are a huge doosh. x Thank you for listening.
x x CARL'S CONFESSIONS, PART I 10.27.08
x I know what
you’re probably thinking. ‘Oh look, the global financial market is disintegrating and the U.S.
presidential race has completely overheated, and here comes Carl to point
out that we’re all huge, huge assholes for screwing everything up so badly.’ x
Whoa now, people. That’s a pretty harsh accusation, and not
at all the case. I’m actually not gonna talk about any of that stuff today. In fact, I’m gonna go the other way
with it and open myself up to some critical scrutiny for a change. Why? Because contrary to popular opinion, I’m not
perfect, and it’s only fair that I train the bullshit detector on yours truly from time to time. This is me keeping
it real, folks. And anyway, there’s something I need to get off my chest. x
I’m
the guy who drank Zima. That’s right. Zima. x
Why would I cop to this now after keeping it a closely guarded secret
for so many years? Alas, MillerCoors has pulled the plug on the now infamous lime-flavored malt beverage, originally marketed fifteen years ago as a hip, refreshing alternative to beer.
But lest there be any confusion, it was never hip to drink Zima, and I’ve always known this. I guess it’s just
easier for me to talk about it now, now that I have no choice but to put my Zima drinking days behind me. I’m
going cold turkey. Not because I want to, but because I have no, ahem, ‘malternative.’ x
And mind you,
when I say that I drank Zima, I don’t just mean that I drank it years ago when I was an idiot kid (though that was indeed
the case – it was my ‘gateway drink’ if you will – and I drank shitloads of it). No, I mean that I
was drinking Zima as recently as this past summer. x
I know. This is getting worse and worse. x
But here’s the thing,
people. I feel like Zima could have been a huge hit on the market, which in some way negates the shame I feel for having consumed
it so enthusiastically over the years. The simple fact is that Zima wasn’t marketed correctly, which gets back to the
random sixer of Zima that I had in my fridge a couple of months ago. Here’s how it got there. I was exercising
on a hot summer day, and proceeded from the race track directly to the liquor store, as hardcore athletes are prone to doing.
Still breathing heavy and dripping with sweat, I scoured the store for a beverage that would quench my thirst whilst killing
my brain cells. x
Zima was the obvious choice. x
Are you getting all this, MillerCoors? Zima could have been your sports
drink! Gatorade for the hard-partying set. Except unlike Gatorade, you drink like eight of them, or however many
Zimas it takes to convince you that you don’t look at all ridiculous trying to dance to techno music (oh yeah, I drank
Zima at the club too, like in the mid-to-late nineties. Sometimes my bartender would top off my Zima with a shot of fruit flavored
liqueur, and then he’d wink and give me the ‘finger guns’ as I sashayed back to the dance floor. I swear
to you I’m not making any of this up. It is said that honesty can be liberating. It can also be horrifying). x
Or if not an
exercise drink, Zima could have been marketed as a breakfast drink for the alcoholic on the go. Orange juice with your eggs
and waffles? Fuck orange juice! Drink Zima and start your day with a citrus
swerve! Throw some caffeine in there and you can take coffee out of the breakfast equation too. Mmm, mmm, Zima in the mornin’. x
This is how I am, people. I’m
always thinking. If MillerCoors had only consulted me before killing off Zima in favor of shit drinks like Miller Chill, I
could still be feeding my Zima habit. Quietly, behind closed doors. I wouldn’t be hurting anyone. Sigh.
ONE FOR THE FELLAS 9.01.08 Guys, we need
to talk. Far too many of you are shaving and/or waxing your chests. This is not acceptable behavior. You may be asking,
'Where are you hanging out that you're surrounded by shirtless men, Carl?' Settle down. I've observed this
trend through casual people watching, and I almost certainly wouldn't have noticed but for the recent surge in popularity
of v-neck shirts. It seems like everywhere I go these days I'm crossing paths with a v-neck clad dude with smooth pecs
and a look on his face that confirms that he has no idea that what he's doing is wrong. Let me be clear,
there are only two kinds of men who have any business shaving/waxing their chests: Athletes - But
not all athletes. I'm referring specifically to athletes involved
in sports where speed is being measured and body hair could be considered a liability. Swimmers and track runners basically.
Not weightlifters or gymnasts, though they continue to flaunt this rule. A lot of wrestlers go hairless too, presumably because
they prefer to grope sweaty, smooth-skinned men in unitards than sweaty, hairy men in unitards. I’m sure they have a
very good explanation for this. Professional models - Approximately 0.001% of you male readers are model caliber
lookers (I've always just assumed that my female readers are all supermodels, however), so don't linger too long on
this criterion. Why is it OK for male models to shave their body hair? A lotta chicks profess to be into that, but don’t
go getting any ideas. A woman might say she's into that, but if
you actually pull the trigger and wax your chest to gain her favor, there will inevitably come a point down the road when
the two of you will ponder this question: What is the appropriate amount of time for a man to devote to chest
hair maintenance? In the time it takes you to pensively trace a figure-eight around your silky smooth
areolas as you consider your answer, she'll have already decided that you're a homo. The correct
answer is ‘no time.’ What does any of this have to do with the apocalypse? Well I'm not exactly
sure how God plans to sort you folks out as you proceed en masse to the pearly gates (I'm just a subcontractor for Death,
as I've mentioned, so my visibility into matters like this is limited), but I've seen enough movies to know that you'll
have to stand in a long line, where you'll wait to speak to God or his assistant to make your case re: why you should
be admitted into Heaven. So now ask yourself this question,
guys: relative to the time you've spent feeding and clothing the destitute or volunteering at your local animal shelter
lets say, how much time have you spent waxing your chest? You’ll wanna have a good answer for
this one.
JUKEBOX HEROES
7.29.08
The music industry is dying. How do I know? As is the case with the apocalypse, the signs are all around us. I could go on at length about how digital piracy is starving the music industry of its cash flow and talent flow, or
how web-based music distribution models are fracturing listening audiences into increasingly narrow niches, which in turn
challenges today’s emerging artists to achieve the critical mass required to sustain touring and recording operations
without selling their souls to Walt Disney Co or American Idol. I could wax philosophical about how the next generation
of potentially-great musicians likely finds it more gratifying to strap on plastic joysticks shaped like guitars than real six strings, or how a recent study predicts that in the not so distant future your immediate peers are going to supply a full 25% of your original musical intake
via online social networks (enjoy those demos, friends). I could rant about that stuff.
But I’m not going to. I’ve been up on my soapbox a lot lately (it was very subtle, you probably didn’t notice),
so for a change of pace, I’m gonna ease back on the ranting and simply present the evidence to support my
hypothesis. I submit to you the Billboard Digital Download Top Ten on this day, July 29, 2008 (see below). I sampled all of these songs online and have reviewed them here for your consideration,
since I recognize that many of you readers have heard few if any of these songs. Here’s everything you need to know: #1 Katy Perry – I Kissed
A Girl This song would have been better if Steve Perry sang it, because every song would be better if Steve Perry sang it. Instead, Katy Perry chirps this vampy ode to girls kissing
girls at parties. Which sounds like it has potential, until you realize that she’s just doing it for attention too. #2 Jonas Brothers – Pushing
Me Away A lot of you people have never heard of the Jonas Brothers, but that’s about to change.
For the Jonas Brothers are The Next Boy Band, as chronicled in the new issue of Rolling Stone, as well as the new issue of Popstar! Magazine, in which the Jonas Brothers practically swept the magazine’s Poptastic awards, winning the categories of Best Male Singer, Best Group or Duo, Best Song, Best Album, Best Male Style Idol, and Male Hottie
(the three Jonas brothers ranked #1, #2 and #3 in this category). Boy bands like the JoBros, as they’re sometimes
called, come around exactly every ten years. Witness the New Kids On The Block’s ‘Hangin’ Tough’ album
(1988, 8X platinum) and ‘N Synch’s self titled album (1998, 11X platinum). The Jonas Brothers’ new album
will be released later in 2008 with big backing from Walt Disney Co, and it will sell roughly one frillion copies. Every
ten years. Circle of life. #3 Miley Cyrus – 7 Things Miley Cyrus sprang from the loins of Billy Ray Cyrus, who is remembered best for either his breathtakingly awful hit song ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ or his mullet, depending
on who you ask. Flash forward to today, and his progeny Miley is 15 years-old and making Oprah Winfrey money as the queen of the Walt Disney business empire. Meanwhile, you have no mullet. #4 The Jonas Brothers – Burning Up Fun fact. The Jonas Brothers promote chastity as one of their core messages, each wearing a purity ring that symbolizes their commitment to staying celibate until marriage.
Which I think is a noble pledge for them to make - and obviously a slick way to showcase that they are in no way
a threat to your teenage daughters’ virginity. But deep down I worry that one or more of the Jonas Brothers might someday
be tempted to have sex outside of wedlock – don’t ask me why I say that. And on that day, I just hope your daughter
is well out of earshot when the fateful words are spoken aloud. “I thought I could wait forever, until I met you tonight” #5 Chris Brown – Forever Yesterday the Wall Street Journal exposed that this song is actually an extended version of a Doublemint gum jingle set to air on television and radio in August.
Chris Brown will be acknowledging this revelation at a Wrigley Co/Doublemint news conference tonight, in fact. Per the Journal,
“Mr. Brown is slated to sing ‘Forever’ and segue into his jingle.” #6 Coldplay - Viva la Vida You knew Apple was going to feature the new Coldplay single in an iTunes commercial
long before it happened. The two organizations enjoy a natural synergy, in that they both make good products wrapped in sterile
white packaging. And they’re both overrated. #7 Rihanna – Disturbia Rihanna can deliver the goods, but this is not
her best work. Check out ‘Umbrella’ instead and vibe on the wet synth soul. And dig Jay-Zs fresh intro, yo. #8 The Pussycat Dolls –
When I Grow up I have thrown myself on a grenade for you people. Avenge my death. #9 Metro Station – Shake It Metro Station features Trace Cyrus, son of Billy Ray Cyrus, brother of Miley Cyrus. Sample lyrics: “Shake, shake,
shake, shake, shake it, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake it, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake it, shake, shake, shake, shake,
shake it, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake it.” #10 Natasha Bedingfield – Pocketful of Sunshine Yes, please, Natasha Bedingfield. These are the top ten most
downloaded songs in America right now, and in case you’re wondering, I focused on digital single sales vs album sales because digital single sales currently outpace album unit sales by more than 3X. Sigh. Some of those songs are borderline legitimate
jams, yes. But I think you’ll agree that on balance, it’s a pretty grim scene. Two of those acts are sponsored
by Disney, and two of them are Billy Ray Cyrus’ kids. One of the songs is literally a commercial for chewing gum. And sure, maybe I’m an
ageist for disparaging the downloading/listening sensibilities of today’s tweens (actually, I definitely am. I can’t
even believe I used the word ‘tween’ just then). And yes, maybe I shoulda focused more of my Billboard #10 review
on the songs themselves, vs the artists and related trivia. Whatever. Refer back to my original hypothesis, review
the evidence I just presented, and then tell me I’m wrong. P.S. If in the final moments before the Armageddon I find myself humming along
to the Pussycat Dolls, I will be so pissed at you people.
SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!
5.15.08
Folks, enough with the 'rah rah environment'
squawkathon already, ok? Your hearts are in the right place, I know this (except for you hippies - nothing about you works
for me, you stupid hippies). It's just a little much. And by a little much, I mean its completely off-the-charts ridiculous.
Dare I say, ridonkulous.
In case you hadn’t heard, it is now very hip to be into the earth. And don't get
me wrong, the earth is a perfectly reasonable thing to be hip to. It's just, you're pouring it on a little thick with
the sanctimonious tone, especially in light of your flagrant, long-running eco-abuse. 'Environmental stewardship?' Stewardship assumes an authority to manage another person's affairs, and in this case, that 'person' is
Mother Nature.
But Mother Nature has been very busy lately 'stewarding' the hell out of you guys. So consider losing the tude.
Ah, the wire
noise has reached fever pitch. To mark the recent passage of Earth Day, the New York Times ran a feature-length editorial on the merits of 'going green,' and Time Magazine swapped their iconic red border for a green one, presumably to frame the similarly-themed jibber jabber highlighted
within its feature spread. Add to this a breathless onslaught of talking heads on TV and kumbaya rallies in major cities around
the globe, and then picture me vomiting pine cones and patchouli all over my stable. Cuz that's what I wanted to do.
Never mind for a moment that the apocalypse is afoot, which renders the threat of gradual environmental
erosion moot. And never mind that both the New York Times and Time Magazine neglected to acknowledge that the reason you're
in this sustainability predicament in the first place is the very same reason why your so-called green revolution is going
to end in abject surrender. Take a moment to really savor your ignorance and/or bliss.
Are you
done? You are? Ok now listen close.
There are simply too many of you people. And you are reproducing
like rabbits. Nymphomaniac crack-whore rabbits. On crack.
Human overpopulation. Globally, you
are birthing more consumers than the earth can sustain. Even if every leader from every country around the world suddenly
saw eye to eye on energy conservation policies and enforcement strategies and everything else it would take to truly go green
on an international scale, I don't see how you'd ever achieve a similar understanding on population control.
How bad is the problem? I think we've all heard about that woman in Montana or wherever who just squeezed out her twelfth kid in so many years. You know the one, "Each of my children is a blessing and I can't
wait to have another one! Oh, and my uterus just jumped out of my body and ran out the door in a panic. Is that weird?"
That's an extreme example, sure, but that's the kind of mindset that pervades
huge subsections of our global village. There's an equally large population of people that don't or can't use
birth control. And I don't want to get bogged down in 'statistics' and 'research', but I also hypothesize
that the regions of the world where babies are stacking up to the rafters are the exact places that you don't want them
to be. Scientifically speaking.
Mind you, every child born into this world is
a blessing on some level. But how many babies are too many to be born to a family, and who gets to make that call? That's
the heart of the debate right there, and though you might find this hard to believe, I don't have all the answers. The guidance
I've been offering parents re: when to say when - you should be able to physically juggle your babies without dropping
them. But most of the parents I’ve spoken to aren’t down with this idea, and the ones who are cool with it are
really tentative with the juggling. Hardly any hang time.
Bottom line, sooner or later
you people are gonna run out of places to put other people, and you're gonna run out of places to put your shit. You just
have so much environmental baggage. So many issues in fact, that the idea was recently floated that you should use
your arable land to grow food to use as fuel in your machines. Food for fuel. Say it out loud a couple times, and become one
with your desperation, and your shame.
Overpopulation. Industrial pollution. Food shortages.
No place to put your shit. And if the smog doesn't kill you, the cow farts will.
So I'm sorry people, but you're screwed. And I inhabit this planet too,
so you'd think I would care more. But it's not that I don't care. Well, maybe it's a little of that. It's
more that I really can't be bothered to upend my lifestyle to save a couple of trees. Sunburns aside, the environmental
pain that I'm feeling today simply isn't acute enough. I'm sorry, but it's true. That's true for a lot
of us.
At least for now.
*
* * * *
Sun, water and wind. Truly clean and renewable energy sources, and the way forward. So the hippies are right after all. And so are the Parrotheads, it seems. But I just hate them all so much.
Oh, the title of this posting borrows a line from
a classic Charlton Heston movie of yore that is both relevant to this topic and not to be missed. RIP, Charlton.
NOBODY PUTS SWAYZE IN A CORNER
3.25.08
Hollywood star Patrick Swayze was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Waiting for a joke here? Come on now. Cancer isn't funny*.
And those of you who may be waiting on me to poke a little fun at Patrick Swayze the man and not Patrick Swayze the cancer-victim
will be similarly disappointed with the tone of this posting. Here's the gist.
Patrick Swayze is one of the great, but largely unsung entertainers of the modern age.
Now some of you may be asking, "Swayze? Really?" I’m willing to look past your ignorance here in the interest
of educating you about the creative artistry of actor/dancer/singer/songwriter Patrick Swayze – the rare quadruple threat.
And please know that I am completely serious in my views here, and I'm not alone. Witness the media news cycle that trailed
his cancer revelation for over a week, and the outpouring of public support that he continues to receive. He may have kept
a low profile in recent years, but his fans still love him. Starting with this guy.
Swayze. His contributions to the field of entertainment are manifold, and if you aren’t already
familiar with his output and attributes, well, you should be. Here’s a quick refresher, beginning with his action movie
legacy.
I put it to you that an intelligent assessment of Swayze’s prowess
in this genre can only be made in the context of the preeminent action film star - Chuck Norris. If Chuck Norris is the benchmark for action movie excellence, how does Swayze stack up? Let's review.
Both actors deliver the goods, no question, both in terms of bad-guy ass kickings and acting skills not associated
with ass-kicking. But looking at their fighting styles specifically, while I give Chuck Norris credit for his hard-nosed,
no-nonsense approach, I gotta give the nod to Patrick Swayze for his agility and overall athleticism (his experience as a
ballet dancer probably served him well in this regard). Of course, both men’s fight sequences were choreographed, but
Swayze’s move-to-move transitions were much cleaner, more graceful. Swayze is Mikhail Baryshnikov to Norris’
Michael Flatley. Jay-Z to Norris' 50 Cent. Mr. Fantastic to Norris’ The Thing. Ricky Martin to
Norris’ Gerardo. Monkey Ball to Norris’ Donkey Kong.
You following me on those
comparisons? Ok good.
Swayze’s cross-genre acting abilities are, of course,
undeniable. He helped deliver some full-on movie blockbusters, including Dirty Dancing, Ghost, and Point Break (collective global box-office gross: $905M), and he delivered lesser appreciated but no less compelling performances in such
classics as Donnie Darko, The Outsiders, and Black Dog, to name just a few.
But lets not screw around. For Swayze fans, it all comes back
to one movie. His pinnacle achievement in cinema. His love letter to the action movie genre. The moment when a generation
of young men who had wondered if they were gay for having sat through Dirty Dancing came to understand that Swayze is all
man. He is one of us, only better.
Road House.
Road House is emblazoned on men’s collective consciousness, our gold standard for measuring movie awesomeness.
And any male creature – person, horse, or otherwise - who has ever viewed Road House through blood-shot eyes at 2AM while assembling
a clumsy pyramid of empty beer cans knows exactly what I’m talking about here.
In Road House, Swayze plays a professional bouncer/bar manager with a thoughtful disposition and a philosophy degree from
NYU, transitioning into a new gig at the rough-and-tumble Double Deuce bar. He gets into numerous scrapes in this capacity,
and feuds with a seedy businessman and his henchmen for claim to the title 'Mayor of All That Is Badass.'
At least that’s how I remember it.
I can quote Road House all day long if
I have to, people. Starting with, “The name…is Dalton,” uttered by supporting actor and real-life jazz/blues
star Jeff Healey, RIP. Pro wrestler Terry Funk even makes an appearance, and I’m gonna go ahead and say that any movie that features Terry Funk is an entertainment
goldmine.
Finally, let's not overlook Swayze’s musical talent. Woefully under-cultivated in my humble opinion, it yielded
the smash hit song “She’s Like The Wind”. Any young dude attempting to get a little bit of action circa 1987 could drop this Dirty Dancing ballad on a ‘slow
jams’ mix tape and it was so on. Co-written and sung by the man himself. A legitimate top-10 hit.
Swayze. He’s earned our respect.
Now I spoke of his action movie ‘legacy’ a moment ago, which to some might imply that I believe his action movie
days are behind him. Not the case at all. In fact, I look forward to Swayze's return to ‘Dalton’ form in the very near future.
Please join me in wishing him well as he steels
himself for the cancer fight ahead of him. And for those of you who are still scratching your heads –
"Swayze? Are you sure?" - go out and rent all of the aforementioned movies and just soak it in.
Hell yes, I’m sure.
*
* * * *
*Testicular cancer only sounds funny.
REIGNING CATS AND DOGS
1.11.08
Whadaya
say now, people. You might have noticed that 4TH-HORSE.com went dark for a few weeks there. Sorry I was away for
so long. Did you miss me? You don’t have to answer that. Of course you did.
And I missed you.
And though I was out of commission, I did mange to keep up with current events, with an
eye on updating the site with some new content when I returned to action. Some interesting stuff in the news over the holidays.
But the headlines from the North Pole news bureau weren’t good. Among the developments that unfolded this Christmas
season, our beloved Santa Claus was groped, shot at, knocked unconscious and nailed to a cross, in separate incidents.
What the hell is the matter with you people? Who gropes Santa?
But the news story that really grabbed my attention was the mauling of three San Francisco men by a 350-pound Siberian tiger named Tatiana. One of the men and, regrettably, Tatiana are dead as a result. Wanna know how
many tears I shed for the guy? Based on my earlier rants, I bet you can guess. The passing of Tatiana on the other hand –
a beautifully elegant and devastatingly powerful tiger – is causing me significant distress.
Cats are incredible creatures, and ol’ Carl
considers some of them very good friends. And don’t think that I didn’t just hear the entire pro-dog 4TH-HORSE.com
readership simultaneously peel your asses out of your chairs to shake your fists and holler your disapproval of this pro-cat sentiment.
Save your breath, dog lovers. I like dogs, but cats are way better. Shhh. No. Shhh. Stop it. Cats are better.
And yes, this proclamation comes
on the heels of an earlier rant that some considered, um, ‘heavily critical’ of our national pastime. So I’ve
clearly reconciled myself to offending you people fairly frequently, and I’m taking careful aim at your sacred cows.
Stay tuned for the next installment of ‘Unmuzzled’, when I advise you that your political beliefs and religious
views are, in a word, retarded.
Back to what I was saying about dogs though, I have to say that some news caught my eye recently that has me
rethinking my anti-dog bias. Here’s what I found out.
Dogs have begun shooting people. With guns.
I really can’t
even articulate how funny I find this. But it gets better. In both of the recent dog-on-man shootings, the victims were hunters.
And while I’m gonna stop short of stereotyping all hunters as NRA-humping, right-leaning, gun nuts,
I am gonna say that it makes me smile to think of these guys getting shot with their own guns. By their dogs.
It’s finally happening,
people. Just as I predicted, the animals are rising up. Monkeys are making weapons and throwing you from buildings, cats are burning down your homes, squirrels are heaving themselves on power lines to disable your essential utilities, and now dogs are coming at you with their dog gats in broad daylight.
So cheers to you, my new dog friends.
May you arm yourselves to your canine teeth and mobilize against anyone who would keep you shackled in their backyards. And
to the late Tatiana, I trust that your passing was eased in some way by the righteous punishment you meted on your victims,
and the looks on their faces at the exact moment they realized that taunting a Siberian tiger was a really bad idea.
CRACKERJACK
11.14.07
I've said some pretty harsh things here at 4th-HORSE.com through the years. Cold, seemingly insensitive things,
delivered with the brutal honesty and utterly objective clarity that you've come to expect from me. Controversial by chance.
Genius by nature.
On this very website,
I once gloated about my ability to kick a two year-old girl's ass. I gleefully predicted Steve Irwin's death, and
I posted a picture of Chuck Norris edited to look like the prophet Mohammed. I've insulted whole countries at a time (Australia, Canada, China, France, Germany..). And I once advised Hurricane Katrina flood victims
to "stay hydrated." Which, by the way, I truly considered to be sound health advice in that emergency scenario.
It wasn't until later that I was advised that "stay hydrated" might be perceived as a callous thing to say to
people as they're wading through flood waters.
I've alienated a few people.
And yet I fear that what I'm about to say next
is going to upset a great number of readers, and unnecessarily so. Yet I can no longer contain myself. So on the heels
of the 103rd World Series, in which the ‘world champions’ of said sporting event were crowned so by a decidedly
North American sports league, here goes.
Baseball sucks.
That's right. It suuucks. I can think of one thousand things I'd rather
be doing right now than watching a pro baseball game. Hell, it's my dislike for baseball that's inspired me to compose
this very missive, and I can think of a thousand things I'd rather be doing right now than wasting my time attempting
to impart my vast, vast reservoir of knowledge upon you readers.
A lot of people love baseball. I know this. There's a big market for
it, and I understand that there are only a handful of players in the world who can play the sport at the caliber it's
being played in the American major leagues today. So I don't begrudge professional players for their outrageous salaries or anything like that. Supply and demand, blah blah blah. I get it.
But I've never been sold on baseball. Why? Well
I'm glad you asked.
For starters, your average pro baseball game is almost three hours long. In those three hours, the ball is in
play for less than ten minutes. As for the remaining two hours and fifty minutes, presumably it's the retro charm
of watching adult men swing wooden clubs that draws the viewers. I can totally understand this, as I myself am a big Flintstones fan. But even the Flintstones had the common sense to limit 'the action' to a half hour.
Now let's consider the variety of
plays that can be made during a baseball game. Sure, there are several offensive plays you can make in baseball, provided
you are batting from the designated batting area, or running in a straight line along a square, chalk outline. In contrast,
football is an incredibly dynamic sport, even with its stop-and-go fixed plays. Soccer plays are born in the blink of an eye
and can unfold in a million ways. Same for basketball, and hockey. And volleyball. And water polo.
And then there's the size of the
‘goal’ - the batter’s target, in this case. Most sports employ goals that are no more than a few feet across,
with some variation (basketball rims, hockey nets, soccer nets, etc). The 'goal' in baseball, however, is significantly
larger than the broad side of a barn. In the case of Yankee Stadium, the distance between the left and right field lines (outfield)
is approximately 446 feet. Now consider the size of the 'goal' in golf - another sport that involves striking a ball
with a stick. A golf hole is 4 ½ inches in diameter. Fairly exacting. And keep in mind that golf is a sport you can
play while wearing khakis.
Maybe we can talk about the level of physical fitness required in baseball, the sport that popularized chewing tobacco. I put it to you that Olympic ping pong players are
in better shape than your average pro baseball player. Sometimes pro baseball teams play two three-hour games in one day.
In what other sport could you do that? The reason that this is possible in baseball is precisely because the level of physical
exertion required of players (save pitchers and catchers) is so small. In this context, it's funny how we say that great
baseball players 'never let you see them sweat.' The reason you never see them sweat is because they're not f***king
doing anything.
Ah, but the pressure. I mean, the pressure these batters are under! Legit, I get that too. And I give
players tons of credit here. I mean, the tension in the air! The fans' expectations! The drama!
Yeah, and the hotdog farts from the
guy sitting behind you at the ballpark. You know what? It's not enough.
And finally, there's the steroid use, and the
resultant questions about the integrity of the game. I'm not gonna belabor this particular topic because it's been
editorialized to death already, and it's truly a sad affair. I offer only this observation: Barry Bonds has a huge head.
Now here's the
thing, people. I've played baseball. I liked playing baseball. But for the life of me, I've never been able
to work up any enthusiasm to watch other people (or horses) play it, unless it's kids' baseball or an amateur pickup
game with beer coolers planted at every base. Basically, anytime there is a chance of a batter running directly to third base
instead of first, or a catcher taking an errant bat to the crotch, I'm down for watching. Otherwise, don't waste my
time.
So
I've reevaluated my stance on baseball over the years, and as I said, I've come to realize that my stance isn't
a very popular one. My baseball-loving friends are already very familiar with my views here, by the way. But then, they already
know that I can be an asshole sometimes. Look people, we're not always gonna see eye to eye on things. I’m merely
encouraging you to try and see things the way I see them – which is to say, the right way.
So for every time a televised baseball
game has pre-empted The Simpsons, for every time ball game traffic has screwed up my travel plans, for every time a complete
stranger has approached me with the words "How 'bout those Sox?" and then looked at me suspiciously when I told
them that I don't follow baseball, I say again, I don't like baseball.
For the record, I love mom and apple pie.
GOD WANTS ME TO HAVE YOUR VAN HALEN TICKETS
8.27.07
People, God wants me to have
your Van Halen tickets. I know what you’re probably thinking. ‘That’s a fairly specific message from God.’
And it is. Equally surprising, he made the effort to communicate this guidance to me directly, and via instant message. What
can I say. He works in mysterious ways.
But it’s true, and I
can’t believe that I’m saying this, but I have my boss to thank for hooking me up with God for an IM
chat. As a contract employee, I’m not typically enabled to communicate directly with God, as you can imagine. But my
boss, Death, and the other horsemen of the apocalypse report to him directly. So
it was in a moment of despair after Ticketmaster screwed me out of concert tickets – again – that I offered
to forgo my quarterly bonus for five minutes of God’s time, at which time Death told me that I wasn’t going to
receive a bonus. Nor would I ever receive a bonus. But he did ultimately relent, assuring me that he’d share my proposal
with God at his very earliest convenience. God evidently agreed to these terms, cuz he added me to his buddy list. Here is
the actual chat transcript:
Carl: are you there, god?
it’s me, carl
God: yes,
carl. this is god
Carl: nice
God: you
have five minutes. what’s your story?
Carl: i need van halen
tickets
God: so
go get van halen tickets
Carl: i tried but i
got shut out by ticketmaster
Carl: i just hate ticketmaster
so much
God: you
get five minutes alone with your lord, and you ask me for concert tickets
Carl: van halen tickets
God: hmmm
God: and
what’s so special about van halen?
Carl:
you’re kidding me, right god?
God: assume
for the moment that i am not kidding you
Carl:
diamond david lee roth, shot out of a cannon
Carl:
alex van halen killing his drum set during ‘hot for teacher’
Carl:
Edward
Carl:
Van
Carl:
Halen.
God: and?
Carl:
and what?
God: who’s
on bass?
Carl:
eddie’s teenage son is on bass for some reason
God: no
michael anthony?
Carl:
no
God: hmmm
Carl: i
know, i know…
Carl:
so can you help me?
God: why
should i do this for you?
Carl:
because i’m a hell of a horse?
God: nice
God: speaking
of which, how does a horse even get into a van halen concert?
Carl:
in women’s size 20 pants and a tube top! baaa-zing!
Carl:
get it?
God: jesus
Carl:
cuz the chick is as big as a horse
God: please
stop
Carl:
don’t worry. i’ll get in
Carl:
so can you help me?
God: make
an appeal to the readers at 4TH-HORSE.com, carl
God: i’m
sure that they will see you through this, your darkest hour
God: they’ll
probably send you all of their tickets
God: for
every show
Carl:
i don’t need *all* of their tickets
Carl:
though that would be pretty sweet
Carl:
but about my readers
Carl:
um...
God: they
love you, don’t they, carl? they want you to be happy?
Carl:
…
Carl:
define ‘love’
God: look
carl, i gotta go. make a plea to your readers. they’ll come through for you, i just know it
Carl:
fine
God: gotta
go
Carl:
FINE
And there you have it. I relayed
all this to Death, and he just laughed. I don't know why he finds this funny, but whatever.
Now send me your tickets!
And yeah, I’m on God’s
IM buddy list now. Be-otch!
SHINING, GLEAMING, STREAMING, FLAXEN, WAXEN
6.09.07
Several readers have written
in recently to ask about my political views, specifically as they relate to the forthcoming ’08 presidential election
in the United States. Interestingly enough, the tone of these emails suggests
that many of you assume I’m an American horse, and must therefore be intellectually invested in American politics.
Tellingly, those of you who emailed me from overseas - ‘non-America’ in this context - automatically think I’m
an asshole (hey Germany, mach es dir selber too!). The folks who emailed from within the U.S. also think I’m an asshole, but they used funnier insults (‘doosh knuckle’), and as such,
are OK in my book.
Yes, folks, I am
a resident of the U.S. (exact location to remain undisclosed) and I f**king love it here. I have lots
to say about the forthcoming election, but as a horse, I’m not eligible to vote. And there is just no value –
to anyone - to be gained from a lengthy discussion about my political views, as poignant as they are. I’ll tell you
only this, I’m not what you’d call ‘a conservative’. You’re shocked to hear this, I know.
My high level view of the
early '08 presidential campaigns - the candidates’ postures and platitudes are as interchangeable as their special
interest allegiances are predictable. Our best and brightest? Nay. Our best and brightest dare to make mistakes on their respective
paths toward enlightenment, and are appropriately humbled. In the world of politics, these career limiting stumbles are referred
to as ‘skeletons in the closet.’ In our world, this refers to that time you ran naked in the snow around your
freshman year stable in a Colt 45-induced stupor while your friends shot photos that they would later auction on eBay.
So now, given how homogenous
the U.S. presidential candidates are, which of their barely distinguishing attributes are
you to consider when it comes time to pull the levers next November? Folks, might I suggest the obvious – if somehow
elusive – answer? You should judge them on the one attribute that has distinguished
born leaders from the ‘also rans’ throughout the ages. The manifest hallmark of determination and vision that
inspires us to hoist individuals on our shoulders to lead us onward toward glory.
Of course I’m talking
about their haircuts. And those of you who have had the spectacular fortune of seeing ol’ Carl’s long, flowing
mane up close clearly understand what I’m talking about here. Mine is an incredible coif. Inspiring, in a way.
You need more validation than
that? OK, take a moment and hearken back to any presidential election you can still remember. Counting backward in order,
we’re talking Bush Jr. vs Kerry, Bush Jr. vs Gore, Clinton vs Dole, Clinton vs Bush Sr., Bush Sr. vs Dukakis, Reagan
vs Mondale. Now you can naysay the victors’ policies and/or their achievements all you want. I’m not necessarily
saying that they were great leaders. I’m just observing that they had great haircuts. Compared to the individuals they
ran against during their respective election races, they were vastly superior in this regard. Their haircuts were rock solid.
Their haircuts were undeniable.
As for the ’08 candidates,
it’s hit or miss. Let’s review.
First the Republicans. Consider
that Rudy Giuliani and John McCain have both rocked comb-overs at some point in their lives. I don’t know about you, but I find this unsettling. I mean, what were they trying to
hide? These days they’re both doing the ‘distinguished looking old guy’ thing and cropping their few remaining
hairs at a conservative length. So even here, it’s hard to pick a winner. For this tiebreaker, we need to predict how
they’d style their locks if they still had hair today. In this scenario, I see Guiliani maintaining a respectable
hair do, with McCain flipping over the handlebars trying to rock an edgy, hipster cut, inadvertently straying into Lou Ferrigno territory. So it’s Guiliani over McCain on the strength of the haircut I’m envisioning for him.
And then there’s Mitt Romney’s hair. Mitt Romney’s hair has two wives.
On to the Dems. Hillary Clinton has demonstrated great versatility with her hair thus far in the campaign, and should be commended here. But it is this exact
attribute that makes it difficult to get a handle on the true jive her hair is laying down. One day her hair is saying, ‘Trust
in these amber waves.’ Other days it’s ‘Run your fingers through it and kiss me on the nape of my neck’.
And occasionally, ‘I will stab you in the eye with my moussed bangs.’
Confusing, to say the least.
John Edwards. Holy shit, folks. A team or architects and physicists developed John Edward’s hair style after extensive prototyping
and wind resistance testing. It is the state of the art in hair innovation. But accordingly, his hair requires rigorous maintenance
and is especially vulnerable to catastrophic misplacement (‘There’s an errant hair in Sector G! Sector G!!!').
His hair is a liability.
That leaves Barack Obama, and dare I say, he leads the pack with the most sensible haircut. A haircut you could set your watch to. He’s the
obvious front runner, in my mind. And if for whatever reason he were inclined to grow curls a la Mario Van Peebles circa 1987, I might actually consider devoting my life to his service.
So it’ll be Obama in
’08. Not because I said so. Because you'll say so. Because of his haircut.
SO IT GOES
4.12.07
My friends, just a quick note to pay tribute to the
life of Kurt Vonnegut, who died today at the age of 84. 84 is pretty old, so he had a good run, I’d say.
Kurt was ol’ Carl’s
favorite author, a man whose art intermingled apocalyptic portent with sweet, sweet absurdity to great effect. He observed
simple truths and posed spirit-crushing questions in plain language, zig-zagging between intense cynicism and intense humanism
with a wink and a smile. And a Pall Mall.
Alas, where Kurt Vonnegut
was a brilliant writer, I am but a horse with a website and anger issues. I’ve been humbled by his genius just as you
readers have been humbled by my genius. So let’s you and I pay homage together, shall we? For all of us have much to
learn from him.
Some more than others, if
you get what I’m saying, people.
Cheers, Kurt.
ON TECHNOLOGY AND YNGWIE MALMSTEEN
3.30.07
Folks, is it too early to
be berating you again about your mind numbingly ridiculous sociological quirks? It isn't? Ok good.
My apologies in advance for
revisiting the topic of internet technology so soon after my riveting rant about the AOL search engine debacle, but
I feel compelled to share my thoughts on a new web-enabled 'social networking' craze that is so utterly audacious in its stupidity
that it makes me want to punch all of you in the face. Like, hooves a windmillin’.
By the way, my not-so-deep-dark
secret is that I'm way into technology, so don't be surprised if I revisit this topic with some frequency. Compared to that
farm horse you sometimes drive by on the turnpike, I'm Linus f**king Torvalds. Ray f**king Kurzweil. John f**king Backus (RIP). Now scurry along and read up on those guys and get back to me when you know what I'm talking about when I reference such
great minds as these. And while you're doing this, please know that I'll be bombarding your IP addresses with malicious viruses
designed to subvert your computer to serve my evil bidding! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!
But I digress.
Back to the social networking
thing, I actually can't believe that I've gone as long as I have without ranting about the YouTube/MySpace
phenomenon and getting all up my own ass with indignation about the narcissists that you - not I - have devolved into. But then, I never woulda predicted that things would get as bad as this.
The networking service I spoke
of a moment ago is called 'Twitter', and it was designed to enable users to exchange text messages via their cell phones and/or computers regarding their
minute-to-minute exploits with groups of friends, family, etc. - pretty much anyone registered to the service that seemingly
can't live without updates on your every idiotic whim. Put simply, it is a new frontier for masturbatory exhibitionism.
It's the deafening static of a billion operators transmitting on a single signal with no modulation. It's you people gleefully
screaming 'Look at me!' into a whirling vortex of gaseous cyber flatulence, and hearing only the muffled flapping of each
others' ass cheeks echoing in the wind.
Witness for yourself. Twitter's
home page scrolls a real-time index of randomly sampled user messages, inviting site visitors to "look at what these people
are doing right now." Folks, here's a taste of the action as chronicled at the Twitter home page between 4:45 and 5:15PM ET on March 16 (actual user messages):
* *
* *
Eating
a lean cuisine. Thinking I used too much bleach while cleaning the
bathroom.
The smell is giving me a headache.
random
thought: my friends are so cool. i totally love them. yay:)
Painting
at my moms
trying
to find motivation to buy ingredients for dinner from shop. Debating
having
instant miso soup for dinner
In line
at the bank. Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain on the radio.
wife wants
to go to the airport 4 hours early because "airports are cool". did i
twitter
that already? i'm getting twitter alzheimers
This is
the first time I've listened to the Shortbus soundtrack w/o tearing up.
Darkness
& pain is good, sure. Bittersweet is even better.
back home.
working comfortably in the backyard. really nice day out here
deciding
whether to bother decorating my kaneva apartment, play eve, build
something
cool in SL, play ghost recon or just drink wine and tv
Eating
banana bread, looking at some anti-spam statistics
trying
to figure out if Soundgarden is heavy or hard
Starbucks
is expensive
Me acabo
de dar cuenta que Yngwie (Malmsteen) no se pronuncia "Ingüi", sino
"Ingvey"...
qué loco!
* *
* *
In case you're struggling
with that last one, that's a person describing the proper way to pronounce the name of pompous 80’s rock guitar whiz
Yngwie Malmsteen. In Spanish. Visit Twitter's website at any time and you'll find more of the same. Feel free to blow your brains out right
now. I nearly did.
Here's the thing. Someone
out there thought that someone he/she knows – perhaps shitloads of people he/she knows - needed to know that fun fact
about Yngwie Malmsteen at that exact moment. And this, my friends, underscores
the fundamental difference between MySpace and YouTube variety exhibitionism and the in-your-face narcissism that is Twitter.
It is one thing to invite the masses to view your online profile or video creation or whatever at their leisure (and
surely at their own peril). It is another thing altogether to force your inane, insufferable realities upon another soul wherever
their feet happen to fall.
Goddammit people, you’re
just not that important.
It all comes down to time
- our most precious commodity (and in the context of the impending apocalypse, it's more precious than you think). It's the
only resource that we can’t replenish or supplant. To steal that from another
person…? You’d better have something important to say. Folks, “pull my finger” ain’t it.
Peace I’m outta
here.
|
