Doritos – Late Night Tacos at Midnight (2009) [Frito-Lay] // Grade: D

I haven’t Bloglined in a while. I broke my leg water-skiing and it was a long and messy procedure to get all the water and microscopic shrimps out of my wound. I’m finally conscious again so I figured I’d blog about a thing of grave importance.

I was at the corner store getting a sandwich and I saw a type of Dorito I’d never seen before. These Doritos taste like tacos, tacos that you eat when you’re having a late night. How late? Oh, is MIDNIGHT late enough for you?

The comic store I shopped at growing up, A Timeless Journey shared a few parking spots with a sex store called After Midnight. I thought that maybe you need to get your tacos at midnight because after midnight they are used by saggy, sad-faced couples as marital aids. One time my horny dad and I were getting comics and we saw Catholic school girls leaving the sex store. It was a very erotic moment between a father and son. When the girls got into their car to leave, all the windows rolled down and lit cigarettes poked out. I am filled with sexual dynamism just thinking of this memory.

Doritos also recently debuted a flavor called Last Call Jalapeno Poppers. What’s with food themed around the end of the day? If the idea is to make chips that taste like they’ve been sitting out and spoiling all day then mission accomplished. It’s hard to deny that the grossening of Doritos has been increasing in the past few years. In 2007 they released a mystery flavor which turned out to be “cheeseburger” flavored. In 2008 they perhaps reached the Everest of grossness with another mystery flavor which was horribly revealed to be Mountain Dew.

Doritos are gross on their own, they don’t need to be engrossened. Ever since 1966 when the Dorito was bestowed upon our moist mouthholes they have been a dusty and crusty snack that was sure to make you look foolish and unclean. The Dorito dust hits saliva and turns into a nauseating goo. It gets in your clothes, hair and eyes, you can’t get it off your fingers. Doritos should come packaged with plastic gloves and a paper bag to put over your head so you can anonymously be disgusting. At midnight.

Contest:
If you can name the original flavor that Doritos came in I’ll will mail you the rest of my bag of Doritos Late Night Tacos At Midnight.(Post your answers in the comments section of this post)

See that bear? I know who my editors are over here.

Goddamn fantasy football has got me watching the goddamn Dallas Cowboys, so I figured I might as well wile away the 4th quarter by tapping out some notes from the past weekend’s professional football contests.

• Jets fans, rejoice. Your quarterback is a golden god and your head coach is an American Buddha. Another week, another win.  Hell, even the old NY Titans jerseys – featuring a sodden color combination that obviously hearkens back to a time before color photography – look good in victory. But I would caution you, o revelers, to enjoy it now – next Sunday brings the Saints, and they’re on a tear, too. Prior to the season’s start, Jets-Saints may have seemed an unlikely marquee match-up, maybe. But the NFL is beloved in large part because of its capricious nature – each year, a new darkhorse team or two comes galloping around the bend, making the army of “NFL analysts” look as reliable as drunk palmreaders. Who saw the Jets at 3-0? Not me, man. Not me. And that’s the genius of a league that has sported a better than 50% turnover rate in playoff teams from one year to the next since 2002. Every dog has its day.

• Speaking of dogs and days and the sun shining on dog ass every once in a while, congratulations to the Detroit Lions. You fuckers earned that one. I saw this one guy at the bar during Week One wearing a Stafford jersey and his girlfriend, who was conspicuously devoid of any identifying team colors or logos, just looked so sad.

• One thing I love about YouTube is the DIY sports commentary, and some of the most entertaining I’ve found is a group of dudes who call themselves Righteous Talk. For a representative sample, check out their “They Suck Cause They Suck” bit from last week up above. Classic material. On Tom Brady: “Your ass old. All of a sudden shit ain’t perfect, you ain’t playin Madden – now you can’t hit nobody, huh?” Ahahahaaaaaa. The third dude – Ru – is the best, so wait for his part. He calls out every GM in the league: “THEY SUCK CAUSE THEY FUCKIN SUCK.”

• Had to post up the Seahawks’ Tropical Skittles uniforms. I hope kids in the future will wear them and tell me I was wrong about them, but to me it’s like an MS Paint bucket fill. I miss rappers wearing jerseys in videos because these would be choice.

• I just got married at City Hall on Friday, and my wife (whoa – it’s rad to type that) is from Minnesota. My in-laws are all big Vikings fans, which is cool with me because the Vikes are the only other team that’s 0-4 in Super Bowls. Anyways, I posted up at a bar for 6 hours with them on Sunday and watched ol’ Brett “Cash 4 Clunkers” Favre win another last-second game against all odds. It was cool -  one of our teams needed to win for the sake of good omens and auspicious beginnings, and I knew who had the burden of production there – but I can tell that the in-laws still haven’t really come to grips with having #4 in purple. My father-in-law, for example, was kinda suspicious of the old man all game, and even lit out for a smoke before the magic happened, figuring it was done. He rushed back in when the bar erupted. Kept smiling all through the Bills game.

More sporting observations: after the jump.

In a future that’s not entirely unforeseeable, the U.S. is in irreversible economic turmoil. Citizens are being corrupted by crime, drugs, and rollerblading while ethnic gangs mow each other down in the streets. The most powerful of these gangs is the Rollerboys, a group of white supremacists who fund their violent inline operations through the distribution of a drug called “mist.” Corey Haim stars a Griffin, a pizza delivery boy who struggles to live an honest life while raising his little brother and practicing backflips at the skate park. But the future’s a bitch and lil bro gets hooked on Mist. Choir boy Griffin eventually agrees to work with the police as a mole and infiltrate the Rollerboys. Speaking of moles, Patricia Arquette plays an undercover cop, who employs tactics like making out and taking off her panties to rope in Griffin. While all this is going on, the Rollerboys’ mysterious prophecy of the Day of the Rope is drawing near…

All homicidal racism aside, the Rollerboys are an awesome crew. They rock white trenchcoats, skate in sync, carry bazookas, and throw huge parties with naked women and carousels. The party scene even features “Head Like a Hole!” They get around the smooth streets of LA easily enough on their blades, but that’s not good enough for their leader, Gary Lee, who has a rocky past with Griffin (they used to be next-door neighbors). Lee has his sights set on conquering all of America, and is such a megalomaniac he buys an aircraft carrier. Below is Gary Lee’s salute, which looks like the stance someone takes when they don’t know how to fight.

There are plenty of action sequences and they’re honestly pretty sweet. A big part of this is because Haim rollerblades in real life, so there are hardly any bogus shots of stunt doubles wearing wigs. No rollerblading action movie is complete without sweet jumps, and there’s about 500 in Rollerboys. They mainly involve jumping over obstacles while explosions assault the LA background. The final bladin’ battle between Griffin and Gary Lee is epic and the end leaves shit wide open for a sequel. It’s been almost 20 years since Rollerboys, we’re about due.

Director Rick King went on to do Kickboxer 3, but was unfortunately not invited back for Kickboxer 4: The Aggressor. The writer of Rollerboys, however, has a much more awesome resume. Scribe W. Peter Iliff‘s follow-up was a little movie called Point Break. His love of extreme sports is apparent, and he even continued his passion for bladin’ with a TV series called Blade Squad, which I would murder to get a VHS of.

Our Roller-Fiction Retrospective continues tomorrow with Solarbabies.

I unfortunately came home last night to hear that our friend Beau had passed away.

It’s rare to meet someone so genuine and talented. Beau actually helped me make our first piece of jewelry, the Beast of the East ring. I was getting some work done at Saved one day and noticed his amazing custom gold Stormtrooper ring. He told me that he had made it himself and we got to talking. I told him about my idea of doing a Beast Man ring, and he said he would help me get it done.

Beau was a talented musician, a jewelry maker, an artist and just one of the nicest guys you would ever meet. He was just at the shop the other day to grab a new cap and we chatting about life and all of the new projects he was working on.

You will def be missed bro. Rest In Power.

Thank you to all that came out on a Wednesday to support! We proved that mid week bass can be huge!

Thanks to Caspa and Rod Azlan for the massive bass-quake, Star Eyes for being the grimiest lady in the game and Konkrete Jungle/ Code of Arms for their heavy support.

Check out some pics from Hi-Fi Cartel

and then some from The Culture of Me site

HUGE!

TV Ghost - Cold Fish (2009) [In The Red] // Grade: B-

First things first: there is nothing catchy about this album. No hooks, no prominent melody, no singalong vocals. Indiana post-punk TV Ghost is one of those bands you discover at a show in someone’s basement and become totally obsessed with by virtue of their energy alone. Something in the raucous-to-danceable-and-back-again rhythms is just too much to resist.

It doesn’t hurt that they obviously love The Birthday Party, The Cramps and Antioch Arrow, probably in that order. There’s a serious early 00s synth-punk thing happening on Cold Fish, but it’s more about psychobilly and creepy surf than violent new wave a la Le Shok. “The Network” may be anchored by a familiar thrashy dance beat, but the ominous harmonies and moan-and-groan vocals give it a fresh, uber-creepy atmosphere. Same goes for other standouts “Seasick”, with its sleazy, cabaret trash riff, and the frenetic surf guitars on “The Singularity”; there’s nothing all that new here, but something in the deep, dark nightmare of it makes the best songs addictively good.

The rest of it, however, is a little boring. Once the album hits the 13-minute mark (the entire thing is just over 25), it becomes clear that TV Ghost used their best material straight away, like an overzealous runner who forgot all about pacing. It isn’t until the last song (and title track) creeps in on a slow, explosive build that Cold Fish circles back to its original spirit, but by then it’s almost too late. Short enough for a full listen, but don’t bother coming back to the second half. Save those songs for a sure-to-be-amazing house show somewhere in Indiana.

Life for a serial killer father understandably sucks. In the season premiere we get to see what fatherhood does to a dude who just wants to slay people. I mean, I know being a father and wanting to play World of Warcraft is going to suck, but what if I had an insatiable desire to kill? If the season premiere is any indication I’d rush my latest murder, crash my car, and throw body parts all over a park or some shit.

Dexter starts the season off by blowing up some big case where his testimony was crucial to putting the thug away. Guy was exhausted from being a dad and all and brought the wrong blood analysis to court. Whoops. It was a neat plot device that set up both Quinn being the Doakes replacement as a hard-ass, and giving Dexter someone to stab repeatedly. As soon as I saw Benito Gomez free, I was all, laugh now fucker, you’re going to be dead soon enough.

Meanwhile, of course, a new serial killer has hit the streets of Miami. If you can’t accept that every season of Dexter involves him contrasted with another serial killer, you’re going to be miserable. I don’t mind it at all. The Trinity Killer, played by John Lithgow, kicks things off with a bang by choking a chick out, dragging her into a bathtub, and then cutting her femoral artery. Brutal. It was the first time I cringed while watching Dexter in a long time.

Lithgow has to be the best casting ever. As I told my friend while I was watching it, not only is he a great actor, but also he’s so fucking creepy looking. I’ll give him credit for his taut ass, but when I look at him, I see a serial killer. Or a Martian. The scene where he’s laying eerily in the bathtub with the woman he kills was chilling. Maybe it’s because I actively root for a serial killer in Dexter, but the concept of murder has become passe in this show. I’m desensitized. So being reminded that most sociopaths are fucking sickos was appreciated.

Also, does anyone not want to light LaGuerta’s hair on fire? I fucking hate Angel banging her. Why remove him from an interesting relationship with Gianna from Vice for this? Gianna and Angel were interesting because of all the warts between the two of them, while this just screams cheap dramatic irony gag.

I don’t know.

My favorite bit had to be when Dexter sang “America the Beautiful” to his son Harrison over the phone. If this season is examining Dexter wedged into living the American Dream, than this scene was well done.  Hearing some Patriotic mantra jerking off American ideals while Dexter flipped through a computer catalog of smashed-in faces and bloody corpses was a sexy juxtaposition. I’m picking up what you’re putting down, writers.

I’m not really sure how to feel about a remake of A Nightmare on Elm St. I’m not really the sort of person who moans and groans the thought of Horror remakes. Truthfully I feel most horror movies have the sorts of stories that could easily be repackaged or re-imagined for a newer audience, and have a place alongside the original. For example see the long string of comments for the Saturday Matinee of Dawn of the Dead (2004).

That being said, A Nightmare on Elm St. is my favorite horror franchise of all time, and I love Robert Englund. Like give anything he’s in a chance love him. Englund not only made a cold blooded child molesting serial killer frightening, but charismatic and likable all at the same time… Not an easy task. And unlike say every Friday 13th pre part III, Wes Craven’s original directorial turns at Nightmare have aged very well in my opinion. I know it’s simply Freddy’s turn to be the next Slasher franchise revived, I just feel unlike Leatherface, Jason & Michael Myers this remake is going to be way more of an uphill battle to convert longtime fans than those ever were.

While Jackie Earle Haley (Rorschach in Watchmen) may do a good job as a burned up, glove wielding supernatural killer; he has some ridiculously big shoes to fill when it comes to becoming Freddy. Robert Englund made Freddy much more than just a killing machine with a cool glove and  I just hope Michael Bay realized as much when he passed over Englund to reprise the role. Much of A Nightmare on Elm St.’s success (no knock on Wes’ part) was do in most part to Englund’s portrayal of the character and not just frenzied blood lust of gorehounds and adrenaline junkies.

Either way I’ll be their opening night 2010, and hope to leave happy.

While still on his American tour, Rusko – one of our favorite UK Dubstep practitioners has come through for us with Keep Watch XII. Incorporating live tracks from his current tour, Rusko’s unique mix of dark yet upbeat production fits the keep watch series perfectly and we’re honored to bring you Keep Watch XII – Rusko. Peep his upcoming dates on his Myspace.

Rusko was born in Leeds to a musical family. Whether it be his family’s pianos, guitars, banjos and saxophones…or the heavy reggae and dub sound systems of later years in Leeds, music has always been an integral part of Rusko’s life. After graduating from Leeds university with a degree in musical performance, Rusko discovered the world of Dubstep through Sub Dub, Rusko connected with the sound and moved down to London to further explore his passion. Collabs with the likes of Diplo, Wiley and remixes for A-Trak & Adele, Rusko is one to keep an eye on.

Keep Watch Vol. XII: Rusko by Мишка Bloglin

“Saint Peter don’t you call me ’cause I can’t go, I owe my soul to the company store.” – 16 Tons, Tennessee Ernie Ford

A total solar eclipse is featured in this episode, and the characters are warned not to look directly at it throughout. Along this same line, Don, Betty, and Peggy have the choice in this episode to face their fears and go after their desires, but the possibility of getting burned is always there. I really loved this episode and after two and a half seasons, it was nice to see the impenetrable hustler-king Don Draper get taken and backed into a corner.

The signing of a three-year contract with SC has Don losing his cool. He can’t stand up to Cooper who finally pulls the Dick Whitman card he’s had since season 1; he can’t stand up to Betty who sees Don’s refusal to commit on paper as a sign he may skip out at any moment, “What’s the matter? You don’t know where you’ll be in three years.” Good form, Betty. It’s only after being drugged and robbed by two hippie-hikers, that Don returns to SC and signs. Hilton helped set a lot of this in motion, and whenever he’s around, he makes Don look like a shaky-kneed novice. No where to run to now.

As much as it makes sense, the Peggy/Duck romp was gross and caught me off guard. Peggy never has any luck when it comes to talking privately with Don, she always seems to come into his office right after he gets chewed out. After being berated by Roger, Don then goes fucking off on poor Peggy, reminding her, “You were my secretary” and tells her to quit asking him for things; like a father cutting his spoiled child off from the trust fund. This would send most people directly into the arms of another. Previously, she’s gotten down with Pete and Burger-Boy, both individuals who don’t really know what they want. So her sleeping with a driven guy like Duck who has shown interest in her on the professional plane makes sense. Plus, what woman wouldn’t get down after Duck offers to take their clothes off with his teeth? I’m sure this won’t keep up, but if Don (or Pete) find out about their little sexual tryst, the ramifications at SC are going to be huge.

The scene in Peggy’s office where Pete tells her to send back the Hermes scarf = Classic Campbell.

Here’s the song the episode appropriately closed with, “16 Tons” by Tennessee Ernie Ford.