Well well, isn’t this a pleasant little surprise. Portlandia, IFC’s breakout his sketch show, is premiering its second season this Friday night. But – BUT! – the good folks at IFC put up the episode already online. Hooray for us. In case you didn’t watch season one, Portlandia stars Fred Armisen from SNL and Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney) and is super hilarious.
I grew up as a really devout SK fan, so the fact that Carrie is now on one of my favorite TV shows is sort of nuts to me. Especially since this episode has several really great bits about Battlestar Galactica, and Jeff Goldblum, I love this show more than ever. Check it out!
Any Awesome Show fan worth his salt knows the inherent difficulty in explaining it to someone who’s never seen it before, let alone convincing your parents or other non-internet generation elders what the fuck is going on and why it’s incredibly hilarious.
Luckily for us, internet blog human Cathy Fisher has done this very astute and fun write up of just why, academically, Tim and Eric is both funny, and much more like other comedy than people would like to believe. In a good way. Ch-ch-ch-check it out, and be sure to rewatch the red-band trailer for the upcoming Billion Dollar Movie and apply all that you’ve now learned.
I must apologize, Reader, for the lack of posts as of late. It must be killing you. It’s certainly killing me, not being able to read my own writing. Rest assured, this temporary absence from the Bloglin will soon be remedied. In the meantime, let’s debrief.
Pictures of Cats
Recently I found myself at a Holiday party. I had been lost prior to the gathering, confused about the “real me,” but then I found myself again. Jk. So I was at this party, looking great and decorating a gingerbread man, when I got a text. It was a picture of a cat. Yes, a cat. It was a cat that I did not recognize. Similarly, it was sent from a number that I did not recognize. I sent back a picture of the gingerbread man I was decorating. No response.
Yesterday, I was on a date (I was actually just sitting at home, but whatever. I’m cool.) when I received another picture of this cat. It was a picture of some little boy reading to the cat, with the caption, “Leo reading a book to the cat :-)” This was getting out of hand. “Who is this cat?” I thought. “And who is this little boy?” I figured this sender was a woman and that she was using these pictures as a means to hit on me. That would make sense. I sent back a picture of myself seductively reading in bed, sans shirt. The caption read: “Wanted: One cat.” Needless to say, she came over later that night, sans cat.
Hip Hop
This video right here – you see this video? Well this video for Blu‘s “Seasons” was first released over a year ago, seemingly in support of a new project, but an album never surfaced. I waited. I’m a huge Blu fan. He might even be my favorite emcee. Finally, two days ago, a follow up to 2007′s Below the Heavens was released (I know! I’m stoked! It’s great!).
The producer-emcee tandem’s latest LP, Give Me My Flowers While I Can Smell Them, is phenomenal. It’s not as polished and produced as Below The Heavens (with some people complaining that it is unmixed), and a couple of the songs in the middle are slightly dull, but the songs that are great are fantastic. Exile, again, delivers incredible production, with Blu’s flow and lyrics largely exceeding that of Heavens. The only downside to this release is that now there’s nothing better I could get on Christmas. Shucks.
Lolololololololololol. Oh boy, that is rich. That is a real solid belly laugh there. Thank you Lifetime for all of the hard work you put into that, I mean what more could I ask for- wait what? What’s that you say? There’s a whole entire full length move that that is a legitimate trailer for? Ohhhhhhh. So you’re buffoons.
You may have noticed that Rob Lowes hair was all bizarre and shaggy at the beginning of this season of Parks & Rec, and apparently that was so he could finish up his role in Untouchable: The Drew Peterson Story. Way to trivialize a serial wife murderer by making the situation ludicrous instead of scary guys. Now, let’s all watch that again.
There’s a new meme on the scene and he’s possibly the funniest one yet. We first brought you Good Guy Greg and Decelerated Drake, and now meet Really High Guy, also known as 10 Guy.
He’s a picture of a guy who’s baked out of his mind, paired with captions that, as you’ll see, are extremely reminiscent of things your buddy says when he’s high. My favorite is the seatbelt one. Check out more here, and if you happen to be high right now then props. That’s some great timing.
Unsurprisingly, Louis C.K., comedian extraordinaire, continues to act like a total boss. He’s just released his new comedy special, Live at the Beacon Theater, and as promised it’s available for $5 exclusively on his website. Though it’s not quite “pay what you like” C.K. has eschewed dealing with any sort of go between or distributor or anything like that.
A low low price for a full download that commendably is completely DRM free. C.K. even encourages you to burn it onto as many DVD’s as you’d like. Thanks buddy! Go download it now, and make your day a little brighter.
The League is in a great place. With three episodes remaining this season, the fantasy football aspect of the show is working its way back in, with great success, I might add, and the jokes and one liners are in top shape. And finally, for once this season, Kevin makes it through an episode not being a total doofus.
Let’s review Ruxin’s plot first, because that’s usually all that matters, though this week everybody’s got great story lines. Ruxin pranks Pete by subscribing him to a bunch of obscure magazines. In retaliation, Pete indicates online that Ruxin is interested in learning more about The Light Of Genesis religious group (cult). They arrive at his house and just before he slams the door in their face, they reveal their spiritually endowed knowledge of fantasy football. Ruxin’s in.
Kevin’s plot is pretty good, for once. He begins taking krav maga self-defense with Eliza Dushku who makes him feel her up under the guise of instruction, and then later strokes his piece a bunch. Kevin of course asks his buds whether or not he should tell Jenny, and they of course say no. He does anyway, but she doesn’t care. This has been the first time this whole season that, though Kevin is still freaking out and feeling awkward, he isn’t scared of an imaginary character, or complaining about nothing, or just being a dork. He should’ve made a move on Dushku though; I thought that was going to happen.
Taco’s scheme this week is a necktie delivery service called NeckFlix. It works the same way as NetFlix. I like ties. It’s pretty funny. Jenny and Andre’s plot involves her visiting his office for a consultation concerning tattoo removal. This plot would’ve been ludicrously uninteresting, so fortunately it ended up being a prank in order to get Dr. Dre to trade her some players.
The show ties up with Ruxin’s baptism ceremony, which if completed, would provide him with ultimate fantasy knowledge and another Shiva bowl championship. However, once The Light asks him to forego all other leagues, he comes to his senses and The League crew bounces. Meanwhile, Taco is downstairs shoveling a heaping ton of ties into a truck.
In the last scene, Kevin and Eliza Dushku are leaving krav maga, heading for their cars (at which point he should’ve made a move and subsequently turn The League into Unfaithful), when a mugger reveals himself. Eliza Dushku gets him in a hold and tells Kevin to finish him off, but, confused about what are krav maga techniques and what are hand-job techniques, Kevin starts rubbing the guy’s penis. “What are you doing?” Eliza Dushku shouts, “I was hitting on you!” Kevin cowers away, and then the mugger suggests Eliza Dushku finish what Kevin started. She doesn’t. I like ties.
I’m covered in peanut butter. Even my big toe. I dropped that shit and lacking the wherewithal to pick it up I just sort of smudged my big toe round and round. Grinding the peanut butter into the floor and praying that the Better Half doesn’t find it. I tell you this, because this is the environment I’m churning out this disaster in. It’s Tuesday evening, and the Black Hole of End of Semester is sucking what is left of my sanity into its gaping chasm. Freudian imagery or something. Gape! Gape! One of my few insanity repellants left are the funny rags I’ll be snagging and snacking on tomorrow. In a desolate world filled with deadlines, here are the comic books I’m holding to my charred bosom in hopes of feeling something tomorrow.
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The Company That Wants You To Enjoy Defending Things!
Try as I might, I can’t seem to give a shit about Defenders #1 dropping this week. I mean fuck Matt Fraction is a favorite of mine. A favorite. Sometimes I follow him on Twitter and just think of how haughtily he’d laugh if I could ever tell him a joke. We ride bikes together. Despite our futuro-BFFL status, I can’t get stoked. It isn’t buzzing in the loins. Will I buy it? Probably. There’s also Avenging Spider-Men, this week. Let me tell you something. Spider-Man ain’t never avenged. Stuck In The Past Spider-Man? Sold. Quieting Crying Through His Witty Remarks Spider-Man? Makes sense. Avenging? C’mon now. Then there’s Remender who is bumping Venom #10 with new artist Lan Medina. Great writer, new artist on the title. There’s all that, and no less than five titles with an X on the cover.
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Hardcovers, Softcovers, Undercover Lovers?
Just in time for Christmas there’s a boatload of classic collections getting shoved down your wallet-gullet. There’s a new printing of Alan Moore’s Watchmen. You may have heard of that comic. If you’re one of the three people who reads comic books and hasn’t read this….oh who am I kidding? Just buy it for your thirteen year-old cousin. Get real subversive on his or her ass. Slide it across the table at whatever holiday party you’re attending. Heft the heaving tome across the table, dragging napkins and table cloth and whatever else. Let it fall off the table with a resounding thud. Then clap your hands and yell “that’s the sound of your mind getting fucked!”
Use your one phone call to tell me about it.
There’s also a new printing of Days of Future Past dropping. I read that this comic came out in 1980, and all of a sudden my entire life unraveled before my eyes. The linear fallacy swept over me, and I saw myself in succession being born, growing pubes, reading this comic, mashing my fat fingers on a keyboard on an AOL message board, eating McDonald’s Chicken Nuggets, and arriving here. That’s my life right there. Keyboard masturbation, fast food, and Wolverine creeping on Kitty Pryde in some wildly outstanding Oedipal machinations.
Quickly now, that’s not all! There’s also Alexandro Jodorowsky and Moebius’ The Eyes of The Cat. That’s a collaboration made in the Mind Warp, delivered to your Delectable Third Eye. Finally! Finally! Can I sell you on one more classic reprinting? I’m making karmic comissions. Money? Pshaw! I deal in assurance that I’m not going to be reincarnated as a strip club toilet seat. Finally! There’s Jack Kirby’s Fourth World Omnibus. Getting itself a fresh new printing. Smiling for the ladies. Flexing for the bros.
Phew. That’s a collection of hard and covered affair.
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Animals, Supermen, Hybrid Ordeals
Men who are Animals. Hyrbid creatures. Weird ethnographic gazes. Jeff Lemire is double fisting me this week with new issues of Animal Man and Sweet Tooth. While I ain’t crazy about the current direction of Sweet Tooth, I’ll be goddamned if Lemire isn’t some of the tightest writing around. One time a man commented that he thought Lemire merely average. A qualified writer, but lacking a certain panache. That man now lives in my dungeon, begging for forgiveness and muttering about how uncomfortable his antlers are. DC should be lighting vigils to him. This week we’re also snacking on the mossy underside of Swamp Thing #4. If Lemire has brought the thunder this year to DC, then Scott Snyder has brought the lightning. With their powers combine they cook a lot of fish in the ocean and then push the haddock in an underground fish market. What the fuck am I saying? Do you really like the #4? Then snag Action Comics’ newest issue. Grant Morrison promises to have Clark-El fighting Braniac. Or I’m promising that he’s promising. But he it doesn’t deliver, bother him. Not me.
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There we go. That’s what I’m mildly excited about. To be frank it’s all a haze of paper writing fatigue, over-caffeination, and a desire to somehow sleep and play Skyrim at the same time. What are you feeling this week? I have bad taste, I know I do. Save me with your recommendations. I’ll be your valentine.
This year it was my dream that there would be a Republican Presidential Candidate named Thomas Abel, and that the nomination would boil down to a heated race between Abel and Herman Cain, and that when Cain won by a landslide the headlines would read, “Cain Kills Abel!”
Alas, now that dream is gone.
This week Herman Cain dropped out of the 2012 Presidental race to the public’s sarcastic cry of “Oh no!” Comedians everywhere took a blow from the withdrawal, as now a daily source of outstanding material has vanished. For weeks I’ve wanted to write a piece about the man whose campaign anthem was “Big Pimpin’” that would examine (make fun of) all of the greatest Herman Cain videos. There’s the one where he calls Wolf Blitzer “Blitz”, his renaming of Uzbekistan (you know, “Uzbeki-beki-beki-stan-stan”), and of course his immense knowledge of foreign policy and current happenings in Libya, seen above. This might be my favorite Cain clip. It’s a hard choice, but he really just knows nothing about Libya in the video up top. I’m going to miss Herman Cain. He brought this presidential race to life. Well, Cain, along with Michele Bachmann and Rick Perry. In honor of Herman Cain, can I get one last “9-9-9″?
No? Okay.
“December 4th”
I’m weird about music. I only listen to certain things at certain times. Miles Davis‘ Round About Midnight is reserved for December and January when I’m at home, in my car; “April Fools” by Aretha Franklin can only be listened to in April; And anything by Weezer is strictly for when I am between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
Jay-Z‘s “December 4th” gets the same treatment. I love this song. I love it. It’s one of the best cuts on The Black Album. Be that as it may, I only can listen to it on the actual day of December 4. It’s just a thing I do (a thing called having severe neuroses). Fortunately, today is December 4! I can listen to it today! In fact, I exclusively listen to this song on the fourth. No matter what music I’ve been playing lately, or even if I feel like listening to something else, I can only listen to “December 4th”. So, yeah. If you feel like stepping your neurotic game up, start doing this. I like pickles.
Apply Your Yarmelkes Now
I’m Jewish for two reasons: the jokes and the holidays. I’m not religiously Jewish, just culturally. If there’s room for a Jew joke, I’ll make it; a day off from school for a Jewish holiday, I’ll take it. Ever since moving away from home though, Chanukah has been a real bummer. I can rarely find someone to get me one gift for a cultural holiday I observe out of completely materialistic reasons, let alone eight! This year, I’m not gonna stand for it. This year, I’m gonna do something about it. With that I present to you, my Chanukah list:
1. A massage
I’ve built up a lot of bodily stress this year. I’ve never had a professional massage before, just the shitty ones that your friends who claim they’re “great at giving massages” give. Now, I want a real one. Man or woman, I don’t care. Just someone, please, rub me down.
2. Benihana Cooking Lessons
Did you know these exist? These are actually a thing. Last winter I was at Benihana with my mother, and the wonderful self-promoters they are, they mentioned that these are now available. Let me get there. You’ve read my cooking articles, you know of my expertise in the kitchen. I need these.
3. Jay-Z’s Decoded
I actually want this. The hardcover version. Don’t skimp on me, Reader.
4. Anything Unreleased By J.D. Salinger
Salinger’s my favorite author of all time. Him, and Italo Calvino. And he’s got so much unreleased stuff locked away in his former home, would it be that hard for someone to discreetly break a window and grab a couple manuscripts? Even just one; i’ll take just one. Help me out.
5. A Bunch Of Goat Cheese
Let’s face it, it’s the best cheese.
6. A Cheese Grader
This has nothing to do with the above goat cheese. It just seems like a good thing to have.
7. Big Lurch’s “It’s All Bad” On Vinyl. Or On CD. Or Even Just The Name Big Lurch Written On A Piece Of Paper
No one eats someone like Big Lurch.
8. Anything With Polka Dots
Put it on a button up, or some socks, or jeans. It’s a great pattern.
Well, that’s my list. My goal in posting this is that some of you faithful Bloglin readers will come to my aid and get me Chanukah gifts. After all the hilarious posts I’ve given you this year, do I not deserve that? No, you’re right, I probably don’t. In that case, use this list as a guide if you’re unsure of what to get someone this holiday season. I generally know what people like. I am culture.
I love traveling. I love airports, and air planes, and especially, the people in said airports and airplanes. I know that most people do not feel the way that I do, which is in itself a travesty, but that ends up being a large contributor to my enjoyment. People hate to travel. They hate going to airports, being in airports, and sitting on airplanes. That’s one of the main reasons why I love being around them. It makes me happy to see other people upset.
I love airports. There are restaurants, and magazines, and people that are bored and upset – they’ve got everything I would like to do with a free afternoon. I mean, where else can you simultaneously eat at Wolfgang Puck Express and read Entertainment Weekly? That’s right, only on Thursdays at my Aunt Dawn’s house when she gets Wolfgang to-go and the new EW comes in the mail. People often complain about having to wait in the airport, or having their flight delayed, but the way I see it, the more time I get to spend there the better.
Recently I spent an afternoon in the JFK airport waiting for a flight to San Francisco and it was just lovely. I had a pizza from the Puck man, and for dessert, two cartons of Dibs. Where else do you get the opportunity to eat two cartons of Dibs? No where, that’s correct. I entertained the idea of getting a massage, as I have done once before when a flight delay served me with a wait of two hours, but on this afternoon I decided just to stand in a bookstore and read all the magazines without buying anything.
When it was finally time to board, I went to the gate. Everyone was excited to see me. At the gate I stared angrily and eventually rolled my eyes at a man in a hat who cleared his throat a couple of times but didn’t say anything. What’s with that? Why clear your throat if you’re not going to say anything? I’ve never once had the urge to do that. I let it go. You’ve got to pick your battles, and this one was for someone else. I got on the plane.
I love airplanes. As a rule, I don’t like most people, and when placed in such a confined space as an airplane I get the chance to just sit and hate everybody for hours on end. It’s utter bliss. On this particular flight I made my way to my seat in the last row at the back of the plane. I had a window seat because windows are nice and I like them, and while I was one of the first people to board the flight, there was already someone seated in the other window seat. She was a woman and wore a banana-yellow hoodie and had some of the worst seated posture I’ve ever encountered. Jabba the Hutt sat up straighter than this woman. Also, she looked like an anteater.
As I approached the back row I gave her a small smile, silently saying, “Yeah, I understand. Airplanes. I’m with you.” I wasn’t with her in the slightest, but I wanted to try my hand at empathy. No luck. Jabba the Anteater merely returned my smile with a glare – a really strong glare – that lasted from when I was three rows ahead of her, all the way to when I was seated. It was a ninety degree turn-inducing glare, furrowed brow and everything. I sat down and got comfortable, taking off my shoes and my jacket, but periodic glances to my right proved that the blob of a woman had no intention of letting up on this glare.
Other people boarded the plane and soon my row was full. Let’s ignore the issue of crying babies, of which there are always many, except for this one kid who I can’t not mention. This boy, seated several rows ahead of me, looked to be about five, and before we took off he repeatedly shrieked, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Finally, a man’s voice was heard: “I’m not your mom. I’m your dad. Don’t call me ‘mommy’. Your mom is on your other side.” Mom. Dad. It’s a difficult concept.
I leaned forward to check and, yup, she was still glaring at me.
Finally it was time to take off. The captain asked us all to turn off our electronics, but did so super politely: “If you’re sending a text please try and wrap it up shortly.” He convinced me. I turned off my phone. Then, another voice was heard; it was that of a flight attendant: “Please adhere to the pilot’s request and turn off all electronic devices.” Then again: “Please. All electronics.” And then: “Sir in 20F, please turn off your electronics. Yes, you in 20F.” Finally the flight attendant approached the man in 20F: “Sir, if you don’t turn that off I’m going to take it away for the entire flight. Is that what you want? I’m going to take it for the whole time and you won’t get to use it at all.”
Even the kid who couldn’t keep his mom and dad straight was laughing. 20F was a dope. 20F turned off his electronics.
Once we were high enough, electronics were back on. I heard a noise kind of like a sobbing walrus, and leaned forward to find my yellow hoodied girlfriend wearing some headphones and singing along to what might have been Destiny’s Child, but could have just as easily been a recording of a sad walrus. Pretty soon the parentally-confused boy, the anarchist 20F, and I all joined in to sing with her.
