Love and the color yellow

I got a chimpanzee for Christmas. It's really neat. We rob banks together and it knows karate. You can keep your Nintendo and Commodore 64. I'm sticking with the chimp.

Santa's Pack

I was going to write someting modern and caustic about Santa Claus and his hairy sack full of guns and cocaine but, really, haven't we had enough trash-talk as a nation? TV is rife with gangsters tripping grannies attempting to cross the street; Republicans and Democrats are eating each other's flesh; everywhere liar's pants are on fire; knuckles and faces are colliding every which way ... and I say enough!

Everything will be positive on Bloggy-Blog from now on. I'm turning a new leaf, as the kid's say.

What's wrong with saying I love puppies in a basket? Furthermore, I'm not too ashamed to embrace the color yellow or skip merrily into lanes of on-coming traffic. I will even think of something positive to say about Oliver Stone, Barry Manilow, The Osmonds and processed cheese. They are all living things to be respected.

And so my smartypants sarcastic friends (especially you east Hollywood Myspace hipsters), I must depart from you. You will see me ascending into the sky and on to a higher calling. We will all be together, by and by.

Mandingo

Bloggy-Blog Dating Page

Now, all the beautiful people who march arm-in-arm with the philosophies of Bloggy-Blog can meet-up and swing! Just write your profile in the comments' section. Make sure to include your shoe size. Then, simply wait by the phone with cucumbers over your eyes and curlers in your hair. This is your ticket to love!

The Doors of DVD Revisionism

I return to Doors music infrequently. Now and then, however, it's just the thing, like a welcome cold pizza. A combination of factors converged with the Doors that still convey a satisfying 60s flavor that I must imbibe, say, every eight months or so. The same applies to Peter Sellers. I must mainline a Peter Sellers movie into my veins, no matter how dubious, at least once a year or I will wither.

So last night I watched the expanded 2 DVD set of Oliver Stone's "The Doors". I've seen the film before and was mostly ambivalent, yet appreciative of how challenging it must be to make a film reenacting a celebrated rock band and not slip off a completely maudlin cliff.

Watching "The Doors" again, this time shirtless and with headphones for full effect, I had an epiphany. I had anticipated a drama but It's really a very comedic film played totally deadpan. There are many moments in the film where Oliver Stone so completely massages his own obsessive love convulsion of the mythic aspect of Morrison and the Doors that absurdity quickly overtakes credibility. It's a film that subverts itself while it tries to subvert, whether by accident or not that makes it a comedy in my book. I really don't have to give examples because it's basically all throughout the whole movie.

Someone might argue, how could you make the film worth watching without indulging in Doors-ey stylistic license? I'd say that's fine to do but just don't make it so retarded!

Val Kilmer was pretty good, actually. Almost as good as his portrayal of that OTHER rock icon Nick Rivers in "Top Secret" -a comedy played so deadpan, you'd think it was a drama.

The End

Best Thing Since Monkeys On Rollerskates

X-ray Diffraction Evidence for a "Cyclotriene" Motif in the Molecular Structure of Trisbicyclo[2.1.1]hexabenzene

Hey bachelor readers of Bloggy-Blog, get your kicks from this knockout sexy website. Hubba-hubba! Keep watch for the boss looking over your shoulder. You could get canned!

Now THAT'S Entertainment!

Text Will See Us Through

OK, so my preceding tour down Hollywood Blvd. has been met with little fanfare. Fine. All but a toot from our distinguished Mr. Polanski. Thank you.

What sort of sick perverted dance must I do to get readership here? What kinda' drive-by freak show can compete with the current cultural bar set by Jerry Springer? C'mon people! Let's shake up this rotting town. I wanna dance on tables and ride motorcycles all through the night!

What would you like to see more of here at Bloggy-Blog? --Blanks space? Longer intervals between posts? The constant droning of crickets? You call the shots.

Text and just a Little bit o' Lovin'

OK, so my preceding tour down Hollywood Blvd. has been met with little fanfare. Fine. All but a toot from our distinguished Mr. Polanski. Thank you.

What sort of sick perverted dance must I do to get readership here? What kinda' drive-by freak show can compete with the current cultural bar set by Jerry Springer? C'mon people! Let's shake up this rotting town. I wanna dance on tables and ride motorcycles all through the night!

What would you like to see more of here at Bloggy-Blog? --Blanks space? Longer intervals between posts? The constant droning of crickets? You call the shots.

Hollywood Babble-On

Hollywood Blvd. A street like no other, with its promise of true happiness and meaning. Any movie professional worth his salt will tell you that, if you want to be a Star in Hollywood, all you have to do is parade up and down the Boulevard. That's the ticket to being discovered by all the directors and studio bosses who constantly troll this famous strip looking to sign you up to multi-million dollar contract!

So, egged by my pragmatic ambition of becoming a great big movie star, I rode on the back of a turnip truck headed for Hollywood California!

"OK Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up!"

Hollywood and Vine. Wow.

The figures on display at the entrance to the Hollywood Wax Museum are of a better grade than anything you'll see inside.

News Flash: I'm sorry to report that the museum has cynically removed the David Hasselhoff diorama ...I'm mentioning this in hopes of mounting a full-scale boycott. Also, few people realize that once inside this place, you actually have to pay again to get out! Those who come up short are turned into waxworks.

The Roosevelt Hotel is chock full o'celebrity hauntings. If you look closely into the windows of the 13th floor, you'll likely to see a pair swingin' ghosts. It's Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis reenacting golden moment from "The Caddy". Lewis' spirit preceded the body, which is still out there making appearances.

One of many Elvis's you're likely to encounter on Hollywood Blvd. Santa has hundreds of these little fellers laboring without representation at his North Pole toy shop. When they do manage to get away, Elvis's enjoy vacationing in Southern California primarily for the warm climate.

"Mickey D's" on Hollywood Blvd. A welcome oasis of health and renewal.

One of the best things about lady Los Angeles is her old buildings and atmospheric noir lobbies. If you squint carefully, you can make out a number of celebrity ghosts anxiously waiting for the elevator wih bladders full of vermouth. Note Spanky Macfarland and Petey the dog clowning for the camera. Hey knock it off you two, America has a war to fight!

The landmark Knickerbocker Hotel (foreground) seen shouldering up to a neighboring building. It's all one big schmooze-fest in Hollywood! A lot of historical celebrity poop went down here.

Another scary Elvis manifestation. We're signed to co-star in the ultimate buddy-picture. I play L Ron Hubbard. There will be many stunts and gratuitous fireball explosions. Backed by a raging xylophone music score to appease the kids, it's well on the road to being a sure-fire hit!

Sign of the times. A log jam of reality-based TV shows has forced a surplus of new stars to double-up on the Walk of Fame. Hollywood's Chamber of Commerce is busy devising double-decker sidewalks.

Bogie to Sid (Grauman's Chinese Theater): "Sid may you never die till I kill you". To which I say, never make promises you can't keep in cement. You can tell that, by exhibiting both feet and handprints together, Humphrey Bogart preferred walking on all fours.

A shrine to Hollywood that has little purpose and should be eliminated from this series.

All good things must come to a sobering conclusion. Likewise, I had to return my "date", which I'd been dragging noisily down the sidewalk by handcuffs, back to her storefront display.

The End
(or is it?)
Color by Deluxe
Mr. Geritopia's wardrobe by Botany 500
Best Boy: Ida Lupino
Gaffer: Marion Morrison
Special thanks to: Electricity and grotesque surplus of time.

Extra! Grumpypuss Collapses But Still Loves You In His Own Way

Regarding the forthcoming Beatles Love album, "audio phiilia" writes (responding to our own Grampy Grumpypuss' critique):

"The Smash Mix contains some great mashups. But then again, I'm on myspace, so I bet a geezer like you will loathe everything it stands for."

Another intreped Bloggy-Blog fan, "missy", also delightedly chimes in:

"There is one hack writer for the Chicago Tribune who called it "gimmicky". You should look that guy up and have a beer with him. "
__________________________________

Well I hope you're all happy now because Grampy Grumpypuss has taken a turn for the worse. Yes, Grumpypuss collapsed while listening to Randi Rhodes being interviewed on the Larry King Show (King being his favorite talk show host). When Rhodes ignored King's attempt at a station break and rattled on with one of her relentless tears against Orrin Hatch and the Osmonds, Grampy flew into a tantrum, resulting in lodging his tusks into the TV screen and a burst aorta.

Grumpypuss demonstrates the Charleston, (the REAL dance that you kids should do
instead of listening to mashups) --23 skidoo!!!

Won't you please send all your money to "Help Grumpypuss Fund. P.O. Box 118 Grand Central Station.

And remember the geezer you help today will be the geezer who ridicules your lame attempts at doing the Charleston in the afterlife. How completely humiliating for you.

'Can't Think Of A Title: Something-Something- Santa Monica Bay

My weekend kept bringing me back to the Santa Monica Bay, which is a fine and fitting subject for this here bloggy-blog.

Some history: I was born in Santa Monica; I "did time" at the Santa Monica Boy's Club in my youth where I was bullied by incipient thugs for nickels; I worked at Santa Monica College for five years; my wastewater currently flows into the Santa Monica Bay (as does most of LA's sewage, making it one of the most toxic stretches of beachfront in Southern California --if not for my waste alone).

So, Saturday night I was strolling around the area and saw an intriguing sign at a bar located on the Santa Monica Pier. "Playing Tonight: Bill Mumy & Band". Well, I immediately realized that this was Billy Mumy, or "Will Robinson" from the old Lost in Space series.

Mumy in his exalted state

Mumy had a ubiquitous presence on many TV shows and commercials throughout the 60's and beyond. My favorite of his was the creepy Twilight Zone entitled: "It's a Good Life" where he's able to enact horrible consequences on people who don't think the way he'd like them to. I know many people who've been scarred for life by this singular episode --yes it's perhaps more nightmarish than Gumby being pursued by angry-faced pies in an oven.

Anyway, I watched a bit of the Bill Mumy band performing from outside because I was afraid that if I didn't like the show he'd wish some horrible fate upon me. You can see my comments on his own website's "guest book" for more on details, dated 11/11 at 10:48:39pm.. Nice of them to include my predictably sardonic greeting.

mumy can, via sheer will-power, shape-shift you into a human
jack in the box if you think objectionable things about his music

The following day, like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, I came back to the celebrated bay of toxic sludge to set sail with my friend of many moons, Cap'n "T-bone" Tony. It was a good day to be afloat, eating string cheese and singing pirate shanties. Lucky for us, the weather was quite favorable and the noxious smell of the ocean semi-tolerable.

Cap'n T-Bone doing his beloved Talking Elmo impression

me, looking almost happy, trying to find my teutonic jawline

Grampy Grumpypuss Lashes Out At Beatles-Meets-The-Spandex-Dancing-Clown Show

I finally heard the 4 song Beatles sampler of the Cirque Du Soleil "Love" mashup, or whatever. I would not recommend going to beatles.com and doing the same. It's pretty sad. Plus, in order to access the tracks, they force you to give your name, bank account, and urine sample. What a load! And just why they chose to reedit those tracks and not give them to Blue Man Group or Triny Lopez instead of a troupe of prancing Doug Henning clones is beyond me.

The catalogue of Beatles CDs are long overdue for re-mastering. This can easily be achieved via mixes straight from the original mutlitrack tapes, vs. the current 2-track analogue master version on the market (which were mixed and EQ'd for vinyl). --am I sounding sickly hard-core yet?-- It makes a significant difference in quality and detail... and you can hear that difference on special compilations ("Yellow Submarine Songbook", "Beatles Anthology", etc.), although for some reason "Help" was mixed from original mutlitracks. Producer George Martin has always been especially stalwart about keeping the earlier stuff in mono and dragging his feet about the whole matter. That's why I find this "Love" project to be so conspicuously grotesque and ironic.

I've heard only a couple of mashup tracks that I've ever liked and no doubt there are some very clever ones out there. They're really not that difficult to do. The result can be novel and nostalgic but they're fairly masturbatory creatively. I guess I'll have to make one here to prove my point and because I seem to excel at that sort of thing.

5 Reasons Why Lists Are Tiresome

1. Lists contain numerals, unfairly alienating the math-phobic community.
2. It's a lazy writer's crutch under the guise of offering something new.
4. All the bandwidth is already taken by VH1 and E!., excepting shows about other "Top 10 Shows".
5. Tim Allen is rumored to enjoy lists.
8. A bottle of bread and a loaf of wine.
6. Lists do psychological damage by their qualitative hubris.
7. Lists traditionally end with a scatological joke and that's a bunch of shit.

3 Reasons Why I'm Not On Myspace

1. I'm too old.
2. I'm too sleepy.
3. I'm not in the "edgy" demographic.
4. I wasn't weaned on Johnny Knoxville.
5. I'm extremely old.
6. I ain't got no tattoos on my face.
8. I've never worn a Mexican wrestling mask (but I'd like to).
10. I don't like Myspace.

Podcast #4: Music so Good, it had to be Hidden for Decades

milking the big nostalgia

Stimuli A-Go-Go is ON THE AIR .

Today's load from the vaults falls loosely under the category of "very under-the-radar recordings from the famous on our twin planet on the other side of the sun".

[I tried about 800 times to fix the credits on the player but it refuses to list material in correct order. Maddening! It should go, as follows: Big Milk - "Man with the human head"/ Geritopia w'Seatbelt - "Demon Seed"/ Neutral Youth - "Gasoline"/ Big Milk - "Pancake Man" (cover)/ Geritopia - "road apple red"/ Big Milk - "Bag" (is not a toy)/ Tragicomedy - "Drastic Change" (cassette 4 track vers)/ Geritopia - "Harbor College Artifact"/ SS McClean - "Ending Days" (cover)]

Serving suggestion: add warm water over the whole concoction and it will make a flavorful gravy. Eat from a bowl on all fours.

This one's for you, Joey Polanski

Word out to my two readers and pet ant

I'm thinking of putting together a "Cavalcade of Stars" telethon to pay my elves. They work so tirelessly to bring Bloggy-blog's great storehouse of "edu-tainment" to you, the proletariat. All the while, I sit in my basement, smoking stogies and barking out orders. This outreach concept wouldn't be viable, however, without a celebrity band. Any volunteers? You won't get paid. We'll need another telethon for that.

Podcast #3: "Hamster Radio"

Stimuli-a-go-go presents:

Radio Hamster is ON THE AIR!

stolen graphic

Pudding ingredients:

G Marx croons; Jack in the Box agitprops; Bob Wills eyes cotton; Chesty Morgan snaps straps & photographs; Mattel Optigans the Powerhouse; Fukasaku slimes green; Gold fingers; & Marion Robert Morrison jumps, jives and wails.

Just try and enjoy.

Jammin' the Blues (1944)

I have nothing particularly stupid to say this time --'course ya never know 'cause I'm not done yet. This is simply a great video clip. I found out about it from watching a recent release of the WB Humphrey Bogart movie "Passage to Marseille". It's featured amongst a batch of shorts under the "Warner night at the movies" menu on the DVD. I also found this copy on Youtube, as you can see above. The version on the DVD is immaculately remastered. You just want to eat it. [On that note, I realize that the Youtube video doesn't exactly captivate like the DVD, which is silky and detailed. But if you hang in there through the second half, it gets more up-tempo and visually dynamic.]

They were so much cooler then. What the hell are we doing here in 2006 ?!!!