Conflict of Interest

1. I hate major-label movie soundtrack remakes of old songs that were good and now might as well have be featured in used car commercials.
2. I hate every product of the teen pop diva era, especially now that people are sick of their auto-tuned Swedish electronic drivel and they can do what they've wanted to do all along: Be truck-stop strippers.
   
3. I hate fake breasts. Seriously. I hate the stretched skin in between them. I hate the clear distinction between them and all other matter around them. I hate how they turn the breasts into two completely separate entities, when it the togetherness of the two that truly give them their power (yeah, I'm looking at you, Johnny-Boy...)
   

Taking all of the above into account, I should hate this brand new video from the upcoming Dukes of Hazard movie. (Thanks, Super.)

I don't.

Have a good weekend.

Mine will be spent reconciling my values with who I really am.

Update on the Charlottesville Pavilion

Based on this picture, taken today at 3:00PM, I'd say that things at the Pavilion construction site are going swimmingly.

Take a bath, Loretta!

__________________________________

That link doesn't work, but here's the picture. From Tuesday. F*ck.

Wookies In (Cyber)Space

The Chairman of The Blogosphere, Mr. Andrew Sullivan has recognized The Passed Out Wookie Delegation.

(Thanks, Dr. Chiachensbergersdorfstein for the hat tip, introducing me to the phrase "hat tip", and then explaining that it wasn't tipping someone $3.)

Mr. Sullivan, should your deep-seeded desire to know the wookies - to understand them - have led you here, I will pass on a piece of advice:

Stay away from the String Cheese wookies, for they are covered in Hepatitis-A.

Congratulations passedoutwookies.com!!! Grilled cheese, goo-balls, and a fist full of ballons for everyone!!! (OK, not you, Brooks, but everyone else!)

A Haiku For He Who Could Become the Greatest Free Safety In The History of Professional Football

Come back Sean Taylor,
I won't survive another
Six and ten season.

Ladies and Gentlemen (Waiting At the Beer Tent), We Are Cannonball Coming!!!!

Yes, wooksters and wookettes - Cannonball Coming - the greatest band ever to be named after a Caddyshack reference, will be playing on the sidestage at Nissan Pavilion at Stone Ridge on July 30th in support of Widespread Panic.

Now - let me be very clear here: I have, in the past, been known to say not terribly nice things about bands. I'm not saying that Panic was ever one of them, but just to be clear: From this day forward, I confidently pronounce that Widespread is the only truly great band out on the road today, and that we will rock our little hearts out to all of the people who are way early getting in to the show and are going to get a quick piss in before the show starts.

Cannonball Coming is back (again) and is going to rock so hard that, well, let's just say I'd recommend two pairs of socks and some tightly-tied shoes.

Check back for updates, kiddies.

Charlottesville Pavilion Countdown (Part II)

There is now a third act to be confirmed for the still-nothing-more-than-a-hole-in-the-ground Charlottesville Pavilion: Bob Weir's RatDog on August 7th.

Yes, for all you folks who think that "Bobby Fans Are People, Too" bumper stickers aren't funny (they are) your favorite short shorts-wearing sidekick to the stars will be trying to play a really gay "Dancin' In The Street" at the brand new pavilion.

That is, if it's not one big pile of dirt. Let's look at the scoreboard:

• Loretta Lynn - 54 days
• Bruce Hornsby - 76 days
  
• RatDog - 62 days (just added!!!)

Good luck, Captain!

Brunch - Trio Loco

To eat inside or outside? This pretty big quesiton looms weekly as we enter the summertime brunch season, which I decided to start at Mono Loco. Both Friday and Saturday evenings had been action-packed, so it was with short tempers and extremely empty stomachs that my party arrived around 1:45 and chose the air-conditioned inside to the umbrella-protected patio.

(Bloodys: 3 of 5) NOTE: Saying that you don't have Stolichnaya is akin to pissing into a customer's ear. This being said, brunch was not off to a good start. Water was poured immediately. Pro.

Arriving in a pint glass with a gigantic celery stalk, the presentation was right on. The menu promised a special mix of "tomato juice and chili sauce" but fell short with a rather bland concoction that was way heavy on the pepper. So heavy that I had to reposition my straw several times to unclog the mess. The addition of a lemon wedge definitely improved the mix. Could have used more Worcestershire and a bit more horseradish.

(Eggs Benedict: NA / Food: 4.5 of 5) The only thing holding me back from giving a perfect score here is the lack of benedict. I mean, jesus titty f*cking christ...this isn't Afghanistan. I don't care what sort of "thing" you're going for at your place (Mono Loco is doing...um...Cuban?), you have poached eggs, you have hollandaise, and you have english muffins. It's called Sunday. You just do it.

This being said, my meal was EXCELLENT. The head chef sent out a plate of fried oysters on the half shell. One a piece - just enough fried food to get the stomach ready to really eat. The food couldn't have taken more than 10 minutes to get to us, and when it did...I had the shrimp and chili-powder biscuits. Just enough spice (no heartburn for the remainder of the day) in the sauce and the biscuits themselves. Now this was a clever way to separate yourself from the fray. Take a classic and turn it on it's head (see above).

(Desert: N/A) Let's just officially discontinue this.

(Service: 4 of 5) Our waiter was prompt and his work was augmented by two other waitresses. Our food was taken as soon as we finished and not a moment before. No pressure at any time, we lounged until 3:15 and were never made to feel unwelcome. The bartender was extremely friendly and helpful in my search for lemons.

Why not a 5, then? Because the two waitresses were gorgeous and we got stuck with the dude. You just gotta plan better. Gotta.

(Price: 3.5 of 5) $78US for 6 bloodys and three entrees. $8 is excessive for a bloody mary, but the food was right on. Actually left less than 20%, only because the wallet is runnin' a little close to E these days, folks. If the waiter / waitresses from the Loco ever read this - I know it doesn't mean sh*t, but I should have left more. I'm sorry. (On to step 10, right George?)

(Overall: 4 of 5) Within moments of arriving, the music was too loud, we were told there was no Stoli, and we didn't see Benedict on the menu. Things looked real bad. I was with a wookie who is on record as being unafraid to scoot on a brunch, belive me. However, all of the above began to settle in, half of the Nocturnal Transmissions rolled in, and a wonderful brunch began. As the staff is mostly new, Chewbakka say: Congratulations on a fine turnaround.

Mono Loco is located on the corner of Water St. and First St. in Downtown Charlottesville.
Phone: (434) 979-0688

James Graham Must Die v1.02

When my real name is Google'd, this article appears.

If the world were a fair and decent place (like Denmark) this, or something like it, would appear when you Google the name "James Graham".

In yesterday's post I mentioned the opening of the Corner Bodo's. Doing this unearthed an un-identifiable and terrible rage and anger within my soul. Soon, I realized that it was the memory of being sold out in the article posted above.

Back in 2002, I was a young man in the midst of training to become a bagel-master. Cream cheese was carefully applied. Every effort was made to assure a safe and even slice through the heart of the bagel. Starving college students were brought bagels to augment their brain-power diets of Ramen noodles and whipped cream cartridges. I was using the forces of good to leven the spirit of my community.

During my training, I was approached by a "friend" calling himself a "jouranlist." He was working for a struggling alerternative to the alternative weekly and he had an idea. An old adage, he told me, was that when distribution was down, an article on bagels and those who made them was a sure-fire stabilizer. Being a lover of my community and the freedom of the press, I agreed to be interviewed on all topics Bodo's.

Several days later James Graham appeared at my apartment with a tape recorder and a six-pack of beer. Deep into a mid-afternoon viewing of the original Shaft, I welcomed him in and the interview began. I answered questions ranging from "What's your favorite part of the job?" to the inevitable, "When will the Corner Bodo's open?" The interview ended shortly thereafter, and I went back to the blaxploitation calssic.

In the time between the interview and its eventual publishing, things grew dark. I was unable to smile as wide as I had for the previous year and a half. I could hardly eat a cup of soup and two bagels for lunch and sometimes dinner as well. A pall had been cast upon me, and I was unsure of its origin. One morning, instead of rising with the sun to bring the bagels to the people, I simply stayed in bed, waking restlessly several times to peek through my blinds at the day that would see the demise of my bagel knight-hood.

What had befallen me? How had a once loyal servant to the bagel-addled become so jaded as to deny them service? It soon dawned upon me that, perhaps, all was not well with Mr. Graham. Calls were not returned, emails were left unreplied-to. Was the developing pain in my neck the result of a voodoo pen molesting my word DNA and depositing the remains filthily on the page?

Yes. Yes, it was.

On the day I first returned since my dethronement to the bagelry, I walked in to a sea of weekly newspapers with bagels on the cover. This wasn't good. Picking one up from a co-worker I glanced at a page and saw:

"We're brainless helper monkeys. Just walking back and forth... 'Ooh, there's a ticket. Ooh, there's a bagel.'"

Funny how quotes are shortened to titilate, no? My answers to the interview questions, which oozed of devotion and profound respect, had been destroyed like whales and minks - the poacher taking only what he needed, and, unable to use the rest of the animal, discarding the majority of the great beast's remains. Apparently, my noble portrayal of the restaurant and those who ran it would do little to boost readership.

Pieces of them would look like the prettiest titties you've ever seen.

Graham denied my accusations of fraud, saying the tapes didn't lie and that he merely delved into the world of journalistic privelege when quoting me. He soon turned tail and left our peaceful hamlet for the tiny burrough of Williamsburg, evidently fearful of the legion of outraged citizens zeroing in on his location.

The moral of the story, folks: When you eat your delicious bagel from the new Bodo's on the Corner in only a couple more weeks, say this as you take your first bite:

"Fuck you, James Graham."

PS - He used to totally hit on my mom, too.

I Wonder What Type of Shot You Use to Take a Pig Out of the Air? or James Graham Must Die

Apparently, the Corner Bodo's is going to open.

I think that's f*cking great.

For those of you who have to dial a (434) before hollerin', Bodo's is a locally-owned bagel store with two locations in Charlottesville. They serve sandwiches or traditional bagels by the dozen with about as many cream cheeses to match (don't sleep on the olive CC on a salt bagel, son.)

The Corner has been helping Wahoo students get obliterated drunk (bless you, Google, for finding that link) for almost a century. There's been a "COMING SOON" sign on the Corner Bodo's window for as long as I've been here, and most people would probably tell you the same thing.

When the Corner Bodo's opens it will be a mob scene, a smashing success, and in direct contradiciton with my view of the future. You see, the very same publication that broke the Bodo's story once employed a cock-sucker named James Graham. (click here for a picture)

Ooops...outta time kids. But if you want some slander and libel, come back to tomrrow.

Believe me. You don't want to upset a wookie.

Wedding Brunch - Sort Of

NOTE: Although he denies it, Father of King of All Wookies was overheard at a certain wedding reception last weekend mentioning this site, by name, to a guest. Thusly I can not go into great detail on the ceremony or anything following it. I know - you can't let your parents run your life. But, come on...Do you have any idea how long it took me to become Dr. Chewbakka?!? (If you really want to know, ask the dude I live with. He's 30 and his parents are still paying for him to go to grad school.) I also run the risk of getting nothing for Christmas for the rest of my life.

So, to that end, I will simply post a picture of the one-man-band wedding singer whose rendition of "Old Time Rock and Roll" made my suit vomit.

Except he was wearing a tux.

Why Now, Deep Throat?

Could W. Mark Felt's admission have anything to do with the "anonynous source" scandal at Newsweek?

Probably not, but it is funny to see the most famous anonymous source of the 20th Century, who did his tattling to Washington Post reporters Woodward & Bernstein, reveal himself as a credile witness to wrongdoing only weeks after the Gitmo allegations had to be retracted because an anonymous source backed off the story.

Especially considering Newsweek is owned by whom?

The Washington Post Company.

An Open Letter to the Former Guitar Player of Phish

Dear Ernest,

Sorry to hear that your Summer Tour got cancelled. When I heard, I assumed it was because of the stupid name the promoters gave it, but, as it turns out, you didn't sell any tickets. Again, that's too bad.

Remember when you sold out entire tours with your old band all year long? Yeah, that was cool. People would even drive through the night to see that band's show the next day. Now, it looks like nobody cares about the band you're in, because if they did, your tour wouldn't have been cancelled because of poor ticket sales.

I know that it's difficlt to speculate on these types of things, but let's ask the question, "Why do you think that not enough people bought tickets, making the promoters cancel your entire Summer Tour?"

Boy, man. There could be a lot of reasons:

• You told the crowd at the first show of your spring tour that the band hadn't really practiced together, because you were on vacation.
  

• Ben Harper sucks.


• Your new band is terrible and everyone hates it.
  


• The way you played at Coventry.

Ernest, these are only four reasons that I can think of that your tour got cancelled. However - I will be just a little constructive and give you a good hint on how to not get your next tour cancelled:


Here he is.

Slack-Assed No Brunch Bitch

My apologies, wookettes. I promised an in-depth and introspective look at all that is brunching in Albemarle County, but the past two weeks not only did I go to the same place (Jarman's Gap), but it's closed now, so enlightening the past to Mondays have not been (stupid Yoda...)

Anyways, I can promise that writing about the meal after my cousin's wedding on Sunday will more than make up for my lack of discipline.

Believe me.

PS - Not 'brunch' but 'brunch-related': Rapture serves an excellent bloody mary. Lots of horseradish, better after a lemon, and you can get one every day of the week...I think...They're high on the list for a week from Monday.

Memorial Day Haiku

Who throws a wedding -
A Sunday morning wedding -
This weekend? Cousins.

Dr. Chewbakka & Frank DeFord, Unite!

When you're right, you're right. But only when you're really right does a senior editor for the world's preeminent sports magazine agree with you and say so on NPR. Listen here.

On today's Morning Edition, Frank DeFord advocates the Washington Redskins changing their name. DeFord cites the inherent racism implied when we dress up for games in large head-dresses without recognizing the plight of the modern American Indian.

For example (Note: LakotaMall)

80% unemployment


Poorest county in the USA. Average family income is just $3,700 per year.



High rates of alcoholism, heart disease, and cancer.



Extremely high rate of diabetes. Almost half of the population over 40 on the Pine Ridge Reservation have diabetes.



Life expectancy for men is 48 years. Life expectancy for women is 52.



Highest infant mortality rate in the USA.

I felt the need to post those statistics becuase they are very real, and are central to Mr. Deford's point. We still, after all we've learned, want to recognize Indians as whooping, tee-pee living proto-hippies, whose culture is alive and well in some distant land that we'll see someday on that trip we're going to take out west. They are no longer that poeple.

Now - my theory is a little different. I think we need to change the name because they've put an ancient Indian curse on us, and until we get rid of "Redskins", to the playoffs, we will not go. This makes Mr. DeFord and I somewhat unlikely bedfellows in our fight, but I think he'll be glad, in the long run, to have the strength of the wookies behind him.

Granted, neither of us have any ideas for other names, and the last time a Washington sports franchise changed their name (from the Bullets to the Wizards) the result was a team with the stupidest looking logo in the history of sport. We'd have to change the fight song, too, and that sucks. (BTW: Great link about the history of the tune here)

Wait a second...a mascot is supposed to be strong, right? Someone you'd want to lead you into battle, right? Ohhh...Danny Snyder, do I have the non-offensive mascot for you!

A Haiku for May

Sad Wookie

Too cloudy today.
Want to sit in the fountain
And look at titties.

Charlottesville Pavillion Countdown

As of today, I have found two seperate big-name acts that have scheduled stops during their 2005 summer tours at the still-completely-not-finished Charlottesville Pavilion.

The Pavilion is currently nothing more than a gigantic hole in the ground. As of yesterday, the only erect structure in the hole was a 10 (w) x 10 (l) wall of cinder blocks. I'm sure Bruce Hornsby will both be mighty disappointed if his crew is told to teeter his piano on a 10" x 5' row of concrete. Perhaps they'll tell Loretta Lynn that at 70 years old she should remember what it was like to be a kid and play in the mud.

COUNTDOWN: 66 days...

The Star Wars Movie

DISCLAIMER: This website has very little, if anything at all, to do with Star Wars. As any good nerd will tell you, the correct spelling of the word this blog is so crazy about is "wookiee". The most famous individual spells its name "Chewbacca".

The wookie I speak of is a completely different creature. My wookie lives with it's girlfriend in a 1987 Camry that is covered in "clever bumper stickers. My wookie has a 3-legged dog that pulls around a cooler of "1 for $3, 2 for $5" Sammy Smith 22s on a longboard in parking lots.

My wookie ends every sentence with "brah."

(For an even clearer picture of my wookie (hehe) click on the links on your right.)

However - pretty super time for me to post my review of the movie, yes? (STOP READING IF YOU HAVE A GIRLFR...I MEAN...HAVEN"T SEEN THE MOVIE)

It was great. However - the f*cking dialogue...Jesus...

"He killed younglings."

This line was used 3 times, and highlights Lucas' incessant need to use his own make-believe words when somthing (anything) else would have been better for the scene, such as "Dude, I went in there and there were f*cking baby heads EVERYWHERE. I totally cried," or "We caught Anakin dipping his light sabre into baby-carriages," which, by the way was conceived by Chiach Solo, and not Family Guy.

Anakin: "I love you."
Padme: "No, I love you more"
Anakin: "No, I love you more."

I swear to god that this is an actual exchange from a major-studio-made full length motion picture that I paid matinee prices to go see. Twice. But once with a girl, alright? So shut up, mom.

Darth: "Yes, my master. Where is Padmé? Is she safe, is she all right? "

The first words to ever come out of Darth Vader's mouthpiece. The evilest dude in the history of anything is asking if his babies are OK? He doesn't instantly wake up and choke poeple? F*ck that.

There is one line, however, that almost makes up for it all:

Yoda: "Good relations with the Wookiees, I have."

To hear Yoda use my favorite word in a sentence that makes him sound (to me) like your buddy's buddy in a Izod shirt who has just taken your $200 assuring you that the molly he just scored from kid selling his baby for an extra is the best ever just warms my heart.

Enough with the words. It is a beautiful looking movie. Even in the scenes with the lines listed above, you can't help but marvel at how nice the idiot people puppets are to look at. The opening, the fulfillment of Lucas's grand CGI-powered dream, is all that is good about special effects. An interesting note about the effects-laden universe the characters inhabit is that the face of the clones is the Asian dude (they all look the same right?) that drives the gun-bot thingie in the last Matrix movie. I've never seen this guy do anything but have half of his body rendered by CGI.

More importantly though, the interaction between our two Jedi heroes is this scene (the only time that Christiansen is tolerable) adds great depth to the pained look on Alec Guiness's face every time he mentions Darth Vader. Ewen McGregor seems to relish this idea, and provides the only feeling we see from any human in the film. His admonishment of the dying Anakin (sorry about those stumps catching on fire, guy!) is capped with him picking up the vanquished's light sabre. This, of course, is meaningful only to nerds like me who remember Guiness, upon giving Luke his light-sabre, telling the future Jedi that his "father wanted him to have (it)."

The most interesting aspect of linking this trilogy with the original is the character of R2-D2. He has seen everything. Obi-Wan is quite familiar with R2, as he was Anakin's co-pilot, so it's interesting that Obi-Wan, whom we now know has been chilling in a cave for 25 years waiting for the Tuscan Raiders to come after Luke, pays him no mind as he plays the "Help Us Obi-Wan" holgram in Stare Wars. The only thing R2 may not know about Vader, a secret we assume is kept only by Yoda, Obi-Wan and Sen. Organa, played by Jimmy Smits in the "piece of wood" acting style. (If you got the feeling that C3PO was around only as R2's interpreter in Menace & Clones, you're right. Besides being the gayest-robot-with-the-most-inconsequential-presence-in-a-movie-of-all-times, he has his memory erased at the end of this film, thus nullifying his presence entirely.)

Overall, a big hooray for George Lucas, whose legendary trilogy hinged on redemption, and his own saving grace after putting his logo on two of the sh*ttiest movies of all times. Also - hooray for movies, which can now have good special effects again, as the Industrial Light and Magic guys can do something besides make Hayden Christiansen piss me off.

Happy Birthday

"The fact of the matter is, I'm f**king brilliant." - Pete Townshend

One of my heroes turned 60 today. In celebration, I urge anyone who reads this to listen to Live At Leeds. It is THE live rock and roll record.

It changed the way I wanted to play rock and roll, and yet I recognize that it is an insurmountable achievement that is best left to admiration. It (and Who's Next, and later, Tommy) carried me through the first time in my life that playing live music was absent, and it sustained my desire for it.

I'm not going to expound upon tracks or link to any reviews, (if anyone can find me an archive of original rock and roll reviews - PLEASE) so you'll have to take my word for it.

Or I'll rip your arms out of their sockets.

An Open Letter to the Surviving Members of The Cambodian Midget Fighting League

Gentlemen,

Let me first express my condolences for your 28 brethren who will not fight another day. They fought valiantly against a savage opponent with beast-like powers and an insatiable taste for blood. Gladly giving their lives so that hordes of screaming peasants could gamble away their family's last few Riels, (and the occasional daughter) the dedication of the fallen members of the CMFL to their sport will forever remain unmatched.

Now, however, is not a time to look towards the past. Or through your bloody wraps, down at the horrible wounds that the great beast caused you. Or in the faces of the laughably incompetent doctors and nurses who are curiously looking at your wounds, wondering what sort of god allows the human body to be ravaged with such little mercy. No!

You must look towards the future. And the future is more Midget Fighters. And more lions.

...Okay, maybe not more lions. But beasts! Remember that, because of his mind and his will, man (or midget) can defeat any adversary. The numbers were what betrayed you, not your funny little fingers, or your disporportionaly large heads. Had there been 43 of you, let alone 44, or even 45(!) who knows how much longer the slaughter may have lasted? The chances of the lion tiring (your chance at destiny!) would be, mathematically, greater.

So I say to you, tiny braves, do not lick your wounds. It will only increase the risk of infection.