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Friday, March 10, 2006
When was the last time that you heard any of your friends reset "There's Something About Mary"? It seems that I can't walk 50 yards without hearing someone quote "Old School", "Anchorman" or "Wedding Crashers", but your Uncle Grambo can't remember the last time anyone casually dropped some "TSAM" science into a conversation. Which is a shame, really, because that film is a certified CLASSIC. I'm talkin' "Airplane" / "Three Amigos" / "Fletch" / "Caddyshack" / "Dirty Work" kind of classic. But, for some odd reason, the Farrelly Brothers' crowning achievement is diminishing in buzzworthiness as time goes by, when you would expect its Quotable Quotient to be increasing. Your Uncle Grambo has got some theories on why, but I'll save those for my book.
Anyway, I mention all that because Matt Dillon's portrayal of Pat Healy is perhaps the single most underrated comedic performance put on celluloid in the 90s. Which is why you should definitely make some time to watch (or at least DVR) this weekend's episode of "Saturday Night Live". But, as we always do here on Fridays, I'll leave the pre-show commenting to the bodaciously bovs duo of Nummer and H-Bomb ...
BONUS: While you're at it, check out their review of last week's Portman / Fall Out Boy episode. Robvs.posted by Uncle Grambo |
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The question isn't where's David Cross these days, it's where ISN'T David Cross these days. When he's not appearing on the silver screen alongside Amanda Bynes in "She's The Man", he's behind the camera directing music videos for The Black Keys. When he's not being interviewed by Jim Sheridan on MTV2's Subterranean, he's in the studio throwing it down as a voice actor in "Curious George". And when he's not cameoing in music videos by The New Pornographers or The Strokes, he's holding court at Foxy Jess' birthday party. Wake me up if I was sleeping, but can someone remind me again how exactly David Cross managed to ascend all the way to Hollywood's B-List?
... (crickets) ...
No, really! I'm asking because I honestly don't have an answer. For a man who is neither particularily handsome nor funny (admit it, he rode Odenkirk's coattails on "Mr. Show"), you can't swing a cat in any of the lower 48 without without hittin' the bespectacled patron saint of hipster how-to. I guess what I'm wondering is this ... what is it that separates him from people like Michael Ian Black or Michael Showalter, guys who are equally (if not more) funny and conventionally better looking? How come Black is forced to quip the light fantastic on "I Love Discontinued Toys From The Mid 80s" while Cross is so popular that women are willing to sleep with his doppelgangers? Color your Uncle Grambo perplexed.
"Really busy. Need Space" So sayeth Adam Levine. Translation? Welcome to Dumpsville, baby. Population Jessica Simpson. Huh, I wonder why he capitalized the "s" in "Space"?
Zombie Honeymoon. On DVD no less! MmmmBest.
Your Uncle Grambo will cop to the fact that, of late, SPIN hadn't been delivering the same sort of cover-to-cover hottness that they were in, say, 2004. And anyone who follows the trades knew that SPIN had been on the block forever and a day before it finally got sold last week. But still, it came as a total shock to me that the new owners decide to cash in on all of their brand equity by replacing their smokingly sexy editrix supreme Sia Michel with Andy Pemberton who, by all accounts, is a veritable jackanapes on wheels. As a consequence, both Chuckles Klosterbest and Marc Spitz have decided to part ways with the magazine that they built up from the flaming wreckage it was when Michel took the reins back in 2002.
When exceptional talent like that leaves the building, those remaining are forced to answer where that leaves the mag, its subscribers and, most importantly, its advertisers. I say "most importantly" in reference to the advertisers because that's clearly who the new editors are courting by hiring Pemberworst. While there's no doubting that he played an instrumental role in launching Blender a few years back, give me two minutes and I could find a handful of peeps who would agree with me that that book is the most unreadable music magazine on newssstands today. Sure, RS is tired and old and really should be taken out back and put out of its mizz (Old Yeller stizz), but Blender blows balls in a way that makes the readers of Playgirl jealous. There's no two ways about it. Wurst.
If you don't shave your pubes, we're gettin' divorced! Best prenups evs. [via Tha Clizzark]
Trust me, if you had to spend a few hours entertaining Nelson Mandela, you bump a few rizzies too. I bet that dude tells the WORST stories. Ferreals, I can guarantee you that he's not gonna roll up to you and say, "So, did I ever tell ya about the time me and Biko did a bunch of horse and had a three-way with Angie Dickinson at Studio 54?"
Speaking of the droogs, has anybody seen Condescending Baggins in oh, say, the last 96 hours or so? Because the column he penned on Sunday about the Oscars was the most incomprehensiblely insane thing I've experienced since watching Damon Packard's "Reflections Of Evil" a few weeks back. Allz your Uncle Grambo knows is that Mitchie better lay off the magic pixie dust as the one-year anniversary of his bogus MSU Final Four story approaches.
Oh yeah, one last thing. I know that Page Six isn't exactly the most reliable rag, but your Uncle Grumbo is having a hard time believing their "Amanda Bynes Is A Teenage Alkie" story that ran yesterday. Although my man Robair over at Amanda Bynes Now confirms that Bynes was in Boston last week, this incident just seems really out of character for Bynes. It sounds to me like a story that was planted by someone with an agenda. What agenda? Well, I'm afraid that's a question that your Uncle can't answer. Allz I know is that my gal Bynes looked stunning at last night's premiere of "She's The Man", and the big release date is now but a mere eight days away. Stay tuned for more deets, y'all. DEVELOPING!
[pic via Pop Sugar]posted by Uncle Grambo |
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
After being escorted through the proverbial velvet ropes and closing out this year's Blowout in the VIP section¹ of Hamtramck's Knights of Columbus Hall, your Uncle Grambo felt like he had just spent a few days in a Shotz Beer fueled fever dream of Howard Cunningham. While that may sound like a less than enjoyable headspace to occupy, the truth of the matter is that it was one of the more bovsalicious weekends I've had during the second half of the `00s. You can keep your SXSWs, your CMJs, your (now postponed) MC²s ... I'll take the Blowout any time.
Today's Metro Times includes a thorough recap of the weekend's festivities it even features a pic lensed by none other than your Uncle Grambo ... take that, Coombe! Personally, my fave moment of the weekend was introducing Loftus to Koppitz (pictured below); thankfully, the prophecies DIDN'T come true and the universe DIDN'T collapse upon itself when the most-knowledgeable music writer I know met the most-knowledgeable film expert that I know. But trust me, watching these two shoot the breeze for a few minutes was epic on a level that only a picture can capture.
My lowlight of the weekend, bar none, was Thursday night's performance of Marie And Francis. The MT was very kind to these hipster enfants when they called them "fawns from the womb"; in my eyes, they put together a show² that spit in the face of everything The Blowout stands for. The Blowout isn't about coasting on cred, it's about recognizing and supporting those who have paid their dues in sweat and tears. It's not about being disaffected, it's about caring. And not to get all JFK on your asses, but it's not about what the audience can do for the bands, it's about what the bands can do for the audience -- PARTICULARILY during a weekend where fans are forced to make tough decisions on which band they're going to go out and support. Marie And Francis performed as if they weren't aware of any of this. They were jaunty, sure, but they were also out of tune and out of sync. You know a show is going bad when even the band members start rolling their eyes in disbelief at the ineptitude of the others (in this case, the foxxxy bass player whose SHADOW even looked bored). All that said, there is a simple remedy to cure the symptoms that plague this band: spend less time spinning Prince songs at Oslo and more time at band practice. Do this, and everything should work out a-okay.
The singular lowlight aside, this was a weekend to rival all other weekends. Congrats and thanks go out to the performers, the organizers, the townies, the venues and the FANS for putting on such a fanfargingtastic time. Special props should be issued to The Fags (for putting on the best show of the weekend), to Coke Dick Motorcycle
¹ I use that term loosely and fondly.