TD celebrations

For some reason, the current state of NFL touchdown celebrations, which to some represent a cultural flowering not unlike the Renaissance, has many otherwise cultural libertines atwitter. "Not my NFL," they say, though in non-football matters they support free expression of all kinds--not to mention drug use, wanton sexual activity, etc. Yet, for some strange reason, they draw the "freedom" line at excessive touchdown celebrations. "Act like you've been there before!" they say, although in their personal lives they do not hesitate to once again, high-five their friends after their latest sexual conquest, nor do they censor themselves for giggling the 4,000th time after their 4,000th fart. And do they fail to get high or act all high when they ingest drugs for the hundredth time? Act like you been there before, dude!

At the same time, however, I see where they are coming from. This whole TD celebration thing can get well out of hand. However, I think, like any new fad, the most egregious celebrations happened early on, when everyting was wild and new, and for the most part everyone has calmed down. No longer are cell phones hidden in goal post padding, nor Sharpies concealed in socks. However, creative and hilarious celebrations abound--Chad Johnson's Riverdance routine and his football resusitation gimmick, for example. Terrell Owens, who pioneered the excessive celebration, reached his apex when he grabbed cheerleader pom poms and "brought it on"--however, his recent waiter celebration, while creative, failed the funny test. Recently, Steve Smith of Carolina took the cake, in my opinion, scoring a touchdown then taking a seat, acting like he was rowing, glancing back and noticing imaginary pursuers, and rowing all the faster.

Perhaps, to satisfy those so-called purists, we can impose some rules on Touchdown celebrations, which I think are already informally in place, at least for this season. I will add my two cents, and other barrelhouse contributors can add theirs in the comments.

1. No Concealed Props: You may not celebrate a touchdown with any object concealed in your football gear, besides the football and whatever football equipment you have on your person. You may briefly use props around you -- such as the pom poms -- provided that your actions do not constitute "taking without consent" and provided the props are not used for more than 5 seconds, and provided that you return them to the rightful owner after said 5 seconds.

In other words, don't grab something out of someone's hands without their consent, and don't throw the object down after use.

2. You are a Celebrator of One: Do not incorporate your teammates into your celebration. This will cause a) resentment from those excluded, esp. the other team and b) will likely cause a referee to throw a flag. By celebrating excessively, you have chosen a long lonely road. There is no comfort from your celebration storm.

3. Celebrations are restricted to the endzone. Do not stomp on the star on the 50 yard line, for example. You will get cheap-shotted, and you will deserve it. If indeed you have "been there before" then you should know the proper boundaries of the endzone. Also, you may celebrate out of bounds if your touchdown propelled you there.

4. Honor your forebears. You are like dwarves standing on the shoulders of touchdown celebrating giants. Give it up, every now and then, with a nod to the old school. Incorporate the spike, waggling legs, and the strut into your routine.

5. Keep it clean: No fake moons, no real moons, no inordinate hip thrusting or any other innuendo.

Press Release of the Week: Safety First!

Happy almost-Halloween, Barrelhouse Nation! If you're anything like me -- and my Bill O'Reilly-sized ego prevents me from considering the possibility that you're not -- you can't wait to get costumed up and go gallivanting out into the night, filling your stomach with Fun Size Three Musketeers bars, Candy Corn and Rice Krispie Squares. Maybe, like me, you're also looking forward to smashing a few pumpkins, jumping out from behind a few trees to scare the elderly (it's the only way they'll learn to stay inside), downing a couple bottles of Robitussin and doing donuts in the Wal Mart parking lot until you pass out behind the wheel.

Sounds like fun, right? Well, unfortunately, there are those who just can't stand the idea of other people enjoying themselves. Sad, sad people who have so little fun in their own lives that their only joy comes from ruining everyone else's good times.

Take the Debbie Downers at the California Poison Control System, who provide this list of "safety tips" for Halloween:

-- Small, hard pieces of candy are potential choking hazards for small children.
-- Tell your kids not to eat treats until they return home and you have checked all items.
-- Candy that is unwrapped should be discarded. Fruit treats should be washed and cut open.

Now just stop right there, California Poison Control System. What's this about "fruit treats"? If your kid comes home with an apple or a banana or a bunch of grapes, forget washing them. How about asking your kid this: "What part of 'When someone gives you fruit, you turn around and hurl it right back at their house' did you not understand?" And then you take that child by the hand and march him or her down the street, back to the home of whatever lame-o is passing out fruit (or pencils, or stickers, or toothbrushes -- especially toothbrushes!), and you let that child watch while Daddy demonstrates what red-blooded Americans do to pansies who want to teach kids about "good health" instead of giving them the goddamned candy they deserve. Sure, they may cry. They may say things like "Daddy, I don't think he's breathing anymore." But the next time they get a fucking apple, they'll know exactly where to stick it.

As if that weren't enough, the California Poison Control System also advises that you throw away any "homemade treats" your kids get, unless they come from individuals that you "know or trust." Which I guess is fine for some parents. The parents who insist on holding their kids' hands everywhere they go, who'll probably lay their clothes out for them every morning until they go away to college. To these worry-worts, let me ask you this: When your precious Joey or Greggy or Stevie is a college freshman and he goes to his first jamband concert, are you going to be there to explain that eating two or three ganja gooballs, a few hits of homemade ecstasy and then scarfing down a jumbo "kind" brownie is maybe not the best idea? Let me answer that for you: No you will not. That's a lesson your kid will have to learn for himself, and all you'll be able to do is pray to whichever God you believe in that he's at least four miles from the nearest interstate while he's learning it.

So why not get a head start and teach little Susie or Mandi or Carrie that important life lesson at an early age? Nothing teaches like experience, people, and I'll guarantee that after your little tyke bites into her first razor blade, she'll think twice the next time Joe Bob offers one of his homemade candy apples.

Next up on the list of people who just can't seem to mind their own damn business is the YMCA, who want to make sure that Halloween is "spooky -- but not scary." You know what, assholes? Halloween is supposed to be scary. Life is scary. Sure we could follow your "tips" and dress our kids in "light-colored, flame-retardant costumes." But where's the fun in that? Have you ever seen a real vampire with reflective strips plastered across his cape? Maybe that kid won't get hit by a car, but I'll guarantee you right now some middle-schooler's gonna push him to the ground and steal his candy. Is that what you want? Is it?

And sure, we could cover our kids in flame-retardant materials, but then how can we expect them to ever learn the dangers of fire? Nothing like a couple stop-drop-n-rolls to teach the youngsters not to play with matches. And if little Caitlin knows the flaming batons won't set her Undead Cheerleader costume aflame, what motivation will she have to learn how to juggle the damn things? Next thing you know Caitlin's a teenager who can't make a single sports team because she's got the hand-eye coordination of a three-year-old.

Then there's this tip: "Trick-or-treat only within your own neighborhood, only to homes you know." You know what that sounds like to me, Mr. YMCA? Segregation. You poor kids stay in the trailer park, with your generic Spree and crappy Bit-o-Honeys, while Richie Rich and Tommy Trust Fund walk the beautiful tree-lined streets of the suburbs, feasting on king-sized Butterfingers and Snowballs. Maybe you've never heard of a certain lady-person named Rosa Parks, Mr. YMCA, but she sat her ass down in the front of a bus so her grandkids could trick or treat in whatever neighborhood they damn well pleased. When a busload of kids from the inner city rolls up in front of your house, don't you even think about turning off the lights and pretending you're not home!

This tip may be the worst one yet: Germ-x brand hand sanitizer wants you to hand out its product to kids this Halloween, instead of candy, to help stop the spread of germs.

"By using an alcohol-based hand sanitizer such as Germ-X, manufactured by Vi-Jon Laboratories, Inc. in St. Louis, in between "trick or treating" stops this Halloween, kids and parents will reduce the risk of getting sick by killing 99.9 percent of harmful germs they have come in contact with."

And by passing out hand sanitizer on Halloween, you'll increase the risk by roughly 99.9 percent that some kid will piss all over your front door. And you know what? You'll deserve it, asshole!

Unfotunately, these do-gooders just don't know when to stop. It's not enough for them to tell you how to raise your kids, or what to hand out to trick-or-treaters, or how to carve pumpkins. Nope, now they also want to tell you how you can and can't dress your pet.

"Many pet owners like to include their dog or cat in their Halloween celebrations, and pets enjoy being part of the family festivities as well," says Dr. Dan Carey, a veterinarian with The Iams Company. "Sadly, in the process, many owners do their four-legged friends a great disservice by dressing them in uncomfortable costumes or giving them rich, non-nutritional treats."

According to Iams, when choosing a costume for a pet, we should pick one that "doesn't restrict movement or hamper vision." Maybe these Iams people missed the part where our pets were our property! We are their overlords! If I want to dress Mr. Wiggles in this Darth Vader costume, then shove his face full of Peanut Brittle, I'm damn well going to do it!



So, Barrelhousers, let's review what we've learned. Halloween is a great American holiday, just like the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and Administrative Professionals Day. And if, as a freedom-loving American, you want to take some risks this Halloween, well then it's your God-given right to do so. Do you think Thomas Jefferson, George Washington and Martin Luther King Jr. wore flame-retardant costumes while they threw all that British tea into Boston Harbor one day a long time ago? I don't think so! That sounds like something the French would do on Bastille Day. So go ahead and practice "safety first," Frenchie, but don't be surprised when some freedom-loving patriot shoots you right in your kneecaps with his musket. USA! USA! USA!

Can You Dig It?

Rockstar Games just released The Warriors, based on the 1979 movie. Which is interesting, since the movie isn't exactly new -- it was made at approximately the time most of our Barrelhouse Editorial Squadron was made.

It's the story of a gang -- duh, The Warriors -- wrongly accused of killing a bigtime gang leader named Cyrus, who was trying to get all the gangs together in a kind of gang co-op.

It's where that Can you dig it? Can you dig it? Caaaaaan youuuuuuu DIG IIIIIIIIT!?!? thing comes from. If you know that thing.

The movie is pretty campy if you watch it today -- the gangs all have a theme. And not a theme like Dealing Coke or Killing Other Gangs or even Stabbing People in Target (which seems to be the theme in my neighborhood). I'm talking themes like The Gang That Dresses Like Mimes in Baseball Uniforms, The Gang That Roller Skates Everywhere All the Time, The Gang That Wears Overalls, The Gang That Wears Satiny Pinkie Tuscadero Jackets, The Gang That Dresses Like Mimes with Top Hats. That's right -- there are two mime-related gang themes.

This site has a listing of all the gangs. If that doesn't make you want to see the movie, I don't know what will.

I saw The Warriors maybe a hundred times when I was growing up, I think because it was one of the first movies out in video -- well, one of the first to include at least a little sex and lots of violence (the other being Death Race 2000, which is a great movie, and probably a good subject for another post someday) -- and my friend's parents happened to own the only video store in town. Actually, it was a carpet store with a shitload of videos for rent. Which I'm just realizing now was really odd. It was a small town. It was the nascent video era.

So I'm wondering how this campy, violent movie that was made in 1979 becomes a videogame in 2005. I can't wait to play the game, but I'm pretty sure it's not aimed squarely at me (note to Rockstar Games: if you are making games specifically for me, let's tackle Slap Shot, Dazed and Confused, and Death Race 2000 next).

Another interesting thing about The Warriors is its audience seems to be strictly male. Most women in my very unscientific, unofficial poll had never even heard of it. And most men will shout "Warriors, come out and play-yay" as soon as you start clicking two bottles together.

Have you seen the Warriors? If so, are you a woman?

Is The Warriors cult classic enough engage the game-buying public in 2005. Or is Rockstar just making games based on whether I'll buy them or not? So many questions. Can you dig it?

A picture's worth a thousand words

Long-time Barrelhouse fans may be curious about the people behind the curtain, the individuals who are hard at work bringing you your various entertainments. So, as a public service, I've decided to post pictures of a few members of Team Barrelhouse, so you can put a face to the name of some of your favorite Barrelhousers (trading cards are, of course, imminent).

First up is Barrelhouse editor Joe K, "the cute one." But hands off, ladies -- Joe's taken! Joe's interests include Classic Rock, Monster Truck Rallies and internet bingo.



Next up is Barrelhouse editor Dave H., "the funny one." Dave likes long walks on the beach, Jello shots and "blasting his pecs."



Here we see editor Aaron P., "the crazy one," gearing up for battle over which stories will be featured in Barrelhouse #3. Aaron's turn-ons include Plato's Republic, punctuality and scissor kicks.



Next is Barrelhouse Business Manager Dan B., aka The Colonel. Dan enjoys mayonnaise sandwiches, capitalism, and the collected works of Ayn Rand.



Finally, a couple of our regular friend-of-the-Barrelhouse contributors. Steve K., aka The Contrarian Genius, Issue One contributor and periodic blog poster. Steve lives in sunny Florida, where he wrestles alligators and Republicans with equal zeal.



And last, but certainly not least, Barrehouse Blog Superstar TMC, who's currently working on his first novel, a 25th century intergalactic erotic thriller.



Addition:

This is Dave. Since Blogspot won't let me post photos in the comments section, it's only fair to add here, since Mike neglected to post his own likeness.

Here's Mike, encouraging Kevin Costner to stop making movies, by god stop making movies now before we all forget about No Way Out and Bull Durham.



And we wouldn't want to leave out our poetry editor, Gwydion:

Kiss My Bumper...Just Kiss It!

Anybody who has lived in DC, or at least in the Maryland suburbs of the city, knows that line. (Kistulentz, tell me you're out there). It's the tagline of Senate Insurance's famously low-tech, high-kitsch TV ads. Washington Post has a great article today about local TV ads, which rightly compares them to folk art.

Crazy Eddie. Carvel. The Kiss My Bumper Guy. They're all included.

My favorite is very local -- the ad for a terrible restaurant about a mile from my house. In the ad, a man and woman, both rather unattractive and dressed like extras from an Addams Family Wedding episode, argue over whether his prime rib or her seafood is better. "The priiiiiiiime riiiiiib," he says. To which she cleverly retorts, "the seaaaaaaaaafooooood." This goes on for what seems like hours.

Another favorite is the restaurant whose slogan is "You may never leave!" Really? Never? That's kind of terrifying, actually.

Anyway, check out the Post article -- a small appreciation for a very small and apparently dying art form.

From the Dallas, Texas, CBS affiliate...the STORY OF THE WEEK

A Dallas cab driver is in big trouble for getting caught on tape sprinkling dried feces on pastries.

49-year-old Behrouz Nahidmobarekeh is on trial for allegedly throwing fecal matter on pastries at a Fiesta grocery store.

Police said they found a pile of human feces by his bed.

He would dry it, either by microwave or just letting it sit out and grate it up with a cheese grater and then sprinkle it at the store, officials said.

Neither attorneys in the case is clear about a motive or why the defendant would resort to something so repulsive.

Prosecutors will show a surveillance videotape of the defendant, which shows him sprinkling a substance on the food.

The FBI arrested Nahidmobarekeh but turned the case over to local prosecutors after they determined it was not a national security issue.

Road House Gets Dicked Again

The UK's Total Film magazine has compiled a list of the Top 100 Movies of All Time. You can view the whole list of the top 100 on their discussion board.

Here's the top 10:

1. GoodFellas
2. Vertigo
3. Jaws
4. Fight Club
5. The Godfather Part II
6. Citizen Kane
7. Tokyo Story
8. The Empire Strikes Back
9. The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy
10. His Girl Friday

Goodfellas? Really? It's good and all, but better than the Godfather? Better than Citizen Kane? And Fight Club at number four seems, oh, maybe about 50 to 80 places higher than it should be.

Anyway, lists are always good for those of us with short attention spans, and lists of movies are even better.

The top hundred has some good stuff that you might not ordinarily see on a list like this, like Spinal Tap, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Hoop Dreams, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Some stuff that seems like it's missing to me: Dazed and Confused, the Last Waltz, Raising Arizona, Say Anything, Beautiful Girls (am I the only one who really loves that movie? maybe), and of course, Road House, Point Break, and Red Dawn.

In that spirit, here is my top 10 list of the All Time Best Bad Movies.

I'm defining a good bad movie as something you can watch over and over again, preferably on a Sunday afternoon, hungover, while you should be doing other, more productive things. You'll notice some similarities, like a completely unbelievable protagonist (famous professional bouncer, stripper with heart of gold, zen bank robber surfer, professional arm wrestler with a heart of gold), pop stars (Mariah Carey, Run-DMC, Vanilla Ice), a plucky hero/heroine who triumphs over evil in its many forms (recording industry, Ben Gazarra, communists, Keanu Reeves). Hearts of Gold help. As does the presence of Swayze, patron saint of good bad movies. And the Ashley Judd thing might just be me -- what can I say, I can watch her chase down that rascal of a husband, changing outfits after every gunfight or live burial or false imprisonment, all day long. But that's just how I roll.

Top 10 Best Bad Movies of All Time:

10. Tougher Than Leather
9. Showgirls
8. Red Dawn
7. Over the Top
6. Cool as Ice
5. Double Jeopardy
4. Glitter
3. Hot Dog the Movie
2. Point Break
1. Road House

What do you think?

Prussian Blue

Via Gawker you can access a disturbing and apparently true story about a white nationalist "girl band." But, before you read the story, first take this incredibly easy quiz:

The twins names are:

a) Blanche and Blair
b) Lamb and Lynx
c) Paley and Paula
d) Snowe and Sun

One of the girls' songs commemorates:

a) David Duke
b) James Earl Ray, Killer of MLK
c) Rudolf Hess, Key Deputy to Hitler
d) Malcolm X

Which song title was actually composed by the twins?

a) My White Milkshake Is Better Than Yours
b) Take Your Hands Off Your Sister (Put Your Hands On Me)
c) Because The White Belongs to Lovers
d) Rescue Me (From the Zionist Conspiracy)


Which band routinely opens for the twins?

a) Hatey and the Hatersons
b) Whitey and the Whitastics
c) Racist Rob and His Angry Racist Mob
d) Jethro Tull

What is the next "White Nationalist" trend to mimic pop culture?

a) White Power Hipsters -- Whipsters. They dig the white nationalism and support the future race war and all, but they'd rather wear vintage white hoods and collect White Power albums from the Resistance Records back catalog, rather then parading around, thrusting fists in the air and making noise. How gauche.

b) White Power Gangsta Rapper -- Shame on the wigga that tries to bust game on the wigga

c) A White Power-sponsored NASCAR driver. "And the white car, number 666, takes the lead..."

d) "White Power" Gentrification, in which urban centers are transformed from aging and abused, but still structurally sound brownstones to small, serviceable trailer park lots. Old neighborhoods with proud, historically resonant names such as "Old Yards" or "Charleston View" will be renamed "We can come and go as we please" and "Git the hell off my proptree"

Scoring Guide:

1 = b
2 = c
3 = Reader's Choice
4 = Reader's Choice
5 = Reader's Choice

Your Score:

1 question right: Go Back Where You Came From!
2 questions right: What You Lookin' At Wit Dem Beady Little Eyes?
3 questions right: Now Yer Talkin'!
4 questions right: You Kin Have My Sister If'n You Want 'Cause I Am Done Sick Of Her
5 questions right: You Drive A Hard Bargain So Go Ahead and Take My Favorite Sheep But If You Touch Her In The Way She's Accustomer To, She Won't Give You No Grief, Unlike My Sister But I Reckon You Know All About That Now

Press Release of the Week: Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams

Last night I was lucky enough to attend a reading by my favorite poet, Philip Levine. For those of you not familiar with Levine's work, he's a bit of a firebrand and a social critic, though calling him a poet of the working class is probably unfairly limiting. Last night he told the audience how when he was a student at Wayne University (now Wayne State), one of his teachers came into the classroom one day mourning the loss of Henry Ford, who she called "a great American." She asked that all the students say a little something in his honor. Well, when it got around to be Phil's turn, he simply looked at her and said "I'm glad he's dead." Of course she was furious, but Levine said that looking around the classroom that day, he saw more than one student nodding his head at the sentiment. Because however Ford has been mythologized -- as America's great industrialist, as the man who brought us the pleasures of the automobile -- he was also a nutjob racist and anti-Semite, and when Levine thought of the man, he couldn't separate him from the miserable conditions at the Ford plant where he'd had the displeasure of working.

Henry Ford, Levine said last night, "was a motherfucker."

So anyway, all this got me to thinking ... we here at Barrelhouse are always picking on the religious folks. Maybe it's time to give them a break, and instead this week check in on America's wealthy and see what they've been up to.

First up is a press release that only a handful of rich people care about: the United States Polo Association has won a lawsuit against Polo (as in Ralph Lauren) that will finally permit the association to use images of tiny men on horseback wielding polo mallets, an image Polo claimed was trademarked.

Right now, there are a few hundred people in East Hampton wondering whether they should be happy or not. Who to root for? The man who's kept them fashionably clothed for years? Or that most noble of sports, so much more honorable than the plebeians' football or baseball? I have a theory, actually, that the reason rich people love horse-based sports is that they occur at a height (horseback) that allows for optimal viewing while one's nose, and eyes, are angled slightly upwards. Of course for optimal polo viewing, one may need to bring along the maid or the nanny to keep one apprised of what's happening at ground level.

Actually, it's not just the USPA who was a winner in the suit, but Jordache, a company that -- who knew? -- still exists. When I was in middle school, all the fly girls wore super-tight Jordache jeans, but when those fell out of favor, I assumed the company just disbanded and limped off to wherever it is that failed companies go to die. Apparently I was wrong. Jordache, realizing the immense popularity of America's favorite blue-blood pasttime, has aligned itself with the sport of kings.

Also this week, 33-year-old Bernard Smith, president and part owner of Stealth Components, Inc., was sentenced in connection with the finding that his company bilked the U.S. out of nearly $400,000 in import duties. Apparently Smith's company would import electronic components from Korea, mark up the price and then resell them in the U.S., only they skipped the part where they compensated the government. You'd think Smith would have to pay that money back, but in fact he's been given a $30,000 fine and 3 years probation.

Ah, the wonders of the American justice system. Billy Bob sells a little meth in Nebraska and gets ten years; this douchebag takes the American government for $385,000 and gets a relatively small fine and a stern warning. A guy gets picked up on the streets of Detroit with a little baggie of cocaine, it's a misdemeanor, punishable by up to one year in jail. A few blocks down the street, someone else gets picked up with a vial of crack and they're put away for half a decade. Not, of course, because one drug is inherently worse than the other -- in fact, they're the same thing, just differently prepared, sort of like a T-bone steak and a McDonald's hamburger. But rich people on Wall Street snort coke. Poor people in alleyways smoke its less expensive cousin.

Finally, to end on a more lighthearded note, the rich people do sometimes give back to the community. Take this week's star-studded Beverly Hills gala to raise money for The Maple Counseling Center, a mental health services clinic.

"In addition to mingling with TV's hottest stars and supporting the night's honorees, guests of the 2005 Crystal Ball were given the opportunity to bid on spectacular lots, ranging from a Mediterranean vacation, to box seats at a Dodgers game, to cuisine at the finest Beverly Hills eateries."

TV's Hottest Stars in this case means the actresses of Desperate Housewives, including Marcia Cross, who according to the press release has a master's degree in clinical psychology. Plus, she played an insane doctor on Melrose Place, so this woman knows from crazy.

Not to make fun of what was certainly a worthwhile event, but I can't help imagining this as one of those many benefits attended by Kirsten Cohen on The OC. All the surgically enhanced and freshly Botoxed women mingling around the room making biting comments to one another. Maybe a few bitch slaps here and there. Or even a full-on rumble.

Because that's how I imagine rich women live. Weekly polo matches where they drink mimosas and feast on the ova of exotic fish, celebrity-infused galas every couple weeks, then one day Hubby finally gets busted for tax fraud and they have to withdraw from the country club's annual mixed-doubles tourney because that electronic ankle bracelet is just too unseemly for public consumption.

In Honor of TMC, a Little NFL Bashing

In the great, advanced nation that is Florida, it only took 4 weeks for DIRECTV to manage to send a 400-pound wheezing, 60-year-old guy out to my house and install the new dish.

Why DIRECTV, you ask? That's the question I've been asking myself, since on demand digital cable is about two-thirds the cost, DISH network is about half, and they carry about 900 percent of the same crap (sidebar: I would now like to officially slap the shit out of any of the bearded men who host home improvement or home decorating shows. You have no taste. You wear plaid shirts. You stop in the middle of the one interesting thing that you've done on the show in six weeks to pimp Bella Hardwood Floors--which suck, incidentally--or Craftsman Tools--which requires that you visit America's retailer most in need of life support, Sears.)

ANYWAY, the only reason to order DIRECTV is NFL SUNDAY TICKET. That's right, the overpriced (269.99 this year) package that enables you, if you are so inclined, to order 100 Daytona Hot Wings from the local wing shack and settle in with your boys to watch such thrillers as the Houston Texans being made into the prison bitch of the Cincinnati Bengals, or this week's thriller Tennessee at Arizona.

For the low, low price of 70 bucks a month, I get approximately 4 hours of entertainment a week.

But the price isn't the issue. The issue is why our major sports leagues are so behind the eightball when it comes to technology. Why, for example, when there are 80,000 fans in the stands and half of them have 4 inch digital televisions, does the referee at an NFL game have to go stick his head in something that looks like Darth Vader's microwave. And why do they put it near the sidelines, in easy range of the beerchucking fools in Section 121 (only a problem at the Linc and the Meadowlands).

But mainly, the question is (if any of you know Joe Browne, NFL's communications guru, tell him I double-dog dare him to answer this question without a fucking press release): why can't we buy single games on a pay-per-view basis? College football manages this. I've even been able to buy a freaking William and Mary game on PPV (god help me, but I'm still a fan) but if I want to watch the Redskins I have to face either a) extortion, or b) getting hammered at the Sports Column, 12 S. Dubuque Street, Iowa City, IA.

I bought the thing, so I can swear at Joe Gibbs and the rest of the Redskins. But I'm not happy about it.

Oh, the best part of the installation was when the guy asked me if I could go up the ladder and check on his wiring.

Throw Your Goats in the Air

Wikipedia has everything. Like this excellent and informative entry on the Goat, otherwise known as the "corna" or "devil horns" or, for those of us who grew up in Central Pennsylvania, the universal symbol for fucking rocking.

Case in point:

Workshopping the Bible

Speaking of the Bible (I’m smelling a theme here) I’ve recently decided to try and read it straight through. Why, you ask? I’m not sure, really, just a vague feeling that it’s something worth doing. Plus, I’m a grad student and I probably have too much free time on my hands.

Of course I’ve read bits and pieces of the Bible before. I grew up in a pretty churchy family, and so I had the Bible read to me each Sunday, and I had to study the Gospels a bit before I was confirmed. But I want to read the thing from beginning to end this time, like a novel, because I’ve gotta be honest – this book is getting all kinds of crazy press. A Must-Read for Every Man, Woman and Child? The Greatest Story Ever Told? You don’t hear shit like that even about Faulkner.

So this week I started with Genesis. For those of you unfamiliar with the Bible, Chapter One opens as “God,” who seems to be the book’s protagonist, creates everything in heaven and earth in seven days. It’s a compelling opening, kind of like the wide-angle pan at the beginning of a movie: let’s set the scene, look at all the different kinds of birds and fish and the fowl, and of course God’s most personal project, the humans. And here we arrive at the story’s first conflict. These humans, from what I can figure, were supposed to be like the sea people in God’s little terrarium project. Only they’re moody and maladjusted and keep causing problems until finally God has to kick them out of their special little garden and release them into the wider world (margin note: Already there seems to be a certain meta-fictional quality; God as author dealing with his characters? Shades of Pirandello?)

Eventually God gets so angry with how his humans are conducting themselves that he sends in a flood and wipes out everything, except for this one guy, Noah, and some animals. (margin note: Good drama, but does it have to be a flood? Natural disasters seem a little played-out.)

Then the storyline starts to meander. Noah has kids, and those kids have kids, and their kids have kids, and then, eventually, there’s this guy Abram, who God seems to like a lot, so much so that he changes his name to Abraham. (margin note: confusing!) And then Abraham gets really old, and then he has some kids. And those kids have kids, and their kids have kids, and the kids move to different hard-to-pronounce places. (margin note: could we cut some of this? Do all these people really need to be named? Where are we going?)

Finally we get some more action when we meet Jacob, who’s like the great-great-great-grandson of Abraham (I have to be honest, I skimmed a little). Jacob does all sorts of cool leading man kinda stuff like hanging with some Philistines and dreaming up ladders and wrestling angels and getting it on with two sisters. (margin note: this guy’s great – maybe he should be the main character. More Jacob!) Then the God character steps in and changes Jacob’s name to Israel (margin note: perhaps God isn’t so much a traditional character as a sort of metafictional device, a stand-in for the author? Develop this?) Then, just as the story seems to be gaining some narrative traction, here comes another long string of unpronounceable names begetting one another. (margin note: Sigh.)

So, basically, this thing is all over the place. I’m going to keep reading, in the hopes that all this foregrounding will have some really worthwhile payoff. Perhaps the late Frank Conroy’s “backpack” metaphor is appropriate here: the reader is a backpacker trekking up a mountain, and every time the author gives him a piece of information, he puts it into his backpack, so the author had better make sure he’s giving him useful things, so he doesn’t get to the top and find out he’s been carrying, say, a 1972 Buick the whole time for no good reason. (margin note: If I get to Revelations and find out I’ve still got forty generations of Israelites wrestling around in my backpack, I’m gonna be pissed.)

What Idiot Wrote These Things?

Pssst, have you heard about this site called "The Onion?"

I actually hadn't checked it out for awhile. Like the Daily Show, I just know its always there, and its always funny. Like this article: "What Idiot Wrote These Ten Commandments."

Like most of what's on the Onion, really funny. But the thing I liked about it especially is that its kind of a writing workshop breakdown of the Commandments.

One tip I would give this writer is to lay off the God stuff. Or at least dial it back a little bit. And you're not impressing anybody with the Dr. Seuss language.

After all that jazz about God, the author just keeps on going: "Don't take the Lord's name in vain" is the next one. What is it with this guy and God? I'm beginning to think he's one of these church types. Where's the stuff we can use? Where's "No pushing"? Or "Bag your leaves so they don't blow around in your neighbor's yard?" And don't even get me started on right-of-way. Didn't they have real problems back in Bible days?

Enjoy.

Random Thoughts About Johnny Cash and Rick Rubin

KEXP just played "Hurt" by Johnny Cash, a song that's better known for its devastating video, which featured what I guess you'd call an unflinching look at a frail and aging Cash. It's a really amazing song, and I was reminded of an article I read on vacation this summer about Cash and Rick Rubin, who produced the last four Cash albums, which are better known as the "American" series.

I've always been kind of interested in Rubin, who, along with Russell Simmons, launched Def Jam Records when he was 19 out of his NYU dorm room. As if that wasn't enough, he produced some of early rap's seminal albums, like Raising Hell and Licensed to Ill and Radio. Then he left Def Jam and founded Def American, where he started working with a truly random array of artists that included the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Danzig, Slayer, Tom Petty, Andrew "Dice" Clay, and finally Johnny Cash. Right now he's producing albums by Neil Diamond, the Dixie Chicks, and the Chili Peppers.

So the dude has got range.

Wikipedia has the best entry on Rubin.

Oh, and I should mention he also starred in "Tougher Than Leather," the truly unintentionally hilarious Run-DMC movie that is way worth catching if you ever have a chance.

Anyway, I read this great article in GQ, which talked about the relationship between Johnny Cash and Rick Rubin. I'd really like to link to it, but GQ is holding out and waiting for this whole interweb thing to go away quietly, so they have jack shit up on their site.

In lieu of trying to reproduce the article in its entirety, here are some random things that stuck with me.

• When they first started talking about working together, Johnny Cash was working the dinner theater circuit with the Carter Family Singers, with this hokey Hee-Haw kind of show.

  
  

• At their first meeting, they stared at each other without speaking for like five minutes.

  
  

• At their very first sessions, they sat around in Rubin's living room while Cash played every song he'd ever wanted to record but nobody would let him.

  
  

• Johnny Cash and Rick Rubin took communion together every day for the last few years of Cash's life. They did this "virtually," often on the phone, with Cash leading the service ("now imagine the wafer, pick it up...")

  
  

• Rubin would make Cash tapes of songs, like "Hurt," that he thought Cash might be able to play. As they went further into the American series, these songs got more and more outside the country or even rock mainstream, with stuff like "Hurt" and "Rusty Cage" by Soundgarden.

  
  

• This is my favorite thing ever. When Cash won the Grammy for his Unchained album, Rubin took out this ad in Billboard magazine. Country radio had turned its back on Cash years earlier, and he'd even lost his recording contract (before Def American picked it up).
  

That's all I got. It's a great article if you ever happen to come across it.

Rick Rubin -- if you're out there, how about an interview for Barrelhouse issue three?

Desperate, Dealing Housewives

How I spent my summer: watching television.

Specifically, I spent a lot of time making up for the shows that I missed the first time around, including the best show on TV, The Wire, and what might be the second or third best show on TV, Weeds.

Weeds is what people really want Desperate Housewives to be: a subversive, biting look at upper middle class, suburban, cul-de-sac culture. Housewives has little glimpses of brilliance, but for the most part its nothing more than a campy soap opera, and an annoying one at that. For every attempted murder or deep-rooted secret (oh my god, beneath the suburban veneer there lurks...screwed up teenagers!), there are ten scenes of Terry Hatcher yelling "ooops" and making that plastic surgery enhanced, squinty-eyed, Jimmy Fallon "I'm so cute and I don't even know it" face.

The opening credits of Weeds are more subversive than an entire season of Desperate Housewives. Here's a sample of the theme song:

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

Now that's the way you start a subversive suburban drama.

For those of you who don't know, Weeds follows the trials of Mary Louise Parker (who seems to be taking the same pills as Diane Lane, the ones that make you get hotter as you get older) as a suburban mom who, in the wake of her husband's death, is forced to deal pot in order to keep her family in the style in which they are accustomed.

Like Housewives, Weeds attempts to pull back the curtain from its upper-class community, revealing the dirty little secrets behind the manicured lawns and mcmansions. Like the fact that half the town council is stoned half the time. Or that in order to look like you're doing as well as everybody else, you have to look like everybody else, even if that means berating your chubby, perfectly healthy young daughter to lose weight.

Unlike Desperate Housewives, Weeds shows us the underbelly without resorting to camp. The characters are believable, although not always likable, including Parker's Nancy, who is in seriously murky ethical waters and always on the verge of totally losing it. Elizabeth Perkins steals the show as a profoundly bitter housewife, machiavellian PTA president, and breast cancer survivor who is either on the verge of a breakdown or a spiritual resurrection.

"You're a much nicer person when you think you're going to die," says her daughter.

And that's a nice summary of what I like about the show: it's funny, sad, and, despite the initial conceit (pot dealing mom, gets a little bit much), actually does a good job of revealing what's not so nice, but pretty real, about suburban America.

Now...why we care so much about upper-class suburban America is another question. As is, what about the people who do not live in cul-de-sacs? And we'll probably have to wait until season 4 of the Wire, which will deal with the Baltimore school system, to get around to that one.

Milton goes to Hollywood

According to Entertainment Weekly, there's a movie adaptation of Milton's Paradise Lost in the works. I can't quite imagine the epic poem as a movie, but I have total faith in Hollywood to turn out a most excellent product. With any luck, Paradise Lost can join such pitch-perfect and unforgettable literary adaptations as The Sound and the Fury, Rabbit, Run and A Prayer for Owen Meany.

I was going to make a joke here about how maybe adaptations of epic poems are all the rage now in Hollywood, and soon we could see a version of Beowulf on the big screen, but apparently that one's actually happening, starring Crispin Glover as Grendel.

Other works of literature that, according to EW, have been in development for years but have yet to make it to your local multiplex:

--On the Road (so that when every teenaged boy in America goes through his On the Road phase, he can do it via the magic of film, rather than having to read actual words)

--A Confederacy of Dunces (apparently Will Ferrell is the latest name to be attached to the lead role)

--Atlas Shrugged (because nothing screams summer blockbuster like an overlong treatise on selfish capitalist philosophy)

The Overheard Snippet of Conversation of the Week

I need a go-to blog post, like Mike's Press Release of the Week. So here's a shot at it:

Overheard Snippet of Conversation of the Week:

"So I said, fuck it. I mean, I am on vacation, right?"

Said by: Homeless guy

Said to: Newspaper box

Location: Dupont Circle Metro, Washington, DC

When Bloggers Attack

Barrelhouse number one contributor Steve Almond is in an interesting internet snit with Mark Sarvas, the dude who writes the litblog the Elegant Variation. Almond's piece, "The Blogger Who Loathed Me," appears on Salon (you have to watch a commercial to read it, but it's worth it).

The subtitle of Almond's piece is "My cyber-nemesis had been trashing me for months. Then we met, and I had a chance to take a terrible revenge." That pretty much explains it. Although Almond never did get revenge in person, he sure goes after it in the article.

Everything the guy writes is entertaining, and he's got some interesting things to say about writers, writing, book conferences, and primarily about bloggers in general. Not very complimentary, and I don't really agree, but compelling stuff that I think a lot of folks who are in that position (that is, the position where bloggers can help sell your book) would back off on.

On a sidenote, I'm still kind of surprised when I hear "blogs" discussed as this completely new and dangerous thing, like a media virus that could attack at any minute (although in Almond's case, he was basically attacked by a blogger, for two years straight, so I can see where he's coming from). In general, though, it still seems like people attach this strange power to blogs, which doesn't make much sense to me.

Blogs are online diaries. Journals, for those of us who grew up in central Pennsylvania and can't stomach the idea that we might be involved in some kind of girly "diary."

Some of them are really interesting, because the people who write them are interesting, or engaged in interesting pursuits, or interestingly obsessed with something interesting (or, in the case of Most Valuable Blogger TMC, the Eagles). But they're still online diaries.

Don't get me wrong: I like em. I'm blogging in my online diary right now, right this very minute, and I'm enjoying the hell out of it. But its nothing new. The technology is great -- really elegant little software that lets any moron post anything they want. But the general idea -- the thing that a blog is -- has been around almost as long as the CoffeeCam.

I guess a big part of the blog thing is that anybody can contribute comments, so a story, or a post, can take on an entire life of its own. But still, Fray was doing that way back in the day.

Anyway, it's worth reading Almond's piece on Salon, as well as the Elegant Variation, which published a short reply to the Salon article.

And more importantly, this whole little fracas has surfaced one general guideline that we all can and should apply, no matter whether we side with Almond or Sarvas: never be photographed wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, posing next to a typewriter.

The Obvious Choice in 2008.

I know the election is three years away, but I've made my decision. Call my hasty. Call me rash. Call me a fool. I don't care. I'm a convert and this is my man. If you're bad ass enough to bring Superman to his knees, this whole Iraq quagmire ain't gonna be no thang at all.

Plus, he's the only major candidate who supports national healthcare. Sad but true.

A funny joke??

There is a movie called "The Door in the Floor" which some say refers to the love tunnel that babies go through to get born. In any case, it's a John Irving novel adaptation starring Jeff Bridges and Kim Basinger and some unknown teenager actor who's probably really 30 years old. During this movie, of which I admit I've only seen parts, a very funny joke is told, and I want to pass it on to you, embellished somewhat with details that I think relevant to the joke, (and its telling via "the page")--which if it so prompts the reader, we can discuss it's true source of humor. (Apologies to those who have heard the joke 100 times, and even more so to those who do not find it funny)



There was a captain of a ship at sea named Stern. He received word via the wireless that the mother of one of his sailors, a midshipman named Abernathy, had passed on. Being a proper sea captain and of course a gentleman, he could not merely saunter up to Abernathy and whisper this distressing news into Abernathy's ears as he swabbed the decks. Nor could he call Abernathy into his private quarters and tell him the news; such things just weren't done--what if Abernathy was to break down before him, sobbing, violating all rules of decorum? Captain Stern racked his brain for hours, until in the middle of the night the solution came to him. The following morning, he assembled the whole crew topside. He stood above them on the poop deck and called out with his blustery tone:

"All of you men whose mothers are alive, please step forward."

As a majority of the men began to follow his command, the captain's voice rung out:

"Not so fast, Abernathy!"

Econo is the new Pitchfork

There's a new, hip magazine/media outlet on the block, and it's name is Econo. Launched by Barrelhouse issue one contributor Matt Kirkpatrick and friends, Econo is a welcome addition in that it includes all of the music buzzgroups that make me feel old and in the way, but does so with flair and a real knack for good, solid writing.

Econo includes features ("Not Getting it on at CMJ: A Memoir of Indie Love"), music reviews, quick interviews with heavy hitters like Yoko Ono and Boots Riley of the Roots, and great little thingies like "Stoner Poetry: Turning Rock Critic Purple into Poetry," wherein they parse paricularly purple passages -- say that five times fast -- from well known rock critics.

The site is updated daily, from what I can tell, with new additions and regular features coming on fast. Check it out -- you can be the first to tell your friends that old pitchfork they're leaning on is old news.

I liked Layer Cake the first time I saw it, when it was called Carlito's Way

A few months ago everyone went ga ga over Layer Cake, a British crime noir starring everybody's favorite Bond replacement, Daniel Craig. On the surface, Layer Cake has style, a serpentine plot, Sienna Miller, and Cockney accents galore (it was directed by one of Guy Ritchie's producers). Unfortunately, all this style and panache and cockney rhetorical questions (Wha' does it mean? Wha' do you think it means, you twit?) cannot hide the fact that the movie just plain rips off Carlito's Way, an early 90's Brian de Palma flick starring Al Pacino as an ex-gangster out of jail but not out of the life, and Sean Penn as his afro-ed, well rounded lawyer. Sure, the few upper-class and/or normal British accents lend the movie a veneer of class, and sure there's an almost naked Sienna Miller, but every strongpoint of Layer Cake is matched by a stronger aspect in Carlito's Way.

First off, there's nothing in Layer Cake that can compare to Sean Penn's character. Sean Penn was just an actor back then, more concerned with his craft than with being a political commentator. His performance as a crooked lawyer makes the movie. Al Pacino's muted, mature bravado trumps Daniel Craig's icy calculations, while an almost nude Sienna Miller cannot quite beat a really nude (topless) Penelope Ann Miller.

In the end, it's the endings. The ending of Layer Cake surprises you, whereas the ending of Carlito's Way shocks you, despite the beginning. And that to me makes all the difference.

P.S. It is also worth noting that this movie is a bit of a commentary on DePalma's and Pacino's last collaboration--Scarface. Further, the French magazine or somesuch Cahiers du Cinema pronounced it the best of the 90s...(Thanks, www.allmovie.com!)

Daniel Craig for Bond? Bollocks! My pick: Damian Lewis

The world is abuzz with talk about who will be the next Bond. From what everyone is hearing, Daniel Craig, he of Sylvia, Road to Perdition, Layer Cake, and that movie Wherein He Is Beloved By Rhys Ifans, If The Trailers Are Any Indicator fame, is the frontrunner. Word is that Clive Owen, everybody's favorite, has declined the role. Another candidate is some suave and Slav doctor on ER, Goran something or other.

But if you ask me, and no one is but myself, which means, am I asking myself rhetorically, because of the previous formulation it would seem so, and my publicist cannot deny or confirm, but I would pick the following Brit: Damian Lewis.

Damian Lewis laid his claim to fame as Major Richard Winters in Band of Brothers, an HBO miniseries about a World War II paratroop company produced by Spielberg and Hanks, atoning for the crappy parts of Saving Private Ryan (that is, all the parts when Ed Burns is talking). The real Richard Winters is alive and well, and is every bit the hero that he is made out to be. (Does it mean that I have a man-crush when I wish the real deal was my grandpa? Again, my publicist withholds comment.) It was easy, therefore, to blur reality and so-called fiction and develop something of a man-crush on the man playing Dick Winters. That is, Damian Lewis.

Damian Lewis has the added advantage/disadvantage, depending on how look at it, or him, of bearing a distinct resemblance to Steve McQueen. After Band of Brothers, he starred in a period miniseries in which he played a peevish, snippy, upper crust Brit (very un-Richard Winters/Steve McQueen-ish); then he starred in the horrible Stephen King adaptation Dreamcatcher, in which his acting talents were abused by having him possessed by an alien that spoke with a British accent. How jolly clever!

Since then Lewis has layed low, playing ancillary roles like J. Lo's abusive boyfriend (I mean, who could pass up that role?) along with Robert Redford in "An Unfinished Life" --or, "A River Runs Through It, But This Time With Daughters In Law".

Lewis is now starring in "Keane", an independent drama about a father traumatized by the loss of his daughter, likely by kidnapping. It has received very positive reviews and proves his acting mettle. While Craig is showing off in flashy fluff like Layer Cake, Lewis is putting in his time in the acting trenches. I say reward him for his work.

Damian Lewis, I present to you your shaken martini! And a license to kill to chase it down.

Up next: Why Layer Cake Stinks.

An Open Letter to Mr. Steve Douglas, CEO of Microlinks UK

Dear Mr, Steve Douglas,

My name is Lars Finley and I'm writing about an exciting business opportunity for you, Steve Douglas, the CEO of Microlinks UK.

I feel its necessary to intervene before you and Microlinks UK make a huge mistake that can cost all of us a good deal of money, power, prestige, and success. I am referring, of course, about your recruitment of Joe Killiany to be the Microlinks UK Book Keeper in the United States.

Simply put, Mr, Steve Douglas, you are talking to the wrong guy. Joe Killiany is not your guy.

I am your guy.

Lets talk about experience. Joe Killiany does not know jack about Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume. I, in contrast, am a Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume expert. I am practically obsessed with Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume. You should see the Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume collection I have going here. There's hardly room for anything other than Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume.

I've got many contacts in the Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume community, and I feel that these contacts will help me in the the Book Keeping of your Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume in the most efficient and effective manner.

You are a CEO of a major company, Microlinks UK, Mr, Steve Douglas, and I don't think I have to tell you that the contacts I have, as opposed to Joe Killiany who has no contacts whatsoever, are the kind of contacts that you need.

Let me elaborate on my experience and the nature of experience in the Book Keeping game, vis a vis especially the area of moneygram transfers and the receipt of such. Book Keeping is hard enough, but you throw in the Batiks and the Assorted Fabrics and, as I believe you are well aware, you really need a cool head to handle the kinds of moneygrams transfers that will result. And Traditional Costume -- whew, don't even get me started on how long it took me to really understand the nuances of a Traditional Costume moneygram transfer.

Joe Killiany is a quick learning young man, that is true. But why start with a rookie, somebody who may not know the difference between a Batik moneygram transfer and a traditional costume moneygram transfer, when you don't have to? In me, you've got somebody who cut his teeth on fabrics and then moved on to batik and finally traditional costume. I don't think I have to tell you that this kind of experience is in and of itself quite invaluable and will likely make us all rich, rich, even richer than we are now.

And by "All" I mean you and me, Mr. Steve Douglas. Which is to say you and me and not Joe Killiany.

We will get rich together, Mr, Steve Douglas. Perhaps we will buy a mansion or a yacht. Or maybe we'll just sit on my patio and drink mojitos which are made by a lawnboy named Pablo and who comes directly from Puerto Rico for the sole purpose of being my lawnboy and making us mojitos and tiny little sandwiches made of the finest sliced meats. Do you like both mustard and mayonnaise on your sandwiches, Mr Steve Douglas? I do. We are mustard and mayonnaise kinds of guys, aren't we, Mr. Steve Douglas? Yes we are.

We will be fabulously rich togehter, Mr, Steve Douglas, while Joe Killiany sits alone in the writer's squalor watching the OC and probably wearing clothing made of original and high quality Microlinks fabrics or even a Traditional Costume that he is too naive and uneducated in the ways of Various Fabrics to even know came from Microlinks UK.

You and I are rich men Mr, Steve Douglas, and that is another reason to cut Joe Killiany out of this deal. Joe Killiany is a writer. Yes, he is a talented and clever fellow. But seriously, is Joe Killiany really the kind of guy you'd want for a representative in the United States? Do you really like the cut of his jib? is his the kind of flair that you think is representative of the Microlinks UK brand? I think not.

Let me tell you a little about myself and how my jib is cut. I am well groomed and coiffed at all times. I dress only in yellow. I am frequenty to be seen whistling. In conversation, I often recite Radiohead lyrics while emitting a light south american accent. I have been told on numerous occasions that I smell unremittingly like Leonard de Caprio. I enjoy leisurewear. I sport a fu manchu mustache that keeps the riff-raff away while further endearing me to the rich and, increasingly, the famous.

I am "high profile." Not like Joe Killiany, who is decidely much less "high profile." Do you want a less than high profile fellow as your Book Keeper, Mr. Steve Douglas? I think that is a rhetorical question as I'm sure you do too because a high profile brand like Microlinks UK deserves a high profile Book Keeper to recieve its moneygram transactions. I am that high profile Book Keeper.

And that brings me to a sensitive issue. You may be wondering about my rumored affair with Lindsey Lohan. While this is, certainly, the business of Ms. Lohan and myself, I understand that before you get into business with somebody, it is important to know a little about them. For this reason and this reason only, and on the understanding that as a CEO and a businessman and a gentleman, you will, of course, not sell this story to the tabloids, or will, at the very least, split any "finders fee" that the National Enquirer may suit to grant you with me, the source of this story, I am writing to tell you now that Lindsey Lohan and I are very much in love.

We are in love, Mr, Steve Douglas, and I feel that this kind of love can only help me in the Book Keeping for Microlinks UK and all that it will entail. A man in love is simply a better Book Keeper and much more inclined to be cheerfully recieving moneygram transfers. Is Joe Killiany in love? I suppose he is. But not like me and Lindsey Lohan who are in scary public Tom Cruise love, that is how much in love we are in.

And it couldn't hurt business is Lindsey happened to be photographed for the pages of In Touch or Us Weekly wearing some of our Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume from Microlinks UK, could it, Mr Steve Douglas?

I think you know what I'm saying.

And since we are business partners, I feel honored to tell you, Mr, Steve Douglas, about Lindsey Lohan's breasts. Yes, they are real. And yes, they are a good time. A real party, if you know what I mean.

You should know that Joe Killiany is rarely seen or photographed in the company of starlets.

Let's talk money. And by money, I mean WEEKLY payments via MONEYGRAM TRANSFER. Simply put, Joe Killiany has no experience with getting paid WEEKLY via MONEYGRAM TRANSFER. Are you really going to trust a guy like Joe Killiany with your WEEKLY MONEYGRAM TRANSFER? I would not.

I bank only in moneygram and am well suited to handle these weekly transfers. If you have any questions about my qualifications, please feel free to contact the moneygram people directly, regarding my past business history.

But I ramble on, Mr, Steve Douglas. And maybe that is because I feel like it is fate that we are to work together. I feel like I've known you my entire life. Perhaps in another life we were partners, like Starsky and Hutch, or Clint Eastwood and that monkey. Or was that an orangutan?

Do you ever, Mr Steve Douglas, when you are dreaming, imagine that you are Ponce de Leon? Because I do. And if you you do too, then maybe in a past life we were Ponce de Leon and somebody who was very, very close to Mr. Ponce De Leon, in a business partner kind of way is what I mean with the closeness, because I am also all man, which is another quality I believe you are to be seeking in a Book Keeper for Microlinks UK.

I'm relatively sure that one of the things Ponce De Leon was known for was his love of fine fabrics and Batiks. He had a fancy for Traditional Costume, as do I, and obviously, you do as well.

Joe Killiany has no such dreams of potentially being Ponce De Leon or his business partner and probably barely even knows who Ponce De Leon is or was and if Joe Killiany was with us when one of us was Ponce De Leon in a past life then he was probably a slave or a lowly seaman who we ordered around and probably made dance like a monkey making little chimplike monkey sounds and scratching under his armpits while you and I in another life, Mr Steve Douglas, were drinking fine bottles of port and eating all the cheeses and unsliced meats that we could get our fine manicured hands on and conquering native peoples for their Batiks and Various Fabrics and Traditional Costumes that we would then sell. In this way, we would make even more money, funding our ability to make Joe Killiany do increasingly sillier dances, like dancing like a squirrel or trying to dance like a giant squid would dance if it could.

In closing, I think you can see that it is me and not Joe Killiany that you want for this job.

If you've got any question at all, please feel free to contact Wilmer Valderamma or Ms. Natalie Portman, both of whom can vouch for my qualities vis a vis flair and businesslike persona.

I look forward to an exciting time as your Book Keeper in the US.

Much love and big ups to you and yours.

Sincerely.

Lars Finley

I was heavily recruited by Microlinks, Inc.

The Barrelhouse submission boxes get a fair amount of junk mail--the price we pay for posting our addresses online so y'all can submit your unsolicited, but lovely, stories. Generally, the junk that comes in--the crap mail that is, not your submissions--are self-perpetuating virus type things, attachements titled "You nude," or "Dirty Pix," or "Do Me."

The one below, however, came in as is and I had to share it with you. I've changed nothing. I couldn't create syntax this bad. My comments are parenthetical:

Dear Sir/Madam,
Good day would you like to Work online from home and gets paid weekly? (Would I!?! You, sir, have read my mind. Nothing makes me happier than getsing paid weekly. Please, tell me more.) Microlinks Inc. needs a Book-Keeper in the United State, so I want to know if you will like to work Online from home and getting paid weekly without leaving or affecting your present Job. (Of course I'll like it. The idea of a second job, while usually something of a drag, sounds delightful the way you phrase it. What's the deal?) It's just that I presently run a Textile and Fabrics firm I inherited from my late Dad in the UK and we need Someone to work for the Company as a Representative/Book Keeper in the United States, My Company produces Various Clothing Materials, Batiks, Assorted Fabrics and Traditional Costume which we have Clients we Supply Weekly in the States, My Clients make payments for our Supplies every Week in form of Money Orders, Bankers Draft and Checks, which are not Readily Cashable Outside the United States so we need Someone in the States to work as our representative and Assist us in processing the payments from Our Clients and I will pay him Weekly Salary. (Wow, that was a really long sentence. Unless you meant those commas as periods. Either way, you lost me. What exactly do you need me to do?)

All you Need to do is Receive this payments from Our Clients in the States get it Cashed in your Bank then Deduct your Weekly pay and Forward the Balance to the Company down here VIA MONEYGRAMM TRANSFER our payments will be Issued out in your Name and you get them Cashed in your Bank Deduct your Weekly Salary and Forward the Balance to the Company VIA MONEYGRAMM TRANSFER, So all I need is to Forward your Information’s to our Clients in the United States and they Issue payments in form of Money Orders then Send it to you Via or mail Courier. (Hang on. You send me the money. I put it in my bank. Take a little for myself and then wire the rest to you? I guess I should be asking why you can't get your own bank account, but I'm so intrigued I don't really care. Just tell me: What do you need from me?)

I will need is your Full Name, Address and Phone Number so we can forward it to Our Clients and they will Start making payments to you as the Company representative in the States, I will Email you a Letter of Employment from our Company which you have to reply with an Acceptance Letter and a Scanned Copy of your Identification Attached to it as Soon as we Confirm any payment coming to you I will let you know and I will give you the Information to Send Funds to the Company VIA MONEYGRAMM TRANSFER, for further information reply me on this email address microlinksuk@gmail.com and we will get back to you as soon as possible. (This sounds great, but I wouldn't feel comfortable sending a photocopy of my ID and signature without also including my social security number. Is there a place for that, too? Also, to some, though certainly not me, it might look odd that a business has only a gmail account rather than your own web domain, but some people ask too much, I know.)

I Await your Urgent Response.

Warmest Regards,
Mr., Steve Douglas.CEO
Microlinks Fabrics & Textiles.

Press Release of the Week: A Beacon of Hope for the Big Easy

Finally, after more than a month of bad news out of New Orleans, here's a bright spot, a tale of endurance and can-do spirit sure to warm hearts across the land: Cruising for Sex Returns to the Big Easy.

No, not actual sex cruising, which I'd wager never really left, but "Cruising for Sex," the gay cruising web site that was knocked offline for nearly four whole days in the wake of Katrina:

"For [Founder Keith] Griffith and his employees at Cruising for Sex, the ability to operate from the city they call home is an important step back towards normalcy and self-dependence. For fans of the award-winning free gay cruising Web site, now celebrating its tenth anniversary, it's an assurance that a beloved resource will remain available for years to come."

In the press release, Griffith walks us through the company's ordeal, which began when they lost one of their servers at 4 a.m. the morning after the storm, and additional servers at 10 a.m. But luckily, one of the machines, like The Little Porn Engine That Could, stayed online long enough for Griffith to type up a message explaining to site visitors that they were experiencing trouble and would be back as soon as possible.

The next four days were dark ones -- both literally and figuratively -- in Cruising for Sex Land. Young, nubile men roamed the nation's bars and public restrooms hungry for love but finding none. Others sat at their computers for hours on end, hitting the refresh button over and over, cursing the sort of God who would allow such tragedy to strike. If only there were some other adult sites on these blasted Internets!, the victims of the tragedy cried, banging their well-lubed fists against their laptops.

Luckily, it wasn't long before Griffith and his band of merry adult entertainment peddlers were back in business:

"Because of the nature of our business -- being online rather than brick and mortar -- we have been in the unique position to continue earning money and paying staff and consultants," Griffith said. But just in case you think he's being a little insensitive to those who are less fortunate, he knows their pain: "Among persons who work with the company, two individuals have multiple family members who have lost all their possessions, making this source of income even more vital."

And really, as we've all learned by now, when gay men stop jerking it to images of well-hung boys lathered up in coconut oil, the terrorists have won.

Actually, the most interesting aspect of this press release is that it throws a major wrench in the theory of certain fundamentalist crazies who said New Orleans was being destroyed for its sinful ways. Which had me a bit worried -- frankly, my favorite parts of New Orleans were the sinful ones: its booze, its music (remember that in fundamentalist world, dancing is pretty much like pot -- a gateway drug, but to sex instead of crack cocaine), its tittilating yet tasteful burlesque shows. Would I be next on Angry Old Testament God's hit list?

But now I feel much, much better, since the first business to rise from the ashes of Katrina is one that traffics in affairs of the the loin (and the heart). Maybe New Orleans will return to its old glory after all.

So Many Things Inside My Van, and All of Them Wanting to Get Out

Here's a cool thing: audio of Barrelhouse contributor Matt Bell reading his story "Rest Stop" from the new travel issue of Hobart.

It's a great story, and Hobart really did a cool thing with this web companion to their print issue. I really wish we had thought of that.

Speaking of us, your friendly proprieters at Barrelhouse...we're lucky to be publishing Matt's story "White Lines and Headlights" in big Barrelhouse number two, coming down the pike soon.

Sorry for the shameless self-promotion, but get used to it.

Anyway, check out "Rest Stop."

My new favorite network

When I moved back to the I.C. this fall, I upgraded my cable package to accomodate my addiction to HBO's various original series. In addition to the movie network, I got a bunch of (mostly worthless) digital-only channels, like Discovery Health and Nickelodeon 2 and ESPN 8: The Ocho.

Little did I know that I'd also be getting my new favorite channel: VH1 Classic. What's so great about VH1 Classic, you ask? To which the only answer is the following videos, none of which I would have seen if it weren't for this network:

--The Jacksons, "Torture": Remember when the Jackson siblings, looking to glom onto Michael's success, released Victory in 1984? No? How could you forget such classics as "One More Chance," "Be Not Always," or "The Hurt"? "Torture" is a pretty unremarkable song, but the video is pure mid-80s genius. All the Jacksons are dressed in those I'm-a-fascist-dictator-with-flair outfits popularized by Michael -- think puffy shoulders and lots of sequins. There's a key-tar player. There's lots of smoke. Extras dressed in feathery bird-like outfits are doing some sort of modern dance interpretation of the music. And the stone maze scenery looks like the precursor to Legend of Zelda.

--A-Ha!, "Hunting High and Low": VH1 Classic does its own version of Two-For Tuesdays, which leads to some pretty funny moments. Who knew A-Ha!, the guys behind "Take on Me," had another song? In this video, we see the band members playing their instruments in silhouette, which begs the question: are the members of A-Ha! tragically disfigured? In their first video, they're disguised as cartoons, and here we see them only as shadows. What are they hiding? There's also some fun nature scenes as the band morphs into sharks and dolphins, then a lion. Oh, and the song: well, let's just say there's a reason the band is remembered by most people as a one-hit wonder.

--Paul McCartney, "Spies Like Us": Yes, this song is from the soundtrack to the Chevy Chase/Dan Akroyd movie, and I'm guessing it took McCartney all of 30 minutes to write it, record it and shoot the video. There's a kind of plodding, pre-techno synthesizer beat, and the words "Spies like us" repeated about eight billion times. The video features a smiling McCartney (no doubt laughing to himself about how much money he's just gotten for such minimal effort) playing guitar and drums while wearing a Cosby-worthy teal and purple sweater. There are also clips from the movie, which are truly this video's only saving grace.

--Sammy Hagar, "I Can't Drive 55": Luckily, Hagar picked the best possible historical moment to record this song. Now that the national speed limit has been raised, then raised again, it just wouldn't work: "I Can't Drive 65" misses out on important alliteration, while "I Can't Drive 70" just sounds ridiculous. The best thing about this video is Hagar himself, who stars in a sort of mini-drama in which he drives a red Ferrari (presumably at a speed greater than 55), then gets pulled over and hauled off to jail, all the while singing the words to the song. Also, I should mention that he's wearing a bright yellow sleeveless jumpsuit. I won't tell you what happens at the end, because I don't want to spoil it for you.

The two funniest jokes I heard on TV all week

1. From the new Ricky Gervais show Extras (which, if you have HBO, you should definitely check out). In Episode 2, Ben Stiller is taking himself way too seriously as the director of a war-and-tragedy movie, and gets mad at Gervais' character, an extra.

Ben Stiller: Who are you? Who are you?
Gervais: Um, no one?
Ben Stiller: That's right. No one. And who am I?
Gervais: Is it, um, Starsky or Hutch? I can never remember.
Ben Stiller: Is that supposed to be funny?
Gervais: I don't know, it was your movie, maybe you could tell me.

2. Comic Greg Girardi, from Dave Attel's Insomniac Tour:

"You know that show The Contender? [After audience members clap] Oh, you like that show? What part do you like best? The part where they cart the boxers' kids out and put them right in the front row so they can see their dads get the snot kicked out of them? Is that the part you like? And we already had a reality show where we looked for the best boxer. It was called boxing. It was a pretty good fucking show."

RIP Nipsey Russell

Comedian Nipsey Russell is dead. Bummer. If you grew up in the 70s, you remember him as a TV staple. It seemed like he was everywhere for awhile there.

Here's a good article on his career from the Chicago Tribune. You can also still enjoy Nipsey Russell's Funky Palace .

Serenity Now: Joss Whedon Takes a Shot at the Short Form

This is kind of a review of the new movie Serenity, for what that's worth, but first I have to start off with a little background, for anybody who is not well schooled in the Joss Whedon universe. Whedon is the writer and director of Serenity, and he made his name as the creator of long running TV series Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. Both shows rewarded extended viewing -- on the surface, they were goofy sci-fi dramas about fighting demons and vampires, complete with low rent monsters and The WB production values -- but the real joy was watching the characters change and grow over time, balancing normal issues, like hormones and the prom, with pretty heavy stuff like saving the world.

And Whedon's writing was always quick and witty, loaded down with pop culture references and honest dialogue. Kind of like a slowed-down Gilmore Girls, but funnier, and with vampires and demons in the mix. How is it that one of the most moving things I've seen on TV is a group of teenagers saving the world and then heading off to the prom, where they are certain to be ostracized as outcasts and oddballs? Or one of the funniest things: a vampire, on a mission on another planet (or an alternate reality, I forget which), rolling around in a sunny field and shouting "can everybody see how not on fire I am right now?"

Buffy was probably the best show with the worst name ever, good enough that Salon.com TV reviewer and Barrelhouse buddy Heather Havrilesky (okay, maybe she's not exactly our buddy, but we interviewed her, and we know what her favorite Patrick Swayze movie is) wrote a yearly column about the injustice of Buffy's continual rejection by the Emmys, and named her recent shoulda-been Emmied award The Buffy.

So all of that leads me to Serenity, which is the movie version of Whedon's last and shortest running series Firefly, which got pulled after only a dozen or so episodes. Serenity isn't bad -- most of the trademark Whedon stuff is in there. The dialogue is quick and funny, and funniest in the most dramatic moments. The good guys are outcasts. The bad guys are really bad. The ships look cool in a "maybe that's what spaceships would really look like" kind of way ("lived in" is the phrase that comes to mind, and its good to see that in Whedon's future we haven't abandoned quaint things like buttons and area rugs).

All in all, it's a solid little space/western/action movie. But there's something missing, and I think it has more to do with the form than the writing or direction or anything else. As I said above, Buffy rewarded extended viewing. You got to know the characters, watched them change, save the world, go to prom, date, date warewolves, date vampires, date each other, and basically go through the changes that all people go through (albeit, with more vampires and demons in their lives, but still). Buffy was on for 7 seasons. That's a long time, and lot of changes, a shitload of character development.

Buffy was a novel. Serenity is a short story.

With a lot less space to work with, Whedon had to boil his characters down. They don't change much, grow much, surprise us as much. They are movie characters and their arc is a movie character arc, the one where the main dude goes from not caring about anything but himself to believing grudgingly in some kind of higher purpose, accepting his mission, and doing something about it. In short, pretty standard stuff, and certainly more standard that you'd expect of the guy who made a show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer into something that thousands of smart grown-ups still miss.

There are people who write novels and not short stories, short story writers who may never publish a novel, and people who do both so well it's just annoying.

Whedon has had great success at writing movies (Toy Story), but I left Serenity thinking that maybe he's a novelist.