Six Months Late Movie Reviews: No Country, Blood, Juno

There are lots of things I thought were bullshit until I had a kid, but one of the main ones was hearing people say "I never go to the movies anymore." It always sounded kind of defeatist and stupid, like, Dude, if you really want to go to the movies, you can go -- don't blame the kid. But here's the thing: man, I never go to the movies anymore (it's simple economics: in order to go to the movies, we need to pay somebody ten bucks an hour to sit on our couch and watch our television, so there are very few movies that seem worth the cash; if we're going to pay somebody to use our interwebs while we're out, we're going to get drunk). Anyway, the point of this post isn't to bitch about how I never go to the movies anymore, since my friend Netflix sends them directly to my house. The point is to finally weigh in on some movies everybody else saw six months ago.

No Country for Old Men:

Damn am I glad I didn't pay somebody to sit in my house while I watched this movie. I'm really surprised it won best picture -- was that some kind of lifetime achievement award for the Coen Brothers? If it was, then I'm cool with it. After all, those cats made Fargo and Raising Arizona and O' Brother Where Art Thou and the Big Lebowski, so their lifetime achievements are pretty fucking impressive. If it was just for that one movie, then what the fuck?

It's not that I thought it was bad. It was well done, well acted, interesting to look at, an obviously compelling story by Cormac McCarthy. The thing is that I really didn't give a shit about anybody in that movie at all. Nobody. They were all kind of half interesting, but, not to get all workshoppy and all, but I just didn't care whether Josh Brolin or the dude with the haircut or Tommy Lee Jones won/lived in the end. Without that, it was kind of like watching a bunch of insects attack each other -- interesting, but not really compelling.

But the worst thing to me was that it was so straightforward -- where was the Coen Brothers' trademark wit? Where was the quirk? I was expecting Fargo but it was actually kind of like Fargo with all the character stripped away, like Fargo made by Clint Eastwood. A bowl haircut is funny -- I'll give you that -- but it can't carry a whole movie.

There Will Be Blood

Like Old Country, a sprawling story featuring people who are mainly no good. Unlike No Country, for some reason, I really gave a shit about Daniel Day Lewis and that kid from the Little Miss Sunshine movie. I'm honestly not sure why -- maybe because we saw the entire relationship develop, or maybe because we get to watch them grow and change, or maybe because they didn't so much change as reveal themselves very slowly over time. Whatever the reason, I thought this was great.

A little too Paul Thomas Anderson, in that it was long and a little overacted (although that even worked for me -- it felt epic, rather than stupid). Thankfully, no raining frogs.

Juno

Since I'm soaking in pop culture all the time, and I devour Entertainment Weekly every Friday afternoon as soon as it arrives, I knew all about Juno. What I knew was the perhaps-too-snappy dialog, the no-way-does-this-really-exist 16 year old girl who loves the Stooges and classic slasher fare, Michael Cera as George Michael Bluth in funny running shorts, the stripper turned screenwriter thing. All that was there. And yeah, the dialog was too clever by half, but only in spots, and sometimes it was totally brilliant ("Juno: You're so cool because you don't even try. George Michael Bluth: I try really hard actually.).

But I was really surprised at how much else was there. For the lack of a better word -- and I guess I'm supposed to be some kind of writer or something, so I really should be able to find a better term, but, well, I need more coffee -- it had a lot of heart.

Most of that was supplied by Jennifer Garner, who I thought was amazing. This might have a lot to do with the fact that I'm an adoptive parent, but man, every time she was onscreen, you could just feel the keening. (Trust me, young people, if you don't recognize the look, you will when you get to your thirties -- I"m not saying you'll have it, but you'll see it. A lot.).

Back to the dialog: I thought one of the best lines was when she looks at Jason Bateman, in the middle of a very heavy conversation about their relationship, at a point where it seems like the thing she wants most -- a kid -- is going to vanish into thin air because Bateman basically can't come to terms with the fact that he's in his thirties and he's not Dave Grohl and he's actually a suburban dude about to lock in his suburban-ness with the addition of a kid (hmmm....been there...), and she looks at him, and you're expecting this big Grey's Anatomy lecture/breakdown, and she just says "that shirt is stupid." To get all writer-like, that line says everything she's thinking, in a totally surprising way that's absolutely true to both characters, and, since we know both characters pretty well, totally devastating. I know, because it would work on me.

Okay, that's all for now, tune in six months from now when I review Shine a Light and Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

[cross posted from Ryan Seacrest is Famous]

x x x

Cover Magic

Some covers are weird, some are kitschy, some are slightly amusing. Then there are those rare covers that make you appreciate a song you never fully appreciated before. Here are links to a couple awesome covers I've recently stumbled upon:

--"Breakfast in America," by Gomez
I actually dig the Supertramp original, though Gomez brings a certain rough snarl to it that's way more badass.

--"Rainy Days and Mondays," by Cracker
I know JP is an unapologetic Karen Carpenter fan, but I think most others would agree that Cracker takes this already mopey song to new depths of awesome mopeosity.

Update no. 4

The fruits of my Parisian labors: a set list!

I picked this picture because I gots rock-star-ey hair going on in it.  

Unfortunately, the rock-star is Ted Nugent.

Update no. 3

April in Paris, continued.

Today was pretty damn low key.  I spent some time writing this morning (including posting on this blog some related but hopefully not too overlapping information.  I've decided to keep those posts classy and literary, and these posts here kinda low-rent and barrelhousey.  As JMP would say: That's how I roll.  

Luckily for me, though unluckily for my post here, nothing too low-rent happened to me today.  Though I forgot to mention that yesterday when I got a little confused in the confusion of the confusing metro, I managed to wander down a street that had a bunch (like, 20 or thereabouts) of old French whores hanging out in doorways trying to lure johns.  I've always made the comment about myself that I tend to dress and wear makeup like a French whore.  You know, my tops are generally a little too low-cut, and my lipstick is about 8 shades too red.  Well after walking through a gaggle of salopes, I can now safely and without hesitation tell you that now that I know what a French whore looks like, I still say I kinda dress like one.  

I got a new camera today, so there will be photos eventually.  

Update no. 2

Not much to report-- I slept way late, came close to missing my train.  But considering I am the reigning queen of insomnia, that I managed to sleep at all after being all wound up tight yesterday, ok, I'm happy.  

Even so, I still had time to meet my tunisian friend for coffee in the train station.  Then, the TGV to Paris.  The ride was 3 hrs long, and I did some writing.  And then I kept making myself laugh by singing "Smell yo dick" to myself.  

I gave a woman with leprous arms 4 euros in the Gare de Lyon.  

I got turned around on the metro (not my fault, a connection that I thought was there actually was, but wasn't well marked so I missed it and had to go elsewhere to make the connection) and got turned around walking to my hotel.  Getting turned around going to my hotels seems to be my new modus operandi.  I think from now on when I get off a train or something, I'm gonna start pulling a George Costanza and wherever I think I should go, go the opposite way.

Drank a coffee in a Montmartre cafe.  Gonna make it an easy and early night tonite.  

But: where should I sightsee tomorrow?  The next show isn't until Tuesday night...

Note to self (concert update no. 1)

Stay away from Frenchmen with hyphenated names in seamy Mediterranean port cities.

Quote:  Tes yeux verts, si, si beaux. Tes levres.  Si beaux.  Ton nez-- eh, pas grand chose...

Your green eyes, so so beautiful.   Your lips.  So lovely.  Your nose-- eh, nothing to write home about.

He scared me in a bar but I escaped and spent part of my day with a guy I met from Tunisia.  He didn't try anything funny, unlike Jean-Claude Van Dumb.  Oh I guess he's belgian.  How about Jean-Jacques Piss-off?  

I got to the venue early.  The venue is in a predominantly Arab part of town.  Also, it was a predominantly decrepit and scary part of town.  No one was there but me for a long time, which is how I started to wander around and how I managed to almost get into trouble.  In the end it was ok, because like I said, I met a nice guy who talked with me and drank coffee in a bar with me until more people showed up.  

The show was very good.  Not the best ever, but I might put it in the top 5. Nick was in a terrific mood, which always helps.  The opening band -- I have to look them up because I didn't catch their name-- was ok but they offended me a little because they sang a song called "Let's kill God again" which is not something I wish to have happen.  They also offended me by playing a song by my least favorite of all time band, Suicide.  Ick.  Bleah.  (ah ok, just googled... this is the band).  And, they played too long.  But, ok.  Nick played a bunch of stuff from the new album, and some VERY old favorites as well-- "Tupelo," "Hard on for Love," "Your Funeral, My Trial," and a song that I LOVE and have never heard live before tonite, "Papa won't leave you, Henry."  He also played "Red Right Hand," "Into My Arms," "The Ship Song," "The Lyre of Orpheus," "Deanna" (fucking awesome song live), and he closed the show with "Stagger Lee."  Two encores.  

I don't have any photos because my camera is kaput.  And they were being Nazis about having cameras in the venue.  Which isn't usually the case.  

From where I was standing tonite and the way the stage was set up, I didn't get to see Nick straight on very well.  This is disappointing as watching him perform is undoubtedly one of my greatest pleasures.  He's amazing live, especially when he's in a good mood, which he was tonite.  I was standing directly in front of Mick Harvey, and I had a clear view of Thomas Wydler, also.  So I watched them and Warren Ellis, which is cool because I don't usually get to see the other players.  Martyn, Jim and Conway were difficult to see.  I guess James Johnston (of Gallon Drunk) isn't touring with them.  Which is too bad because he's a great musician.

Hmmmm, what else?  

Slight worry I might get stabbed on Metro coming back to hotel, but that didn't happen.  Praise God.  

Marseilles is a rough city.  I think I've grown too accustomed to the calm, soothing tones of Zurich.  

Tomorrow-- PARIS!

Even I Know This Might Be Going Too Far....

I know, I know, this should be at least a somewhat family-friendly blog, right? (Though, if your family is like my family, it already is.)  But for other people--laypeople--fine. I'll make sure to abide by that somewhat clean standard.

AFTER this post.

Because this is the most high-larious shit I've seen in, perhaps, forever. And I haven't posted a Link of the Week in that long, anyway, so it's about time.

Behold...a foolproof way to catch your man creeping.   And don't ever say I never taught you anything.

...

Jesus Christ is, in fact, a superstar, but He would thank you not to mention it

So, the scuttlebut this week is that tattooed Irishwoman Carly Smithson was voted off American Idol largely because her choice of "Jesus Christ, Superstar" pissed off too many Christian voters.

Also, she ripped up a picture of the Pope onstage, then hopped on a broom and soared out over the audience, cackling all along.

My Trip

starts tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, I take the train to Marseilles where, on Saturday, I'm going to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  On Sunday I take the train to Paris where, on Wednesday, I'm going to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  Then I go to Brussels.  To see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  Dublin, where I am going to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  Then I take a plane to Glasgow.  To see NC&TBS.  Then I come back to Switzerland for a couple days to give a reading in Basel.  But then I go to London.  To see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (two nights!).  Then a couple weeks pass, and I take a flight to Berlin.  To see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  

I've seen Nick live 11 times before.  These will be shows 12-19 for me.  

In the end, I've decided on taking 2 biographies-- one on Eva Braun and the other on Houdini.  

I will be posting updates from the road, when I can.

Thursday's Random Thought

How come no one wants to get the Led out anymore?

NUTZ! (for your truck)

Via Wonkette, the worst news to come out of (one of) my home state(s) since Dokken canceled their second night at the Pensacola Fairgrounds back in '84: if certain lawmakers have their way, Floridians may no longer be allowed to hang rubber testicles from the bumpers of their cars and trucks.

Now, look, this kind of legislation might go over just fine in one of your liberal Yankee Obama states, but there's a certain breed of Florida redneck -- picture jean shorts, a mesh-and-foam camouflaged hat, half-laced tan Timberlands, those early-90s Oakley Blades and sleeveless Big Johnson tee shirt -- who loves only one thing more than he loves his pickup truck, and that is fake rubber balls to hang from the bumper of his pickup truck.

I am totally not kidding about this.

The Florida legislature would have better luck trying to push through anti-Christmas legislation, or a bill banning slightly overweight and overtanned biker chicks from wearing Confederate-flag doo-rags and undersized daisy duke shorts.

You might think I'm exaggerating, but it really is impossible to overstate a very specific type of Florida guy's enthusiasm for TruckNutz. It's pretty much 1) Jesus, 2) Mama, 3) My goddamned TruckNutz.

You think the South went touchy when we tried to take away their slaves? Watch the hell out, people!

Poets & Writers & Barrelhouse

Barrelhouse's own Valzhyna Mort, featured in issue 4, graces the cover of this month's Poets & Writers.

We also get the nod on the inside as one of the 20 hot literary magazines for submissions.

Thanks Poets & Writers. You're pretty hot too.

Maybe sometime we can take you out for an ice cream at Pop's next time your down Alexandria, VA way. You know the place.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday, Dave Housley! We're all particularly happy you were born!

And, in honor of you, we will all say something wonderful about you in the comments section!

I'm Still a Little Drunk

Thank you to everyone who came out last night to hear various readings and DJing and ... who are we kidding? You were there for the burlesque, you pervs. So were we! At any rate, thank you for making the evening a smashing success. We had a great time! We're not just saying that! Seriously, you were all great!

You folks keep on barrelhousing, and we'll see you next time.

I don't want any hair getting in my rum: an appreciation of Ax Men

Last night, while fellow Barrelhouse blogger TMC and I enjoyed a non-erotic sleepover, we caught pretty much the greatest reality show ever: Ax Men.

For those of you who don't watch much of The History Channel, or have "better things to do" on a Thursday night, Ax Men is, in essence, the World's Deadliest Catch of logging.

You might not think logging is complicated or interesting enough to warrant its own reality show, but you would be wrong. The piece of equipment at left, for instance, is what industry insiders call a "yarder," used to pick up heavy felled trees. It's also the source of many, many headaches and frustrations. On last night's show alone, at least two hardhats and a wrench were thrown violently to the ground while one logger or another cursed the gosh-darned uncooperative yarder.

I'm still working on getting all the lingo down: your climbers, your back-cutters, your barber-chairs and kerf-dutchmen (you might think I'm making this last one up, but it's an actual term, for a particular style of tree cutting that, if utilized properly, can make the tree literally jump right off the stump).

And if you don't think logging is dangerous, you haven't seen The History Channel's helpful cartoon reenactments of all the things that could go wrong (all of which basically involve trees falling onto people, though for all sorts of complicated reasons your average "greenhorn" could never imagine).

There's also what folks in the reality-show biz call "interpersonal drama," like the father who, if business doesn't improve, might have to fire his two sons (though, as TMC and I gathered later in the episode, he might also choose to fire his sons because they're ineffective managers and irrational hotheads prone to throwing tantrums and giving up on jobs). Or there's the other father teaching his son to climb trees. Or the son who refuses to work for his father. Or the son who gives his father a "haircut" by dragging clippers through his hair while dad takes swigs from a rum bottle.

Okay, so basically all the interpersonal drama stems from father-son relationships. But this is a logging show, people. What do you expect? Hot tub hookups?

Just So You Know

This is what Bret Michaels looks like when he's thinking about LOVE.





And sometimes he looks like this:



Note: That's not the ocean. That's actually what it looks like inside Bret Michaels' head. When he is thinking about love.

Good luck, Bret and Ambre. Rock on.

Thursday's random thought

You know what's consistently awesome?

Chicken strips.

Barrelhouse Burlesque

Got plans for the weekend? Of course you don't, fellow internet nerds. So come on out to celebrate Barrelhouse issue 5 and see real, live women dance and take (some of) their clothes off (also, like, readings and junk).

Seriously, burlesque is pretty much the greatest thing ever, because a) women taking (some of) their clothes off, and b) it's all "arty" and "empowering" so you don't have to feel like a sleaze for enjoying it, or make up ridiculous justifications to the girlfriend about how you "don't even like it, really," you're just there because it's a "guy bonding thing," or how you're "helping young girls go to law school or med school or whatever."

Most of the nudity, none of the guilt!

Also, as mentioned above, there will be readings and junk. Plus DJ Will Eastman, of Blisspop fame, who can make even the most self-conscious hipster put down his PBR and dance.

And, of course, the Barrelhouse crew will be there (minus the ones who won't), so you can meet your Internet Overlords face to face, and buy us beers.

The details:
Saturday, April 19
Steve's Barroom (just south of Dupont Circle, near The Big Hunt)
7:00 pm - 10:00 pm
Cover: $5 at the door, or $8 buys you burlesque + a fresh copy of Barrelhouse Issue 5

Be there or be (even more) square!

Need literary advice

I'm going on a trip, soon. 

The gist of this trip, I'll get into later.  But a really large portion of it will be spent sitting around, waiting.  Waiting, waiting, waiting.

When I go on trips, I have a hard time deciding which books to take.  

I am packing LIGHT for this trip.  Like, one medium carry-on.

However, I will require reading material.  For all the waiting, waiting, waiting.

I vow to only take TWO books.  They need to be thick, engaging, and of literary merit.  

War on Peace-- might be too heavy, mentally.  On the other hand, Harry Potter-- too light and I would burn through it too fast.

I need suggestions.  

What should I read on my trip?

Companionship, time, the touch of a woman

For all you academics out there -- field trip!

You, too, can be cool

Hello Barrelhouse Readers:

I come to you today with a confession. Until recently -- three weeks ago, to be exact -- I was a (gasp!) P.C. user. That's right: I know I probably seem all "cool" and "hip" and "rad" on these here Internets, but in reality I was that dorky guy pictured at left, all drab-suited and bespectacled and befuddled by technology.

But now, Barrelhouse readers, I've transformed myself into the cool guy at right: I know you can't see me right now, but I'm totally rocking a pair of $300 jeans hand-distressed by a team of Panamanian infants, plus a hoodie "pre-worn" for 4.5 weeks by an illegal Portugese immigrant before being placed on the shelves at Urban Outfitters (retail price: $99.95, stores near you).

Now, instead of being the guy who drinks a soy-milk macchiato at Starbucks while checking his Match.com profile and tricking out his MySpace page and reading the New York Times' Caucus blog on his Dell laptop, I'm the much cooler guy who drinks a soy-milk chai latte at the smaller-chain coffeeshop down the street while updating his Nerve.com profile and tricking out his Facebook page and reading Neal Pollack's alterna-dad column on a shiny white MacBook.

If only I had a sleeve tattoo and an indie noise band, I could reach full Rawk! status.

The lesson here is this, Barrelhouse readers: You, too, can be cool via technology. Join the cult. Do it. Do it now.

You Stay Classy, Florida Reporter Lady

You know what's funny? Domestic battery.

Apparently, this Florida reporter thought the best way to follow up on the report that Vanilla Ice had allegedly hit and kicked his wife was to break into an impromptu version of "Ice, Ice Baby," complete with backup dancers. Nice.

This reminds me of the time Bob Hebert followed up his report on Terry Schiavo by whipping his cock out and lip-synching along to the Misfits' "Die, Die, My Darling."

Jillie's Trivia Challenge, the FOURTH

In honor of National Poetry Month.

Because: If this ain't POETRY, then I dunno what IS.

Here are selected lyrics for various television theme tunes.

Without googling them, how many can you name?


1.
Cause all I see is a tower of dreams
Real love burstin’ out of every seam

2. Guessed correctly by MIKE "The Great Space Coaster"

A comet ride of fantasy

To a place where dreams are fast and free

3.
I believe I'll run on, see what the end will be
I believe I'll work on, find out what waits for me

4. Guessed correctly by NEIL ELLIS ORTS "Joanie Loves Chaci"

You look at me, soft as any touch could be
And suddenly, there's magic when you look at me
I feel like I'm in heaven every moment when you look at me

5.
I want a happy ending
I’m tired of pretending
Won't let 'em get the best of me
(Wo wo wo wo!)

6. Guessed correctly by TMC "Saved By The Bell: The College Years"

I'm standing at the edge of tomorrow
And its all up to me how far I go
I'm standing at the edge of tomorrow

7.
Just when you think there’s no one around who’s caring,
Along comes a friend who offers a hand in sharing,
And things start looking fine

8. Guessed correctly by MIKE "My Two Dads"
You can count on me
No matter what you do
You can count on me
No matter where you go

9. Guessed correctly by MIKE "Who's the Boss?"

There were times when I lost a dream or two
Found the trail, and at the end was you

10. Guessed correctly by TMC "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"

Well she’ll ransack Pakistan & run a scam in Scandinavia

11. Guessed correctly by NEIL ELLIS ORTS "Maude"

Lady Godiva was a freedom rider
She didn't care if the whole world looked

12. Guessed correctly by MATTKP "Solid Gold"

The music has magic
You know you can catch it

If you let the songs take control
The sound starts to glisten
The more that you listen
And slowly it turns into gold

13.
There’s a magic in the early morning we found
When the sunrise smiles on everything around

14.
You’ll have some fun now
With me and all the gang

15.
Life’s not the French Riviera, believe me,
Life’s not a charity ball

16.
Life is such a sweet insanity

The more you learn the less you know


17. Guessed correctly by NEIL ELLIS ORTS "The Partridge Family"

We had a dream, we’d go travelin’ together

18. Guessed correctly by MIKE, "Perfect Strangers"
Standing tall, on the wings of my dream
Rise and fall, on the wings of my dream

19.
Maybe the world is blind, or just a little unkind

20. Guessed correctly by JP "The Golden Girls"
Your heart is true 

You're a pal and a confidante

21.
He just keeps on movin’
Ladies keep improvin’
Every day is better than the last

22. Guessed correctly by MATTKP "Charles in Charge"
New boy in the neighborhood
Lives downstairs and it is understood

*The "My Two Dads" answer puts Mike as the frontrunner...

Jillie's Trivia Challenge, the THIRD

Ok, Barrelhousers. The challenge here is this:

You know the CHARACTERS and the SHOWS they played on. But none of these folks were ever household names. Without imdb-ing the answers, how many of these actors can you NAME?

challenge no. 3, continued

Trivia Challenge #2 Answers

... in the comments section of this post

Jillie's Trivia Challenge, the SECOND

Ok, wiseacres. Clearly Auntie's gotta up the ante.

Below are stills from the intros to various late 70's early 80's tv shows.

Can you name the programs?

Some is easy, some is harder.

challenge continued...

Identical Twins -- With Opposite Personalities!

This is totally gunking up Barrelhouse with my girl cooties, but there must be someone out there as simultaneously excited and appalled by this as I am.

I followed the Wakefields (flirty Jessica, brainy Elizabeth and older brother Steven!) and friends (rich Lila! richer Bruce! nerdy Winston! boring Enid! cardboard Todd! that quarterback who went blind!) from junior high backstabbing all the way to Elizabeth's regrettable spiked punch/vehicular manslaughter incident after a sorority party, which clearly led to Jessica's equally regrettable post-grad affair with the devastatingly handsome sociopath who kidnapped both twins and drove them around the desert for a totally evil reason that made sense at the time.

My sister and I (she was a Jessica, I was a jealous Elizabeth) had the board game -- and played it regularly. Sometimes we did find our boyfriends in time for the big game, sometimes not. We maxed out our library cards. One year, in true Gift of the Magi style, we each gifted the other with The Wakefield Legacy for Christmas. (Condensed version, for those who won't bother clicking the link: rose imagery, illegitimate babies, TRAGEDY, earthquake sex and flower children.)

Clearly, so much awesomeness absolutely deserves a reissue. But why shrink Jessica and Elizabeth to a Size 4 and slap them into Juicy sweatsuits? Let the Wakefields be the Wakefields, I say -- and let them exist forever in a mythical California where every girl's eyes match the ocean on a clear day, milkshakes are an all-the-time food, boyfriends bring corsages and the school parking lot is clogged with vanity plates and private jets. And where, of course, sisterhood trumps all.

challenge, continued....

Jillie's Triva Challenge, the FIRST

Name the above actor.
Name the film from which this still is taken.
For bonus points, name the song that the movie popularized.
And for grins, name the role the actor is best known for.

No cheating. Winner gets the honor of knowing he/she is right.

Bless This Mess!

Pardon our appearance, fans of the Barrelhouse. A spot of retooling going on; behind what you see on this page is a crew of tiny, fake-tanned Oompah Loompahs, working their tiny little fingers to the quick, sprucing this place up.

Help Me Get a Tattoo

Hello, Barrelhousers and friends of Barrelhouse:

I'm thinking about getting a tattoo. But what should I get? I have no idea. Unfortunately, none of my important life events or interests are tattooable: it's not like I'm gonna get a quill and scroll on my arm, or a typewriter, or a bottle of Makers Mark.

So what, dear friends, should I get? And where? Leave your suggestions in the comments. If they're no good, I'll just go ahead and get this thing. On my head.

Kisses,

Mike

Indian Thriller

My students showed me this. Sometimes the learning goes both ways.

It's hard to believe

that this song is 21 years old.

This song is old enough to drink!

I think I need one, now.

A hundred reasons why I shouldn't post this link,

but one very good reason why I should.

Because it's funny.

Redneck muslim jokes.

Where to begin?

Come on, admit it: you're addicted to Rock of Love, too

Apparently Rock of Love 2's Ambre really is a "TV hostess," though I'm not sure whether this particular show has made it very far beyond cable-access. Still, compared to the other ROL ladies, Ambre is pretty much Katie Couric crossed with Mother Theresa. If there are videos of Daisy out there on the Interwebs, I'm guessing I wouldn't be able to post them here.

Fortunately, everyone at Barrelhouse is a Thai boxer.

My own training regimen involves gin, tears and puppy blood, mixed up into a delicious smoothie.

I'm Too Fat To Be a Hipster

This song is kinda hilarious, in a goofy/weird way (scroll down to end of the page for the mp3 link).

I wear baggy jeans cuz that's what comes in 42
I like to dress fly, but fuck it, I like food
All my big-boned brothers, do you know what I mean?
The ladies don't like chunky asses runnin' round in skinny jeans

This Mexican Kid's Irritating Me

The fact I find this video hilarious probably reflects poorly on me.

We Have a Little Bit of a Swayze Problem

Barrelhouse's very own Dan "The Colonel" Brady and Dave "Hagiography" Housley spoke to the Washington City Paper about our very un-ironic love of all things Swayze.

Check it out.

Breaking: Heidi Montag still retarded, alive

So apparently Heidi Montag is voting for John McCain. Which is news because ... well, because, see, Heidi is, well ... ah, fuck it. I got nothin'.

April Fools, A Day Late

One year, as an April Fool's joke, a friend of mine told his mother he had cancer.

Top that.

Hey, What Ever Happened to The Least Talented Queer Eye Guy?

Oh, you mean Jai Rodriquez, the "culture" guru most notable for his awesome first name spelling and ability to, um, well, yeah. Well, he's the new host of "Groomer Has It," a new Animal Planet show that plops the Top Chef/Top Model framework down onto -- yes, you have it, dog grooming.

Check out the trailer for the show. You won't regret it. It's a pitch-perfect parody of a reality show, with all the fake tension and outlandish drama (for instance, the guy who is crying and blubbering, "it just wasn't a lot of time to groom a dog that big..."). Except it's not a parody.