Enjoy the Fourth

"Okay guys, one more thing, this summer when you're being inundated with all this Fourth of July brouhaha...don't forget what you're celebrating, and that's the fact that a bunch of slave-owning, aristocratic, white males didn't want to pay their taxes."

And if you don't wanna pay your taxes, give your money to this guy here -- that's one of the better homeless signs I've seen.

What a Jerk

The NBA...It's Pornnnntastic:

"[Timberwolves center Eddie] Griffin told the Pioneer Press a day after the accident that he crashed his car because he was reaching for a cell phone that had fallen off his lap. The complaint, filed in St. Paul District Court, alleges the crash occurred because he was 'under the influence of alcohol' and masturbating while watching pornography on a TV set in his dashboard."

I have no joke here. This stands on its own. I rest.

Sudden Death, No Overtime

How terribly ironic, the once-proud leader of the Cardiac Cats has passed away from a heart attack at the age of 52.

And we former Wildcats here at Slack LaLane would like to extend our heart-felt condolences to the family of now-former Northwestern University head football coach Randy Walker.

So to the man that stepped into Gary Barnett's mess and delivered us a Big Ten title in 2000, the man that created an innovative and high-scoring offensive juggernaut that rocked the conference for a year or two, the man that provided us with more than a handful of unbelievable college experiences and memories, I bid thee farewell.

He didn't quite bring us a ton of sustained success, but for all he gave us in 2000 -- one of the most overachieving seasons we could ever imagine -- he deserves to be honored here today. Walker engineered big-time comeback wins over Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan, he brought us to a big bowl game against perennial powerhouse Nebraska and he made us believe in the team again after Barnett fled to a school with a bad female kicker. He really made us believe.

I can just picture that notorious Wildcat-hater Jay Mariotti sitting down at his Steven J. Cannell typewriter and smugly writing an obituary that starts "Somewhere Rashidi Wheeler is smiling..."

Randy, you the man, and thanks for beating Michigan.

Slack Videos of the Day: From the beautiful world of sport, check out this awesome managerial tirade that's been all over the place lately (is that team really the Asheville Tourists?) and this incredible cheap shot from a high school basketball game.

Slack Song of the Day: In honor of Mr. Walker's passing, here's a sweet Brokedown Palace from 7/16/90. Listen to the river sing sweet songs...to rock my soul.

It's-a Nice

This was pulled from YouTube last week by Twentieth Century Fox, but it's re-surfaced on this preview site: Borat goes to the movies.

Not Cool, Soledad

Here's a little quiz...about whom was Soledad O'Brien referring when she made this comment on today's American Morning:

"Many words you heard earlier today [were] about how concerned they were about how much integrity that dike still had."

a. Anne Heche after reverting back to heterosexuality
b. Rosie O'Donnell after the whole magazine lawsuit fiasco
c. Melissa Etheridge using David Crosby's sperm to make a kid
d. Wilkes-Barre, PA lifting the flood evacuation at noon today

I think all those dykes have loads of integrity, and I shan't hear otherwise. But the answer is D, in case you're one of them retarded lesbians who couldn't figure out the game here.

"It's Just Been Revoked"

Bear with me for a second...I want to bring down the house lights a bit and talk serious with youse guys. I promise to make fun of the Asians, the Jews and the gays later.

The incredible edible editors over at the always rational National Review Online are calling for the revocation of the New York Times' press credentials after it published information on a secret government program to track terrorist financing around the world.

Never mind the conservative Wall Street Journal and not-so-conservative Los Angeles Times also posted stories about the same program, the NRO felt compelled to single out those brash New Yorkers. I guess they don't go straight for Arts & Leisure, nor do their significant others check out the Magazine.

The Wastoid Idiocy known as the United States Congress is taking this rebuke one step further. House Republicans are now expected to pass a resolution condemning these traitors and also politely request the return of their credentials. Turkey-Necked Speaker Dennis Hastert was quick to mangle a cliché in order to make an illogically half-baked and entirely silly point: "Loose lips kill American people." Thank you, Mr Speaker. I always thought loose lips indicated sluttiness.

So I pose this question to the straight-arrow editorial board over at the NRO and the hilariously incompetent House Republicans: We're willing to ban the Grey Lady from the press room but we'll allow the presence of Gay Lady?

This military-escortin' cum dumpster to the left here had never written an article in his life, didn't even supply his real name and "worked" for that storied news outlet called Talon News. Yet somehow the never hypocritical White House granted Jeff Gannon credentials to many presidential press conferences, and when he wasn't calling himself "Bulldog" and servicing our servicemen, just about every press briefing to which he could make it. Yeah, this situation sounds about right.

Those articles don't make us any less safe. Those terrorist fuckfaces knew we tracked their funding, and they likely knew exactly how we did it. What makes us less safe is when the media doesn't ask the right questions and we end up starting a war that creates a larger insurgency than before. That makes us less safe. Congress spending time whining about the Times and not ferreting out the people that leaked the classified information? That makes us less safe.

Those dickbags inside The Beltway needs to admit to themsleves that the real problem here is the conflict between a corrupt and bought Congress and an increasingly steadfast media that finally got its Stella-like groove back. And that makes this administration and this Congress nervous, so they want to put some distance between themselves and the watchdogs.

To the NRO, to the House Republicans (that probably employ Gannon's services because they love fucking the American people in the arse as lubeless as possible), let's stop pretending the terrorists are sitting around reading the New York Times and changing their strategy based on this published information. Quit feigning this indignation. If anything, they're reading about Hagar the Horrible and cursing Will Shortz's name for a tougher-than-usual Tuesday puzzle.

Slack Link of the Day: Any article with a headline like "Awkward Moments Abound in Penis Pump Trial" is just aching to be read by the masses. Amazingly, this line -- "Over the past few days, the jurors have watched a defense attorney and a prosecutor pantomime masturbation..." isn't nearly the best part. The section about the murdered toddler's grandfather is much better.

Slack Video of the Day: EB sent this one up last night, so I'll let him explain: "Check out this TV news clip of Miami officials giving awards to Heat players. The laughs come about halfway through, when first a Miami city commissioner drops her award, which shatters and makes the players crack up. Then, Miami-Dade County Commissioner Barbara Jordan presents an award to team MVP "Wade Jones!" Propers to the TV station for sending a reporter to interview the real Wade Jones (a city housing employee) to test out his b-ball skillz."

Slack Song of the Day: Since I've posted a couple of days worth of StreamStash songs this week, I'll quell the inherent jealousy emanating from my other favorite streaming sites. Today, a veritable mishmash of live tunes from Nugs.net: Right Place, Wrong Time ('Roo SuperJam '03), Mr. Oysterhead (Oysterhead), Standing on the Moon (Hornsby/Anastasio), Soul Island (Funky Meters), Living in the Country (Kottke/Gordon) and The Devil's Pay (Tea Leaf Green).

A Post With No Post

Just the daily links, ma'am...got something better to discuss?

Slack Link of the Day: You've seen cats. You've seen Hitler. But I bet you've never seen an entire site dedicated to cats that look like Hitler. Get ready for Hitler Cats. (via Plagiarist)

Slack Video of the Day: At least four people showed this video to me yesterday, so why fight it? Here's Maury Povich terrorizing some poor girl that hates pickles. (Doc Hoobs, what's the psycho-deal with this chick, possible sexual abuse?)

Slack Song of the Day: Let's go back to the new and improved StreamStash for a hodgepodge of stuff -- Reuben James (Kenny Rogers), Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (Neil Young), Found a Job & This Must Be the Place (Talking Heads), Sweet Thing (Van Morrison), Quicksilver (Horace Silver) and Don't Stop Me Now (Queen).

Slack Show of the Day: Today marks the 11th anniversary of my first ever Phish show, and regular readers of this here rag know what that means to this headier-than-thou snobby douche. 6/28/95 at Jones Beach, a good day to be a 16-year-old with braces.

Ari Gold's Best

It's like Droz from PCU finally graduated and became an agent...



Jeremy Piven...only took him 20 years to become a household name. Kudos bar, Piven, for I've loved you from the moment I saw you.

Thanks for the Free Parking

I have the same exact conversation three or four times a day. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's frustrating, sometimes it's brief and sometimes it's lengthy. But it's always about parking.

"Excuse me, can I park here?"
"Nope, sorry."
"But the sign says..."
"No, it doesn't. The sign is a ruse, a cunning attempt to trick you. Sorry, but you best be moving elsewhere."
"Bloomberg, that fucking Jew. I hate this city."

Since parking in New York City is harder to find than a member of the service industry that speaks fluent English, it's basically a free-for-all on the streets of Manhattan. Drivers will park anywhere they can find, and most of the time they'll chance a risky spot. There's ample space on Bleecker in front of my apartment, but there's one little catch:

Most people will read that sign and think they're okay, not realizing that one sign says 6 PM - 6 AM and the other says the opposite. So people park there at will and come back to hefty fines, then curse the DoT. Hey, when you think you've found parking gold, you hesitate to scratch it on something to see if the paint rubs off.

Making things easy ain't the job of the city government. In fact, they're job is quite the opposite; they're revenue-generators. They want your money so they can educate kids and put on public displays and maintain the so-so cleanliness of the city.

But clearly this sign should read, "YOU CAN ONLY PARK HERE FROM 6 AM to 6 PM ON SATURDAYS AND SUNDAYS -- DON'T FUCK WITH US." Anything less could be argued as entrapment.

And it'd certainly spare me having to decide which people I want to warn and which I think look like they deserve a $100+ ticket.

Slack Link of the Day: Today's top story should feature everyone's favorite corpulent hypocrite, Rush Limbaugh, who was detained at the airport yesterday by Customs officers after they found a bottle of Viagra in his possession. Remember Rush, the pill-popping user who didn't get locked up with the key thrown away as he so often suggested before his arrest? Yeah, that guy, that guy who just got caught with illegal Viagra at the airport. Him.

No, instead we'll go light and bring you the story of a haircutting salon with a stripper pole. Oh, Provincetown, how civilized ye be.

Slack Videos of the Day: I'm back on The Sports Guy bandwagon. I've been on and off this guy more than his wife, but right now I'm on 'im. Well, Simmons has officially thrown his hat into the YouTube ring, chronicling his favorite clips on the site in his latest column. I can't say I agree with some of his choices, but this is a must-read for anyone with testes between the ages of 18 and 35.

Slack Song of the Day: I've been talking her up a bunch, but I'm not sure I've ever really posted any of her music. So check out some Grace Potter & The Nocturnals this fine morning -- here's her version of the oft-covered Mystery Train, Nothing But the Water, Stop the Bus and Take It All Away from this year's Wakarusa Music Festival.

We Are Taking the Armoire...

Here's an intriguing article from New Orleans I think we'll all enjoy: "Transvestite gang pesters Magazine Street."

“They’re fearless,” said Ogle. “Once they see something they like they won’t stop until they have it. They don’t care, they’ll go to jail. It’s really gotten bad. You know it’s ridiculous when everyone on the block knows who they are.”

Home Alone featured Pesci and Stern as the Wet Bandits, and the Sticky Bandits in the sequel. Anyone got a clever nickname for these he-shes? I'm goin' with the Tucked-Back Bandits.

Slack Song of the Day: So apparently streamstash.com is the new iD1G1T, and while it's not as comprehensive as the original, it looks pretty fucking sweet. Bookmark it, rummage through it, use it as a lubricant whilst you polish the knob, I don't care.

But if you're not utilizing the creator's hard work to your advantage, chances are you're a no-good fonzanoon. So let's celebrate the return of everyone's favorite short-lived procrastination tool with a brief playlist I just concocted in about 46 seconds:

The Book I Read (Talking Heads), Musta Got Lost (J. Geils Band, with a killer live intro), Sexx Laws (Beck), Pets (Perry Farrell), Change and Tones of Home (Blind Melon), Red Alert (Basement Jaxx, from the ecstasy days), and always a Slack LaLane fave, Glad Tidings (Van the Man).

48 Holes...and Some Golf, Too

There sure are a shit-ton of strip clubs in Myrtle Beach.

If suited for that sort of thing, a man can piss away a small fortune down there. I know 'cuz I seen it. Or you can give your money to charity like Warren Buffett, but that's certainly no fun. And you get no sweaty vag-stank on your clothes that way.

Quote of the Bachelor Party Weekend: "Someone does your laundry, you have somone spending a little bit more of your money, and you get a tax deduction...It's really not so bad at all." --One of my married friends, off the cuff, explaining why the bachelor shouldn't be worried

Going Dark 'Til Monday, I Says.

I've invested two weeks in the World Cup. I've watched just about every minute of every match. So what time does my long-booked flight take off tomorrow morning? That's right, 9:55 am, the same time as the USA/Ghana start. Awesome.

The good news is I'm headed to Myrtle Beach for a close friend's bachelor party. Beach, golf and strumpets. In my absence, I encourage you to catch up on old posts you've been skipping or visit the supremely clever folks that write these things >>>>>.

Either way, I don't give a damn, what you think you are entitled to.

Nuclear Headiness

Eric Clapton, you've got a famous fan: "North Korean leader Kim Jong-Il's son and heir apparent, Kim Jong-Chol, toured Germany earlier this month to see concerts by rock star Eric Clapton."

I don't blame the kid. With wunderkind Derek Trucks in tow, I'd much prefer to tour Germany for a few shows than hang out with a bunch of no-good, uranium-enriching dog-eaters any day. But here's the best part of the article, buried in the second sentence of the eight graf:

"Jong-Chol reportedly suffers from a rare illness that results in his body producing excessive amounts of female hormones."

I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be able to take his eventual reign seriously. It's called a dictator, buddy, not a boobstator.

Used to Be the Owner of the World

Three and a half years ago, hundreds of anxious fans stuck on the outside of a sold-out reunion show offered anywhere from $500 to more than $1,000 to see this man perform on this stage. O, how ye once mighty, and all of that...

Nobody owned the MSG stage like Trey Anastasio for the better part of a decade. Seriously. If you've never seen a Phish show there, you probably just rolled your eyes at my bold statement. But that eyeroll is wrong, and you're a douche. That stage is Big Red's stage.

But from 12/31/02 to 6/20/06, my how things have changed. Phish is back on hiatus, or they're "done" (riiiight), and Trey has been whoring himself out to a number of different projects, spreading himself thinner than weak, soupy jam on an English muffin.

NYE 2002 was one of the most highly anticipated shows in music history for hundreds of thousands of people, but last night there weren't any more than 3,000-5,000 folks in attendance for Trey's set. Many of those people simply arrived too early for Tom Petty's headlining show, and most of those folks couldn't care less what this redheaded noodler was doing up there.

I'm a fanboy fluffer much of the time, so I loved it. I can't honestly imagine why he'd play in a four-piece band (minus the back-up chicas) with this ragtag group of musicians, but this is apparently what he wanted. And if you'd rather play for an hour to 1,500 adoring acolytes at the World's Most Famous Arena before The Great Tom Petty Singalong, so be it. I'll be there to happily lap up the Drifting, Money Love & Change, Push on 'Til the Day and First Tube. You complete me.

The Redheaded Fuckface opened last night for Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, a band that knows exactly how to end every song like its the final tune of the night (99.44 percent of all reviews will obviously begin with Tom's show, but I openly admit I paid $85 mainly to see the opening act and the subsequent nostalgia fest).

Here's my question: Do people consider Petty to be a great American singer/songwriter because they believe that or because they think he talks like Bob Dylan and looks like Joni Mitchell? Me, I think the latter.

But Petty puts on a good show, a fun show, and he really knows how to get the crowd involved. He sang all his greatest hits (as did the crowd, loudly), mixed in some cool covers, and I've honestly never been to a show featuring so many band-organized clap-alongs.

Former Fleetwood Mac hussy Stevie Nicks came out to a huge ovation and sang her famous duet with Petty, Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, a definite highlight for my vaginal side. Others for me included Don't Come Around Here No More (see video below), Runnin' Down a Dream and the acoustic-infused Learning to Fly.

But the real highlight of the night came when the woman behind us tapped my companion on the shoulder as he sparked up a one-y and said, "Excuse me, can you not do that? I'm ALLERGIC to it." I was *this* close to asking her if she was allergic to my cock slapping her across the forehead, but I'm too nice a guy. Allergic to pot...just be honest, lady. I'm allergic to your ruse, ma'am.

All told, a fun little evening at Madison Square: a little overpriced, a little sad to see Trey ignored, a little too kitschy, a little too campfire-y. But definitely a fun little evening.

Slack External Link of the Day: 249 Blowjobs in 14 Hours? Floris, get Guinness on the phone. This is, contrary to its title, safe for work.

Slack Internal Link of the Day: I Heart 6/21, what a great day.

Slack Song and Videos of the Day: From last night's Trey set, here's the last 1:40 of Dragonfly that I recorded and a clip from the First Tube closer that Handstand the Elder shot and uploaded to YouTube. Handstand alsp captured the last minute or so of Don't Come Around Here No More, which was probably my personal Petty highlight.

Bohemian Hall Beer Garden & You

Yom Kippur only comes 'round once a year. But the World Cup, that's even rarer. So for this once-every-four-years occurrence, we decided to pull out all the stops. And pull 'em out we did. Hell, we not only pulled out [those stops], we came all over Saturday's face.

If I were to tell the story Memento-style, the recap would no doubt begin with these numbers: Nearly 11 hours inside, at least 15 pitchers drank, three World Cup games watched, four enormous sausage platters devoured, two large sections of hooaagie (Philly spelling) eaten, two rock hard bagels picked at, three packs of smokes and a bunch of one-ys inhaled. That doesn't include the horsey-strong Bloody Marys, the plates of nachos or the somehow requisite shrimp tacos we grabbed at Daddy-O in the West Village on the way home.

Obviously your faithful narrator passed out on the couch at 8:30 on a Saturday night. Small price to pay for a Day For the Ages.

Donnie, Nickjimmy, Hoobs (seen here in the center issuing first-class tickets to the Guns Show) and I decided it'd be best to arrive at this New York-renowned Czech beer garden early, as to secure viable seats and watch all three games uninterrupted. Little did we expect the bar to be closed and only two other patrons awaiting entry. As you can see below, we wastedly watched about 500 people trickle in throughout the day like urine from a prostate cancer sufferer.

Most of the late-arriving Czechs showed up to their home turf just before the Ghana-Czechs match started (noon), well behind a solid crew of anxious Americans. Many of these Czechs toted airhorns, and having been drinking heady European beer for three hours already, the initial blasts were equally startling and uplifting -- a very similar experience to situating your junk in front of the jacuzzi stream.

After a relatively uneventful Portugal win over Persia, an underdog Ghana squadron took a 1-0 lead over the Czechs just a minute into the match. Our pro-American section sprung to its feet and cheered from instinct. Most of us didn't care if we were rooting against the supposed home team and clearly outnumbered, but I had a brief visualization of them shutting the doors and the leader in the Rosicky jersey saying "Now youse can't leave."

The man pictured here on the right is Ghana Guy, the bonafide hero of the day. This nice man woke up in the morning, put on a soccer jersey, came to the beer garden and walked out a legend. Americans mobbed him after Ghana's 2-0 victory over the Czechs, helping the U.S. team control its own fate towards the second round. All for putting on the right shirt, Ghana Guy received numerous standing ovations, posed for pictures and even signed a few autographs. It's entirely possible the last time he received so much attention from white Americans involved relief workers and red crosses.

Maybe it was all the beer and Euro-type atmosphere, but the food in that place was awesome. I mean, I probably would have eaten a big pile of platypus dung had our waitress brought a plate over, but the enormous sausages with piles of kraut certainly did the trick.

We were lucky to snag the waitress, though, as the food line took forever. Our new Czech friend Milan's Columbian wife went to get some food in between the second and third games and she didn't come back for over an hour. Hoobs, perhaps crossing the line -- perhaps -- suspected that someone might be sexually assaulting her in the bathroom. We couldn't know for sure. Maybe it was Ghana Guy.

Bart Starbux substituted himself into the bar just before U.S. game time, providing us with a fresh set of legs for the game. Immediately he paid dividends, bringing over four pitchers and ransacking the sausage we couldn't finish. He also offered some perspective on the day, leading to this exchange:

Bux: You guys have been here drinkin' col' beers all day...this is the type of waitress that must be looking progressively better and better to you as the day goes on.

Ace: She's hot.

And despite two bullshit cards, despite losing a goal to an offsides penalty, despite being overmatched by one of the best teams in the world, the United States held its own and tied Italy, giving ourselves a good chance at moving on to the second round. It was truly incredible to watch it all unfold with scores of U.S. soccer fans in true European fashion. How very Junefest of us.

Random pic: I call this hazardly drunken shot, "Czech Out Those Jugs"

To help you feel like your life is as cool as mine, I took two short videos of the scene at Bohemian Hill: First, Ghana misses a penalty shot to the dismay of the American section of the bar; second, I surveyed the scene panoramically and came up with this video.

I'll sum this up with one picture rather than more of my foolish words. When your table looks like this at the end of the day...

...you know you've just banged Saturday in the arse. All bets, off.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Death

I haven't heard of a single reported drug overdose at Bonnaroo this past weekend, which is probably the first year in five the festival posted a clean sheet in that regard.

Two people died in auto-related accidents, however, one falling off the back of a pick-up truck and another hit by Ricky Skaggs' tour bus. Yes, a 21-year-old festival-goer jumped in front of the bluegrass musician's bus on I-24 and unfortunately died (although if this act was a suicide, it might not be that unfortunate).

It's a sad story, always difficult when dealing with the deaths of young people, but at least this awful scenario gave birth to this ridiculous quote that somehow made it into the AP story:

Carrie Anne, a 25-year-old Skaggs fan from Portland, Maine, said she was disappointed to hear of the death, but felt "there are worse ways to go than to be hit by Ricky Skaggs' tour bus."

Worse ways? Like being hit by Dave Matthews' tour bus? At least that'd be the first time DMB managed to floor anyone.

Slack Video of the Day: The Lovely Rachel sent this over to me, a clip of a drunk girl spouting off about her boss at an office party with damning results. Clever girl.

Slack Song of the Day: We're off to see Trey and Tom Petty tonight at the World's Most Famous Arena, so here's a little Big Red to start the day: Drifting, Push on 'Til the Day and Mozambique.

It's Easy If You Try, Dick

Another off-the-charts incredible weekend in the books...

The last three days featured a little bit of everything, from the Wordplay movie premiere to all-day drunken debauchery in Astoria to Father's Day shennanigans to Bonnaroo webcasts to Lefty's choke to The NBA/NHL Finals to some classic Sunday HBO shows and much more. But before we get to Saturday's foolishness, check out this sweet video clip of Georgie Boosh singing Imagine.

Preview of Things to Come: I snapped many a pho-to watching fútbol up at the Bohemian Hall Beer Garden on Saturday, but this one is surely worthy of a Pulitzer. I call it, "Michael McDonald's Manboobs":

Ain't no Manzier high, ain't no Bro too low...

Oooh Snap, Girlfriend

Oh no you di'int. Uh uh, no, they di'int.

Damn, that's funny. Viacom, making fun of its own. Classy.

Great Tacos Today, Jake

Here's an excellent way to tell if our senses of humor match up properly. If you don't find this funny, I'd urge you to stop reading this blog forever. If you find it a little humorous, stay a while. If you think this is amazingly hilarious, let's be best friends.



And if you find yourself in one of the second two categories, check out these other fine YouTube clips from the greatest sketch comedy show in history, The State: Louie at the Last Supper, Prison Break (Yom Kippur only comes once a year, boys), Monkey Torture, Raised in a Barn, Cruise Commercial Spoof, International Signs, Just the 160,000 of Us, The Bearden Men of Space Station 11, and Captain Monterrey Jack. High fucking comedy, folks.

Hey, anyone know where I can find a copy of Porcupine Racetrack? Doctor Hoobs has kindly provided us with the mp3 of the sketch, but that's just not good enough. (Thanks, though.)

The Oooh-Yeah Show

I accompanied a walking joke set-up (a blonde, a brunette and a redhead) to Irving Plaza last night to see Maceo Parker for the first time in more than five years. My lovely sister-in-law, the awesome mother of my awesome nephew, asked me if I wanted to come along, and of course the answer was "Good God, yes. Shucks."

Maceo's one of the cooler cats on Earth, a former James Brown and Parliament saxophonist that only brings around folks that can blow. His band is always sharp, no matter who's playing with him, and there's really no such thing as a bad show. He's also nuttier than squirrel turds, a man who's dressed to the nines but acts like his brain's been fried by acid and a touch of peyote, so his antics up on stage are always fun to watch.

The first time I saw Maceo I was still 18, at Tufts University's 1998 Spring Fling visiting some friends. He opened for LL Cool J and just tore the house down. Two weeks later he came to Chicago for a Northwestern-only concert at the Riv, and we all stood along the front rail cheering our balls and tits off. Donnie Fiedler even unintentionally smacked a beach ball or heavy balloon into trombonist Fred Wesley's face. Ahhh, youth. Fred loved it.

Eight years later, Maceo and I are both still going strong, and he's up to the same ol' tricks. The show is a little different these days (my first three Maceo shows were virtually identical), but the songs have mostly remained the same. Now, though, the greatest hits -- Shake Everything You Got, Pass the Peas, Got to Get U, Rabbits in a Pea Patch -- come towards the end instead of up front.

But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Maceo still has his British manager come out and do the intros one by one, he still has his son Corey come out for some kill-the-show rapping, he still does the "We say 'Oooh Yeah'" bit, he's still dropping "Good God" and "Shucks" more than anyone but James Brown, and he still calls a back-up singer out to the front -- only instead of Sweet Charles, it's the lovely Miss Martha (see above pic).

I wonder how cool it'd be to watch Maceo interact off the stage, say with his wife: "Check it out, check it out, we need a dozen eggs and a carton-a milk, honey. Good god. Shucks. Say what, say what? Baby, Corey got his report card today...Ooooh yeah, he got all A-s, good god. Ooooh yeah, can you pass the remote? Make it funky!"

Can I get the horns ag'in? You can do anything you want, Maceo. Another great show in the books...much obliged, sir. Welcome back.

Slack Videos of the Day: Here's a 90-second clip of Maceo and his squad goin' to town, and here's Maceo talking jibberish about Vill-i-am Shakespeare's "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy.

George Bush Hates Blind People

This reads a lot worse than it sounds, and it's really a non-issue. But this kind of thing is exactly why Al Gore invented the Internets, and as such should be spread around virally like any good STD.

Think Progress and Wonkette have tag-teamed this non-story into bleeding submission, a la former WWF champs Demolition. But it's just too damn funny not to post here.

Earlier today President Bush held a little post-Iraq trip press conference, and maybe his jet lag got the best of him. He played fast and loose with the Socratic wonder that is the White House Press Corps until this exchange with LA Times reporter Peter Wallsten:

Bush: Yes, Peter. Are you going to ask that question with shades on?
Wallsten: I can take them off.
Bush: I’m interested in the shade look, seriously.
Wallsten: All right, I’ll keep it, then.
Bush: For the viewers, there’s no sun. (Laughter.)
Wallsten: I guess it depends on your perspective. (Laughter.)
Bush: Touche. (Laughter.)

Here's the video footage of their non-fluid exchange...

So why is this sponge-worthy? Well, according to Wallsten, he's legally blind. Think Progress says, "Wallsten tells us he has a rare genetic disorder called Stargardt’s Disease. The disease is a form of macular degeneration that can be slowed 'by wearing UV-protective sunglasses and avoiding exposure to bright light.'"

Here's why the story's not so bad: "Wallsten said Bush’s comments did not offend him at all. 'I never advertise it to him. I’ve never told him.'" But fuck it, who cares about the truth when you've got comedy gold here? First it was the blacks, now it's the blinds -- Stevie Wonder must really hate this asshole.

Screech, Saget & moe.

I learned two things about Screech Powers today (and no, it's NOT that he's brothers with Mike D of the Beastie Boys).

First, he's about to lose his house in Wisconsin and he's trying to raise money to help fight his inevitable eviction. But the bigger story (pun intended?) out of this camp, as confirmed on the Howard Stern show yesterday, Screech's got a 10-inch cock. Dongfirmed.

"Why don't I make sure of something...this is a giant cock." Good luck, Screech.

You're an idiot who probably deserves this fate, but good luck, sir. And if you have to, just sell your mother's Elvis statue.

Slack Link of the Day: 12 years ago tonight, the New York Rangers won Lord Stanley's Cup for the first time in 54 years. That was a memorable evening, to say the least.

Slack Video of the Day: From the desk of Kenny Alias comes this clip. I'm undecided on whether or not I think it's truly funny or just comedic because everything else out there sucks so terribly. I'm leaning heavily towards the latter.

And really, how easy is it to throw Bob Saget into something these days and slap "Comedy" on it? Apparently, very. Saget is the new black, and here's Jamie Kennedy's "Rollin' with Saget" video.

Slack Song of the Day: Is there a better venue on the planet than Central Park's Summer Stage? I'm not entirely sure there is. Great outdoor acoustics, surrounded by trees and rich greenery, a deadly calm in the center of mayhem, and when the show lets out you're thrown right back into the chaos of it all. Summer Stage is a must for everyone.

moe. played last night from 6:30 to the 10 PM curfew, attracting all kinds of middle- and high-school kids to the Park for a kickass show. I'm not certain Umphrey's McGee and moe. managements are actively collaborating with male and female pedophiles across the country, but it's a legit possibility.

Three unrelated highlights: 1) moe.'s decision to play God Street Wine's Into the Sea during setbreak, one of my favorite tunes ever. 2) moe's surprise announcement it'll be playing New Year's Eve at Radio City Music Hall. 3) The two orthodox Jewish high-schoolers behind us rolling and smoking a jay -- they were wearing "street clothes" but still had the yarmulkes and tzitzit and everything. I nearly turned around and asked 'em if they rolled one for Elijah.

The show itself was nasty, far exceeding my expectations (moe. does that every time), and if you want to hear it's already available for download. But here are the highlights from last night, taken from earlier shows: Moth, Don't Fuck With Flo and Timmy Tucker. There was also a Paranoid Android cover in honor of Radiohead's show 35 blocks away, but we'll leave well enough alone. Enjoy.

Quote of the Day

I love the 24-hour news-and-Internets culture. Now when nonsensical shit starts to steamroll out of control, interested parties usually find that a clarifying comment is necessary, but often the clarifier comes out too ridiculous to take seriously. Case in point, the rumors that the new Superman is a homosexter warranted this response:

Superman "is probably the most heterosexual character in any movie I've ever made," said Bryan Singer, director of Superman Returns, a new movie about the crime-fighting superhero that opens June 28. "I don't think he's ever been gay."

Singer added, "Except for once at superhero summer camp and that one time the old Italian tailor fingered his bum fitting him for tights." I also think it has something to do with Singer's choice of Jake Gyllenhaal to play Lois Lane. Poor casting, dude, just poor casting.

Regardless, my vote for Singer's most heterocharacter is Fenster.

Notes d' Rando

Five random thoughts while the Italy/Ghana game gets underway:

--Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger suffered a serious head injury that required surgery after a motorcycle accident in Pittsburgh today. The AP managed to slip this sentence into the seventh graf of its article on the accident: "Steelers backup quarterback Charlie Batch was at the emergency room. He had no comment."

Mayhaps he had no official comment for the writer, but I bet Batch was thinking "I wonder if they can trace that car's registration back to my Uncle Freddy." And if indeed Batch was the driver, I say kudos bar to him for finally hitting a target in stride.

I thought it weird the AP chose this picture for its article. I think most people forget that Big Ben, a Heisman candidate, drove the ESU Timberwolves to the championship in 1993 while riding a cool bike.

--Speaking of the Associated Press, I saw these two AP headlines last week and thought someone needed to juxtapose them: "Bush Says Immigrants Must Learn English" and "Bush Says Deportation 'Ain't Gonna Work'." As a famous skit by The State once advised us about wearing pants, the president should take some of his own advice.

--Al Qaeda in Iraq has named a successor to lead shithead Abu Musab Al Zarqawi. A signed statement posted on a terrorist website today said "The shura council of al Qaeda in Iraq unanimously agreed on Sheikh Abu Hamza al-Muhajir..."

Do you think Rumsfeld and Bush are more upset that the head has re-generated on the Iraq Qaeda body or that the new leader's name is another one they can't possibly pronounce correctly? "Abu, er, Abu Hamzu, ah fuck it, man, can't we just go back to fightin' some white people? The Czechs just whipped us good, let's carpet-bomb the shit outta Prague. Get 'r done."

--Welcome to fuckin' Deadwood. Season Three, the last full slate of episodes before a four-hour finale of sorts. I've got nothing of import to add here, but this was easily the highlight of my weekend.

NHL and NBA Finals, six World Cup matches, the return of Entourage and a good rooftop party, but nothing holds a candle to Al Swearengen staring at me in my living room again. If you're not watching this show, you're wrong. So very wrong. So if you missed last night's season premiere, hit up On Demand and get involved. Cocksucker.

--From the Get To Know Your Blogger File: I'm a scatter-brained moron most of the time. My mouth often can't catch up with my thoughts, and it's not rare that I'll blurt out something I'm clearly not thinking. The latest example of this came Saturday, when discussing The Sopranos finale I said "Johnny Sack had a hurricane" instead of "Phil Leotardo had a heart attack." Johnny Sack had a hurricane? I think it's time to lay off the pipe.

Slack Video of the Day: I was reminded this afternoon about my level of displeasure with that d-bottle Jim Rome. As such, let's watch the clip of that time Jim Everett tossed Rome's table to the side and knocked him to the ground for calling him "Chris." Hooray, Jim.

Slack Song of the Day: Radiohead from Chronto, Ontario: Go get 'em.

Copa Mundial: Open Thread

We're three hours away from the United States/Czech Republic match, the Nipponese and the Fighting Paul Hogans do battle as we speak and a gorgeous weekend of soccer is now behind us.

How will USA Soccer fare in its first test? What was missing from England's underwhelming 1-0 win against Paraguay, and like Kush, does Rooney solve all? Can Arjen Robben continue his torrid pace and get Ruud involved up front? Did Mexico's manager make some genius moves or did he just get lucky? Where are all the awesome Ghana-rhea jokes? Does Aussie Harry Kewell look like the Third Rock kid?

Weigh in below (warning: Comments contain spoilers). We'll have a non-Cup post for the anti-soccer Simpsons-like infidels up shortly...

Midget Kickboxing

For the anti-soccer contigent, this sport is for you...

Soccer? Have Some.

I'll be a good guy and warn you of something: What follows is 1,500 words about soccer, the other football. But I never ask you for shit, so I implore you to read this...with an open mind. I like to call it, "Why You Should Watch the World Cup, Even If You Don't Have Feet."

Beginning at noon, the next month will feature some of the best athletes in the world putting on a fine exposition worthy of its moniker as The Beautiful Game. I don't want to cheese it up and use a kitschy phrase like "poetry in motion," but you have only the next two fortnights to bear witness to some of the finest playmaking in all of sport. Then, like Al Gore or Scott Hamilton, you won't see this action again for four years.

So without much introduction or fanfare, here are the eight reasons (representing the eight World Cup groups) why everyone would be wise to pay close attention to an unbelievable tournament:

USA Has the Fifth-Ranked Team in the World
So say the FIFA world rankings, which are highly questionable. Cynics would have you believe this ranking has more to do with selling soccer to the largest consumer market on the planet. Others...well, they mostly agree with that assessment.

Optimists predict the United States will survive our horrific, unlucky placement in the "Group of Death" with Italy, Czech Republic and Ghana and advance to play Brazil in the Round of 16, where we'll either be demolished by a near-perfect team or score the biggest upset in non-Nazi soccer history. Pessimists believe we'll be held scoreless through the group stage and subsequently trash the lockerroom in disappointed rage.

I say we'll end up somewhere in between, valiantly defying the odds against some of the best teams in the world and barely miss out on the next round. I think Bobby Convey (no relation to game show host Burt) and Brian McBride will put a couple home, and Claudio Reyna will heal quickly from his recent injury to provide the necessary spark. We should temper all expectations, but hey, if Kasey Keller's hot, there's always a chance. So you're telling me there's a chaaaance.

And unlike USA Hoops, you can actually root for this team. We're not the Ugly Americans, we're the Underdog Americans.

Ronaldinho = Sickness
Brazil's the likely favorite to win its second straight World Cup and third in four tournaments. In laymen's terms, they're strong to quite strong.

They also feature the most inventive and agile player in the sport today, a buck-toothed Tiger Woods-ish character with stringy hair and the craziest moves ever. He was pretty well neutralized in the Champions League final versus Arsenal, so who knows if he'll excel on the world's biggest stage (almost literally) this time around. But he still puts on an incredible show every time he touches the ball. There's nothing more I can say, so watch these YouTube videos of his greatness. Sickening. Sweet Moves, Also Sweet Moves, Incredible Goal Against Chelsea (watch the replays on this, just a mind-blowing goal).

Peter Crouch Is Really, Really Tall...and Pretty Good
England gasped when Manchester United striker Wayne Rooney went down with a bad foot injury in the late meaningless minutes of a 3-0 loss to league-champion Chelsea. Michael Owen was already hurt, and the team's other starting forward had just been carted off in agony.

That injury was Peter Crouch's lucky day. Standing 6'7 and weighing 126 pounds, Liverpool's halogen lamp of a striker is enormously funny and fairly mesmerizing to watch. But get this: He's pretty damn good. He can outjump defenders for headers inside the box and he's got a knack for the net. I'd go so far as to say he may be the guy at the end of the tournament people are talking about in a most valuable kind of way. Mark those palabras.

Whether he starts over Rooney for the short term or remains the starter if he can't go hard, one thing is for sure: The announcers will openly refer to him as a "beanpole" the entire game. Maybe these won't, but the Brits do all the time and it couldn't be funnier. Picture a British guy saying "Look't 'at beanpole put a 'ead on it" right now. Now picture a lanky 6'7 beanpole doing the Robot to James Brown tunes.

Who Needs Formalized Diplomatic Relations To Play Soccer?
The Group Stage provides a wide array of match-ups between countries that really have nothing to do with each other: Iran and Mexico (well, Iran and anybody), Ghana and Czech Republic, Poland and Ecuador, Sweden and Trinidad and Tobago, Brazil and Croatia, Saudi Arabia and Ukraine, and Togo and South Korea. Incidentally, does asking "What the hell is Togo" make me racist? And is it possible someone from Iran or Mexico will throw a Barkley-esque elbow into the chest of a poor Angolan?

The Captain, Steven Gerrard
If all goes according to plan for England, Gerrard will have the tournament he's capable of having as arguably the best midfielder in the world. I still think after his great club season that Joe Cole will surprise some folks and be the top lymie out there, but there's nobody I'd rather have creating plays and rifling shots from 35 yards out.

Sven-Goran Eriksson doesn't quite know how to use Gerrard and Frank Lampard together on the same field, but here's to hoping my favorite player lives up to his big-time potential.

Like Ronaldinho, pictures are worth more than my words. So here are a couple of must-watch YouTube videos: First, check out Gerrard's unreal goal to tie up the FA Cup finals against West Ham (replays are clearer than first shot, such a ridiculous goal). Secondly, here's a compilation of Stevie's top ten career goals -- #2 against Portsmouth is especially craisins.

Players on the Same Club Teams Facing Off
One of the coolest parts about watching club games from England's Premiership and the UEFA Champions League is observing players from all around the world play together as a unit, different styles of play meshing. In this tournament, they'll face off against each other with club loyalties on hold. It's like watching Mariano brush back Jeter in the World Baseball Classic or Richter stoning Messier point-blank in the Olympics, only eight-million times better. This year's tourney features some great intra-club match-ups on which to keep your eye:

In Group B, Arsenal's Freddy Ljungberg of Sweden takes on English defenders Sol Campbell and Ashley Cole. Group C is a clusterfuck of Premiership action: Chelsea's Didier Drogba of Ivory Coast, Hernan Crespo of Argentina and Arjen Robben of Netherlands all play each other in every possible permutation (or is it computation?). Arsenal's Kolo Toure and Emmanuel Eboue of Ivory Coast square off against Robin van Persie of Netherlands.

And Manchester United's Ruud van Nistelrooy and Edwin van der Sar of Netherlands go up against Nemanja Vidic of Serbia and Montenegro. (Interestingly enough, Montenegro split from Serbia earlier this month -- not for soccer, I mean they declared fucking independence -- so this will be the last year of combined teams. All future World Cup competitions will have a separate Montenegrin squad. Awesome).

Group E features Chelsea goaltender Petr Cech of Czech Republic taking on Michael Essien of Ghana, and Juventus' (Italy) Pavel Nedved of Czech Republic plays five greasy Vespa drivers named Gianlugi Buffon, Fabio Cannavaro, Alessandro del Piero, Gianluca Zambrotta and Mauro Camoranesi, all obviously from of Ghana Italy. In Group F, Arsenal's Thierry Henry of France, Phillippe Senderos of Switzerland and Emmanuel Adebayor of Togo play the Group B Chelsea Love Triangle, and Man U's Mikael Silvestre and Louis Saha of France karate it up against Park Ji-Sung from unsuspecting S. Korea.

Brazilian Names
You're not cool unless you have one name. Unless your name is Roberto Carlos. He's cool, too. And he scored this goal, one of the greatest free kicks you'll ever see. The rest of the cool cats, though, they've got cool one-name names. Ronaldinho, Ronaldo, Ricardinho, Dida, Cher, Menudo and everybody's favorite, Kaká. Um, dude, I don't care if you've got the accent mark or not, your name means "poop." I don't care if you're an awesome soccer player worthy of my respect, your cool one-name name is synonymous with "doody." Poor form.

Just Flat-Out Amazingly Athletic Goals
Ever since my Soccer Renaissance I've gained an age-old newfound respect for the athleticism of the players. Ninety-plus minutes up and down the field with barely a break, constant runs up and down the wing, and some of the greatest one-on-one deke moves and long-range scores in any sport. To refresh your memory of what happened the last time around, here are to YouTube videos showing some of the best goals from the 2002 World Cup: Vid #1 and Vid #2.

Now that we're done with our own little group stage, here are my predictions for the Cup (which is usually a tip for youse to bet big the other way):

Group Stage: Group A: Germany, Poland; Group B: England, Sweden; Group C: Netherlands, Argentina; Group D: Mexico, Portugal; Group E: Italy, Czechs; Group F: Brazil, Japan; Group G: France, S. Korea; Group H: Espana, Ukraine

Round of 16: Sweden over host Germany, Netherlands over Portugal, England over Poland, Argentina over Mexico, Japan over Italy, France over Ukraine, Brazil over Czechs, Korea over Spain

Quarterfinals: Netherlands over Sweden, France over Japan, England over Argentina, Brazil over the Koreans

Semis: Netherlands over France, England over Brazil

Finals: England wins its first championship in 40 years over the Netherlands on a late header off a set piece by John Terry.

There you have it. Thanks for sticking with me. Now get to a television and cancel all your plans for the next two weeks.

Soccer aficianado and Slack co-founder Donald W. Fiedler contributed greatly to this report. All praise be to him. And God.

Coulter Caption Contest

I don't like talking about Ann Coulter. Stick Bitch is nothing more than a colossal waste of our valuable time. I don't buy her act and really couldn't care less about the embellished and unnatural vitriol she spews on a seemingly weekly basis.

She's just trying to sell books and attract attention, and she's been wildly successful in doing so. Talk about laughing devilishly all the way to the bank. Coulter's got a new book coming out, and not surprisingly, she's landed on the talk and cable show circuit after some media outlets excerpted the more ridiculous passages.

She even guested on the Today show to defend her comments about four vocal 9/11 widows, declaring "I've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much." She also suggested that we can't be sure the men weren't thinking about divorcing these women before their untimely deaths. Nice touch, Gigantor.

It doesn't rile me up because I just don't believe her act. For her, donning this uber-conservative persona is like putting on make-up in the morning. I'm sure she's a hardcore Republican (and somewhat heartless and gutless), but there's no way she could possibly lay down at night believing half the shit that rushes from her gang-fuckable mouth. So I laugh it off and wish for others to help her go away by depriving her of the attention she so actively seeks.

But when I saw the photo below (courtesy of AnnCoulterDoc.com), I had to post it up here for a caption contest. What I don't quite get is how this brazen Republican, who talks about Liberalism like it's Communism, could possibly enjoy going to Grateful Dead shows back in the day. Patchouli-stank hippies everywhere, steaming piles of grilled cheese and veggie burritos, spun-out wookies trying to coax her into free love behind the port-o-potties. If she could stand that barrage for 30 shows or however many she saw, there's just no way she could possibly hate liberals as much as she says.

So, without any further (Freddy) ado, give us your best:

Here are my two suggestions: "Tell this fucking liberal dyke to my right that as soon as this show lets out I'm gonna smash her head into a big pile of gonorrhea. Oh, is that a dude? Fuckin' shorthairs."

Or: "That new keyboardist looks like he's on heroin. That kind of societal drag should just go home and commit suicide."

Okay one more: "That's a huuuge bitch!"

Not terribly funny. Slow day in the humor department. Whatchu got?

Slack Video of the Day: Many of you will remember Tiger Woods' incredible shot on the 16th Hole of the 2005 Masters, the chip that hung on the edge of the cup for seconds before ventually dropping inside. That was pretty silly. But not nearly as silly as this Fuzzy Zoeller shot. Fried chicken and collard greens for everyone!

Slack Song of the Day: This one's for Miss Coulter: U.S. Blues.

Also from 11/9/79 up in Buffalo, here's Promised Land, Dancin' in the Streets, They Love Each Other and Althea.

Melky & Manny

Melky Cabrera, welcome to New York. Officially.

Sitting up in the loge down the third-base line, we had one of the best views in the Stadium of the rookie outfielder's amazing run-saving catch off the bat of Manny Ramirez. Cabrera may be Dominican, but he scaled that wall with the agility and grace of a starving Mexican in search of an agri-job.

Melky made tens of thousands of new friends last night, fans who bathed him in thunderous applause and chanted his name like they do for a certain pinstriped shortstop. It's funny, Melky grounded meekly into a double play in the first and has been struggling at the plate of late, but all it takes is a hustle play (especially one that makes Manny look foolish) and you're everyone's favorite.

Melky, Andy Phillips, Cano, Wanger, throw them in with the regulars and you've got a team that's fun to root for again. I'm quickly falling back in love with this newish Yankees squad. Sure I miss Sheff and Matsui, but all of a sudden the Bronx Nine became faster, they got hungrier, they move from first to third without hesitation, they manufacture more runs. Basically, we're a lot more like the dynastic Yankee teams of the mid- to late '90s.

All the Bronx faithful are feeling it. I think we all know we need Randy to pitch like Randy and Chacon to come back healthy and junk it up again, but for right now the buzz is truly palpable. We're watching the Kids become Yanks and we're lovin' it like McDonalds.

Just watch this video I shot last night -- I started out trying to capture Mo's Enter Sandman (for the second time this year), but when Melky comes out for the Top of the 9th he's treated to a Yankee tongue-bath, and he gives a little "Vassssup" to the crowd. Check it out, it'll make you jealous I didn't invite you to come with us.

The Stadium was truly electric last night, an October atmosphere if there ever was one. And it's all thanks to Melkowitz.

More importantly, I finally figured out who Manny reminds me of. He looks like one of those misguided 10-19-year-old girls that heads down to the Caribbean and inexplicably gets their hair braided by some local on the beach for 26 American dollars. The difference between Manny and Natalee Holloway is smaller than you think. One day, maybe they'll suffer the same fate. That's terrible. I apologize to the Holloways.

Best fan shirt at the Stadium: A guy walked past us in the subway station with a shirt that read, "Manny likes Big Papi's Little Pee-Pee." Yeah, he got some high fives.

Admittedly funniest anti-Yanks shirt: "Jeter Drinks Wine Coolers." No high fives for him, but still pretty creative.

Slack Video of the Day: Following on the heels of the live-action Punch Out and the live-action Super Mario Brothers, these Dutch kids bring you the real-life Mortal Kombat. Finish him!

Slack Song of the Day: Since it's raining like a bastard this morning, let's allow ourselves a moment to imagine greater weather. Here's some Morning Sun from TLG's Fillmore show back in April. Rock 'n Roll. And a little bonus...Jezebel and The Devil's Pay.

RIP Billy Preston

To the man many refer to as the real fifth Beatle, may you go 'round in circles, and may you fly high like a bird up in the sky.

Sadly, you may now return to nothing (from nothing). First up this week was keyboardist Vince Welnick, then keyboardist Billy Preston. I wonder which tickler's next on death's Bad Things Come in Threes list. Gregg Allman, you're on high fucking alert right now. Code Red.

Bonus Video: Here's a little video of the now-deceased Bill S. Preston, Esquire singing Get Back from the Sgt. Pepper movie. The audio doesn't quite sync up with the video, but considering Billy dances and flies and grins all wide, it's well worth your time.

Dear ESPN,

Thanks for jinxing my no-hitter, homes. Really great, mang.

Watch yo' back, ese,
'Los

P.S. Do your graphics guys and producers not watch enough sports? How many games do you have to see to know that by posting this banner with one out in the eighth the very next guy will ground a weak single through the hole on the right side? It already says "BONUS COVERAGE" prominently on the screen, there's just no need to state the obvious. And if you're going to ruin my hard-fought no-hitter with a stupid fucking banner, at least let it be grammatically correct: "Carlos Zambrano current no hitter" is wrong and ridiculous.

Slack Link of the Day: Coach dug up the following link, and the bookish nerd side of me finds it extremely fascinating. Someone created a list of 150 expressions and cliches that Shakespeare coined in his works that have become a part of our everyday lexicon. Well, some of these aren't quite everyday words and phrases, but I'm definitely gonna start using "Unsex me here" more often.

Slack Link of the Day II: On this day, 06/06/06, when the apocalypse can't be far behind, the 30-year mortgage rate stands at 6.66%.

Slack Song of the Day: Some Dude over at Hits from the Blog sent this over to me yesterday, which I've packaged as a YSI file for your perusal. Eddie Vedder sat in with My Morning Jacket on Saturday at Continental Airlines Arena in NJ for a rousing rendition of The Band's It Makes No Difference. Turn it up, sounds terrific.

Blowger

Blogger's having some technical difficulties today...bear with us.

Only the Strong: Paranue

We witnessed a little bit of Brasil in NYC this weekend...Leena and I strolled around the city walking LG's Dachshund yesterday (a long-haired Dachshund, leading me to make several unfunny "Get a job, ya hippiedog" jokes), ultimately wandering into my usual weekend stomping grounds, Washington Square Park.

That's where we stumbled into some Capoeira. Yes sir, I'll like my Brasilian martial art of fight-dancing best served in a concrete park and in white pants. I don't know why, but I think it's pretty funny that this is a hobby for people the way basketball or doing the crossword is. "Hey, honey, I'll be back later, I'm just gonna put on my white outfit and pretend to dance and fight in the park for a little while..."

I mean, some of these people saw The Break-Up the night before, some went to ragin' clubs and some banged three chicks at once (probably because they're super-flexible). Some stayed home to read a book, some rented the first two X-Men and some watched re-runs of 227, scoffing at Jackee's horrible attitude. And yet all of them came out and fight-danced the next day, the same way they'd wake up in anticipation of playing tennis or riding their bike around the city. Just another hobby, only this one involves fight-dancing.

Crappy pics: I hadn't planned on passing through the park and I left my trusty new digi-cam at home. So for one post only, please welcome the return of my trusty ShittyCameraPhone.

I've been a big fan of Capoeira since the early '90s movie Only the Strong, a horrendously awful flick that everyone should still see at least twice. It's so bad it's good. But as it turns out, Capoeira can be a force for good.

On the third Thursday of every month, the New York Capoeira chapter throws a benefit with some high-level moves from high-level dudes, all to collect money for this leadership program that teaches the art to at-risk youth, in an effort to bring them in off the streets. Me? I'm waiting for the day three hoodlums try to mug me, and in order to get my wallet, they do some cartwheels and kick me squarely in the face. Then I'll laugh, and fork over my cash.

Until that day, I endorse the program, and I welcome the random Capoeira in the park. I'd also like to thank the Line of Demarcation, without which we may have never developed such inspiring dance-fighting tactics. All praise be to you, Pope Alexander VI.

Slack Video of the Day: How 'bout some Capoeira videos from YouTube? Check these things out...Vid #1, Vid #2 and Vid #3.

Slack Song of the Day: I've been raiding this rbally mp3 site lately. The latest pilfer, some Jane's Addiction from Irvine Meadows -- try on some of this Been Caught Stealin', Three Days and Mountain Song.

We Both Can't Breathe

I saw this video for the first time about two years ago. I've seen it several times since, periodically. And it still makes me piss a little in mis pantalones whenever I watch it again.



Between the whale noises she makes and the insincere reactions of the nitwits in the studio, it doesn't get any better than this...

I hope your weekends are filled with this particular brand of hilarity.

Under Pressure

Hmm, I don't know how I missed this, but Monk today pointed to a story in the news cycle about how Tom Petty may file a suit against the Red Hot Chili Peppers for some good ol' Vanilla Ice plagiarism.

Apparently the new RHCP tune Dani California and Petty's Last Dance of Mary Jane have too many similarities. "The chord progression, the melody, the tempo, the key, the lyrical theme…they're identical," DJ Dan Gaffney said on his show.

Someone's been kind enough to play both songs on the same track, and sure enough, the whole thing sounds pretty fishy. Take the taste test here and judge for yourself.

Interestingly enough, the guy who put that mp3 together is now receiving death threats for doing so. Check this out: "ey motherf--ker we're gonna rape ur whole family and let u watch just before we slith ur throath u f--king piece of s--t, u shouldn't take s--t about the peppers u don't know s--t about music, so many songs look the same but u screwed it now, we know how to find u, ur a dead man."

Dude, who likes the RHCP that much that they'd rape a man's family and make him watch over a bit of chord muckraking? More importantly, when this threat-maker says "before we slith ur throath," do you think he spelled it "slith" because he has a lisp? That'll teach this asshole to "take shit about the peppers."

Man, I love this miserable world sometimes.

Slack Google Search of the Day: "magic mushrooms, don't look in the mirror" -- That begets this post, one of my early favorites.

Slack Video of the Day: Check out this YouTube clip of Liverpool striker and giant beanpole Peter Crouch doing the robot. Awesome!

Slack Song of the Day: A two-fer from The Band...first, a full show from Wollman Rink in Central Park from 6/30/71. Next up, one of my favorite tracks from The Last Waltz, here's an awesome version of Mystery Train with Paul Butterfield. Great tune.

Went To a Honky Tonk And a Phish Show Broke Out

I've never been to a show at which honky tonkin' country tunes ruled the setlist, but maybe I've been missing out all this time.

Mike Gordon's six-piece Ramble Dove outfit mosied into Irving Plaza for stop three of a seven-show tour, and in the process whipped up a room full of jamband fluffers into a two-steppin' frenzy. And, yes, that last sentence contains four different numbers. Just terrible writing. You can tell I got less than five hours of sleep last night.

What started out as a promising honky tonk show turned into a much coveted reunion, with Trey Anastasio joining his former Phish bassist for at least an hour of great country music. And no matter how much you want to spin the focus back to the original Ramble Dove, Trey's presence makes that virtually impossible.

In truth, I was nervous as to how he'd fit in to this lineup, but Big Red made this show that much better, filling the holes between Scott Murawski's shredding and Gordon Stone's pedaling. Trey definitely helped them stretch out the songs out a bit, adding some stellar improvisation to what had been up to that point pretty straight country. I'm not sure if that's what Ramble Dove intended, but that's what we got, and it made for a great show.

Above: A group photo of Ramble Dove with special guest Ernest G. Anastasio III. Below: A pic of Trey, frontman Brett Hughes, and Mike Cactus Gordon, taken by an obviously better amateur photographer (credit: Danfun, see below)

Some other highlights from last night's incredible performances:

1. The lovely Grace Potter opened the show, bringing her brand-new Hammond and better-than-I-remembered band, The Nocturnals, to one of the biggest venues I'm sure she's played. Her impressive performance included one of the best songs about a bus I've ever heard and a slip of her left boob from out her dress while jamming. That, is an officially fully.

How unfortunate, she kicks serious musical ass and I'm running to the Interweb to tell people her titty popped out. I suck. She's great.

2. Pedal steel guitarist Gordon Stone wore almost the exact same shirt as SNL's androgynous Pat character, only in navy instead of sky blue. I'm not sure how someone can pull that shirt off, but he surely did. Maybe it's because he sits down to play a horizontal guitar.

3. Although I thought the show was extremely fun and very well-played, I give acoustic guitarist Brett Hughes and drummer Neil Cleary a D+ for stage banter. Hughes was charismatic, and he's a helluva singer (Cleary, too), but man, if you're going to stand up there and make jokes, please make 'em funny. And it's okay to admit you look like a combo of Ed Norton and Robert Patrick, Brett, just do it.

4. The frenzy following Trey's introduction was unlike anything I've ever seen in a small venue like Irving Plaza. Suddenly people came rushing up towards the stage, cameras and cell phones being whipped out like a public masturbator's dong, the buzz building and building 'til you couldn't hear the tuning. Considering so many people hate Trey and couldn't care what he does, there sure were a ton of people freaking the fuck out in there. I'm talkin' Davy Jones proportions.

5. In all, the Stone/Murawski geetar duo was really tight, they had two pretty hot chicks, Neil and Brett can play and sing with the best of 'em, Mike's bass was thumpin' in there and Trey showed up. What's not to enjoy? Were they the tightest band out there? Not even close, lotta flubs. But they sure did provide my friends and I with an incredible night of laughin' and dancin' and "Oh man"-nin'. Ramble on.

Slack Videos of the Day: The number of people that screamed out Phish tunes like "Play Mike's Song!" was staggering. The band did oblige, though, breaking out a high-intensity version of Possum in the middle of the second set. Here's a 2-minute video I took -- the sound is borderline terrible (anyone know a way to get clear sound in an indoor venue, it's fucking impossible for me?!), but I think you'll all enjoy a little snippet of the action: Click here for the video.

If that version doesn't have enough download spots, use this one. If both are full, then you're just going to have to wait. Eat it.

A late addition to this post, here's a 52-second clip I uploaded to YouTube of Trey's first solo of the night (I Got Loaded)...again, the audio quality isn't great, but the video is pretty cool:



Above: Trey whispers "We should re-unite the Phish," to which Mike replies "Eh, I never really liked Fish and Page...let's try The Duo instead." Below: A nearly full shot of Ramble Dove, including Marie Claire in an hourglass corset. Corsets truly make the band.

Here's another shitty pic from me. Make sure to check out Danfun's great shots hosted here. And you can check out a couple more here and here from Loud Photos.