Do I Like Indiana Jones?

I’ve been wrestling with that question for almost five hours now.

Earlier today I posted an entry about the latest trailer for Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and how crazy some parts of it are (namely, the huge sigh Harrison Ford lets out during the opening narration). Something about the piece wasn’t right, so I scrapped it and started over. The new piece definitely read better, but something still wasn’t working. I kept moving words around and rewriting sentences until I realized what the problem was:

I couldn’t accurately convey my true feelings about the Indiana Jones film series on my blog because I’m not even sure what my true feelings about the Indiana Jones film series are.

Is Temple of Doom really my favorite? Do I really hate Last Crusade? I haven’t watched these movies all the way through in at least four years. I should sit down and watch them again before I go shooting my mouth off on the Internet. I’m going to do that and get back to you, hopefully before the new one opens.

One thing’s for sure: Shia LeBeouf still doesn’t look like an authentic greaser. This is what a goddamn greaser looks like:

Hey, Daddy-o, rock n’ roll is the most and you know it!

Crazy Ass Dream: Trapped In Vietnam

In this nightmarish vision, I was on some kind of adult field trip to Vietnam. In the middle of our remote farmland tour, some hardcore Commies showed up (the kind that you occasionally hear about coming out of the jungle under the impression the war is still going on) and started pointing guns at us. I got separated from the group and taken to a small shack where I was forced to empty my pockets. Most of what I had were old baked goods. Bear claws, bagels, turnovers…who knew I could fit so many bread-based edibles in my pants?

I was pretty sure I was going to die. Then, time inexplicably shifted forward and I was alone on a soggy rice patty. This was even more frightening than seeing the guys with the guns. Suddenly, Margaret Thatcher (or a woman who looked exactly like Margaret Thatcher) appeared in a clearing. She advised me the nearby train tracks would lead me to the city, where everyone knew the damn war is over.

I dutifully followed the train tracks and indeed found the unnamed Vietnam city. It looked a lot like Key West. I hopped on a passing trolley and prayed it would take me to an airport.

Around this time I woke up, relieved that I was no longer trapped in Vietnam.

Flight Of The Conchords

Their debut CD reviewed by yours truly right over here.

My Dad’s Been Working Out

He hasn’t shaved in a while, though.

Review: V/A - This Is Boston, Not L.A.

Various Artists
This Is Boston, Not L.A.
Modern Method
1982

This Is Boston, Not L.A. is one of the many classic 1980s hardcore punk compilations that somehow managed to sail past my ears during my nascent days as a wild, glue-haired thrift store fashion victim. I have no excuse, really. I should have been paying more attention to the music, man. Instead, I was too busy scouring Pinkie’s and Our Father’s Closet for vintage disco trousers and youth baseball t-shirts.

So what stands out on this Massachusetts-themed bastard? The Gang Green material, mostly. They’re the tightest band with the highest production values, it seems. Just scathing, boisterous skate thrash. I will admit my prior familiarity with Gang Green might be skewing my opinion. Thus, let’s pretend those beer-obsessed trolls aren’t on This Is Boston. Begone, vile rockers of Budweiser parody fame!

What does that leave? The zippy anti-booze ranting of the Freeze (”Idiots At Happy Hour,” “It’s Only Alcohol”); the angry growl of Jerry’s Kids (”Straight Jacket,” “Uncontrollable”); the faux British working class bitching of the Proletariat (”Options,” “Religion Is The Opium Of The Masses”); and a bunch of other pretty rockin’ stuff. There’s no secret Minor Threat lurking about here, but these Beantown bands generally offer a good, slam-dancin’ sound.

You can definitely throw This Is Boston on and rage while you play video games, watch wrestling, monitor your ant farm, or do your algebra homework. If I was absolutely forced to pick one non-Gang Green standout track, it would be the searing take on “Green Beret” performed by the F.U.’s. What can I say? I’m a sucker for wacky covers.

I shall now complete this review in the manner of whimsical, mustachioed film critic Gene Shalit: This is Boston? No, that was Boston! Not L.A.? That’s okay! These east coasters were the mosters who probably didn’t even own toasters! Watch out, Ian MacKaye, here’s Boston in your eye!

FINAL SCORE: Three Crossed Forearms (out of four)

Celebrity Sighting?

I’m eighty percent sure I saw Anthony Michael Hall walking down Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg the other day. He was decked out in some serious denim and his hair was greased back all the way to next week.

Lookin’ good, AMH 80%.

Anthony Mike seems like the type of guy who isn’t comfortable being accosted on the street by rabid Weird Science fans, so I left him alone. Plus, you know, it may have been some other totally non-famous guy.

Death Pool Update

The following people, none of whom anyone had in JG2’s 2008 Death Pool-O-Rama Sponsored By Bud Light & E-Trade, died recently:

Danny Federici (b. 1950), the organ/glockenspiel/accordion player for the E Street Band. I didn’t even know the E Street band had a glockenspiel or an accordion. Shows you how closely I’ve been following Bruce Springsteen and his musical exploits. Melanoma felled Danny’s glocken-ass on April 17th.

Al Wilson (b. 1939), the soul singer most famous for “Show and Tell.” Kidney failure dropped Al and his showin’/tellin’ abilities like a bad habit on April 21st.

Paul Davis (b. 1948), another singer. He sang some ballad from the seventies called “I Go Crazy.” I never heard it. Maybe it’s the most kick-ass song ever recorded. Maybe it sucks burnt toast. I really couldn’t tell you. A heart attack, heart attack, man, literally stopped Paul dead in his bearded tracks on April 22nd.

Albert Hofmann (b. 1906), the Swiss chemist who invented LSD. Dude, the colors! Hofmann was 102 years old, which actually would have subtracted points from any player’s score and started most of us out in Negative Land. Once again, a heart attack was to blame, brought Albert’s long, strange trip to an end on April 29th.

Beverlee McKinsey (b. 1940), a soap opera actress. “Guiding Light,” “Another World,” all that jazz. Kidney transplant complications ended Bev’s run on May 2nd.

Irv Robbins (b. 1917), the co-founder of Baskin Robbins ice cream chain. I think he died of shock following the success of “Thirty-One Cent Scoop Night” on April 30th. Alas, his family claims a “long illness” was to blame for Irv’s May 5th death. Liars.

Who will be next? Stay tuned and watch out! Nathan C. can’t hold onto his sixteen point lead forever!

Stuff To Read/Look At

Crawdaddy!, the famed rock publication that inexplicably employs me, just redesigned their website to look all fancy and hot. Check it out. While you’re there, read my piece on Fang’s Landshark. It’s interesting, funny, and not that long.

Also new today: my latest edition of the Crawling Ear for that wonderful U.K. nerd haven Den of Geek. This week, I wrote about the soundtrack from the 1960s Batman TV show. It’s pretty wacky.

I don’t normally draw any attention to my Crawling Ear columns because I feel they can be very hit or miss. I’ve turned in a handful of really great ones in the past few months, though (I think), so here’s a few links for your surfing pleasure:

The One About Rowlf The Dog
The One About Joey Ramone’s Grave
The One About My Unfinished Hip-Hopera
The One About Getting Drunk
The One About Star Trek
The One About The Ninja Turtles

Unsolicited Simpsons Review Number One

Hey everybody, JG2 here. This entry marks the beginning of my epic attempt to review every single episode of “The Simpsons” ever made. For some reason, the complete deconstruction of my favorite television show via this blog seems very important to me right now. I might lose steam over the course of this project, but I vow to keep on truckin’ until Dan Castellaneta shows up at my house and beats me to death with a tire iron. Hey, stranger things have happened (”Pink Lady and Jeff,” for instance).

Well, enough babblin’. Let’s get to the reviewin’. Enjoy!

Episode #1
“Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire”

Original airdate: December 17, 1989

Plot: Christmas finds the Simpsons family light in the wallet, leading Homer to literally gamble what little he has left at the dog track.

Iconic element(s): It’s the first goddamn episode of “The Simpsons.” Only episode without the famed “Journey Through Springfield” opening sequence.

Jokes that made me laugh out loud: “It says it’s for dogs, but she can’t read!” (Homer while buying a doggie chew toy for Maggie); when Homer incorrectly guesses that Donna Dixon is one of Santa’s reindeer.

Notes: I don’t think anything in life has made me happier than the success and longevity of “The Simpsons.” It seemed everything else I decided I liked when I was a kid was completely wrong. Howard the Duck. “Weird Al” Yankovic. Crystal Pepsi. You know, the kind of stuff normal people avoided like the plague and relentlessly teased me for adoring. I was really surprised when I watched an episode of the otherwise painful “Tracy Ullman Show” one late eighties evening with my cousin and she started laughing when one of the “Simpsons” segments came on.

“You think this is funny, too?” I thought or possibly said in disbelief. “Huh, maybe I’m not crazy after all.”

Then the Comedy Gods dropped this Christmas special on us. It seemed like a miracle. At the time, my only TV wish was for a full half hour of “The Simpsons” with no interruptions from that zany British lady and her vast array of stupid, ugly wigs. The only experience that trumped “Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire” that holiday season was finally being allowed to see Tim Burton’s Batman, a film my mother originally deemed “too violent” for me when it was in theaters. These two unprecedented events made Christmas ‘89 one of the best weeks of my young, root beer-soaked life.

You can imagine my glee when I found out “The Simpsons” was going to be a regular series. Add nine pounds of extra glee for the Beatle-esque hysteria that gripped the country during the show’s first two seasons. Take out your glee bazooka, level it at my chest, and blow me to pieces when “The Simpsons” increased in quality every season, introduced exciting new vernacular into our lexicon, and became a cultural touchstone. Vaporize me with your glee neutron bomb that we now live in an age where “The Simpsons” is unquestionably regarded as one of mankind’s greatest accomplishments and is consistently voted one of the best…shows…ever.

That the show evolved so steadily spelled doom for the initial two to three seasons, which today are generally regarded as crude, rudimentary, and sometimes flat-out painful. Granted, there are a few really rough entries in the early “Simpsons” canon, but “Simpsons Roasting On An Open Fire” is not one of them. It’s evenly paced, features a handful of great jokes, and manages to exposit the characters and their basic traits without being trite or over the top. More importantly, this inaugural “Simpsons” manages to tell a heartwarming Christmas story sans the usual sap and pandering.

All this seems pretty amazing until you discover the “first” episode of “The Simpsons” was actually the eighth program produced for season one (some kind of animation snafu caused a major scheduling problem; the show was originally supposed to premiere in the Fall of ‘89). By then, everyone involved with the show clearly had their footing. Call it fate, call it dumb luck - at any rate, this was the lead off “Simpsons,” and it immediately connected with its intended audience (rowdy kids, kids at heart, people who hated Tracy Ullman). At the very least, “The Simpsons” and their hard luck financial story would return for the next couple of holiday seasons, so long as FOX had a hole in their Thursday night line-up.

Something interesting that struck me while watching this episode for the umpteenth time: it was made back when tattoos were still kind of taboo. Thus, the whole “Bart gets a tattoo” plot/subplot seemed pretty wild at the time. I guess I’d still be pretty shocked today if I saw a ten year old with some boss ink, but not like I would have been back when I was ten. Seeing anyone with a tattoo was really something in 1989. Of course, that could have been because I was the only child of an upper class Connecticut couple that never took me anywhere more exotic than Long Island. Male earrings seemed pretty wild to me back then.

The “Rudolph” sing-a-long was a good note to go out on. I wish they had done more of that kind of thing throughout the series’ run. The only other cold credit sequence I can think of off the top of my head is from the episode U2 guested on (that whole “spoon collecting” bit).

Grade: Three and a half Donna Dixons (out of four).

Remember This?

I wonder where Rap Cat is now. Probably in a shoebox in some Checkers employee’s basement.