thoughts whilst watching goodfellas

Sometimes when I'm watching a film, I get come up with these dialogues. Here's one that came to me last night in the throes of Goodfellas:

"Yo Gino, where's Louie?"
"Man, I dunno, go ask Joey."
"Yo Joey, where's Louie?"
"Quit bustin' mah balls! Go ask Jimmy."
"Yo Jimmy, where's Louie?"
"What do I look like? His mutta? Go ask Paulie!"
"Yo Paulie, where's Louie?"
"I dunno, ya prick, go ask Carlos."
"Yo Carlos, where's Louie?"


blah blah

Man, that shit about Tarantino making the Hendrix biopic is just that—shit.

Still, I think I should play Jimi.


"me nan's bf tells her he's CUNNI-lingual"

OMG, Ali G and the man hisself, Noam C. Too funny. Too goddamned funny.

By the way, Chomsky is on MySpace. I'm one of his friends! It's too cool.




Quentin Tarantino has reportedly signed on to direct the long-awaited Jimi Hendrix biopic. The movie maker is huge fan of the script of the film, according to producers at Dragonslayer Films, and will team up with Hendrix's brother Leon to tell the story of the guitar great's life.

Tarantino will have full access to Hendrix's music and likeness when he starts shooting is scheduled to begin later this year in Seattle, Washington; New York, Toronto, Canada; and London.

Senior executive producer Elle Von Lear has access to interviews and live footage of the rock legend, which will be incorporated in the film.

Damn. This could be amazing. Well, I hope it's true for starters. Rock biopics can be really good or really horrible, but I think Tarantino could do something exceptional. Personally, I think I should play Jimi and here are my reasons:

1. I'm an awesome guitar player and can play most of his songs
2. I look like him, but I'd have to lose like 20-30lbs cuz Jimi was a fucking rail
3. I know everything there is to know about him
4. Fucking A
5. It's just a no-brainer
6. C'mon, how many other black guys can play guitar as well?
7. Prince is too old and Andre 3000 can't play guitar!


what happened to a.m. homes?

A.M. Homes' new novel has an extremely ambitious title -- "This Book Will Save Your Life" -- and an extremely ambitious goal: to transform this middle-aged, isolated, fabulously wealthy former workaholic into a man with a sense of identity and meaning in his life, all in a matter of weeks.

"He wants to be heroic, larger than life -- rescue people from burning buildings, leap over rooftops," Homes writes. "And he wants people to notice him ... How does a middle-aged Joe become anything, much less a superhero?"

Ugh, this sounds horrible. Maybe Michiko is right about this one. And, shit, it's already been optioned as a movie. Not surprising, since this basically sounds like an even schlockier version of that foul Kevin Kline turd, Life as a House. Remember that one? Goodness.

no reason

"If we are not careful criticism may become a mere excuse for taking revenge on books whose smell we dislike by erecting our temperamental antipathies into pseudo-moral judgments."

C.S. Lewis via Ben Yagoda, on Michiko Kakutani. I think this quote could easily apply to most critics, irrespective of field, but particularly to a critic like Armond White, whose tiresome moralism seeps through in all of his reviews. Most criticism is steeped in the critic's morality, which is shame because I couldn't give two shits about someone's morals, least of all a critic's. I don't care to interpret a protaganist through a moral filter. I don't care whether a character is "likable" or whatever. What does that even mean? Do you think that Armond White is a "likable" person? I'd be cruious to know what the people in his life would have to say to that. Is Michiko Kakutani a likable person? Dale Peck? Is any critic more "with it" than the artist he loves to single out? Who is a critic to pass moral judgments?



Well, not really.

In early February, onetime SMASHING PUMPKINS bassist Melissa Auf Der Maur as well as an undisclosed source "close to the situation" confirmed to MTV News that PUMPKINS bandleader Billy Corgan has been working on material that will, at some point, surface in the form of a new SMASHING PUMPKINS album. "Everyone knows Billy doesn't need too many people to make a PUMPKINS record, other than Jimmy [Chamberlin, longtime PUMPKINS drummer] — who he has [on board]," Auf Der Maur said at the time. A spokesperson for Azoff Management also confirmed that Corgan and Chamberlin had signed on with the firm as SMASHING PUMPKINS, and that the two have been writing new music.

Auf Der Maur said she wasn't not sure whether Corgan had reached out to guitarist James Iha or bassist D'Arcy Wretzky to complete the band's original lineup, but she said she'd told Corgan that she'd be happy to pitch in if he needed her; Auf Der Maur replaced Wretzky in 1999 and worked with the group until it disbanded in 2000.

So, Corgan and Chamberlin, huh? Grasping for straws, are we?

Is Billy Corgan the biggest douche ever in the history of popular music? Quite Possibly. Melissa Auf Der Maur doesn't need that fucker.


nerds, sex, laptops, (thoughts of) groupies

Almost finished podcast last night but collapsed circa 1:30, woke up this morning later (much later) than expected, somehow slept through a scheduled phone call (rectified, thankfully), received several crazed voicemails, people freaking out, called them back and placated them, one email account cleared (more or less) with responses to all nice people, one more ridiculous backlog to go. In other words, things are more or less back to normal, but there’s still far too much on the plate. Which means…

And so it goes in the crazy life of a podcasting litblogger. Rockstars, look out.


j'accuse: snob

Who is this chic, beautiful fucking man you see before you? It is none other than Uwe Boll (no, bitch, you bowl). Who is Uwe "toilet" Boll? Only the greatest filmmaker in the history of the medium. What films, nay, meisterworks, has Uwe made? Alone in the Dark, BloodRayne, House of the Dead, Heart of America, German Fried Movie, and the upcoming In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, to name but a few. Oh, I know what you're thinking, But Aaron, aren't these video game adaptations? To this I yelp, AND? While you're listening to NPR, waitin' for Garrison fucking Keillor and Meeeee-chele Norris to tell you what to like, me and the kids will be renting Alone in the Dark for the 67th time, marveling at its inner workings, trying to navigate its intertextual mechanics, and quietly soothing ourselves with the knowledge that Uwe will, in time, be recognized as the god that he is.

"But I'm too good to watch a video game adaptation," you puke. Oh yeah, you fucking snob scum? I suppose you hate comic books, too, am I right? Please. Ignore what the media has to say and watch Uwe's films and decide for yourself. You can think for yourself, right? Watch Alone in the Dark and tell me that Tara Reid phoned in her performance—you can't! Nothin' doin', baby. Nothin' doin'. Her performance is on a par with any Woody Allen slut you can shake a stick at. Uwe (no, after you) brings the fire out in his actors. Um, I'm sorry, but Sir Ben Kingsley stars in BloodRayne and Don fucking Logan doesn't just work with any director. You dig? Stephen Dorff, Christian Slater? Are you kidding me? Only two of the finest actors of the past 57 years.

The matrix of emotion on Tara Reid's face in this scene parallels anything Laurence Olivier or Kate Hepburn ever pulled outta their tookuses in their paltry, limelit careers. Her glasses, clipboard, and pen all signify her status as a powerful, successful woman who pulled herself up by the boot straps and put herself through MIT. It would behoove the editors over at Salon to embrace Ms Reid's portrayal of Aline Cedrac as a role model for the up-and-coming, power-hungry liberals that serve as its readership.

Here we have a still from Boll's upcoming Cassavetean effort, Postal, based on the game of the same name. Postal stars Gary Coleman and Osama bin Laden. You only wish I was making this up, you sniveling artsy-fartsy bitchface, but Boll is here, Boll is real—fucking deal with it.

I really just don't want to hear your smug, self-righteous, pretentious reasons for why a film like In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale would be beneath you. It hasn't even come out yet! Just see the film before you judge it, okay? But if its Herzogian scope is too much for you, then get your irons out of the fire and go munch on cupcakes and drink cristal with the rest of the arthouse horde. Just because the critics pan Uwe doesn't uwe have to as well. I mean, if you don't stand for something, you're bound to believe anything!

That is all.

(This post goes out to my friend Lisa who needs some humor that's not at her expense.)


the armond white reader; or, example #467 of a professional writer with nothing to say

If you've never read an Armond White movie review, consider yourself extremely lucky. Armond White is, more or less, the Bill O'Reilly of film criticism. He is an enraged bully, a bitter, bitter, bitter man who seethes with rage and disdain for basically anyone under the age of 35 (we're all smug, self-righteous hipsters, don't you know). He is one of the many cry babies who've sprouted up since the death of film criticism's most overrated film critic: Pauline Kael. Kael was a horrid writer with horrid opinions and knew basically nothing about art. (Read Easy Riders and Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind if you want example after example of this woman's staggering idiocy.) He rails against an evil cabal of nihilist atheist scum, who continually foist their Godless, baby-killing malevolence down his pious, humble, God-fearing throat. It's a good schtick, this tortured theistic martyr thing he's got going on. It appeals to people's disgust toward that whole Evil Liberal Thing that has permeated so much of our culture. You know, those smug intellectualz and the God-hating artistes they champion. White is basically a highbrow Michael Medved. White swears by the three Ss: smug, smirking, and self-righteous. White is literally incapable of writing a fucking movie review without these three words. He's a goddamned broken record. The man writes his own satire. I find it utterly faaaahbulous (darlink) that he seems entirely unable to see that it is he who comes off as the smug, self-righteous, moralizing asshole. But that's the thing with guys like Armond White and Bill O'Reilly: everybody else is always the problem.

But if you've never read a White review, allow me to type up the compendium. Herein is every White review rolled into one spicy pastiche.

Some Evil Movie
Directed by Some Sickening Nihilst Hipster

Some Evil Movie is pretentious, smug, and self-rghteous. Some Sickening Nihilst Hipster is a smirking, smug, smug, smug, smirking nihilist God-hater. Smug, smug, smug. Smirk! Pretentious, self-righteous, smug, smirking, self-pretentious, and smug. Smirk. Nihilist hipsters rejoice! God is dead! Evil nihilist! Nihilists and dingos ate your baby!

Pretension, smirks galore, and total smugness drips from
Some Evil Movie. Some Sickening Nihilist Hipster is smug, smirks, evil, evil, evil, FROTH, argh, self-righteous! Smirking, smugging, selfing, righteousing, eviling, and hating God. The nihilist hipsters, who hate God and country, are smirking, smirking SMIRKING their way to the bank. Some Sickening Nihilst Hipster is, surprisingly, self-righteous. Smirk. Smug. Mugs. Gums. Sum G. Ugs with an M. Self-righteous. Pretentious. Hip. Think you're hip? You hipster! Smug one at that.

Some Evil Movie is a bad, smug, self-righteous movie. It's pretentious, too. I'm not even going to explain why. What else do you need to know? It's pretentious! Snob. (Smirk).

That is all.
-Armond W.



Over the years, the inability of patients and others to believe that I am a doctor has left me utterly demoralized. Their incredulity persists even now that I am a senior resident, working in one of the world's busiest hospital emergency rooms. How can it be that with all the years of experience I have, all the procedures I've performed and all the people I've interacted with in emergency situations, I still get what I call "the look"? It's too predictable. I walk in the room and introduce myself, then wait for the patient—whether he or she is black, white or Asian—to steal glances at the ID card that is attached to my scrubs or white coat. (I've thought of having it changed to read something like: It's true. I'm a real doctor. Perhaps you've seen a black one on TV?)


This reminds me of a riddle I read in the book Blink (which I will paraphrase):

A man and his son are in a serious car accident. The man is dead on arrival, but the son lives. The ambulance takes him to the ER, where the examining doctor, who upon seeing the boy, gasps and says: "This child is my son." Who is the doctor?


yarrrrrr, pix

more fireworks

portrait of the artist as a very young little shit

taken at the getty

afternoon oil

pretty dagger

stucco sux

a really profound picture of shopping carts, signifying rampant consumerism and how it's all eating us alive blah blah blah

central californian farm

iron tree

lucy with a snail



bathroom, hearst-style

'nother hearst pic

shitty pic of teresa

art show shit

there's like this feather thing right in the middle of the pic

yeah yeah

parking lot shit

what sound looks like

mexican glass angels

skynyrd played the OC fair once. it was super duper right-wing.

sunglasses in front of the lenz


hearst castle

taken, like, a really long time ago

pilot butte


intersection in mission viejo

dramatic shit

not too far from where i live. to the left is the verizon wireless amphitheatre, which used to be irvine meadows. saw metallica there back in '98.


wintry tree

iron branch

an airplane picture


honestly, who needs porn?

Dear Erika Christensen:

You make my crotch ache.



Art has always been a natural expression of people's concept of the divine. Painting, plays, music - it's always been so. Movies combine those forms of expression - sight, sound, music, beauty.

From here.

As an artist and an atheist (alliteration!), I find this whole topic fascinating. It's something you hear a lot, that art is a way to communicate the "divine" or is a way of "touching the face of God" or whatever. "Spirituality" is another word that gets used quite a bit. What do these words even mean? "Divine," "spiritual," etc. Do the people who use these words even know what they mean, or do they just say them because it makes them look good? Some definitions of the word "spiritual" sound like how I feel when I have sex or play music, but those emotions have nothing to do with "spirituality." They're chemical reactions in the brain, a result of external stimuli. And what's wrong with that? What is wrong with finding meaning in the corporeal? What is wrong with the physical? Why are still so hung up on the body and its image? Why assign "higher" meaning to things? Is sex itself not good enough? Is music itself not good enough? Is life itself not good enough? If you believe in god or consider yourself "spiritual," are you reading my words, thinking, This guy's life is empty and meaningless? If so, why? Do you think I'm immoral because I lack belief in god?

In a way, "spirituality" is the ultimate in pretension—assigning life all of these properties that it just doesn't have. One of the things I would like to get across with my art is that "spirituality" is not necessary and that art is not intrinsically "spiritual" and none the worse for it.

plz pray 4 me, k thx

So, prayer does nothing.

It was supposed to be good news, like the kind in the Bible. After three years, $2.4 million, and 1.7 million prayers, the biggest and best study ever was supposed to show that the prayers of faraway strangers help patients recover after heart surgery. But things didn't go as ordained. Patients who knowingly received prayers developed more post-surgery complications than did patients who unknowingly received prayers—and patients who were prayed for did no better than patients who weren't prayed for. In fact, patients who received prayers without their knowledge ended up with more major complications than did patients who received no prayers at all.

I could've saved these people a lot of time and money and told them this years ago. But nobody listens to Aaron.

When I was in junior high, I had this friend Vanessa who always used to tell me she would pray for me. "I'm gonna pray for you, Aaron, I'm gonna pray!" I would encourage her, saying, "Knock yourself out. In a year, nothing will have changed." A year came, nothing was different. Another year, same shit. Still an atheist. So it's been just over 10 years and still, I'm a total fucking atheist. Her prayers went unanswered. Why? Because god doesn't exist.


truth is

Is it bad that I really, really want some smack right now? I really want to get stupid-close-to-dying high. I don't want to feel anything. At all. Maybe admitting this will help.



Harold Hunter, that kid who shook his cock in Kids, is dead.

Kids will always be a special movie to me cuz it was the only movie that was even remotely close to depicting the kind of shit me and my friends experienced.