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Air Bud most respected cineastes

Air Bud: Golden Receiver

I realize this is apropos of nothing, but I was doing an image search with the following query – “van damme jew” – and found an excellent assortment of embarrassing images of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Like a photo of a Mexican dog in a dracula cape, these are far too precious to keep to myself. So here:

• Jean-Claude Van Damme salutes Bacchus
• Jean-Claude Van Damme enjoys a private moment
• Jean-Claude Van Damme understands the difference between tough and tender
• Jean-Claude Van Damme knows this move can’t hurt anyone, but sometimes intimidation is the name of the game
• Jean-Claude Van Damme was a hero to all Jews
• As Jean-Claude Van Damme ages (gracefully), helicopter-kicking seems less and less a feasible solution to his problems
• “OK, Mr. Van Damme. Before I begin sketching, can you tell me if you have any hobbies?”
• Jean-Claude Van Damme and friend
• This is Pierre Van Damme – no relation
• And Art Van Damme – again, no relation

Sometimes my dumb streak spreads wide, like the mighty Mississippi. How else can I explain my can’t-stop-hitting-repeat love of the new DMX single, “X Gon’ Give it to Ya”? As the thoughtful scribes at MTV.com put it, here the artist is “in typical X form.” You know. You hear the song – the loud threats, tourettic shouts, military pacing – and you say with a wink, “that’s my X. so typical!”

Mark my words: “X Gon’ Give it to Ya” is poised to become the date rape anthem of 2003. Sorry, Mudvayne! Better luck next year.

Just catching up on last week’s New Yorker (i can so read. shut it.) and it was end-to-end good. I subscribe to the magazine because I find, other than the New York Times Magazine, it’s the one source that always comes up when people relate interesting stories. It’s never, “Did you read that story in this month’s Crack’d?…” And it is a good magazine although, on average, I only read about 40% of its contents. Financial Page? Never. Written by Jeffrey Toobin. Almost never. Modern dance legends? Forget it. Even “Shouts and Murmurs,” the section I used to most look forward to each week, telegraphs its tired punches so desperately that it usually gets abandoned about three unfunny jokes through. (in that sense, it’s not so different from this site.)

But last week’s issue was a POWERHOUSE – for me, at least. A surprisingly down-to-earth feature on Matthew Barney. A “Talk of the Town” mention (and illustration) of an acquaintance from the NYC comedy scene. (and that only made me a tiny bit jealous and wanting, but not enough to wish ill of demetri, who i still think is talented and very decent at being a human being.) And a nice, long piece of new fiction from George Saunders that gave me the same warm stirrings pre-teen girls get when the new issue of Frilly! magazine boasts a fold-out poster of Justin Timberlake or that guy from Smallville. Suffice it to say, my content ingestion average spiked at about 85%.

The best story, however, has been the history of Forrest Tucker, one of America’s most notorious bankrobbers and prison escape artists. I haven’t finished this piece yet, but it instantly gave me the feeling that some very ambitious and very lazy Hollywood producer just found his next story to option. With a speech like this:

“So what do you want to know? I’ve been in prison all my life, except for the times I’ve broken out. I was born in 1920, and I was in jail by the time I was fifteen. I’m eighty-one now and I’m still in jail, but I’ve broken out eighteen times successfully and twelve times unsuccessfully. There were plenty of other times I planned to escape, but there’s no point in me telling you about them.”

you’ve already got your opening voice-over. The article reads almost exactly like a great, epic film, spanning America’s 20th century through fashion, crime, pulp, style, and geography, and seen through the lens of a perfectly smooth, handsome outlaw with a penchant for politeness. My God it’s all right there.

Then, about 2500 words in, I remembered. The story sounded almost too familiar, and that’s because William Goldman had a similar thought. In his book Which Lie Did I Tell? he demonstrates how possible it is to build a story out of something ripped right from the headlines and uses the final (possibly!) arrest of Mr. Tucker as his example. He goes to great trouble to set it up, hypothetically, as an example to aspiring screenwriters. Wild. He provided the premise, but the New Yorker provided the outline.

And someone – and we pray it will not be someone like Brian Grazer – will provide the holiday film. The only difference will be that Tucker’s age will come down by at least 10 years, and his main accomplice will be a foul-mouthed space alien named Rolo. (after his hearty appetite for “Rolo’s” candies.)

Buying me the new Crooked Fingers album* won’t save the world, or your life, or even the life of that frog you accidentally sat on in third grade, on your way back from a field trip to the reservoir. It won’t do any of those things. But it will make me smile. And that hasn’t happened since 1983. Imagine the power you now possess. If that doesn’t work, maybe you should buy it for yourself and smile for me.

*It is not this site’s policy to solicit gifts from readers, by direct request, or through the inclusion of an Amazon wish list filled with stuff that interests me but can never serve to satisfy the way your continued readership does. Plus, I don’t have any boobie pictures to share in exchange for your gifts. Just these words. And one blurry pickle shot. But just one. And the lighting isn’t especially flattering. But you can sort of make out the edges. So there’s that.

Be on the lookout for a new comedy concert film named The Blue Collar Comedy Tour, coming like an entertainment tornado to blow away the trailer park of your mind. From the looks of the trailer, this film doubles as some kind of white person’s reparations for the success of The Original Kings of Comedy. (or perhaps The Queens of Comedy or The Original Latin Kings of Comedy or maybe, just maybe, The Original Laotian Kings of Comedy.) It’s basically the same structure – 4 touring comics, one host, live concert mixed with panel-style “riffing”, material about how different it was to grow up poor – and nearly the same name. The only difference I could see was when they cut to the audience reactions. Instead of a vast sea of highly macked-out black women and men from the American South, it’s just a large Klan rally. But the Klansmen are having just as much fun. You can’t actually see them laughing but you can kind of tell they are by the way their hoods shake. (bam! zip! pow!)

The concert is headlined by Jeff “you know you’re a redneck” Foxworthy, and ordinarily that would be all you’d need to know. However, I feel it’s important to highlight a new face in the world of unapologetically-white-guy comedy: Larry The Cable Guy. That’s his name! Just ask him! And be sure to check out his self-written bio! In which he adds exclamation points to the end of nearly every line! Ensuring us all that it is some hootin’ hollerin’ hilariosity!!!! It’s as if Larry is saying, “hoo-dog! I myself cannot even believe the crazy things coming out of my mouth! I’m all serious for a second and then – what? – here comes something straight outta left field!” Each one of his jokes has a lethal punch not unlike the last panel of a Bazooka Joe comic strip.

As you read his bio, it becomes increasingly libertarian and, therefore, increasingly fascinating. Larry gets his steel toe booted foot in the door with a quick barrage of alcoholic mother jokes, then slowly shifts his tone from Mr. “Laugh A Minute” to Mr. “I Got Some Opinions, Too, Y’all, and This Here Interweb Is a Right Fine Place to Air Them”. Check out this excellent trick in disarming the reader before dropping a conservative bomb: “I believe all the telletubbies is queer, not just the purple one! I believe in the right to bear arms! Not only against scumbag criminals, but also against a tyrannical government!” Larry is one-part Hee-Haw, two-parts NASCAR, four-parts Militia Separatist Movement, and forty-parts PRECIOUS!

I think Larry has built himself a fine niche. He really does call himself “Larry the Cable Guy” at every possible juncture, and I’m sure that’s how he presented himself to club owners and prospective talent management. The easy nail he uses to hang himself on is similar to the way many Chitlin Belt comics call themselves things like “The Wildcat” or “Doo Doo Brown” or “Stricklee Funnin”, and produce headshots reflecting their “wild” or “doo doo” nature. Larry’s headshot is S-M-A-R-T. It shows him wearing the requisite baseball cap, Ted Nugent t-shirt and, in case you are a casting agent who doesn’t quite understand what Larry the Cable Guy is All About, he was also kind enough to wrap some cables around his neck in a style suggesting Early Hysterical. Larry ain’t some stinking plumber or landscaper. He’s straight-up cable guy and don’t you forget it. Something tells me Larry has already made an appearance on Reba in an episode where the cable goes out just before a big Travis Tritt pay-per-view event. And something else tells me he’ll be making another appearance very soon…in your heart! Now go GIT-R-DONE, whatever that means.

P.S. Larry the Cable Guy is not gay. I’m just saying.

Making and ordering a list makes things nice. This year being so great for music that a “best of 2002” list was so easy it actually became difficult. No single album by an artist knocked me out completely, but many artists made knockout singles. (see what i just did with language??? why hasn’t entertainment weekly scooped me up into its loving arms yet?) Here’s a list, of my favorite ones from last year, in order of my memory’s ability to recall them:

1. “The Boy Looked at Johnny,” The Libertines
2. “Stay Don’t Go,” Spoon
3. “Ivanka,” Imperial Teen
4. “Work It,” Missy Elliott
5. “Dig a Hole,” The Rogers Sisters
6. “Rock You,” The Roots
7. “Roland,” Interpol (notable mention: “PDA”, “Obstacle 1”)
8. “The Leanover,” Life Without Buildings
9. “Lose Yourself,” Eminem
10. “Oh Goddamnit,” Hot Hot Heat
11. “Oh!,” Sleater-Kinney
12. “Hate to Say I Told You,” The Hives
13. “One Sailor Was Waving,” Ballboy
14. “Hot in Herre,” Nelly (notable mention: “Air Force Ones”)
15. “Die Another Day,” Madonna (shut up!)
16. “One with the Freaks,” The Notwist
17. “Lost Cause,” Beck
18. “Huffer,” The Breeders
19. “Promising Light,” Iron & Wine
20. “Hey Ma,” Cam’ron
21. “You Know You’re Right,” Nirvana (can’t help myself)

Phew! Now, after reading everyone else’s TOP 10 lists from the year, I wonder if I’m required to buy Solomon Burke’s comeback album. It’s a funny thing when an album becomes the aesthetic intersection between Mojo Magazine and the “Music We Love” rack at Starbucks Coffee.

Until this morning, I hadn’t seen a bona fide celebrity up close in a while. I think it’s mostly because I’ve been sticking close to my own neighborhood and, honestly, I don’t think most people would consider Paul Auster and the homeless guy who looks like William S. Burroughs bona fide celebrities.

But today, as I was walking past a Blimpie’s and a Gentleman’s club (imagine that. my two biggest cravings – egg salad and pussy – right next to each other!) I almost walked right into actor Peter Gallagher. (perhaps you’ve seen him in sex, lies & videotape or mr. deeds I’ve said it before, sometimes at the risk of getting punched in the eyes or politely ignored, and I’ll say it again: Peter Gallagher is the thinking man’s Billy Zane. And Billy Zane is the certifiably sentient man’s The Rock. I’m not going anywhere in life, am I? (don’t answer!)