How do you screw up a documentary called Nazi Pop Twins?

Not as awesome as you
might think.

When I discovered that there existed in the world a documentary about our favorite racist imps Lynx and Lamb Gaede, I nearly wet myself with excitement. 


And when I discovered said documentary was entitled Nazi Pop Twins, I did wet myself and nearly soiled myself, too. Imagine: a full hour of embarrassing caterwauling from the twins' band Prussian Blue and whining about persecution from white power stage mom April.


Well, I finally watched what should have been cinema gold. It was kind of a let-down. Let me recap and you can see for yourself (spoiler alert!).


The movie kicks off with a little introduction to the Gaedes. One of the twins is shown saying, "Blacks have the more tendency [sic] to rape people" and April is filmed reading the ABCs with her (admittedly adorable) youngest child Dresden (yes, really). Of course, with April, A stands for Aryan and B stands for Blood. At least it won't be difficult to find an example word for X in April's alphabet.


Next we have the pleasure of meeting April's dad, Bill, who looks like he might be the black sheep sibling of Santa Claus  and is wearing suspenders over a t-shirt. Bill is shown buying an M-16 military assault rifle, which I'm sure is illegal. He claims Mexicans had sex with his mare (he says he's personally shot six "muds") and marks his cattle with swastika brands. You can practically smell the flop sweat, Copenhagen and wolf piss through the screen.


April holds up one of the infamous Hitler smiley-face baby tees Lynx and Lamb were photographed wearing years ago and says she doesn't understand why people didn't think they were "hysterically funny." April is practically giddy talking about all the media attention the t-shirts and the girls got. She's a gigantic sloppy frump, but she swears she's not living vicariously through her kids.


At the radio interview, the girls look to April for cues on how to answer the DJ's questions before saying things like "illegals act nasty and they don't throw their toilet paper in the toilet." I've got news for you, girls: that's a universal issue. Based on the bathrooms I've been in lately, it seems like hipsters in particular have the same problem.


Soon, we start to see the tiny cracks that are forming in the little white utopia April seems to think she's created for her family. Lynx and Lamb are actually much more normal than I expected, and when they think April is asleep, they share their reservations about their white power lifestyle with the filmmakers. Hmmm, now this is starting to get good!


Actually, now it starts to get really, really ooky. The girls are shown talking on the phone with their pen pal David Lane, a white nationalist leader who is serving a 190-year prison sentence (you read that right) for killing a Jewish radio show host. Just the kind of guy you'd want your teenage daughters befriending, right? It quickly becomes evident that April has managed to score some kind of esteem with David by pimping out the girls to him. Over the phone, David says "I better be careful what I say, but right away I thought of Lynx and Lamb and their blue eyes. They were like daughters, fantasy sweethearts." Oh god, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, yucky, icky, shower, shower, shower! Bleeechhhh! When April hands Dresden the phone to say hi, I vomited on the TV and had to go by a new one to finish watching the movie. Luckily, David Lane is now dead, so the girls are safe from at least one letch for the time being.


Next up, we're treated to a "branding party" at Bill Gaede's ranch and this is where everything really starts to go south. April is policing the filmmakers and making it very clear they shouldn't speak to her mother, Dianne. When they get Dianne alone, it's clear why. She says, "All because if this goddamn nazi shit, it's just fucking ruined my life. It really fucks you up. We've lived here 30 years and I don't have a single friend because he's so hateful. My kids are just torn apart by it. Not April—she loves it." Awesome! I love grannies who cuss!


Tensions are reaching a fever pitch all around. While having lunch at a cafe, April starts yammering about her "vision" for the girls' next music video, but Lynx and Lamb are in no mood to be managed. "A lot of people think we're a bunch of psychos!" one whines. "We want to take a break!" April opines that the new music isn't pushing the nazi agenda. Who does she think she is...Stacey Keach?


Anyway, a bomb is dropped. Bill reveals that April was once attacked and almost raped by a black man. This was back when she had big dreams of becoming a rodeo commentator. The truth comes out! Luckily, Dianne has higher hopes and bigger plans for Lynx and Lamb. She interviews that she and the twins have made a plan that when they turn 18, they'll get a car and all go up the California coast together and look for a place to live. Shit, this is really sad! Dianne says she wouldn't put it past her husband to kill her. Cripes! Let's all band together to save Dianne!


At this point, it's evident that April and Bill are completely nuts and grandma and the girls are living under an iron thumb and they want to crawl out. If the filmmakers would have run with this storyline, the doc would have been a winner. But instead, much like the SVU squad, they start getting too close to the case, as you'll soon see.


Lynx and Lamb are performing their new songs in a bar and they're pretty bad, but they're singing the material that isn't pushing the white power agenda and are pretty warmly received by the crowd. April starts going around the bar passing out Prussian Blue CDs. Then she starts saying things like, "'The Stranger' is about wanting to be around your own people," and the patrons start to see what's going on. With "Paul Revere" thumping in the background, the Gaedes are kicked out of the bar. April screams that people are intolerant and the girls scream at her to shut up. "The media is so biased about white pride, people—even rednecks in a bar—are scared shitless," April foams. "They've castrated the white race." Lynx and Lamb are clearly embarrassed. And I'm suddenly reminded of how RockitPop always yelled, "Meet me in the Sears hardware section at 1 p.m. or I'm coming to find you!" in front of everyone at the mall. It was really embarrassing and sort of like this. Only not racist.


So, say you're a white power stage mom and your two blonde, teenage meal tickets are starting to think you're a big douchey weirdo and are pulling away from you, thus potentially crushing your dreams of being famous like David Duke. What do you do? Why, what anyone in any classic abusive relationship would do, of course: move to Montana!


Six months after the bar debacle, that's exactly what April did. But it wasn't a quiet transition; local news caught wind that the infamous Gaedes were moving to their small town and protesters came out in full force. April bitches that people went door to door warning that nazis were in the neighborhood. The FBI got involved because people were making death threats against the family. 


Of course, instead of just keeping her mouth shut for once, April uses the community backlash as a chance to showcase herself as a martyr again. It's April versus the Big Sky State now! And the more the twins pull away, the more April tries to make Prussian Blue happen. She shows off all the merchandise she's had printed up: Prussian Blue mugs, mousepads with Dresden's picture on them (um, ew!), white pride rubber bracelets. And, like any self-respecting enemy of the people, she starts broadcasting a whiny radio show from her home. 


Meanwhile, Lynx and Lamb are really starting to go sideways. One even says, "I'm not a white nationalist. The whole issue made me smarter and think about stuff more before you say it and do it." The even discuss a Martin Luther King Day project they did at school that made them feel guilty about their home lives.


April forces the girls to autograph Prussian Blue posters and they are vehemently resisting. "Put on a happy face and be nice," April blasts. "Then you can act like as much of a cunt as you want for the rest of the night!" Jeez, testy! And I hate to say it, but I'm actually starting to like the twins!


April starts to blame the documentary crew for putting ideas in the girls' heads and causing them to lash out at her. "You're such a self-hating white person," she yells at the filmmakers. "You suffer from white guilt. You're very manipulative with that fake British accent!" 


This could be the best part of the movie. But instead, it all falls to shit when the director starts sniping back at April. "The more people that hate you, the happier you seem to be," he says in his fake British accent. Now they are all fighting and yelling at each other.Take a time out, Detective Stabler! Too close to the case!! But now, the twins are crying about the Hitler t-shirts, saying they thought it was a joke at the time, but they threw them away and never wore them again. 


Back in California, more chaos is erupting. Bill Gaede confronts Dianne about her interviews and she screams that YES she told them how she felt and, goddamn it, she really enjoyed it! Bill says semi-threateningly to the camera, "I hope you guys don't try to destroy us so you can get a decent little story." Bill and Dianne continue their shouting match in the driveway, and then...


Cut!


Yep, that's it. April and Bill refuse to let the film crew back for anymore interviews. We come to find out later that April's husband (Dresden's dad and the twins' stepfather) left her during the filming of the documentary. Certainly he didn't want to be part of the project, because he's nowhere to be seen or even mentioned. The twins' father has come out against the racist ideologies April spews, and it appears that the girls, now legal adults, have taken their father's last name and are living apart from April. Filmmakers, can we now get a follow-up, since the girls can make up their own minds about what they want to do? It might make up for the slappy fight that put an end to the original story. 


I found a somewhat recent article that says Lynx and Lamb are now into Buddhism and TM. I'll keep an eye out and see if these two pop up online anywhere, because it might be interesting (and heartening) to see what they're up to now that they don't have to report to psycho April anymore. Maybe they really are living on the coast in a secret location with Grandma Dianne! 


Anyway, maybe I'm being too hard on the documentary. What do you think? Check it out for yourself (for free!) right here, bitches.

Not recommended for a drunken rampage

Funniest Amazon review ever.
JL421 Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank

If I had it to do over again, I'd leave my insurance settlement money under my matress a while longer instead of spendin it on one of these things. A Badonkadonk ... more like a Badonkajunk.

I bought one of these Donks 'cause I thought the cops wouldn't hastle me in it. Since it aint road legal I figured it wouldn't matter that I don't got a driver's license anymore (It's that kinda "outa the box" thinkin that's got me where I am in life). I figured when the cops said "Billy, you know you aint supposed to be drivin a car anymore" I could say "I aint drivin a car, I'm drivin a Donk" and then crank up "Freebird" on my 400 Watt stereo as I lay down a thick patch of rubber with the 6hp fire-breathin power plant and maybe let out a rebel yell as I go up on 2 wheels and squeeze between the 2 squad cars they had set up as a road block. Then when they pulled out their guns and tried to stop me the bullets would just rikoshay off my trusty Donk as I glance matter-of-factly into the rear view mirror and flick the ash off my Marlboro in symbolic contempt of the agressors what I had just thwarted.

Nothin was further from the truth though: I had just stayed late over at my sister trailer and was fixin to head back across the court to my trailer. I will admit that I had been drinkin, but her trailer was just a few loops over from mine and it was after 3AM so I figured I weren't gonna hurt nobody, especially in the old "Donk". As chance would have it, I just happened to be wearing various article of my sister's clothing and started to recognize the familiar smell of MacDonnald french fries. As I turned the corner into my own loop, the smell was unmistakable ... as was the conclusion that I deducticated in my mind ... my sister had been gettin cozy with that retard Lucas Tubbs who works the MacDonnald's drive through.

Well, I have to tell you I became engorged with rage! I whipped the old Donker around and started headin for MacDonnalds to show ol' Tubbs what I thought of him sneakin around my sis. I only made it as far as the trailer park entrance though, cause I got high-centered on the speed bump there. Folks tell me that I crawled on top of the Donkster and started yellin obsenities at that point, but to be honest I don't recall that part. It must have been true though because the police showed up very quickly. When I saw the squad car, I scurried back into the Donk, locked the hatch, started up the engine, and floored it! It was the right thing to do because, in their vain effort to extracticate me from my vehicular conveyance, the cops jumped on the roof of the Donk tipping the balance just far enough that the wheels grabbed hold and I was able to get off of the speed bump. Hot pursuit was on!

The cops' squad car must have malfunctioned because the officers proceded to pursue me on foot. By the time I got to Main Street I had a comfortable lead on them. I turned South, as that was the proper mode of direction to arrive at the MacDonnalds. At that point my drunken rage peaked and I knew what I had to do to save my families honor: I was gonna crash my tank into the MacDonnalds drive through! I rev'ed up the engine and floored it! As I got closer and closer, I could see ol' 'tardy Tubbs' face paint a life-size portrait of confusion on a tattered canvas of fear and surprise. I thought to myself "All will be made right again" as I flew by the intercom, scraping sparks of anger and bitterness as I careened past. I was overjoyed to see that, even though he had plenty of time to see me coming and move out of the way, ol' 'tardy Tubbs was still in my direct line-of-flight. I braced for impact as the Donk hit the order window plexiglass, bounced off, and rolled over on its side. I must have hit my head on the pivoting control stick because I blacked out momentarily. I awoke to the sound of my tiny wheels spinning madly at 40 miles per hour. With my battle tank inoperable, my hopes of even slightly inconveniencing Lucas Tubbs dashed, and my sister's fine clothes soiled with sweat and blood, I had no choice left but to piss myself and start flailing my arms and legs madly.

The police that had been pursuing me arrived moments later. I do not agree with their assessment that I was a danger to myself and others, but I don't recall that part of the evenning very well so I can't say for sure. Either way, I don't think the use of the Tazer was justified. However, I now have lawsuits outstanding against MacDonnalds for faulty drive through design, the manufacturer of the Tazer, and the local police. One of these suits needs to pay out to replace the money from the insurance settlement and pay the court mandated restitution to MacDonnalds and the local police. 
In the end, I blame all my problems on the Donk. I hope they have good insurance. I'm comin for them next. 

I turned my head to the audience and smiled—and they smiled back

So.


This post has been a long time coming. I have finally and officially seen the black metal documentary Until the Light Takes Us. 


There was a time when I didn't have high hopes for this little film, as the preview clips were boring and it appeared the directors didn't really utilize the Count to his maximum potential. How wrong I was to judge so quickly. I watched it a couple weeks ago and had to let it sink in before I posted my official review. Warning: it's going to be a long one and it's not going to be the laugh riot you're used to at S&C. So here goes.


I once received a response to one of my black-metal-kooks-are-HYYYlarious posts that said something along the lines of, "If you really feel that way, then you don't understand black metal at all."


This anonymous commenter was correct. I didn't understand black metal. I still don't and I never will, in the same way you can't understand anyone's experience until you walk in their shoes. But I can now see how the whole sordid tale played out. And much to my surprise, I found myself thinking it all made sense.


The movie starts off showing a 30-something, long-haired metal dude on a train being searched by police. "They busted me on fucking tear gas—they didn't find the drugs of course," he says. This is Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell from the pioneering black metal outfit Darkthrone. He talks a little bit about Norway ("It's like New Zealand, only just grimmer") and talks about how hands-off his fellow countrypeople are.


Suddenly, we're whisked away to a maximum security prison, and you know exactly where this is going. It's the Count! He talks about how the early black metal musicians "rebelled against traditional song structure," getting the worst equipment they could find and using a headset as a microphone to create guttural noises that sounded like hell. 


Norwegians were afraid of the black metallers almost from the get-go, and the Count says they survived on reputation alone during the '80s. Then Dead joined Mayhem.

Dead's vocals sounded like he was channeling demons from the anus of hell and he scratched himself until blood ran down his face and arms during stage shows. But then you see grainy footage of the Swedish teenager running through a field of tall wildflowers and mugging for the camera. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen. He's really just a kid.


We all know what happens next. Dead's bandmate Euronymous finds the 19-year-old Dead actually dead with his brains falling out from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The photos Euronymous took of the body famously became the cover of Mayhem's Dawn of the Black Hearts album (seriously, that link is not for the faint of heart), and Euronymous allegedly cannibalized Dead's brain and made jewelry out of pieces of his skull.


After that heartwarming scene, Fenriz is back to discuss the state of Norway in the early '90s. The establishing shots they pan through are beautiful: charming snowcapped chateaus, idyllic town squares. But in '91 the first McDonald's opened up in Bergen and Fenriz and friends didn't like it. They grabbed some rifles, rode their bikes to the restaurant and shot the windows out. "We hoped there would be a third world war," the Count says of those halcyon days. "We knew that if you want to build something new, you have to destroy the old first."


Enter the church burnings. The Fantoft Stave Church was built in 1150—on top of a pagan holy site. "It's stigmatizing to talk about heritage," says Count Grishnackh. "Christianity erased our original cultures anyway. We might have known worse periods, but they destroyed records, wanted to replace our culture. Christianity is the root of all problems in the world. They have no respect for the Norwegian culture. Why should we respect their culture?"


It's at this point in the movie that I start to get scared because...wait for it...I THINK THE COUNT IS MAKING SENSE. Forget all the racist, screamy rants and the diva-like bitching about his domain name. I am nodding my head in agreement with what he is saying and thinking, "Fuck yeah! Fight the power, Count!"


In 1992, the wooden Fantoft Church went up in flames. It was the start of a series of fires that was eventually blamed on the Count. Hysterical news reports warned of satanists in Norway's midst. Then Kerrang! magazine published an in-depth report on Norwegian black metal in 1993. Suddenly, the underground scene was front and center on the news. Copycat church burnings, satanic symbols and extreme concerts began popping up around Scandinavia and the rest of Europe. Black metal was a trend.


Fenriz is shown waiting for a phone call from an interviewer. The reporter calls and he is so friendly and kind to her. He gives an interesting, insightful interview, engages in some playful back-and-forth about his lyrics and then thanks the reporter for her time. It's a telling moment. This is the man that everyone fears, whose life's work has been reduced to a shocking moment in a cable channel countdown.


Next we see indie director Harmony Korine, who helmed the movie Kids and dated Chloe Sevigny before she was an it girl. He's dancing around like a fucking moron in corpsepaint and talking about how he's really in to black metal. "I went to Norway where all the guys burned the churches down and killed each other," he foams. "And I visited Euronymous's grave!" I couldn't have expected anything more from the director of Gummo. I fucking hate this raging douchebag so fucking much.


At first, I didn't really get why the filmmakers included this short but epically annoying scene with Harmony, but it suddenly hit me. He was practically giddy talking about  the death and destruction that occurred in Norway, and what he was saying was exactly what Fenriz and Count Grishnackh said they hated. Their art, their outlet, was viewed as the exact opposite of their intent.


Fenriz is shown attending an art gallery exhibit of black metal-inspired paintings (that are actually pretty cool). He quietly views the art and the photographs of the original black metallers hanging in the lobby. He greets the artist and leaves the gallery, hands shoved deeply into his pockets.


Now we've come to the defining moment in black metal history: the murder of Euronymous. The Count explains that he heard through the grapevine that Euronymous was pissed off that the Count granted an anonymous interview to a newspaper in which he copped to being the mastermind behind the church burnings. "He said he was going to knock me out and kidnap me and make a snuff film while torturing me to death," the Count remembers. "And I took it serious."


We all know the outcome of this little feud. The Count recounts the evening when he stabbed Euronymous to death and maintains that it was in self-defense. "He was swimming in glass fragments in his underwear with a broken lamp," he recalls. "I finished Aarseth off. I stabbed him in the skull so he died immediately."


The 20-year-old Varg "Count" Vikernes was sentenced to 21 years in prison, the most allowed under Norwegian law, for the murder of Øystein "Euronymous" Aarseth. The media referred to him as "the satanist Varg Vikernes."


On the day of his sentencing, he says,"I already knew they were going to give me the 21 years. [The judge] wanted to underline we don't tolerate this rebellion in Norway. They were expecting me to be wetting my pants or something, but it just made me smile, really. I just turned my head to the audience, you could call it, and just smiled. And from what I gathered they smiled back." 



Then they show this:

I had to rewind this scene several times. It was at this point that I remembered the anonymous comment that I didn't understand black metal. It's easy to make fun of...the corpsepaint, the ridiculous outfits, Immortal. And I'll continue to make fun of it, because it is fun. But it was at this point that I came the closest to understanding that I probably ever will. The first time I watched this scene, I gasped. By the fifth or so time I rewound it, I smiled, too.


I don't like to talk about myself in too much detail on this blog. But one of the main reasons I love rock so much is because it was an outlet to my feelings of isolation from growing up in a small town. It felt like someone else out there understood feelings I couldn't explain, someone in a place I assumed was better and cooler and more fun than where I was. These crazed rockers in Norway who burned churches and killed each other were kids like me who felt misunderstood, except they also felt helpless to what they believed was a rape of their culture. 


Fenriz describes Norway as a place that's even, with no real cultural scene. It's easy to see how something extreme can simmer up from a place that's artistically barren, freezing cold and neutral. It got out of control, but I can't say that I, as a small town girl, never felt like burning down a building or mowing a few people down out of frustration. Don't report me to Homeland Security; I'd never do that, mofos! But teenage isolation and feeling misunderstood can cause crazy thoughts to pop into your head. You've felt that way, too, and you know it.


The movie winds down with a few words from the Count about the media. "You're bombarded by commercials and senseless information every day," he says. "If you turn your head, you see a sign or a commercial, news, magazines, products being sold. Everything is meaningless."  He's sitting in prison, where he says he's had time to think and read. "It's a sea of lies and it's impossible to find the truth, unless you know where, when and how to look," he continues. "You will eventually weed out all the lies and you will end up with something at least similar to the truth. It's hidden under rocks. You'll stumble and get branches in your face and make mistakes before you finally find it."


Fenriz laments that their original music is now out in the open. "It's everyone's property and it's out of our hands," he says, shaking his head. "It's a brand now. What can I do? What's the point?"


The ironic twist at the end is that Helvete, the music store Euronymous once owned that was considered the center of black metal culture in its heyday, has been transformed into a bright, white art gallery. "I wish this whole thing didn't turn into a trend," says Fenriz.  "Then again, people like to dress up."

True tales of horror and depravity

Men reject their prophets and slay them, but they love their martyrs and honor those whom they have slain.
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I'm not even sure where to begin on this one. It's taken me a while to really post on it, because the movie made me think for a while. Wow...it's been a while.

Not too long ago, I thought Funny Games was the scariest movie I've ever seen. If you're a horror fan, watch the original Austrian version. If you're a watch-through-the-fingers type, watch the American version, starring Naomi Watts, Tim Roth and Michael Pitt. Both will elicit equal amounts of horror, depending on your horror experience. The American version is a shot-for-shot remake of the original by the same director, Michael Haneke. It's just scarier for horror fans when you don't know the actors. At least for me.

Part of why I'm writing about this now is the impending U.S. release of Lars von Trier's Antichrist. I've only seen two von Trier films and loved/was emotionally scarred for life by both. If you haven't heard about this movie, it stars Willem DaFoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg, and that's it. Yes, that's THE Charlotte Gainsbourg, originally made famous by the creeptastical duet she did with her father Serge at age 13, "Lemon Incest." And it features a rusty-scissor clitorectomy. Which caused some haughty Cannes attendees to require medical attention.

The horror genre has needed a slap in the throat since Hostel, in my humble opinion. In order, the scariest movies I ever seen were Halloween, The Omen, Rosemary's Baby, The Last House on the Left, The Exorcist, The Changeling, (the George C. Scott one, not the Angie J. one), Hostel, The Ring...and now this.

I watched Martyrs. This is a French horror film that's been getting quite a bit of buzz. On Rotten Tomatoes, it's divided exactly down the middle: 50/50 positive and negative reviews. Some say it's the torture porn disguised as a "higher meaning" thinker. Others say it is brilliant, brutal and groundbreaking.

This is officially the movie that is taking horror to the next level, again, in my humble opinion. No one is terrified by seeing slutty high-schoolers or dopey sorority chicks getting slashed and burned anymore. And because of the never-ending Saw franchise, no one wants to see people who deserve it in general get it in a super-creative way anymore. Now it's all about the higher meaning.

If you're a horror fan, don't click on that Rotten Tomatoes link...actually DON'T READ ANYTHING ABOUT MARTYRS if you haven't seen it.

As a horror-movie aficionado, I can tell you I have never seen anything like this. For a while we were all fascinated with the Japan/Asia horror films. Battle Royale, Ringu, Ju-on, A Tale of Two Sisters, Shutter, Ōdishon, One Missed Call...all good movies (some of which were made into inferior U.S. versions [excepting The Ring, in my humble opinion]) that inspired an uprise in supernatural horror. Now, it's all about the French. I couldn't make it through Man Bites Dog.

But I made it through this, albeit reluctantly, because it was not only completely horrifying, but also completely compelling. What the fuck is going on? Spoilers: it goes from supernatural horror flick to revenge flick to supernatural horror flick to OH MY FUCKING GOD horror flick to existential I-think-I-almost-understand-why flick.

I love violent movies, but this has the most horrifying abuse I've ever seen put on film. As a bleeding heart, it was really hard to make it through...but it's worth it to stick with it. The acting is superb, the story is fantastically intriguing and the horror is most certainly not torture porn. But you don't really know until you reach the very end. Just stick it out, if you can, and you'll be thinking about the movie and its themes for days. It will make you wonder why you watch this stuff and why you like it, and you'll be glad it's only a movie, but you'll still feel really dirty for a long time, if you're like me...and if you're like me, you'll love it. 'cause it's totally smart and brilliant and a horrifying look at human fear.

Now consider that there are currently negotiations going on to make an American version. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD? Why can't people just let good foreign horror movies be? Once you've seen it, try to imagine it being made with, say, Megan Fox and Jessica Alba in the two lead roles. Completely ridic and depressing.

So I think because I made it through Martyrs, I might be able to finally make it through Man Bites Dog. And I've been told I need to give Cannibal Holocaust a try. Um, OK. I love all you sickos who recommend these movies to me. Watch Martyrs and we'll go from there. Love ya!

P.S. Serious horror fans, don't even bother with Inside (À l'intérieur). Stupid and like a V.C. Andrews novel come to life. Casual horror fans, see it immediately, 'cause it's pretty good! But just not really that scary.

I can now die happy

I have seen Jane's Addiction, original lineup, in concert. And it could not have been more badass.

I saw the show two nights in a row. Does that officially make me a groupie? I think I saw a few real groupies...you can always tell because they wear stilettos to concerts.

Anyway, I'm in a bit of a daze so this post is going to be about as gushy fangirl as I'm going to get around here. The first night Jane's played on their own and the second night they played with Nine Inch Nails (who were kickass, as usual). We got trapped in the rain both nights. We also saw a guy in some kind of a bear mascot costume waiting sadly under an overpass until the rain stopped, which really put the sprinkles on top of the entire delicious cupcake of an evening.

Jane's stuck to the old stuff. None of this Entourage theme song business. They kicked both sets off with "Three Days." We also had the pleasure of hearing:

"Ain't No Right"
"Whores"
"Then She Did"
"Ted, Just Admit It..."
"Up The Beach"
"Pigs In Zen"
"Mountain Song"
"Had A Dad"
"Been Caught Stealing"
"Ocean Size"
"1%"

Encore:
"Summertime Rolls"
"Stop!"
"Jane Says"

I of course turned into this jumpy, screamy, whirling freakshow who knew all the words. I even shed little tear when they played "Summertime Rolls", which is my favorite song of all time. I think I was really annoying my neighbors.

Perry Farrell is 50 years old, if you can believe that. His stage style is this blend of Freddy Mercury, the Pied Piper of Hamelin, a ringmaster and a pole dancer. He said weird things to the crowd and strutted around all cock-of-the-walk style. He sounded amazing.

I made a bet with my concertmates as to how long it would take before Navarro was shirtless on stage. He came out wearing a useless vest both nights, which was gone by the third song. Oh, Dave...such a media whore! But he wailed and swaggered like he really meant it. Since he divorced Carmen and stopped doing reality TV (for now), I forgive him.

Stephen Perkins is officially the most underrated drummer in rock. He's simply awesome. And he drummed in his underpants, before donning a sweet Utilikilt.

Of course, Eric's return made the whole night for me. I believe that if you're simply using a bass player to back up the bass drum, you shouldn't have one. Too often bass players are relegated to the job of making the song a little bit heavier by plinking out the base E-A-G and then drinking all the band's beer at practice. Bass lines can make the songs and Eric's bass lines make the songs. For a good example, listen to "Then She Did." Listen to the whole song! If you're too lazy, "Been Caught Stealing" is another good example.

Anyway, when the encore ended I noticed Eric sitting on stage just staring at the crowd and seemingly really incredulous about the whole experience. Despite all the band differences in the past, it was good to see that he seemed to be having a great time.

I'm sure music critics everywhere (not naming names on the Cowtown ones, but anyone who lives here knows who I'm talking about) are hunting for things to nitpick about the show, but my official last word on everything is that it was perfect. A rabid Jane's fan could not have asked for anything more.

Thank you, boys.

P.S. For your enjoyment, here is a very good interview with Eric that gives you a good overview of what he's all about.



P.P.S. Per my last post, I was wrong. Apparently the Lakers rule and the Cavs drool. I admit defeat. But I don't like it.

Motel hell

A few years ago I went to Miami with a couple friends and we reserved a room in one of those art deco-style hotels that are all over the place there that was a block from the beach. If the lobby of this place was the mouth to hell, our room was literally Beelzebub's anus. All the mirrors were broken, the floor was layered with dust, dirt and suspicious-looking hairs, the mattresses were wrapped in plastic and oozing what looked liked creamed piss. Not only that, but there was music blasting, people screaming and fighting and shady activity in the hallway and in the alley outside our window. It was like being at Lohan's house.

After a battle royale with the Nurse Ratchet-esque desk clerk, we got our money back and, thankfully, got upgraded to a sweet resort hotel with a private beach for our troubles. (In case you're wondering, the hellhole in question is the Parisian/Geneva Hotel—the Geneva is literally the back of a Thrifty Car Rental place. Seriously.)

The moral of this story is: never book on hotels.com. And always check TripAdvisor.com before you go.

I was reminded of this sordid experience when an esteemed colleague sent me a link to TripAdvisor.com's 2008 10 Dirtiest Hotels List. Frankly, I was a little surprised that the Parisian/Geneva didn't make the cut, but from the looks of this year's "winners" there are some places out there that are just as bad, if not worse. I mean, at least we didn't actually see cockroaches, although I'm sure they were lying in wait for the right moment to descend and kill. And lucky for us we didn't actually sleep in the beds, which were probably swimming with bedbugs, crabs, nits and probably worse.

While you're pretty much guaranteed to gag at some point while reading some of these reviews, they are also wildly entertaining at the same time. Some of the horrific experiences are beyond crazy, and some of the descriptions are hilarious. The best part is that this gives the poor travelers an outlet to not only warn others about the unsanitary shitholes some hoteliers are "running", but it also gives them a chance to collectively humilate the proprieters in public.

So if you've ever had a Parisian/Geneva experience, don't just share that sordid tale with your friends. Write a review on TripAdvisor so no one else has to bathe in rat turds and roach juice. For your enjoyment (and revulsion) here are some of the choicier comments and stories from this year's "winners."

A transfer to Guantanamo Bay would have been preferable to a stay in this hell hole. Liked—The view in the rear view mirror as we left.

I wished for the first time in my life that I had a handgun license, as the first thought that struck me as I entered the creaky gates of Hades (from here on out to be referred to as Room 34) was 'Oh good God, how do I survive the night?!' This place is an absolute disgrace, a miserable den for who knows what illicit activity.

Upon arrival at the hotel there was a CSI team in front of the hotel investigating a triple shooting at the hotel the night before.

The woman who checked out in front of us was lucky enough to have used hypodermic needles in her room as a bonus.(Note: this one's from Lancaster, PA, aka Amish country, and don't get me started on the Amish...)

If you have a choice between the Bates Motel and the Eden Roc, choose the Bates. At least Norman was pleasant and gave you a nice sandwich with a glass of milk before you realized what a terrible mistake you've made. Mother.

I started to check in when I noticed what looked like a pimp and two whores. If you and your frat boys are looking for a place to have a kegger and trash with no remorse then this is it. You don't have to worry about damaging much here. Don't bring your wife or girlfriend here for a romantic getaway unless you are trying to get rid of her.

I got LICE staying at this location. I couldn't believe it! I'm 32 years old! with Lice Bugs!

We chose the facility because of location, price and shuttle service. We didn't realize it was the "Hotel California" or the next thing to hell.

He fumbled with the key and the door, but nothing happened. Guess what he did to get in the door? He got down on his back and kicked the entire AC unit inside the room. YES KICKED IT IN!!!!! He then crawled through the hole to unlock the door. My three year old son thought it was the coolest way to enter a room, he wanted to try it too.

The air conditioner sounds like a Boeing 727 coming at you all night long.

Disliked—The Hungarian beast-woman in the resteraunt

The location suckered us in but it's not worth the whole family going home infected with scabies.

The room was haunted. The first night the lights were flickering on and off and the shower was turned on when I got there. The TV was the same as the TV in poltergeist. Other then that, I loved the location —originally an old indian burial ground. But is close to Times Square.

The whole place smelled like a dollar hooker parlor. I wouldn't let Satan stay here. Actually he probably owns the place.

When we got into the room, the smell was awful, a cross between smoke from cigarettes and drugs, foul sex and vomit. There were syringes in the trash can, and someone had taken a dump and the toilet was not flushed. My wife complained, but came back with what I knew would be no help. Apparently when she commented on the dump in the toilet she was told that it was "complementary Steam Boat Dumplings on the house!" Not only did it not make much sense, it was gross and the people at the front desk laguhed at it.

We awoke in the middle of the night to find a possum in the room! It scared us half to death.

The overall vibe of the place edgy and threatening. I should have left when I was asked to sign the waiver for theft or 'any personal injury' on the premises. Half a star to the cheery shuttle driver who brought me from the airport, singing Temptations songs all the way—deducted for not warning me what I was getting into.

I know what sent Blohan on her coke bender!

I Know Who Killed Me! If my name had appeared anywhere in the credits of this movie (gaffer, key grip, bee wrangler, whatever), I'd be on a death-wish binge, too.

First, I should note that I've seen Glitter voluntarily. I saw Torque in the theater. I own Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. So it should be of no surprise to you that I've been dying to see I Know Who Killed Me since I heard the hilarious review on the Reel Horror podcast in the hopes that it's really as bad as everyone says.

This is the movie that Lindsay Blohan took stripping lessons for and was famously unable to promote due to her coke-fueled bender, arrest and subsequent rehabbing back in July.

Well, I finally saw it and my consensus of it is pretty much the same as Reel Horror's: that the reports of this being the worst movie ever made are grossly understated. I have so much to say about this and I'm just going to let it fly. If you really want to be surprised, my condolences, but you can save yourself the agony and just read my spoilers here.

The "plot"
Blohan plays Aubrey, a smarty-pants high school student who plays piano and lives in a mansion with her parents, Neal McDonough and Smilla. After Aubrey is kidnapped by a serial killer who cuts his victims' hands off, she's found in a ditch alive and claiming to be Dakota, a poor, homeless stripper. Dakota is bad. We know this because she smokes and says "fuck" a lot. Is Aubrey just delusional or is Aubrey really bad girl Dakota or are these really two separate girls?

And does anyone care?

Oh, also, Aubrey/Dakota has a hairless cat. That isn't fixed. Know what I'm saying? The cat has the biggest balls ever. Made even more prominent by the fact that the cat is hairless. A hairless cat with huge balls! Brilliant. D&G should use that in their next campaign.

The acting
The world in I Know Who Killed Me is populated entirely of people with Asperger's Syndrome. Nobody reacts in a realistic, rational manner. When Blohan gets on a bus with blood literally pouring out of a gaping wound on her hand, she notices a guy casually staring at her and asks, "Don't you want to know what happened?" and he says, "People get cut. That's life." With blood POURING down her arm and smeared all over her face and clothes. The bus driver doesn't offer to take her to the hospital? The only other passenger on the bus isn't horrified? Even Blohan herself seems unfazed. Which is even weirder when I tell you that the gaping wound was caused by her finger turning black and FALLING OFF right before her very eyes!

I wish I was making this up, but, yes. Blohan plays a character who is missing a hand and a leg. Which brings me to...

The prosthetics
Also in the I Know Who Killed Me world, you can learn to walk on a prosthetic leg and use a mechanical prosthetic hand in a matter of hours (or minutes—who knows with this movie?). The artificial limbs are hilarious. They're like, twice the size of regular hands and feet. They may as well have put a giant Mickey Mouse glove and shoe on her. Additionally, her prosthetic leg needs to be "plugged in" at night so the "battery doesn't die." You heard me: her bot leg is battery-powered. Yeah, that's not going to come back later in the plot or anything.

Anyway, like I said before, Aubrey was allegedly the victim of a serial limb chopper-offer. However, "Dakota" claims that her hand and leg just fell off. This is shown in the aforementioned hilarious scene in which her finger rots off. Her reaction is like she burned a pot roast. "Oh! My! God! Ooh!" So what does she do? She picks her finger up...AND THEN SEWS IT BACK ON.

You may be wondering if I smoked crack before writing this post. That wasn't me. It was Jeff Hammond, the guy responsible for writing this screenplay.

The bizarre reactions
No one in the movie seems to be fazed by anything that's going on, except that Aubrey/Dakota's kidnapping and subsequent handicap seems to be a huge inconvienience to everyone. McDunnah and Smilla find out the latest news about their kidnapped daughter when they're laying on the couch flipping channels and see it on the news. No shit. These two should have been the number one suspects in Aubrey/Dakota's disapparance.

In addition, the FBI agents investigating the kidnapping are convinced that Aubrey/Dakota knows who chopped her hand and leg off and that she's covering for them. Wait, what?? It simply doesn't make any sense. Why didn't they just get Smilla to use her sense of snow to solve the crime?

OK, that sucked. Sorry.

The stripping
Speaking of a sense of snow, Blohan was obviously plowing through a drift before filming the strip club scenes. A three-toed sloth on a eucalyptus branch is more exciting than this listless slug on a stripper pole. She's also the only stripper in the whole club who doesn't have her top off. If those scenes didn't turn you asexual, then this certainly will, as it is officially the unsexiest moment in movie history.

The "sex scene"
So your girlfriend has just lost her leg and hand in a horrific attack by an unknown assailant who is still on the loose. She also seems to be suffering from some kind of amnesia that's causing her to not remember anything or anyone, including you. You are seeing her for the first time since this accident and she appears in the doorway with her prosthetic leg off. What do you do?

Why, take her upstairs and fuck her, of course! Loudly! In the middle of the day! With her mom downstairs listening to the whole thing! And pretending to clean as if nothing is happening! Instead of storming upstairs, busting the door down and screaming, "Get the fuck off of my legless daughter!"

The dialogue
The real dialogue isn't much better than that. Some fun examples:
• At a high school football game on the same day that a student's dead body has been found, the PA announces: "As you know Jennifer Tolin's body was found and we'd like a moment of silence. [two seconds of silence] Now let's go out there and win this one for Jennifer! WHOOOOO!!!!"

• FBI guy: "He was done with her...left her by the road to die."
Police officer: "But he wasn't expecting her will to live!"

• Aubrey/Dakota to her boyfriend after having legless sex with him: "Did she ever fuck you like that? Did she ever fuck you at all?"

The twist
So are you ready for the big twist? It's a good one! Turns out Aubrey and Dakota ARE two separate girls. Smilla's baby died at birth and McDonut paid off a crackhead in the hospital who had twins for one of the babies! But that's not all—Aubrey and Dakota are STIGMATIC TWINS. So if one of them gets hurt, the other one feels it! Which explains why Dakota's finger fell off!
Is your mind blown yet? No? Then get ready for...

The grand finale
Dakota sees where Aubrey has been buried alive by the killer in a dream, and your first thought is, "When did she become psychic?" All of this could have been avoided if she'd been psychic BEFORE, but whatever.

Anyway, she grabs McDoody and tells him she knows where his daugher is. No cops for these two—they're taking the law into their own hands by going to the killer's house! The killer tries to grab Dakota through a hole in the wall and she screams "Fuck you!" and then CUTS HIS HAND OFF, while the killer doesn't even try to fight and essentially holds his hand out for her to sever.

McLovin gets killed at some point and there's a pointless struggle between Dakota and the killer and then a super-dramatic death scene (but amazingly, he doesn't "come back" after appearing to be dead like Michael Myers). Dakota then wanders into the woods and miraculously picks the exact spot where Aubrey is buried to dig. She uncovers a casket and then—wait for it—uses her fucking bot hand to punch a hole into the casket and free Aubrey. Of course, Aubrey isn't even blue yet. Dakota then climbs into the casket and snuggles up with her twin sister who was just freed from being buried alive.

And scene!

That's right: the end. This movie is barely an hour and 20 minutes long, which is both a blessing and a curse. It's like, how did this get the greenlight in the first place? And if they were going to go for it, why didn't they just give us a two-hour Showgirls extravaganza with more amputee sex scenes and more hairless cat and more Smilla and McGillicuddy finding out important things from news reports?

The bottom line of this rambling, incoherant review is: THIS IS THE FUCKING FUNNIEST BAD MOVIE EVER AND YOU HAVE TO SEE IT. Don't pay for it, though. Wait until you get your 10th rental free or something. That's what I did. Then get all your pals together, stock up on bottom-shelf liquor and laugh your asses off. If anything, you'll get a kick out of the hairless cat with giant balls.

Jesus doesn't want me for a sunbeam

So I heard that I Know Who Killed Me, Lohan's last movie before she went back to the drug hole, may possibly be the worst movie ever made. I admit that I kind of wanted to see it. And now, after hearing this, I want to see it even more. That link will take you to the hysterically funny audio review offered up by the guys of the Reel Horror podcast. Seriously, I laughed so hard at the description of this movie that I almost puked. Rest assured that when it comes out on DVD in November that I will watch it and offer up a review of my own.

To hold you over in the meantime, here are a couple of reviews in honor of the season. For the record, I am sick and I have a lot of time on my hands this week, so I thought about catching a couple of docs I've been wanting to see, coincidentally both "godly." What does this have to do with the season? Um, one's sort of about Halloween, I guess...

Anyway...

First off, we have the Oscar-nominated Jesus Camp, a film about an evangelical childrens' camp and ministry called (wait for it...) "Kids on Fire." It's far scarier than Zodiac (which I totally loved, by the way, and if you haven't seen it, please do), but provided me with so many laughs that I actually felt a little bit bad. I think it's safe to say that no matter what your belief system is, if you are a rational person, you will find this movie as laughably fucked-up as I did. I mean, these are kids and they are not old enough to really know exactly what they are saying. When you weigh that depressing aspect against the hilarious double standards and other crazy shit the adults around them are squawking, it's hard not to snicker at least a little bit. Especially when the kids really get going to appease their elders.

One of the campers, a 9-year-old named Rachael, parrots to the cameras that Jesus doesn't like "dead churches" and prefers to "be there" for congregations that are jumping around, shouting and singing, an idea I'm sure she came up with all by herself. The organizers make the kids say a blessing to a cardboard cut-out of George Bush ("Talk to him. Say, 'Welcome, President Bush! We're glad you're here!'"), then later on, Pastor Becky Fischer (who runs the camp) tells a radio talk show host that she's "not going after [her] kids politically." They all finish up with the exact same smugly satisfied grins and with the exact same mission statement that they're just on a crusade to "win the lost."

Here are a few fun quotes from the movie:
At five I got saved because I just wanted more out of life.
—Levi, a 12-year-old with a rat tail

I can go into a playground of kids that don't know anything about Christianity, lead them to the Lord in a matter of, just no time at all, and just moments later they can be seeing visions and hearing the voice of God, because they're so open. They are so usable in Christianity.
—Pastor Becky Fischer, operator of the camp. Later in the movie she admonishes the devil for "going after the young, those who cannot fend for themselves."

Father, we pray over the electrical systems, we pray over the electricity will [sic] not go out in this building in Jesus' name, because of storms or any other reason. I just pray over this equipment, we speak over the PowerPoint presentations, all the video projectors and we say, 'Devil, we know you love to do in meetings like this' and we say, 'You will not!' No microphone problems in Jesus' name!
—Becky, while praying over the meeting hall before camp

Warlocks are enemies of god...and had it been in the Old Testament, Harry Potter would have been put to death!
—Becky, to a roomful of campers. She later accuses the kids of being "a phony and a hypocrite" for calling themselves Christians when they KNOW that they are one person at church and an entirely different person at school, where they "talk dirty just like all the other kids." This causes the majority of the kids to beging crying and pleading for forgiveness.

It's like, we're being trained to be warriors, only in a much funner way.
—Rachael

Next to the speaking in tongues scenes, the best part is when meth fag Ted Haggard shows up in an interview to smarmily discuss how kids love the evangelical scene and then actually declare straight to the cameraman, "I think I know what you did last night! If you send me a thousand dollars, I won't tell your wife!" Do I really need to make fun of that? It goes along with the clip that I think unintentionally sums up the entire movie: little Rachael prays to Jesus to help her roll "a good one" during a church bowling trip and he answers her petty request by granting her a big, fat gutterball.

Speaking of gutterballs (or gutters, I guess...or balls), I also recently watched the documentary Hell House, which chronicles a Halloweenie season with a Texas church that puts on a "real-life" house of horrors every year. This is one haunted house that won't feature Freddy, Jason, Leatherface or even clowns. No, these are scenes of horror and carnage that can occur to those who don't accept Jesus Christ as their lord and savior. This movie is a little more breatheable than Jesus Camp, which I found stifiling from all the rigidity, but it's still drenched with folks full the same self-congratulation and dumb-ass stereotypes. Oh, the stereotypes in this one. I couldn't stop laughing at those crazy stereotypes!

The movie starts out with the planning of the latest Hell House and, since they already did Columbine and Padukah recreations, a discussion of how they're going to cover the school-kid-goes-nuts-and-kills-himself scene commences. One perv helpfully suggests, "Why don't we have a gay bar scene with two girls hitting on each other?" and the pastor shoots it down by saying they "don't want to go there." As in Jesus Camp, "reaching the lost" is mentioned ad nauseum.

Tryouts come next and we're treated to lots of overacting and more fun typecasting. The church members will be acting out vignettes in each horror scene. A Latino kid approaches the casting committee and says he wants to do anything but the drug-deal scene because that's all he ever gets. "If the spirit leads you," he says, "let it lead you for me to not do the drug deal scene." True life is far funnier than fiction, everyone.

The rehearsals of the scenes also showcase more woefully archaic ideologies, including the ever-popular "one wrong choice that seems innocent can lead you on a downward spiral straight into the hands of beezlebub" rap. The Trinity Church's twist on this old favorite is how Harry Potter leads to Ouija boards, which leads to Magic cards, which leads to RPGs, which leads to—dun-dun-DUNNNN!!!—the OCCULT!

I was chiefly annoyed by the "cool dude" at the church, Thaddeus, who is a DJ and has actually been to raves so he knows what they're like and what goes on there. He appoints himself in charge of the completely bizarre rave/suicide scene (which I'll get to in a minute) and he keeps blowharding to all the younger kids how at raves "people will take what is put in their hand" and, when one girl starts acting spastic after she pretends to take ecstasy, smugly directs "I've seen people on this drug and it doesn't make girls spaz out. You need to act more like you're really relaxed." I wished someone would have punched this douche nozzle in the face, but you know...it's, like, church and everything.

The group records voiceovers that will be played in the final, epic "hell" scene of the sinners repenting. Naturally, the "alternative lifestyle" voice guy performs in a slurry, high-pitched tone with accompanying mincing gestures. You'll never believe it: the truth is that when the gay guy was a kid he was touched inappropriately and he made the wrong choice in life, thinking it was natural! The voiceover guy also expresses fears that people out in the hall might hear him. Uh-oh, they might all think you're gay!

The final hour shows the actual opening and operation of Hell House, so we get to actually see some of the scenes. Surprise! More pigeonholing! We see what happens with a gay guy with AIDS (of course, because in Trinity's world, only gay men can get AIDS) doesn't accept Jesus into his life on his deathbed, and conversely, what happens when a girl who has just gotten an abortion does. She's saved, baby! Miracle! Oh, and in case you're wondering, the Latino boy did not get the drug dealer part...instead that role went to one of the few black guys in the church. So, you know, progress.

OK, now for the rave scene, which pissed me off to no end. Thaddeus hams it up as a ghoulish DJ and some innocent chick is slipped a mickey and then gangraped at the rave. The next scene shows her wailing in her bedroom with some twat in a demon costume chastising her that she has "no idea how many guys had you!" and "no boy will ever want you now!" and "remember when daddy used to touch you?" The girl then pretends to commit suicide and she is condemned to hell. OK, what the motherfucking fuck are they trying to convey here? It doesn't make an iota of sense! Why is *she* going to hell for being drugged and gang-raped while the rapists get away from hell scot-free? And why in the world was everyone molested?? What kind of fucked-up logic dictates that a victim of sexual abuse is sinful? Even more troublesome is that the young lady who played "suicide girl" interviews that one year she saw the guy who raped her two years earlier standing in line to view Hell House and, that night, she did the "best acting of [her] life." WHAT??? They don't give any more information than this, so to be fair, I don't know if she reported this crime or what. However, the guy is free walking the streets and seemingly not required to stay away from the victim, so the only conclusion I can draw from this is that perhaps Hell House (and the condemnation that goes along with it) is all too real for some of these kids. Perhaps *she* herself is also being typecast.

Happily, some of the attendees of the haunted house weren't buying it. One group of teens starts ranting to one of the church members about the hypocracy and stereotyping. Then one girl makes the most coherant comment I heard from either one of these films: "What we saw in there is why people are turned off by Christianity. You make it black and white; there is no gray area, which is what life is."

Amen, sista!

(Psst...if you want to check out these docs for yourself, go here for Jesus Camp and here for Hell House.)

The world according to Haim

I'm totally depressed and it's all Corey Haim's fault. Thanks to the guys over at Reel Horror, I've been made privy to the 1989 straight-to-video blockbuster Corey Haim: Me, Myself & I, a short film that Corey put together for his "fans." According to IMDb, the real point of this masterpiece was to serve as damage control, as this was around the time that Corey started getting bad press about his drug use. Obviously, the powers-that-be behind the Corey empire are just as deluded as as the people that keep allowing Britney out into public, because, well...you have to watch it. Here, I'll even embed it so we can watch it together (sort of). Just do it. I'll wait. Then we'll analyze:



Warning: this is going to be a long post because, as you just saw, there is oh-so-much to cover. Let's start at the beginning: Corey and his frost n' tip hair are sitting on a cushy white couch as the camera zooms in on him. He does this weird sideways smirk thing with his mouth and makes that little chin-up head nod thing that K-Fed always does and says, "Whassup? Hel-lo!" I think he's trying to be sexy here, but it comes off like he's the 25-year-old burnout working behind the counter at Chik-Fil-A who tries to hit on all the 12-year-olds that come in. Also, he's clearly on something; my guess is 'ludes. And are those rubber Madonna bracelets I see there, Calvin Klein??

Next they show some hapless flunkie pumping air into a giant inflatable alligator, which is for Corey to float around the pool on. I guess this is supposed to give us a taste of the glam Hollywood lifestyle that Corey leads. I mean, it's not like any of us can blow up an alligator float and laze around in a pool all day. We are also not on the forefront of the fashion scene, like Corey is with his Ray-Bans and '80s neon-yellow parachute swim trunks. He also affords the luxury of having an entirely separate duckie-shaped float for his drink that is floating along behind him. We see cuts of him on the alligator interspersed throughout the segment, including riveting "behind-the-scenes" footage of PAs jerking the float around to get a better shot and also pulling the float over to the side of the pool. The soundtrack features this totally tubular background music that sounds like the jukebox at The Max on Saved by the Bell. This is what living large in Tinseltown is all about, kids!

We're then treated to some outstanding Corey quotes about what he's been up to and his favorite "projects." Bear in mind that this was made in '89, when Jimmy Hollywood had a whopping nine feature films under his belt. Here are some of of his riveting statements, all delivered with a smug little grin and a pseudo-intellectual haughtiness:

• The direction in my life right now, that I'm trying to, I guess, proceed with, in the business is, gradually, from being the little boy, from the younger, you know, brother, to trying to be the older brother. Or the only brother.

• Is there someone I look up to? Uh, yeah. Um. I look up to John Ritter, just because, I guess, he's a physical comedian. Um, and I enjoy that. (followed by Corey inexplicably screaming, "My man Three's Company! Jack Tripper! Furrr-laayyy!")

• I'm trying to get in the habit of, you know, picking up a book and learning how to write my feelings down. Not my feelings, but my thoughts, about things.

Someone sign this guy up for Toastmasters, stat. This is worse than watching Bush try to debate.

Now we come to my favorite part: the "music" segment. Corey reveals the bombshell that he likes to "slap on the headphones and dibble-dabble on the keyboards", which is followed by a clip of him sitting in front of about eight synthesizers and pushing one button with one finger one time. Does anyone remember Praga Kahn? It's kind of like a horrifying version of that with some shitty, Corey-added C+C Music Factory-esque overdubs "dibble-dabbled" in. I'm surprised he isn't just sitting in his bedroom with his Casio keyboard set to bossanova and plinking away on one key to create his awesome music.

I bet you're wondering what kind of music this man-of-many-talents likes best. The answer is: "That Japanese funk!" OK, Corey, what the fuck is that? I'll tell you exactly what it is: there's no such thing! Corey is clearly one of those guys that makes up genres so he sounds like he's the cool, hip guy in school that knows all about some underground scene that no one else has ever heard of. Everyone knows someone like this: "Nah, Duran Duran's too mainstream for me. I'm into Japanese funk. Oh, you've never heard of it? Well, it hasn't made it over here yet." Ug! I hate that!

Get ready, because it gets worse: while the production team is setting up, Corey occupies himself by jamming out on the synths, because he obviously just can't stop himself from creating, and voice-overs "We are all born with a certain inner rhythm! Hearing a certain song can remind you of a time or event in your life that was special!" Sort of like how "Head Like A Hole" reminds me of the 1991 Haim hit Prayer of the Rollerboys? Oh, wait, no it doesn't! Because that time or event in my life wasn't special. Corey is obvs into his own special little moment because he embarrassingly flails around playing air guitar and banging his head like Rainman and exclaiming, "Let's get all funky!" while the idiot director eggs him on. Looks to me like someone might have bumped into something on the way to the studio, if you know what I mean. Here's more evidence. Next up, we see him at a photo shoot wearing a vest with nothing underneath it. Here we can see that he has what looks like the bat symbol tattooed on his arm. Jesus Christ, he is seriously K-Fed...

Can't take the heat that is emulating from your computer screen? Then let's take it down a notch with a few more thought-provoking quotes. Prepare to have your mind blown:

• I have to say, the way I'm feeling, nowadays, would have to be: intense. Powerful.

• I think maybe ten years from now, I'm hopefully going to be, in like, Tahiti or something kicking back like in my huge mansion, if everything goes right, it's all up to me, just watching like the dolphins, and the porpoises and the sharks and the little sea horses and all that fun stuff go by in a whole different country, while things happen back here.

• What does kissing really mean to me? To me, if you feel, when you kiss a girl, that certain feeling of all those dolphins, like, swimming through your bloodstream, and you get those good tingles inside your stomach, I don't think there's anything better than kissing. It basically comes down to that word: Love. I guess that's what it's all about.

Does crack consumption make you see dolphins or something? Because I think he's obsessed. What in the name of all that's holy is the matter with this guy?? I can't get over it. I'm thinking it's just some unfortunate combination of ego, fame, stupidity, and drug consumption. Is this where Lohan is headed? If so, please let her handlers be smarter than Corey's and never allow her to release a "fan video" to strengthen her tarnished image. I don't think I could handle seeing Lohan in something like this. Anyway, interspersed with these profound musings are more modeling shots of Corey, including one of him doing a drunken, off-balance karake kick and one of him wearing a badass leather jacket with skulls on the back...with a color-block shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck.

For the final scene, Corey dons a suit and treats his fans to some final words of wisdom:

Growing up on movie sets has its ups and its downs...all of it sounds like fun. But when you're 12 or 13 years old, you're very, very impressionable and I know it's easy to get off track...so be smart. Don't get messed up. Stay in school. Be anybody you want to be.

It should be noted that this inspirational message is delivered with a glassy-eyed stare, figety hand gesticulations and through several cuts that make it obvious this wasn't done in one take. That big faker is high as a fucking kite! Do you think your fans are stupid, Corey? We can see right through your Revlon Frost N' Glow hair...that shit was done at home! I swear I remember seeing some show where Corey was blathering about his "rock bottom" and how he did an anti-drug commercial while he was strung out. Could this be it? I don't think this was even near his rock bottom. He stole pizza and took 85 Valiums a day! Doesn't seem like things went right, unless he's on enough stuff that he thinks his mom's apartment is a mansion in Tahiti with dolphins and seahorses floating by the windows.

God, I'm utterly humiliated that I used to like this guy. I mean, I had my wall plastered with Corey posters! If there had been a Corey Haim hotline, I would have been like Lisa Simpson, running up the family's phone bill with late-night calls to hear the latest Corey news. Readers, I am ashamed of myself! All that time wasted when I could have been obsessing over someone more worthwhile, like John Taylor or Michael Hutchence. Please don't hold it against me; I was only 12! And I got over it and moved on to Nikki Sixx and Duff McKagan. That's a step up, right? Even so, it still makes me want to run into the path of an oncoming train. Maybe I need more dolphins in my life...or keyboard dibble-dabbling...or something.

A deep, analytical look at child star bands

My tendancy to obsess over menial subjects continues. This week's target topic is Former Child Star Bands, which you have to admit is completely fascinating. Unable to cope with being out of the spotlight once puberty hits, a disproportionate number of ex-kiddie moppets from our favorite shows and movies wind up assaulting our ears with their side-project "art." I knew all that alleged two-hour-a-day, on-set-tutoring was bullshit; in reality, they are all getting high in their trailors dreaming of being the next Brandon Cruz. So how are they doing anyway? I tried to be non-objective in my approach here (meaning whatever annoying character they played in the past has no bearing on my assessment), but who am I kidding? Corey Feldman singing theatrical metal? This entry practically wrote itself.

Bad 4 Good (Danny Cooksey)
It doesn't get any better than this. Annoying Sam from "Dif'rent Strokes" singing "I'm bad and I ain't even dead!" Aside from the Cooksey association, two friends brought to my attention that this band also features a young longhair by the name of Thomas McRocklin, who was a little protege of Steve Vai. I mean, who can even compete with a name like that? I don't care if it's a stage name—Thomas McRocklin + Danny Cooksey = gold, Jerry, gold!
Cheesy awesomeness factor: 10
Actual talent: 6
Overall assessment: Goes past bad to good and all the way back to bad again

Elephone (Ryan Lambert)
Before the Mickey Mouse Club became the hotbed for young pop talent, a little show called "Kids, Incorporated" showcased the next generation of precocious brats that would go on to make shitty music. Martika, Stacy "Fergie" Ferguson and Ryan Lambert all sprung forth from the demon loins of this godforsaken pre-teen variety show. While Martika now dabbles in goth-pop, and Fergs overcame her meth-addicted girl-group days to pee her pants on stage with the Black Eyed Peas, cute little Ryan went on to front the "indie/rock/Hawaiian" outfit Elephone. It shouldn't come as any surprise that they're all emo-ed out with smart-boy glasses, brush haircuts and Kitson boutiquewear. The sound is Radiohead-ish, via The Smiths with a side order of My Bloody Valentine.
Cheesy awesomeness factor: -5 (just like the old days, when he was pretending to be a riverboat captain, Ry-Ry still takes himself far too seriously)
Actual talent: 6
Overall assessment: OK, I'll admit I didn't hate it and Ryan is kind of cute. But the pretentiousness level is hilariously high, and thus, it sucks. Let's be realistic...the only reason anyone would go see them is to see the kid from "The Monster Squad". Don't hide from your past, Ryan, embrace it. It's all over YouTube now, so there's no getting away. Just do a cover of the "Kids, Inc." theme and get it over with.

New Radicals (Danielle Brisebois)
Danielle, who played the charming little foil to Archie's grumpy curmudgeon on "All in the Family", may arguably be the most successful of the child star banders, thanks to the New Radicals' "You Get What You Give". Do you remember them? The lead singer always wore a frat dink bucket hat and that song had the living hell played out of it in the late '90s. I fucking hated it. So even though Danielle was involved in something that might be recognizable to the general public does not mean it doesn't suck.
Cheesy awesomeness factor: does not compute
Actual talent: 1 (well, they play their own instruments...)
Overall assessment: Sucks

The Papercranes (Rain Phoenix)
Though not as well-known as her actor bros Joaquin and the late River, Rain Joan of Arc Phoenix has a couple of respectable roles under her belt, as well as appearances on "Family Ties" and "Amazing Stories". She also looks DISTURBINGLY like her brother Joaquin. Hey, didn't the Phoenix family belong to the Children of God/Hookers for Christ cult? If so, that puts a whole new twist on this Fiona Apple-lite, twingy-twangy, keyboard-plinky, sad-girl-looking-out-a-rainstreaked-window alt. pop. Maybe this music that nearly lulled me to sleep was MEANT to do that, so it could fill my head with quasi-religious messages that will lead me to shave off all my hair and wear ankle-length skirts all the time.
Cheesy awesomeness factor: 1
Actual talent: 3 (she's not completely tone deaf and she's a Phoenix)
Overall assessment: The Papercranes are fucking awesome. They are the best band of all time. They are better than The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley combined. Oh, wait, I mean the subliminal messages didn't work on me! What I meant to say is: it sucks.

Tiffany Brissette
Hm, that name doesn't sound familiar, you say, to which I reply, "Does VICKY THE ROBOT ring a bell?" How could you forget the thought-provoking genius that is "Small Wonder"? And while Jerry Suprian hasn't really won any Nobel Prizes for Physics, it turns out the greatest robot character actor in the history of television and film has really moved on to the music industry. More specifically, the contemporary Christian music industry. While that is really not all that surprising, what is is that she's allegedly slated to be on the next installment of the Surreal Life. It would be better if she was exposed as a meth-guzzling beastiality porn star, but it might still be fun, especially if she's one of those "Jesus is Cool" people and she ends up on the show with someone like Ron Jeremy.
Cheesy awesomeness factor: 9
Actual talent: ? (but if her skills at impersonating a robot are any indication, I'm guessing it's going to be pretty high)
Overall assessment: OK, I didn't actually hear any of her songs, but did I really need to? Have you ever heard any cotemporary Christian song that didn't sound exactly the same? So my guess is going to be: sucks.

Truth Movement (Corey Feldman)
Log onto Corey's website and you are immediately assaulted with an elevator version of "I Will Survive." Pretty optomistic message from ol' Feld-dog. I barely survived checking out the clips of his music on Amazon; I'm not even sure if what I heard was the actual music or a "Welcome to Windows MediaPlayer" intro. The only clue I had was the singing, because his singing voice sounds exactly like his speaking voice. Then I started picturing him doing Michael Jackson dance moves and crotch grabs and that pretty much put an end to this whole experiment.
Cheesy awesomeness factor: off the fucking charts
Actual talent: -2.5
Overall assessment: Imagine a lite-rock version of a Cradle of Filth song playing in the dentist's office. Then imagine how you felt after waking up in the dentist's office after having your wisdom teeth yanked out. Which is strangely exactly how I feel right now...