Spin, America's Snottiest Mainstream Music Rag, and Rolling Stone, America's Grumpy-Old-Man-iest Music and Whatever Else They Damned Well Feel Like Publication, just posted their best albums and best singles lists, respectively, and there aren't really too many surprises. Spingoes out on a limb with their #1 slot, awarding Against Me's New Wave "Best Album" honors. It's a good CD, but the choice smacks of a certain "we're down with the mall-rat Hot Topic punk-rock haircut emo kid crowd, please buy our magazine" desperation that Spin, in their insecurity, descends to a lot of the time. Other than that, you couldn't get a more same-old, same-old two through ten:
And yes, that's really David Letterman up there on the left. Jeez. "Late Night With Beardy McSantapants?" Wow. Anyway, Varietyis reporting that some or all of the big network late night hosts could be back on the air in early January, perhaps at the same time. Letterman, Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien and Craig Ferguson have all stayed off the air since the beginning of the ongoing Writers Guild strike in support of their joke-penners, even paying the staffs out of their own pockets. But with the shows in reruns, ratings are taking a nose-dive, and the hosts are getting antsy:
Like K-Fed, one in seven people report having been dumped via text message or email. Another 4% simply cut off all communication. What a flock of cowards. Back in my day, we had a little something called integrity. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned backbone required for dumping someone via voicemail?
You know the drill: call the loser's office - reception, not his direct line - to make sure he's at work. Then, fire up that fake, unplaceable accent normally reserved for dodging the collection agencies and student loan folks ("wha? who? no De-ba Deek-son he-ah. You got-ta baad num-ba. No De-ba he-ah. Call some more, me curse you whole fam-ly."). With him safely away for nine or so hours, bravely enumerate his failings and let his machine know exactly how dumped he is. Next, block his number or screen like a son of a gun whilst hiding at an out of town girlfriend's for a few days til you have enough contact attempts for a restraining order. But text and email? Ah, for the good old days of American forthrightness.
Jeopardy host Alex Trebek had a minor heart attack this week and is recovering at a LA hospital. Given that recovery, I might as well admit that I dislike Trebek. Intensely. I'm sure he's a great guy. So why do I always want to smack him on sight?
Who does he think he is peering over those little half-glasses at the contestants, sniffing out the answers as if from his own brain and not those little index cards that underpaid liberal arts majors labored over for sub-union wages? No one else in Hollywood wears glasses in public; you know he's had laser correction and just wears those to fake being brainy. And that smarty-pants, high falutin' attitude when delivering the answers - what a poseur! This is America, you Canuck: the ability to read someone else's work aloud isn't much of an accomplishment. If they ever spin-off a medical Jeopardy, I guess he'll be fronting in couture scrubs with a stethoscope dangling from his neck. Imagine the hours he'd put in learning to pompously pronounce all those complicated words so he could pretend to be as smart as the contestants. Or his own staffers. Not even this killer X files cameo can make him bearable.
I've never understood the allure of TV game/quiz shows, and Jeopardy even less since you have to endure Trebek's smug fakery to get to the questions.
"Bring art into your home with this 60x70" cotton towel designed by acclaimed artist Jeff Koons ... Koons captivates and inspires audiences with artwork that brings the mundane into high culture ...This lively towel features a happy inflatable toy monkey against an abstract, pool blue background."
The price? Only $50, so it's in your budget, Riff readers and secret Santas. And that monkey is totally so happy!
With all the year-end countdowns and best-of lists flying around these days, one could easily get overwhelmed with trying to sort out what was worth your time this year. Thankfully, there's an elite group of like 17 random foreign journalists who put on a little awards show every year called the Golden Globes, perhaps you've heard of them? Well, they announced the nominations this morning, and hey, they decided to include seven movies in the "Best Motion Picture Drama" category. Boy are you pissed if you were choice #8, huh:
Not only is the Recording Industry Association of America continuing its litigation efforts against university campuses, as Party Ben noted yesterday, but the group is also trying to pass legislation that would jeopardize the federal financial aid of these schools whose students are engaged in file sharing. Already strapped students and universities could soon be tasked with helping RIAA reach its bottom line.
The massive 800 page tome that is the College Opportunity and Affordability Act of 2007 includes a section called "Campus-Based Digital Theft Prevention," which addresses file sharing, mostly of music and movies, on campus networks. The bill states that during the financial aid process, schools are obligated to inform students about copyright infringement laws. In addition, schools are mandated to implement technology that would prevent file sharing. The penalty for not taking these preventative measures is loss of all federal financial aid for the university.
2008's inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced today, and there's a bit of a disturbing (if not entirely surprising) trend here. See if you can spot it:
Somebody remind me what the point of this Hall is? And nothing against any of the inductees, but if the Hall is going to marginalize hip-hop and disco then why even nominate them? Well, if the losers have a party I totally want to go to that one instead.
There's really no better way to put it than the AP opener:
Ike Turner, whose role as one of rock's critical architects was overshadowed by his ogrelike image as the man who brutally abused former wife Tina Turner, died Wednesday at his home in suburban San Diego. He was 76.
Ike Turner was involved in a record that some historians call the first, or one of the first, true rock songs: "Rocket 88", by Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats. Turner used a distorted sound on the guitar, something that reportedly happened by accident when one of the guitar amps fell over. If that's true, what an accident, right? But of course, he was a real jerk to Tina, and you can't help but think about Laurence Fishburne's harrowing portrayal of the guy in "What's Love Got to Do With It." While Turner always denied abusing his wife, I think everybody believes Tina on that score, and jeez, who doesn't love Tina Turner, it's like beating up the Statue of Liberty. So, rest in peace.