Good morning, children! Ready for your breakfast cake? You better be, because here in the cave that’s just the way we celebrate a proper Saturday morning. And once your teeth have really begun to grind from the sugar rush, might we interest you in a bit of song and dance? Yes, it’s time for the Hokey Morning Song with Kimba and friends on Kimba’s Cave. Don’t be alarmed, sit back and relax – this show’s for everyone, just like the lyrics say. A word of warning, though: don’t piss Kimba off or he might just get skimpy with the fluffcake.
Hmm, that song sure had some strange notes.. And doesn’t Kimba look just a bit familiar? Click below for the big reveal that will have you regurgitating fluffcake for hours. With laughter, I mean.
Shining Time Station: Mr. Conductor & his sister in One of the Family
“Most everyone refers to George Carlin as a comedian, which I believe to be slightly misleading. The man was a teacher, with a great gift to pass his ideas and observations through the use of comedy” – vlpod’s YouTube comment on It’s Bad for Ya! – 2008 (Part 7 of 7)
Everyone took a moment today to remember George Carlin. Some people scoured YouTube for Carlin from every era: the scrubbed, black-and-white ’60s Carlin in a suit as Al Sleet, the Hippie-Dippie Weatherman, the shaggy-haired, FCC-infuriating Carlin performing the immortal 7 Words You Can’t Say on Television of the 70’s, the talkin’-like-he’s-from-the-‘hood Place for My Stuff Carlin of the ’80s, cab driver “George O’Grady” Carlin of the ’90s, and finally, the vitriolic, white-haired, Old Fuck (“not an Old Fart, but an Old Fuck, mind you!”) Carlin of the new millenium. This was my favorite Carlin. Now he’s gone, and the nation is just this much stupider; there’s this much less of a chance for people to question what’s around them. That’s how I felt all day.
Out of all the balding, acerbic little digital ghosts that paced around my screen today, there was one iteration of George Carlin in particular that put me weirdly at peace after a day of unrest. Mr. Conductor from Shining Time Station:
Until today, I never even knew that this version of George Carlin ever existed. And that’s the thing; we always find ourselves researching people after they’re gone; hitting up their Wikipedia page, finding old interviews, watching clips. So he’s an idea: every week, pick one person who inspires you and research the shit out of them. Don’t wait ’til they die to learn what they’ve been up to, what you’ve been missing out on – be there and support them while they’re still out there. You have the entire internet at your fingertips – Carlin would probably tell you to enjoy that while it lasts.
Whenever anyone I love is feeling especially gloomy, I have one very reasonable, reliable cure-all recommendation. It’s not exercise, or sex, or drugs, or comfort food. Simply this:
These are the joyful and uninhibited sounds of Shooby Taylor, the Human Horn. It’s my opinion that anyone who doesn’t at least crack a smile listening to this singular scat musician is probably beyond all hope and should be taken out behind the barn and humanely dispatched.
Born in 1929, William “Shooby” Taylor lived in Harlem for the majority of his life, toiling as a New York City postal worker for 21 years. From a 2002 article in the NYT:
[His music] can be difficult to digest. As he tries to approximate the sound of a saxophone solo with his voice, he hits sour notes. He spits out nonsense syllables like a machine gun, communicating in a private language nearly impossible to imitate. And he rarely meshes with his background music, whether it is the skating-rink organ in ”Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” songs by the country singer Christy Lane or Mozart.
…In homage to his hero Babs Gonzales, who died in 1980, Mr. Taylor began honing his scat stylings in the mid-1950’s after serving in the Army. After his shift at the post office ended at midnight, he frequented jam sessions at Manhattan clubs, but most musicians shunned him.
For decades, Shooby persisted in following his dream, enduring endless ridicule and rejection. One day in the early 1980s, he walked into a vanity-press recording studio called Angel Sound. Located in sleezy, pre-Disneyfied Times Square, the studio had seen its share of feisty characters. Shooby proved one of the most memorable, laying down 14 smokin’ vocalese tracks ranging from jazz to country to show tunes to… unclassifiable…
Barnyard Dadaist Adrian Munsey and friends performing live, 1979.
Adrian Munsey, you’re my kind of alt. It takes a brave and strange fellow to combine field recordings of sheep with elegiac chamber music; an even braver, stranger fellow to appear on nationwide telly with sheep and elegiac chamber musicians, straight faced and bleating in tune/time. I salute you.
Cover of original Lost Sheep 7inch. (Just so’s ya know, my birthday is coming up…)
Just when you thought it wasn’t possible to adore this gentleman any more than you already do, here is Tom Waits holding court at a recent “live press conference” to inform the public of his upcoming Glitter & Doom tour:
Waits hasn’t announced any new recordings. Bloggers are speculating that the tour is in support of actress Scarlett Johansson’s album of Tom Waits covers, which comes out later this month, and which I am about as likely to purchase as Chester Cheetah is to burst forth from my chest cavity in a scabby, florescent orange flood of processed cheese while singing “Jockey Full of Burbon”. No offense.
Tom Waits’ Glitter & Doom Summer Tour:
6/17 – Phoenix, AZ @ Orpheum
06/18 – Phoenix, AZ @ Orpheum
06/20 – El Paso, TX @ Plaza
06/22 – Houston, TX @ Jones Hall
06/23 – Dallas, TX @ Palladium
06/25 – Tulsa, OK @ Brady Theatre
06/26 – St. Louis, MO @ Fox Theatre
06/28 – Columbus, OH @ Ohio Theatre
06/29 – Knoxville, TN @ Civic Theatre
07/01 – Jacksonville, FL @ Times Union Center Moran Theatre
07/02 – Mobile, AL @ Saenger Theatre
07/03 – Birmingham, AL @ Alabama Theatre
07/05 – Atlanta, GA @ Fox Theatre
I am the fly in the ointment. Accept the next dose of disease.
Okay, so we’re a little late to the Green Porno party. But what we lack in punctuality we more than make up for in enthusiasm for these warped short films.
Isabella “Put Your Disease in Me” Rossellini outdoes herself (and actually does herself) in this eight-part series about the sex lives of various insects, arachnids and molluscs. Produced by Sundance expressly for smaller digital screens (computers, cell phones, etc) the whole series is just dirty, filthy, good clean fun. Try to imagine a Children’s Television Workshop-produced interpretation of that transcendently horrible pterodactyl pr0n and you’ll be somewhere in the ballpark. But not really.
Question: How do you say “oh, fuckballs, I think I took the brown acid” in Telugu?
Answer: “Idhi Oka Idi Le!”
Just kidding. “Idhi Oka Idi Le” is merely the title of an exuberant duet between classic Tollywood stars Radha and Chiranjeevi (star of that notorious “Indian Thriller” video). Actually, I have no idea what “Idhi Oka Idi Le” means. What I do know is that I’d rather eat a live centipede than watch the “Idhi Oka Idi Le” video while tripping.
Embedding’s been disabled on this, so make with the clickies (provided you’re not on any hallucinogenics right now).
Merlin Mann is a journalist, doctor programmer and the guy behind 43folders.com among other things, but today he adds another bullet point to the list by offering some in-depth advice on how to keep it real, Steam-style. You think your gear is genuine? This video might make you re-consider. Without further ado I give you Merlin Mann in Steampunk DIY. Thanks for making me spill my coffee, Molly!
No doubt I’m a jaded soul for questioning the sincerity of Fred Spencer and his lovely wife Sharon. Then again, I was raised on the deadpan weirdness of David Lynch. In a hyper-ironic meme world brimming with Tims, Erics,Liams, and Saschas, it’s impossible for this charismatic couple from Kelowna, BC to remain above suspicion. But… I want to believe!
What do you think? Friends, or faux? Either way, what’s not to love?
Yeah, okay, I know. Everyone and their granny has already blogged about this, but I just gotta chime in to quickly say that Garfield Minus Garfield is the most unexpected laff riot this side of Cthulhu Family Circus. Some sage old fart once said something along the lines of “the greatest truths are the simplest, so likewise are the greatest men” and that tenet definitely applies here:
Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness and methamphetamine addiction in a quiet American suburb.
It’s a shame that any attempt to make a Garfield Minus Garfield day-to-day calendar would be cockblocked by copyright litigation. Hey, I freakin’ loathe day calendars. They’re pointless, inane, a waste of trees. But seriously, I’d consider running out and getting some soul-destroying cubicle day job just to have an excuse to purchase and read the paper version of Garfield Minus Garfield every gosh darn day. Suck it, Dilbert!
