Nerdiest Public Service Announcement Ever

A stern, last-minute reminder from M.A.D.D. (Muftaks Against Drunk Driving): all ya boozers attending the launch party tonight need to BRING A DESIGNATED DRIVER, or use a taxi service. That goes double for anyone who so much as sips the Electric Lemonade. We don’t want to see your drunk ass behind the wheel of anything besides the gorgeous carousel horse Roxy‘s lending us for the photo booth.

Cheers!

Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome’s Surreal Ritual

Above is Kenneth Anger‘s 1954 film Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome in its entirety. A film critic friend pointed me to it, with the simple statement “it’s weird, you’ll like it.” This came up along with news that Anger, 81, is terminally ill.

In some ways this seems a film out of time. It presages ’60s psychedelica (and would be re-released in a “sacred mushroom” version in 1966), yet the style is enmeshed in the occult revival of the fin de siècle. Watching it the first time, I couldn’t but see it as a glimpse into an alternate universe where the silent film era never ended and Aleister Crowley took the world by storm instead of dying in a flophouse.

With its lush array of images and allusions, Pleasure Dome is made to be unraveled – and indeed, there’s plenty of theories about it out there. Filmmaker Maximilian Le Cain sees communion, and writes “the movement of the film is essentially the passing of the gifts from one guest to another as they advance into a state of transpersonal ecstasy.” But film critic Doug Pratt perceives a hollow heart in the same revels: “an appropriately decorated Hindu-like myth re-enactment, with its spiritual core utterly rotted away; a disturbed revelry of desperate souls clinging to the outdated fashions and orgiastic memories of their lost time.”

Which is it? The absurdity’s there. Yes, that’s Anais Nin with a birdcage on her head. Yes, the Scarlet Woman gets her cigarette lit in the middle of the damn thing. Yes, jewelry gets guzzled in copious amounts.

But like any good ritual experience, the whole is more than the sum of its parts. Turn the lights off, watch deeply, let the images pile up and hear Janá?ek’s Glagolitic Mass swell in the background: the whole scene takes on a strange, unexpected power.

The works of Kenneth Anger on Amazon

Shining Time Station Wish You Were Here

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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:

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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.

Idhi Oka Idi Le (Albert Hoffman Would Approve)

Question: How do you say “oh, fuckballs, I think I took the brown acid” in Telugu?

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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.

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Embedding’s been disabled on this, so make with the clickies (provided you’re not on any hallucinogenics right now).

It’s beginning to look a lot like HUMBUG.


(From the priceless Sun-Sentinel “Scared of Santa” photo gallery.)

It’s that time again. Can’t go anywhere without getting a shot of rancid Santa splooge in the eye. Can’t escape the mewling, reindeer shit-besmirched legions of consumer whores clamoring to buy perfunctory fad gifts for their relatives and co-workers. Can’t order a freakin’ espresso without someone trying to pour their special brand of putrescent nutmeg-flavored pus down one’s throat. Black Friday has ushered in what is arguably the darkest, bleakest period of the calendar year. Even if it’s a myth that suicide rates are highest during the holidays, some of the frailer agnostics among us will surely be reduced to gibbering husks by December 25th.

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But take heart, all ye heathens, Scrooges and secular humanists. There are so many delightful reasons to rejoice in the season besides the miraculous birth of Baby Jesus or being given a luxury SUV wrapped in a giant @#$!*& bow. Explore the wonderment beyond the cut.