Put a Fork in America...We're Done! Now for the Beer.

Pro-life, anti-death, pro-gay, anti-homophobes, pro-choice, anti-prophylactics. Isn't it tiring? Keeping up with the policy in today's calculated sound bite releases is exhausting. All the smoke and mirrors and snips and snails and puppy dog tails are really starting to weigh me down. Republicans lying about Democrats and the Democrats...well, just, basically, lying about. I've had it up to here! Where's here? ...My liver.

After taking a good look at all the issues, I've decided to jump on the Obama band wagon because I've realized that he has finally figured it ALL out, and he's ready to share it with us. As the RNC cleans up it's hate culture and legitimate rapists, and the Democrats gain momentum during their DNC tom-foolery and hetero-phobic baby-killing, the campaign wizards in the White House have been strategically planning a bombshell release that will shake the political foundations of the country to it's core: the recipe of the White House Honey Brown Ale.

That's right. The White House staff have put aside the menial tasks of silly wars and financial instability to bring us unmatchable perfection in the world of beer drinking. What a relief that our President, Barack Obama, is actually getting things done around this poor excuse for a country. I think he finally realized that he could only ride the I-killed-Osama-Bin-Laden train for so long. Eventually he had to get back to the grindstone at Pennsylvania Avenue and focus on the serious issues, like how much barley and hops it takes to wash away the taste of cigarettes on his taste buds.

History was made and the cry of the working class was answered with a recipe that called for a little light malt extract, amber crystal malt, honey, gypsum, yeast and corn sugar.  Move over Mountain Dew because we can now brew the brew of all brews in our own bathtubs. Thank you, Mr. President. You made this possible.

Beer drinking had hit a wall in this country with all the bitter hops and unpredictable yeast build-ups. All the beer in the world was no match for the tingling sensation of the old favorite Mountain Dew that ruined the teeth of abusive personalities everywhere. But now a new age has come, and we, the American drinker, will never be the same. With this feat, President Obama has surely sealed himself in the halls of fame as the Greatest President in the Multiverse. White House Honey Brown Ale is believed to be the only beer ever brewed on the White House grounds. (Martin Van Buren gets the nod for distilling the first jug of whiskey in the White House.)  God's favor must surely rest on him for such a remarkable gesture of getting-things-done in a country so riddled with holes of hate and intolerance.

Believe me, this history making event didn't just wash up on the shores of the White House like flotsam and jetsam. The administration had been looking for ways to get an edge on their white collar opponents for hours. After many failed attempts to win the hearts of the American people including a White House fountain filled with green food coloring on St. Patrick's Day and a few appearances on Late Night TV,  the idea of beer frothed through the West Wing. Brainstorm sessions ensued at cabinet meetings and brew-ha-has, and the idea was born. But it needed a catalyst, something to get the beer out of the barrels and into the hearts of the voting public. That catalyst came about through the most history changing event in alcoholic history-changing history.

In a genius attempt to quell racial tensions around the world, Obama and Biden invited a Harvard professor and a police sergeant over for a beer. This event took advantage of Obama's lifetime of beer drinking and made the first dent in erasing racism in America since Abraham Lincoln screwed it all up at the end of the civil war by getting shot in the back of the head during some ridiculous movie premiere or something. Stupid Lincoln.


That minature beer fest or "Beer Summit" as it was aptly named was the impetus he needed for a winner-take-all campaign for beer.  The commission began and has finally culminated this past week with the unprecedented press release of the recipe for Obama's White House Honey Brown Ale. (Click here if you would like this recipe.) It is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. And it's clear that Obama's strategists have been working night and day since our political messiah graced us with his prompter reading skills and mesmerized us with his natural swagger from the Presidential helicopter. (Yep, that's right; he's the real deal, folks.)

And now we must wait until the rest of America jumps "off the wagon"... and then onto the Obama Beer Wagon. There is still a lot of room on this "wagon" for white working class adulterers, Irish-loving black people, Monastical friars, and reformed pot-heads.

To the Mexican immigrant mother that just found out her 16-year-old girl was pregnant: Beer is the Answer.
To the bankrupt business owner that broke his foot jumping out of his third story window because he couldn't pay a health premium for his employees: Beer is the Answer.

To the elderly man whose social security is only going to be available for 2 more hours because the Senators just approved another raise for themselves: Beer is the Answer.
To the child who got busted for reprogramming the DVR so his parents wouldn't catch him watching "Family Guy" on Fox: Beer is the Answer.

I seriously can't imagine where we'd be in this country without beer. Maybe our Episcopalian friends would be as intolerant as the rest of the clergy. Maybe our roads and infrastructure would actually make sense. Maybe Bear Grylls would stop drinking the moisture from elephant feces. Only God knows, but I do know this...*Mitt Romney is a Mormon, doesn't drink and favors multiple wives, so how in the world would he get anything done for beer drinkers. 

*Note: Lies?? Truths?? Sarcasm?? Hyperbole?? What's the difference?

The Gentlemen of the Road

My head doesn't get stuck in the clouds too often, but once in a while it does. It happens when I least expect it. I'll be hooked on a good television show halfway through the season, and I'll start to mentally immerse myself in the story looking forward to every episode. The next thing you know, I've signed up to bring Tostino's pizza rolls and some grape soda to a gathering of like minded souls to watch the season finale. The build up to a new movie sometimes gets me too.  I build my entire summer around the release date of some movie. Then I show up hours early to the premier with a tent and 42 bags of Twizzlers.

I'm embarrassed to say that it happened again, just a few weeks ago. A band called Mumford and Sons was coming to town to play their second show of their North American tour, and I got tickets to go with 3 of my bestest mates. I was in the ether. I was as giddy as a Canadian school girl at a Robert Pattinson autograph signing; you couldn't have given me enough Lorazepam. Tickets were more difficult to score than I expected, but once I had them, I was floating with the angels. A week before the show I was getting a bit cheeky. I spent hours on-line reading about what their live shows are like, missed appointments at work, emailed the lead singer's parents in the United Kingdom, and tried to figure out a way to become a groupie AND keep my family. The premotor cortex of my brain was peeking with excitatory signals because of the anticipation I was experiencing.

Believe me, when I say that I knew my expectations were high, and I didn't care. I knew Mumford and Sons would deliver, and I was absolutely right. They delivered like a Federal Express Broadway musical. Mumford and Sons brought the frequency of life and truth to their show, and I soaked it in like a dankish sponge. Their songs are full of passion and heartache, faith and doubt, life and death. I told someone it was like being at a rally for God and humanity to work together to defeat darkness.

For each song, each band member plays a different instrument, including but not limited to an accordion, a mandolin, a banjo and an upright bass. At certain intervals during their set, the four part harmonies they found sent my joy meter to overload and made my cheeks tired. I was brimming with euphoria the entire time. During one of the transitions a member of the band gave the crowd a good chortle when he joked about southern Americans being from South America, which makes perfect sense if your from Britain. I was happy when they eventually got back to the music, which is, by far, their best feature.

The bluegrass, folk, pop and rock genre can't agree on where to place the style of music that Mumford and Sons plays. They cover everything from a head-banging mosh pit in one song to a soothing bluegrass ballad of love in another. The confusion is just, thus they've been dubbed West London Folk. Guess that's a half win for folk, and a kick in the knickers for everyone else. But first and foremost, Mumford and Sons is a festival band. That is where their roots are and throughout their tour they've scheduled festival "stopovers" to remind them of their first love. It is this characteristic that has given them the nickname, Gentlemen of the Road. You can see a documentary of their travels on Youtube.com.

Meet the Gentlemen of the Road:

Marcus Mumford: Vocals, Guitar, Drums, Mandolin,

Ben Lovett: Vocals, Keyboards, Accordian, Drums

Country Winston Marshall: Vocals, Banjo, Dobro, Guitar

Ted Dwane: Vocals, String Bass, Drums, Guitar

As many of you are probably wondering the concert did have an ending, but it was the coolest ending ever, they came back and did a five song encore, thanked each of us collectively for coming, told us we were the best audience they had ever played for, and gave us each a business card with their personal cell phone numbers and email addresses along with a spare key to their houses in London with directions on how to take care of their fish tanks and guinea pigs while they are on tour. Best band ever.

You may scoff when you hear this, but I would like to postulate the possibility that this band has the potential to become synonymous with other long lasting superpower bands like U2, the Beatles, Michael Jackson, or Madonna. They're music stands the test of time and the cohesion between the band members could withstand the worst that the music business might have to throw at them.

Cheers to the Gentlemen of the Road.


  

Dear NBC, I Don't Want to Watch the Loser Cry, or Do I?

 

NBC should launch a network where they feature only the crying dejected losers who fall flat on their faces. Then Bob Costas could do sarcastic voice overs about how awesome it must be to train so hard for 14 years just to see it all go down the toilet in a whirlpool of athletic genius. Before a long agonizing failure they could tell us heart-freezing stories about the families of the athletes getting homes foreclosed on or falling victim to ponzi schemes. Ratings would sky-rocket, wouldn't they?

Apparently, "someone" likes to watch that stuff because they scramble the cameramen like house flies to a dirty bum. And that "someone" must be the one buying all the ad space, because NBC strives for the money shot, complete with streaming tears of embarrassment and failure.

Congratulations, NBC, for testing the waters of "cry-definition" television by letting us watch athletes like Jordyn Wieber or Liu Xiang shed sweet dramatic tears of despair. Hopes and dreams come to a crashing halt and NBC goes for complete coverage of... the loser. Now all you have to do is supplement this new emo programming with advertisements for depression medication and suicide hotlines.

Or, how 'bout this idea: maybe you could GIVE THEM A MOMENT! Isn't there a "winner" sauntering about the arena that you could feature? I think there is. Do that.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Life in Overdrive

Toby Keith came to Virginia Beach, and I was one of the lucky hillbillies in the front row, or "pit", as it is affectionately known. Allow me to set the stage for those unfamiliar with the goings-on at a genuine Toby Keith concert. The venue was outside, and it just happened to be the hottest evening of the summer. Not to worry, I was surrounded by many other people suffering from the same summer heat, so we were able to keep each other warm.

To start things off, I'm so thankful we got to our standing positions in the pit early enough to catch the Ford commercial that started the show. It was like being at a drive in movie, you know, the nostalgia of it all. A giant white sheet was strategically hung in front of the stage so no one would miss it. A projector mounted 100 feet away gave all 20,000 of us a larger than life perspective of what it's like to be Toby Keith driving a Ford F-150. It was glorious. There he was before us, Toby Keith, in a commercial driving a truck on a gianormous sheet hanging down before our very eyes. I know what your thinking, Ford commercials are available at home in our living rooms on the TV, but this... this was special. Apparently, if you drive a brand new Ford F-150, several really cool things happen to you. You meet beautiful, sweaty, half-naked women sucking on popsicles. Dirty, empty bars suddenly spring to life when you plug in the juke box. Somehow desert roads become oases, and fame and fortune follow you everywhere. All, from a truck. How cool is that? I'm going to go get me one of those Ford's just as soon as I get a feather in my hat and call it macaroni.

But the concert wasn't over yet...

The sheet fell from the heights over our heads, and we stood there like excited villagers sacrificing a virgin before a giant volcano ignorant of the sweaty steam emanating from each of our bodies. Then the live music began with a loud pulse emanating from each instrument. Bodies jumped, sweat flung into my eyes, the lights turned on and the super amazing pyro-technics made me realize I wasn't hot enough.

Excitement overtook the sensation of having a fever, and I watched and listened while a tired sunburnt old man used the gift of song to tell 20,000 people how amazing they were. As I observed I realized that this was the most patriotic group of people ever. There was a shout out to policemen and firemen, a respect for veterans and politicians, and a long drawn-out video montage of Willy Nelson. I kid you not, an amputee literally threw his fake leg onto the stage for Toby Keith to sign it. And it wasn't any kind of normal fake leg either, it was decorated to the nines with paintings of bald eagles that were draped in American flags. It was one of the most questionably inappropriate things I've ever seen.

But that was nothing compared to the crowning achievement of the entire show. The climax of a good show is reserved for special subject matter. It's not enough to sing about cowboys and Willy Nelson and Ford trucks. They aren't special enough. Nope, you've got to give the climax to something special. And in this case that "special thing" is the Red Solo Cup that holds your beer. Toby Keith, held up a red solo cup full of some liquid and sang one of the most beautiful ballads ever written. While doing this four stage hands began pumping up giant red solo cup balloons about the size of Ford F-150s. Here are some of the lyrics to this beloved song:

Red solo cup, I fill you up
Let's have a party, let's have a party
I love you red solo cup, I lift you up,
Proceed to party, proceed to party
...
Now I've seen you in blue and I've seen you in yellow
But only you red will do for this fellow
Cause you are the Abbott into my Costello
And you are the Fruit to my Loom

For all the lyrics to this beautiful song click here

Now if that isn't just the sweetest thing ever then I don't know what is. It's very catchy and memorable.

What followed were some sweet guitar licks, a drum solo and few shots of my ugly mug on the big screen, but as you would probably guess it was all down hill after the Red Solo Cup.

I can tell you with certainty that Toby Keith is a great entertainer; he knows what his fans want and he gives it to them. So what does he give them? A sense of who they are, passionate, patriotic, gun-toting, beer-drinking, nature loving, NASCAR supporting, cowboy boot wearing, Caucasians. I was entertained, and part of me wished I had a pair of cowboy boots. This was my very first country music concert and I would do it all over again, except for the part about leaving early to miss the inevitable parking lot traffic jam. How do you like me now?

Star of "Dark Knight Rises" Visits Colorado Shooting Victims

Celebrity buzz hasn't favored the Batman star in recent years, but this week he did something that totally redeemed him. Here's a great story for fans of "The Dark Knight" with Associated Press b-roll of the event.

Christian Bale in Colorado

Here We Are Now, Entertain Us (Part 2)

(In light of the tragedy that took place in Aurora, CO, this blog entry might not sit well with you. Although this blog tries to help us understand tragedy in the literary sense, it doesn't offer any consolation to tragedy in real life. It is unfortunate that we live in a world where tragedy is real, and I offer my sincere condolences to the citizens of Aurora, CO and all those dealing with the consequences of a crazed mad man.)

Hunger Games struck a cord with mainstream America in a way that was like plucking a hair out of a nostril. This was a painful story about an alternate world where kids killed other kids for the entertainment of others, and yet it was one of the highest grossing movies of 2012. Are we just sick, homicidal child-haters with a pension for cage fighting? Is the unstoppable force, that is America, slipping down that proverbial, never-ending Slip 'n Slide into nothingness? I don't believe so. For centuries humanoids have been entertained by a literary device called "catharsis".  Some appreciate it others don't, and still others would just as soon strip it naked and drop it off in front of a sketchy bus station.

"Catharsis" originates from the Greek word for "cleansing" and is defined on dictionary.com as "the purging of emotions or relieving of emotional tensions, especially through certain kinds of art as  tragedy or music." Basically, an enema for the soul. One can't have a good tragedy without the element of catharsis so let's explore. Classic Tragedies include Romeo and Juliet, Oedipus Rex, and La Boheme, to name a few. They loved their soul enemas back then, so much so that Leonardo Da Vinci had to fill the world with inventions and paintings of constipated people.

Modern tragedies are harder to come by and are more commonly referred to as horror movies, but once in a while a mainstream movie will embody the definition of a tragedy like, Into the Wild, The People vs. Larry Flint, or The Butterfly Effect. To get into a story and build up a fortress of emotion only to have your weakness exploited by a director who brings you into an unshakable state of depression for a few hours or even days, is one of the marvels of true artistic genius. A good cathartic moment can go a long way, like that moment when you realize the mountain oysters you've been eating were goat testicles.

Ultimately, the purpose of a tragedy is to bring healing to the audience. Even psychoanalysts praise catharsis as progress in emotional healing. Emotions are strong and can often lead to horrible decisions, like vengeful flatulation at work, sarcasm on the witness stand, or, God forbid, a tattoo near your nethers. Emotions that lead to these kinds of actions are viewed as excessive and unhealthy by some. A good catharsis can sooth the wild beast in most of us and make our passions slightly more manageable. Wikipedia informs us that particular Freudian psychoanalysts would use catharsis to help patients experience "the deep emotions often associated with events in the individual's past which had originally been repressed or ignored, and had never been adequately addressed or experienced."Some have even gone so far as to say that catharsis is pleasurable, because the audience might experience an ecstatic relief ensuing from an awareness that, compared with what they have just seen portrayed, their own life is less tragic.

However, there should be a warning label on overly tragic stories. A person suffering from extreme emotional derangement might careen off into the outer space of excitability and never be normal again. This is the downside of tragedy, and one of the reasons many will not appreciate its artistic quality.

Another reason is plain, old aesthetics. Just like some prefer not to suffer the woes of the mighty roller coaster, others are physically wired not to enjoy the thrills of a finely woven catharsis. I believe this is part of the reason there was such a strong reaction to the Hunger Games. Rightfully so, the thought of children brutally murdering each other for sport did not sit right with people, no matter what the back story was.

Therefore the redeeming value of such a tragic event is lost, just like the redeeming value of conquering your fears at the end of a roller coaster are lost just by looking at that first drop from your car in the parking lot.

I'm not a fan of roller coasters, because they give me vertigo and and a keen sense of impending disaster. On the other hand, I am a fan of tragedies because I love the catharsis that ensues after a good story. I still cringe and wince, but I like cringing and wincing.

Here We Are Now, Entertain Us (Part 1)

A dichotomy has arisen in the last few decades among the moral majority, and as a result many among us have missed out on some of the greatest storytelling in generations. Nakedness, alcohol, drugs, swearing, sex, violence, wizardry and homosexuality are all frowned upon by the Christian elite. Keep it out of their movies and TV shows, off the streets and billboards, but for Christ's sake, leave it in the Bible. As defined by the Urban Dictionary the Bible is "an ancient novel full of murder, corruption, homosexuality, bestiality, incest and cruelty. It is often read to children on Sunday."

You wouldn't believe the lengths that the Christians have gone to in order to keep the very stuff they object to in Hollywood, right smack dab in the middle of the Bible. Scribe after scribe, council after council, crusade after crusade, martyr after martyr, philandering televangelist after philandering televangelist, all of these folks, seriously vigilant about making sure the story of King David's harems (2 Samuel 5:13) and Samuel's genocide (I Samuel 15) is told with gusto. Sordid affairs involving prostitution and incest (Genesis 19), detailed portrayals of violence involving a disemboweling (2 Samuel 20:9-10) and some beheadings (Matthew 14:3-12), and one amazing story of angels having sex with women to create a giant race of humans called Nephalim (Genesis 6:1-4). All of this and more is part of every Christian's heritage. Don't mess. Seriously, don't mess with the Bible, unless you want to go to hell. Haha. just kidding, sort of (Revelation 22:19).

Here in lies the dichotomy: Rejecting the function of immorality in storytelling, but accepting it within our spiritual heritage.

The Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) puts a rating on almost every movie we watch in the theaters. Movie promoters live and die by these ratings, because one extra curse word could push a "PG-13" to an "R" and drop the expected revenue by 50%. By this logic, one could argue that Christians shot themselves in the foot when it came to marketing their famous book. If there were a movie made that encompassed ever story in the Bible, I'm confident that it would receive a worse rating than NC-17. They would have to make up a rating like 40-EGA-21 (Elderly Guidance for Adults: No admittance to anyone under 21 and those over 21 must be accompanied by someone over 40). The Bible may be God's Word, but try bringing the movie version to Sunday School. Eat that scroll, Enid Strict!

Who doesn't love a good story, whether its from the Bible or the theater or a good book. There are some mind-blowing stories out there in our world. Several come to our minds immediately, and everyone has a favorite, Treasure Island, The Conversion of Saul, Ben Hur, The Matrix, Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan. Most of those favorites include some realistic curse words, violence, or even some nudity.  I would argue that these are variables within each story that actually make it great.

Who appreciates the beauty of the outdoors more than the man in a solitary confinement? Who appreciates riches more than the man who grew up poor? Who appreciates life more than the man who almost died? Exactly. Sometimes you have to see hell to appreciate the beauty on the other side. Story-tellers take us through these hellish situations to help us appreciate the final outcome. The End. Denouement. Resolution. Catastrophe. I call it "The Payoff". That's when you know if the journey that the story took you on was worth it or not. Did it payoff well or not so well? Speaking of the Bible, again, it wouldn't be worth it's weight in shekels if it wasn't for the payoff at the end.

Do you think that people working on a movie with a superbly gory scene are bloodthirsty heathens? No. They are wholesome people with families and kids and Sunday school classes just like you and me, that are part of putting together a good story. Do you think the author who vividly describes a rape scene to his reader is a closet sexual deviant? No. He's telling a story, building up the emotion to bring it all home for a great read. Do you think the people who wrote those disturbing stories in the Bible were creepy lunatics? No. They were normal people for their day and age, putting together the greatest story ever told.

To him who has an ear let him hear, the morality portrayed in a story should not be relegated to a single line or even a single scene but the art as a whole, except, of course if it is blatantly obscene or pornographic.* So, don't give up on a story, based on a few bad words or some splattering blood. It might just be the Bible.


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*(Legal definition of obscene: an act, utterance, or item tending to corrupt the public morals by its indecency or lewdness.)