Barack O-Balla

Dishin’ dimes to the nation’s underprivileged, d’in up America’s enemies, drainin’ jump shots on the economy…

Google Me

Just as your pulse begins to slow from watching that documentary on fonts, along comes a film about a subject nearly as thrilling: search engines. Google Me — which sounds like either the title of a terrible romantic comedy or the lamest setup for a porno ever — follows Jim Killeen, a struggling 38-year-old actor originally from Detroit, as he meets other people with the same name he discovered by typing “Jim Killeen” into that famous search bar. These include a swinger from Denver, a retired New York cop, an Irish priest and an Australian corporate exec (and, judging by this picture, “Jim Killeen” might be the whitest name on earth).

The film will premiere tomorrow on YouTube, the DVD hitting shelves with surely meteoric force on Tuesday. According to this profile in the Washington Post, what the director discovered from this odyssey “was not a better way to be a Jim Killeen, but an inspiring (if “Breakfast Club”-y) truth about being human. Says Killeen: “People are fundamentally good. They will invite you over to their houses. They will meet you halfway.” OK, that’s nice to hear, since I don’t know if too many people would want to see a movie where the ultimate conclusion is, “Y’know, humans are kind of assholish.” But this quote, about what triggered the journey, makes me question if the teddy bear-like Killeen went into this project with a heart too big for these cynical times:

“I wanted them to be doing well in life,” he says. “I wanted them to succeed. They were members of a very special club.”

Obviously, Mr. Killeen lacks a basic understanding of the digital age. Yes, it has made the world smaller. Yes, it has made it possible to connect with people we may have never known previously. Before the Internet, mankind was comfortable hurtling through space, each individual occupying his or her own solipsist universe, satisfied with the fact that, as far as most of us know, there is no one else out there like us. Now, though, with the single click of a mouse, all of us can come to the crushing realization that we are not as unique as we used to believe. We are, in the words of Tyler Durden, “the same decaying organic matter as everything else.” And we’re being ranked by robots.

As amiable as they may appear in person, these other Jim Killeens are not Jim Killeen’s friends. They are his opponents in the game of life. That Post article acknowledges that Google is a universal status symbol; it is the only measuring stick we have which stretches across cultural boundaries to prove who is truly worthy of the air they’re breathing. Myself, I am currently the third greatest “Matthew Singer” on the planet, behind a Duke University grad student whose published works include The 2002 Presidential and Parliamentary Elections in Bolivia and Trends in Opinion Research in New Democracies: Professionalization and Quality Control? and a guy who worked as a crew member on the set of Empty Nest (the situation with my informal name, Matt, is more disheartening: I went through 14 pages of search results and I have yet to show up). If the Dukie and the production staffer showed up on my doorstep unannounced one day, I probably wouldn’t invite them in for dinner — the Panamanian electoral system and Richard Mulligan aren’t exactly my ideas of scintillating subjects of conversation — but I would definitely be cordial. That doesn’t mean I’m not viewing them as competition — and hoping, secretly, that they aren’t doing well, or at least doing mediocre, because nothing shoots you up the Google ladder more than a headline-grabbing flameout (of course, considering that one of the superior Matthew Singers apparently hasn’t worked since the late ’80s is still seeded higher than me makes me wonder what the hell I have to do to overtake this guy). I don’t think this makes me a bad person, though it sadly might make me a virtual yuppie social climber. But that’s how it is these days: It’s an increasingly crowded world with diminishing wiggle room. You either jockey for position with vigor, or get banished to the Invisible Web.

Of course, Jim Killeen probably knows this. After all, what better way to become Google’s top Jim Killeen than making a movie about Google?

Can we get that stuffonmycat.com documentary now, please?

I Left My Beige Pleated Cotton Khakis in San Francisco

Should I be embarrassed that this Dockers commercial makes me want to move to San Francisco?

Punchline 9/11

From politico.com:

The conflict in Iraq may go on for years, but it appears the end is nigh for Hollywood’s ponderous, heavy-handed treatment of the war on terror. That’s because most new movies about the subject this season are lowbrow and cringe-inducing comedies.

Over the next few weeks, theaters will be screening far-out fare such as an Osama bin Laden documentary by the maker of “Super Size Me”; an absurdist slam against merchants of war featuring John Cusack; a zombie soldier flick with XXX star Jenna Jameson; a stoner movie about Guantanamo Bay; and a Sept. 11 parody — yes, parody — made by Uwe Boll, a little-known filmmaker often ridiculed as the worst director in Hollywood since Ed Wood.

I am indifferent about Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay and Zombie Strippers (though the former is doing well on Rotten Tomatoes and the latter earned the approval of one of my most trusted filmic resources, Jordan Hoffman). Where In the World is Osama Bin Laden? sounds decent on paper, but then it involves Morgan Spurlock, whose projects always tend to be pretty ham-fisted and obvious. And War, Inc. has potential to be great. But Uwe Boll’s Postal? Now there’s something to sink your teeth into. Certainly the director of Alone in the Dark, BloodRayne and In the Name of the King possesses the deft cinematic touch needed to satirize a subject that remains an open wound on the American psyche:

On second thought, does anybody know about 800,000 people who’d like to sign a petition?

An abortion of an art project.

From Yale Daily News:

Art major Aliza Shvarts ‘08 wants to make a statement.

Beginning next Tuesday, Shvarts will be displaying her senior art project, a documentation of a nine-month process during which she artificially inseminated herself “as often as possible” while periodically taking abortifacient drugs to induce miscarriages. Her exhibition will feature video recordings of these forced miscarriages as well as preserved collections of the blood from the process.

My uterus hurts just reading about this. And I don’t even have one.

But I’m not necessarily against this “project” in and of itself, however. When artists choose to do “shocking” things such as this — or place a crucifix in a jar of urine , or create a portrait of the Virgin Mary using elephant crap — I don’t get into the whole “is this art” debate. It’s a fruitless endeavor. In my opinion, the definition of “art” is in the eye of the beholder — meaning that, yes, literally anything can be considered art if someone says it is. The question is never, “Is this art?” It should always be, “Is this good art?”

In this particular case, my answer is: No, it is not good art. And it is not good art because the artist has failed in what she set out to accomplish. She implicates her failure in this quote:

“I hope it inspires some sort of discourse,” Shvarts said. “Sure, some people will be upset with the message and will not agree with it, but it’s not the intention of the piece to scandalize anyone.”

Judging by the discussions I’ve seen on a few message boards and a conversation I just had with a friend of mine, all this piece has succeeded in doing is scandalizing people. Observers aren’t talking about what her supposed “message” is; they are only discussing the shocking nature of the project itself. I’m sure once I get home and turn on the cable news networks, there is not going to be any dialogue about the relationship between art and the human body, as she wanted — the pundits are going to focus solely on the “is this art” question. Thus, Ms. Shvarts’ project is a failure.

Now, if she had admitted that causing a kind of surface-level controversy was part of the concept, then the project could be considered some measure of a success. But then, shocking for the sake of being shocking is an empty pursuit, anyway, and the piece would still suck.

BTW, I hate when artists give that coy “I didn’t mean to shock people” line when something is so obviously going to shock people. It’s not the message that’s upsetting, either: It’s the fact that you’re giving yourself a miscarriage.

Record Store Day

Tomorrow is Record Store Day, an event “with the purpose of celebrating the culture and unique place that [independent record stores] occupy both in their local communities and nationally.” In other words, it is a last-ditch effort to save a dying industry. As a music fan, I am not particularly elated at the slow death of the record store, but I am not a Luddite either. I have long held the opinion that the technology that has come around in the last decade is only going to help music culture as a whole. So while it sucks to see so many businesses struggling and closing, it’s really up to these places to find a way to adapt rather than playing on the nostalgia and sentiment of what is quickly becoming a bygone era. Because honestly, the music is more important than the package it comes in.

That being said, some of the remaining record stores in Ventura County are participating, including Buffalo Records:

ONE DAY ONLY!
OUR BIGGEST SALE OF THE YEAR!

Saturday, APRIL 19, 2008 10am-8pm
used records & CDs
50% off all used records & CDs $2 and under
30% off all used records & CDs $2.01 – $9.99
15% off all used records & CDs $10 and over

Raffle:

1st prize: $100 Buffalo Records gift certificate
2nd prize: $25 Buffalo Records gift certificate
3rd prize: Buffalo Records t-shirt (any size/color)

1 raffle ticket per item purchased
no purchase necessary: 1 free ticket upon request

Plus: FREE STUFF with every music purchase!
sampler CDs & LPs and more!

And, of course, local institution Salzer’s Records (whose site is down right now for some reason — their MySpace is still up, though) is celebrating with a concert in its parking lot, featuring the bands of many of its employees. Courtesy of Reporter freelancer, Army of Freshmen frontman and sometime Salzer’s clerk Chris Jay:

As record stores prepare for a Tolkien worthy final stand against the combined forces of Wal Mart and digital stores, they’ll be a call to arms of sorts this Saturday for “Record Store Day”. Artists are doing signings and performances at record stores world wide and Salzer’s Records will be getting in on the celebration with a parking lot concert that features a strange twist- the show will only feature acts that are employed currently or have worked at Salzers in the past. Beyond just being one of the best single location independent music stores in the country, Salzers is just as beloved as long time bill payer for area musicians. Not many jobs let employees take time off for tours and recording and that charity alone is enough for celebration. The Fucking Wrath, I Was A Lover, Delorean Is A Dealer, Frank Barajas, Chris Bailey, City 17, Purely Miss, Get Gone, Lyrical Geniuses and most exciting of all, The Jim Salzer Experience come together to show their support to the life affirming experience of shopping at a real record store. Be there or good luck trying to have a heart to heart about your favorite artist with the clerk at itunes. Festivities kick off at 1pm this Saturday, April 19th.

Can’t wait to find out what the hell the “Jim Salzer Experience” is, myself.

No word on what Grady’s or American Pie (their Web site is also down) is planning, if anything, but either way, as local record stores, both deserve patronage on this of all days, right?

Miss Rap Supreme

As soon as VH1’s (White) Rapper Show — the greatest reality competition program in the history of cable television, next to, of course, The Assistant — ended last year, with doughy, possibly autistic Southerner $hamrock scoring a fraudulent victory over the perpetually dazed, preposterously self-aggrandizing “King of da ‘Burbz” John Brown, I have been waiting, hoping, praying for a second season. Alas, it never came.

But then, unbeknownst to me until literally the day of its premiere, VH1 began running ads for another show, produced by irreverent hip-hop magazine Ego Trip and hosted by former 3rd Base member MC Serch, the two forces behind (White) Rapper: Miss Rap Supreme. Swapping an all-Caucasian cast for 10 female contestants, living together in a house (or, in this case, a converted hotel in Downtown LA), competing in ridiculous rap-related challenges and vying for the title of — what else? — Miss Rap Supreme, it’s basically the same show, plus (or minus) more estrogen.

So why, in its first episode, does it appear to suck way worse?

It could be the comparative lack of engaging (read: laughably shameless) characters: In addition to $hamrock and John Brown, (White) Rapper had Jus Rhyme, the living embodiment of the phrase “white guilt”; Sullee, a Kevin Federline lookalike who quit the show when asked to write a rhyme against one of his teammates; and Persia who, among other things, brandished a pixelated dildo as a weapon and dropped the N-word during an argument, leading to her having to wear a giant “N-Word Chain” around her neck like a fake gold-plated scarlet letter. Of Miss Rap Supreme’s contestants, only two appear at all interesting and/or potentially hilarious: D.A.B., a recovering heroin addict and sexual abuse survivor; and Khia, who had a hit record out a few years back and for that reason has an ill-informed superiority complex even though, for some reason, she spit a hook (and misspells “respect”) during the elimination rap-off instead of a verse. And, frankly, there’s a little bit too much talent on this show. Outside of Persia, who had a legitimate flow but could never remember her lyrics, no one on (White) Rapper could actually rap, making the challenges — such as when the final three had to battle a bunch of underground emcees at a Detroit club — all the more entertaining. While I wouldn’t quite call anybody on Miss Rap Supreme “good,” the majority have some measurable skills, which, in the context of a hyper-ridiculous show like this, is kind of lame.

But, if I’m being honest, I have to admit the real reason why I feel Miss Rap Supreme doesn’t measure up to its predecessor: When it comes to reality shows, I’m a bit of a sexist. I have never been able to get into a program centered around females. Yeah, I watched both seasons of Flavor of Love and the first of Rock of Love, but that was almost entirely to see how much Flava Flav and Bret Michaels could embarrass themselves in the span of an hour; I couldn’t care less who they ended up with at the end. The Hills, The Bachelor — I don’t think I’ve seen a single episode. The progressive in me wants to believe my aversion to ovary-based reality TV is born from a subconscious refusal to dignify the negative portrayals of women on those shows — catty, shallow, prone to rip out each other’s weaves — with my viewership. But that would be a lie, because I seem to have no problem watching two chicks spit on each other, as long as its done in the name of winning the affection of a shriveled crackhead and/or a clandestinely balding, collagen-lipped rock star.

Is it true, then? Am I a pop-culture misogynist? If I had more time on my hands, I could probably concoct a rather reasonable argument for why women do not make as entertaining reality television fodder as men, sort of like how Christopher Hitchens scientifically proved that women aren’t funny. But then, that would leave me a lonely, alcoholic atheist, and I certainly don’t want that.

“She’s packing a six-shooter!”

I just wanted to put this on here because the whole Annie Oakley bit nearly made me spit orange juice at my computer screen. Barack is just straight clownin’ in this clip!

Mike Miller, 1952-2008

I didn’t know Mike Miller personally, but being the After Dark guy here at the Reporter, I have entered his band’s name, Blue Stew, into the nightly entertainment listings countless times over the years. So the least I can do is copy and paste the eulogy that was e-mailed to us.

Michael Paul Miller, 56, of Oxnard, passed away April 8, 2008, at his home.

He was born Feb. 29, 1952, in Compton, Calif., to Paul Miller and Yvonne Carr (Ellis). Mike graduated from Oxnard High School in 1970 and from the Guitar Institute of Technology in Hollywood in 1981.

He was united in marriage to Julie Oppegaard on Jan. 22, 1983, and to his union one son was born. Mike’s life and musical inspiration came from this struggle of living with Tourette’s syndrome, a genetic disease that manifests itself by vocal and motor tics, ADD and severe depression. This made Mike unable to maintain a normal job, so he found his solace in drawing, songwriting, singing and playing guitar.

At age 17 he began traveling the states until he found his future wife, Julie, in a small nightclub in Minnesota.

Mike believed in the power of music and the ability it had on changing lives. He performed in many bands, the last being Blue Stew, for which he wrote numerous songs for their four albums. He also produced a solo album, “Homeward,” alone in his quiet hours, and enjoyed music trivia, watching movies, playing with his dogs and anything that included his son, Justin. His loving, tender soul has touched us all.

Mike is survived by his wife of 25 years and their son, Justin Michael Miller, both of Oxnard; mother, Yvonne Carr of Oxnard; sister, Joelle Brooks of Tucson; aunt Arline and uncle Dick; and nephews, Michael, Spencer, Dana and Dylan.

He was preceded in death by his father, Paul, and sister Becky.

Mike’s last thoughts, found on a notepad, were, “So many rivers to cross; Just one more river to cross.”

Mike has turned his many stumbling blocks into steppingstones and has now crossed that last river. May our memories of him be an inspiration for all, and may his spirit live on through his music. Hear Mike’s music at http://www.bluestew.com.

A memorial service will be held at 2 p.m. Monday, April 14, at the Ted Mayr Funeral Home, 3150 Loma Vista Road, Ventura, with the Rev. Cathy Norman officiating. A reception will follow at the Hi Cees Cafe, 1591 Spinnaker Drive, Ventura.

Donations to the Miller family may be sent in care of the Ted Mayr Funeral Home, 3150 Loma Vista Road, Ventura, CA 93003.

Arrangements are under the direction of the Ted Mayr Funeral Home and Crematory, Ventura.

Found some stuff of Mike Miller and Blue Stew on YouTube as well. Below is a clip of them doing some Howlin’ Wolf. More footage of the band is available here.

Craig Ferguson

For three years, Craig Ferguson has been the best kept secret of late night network television. That’s what it seemed like, anyway. Outside my small group of fellow talk show aficionados, I haven’t known anyone else who would agree that Ferguson — or “Fergie,” as my friend’s grandmother, the only other person hip to the scene, lovingly refers to him — regularly stomps his 12:30 a.m. competition over on NBC, Conan O’Brien, in all the categories that matter in a TV personality: likability, humor, interviewing skills, haircut, etc. But apparently, little by little, the Scottish actor-comedian has slowly been gaining on his translucent Ivy League nemesis, until last week, he finally scored his first ratings victory since he debuted as the host of CBS’ The Late Late Show three years ago.

What does this mean? For Craig, probably not much. After all, Jay Leno has consistently trounced Ferguson’s boss, David Letterman, in the ratings for more than a decade. Does that mean The Tonight Show is better than Late Night, or that Leno will be remembered as a greater pop-cultural figure than Letterman? Hell no. Ratings obviously don’t say anything about quality in the world of late night, and it’ll take more than a one-week victory in the Nielsens to convince the Conan faithful that Ferguson is worth watching.

Of course, for O’Brien — the heir to Leno’s position as host of The Tonight Show — the loss holds a lot more meaning. He is supposed to be moving to Burbank in two years to take over one of the most prestigious jobs in television, and now he is getting beaten by a guy who is really just beginning to hit his stride? NBC tried to cover by noting O’Brien still dominated in the 18-49 demographic — the age range where most of their advertising is targeted — which is a legitimate plea to cop, but what happens in 2010 when he’s on at 11:30 p.m. and has to win the allegiance of the 50-plus crowd, the audience that has made Leno a cash cow and doesn’t get Letterman’s absurdist humor, humor Conan has modeled his show after? And what happens if Jon Stewart, the rumored successor to Letterman, defects from The Daily Show sooner rather than later? Stewart might be polarizing politically, but the dude is too charming for even staunch conservatives to stay angry at for too long. I can’t see Middle America warming to a gangly, awkward-looking freak like Conan, especially if he is paired against a golden child such as Stewart. If he is slipping now with those outside his target viewership, imagine what it will be like by the time he gets to Los Angeles.

I can give him the benefit of the doubt: I haven’t watched Late Night regularly in a while, but I’m willing to bet he is on autopilot right now. That’s inevitable, considering he was publicly promised the Tonight Show gig years in advance. Because of that, maybe viewers are finally realizing, as I did a long time ago, how tired his “self-deprecating dork” shtick is — that it’s more obnoxious than engaging, and that the more he keeps doing it, the more it becomes apparent that it’s really a disguise for someone who is probably a bit of a dick in real life.

If it is that thinly-veiled dickishness that drove viewers to check out Ferguson, a lot of them might stay, then, because Fergie is the exact opposite: personable, honest, open — there is nothing disingenuous about him. Even guys like Letterman and Carson, hosts the audience feels it has a personal rapport with, are more or less playing characters, considering how private and aloof both were and are off-camera. Ferguson, though, has been extremely candid from the start of his run, discussing his battles with alcoholism, even using an entire show to eulogize his father the day after he passed away. These are things few — if any — hosts on late night ballsy enough to not be funny for an evening (on purpose) for the benefit of their own souls. But those are special moments: On typical nights, Ferguson has probably surpassed Letterman as the best interviewer, managing to control conversations without dominating them (as opposed to Conan, who always feels the need to rip the spotlight away and put it back on him when talking to lower-tier celebrities) and having them come across as natural and far less staged than a typically talk show chat. And he has by far the best monologues in the business, eschewing the usual topical punchlines after the first few minutes and instead going on totally improvised, freewheeling rants about whatever pops into his head.

Here are two examples, and they are both of a more serious nature, because I can find instances from Letterman, Conan, Leno or even Carson Daly (well, maybe not Carson Daly) that are funny, but what makes Craig stand out is his candor. The first two are his eulogy to his father; the second is from around the time of Britney Spears’ head-shaving incident, and he explains why, as a recovering alcoholic, he refuses to make fun of a kid who likely had a substance abuse problem herself.

Eulogy, Pt. 1:

Eulogy, Pt. 2:

Why Craig won’t ridicule Britney: