Great Moments In Human Evolution:Cinnabon Lip Balm

Goddamn, I love a good Cinnabon. But you know what blows? They're so inconvenient. Say you're driving your Hummer; you have to keep at least one hand on the wheel. You've got your iPhone (or venti Frappaccino with extra whip) in the other hand, so how do you hold a Cinnabon? You can't, son. It's too dangerous. But even if you could hold it, you don't want to get that sweet goo all over the Eddie Bauer upholstery. Which brings me to the next problem with the Cinnabon: That shit gets everywhere. On your kids, on the remote, on the American flag hanging in the rear window (and that's disrespectful). You see what I'm saying, here. The Cinnabon is not user-friendly. And even if it was, you can't bring outside food into Wal-Mart or Applebee's. Trust me. But Jesus was obviously working through the good people at Cinnabon when they came up with this genius creation here. Now you can enjoy Cinnabon-y awesomeness anytime you want it. And it helps fight the cravings during those tough hours between Cinnabons. I'll be honest, I bit myself a few times when I first started using it, because my lips just tasted so amazing, but you get over that. Best of all, the lip balm is sexy as hell. Guys are all about making out with a girl who tastes like frosting and the ladies get horny when a dude smells like a mall. What an innovation. My only complaint is that my lips are really chapped from licking them so much.

Congratulations and thank you, Cinnabon. Keep thinking big. I can't wait for the mouthwash.

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Bad Motherfucker Of The Week: Capt. Ian Wilkinson (Ret.)

Wilkinson, one of Cathay Pacific Airlines' most senior pilots, was given the honor of flying a brand new Boeing 777 on its maiden voyage from the Boeing plant in Seattle to Hong Kong.  Onboard for the ceremonial trip were various Cathay Pacific VIPs, including the chairman of the airline.  After takeoff, Captain Wilkinson raised the landing gear, banked the $100 million jet back towards the airfield, accelerated to 320 mph and dropped to 28 feet for a fly-by of the control tower.  

Upon landing in Hong Kong, Wilkinson received a champagne reception and was later fired. Following his termination, Wilkinson issued the following statement: "Yeehaw.  Great balls of fire."  He went on to explain that he viewed his dismissal as a blessing, as it will allow him to devote more time to his passion for playing shirtless volleyball with friend Val Kilmer.  Boeing engineers are divided about whether the dangerously low fly-by was the deliberate result of Wilkinson's piloting or caused by the overwhelming weight of his huge balls.

It could have been far worse. We can only imagine the scalding aftermath, had Wilkinson's fly-by taken place in the days before the to-go cup lid:

In Search Of The Serious Mustache

Esquire Magazine has declared the return of the "serious mustache".  You can read the article here, but the gist of it is that after being ironically hijacked by tracksuit-wearing hipsters a decade ago, the sincere, professional mustache is back.  I'm sorry, Esquire, but I'm not buying it.  I was with you when you suggested Stan Smiths with a suit,  and I was totally on board for the sweater vest revival, but this feels like bullshit to me.  We're not talking about guys who wear a helmet to work or are required to catch a ball as part of their job description.  We are speaking of an executive mustache, one worn by stylish men in suits, who have personal assistants and Blackberries (and read Esquire).  Myth, I say.  Here are the only current white-collar mustaches on record:

Actually, I just realized those last two photos are both of Wilford Brimley, so that's only five.

These guys have two things in common:  They're old and they've all been rocking the mustache since the golden age of the '70s and '80s.  They're holdovers, so they can't be counted as part of this supposed mustache new wave.   Their follicles are firmly rooted in simpler, more sincere times.  A glorious era when there was nothing ironic about the mustache.  It was trustworthy, manly, business savvy and everyone from attorneys to surgeons had one.  Here's a photo of me and my father chilling on the wicker, watching the Padres lose in 1981:

Mike Fischer (who was 37 at the time) wore a tie and a beeper to work everyday.  He had a conservative haircut and voted for Reagan.  But, as you can clearly see, he also swung a whole lot of mustache.  And below is newsman Harold Greene, the most respected local anchor in '70s San Diego (which is German for "a whale's vagina"):

It was a time of respect and honor for the mustache.  But those days, I fear, are long gone.  For proof, just look at recent photos of these two mustache Jedi masters:

Nooooooooo! Fucking goatees?!  I can't look at these pictures, they make my stomach feel cold.  These are the Wright Brothers of the serious mustache and even they have let irony rewrite their game.  (As a side note, the ironic mustache isn't really "ironic" at all, Alanis.  Something that is "ironic" is, by definition, something which happens in the exact opposite way to what was expected.  Therefore, the true ironic mustache is when you tell your friends that you've grown a mustache and then show up to a party clean shaven. People that host Wes Anderson movie parties actually have "campy" or "kitschy" mustaches.) Whatever it's called, it's got the old guard scared. Even Saddam Hussein (never one to look to Williamsburg for a fashion cue) laid down his mustache and grew out the full beard near the end.  I ask you, Esquire, if our mustache heroes won't even give it their blessing, how is your heralded "advent of the mustache" ever going to take hold and...um...grow?

And so, I issue a challenge to all who read this:  If you can send me photographic proof of a real live serious mustache, I will gladly post that shit on the blog and eat crow.  A few requirements for submission- The bearer of the mustache must: 1) be 45 or under,  2) have a job that requires business attire (or surgical scrubs),  3) own no more than one White Stripes album  4) never have played in a band, 5) be unable to give directions to the nearest Urban Outfitters.

Good luck.  For the sake of all mustaches, I hope I am proved wrong.

 

Oddly Inspiring Graffiti Of The Day

...and Hawaii makes 10.

Tipping Point (noun): The moment of critical mass, the threshold or boiling point; the instant when everyday things reach epidemic proportions.

Adventures In Irony

And just when you were thinking, "You know, the only thing that could possibly add to the comic genius of this image would be if the storeowner were to have posted a photo of George and Laura Bush in the window"...

Inappropriate. Really inappropriate.

Look, I understand that what you're going for here is some sort of symbol of the quality of service that you offer here at your deli/grocery/lotto/24 hour hot buffet establishment.  An image that suggests your dedication to and appreciation of me as a customer.  I get that you don't literally want me to strip naked (except for my headband) so that you may bathe me with your urn.  But, I'm sorry.  This is just too intense for me.  Do you have a plain styrofoam cup?

Great Moments in Human Evolution: Led Zeppelin at MSG, 1973

You don't have to be a Led Zeppelin fan to appreciate this. But if you don't think you are a Zeppelin fan, you probably are by association. If you feel any tingling in your crotch when you listen to rock guitar, you have Led Zeppelin to thank. They invented that sensation. And from those tingling loins sprang every rock band you've ever heard of: Kiss, Aerosmith, U2, Guns N' Roses, The Chili Peppers, Nirvana, even Dave Matthews Band and Moby. All are children of The Zeppelin. You might already know this if you watch VH1, but I'm here to make you stop for a moment, bow your head and give thanks for the four mortals: Page, Plant, Jones and Bonham; Men who dared scale the heights of Olympus, stole thunder from the hands of gods and brought it to Earth, so that we might have our asses rocked. And never were asses more heartily rocked than during three nights in the summer of 1973, when Led Zeppelin delivered the Sermon On The Mount of all rock shows. Those three sell-outs at Madison Square Garden remain the gold standard by which all arena rock is measured. Of course, since that long weekend, others have done it louder, faster and with better light shows, but never more authentically. The mold was broken after that three-night stand and everything that comes after it can be admirably derivative at best. Before you partake of the sacrament, some context:

-In the summer of 1973, Led Zeppelin was literally the biggest band in the world, having broken all attendance records across North America on this tour, and taking the world record for largest single concert attendance from the Beatles, when Zeppelin drew 56,800 fans to Tampa, FL.

-They became one of the first bands to travel by private jet when they bought a custom Boeing airliner outfitted with a built-in electric organ and multiple bedrooms trimmed in white fur.

-The track you will see is "The Ocean". Drummer John Bonham counts it off and is incoherent, obviously hammered. But listen to how tight the band is. It's flawless. He can hardly speak, but he keeps perfect time. You can't get any more rock than Bonzo. Throwing TVs out of windows? He did it first. He rode the motorcycle down the hall of a hotel (paid homage in the movie "Rock Star"). His breakfast usually consisted of a ham roll and 16 shots of vodka. He died at 32, suffocating on his vomit after passing out. That is rock.

-Mysterious guitarist Jimmy Page was rumored to have practiced witchcraft. Probably bullshit, but it would explain the endless supply of huge, devil-horned guitar hooks that he pulled out. This dude dreamed up the monster riff. And nobody has ever done it better. "The Ocean" is one of his best. From the first note, it gives you that "jumping off the high dive whilst beheading a dragon with a broadsword" feeling.

-Robert Plant was 24 in 1973. He only cared about three things: "The Lord Of The Rings", conditioning his flaxen hair and closing as much ass as physically possible. The term "Rock God" was coined for him (honestly). In fact, he had recently shouted "I am a Golden God!" from the balcony of his hotel suite during the LA stop of the '73 tour (as depicted in "Almost Famous"). Genetic engineering will never produce a more complete and authentic rock star. He denies involvement in the shark episode to this day.

-Granted, the film quality sucks, but you can imagine what it would have been like to be there, before moshing, before headbanging, before anger became a part of rock. When the crowd just swayed together, flowers in their hair and untrimmed pubic hair in their bellbottom jeans. And now, please don your headphones, rise and behold "The Ocean", live from Madison Square Garden. Rock be with you... (and also with you).

Bad Motherfucker Of The Week: Uno The Beagle

Uno crushed the Westminster Dog Show on Tuesday night, becoming the first beagle in history to win "Best In Show".   After his victory, Uno retreated to a private after-party at the exclusive Union Square dog run, where the champion partied until the wee hours with the entire toy poodle group and good friend and beagle icon, Snoopy.

"Hey, suit, fill this bitch with toilet water.  I'm drinking 'til I puke tonight."

Open Letter To Hillary Supporters

I'm glad we're finally talking.  It's getting kind of ugly out there and I think it's time we had a heart to heart.  Off the record, of course.  So have a seat.  This is going to take a while.  Okay, so here's the deal:  We underestimate Hillary's divisiveness at our peril. In other words, she could win the Democratic nomination, but unless massive numbers of Americans have radically changed their opinion of the Clintons over the past eight years, we might be handing the keys over to John McCain in November. Lest we forget that the neo-conservative movement that has held our fine country in a chokehold for a decade was born out of a reaction to the Clinton presidency.  From the moment First Lady Hillary showed up on Capitol Hill with her health care plan in 1993, the Clintons were doomed to struggle against Republican legislative roadblocks and an ever-growing chorus of "How dare they!" sniping.  And that was before the blowjob.  My point is this:  The Clintons are still incredibly unpopular in vast segments of the American public.  And difficult as it is for those of us on the Left to comprehend, the Right hates and fears the Clintons as much as we do George W. Bush.  Actually, they seem to hate them more.  After all, the current Democratic majority in Congress has yet to bring any impeachment hearings to bear, despite all the blood and lies on Bush's hands.  But Clinton's Republican Congress devoted hundreds of hours of hearings and millions of taxpayers' dollars to ensuring the political ruin of a man for lying about his private life.  That's gangster hate, people.  And it's still there.  Don't think so?  Listen to Rush Limbaugh or watch Fox News.  Millions of registered voters do.  The Clintons are still the Right's favorite scapegoat and punchline.  And there's nothing the Republican National Committee would love more than another crack at tearing down the Clintons.  They've been practicing since 1992. 

 

Of course, the Clintons are still beloved by large numbers of Democrats like you.  And obviously, the Rush Limbaugh disciples will never vote for any Democrat, so they aren't up for grabs in the first place.  But she can't win in November without the independents and undecideds, that's irrefutable math.  And as the decisive and unpredicted rise of Barack Obama makes glaringly obvious, even her own party isn't as sure of Hillary as everyone intially thought.  Bottom line, in a Hillary vs. McCain election, it's quite possible that lingering Clinton fatigue among those all-important independent voters could result in an "anyone but her" epidemic among voters next November and, voila, you've got President John McBombIran.

A second possibility, though less terrifying, is sad for its deja-vu-all-over-again potential.  Let's say that Hillary does beat John McCain.   How will President Hillary Clinton deliver change to Washington?  Well, she will certainly govern more wisely and effectively than her predecessor ever could, but what she (and her husband) will deliver is not so much a new way forward as it will be a return to the Clinton way of doing things.  Want proof of it?  Just look at how she's campaigning.  They're running Bill Clinton's trademark playbook, right down to the trademark Clinton no-holds-barred mudwrestling: Lawsuits against Nevada voting rules, accusing Obama of voter suppression and plagiarism, agreeing to the the Democratic National Committee's decision to omit Florida delegates, but then fighting to have them count after Hillary's momentum stalled, calling Obama's anti-Iraq stance a "fairy tale", and minimizing any Obama victory no matter how cheap a shot is needed: "Jesse Jackson won South Carolina in '84 and '88".  Hell, Bill even took a swipe a Democratic royalty Ted Kennedy the day after Kennedy endorsed Obama, lumping blame on Teddy for Bush's failed education plan.  It's always personal with the Clintons.  And so far, there is not much transcendent or unifying about the way Hillary's campaign is trying to win her own party's nomination, let alone the entire national election.  It's negative politics as usual.  So if Hillary wins the White House, are we to believe that this polarizing figure with her impeached president husband will suddenly rise above partisan games and rally a bitterly divided Congress to work together to deliver the sweeping, urgent legislation needed to get our country out of the gutter?   

 

On the other hand, in Barack Obama, we have someone whose entire campaign has been consistently rooted in a message of national unity.  And regardless of whether or not you think he's a naive speech maker with no substance, his efforts to remain above the negative campaign back-biting are undeniable.   Yes, it is true, we don't know all the fine points of what his proposed legislation will be, but we do know that Obama possesses a rare ability to garner support from across the political spectrum. He is unifying people.  That is fact.  He is taking majorities in every demographic in the primary contests.  And Republicans seem to believe him when he talks of including Republicans in his big tent vision of America.  Ultimately, that's far more telling of how effective of a president he will be than are the fine print details of a theoretical education plan that won't be formally presented for another two years.  (That said, since Obama began racking up primary victories, his stump speeches have become notably more policy-heavy). Really, the campaign is about intent.  Great leaders are distinguished for their ability to unify and rally, not to present hard policy outlines before winning elections.  First, get all parties on board, then the details will come.   And as a side note, contrary to the myth that we don't know much about Barack Obama, we actually know alot:  What other presidential candidate can you name that has published a frank autobiography in which he explains the motivation behind his college drug experimentation?  Besides, after watching Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld be wrong about every single thing they ever predicted, "experience" in a leader doesn't seem as all-important as it once did.  Those two fuckers have the longest resumes in Washington.  But in a way, we should be grateful to them for enabling Barack Obama to highlight the truth that time and again throughout American history, our country has been delivered from dire circumstances by fresh vision, not by giving the ball to the next veteran player in the lineup.  I can't put it better than Hendrik Hertzberg, who summed it up so beautifully in last week's New Yorker: "Hillary Clinton would make a competent, knowledgeable, and responsible President.  Barack Obama just might make a transformative one."  

Good luck in Texas.  We've got plenty of room under the tent if you change your mind.

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