Hells Yeah

Xtranormal is fun

330,003 Structural and Hygiene Issues From Beyond The Rig Veda

Does it count as schadenfreude if I'm merely impressed that so much could go so thoroughly wrong?

Unsolicited Catty Remarks for US Weekly's "Fashion Police"

Looks like Jessica's taking fashion tips from her man Tony Romo!


Ri Ri needs to learn that there's a fine line between hippie chic and hippie FREAK!


Sorry Lady Dada, Slipknot auditions were last week!


Belly button rings are SO over!


She went for Betty Boop, but ended up making Harvey Keitel turn to drink in "Bad Lieutenant"!


Johnny Depp is a true fashion original and can do no wrong in our eyes.

Kate Hudson Has One More Oscar On Her Shelf Than You Losers

If you're ever at a loss as to what to make the premise of your latest rom com, just remember you always have "assuming custody of your dead friend/sibling's child" to go to in a pinch.

Unsolicited Pieces for Pitchfork's "Top 200 Tracks of the 1990's"

94. Puff Daddy - Come With Me
What does it mean when such bold, genre-defying music is used to accompany such unadulterated schlock entertainment? Can we shake the fetid memory of the 247th godawful CGI retread stomping the shit out of NYC and focus solely on Puff's unfuckwithable flow, reminding ourselves that the phrase "from and inspired by" is merely a sly marketing ploy? Or do we just accept that it is impossible to remove the presence of Godzilla from what is otherwise one of the freshest hip-hop tracks of the last 20 years, and appreciate the dichotomy contained therein? All I know is that when the "BMM-KCH-BAH" beat kicks in on top of that HUGE violin riff, all considerations of pop vs. art, real vs. fake, whether or not that really is Puff in that Fine Young Cannibals video, go out the window like yesterday's molted lizard skin. In the words of Matthew Broderick, "Holy shit!"

176. Seven Mary Three - Cumbersome
Seven Mary Three are often dismissed as being merely Puddle of Mudd in chrysalis, but listen again to that chorus: "I have become cumbersome/To my girl". What always set frontman Jason Ross apart from the rest of his post-grunge peers was his sometimes shocking vulnerability, and it's never more apparent than in this track. The really incredible part, though, is that he has a crack band willing to follow him into the abyss. As the chugging guitar of the verse snags and hangs over the lyrics like an unanswered question and Ross lays bare his (really, all of our) emotional trials and tribs, you can feel it: something's about to drop.

26. Everclear - Heroin Girl
Props if you can make it through this one: picking up where Lou and Neil left off, Everclear mastermind Art Alexakis crafts one of the most harrowing drug yarns in recent memory. Even if you're not chasing the dragon (I've never sampled the stuff myself), you'll still feel drowsy and incoherent when the Black Flag-caliber punk evisceration has whirled you through every minute, wrenching detail of the lives a long-gone chick and a guy who didn't see the future coming. Everclear: pure, undiluted, straight to the gut.

2. Marcy Playground - Sex And Candy

Kurt Cobain. Mulder. Beck. Samuel L. Jackson in "Pulp Fiction." Stephen Malkmus. Not even one of those icons (or, shit, all of them combined) could step to the nonchalant shrug that this song dropped on our collective consciousness circa '98. MP's John Wozniak (this is before his solo outing as 5pyramidz, remember, he was still John Wozniak back then people) couldn't even be bothered to SING the damn thing. It's a testament to the ethos of a decade now long past that people would positively CRANK this shit like it was Daddy Yankee.

It does make some weird sort of sense: everyone knows the '90s were the most chilled out decade ever. We had a pothead for a president, Nintendo 64 had just come out, 9/11 and the Iraq and Afghanistan wars were just a twinkle in Dick Cheney's penile implant. A lot of people wouldn't rank this song as high as it is on our list (hell, "Save Tonight" only clocked in at number 41), but it can't be denied that in some way, at a remote but cherished time in our lives, this track spoke for a part of all of us. All together now: "Hangin' round/Downtown by myself/And I've had too much caffeine/And I've been thinkin' bout myself." Mama this surely is a dream, indeed.

Predictions for the Series Finale of "Mad Men"

Following the dissolution of his third marriage to reality TV starlet Kim "$o Hood" Schleidenbach, Don retreats to Bobby(now Robert Francis)'s McMansion in the Atlanta suburbs. Desolate and beyond redemption, he pilots his son's Lincoln Navigator into a river and drowns laughing after seeing this commercial in hi-def:

Souleyman in the Citay

When Omar Souleyman strode onstage at Issue Project Room in Brooklyn on a crushingly hot June 27, he was flanked by at least two official videographers, along with a hype man who hovered about the stage continually snapping photos with an iPhone, often directly over Souleyman's shoulder. The internationally celebrated purveyor of hyperspeed Dabke seemed utterly unfazed by the bordering-on-overbearing presence of these documentarians; in fact, the impression conveyed by this performance was that Omar Souleyman was, is, and shall remain utterly unfazed by anything at all.

Coolly, purposefully prowling the stage, Souleyman wasted no time with superfluous gestures, pausing only to make measured exhorting signals to the gesticulators below, or to receive lyrical coaching from his onstage adviser (the guy with the iPhone). Decked out as he was in full-body thawb and keffiyeh in the oppressive heat, not one bead of sweat manifested itself anywhere on Souleyman's visage for the entire performance.

Souleyman is a consummate entertainer, and every aspect of the show from the circling cameras to the cool-customer nonchalance was carefully calibrated to project the idea of capital O capital S Omar Souleyman; the unflappable, deeply intense figure hailing from a place utterly remote to most Westerners, a man who clearly lives to engage and entertain but who remains to a large extent mysterious and unknowable.

This is not to imply a cynically calculated approach on the part of Souleyman or his musicians and handlers. Of course, one must be familiar with Souleyman's music to really get the full complexity and character of this concert. For the unschooled: it basically sounds like Excepter at triple speed played on pitch-shifting keyboards while Souleyman intones Syrian poetry and candy coated digitized Oud flies in from the top of the Burj Khalifa here just watch this and this. Basically, it's really intense and out-there. Souleyman's impenetrable attitude onstage actually served to heighten the intensity; since he stayed so reserved for the lion's share of the show, the moments in which he really threw himself into a phrase or lyric (especially when he was met by an immense shifting wall of psych Korg)were genuinely transporting.

But that's all just so much talk. I guess that what I'm ultimately trying to express is that of the two concerts this past weekend at which an iPhone played a crucial role, I think I chose the right one to attend.