Getting published is a real be-yatch! Hear about my ups, downs and a few random rants in between.

Friday, January 20, 2006

5 Signs of the A-pop-alypse

Ahh pop culture. You fill our days with mindless nuggets of trivia. We nestle to your bosum for comfort away from the real world of politics, war and paying bills.

The Double O-Nickel wasn't a bad year for pop culture fiends - Michael Jackson beat his rap, with one and a half hit single, The Game built his rep (go figure) and Brad Pitt went from childless in L.A. to a global baby daddy to kids.

But 2006 is already revving up to be a good year for us pop culti kooks.

Yes, here are five signs that the apopalypse is upon us:

Vincent D'Onofrio carries a show 5 seasons!
Okay, so he has like 54 film credits to his name. I've heard of...eight of them. Hell, who am I fooling? I only remember him in MEN IN BLACK! But the dude who played the humanoid insect in MIB rocks on L&O: CI. A show that can roll as an entire acronym has to be special, right?

I love that Chris Noth is back cracking heads as a Det.

But, man when D'Onofrio is on screen, sniffing people, fondling their clothes, and asking weird questions that only someone with either a lot of intelligence or a shit load of time on their hands to study EVERY subject on earth can, you marvel at his ability to play such odd balls. You can't turn away from his weird ass. He's like Monk on heroin.

Michael Moriarty Goes all serial killer on our ass
He was steely-eyed, tough as nuts D.A., Ben Stone, on Law & Order for four seasons. And we loved him. One part compassion, three parts tweak their tits til they turn state's witness, Ben Stone had nothing on Moriarty's take as a serial killer on Showtime's MASTER OF HORROR series. Oo-wee! Watch, the "Pick me Up" episode for Moriarty's crotchedy, old-man with a thick New Yawk (or is that Bahston?)accent. But stay for the intellectual thug philosophy he spews as he kills gleefully.

::sniff:: I still miss you, Michael. But V-D'O ain't doing a bad job filling your void.

White People Recognize Jamie Foxx...therefore, he exists as a great talent
Black folk been laughing at Jamie since '91. And, I copped his first CD. That's right, PEEP THIS circa 1994.

So take that band wagon jumpers!

But now that he's all Mr. Academy Award, he is getting crazy love from the "mainstream," (i.e. white folks).

I ain't mad at you, Jamie. But I am a little teed. When, when, when will what is hot in pop culture music, film and television stop being wholly determined by what the lillies of mainstream media say?

I mean, when my book is out and I'm all on the best sellers list, it's going to be b/c my peeps had my back. Right? right?

Aww damn. I better start trying to whip up the white vote, now!

The 80's are baacckkkk!
Let me say, it turns my stomach a little to see the 80's back so soon. Damn, it was only 26 years ago! Yet, Kanye got the kiddies rockin' polos with the collar up. Madonna is writhing on a DDR in a leotard and a flipped 'do. And dammit, I can't get Fall Out Boy's DANCE, DANCE out of my head.

Oh, my mind tells me to hate it and hate it good. But when it comes on, my feet start moving. Traitors!

I love the 80's rhythm of DANCE, DANCE. And before someone outs me, yes, dammit, it's in my iPod.

My pledge: I will not try to outrun the 80's craze, merely pick and choose the elements I want to relive.

And the #1 sign that the apopalypse is right around the bend...

The real Master of Horror taints what we cherish most...again!
Stephen King, what sick, twisted world do you live in?

Oh, right. This one.

I haven't read the whole book yet - merely a blurb and two chapters. But King's latest novel, CELL, is all about some weird experiment/conspiracy where cellies turn people into instant cannibalistic, loonies.

Wait...I got choked up for a minute. You can not not love Stephen King. He takes eveyrthing we cherish - the virtue of small town America, 1950 classic cars, big old lovable dogs and now cell phones - and screws, chops and mangles it so we'll never look at them quite the same.

How doe-eyed innocent we'd all be if it weren't for this man and his sick, twisted imagery.


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