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 March 25, 1998 In this issue: |
 Adversity Knocks What's For Dinner Sprockets When Literature Attacks Another Roadside Attraction |
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The Passenger doesn't want you to love him. He works better in adversity.
You know, like wondering where his next meal is coming from, wondering if
the bartender is licking the rim of his glass while he is fishing through his
wallet and wondering if his co-workers could ensure his body would never be
found. This is my life, ladies and gents. Enjoy this week's pop culture
report and pray that my life never happens to you. |
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GOES TO MY HEAD
Do bears really like peanut butter? What language do goldfish speak? How
does one go about building their own clown? What kind of juice did that
little girl use to make those yummy homemade popsicles? Max Cannon has all
the answers, even if you've never wondered about this stuff, not even late
at night. Red Meat is devoted to Cannon's wry,
colorfully sadistic observations, featuring his delightful cast of
characters: self-proclaimed "gun-toting, redneck, amphetamine freak"
Milkman Dan; Ted, who likes to cover his body in toothpaste; a Jesuit
priest trained to use his communion wafers "just like ninja
throwing-stars." Forget dessert. Enjoy steaming, irony-laden double
helpings of this hyper-visual, mega-literary compost of pithy folklore and
gross psychological abuse. |
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MUNICH NON STOP
I don't know how relevant this is to current tastes - after all, the
group's last album of all-new material, "Electric Cafe", came out in 1986
- but I'm digging the site of techno pioneers Kraftwerk more than is healthy. There's not a whole lot
here, but that may very well be a deliberate choice. There is very little
text. The pages boast minimalist, vector-style graphics, circa 1977.
Self-loading sound files ping and chirp into infinity. Nevertheless, there
are two strong reasons to visit. One: Kraftwerk, while no longer
cutting-edge, is still very good and worth an entire family-reunion's worth
of Chemical Brothers. Two: the dancing robot is far, far more dignified
than that dancing baby from "Ally McBeal" and has better music to
dance to.
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EDDIE BE BAD Our tale opens, naturally, on a dark and stormy night. Victorian novelist Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873) utilizes the aformentioned deathless phrase for the first time, to open his novel "Paul Clifford." Just over 150 years after Bulwer-Lytton went gently into that good night, his name is first used in conjunction with an annual fiction contest, sponsored by the English Department at San Jose State University. The contest encourages would-be Eddies to pen bogus opening paragraphs to prodigiously bad novels. Take the 1996 winner, lovingly penned by Janice Estey of Aspen, Colo.: "'Ace, watch your head!' hissed Wanda urgently, yet somehow provocatively, through red, full, sensuous lips, but he couldn't you know, since nobody can actually watch more than part of his nose or a little cheek or lips if he really tries, but he appreciated her warning."
Eddie would be proud indeed.
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NEXT EXIT Smiling, 25-foot tall "muffler men." Giant balls of twine. Pet cemetaries. Mock-Stonehenge monuments. No, it's not the homepage for the despairing Lollapalooza festival. Roadside America is devoted to the promotion and glorification of every kitschy diversion, small-town freakshow and vintage landmark in America. Fascinating photos and stories abound, while an interactive map leads you to the goods. If you've ever driven out of your way to stand under a statue of Popeye, you'll understand how culturally significant this site really is. It is too rich with detail to describe here, so just take the Passenger's word as bond on this one. Visit this fabulous site right now and revel in the unique treasures that make this nation what it is: a little confused, a little eccentric and wholly wonderful. Quit staring at me. What did I ever do to you? What do you want from me, blood? Why don't you leave me alone until next week, when we'll do this again? C'mon, I'll be your best friend...
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