She Ain't Got Nuthin' At All

Coherent thoughts are a rarity these days, and thus, it's why last Monday's George Carlin post still sits atop this here rag. I wrote half a screed about the Supreme Court's gun rights decision, but I soon realized it was about as funny as interspliced footage of the Bataan Death March and a day at Auschwitz playing behind a John McCain speech on free trade. So in lieu of any semblance of a lucid essay, here are some quick pre-holiday rumblings:

All the Baldwins are dead?
The media may have a little fun with the seemingly fake-but-reported-as-real proclamation that Stephen Baldwin will leave America if the populace elects Barack Obama (see video here). The youngest Baldwin's announcement in his four-minute interview with Laura Ingraham will most certainly make the headlines, but I'd instead like to focus on what will no doubt be buried by this abdication nonsense.

Ingraham actually asks this intellectual heavyweight and obvious policy wonk, "Why should we care what Sheryl Crow or Susan Sarandon or Tim Robbins or anyone of these people think about [America's problems]...why should we care what any of them think about any of these issues?"

Does this strumpet not realize she's asking that loaded question to a guy who may be best known for making a bong out of a snorkel, an ice pick and an avocado, a man who played second fiddle to Pauly Fucking Shore in Bio-Dome? Does this floozy understand she's querying a C-level celebrity himself why middle America shouldn't listen to celebrities? It gets not more meta than that, sports fans. I'd sooner heed the political advice of Halle Berry than the anti-Hollywood bullroar of a smug born-again Christian who looks like he's continuously sucking lemons and inhaling dog farts.

Welcome back, casual racism...
They say if you wish to tap your Innerjew, there's no better place than Israel. To stand at the noble sanctuary of the Temple Mount, one can only feel a level of Jewishness unseen in their mundane, secular everyday life. I'd like to make a motion to reconsider. I've found a new place to be reminded daily of my Jewish roots: the locker room of my New York Sports Club in downtown Brooklyn, a place teeming with stereotypically endowed gentlemen of color. If you look around, and then look down, oh yes, that's what it's like to be a Jew.

Imagine all the pills he can buy now...
When I think of Rush Limbaugh, I like to picture him swimming in a vault of OxyContin, like the Scrooge McDuck of little white pills. And that trove's got more treasure: breaking news today that Limbaugh just signed a $400 million deal to stay on the air through 2016.

Only in America can an opiate-addicted upper-class fearmonger claim to have his finger on the pulse of middle America -- well, at least he has the Oxy abuse in common with his many bigoted minions. I will say, though, the man is incredible at what he does, and I'm sure he'll earn every penny back and more for his employers. Rush, while acting the silly WWE-like entertainer, knows exactly what he's doing, and for that, well, I have a weird level of respect for him. I also love drug addicts (see: Garcia, Jerry; Anastasio, Trey)

Say a word for Jimmy Brown
Until The Phish From Vermont end the charade and get the band back together (09/09/09, folks), My Morning Jacket is the best touring band in the country, bar none. Three associates and I sat fourth row at this month's Radio City Music Hall show, and while half the new stuff has yet to grab me, the show was as good as you'll see from anyone these days. The last hour of that 160-minute monstrosity of a set rawked so hard that I surely walked out with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

A friend recently sent me the XM feed of their ludicrously ourageous Bonnaroo set, and it's truly one for the ages. Seriously, get on that shit. The standout for this music geek comes in the form of a cover, and more specifically a cover of one of the most underrated songs of all-time: the Velvet Underground's Oh! Sweet Nuthin'. So if you've got eight minutes to kill, spend some time with Jim James and those other nameless dudes from MMJ:



Happy Fourth of July, my friends. Just remember, when you're being inundated with all this American bicentennial Fourth Of July brouhaha, don't forget what you're celebrating, and that's the fact that a bunch of slave-owning, aristocratic, white males didn't want to pay their taxes. School's. Out. For. Summer.