Three Final Thoughts

Goodbye, Thank You and Merry Christmas....

Despite what you believe this blog has not been about movie reviews, book criticisms or pop culture inspired rants. Now that I am signing off on it after a long absence I think I can tip my cards and show you what it has been about all along and why I can't sustain it.

Did any of you ever read any of the books, listen to any of the music or laugh at the videos that I spent hours reading, watching, and writing about? It doesn't matter. What you people do on your own time, it the privacy of your own windowless vans or bus shelters is of no concern to me. I didn't do any of this for you weirdos anyway.

I did all of this for one person. It didn't begin that way, but that is what it became and that is how it ends. She read every word from afar even when she had to do so covertly. She took me seriously even when I couldn't. She laughed at my stupid jokes and assured me I was a good writer even when I knew I was a hack. She called and e-mailed and talked about things like Canadian literature and Leonard Cohen. She helped make, and is still making me a better writer -and person- every day.

I don't blog on Infinite Monkeys anymore because I don't need to. I live with this woman now and I will soon marry her. If I want to "impress" her with a witty remark or show her a stupid video I don't have to do it across the interweb anymore. Even though she looks at me sometimes and I wonder if she wouldn't prefer my antics confined to cyberspace again.

Merry Christmas Sheila. This blog, for as long as it exists, is my gift to you. It always belonged to you anyway.

-Michael

www.theautoblography.blogspot.com

Sleepwalking Into The Future

If you listen very closely you can hear it...The spectral chanting in another room of a billion voices counting down to midnight...The abuses visited upon ourselves and the home of our host will not be soon forgotten. The blinding, deafining, orgiastic shamelessness of it all will be the topic of conversation for generations to come...History will remember us, however unkindly.

So stagger over to the bar and grab one last barrel of sweet, light crude. The fossil fuel party is just about over. And there are not enough painkillers on earth to dampen the screaming bitch of a hangover that waits for us all tomorrow...

I don`t normally give myself over to alarmist schools of thought. Generally it is my unshakeable belief that life is pretty damn good and we should strive to make the most of it every day. Occasionally however, someone will come along and piss on my silver lining, undulate my aura of peace and tranquility and pollute my pristine pool of yin with a dark oily abundance of yang. Lately, that someone has been James Howard Kunstler. He`s a plain-speaking intellectual gunslinger of a man with a message that makes the current enviromental movement look like a bunch of kids with their fingers jammed haphazardly into the dyke. Get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness, Al Gore. Kunstler is pulling back the curtain on the most inconvenient truth of them all: Our so-called society is on the brink of collapse and no one -not governments, educators, business leaders or the media- is prepared to do a goddamned thing about it.

Just so you can share in my paranoia, I`ve helpfully included all five parts of his recent interview with the online edition of Orion magazine. If that`s not enough and the obsessive compulsive side of your nature demands more straight talk about where our species is headed if we continue on this narrow road, you can pick up his book: The Long Emergency. You may also want to work on your farming skills. Looks like you`re going to need them.

A Walk Into January

A sodden trip through the memory of snow
Embraces boots,
Exposes roots
And exhales with wet malevolence.

The silver salt lick flash of sky
Brings into sharp relief
The precious scarcity of emerald and the brief
Gasp as summer's fiery pallette lies down to die.

The trail flows through broken bones of trees
The whispering scent of loamy earth
And graveyards marking the brief lives of countless flowers.

I'm Not There

"Who's going to mind the zoo?"

Whenever someone asks me: "What is your favorite movie?" I have no real answer. I love many different films for several different reasons. It's like picking your favorite kid at the orphanage, or your favorite sunset; it's all subjective. So picking my "favorite" from a lifetime of appreciation has always been an impossible task. Until now....

Say hello to Bob Dylan. Say hello to the outlaw, the poet and the fake. Say goodbye to conventional film making. Goodbye and good riddance. Now here we have a movie that requires some effort on the part of the viewer. Here we have a movie that you MUST watch more than once. You just want to watch stuff get blowed up? You want a moron rubbing pate on his balls and wrestling a pit bull? Keep going. This is a film for people who not only love films. This is a film for people who want to be challenged, uplifted, emotionally shaken and intellectually sucker-punched. This is a direction sign on the road to self-awareness. This is MY FAVORITE MOVIE. There, I told you. Now stop asking me.

I think we can all agree that Bob Dylan is a pretty interesting guy. We watch him perform, listen to his music, dive deeper and deeper into the layers of meaning contained in his songs. We get the impression of a brilliant, often troubled rebel. What we can never get with another human being, however, is an all-access backstage pass to gaze at their most intimate mechanisms. Those things that make us tick, sing, cry, laugh, and get out of bed every day to do something that half the world thinks is useless and the other half doesn't know enough about to care.

If you watch closely, you will see all of this and more. All of the facets of the man's personae take human form, frolic, fuck and fight in the waking dream of his subconscious. Subtle metaphors are around every corner; The perversion of art for corporate gain, the selling off of a country's soul, the reconciliation of what makes us "old" and what makes us "young"....

I could go on about this movie forever, but I won't. I've already wasted enough of your time. Time you could have spent watching one of the best movies to come along in my -and probably your- lifetime.

Some of The Best Music You`ve (Probably) Never Heard

If you don't like spaghetti and have nightmares about forty-story tall fast food mascots chasing you through crowded carnivals while praying for Spiderman to save you....That's okay.

If you've ever had a long, deep conversations with yourself about the nature of DARK MATTER turn into a screaming match while stopped at a red light....You're normal.

If the monsters that live under your bed and in your closet re-arrange your living room furniture while you're putting in a double shift at the meat packing plant according to your specifications...No one is judging you. Even if they break your favorite lamp.

If you watch CNN, Fox News or The Home Shopping Network....We're willing to look the other way.

If, however, you happen to listen to Indie music....That's just not normal. It makes me sick just thinking about it. I mean, COME ON! We're trying to have a society here. You are a worthless animal, sir, and I shall immediately report you to the authorities.

This seems to be the prevailing wisdom when it comes to the consumption of modern music. Well, I'm here to tell you that these well-established nuggets of folk wisdom are not always right. Particularly about music. And Fox News. I think the other three are pretty accurate (I hope).

The holiday season is the perfect time for the uninitiated and veteran fan alike to dig into the fertile grounds of Indie music. End-of-the-year "Top 10-100" lists are popping up everywhere making it fun and easy to discover a new artist. While these retrospectives are often just a chance for media sites like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone to prove that they are edgy and smarter than you by naming obscure, unlistenable albums as the greatest musical achievements of the year, they do a great service for bands that often don't get the attention they deserve.

Here are a few of my personal favorites. No particular order or ranking system here (I don't like the implication that one album is "better" than another. It's a matter of individual taste, after all). Stick one of these in a music lovers stocking this Christmas and then sit back smugly as they praise you for your well-informed taste...

We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank

Modest Mouse

"The first track screams jarring french-sounding curses, the tenth in a heart wrenching ballad with one of the most tear-inducing videos I've EVER seen. These guys do everything right."

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

Spoon

"This album is growing on me like a strange, soft, sweet-smelling fungus."

Reunion Tour

The Weakerthans

"Tongue-in-cheek, double entendre-laden lyrics rattled perfectly from a vocalist who sounds a lot like Greig Nori from Treble Charger...Great stuff!"

The Meanest of Times

Dropkick Murphys

"Their reworking of the traditional 'Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya' into a punk-rock masterpiece is reason enough to buy this album."

Cassadaga

Bright Eyes

"One of my all-time favorites...Folk lightly blended with blues and dashed with country."

Neon Bible

Arcade Fire

"After listening to this album for the first time, I found it inconceivable that this Montreal-based band wasn't ruling the world and printing their own money...It's fricking TRANSCENDENT."

Sawdust

The Killers

"Any band that features Lou Reed on an albums first track is a band worth paying attention to."

Trinity Revisited

Cowboy Junkies

"A reworking of the iconic 'Trinity Sessions', Margo Timmons proves she still has one of the most hauntingly beautiful voices around and these songs are just as relevant today as they were twenty years ago."

Begin To Hope

Regina Spektor

"This was actually released in 2006, but I stumbled across her this year, so she's new to ME. Fun, thoughtful lyrics from a refreshing voice that doesn't take itself too seriously."

Icky Thump

The White Stripes

"Jack and Meg continue to blur all the lines and re-write all the rules for post-modern rock. And they have a hell of a good time doing it."

Oh, Seven

We came to Bali to wash the oil from our hands
Absolve ourselves, resolve ourselves. That soft, consoling sound.
Haunted by Kyoto's ghost
With his corpse not yet in the ground.
With the shamelessness of little boys whose dying mother, in all her selfishness
Can no longer afford their toys.

I see Christmas greetings from the troops
These snowstorms are knocking out power
Warnings of lead paint from China
Walmart open for its twenty-fifth hour.....
Great gift ideas under twenty dollars!
Please won't you sponsor a child?
A new Rambo movie in theatres soon!?!
Lines are open for the first three hundred callers.

I've often thought about shutting it off,
Strapping on my shoes and leaving my home
But I'd rather sit in this warm electric light
And witness the Fall of Rome.

Don't lose your temper in a foreign airport
Or march for democracy in Myanmar
Don't violate digital copyright laws
Or smoke with a child inside your car.
Because it's better to be safe than it is to be free
In two thousand and nineteen-eighty four.
While the anatomy of our apathy has born a psychotic dichotomy:
Peace is only possible if we fight an endless, unwinnable war.

Give me more corrupt politicians
And insurgents with improvised explosive devices
More PlayStation threes
Ex-boxes and Wii's
In the back of Humvees
That we can drive to a friend
And tell him we don't comprehend
These ridiculous gasoline prices.

Let's celebrate mediocrity and dance with the stars!
Watch them check out of rehab or thrown behind bars.
Let's open up Facebook
Or Google 'Sudan'
Let's check out that video on YouTube
Of the beheading in Afghanistan.

Because it's 1933 and they're burning books again
Throw a coin in the well and follow it down
The inmates are running things around here, my friend
And the circus never left town.

The Shock Doctrine Rage

Two things have been preventing me from achieving the calm, relaxed state of "oneness" that Buddhism promises. Actually, make that three things if you take into account that I'm not actually a Buddhist. I like to think of myself as a neo-Buddhist atheist; I'm completely zen about my disbelief in God. But I digress. Those two things have been my steady diet of "revolutionary" media over the past couple of weeks, namely: Naomi Klein's newest book, The Shock Doctrine and the musical stylings of Rage Against The Machine. Not only am I decidedly non-zen lately, I'm ready to start a Che Guevara-style uprising.

Before the local thought police come busting down my door, let me explain. I was a huge fan of Naomi Klein's first book "No Logo" which blew the whistle on out-of-control corporate branding and free-market exploitation. So when I heard that she had a new book hitting the shelves, one that had taken her four years to research and write, I gave it the full J.K. Rowling treatment and camped outside my local bookstore on the day of its release. I snatched the first copy out of the box, rushed home and began reading the intimidating 600-page colossus. This is where things start getting a little scary....

The subject matter of this book and the essence of Ms Klein's argument is what she calls "The Rise of Disaster Capitalism". It is, essentially, the idea that sweeping and unpopular economic and free-market reforms, such as the selling-off of state-run industry to private foreign corporations, can only be imposed on a population following a "shock" such as a natural disaster, terrorist act or bloody military coup. The book treats us to a "behind the scenes" re-telling of modern history, from Pinochet's 1974 iron-fisted military junta in Chile all the way to the current Iraq quagmire. We see the strong-arm extortion tactics used by the IMF and World Bank after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the Asian economic crisis a few years later. We see the "selling off" of housing projects to real estate developers intent on building seaside resorts after hurricane Katrina. We see the privatization of modern warfare. All the while the rich and powerful gain more wealth and power and the poor and disenfranchised sink even deeper into the free-market abyss. It's terrifying stuff, and I decided, somewhere towards the mid-point of the book that it would be complimented wonderfully by a little Rage Against The Machine. Songs like "Bombtrack", "Guerrilla Radio" and "Renegades of Funk" became the soundtrack to my reading experience.

In retrospect, perhaps this was a bad idea.

I experienced, and am still suffering from, what I call "SDR" or "Shock Doctrine Rage". A state of extreme passive-aggressive behavior complimented by feelings of global insignificance. My ears also hurt a little bit from all the loud music.

Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be okay. Oddly enough, watching O.J. Simpson take the fall for armed robbery and kidnapping is extremely therapeutic. Now all I need to see is Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld charged with crimes against humanity and my optimism will be fully restored. Or I could just whip up some pancakes. I loves me the pancakes.

The Virtue Of The Vicious

"Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious" -Oscar Wilde

As a product of the e-mail generation I've become accustomed to deleting "chain" e-mails. They used to piss me off, but now I just view them as one of the little annoying prices we pay for our modern conveniences. Until today that is, when I received one from someone on my "friend's" list (soon to be amended) that made me very, very angry. I'll attempt to reconstruct it here:

I HOPE I DO NOT HEAR OF ANYONE BREAKING THIS ONE OR SEE DELETED...

SLEEP LAST NIGHT?
Bed a little lumpy...Toss and turn any...Wish the heat was higher...Maybe the a/c wasn't on...Had to go to the john..Need a drink of water...???Scroll down...

Yes.... It is like that!Count your blessings, pray for them,Talk to your Creator and the next time when...the other car cuts you off and you must hit the brakes, or you have to park a little further from Walmart than you want to be, or you're served slightly warm food at the restaurant, or you're sitting and cursing the traffic in front of you,or the shower runs out of hot water!, Think of them...Protecting your freedom!

Aside from the obvious punctuation and grammatical errors, the above infuriates me so much because it is a great example of this new brand of patriotic bullying and neo-christian guilt. I can't drive two blocks without seeing ten car magnets that demand I support the troops. I can't turn on the television without seeing an American flag waving or grief-stricken families crying beside the ground-zero monument in New York. It's emotional arm-twisting and it has to stop. Why? Because it's bullshit, that's why.

The troops fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan are ALL VOLUNTEERS. There was no draft. They chose to do this. It sickens me to think about all the young lives being thrown away, but don't demand that I support it. I don't. I never will. A lot of people are becoming very rich as a result of these conflicts, and guess what...Not a single one of them is pictured above. They are all tucked safely behind desks at the corporate offices of Haliburton and Blackwater. These poor kids are not protecting your freedom, they are protecting your governments financial investments.

Who the hell is my "Creator" and why should I be talking to him/her/it about this? The only creators I have are my parents and they can't really provide me with too much insight on these matters (although they can provide me with a free, delicious meal once in a while). So don't try and scare me into falling in line with your superstitious bogey-men either. Besides, if there really is a god (there isn't) do you really think he/she/it would approve of our war-for-profit scheme?

To those of you that have been perpetuating this particular chain mail I just wanted to let you know that yes I "broke" it and yes I deleted it. I also slept just fine last night. Thanks for asking.

All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here

People who shop at Walmart Supercentres scare the hell out of me. They push, shove and jockey for position amongst rows of Spongebob Squarepants spiral notebooks. They yell at their crying children to try on three different pairs of sweatshop-produced shoes. They all posses the same furtive, desperate look made worse by the sickly fluorescent light and recycled air. They cannot possibly conceive of a better place to spend a Saturday afternoon.

There is only one other place on Earth that comes close to this level of depravity. One other place where this unique brand of human sadness is dealt daily. That place is called Tim Hortons (aka: the "Walmart" of coffee shops). Thousands of poor, tired souls choke the drive-thru and counter area every morning, waiting for their turn to buy an overpriced, second-rate cup of coffee. The garish plastic tables are full of loud, obnoxious businessmen holding "meetings" and senior citizens who have grown tired of the community centre and need an alternative place to complain that it isn't 1957 anymore.

Well my friends, I have some "good" news. There is no longer any need to go to two different places to have your spirit crushed and your will to live stolen by a faceless corporation. In the interest of providing one stop shopping for soul destruction Walmart and Tim Hortons are JOINING FORCES. You can read the complete, apocalyptic story here. That's right, now you can be jacked-up on caffeine as you fight your way to the electronics section to grab up the half-priced Pauly Shore DVDs.

Now if they only offered liquor and assisted suicides there would never be any reason to go anywhere else. Ever.

You Say Goodbye, And I Say Hell-no

It seems that all good things must indeed come to an end....

Mediocre and half-assed things, therefore, can go on forever. So it looks like you're stuck with me.

You didn't actually think I was going to pack up and ride off into the wan light of some virtual sunset did you? Harry Potter?!? Did you really think that the legacy I was prepared to leave was some stupid post about the final Harry Potter novel!?! Oh ye of little faith. The cold, hard, ugly truth is that I simply took the summer off to pursue other "interests" (read: "lying on the beach, drinking Corona and working on my novel about an evil, spacefaring race of ninja monkeys).

By the way, I am currently undergoing some renovations to the site so if you happen to notice some glitches, ugly-ass blobs of stray code or are simply unable to view the damn thing then....ummmm....you wouldn't be able to read this, would you? Uh....Nevermind.

That's it for now, chumps. The monkey-man is back. Leaner, meaner and more repulsive than ever. So slide into a nice dress and slop on some lipstick 'cause I'm about to make you my bitch. Again.

Harry Potter's Final Spell

We open our eyes to the emptiness. A warm wind blows, pregnant with dust, through the deserted streets. Somewhere, a child is crying. Thousands of receipts from alien places litter the road, places like "Barnes and Noble", "Chapters" and "Coles". We snatch one as it flutters by and study it through blood-weary eyes. It says: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. They all do.

So it ends. After nine years, 4085 pages, five feature films and millions of adoring fans, J.K. Rowling has finally laid this seminal series to rest. Teenagers all over the world have sequestered themselves in their rooms today, maintaining their vigil with an almost religious intensity as their final trip to Hogwarts plays itself out. And when the last page has been turned, the final word read, the nuances of the story discussed, blogged, argued over and meditated on, I must ask: What have we learned from Harry Potter? Or perhaps, more importantly: What has Harry Potter taught us about ourselves?

Here I must make a confession...I've never read a single Harry Potter novel. There I said it. As purely a work of literature, they have never really appealed to me much. I cannot deny, however, the impact they have had on the zeitgeist of modern pop culture. So while I am completely unqualified to discuss what the story itself has taught us, I feel I am uniquely qualified, as a self-proclaimed student of pop culture, to point out three of the social revelations Ms. Rowling's opus has shed some bright, blazing wizard light on:

1. Reading is cool

I don't think I'm the only one who harbored some secret fears about the world moving into a post-literate stage of society. With the proliferation of iPods, Facebook, Google searches and reality television, the simple pleasures derived from sitting down with a good book couldn't possibly stand a chance. Why actually go to all the trouble of reading a book when you can just read about it on Wikipedia? Thankfully, the staggering success of these novels and the rock star status earned by their author have not only assuaged these fears, but actually made me hopeful for a literary renaissance, where the paperback replaces the blackberry as the must-have accessory amongst teens.

2. J.K. Rowling is a genius

No one can ever accuse J.K. Rowling of not knowing her audience. In fact, she wrote the book on it. Literally. The good verses evil themes are universal with just enough shades of grey to give it emotional depth. The coming of age story is something just about every pre-teen on the planet can relate to. The archetypal characters are fantastic versions of people that, chances are, most young readers have versions of in their "real" lives. Mix all of these brilliant elements with a story that grows up and becomes more complex as its audience does and you have something that is MUCH more than the sum of its parts. You have a children's epic that will very likely still be relevant when our great-great-great grandchildren learn to read.

3. You are never too old to be a kid again

These books were written for children and young adults. Why is it then, that over the course of the last seven years I saw copies stuffed into suits, jammed into jackets, ogled by octogenarians and poured-over by proud parents? Could it be that the exploits of a boy wizard and his friends have knocked on the door where our inner child lives and asked him to come out and play? I'd like to think so. Books are also a great way to bridge the generation gap. The latest Black Eyed Peas album may be beyond your realm of experience, but Hermione Granger's unrequited love for Harry Potter is something you and your teenage daugter both understand implicitly. Some topics are too important to be left to the mercy of message boards.

So where do we go from here? Is your dog-eared copy of The Deathly Hallows already gathering dust on your bookshelf? Are the early symptoms of HPW (Harry Potter Withdraw) causing you to consider reading the whole damn series again? Never fear! The 13th Monkey has got your back. Might I suggest The Riftwar saga by Raymond E. Feist as your next adventure into magical lands and great fiction. This four book series is the perfect "next step" for young Harry Potter addicts looking for their next "fix".

The only cultural phenomenon of this magnitude that I can think of from my childhood was the original Star Wars trilogy. So here is a word of caution for young Harry Potter fans from someone who has lived through it: Whatever you do, when you "grow up" DO NOT demand a prequal from Ms. Rowling. It will all end in tears.

Site Maintenance...Sort of.

I am posting this for one reason and one reason alone: To get that stupid-ass media player with the Sicko trailer on it off the front page. Don't get me wrong, I've seen the film and it is excellent, but the damned AOL video player that was obviously coded by a bunch of retarded chimps forces my page to jump to it every time it loads.

Most of you mouth-breathing turnip farmers probably didn't even notice.

Well anyway, it's fixed. Don't say I've never done anything for you. By way of thanks, you could always send me money or gushing praise or cheesecake. Mmmmm.....Cheesecake.

In the interest of making sure it's gone for good, I will now provide you with at least six inches of bullshit filler...You're welcome.....

One thing is still certain: You can always count on glam rock bands, flavour of the day one-hit wonders and Billy Corgan for bullshit filler.

Transforming Nostalgia

One of two things can happen when a happy memory from your childhood is recycled, rebuilt, polished and presented as the latest pop culture phenomenon: It can leave you feeling beaten and abused, as if a small precious thing has been taken from you by a schoolyard bully. Or it can rekindle your passion for something that you haven't devoted a lot of thought to in the last twenty-odd years and for a brief, beautiful moment, it can make you feel like a kid again.

Enter Optimus Prime....

When I was about seven years old I had an action figure that looked just like the leader of the heroic Autobots (as pictured above). He was made of solid steel, had genuine rubber tires and I could transform him from a fire-engine-red semi to an intimidating, ass-kicking robot in five seconds with my eyes closed. I never missed an episode of the cartoon series and I remember salivating with prepubescent joy when the Dinobots were introduced. Grasping, as I did in my own seven-year old way that the television series was just a marketing vehicle for the toys and a fully transformable "Grimlock" (The tyrannosaurus rex leader of the Dinobots) would soon be available for purchase. I still have a great memory of my dad taking me to see the original, animated Transformers movie. Buying me a popcorn and suffering through something that must have been completely incomprehensible to him just because he knew I loved the stupid things so much. I know what you're thinking...You're thinking: "Sounds like this guy didn't have a lot of friends when he was a kid". Well, you'd be wrong. I had all the Autobots and most of the Decpticons and a few kids who said they were my friend so they could play with them. Close enough.

Now, re-enter Optimus Prime, over twenty years later....



This Computer Generated, fully articulated, twenty-foot tall Optimus Prime jumped out of my childhood and onto the screen at my local movie theater last night. I have to say, it was a surreal experience. Here were my beloved Autobots in the hands of the guy who directed "Pearl Harbor" and "The Island". Here was a kernel of summer popcorn from the bag of Michael Bay, the master of guilty pleasures. Here was a two hour advertisement for GM vehicles. Here was, perhaps, the most damn FUN I've had at the movies in recent memory. For one hundred and forty four minutes I was seven years old again, giddy with excitement as Optimus Prime and Megatron fought to the death with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. This time, I took my dad and he loved it. I didn't buy him a popcorn though, what am I, made of freakin' money?

Score: 10/12 monkeys

Some Trampy Chick Was Released From Prison Yesterday...

I'm not going to waste your valuable time with the details of this perplexing "story" like some major media outlets I know (read: ALL of them). Suffice it to say that some dumb, lazy-eyed tramp was released from prison yesterday, whored her way home and got hair extensions.

She's made a couple of amature porn videos and is named after some hotel in France. Really, what more do you need to know? Actually, this is probably too much information. I don't think I am being overly harsh is saying this, nor do I feel that I am alone in these sentiments, but the next time I read her name it had better be in the obituaries.

Robot Chicken Star Wars

Because I'm feeling uncharacteristically generous this morning, here is the complete 30 minute Robot Chicken Star Wars special for your viewing enjoyment. My personal favorite sketch is the phone call the Emperor receives about the destruction of the death star. He hasn't even finished paying for it and it's blown up by "a bunch of teenagers" in an "aluminum falcon".

Whether you are one of the seven people out there who has never seen a single Star Wars movie or one of the legions of rabid, mouth-breathing fan boys this montage of short parodies is sure to illicit a chuckle or two.

The farce is strong with this one.

*Update: Looks like they ripped this video down like five minutes after I posted it. The Nazis over at Adult Swim don't like you watching videos anywhere but their own ugly-ass site, so if you are still interested you can watch the damn thing here: Robot Chicken Star Wars!

This of course means that you will have to navigate away from my ultra sexy blog, but if you really feel the need to....Hey, where did everybody go?!? Hello? I hate you all so much....

A Shockng Medical Breakthrough...

The investigative journalists over at the Onion News Network have made a shocking discovery: Most of the old codgers being hospitalized and treated for alzheimers don't, in fact, have alzheimers. It was all just a big misunderstanding. Kinda' like that time I made a life sized statue of a friend, stuck a knife in it and left it on his front porch with a note that said: "You". When I asked him about it the next day, he didn't know what I was talking about. I must have left it at the wrong house. Ah well, we all got a pretty good laugh out of it, and no harm done.

The Top 10 Ways To Procrastinate on Your 100th Post

Just in case you haven't noticed there have been no new posts in well over a week. I'd like to apologize to my loyal reader(s) for this oversight and assure you (you know who you are) that there is a very good reason for this. Okay so maybe it's not a "good" reason but it's the only excuse I have for my degenerate laziness so cut me some damn slack would ya?

You see, I've reached a bit of a milestone (as opposed to a "millstone", that's for grinding corn) here at Infinite Monkeys. This bit of dreck that you are currently reading is my official 100th post! My problem this past week has been deciding what to do with this momentous occasion. Of course, my complete and utter inability to make even the simplest of decisions has led me to procrastinate (as opposed to "masturbate", which I admit has also taken up a considerable amount of my time). I have, in fact, elevated procrastination to an art form of sorts. Here are the top 10 things I did this week rather than write my 100th post. Actually, you know what? I'm kinda' tired right now. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow....

10. Watch the entire second season of Lost on DVD. I don't see what the big deal about this show is. I didn't particularly enjoy it the first time when it was known as "Gilligan's Island".

9. Work at my day job. Because blogging doesn't pay what it used to and I have needs. All those tacos and giant foam cowboy hats aren't going to pay for themselves you know.

8. Exercise. My daily workout regiment has actually started to pay off. I can now eat half a bucket of chicken before I start to sweat.

7. Get on the wagon. It's amazing to me how stupid and wasteful this whole blogging thing seems when you have been sober for a couple of days. Now that I'm back on my daily supply of vitamin "vodka", I feel compelled to share my pathetic thoughts with complete strangers again.

6. Learn the ancient Chinese art of origami. I can already make a boulder, a meteorite and a snowball. What can I say, I'm a fast learner.

5. Get in touch with some old friends. Except replace "old friends" with "ex-girlfriends", and "get in touch" with "stalk". It's not my fault they never changed the password for their voicemail.

4. Facebook. What is it about this social networking site that is so damned compelling? Seriously, try explaining Facebook to someone who has never heard of it without making it sound completely retarded. It's impossible.

3. Working on my novel. For those of you that don't know, that's super-secret guy code for "surfing Internet porn". If I were actually working on a novel it would be over three thousand pages by now. Sheesh, get a clue.

2. Sleeping and eating. I'm pretty sure I have that disease that makes you tired and hungry all the time. What's the name of it again? Oh yeah: Marijuana.

1. Following the Paris Hilton prison saga. I'm fairly certain that I died recently and am currently residing in Hell. How else to explain the fact that this has been the TOP NEWS STORY for over a week?!?! Isn't there a fucking WAR on?!?! All the attention being paid to this stupid, spoiled whore and her ilk is a sure sign that we are doomed as a species. Put on your helmets boys and girls, Armageddon is right around the corner.

"You see how they condescend to us!?!"

It is my firm belief that if we are ever going to survive as a species and live harmoniously on this planet we must embrace all of the multi-layered cultures of the world. Or we could just make fun of how they talk. Yeah, let's do that...The second thing.

Why Couldn't The Pirate Get In To See The Movie?...Because It Was Rated Arrrrrr!

In honour of the release of Pirates of The Caribbean: At World's End today, I have assembled a list of the top five pirates to ever swagger drunkenly onto the silver screen. Movie pirates are often characterized by their strict adherence to stereotypes, outrageous overacting and their tendency to be played by some of the most gifted actors in Hollywood. The following five are no exception. So grab a bottle of rum, gouge out one of your eyes, find a parrot to molest, sit back and enjoy the list.

1. Captain Jack Sparrow (a.k.a. Johnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean)

Was there ever any doubt who would make the number one spot? Depp easily blows the competition out of the water with his twisted, salty portrayal of Captain Jack Sparrow. He single-handedly made pirates "cool" again and rescued an otherwise by-the-numbers summer popcorn flick from mediocrity.

2. Captain Long John Silver (a.k.a Tim Curry, Muppet Treasure Island)



Everything is better with muppets. Everything. So why should this classic tale by Robert Louis Stevenson be any different? Perhaps the only thing better than muppets dressed up as pirates is Tim Curry (whatever happened to him anyway?) as the mutinous Captain Long John Silver. While he may not be the "manliest" pirate on the list he knows how to handle a pistol and he's got a mean singing voice. And he has one of the best sword fights ever filmed with Kermit the Frog. 'Nuff said.

3. Captain Hook (a.k.a Dustin Hoffman, Hook)



One of the most underrated movies of all time features one of best performances of Dustin Hoffman's career. Captain Hook is sort of the "James Bond" of Pirates, he's been played by so many different actors. Well, Dustin Hoffman is the "Sean Connery" of Captain Hooks. No one has ever played this seminal villian with a more over-the-top, balls-out performance. Shame that he has to get his ass kicked by a balding, pudgy Robin Williams. But these kind of risks come with the pirate territory.

4. The Dread Pirate Roberts (a.k.a. Cary Elwes, The Princess Bride)



Bringing this one home from the video store on a Saturday night when your girlfriend sends you out for a movie is a win-win situation. First of all, it is an amazingly awesome movie in every way, and secondly it will almost guarantee that you get some action that night. Why? Well, mostly because of Cary Elwes sly portrayal of The Dread Pirate Roberts, a.k.a The Man in Black, a.k.a. Westley. Not only does he look like he just stepped off the cover of a trashy romance novel, he is funny AND intelligent. He looses points for not having enough of that "pirate grit", but he gains a few for getting to bang Robin Wright. High Five Cary!

5. Steve The Pirate (a.k.a Alan Tudyk, Dodgeball)



Okay, so he's not a pirate in the traditional sense and I admit, I'm not even sure who the hell Alan Tudyk is, but there is something unspeakably beautiful about a grown man who thinks he is a pirate and plays professional Dodgeball. Steve is either a genius or insane, or both. Whatever the case, we can be sure of one thing; Steve has paved the way for random pirate characters in movies. I don't think I'm alone in saying that we need to see more of this. Can you imagine if Gone With The Wind had a random pirate character who would show up and utter cryptic sayings and then sail away on his civil-war era pirate ship? Now that's a movie I'd like to see!

Cassadaga

Artist: Bright Eyes

I must admit that my first impression of this new full-length album from Bright Eyes was lukewarm at best. The opening track "Clairaudients" fades in with the muted mumblings of a psychic woman consulting someone about "centers of energy" and "vortexes". After a full two minutes of this I was about to skip to the next track when Conor Oberst's haunted voice came bubbling up from the ether. His vocals on this track, and indeed most of the album, sound a little unlike the angst-riddled, suffering Conor that we are used to. He wails and croons with a self-assured bravado, sounding all the while like an artist completely at home and comfortable with his art.

It took about two or three complete listenings for my initial reservations to fade. Yes, this was indeed the same Bright Eyes that first hooked me in with "Landlocked Blues", in my opinion one of the most bittersweet and poignant balads ever written. They just sound a little less indie and a little more mainstream on most of Cassadaga. Like a small town band shouting from the highest building in the big city, letting everyone know that they can play with the big boys. The "big boys", however, could never write brilliant lyrics like this.

The tracks "Four Winds" and "Soul Singer in a Session Band" are infused with bubbly energy, while more Conor-esque suffering pervades tracks like "No One Would Riot For Less" and "Lime Tree". There is indeed something for everyone on this eclectic album. While it still doesn't measure up to the brilliance of "I'm Wide Awake It's Morning", it is growing on me. Kinda' like that toe fungus.

Score: 10/12 monkeys