Political MySpace pages are a riot.

Dig "Aw Bruiser," that's a hell of a song.

Jerk It Outt



Jerk It Out

LADY TERMINATOR

A bald-faced copy of Terminator mixed with bizarre Oriental legends and squirming sexual violence, this Indonesian oddity scores high for insane action and impressive chutzpah. After the prologue fills us in on the story of the evil Queen and the possession of Tania ("I'm not a lady, I'm an anthropologist!") is complete, the rest of Lady Terminator is pure plagiarism, right down to reproducing some of Terminator's scenes and dialogue. It's a rip-off on the cheap, as well, with certain sequences being used twice in order to bulk up running time. Luckily, the whole mess is just weird enough to work, blending Eastern and Western influences together into something far greater than its original intent. Make no mistake; this is nothing more than a cynical cash-in packed with as much nudity, explosions and blood squibs as possible, but fans of outlaw cinema will be thrilled by the sick surrealism on screen and the outrageous chicanery at work behind the scenes. FRED BELDIN

First official The End Times pin-up. Take heed, this is a rough draft, but the plan is to have us in 16 Magazine by the summer of 2007, so there's no time to lose. Maybe next time Kate won't be such a lens hog. Oh my god, I am so fucking FAT!

Not safe for work (unless you work at home) ... Bubble Gum Dreams, my favorite new fetish.

Thanks to my wife "Laurie" for allowing my birthday dreams to come true ... essentially two straight days of prolific boozing, appetizers and hors d' eurves for ever meal, plus unlimited access to the television set for a private holocaust of slasher action and AMOS AND ANDY reruns. I kissed the square world goodbye and made my pad the only culturally/spiritually pure spot in North America for 48 hours. I mean, we already do all right, Lori and me, we're pretty righteous in our day-to-day but once in a while you really gotta toss off the shackles of The Man and fuck it up Lansing style ... Manhattans before noon, gluten-free cake and an endless supply of crackers, cheese, cold cuts, coffee and cashews, with an emergency supply of cranberry juice for when you need a quick system flush.

This is how I marked my latest year, one I have no problem celebrating (as opposed to eulogizing, which I'm more familiar with). Thanks to everyone who came by to humor me, particularly those who supplied me with over-abundant gifts of stimulant. My man Tyson made it possible (no, more like mandatory) for me to watch THE LAST SLUMBER PARTY over and over again in search of elusive clues, and not only did Kate cop important supplies like Red Bull, ginger ale, toilet paper and vermouth for me, she also laid a couple sacks of orange candy on me as well (if you know what I mean). Kate brought her friend Pete along, and he seems like a fine, upstanding young man ... I'm so embarrassed now, but I was drunk when he came in and I thought for sure she introduced him as "Peach," so all fucking afternoon I'm calling this cat "Peach," you know? I mean, I figured it was some kinda nickname like "Champ" or "Tex." Well, either he didn't notice or he's just that cool of a customer ... anyhow, his name is Pete, not "Peach," so don't make the same mistake I did if you meet him.

What? No, I didn't see Meg there, either. Well, she was super drunk the night before at Kate's house, so I can only assume she was too hungover to make it. Yeah, I know.

There's more photos of my friends having the time of their lives here.

It's A Wonderful Movie

Just received a missive from my role model The Steve, who has alerted his fans that tonight at 8:00pm EST he'll be performing as part of a dramatic reading of IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE on Last Chance College radio WLNZ ... dig it on the internet if you aren't in Lansing (and these days, who is?).

Drummer for lounge acts, Top 40 cover bands and alt-country wannabees ... Elvis impersonator ... dark and mysterious radio presence ... audio engineer and instructor ... father and husband ... unrepentant raconteur ... is there anything The Steve can't do?

Okay, the Electric Six (nee Wild Bunch) have long been one of my least favorite Detroit bands ... never thought "Gay Bar" was funny, boring as hell live, the guy's voice annoys me to no end, and all this despite the fact that the revolving door lineup now includes two of the few people in Detroit that I actually like (Nash is a goddamn saint and while I haven't talked to Mike since he changed his name to "Percussion," he's top shelf humanity as well).

But I fear that I'll never be able to get this brilliant song out of my head ... thanks a lot, assholes. Now I have to reevaluate everything I thought I knew. Why couldn't you stick with lousy Queen covers? Jesus.

MY ADVICE FOR THE YOUNG PEOPLE

Adopt a habit which is ideologically unsound to your "friends." Indulge often.

Enroll in a state university immediately after finishing high school, no matter what your instincts tell you.

Choose one of two sides and cling to it doggedly.

Invest your money in the latest top-of-the-line technological products. They will never be bettered.

People love to be imitated.

Set fires when you're lonely.

Confuse hedonism with revolution. Drink fast.

When adversity approaches, excuse yourself and find the nearest restroom.

Mingering Mike

It is safe to say that I am relatively fucking relieved to retrieve all of the lost files on my porn machine ... thanks to everyone who offered advice. I still don't know what happened, nor can I even explain how I recovered what appeared to be gone forever. To me the computer is like a car -- I can operate it well enough and I have a vague understanding of the science behind its existence, but if something goes wrong I am utterly baffled at how to fix it. I am not ashamed of this ignorance, it is simply a fact, and I trust that God has blessed me with other areas of expertise to make up for this shortcoming (although I have yet to discover what they are).

I am currently in the market for a sun lamp to help ease my seasonal depression, which has resurfaced with great vigor over the past month. The cocktail of medications (prescribed or otherwise) that I gulp down daily go a long way toward getting me out the door and into what some call "life," but after one of the most positive, constructive and gregarious summers I've had in ten years, the creep is back along with the flooding rains and grey winds, so I can't discount the effect of mere weather on my fragile psyche. It really is a drag living in the world's richest, most powerful country, isn't it?

In other, probably not completely unrelated news, I've resigned as film editor of Resonance. Too many bumped stories, not enough freedom to justify my unpaid work, and just a general schism between the aesthetics of the magazine and my own. Call it mid-life crisis if you like, but I don't have enough time left to write about what other people do unless I'm getting paid to do it (we all have to do things we don't care about if we want to stay indoors and eat -- most of us, anyway). Don't take this as a rejection of Resonance, I'm still going to write articles for them and I'll be doing what I can to keep the film section together until they find someone to take my place, I just can't accept the responsibility of "film editor" anymore ... I have to start focusing my energies on projects that will bring fame, riches or personal satisfaction (I'm most interested in that last thing).

So if anyone wants the gig, let me or Monko know ... there's a lot of free DVDs in it for you.

This one's for Deming.

I Heard You, Malachi

Malachi Ritscher, 1954-2006

Attention 21st Century types ... last night for some still-undetermined reason, my computer was wiped clean of all files. Like everything, suddenly, no warning, back to factory-standard default. Lori and I ran a virus scan and we saw that the computer was scanning all my old files, so they're still in there, we just have no idea how to get to them. Any ideas from people in the know would be appreciated. And in the meantime, if I emailed you any files over the past 6-12 months that you're still holding on to (songs, photos, articles, reviews, stories, whatever) please don't delete them ... I may need to recover them from you in the near future.

Thank you.

I haven't said so yet, but thanks Terri. You don't find paintings like this in your mailbox every day (wouldn't that be great?), and it now rests in a prominent position in our home (above the radiator). I love the expression on the Hobo Clown's face ... he isn't even looking at the book he's holding for the French Clown, he's plotting some kind of mischief to pull while the other guy is distracted. I don't even think he's a real clown ... he's probably a con man hiding out from the police, and let's face it, what better cover than the circus? Traveling from one backwoods hick town to the next in disguise AND delighting children along the way? Hopefully he'll learn a lesson about friendship by the third act.

Speaking of which, thanks again ... I'm writing you a letter.

Real quick-like, my Crime article MURDER BY GUITAR is up on what I believe to be a semi-official band website. Read it if you haven't already.

El Smasho on MySpace.

I have no idea where the fuck this came from, but I'm gonna blame Tim until someone tells me different. For my money "Duncan" is the track to beat here. Get a load of all that hair ...

I think I know who's behind these Apollo Nine and Pop Tarts pages, though. "Tonight" might be the loveliest song ever written about post-adolescence, but don't miss "Gossip" for that fucked-up guitar solo.

RIP Larissa Strickland, guitarist for the mighty Laughing Hyenas, from an overdose of Xanax. The Hyenas were THE band of the late 1980s, no one could touch them for on stage intensity ... first time I saw them was at Bookies in Detroit, the bar was mostly empty but as soon as they went on, sliding into that sinister "Stain" riff and flipping playing cards into the air, I suddenly knew what it was like to see the Stooges back in 1969. It was that heavy, and the Hyenas never disappointed me live over nearly a hundred gigs I attended in basements and bars all over Michigan. I didn't know Larissa well, but the few times I hung out with her she was always sweet to me and it's sad to know that she never completely kicked her bad habits.

Dig my review of Merry Go Round (their first album).

Dig Deming's review of Life of Crime (their best album).

Potter on Potter.

I've been ignoring my MySpace account (I forgot all about it, actually), checked today for the first time in weeks and discovered a friendster request from Toofless Tom Potter. Checking out his page, I came across a link to the previous interview, in which he describes the End Times as "current." This is perhaps the nicest thing Tom has ever said about one of my bands, which makes this a very special day for me.

In further news, my birthday plans have officially been expanded to include the Goodnight Loving gig at the Funhouse November 19th. My new favorite band.

Everything You Always Wanted To Know About The Grand Funk Railroad

Thanks to Ramrod for hipping me to this ... our DSL came back on today after almost a week of wretched service from Speakeasy so I finally got the chance to download this remarkable LP. Hell yeah to WFMU and Killertree. I remember when I worked briefly at a record store in St. Clair Shores, this very LP was on the wall for a while for $30 or some outrageous sum, and if I actually had a thirty dollar bill to my name I woulda bought it too.

Kate and I played a ramshackle open mic the other night and wowed an eight-year-old girl. We're on our way.