But today, when children turn out poorly, parents blame the schools, other kids, or television. Well, let me offer up another possible reason your kid is a mouth breather, hanging out in a video arcade, bumming tokens for Duke Nukem 3. As a parent, you suck, okay?
And if you suck, the odds are your kid is going to suck. It's not the diet, not the environment, not the media, not the schools. It's you. You suck. And so does your kid.
Come on, folks. This is an easy fix. You've got to do the right thing and take responsibility for your own behavior instead of suing the inventor of the fork because you've got a fat ass. We've all got to toughen up a little. Accountability may not be dead, but it is getting harder to find than a sumo wrestler's belly button.
And it's up to each and every one of us to winnow out the bullshit and call people on it and indeed call ourselves on it when we're at fault. Use that bathroom mirror for something other than braiding your nose hairs. When you're at fault, just look into it and say out loud, "Man, I really, really, really fucked up this time." That's all. It's that simple. Then and only then will we begin to realize that when all is said and done, there's only one person who solely controls your destiny. And that, of course, is Bill Gates.
Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.
Rock & Roll
Now l don't want to get off on a rant here, but rock & roll will never die. At least that's what I read on the side of the Fuji blimp that was dropping Snapple coupons into the Blockbuster pavilion at the Zima-sponsored Backstreet Boys concert I attended last year. Don't say they're just another New Kids on the Block, 'cause they're not. That's NSync.
Rock & roll started out as the blues, and back then, it was sung by performers with names like "Blind Lemon" Jefferson, "Big Mama" Thornton, and "No Nickname" Williams.
And then there was the pigmentational segue that was Elvis. In the early years, with his jackhammering hips, and that juvenile delinquent sneer, the Boy King embodied the uninhibited, unapologetic sexual freedom of two dogs humping by the side of the road, and damned if all of America didn't slow down and stare at it.
It was only much later, when Elvis went from leaving the building to being the building, that he became the poster boy for pure excess, playing with the three Tarot death cards that every rock star has been dealt: booze, pills, and streaky bacon.
Elvis got me into the tent. When I was a kid, I had a band called the Rants and it taught me about life. Rock & roll was my professor. From John Lennon I learned to question authority, from Robert Plant's androgen-drenched yowl on "Whole Lotta Love" I learned the power of passion, and from Leo Sayer the importance of just kicking back and feeling good about dancing.
As we get closer to a new century, rock & roll is no longer just a driving bass line and four-four time. It's a marketing tool to be packaged and sold to an eager public. And as much as I admire rockers like Neil Young, who have never sold out, not all product endorsements by rockers are bad. Have you tried Ozzy Ozbourne's new alfredo sauce? Deelicious. "I am ziti man."
As a style of music, rock is in danger of losing its edge. For one thing, it's just not new anymore. It won't be long before the Rolling Stones' tour bus can park in the handicapped spot.
That's why I had to give it to the Sex Pistols. Bunch of drunken, butt-ugly degenerate working-class cockney thugs who never learned how to play their instruments, songs that sounded like a cat being chainsawed inside an airborne Cessna with engine trouble, attitudes that made the Manson Family look like Up with People with a contempt for their audience that almost matched the contempt they had for one another; the instant they started gaining popularity, the nanosecond some pretentious asswipe wrote an article in Rolling Stone hailing them as "rock's subversive saviors," what did they do? They broke up. They told us all to go fuck ourselves. Now that is rock & roll.
And the Pistols were smart to get out when they did, 'cause it's inevitable that one generation's hardcore is the next generation's Muzak. Even rap: I guarantee you that one day, your grandkids will be in a dentist's office and they'll hear the Ray Coniff Singers crooning about "Strapping a 'gat to lay the bitch out flat."
The problem may not be that rock & roll sold out but that simply everybody bought into it. MTV did for rock & roll what the full-length mirror did for Liberace. Even our current President ran for office with a Fleetwood Mac tune as his campaign song. True, he never dropped acid, but Bill Clinton's mind is about the only thing that hasn't been blown.
Who are some of my favorites? Well, I kind of like Hole. You watch Courtney Love onstage and that raw aggression is so sexually intimidating, even Clinton's everready manbone would retract like a motorized Volvo antenna.
I was a big fan of Guns N' Roses and I know for a fact that Axl Rose can still belt out the tunes. I hear him every other Wednesday when he's skimming my neighbor's pool.
I read Jewel's new book of poetry last night. It was a real eye-opener. You know what I learned? I found out prejudice is stupid . .. Well, it is!
Beck, totally awesome. Without a doubt Odelay is one of the greatest albums people whose opinions I truly respect are pissed off at me for never listening to.
Oasis. You know if the Beatles ever got back together and decided to make a parody of songs by the Wings, this is what they'd sound like.
There was a time when I looked for advice and direction in the lyrics of my favorite rock songs. Looking back on it, it's probably a good thing I couldn't understand a word the lead singer in Molly Hatchet was saying. But I think now rock music is less about deep personal statements and more about simple entertainment.
So to all those people out there who are whining that Metallica sold out when they cut their hair, I say, "Hey, you're thirty-five years old, move out of your parents' house."
As long as there are fourteen-year-old boys, rock & roll will never die. Because what was true in the fifties still holds true today: Playing music will get you laid. I don't know if that's why Beethoven wrote symphonies, but it would sure as hell explain why a deaf guy played the piano.
And there are some other things about rock & roll that will never change also. It will always be the music of rebellion. It will always be frowned on by the establishment and you will never, never understand a single word Bob Dylan is saying.
Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.
The Need For Reason
Now, Roe v. Wade's not for everybody, but you do have to concede, at least it was a reasoned decision. And those are becoming rarer than a Nosferatuburger.
Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but reason is rapidly becoming harder to find than the plot of The Thin Red Line.
On every major social, economic, and political issue of the day, the fringe positions are now as crowded as the exits at a Limp Bizkit concert in Branson, Missouri, while the reasonable middle is as vacant as an interview with Posh Spice.
We are now officially a nation influenced by extremists. You can't sit on the fence anymore without becoming a target for every whack job out there shooting at you from both the right wing and the left wing. Hey, what happened to the rest of the bird?
There just doesn't seem to be a healthy middle ground anymore. Take the death penalty. Believe it or not, I don't always favor lethal injection. Sometimes I think we should use the electric chair and other times the gas chamber or the firing squad. You know, rotate 'em like a good set of tires.
And what about the Clinton impeachment trial, huh? What about the pervasive lack of reason across the entire political spectrum? If Ken Starr had been reasonable, he would've closed up shop when he couldn't nail Clinton on Whitewater. If Clinton were reasonable, he wouldn't keep whipping it out like it was the only lighter in a crack house.
If the Republicans were reasonable, they wouldn't have been so bloodthirsty about finally catching him with his pants down. If the Democrats were reasonable, he would have been shunned like an Amish kid with a nipple ring. And if Hillary was reasonable, she would've long
ago said, "My lawyers will be in touch, Captain Hard-On."
And don't even get me started on James Carville. This guy looks like a Muppet that was accidentally washed in hot. You know, I would be much more receptive to Carville if I ever got the sense that he possesses anything even remotely resembling the ability to reason. But there is never any real discussion about anything, it's all just yanking the pull-starter on top of that ugly garlic knot of a head of his and watching him turn into a satanic Chihuahua under a strobe light.
And now with the 2000 election year fast upon us we will be inundated with a conga line of people who have even less of a clue than this current batch of nozzleheads. Pat Buchanan is running, no, make that stumbling, for President. You know who talked Pat Buchanan into running? Me, Leno, Letterman, and Al Gore.
But let's move beyond politics. Because nowhere is there less reason than in our legal system. Everybody's first impulse in this country when something goes wrong is simply to sue. I can't believe that a smoker who admits to smoking all of her life sues the tobacco companies and gets $51 million. Hey doll, if you're out there watching tonight, turn down the iron lung for a second because I want you to hear this: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? Smoke is a carcinogen. You inhaled it. Case closed. Go rent How Green Was My Valley. Just because I get my crank caught in my zipper doesn't mean I can sue Levi Strauss. All right?
You know who else is unreasonable? Moral babysitters. Jerry Falwell, relax. Nobody's trying to turn you gay. Okay? You know why? Because you're a pompous fat-ass. Lighten up, Torquemada, and try some cottage cheese once in a while.
Hey, I'm not suggesting that everybody could be an Einstein if they just let their hair grow out. If everybody was a supergenius, there wouldn't be anybody to make french fries or sell live bait.
I'm just suggesting that we try picking our brains up off the pile of papers they're holding down and see what happens when we plug them in.
There's always going to be people marching to the beat of their own dented drum who reject the concept of logical thought. And those people are always going to wind up ahead of you in line at the DMV. But we can't allow these relatively small extremist factions to take over this country. Because if we cave in and toss aside reason, we're saying yes to a world where a fucking no-talent moron disc jockey named Greaseman can trivialize human torture and then appeal to our sense of decency to let him have his job back, a world where antiabortion zealots wield deadly weapons to demonstrate how precious they hold human life, and a world where a naive little girl gets two hours of television time to lecture 70 million Americans on the intricacies of subduing your gag reflex... ah, fuck it, where's my propeller hat?
Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.
The Oscars
As originally aired on 3/19/99
Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but I'm glad the Oscars are on Sunday this year. That means that no one will see my mortifying guest appearance as Rusty, the web -footed short order cook who's lost his faith, along with the use of his right hand—ironically, the one appendage on his body that was not webbed—in a horrible grill mishap on "Seventh Heaven."
Of course, I'm not in the running for an Oscar this year, because I didn't appear in any movies. Roberto, Tom, Sir Ian, Edward, Nick ... you're welcome.
Oh, the Oscars, more fun than a barrel of Benignis. I can't wait to watch the preshow and see Joan and Melissa treat best actress nominee Fernanda Montenegro like she's their upstairs maid.
And what are the Academy Awards without Oscar parties. Hey, here's a cool thing to do at an Oscar party.
Whenever the camera cuts to Nicholson in the audience, just scream out, "Fucking Jack ..." And then take an ice pick six, maybe eight inches long and plunge it straight into your right temple.
Now, it can be difficult to keep in mind that these awards are about the art of filmmaking when so much attention is paid to the glitz and glamour—you know, the limos, the red carpet, the stunning fashions, the bottomless pots of franks and beans ... I, well, I'm just guessing what it must be like.
Of course, there is a controversy brewing at this year's event. The Lifetime Achievement Award honoring director Elia Kazan. For too long I have remained silent on the controversy surrounding Kazan.
That's because I wanted to wait till he was pushing ninety and make sure he was way too old to be hiring actors. And now that he's on his way out and there's no chance of him ever using me in a film, I'd like to say he's a traitorous, no-good stoolie. Unless, of course, he gets hot again, in which case, he's a timeless visionary.
You know, if there's any justice in the universe, when Kazan accepts his award, he'll have trouble remembering the names of those he wants to thank.
If this year's Oscars had a theme, I would have to say it's history. Three of the best picture nominees were about World War II and the other two were about the Elizabethan era. Quite frankly, I'm amazed that pictures with serious historical content do so well in this country, where people will stand in the freezing rain for four hours to shake hands with A1 Roker.
As far as I can tell, Elizabeth is about some chick who's kind of nice-looking, then she becomes Queen of England and gets all ugly and bald.
I think Shakespeare in Love will win a lot of Oscars this year. It has everything the Academy looks for. Intelligence, costumes, humor, good acting, and nudity. You see, the Academy is mostly comprised of older people who aren't getting laid. They want to go to the movies under the pretense of immersing themselves in the arts while simultaneously hoping they will catch a glimpse of some bare titty.
The Thin Red Line. What can I say? Terry Malick is a genius and so is anyone who understood this film. I believe the plot was last seen wandering shoeless in the Yukon. I really hope Malick wins. Then maybe during his acceptance speech he can tell us what that meandering self-indulgent piece of shit was all about. And I didn't even see it.
Saving Private Ryan. So realistic, I fled to Canada the day it came out. You know, perhaps the greatest thing about Saving Private Ryan is the way it's opened up dialogue between the generations. Like, the other day, I asked my eight-and-a-half-year-old son, I said, "Hey, you want to see a gritty, disturbing movie about the sacrifices soldiers made in World War II?" And he said, "No, let's play Nintendo." And I said, "Okay, but this time, I'm Mario, and you're Luigi." And he said, "Okay." So I thank you, Steven Spielberg, as a father and as a man.
Anyway, the envelope please. Here are my predictions:
Tom Hanks will be drunk, abusive, and profane.
Best Director? Well, John Madden did a fantastic job directing Shakespeare in Love. But then again anyone who's seen Elizabeth knows Mike Ditka was no slouch, either.
Best Actor. Tom Hanks. Foremost actor of our time and the only nominee this year who has done my show.
Best Actress. Tom Hanks. Dressed as a woman in "Bosom Buddies." My show wasn't on yet, so he could not say no.
Supporting Actor. Jimmy Coburn playing an abusive father. Great work, Jimmy. But Ed Harris did my show last season so I am voting for him.
Supporting Actress. Kathy Bates is doing my show next month so I'm picking her unless she cancels, then it's Judi Dench.
And now the nominees for Best Film.
Elizabeth. Period piece about the Queen of England. Great film. Didn't see it. Won't see it. Won't rent it. Will flip by it at the speed of light when it comes on TV
Life Is Beautiful. A wonderful movie about one man's attempt to divert his son's eyes from the horror of the Holocaust. But it was so tragic, I could not see it.
Saving Private Ryan. Love Hanks, love Spielberg. Too tragic. Did not see it.
Shakespeare in Love. My wife wanted me to see it. So I saw it. She says I loved it.
The Thin Red Line. The tragedies of war in the Pacific Theater. One of my writers said he couldn't follow it. Can't follow it, too tragic. Didn't see it.
Okay, now for my prediction on who will win. Unless the entire academy i
s gay, it's going to be Saving Private Ryan. So my pick is Elizabeth.
Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.
Skepticism
Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but everyone's a skeptic these days, and if you don't believe me, well, you just proved my point.
You know from championship boxing matches to peace in Yugoslavia to powertrain warranties written in type smaller than an amoeba's dick on a cold day, Americans now approach everything with lower expectations than a lunchtime john at an "Everything's a Dollar" whorehouse.
Well, the fact is, we have to be skeptical. Think of your mind as a nightclub. Skepticism is the jaded doorman who keeps the riffraff from coming in and asking Bianca Jagger to slow-dance.
So skepticism does serve a purpose. On the other hand, our reflexive disbelief of what we're told by the political, social, and religious establishments leads us into an occasional unholy alliance with what can kindly be described as "foaming at the mouth psychotic lunatics." We like to think of ourselves as street-smart doubting Thomases who can't be fooled by those in power, but the truth is, we'll buy anything if it's packaged with the patchouli-scented whiff of quote "the alternative." Come on, folks, "Deepak Chopra" is Malaysian for Ron Popeil.
And speaking of Popeil... You know, you can wrap any bullshit product up in an infomercial with some British guy in a sweater almost as loud as he is and we'll accept it with the breathless, unquestioning faith of a fourteen-year-old girl answering a chain letter. "Hmmm ... Extracts the moisture out of a heretofore succulent piece of fruit, thereby rendering it better. Sure, I'll take two."
Look, the only way to get people to completely trust you is to speak entirely without any trappings of power. To speak with authority, you must abandon all authority. But that makes you an authority, which means you can't be trusted, which means you have no authority, which means you can be trusted. In other words, when there is no authority, everybody is an authority. You know, if this were 1968, I would be getting so laid with that.
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