Fucking ABC. The American Broadcasting Company, which has some of the lowest brow, laugh-track heavy comedy line-ups of any major network (with the exception of CBS, whose programming is geared towards the Geritol Generation), has cancelled their lone comedic brightspot: The Knights of Prosperity. I know you haven't seen it (hence, the cancellation), but it was a genuinely funny show with unlimited potential. Produced by Dave Letterman's Worldwide Pants, it follows a motley crew of blue collar workers, starring Donald Logue (of Grounded for Life fame.....anyone? Anyone? Bueller?) to rob Mick Jagger's house. I laughed out loud at least once every episode. So what does ABC do with their most promising show? They yank it from its original Fall line-up to 'aggresively promote' it for a Spring release. When they finally run the show in January, it's put up against the veritable buzzsaw that is American Idol. After less than stellar ratings, they scratch their heads wondering why no one's watching the show. After 5 episodes, ABC decides to cancel what could have been the next Arrested Development and decide to air re-runs of what is undoubtedly their bottomless goldmine of comedy: According to Jim, and The George Lopez show. Hilarious. Thanks ABC.
HEYA! You may not be aware, but as of today BeeInACar has had more than one thousand visits to the site! It's time to celebrate, and we know just how the Hive likes to do it...
We want to thank all you drones - keep logging in for our depravity, music selections, and high-brow social commentary. Pass the word along, because the queen bee don't like no empty honeycomb.
Some honey you can expect in the future: naked pictures of boozybee, an exclusive interview with Connie Chung (still drunk, of course), honeypotbee's step-by-step seduction technique entitled "Wow that's cool, can I touch it?", and Anna Nicole will post on the site from beyond the grave. All that and plenty more, so keep us on your Favorites list, and we'll see you soon!
I just saw the series finale of Six Feet Under for the first time last night (many thanks to Bravo for its syndication). Yeah, I know, you're saying "why now Chris?" The show's been over for a long time. I'm posting about it because it really kicked my ass last night. I am a huge sucker for a touching song montage, and this is my absolute favorite. The song "Breathe Me" by Sia is delicate and perfect, and the video to go along with it is immaculate. You don't have to be a Six Feet Under fan to appreciate one of the most achingly beautiful TV moments that I've ever seen. Here's the last ten minutes of the show - Claire's leaving home for a job in New York.
The name of this episode is "Everything Ends", and they certainly play with the amibiguity of the phrase: not only is the show about realizing that everything does end, but they take this episode as an opportunity to end everything you've grown to love through the series. If, though, you're not interested in seeing the whole piece, click here to see the last few minutes with just the song and montage. I still think you can invest ten minutes to bring something beautiful to your day, but if you want to spend six instead, I understand.
Lately I have been staunchly committed to keeping you abreast of a threat that makes global warming look as terrifying as your baby sister's 5th birthday party. A shining few of you have taken the welfare of the world to heart, and dedicated yourselves to uncovering as much as we can about the cephalopodic menace. This report reflects your tenacious work, and with luck will prompt more of you to be as inquisitive.
These days, the halls of American politics are choked by the cloying hands of selfishness and greed, but there are more than simple hands wrapped around the throat of lady liberty. Slowly the rank and dripping tentacles of the Pro-Squid Lobby (PSL) have coiled in a strangle hold around truth, and the American public is left blind and confused, soft enough to be gnashed to ribbons by a hideous beak. Behold what the PSL is marketing to our children! They would have the next generation of America grow up thinking of Giant Squid as brightly colored plush little friends that can be invited over for tea and Lil' Debbie snack cakes! What the PSL neglects to show you is the subsequent frame. Where did the poor child go? Use your own judgement, but to me it looks like the monster hasn't quite finished masticating her lower extremities yet. Cuddly time? Not exactly.
And yet, there is hope. After their recent heroic slaying of a Colossal Squid, red-blooded New Zealanders are doing the only sensible thing - tossing that mother fucker on the heat! Yes, the Kiwis are making a gigantic microwave oven, and they are cooking up a big 'un. This article describes the planned culinary adventure in more detail. Note how the insideous Pro-Squid Lobby has even managed to distort our national news media - the passage entered about how vile the squid would taste is clearly just crafty misdirection. Clearly the beast will taste of shallots and white wine with notes, I'd imagine, of tumeric. Only New Zealanders will know for sure, though, whilst impotent America languishes in weak ignorance at the whim of the PSL.
My concern for our country knows no bounds, but I know that with unflinching dedication to the truth we will open America's eyes. Thank you for your support.
The sound of tattered Pumas shuffling across the dusty desert landscape, local record stores sorting through their bins to determine what has and has not been shoplifted, and chereished memories being secreted away for those long nights spent in bleakly un-hip suburbia, bemourning your older brother playing the latest Fergy remix. You guessed it, South by Southwest (Or as the hipsters call it, SXSW. I myself am not a hipster, as I prefer the term aesthete savant) is at an end. You didn't go, you say? Well, neither did I. But before we chalk this post up to jealous haterism, lend me your ear, I'm just here to do a little debunking. While other blogs may tantalize you with photos of live shows and stories of mind-blowing and face-melting tuneskies, Bee In a Car's talents lie elsewhere. Correct, I am going to bitch for a mo.
I'm all down for music festivals. They look like a great time! But this one just seems to have spiraled way out of control! You have to trek across the desolate Texan landscape in order to reach the Southwest's last bastion of pretense: Austin. Austin, if you didn't know, is the home of University of Texas at Austin, which is a satellite school for "artists", music snobs, hipsters, posers, etc. You name it, I hate it! I am imagining they teach classes like "S. Malkmus: The Early Years" and "The Economics of Urban Outfitters". You get the picture, but I digress . . .
So, what happens at South by Southwest is that like 3,000,000 bands converge upon the city and occupy every last bit of space, so you wind up with bills that read something like this: "Voxtrot and Loney, Dear with guests The Shaky Hands. 11:00 A.M. at Carl's Jr.", or "One night only! Bonde do Role and Flosstradamus at the Municipal Water Filtration Plant". Too many bands to keep track of, trekking all over town, vying for a standing spot in a library or record store. It's just too much! During this time, every music blog, music magazine, radio station, and kid with a dial-up connection will speak of nothing else. For nearly two weeks, that's all you get to hear about. Is there nothing else going on in the world of music at this time? Does the entire world shut down and wait with earnest stillness for the next musical portent to be issued forth from the Lone Star State? I, for one, do not!
Mike turned me onto this little treasure via ForkCast. One of the most delightful videos I've seen in sometime, and thought it had to be shared. I find it particularly pertinent to view at the onset of spring, when ol' Mama winter creeps back into her icy den, the sun warmly encroaches onto the landscape, and the last vestiges of your winter wardrobe are filed and moth-balled away. Here is Groove Armada's "Get Down" from their upcoming album "Soundboy Rock" featuring vocals from the sassy Lady Stush.
Those are naughty bunnies. I couldn't help but be reminded of this song. Go ahead and download it, I think you'll find it appropriate. Happy Spring, btw.
Ladies and gentlemen it is finally spring. It is time for what those who are in the know refer to as "The Blossoming". Each Spring the sun emerges from the slate-gray clouds of another hellish DC winter, and forces all the little boys and girls to stop wearing so much clothing. Truth time, folks. Hit the nogg a little too hard during the winter months? One too many frosty brews while you were holed up in warm bars? Comfort food prove to be far too pleasant a companion on those days when the icy wind was hammering at your bedroom window? Well my friends, there is no hiding from The Blossoming. You have gotten plump, and we will know. For all those busy bees who donned mittens, hoodies, and jogged daily with frost clinging to their nostrils, it is their time to shine. The rest of us just have to play catch-up.
BUT In the spirit of the newness that is Spring, here's the best "good weather" song I know right now, from two Norwegians who know a thing or two about celebrating the three good weeks of weather that their god-forsaken country receives every year. I give you "Misread" by Kings of Convenience:
There is nothing quite as hilarious as the simple beauty of unintentional humor, regardless of the situation: An old woman falling down, someone getting hit in the groin by a line drive, or Mariah Carey on Cribs; it sits atop its distinguished perch of high brow humor, right next to puns. But dated comic books where The Joker rants for multiple panels about his problem with boners takes the cake.
It may be 1:30 in the morning (in Phoenix), but I laughed for several minutes: Where's my money, honey!?
The blogosphere is a magical place, where any citizen of this earth can retreat to brush up on their celebrity gossip, underground music, or the latest in sex trends (see photograph at right).Oh yeah, that bitch is ready to go . . . Anyhow, getting back to the point, everyone's favorite music blog (or at least, one of the most read) Gorilla vs. Bear was recently featured on G4's Attack of the Show.
In case you are unfamiliar with either, Gorilla vs. Bear is an Austin, TX based music blog showcasing local and international music acts. They review a pretty varied fare; everyone's bound to find something they don't like! Attack of the Show, on the other hand, is a daily televised news and variety show featuring two attractive hosts:
Kevin Pereira and (Yeah, I'd do him)
Olivia Munn
I am a fan of this program. Their news tidbits, tech reviews and gaming info delivered with a modern and jaunty irreverence have me sold. They also have a segment entitled "Blog Watch" in which they summarize the findings of selected blogs from around the internet. In their most recent installment they highlighted Gorilla vs. Bear for their continued efforts in finding obscure musical acts. G4 also airs another favorite program, X Play. Not only does it provide my gaming fix, but features the massively fierceMorgan Webb (not the painted whore at left). Love that bitch, 4 real. Anyway, here's the clip.
He talks about Gorilla vs. Bear, then talks about some of my favorite Swedish rockers: Peter Bjorn & John. Glad you featured a cool blog, but Kevin, please keep your musical criticism to yourself. His statement re: Young Folks being "apparently the only decent track on the album" just worked me into a fit! Clearly Kevin hasn't listened to the damn thing, because if he did he would know that album rocks me hard. If you'll take a moment to pop over to his Myspace Page, you can see that his sub-par music tastes do not give him authority to make such an appalling and rash statement. I mean, he likes Coheed and fucking Cambria. As evidence, I present another radical track from Writer's Block:
So, what I'm trying to say is that unless you have incredibly sophisticated tastes like one such as myself, keep quiet, or you might embarrass yourself as Kevin has. Don't make his mistake.
With all of the hyped up releases this year (Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Of Montreal, LCD Soundsystem, Arcade Fire), the album I am looking forward to most in 2007 comes from The Avalanches. It's been 7(!) years since "Since I Left You," which after first listen, left me a sweaty pile on the floor.
This group is a bottle of funk waiting to be opened, and once you pop that top, it's gonna come at you like some kind of large mass of snow detached from a mountainside.
And their first single for their upcoming album that will (hopefully) be released in late 2007 would make Hemingway put down the shotgun and shake his tushy.
Nerds around the world have long yearned for a holiday to call their own. Children often balk and whine over the injustice of cosmic imbalance caused by the existence of both a Father's and a Mother's day and lack of a Kid's day (this despite the fact that every god forsaken day of the first eighteen years of your life is Kid's day for your parents, you ungrateful whelps). It is the same with nerds. So-called “International Talk Like a Pirate Day” is probably the closest they'll ever get, though historical accuracy would demand most conversations on this day be on the subject of theft, rape, and murder and not be in English.
But today is another close contender. March 14th, when properly rendered in the American date format, is 3-14, or the approximate value of π, Archimedes' Constant. Perhaps the second most important number in all of mathematics, pi is defined as the ratio between ratio between the circumference and the diameter of a circle. There's no obvious reason why this should be a constant, but it is. Furthermore, pi is irrational, meaning it cannot be written as a fraction (though 22/7, 333/106, or 104348/33215 will do in a pinch). Pi is thus an endless decimal, always continuing and never repeating itself. Once more there's no obvious reason why a seemingly simple property of circles should exhibit this feature. Of course, the square root of two is also irrational, so it's not such a big deal.
Pi has an even more special property: it is a transcendental number. This peculiar trait means that pi is not the zero of any polynomial with integer coefficients. Any square root or other radical is not transcendental (for example, the polynomial x^2-2 has a zero at +/- root 2). It's pretty hard to think of a number that is obviously transcendental, and probably just as hard to think of why anyone would care about roots of polynomials (isn't this something we left behind in Algebra 2?) It is sufficient for me to say that the transcendental nature of pi is the reason for the long-known impossibility of the geometric problem of Squaring the Circle.
The world-record holder for recitation of the digits of Pi is from (take a guess) China. Over a period of 24 hours he rattled off over 60,000 digits of this beast of a number. In 2006 someone from India sped through 43,000 digits in under 5 and a half hours. That is over 2 numbers per second. Yet one of the more impressive tributes to this great number (which, by the way, the ancient Greeks would have pronounced “pee”, though the first use of the π symbol was in the eighteenth century) is a poetic invocation of Edgar Allan Poe called Near A Raven. For the more advanced, new heights of nerdiness are reached by the same author in a twisted muddle of grammar, lovelorn agony, the bygone internet, and high mathematics entitled alt.Poe.versifications.experimentalize!.AANVVVize!.do!. Read with caution.
An absurdly funny take on how impossible it is to see the biggest Indie band in New York since the American invasion of Rusted Root Joy Division. I especially like how one of the Hedge Fund guys would exchange a ticket for reservations 'next to Nobu.'
So what do you do when all your roommates think you're foul for looking at porn on someone else's computer?
First of all, let's clear something up. If I was looking at a flick where a big boobed bitch was getting double-stuffed by two greasy Italians then we wouldn't even be working through these issues right now. But of course I wasn't. I was perusing some classic homosexual pornography. Nothing too crazy, nothing too fetishy. Have I mentioned my roommate has a foot fetish? Irregardlessly, I brought my own chair into my housemate's room to surf for some gay erotica, and I didn't even touch my swim-suit area the entire time (the goal was to store mental material for later).
All of a sudden there are house meetings going on that I'm not privvy to, and I'm fucking Hester Prynn walking around with a goddamn scarlet A (for "All-about-anal") on my chest. Have I mentioned that I hooked up with a really hot Asian last night? Not that I really remember the details, but he looked good this morning, so I'm proud. Who knew that the Thai were so masculine? I always pictured Thai men as being either practically homeless or as manipulative lady-boys (and let's not kid ourselves, probably both), but somehow this asian fellow was quite attractive!
So anyways, Fuck You, roommates! My fuck-buddy from the far east came on all your toothbrushes, and I laughed while watching him do it.
As our faithfull readers will recall, I first alerted the Hive to the impending threat of a tentacled doom rising from the deep to throttle mankind one by one in an entry I posted last month. My sincere thanks to fellow drone buggiebee for keeping us abreast of the situation in an article he sent to me today.
Commonly known in educated circles, these demons of the deep have acquired a taste for man-flesh. Fortunately, a ray of hope has twinkled on our otherwise dark horizon. Doctor and Military Chief of Aquatic Monster Operations Steve O'Shea has found evidence to indicate that these "collosal squid" are not intelligent. Sneaky, conniving, ruthless - yes, but not cognitively gifted. Apparently you can expect a 275 kilogram specimen to have a doughnut shaped brain weighing 20 grams. All the better to trap them, right my pretties?
Let the vast onslaught begin! Remember, we are dealing with creatures that can grow to more than a full ton in weight and longer than 40 feet. Creatures that would like nothing more than to sink their insidiously hooked tentacles into you and everyone you love.
Well I, for one, will not stand for it! I want these feeble-minded hell spawn torn from their watery lairs, and I want truck-tire sized calamari on my plate by dinner time!
I know that I gave a less-than-heartfelt send-off when ANS shuffled off her mortal coil, but today I think it's important to recognize the passing of a true role-model.
That's right, in the copy of Captain America that hit stands today, he is leveled by a sniper's bullet. Now, I don't consider myself a huge fan per se, but I'm a comic book devotee, and of the Marvel persuasion at that. When any main character is tragically retired it pulls on a few heart strings. Who but the good ol' Cap could have fought Hitler, rallied the Justice League, or fought Hitler when he faked his own death and put his brain in a new and horribly enhanced body?
I'm not saying that it's unlikely he be somehow resurrected, but the whole fake death thing is way more DC Comics than Marvel (except in the case of Spiderman, I suppose). I think it would be a mistake in this case, though. The only thing worse than killing off a super hero with a long distinguished history of action, service, and near-cloying patriotism would be an awkward and undignified rise from the dead. Let's all say thank you and farewell to one of the strongest embodiements of true patriotism that our country has had.
-Chris
P.S. - Did you see what Cap is packing in that picture? My oh my.
You may be wondering why it has been so long since I have last visited the hive. Alas, I have no excuse for my truancy; although, I did tell my fellow drone (Chris) that I had developed a case of the clap...your hands and say yeah. I don't think he believed me though, which is a pity, because this uptown vag has to go downtown sometimes. Let's not trouble ourselves with past my dear friends. Let's instead rejoice in the strange delight of watching primary school children sing along to 'This Charming Man'. Marcelo and I enjoy serenading each-other with Smiths' songs whenever we go out and about. However, since he is living this enchanted land for a more political one, I decided to wish him off with an interview of the infamous and yet-to-be reunited Morrissey and Marr. By the by, they spelled Morrissey's name wrong and dubbed him 'Paul' (oh, you brits, I have to forgive your journalistic mishaps and your dirty teeth too). I didn't get a chance to welcome the mysterious new member of our little collective either, so let me make amends, sweet chigby. I hope you will enjoy your stay here with us, in our cavern of collected pollen. May your honey be as sweet as the homoerotic lust between Spock and James T. Kirk.
Till we meet again, I leave you with...The Smiths, who are by no means ordinary people.
In the annals of science fiction cinema, there is no case study more mystifying than that of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. Even the subtitle itself is a bit of a mystery: what and where exactly is the frontier most final? The opening credits of every Star Trek show to date feature the famous phrase: “Space—the final frontier.” Star Trek V would have us believe otherwise. Its blithely casual invocation of that august apothegm seems to say “space was a pretty nice frontier, but here's the real deal.” Our appetites are thus whetted for a grand adventure on the highest of scales, scales whose balances and counterweights are hung with nebulae, galaxies, and, though here we reach the limits of mortal measurability, Captain Kirk's ego.
Those readers not familiar with this piece of work should peruse the cinematic trailer to familiarize oneself with the premise.
Let me say right off that there is virtually nothing in this preview that lives up to the epic expectations set by the title. The final frontier itself—the planet Sha Ka Ree at the center of the galaxy—is slightly exciting. For the Vulcans it is a mystic place of pure idyll, analogous to Eden or Heaven. It is surrounded on all sides by a force called the great barrier, which has heretofore resisted all attempted incursions. Sha Ka Ree is a trans-cultural ideal. All races in the galaxy believe in a heaven and are awed by the prospect of finding it. Within may be found enlightenment, the meaning of existence, and perhaps the True Creator: God. It is easy to see why the mythical conduit from our universe to heaven might well be considered “the final frontier”
Yet even looking at the preview we can see that these ideas are, at best, not treated with the respect they deserve, or at worst badly shoehorned into a slapstick comedy ride through space. Please observe this scene from the opening of the film:
I was unable to locate any additional scenes, but from the trailer I think it is clear what kind of film we're dealing with. Star Trek V is nominally about a group of people trying to realize the impossible dream of transcending the physical world and entering the presence of a deity, yet most of it spent falling down mountains, sand-dunes, or turbolift shafts. There's lots of getting hit with stuff and one-liners. This worked pretty well in Star Trek IV but sometimes I want drama in my sci-fi.
The real conundrum of the film, though, comes at the end. That is where we witness what happens when this shenanigan of a movie is forced to confront its own premise.
At the end, Enterprise inexplicably penetrates the great barrier (I'm not really sure what stopped everyone else) and comes face-to-face with Sha Ka Ree.
Already, we may be getting a bad feeling about this. Everyone on board is awed by this glowing blue jellyfish of a planet. Clearly human, Klingon, and Romulan minds are too ill-equipped to perceive the omnifaceted glory of True Heaven and instead interpret it as the above. Still, they press on and Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Sybok, the slightly-off-his-rocker, Sha Ka Ree-obsessed Vulcan who has charmed the crew via a weird power to “show people their pain”, visit God's own dwelling in a shuttle craft. If I recall this correctly, the planet's surface looked like a barren, rocky desert. The intrepid team runs into this fellow who states, fairly unequivocally, that it is God: It certainly looks like God well enough, but its first request as the King of Kings, Progenitor of Time and Reality, Omnipotent and Possessed of Infinite Perfection, is that Kirk order the Enterprise closer so it can “join” with it. Sybok, who at this point is on the verge of ecstasy, is all ready to give the command but Kirk then utters the apt yet weird statement “what does God want with a starship?”
At this point it's pretty clear to everyone except for McCoy and Sybok that this giant head, despite its somewhat grandiose appearance, is not God. To the viewer it was clear about half an hour ago when he looked at the clock and realize there were only thirty minutes left in the movie and there was no way that even science fiction writers could handle an encounter with divinity in so short a timespan. God tries to blow Kirk off and the Captain becomes even more adamant. You get the feeling that this is how Kirk would behave around the real God, too, though his belligerence is warranted in this case. Kirk shoos everyone else out of there while Sybok, crestfallen, uses his pain-showing ability on God to distract him while the Enterprise comes down and shoots it, destroying the impostor.
There are two ways to interpret this ending. Interpretation the first is that of profound atheism and disillusionment with religion. In this view, Sybok is the protagonist of the film. He is a reveler in the midst of deniers. Unlike other Vulcans, he rejoices in his emotions rather than denying them. The rest of his species has replaced the divinely given feelings and joys with mechanical, profane logic. Sybok is the Christian amid the unbelievers. He converts people, including the crew of the Enterprise to his own belief, and succeeds in the ultimate goal of the proselytizer: pilgrimage to the Garden of Eden. Through his faith he has led even the ultimate apostates, Kirk and Spock, to Heaven. Yet when he arrives there he finds it throned by an pretender, a deity whose magnificence is illusory and insubstantial. God is a fake. He is consumed with sadness and loses his life to the malevolent entity that masqueraded as the Holy Father while Kirk and the rest are reaffirmed in their atheism and lay waste to the King of Heaven with corporeal weapons. The entire film is a parable for the emptiness that is God, and the futility and, in the end, perniciousness in the pursuit thereof.
Interpretation the second is that of profound lack of ideas. I imagine the writers sitting around saying to each other something like this. “Okay, we've gotten to the big part where the crew meets God . . . what next?” “Well, it can't actually be the real God, that'd be too weird. Let's have it be a fake and just get blown up. What does everyone want for lunch?”
Which interpretation is correct I leave as an exercise to the reader.
