Andrew Earles

Providence people….email me. info@failedpilot.com

You’ll be glad you did.

Put “you told me to e-mail you” in the subject line so as to differentiate your e-mail from my unwittingly open pipeline of gamble-spam and “so sorry you have a rat-gnawed penis!!” spam.

On that note, I’m putting my nuts out on the line here.

Chef’s, arrogant ass-bags that they usually are, have a tendency to wear their beloved trousers outside of the kitchen. This is not an act of convenience. The Oysterhead or Burning Man-related t-shirt didn’t give it away, so no, standing in line at the drug store, we didn’t know you were a chef. It took a criss-crossed pattern of lobsters, spatulas, and most infuriatingly, chili peppers, on a pair of thick pajama bottoms, to cinch the deal. I am in awe of you. Next up in my look at Professions Or Hobbies That Make You Dress Like An Asshole: Cyclists.

This asshole looks nothing like a twenty-something. He’s aging worse than I am. I am 33. Wow, you’re into the Shins. Garden State is nothing more than an excuse for fratboys, sorority sluts, and the aging versions thereof to blurt out loud that they saw something “thoughtful.” It’s pretentious, meaningless garbage, just like You, Me, And Everyone That Subscribes To ReadyMade Magazine, is similar refuse. When the “thinkers” of my generation decide to stop getting blown away by easy poppycock like Thumbsucker, The Science of Sleep, The Practice of Exploitation and Daniel Johnston (1), I Heart Huckabees, Love Liza, and, say, Igby Goes Down, I’ll stand atop my coffee table and crap a rainbow for all to see. Many of the titles just mentioned fall right into the category of Clever Art For Stupid People. I challenge you blinder-wearing nimrods to love something daring for a change.

1. I am a Daniel Johnston fan. A mild fan. I believe him to be quite an amazing visual artist. Aside from about an album’s worth of great pop ditties, his music is grating child’s play that has nothing to do with Brian Wilson (as the documentary made the most ridiculous comparison). He (by no fault of his own), like many (like Wesley Willis), carries a “Get Exalted Because You’re Incredibly Prolific And Insane For Free Card.” The same can be said for Jandek. Be honest and start listening to your ears, not what you believe is cool because a bunch of drooling, pathological sheep say it’s the second coming. My second book, after I sell The Novelty Hip Hop Encyclopedia, will be titled The Truth About Outsider Artists.

It’s far too late at night (hint hint) for me to be posting.

The original Road House had its hooks in me over the 2001 – 2003 stretch. I held watching parties, wrote an article or two, and held many discussions. In early 2003, was “Tanner Wildgrass: The Inspiration for Dalton” for a live-in-the-studio bit on Tom Scharpling’s The Best Show on WFMU. Like many of my fixations, this one lost its allure, but not before at least 100 viewings.

Road House 2: Last Call has no carryover characters or actors in different roles. It went straight to DVD and On-Demand (my pick), was shot in pre-Katrina NOLA, and features two names: Will Patton and Jake Busey. Jake Busey sits in the evil landowner chair, punching people out for no reason, gaining weight, listening to a lot of hip-hop, getting double-teamed in the hot tub (“Ah, nothing clears the mind like fucking.”), waving a gun around, and generally chewing the hell out of the scenery. He’s probably worth it, as not much else is. The Swayze was credited with a flashback scene when production began on this. That was apparently scrapped. I did some other things around the house while this played out. Knives, fake tits, some muscle named “Stone”, some tongue not so far from cheek, rehashed scenes and lines that blur the line between sequel and remake, some things around the apartment…..