The Great American Novel

Alas, I wish I knew what this really was. Possibilities range from the next Great American Novel to Donald Trump's contemplative memoir on why he's such a dick to the lost manual for my microwave. (I still haven't figured out how to thaw meat without cooking the edges.) I hope there's at least an index.

via 9gag.

Wikipedia Burn

Last night, Bears Quarterback Jay Cutler proposed to girlfriend and "actress" Kristin Cavallari. The news is already on Wikipedia, and I'd like to thank the anonymous editor for putting it bluntly. Who says you can't use Wikipedia as a source of absolute truth?

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UPDATE, 1:16pm: The Powers That Be fixed it. Oh well.

The Origin of the Ampersand

Good morning! Start your Tuesday right with a dose of extraneous information that may prove useful at a cocktail party in about 12 years. I give you: The Origin of the Ampersand.

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How far can I take meta if I blog about Scre4m?

I'm not a big horror movie fan. My roommate is, and so I find myself stumbling into a Saturday afternoon viewing of a slasher flick with more regularity than ever before. It's pleasant; just yesterday we watched Crispin Glover slice up the standard set of collegians in a forest somewhere. (The most memorable thing from that one was his strange, backwoods hick accent.)

Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the genre in general, I have always been a huge fan of the Scream movies. The second and third installments lacked a bit of the bravado and originality of the first, but I loved the concept. They're horror films made for the horror film nerds. Though I am not a horror film nerd, per se, I am a nerd in other ways, and I dig the self-referential nature of the movies. The humor in the recognition of parody makes the gruesome death scenes worth it, and the archetypal characters are designed to allow you to see the fun in human death -- not an easy feat when considered objectively. Why the hell do we enjoy watching people killed on film? That's sick, people. Just sick.

That said, I was totally on board when Scre4m was announced. The first Scream movie came out in 1996 and spent approximately seven years on a recorded VHS tape in my room, watched and rewound an average of twice a month for the duration. So hell yes we were going to Scre4m on opening weekend. It would be like a return to childhood. A classic formulaic plotline, executed perfectly. (I have an admittedly eager/gushy opinion of Wes Craven.)

So tonight my friend Shara and I went to see it and I'll tell you, dear Reader, we were not disappointed. Scre4m is a masterpiece. It may even be better than the first movie, but that may be because now the franchise is such a powerhouse in the genre -- in Hollywood in general -- that it can afford the most impressive cast including originals Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox and David Arquette as well as bit roles for the pseudo-famous and modern hot young actresses Anna Paquin, Kristen Bell, Hayden Panettiere, and Emma Roberts. The big budget nature, which usually kills horror movies because they're blown so out of proportion (providing material for the decidedly less witty and more base-humor-dependent Scary Movie series), is instead spent on making the newest Scream sequel the perfect archetype. It's like Wes Craven is actually attempting to make the exact model on which we should base all future horror movies. He does everything right -- tension-building, semi-memorable characters whose deaths don't break our hearts, and breaking the rules that are set up within the structure of the movie to glorious effect. (The scene with Kristen Bell and Anna Paquin is, by far, my very favorite. I mean, shit you guys. It's genius.)

Seeing Scre4m in a theater on a Sunday night felt like being back in high school. The bored and haggard concessions kid, the trendy urbanites spending their parents' money on candy and video games, the groups of freshly driver's-licensed teens walking in pods of five or more. And of course, the archetypal, self-referential horror movie, where we watch characters do exactly what we're doing right now. It's all about killing the horror film nerds who are sitting there, watching a horror movie. Holy crap that's us you guys!!!! SO META.

And there's the heart of the matter. The great thing about the 2011 version that may push it beyond the 1996 original is the presence today of the word to describe this entire phenomenon: meta. Courteney Cox's character even uses the term in the movie, tacking on a line about how it's "what the kids are calling it" or something like that. Urban Dictionary defines "meta" as such, and gives an example:

"A term, especially in art, used to characterize something that is characteristically self-referential."

"So I just saw this film about these people making a movie, and the movie they were making was about the film industry..."

"Dude, that's so meta. Stop before my brain explodes."

It's like the concept and this horror franchise were made for each other. And the use of technology -- cell phones, texting, even live web streaming -- is perfectly in line with how this generation is living. No one was tweeting the Woodsboro murders in this one, but it's a safe bet that will be integrated into the script for Number Five.

The films are scary, as one of the characters points out, because it could happen. The audience are the potential victims. There's even a scene in Scre4m where a bunch of teenagers throw a party knowing that it's a likely target for the killer because that's what comes next in the horror film stereotype: a bloodbath at a party. You don't have to be a bad person in order to be killed by a psychopath, the movies tell us -- you just have to have the bad luck to attend the same high school or live in the same town. Of course you can help your situation if you remain a virgin. And don't run up the stairs when running out the front door is even an option. It's common sense, people.

As soon as this movie about horror movie fans being slaughtered was complete, Shara and I laughed about the fact that we had to go into a dark parking garage -- something that doesn't go so well for one of the characters in the movie we'd just seen. As I dropped her off a block away from her apartment, I wished her a safe walk -- not out of the ordinary for midnight on a busy street in Chicago, but with a bit more paranoia on the edge of my voice. I drove home alone, car doors locked, mulling over the movie and deciding how to best describe why I'd enjoyed it so much.

I parked my car behind my building and walked up the stairs to the back door of my third floor apartment, scanning my surroundings as I took out my keys. I'm always taken aback when I see a neighbor on their porch or something I don't notice right away, but no one was out. I realized then that I was missing the key that opened the back door. I stood there in the dark, shuffling around in my pockets, not wanting to wake up my roommates but feeling, you know, a bit on edge. Time to not be outside anymore. But I was locked out. What great timing, my grim imagination said.

Luckily my roommate was awake to let me in. I went straight to my computer to overshare my life on social media, as my generation is wont to do, first on Facebook and then on my blog. I'm not normally one to write reviews, but this felt right. It felt meta. I mean, the point of these Scream movies is to take the suspense to the next level, and the chosen vehicle is this millennial concept. It's original because it breaks new ground and scares us in the exact same way it's always scared us, but we still didn't see it coming. We're outsmarted, and it's one of the rare times that feels good. By writing about it, I become part of the story.

It's successful because you can't walk out of that movie and not see the potential for your own situation to suddenly turn into your own fatality. It's haunting. As I sit in my room typing this, it's raining outside. Middle of the night. My door is cracked so my cat doesn't wake me up when she tries to get in at 3am. It also means someone could enter my room silently. I locked the back door and found my key. It's actually sort of comforting to talk to the world via my blog like this though. With all this meta, horror-movie-watchers-being-killed-stuff flying around in my brain, at least you guys know I haven't been murd

The Power of YouTube

As you read this, YouTube is shaping the future of the music industry. Somewhere, sitting on a Disney bedspread and munching on some brand of neon, processed American "nourishment," there is a seven-year-old child surfing YouTube and dreaming of being a rock star.

The 'Tube is taking place of the tube.

It's certainly not news that we're turning away from television and toward the Internet -- but how will that affect the iconic musicians of The Future? There are exponentially more resources available to each new generation. Can you imagine if Jimi Hendrix had lived in the '00s? (Or even past age 27?)

For the sake of The Future -- that is, the amorphous but finite stretch of time ahead until we club the planet over its metaphorical head and drag it into the depths of hell, summarily wiping out the human race (all inevitable) -- I hope the kids in the footie pajamas are idolizing guys like Jack White.

We're due for some new prodigies soon. And Justin Bieber definitely doesn't count.

On a personal note, it appears my Weezer era is drawing to a close, in favor of my blues rock era. Don't worry, Rivers. I'll be back.

Proper Usage: The Lava Story

A few years ago my mom and my sister were walking over a lava field. (I really need to think of a joke for that opener.) They were picking their way toward a glowing river of magma when my sister ran ahead. Now if you’ve never walked on lava, imagine the surface of the moon, but made of the food remains that get stuck on cookware if you leave them out without soaking them and then it’s IMPOSSIBLE to get off and so you try to put it in the dishwasher but that doesn’t work so it ends up sitting on the counter until your roommate gets annoyed enough to just WASH IT ALREADY. That stuff: crumbly, rough, jagged, and a ruiner of civil relationships.

So my four-year-old sister was running in the dark, flashlight in hand, over this dried lava resembling food remains, when she suddenly stopped short. She looked back at my mom, then down in front of her, then back at mom, then down again. Then she bellowed, in a way only a four-year-old can bellow:

“That. Is a big fucking hole.”

My mom, in relaying this story to me via telephone, chuckled at this point. I asked whether she’d punished my sister for using a bad word.

“Well I started to scold,” my mom said. “But then I got up to where she was and I looked down and I'm telling you, this hole was the size of a house. I mean, she was right. It was a big fucking hole.”

Moral of the story: Proper usage justifies crude language by a preschooler.

I love my family.

Velocity, from ToD's April 3 Show at the Gallery Cabaret

My band, Tyranny of Dave, performed a live set last night at the Gallery Cabaret in Chicago! My roommate Brittan was kind enough to film one of our songs on a little point-and-shoot camera, so I've got a song to share with the ever-loving Internets. We also had a camcorder set up so as soon as I can figure out how to transcribe technologies, I'll get that up as well.

Our next show is at Simon's in Andersonville (Chicago) on Sunday, May 8. Hope to see you there!

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UPDATE, 9:16pm: I've got photos for you too!