SAGIndie

If the latest Rocky sequel, Britney’s "crazy monkey", and Rosie O’Donnell’s Ching-Chong Meltdown aren’t enough to convince you that the apocalypse is nigh, then try to wrap your mind around these two words: Rambo. 4.

Yup, he’s back - tanned, rested, botoxed beyond all recognition, and armed to the teeth. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent the two decades since the last Rambo movie not thinking about how much I missed Stallone’s drooling, dropping visage leering out at me from the Coke-stained screen of my local multiplex. Because I don’t. Apparently, though, there is an audience for ghastly, ancient, steroid-cases, as long as guns and explosions are involved.

The saddest thing about this whole sorry mess? The Weinstein’s are actually going to the mat to assert their rights of first refusal to this steaming pile of reheated excrement. Et tu, bros?

Again: apocalypse. I better start practicing for the end times war with the latest Left Behind religious intolerance training software video game. I’d advise you to do the same.

In college Saturday mornings meant getting up early to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with my friends. We’d all discuss each other’s inebriated faux-pas and rate the libations at whatever party we had gone to the night before. Marcus would make breakfast and Chris and I would argue over who was more like Rafael…well…to be honest, I never woke up in time for these bonding over a cartoon sessions, but I always heard about them afterward.

Ok, no, that’s a lie. I wasn’t invited, but I knew they were going on because I was stalking someone and spent a good deal of time listening outside their dormitory door. Those were really, really good times. And since everyone loves good times (!!), may I present THIS. They may not be the greatest quality, but where else are you going to find some of this stuff?

As for me, I’ll be neglecting responsibilities to watch The Black Adder, It’s Always Sunny…, and of course, TMNT.

I have to admit, I’m not sure exactly when this news broke amidst the bustle of the AFI Fest, newly single Britney ditching hastily re-monikered “Fed-Ex”, and…oh, that election, but apparently the America’s Next Top Model writers have lost their battle against “The Man”, and were not allowed the outrageous demand of *gasp* health insurance. Oh, the nerve! Those guttersnipes! Harumph, harumph! Their bid to gain union status made them popular with the media, the Norma Raes of a slightly more glamorous profession than textile manufacturing, but in the end it was just not enough.

The point I’m trying to make here is that models are boring*, and if we had to watch this show the way it happened in real life, it wouldn’t have lasted seven seasons. Yeah, yeah, we all love to talk about Tyra’s weave, but that alone is not enough to keep the show afloat. Of course, if you let these twelve reality show writers into the WGA, you have to let all the reality show writers in, and people seem to be very, very afraid of this. Why? Are you worried that these writers will tarnish the golden reputation of the member of WGA? Is it because they aren’t really writing the TV show, that they’re just molding what happens, teasing story lines and highlighting histrionics into 42 minutes of guilty pleasure? I’m not a member of the WGA, so I have no reputation to defend. And I’m also not an avid viewer of the show itself, so I cannot vouch for whether or not the show has gotten worse without the writers. All I’m saying it: it’s going to happen, and when it does these writers will be considered pioneers. Like, you know, Rosa Parks. Ok, maybe not Rosa Parks.

*Except that one contestant who was going to med school after the show and dating the dude from the Shins. Girl’s alright with me.

A consistanly great source of inspiration for me comes from music videos. I’m not talking about your glitzy, by-the-book, lowest commen denominator videos rife with "bitchez and hoez" or the newest incarnation of the guys who never really got over how amaaazing Ten was or even (gasp!) the newest batch of prepubescent temptresses humping everything within a 30 foot radius. I know you’re smarter than that, loyal readers.

The following videos are those that have been shown recently on a show on MTV2 Sunday nights called Subterranean. It’s been of my favorite shows since the end of high school, and not just because I harbor a borderline fanatical crush on the host, Jim Shearer. I highly suggest trying to watch them on an actual TV, but for now, this will have to do:

Cansei de Ser Sexy - Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above (scroll down for the video)

The Rapture - Get Myself into It (very simple, but funnier each time - they are the guest next week)

Wolf Parade - I’ll Believe in Anything (I’d rather watch this than Marie AntoiNOT good)

Regina Spektor - Samson (I’m a sucker for animation like this)

Enjoy!

(A while back I mentioned wanting to see the Tim Burton created Killers video. Well, I saw it, and it kind of sucks.)

Some days I’m just so damn happy that Al Gore invented the internet (with an able assist from that noted Alaskan braniac Ted Stevens). Not only can you find many useful things floating around out there in cyberspace - funny cat videos and glittery MySpace pages to name just two - but you can also find many unuseful things to help you kill time at work. You might also forward links to these unuseful things to your co-workers. Your boss might then receive these links and decide that one of these unuseful thing is actually useful after all, and direct you to utilize said thing in a blog post.

Following me so far? Good.

The unuseful useful thing is this nifty page, which features various image-generating apps that allow you to create, among other things, cassette tape images, 45 rpm record labels, funny George W. thought-balloons, and, as pictured, official-looking seals for work, home, or play.

Awesome, no? A few spare minutes to spend tweaking the easy-to-use interface, along with a willingness to bastardize a dead language in order to come up with an authoritative sounding motto*, are all you need to produce your own, extremely rad, seal.

Not, perhaps, unlike this:

*In this case, I’ve either cobbled together a rough approximation of "In Independent Film We Trust", or "Do Not Take On An Empty Stomach", I’m not sure which.

To the vast majority of our readers (22 and counting) this post will mean nothing - and I mean nothing, not "No Thing", which is zen-speak for letting go of all pointless, ultimately painful preoccupations with the fleeting material world.

However, as someone who had my existential cage rattled today, I feel the need to share an oft-shared zen parable, attributed to the Buddha, but possibly apocryphal:

"A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger
after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild
vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him
from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another
tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw
away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the
vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet
it tasted."

There it is, that rarest of zen parables - one whose meaning is easily understandable on the face of it: you never know when the vine’s gonna snap, so get the strawberry while the gettin’s good.