Anyone familiar with this blog will know right off the bat that I’m a vicious proponent of liberty. I view defending my, and your, personal liberty and right to privacy as a sacred duty, and I will stand guard against the tyranny of totalitarianism, authoritarianism, fascism, and damn-near any other -ism that pokes its nose where it doesn’t belong.

Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis wrote in Olmstead v. United States:

Experience should teach us to be most on our guard to protect liberty when the government’s purposes are beneficent. Men born to freedom are naturally alert to repel invasion of their liberty by evil-minded rulers. The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well-meaning but without understanding.

No truer words have ever been written.

The government, in a well-meaning way but totally without understanding, is now, yet again, insidiously encroaching on our Constitutionally guaranteed liberties.

The New Jersey state board of of Cosmetology and Hairstyling is now attempting to ban Brazilian bikini waxes.

Yeah, you read that right. Banning bikini waxes. The humanity.

For those of you unaware of the Brazilian, a cosmetologist will pour burning hot wax all over your genitals and anus. After the wax has cooled and the burning, searing pain in your anus and all over your genitals has just begun to disperse, the cosmetologist will yank and tear the dried wax off your skin, which in turn, pulls with it all the hair covering your anus and genitals.

After the swollen, irritated, and nasty-looking rash that will inevitably appear all over your genitals heals, you’ll look marvelous in a bikini. Or completely naked because remember, the cosmetologist POURS HOT WAX INTO YOUR ANUS!

Apparently two women in New Jersey have gotten an infection from this gentle, elegant procedure. And now the state of Jersey is attempting to ban the whole damn thing.

Look, what we do with our anuses and genitals should be our business. It should be my right as an American to pay for something that in medieval England would have been considered a viable torture technique, all in the name of looking like a prepubescent, naked child.

…anus.

Why, oh why, can’t our T.V. be as cool as the U.K.’s?

I’m a big fan of the ongoing writers’ strike. First off, it’s entertaining to see Elaine in the picket line, wearing a crappy pair of sweats and a sucking on a bottle of water. I also love the notion of Jay Leno delivering donuts to the strikers on his big, stupid Harley, like some kind of Hell’s Angel delivery boy.

But aside from the entertainment aspect, the strike represents a group of artists, standing up as one, proclaiming “We’re mad as hell, and we’re not gonna take it anymore!”

For those of you who aren’t pop culture zombies, the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) called for a writers strike after the production companies refused to renegotiate the writers’ wages. Of particular contention in the negotiation were the residuals of DVD and internet sales. Writers receive no compensation for material sold over the internet, and they only receive four cents from each DVD sold. The production studios claim these two forms of media are nothing more than promotional tools; meanwhile, the studios air fewer and fewer reruns, and rake in the cash on DVD and iTunes sales.

I’m a big fan of this strike, mainly because I’m a big fan of standing up to crappy organizations. And if this sounds vaguely communist, well, deal with it. Marx and Engels had some interesting stuff to say. Politically, I like to think of myself as a Repubocratitarian anyway.

I’d be tempted to call myself an independent, but those people are fucking nuts.

No, I support this strike simply because it’s another incident in a long line of incidents where a media company has lost control of its media. I find entropy entertaining, which, funnily enough, is the same reason I support file-sharing. The RIAA and the MPAA are suing the pants off of anyone they catch file-sharing not because they are losing money, or because file-sharers represent a true danger to their bottom lines, but more because file-sharers are usurping power away from the RIAA and MPAA. The current paradigm is breaking down, and no longer are the MPAA and RIAA the principal power-holders of their respective media.

And don’t give me that shit about stealing from artists. If you think that by downloading a CD from a torrent site you’re stealing a massive amount from an artist then think again. Most musicians get less than a dollar for each CD sale, and many of them get mere pennies. If you buy used CDs then they get nothing at all. No, if you want to support your favorite artist then go see them in concert, or buy some of their merchandise, because that’s where they really make their money. If you’re really serious about supporting the artist then use the money you saved not buying their grossly over-priced CD to buy a T-shirt at their concert.

Just as the writers now refuse to work, many musicians are beginning to get angry about this disproportionate profiteering on the part of the record labels and the RIAA. Trent Reznor will release the next NIN album sans production company and completely free on the internet. If you want, you’ll be able to buy a very high quality version of the album (higher quality than a CD) off of his website. Reznor also recently partnered with Saul Williams, and they released the album “The Inevitable Rise and Fall of Niggy Tardust” in the same manner (it’s an interesting album, and yes, I paid for it, just as I will the new NIN album). Radiohead just offered their new album for free, and many other artists have started realizing that they can bypass production companies altogether and sell their music at a much greater profit directly to the fans.

I’m glad the writers, and artists in general, are standing up and demanding that they receive adequate and fair prices for their art. Without the artists producing commercially viable products, the production companies wouldn’t exist in the first place. DVD sales have kept many studios in the black, and to hoard all that money away from the writers is reprehensible.

But as much as I enjoy watching the whole debacle, I hope they reach a resolution quickly. If new episodes of “The Daily Show” don’t start airing pretty soon, I’m gonna have to hire a psychiatrist to help me deal with all the bullshit in the world.

In August of 1986, my mother took me and my cousin, Brad, to see Transformers: The Movie. I’d already seen what I considered to be some pretty amazing movies by that time in my life. I’d seen the Star Wars movies, Ghostbusters, Superman I and II, and Back to the Future (Hey, leave me alone. I still love BttF.) At that point I still watched cartoons, although I’m pretty sure I downplayed how much I liked them as to not look silly in front of older kids. I went into the theater on that hot summer afternoon expecting to see an hour and a half long episode of the daily cartoon show.

I couldn’t have been more surprised.

From the very first scene when Unicron violently devours Planet Lithone as the inhabitants screamed in terror, I knew I was watching something very different. Just a few short scenes later, I watched in horror as Megatron and his army overtook the Autobot shuttle, and systematically killed Brawn, Prowl, and Ratchet. And then, in a shocking display of sadism, Megatron strolled cooly over to an injured Ironhide, commented “Such heroic nonsense” at Ironhide’s tenacious attempt to continue fighting, and then fired his arm cannon directly into Ironhide’s face, killing him.

And then there was this scene:

When I saw that in the theater I wondered why Optimus never took care of business like that in the cartoon.

I would have found the scene where Optimus Prime actually dies and then passes the Autobot Matrix of Leadership on to Ultra Magnus, but truthfully, I didn’t feel like crying tonight. I did that day in the theater though. Cry that is. And even then, in the back of my mind I knew it was ridiculous to be crying at the “death” of a cartoon character, but hey, we’re talking about Optimus Prime here.

I’d also never heard of Orson Welles at that age, but I did recognize brilliance when I heard it. On rewatches it’s so painfully obvious that Welles was a level far above the likes of the other voice actors in the movie… well, excluding Peter Cullen. But in the theater in the summer of ‘86, all I knew was that Unicron’s voice scared the absolute hell out of me. The line, “Proceed…on your way to oblivion” still makes me cringe. Watch Unicron in his coolest scene in the movie:

I’m aware the movie isn’t a masterpiece. The scenes with Wheelie rival any of the Jar-Jar jackassery in the Star Wars prequels, and could they possibly have found a whinier crybaby than Judd Nelson to voice Hot Rod? Seriously, he’s worse than Dante in Clerks. In spite of its faults, my cousin and I left the theater completely blown away.

We’re going to see the new live action Transformers movie tomorrow, and I know it won’t happen, but I’d love to feel the amazement I felt that day in 1986. Again, I’m not stupid. I know I won’t. The cynicism of adulthood pretty much guarantees I’ll never experience that starry-eyed bewilderment that I did when I was a kid. I’m reasonably sure that my ability to be bewildered began to shrink proportionally with my understanding of how to file taxes.

Also, Michael Bay directed it. Micheal Bay couldn’t bewilder me if he sat in my living room and physically transformed himself into James Cameron.

I need to watch The View more often.

Hasselbeck’s probably pretty quick, and I’m sure she can stick and move pretty well, but I bet Rosie would take her down.

Watching Christopher Hitchens eulogize Jerry Falwell is like watching Godzilla sightsee in Tokyo.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, I’m sure that by this point you’ve heard about “Chocolate Jesus.” And yes, “Chocolate Jesus” is different than “Muddy Jesus.” This is “Muddy Jesus”:

And this is “Chocolate Jesus.”

Artist Cosmo Cavallaro sculpted a crucified Jesus Christ out of 200 pounds of delicious milk chocolate, and the Lab Gallery, located inside the Roger Smith Hotel in New York, planned on displaying his masterpiece throughout Holy Week and through Easter. Apparently “Our Sweet Lord,” Cavallaro’s name for the piece, isn’t the first time he’s employed food in his art. He’s a food artist. Or something.

Anyway, Bill Donahue, president of the Catholic League of America, which, by the way, has no affiliation with the Vatican, called for a boycott of the hotel which houses the Lab Gallery, and called Cavallaro’s sculpture “one of the worst assaults on Christian sensibilities ever.” The only reason Bill doesn’t like the thing, at least as far as I can tell, is that the Jesus is naked and everyone might see that the Lord had a healthy, chocolaty dong. Take a look at Cavallaro and Donahue on Anderson Cooper:

I do think Cavallaro is an oddball, but ironically enough, Bill Donahue comes off crazier than the artist. Does Bill really think that a chocolate Jesus represents an assault on Christian sensibilities? Or that Cavallaro’s “Sweet Lord” sculpture deserves to be thrown in the garbage? Cavallaro seemed genuinely taken aback when Bill said that if he were a member of Al-Qaeda he’d have Cavallaro beheaded. I haven’t read the Bible in a while, but frankly, I don’t remember Jesus advocating beheadings. But I’m sure Bill has a direct line to God, so if he says something or someone is bad, then we should probably believe him.

This isn’t the first time Bill’s reared his fat head and caused problems for people. Donahue and his bitching was the reason that Miramax dropped Kevin Smith’s movie “Dogma,” forcing Kevin to find another distributor. Bill attacked Louis CK’s show “Lucky Louie” and called it blasphemous, obscene, and “depraved,” without having seen one episode. Bill also continually gives Disney and ABC hell for what he calls their pro-homosexual agenda. He also claimed that the sex scandals in the Catholic Church were due to the actions of homosexuals and not pedophiles, because he doesn’t see a difference between a pedophile and a homosexual.

The problem with people like Bill Donahue is that they think they possess the power to determine what is Holy and what is not. I’m pretty sure we used to call that kind of mindset “hubristic.” Unfortunately, the danger with Bill Donahue is that he wields an enormous amount of power, so much so that unlike the normal wingnut Bill can actually get things done. Hence, “Dogma” loses a distributor, Louis CK receives an inordinate amount of bad press for his show “Lucky Louie,” resulting in cancellation, and Cosmo Cavallaro is forced to hide his “Our Sweet Lord” out of fear that some crazy person will destroy it.

If Cavallaro had only been able to provide some type of socio-political interpretation of his art I don’t think Donahue would have been able to attack him quite as easily. For instance, when I look at “Our Sweet Lord” I see a brilliant indictment of America’s commercialization and secularization of the Resurrection of Christ. Many Christians seem more interested in eating candies and hiding eggs for their children instead of observing the death of their savior, and if I were Cavallaro I would have claimed the Chocolate was a representation of the secularization of Christ’s crucifixion. In Eddie Izzard’s award-winning stand-up show “Dress to Kill,” Eddie addresses this candy / Christ juxtaposition:

Unfortunately, Cavallaro wasn’t that smart. He used chocolate because he finds it “tasty.” If he hadn’t have been such a dipshit he might have really made Donahue look like a total ass. Instead, he sounded a little crazy, and Donahue did a fair job of making himself look like an ass.

And yes, I realize that tonight’s episode of “South Park” referenced the douchebaggery of Bill Donahue, as well. I was actually editing the rough draft of this while watching the episode. If you missed it, be sure to catch one of the ten million times it replays this week.

UPDATE: FizzogBlog has a every interesting take on this whole thing. And he was able to avoid using terms like “douchbaggery,” when discussing this.

On Tuesday the Associated Press ran a story they cribbed from the British magazine NME about Keith Richards. The story claimed that Richards, during a particularly debauched drug-binge, mixed up the ashes of his dead father with some cocaine and snorted his dad. They quoted Richards as saying, “‘He was cremated and I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn’t have cared…It went down pretty well, and I’m still alive.’”

What an awesome story, but sadly for us, it turns out it’s fake. Richards’ manager released a statement that asserted he made the comment in jest. Or maybe he was high. Who knows? We’re talking about Keith Richards here, so anything is possible.

I like the story though, so I’m going to continue to believe that Keith Richards snorted a mixture of cocaine and dead-guy. Feel free to believe the same thing.

I don’t have an ending for this, but initially that story reminded me of an episode of “Night Court.” Two sisters appeared before Harry that were seeking rights to their father’s ashes. Harry took the ashes of their father, who was named Herb, from them, and told them that when they could come to an agreement on their own they could have their father back. While the sisters were working out their problems, the janitor went into Harry’s chambers and replaced the coffee pot, and he thoughtfully refilled the pot with the “Herb” tea that was sitting in an urn on Harry’s desk. The next thing we see is Dan drinking coffee.

Damn “Night Court” was a good show. And just for good measure, here’s a video of Keith hitting a guy in the head with his guitar during a performance of “Satisfaction.”