From the Green Room: Star Wars 3-D

these guys don't get out muchAs if all the mouth-breathing, parents’ basement-living, Luke Skywalker toga-wearing, Star Wars nerds didn’t already wet their Chewbacca Feetie Pajamas over the release of the Motorola Droid R2-D2 edition, now comes word that Messiah, George Lucas, plans on re-releasing his Sci-Fi saga, yet again. Only this time, it will be in 3-D. It seems that Darth Vader’s father hasn’t made quite enough money from the six movies so far. Apparently, there’s a small third world nation he’s got his eye on. Inspired by the huge success of “Avatar,” George will begin trotting out the Star Wars films in chronological order, at the rate of one per year, beginning in 2012 with “The Phantom Menace.”  Presumably, the addition of the 3-D will make for a much more immersive experience… although it won’t change the fact that Episodes I, II and III still suck.

For those of us who actually saw the original Star Wars trilogy, the last three, (although, technically, the first three in the story) are a crime against nature, a Joseph Campbell version of a pedophile in a Santa Claus suit.  Nothing in any of the later three films about the young Darth Vader ever topped the “Wow” sensation of seeing the Death Star explode.  In 1977 we were breathless at the Millennium Falcon’s jumping to Hyperspace. In 1999, we were breathless because we felt like somebody had knocked the wind out of us with a sledgehammer at the introduction of Jar Jar Binks.

Even for those who were introduced to the original trilogy through one of the countless DVD re-releases, and slept in line waiting for tickets to each of the latter films, Jar Jar was an affront on each of the five senses, including smell, because that’s how bad he stunk. The long, floppy ears, googly antennae eyeballs, the gibberish speech pattern and faux pidgin Jamaican accent…EVERYTHING about that character was beyond annoying.  Jar Jar’s presence was so grating, he made even those who adopted the non-violent doctrine of “The Force” as their own personal philosophy want to dismember him on a table saw.

Now, in 3-D, with those tendril peepers reaching out to us in the theatre, not only will we want to impale him with a YoshiBlade ceramic knife, we will then want plunge it into our own eyes.
 
Even though the wisdom of the ultimate Jedi Master, Yoda, would advise us that: “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate.  Hate leads us to suffering.” 

Maybe it’s our inner Vader, but…Jar Jar cannot suffer enough. 

From the Green Room: The Lion Sleeps Tonight

Recently, the internet was buzzing with a viral video of a Lion attacking its trainer at the Wild Animal Habitat in the MGM Grand Hotel  in Las Vegas.  Unfortunately, there was no crime-scene style, graphically bloody carnage, yet it still made the point that, when dealing with “wild animals,” the operative word…is WILD. 

Despite nature’s many attempts to convince human beings that animals are not interested in any kind of anthropomorphic behavior, we insist on forcing them into situations that totally belie their instincts. Yes, contrary to what you might surmise from watching them at the circus, Brown Bears don’t actually enjoy wearing tutus and balancing on giant rubber balls, and chimpanzees, while hilarious doing just about anything, are not themselves amused by wearing pants and riding bicycles while smoking cigars. So when you put the “King of Beasts” in a glass encased cage, essentially humiliating it in front of a bunch of greasy, sweaty tourists in Bermuda shorts, you can’t blame him for taking it out on the nearest human.

The video shows the majestic feline in his casino-designed, brightly lit, fiberglass, faux den, regally resplendent in a prone position, just seconds before the attack. You can almost hear his thoughts…

“Look at me. One minute I’m in Africa, chasing antelopes, and the next I’m  some sideshow freak on display for the sole amusement of every fat, tourist west of the Mississippi. Hey, what are you lookin’ at?  Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking to you, Tubb-o. Yeah, you, Chucklebutt, in the Criss Angel ‘MindFreak’ t-shirt, trying to take my picture with that cheap imitation iPhone.  Thank God I can’t actually hear you through this bulletproof glass, because I think if I knew just how clueless you were in trying to impress your girlfriend with facts about me, I might actually upchuck the rump roast the guy who comes in every morning to hose down the habitat brought me for breakfast.  In town for a convention, Sparky?  Or did you just have a hankering for nickel slots and 99-cent shrimp cocktails?  Mouth-breathing pipe fitter. Jesus, if you only knew how stupid you look in those white socks and sandals.  What are you, European?  You’re not impressing anybody—you know that, right? I got news for you, Spartacus, I could have your woman if I wanted her. That’s right. You know why?  Cause I’m the king of the effing jungle, son. And I take what I want. Oh, wait…oh no, no, no. You’re not MEOWING at me, are you? That make you feel good? Trying to diminish me in front of MY woman?  I don’t think so. Okay, well…wait. I can’t take it out on you, because I’m imprisoned here behind this glass. But I can…um…take it out on him!  See this trainer here next to me?  Watch this!   You see that?  I came THIS close to taking a chunk out of that boy’s ass!  You like that?  Hey, what’s that I smell?  You just soil yourself did you?  Uh huh. Yeah. That’s right. Who’s the King of the Jungle, now, huh?  SAY IT!  Now get your fat ass down to the all-you-can-eat buffet. I’m about to be tranquilized.”

From the Green Room: The VMAs

You can always count on the MTV Video Music Awards ceremony to be good for some outrageous formal wear.

The Academy Awards, notwithstanding Cher’s black, sequined Mayan princess outfit and Bjork’s swan dress aside, pale in comparison in terms of the crazy couture on display at the annual event. Since the very first VMAs in the 80’s, we’ve seen everything from Britney Spears’ leather B&D Nazi uniform and Lil’ Kim’s Half In / Half Out, One Pasty-Clad-Breast Revealed Jumpsuit to Flava Flav in pajamas, oversized Mickey Mouse slippers, and Batman sunglasses. Each year, the bar is raised exponentially, so it must be increasingly difficult for artists to make a splash. Even so, you’d have to admit…Lady GaGa was just a little over the top accepting her award for Video of the Year clad in a suit made entirely of meat.

who's a bigger freak show?But the competition to be noticed was particularly high in a year where Nicky Minaj, in a shiny pink vinyl spacesuit, did a duet with Will. I. Am., resplendent in a superhero action figure outfit and a plastic hair helmet. You have to REALLY take a brave fashion leap if you’re going to outdo Ke$ha in a dress made out of a Hefty CinchSak trash bag. Lady G began the evening in a billowy gown with a feather headdress that resembled Chicken Little in a Perdue commercial.  For her next acceptance, she rocked a black metal spiked Mohawk. But when she took the stage accepting the Video of the Year award from Cher, (who was wearing the costume from her “Turn Back Time” video that made her look like her own female impersonator), Gaga looked as if she was a chart on the wall of a butcher shop illustrating where various cuts of beef are located on the cow.

Perhaps it was just homage to Mudvayne’s white tuxedo jacket with bloody gaping head wound makeup that inspired this vegan’s fashion nightmare. Apparently unsatisfied to appearing as if she were wearing a cart of steaks at Morton’s, Gaga added a boneless Rib Steak had, presumably for “effect.”

And Lord know we were all hoping there’d be a “related story” this morning, where a drug-sniffing security dog at the after party attacked GaGa and ate most of her chemise.

Good dog.

From the Green Room: Do A Little Dance

some guy doing the Cabbage Patch dance. he doesn't get out much.Scientists at Northumbria University in the United Kingdom have conducted a study to discover what women find attractive when men bust their sweet moves on the dance floor.  Shockingly, gents, it’s not your Jersey Shore style fist-pumping with your upper teeth tightly clenched over your lower lip. Finally, we have a key to unlock the mystery why doing “The Cabbage Patch,” unless in the end zone of a football stadium after a touchdown, won’t get you laid.

It seems people have an intuitive understanding of what makes a good and bad dancer. Using biometric analysis, the scientists calculated precisely the kinds of movements that cause women to find some men healthy physical specimens “good for breeding,” and others better suited for breathtakingly, spirit-crushing ridicule. 

The researchers had anticipated that arm and hand movements would be the ones found most attractive to members of the opposite sex.  But after using twelve cameras to tape non-professional male dancers, uploading their movements to computer generated avatars, and then showing them to a random sampling of women, they discovered that was simply not the case. Hence the ineffectiveness of picking up that hot bridesmaid at your cousin’s wedding last month with your pathetically lame performance of “The Raggedy Ann.” Seriously dude, you CAN’T POSSIBLY think that looks cool. You might as well rock a white polyester leisure suit with matching patent leather loafers. 

The study also found that women pay more attention to the core body region—the torso, neck and head—and to the speed of the movements, with their variability scoring the highest. Ultimately, the men who were twisting, nodding and, interestingly enough, running in place, were the ones who got the ladies the hottest.

a bunch of people unfortunately doing The MacarenaSo if Chubby Checker just jogs a little on the dance floor while emphatically agreeing with his partner, he’ll be getting some SERIOUS action. You, on the other hand, doing the “Macarena” in your powder blue velour tuxedo, looking like a rabbit in the throes of an epileptic fit, will be spending the end of the evening alone, eating Nachos and watching Cinemax, accompanied by a Costco-sized tube of Lubriderm.  

And to think you wasted all that money on lessons at Arthur Murray, when you would’ve been better off just hiring a hooker.

From the Green Room: Justin Bieber is the Anti-Christ

The BiebNot every pre-pubescent teen who makes some YouTube videos becomes an international pop sensation. But that, by the grace of God and Usher, is exactly what happened with Justin Bieber.

Other than his Bang-Laden, Beatle-Style, Bowl Haircut, there isn’t much to distinguish the young lad from every other Teen Pop sensation that’s come down the pike, from Paul Anka and Ricky Nelson to Bobby Sherman and Donny Osmond. Except that Justin Bieber, unlike Paul Anka and Ricky Nelson, sort of sucks, in a Bobby Sherman, Donny Osmond kind of way.  His fans, however, are, to say the least, more of the rabid variety than even those smitten teens who were moved to snip a lock of Ringo’s hair during The Beatles’ first US tour.

Some of them camped outside Rockefeller Center FOR THREE DAYS just to get a choice location at Justin’s outdoor concert on the Today Show. (It’s probably safe to assume they were there for Bieber, and not to catch a glimpse of Al Roker). Then there are the fans who sent death threats to Kim Kardashian after a photo of she and “The Bieb” was published and Justin jokingly tweeted, “Look, it’s my girlfriend.”  There is, of course, no evidence to suggest that one of those people was rapper/singer Ray J, who starred alongside Ms. Kardashian in her infamous sex tape. But the idea of Mr. “J” and the Biebs engaging in a Greco-Roman style bout over a Kardashian has Pay-Per-View event written all over it.

Then there was the 16 year old New Zealand girl who got the chance to visit Bieber backstage, and snatched a bottle of sparkling water he had drank from and fetched $624 dollars for it on an EBay-like site.  Do you think 624 bucks is a lot to pay for a half-full bottle of mineral water? There’s Bieber DNA floating in that puppy, pal. And if you just freeze that container until modern science finally perfects the cloning process, you’ll be in high cotton.

Just as every celebrity has their supporters, Justin also has a myriad of haters, those who have dedicated their lives to ruining his. So much so that some have created lurid “Hot Searches” on “Google Trends” that are, to say the least, not terribly flattering. Those searches include: “Justin Bieber Takes Estrogen,”  “Justin Bieber Syphillis,” “Justin Bieber Removes Testicle,” and  “Justin Bieber Impregnated His Mother.” It’s only a matter of Not Goodtime until Google Trends shows up with a Hot Search resembling a “Paul is Dead” type of conspiracy rumor, where hidden messages can be discovered by playing Bieber songs backwards to suggest that the Pop Tart has mysteriously been killed in a tragic blow-dryer accident.

The only problem is that Justin Bieber’s songs, whether played backwards or forwards, sound pretty much the same.  In that Bobby Sherman, Donny Osmond kind of way.