We’re just getting right into it today. First and foremost, we need to address the Red Bull Kluge video.
I’m a fan of a proper Rube Goldberg machine. In college I developed a system with three bowling pins, an empty egg carton, a novelty handgun cigarette lighter, the complete works of Bil Keane, a bust of Chelsea Clinton, 100 Mage Knight figurines, a Dvorak keyboard, an ant farm, glow-in-the-dark plastic fangs, table tennis balls, a poster of Dilated Peoples and about 600 feet of duct tape to make sure I never got laid. It worked wonderfully.
Even though I suspect this machine is still working, you really wouldn’t want to see it in action. It was rather boring. There was never the aspect of “OOOO…is it gonna work?” There was no tension. No wow factor.
And that’s exactly what Red Bull has done here. The problem isn’t that there is no point, it’s a fucking kluge after all. The issue is that it’s all so predictable. “Oh you have some minor element of a Rube Goldberg then some car dude drives in circles. I hope he does it right.” The whole thing is uninspired AND it’s really fucking long.
I’d rank this production tedious out of four stars.
Now go check out a couple Goldbergs with soul:
I was standing in the shower today, thinking about how I once heard The Steve Miller Band referred to as the poor man’s Eagles. Like The Eagles need a poor man’s version. It’s not that the Steve Miller Band was any better or worse, both are pretty fucking horrible. But The Eagles’ music isn’t what I associate with the upper crust. For real, Hotel California and then like god knows how the fuck many albums of that weird, seventies, pop-country fusion crap. Do you know effect that music can have on a youth forced to listen to classic rock radio stations all summer? Those harmonies, those simple song structures, it’s no wonder my taste in porno tends to have a little swerve to it.
I also have a strange memory of those old fat dudes being picked to play the super bowl halftime show and my boss soaking his trousers with excitement. He also said something about making Jell-O shots and a vodka watermelon.
Let’s set the record straight on this: The best version of Hotel California is the Spanish language version used in The Big Lebowski, which was not performed by The Eagles. Also, can you imagine how shitty a poor man’s Aerosmith would be? Fuck. Wal-Mart would be selling compact discs by the truckload.
Can’t help but think about how rad this whole thing is:
Those girls skate better than I do.
You seen these Keep/Bon Eyever collab shoes?
For some reason, I’m kinda considering a pair of these for the office. I think it might be the Brushie-esque fishbone thing happening on the toe. Maybe it’s the fact that some of the proceeds go to help abandoned and abused animals. But I think it’s because these things are guaranteed to be comfy as fuckall. Seriously, look at Justin Verbon. That dude is not getting uncomfortable. Those shoes are the podalic equivalent of just a couple small pulls and then listening to Music for Airports. I’m kinda surprised they even have laces. I suspect Justin Iver doesn’t wear his with laces, and those black ones were an afterthought. Those laces are horb.
Where the fuck was old bossman gonna get a watermelon in the middle of winter in Wisconsin?
Something to do with a Wisconsin based brand, ScissorBird. I don’t really know anything about them, but if I had this image on a shirt I would wear it every Saturday.