“DRIVE yourself to the theater right now and see this revved-up thrill-ride!” – Pete Hammond
Hey girl, you see me Stomping that bad dude’s face in? Morse code: “I Love You”
I have to believe that at least half the people who saw Drive last weekend had no idea what they were getting into. Much like fellow pop art pieces 127 Hours and Inglourious Basterds, Drive lures you in on the promise of one movie and then — FAKE OUT — manages to show off something completely different. Oh, the pink font and straightforward trailer had you convinced you were buying tickets to a fast-moving heist movie? That’s adorable! Ryan Gosling would playfully wink at you if he weren’t busy threatening some dude’s life with a hammer. Or shotgun. Or car. He’s adept with pretty much all of those weapons, because your future husband from The Notebook is SOMETHING OF A PSYCHOPATH — handsomer than Travis Bickle, but with the same Vesuvian temper and “jacket as uniform” fashion sense. This ain’t your grandma’s Baby Goose!
I’ll take it as inconclusive proof of having maybe growed my ass up that I was unaware until just a few minutes ago of this latest prank craze to squeeze through the American youth pipeline, “Coning,” which entails 1) buying a drive-through ice cream cone from McDonald’s then 2) grabbing the dessert by the ice cream, not the cone, while 3) the employee handing it to you stands there befuddled. If it sounds like something your Philly Blunts-smoking cousin who’s big into car modding might do, that’s because it is.
What?! It doesn’t even make sense as a prank. YOU’RE the one out an ice cream cone. YOU’RE the one with sticky fingers. Maybe the cashier gives you that “whuuuh?” look you clearly crave, but you’re just as likely to have the poor employee (rightfully) yell at you for being such an annoying ass. If a prank’s object is pulling one over on the other party, then coning barely satisfies the not-that-stringent requirements of the word! You guys are doing it ALL WRONG.
So the US Postal Service is on the verge of default. Have you seen this? Have you heard about this? With $5.5 billion owed to various pension funds and an ever-decreasing mail volume only making things worse, those dog-hating shorts-wearing deliverers of good and bad news are facing a pretty epic crisis. The White House is proposing a plan that would give USPS another three months to get their house in order, but no matter what the eventual outcome — jobs cut, Saturday service eliminated, the whole thing just shut down – it won’t be anything but a dramatic overhaul for a longstanding, indispensable American institution.
In some ways the (maybe) death of traditional mail was always bound to happen. Letters, for all their charm and sincerity, take time and effort to compose that today’s harried businessperson has NO TIME FOR. At this point many of us, especially those of us named DJ Steve, have adjusted to digital newspapers and magazines. Then you’ve got bills. Why pay them with pens and stamps and…licking when you can accomplish the same goal with a few keystrokes? Just like mp3s have all but killed physical music, so too did the dawn of email signal the end for its stamped-and-addressed cousin. All things must die. Cue the music!
…Of course it’s highly likely that, in true Congressional nail-biter fashion, the mail system will be saved or at least put on life support at the last minute and we won’t need to convert our mailboxes to compost bins. Which would be nice, because mail is nice. Has anyone in the history of ever (focus on years 1993-present) complained that they like the hand-written note and all, but it would have been a lot better in email form? Doubtful! And if they did, that person’s one of those deliberately contrarian jerks and what are you doing even writing him anyway? Get a better pen pal!
IN SUMMATION: the future is now and the world is changing but hopefully we can hold onto some standbys from the past, because not everything needs to be Back to the Future self-lacing shoes and Dippin’ Dots.
Queen’s frontman Freddie Mercury would have been 65 on Monday, and to celebrate GOOGLE tossed off (I say “tossed off” because this was probably completed by one of their high-functioning “synthetic emotions” algorithms) a typically amazing, energetic and poignant video set to the group’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”
Who even thinks about Queen, or Freddie Mercury, that much these days? They’re like the music version of the movie Dave – you forget how great they are until one of their songs pops up on your iPod, and then it’s all you can listen to for days. Then you forget again.
But like a glasses-wearing elephant, GOOGLEDOESN’T FORGET. At this point the company is putting up Pixar numbers with these consistently perfect ads. So long as they never double-dip — say revisit the “American in Paris” commercial, only this time with more of the redneck sidekick — I can see this streak continuing in perpetuity. Great work, guys!
Kanye West and Jay-Z’s ‘Watch the Throne’ is not the greatest album ever released (in case you were wondering), but it is still very, very good — especially considering the delicate balance of egos and artistry crucial to its success. Too much Kanye and the mental illness levels go THROUGH THE ROOF. Too much Jay-Z and you have, at this point, an overstuffed American Express commercial. But together they make it work! Which got the “What If?” team at Lifting Fog thinking: what does this album look like in the hands of another musical dynamic duo?
From Seattle, Washington, the emo-est band to have ever scored Seth Cohen’s teenage angst, DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE!
And from Ohio — yes, OHIO! – the Baritone Bruisers, the Prozac Provocateurs: THE NATIONAL!
I don’t even know where to begin this post. There’s the fact that even bringing the words “jobs” and “recession” into the mix here at Lifting Fog means we’re already overextending ourselves, discussing BIG topics well outside our usual purview. Then you consider tone — can you talk about these things in a way that’s still funny, and entertaining? What number of Shia LeBeouf jokes is appropriate? (Two, probably.) Part of me wonders if tackling anything serious — and “Harry Potter reflections” DOESN’T COUNT — is in direct violation of our stated blogging mission:
…Sweet, ignorant relief.
That is definitely the target we tend to hit! But against the backdrop of a Labor Day underscored by continued 9.1% unemployment and zero job growth in the US this past month (and also the upcoming September 11th anniversary, so…), it feels oddly okay to cut the laugh track for a minute and dive into some actual, real issues. You think I’m kidding? Look at this serious face:
If that doesn’t scream “no bullsh*t editorial,” I don’t know what does.
In a summer where one of the most talked-about movie releases is the latest in a 40-year-old franchise and the average age of baseball’s best team is, like, 35, it’s no surprise that David Bowie’s Major Tom, a character first introduced in 1969, has gotten a new lease on life. It JUST MAKES SENSE. To wit: Breaking Bad‘s deceased nerd chemist, Gale Boetticher, a few weeks ago sang a karaoke version of “Major Tom” (by Peter Schilling).
(Was the catalyst for his murder rooted entirely in this performance? We’ll have to wait for the season finale to know for sure.) And now for the kids, illustrator Andrew Kolb has put together the saddest book ever in his illustrated version of Bowie’s “Space Oddity.”
We are too young now and will be too young for another three term cycles, but 12 years down the road — or 11 years post-Apocalypse, because it’s still definitely happening — we now-25-year-olds (…born in the United States) will finally be eligible to run for President. Brilliant! Finally we can make good on those “when I grow up” speeches we gave to our fifth grade class, as well as wow our previously underwhelmed parents.
But take a step back from the excitement of becoming President for a moment. Consider the world we now live in: one where almost every move we make is recorded (or at least noted) and the notion of “skeletons in the closet” is ridiculous because they’re right there in our Facebook pictures, drowning in Four Loko. We are the first true Overshare Generation. And when it comes time in 2024 for us to step out onto the public stage — to be held accountable for our lives led to that point — most of us will have left digital footprints too DIRTY and AWFUL for our campaign to stand any kind of a chance.
We feel you, New York (and Friends). Not only did you suffer through an out-of-nowhere earthquake earlier in the week and learn of the demise of Derek Jeter’s relationship with the Sexiest Woman Alive, now you’re wrapped around the corner of Duane Reade waiting to buy cigarettes and paper towels in preparation for a potentially awful storm. Hurricane Irene, that bitch, is about to make your weekend miserable.
But the benefit of sunny, uppers-fueled Los Angeles living has seen the Weather Tracking team at Lifting Fog working hard to think of fun solutions to your impending doldrums. Our first thought — “movies to watch” — was already written up by Videogum. Then Thought Catalog went ahead and compiled a handy 20-something survival guide. “What’s left to say?” we thought. “What can we offer that the other guys can’t?” Then we really dug deep — considered the skills and perspective we alone possess, that we might bestow on our readers — and figured it out: dumb videos held together by the lightest possible editorial. And so without further preamble, we arrive at our Way to Make the Most of Hurricane Irene: go hurricane surfing or something.
Between the Judd Apatow movies telling us chicks dig fat men-children and the fact that some of us ride Vespas to work, many 20-somethings (and beyond!) have fallen prey to an enveloping infantilization that threatens to keep our generation DOWN. Need proof? Listen no further than the nearest coffeeshop conversation, where the “yays!” and “bros” will likely be flowing like “vino.” The language we use every day conveys an awful lot of information: what part of the the country we’re from. How educated we are (or think we are). How prepared we are for the Chinese takeover. What we don’t want is for the other person to think we’re in 4th grade.
In an effort to help you, our peers, from losing out on that job promotion or May-December romance because of perceived immaturity, Lifting Fog has compiled a quick “what not to say” guide that should help take the guesswork out of everyday communication. Not all of the below are strictly childish expressions, per se, but our crack team of linguistic experts has nevertheless flagged them as dangerous. It is always better to err on the side of safety!
LIFTING FOG is the digital home/dumping ground of aspiring writer Henning and actual DJ DJ Steve, two friends who still consider 6th grade a worthy topic of discussion. Unsure three years ago where to share our many and varying thoughts, we accidentally settled here.
We get it, trust us -- the Internet isn't lacking for navel-gazing pop culture blogs disguised as records of burgeoning maturity. But in this complicated and scary world -- one fraught with economic strife, terrorism, and Ed Hardy cologne -- we all need somewhere we can find sweet, ignorant relief. LIFTING FOG is probably not that place, but we're all making compromises these days. Read on!
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