The [Friday] Papers
How was Mashed Media?
I met up with Beachwood alumni Scott "The Commissioner" Gordon, visiting from Florida where he now lives, at the bar early last evening and didn't make it home until well after the show aired.
I do want to catch up with it. I will, I swear.
Also, Columbia Journalism Review takes a look at the Beachwood for its News Frontier Database project.
Blahgo, Blahgo, Blahgo
I have three words for Blago's testimony yesterday: What a wank.
Okay, actually I have more words than that. Check out Mystery Blagojevich Testimony Theater.
All the Bulls did last night was weaken a country.
Why The Law, Dad?
Because it puts us into everything.
That's from today's Must-See TV pick, The Devil's Advocate. I love that movie, Keanu Reeves notwithstanding. More specifically, I love Al Pacino in this movie.
Here's my favorite part:
Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He's a prankster. Think about it.
He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift. And then what does He do?
I swear, for his own amusement, his own private, cosmic gag reel, He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time.
Look, but don't touch.
Touch, but don't taste.
Taste, but don't swallow.
And while you're jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing?
He's laughing his sick, fucking ass off!
He's a tightass!
He's a sadist!
He's an absentee landlord!
Worship that? Never!
I'm here on the ground with my nose in it since the whole thing began!
I've nurtured every sensation man has been inspired to have!
I cared about what he wanted and I never judged him!
Why? Because I never rejected him, in spite of all his imperfections!
I'm a fan of man!
I'm a humanist.
Maybe the last humanist.
Eddie Barzoon, Eddie Barzoon.
I nursed him through two divorces, a cocaine rehab and a pregnant receptionist.
God's creature, right?
God's special creature?
I've warned him, Kevin.
I've warned him every step of the way.
Watching him bounce around like a fucking game.
Like a wind-up toy.
Like 250 pounds of self-serving greed on wheels.
The next thousand years are right around the corner.
Eddie Barzoon, take a good look because he's the poster child for the next millennium.
These people, it's no mystery where they come from.
You sharpen the human appetite to the point where it can split atoms with its desire. You build egos the size of cathedrals. Fiber-optically connect the world to every eager impulse. Grease even the dullest dreams with these dollar-green gold-plated fantasies until every human becomes an aspiring emperor, becomes his own god. Where can you go from there?
As we're scrambling from one deal to the next who's got his eye on the planet?
As the air thickens, the water sours, even bees' honey takes on the metallic taste of radioactivity, .and it just keeps coming, faster and faster.
There's no chance to think, to prepare.
It's buy futures, sell futures, when there is no future.
We got a runaway train, boy.
We got a billion Eddie Barzoons all jogging into the future.
Every one of them is getting ready to fistfuck God's ex-planet, lick their fingers clean as they reach out toward their pristine cybernetic keyboards to tote up their fucking billable hours.
And then it hits home.
You got to pay your own way, Eddie.
It's a little late in the game to buy out now.
Your belly's too full.
Your dick is sore.
Your eyes are bloodshot and you're screaming for someone to help.
But guess what?
There's no one there!
You're all alone, Eddie.
You're God's special little creature.
Maybe it's true.
Maybe God threw the dice once too often.
Maybe He let us all down.
The Week in Chicago Rock
You shoulda been there.
With or Without The Chicago Code
Beer The Inspiration
You bring feeling to my life.
The Beachwood Tip Line: Wide awake.
Posted on May 27, 2011