Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Lenny Kravitz: His Time Has Come
Powerful Vibe Always Shines
By Chris Carney
If you follow the theory that actions speak louder than words then Lenny Kravitz is a giant among men. He has achieved many of the hallmarks of success, including four consecutive Grammy Awards from 1998-2001 and the most coveted bit of resume bling around, a guest spot on The Simpsons.
His music, like his life, is a fusion of multiple styles, influences and interests. A self-confessed retro artist, Kravitz's music mixes elements of rock, funk, soul, psychedelia and folk in a style that is truly his own.
Kravitz is a multiple instrument master, playing nearly all the guitar, bass, drums, keyboards and percussion on his albums. He's written for Madonna, produced for Cree Summer and Vanessa Paradis and sat shotgun alongside Mick Jagger, Steven Tyler and Stevie Wonder.
But it is onstage where his power, energy and charisma really shine. His live shows feel exactly like the crazy hair-twirling raucousness of his videos, complete with ear-shredding guitar licks, deeply guttural vocals and blazing lights sure to cause spots for days.
Published in LasVegas Magazine 1-13-08 |
Friday, June 27, 2008
Americn Idol Live: Not Pitchy At All
Contestants are all winners in celebratory tour
Not content with dominating the digital domain within your television, the marketing gurus behind the juggernaut Fox hit American Idol are sending their young ingénues on a massive summer tour. Featuring all of the top 10 finalists, including winner David Cook and runner-up David Archuleta, this year's tour takes the postseason road trip to even higher levels.
This year's tour, American Idols Live! 2008, features a whopping 53 shows in just over three months and will continue some of the innovations integrated into this past season, including instrumental performances by some of the contestants. Like previous tours, the 2008 version will feature many of the songs that helped the final 10 secure their place in Idol lore, along with new combinations and new songs. Without the tense environment of competition, the Idols will be free to enjoy themselves, and the camaraderie it engenders will shine through.
Who will shine? Who will go on to further fame and fortune? Who will go on to careers beyond American Idol? All these questions will be answered this summer.
No word yet on whether Simon Cowell and his cronies will hog the best seats and continue their harsh, energetic commentaries.
Originally Published in Las Vegas Magazine 06-29-08
Friday, May 9, 2008
Death and Taxes
Death and Taxation: $20 from Death on Tax Day!
By Chris Carney
“In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” – Benjamin Franklin.
I hate taxes. Get your hands off my money, I scream as I drive my car on the tax funded road, past the tax funded school to my tax funded courthouse; where I’m paying a tax (parking ticket), to my tax funded judge (yes Your Honor) ‘cuz my tax funded meter maid decided I parked too close to my tax funded fire hydrant.
Aaagghh! Taxes; who needs ‘em? I say it’s high time to go back to anarchy, self reliance and the caveman-ocity of the elder days. (I betcha’ Fred never got taxed on those massive brontosaurus ribs)
So I come out of my tax funded courthouse to my paid off car (yippee), where I find another tax bill (parking ticket #2) ‘cuz the meter only lets you pay (tax) up to two hours, and my court case (tax) took nearly three.
And you’re thinking; stop complaining you fascist (reactionary liberal), communist (reactionary conservative), libertarian(commie), socialist(fascist), cuz you cannot figure out where I stand on the multicolored train (built by taxes) of the taxation spectrum. Well as April 15th is fast approaching I’ll tell you what I need my money for.
I need to feed the kids (brats), pay the rent (sleeping tax) and download online porn (find it for free loser). I need to pay the sitter (LMS sufferer), put gas in my car (where are those renewable energy sources?) and purchase the neon motorcycle that makes my unit bigger (false advertising) and brain smaller (wheel squeal here I come). I need to pay for the kid’s braces (stop eating paint chips), the mutt’s castration (sorry buddy) and the old lady’s hairdo ($150 +$9.15 in tax and $25 tip (please tip your servers)).
So you see my dilemma. I want my money. As do you I’m sure. Yet, I’m a reasonable man (sometimes) and I realize that in a modern society we need taxes. Without taxes we’d be back in the aforementioned caveman days. No electricity (unless you’re the Spider Man villain Electro), shopping malls (mallrat’s home away from home) or internet (thank you Al Gore). Gone are the comforts of internal plumbing (hurray outhouses), air conditioning (my balls are sweating) and modern medicine (here’s your leaches Mr. Carney).
So we’re back at taxes (still with me?). All I ask is that we collect them, audit them and spend them in a reasonable and fair way.
I’m against taxing the poor to make the rich richer (we do), taxing the rich to make the poor poorer (we do) and taxing the middle class to make them more middlish (again, we do).
I’m against letting the people who spend my taxes audit themselves. No more special interest groups (kickbacks), regional power grabs (pork barrel fun) or illegal contributions (buying our elections).
I’m against the current climate of cronyism (Halliburton), cronyism (I nominate my nanny to the Supreme Court) and cronyism (my boss’s dimwit lovechild getting my promotion)
So what we got here folks is a classic Catch 22 (best American novel of the 2nd half of the 20th century) Without taxes our society cannot exist, but with taxes we cannot spend our money on what we need (food, lawn furniture and hair care products).
What are we to do? Rebel (you’ll die), cry (people will laugh at you) or rob a bank (you’ll spend many a year in a “pound you in the ass prison”). Run for office (one way trip to corruption), write your senator (get a nice form letter complete with stamped signature) or drop off the money grid and start bartering (I’ll give you two bits of manna for some of your curds and whey).
Sorry folks we’re stuck. You’re stuck, I’m stuck, and the creepy guy at the tollbooth (salary paid by taxes) is stuck (in a little booth).
So I grit my teeth and pay my taxes, wishing I could use the imaginary children my bi-polar ex claimed we had as dependents. I’m sure you’re in the same boat (give her Lithium) and I feel for us all.
So on this day, tax day, April 15th, I write a check, seal the envelope with tears of loss and frustration and look to my wallet where a lone $20 bill rests. That’s all I have for the day. Food, gas and more food; you name it $20 is all I got.
So where to start? See reader, I do plan on stopping my rant (maybe) and supply a modicum of useful information (a list of what I did today; where’s my Pulitzer?).
I wander the Winter Park Farmer’s Market. Easily one of the best spent lazy Saturday mornings in Orlando. I stop by the Lemonade Stand, and guzzle two cups of fresh squeezed, absolutely delicious lemonade (complete with enough sugar to spaz out an elephant) at $1.75 a pop. Then I’m on to “The Ultimate Bagel.” How great can they really be? Ultimate is a pretty strong word (coming soon the new, the improved, Ultimate Carney). But they taste great, and I shell out another $3.00. I wander through the people, the dogs and the stalls of exotic teas, plants and pastas. I’m guessing most of these people, with their designer clothes, designer cars and designer dogs, have also written large checks today. If so, they can afford it, cuz none of them seem to be scrimping.
Soon it’s lunch and I find myself at one of my favorite places, Cubans To Go on Lee Rd. one of the best little hidden joints anywhere in the metro. Good food cheap. But be patient. As the sign says they aren’t a fast food joint. Classic Cuban Combo, with black beans and rice $5.85 (including tax). Add a root beer for $.79 and I’m golden, relaxing on the patio to the sweet sounds of Lee Rd. Traffic.
So my tab so far is $13.14, and I’m driving on empty, the red light blazing into my eyes like a mocking scarlet letter. You’re poor. I’m an economic pariah, unloved by the overlords of cash (I need a new job), the sprites of change (already cashed it in at the change-omatic machine at the grocery store) or the captains of credit (they hate me).
I spend 22 seconds pumping $3.00 in gasoline, and not for the first or last time contemplate adapting my car to run on used cooking oil. So what if other drivers suddenly crave McDonald’s fries, fall victim to massive breakouts or have terrifying flashbacks to mall food court jobs. I’m poor damnit.
So I’ve got less than 4 bucks to eat dinner, or I could buy a pounder of Olde English to drunk away my hunger. What little bit of self respect I’ve got left denies me this option and I settle for a Lotto ticket and a couple of pizza dog taco roll thingamajiggers from the gas station. I cringe and scarf them down, surprised to find they’re not all that bad.
Later, I crawl into bed, thankful that this dark day has passed, wondering if I’ll wake up a millionaire and be able to afford a whole bunch more of those suspect tubular food items. They have upwards of twelve different varieties. At that rate I can go six more years of tax day. Till then, I’ll dream of millions and subsist on foodstuffs my dog turns down.
Originally Published in IO Magazine
By Chris Carney
“In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” – Benjamin Franklin.
I hate taxes. Get your hands off my money, I scream as I drive my car on the tax funded road, past the tax funded school to my tax funded courthouse; where I’m paying a tax (parking ticket), to my tax funded judge (yes Your Honor) ‘cuz my tax funded meter maid decided I parked too close to my tax funded fire hydrant.
Aaagghh! Taxes; who needs ‘em? I say it’s high time to go back to anarchy, self reliance and the caveman-ocity of the elder days. (I betcha’ Fred never got taxed on those massive brontosaurus ribs)
So I come out of my tax funded courthouse to my paid off car (yippee), where I find another tax bill (parking ticket #2) ‘cuz the meter only lets you pay (tax) up to two hours, and my court case (tax) took nearly three.
And you’re thinking; stop complaining you fascist (reactionary liberal), communist (reactionary conservative), libertarian(commie), socialist(fascist), cuz you cannot figure out where I stand on the multicolored train (built by taxes) of the taxation spectrum. Well as April 15th is fast approaching I’ll tell you what I need my money for.
I need to feed the kids (brats), pay the rent (sleeping tax) and download online porn (find it for free loser). I need to pay the sitter (LMS sufferer), put gas in my car (where are those renewable energy sources?) and purchase the neon motorcycle that makes my unit bigger (false advertising) and brain smaller (wheel squeal here I come). I need to pay for the kid’s braces (stop eating paint chips), the mutt’s castration (sorry buddy) and the old lady’s hairdo ($150 +$9.15 in tax and $25 tip (please tip your servers)).
So you see my dilemma. I want my money. As do you I’m sure. Yet, I’m a reasonable man (sometimes) and I realize that in a modern society we need taxes. Without taxes we’d be back in the aforementioned caveman days. No electricity (unless you’re the Spider Man villain Electro), shopping malls (mallrat’s home away from home) or internet (thank you Al Gore). Gone are the comforts of internal plumbing (hurray outhouses), air conditioning (my balls are sweating) and modern medicine (here’s your leaches Mr. Carney).
So we’re back at taxes (still with me?). All I ask is that we collect them, audit them and spend them in a reasonable and fair way.
I’m against taxing the poor to make the rich richer (we do), taxing the rich to make the poor poorer (we do) and taxing the middle class to make them more middlish (again, we do).
I’m against letting the people who spend my taxes audit themselves. No more special interest groups (kickbacks), regional power grabs (pork barrel fun) or illegal contributions (buying our elections).
I’m against the current climate of cronyism (Halliburton), cronyism (I nominate my nanny to the Supreme Court) and cronyism (my boss’s dimwit lovechild getting my promotion)
So what we got here folks is a classic Catch 22 (best American novel of the 2nd half of the 20th century) Without taxes our society cannot exist, but with taxes we cannot spend our money on what we need (food, lawn furniture and hair care products).
What are we to do? Rebel (you’ll die), cry (people will laugh at you) or rob a bank (you’ll spend many a year in a “pound you in the ass prison”). Run for office (one way trip to corruption), write your senator (get a nice form letter complete with stamped signature) or drop off the money grid and start bartering (I’ll give you two bits of manna for some of your curds and whey).
Sorry folks we’re stuck. You’re stuck, I’m stuck, and the creepy guy at the tollbooth (salary paid by taxes) is stuck (in a little booth).
So I grit my teeth and pay my taxes, wishing I could use the imaginary children my bi-polar ex claimed we had as dependents. I’m sure you’re in the same boat (give her Lithium) and I feel for us all.
So on this day, tax day, April 15th, I write a check, seal the envelope with tears of loss and frustration and look to my wallet where a lone $20 bill rests. That’s all I have for the day. Food, gas and more food; you name it $20 is all I got.
So where to start? See reader, I do plan on stopping my rant (maybe) and supply a modicum of useful information (a list of what I did today; where’s my Pulitzer?).
I wander the Winter Park Farmer’s Market. Easily one of the best spent lazy Saturday mornings in Orlando. I stop by the Lemonade Stand, and guzzle two cups of fresh squeezed, absolutely delicious lemonade (complete with enough sugar to spaz out an elephant) at $1.75 a pop. Then I’m on to “The Ultimate Bagel.” How great can they really be? Ultimate is a pretty strong word (coming soon the new, the improved, Ultimate Carney). But they taste great, and I shell out another $3.00. I wander through the people, the dogs and the stalls of exotic teas, plants and pastas. I’m guessing most of these people, with their designer clothes, designer cars and designer dogs, have also written large checks today. If so, they can afford it, cuz none of them seem to be scrimping.
Soon it’s lunch and I find myself at one of my favorite places, Cubans To Go on Lee Rd. one of the best little hidden joints anywhere in the metro. Good food cheap. But be patient. As the sign says they aren’t a fast food joint. Classic Cuban Combo, with black beans and rice $5.85 (including tax). Add a root beer for $.79 and I’m golden, relaxing on the patio to the sweet sounds of Lee Rd. Traffic.
So my tab so far is $13.14, and I’m driving on empty, the red light blazing into my eyes like a mocking scarlet letter. You’re poor. I’m an economic pariah, unloved by the overlords of cash (I need a new job), the sprites of change (already cashed it in at the change-omatic machine at the grocery store) or the captains of credit (they hate me).
I spend 22 seconds pumping $3.00 in gasoline, and not for the first or last time contemplate adapting my car to run on used cooking oil. So what if other drivers suddenly crave McDonald’s fries, fall victim to massive breakouts or have terrifying flashbacks to mall food court jobs. I’m poor damnit.
So I’ve got less than 4 bucks to eat dinner, or I could buy a pounder of Olde English to drunk away my hunger. What little bit of self respect I’ve got left denies me this option and I settle for a Lotto ticket and a couple of pizza dog taco roll thingamajiggers from the gas station. I cringe and scarf them down, surprised to find they’re not all that bad.
Later, I crawl into bed, thankful that this dark day has passed, wondering if I’ll wake up a millionaire and be able to afford a whole bunch more of those suspect tubular food items. They have upwards of twelve different varieties. At that rate I can go six more years of tax day. Till then, I’ll dream of millions and subsist on foodstuffs my dog turns down.
Originally Published in IO Magazine
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