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

Americn Idol Live: Not Pitchy At All

Contestants are all winners in celebratory tour

By Chris Carney

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

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

The Black Keys

The Black Keys – Magic Potion
By Chris Carney


Having long been a man who considers himself comfortable with his sexuality I have no problems declaring, loud and proud, for all the world to hear, that I have a huge Man Crush on the Black Keys.

It is a warm assembly of related feelings; pride of discovery, feral excitement from deep within my nethers and maybe a wee bit of jealousy. Then there is the shared surname. Patrick Carney is a beast on the drums, dredging up memories of Keith Moon’s raucous skin beatings, but I find myself pining for a familial connection that does not exist in the real world. Add in the precision guttural howls of Dan Auerbach’s vocals and guitars and you’ll be left doubting that they truly are just two dudes from Akron. Surely so much music cannot come from two guys.

See them live and you’ll realize there is no subterfuge at work. Carney smacks his drums in a near perfect real world imitation of Animal from the Muppets while Auerbach’s guitar centered cavorting causes arm hair chills that spike adrenaline and emotion.

So it was with an embarrassing sense of childlike glee that I tore open their latest album Magic Potion and popped it into the office stereomatic discotron player. Now some may fear their joining up with Warner based Nonesuch records as the inevitable band sellout. Fear not, the edge, the distortion and the near constant danger of redlining your equipment is still there. That is not to say that Magic Potion is not an evolution. Dreading the pigeon hole effect, The Black Keys mix a bit more rock into the melodic blues of previous albums. The lead track “Just Got to Be” beats off the forehead, while “Just a Little Heat” has Auerbach dredging up his inner Muddy Waters with lines like “Why can’t trouble find a new friend?”

All in all, the big label leap seems to have done the boys from Akron well. Magic Potion is simultaneously crisp and fuzzy, hard and melodic and is a well spent $10.

Published in IO Magazine September 2006

Tony Danza

Along Came Tony
By Chris Carney

Tony Danza? Wasn’t he that guy from “Who’s the Boss?” Yes he was, but on August 13th when he takes over the role of Max Bialystock, Las Vegas will learn that he has always been much more. A one time professional boxer, talk show host and Emmy nominated actor, Tony is that rarity in modern America, the all around good guy. “Everybody loves Tony,” Mel Brooks once said.

His combination of charm, charisma and warmth even defines his approach to Max. ”I play him a little more likable. I think of him as a rogue charmer.” He knows that he is up to no good, but he just can’t help himself.” Tony feels like Max. Not to suggest that Tony has fallen prey to Max’s less that savory ways, but you know, if he wanted to, he too could swindle elderly widows. He’s just that charming.

He even handles the inevitable comparisons to the Tony (pun probably intended) Award winning portrayal of Max by Nathan Lane with a sly nod. “First off I’m thinner, but what I’m really trying to do Mel Brooks. Max is Mel’s alter ego.”

But Tony has dealt with all of this before. Max is not new to him. For over 100 shows Tony portrayed Max on Broadway, along with Vegas co-stars Lee Roy Reams, Bill Nolte and Madeline Doherty. “I’m so excited, I’ve got the Broadway cast here,” Tony said with a sense of real joy. Despite all the glitz, neon and the heat he must feel a little like he’s come home.

“I’ve never tried to live here. It should be interesting. I’m living in a hotel, which is a first.” There is little doubt that Vegas will find him as interesting and expect him to make The Producer’s one of the hottest tickets on the strip.

In many a way Tony Danza has moved beyond being just an actor, or a talk show host or an all around good guy. Thanks to Phoebe of Friend’s, rendition of the song “Tiny Dancer,” Tony has reached an iconic cult status. So much so that many cannot hear Elton John classic without singing “Hold me close now Tony Danza.”

So now, when you think of Tony Danza, think song and dance man, think iconic cult figure and think I’d like to hang out with that guy. For several months at Paris casino you can do just that.

Published in Las Vegas Magazine 8-26-07

History of the Cup

History of the Cup
By Chris Carney

It is often said that the discovery of fire, the invention of the wheel and the mass marketing of Viagra are among humankind’s crowning achievements. And where these accomplishments have most certainly altered the course of human history (Do you think FDR or Ike would have discussed Erectile Dysfunction on the campaign trail?), they are not the only invention of historical significance.

We must rank another, overlooked, dare I say common, household item on the pearly white pedestal of man’s finest creations. One without whom, we would likely die of dehydration, be forced to rename some of our most hallowed sporting events, have no accurate way of measuring the size of a woman’s breasts or leave the most sensitive, and dangly, bits of the male anatomy at the mercy of any malevolent opponent or stray ball.

I am of course talking about the cup. A simple device on the surface, the origin of the cup, the slim to none chance of its invention/discovery and the effects on the course of history is a story that should be read loud and proud in our most hallowed of learning institutions.

Recently, archaeologists have uncovered the startling history of the cup. And for the first time, in a world exclusive, IO Magazine brings you that story.

Sometime towards the end of the last Ice Age (9800 BC or so) two domicile deprived people of the Earth (cavemen) wandered, cold, hungry and most of all thirstily through the cold wastes of the world. They were Lar and his buddy Atouk (played brilliantly in the 1981 film Caveman by Dennis Quaid and Ringo Starr). Lar and Atouk were thirsty and came across a lovely, lovely stream. They licked their lips and dreamt of the cool water, but became angry upon discovering that they have no way of getting the water from stream to mouth (lacking proper bathroom facilities and antibacterial soap their hands were filthy and therefore unusable).

They wandered and in their thirst induced haze came across a most unusual object. It turned out to be a coconut, most likely carried from the tropics by two African Swallows. While arguing over this talisman of mighty magic, the coconut fell hit a jagged rock and split, revealing two cup like halves. Desperate they used their new tool to re-hydrate themselves, saving their tribe and the entire human race.

Millennia later, at the height of the Roman Empire. It is the 18th of July AD 64 and Emperor Nero as he was want to do, is drunk as a skunk. He is sipping a moonshine like substance his legions have imported from Scotland, from a jewel-encrusted goblet of great beauty. The Great Man has learned a new trick and spits moonshine through a torch and breathing fire like a dragon. Unfortunately the flames engulfed his magnificent curtains. Thus began the Great Fire of Rome, which ended with most of the city devastated. Nearly 2000 years later bartenders get applause, tips and offers of sexual congress for performing the same routine. Way to go Nero!

The cup next shows up whilst King Arthur and his Knights scour Europe for the mystical Holy Grail. These adventures are most accurately retold in the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), especially the bits about the killer rabbit, the Knights who say Ni and the Castle of Virgins. To these brave knights the cup represented all. Life affirming magic, the grace of God and much, much running away, were all tied into one small, seemingly insignificant cup (seen only in hand drawn, stop motion, holographic form).

In the same part of the world, nearly 1,000 years later a game called Tennis was invented. Mighty warriors would do battle on a field of green, swatting circular missiles at each other with rackets made of catgut. All this hubbub was for a great reward that would one-day lead to the hallowed Davis Cup.

Not satisfied with this simple method of warfare the cup also had a hand in the noble game of golf, wherein men, and later women, would smack a ball around with a long stick, all in the hopes of sinking it in a little cup. The reward for excellence in this activity range from million dollar purses, to odd colored jackets, to endorsement deals with Buick. Is it coincidence that goal of this game is the same function provided by another variety of cup?

The jock strap, athletic supporter and cup are all essential bits of equipment for every teenage boy. Fully part of an ancient, often humiliating, coming of age ritual the use of a cup to protect the newly descended, male reproductive organs has had a long reaching affect on the human race. Imagine the NFL without the Manning brothers. Had Archie not been a devotee of the athletic cup, we may never have been graced with his son’s greatness.

Not satisfied with ensuring the reproductive survival of the human race, the cup also allows men to rate, average and measure the quality of a potential mate. Sure we could look at intelligence, honesty, purity, kindness and various other aspects of the wonderful package that is woman, but men are pigs and it’s often, and usually initially, about the boobs. Without the cup size we could not accurately gauge this shallow, yet seemingly all important, anatomical measurement, and thousands of plastic surgeons around the world would be forced to practice actual medicine.

And finally we return to the original reason for the invention of the cup, drinking. And we must marvel, again, at the slim to none chance of Lar and Atouk’s “invention.” As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, we should hold our pints of Guinness (ban that green beer crap) aloft, praise our ancestors and pour a bit of our frothy, tasty beverage onto the ground as a homage to the debt we owe our ancient brethren.

Published in I.O. Magazine March 2006

Bill Maher

Keeping it Real
By Chris Carney

This guy became famous, or more likely infamous, after getting fired from his ABC show Politically Incorrect for being, umm, politically incorrect.

We could debate the political ramifications of his firing. You may believe that he is Un-American and deserved to be fired, or that by expressing his opinion, regardless of how controversial or edgy it was, he defined what it means to be American.

Don’t feel too bad though, as Maher managed to parlay his wit, intelligence and humor into a gig hosting Real Time with Bill Maher on HBO, a venue much better suited to his fiery opinions and off the cuff sense of humor than stilted network TV.

You may love him or hate him, but one truth rings true, he won’t bore you. In a world where most media outlets “tell” you what to think, inducing divisiveness and distrust, Maher forces you think. He doesn’t ask you to agree with him, just to have an educated opinion.

With Real Time on hiatus, Maher has taken to the road to spread his political satire to the masses. You may nod your head in agreement or shake your fist in disgust, but one thing is sure, you’ll laugh and learn.

Published in Las Vegas Magazine 9-30-07

Kings of Leon

Preaching to the Choir
By Chris Carney

It seems increasingly frequent that Europe falls in love with American bands before we even know they exist. Kings of Leon, the three brothers Followill and a cousin to boot, define this enigma. Their latest album, “Because of the Times,” debuted at #1 on the UK music charts, their live performances earned them a second billing at the perennial juggernaut Glastonbury Festival in 2004 and they’ve sold out an end of the year, all arena tour in the UK.

Don’t fret quite yet though. For once being Johnny-come-lately may just be a boon. Unlike our friends across the pond, we get to enjoy Kings of Leon in small, intimate venues like The Joint at the Hard Rock. Ask any frequent concert goer and they’ll tell you smaller is definitely better.

The puzzle grows ever deeper as the depths of these Nashville twang-rockers are plumbed. While most kids were learning their ABC’s, the family Followill, went nomadic, touring the Bible Belt in a purple ’88 Oldsmobile alongside Pentecostal preacher father Leon.

Anachronism not only defines their nature it defines their music. Kings of Leon are full on musical missionaries. Catch their lyrical ministry now and you can say you knew them when the message was still young.

Published in Las Vegas Magazine 9-9-07

Vent May 2006

VENT May 2006
By Chris Carney
(Writing as John Coctosnossin)

I am a historian by education and a food service engineer by trade. Both roles have taught me much about human nature. I’ve found much to praise, much to decry and to no surprise, to anybody who knows me, much to be annoyed by.

Crouched at the top of this list, ably playing the role of scavenging vulture of the human spirit, are those incapable of original thought. I’m talking about the yes man, the fashion slave, the religious fanatic, the corporate radio apologist, the political party zealot and any other of our fellow upright apes that let others tell them what to think without question, thought or debate.

Debate is essential to democracy. This is why the founding fathers wrote our constitution the way they did. They understood that in a truly free society the ability to think and speak ones mind is essential.

So when I hear demagogues and professional yellers like Chris Matthews and Bill O’Reilly, spouting their canned, packaged and artificially sweetened versions of patriotism I become enraged. To them, it seems, patriotism is blindly following those in power, while waving the flag without knowledge of what it means. Sadly patriotism is not that easy. If it were we’d still be living in the imaginary greatness of the mythic 50’s. Sadly true patriotism is hard and it requires knowledge, commitment and above all, original thought.

We live in the greatest country in the world. Conservatives know this. Liberals know this. Republicans, Democrats and Independents of all stripes know this. So I call for a truce. Let Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coultier stop endorsing the genocide of liberals. Let Al Franken and Michael Moore stop calling conservatives stupid liars.

And to all of us little people out there, the historians, the food service engineers and all the rest, start thinking for yourself. Turn of Fox News and read the independent press. Turn off the national radio jabber kings and listen to your local talk shows. Put down the New York Times and read the foreign press. Find other sources of information, read and listen and watch all you can and then make up your own mind.

Trust me if we do this you’ll learn a lot, and it will be much harder for those in charge who want to keep us all ignorant, bored and afraid, to steal our country from us all.

Published in I.O. Magazine May 2006

Vent April 2006

VENT April 2006
By Chris Carney
(Writing as John Coctosnossin)

Recently I’ve fallen victim to aspersion, falsity and misrepresentation. I’ve been on the steel toed boot end of the great cheat, been bamboozled by the greenback trickster and the made the mark of the banknote flimflam.

All this could enrage me, cause my eyes to bulge in crimson fury or force me to enact long dormant plans for redress. Yet, sadly I find myself in restraint mode, and all due to a little thing called karma.

Now I’m not Buddhist, or Hindu or a devotee of Jainism or even a Sikh, but I do have a vague belief in karma. Similar to my belief that aliens once visited our wondrous blue world, that the pyramids are older than the “authorities” claim and that our moon is really hollow, my belief in karma is based on the idea that it is cool and I’d like it to be true. Add in a little bit of healthy fear of the unknown, as in I won’t throw my hands up in anger at any god, cuz they just might smite me, and we got a whole load of superstitious restraint going on.

That being said I’d rather believe in the “My Name is Earl” version of karma, where I make a list, make up for my past sins and happy day, things are all better. I wonder if my recent karmic oppressors are of the same bent.

I doubt it, and as much as I wish in the evil part of my being that they fall victim to a much deserved redress, I take solace in the notion that I am trying, both to remain positive and hope for a reversal of their current actions.

But, I’ve learned that we live in a western culture, where many people don’t believe in karma. All I can hope is that they learn how to be good people, despite their lack of karmic insight.

As such I am a home schooled devotee of karma. I may not get what it is truly about, but I am an expert on what I want it to be.

Published in I.O. Magazine April 2006

Vent March 2006

VENT March 2006
By Chris Carney
(Writing as John Coctosnossin)

My constant observation of people, places and things have made me aware that we’ve become a country of self absorbed, shallow wannabes. Whether it’s the plague of reality TV (Dancing with the Stars is a hit for God’s sake) or the explosion of plastic surgery disasters (just watch Nip/Tuck for the terrifying, if unlikely possibilities); America is a collective victim of the Look at Me Syndrome.

Celebrities, and their professional stalkers (paparazzi) aside; the Look at Me Syndrome, commonly known as LMS, has overrun the mainstream of our once modest society. And to date there is no cure.

Common symptoms of LMS include, but are not limited to, unnecessarily loud cars that buzz, crackle and boom; fake boobs that defy the forces of gravity and reality; monster trucks that mask physical inadequacies; huge bug eye sunglasses that eat ones face; shirts so tight that ribs, nipples and beer guts are all free for the ogling; shorts and sweatpants that advertise (often falsely) the properties of ones ass (52” of Juicy, shiver); tattoos inked under the influence of alcohol and cliché (please no more cat paw breast tattoos or tribal band blandness) and t-shirts that make impossible demands (Stop Staring! plastered across a pair of a newly purchased Double Ds).

LMS is a serious ailment that can lead to family strife, ruined credit and barely remembered hookups. Those afflicted are like addicts, constantly in search of their next fix.

It is also highly likely that someone close to you is a victim of LMS. So what are you, as a loving, caring, or just plain disgusted, friend, lover, sister, brother, mother, father or random bystander to do? A well delivered slap to the bloated ego of the LMS victim is always a good start, but it must go much, much further than that. We must discourage the ailment by praising real accomplishments and exhibitions of actual talent (and no, having nice hair is not a talent).

It seems we’ve lost our ability to be noticed, praised and respected for actual skills, aptitude and inventiveness. As a society we have reduced our expectations to the lowest absurd denominator. We must tackle LMS head on, or the world as we know it will soon come to an unpleasant, but probably ravishingly attractive end.

As the sage Derek Zoolander once said, “There has got to be more to life than just being, really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking.” Till we discover what that is, this gorgeous hunk of a wordsmith will be staring at himself in the mirror, primping his hair and dreaming of his manhood enhancing monster truck.

Published in I.O. Magazine January 2006

Vent February 2006

VENT February 2006
By Chris Carney
(Writing as John Coctosnossin)

By far the most challenging day of this shortest month of the year is Valentine’s Day. Whereas Presidents’ Day, a weird amalgamation of Lincoln’s 12th and Washington’s 22nd, has but one proviso… “Buy a new car at Johnny Hairpiece’s mega, ultra, low price car monstrosity. No money down, 10 year/one trillion mile warranty. Buy now and get a free I-Pod.” … Valentine’s Day is much, much more serious.

It’s what I like to call an obligation holiday, from obligation meaning do it or risk waking to find your jumbly bits in a vice and holiday meaning a fun vacation like experience. So you see the problem here. In my book, these two things cannot peacefully co-exist. Therefore I call for a ban, boycott, embargo, injunction, interdiction, limitation, prohibition, proscription, restriction, stoppage and suppression of this holiday.

This is in no manner an attack on love and all its future litigations. Love is great and I want it when I don’t have it. And I whine, complain, spike drinks with dubious love potions and empower various types of voodoo dolls when it is withheld from me.

Yet, if one looks at the history behind Valentine’s Day we begin to understand that automatically correlating February 14th with love is like equating Courtney Love with sanity. (Ooh, fancy play on words) The confusing and convoluted history of this day involves everything from Roman priests, torture and imprisonment, illegal marriages and women being slapped with bloody bits of goat hide. (Hey baby, can I slap ya with my goat hide?)

I therefore propose that we remove Valentine’s Day from the calendar and scrub our collective memory of this day, perhaps using some sorta fancy nano-technology. However I am far from a brave soul, and I am terrified that the powers that be (chocolate and greeting card companies, rose peddlers and those scary diamond folks) will send the industries chief assassin, Cupid, to shoot his arrows into my tender backside. (There’s some sort of euphemism going on here.)

It’s high time that we replace Valentine’s Day (VD as I like to call it) with an altogether new holiday. Therefore I have created HAPPY FUN DAY!!! The world’s first non-denominational, non-cultural holiday. It’s for everyone, be thee black, white or Inuit, Muslim, Christian or Jew, American, foreign or alien (the outer space kind) you can do something fun to make yourselves happy. And we can still buy all the same crap we do for VD. (One Billion cards among other things) So sheath your poison arrows Cupid and go have fun and be happy.

Published in I.O. Magazine February 2006

Vent January 2006

VENT January 2006
By Chris Carney
(Writing as John Coctosnossin)





January 2006
Another New Year’s Eve has come and gone. Left behind is the one night a year when everyone is compelled to imbibe copious amounts of beverages. Gone are the inhibitions, ethics and morality that guides us the rest of the year.

For one night we are allowed, no expected, to throw away centuries of civilized behavior. We devolve into primal man in the hope that when we wake we’ll have to re-introduce ourselves to the naked body sharing the bed, grab our underwear of the ceiling fan and use our GPS to find out where the hell we are. And hopefully we’ll have the day off to recover.

New Year’s Eve. Hedonism’s holiday. Was it fun? I hope so, cuz now comes THE NEW YEARS RESOLUTION.

Oh Crap! There’s so many things that TV says is wrong with me. I’m fat, drooping and wrinkled. I need to read more better, earn my degree online and become a devotee of a celebrity endorsed pseudo-religion. My girl wants my hair to grow back and my manhood to work better. Oh the pressure!

A week later I’ve given up . And why? Cuz all that crap is tough. I’m American. I like things to be easy, pain free and quick. Oh if someone could just invent a pill, a system or some kind of apparatus that would cure all my ills.

(Snappy Advertising Jingle) INTRODUCING … The Hollywood Instant Fixotron System. In just 14 pain free days you too can have six pack abs, regrow hair, cure impotence, increase your sex drive, burn fat, scour your intestinal track and freshen your breath. Comes in two flavors: fresh mint and halibut. Endorsed by doctors you’ve never heard of and manufactured by a company that will soon be indicted. So act quick and you too can be one of the beautiful people.

This has been a paid advertisement for The Hollywood Instant Fixotron System. Patent Rejected. Claims Disproved. 2006.

Published in I.O. Magazine January 2006
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Morrissey

Papal Visit
By Chris Carney

A consistent chart topper in the UK and one of the legendary grandfathers of alternative rock, Morrissey is one of those artists who seem incapable of avoiding controversy.

Morrissey has been many things; ardent vegetarian, longtime celibate asexual, political lightning rod, and, according to the judge presiding over a royalties lawsuit by ex Smiths drummer Mike Joyce, "devious, truculent and unreliable."

But one thing remains as true today as it did in 1982 when the The Smiths debuted; Morrissey is a phenomenon, as much cultural as musical. Adoration and anger follow him wherever he treads. You either love him or hate him.

His dark, swimming lyrics are direct responses to the world he lives in, whether political, cultural or dietary. At once depressing and uplifting, serious yet silly they tell the tale of a man who is very hard to understand.

That may be the very reason he’s remained popular through three decades. He speaks openly of the contradictions that live in us all. Through his sometimes odd behavior we see that it is all right to be a little quirky, to hold things dear when others are apathetic and to persevere when others give up.


Published in Las Vegas Magazine 9-16-07

Christian Scott

A Note of Success.
By Chris Carney

Jazz is one of life’s great experiences. It can be spiritual, bring one to tears and cause the uncontrollable tapping of toes. If it’s really good jazz it does all this and more. Like all great experiences jazz should be experienced live. Whether it’s the static skip of an old Louis Armstrong record, the whirring spin of a Wynton Marsalis disc or the digital thunder of the latest Christian Scott MP3, recordings just don’t do the music justice. You gotta see jazz live.

One of the best places in Vegas to do just that is the Chrome Showroom at Santa Fe Station. On Sept. 29th one of the great new stars, Christian Scott, will take the stage bathed in the blue light that seems to define the genre.

At 22, the Berklee College of Music educated and New Orleans native, is already a blue note force. He’s toured extensively since he was 16 and has recently released his first album Anthem.

Scott may be young, but he’s already proven to one of jazz’s most exciting young innovators. "I set out to find my own style to convey how I feel in my heart.” Scott said. Lucky for us he lets us come along on the ride.


Published in Las Vegas Magazine 9- 23-07