Archives for category: boo!

Oh, CCM — what can we do with you?

When I received a recent catalogue from a local Christian bookstore, I was so frustrated when I saw this album cover from CCM vets Third Day for their new album, Revelations (seriously, you can ask my wife):

While I’ve had plenty of issues with their music in the past (it physically hurt me to hear them medley With or Without You with Your Love, Oh Lord — which, incidentally, I like as a worship song) I don’t doubt their sincerity. However, the cover of Revelations treads a bit too close to Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief album cover:

Sigh.

It’s one thing to accuse CCM of being derivative musically, but even the album art?

Apparently, I’m not the only one who noticed. Chief CCM grousers Patrol Mag vent their spleen on this very topic here and a few other bloggers notice this unfortunate phenomenon as well.

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To be fair, though, it seems like maybe Dinosaur Jr. stole their cover concept for their reunion album from an old school CCM band. See for yourself below:

… just doesn’t have quite the same ring as “shake it like a Polaroid picture,” does it?

Polaroid — whose name is indelibly linked with instant photographs — has left the film business. In addition to foiling the clever word-play of that Outkast single, this move has disappointed scores of enthusiasts nationwide. Perhaps it’s just nostalgia, but there’s something about the tactile, analogue feel of Polaroid snapshots. These photos, with their iconic built-in frame, were instantly recognizable, and evoke something you just can’t get from a 2.5 inch LCD screen.

This past week, we had begun to despair after searching Targets throughout America’s finest city to no avail in hopes of replacing our long-gone Polaroid camera. However, we managed to grab one of the last two cameras remaining at a local Walmart. The test photos we snapped of our daughter have that lovely old school feel they’re supposed to have.

While there are plenty of tutorials on how to make a Polaroid-type shot using Photoshop, it will never be quite the same as the real thing.

Last week, one of the announcers for the Golf Channel stated on air that younger players, in order to combat his dominance over the sport, should take Tiger Woods into a back alley and lynch him.

Apparently, the announcer has apologized publicly on air and privately in a conversation with Woods and Woods’ agent calls the whole matter a “non-issue.”

After last year’s commotion over Dom Imus (who, incidentally, is back on the air in New York) and his derogatory racial & gender attack on the women’s basketball team of Rutgers, one might imagine on air personalities being a bit more careful in their choice of words.

This Golf Channel announcer may not be a racist (though I have my doubts about that — this particular kind of language doesn’t fall out of the sky) but she has made herself and the Golf Channel look like an amateur production. It is, after all, part of the job description for on air personalities to be able to think on their feet and find words that are not loaded with the historical weight of racial oppression, violence and death.

For example, the announcer could have said: Those young guys need to give Tiger the ol’ smackdown or The only way they’ll stop Tiger is if he is abducted by aliens. Or, she could have skipped the whole “no, really, I am funny” routine and simply said that, in order for these players to achieve Tiger’s level of dominance, they need to put in a whole lot more practice.

Today, our car battery died. More specifically, it died on three separate occasions — all within the course of an hour. The first time it went down for the count was, fortunately (or so I thought), at a gas station. We had just filled up our tank and were preparing to leave when the car wouldn’t start. It was the middle of the afternoon and there were plenty of people around so, even though we didn’t have jumper cables, I thought we’d be recharged and ready to leave in no time. Apparently, I was wrong.

First, I approached the employees and asked if they had jumper cables. They informed me that they did not, which seemed strange to me, but I figured there were plenty of other people there so it wouldn’t be a problem. After being told by three or four people that, sorry, they didn’t have cables I ran across the way to the drug store to pick up a set of cables. Now that we have our own cables, I thought, things would be much easier. Wrong again.

I ran back and started asking people for help: Sorry to bother you, but we’re stranded here at the gas station. Our car is right over there and I have these cables in my hand. Could you give us a jump? About four or five people said no (and a couple of others got into their cars and left as quickly as they could when they saw me walking around the gas station) when I approached a man in a Mercedes. When I asked for help, instead of replying with a simple “no” he scoffed and said, “Not with this car.” It’s not just that the effort of popping the hood and turning the key to start the engine is just too much to ask; it’s the very thought of contaminating his luxury import with my unworthy family sedan. I don’t even have my Junky Car Club sticker on my car — I guess he just has extrasensory perception about these kinds of things.

Eventually, one of the employees came out and gave me a jump.  We drove off, dumbfounded.  I can be pretty cynical, but that man’s hardcore condescension took me off guard.  However, my faith in our fellow human beings was restored by the next person who helped us.  I’ve had car batteries die before and, usually, after getting jumped and being driven for awhile things work out alright.  However, after running a few errands (and leaving the car running, with someone inside, of course) the car decided to call it a day once again in a parking lot while it was still running.  That, I’ve never experienced.

Dreading a repeat of the gas station incident, I went straight to the employees.  I was pleasantly surprised when one employee, Elizabeth, offered to help right away.  Because of the way the parking spaces were configured, our jumper cables would not reach her car.  I began pushing the car out and Elizabeth started helping me push as well.  She then explained to another customer who was angry that the car was blocking her way that our car battery had died and we needed a jump, and could she pull out of the parking in lot in the other direction?  Once the cars were properly positioned, jumping it was a breeze.  We thanked Elizabeth sincerely (I’m definitely writing a letter to her manager to let them know how helpful she was to us) and were on our way.

What a mess we all are.  Even when we have good intentions, sometimes just having a bad day throws everything out the window.  I think, in some providential way, God knew that I needed to both the beauty and depravity residing in all of us, and to remind me to help others in need — even if it inconveniences me a bit.

Although it’s not always very “current,” I have updated my Currently Enjoying page. And, in the interest of balance, I will also share what I am currently not enjoying as well…

We love our Wii! Every game we have played — from the OG Wii Sports to Cooking Mama — has been fun and inventive. That is why, when I saw the cover of Ninjabread Man at Blockbuster, I had to rent it. The Gingerbread Man reimagined as a sword-wielding ninja? Brilliant! Said ninja attacking monster cupcakes and reducing them to jam? Almost perfect! So, eagerly, I brought the game home.

I suppose it had to happen sometime, but this was my first Wii letdown — and it was a doozy. Perhaps my anticipation drove my expectation past reasonable levels, but this game is just plain awful. The controls are utterly unresponsive. Instead of the gory jamfest I was hoping to incite, I found myself instead leisurely strolling into one cupcake attack after another. The poor Ninjabread Man cannot seem to stop himself, so I regularly fell off of each obstacle on which I was supposed to land (in order to get any further). The old school graphics, instead of being charming (like so many of the other Wii games), were choppy and grotesque. In fact, some of the old school NES games we downloaded on the Virtual Console were more aesthetically pleasing — even the blocky, pixelated world of the original Zelda.

Don’t judge the Ninjabread Man by his cover. He can promise the world, but the proof is in the pudding (or lack thereof).