25 Horrible Bands Named after Places: Music from Hell and Elsewhere

Much like hypertension or obesity are predictors for cardiovascular disease, geography is a measure for determining whether a band's music will make you want to cover your ears.

Before you start penning a terse letter to your city councilor, we're not referring specifically to where a band might be from, but one whose name is geographic in origin.

Now, there is no question, there are a handful of talented place-derived bands in genres other than rock/pop. These include punk bands UK Subs, New York Dolls and MC5, soul bands like the Sugarhill Gang and the Ohio Players, not to mention traditional acts like the Blind Boys of Alabama or the Clinch Mountain Boys. However, with few exceptions, the vast majority of rock/pop bands at least, whose names reference a particular place are overwhelmingly and unspeakably awful.

There are several reasons for this. First, if you're feeling less than creative when coming up with a band name, say, Julius & the Epileptic Caesars is already taken, the first thing that may spring to mind after a failed bid by the drummer to name the band after himself (The Tommy Hitzenberger Three), is a particular land mass or continent---especially if you were excited about tectonic plates in high school geography class.


Second, some bands are filled with a great sense of civic pride. The Doors, for example, whose version of Alabama Song received kudos in our Top 10 'Bar' Songs of All Time would famously be introduced: 'From Los Angeles, California, the Doors'. If an announcer isn't available, or for some reason your band doesn't believe in loosening up a potentially hostile crowd with whimsical banter, naming yourselves after a particular city works as this removes any doubt as to where you're from for future 'why don't you go back to __________ ?' heckling.

And thirdly, there are several bands, who for whatever reason, likely because they're fond of anything and everything ironic [see the book/site, Stuff White People Like: The Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions and for Sharkguy Chris's review of said book in this past weekend's Globe and Mail click here] go out of their way to name themselves after somewhere they're NOT from. Perhaps you'll find them on our next list, that is, if they have enough staying power and a big enough fan base to extend beyond Brooklyn or Chapel Hill.

Here, alphabetically then, is an in no way definitive list, (as awful acts sporting geographic monikers are sprouting up literally everywhere as we write this), of 25 of the most notable, and quite horrendous bands with geographic names.

1. Alabama: Not coincidentally, as far as your ears are concerned, this band hails from Fort Payne and brought us Christian Rock-like crossover hits like Dixieland Delight, proving that a taste for piss-poor country translates to a lousy taste in MOR pop.

2. All Saints: after All Saints Road, London. Pure Brit blasphemy

3. America: Their songs have elevated people, but unfortunately only in the context of entering, and pressing your floor. America's big hit 'Horse with No Name' is often mis-attributed to Neil Young--a guy who'd never pen anything like this. I mean, what good is a horse going to do in the desert? That's what camels are for.

4. Asia: A wretched prog-rock outfit whose keyboards were so large they'd likely need to be hauled off by Hercules jets.

5. Backstreet Boys, after Back Street Market, a shopping area in Orlando, Florida. If you name your band after a shopping area, what more can be said, other than your tunes will provide musical accompaniment to mall teen loitering. As far as their Youtube videos are concerned, embedding has been disabled by request, and not by us either. A big thank you to whoever that was.

6. Bay City Rollers: According to legend, the Scottish 'Rollers' threw a dart at a map of the continental US and landed upon Bay City, Michigan. At least they really did put Bay City on the map.

7. Boston : Thankfully, a band that only puts out an album every decade. Right now, a radio station somewhere, is spinning More Than a Feeling and there's not a damn thing we can do about it, though we've mulled over every legal option.

8. Bush, after Shepherd's Bush, a district of London. The best thing this moribund outfit did, was attach itself by marriage to a successful one, Gwen Stafani/No Doubt

9. Chicago, after the city of Chicago (originally Chicago Transit Authority). Touted for their musicianship, horn section, as well as their consummate blandness, Chicago is one of the longest running and most successful U.S. pop/rock and roll groups of all time, something more difficult to grasp conceptually, than String Theory.

10. Chilliwack, after the town of Chilliwack in British Columbia, Canada. Their song 'My Girl', is not even among the top ten best songs called 'My Girl'. They've been 'gone gone gone so long' and hopefully there aren't any signs of an imminent return.

11. Danzig is the German name for the Polish city of Gdańsk, though the band got its name by way of Glenn Danzig. Either way, drift your eyes left, and you'll get a pretty good indication of what you're dealing with.

12. Europe was a living, breathing and sucking embodiment of the phrase 'all sizzle, no steak', and the sizzle in question here was hardly enough to start even a modest grease fire, however striking a match anywhere near any of the band members' noggins might have.

13. Hedley, after the town of Hedley, British Columbia, Canada. Hedley is one of the countless acts featuring songs under 3 minutes, lots of screaming, Major Key power chords, a bunch of skinny guys, spiky hair, tattoos, wallets on chains, and other signifiers of North American suburbia.

14. Kansas: Kansas is known for two epics, Carry on My Wayward Son and Dust in the Wind, that are no doubt being cranked to oblivion in an El Camino right now, somewhere between northern Maine and southern California, with air guitar accompaniment.

15. Linkin Park, after a park (now known as Christine Reed Park) in Santa Monica, California (spelling was changed from Lincoln to Linkin because the domain name lincolnpark.com was unavailable). One of the many 90s bands who merged hip hop and metal, a musical marriage more doomed than the nuptials of Liza Minnelli and that overtly gay guy whose name escapes us.

16. London Beat. When we listen to this, we can't help but think they deserve a good beat-ing. Actually, this could be its own category, as just about every band with London in its title is awful. Due to space restrictions, they're not listed here.

17. The Manhattan Transfer, after John Dos Passos's novel Manhattan Transfer, which is in turn named after the Manhattan Transfer train station in New York City, and this is all you need to know about them, trust us. Disclaimer: some really really bad dancing here

18. Marcy Playground, after the playground of Marcy Open School in Minneapolis. The band achieved success ten years ago with Sex & Candy, middling 90s Nirvana-lite, sans shotgun blast.

19. Mannheim Steamroller, Mannheim Germany. We almost hate to do this to you good people, who were kind enough to stop by and enjoy our list, but here it is. The Steamroller doing a rock instrumental version of 'Joy to the World'. One of us has been to Mannheim, a lovely city, and it pains us to see the musical atrocities committed in its name.

20. Miami Sound Machine. This band helped launch Gloria Estefan, but not in a good way, like out the window of a sufficiently tall building.

21. Nazareth, after the city of Nazareth. Famous for a vocalist, who, like Axl Rose of Guns 'n' Roses sounds like Edith from All in the Family, they were known for this ballad, which is uglier than twinned cow arses, Love Hurts. Listening to this, it's clear something hurts, though it isn't love. They're also known for choice lyrics:
Love is like a flame, It burns you when its hot

The above prompts the question, when is a flame not hot? Is there some aspect of fire we're missing here?

22. O-Town, after a common nickname for Orlando, Florida. Not to be confused with, the Big-O, an experience quite opposite to what you'd feel after having to endure any of this craptacular act's hits.

23. Rascal Flatts, after a geological formation in Oklahoma. Rascal Flatts is an embodiment of what country music, unfortunately, has become: your nouveau riche uncle who's moved out to the burbs and bought a speedboat that he likes to show off and needs musical accompaniment. Rascal Flatts are about as far removed from real country, as The Olive Garden is from a trattoria in Palermo.

24. Styx. Nitpickers might point out that this is a mythological place, but this doesn't take away from the fact that if there is a Day of Reckoning, these guys will have a lot to answer for, musically speaking. [see below]

25. The Village People, Greenwich Village, NYC. One good thing that can be said about them, is that unlike everyone else on this list, they never took themselves too seriously.

Shark-Bite DVD Review: American Gangster -- a drive-by on common sense

There’s a scene not too far into “American Gangster” in which the eponymous gangster, Mr. Frank Lucas, played by Denzel Washington, is in Bangkok and outlining his plans to his contact here on how he wants to revolutionize the drug trade in New York. He wants to cut out the middleman and buy directly from the source – in this case, the Kuomintang operating out of the Golden Triangle (Thailand, even then, was known for its OEM work). This, his wide-eyed contact explains, would be impossible. Why getting the heroin at its source would require going into the deepest darkest jungles of Northern Thailand!

Sitting with a bottle of Singha in hand, amid the din of Bangkok street life (well the modern day filmed-in-Chiang-Mai representation), Lucas is not to be deterred and delivers one of the movie’s best lines: “I’m in the jungle. Look around. They’re eating roaches and whatever the hell that is.”

As fun as this scene and another brief one set in the Vietnam “R and R”-era or, more accurately by all accounts, the “I” and “I” (intoxication and intercourse)-era of New Phetchaburi Road are, especially for Bangkok viewers, the Southeast Asia drug connection, the logic of it, when considered, sets in a seed of doubt that only grows throughout the rest of this overlong, three-hour film.

It’s later revealed that Lucas arranged his drug shipments by having the contraband inserted into the body bags and caskets of US soldiers killed in the Vietnam War. Forget about the organizational complexity of pulling off something like that and the utter corruption it would require at every level of the process used to repatriate soldiers’ corpses, but isn’t there something just a bit too poetic about this deadly scourge (the strength of Lucas’s heroin was such that many users overdosed on it) entering the country via the hated Vietnam War? With grainy clips of Nixon and soldiers in Vietnam littered throughout the film, there seems to be a muddled political message in there somewhere and this method of drug delivery reinforces that with hammer-over-the-head subtlety.

As the Bangkok Post’s Alan Dawson wrote in a recent critique of the film, there is no proof whatsoever that the alleged “cadaver connection” ever existed. “A few people ‘remember’ it happened,” Dawson writes, “but a few equally credible people also remember they were terribly abused by aliens who abducted them to a neighboring galaxy.”

In actual fact, it was a serviceman named Ike Atkinson who pioneered the Southeast Asia-US drug circuit – Lucas was merely a fortunate buyer who profited heavily from the connection. Dawson sums up his critique by saying that “…right down to the ludicrous scene where Washington drives from the airport to New Petchaburi Road in a pedaled samlor, ‘American Gangster’ is very much fact-free.” (If, by some chance, Lucas did get a pedaled samlor from Don Meuang to Petchaburi Road, one hopes he tipped accordingly).

There’s no obligation for filmmakers to stick with historical facts when retelling a story, but these little flights of fancy begin to unravel the internal logic of the movie, and by the time the closing credits tell us that Lucas’s testimony helped put away three-quarters of New York Drug Enforcement Agents for corruption, we’re left smacking our heads in disbelief. With the possible exception of traffic police in the land of smiles, has there ever been a group of cops more prone to having their palms greased than that? Of course, this fact too appears to be have been made up.

There’s also something deeply unbelievable about Denzel Washington’s version of Frank Lucas. At one point he is in his neighborhood diner – it’s his usual hangout, as he is a folksy, down home sort of New York City gangster – and lecturing a country relative he’s brought in to help him in the drug trade on the importance of family, honesty and hard work. Is he an honest joe selling quality men’s footwear or a vicious gangster pushing heroin that is killing junkies all around town?

The real Frank Lucas, as seen in press for the film, is a course-sounding guy from South Carolina, who pipes up mainly whenever an opportunity arises to inflate his own reputation. (The film likely worked gangbusters in that regard as in real life Lucas’s testimony did put away several drug dealers and one could assume that snitches don’t get much street cred). He bears no resemblance to the refined and noble version of him played by Washington. The performance that Washington gives bears many similarities to the one he gave in the equally bad – and for many of the same reasons – Norman Jewison film “The Hurricane.”

Filmmaker Ridley Scott puts the audience in an uncomfortable position by framing this one too in terms of race, even having Washington invoke the name of Martin Luther King at one point. He outsmarts the Italians, and goes where no black man has gone before in the history of the drug trade. Are we to cheer on Lucas for his successes in hustling heroin, as if we were watching the Jackie Robinson story?

There are certainly enough gangster-movie clichés in this film to give Coppala and Scorsese a run for their money, including the cursory involvement of a long-suffering wife drawn in by the glitz and glamour of her husband’s riches, but left weeping as their castle in the sky falls to shit. How dull and overdone – at least Carmela Soprano had a movie club and some hobbies.

There is another major portion of this movie that features Russell Crowe, giving a far better performance than that offered by Washington, in the role of Detective Ritchie Roberts, the man who would ultimately bring Frank Lucas down. He is an unapologetically straight cop, but without the noble bearing and pretence of the Washington character. When he’s in divorce court for a hearing on custody rights for his kid, for example, he leans over to his female attorney and suggests that they make good use out of an upstairs interrogation room he knows about.

But those welcome bits of character and Crowe’s performance are not enough to save “American Gangster” from its portrayal of Lucas and the damage done by the cock-eyed story it tells. This is the kind of movie that must have looked great on paper. With its two Oscar-winning stars and director and an album released concurrently by Jay-Z to hype it even further, its backers must have surely seen themselves uncorking the bubbly at this year’s Academy Awards. But with two nominations, and minor ones at that, the “American Gangster” table won’t be that festive. It fell apart in the details – from the samlor ride into Bangkok on.

Noel, Bangkok

Happy 4th of July! The Shark Guys' Top 10 Shopping Guide for the Patriot Who Has Everything

We are both Canadian, as those who are close to us and those who update our driver's licenses every 10 years know (these two groups are, for now, mutually exclusive... but we're working on buttering up a few of the people who give the eyesight test).

However, we have enjoyed numerous benders throughout the United States, most memorably in New Orleans, Nashville and New York City (Doc Holliday's currently has a plaque by our barstools which we visit on occasion to spit shine), California, and a fair number of ports of call in between. The vast majority of the stories in our book, "The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery" took place in the USA and, while that might not be something that McCain or Obama would mention in patriotic speeches while campaigning, it is something that we greatly appreciate.

As such, we'd like to extend our wishes for a happy fourth of July to our American friends, and, going that one step further, we'd also like to offer a gift of sorts on this auspicious day, a Shark Guys look at The Top 10 Fourth of July party gear. It may be too late for this merch to brighten up this Fourth of July, but as with Christmas lights on the house in June, it's never too early to get ready for an upcoming holiday even if it's months off. So here it is...

The Shark Guys guide to Fourth of July Party Gear!

1) Stars and Stripes Guitar-Shaped Belt-Buckle and Bottle Opener: This product, which can be yours for the low-low price of $15.99, is quite possibly the greatest patriotic item in the history of mankind. Are we exaggerating? Short answer: No. This is for the patriotic citizen who is looking to spend his Independence Day kicking ass and chewing bubblegum, but who suddenly finds himself lacking completely in bubble gum. Not only is this item rock n' roll by its very shape -- tell us you don't think of Jimi Hendrix's version of the Star Spangled Banner when you clock your eyes on to that -- but it's also an extremely versatile product. First it will help hold up your pants, and if you're going to be cutting loose on the dance floor this Independence Day, that's a mighty important thing. Two, you can open your beers on it. What's more, you can make friends, and possibly win a future wife, by letting others open their beers on your belt. Of course, any bar where belt-buckles like this are the norm might be the kind of place where a broken nose and a fist-fight are part of the floor show. That is where it's third use comes in: as a weapon. What better way to celebrate your country's birthday then by leaving the impression of Ole' Glory on some idiot's forehead?

2) American Flag-themed rolling papers: While marijuana is still illegal under US federal law, several states have decriminalized in it. In California, you can get a medical permit to access enough of the stuff to make Snoop Dogg want to throw up from the smell. Celebrate the great freedoms in the US that only promise to get greater as the decriminalization of pot continues by sparking up an Independence Day joint that is the size of Shaq's middle finger using these appropriately-themed rolling papers.

3) Budweiser American Eagle Beer-tap Handle: Frank Zappa once said "You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline. It helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer."

America's beer (for now, until the takeover deal with Belgian mega-brewer Inbev goes through), and a surprisingly popular choice in Ireland where there is better beer (like Beamish) on offer, is Budweiser. We cannot trash talk this brew too too much as we have our own similarly shite beers in Canada, thank you Messers Molson and Labatt. This ornamental beer tap however can be put on any sort of brew and you can put a piece of masking tape over the Budweiser name. Drinking draft beer is about the most pleasantly patriotic thing we can think of doing, and what better way to do that then by tapping the symbol of American freedom, and the motif for many a bad tattoo, the bald eagle.

4) Story of the American Revolution Beer Stein: You've sat through hours of history class in school and made a concerted effort to forget what you were learning the moment it hit your ears. You watched the HBO John Adams miniseries and enjoyed it, but couldn't reconcile one of your founding fathers being played by that guy from Sideways who slurped wine out of a McDonald's super-sized cup. So how do you keep up with a conversation on patriotism and the American tradition on this auspicious day? By guzzling beer from one of these handsomely decorated beer steins. Running along the sides of the beer steins are four of the most important battles of the revolutionary war -- the Battle of Bunker Hill, the Battle of Princeton, the Battles of Saratoga and the Siege of Yorktown. Remembering these four names and remarking, "Ah, it really gets to you when you think of the fine men who fought at [insert name of battle depending on position of stein at the time of utterance]." If you're drinking with fellow patriots, and you are drinking in public (the latter unlikely unless you are the kind of guy who brings his own stein to the bar, in which case we salute you) someone may even buy you a round.

5) US Military Pool Cue Set: Americans may not have invented the game of billiards, but they have certainly produced some of its finest champions, invariably dubbed 'Fats' and they most definitely have made the best movies on the sport -- we're talking "The Hustler", not its inferior sequel which Martin Scorsese made to pay off creditors. The cues can be purchased separately and there is one each for the Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, and the U.S. Flag. This is the ideal way to support the troops on Independence Day, acknowledge the sacrifices made by past generations so that you could enjoy your present freedoms, and win 10 bucks by hustling some rube who thinks you can't play worth a damn.

6) Stars and Stripes Nunchucks: If you party the way you should be partying on Independence Day, chances are the neighbors are going to get upset. Raising a ruckus and getting all the neighborhood dogs howling in unison is what freedom is all about. The perfect gift for the Independence Day partier who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, these slick-looking nun chucks will most certainly club the nearest beat cop investigating a disturbance into quick submission. They have "don't tread on me" written all over them. It is recommended when rapping someone across the knees with these babies that you say something along the lines of "And that, came from the good ole' U, S, of A".


7) Old Glory Surgical Cap: While in revolutionary times, it's unlikely to have been donned while lopping off a gangrenous limb, you can perform impromptu living room gallbladder removals or, if you're actually a saw bones, atrial septal defect repair in the more sanitary confines of a surgical suite, while winking at the surgical nurses who'd no doubt delight in your youthful exuberance.



8) Stars & Stripes Guitar Pick Earrings. Have you ever been at a party where you're asked to rock out on someone's axe, and you demur with a 'uh, I don't have a pick?' (or even a Mexican peso, famously played by Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top) Well, now you don't have to empty out lint-riddled pockets with your very own, guitar pick earrings. Also works well with Hendrix, playing-guitar-behind-your-head impressions [for a quick tutorial, check out this portly fellow]



9) Red, White and Blue Cat Collar: Make Fluffy easier to find if she makes a mad dash for freedom.





10) A Hat That Will Give you a Standing Ovation: This item speaks for itself, as does the pained expression on the model's face, who looks like she's being asked to 'pull my finger' rather than the string that makes the hands clap.

HAPPY FOURTH AMERICA!

Literary Agents: Get Reputable Author Representation and Avoid Getting Scammed

Instead of the drunken shenanigans we usually chronicle, we thought we'd offer up a change of pace this morning. Since our book, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery came out, we've dealt with various people asking us about the process of landing an agent. Hence, we thought we'd offer a few insights and share them here.

Finding the right literary agent can be a challenge. Here are several online and print resources to make the hunt less daunting.

Googling 'New York' and 'literary agent', surprisingly, is a good first step because within the Big Apple’s city limits beats the heart of book publishing.

However, even though the majority ply their trade in the Five Boroughs there are good ones everywhere. More important than geography, is that a prospective agent is part of a professional body.

The Association of Authors' Representatives

The Association of Authors' Representatives (AAR) not only insists its members abide by a canon of professional ethics (for example, not charging fees as agents earn a living from a percentage of an author's advance and royalties), but has a strict admittance criterion based on how often agents are able to sell author works to publishers within a given period of time. An author would not be well served by an agent who last sold rights to a book years ago.

AAR and similar groups also have comprehensive listings of agent members, who often have websites where a writer can submit their queries online, great in this electronic age so that one doesn’t have to agonize over self-addressed stamped envelopes and being at the whim of the postal service.

These agent sites detail what material they’re specifically looking for. The business is fiercely competitive, with some agents getting hundreds (!) of queries a month. If a writer specializes in historical non-fiction, they should only query agents open to that, rather than thinking their stuff is so brilliant that it would even entice someone who deals in crime.

If an agent website is found through Google, make sure the agency is a member of AAR or its equivalent across the pond, the Association of Authors' Agents (UK). Unfortunately, there is no comparable Canadian agent oversight body that we know of, perhaps due to the industry’s relatively small size.

If an agent is NOT a member of one of the aforementioned associations, it's due to the following:

1. They charge fees, or are engaged in other unscrupulous and unethical behavior

2. They are too new to have accumulated sufficient rights sales to be considered for accreditation.

3. They are mavericks or ‘lone wolves’ who often declare that they don't need to be part of any association.

Of these, only Number 2 should be worthy of a prospective writer’s attention. It's not uncommon for an agent to work in a big, successful house, and feel the need to branch out and start up their own agency, and have yet to amass any rights sales. Check for credentials and background. At MINIMUM, they should at least adhere to the codes and conduct set out by the AAR and should ideally be in the process of seeking admittance to it. Check out recent rights sales. If none are listed, that should be a red flag.

The Guide to Literary Agents

In addition to online agent sources, the annually updated book The Guide to Literary Agents, is a useful source, however the contact info is occasionally out of date by the time it’s been printed.

Writer Beware

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) operates a site called ‘Writer Beware’, (previously the slyly named, ‘Preditors & Editors). This is a great resource which lists complaints that have been raised about agent conduct. There are no guarantees and on occasion, complaints will even be levied against those who hold AAR membership. As the title implies, there are lots of shady people out there, looking to get 'reading fees' or miscellaneous ‘upfront or administrative fees’ out of often desperate writers. Some lawyers even fancy themselves book agents, as they know how to read and decipher contracts, but do not engage in proper conduct befitting a literary agent.

Be careful, and best of luck.

Top 10 Actors Whose Crappy Movies are Guaranteed to be Shown on a Plane!

As a captive audience for PS I Love You, and not the kind of captive audience that could at least interrupt the proceedings by shanking the warden, it seems there are certain actors whose films are more likely to be shown on commercial flights than others.

Unlike a typical movie theater audience, for whom dozing off would be a common, though unintended outcome for many of these movies, in-flight screenings are to 300 plus worn out travelers, who'd rather be sleeping before the rolling of either the opening credits or the drinks cart.

Like trains before them, the first commercial flights were long ago associated with all the glamor and prestige of a champagne and orange juice breakfast rather than today when they're more commonly linked to microwavable butter chicken/unidentifiable protein plastic tray repasts.

These days, unless you're in first class, where cherries dipped in Belgian chocolate are dangled into eager mouths, you're more likely to encounter nose-hair singeing B.O. re-circulated throughout the cabin, howling infants who due to FAA restrictions unfortunately cannot be stowed in overhead compartments and limits on how many rum & Cokes can be downed before a stern reprimand and a dip into that duty free gin that sits in your carry on.

The in-flight movie is meant to be a two-hour diversion from such unpleasantness, not to mention the strain of patella bones jammed into eye sockets with the impromptu reclining of the seat in front, whose occupant then goes on to remove their socks, an apt sensory accompaniment to the on-screen 'entertainment'.

The problem is, these bottom-feeding MOR vehicles don't dare offend anyone, so what the weary traveler is left with, are some of the films listed here.

In PS I Love You, shown on a recent Amsterdam to Toronto flight and mercifully, not the reverse as well, or else the integrity of the cabin door would've been tested for a quick exit into space, either Jennifer Garner or Hilary Swank portray a woman haunted by posthumous letters left by her husband.
[Editor's note: it's very likely Swank and Garner are the same person, though confirmatory calls to her/their agent have gone unreturned]

These dispatches, carefully prepared by the hubbie while he knew he'd be dispatched to that great, big, airplane hangar in the sky, were designed ostensibly to help her 'get on with her life'. This, despite what is obvious to everyone else on screen, the cockpit crew, your seat-mate who is drooling like a bull mastiff and anyone who's stowed luggage under their seats--- that it is in fact doing the exact opposite, and is undeniably creepy.

Here is a list of the top actors in Hollywood who are most likely to make you wish you'd remembered to pack a sleep mask, or decided against that Tampa time-share.

Perennial 30-something slacker, Matthew McConaughey has a film resume peppered with in-flight staples (Fool's Gold, Failure to Launch, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Sahara), films so lengthy and wretched, you'd wish Air France would re-commission the Concorde to make that transatlantic trip in 3 hours, long enough to ensure that once meals are served, complimentary peanuts doled out, and supersonic gas fumes inhaled, there wouldn't be time left to take in any of his rotten oeuvre.




Sandra Bullock. On a trip to Milan, Italy several years back, I was initiated into a select fraternity: not the Freemasons, which would've meant bypassing the lineups in the country's finest museums and voting in their election, but along with several hundred or so of my fellow passengers, we were forced to sit through Miss Congeniality, not once, but twice. In this ostensible comedy, which guffaw for guffaw, easily matched that of the Asian tsunami disaster, Bullock plays an FBI agent who, to thwart a bombing, must go undercover in a beauty pageant despite being old enough to have given birth to all the contestants. Her latest work, 'All About Steve' is currently in post-production, and judging by the title alone, you'll be treated to it on that trip to Heathrow or Charles de Gaulle sometime next year.

Kirsten Dunst. Though still quite young, the fanged blonde has a lengthy career in commercial aviation-related entertainment ahead of her, having shown great potential in Bring it On, Drop Dead Gorgeous, and of course, Spider Man I and II.

Owen Wilson earned his wings in several charter-ready flicks, including the extraordinarily unwatchable Drillbit Taylor, The Darjeeling Limited, You, Me and Dupree, Starsky & Hutch, Night at the Museum.



Ryan Reynolds has a crappy in-flight movie resume longer than the runway for the new Airbus A380, with Definitely Maybe, The In-Laws, Chaos Theory and Just Friends. Apropos of nothing, he was once engaged to the ironically talented Alanis (Why the long face?) Morissette.


Kate Hudson. Since giving a decent accounting of herself in the Cameron Crowe period piece Almost Famous, the offspring of Goldie Hawn and somebody almost famous named Hudson, has rung up a string of flicks that have been shown while cruising at 30,000 feet. These include How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Alex & Emma, Le Divorce, Raising Helen, You, Me and Dupree and Fool's Gold. Her place in this list will be solidified well into 2010 with the filming of Bride Wars and My Best Friend's Girl (currently in post production), flicks that passengers will comfortably doze through shortly, barring any kind of heavy turbulence or hijacking threats.


Dermot Mulroney. With Griffin & Phoenix, The Family Stone, Must Love Dogs and the Wedding Date under his belt, Mulroney is a shoe-in for the world of fixed wing propulsive thrust cinema.






Robin Williams. Unlike leg-warmers and hairspray, the hirsute Williams' coke-fueled 'humor' has not seen a resurgence in popularity from the 80s. The guy responsible for not only writing the book on family-friendly, barely serviceable comedy, but penning the foreword and editing it as well, RW has added to the dreariness of modern flight with RV, Man of the Year, Night at the Museum, License to Wed, Patch Adams, Goodwill Hunting, Mrs Doubtfire, Toys, Hook, Awakenings, and Dead Poets Society.



Julia Roberts Roberts is the queen of feel-good fare that should have an FAA restriction on it, Notting Hill, My Best Friend's Wedding, Runaway Bride, America's Sweethearts, Full Frontal (in which she isn't) Closer, and Mona Lisa Smile, though it's more of a smirk.

Hugh Grant. The undisputed king, the Sovereign of the Skies and the only member of this list, whose each and every film could upset stomachs between in-flight meals.

Beer as Fuel, and not just for your drunk Uncle Lou's awkward advances

In a previous blog, we drove home the true threat posed by global warming. Several polar bears may have been set off on that great ice-floe journey from which there is no return since that posting; however, the danger that we were pointing out looms large much closer to home – as close as your basement fridge – the possibility of a global beer crisis due to a lack of barley.

The warming of the planet, combined with a supply-side crisis, has also resulted in a short supply of hops in the US. Microbreweries, faced with less available hops, a key ingredient in their product, have taken to jacking up their prices, and, unless there is a change in the situation, we may be forced to either pay through the nose or agree with those who taunt us for drinking microbrews and settle for whatever is cheap and available because, after all, beer is beer.

This is the kind of news that is best met drunk. A recent TV news report suggested that beer is recession proof, and we would tend to agree. A few years ago you may have been toasting your good fortune, wondering why in the world someone would give a walking debt machine and astronomically high credit risk like yourself a mortgage. Now, with fortunes having reversed, and gas so expensive that you’re bargaining with the neighbor’s kid for his used 10-speed, you can tilt that same bottle to keep your mind off the dark state of your financial affairs.

Beer, however, is useful for more than just pouring down your throat in an effort to escape from the crippling grim reality of the diminished financial and natural resources of you and your country, although it is quite good for that. Beer is working for a better tomorrow.

The 2008 Democratic Convention will be sponsored by Molson Coors Brewing Company. The company’s Coor’s Light, which can most charitably be described as “quite quaffable”, will be on sale at convention events. Despite both he and Hilary Clinton attempting to appeal to the lumpen by palming the odd pint on TV – which we covered here – Barack Obama tied with “none of the above” on a survey asking Americans who among the presidential candidates would make a good drinking partner. To be fair, the best drinking partners we know are able to do things like put cigarettes out on their tongues and so forth, and they would not make good holders of public office.

Perhaps sensing that it would not find a future presidential candidate that was as beer-drinker friendly as Bush, Coors chose a different and innovative tack – rather than merely fueling the drunken antics of young Democrats in functions near the event itself, it will also be fueling the convention’s fleet of flex-fuel vehicles. As the “official ethanol sponsor” Coors will donate fuel made mostly out of beer waste – E85 fuel, 85 percent ethanol (beer in this case) and 15 per cent gasoline). When we speak of beer waste here, we’re not talking about spillage as a result of a shaken beer, or what results when you knock one over your keyboard while typing out a blog. The waste beer being turned into ethanol by Coors comes from beer that had been lost during packaging, or rejected for quality reasons.

Rarely, have the words of Homer J. Simpson been more appropriate: “Here's to alcohol, the cause of—and solution to—all life's problems.”

Hillary Clinton Takes Shots, Not at Rival Obama but of Whiskey

Based on the dismal two-term bargain basement presidency of George W, we can make this blanket statement: tipplers make better presidents than teetotalers as anyone up to this point, including notorious booze-hound Dick Nixon, has been a better president.

Dubya, who was a lot more fun back when his nose was more full of the white stuff than a face-planting Picabo Street or when he indulged in the occasional brew, hasn't enjoyed a drop in nearly a decade (he was photographed at a 2007 summit in Germany, swilling a piss-poor non alcoholic 'near beer', a nearly punishable offense in that country, not to mention a product brewed by mediocre foreign rival Heineken that luckily didn't result in an international incident)

The current crop of Oval Office aspirants, though, are no strangers to the odd bevvie, and currently reaching out to voters, by reaching for the occasional pint.

Automaton former first lady Hillary has been urged to 'loosen up a bit' and is taking this to heart as she compounded her populist rhetoric recently by pounding back a few on the campaign trail at a Fort Wayne, Indiana watering hole. [Editor's note: forced banter with someone sporting a 'DAD' sweatshirt and prominent under-bite, in a state more backward than the Hebrew alphabet is best undertaken with a few dollops of liquid courage]

According to a local wine-and-spirits representative with no vested interest whatsoever, "I think she'd loosen up better" [if she had a few]

In terms of jump starting the economy and decreasing income inequality, her campaign platform would be well served to include the following bit of wobbly, booze-friendly research (correlation not implying causation here, unless the profs are springing for the tab). According to a study out of San Jose State U, where you can major in advanced beachcombing, "drinkers earn 10 to 14 percent more than those who refrain from drinking", with females representing the higher end of the spectrum.

Also, and this will provide a built-in pretext for browbeaten hubbies to have a few hours' respite from the missus--men who go to a bar at least once a month earn an additional 7 percent on top of the 10 percent drinking premium. Of course, we'd expect diminishing returns if this figure were to include more than ____(insert double digit figure deemed appropriate here)

Here's rival Obama gingerly sipping on a pint in PA, perhaps aiming to close the gap between beer drinkers and wine drinkers, the former predominantly GOP voters according to the latest CNN Lou Dobbs book-ending filler poll.