Where's the bathroom...?!?

I need it quick because after reading this, I'm getting ready to blow chunks all over the place.

Goulet checks out

That's not Robert Goulet, obviously. That's Will Ferrell as Goulet -- an impersonation that, if you haven't seen, you need to.

Goulet had a slightly cheesy factor, but that was the fun. He seemed to know it, and at times, loved to spoof himself.

The crooner died yesterday at the age 73.

Purple Pain

The following is a rough draft (typos and all) of my column for next week's Arkansas Weekly...

It shames me to admit this, but as a high school junior, I thought Purple Rain was a cinematic masterpiece.

Now, we all have skeletons in our closet when it comes to popular culture -- particularly when it involves movies and musical tastes. My best friend in junior high believed that Loverboy was going to change the world of rock and roll. At the same time in my life, I thought Hall & Oates were rock and roll trailblazers -- never mind the fact that the duo were the furthest thing from rock and roll since Pat Boone covered "Tutti Fruitti."

But Purple Rain, the overblown and incredibly dated musical odyssey through Minneapolis nightclubs featuring a diminutive, Jheri curled, eyeline- and high heeled boot-wearing hero named "The Kid" played by the diminutive, Jheri curled, eyeline- and high heeled boot-wearing dude named Prince, was, to me, the Citizen Kane of rock and roll movies. It had familial drama, sexy women, dynamic intrigue (if you call the rivalry between Morris "Jungle Love" Day and The Kid "dynamic" and/or full of "intrigue") and centering it all, the tortured musical genius, cryptically known only as "The Kid."

The story, for those of you fortunate enough to have missed Purple Rain, follows The Kid, raised by an overbearing father (who, as it happens, also used to be a tortured musical genius), fighting for musical respect and true love (with Apollonia, who somehow loves to perform with her girl-group clad only in tiny pieces of lingerie) in the supposedly rough and tumble world of Minneapolis music clubs.

It is, in fact, just a rehash of all the old Elvis Presley movies, only this time, instead of wearing tapered slacks and loafers, our hero wears fluffy lace and mascara.

Why my 16-year-old self fell for Purple Rain escapes me to this day. I came across it the other night on VH1 Classic, and I cringed all through it. It is a truly horrible movie. To begin with, the movie is filled with enormous space-age perms that only Marie Osmond can get away with wearing these days, all types of neon eye shadow, and acting that would make a Paris Hilton performance look like one delivered by Meryl Streep. Prince's acting simply consists of whipping his mullet perm around to face the camera and giving some type of ridiculous, supposedly emotional look to his acting partner. Happiness, anger, or melancholy -- it's all in the whip of the head and the look in those mascara-lined eyes.

Sean Penn: eat your heart out.

The climax of the movie features The Kid performing a composition by his father that he discovered after his dad attempts suicide. The name of that composition? You guessed it: "Purple Rain."

While our tiny hero performs the ballad -- and cements himself as a Minneapolis musical genius, all in the crowded club begin to slowly sway, hands in the air, to the anthem. It is, to be clear, a moment of pure cheese.

Yet, when I was 16 and in anguish over my first instance of puppy love gone awry, Purple Rain touched everything that was in my broken little heart. I mean, after all, I only wanted to see my long-gone sweetheart dancing with me in the purple rain -- whatever that was.

The fourth or fifth time I went to see Purple Rain, I took my two best friends to it. Hoping they could sense how this magical musical poem related to my heartbroken situation, I sat excited beside them in the crowded Little Rock theatre. And when the big musical climax finally arrived I slowly and emotionally turned to them in the hope of seeing tears in their eyes, and yet I only saw two guys standing in the theatre with big goofy grins on their face, sarcastically swaying along to "Purple Rain."

They were making fun of my emotional touchstone. How dare they!

"This is serious!" I half whispered, half screamed. "This is a serious part of the movie!"

They only kept swaying and kept laughing.

"You guys are jerks! This is Prince!"

Re-watching -- or, rather -- suffering through Purple Rain again the other night, I realized how far ahead my high school pals were in terms of maturity. I've always thought of myself as a late bloomer, but this solidified it. I was an idiot to ever take such nonsense seriously.

Now, the emotional significance of Footloose, however...that's another story.

New Ryan Adams in Stores Today; Rob Explodes with Excitement

Regular readers of this blog and my column in Arkansas Weekly know that I love, in a completely heterosexual way, the prolific singer/songwriter Ryan Adams.

Adams, with his fantastic band -- The Cardinals, drops a new seven song CD today. Entitled Follow the Lights, the EP features three new songs, some re-workings of existing songs, and a studio version of the band's Alice in Chains cover, "Down in the Hole."

Track listing:

01. "Follow the Lights"
02. "My Love for You is Real"
03. "Blue Hotel"
04. "Down in a Hole"
05. "This is It"
06. "If I Am a Stranger"
07. "Dear John"

Squashing the poodle

This is my column (slightly altered) for the next issue of Arkansas Weekly.

Ginger Johnson is the office manager here at W.R.D. Entertainment. Some of you might know her as “Office Lady Ginger” from her occasional guest stints on one of the radio stations.

Ginger has a new pet. It is a poodle. The poodle’s name is Sophie Elizabeth.

The poodle has a middle name. Cute.

Anyway, I’m quite sure I read in National Geographic or Time or Grit or some magazine that poodles are actually giant rats with perms. They are actually rodents with a fancy hairstyle. Scientists have also discovered a genetic link in male poodles to the DNA of Liberace. Seriously. (I know I read that in Grit.)

Ginger purchased Sophie a few weeks ago, and for some reason I have yet to fully figure out, she brings her to work in a little cage about the size of a toolbox. Apparently, Office Lady Ginger believes that Sophie will undergo some sort of major, life-changing, traumatic event if the puppy is left alone at the Johnson household.

Yet I believe if Sophie continues to be brought to the office, and if Ginger continues to let her out of the cage and walk around the halls, then there is the strong possibility that the poodle will not only suffer some horrible event, but will also become hallway road kill.

The thing is, literally, the size of a large rat. If someone is zipping around the corner and makes the wrong step, then it’s yelp/squish/crunch (in no particular order) and suddenly Sophie’s on the 3:10 to poodle heaven.

It’s better when Ginger carries Sophie around the office next to her chest. Yes, it does look as if our office manager is a Bond villain, walking around cradling the poodle like the bald baddie with the white cat in so many Sean Connery adventures. But, it’s still preferable to seeing something furry, black and red smashed flat on the W.R.D. Entertainment carpet.

* * *

Ginger has always believed her dogs can understand every word she says to them. So, today, when Sophie urinated all over Ginger’s desk and papers, we can assume that the poodle heard her master say, “Bad girl! Bad girl!” and understood this to mean it was bad for her to relieve herself on our monthly sales reports.

A few days ago Ginger was holding Sophie in my office, and I had to break the news to her that dogs, particularly a puppy who has only been on this planet for one month, do not understand English, or any other language.

“Oh, Sophie Elizabeth does,” said Ginger with a cheerful smile and giggle. “Don’t you Sophie?”

I shook my head.

“Something’s not right with you, Ginger,” I said.

“Oh no. Sophie understands. She’s smart! I can even say ‘Time to potty,’ and she’ll potty.”

And, I kid you not, at that moment, Sophie let loose all down Ginger’s blouse.

Then and there, I realized that Ginger must be a long lost descendant of the Dolittle clan.

* * *

If you couldn’t tell from the beginning of this column, I’m not fond of poodles. They are so pampered, and they strut around with their little bows and painted claws. They act as if they’re too good for the mutt or the Labrador or the simple old birddog. Poodles are the Paris Hiltons of the canine crowd.

I like to tell Ginger that one day I’m going to bring a large boa constrictor to work. Ginger would walk into her office, see Sophie’s cage door open, and then notice the big reptile stretched out on the desk with a lump about the size of…well, a small poodle right in the middle of his body.

Of course, I’d really be hiding Sophie while all this unfolded.

The lump would simply be another poodle I found somewhere.

Did I mention I’m not fond of poodles?

Lucero in L.A.

One of Batesville's favorite bands, the Memphis-based Lucero, gets a shout out and some face time on the Aquarium Drunkard blog in advance of their Saturday show in Los Angeles.

I was out of town during the first annual Lucero Family Picnic here in the B-ville metropolis, but any band that brings folks from Berkeley, Canada, and even friggin' Rome to our humble little valley town is one that has some dedicated fans.

Why these guys are not bigger is beyond me...

Ready to Rumble

Cracked.com has a list of the 10 most improbable celebrity fist fights. The best one is most definitely Charlie Watts' dignified smackdown of Mick Jagger in an Amsterdam hotel suite, but still, thinking about seeing Prince and Sinead O'Connor going at it does bring a smile to the face.

Basketball Sweaty

It continues to boggle my mind why there are still some Will Ferrell haters out there. How can folks think he's not funny -- particularly after one sees this?

It also boggles the noggin to realize the utter hatred for the new Heartbreak Kid remake. I saw it last night, and it's easily one of the funniest movies of the year.

Finally, it boggles the head to think that a man could go through the hell that this man did and survive.

"Now, kids, when a bill becomes a law, this goes to the governor's desk, and -- eh...oops..."

Don't ya hate it when this happens?