What the (Weird) Kids Are Listening To

My eldest kid and I have a shared language, a shorthand of silly words we use from time to time, usually to express bemusement or (often fake) chagrin. For example, if I ask them if they've done something that needed doing and they tell me they haven't, I'll respond via text with 'blerrrg' or 'flump' or some such. 

The same kid has a wildly eclectic and expansive taste in music. Yesterday, the two threads crossed when they texted me to say they were listening to a song called "Flump", by a band called The Skull. As you likely know, The Skull is a Chicago-based doom metal band that's been around for about a decade. And doom metal, obviously, is "an extreme subgenre of heavy metal music that typically uses slower tempos, low-tuned guitars and a much "thicker" or "heavier" sound than other heavy metal genres."

The kid sent me a link to the tune, and to be honest, I had some apprehension. But upon a few listens, it's got its own sort of appeal. I don't think I'll be running out to buy The Skull concert tix, but I've heard worse. 

Enjoy "Flump", by The Skull.

Today in '69

On this day 55 years ago, something amazing happened. The hapless New York Mets did this:

Check out that chaos. No matter who wins anything this year, it will certainly lack the anarchy and mayhem of that scene.

Against a decent measure of odds, your Misery Loves Company Mets of 2024 are in the National League Championship Series, and it's tied at one game apiece as they continue the battle against Los Angeles for the right to face the AL Champs in the World Series. (Looking at lot like that'll be the Yankees.) 

Game time tonight is 8:08. Nothing sounds quite like an 8-0-8 first pitch. 

Speaking of the Beastie Boys, the Mets, and a little NY/LA juxta, here's Martha Quinn to get you up to date:

LFGM.

Gheorghasbord: We're Out There, and We're Lovin' It!

We're ranging far and wind in this latest clearing of the fertile fields of one mind. From the worst kind of asshole to our kind of assholes (or at least motherfuckers), we're shooting from the hip with no regard for propriety, consistency, or common sense. Hope you dig it.

If there's anything Gheorghies enjoy (beyond dumb fashion, Muppet Rap, Tribe Hoops, hand-selected automobiles, and dipshittery), it's an auction. Usually we focus on stuff that we'd enjoy having, whether for the sentimental value or the stylistic attractiveness. Today's auction is a horse of different color; it's an opportunity to hate-buy some shit we could co-opt for good.

Alex Jones is a piece of shit. My God-fearing Mom says I shouldn't talk like that, but she feels the same way, just not out loud. I expect she asks the Lord's forgiveness when she calls him a fuckstain under her breath. In my view, the Lord knows she's right and doesn't feel she needs to be forgiven. Anyone who profits from torturing families of slain kids for years upon years deserves to be called that and far, far worse.

G:TAT

As we're wont to point out, karma has a way of dealing with people like Jones. After he lost multiple court cases and was ordered to pay restitution to the families of the children murdered in Sandy Hook, the assets of Jones' production company are being sold to the highest bidder. In addition to all of Infowars' intellectual property (web domains, brand, social media accounts, trademarks, etc), the sale "may also include production equipment, office furniture, computers, gym equipment, a Terradyne Armored truck, a Winnebago Motorhome and more."

Dudes and dudettes, I know what you're thinking, and I'm right there with you. Gheorghe: The Armored Truck is within our grasp. We can park it at the compound and use it in parades where we fly giant FUCK ALEX JONES banners. It's a glorious vision.

Speaking of prominent right-wing fuckweasels and comeuppance, I was not expecting the people behind Cards Against Humanity to be agents of freewheeling fuckery and chaos (the good kind). And yet, here we are.

In 2017, Cards Against Humanity raised over $2m from small donors (at $15 a pop) to purchase land on the U.S./Mexico border in an effort to make it difficult for the Trump administration to Build The Wall. In an ironic twist of fate, SpaceX purchased an adjacent property and started work on a launch facility for its rockets. 

All of which is fine and mostly legal ('cept, perhaps, for the somewhat shady local politics that went into the process). But SpaceX being SpaceX, and Elon Musk being Elon Musk (that is to say, completely lacking regard for anything that doesn't serve Elon Musk), the company used Cards Against Humanity's pristine land as a dumping ground and a construction staging area. See the before and after pictures below, and note that this land DOES NOT BELONG TO SPACEX, THOSE ARROGANT FUCKS:

Before Musk

After Musk

As a form of protest (and in addition to suing SpaceX for $15m), the wiseasses at Cards Against Humanity have started a campaign to drive blue voter turnout, and are funding it by selling an election-themed pack of game cards, featuring topics such as JD Vance's couch-fucking predilections and That Fucking Guy's demented harangues. 

We can play it in G:TAT. 

It wouldn't be a Gheorghasbord, or really, any G:TB post, if it didn't have a wild swing to an entirely different topic. This one's a peach.

The lads from Green Day have a penchant for doing weird and whimsical shit. They've chosen to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Dookie, their third studio album, and the one that rocketed them to stardom, in a very Green Day way.

Check out Dookie Demastered, which finds the boys re-recording the songs from the record in the most lo-fi and silly ways imaginable. We're talking "Basket Case" filtered through a Big Mouth Billie (sic) Bass. We've got "Welcome to Paradise" played via Gameboy cartridge, "When I Come Around" recorded on a wax cylinder, "Pulling Teeth" conducted through a...toothbrush. Shit is avant garde and dumb as hell and genius. Not to mention a great brain cleanser from the first to elements of this post.

We'll close today with a bit of long-delayed joy. Christen Press is, by talent, one of the elite goalscorers in women's soccer history. Unfortunately, she's also been one of the most snakebit athletes of her time, at least of late. She suffered an ACL injury in June 2022, and dealt with a series of setbacks that required a total of four surgeries before finally returning to NWSL play with Angel City FC in August. 

Press is a well-loved member of the USWNT diaspora, her podcast with former teammate and partner Tobin Heath among the most-viewed in the soccer media game. She made her much-anticipated return to the game with a token minute against San Diego Wave FC on August 24, and has appeared in a total of seven games down the stretch. Saturday in Cary, NC, she entered a scoreless match against NC Courage in the 65th minute, took four shots (three on target), and seven minutes into extra time, did this:

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The NWLSverse went bananas, as well it should. Very cool moment from a player who's gone through it for a long, long time. Press herself issued a neat statement, saying in part, "Since I got injured, people were counting the days that I didn't play soccer, and I was counting the days that I hadn't scored. My true love is scoring." That the goal was a certified banger was just icing on the cake.

All The President's Book Sellers

Once again, primo Washington D.C., political snoop Bob Woodward pestered folks in his Rolodex in pursuit of a book. And once again, reasonable people might wonder: WTF? 

CNN obtained an advance copy of Woodward’s forthcoming tree killer, War, a peek behind the curtains at our current leaders as they dealt with conflicts around the globe. The book follows Woodward’s standard m.o. of remarkable access and scrupulous reporting from inside the rooms where discussions occurred and decisions made. He conducted hundreds of hours of interviews, and accounts come from aides and confidants and may come from the principals themselves, under cover of anonymity or confirmed in what’s referred to in the reporting biz as “on background.” 

There are descriptions of salty, unvarnished language that President Joe Biden used in reference to Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Russian president Vladimir Putin. That’s more salacious than substantial, as both men could prompt priests to spout off like dock workers. More concerning is the revelation that former president Donald Trump quietly sent COVID testing machines to Putin for his personal use during the height of the pandemic, when such tests were difficult to come by, and has had multiple conversations with Vladdy since leaving the Oval Office. 

Trump’s admiration of Putin is no secret, or at least his regard for a guy who calls all the shots, turfs opponents with impunity and isn’t bound by pesky details such as co-equal branches of government and laws. Woodward is a legend and, at 81, remains nominally an associate editor at the Washington Post, where he made his bones fifty years ago with the Watergate scandal. But most of his efforts for the past forty years have been directed toward books about presidents and the D.C. political elite. Again, it’s fair to ask where Woodward’s priorities lay, reporting news or book sales? 

As the site’s media grump, I’ve hoe’d this row before. In a previous book, Rage, he reported conversations with Trump in which the Prez admitted that he was informed of the potential seriousness of COVID in early 2020, but intentionally downplayed and dismissed the virus, hoping that it would dissipate by fall because he didn’t want it to tank the economy or hurt his re-election chances. As tens of thousands died that summer and many more were affected, Woodward sat on those conversations and left them in book galleys for later release, when releasing them might have affected policy and saved lives. 

Four years later, credible reporting says that Trump extended a favor to an adversary who’d like nothing better than for America to chase its tail and leave him to his autocratic f*ckery. This isn’t historians Michael Beschloss or Douglas Brinkley digging through archives and personal correspondence to paint a picture years later. It’s not even Woodward protecting the identity of his famous Watergate source, Deep Throat, until after he died. It’s current, real-time actions by a man running for president for the third time, the standard bearer for the Republican Party. 

Granted, sending virus tests to Moscow doesn’t rise to the level of high crimes and misdemeanors or even make the top 10 of the Orange Oaf’s acts and remarks that should be disqualifying. It is, however, part of the bigger picture, and I’d argue that the public has the right to know. What folks choose to do with that knowledge is their choice, but I’m generally in favor of more, not less, information. One might argue that the book’s Oct. 15 release date means that Woodward’s reporting about Trump hits the public sphere before the election, so that voters may factor it into their choices. Or, that it isn’t important enough to change anyone’s mind. But again, the nature of reporting includes elements of timing and immediacy. Woodward almost certainly learned of, or confirmed, Trump’s actions months ago. 

Books such as his require lengthy fact checking, as well as the legal and liability car wash. Perhaps that would have been early enough to affect the conversation and nomination process. He has said of the potential conflict between daily journalism and book reporting, that if he unearthed significant news that “the paper comes first.” That metric suggests that he didn’t think Trump’s largesse toward Putin merited mention before the book dropped. 

Woodward is painstakingly neutral in his books; he often explains that he prefers to describe events or quote people, and let readers make up their own minds. Deciding what and what not to publish, however, is a choice that reporters and editors make every day. Most of those choices don’t involve former presidents and presidential candidates. Most of those reporters aren’t Bob Freakin’ Woodward, who has the luxury of access as well as one of the nation’s most powerful daily platforms at his disposal. To not use it and instead to hoard information for books released at opportune times feeds into the mercenary lean of everyday life and feels less than helpful to the citizenry, something Watergate-era Bob Woodward might have had a few thoughts about.

Go See JD McPherson and/or Kate Clover

Last weekend I went to see JD McPherson and he kicked ass.  You can tell he spends time with Dan Auerbach because he and the band sounded meticulously like their album versions ... except when they decided to jam out and did Bloodhound Rock into Wolf Teeth and blew the roof off the place.  Apparently they've done this before.

They also covered Richie Valens, Iggy Pop, and The Velvet Underground.  Here's the setlist, I'll embed a Spotify playlist here later.  Suffice it to say it was good-old-fashioned, extremely accessible rock n roll and you should go see him if he's in your area.

But even more impressive was the opening act, Kate Clover.  Her stuff on Spotify is crisply produced and she even has videos so I expected something pretty commercial.  Instead I got an honest-to-god punk rock show.  Here's an older set with decent recording quality.

And here's a set with her current, better guitar player (but you can't hear the vocals too well).

So go see her too.

Three People Who Have Never Been in My Kitchen

What's happening, gheorghies!!

A few of young among the gheorgherati were old enough to watch "What's Happening!!" in its original incarnation. Rob, the Daves, Danimal, the KQs, and Shlara, most likely. Others caught it via syndication. You know, as a rerun.

Rerun! Fred Berry was the actor who played Freddy "Rerun" Stubbs for each of the three seasons that "What's Happening!!" ran. The ubiquitous red beret and suspenders he donned added to his portly frame and mischievous activity. He'd bellow, "What's happenin, Raj?" to his buddy Roger upon entering the scene, while, Dwayne would arrive with a "Hey HEY hey" that leave people onscreen and off hi-fiving. A fun watch that still amuses -- especially the quick barbs from Raj's sister Dee. Yacht Rock enthusiasts love the Doobies episode.

Fred Berry also played Rerun in the redux "What's Happening Now!!" from the mid-1980s. But didn't do a whole lot else. Easy to see how he fell into typecasting hell. 

Fred Berry

Meanwhile, another blast from the past was on the radio the other day. If I said to you, "Aw, Mickey, you're so fine," I trust that you all would know how to finish it. 

Toni Basil! Her lone pop hit (I do not consider this piece of early 80's cheese shiz to be a hit, despite it charting), "Mickey" was actually a cover. A British glam-pop group named Racey released a song called "Kitty" in 1979. Toni and friends renamed it and added the cheerleader chant with which I opened this paragraph -- then put out a video with a whole cheerleader theme. Apparently the cheer uniform she wears is hers from back at Las Vegas High school, Class of '61. (She's 36 there.)

Toni Basil, some of you may know, had made an appearance much earlier in her career as one of Wyatt and Billy's Mardi Gras party pals. One who sheds all her clothes. When in Rome...

Toni Basil

Meanwhile, in another part of the galaxy, we were recently  discussing fine films unavailable for streaming these days. One old classic that can't be watched via any streaming platform at the moment takes us back to 1984, one of those apex years in music history. This film captured a pop culture nugget from the era and feature-filmed the hell out of it -- not once, but twice! In the second film they boogied so hard, it was like a booga-loo. A rather electric one at that.

Breakin'! This cult classic featured an array of break and other kinds of dancers, but its main male character was Ozone. With Turbo and Kelly, he took the art to new levels on the streets of Venice Beach. Ozone was played by Adolfo Quiñones, a dancer who went professionally by Shabba Doo. He danced in Chaka Khan's "I Feel for You" (with Turbo), and he choreographed and danced in Lionel Richie's video for "All Night Long (also with Turbo)." 

Supposedly, Quiñones appeared in the film Tango & Cash. but I have not yet confirmed that with the Teej.

Adolfo Quiñones / Shabba Doo

Welp, there you go. Three people with nothing in common.

Oh, wait.

Except...

Ah, yes. From 1973 until 1976, each of these people -- Fred Berry, Toni Basil, and Shabba Doo, were in a dance group called The Lockers!

The Lockers

Check it out! They called themselves that because another founding Locker, Don "Campbellock" Campbell, developed the art of locking. You know, like popping and locking?! Like the founding principles of breakdancing?!

The Lockers began as a collection of "Soul Train" dancers. They did their thing in the early 70's with some serious acrobatics, fluidity, and yep, locking. Major crowd-pleasers. This one from '76 is the best but it won't embed, so watch another below.

When Don Cornelius wouldn't pay them to stay on the show, they decided to do did their things on TV programs. Fred Berry went by "Mr. Penguin" for obvious reasons, and Toni Basil was the only female, the only Caucasian. They played on Carson, the Carol Burnett Show, and yes, even What's Happening!!

They even were featured on the 3rd-ever episode of SNL: Watch here.

And then came the commercials! If you watch just one, watch this Schlitz Malt Liquor ad. So good.

Apparently Mykelti Williamson (Bubba Blue from Forrest Gump) was an alternate member of The Lockers back then. 

Most of them are gone now. Fred Berry passed first, in 2003. Greg "Campbellock Jr" Pope in 2010, Don "Campbellock" Campbell and Adolfo "Shabba Doo" Quiñones in 2020. Bill "Slim the Robot" Williams and Leo "Fluky Luke" Williamson are still around, as is Toni Basil, who's 81 now.

But once upon a time, they were somethin'. The Lockers. 

Version 2.0

Two basketball players entered the league after storied collegiate careers. They'd tangled in the NCAA Tournament, got a ton of publicity for their battles. One was a flashy playmaker who legitimately changed how the game was played in material ways. The other was a frontcourt player with a robust all-around game. One was a child of the small-town Midwest, the other came up in a tough city. Oh, and one was white, the other black. They didn't much like each other, at least at first, though they came to first respect and then admire the other's skill and competitive fire. Together, they helped catalyze rapid growth of the pro game.

Obviously, we could be talking about Magic and Bird, linked throughout their careers because of an accident of timing, a shared incandescence, and a number of obvious and fascinating contrasts. 

We won't know for a while if we're also talking about Angel and Caitlin, at least in terms of long-term legacy, but the first impressions aren't unkind to the comparison. Reese and Clark don't seem to have a lot in common as people, one with a sophisticated personal style and fierce on-court persona, the other matching the on-court grit but rocking a very different fashion vibe. The media's made a thing of their alleged enmity, though both players have gone out of their way to offer respect, if not necessarily warmth, to the other. And with much due respect to A'ja Wilson, Napheesa Collier, Breanna Stewart, Alyssa Thomas, and Sabrina Ionescu, among many others, the pair are likely to be the brightest lights in the WNBA firmament for the next decade.

All we ask as fans, other than good health for both players, is a remix of this gem:

And maybe someday, this one (h/t to Marls for the find):