The Boston Globe's The Big Picture is probably the web's best newsy photoblog (we're big fans), but the captions under its spectacular photos can get a little repetitive, which is why the blog The Big Caption, with its hilarious text and often very pretty typography, makes such a vital contribution. For instance:
During filming 40 Nights of Rock & Roll, a new documentary by Steve LaBate and Scott Sloan meant to determine "the state of rock and roll in America," the two filmmakers somehow wound up at Target Field in Minneapolis, with Paul Westerberg sitting cross-legged for an interview on top of the dugout. The state of rock and roll in America is quite strange, apparently. [via The Tripwire]
Mike Leavitt, a Seattle-based artist most recently seen in our city when he had a solo show at Fuse Gallery last spring, just unveiled some new additions to his Art Army action figure series, which, as the name suggests, turns modern and contemporary artists into stylized, articulated collectors' items. The new set includes Ron English, Damien Hirst and Banksy (above, respectively), as well as R. Crumb and David Byrne. Clearly, a Cindy Sherman action figure should be next in the series—just think of all the accessories! (Asylum)
Obviously, making light or beautiful photography of the greatest man-made ecological superdisaster since Godzilla is not cool, but whoever is behind @BPGlobalPR sure is having a grand time roasting the evil, misinformation-spewing oil company behind this whole thing. For instance, "It's official, the phrase "All the tea in china" has been replaced with 'All the oil in the gulf" - Can't wait for the royalties!", and this gem:
Seriously. The Wall Street Journal reports that out-of-staters have been coming to New York and capturing local pigeons with nets. No, it's not to eat them (there's edible vermin across this great nation of ours), but rather to sell them to gun ranges to serve as "live skeet" in day-long competitions where contestants fire shotguns at thousands of "released" birds. The lucky birds are transported to Pennsyltucky without food and water and then get filled full of buckshot. Holy fucking shit that is awful and pathetic.
Here's what American hero Frank Pascoe, the Pennsylvania representative of the Amateur Trap Shooting Association had to say about the whole thing: "It’s an American tradition and form of pest control."
Frank, they're our pests. Quit stealing them. And if we see you in our city stealing our birds we will kick you in the nuts.
I'm sorry, but I had to look about four times at this Daily News pic of "The Dance of the Giglio," the annual Italian tradition of carrying a giant thing through the streets and eating fried foods (in honor of a 5th-century saint). Because this is the gayest thing I've ever seen. Like, Pride Preview gay. (Nothing wrong with that, just, you know, mischievous photo editor, etc.).
You know, you walk around this city feeling like you're a terrorist target, and you have all kinds of crazy people on the TV telling you (YES YOU) that all the Muslims are evil and they want to kill you because you live in Times Square or once ate at that place Meg Ryan had that sandwichgasm. It can get to be a bit much. That's why I'm glad that Community Board One voted 29-1 in favor of allowing the Cordoba House (mosque and community center) to build near the World Trade Center site.
Anyway, thank you Community Board One for reminding us why America is great.
The Newton, Mass.-based media and mashup artist Justin Kemp's Adding to the Internet series (2010) involves him searching for really random images on Google and, when his queries turn up zero results, creating the corresponding image, thus adding to the internet. Here, for instance, is what happened when Kemp searched for “Jack Johnson is hiding behind my house plants”:
There are few things in the world that I find more irritating, more cringe-inducing, than people who don't know anything about rock and roll doing the things they think people who know something about rock and roll might do. Celine Dion's stint as an air guitarist is, for my money, the most egregious example, but it pops up all over the place, from contestants on American Idol to, well, the morons who made mainstream rock and roll an absolute laughing stock for nearly a decade. It's always super serious, faux-intimidating faces, headbanging and windmills—it's the same kind of ridiculous as when your dumb white uncle does his impersonation of a rappers. Anyway, here's this new Rihanna video for a song called, oh god, "Rockstar 101." When she gets done writhing around on the floor in almost no clothes, she takes part in some of the best rocksploitation I've ever seen, actually going so far as to dress like fucking Slash. And then what does she do? Oh, she smashes a guitar, of course, because that's just what those rockers do, you know?
Still not really understanding the accepted boundaries between sexy aggression and aggressive aggression, Chris Brown spends much of his new video, "No Bullshit," brooding in his darkened apartment, dancing on his rooftop, and making claims of sexual super-endurance that you might not believe because "you be on that bullshit." That's hot! (HipHopDX)
Ludacris and Trey Songz are suave Vegas casino tycoons who corrupt a group of young women visiting their fair city in the brand new music video for the slow love anthem "Sex Room" from Luda's latest record, Battle of the Sexes. It's like The Hangover from the opposite sex's perspective, except dead serious.
But for whatever reason, this time around we got nothing. And the people started to worry... Never ones to ignore public outcry, we set out to track Laps down and make him write the horoscopes again. Well, we found him sleeping in a pick-up truck in a diner parking lot just outside Suffern, New Jersey, making his way through the collected works of James A. Michener. Has he found what he's looking for? No. But that's good. The day he finds what he's looking for is the day the horoscopes die forever.
So relax, Laps fans, the horoscopes will return in the June 6th issue, in all their oblique glory.
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