Tentpole Event

Friends,




My cup runneth over. By some strange providence, I actually have a lot to blog about. I'm going to try to space it out over the next couple days. I need to share the photos from Clint's trip to Mankato (I have all the pictures I need, and downloaded to my computer), I need to write about my viewing experience of 300, reading Charlotte's Web for the first time in my memory, among other things. So, a flurry, nay a frenzy of bloggering should be coming soon.


Today, friends, is a many splendored day. Why? Well, first, today is the birthday of motherfuckin rock legend, Levon Helm. Who is Levon Helm? Seriously, you just asked yourself that question? That's fine. Six months ago, I wouldn't have known either. Levon is the drummer to The Band, who created the absolute best live album of all time, The Last Waltz (which also happens to be a badass documentary as well). Anyways, today is his birthday, so go find yourself The Last Waltz, cue up The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, turn your stereo up so loud your neighbors will think Canadian hippies are coming for their children and apparently bringing the zombie Robert E Lee with them (The Band was comprised of Canadians), and have one stiff drink to toast Mr. Levon Helm. Yeah, he's a bearded man, not a mustachioed man...but whatever...you give the world the song The Weight, then I think you get a pass. And, Diana, if you're reading this, St. Patty's Day 07 was a defining moment of my recent memory...thanks always for that.

Next point about today...it is the 100th birthday of John Wayne. True, I haven't seen many John Wayne movies, and I tend to despise cowboy flicks (you've seen one, you've seen them all). But I love True Grit ("fill your hands you son of a bitch!"), and even The Quiet Man is a pretty good movie as well, and that one part where he kicks that guys ass all over Ireland. Now, you may be wondering, why, oh why, would BOMM be honoring John "Marion" Wayne, who is undoubtedly a man's man...yet he is iconically mustacheless. Well, friends...let us not forget that John Wayne did indeed sport a mustache. Behold:

That is a blown up pic of the poster for the 1956 filme, The Conqueror, starring John Wayne as the immortal Genghis Khan. Notice something and John Wayne's face? Hrm? Bingo....mustache. See, the thing about this is that it is plenty ridiculous to cast John Wayne into this movie...but they had to put a mustache of John Wayne so the world would believe he is capable of such badassery that Genghis Khan visited upon the world. Sure, Genghis, historically, speaking...bit of a prick. But, hey...takes balls, real gigantic scary looking balls, kind of balls that can flex, to do what Genghis did. Therefore, to make sure the audience knew John Wayne was capable of that....they slapped a mustache on him to further up his man-quotient. So, happy 100th John Wayne, wherever you are.



And yesterday, was the 30th anniversary of the opening of Star Wars. So, to wish them a belated birthday, here's a picture of the only mustachioed motherfucker in space....Lando Calrissian (and though he didn't show up until Empire...it's okay). Man, the ladies may love Han Solo because he's "dangerous" or "plays by his own rules." Yeah, bullshit. He didn't even shoot first (yeah, revisionist history kicks ass). He dumped his cargo because he was afraid of being boarded by Imperial forces, which got him frozen in Carbonite (and boy did he squeal when that happen...not so manly squealing over needles and carbon). But Lando...you know what made Lando squeal? Sand with fangs and tentacles. Jesus, even in mustachioed form, would wet his tunic at that kind of sand. Moses himself would march his people right back to the Pharoah if they saw that shit in the 40 years he spent in the desert. Anyways, God bless you Lando and your mustache, the only mustache in the Rebellion, and one smooth cat in a blue cape.

And before I get out of here for the evening, outside my window, I was privvy to a drunk girl's conversation who was shouting at some man in North Dakota to come to Minnesota because they have dance clubs here. Then she shouted for a driver so she, and I assume her friends, can go to North Dakota because its warmer. And, according to this drunk girl, Guinness sucks, smells like a skunk, and people who drink Guinness also suck. Oh, the idiocy of youth.

VIVA EL MUSTACHE