Raw posts and updates from our writers with info too timely or uncategorizable for print. What, we said something stupid? Chime in, buddy.
The Daily Word in Pussy Riot, excessive force, presidential brosefs
Pussy Riot gets two years for speaking out against Putin.
Several articles on the Washington Post today are pissed off at President Obama. Here’s one of them.
Between Obama, Romney, Biden and Ryan, Who’s the biggest bro?
Eastdale softball rules!
If you’re a cop who likes beating people, tasing them and stepping on their head when they’re trying to surrender, a warrant wouldn’t hurt.
Hatch wins a green chile battle.
Baldwin on fracking.
From Amish to rodeo.
People who can’t spell vs. Islam.
Ow! ... just ow. (may be NSFW)
Speaking of assholes, we all know that Kobe Bryant is one. So is his wife.
Happy Birthday, Mr. President!
While mindlessly web surfing, I came upon some ad that suggested I click on it to wish Barack Obama a happy birthday. Due to my general mistrust of web ads, I instead decided to post this as a tribute to the POTUS' 51st.
By the way, seeing as Lindsay Lohan seems to be convinced that she's the second coming of Marilyn Monroe, it's surprising she hasn't performed this yet. Then again, Marilyn had class, whereas LiLo has about the amount of class as Ke$ha at a trailer park kegger.
Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, happy birthday, Mr. President!
Photos by Alan Mitchell
All hail the bard
The Vortex Theatre is on its last weekend of shows in its last installment of the Will Power series—a run of Shakespearean productions. Leigh Hile reviewed The Winter’s Tale in this week’s Alibi. Check out her write-up to see why this might be one of the best slices of Shakespeare you’ll catch this year. Then head to one of the remaining three performances, including tonight’s at 7:30 p.m.
The Daily Word in the U.S. winning, Chick-fil-A kiss-in, Jenna Jameson hearts Mitt
U.S. Olympians had a record-setting day with Gabby Douglas becoming the first African American to win the women’s gymnastics all-around and Michael Phelps three-peating gold in the 200-meter individual medley.
Not much change in the job market.
Balloon Fiesta vendors are worried about what they say could be price-fixing at this year’s event.
Where Chick-fil-A ranks in terms of major companies with controversial policies.
Speaking of which, today is “National Same Sex Kiss Day at Chick-fil-A.”
Santa Fe bus driver admits to multiple instances of sexual misconduct, but isn’t jailed.
Sexist photography at the Olympics?
French president fulfills his promise of cracking down on the rich.
Wojdan Shaherkani became the first Saudi woman ever to compete in the Olympics.
It’s tax-free weekend in New Mexico.
The worst commercial for ice cream of all time.
Mitt Romney gains the support of what appears to be a hunk of humanoid plastic that calls itself Jenna Jameson.
Proof that Ryan Lochte is the frat-boy version of Jeff Spicoli.
And because you know you need to know, a little more info on “Gangnam Style.”
A toast to the end of the world
Or why getting drunk in the postapocalyptic landscape is the thing to do
John Bear reviewed Peter Heller's postapocalyptic novel The Dog Stars in this week's issue. It got me thinking about what life would be like if everything went to shit. Actually, it got me thinking about all the things I would enjoy doing if there were some sort of cataclysmic event that wiped out most of the population—be it the coming zombie apocalypse, the also-plausible vampire apocalypse, or any of the doomsday scenarios that religious zealots spew forth every year.
To answer this question, I decided to consult a few of my favorite films and novels that deal in such grim matter.
And the realization that I came to is this: I'd get drunk.
That's right, if the world ended, everyone I knew and cared about was wiped out, and I had to spend my days raiding zombie-infested grocery stores with eerily flickering fluorescent lights, armed with a sawed-off—all in the name of scrounging up some Chef Boyardee and Twinkies—I'd probably come home in the evening to a nice fifth of $500 bourbon.
If you need proof that this is probably what you would do too, let us turn to a couple primary sources.
First off, there's Richard Matheson's brilliant 1954 novel, I Am Legend. You are most likely familiar with this work via the Charlton Heston flick or that Will Smith one that included some of the worst CGI of the 21st century.
If you haven't read Matheson's book, I advise you to do so. The protagonist, Robert Neville, basically goes around killing the shit out of vampires and then ... you guessed it, getting hammered. It's one of the most entertaining books I've ever read.
Moving on, there's that great scene in George Romero's Dawn of the Dead where some folks hole-up in a shopping mall to get away from the zombie hordes. And what do they do? Raid the mall's liquor store and get schnockered on high-end booze.
Exhibit C: When the world is ravaged by crazies infected with some sort of ape rabies in 28 Days Later, Brendan Gleeson's character grabs as much fine Scotch as his shopping cart can handle whilst on a scavenging run. He then proceeds to drink it.
Getting back to Peter Heller's book, all I know about its protagonist's tastes for liquids is that he drinks Coke. I already don't trust him.
Free Neil Young tickets
Respond now and win!
If you feel like rockin’ for free in the free world, comment on this blog post with a favorite Neil Young quote or anecdote. The first five to answer the call will be rewarded with plus-one passes to see Neil Young and Crazy Horse at the Hard Rock Pavilion on Friday, August 3. If you’re not a registered Alibi user, you’ll need to do that to enter. (Also send your full name, Alibi.com user name and a number we can reach you at to firstname.lastname@example.org.)
And in the meantime, give Neil’s latest album Americana a listen. I’ve been blaring it all week, and the 1800s never sounded so badass.
The Daily Word in Colorado movie massacre, unlicensed tattoo parlors, Scottish train drunks
At least 12 dead as gunman opens fire at Dark Knight Rises midnight showing in Denver suburb.
President Obama responds.
Young sportscaster who died in the shootings had written her last blog on a separate massacre.
State officials confirm 48 tattoo parlors operating without licenses in New Mexico.
City’s clean water supply may be jeopardized by millions of gallons of spilled, underground jet fuel.
Details being withheld on slain Virginia reporter.
Live updates on this weekend’s British Open.
Jeremy Lin on his three-year, $25 million deal with the Rockets.
Yay, Albuquerque is not among AARP’s list of the top five most dangerous U.S. cities.
You can no longer get blitzed on Scottish trains.
A Good Old-Fashioned Friday the 13th Horror Show
Jack and Bella Manningham aren't exactly the world's happiest couple. She's psychologically fragile, and he's doing everything he can to convince her she's insane. This includes toying with her perceptions by dimming their house's gaslight—hence the pschological abuse term "gaslighting." Angel Street was written in 1938 by British dramatist Patrick Hamilton. Murder and deception run deep in this mystery directed by Paula Stein, who taught drama at Manzano High School for 25 years. The play runs through July 29 at the Adobe Theater.
Psycho killer ...
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
There was a strange point in my adolescence where a friend and I had an obsession with the Psycho movie series. Series, you ask? Yep, 23 years after the Hitchcock classic came out, a low-budget sequel was released (and then a few more). What kept it interesting was that Anthony Perkins (aka Norman Bates) had stayed on board.
Anthony Perkins was a weird guy. Either that, or he was just really good at playing one. More than being just a perverted, serial-killing momma’s boy, Psycho II introduced us to Bates’ penchant for whole milk. It was a fucked up movie.
But according to John Bear, it was no less misguided than Manuel Muñoz’ What You See in the Dark, a book about the making of Psycho, which Bear reviewed for this week’s Arts section.
R.I.P. Ernest Borgnine
Margaret Wright’s interview with Western writing legend Max Evans a few weeks back got me thinking about actor Ernest Borgnine, recognizable by his wide, gap-toothed smile. Evans was a friend and collaborator with the great director Sam Peckinpah, whose most acclaimed film, 1969’s The Wild Bunch, starred Borgnine as a mean, old-school, whisky-swiggin’ gunslinger. Then, of course, there was Borgnine’s turn as the affable-but-homely, lovelorn butcher in 1955’s Marty—for which Borgnine took home the Best Actor Oscar. A character actor who worked well into his 90’s, Borgnine died today at the age of 95.
Keeping it Hot in a Long Term Relationship at Self Serve
Reel Rock 9 Film Tour: Valley Uprising at KiMo Theatre
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