Archived Columns

What to Expect When You’re Jazz Festing 2012

It’s that time of year again “¦ lovebugs will be coming out of the ground for their annual love-suicide pacts, it will rain as much as the sun will shine, your mom will start washing the drapes of the mother-in-law suite you occupy on her property, bees will do it and make sweet, delicious honey, and Jazz Fest will happen on two weekends in the spring. It’s the 2012 Jazz Fest, y’all, starting April 27, and there’s a lot to cover here, so let’s get it started! If you’ve never traveled down to New Orleans for Jazz Fest, and you live close enough to New Orleans to have picked up our fair magazine, your only excuses for not going are that you hate music or you’re poor “¦ or both. This year, like most years, there is something for everyone “” even your mom. Because she still thinks Bruce Springsteen …

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They Were Undressing My Leg With Their Eyes at Westminster

PHOTO CREDIT: Photos provided by Ann Yoo “In the whole history of the world, there is but one thing that money can not buy “¦ to wit, the wag of a dog’s tail.” Henry Wheeler Shaw penned these obscure words in one of his many books published under the pen name Josh Billings in the late 19th century, in the days when he was the effective Frank Stallone to Mark Twain’s Sylvester. Unfortunately for Mr. Billings, he died in 1885, two years before a group of hunters staying at New York’s Westminster Hotel (That’s where hunters stayed in those days? I always had to sleep in the deer stand so aliens wouldn’t find and probe me.) decided to prove that they actually did have enough money to buy the best wag breedable in coon dogs and do it annually. Josh Billings must have rolled in his grave, which may or …

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Parade Pee-Time Problems

Mardi Gras is that magical time of year when closet drunks and druggies, admitted alcoholics, and crazily bizarre weirdos come out to New Orleans to play. Some are more seasoned veterans than others”¦ Some are drunken high school children who can’t hold their liquor and are vomiting uncontrollably while lying in their own filth next to a line of Porta-Pottys. Some are sober, old, crazy ladies trying to catch a decorated shoe from the Muses parade. Either way, they’re all here to celebrate this couple of weeks of debauchery before Lenten season comes around. Then all of us Catholics have to be on our best behavior, fast, and sacrifice for fear that God will smite us down just as he did to Sodom and Gomorrah because of homosexuality and fornication (ancient biblical Mardi Gras). Since moving to New Orleans in 2007, my friend Vic Dooley has been organizing a big …

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God, Please Make the Bad Man Stop!

First off, I wanna congratulate our publisher and editor Jeremy White on this, his 100th issue of Red Shtick. It is a testament to what one man can achieve with a lot of hard work and a movie reviewer who doesn’t mind being paid with a dime bag. Of course, I am not, by far, the only writer Jeremy employs, and I’m well aware that the other writers here regard me with “¦ well, very little regard and use me as a cautionary tale for their kids. But I am determined to do my part to help celebrate this milestone. And even though you would think (hope) it were not possible, this month I share not only a review of the film A Thousand Words, but I’ll do it in the form of 100 interesting facts about A Thousand Words. I shall call this list “100 Interesting Facts About A …

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Jiujitsu Mole Removal

Are you tired of straight teeth, nose, and toes? Would you like someone to accidentally fart in your mouth whilst trying to choke you? If so, head on down to your local Brazilian jiujitsu class for a makeover! I am a freckly, moley, Irish-looking bastard. Each year, I go to the “mole doctor” to get inspected from head to toe. Like a fat guy hates his stomach, I hate my moles. I usually try to direct him to the ones I hate the most and hope he’s disgusted enough to cut them off. Once a mole is removed, I usually find the next-grossest one to hate for a year until my next appointment. A few months back, there was one such mole leading the pack. After jiujitsu class one night, my wife called and asked me to pick up a few things on my way home. I was wearing my …

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Cheat Code

I know I’ve written about this epidemic 100 times, but I cannot stress this enough: The inventor of “slim fit” shirts should be beaten to death by the slowest, most painful means available. Since the dawn of time, men’s shirts have always had the same sizes. In the time of the caveman, a small guy killed a few rabbits and wore their skin, an average guy wore a deer, a big guy wore bears, etc. Then, suddenly, a scrawny guy wants to wear a large shirt, so he takes a medium and calls it a large “slim fit” and ruins 10,000 years of manliness on all levels. Maybe the guys in the skinny jeans want a slim fit, but anybody with actual testosterone in him knows better. More importantly, if you do insist on this crap, at least stop it at large. I wear extra large. There is no reason …

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Dubstep Isn’t Really Just Repackaged Techno, According to Someone Who Is Not Haddaway

I don’t know why I feel like I have to like it secretly “” that’s about me “” but I do indeed like dubstep. If you’re over, say, 25, dip Skoal on a regular basis, or have a stock portfolio AND your own health insurance, you probably have no idea what dubstep is. Or you could be like me, and just so happen to know a few aficionados. I am a big Radiohead fan (yes, The King of Limbs sucked; get off my ass about it), too, and when their front man, Thom Yorke, first got involved with it, I started paying more attention. Even if you haven’t heard of dubstep before, it’s possible you’ve actually HEARD it “” in a commercial or online, or maybe you’ve even seen the “Imperial March” dubstep. Either way, think of, if you can, what would result if techno became minimalist. That’s sort of …

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Life Lesson #7: Weddings for Dummies

My good friend Ruby42 is getting married this month. She was nice enough to do a reading at my wedding and cross-stitch me a sampler that says, “It’s not a crack house, it’s a crack home,” so I am contractually obligated to attend. As the date draws nearer, she is, of course, freaking the hell out. Hey, it happens to the best of us. Since I have weddings on my mind, I have decided to share with you, gentle readers, Mrs. Judge Mental’s unsolicited advice for those getting married and those planning to attend. To the guests: Show up, smile, and behave yourself. Don’t create any drama. Don’t tell the groom, just before the ceremony, that his fiancée is a dirty slut and she’s not good enough for him. Don’t tell everyone about the prenuptial agreement or that you banged the bride once in college. Don’t wear a tuxedo T-shirt. …

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