Rock music, by its very nature, is cyclical. Since the days of Perry Como, people have been actively attempting to not only find something better, but to do so while smashing to pieces the conventions of those that came before them. Certainly we would have never seen Elvis Presley had it not been for Ike Turner and Little Richard, nor the Beatles without Elvis Presley. The Beach Boys would never have created Pet Sounds without the springboard that was Sgt. Pepper’s and punk rock simply couldn’t have happened without The Velvet Underground.

There is a distinct butterfly effect in the world of rock music, one that echoes for better or for worse for decades to come. Recently we are forced to look back upon the days of Nirvana, and the rest of the “Grunge” scene, with a parallel sense of admiration and disdain, as “alternative” music has evolved into utter trash like Nickelback and My Chemical Romance. Bands like Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine have either failed to impress or completely disbanded, as “alternative” veterans like Radiohead and Green Day continue to make shockingly brilliant records, despite the incomprehensibility of ever having been categorized in the same genre to begin with.

However, there is one band that deserves immeasurable credit for giving birth to the world of music as we know it. A band that may not have shattered your perception or reinvented the wheel, but one that nonetheless laid the groundwork for a musical revolution… Guns. N. Roses.

Just in case I need to spell it out, Nirvana would never have happened had it not been for Guns N’ Roses. I don’t even like Nirvana, but I realize that ignoring their contribution to music would immediately result in an attack from the Emo-Kid SWAT Team… which I think is primarily a well-armed, highly trained organization of sad teenagers with swoopy hairdos and chain wallets.

I can certainly understand your immediate recoil. G N’ Effin’ R aren’t exactly remembered as pioneers in their field, but rather as a collection of screeching yahoos in leather pants and top hats. However, taking a look at what the band accomplished, one that delves slightly deeper than the cosmetic aspects of arena rock, shows a collection of inventive, exciting musicians toying with the personification of “cock-rock” in an era so desperately in need of such.

Need proof?

Well, the two biggest singles in America in August of 1987 (the month and year in which we, as a people, received Appetite For Destruction) were Whitney Houston’s “Didn’t We Almost Have It All” and Madonna’s “Who’s That Girl.” Now, I hate to speak ill of the coke-addicted, kaballah fanatics of yesteryear, but quite frankly, neither of these particular jams paved the way for… well… anything. Perhaps we can thank them for the Britney Spears catalogue and the lesser works of Christina Aguilera, but essentially they were as useless as mittens on a wolverine.

So, we were given a sterling example of the face of rock to come. One that simultaneously channeled the spirits of Led Zeppelin, The Stooges and eventually Jim Steinman while supporting the leather-clad, cock-sure attitude of Mick Jagger. A band that seemed to triumphantly throttle you while assuring you that what they were doing was “all for the best.” My friend Zach used to toss about a remarkable parable that may explain rock and roll in a way that I can’t. Please, indulge me…

“Y’see, Paul McCartney is that guy that shows up at your house with flowers and candy. He asks your daughter out, brings her home on time and with her virtue in tact. Mick Jagger shows up a little late, some whiskey on his breath and shags her in the back seat of his car. Eric Burdon sneaks her out through her bedroom window, takes her to a dirty basement and violates her under a stark-naked lightbulb… you just hope you see her again.”

That’s most certainly true, but by that logic, Guns N’ Roses would stumble upon Eric Burdon’s leftovers, gang-rape them and then write an epic masterpiece about the entire ordeal. Seriously, these guys made parents uncomfortable.

But, all orchestration and pseudo-sexual assault aside, the nastiest band in the world has come back. Granted, it’s the nastiest band in the world, minus the entire band… but hell, at least they’re back.

There were three major issues that I had with the return of Guns N’ Roses. As a fan, they were remarkably important, and they go this way, the ol’ 1-2-3:

1. Will the songs suffer without Izzy?
2. Is Axl’s voice up to snuff
3. Can anyone ever sound like Slash?

The answers are as follows:

1. Yes
2. Yes
3. Yes

Unfortunately, I can’t do that.

Chinese Democracy is a mediocre response to an age-old question. Unfortunately, the age-old question isn’t some sort of hyper-literate, Chaucer-esque figuration, but rather a literal age-old question… the answer to the now age-old question of whatever the hell happened to Guns N’ Roses. The album is thoroughly lackluster, exhibiting moments of true greatness and then submerging them in a cesspool of nu-metal hooks and horrendous drum-machine loops.

To say that it’s terrible is wrong. Compared to recent outputs by “hard rock” outfits, Chinese Democracy is a masterpiece. However, for a band like Guns N’ Roses, operating with nearly a decade of studio time, Chinese Democracy not only falls short but dances very carefully on the line of embarrassing.

The tracks sound eerily similar to outtakes from the Use Your Illustion albums, withou the overwhelming testosterone that managed to lie dormant underneath the epic orchestral grandeur. The record isn't without snarl, as you can feel the nearly palpable raw anger that made past G N' R efforts so specatcular, unfortunately those moments come few and far between as we are treated to Axl's pissy mid-life crisis.

I saw the band recently in Huntington, WV. The crowd erupted into absolute bedlam during the modern renditions of the classic G N’ R songs, but sat quietly as the new material poured through the amphitheater. Perhaps that says it all. Modern day Guns N’ Roses has become nothing more than a glorified cover band, arguably the greatest one on Earth. However, Guns N’ Roses now sucks in the same way that Velvet Revolver sucks.

If Andre and Big Boi have taught us anything, let it be that “the whole is greater than the sum of its individual parts.”

How quickly we forget...

What would you do if you had the chance to get behind a coach with a .760 winning percentage, ten consecutive NCAA Tournament appearances and five SEC Tournament victories? What if that coach also happened to be named NCAA Coach of the year twice in ten years, won a national championship and was ranked in the top ten six out of ten years? Even still, what if a coach with all of those accomplishments also happened to become one of only five coaches in history to win 365 games in fifteen years or less (with the others being insignificant guys like Roy Williams, Nolan Richardson, Denny Crum and Jim Boeheim)?

Well, if you were the University of Kentucky, you'd fire him... or should I say, "encourage him to pursue other options."

The University of Kentucky lost something truly special yesterday, as Orlando "Tubby" Smith hopped a plane and headed off to greener pastures in Minnesota. In a way, I'm happy to see the guy leave. He deserves considerably better than we gave him, and I'm fairly certain that he'll get just that at the helm of the Golden Gophers. He stepped into the shadows of one of the (if not THE) most popular coaches in the history of an organization as storied as the sport itself. He brought success, championships and most importantly, class to a program that all too often branded him failure.

Ask most Kentucky fans about Eddie Sutton and you'll likely get a shrug. He isn't necessarily remembered fondly, but despite never winning a title, coaching mediocre squads at best and plunging the program into a dark era of suspensions and shame, most Kentucky fans reserve the ire that should certainly be targeted his way for Tubby. You have to ask why?

Well, one obvious answer lies in the fact that Tubby had one characteristic that no other UK Coach has possessed... Tubby was black. Most people will be quick to tell you that their disdain for Smith had nothing whatsoever to do with his race, but rather the way he coached basketball. Fine, if you genuinely dislike the way Tubby coached his team, then you're certainly entitled to that opinion. However, watching game after game of Smith's tenure and hearing the phrase "Goddamned Nig**r Coach" not only from time to time but multiple times in each game, even when he was WINNING, tells a different story.

All this without pointing out that the man attempted to lead a team who's fans, spoiled and cranky, still idolize one of the game's most notorious racists, Adolph Rupp. One of the things I've always found most impressive about Smith was his character, something that he surely had in spades as he called home an arena named after a man that wouldn't have given him the time of day based solely on his skin color. To step out on the court of Rupp Arena each night and give a program, one that is actively turning its nose up into the air, everything you have night after night is not only indicative of the kind of man that Tubby Smith was, but the kind of person that we should all strive to be.

In the wake of his departure, names of his replacement are flying around like free samples in a taffy factory. We've all heard the list... names ranging from Tom Izzo to John Calipari, Tom Crean to Billy Donovan and my personal favorite duo, Travis Ford to Rick Pitino. Face it, Kentucky has painted itself into a corner previously only seen by the Oakland Raiders organization. Who would want to come here? Smith's statistics put him at the very top of the coaching talent in the NCAA, but despite that he just wasn't good enough to coach the Wildcats. With a fickle-at-best fan base, expectations that wouldn't have been satisfied by Phil Jackson's run in Chicago and a spineless athletic director Kentucky has hardly provided an inviting home to anyone brave enough to take the job.

Personally, I'd only be happy with three active NCAA coaches...

1. Bobby Knight: Why Knight? Well, aside from being arguably the greatest college basketball coach in history, he has the attitude to shrug off the endless stream of idiots calling in to the Joe B. & Denny Show or the Chris Cross Applesauce Hour (or whatever that dreadful excuse for dreadful radio happens to be). Knight would simply explain to the Big Blue Nation that he was the boss and if they didn't like it, they could politely kiss his ass... something Kentucky is in dire need of.

2. Bruce Pearl: Pearl has a habit of taking teams further than anyone could imagine and reigns over the court like a combination of General George S. Patton and, well, Tubby Smith. He's exciting, with a specific brand of basketball that is not only difficult to defend but hard to look away from. As far as attitude goes, see number 1 on this list.

3. Pokey Chatman: 90-14 as a head coach, two SEC titles and two Final Fours in three years. Chatman has proven herself to be one of the premiere women's coaches in America, and perhaps that bastion of diversity that is the University of Kentucky could break down some barriers. Come on guys, you know that you want to hire a woman... a lesbian... a black lesbian. Let's go ahead and finish off the last lingering pieces of Adolph Rupp by bringing in a black lesbian as our new head coach, after all, our dislike for Tubby had NOTHING to do with his race, right?

As far as new coaches go, unless one of those three makes the cut (and I assure you, they won't), I'll be tempted to cheer against Kentucky next season. Not because I don't love the team anymore, but because the Fairweather Johnsons of our state need a big taste of what life can be like in a post-Tubby era. However, there is one hire that would cause me to desert the C-A-T-S, CATS CATS CATS forever...

Rick Pitino.

I'm going on record right now. If you feel the need, save this text in a folder somewhere and feel free to hold me to it. If somehow, some way, Rick Pitino returns to the University of Kentucky I will not only cheer against them next year, but certainly for every year in which he is in charge... maybe forever. If Rick Pitino is allowed to skulk back into Lexington after flipping the bird to the city that made him a superstar ten years ago I'll be in search of a new favorite team, and I think I know who that team might be...

Write it down, folks. If Rick Pitino's Wildcats hit the court next year I will immediately rush out and buy caps, shirts, jerseys, shorts, and blankets bearing the logo of the Duke Blue Devils. Hell, I may even get a tattoo. I will officially have two new favorite college teams, Duke and whomever happens to be playing Kentucky.

I'm tired of living in the past. I'm tired of the fickle nature, jealousy, pettiness and subtle (and often blatant) bigotry associated with this program. If you need any evidence as to whether or not Kentucky loves a white boy more than life itself, if SOMEHOW you've missed out on this, let me remind you that in this state we still worship Richie Farmer, Travis Ford and to a lesser degree, Patrick Sparks. Ford wasn't bad, but judging by his NBA career, or should I say, lack thereof, he certainly wasn't the hero that he was made out to be. Patrick Sparks, a man that you could always count on to "take the shot" even if he was guarded by Manute Bol and standing in the locker room, should still makes you cringe. And as far as Richie Farmer goes... well, let me share two radio stories that explain exactly how Kentucky fans view this mediocre-at-best Wildcat legend.

Caller: Yeah, uh, I was just wonderin'... if you could pick between a team of FIVE Richie Farmers versus FIVE Michael Jordans, which one would you pick?

Host: Well, Richie was a great player, but I think I'd have to go with the Jordans.

Caller: See, I don't think so... you gotta remember, the five Richies would play as a team!

And then this story, from just yesterday that didn't even involve an idiotic caller, but rather people who are PAID by someone to share their opinions...

Host 1: Coming up later in the hour, we'll have Richie Farmer on here to talk Sweet Sixteen basketball and we'll get his thoughts on the departure of Tubby Smith.

Host 2: Richie didn't even play for Tubby, though.

Host 1: Yeah, but I'm sure he'll have some thoughts on the subject.

Host 2: We oughta ask Richie, would you rather be GOVERNOR or HEAD COACH of the CATS!?

You know what, you're right. Richie Farmer is a God among men. Richie Farmer is the most powerful force in human history. Hell with it, as far as I'm concerned, Lil' Richie should be both Governor AND Coach! He can do it all!

Tubby, believe it or not, many of us are really going to miss you. You gave us all you had and we threw it in your face. I sincerely apologize on behalf of so, so many of the slack-jawed yahoos of this state that would never and will never admit that having you around for the last ten years has been a wonderful blessing for the program. I wish you all the best in Minnesota, and I can assure you that I won't be the only resident of the Commonwealth cheering for the Gophers next year.

Thanks for everything, Tubb. You'll be missed.

There was a reason that mankind invented the internet... that reason was Youtube.

Thanks to Youtube (and the work of Jeff and Derek) I now present to you two of the worst things ever committed to film.

It's hard to decide which is worse, as they're both equally bad on completely different levels. I'll let you be the judge.

Is it Video Games?

Or is it Mean Gene?

... you be the judge

I know that it's been ages since I updated this thing, my apologies. I've been on safari for the last couple of weeks, contracted malaria and am on my way to recovery.

Ok, that's just a lie... I'm lazy.

Anyway, I wanted to share this with the world. It so thoroughly rides the line between funny and depressing that I may never recover from this laughing/crying fit.

Judge for yourself:

Eighties WWF Star's False Teeth Come Out During Match
03/11/2007 by Ryan Clark

Jake "The Snake" Roberts had his false teeth come out of his mouth during a recent wrestling match with Casey Thompson at an indie show on 3/3 in Davie, Florida.

Roberts' appearance during the match was quite embarrassing. Roberts had a hard time getting up after going down, not to mention that he looked really out of shape. He looked disoriented in the ring at times as well. In regards to his teeth, Thompson delivered a forearm to Roberts while he was tied up on the ropes and his false teeth flew out of his mouth. The ref then kicked the teeth to the corner so that they wouldn't get stepped on. A security guard then grabbed them and gave them to Roberts, who then lodged them back into his mouth. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to fit correctly as Roberts may have also gotten a swollen jaw from the forearm.

After the show, Roberts told people at his gimmick table to always brush their teeth so that they don't lose them when they get older.