It’s difficult to write about anything that ends with the word, “Mania.” Look at how Hulkamania ended, with Hulk Hogan in court and releasing sex tapes and whatnot. And I would love to write about last year’s WrestleMania, but that whole Terminator: Genisys tie-in was so atrocious, even the memories of it burn like a lye bath.
Let’s talk about Beatlemania instead, which really began in America today in 1964, when the Beatles landed in New York for a short tour and two television appearances.
Movie studios are often thought of as being owned by faceless bastards, money men, and committees. The reason for that is because it’s true. That is how most studios are. There was a time when some folks set out to change that.
How nice it must be, we think, to come from money. Old money. The kind of money you don’t even realize you have because you’ve had it for so long. Money you didn’t earn. You’re going along, living your life, rich as balls, going to a liberal arts college and wearing sweaters when you don’t have to because you’re rich, and why not?
Then it all comes crashing down, and the next thing you know, you’re wanted for bank robbery.
Dear rock and roll musicians:
Please stop using air travel.
Thanks,
Everybody
This is The Day The Music Died.
Today in Pop Culture, a hike in the snowy mountains turned deadly for nine hikers in the Soviet Union. The cause of their death has never been determined. If it has, the Russian government has never released it. All they will say is that something killed those mountaineers. You’ll hear all kinds of conspiracy theories about what murdered those people, cockamamie theories from one side of the Internet to the other.
Come on.
We all know the Yeti got them.
TRIGGER WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT
You don’t often think about people fleeing the country unless its wartime, and there’s a flood of refugees hitting the shores. But sometimes, people get the hell out of Dodge because they’ve done something horribly wrong and want to avoid going to the hoosegow.
It’s even weirder when the person fleeing is an internationally known film director.
One thing I’ve learned from writing this column is that history, even something as seemingly fluffy as pop culture history, consists mostly of death. It’s depressing. Factual, but depressing as hell. Sometimes, you’ve got to get silly, especially on a Friday.
Can I get a witness?
I think it’s time for another singalong.
While it is proper to acknowledge that this is the 30th anniversary of the explosion of the space shuttle, Challenger, it is also safe to say that the nation will be inundated with those painful memories today. There are other things to remember on this date, though, and they aren’t as glorified and politicized. The paths of glory are many, and we are all on our own road through history.
The way we rate movies in America is confusing and arbitrary at best. The stranglehold the Motion Picture Association of America has over artists and the way they present their art is unconscionable. It is an outdated, lopsided system which falls apart when you apply even the least amount of thought to it.
There may not be any expression of emotion purer than the act of dance. Whether it is a formal kind of dance, like ballet, or a child dancing awkwardly in circles for no reason than being alive, the act of dancing wells up from inside and explodes in a flurry of limbs and happiness. Obviously, the best thing to do with something like a dance is ban it, right?
The year was 1962, and the Catholic Diocese in Buffalo, New York, decided to ban the Twist from all Catholic schools in America.