Archive for July, 2010

Day 41

John Travolta is the luckiest man alive. To begin with, I’ve seen him in interviews and such, and he’s kind of—well, he doesn’t come across as the brightest bulb in the batch. Moreover, most of those Hollywood Scientology people come across as kind of stupid. Maybe I’m projecting and admittedly, all of that is entirely subjective, but they all do have a certain similar aura about them. I don’t know that I can fully describe that aura, but dumb seems to be one of its elements. In fact, maybe “dumb” isn’t even the right word. Maybe, it would be more appropriate to say sort of brainwashed. Nevertheless, what is not subjective are his career choices, and his seeming ability to flush said career down the toilet, only to be rescued by some random lightning bolt from the gods.

His career basically started with his role as Vinny Barbarino in “Welcome Back Kotter,” a show I loved back in the day, but upon recent viewings of it, realize it was terrible. However, I should note that the school that is shown in the credits is New Utrecht High School, my father’s alma mater. What makes that particularly funny is that a friend of my college girlfriend once told her (without knowing about my father’s connection to the area the show is supposed to portray) that “Welcome Back Kotter” comes off as “so trashy.”

Regardless, from there Travolta got hit after hit. It’s hard to say how involved he was in his choice of projects, as a young man at that stage of his career has to take whatever roles he can get. Nevertheless, Carrie, Saturday Night Fever, Grease, and Urban Cowboy were all not only box office smashes, but were all, in varying degrees, critically panned.

At that point, he must have built up enough of a reputation where he had some choice in what he wanted to work on. So, what does he choose to do?

Staying Alive, Two of a Kind, and Perfect.

He then became Hollywood refuse until he was pulled out of the gutter by Look Who’s Talking, an awful movie to be sure, but a well-received movie nonetheless. After that, he mostly seemed to concentrate on doing Look Who’s Talking sequels, all of which were painfully awful.

Again, I think he was once again forgotten until a relatively unknown 70’s-o-phile by the name of Quentin Tarantino couldn’t get Kristen Murphy’s boyfriend’s dumb ass in his new picture so instead, he decided he wanted Vinny Barbarino. The new movie was Pulp Fiction, and John Travolta was back with a vengeance.

Shortly after that, he did Get Shorty, which may have been his last remotely respectable movie. Since then, he has been in a boatload of awful movies that sometimes did well at the box office, presumably because most movie goers are chumps, and maybe because everybody loves a happy (and lucky) ending. Call it an offshoot of the Forrest Gump Effect.

Regardless, now, he’s living his scientologic life, and he’s even lucky enough to be able to grow a mustache, however sleazy it may look.

Man, fuck John Travolta, fuck Travolta’s sleazy mustache, and fuck Travolta for being in two of my favorite films of all-time.


Day 35

Sam Elliot is one of the great mustaches of all time. According to Wikipedia, “he is often characterized by his rangy physique, thick horseshoe moustache and deep, resonant speaking voice.” It’s funny, because I was watching “The Making of The Big Lebowski” and the Coen Brothers noted that Sam Elliot didn’t seem to have much a part in the movie. While on the set he noted to them that though he was happy to involved, he didn’t see what his purpose was. They answered that they didn’t either. However, they had written his part (that of “The Stranger“) specifically for Sam Elliot because he had that big, deep voice, and because he had a big mustache that covered his lips while he spoke.

While many might think Sam Elliot is a Texan, the truth is he is originally from Sacramento, California, though he went to high school in Oregon, and attended college in Washington. I wonder if Sam Elliot has sort of become his character, or if the man behind the mustache is different than the man on the screen.

My access to Elliot is limited as I’ve only really seen him in Mask and The Big Lebowski. However, he is Carol Sue Boggs’ favorite actor, or one of them.

Also, Elliot is married to Katharine Ross, which surprised me. I guess she fell in love with his mustache, just like the rest of us.

Day 34

There you go. If that doesn't qualify as the stupidest-looking mustache and the largest forehead in the world, I don't know what does.

Day 31

The story goes that songwriter Jacques Morali and his business partner, Henri Belolo were looking for some kind of hook for a musical group. They wandered into a bar in the Village, and inside they saw an “Indian” tending the bar and dancing. While watching the “Indian,” they noticed a “cowboy” also watching the “Indian” dance. At that point, both Morali and Belolo had the same idea. They saw these characters and began to ask themselves, “What are the characters of the American man?” With those in mind, they put together the Village People.

The Indian bartender/dancer was, of course, Felipe Rose. They also had their lead singer in Victor Willis, who had previously sent them a demo tape and committed to singing lead vocals in their at-the-time non-formed band. In order to garner the services of the other “Village People,” Morali and Belolo placed an ad in the newspaper that read, “Macho types wanted: Must dance and have a MUSTACHE.”

Those macho, mustachioed dancers turned out to be the leather-clad biker, Glenn Hughes, the construction worker, David “Scar” Hodo, the GI, Alex Briley, and the cowboy, Randy Jones.

A couple of notable facts about the Village People:

In the song “Macho Man,” Victor Willis exclaims, “Dig my big, thick mustache.”

Aside from Felipe Rose, all of the members of the Village People did indeed have mustaches.

Victor Willis, and his mustache, were formerly married to Phylicia Rashad, most prominently of “The Cosby Show” fame.

The Village People—i.e. Glenn Hughes, David Hodo, Randy Jones, Alex Briley, and Felipe Rose—and their respective mustaches genuinely sing all of the backing vocals on all of the songs.

Felipe Rose, and his non-mustache (I’d guess he can’t grow a mustache) currently reside in Asbury Park, NJ, former residence of yours truly, 402 6th Ave., Apt 6 (that was where I lived; not Felipe).

Henri Belolo allowed the US Navy and their various mustaches to use the song,In the Navy” in a recruiting advertising campaign, provided that the Navy helped the Village People to shoot a video for the song. Less than a month later the Village People arrived at the San Diego Naval Base. The video was shot on the USS Reasoner (FF-1063). The Navy, because it didn’t have the mustache to handle the Village People, canceled the campaign.

As for me and my mustache, we admittedly have no use for the Village People without Victor Willis, who left the band at the end of their international 1979 tour.

Day 28

On March 4, 2001, one of the great mustaches of all time passed away. His name was Glenn Hughes and he was the biker aka Leatherman of the clown princes of disco, the Village People.

Needless to say, people discount disco the same way they discount big, burly, horseshoe mustaches, but ultimately, most people that discount disco amount to homophobic racists. Yes, disco did get out of hand, but it didn’t get out of hand until the heroes of said homophobic racists started making disco albums. Specifically, I’m referring to the Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, and other similar “rock” acts all of whom released garbage disco songs (though I like Kiss and Queen’s disco albums). As long as disco was strictly a black and gay thing, there was no “backlash.” In the words of Craig Werner, “The attacks on disco gave respectable voice to the ugliest kinds of racism, sexism, and homophobia.” Of course, there was also the fact that the hippies were getting old and people weren’t grooving to their shitty music and culture anymore. This, needless to say, warranted a further backlash (at least in their twisted, entitled minds).

Regardless, I always loved the Village People, and I still do just as I still love disco. No the Village People weren’t Chic or Donna Summer, but they were amusing, and fuckin’ A, their songs were undeniably catchy.

Nevertheless, Glenn Hughes was neither gay nor was he black. He was genuinely a motorcycle enthusiast and it is his basso profundo that you hear so prominently exclaiming “Cruisin’ everybody that’s cruisin’ by my way/ Cruisin’ everybody/ I’m cruisin’ you today,” in the song “I’m a cruiser.” In 1979, he was listed amongst People magainze’s “50 Most Beautiful People.” and he also happened my favorite Village Person (thus proving that I’ve always been attracted to mustaches).

He died of lung cancer at age 50.

Day 21

One of the great mustaches of all time is or has been Wilford Brimley. I suspect most motherfuckers know him from those stupid Quaker Oats™ ads or because his fat ass has diabetes. or worse, from that awful and embarrassing Cocoon shit. However, he does have two very good, if under-the-radar movies to his credit: Absence of Malice and Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins. I am not going

Brigham Young

to review or offer huge comments up on either of them because movie reviews go here, and I only have so much time on my upper lips to donate to free mustache rides. However, I will note that Brimley is a Mormon. He is also an avid poker player and is very much in favor of cock fighting. I thought Mormons weren’t allowed to gamble. Shit knows they’re allowed to grow facial hair.

Also of note is the fact that Brimley is a Libra, and his birthday (September 27)  just so happens to be the birthday of Brian Bland and Mike Schmidt, but I will get to him (Schmidt, not Bland) in my series on famous baseball mustaches of the 70’s and 80’s.

Day 20

That, you motherfuckers, is what we in the business call a mustache. A sad and pathetic mustache, but nobody would mistake what is growing on my upper lip as some idiot that simply forgot to shave for the last 2 days. Rather, I think people would look at that and say, “What is he thinking?” Well, here is a haiku for your punk asses:

He, forgettable?

Is that hair above your lips?

Now, you can fuck off.

By the way, I haven’t showered in days.