Hall of LameIs the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame the most oxymoronic concept in pop culture?

EARLIER THIS WEEK, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame released the list of nominees for enshrinement in Cleveland this April. If you decide to tune in to the ceremony on April 14th, you’ll see acts like Guns ‘N Roses, The Cure, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and War vie for the opportunity to enter the pantheon of rock and roll gods and receive a taste of immortality.

All of that’s great, and congratulations to all the artists selected, but patting a bunch of aging millionaires on their heads isn’t really the point of this article. Instead, I’d like it to go on the record that I think the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is one of the stupidest ideas of all time.

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Kill the Umpire?A sympathetic sabermetrician ruminates on the mellowing of his sports fanaticism

THE BLOWN CALL. It’s a phrase that sends a shiver down the spine of every sports fan. Depending on the teams you love, more than a few atrocious decisions are sure to come to mind, producing a visceral reaction unlike any other in professional athletics. Names like Jeffrey Maier and Don Denkinger probably shouldn’t be as infamous as they are, but for an unfortunate ruling and a game-turning result in a pivotal contest.

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Falling Up: What’s My Age Again?Continuing our series on entering adulthood, Yang-Yi Goh reflects on a band that's grown up alongside him

THE DAY I TURNED 11, my dad picked me up after school and drove me to the mall. Earlier that morning, I’d gotten about $50 worth of music store gift cards from various family and friends, and I was itching to use them on a few new CDs to bolster my burgeoning taste in music. Those middle school years are ripe with earnest discovery, when stumbling upon a certain song or album or artist still has the potential to literally change your life. But I was already well aware of the only band whose records I wanted to buy that day: Blink-182.

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The Week In Entertainment, Vol. 8We discuss the songs, shows, flicks, and videos that caught our attention over the past seven days

This week, Domo Genesis gets blazed on a new mixtape; The Flaming Lips clock in with an epic new song; Johnny Depp embodies the late, great Hunter S. Thompson yet again; Scarface gets prepped for an ill-advised remake; How I Met Your Mother revives a fan favorite; Modern Family horses around; and a shrewd kid in Russia becomes our idol.

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The Verdict: DriveNicolas Winding Refn's latest film accelerates into a coercive, exhilarating masterpiece

FOR WAY, WAY LONGER than you’d expect, Drive is a polite movie. It goes the speed limit. It makes complete stops. It signals before turning. It brakes on yellow. (Should I keep going?) The film is so well-behaved that you’d be forgiven for thinking your mom might like it, right up to the minute the first skull gets blown open. Ryan Gosling is so dreamy.

Drive makes the most of the disconnect between its extraordinary violence and its overwhelming sexiness, and then some. Where most hyper-stylized, ultra-violent films inevitably end up romanticizing the carnage (some quite successfully), the blood in Drive hurts and delights in roughly equal measure. It’s not Schindler’s List, but it’s not The Boondock Saints, either. Thank God for that. 

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