Most episodes of “Saturday Night Live” are scheduled so the funnier bits go first and the riskier, oddball sketches appear towards the end, in case they have to be cut for time. But on the February 4 episode featuring host Pedro Pascal (“The Mandalorian,” “The Last of Us”), the final sketch, “Lisa from Temecula,” was probably the most memorable of the night.That’s high praise because it was a strong episode, with a funny “Last of Us” parody featuring the Super Mario Brothers and a sketch where Pascal played a protective mother.In “Lisa from Temecula,” Paul, played by Pascal, takes a few friends out for dinner, played by Punkie Johnson, newcomer Molly Kearney and breakout star Bowen Yang. The trouble comes when Johnson’s sister Lisa, played by Ego Nwodim, orders her steak “extra, extra well done.”The sketch is a play on the notion that it’s a faux pas to order well-done steak, especially in a fancy restaurant. However, Lisa doesn’t care and won’t tolerate “one speck of red” on her steak.The sketch is one of the rare moments on “SNL” where things are so funny that the cast breaks character. Pascal has difficulty getting through his lines and Yang has to cover his face because he can’t stop laughing. But Nwodim only has one small break in the scene and keeps it together as the sketch’s comedy core.“Lisa from Temecula” got a lot of attention on social media and Nwodim later thanked the sketch’s writers Alex English, Gary Richardson and Michael Che. \u201cwe have @alex3nglish + Gary Richardson and Che to thank for Lisa. love them 4Life.\u201d — Ego Nwodim (@Ego Nwodim) 1675645093 This article originally appeared on 2.6.23

A father-daughter snowboarding session takes the cuteness up a notch, thanks to dad’s brilliant idea to attach a mic to his 4-year-old. Sweetness ensued.Sporting an adorable dinosaur onesie, the “powder-saurus” glides through their “secret path,” warning dad of intruders. Cause clearly, it’s THEIR secret path.As she does, she sings her song of resilience and courage.“I won’t fall … maybe I will … that’s okay … cause we all fall.”Truly powerful wisdom in such a tiny package. @chasing.sage We mic’d up our 4 year old while snowboarding.? #fatherdaughter #dadlife #snowboarding #micdup #cuteness #wholesome #familytime #raddad #fatherhood ♬ original sound - Chasing.Sage One person astutely wrote in the comments, “this is the mantra we all need in 2022.” I mean … it's accurate.Another added, “this child gave a TED Talk about the power of positive self-talk.”Indeed, “Shredder Dad” shares footage of our loveable snowboarding dinosaur making a few face plants, but she quickly bounces back. Nothing can stop her from her “weewhoos.” Nothing. That is, until she becomes a “stuck-asaurus.” A truly relatable moment for all ages. Aren’t "indiscernible verbal struggles" part of the soundtrack of life? Still, she takes it all in hilarious stride, laughing all the way, and the positivity is heartwarming.This video quickly put a smile on more than 6 million faces, and even got a comment from Walmart, which agreed that “we all fall sometimes.” Turns out that there’s even more wholesome adventure content on the family’s TikTok. They even have a very thorough guide for teaching a toddler to snowboard here.And by the way, yes, that dinosaur outfit does come in an adult size. Next time you’re feeling down, just think of the powder-saurus song, and you’ll be back to “weewhoo” in no time. This article originally appeared on 02.11.22

Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody has been covered dozens of different ways. But you've never seen it performed like this.As one of the most iconic songs in rock music, Bohemian Rhapsody is recognizable no matter how it's done. As children, my brother and I used to belt out Galileos and Figaros in the backseat of our parents' Volkswagon whenever the song came on (yes, just like in Wayne's World). While other kids learned about Beelzebub in Sunday School, I learned about him from Queen's perfect harmonies. If there were an anthem from my classic rock-filled childhood, it would be Bohemian Rhapsody.It's one of those songs that is hard to cover well, though it hasn't stopped people from trying. I've enjoyed some renditions, but nothing has caught my attention or delight more than this kapa haka version from New Zealand.A Māori choir in native garb sang the song live in the Māori language, and it is something to see.The group Hātea Kapa Haka performed the song on February 21 at New Zealand's national kapa haka festival, Te Matatini, in Wellington. The festival brings 46 kapa haka (Māori performing arts) groups together to compete against one another.Newshub reports that Hātea Kapa Haka collaborated with musical artist William Waiirua to create a "Bohemian Rhapsody" cover in the Māori language, both as a tribute to Freddie Mercury and to celebrate the Oscar-nominated movie about his life.The group had previously created a music video for their cover, but seeing it performed live is something else. The voices, the harmony, the presentation—everything—is wonderful.This kind of cultural mashup reminds us how small our world has become.The contrast between Queen's 1970s British rock and the Māori people's traditional kapa haka could not be more striking. And yet, the melding of the two totally works. Music has the power to bring people together, and this performance is a great example of how it can bridge cultures with beautiful results.Watch the live performance here:And if you want more, check out the music video too:William Waiirua got more help from Hātea Kapa Haka than he bargained for when his car broke down... For more Queen, check out this playlist: https://umusicNZ...This article originally appeared on 03.01.19

I got a promotion a few days ago, so I decided to stop for a drink on my way home — just me and my sense of accomplishment.I ended up alone in the bar, running defense against a bouncer who held my ID hostage while he commented on my ass (among other things) and asked me vaguely threatening questions about my sex life.This is not a Yelp review. It's not an angry rant, and it's definitely not something women need to be reminded of.As far as I can tell, there is only one good lesson to pull out of this otherwise shitty and all-too-familiar interaction: In my experience, a lot of thoroughly decent men are still having trouble understanding this.I have a friend who once joked that it was all right for him to catcall women because he's good-looking. I had another ask me in faux outrage why it was OK for me to describe a cupcake (as in an actual chocolate baked good) as a “seven," but not OK for him to rank women the same way. I was recently at a house party where a group of guys referred to a soundproofed recording studio in the basement as the “rape room" 45 times.Some of these jokes were a little funny. Some of them really weren't. But they were all endemic of something more sinister, and I honestly don't think the men in question even realize it.So to the generally well-intentioned men in my life, please consider this:I have a friend who once joked that it was all right for him to catcall women because he's good-looking. I had another ask me in faux outrage why it was OK for me to describe a cupcake (as in an actual chocolate baked good) as a “seven," but not OK for him to rank women the same way. I was recently at a house party where a group of guys referred to a soundproofed recording studio in the basement as the “rape room" 45 times.Some of these jokes were a little funny. Some of them really weren't. But they were all endemic of something more sinister, and I honestly don't think the men in question even realize it.This has made me defensive. It has put me more on my guard than I would like to be.Decent male humans, this is not your fault, but it also does not have nothing to do with you.If a woman is frosty or standoffish or doesn't laugh at your joke, consider the notion that maybe she is not an uptight, humorless bitch, but rather has had experiences outside your realm of understanding that have adversely colored her perception of the world.Consider that while you're just joking around, a woman might actually be doing some quick mental math to see if she's going to have to hide in a bathroom stall and call someone to come help her, like I did three days ago.Please adjust your mindset and your words accordingly.This article was written by Laura Munoz and originally appeared on 03.08.16.

There was never just one moment in my family when we “found out" that my dad was an addict.I think I always knew, but I never saw him actually drinking. Usually, he downed a fifth of vodka before he came home from work or hid tiny bottles in the garage and bathroom cabinets.My name is Ashley, and I am the child of an addict. As a kid, I cried when our family dinner reservation shrunk from four to three after a man with glassy eyes stumbled through the door. I didn't guzzle the vodka, but I felt the heartbreak of missed birthdays. I feel like I should weigh 500 pounds from all the “I'm sorry" chocolate donuts. I had to grow up quicker, but it made me into the person I am today.I spent many years shouting into journals about why this was happening to me. But this is the thing that no one will tell you about loving someone who has an addiction: it will force you to see the world through different eyes.Here are some things I've learned:1. When your family's yelling about burnt toast, they're probably also yelling about something else.My family yelled about everything — and nothing — to avoid the messy stuff. We all handled my dad's addiction differently. My brother devoured sports. My mom took bubble baths. I slammed doors and slammed boyfriends for not understanding my family's secrets.Regardless of the preferred coping mechanism, everyone feels pain differently.2. Your "knight in shining armor" can't fix this.Boyfriends became my great escape when I was young. But when I expected them to rescue me from the pain I grew up with, it never worked out. No matter how strapping they looked galloping in on those white horses, they couldn't save me or fix anything.In the end, I realized that I had to find healing on my own before I could build a strong relationship.3. “Don't tell anyone" is a normal phase.When my dad punched holes in the wall, my mom covered them up with artwork. I wanted to rip the artwork down to expose all the holes, especially as a bratty teenager. But eventually I realized that it wasn't my choice. My parents had bills to pay and jobs to keep. I've learned it's common to cover up for dysfunction in your family, especially when it feels like the world expects perfection.4. Friends probably won't get it, but you'll need them anyway.Bulldozed by broken promises, I remember collapsing on a friend's couch from the crippling pain of unmet expectations. I hyperventilated. Things felt uncontrollable and hopeless. My friend rubbed my back and just listened.These are the kinds of friends I will keep forever, the ones who crawled down into the dark places with me and didn't make me get back up until I was ready.5. You can't fix addiction, but you can help.When I was a teenager, I called a family meeting. I started by playing a Switchfoot song: “This is your life. Are you who you want to be?"Let's skip to the punchline: It didn't work.It wasn't just me. Nothing anyone did worked. My dad had to lose a lot — mostly himself — before he hit that place they call “rock bottom." And, in all honesty, I hate that label because “rock bottom" isn't just a one-and-done kind of place.What can you do while you wait for someone to actually want to get help? Sometimes, you just wait. And you hope. And you pray. And you love. And you mostly just wait.6. Recovery is awkward.When a counselor gave me scripted lines to follow if my dad relapsed, I wanted to shred those “1-2-3 easy steps" into a million pieces.For me, there was nothing easy about my dad's recovery. My whole family had to learn steps to a new dance when my dad went into recovery. The healing dance felt like shuffling and awkwardly stepping on toes. It was uncomfortable; new words, like trust and respect, take time to sink in. And that awkwardness is also OK.7. I still can't talk about addiction in the past tense.Nothing about an addict's life happens linearly. I learned that early on. My dad cycled through 12-step programs again and again, to the point where I just wanted to hurl whenever anyone tried to talk about it. And then we finally reached a point where it felt like recovery stuck.But even now, I'll never say, “My dad used to deal with addiction." My whole family continues to wrestle with the highs and lows of life with an addict every single day.8. Happy hours and wedding receptions aren't easy to attend.My family will also probably never clink glasses of red wine or stock the fridge full of beer. I'm convinced happy hours and wedding receptions will get easier, but they might not. People get offended when my dad orders a Diet Coke instead of their fine whisky.Plus, there's the paranoia factor. Surrounded by flowing liquor, I hate watching my dad crawl out of his skin, tempted to look “normal" and tackle small talk with people we barely know. I've learned that this fear will probably last for a while, and it's because I care.9. If you close your eyes, the world doesn't just “get prettier."With constant fear of the unknown, sometimes our world is not a pretty place. I remember watching the breaking news on 9/11 and feeling the terror of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers as if I was there.My dad numbed the anxiety of these dark days with vodka, but this didn't paint a prettier world for him when he woke up the next day. I've dealt with the fear of the unknown with the help of boys, booze, and bad dancing on pool tables. Life hurts for everyone, and I think we all have to decide how we're going to handle the darkness.10. Rip off the sign on your back that reads: “KICK ME. MY LIFE SUCKS."Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see only my broken journey. In some twisted way, I'm comforted by the dysfunction because it's kept me company for so long. It's easy to let the shadow of my family's past follow me around and choose to drown in the darkness.But every day, I'm learning to turn on the light. I have to write the next chapter in my recovery story, but I can't climb that mountain with all this crap weighing me down.11. It's OK to forgive, too.Some people have given me sucky advice about how I should write an anthem on daddy bashing, or how to hit the delete button on the things that shaped my story.Instead, my dad and I are both learning to celebrate the little things, like the day that he could change my flat tire. On that day, I didn't have to wonder if he was too drunk to come help me.I can't forget all the dark nights of my childhood.But I've learned that for my own well-being, I can't harbor bitterness until I explode.Instead, I can love my dad, day by day, and learn to trust in the New Dad — the one with clearer eyes and a full heart. The one who rescues me when I call.This article was written by Ashley Tieperman and originally appeared on 04.27.16

The death knell for authentic rock. The post The song Lemmy called “everything wrong with rock” first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

The pop-flavoured side of The Stones The post The Rolling Stones song Mick Jagger called crap: “I can say now that it’s wonderful” first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

An all-time classic. The post The Kiss bassline Gene Simmons is most proud of first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

The true peak of an entertainer. The post The artist Angus Young called “one of the greatest musicians” ever first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

The measure of a musical poet. The post The musician Bruce Springsteen said is “always writing songs I wish I’d written” first appeared on Far Out Magazine.