Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Sibling Revelry?

Marie Osmond definitely wins the award for most memorable TV moment this week, possibly this whole month, with her samba slip-of-consciousness. Frickin' Marie. Who would've guessed she'd be so much fun? I remember seeing her brother Donny on a Fear Factor episode about a year ago and how he was a total thrill-seeker, which kind of surprised me. But I think Marie has just forever cemented her celebrity status above his with that stunt, in case there was ever any rivalry between them in that area.

I'm still enjoying DWTS this season, even if it has been sort of slow-going overall so far. But there are highlights. Bruno, as ever, is delightfully over-the-top with his insane and inane comments, but the big surprise this year is Len Goodman and his unabashed crush on Jennie Garth. It's pretty cute. Samantha Harris being back bugs me. I liked Drew. He had balls last week when he gave the funk-eye to Wade Robson backstage. And Samantha went grade-A twunty when she tried to put Mel B on the spot last night by asking her who she thought should be in the bottom two.

The shocker for me this season? My unabashed crush on Helio Castroneves. What is it about this show? Every year I say no one will get to me. But then there was Drew. Then Emmitt. Then Joey. Now Helio? I have to say, though, I thought he was cute on the show. Him and his dimples and his dancing and constant repetition of "I'm a race car driver." But then I had the misfortune of seeing this picture of him and it was like looking at pure, undiluted sex. I can't even bring myself to post the picture here because it makes me feel so dirty. It's ridiculous. I didn't even mind his Sprockets-esque sequined shirt this week. Okay. Yes I did mind the shirt. It totally cooled my lust. But then I got all crushy again when he couldn't muster the magic to be faux-attracted to Julianne for a dance. I mean, she's hot and all, but she's also jailbait. I thought it was a little strange that the judges should be pushing a thirty year old man to act lustful about a youngster like that. But, showbiz, whatever. Maybe I don't get it.

And I learned how much I didn't get it when Julianne showed her "professionalism" this week by doing a super-sexy dance to J Lo's performance...with her brother. It was just...icky. I mean, there was a chair and lapdance at one point! Professionalism is one thing. The incestuous version of Showgirls is quite another to be subjected to at nine p.m. on a Tuesday. Twisting the knife courteously was Tom Bergeron, making sure to inform us that the producers don't choreograph that shit -- the dancers themselves do! Maybe the Houghs have been huffing the left-over aerosol from the Mystic Tan cans to come up with that routine, but the whole thing just gave me unseemly flashbacks to Angelina Jolie-James Haven red carpet shenanigans.

Also, a random question -- why is Florence Henderson always hanging around the audience?

I don't have any sort of slick segue from Florence to talk about serial killers in Miami, so I'll just jump in about Dexter this week. This show? Cracking me up! I totally did NOT see the twist coming that Laguerta had been the one banging Esmee's fiance! I thought it was strange when Esmee was having her public meltdown and Maria refused to talk shit about her, but it still didn't connect. Just a total stroke of brilliance there. I love you Gloria/Lauren/Maria!


But the best? Masuka telling Dexter that he's had a big break in the Bay Harbor Butcher case, and Dex blurts out, "Bullshit! Oh. I mean, really?"

Oh! I just found a connective tissue I could've used as the segue -- Dex walking in on his sis when she was banging the boxer boy. Now, see, that was funny, not creepy. Okay, maybe a little creepy. But in a funny-creepy way. Not in a shudder-creepy, I-wish-I-had-lost-consciousness-like-Marie-and-never-seen-that way.

Monday, October 22, 2007

This Trick is a Treat!

So, did any of you catch Sandra Lee's Halloween specials this weekend? If you missed them, fear not, as they're replaying today and tomorrow, and, as a special bonus, they're going to air her hour long special where she decorates the bejesus out of a mansion and dresses like a princess and has Tyler Florence stop by to humiliate him.

Anyhow, a brief recap of the Halloween festivities this weekend. In the first show, Sandy was moved out of her kitchen and hosted a shindig in what was done up to look like a creepy cellar, and she dressed up as Marilyn Monroe, Vivien Leigh, Liz Taylor (she looked more like Cher) and Audrey Hepburn!

For the Marilyn costume, it was the classic "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" pink dress, including the satin gloves! Sandy was shocked, SHOCKED, I tell you at how it wasn't so hard to cook in the satin gloves. It wasn't difficult because she cooked prefab, frozen buffalo chicken tenders! I shit you not. That's classic Sandra Lee, folks. She takes the frozen prepared chicken tenders out of the bag with her tongs and then sprinkles some sesame seeds or poppy seeds or some crap on them and VIOLA that's cooking a treat, people!

As you can see, she was thrilled to be Marilyn, but the mere thought of even heating up the chicken -- on a cooking show -- was too much for Sandy to bear.



But things really got into her zone when it was cocktail time! She made "dragon's blood punch." Now, for as much as I laugh at SL's "cooking," let me tell you something. (And I tell you this as a bona-fide boozehound myself.) Sandy can make drinks, yo. Her cocktails generally kick ass. I think she was already semi-ho-hammered by the time she got all gussied up as Audrey Hepburn, cause she said something incoherent about how she has to make her own drinks because she refuses to accept a drink from disapproving gentlemen. I don't know. But she whipped up that dragon's blood punch and was on-the-ball enough to warn people to stop at a certain point before adding the liquor to serve the drink to little gentlemen. But she didn't taste test the kiddy-friendly recipe. She poured herself some vodka into the glass and then looked happy taste-testing it.


Those were the main highlights from that show, but the next day they aired the Sandy special where she dressed up in all the classic drag queen uniforms! I'm telling you, she'd make Frank Marino squeal with glee. Cher, Babs, Madonna, and Liza. Good shit man! And startling how much she looked like Babs! But you could tell she really got a kick out of being Cher. Tossing her hair, tongue in cheek, and, again, being careful to not make anything near an open flame lest her wig or feathers treat us to some pyrotechnical delights.


After that, she got her vogue on and bravely told us that Madonna is the best singer ever! Also of note in the following picture? Check out her mixer and blender! I told you that she changes them every show to match her kitchen! (oh yeah, her kitchen goes from yellow to green to pink every day. It's crazy.) So for Halloween? A black mixer, and an ORANGE blender!


But the best? The best came when she appropriately put on the Liza costume for cocktail time. And holy shit did she go Liza with the drink, man! Even I was shocked at what she pulled out this time. She made a Vampire's Kiss martini. It all started off well enough with her chilling a shitload of vanilla vodka. She poured that in a glass which she'd rimmed with red simple syrup, and then, to dress it up for Halloween, she dropped in a plastic set of vampire teeth. Evs, you know? I'd still drink it. Then, to give it some lovely blood color, she dropped in Chambord. Still, extremely drinkable. But now I want you to look at this picture.


Of note is the booze cabinet behind her, but don't get distracted by that. Look at the bottles she's using in this drink. You see the martini glass she's pouring the vodka into. Next to it is the Chambord, and next to that is the vanilla vodka. But next to that is the true killer. There it is, photographic proof of what she did next. You can see the pumpkin, and the green bottle is partially obscured by the glass of licorice which she used to garnish the drink. But you can see it, can't you? You know what that is, don't you? You don't? It's Jagermeister, man! She dropped some fucking JAGER in the drink to give it some kick! Here. I diagramed it for you in case you've had a few cocktails yourself:


Then she closed the show with her decorating tips by showing us how to create a spooky tablescape by using ratty-ass gauze.

I LOVE SANDRA LEE! Her and her crazy kitchen blenders and outlandish costumes and pre-cooked chicken tenders and terribly tacky tablescapes and mostly her Jagermeister martinis! This chick knows how to party, okay?

And if you're sitting there asking what's the big deal about adding Jager to a martini, I can't help you. But I will tell you this. Whip up some dragon's blood punch or a vampire's kiss martini and then sit back and watch the next Sandra Lee while you snort your second drink. It'll give you a new perspective on this show.

You go on, Sandra Lee. As always, I'll be watching. Until then, keep it silly, keep it simple, keep it soused, and always keep it semi-homemade!

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Halloween Treat

Okay! For months now, I've been meaning to blog about my favorite TV comedy, Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee. In case you're not familiar, the woman has cocktail time on every show, manages to make her mixer match her kitchen (which changes color scheme each show), and cooks the most horrific shit you've ever seen! I mean, even for a drunk, she cooks bad. Her infamous corn nut Kwanzaa cake alone is simultaneously racially offensive and an insult to baked goods. But the food is secondary anyhow. It's all about booze and tablescapes for Sandy, and it's all so charmingly ridiculous. Unfortunately, time has been tight and I haven't been able to do it blogging justice, so I've just let it be. Also, if you're familiar with Sucks, they have the funniest Sandra Lee thread you could imagine.

However, Sandra's Halloween special last year was an outlandishly campy romp through truly disturbing snacks, and she's got a brand new one this year. It starts airing this Saturday. And I'm sure they'll be re-airing last year's delightfully frightful concotion, too, so be on the lookout for it. Then, we'll discuss!

Good Reads

Do check out William Reese Hamilton's "Evening Star" in the new issue of Steel City Review. And also Myfanwy Collins in the new issue of Caketrain. Both Pittsburgh based publications, and they both show the incredible good taste of shunning me ;)

Also, I should've reminded you earlier in my TV post, but if you're looking for rocking good recaps of TV shows, I'll remind you to check out Bored Morons. I don't watch all the shows they cover over there, but I am a fan of 30 Rock and I love those recaps. And visit the forums, too.

House Money

I'm so happy. I just signed a contract for my next book, House Money. It's a long and now-pointless tale, but if you're an Entourage fan, you'll understand this reference: This book is my Medellin. (Except, like, you know, it doesn't suck outright. But I would totally cast Vinny Chase in it!) It's just been a long and arduous process getting this book to where it is. It's going to be pubbed by Mundania, which I'm really excited about. It'll be quite some time before it's available. But, a very talented and generous friend of mine, Mr. Don Capone, has already agreed to do the cover for it, and he's already got it rocking! Check it out.


How fucking awesome is that cover? I love it! I love Don!

Life of Pie

The weather has cooled. Baseball, for me, is over. So, of course, I'm back to gorging on TV. 30 Rock and The Office are still great. I never thought they'd top "future Dwight," but it was pretty damn funny last week when Dwight took on the website and then PB&J convinced him that the computer had become self-aware and it taunted him. "What's a Jim?" That, combined with his lovesick stubble really was a lovely touch.

As far as new shows go, Pushing Daisies immediately got my attention, because it's by Bryan Fuller, creator of my most dearly departed Dead Like Me. Daisies has a few of the same quirky details that DLM had, but with a completely different overall tone. While DLM was darkly ironic and a bit snarky on the surface, it had a deep, soulful longing at its core, with Georgia as the misfit who didn't connect in life, and who was trying desperately to connect in death. Not coincidental, then, that physical touch is at the root of the magic of both of the shows. As a reaper, it was George's duty to take a person's soul before they suffered the painful indignity of death. Touching, therefore, being a nice metaphor for her ability/inability to find a connection with someone else.

But Daisies takes the whole touch thing a bit further, though the purpose of the metaphor is the same. In it, our protagonist is Ned, who realizes at an early age that his touch can bring things back from the dead. Great! And a second touch will send the reanimated permanently back to death. It's a cute set-up, as Ned has fallen in with a PI who stumbled upon his talent and the two team up to solve murder cases and collect the reward. Pretty easy money, because Ned simply touches the corpse, asks them who killed them, and then makes them dead again. The set-up also creates a double-edged sword of romantic tension, because Ned then revives his childhood sweetheart, but doesn't have the heart to kill her again. So although they're clearly bonkers for each other, they can never touch. Clever? Yes. Cute? Yes. Exhausting? Possibly.

It's only been two episodes, and this show definitely wins all visual awards for the year. It's got a Tim Burtonesque veneer about it, with vivid technicolor settings and costumes and a storybook-quality narration done by Harry Potter audio-book fellow Jim Dale. So it looks and sounds absolutely incredible. I mean, when you've got Kristin Chenoweth in an avocado mini-dress prancing around a fantastical, fairy-tale pie shop singing "Hopelessly Devoted To You," it's not going to be hard on the eyes or ears. But, the thing is, isn't it a little hard to take? (<--- that's what she said! that's a little bonus for the Office fans out there.)

I like the show. But maybe it's just a little too precious already? Chi McBride as the deadpan PI goes a long way to bring the lilting, lyrical quality of the would-be lovers back in line with his one-off eye rolls and realistic-if-somewhat dryly sardonic injections. But the dreamy leads? Lee Pace plays Ned, and I clearly remember him as Calpurnia in "Soldier's Girl." He's a cutie, and he's charming. But I also can't imagine Ned being any more gay. Don't get me wrong, it's adorable. Him and his tight little tushie and his perfect little pies and his wispy, wanton looks. He's sweet as one of the pies he makes. (His day job is as owner/operator of aforementioned pie shop, which comes complete with an awning that looks like a pie crust and is cutely named "The Pie Hole," which the narrator reminds us of frequently by never referring to him by name, instead always calling him "the pie maker.")


But all this frothy blather also makes the no-touching rule between he and his childhood sweetie a bit moot, because it'd be an impossible relationship simply because it's clear that Ned isn't just a connoisseur of pie crust, he also clearly prefers cock.

Anyhow. I hope the show succeeds, because it's ambitious and different. It is just rather filmic. And by that, I mean that this color-drenched landscape and dreamy, gentle-natured contrivance is a super-sweet confection. But watching it weekly might be like eating pie for dinner every freaking night. A captivating and charming idea, but in reality, just cloying. But, you know, that's just me. I like Dexter for god's sake. So I have a limited tolerance for the fluffy puppy looks. I mean, I'm rooting for Dexter's morals to crumble so that he'll gruesomely vivsect his girlfriend! And his sister! But I guess there's no reason why I can't also watch the pie maker and his childhood sweetheart not touch longingly, too.

The only other show I'm somewhat taken with this year? Dirty Sexy Money. It's got a very Ugly Betty vibe, as in it features a normal, decent person tossed amidst outlandish money and crazy-ass personalities. It's all a bit campy and convoluted with a murder plot underneath the frothy fun. And, it's dirty and sexy and dripping with money. What's not to like? Also? Donald Sutherland. I still dig him. He's horrifying and mesmerizing -- particularly when he's being a stand-up good guy. I predict it'll be canceled by mid-November.

Monday, October 08, 2007

Take a mini-break with Eclectica

Eclectica Magazine has newly invigorated travel section. So if, like me, you're wishing you could take a vacation, but can't get away, take a break during your workday and enjoy some writing that'll transport you to new places. This month features lovely work by Chika Unigwe and William Reese Hamilton, among others.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Killer good TV

Do you watch Dexter? I love it. Yeah, it's kind of grisly, but it's also really good. Based on Jeff Lindsay's popular Dexter novels, this show currently keeps the crown for twisted, dark comedy, outlandish anti-hero good TV shit.


I loved Michael C. Hall on Six Feet Under, and this show inverst his persona on that show. There, it was his job to comfort the grieving. In Dexter, it's his job to, well, create the grieving by killing people. Yeah, yeah, another sympathetic serial-killer mystery. Yawn. But it's just so good! Granted, it's not for everyone. But I think you'd be shocked by how much you like it if you give it a try.

Last season, the plot very true to Lindsay's novel, but this year I guess the TV show is going to go its own way. As added bonuses? It's got Gloria and Morales from Oz! (I guess Showtime is raiding the tombs of HBO shows to stock their casts.) And a Carradine joins the cast this year. Not the Kung Fu one. The other one.

Ellen #1

Guess who Harper Collins's number one author is? It's Ellen Meister!. HC has launched a new batch of author pages, and Ellen's site is getting tons of hits!

Also outstanding? The paperback version of Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA is available at your local Target! This is awesome, because I love Target! And I love Applewood!



Go Ellen!

Friday, September 28, 2007

Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey

I've been tagged by the marvelously talented Donna George Storey.

However, since I just recently did one of these memes and it was hard to come up with 8 things the first time, instead of doing the meme again, I figured I'd talk about Donna a bit.

Donna is a very accomplished writer of both literary fiction and erotica. (Why do we feel the need to separate those categories?) I love her writing, because it's vivid and descriptive and also elegant and polished. And yet, it's not the least bit high-falutin' or pretentious. And, believe me, that's a line I'm a bit of a hardass about. She's just so smooth and smart and sexy with her language. Even better, her plots and characters are always wildly engaging. Donna's a veteran of several celebrated anthologies, but she has just recently released her own debut novel!

Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey.


'The day I left Japan, I stared at my reflection in the mirror in the airport ladies' room and made the following vows: I would never tell another lie, especially to myself. I would never let desire overwhelm common sense. I would never sleep with a man who was married to someone else, mime fellatio with a complete stranger on a stage, or take money for sex again. In fact, to cover all bases, I would never have sex again with anyone, man or woman, for the rest of my life.' The erotic secrets of one woman's sexual awakening and her subsequent passions in Japan as an 'Amorous Woman'

This book is a sizzler, alright! Donna's fluid style brings Japan to life, along with all the sensual and sexual delights that her amorous woman encounter.

The book is published by a UK publisher, but if you check Amazon, you can often find a copy for sale for under $10. Sometimes, that distributor is sold out and the price spikes, but do yourself a favor and keep it on your list and do check back, because they'll restock, and this book is worth the wait. Also, be sure to check Donna's website for availability updates.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Invastion of the body snatchers in primetime?

Remember when Francie on Alias got killed and was replaced with a lookalike faux-Francie? Poor Merrin Dungey. It's happened again. Except this time, not even her ex-husband, Taye Diggs, notices that it's not even a lookalike! This is how the Grey's Anatomy spinoff, Private Practice started, by already replacing one of the main actresses.

And to top it off, it's contagious! On the show following it, the beautifully named Dirty Sexy Money, they replaced one of the actresses MID-SHOW! Yeah, that's right. Billy Balwin's wife was played by one actress in one scene, and then by ANOTHER later in the show. Other than that obvious gaffe, though, I'm gonna give this show a thumbs up. It's frantic and though the freaky is a little diluted due to network standards, it's alright! Who doesn't love Donald Sutherland? (And it's kinda funny that he's in the thick of this strange night of tv where actresses go missing and get replaced with near-replicas, isn't it?) And though I grew to despise Peter Krause on Six Feet Under, I did love him on Sports Night. It's fun and campy so far, obviously drawing on everything people love about Ugly Betty.

As for the show Private Practice, well. There's no Meredith! And no Izzie! And it has Tim Daly. But, after Daly smirked his way through the awful dialogue of "You so moved out here because I kissed you," I was pining for Christofuh to show up and slap him upside the head with his own human-eye-tis award again. So I'll probably won't be watching that piece of crap again.

In even happier personal news, I used to watch Grey's Anatomy because it was virtually required water cooler chat in my office. But, thanks to downsizing, there are only three other people left in my office, and we're all The Office and 30 Rock lovers! (Yes, there ARE dozens and dozens of us!) So I don't have to tolerate Grey's anymore either! Seriously!

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Bruno, you better be witty!

So, the fifth season of Dancing with the Stars is underway. I'm underwhelmed. I still miss Joey Fatone. I know the show has always been D-list, but they really are stretching it this season, aren't they? Unless by "stars" they're talking about Maks's biceps and Edyta's tits. Because those really are the biggest draws this season. That and Cheryl Burke's class.

How can you not adore Cheryl? Just when you think television is overloaded with floozies and himbos, out of this trashy-flashy romp comes such a lovely woman. While some of the other dancers throw fits if their partners aren't up to snuff (Karina), Cheryl keeps her cool and class and encourages, teaches, and cheers on her partner. Granted, she was paired with Drew and Emmitt before, but last year it was mostly her appeal that kept her dud of a partner in it through the final four. And this year? This year she's got it rough with Wayne Newton.

Wayne, who's had so much plastic surgery he now looks like Rachel Ray.


Jesus.

But Mr. Las Vegas is being a good, gracious sport about it all, and, predictably, so is Cheryl.

The other highlight from the men? Unintentionally funny Albert Reed, the model. Yeah, when he made the first Zoolander reference I thought, okay, he's got a sense of humor about it. Then he made another Zoolander reference. Then a third. And then I realized that although he's saying the movie is a poor stereotype, he and his model friends are obviously waaaayyy too invested in the movie. Kind of like how Ralph Cifaretto was constantly obsessed with Gladiator. Irony, Albert. But the coup de grace? When Albert then couldn't even pull off the fucking Blue Steel that he'd suggested they put in the routine! I laughed so hard I nearly cried! The fucking kid is infatuated with Zoolander. (which, by the way, is a really under-appreciated movie) The kid is a model, and he wants to disprove the stereotype of dumb models. And yet he can't even successfully pull off a mock of Blue Steel! What the hell, dude! Even THIS guy can pull off a Blue Steel!


As for the women competing? I don't know. I only watched when Maks danced, because he's really, really, ridiculously good looking. Also? Maks has it all over Albert. Why? Maks is an ambi-turner.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Bored Morons

I'm not quite sure yet what shows I'll be watching this fall and blathering about on here. But I did find this cool new site, Bored Morons. They'll have all sorts of recaps and discussion forums for a plethora of hot TV shows for your daytime surfing pleasure. Enjoy!

Lady Killers

Kosmo is no longer an AFC. He has mastered the art of opening sets, stacking, tossing out negs, and DHVing. But it doesn't stop there. He's also attuned to noticing IOIs, a frequent recipient of kinos, and has successfully bounced. Even more, in one day, he took another AFC and gave him the tools and guided him in a field test until that guy number closed. And I couldn't be happier for him.

If you don't know what all that lingo up there means, you haven't been watching The Pick-Up Artist.

I know, okay. I know. I know it sounds like another crass idea from reality TV land. But, honestly, it wasn't. Why am I bothering to tell you about it now that the finale has aired? Because it's on VH-1 and you know they'll be playing it more often and reliably than Phil Hellmuth plays a pair of kings.

It's not crass. It's not objectifying women. It's barely about the women. It's about these socially awkward guys who were completely unable to approach girls/women. They couldn't even look through the window of the hot clubs to begin objectifying them. It's about a guy in Austin, Texas -- Mystery (who's not exactly a Matthew McConaughey himself, okay?) who's broken down the psychological components and small physical cues that can create a successful first social interaction and then has simultaneously intellectualized the process and geek-speak coded the essentials into a veritable Pick-Up primer for wanna-be "gamers."

As Kosmo says, teary-eyed, after he's crowned the Master Pick-Up Artist, "I'm not a pimp and I'm not a player. I'm a Pick-Up Artist, and there's a world of difference."

Bottom line translation: Mystery has given these guys enough confidence to talk to women. And he's done that by breaking down the process and giving them a useful list of tools to open and close conversations. And, well, the tools work. If you're a female, you may have a knee-jerk bad reaction to some of the parlor tricks. For instance, the essential art of tossing out "negs." What's a neg? It's digging into old-school Skinner psychology with the negative reinforcement. Basically, it's an insult to the woman. Seriously. Also seriously? Mostly, it works, when it's done properly. Though it sounds like tacky psychology and makes women seem as emotionally sadistic-grotesque as we fear we may be, it really isn't a "science" and much more an "art" of how to apply these shocks to the pigeons.

Even better, though the women-interactions are brief encounters in a bar, it's actually affirming to see how some of them react to these "negs." When done properly, it's really not an insult. A "neg" isn't nearly as nefarious or manipulative as it sounds. It amounts to lighthearted teasing of the girl. You know, like back when banter was considered sexy? Yeah, it's that.

Sometimes the guys go a wee bit over the line with the negs though. And it can be both painful to watch, as when a guy coolly tells a girl she talks too much, and she then immediately leans forward and strokes her hair (that's displaying an IOI, or indicator of interest) because we see that he's tapped into a chick with low self-esteem who's going to groove on a jackass. However, when another guy goes past flirtatious and hits condescending when he asks a stripper if she's pleased with herself for what she does, it's pretty satisfying to watch a woman, a woman whose paycheck depends on her sucking up to assholes, mind you, get up and politely tell him to have a nice evening, and dust his ass!

And no, it wasn't our dear Kosmo who went over the line with the negs at any time. Which is why we root for him. He's not demeaning and he's not a player and he's just so happy to actually have a woman, like, speak to him. And he ends up taking all this psuedo-psycho-science and working it out and smoothing it out and turning it into his art.

But as one show that's dleightfully, surprising un-crass ends, another one that's dependably gross returns. Instead of women as human beings who can be approached and spoken to, we have the new season of "The Bachelor," which routinely casts the craziest, cooziest specimens to represent our gender. They are pigeons, indeed. But they're pigeons with peacock feathers.

In other words, they're garden varitey fame-whores who look spectacular on the outside.

Hey, ABC, how 'bout you like, do something good and instead of casting 25 shallow models, cast 25 ugly chicks. We wouldn't need Mystery to teach us how to land the guy, because the guy would be stuck having to get to know us. And no fucking twists where you bring in a batch of models when one of the ugos is close to capturing the hottie's heart. We don't need another "social experiment" to prove to us that people are attracted to attractive people.

I'm not saying I'm above the shallow judgment, either. The proof is that I'm even writing about this new season of "The Bachelor" right now. I hardly watch the show and think it's a train wreck and that it is demeaning to women. But I was clicking channels last night and landed on it for a second and then couldn't tear my eyes away. I couldn't tear my eyes away because this season, the bachelor, he's fucking hot. Oh, I've checked out other seasons. You'd think the Italian prince would've been right in my sweet spot. But, uh, no. His personality was just too off-putting. But this guy? You have got to be fucking kidding me!

His name is Brad, this year's bachelor.

Photos don't do Brad justice. On film? Hot! Also? Charming. Extremely easy-going and utterly charming. Also? A Texan. You know, the genteel kind, not the arrogant kind. Kind of like Matthew McConaughey. Only taller. And less gay. The kicker? He owns bars. Bars! Just when I thought he couldn't get any better, he gamely inspects a woman's feet when she tells him she has webbed toes. And then, later, talking about it, he didn't insult her, but he laughed about the incident so hard he cried. Laughed 'til he cried! Did I mention he owns bars?

Even better? He's got a twin brother. Can you stand it? Two of these:


I don't know if the brother laughs until he cries, but he owns bars!

And though this creature who laughs until he cries and owns liquor establishments was clearly, clearly created to be my mate, they send him webbed-foot women and girls who try to impress him by putting their ankles behind their heads or by singing off-key or by stuffing silicone tits in their dresses. But hey, they all may be catty and dumb, but they're also all gorgeous! So he's a lucky man.

Which is exactly why it's all so crass and vapid, and why, in the end, even though he's too young for me to even consider sinking my teeth into, I'd rather listen to Kosmo spin me a tale about some kid who flipped him off; him eager to impress and grateful for my time, while Mr. Perfect can have his cadre of flat-abbed, bleached blonde fame-whores. Something tells me the majority of these women would respond favorably to some serious negs. But something else tells me that handsome Brad wouldn't toss the serious negs out there in the first place. He wouldn't have to. They already give him plenty of kinos and visible IOIs. And yet, there's not a damn thing artful about it.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Jordan & Chuck

Two of my favorite people in one interview! The wonderful Jordan Rosenfeld, whose short story "Shut-ins" just took honorable mention in the Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition, has a non-fiction writing instruction book, Make a Scene, which will be debuting shortly.


She has interviewed Chuck Palahniuk for Writer's Digest.

Chuck's new novel, Rant, is now available, and it's, naturally, awesome.


Jordan asks some insightful questions and Chuck answers in his candid and entertaining, yet completely unarrogant fashion. It's a great interview, for both readers and writers. Read the interview here.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Best of TV? Really?

The Sopranos and Piven win. YAY! Jimmy G and Entourage get screwed. Boo. Tony Bennett has a golden statue. (<-- of course I'm talking about his extremely young, blonde wife which got prominently displayed last night.) But he also won an Emmy. Ahem.

Here's what I found noteworthy about the Emmy awards. The young chicks decided to go tasteful this year and for the most part kept their cleavage inside their couture. The old broads, however, decided to showcase their dented, rented D cups. Jolie Fisher and Patricia Heaton looked particularly tacky.


Word of advice, women. If your ladies look like they should be on the damaged isle next to a crunched can of peas, there ain't enough mystic tan and makeup to make those bumps and indents seem attractive. If you want fake tits, have at it. But when the fake tits get bunched and botched, it's time to have some of that overpriced Calvin Klein sequined material covering them. You're old. You've got big fake tits. Congrats, you broads of b-rate comedy! You've just discovered the ego-equivalent to a 55 year old suburban male with a small pecker who drives his Corvette in November. Or to an 80 year old crooner being married to a young trophy blonde.

Pat Monahan -- Last of Seven

If you like the music of Train, then you definitely need to check out the solo release by their lead singer, Pat Monahan. The CD is titled Last of Seven and it goes on sale tomorrow. I love Pat's voice and can't wait to hear the whole album.


Last of Seven at Amazon.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

GJM for .49

Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz has a story available on Amazon shorts for just 49 cents. You really can't beat that, and you can't beat Gwen's story. The story is "Los Prisioneros Pequenos".

Tell Them I Hate Them

Oh, HBO. How far the mighty are falling. With only Larry David and his still funny Curb Your Enthusiasm to prop up your entire fall schedule, what will you do?

Do you even watch these fucking shows before you put them on the air anymore? First there was John From Cincinnati to nearly drown your reputation as a producer of excellent drama. Running parallel to that was the once mildly entertaining Big Love, which this summer wanted so desperately to be the next Sopranos that they forced gunplay and gambling into the equation. Nevermind that Bill Paxton doesn't really have the appeal to pull off being the grand patriarch-sex-machine to three smitten wives. And those three wives of his have enough cuteness that it almost reaches critical mass. When left to their soapy domestic squabbles, Barb, Nicki, and Margie are plenty enjoyable and the show hums along. But this season wasn't so much about Bill juggling and walking the righteous path as it was about him being a wannabe Tony Soprano. Believing he was righteous as he conned and stole and manipulated, proclaiming himself the good guy as he sank into seedy deals and kidnapping. But it didn't fill the Sopranos gap, it just made me pine for Tony and Christofah all that much more.

Now, while Showtime heats up with a new season of Weeds and gives us a still-lovable David Duchovny going off the rails in Californication (<--they stole that title from RHCP), HBO sadly trots out their new sex-filled drama Tell Me You Love Me.

I know, I know. It sounds immediately promising, doesn't it? Sex-filled. Graphic sex, they promise us. What's not to like? Echoes of Elaine's infamous "He took IT out" ring through our heads as a wife pathetically jerks her husband off -- as therapy homework -- with his cock actually visible to us viewers! Another guy pathetically jerking off alone. (no visible cock) Visible Ball shots while the only two semi-attractive people bloodlessly screw. Graphic can be good, people. But graphic doesn't equal good, and this show proves it. I've definitely seen more passion in straight up porn than in the sex on this show. It's all just pathetic sex.

And, as someone who's put a lot of time and effort into trying to make material filled with freaky-fun sex, this all upsets me. No wonder we're so puritanical as a society about sex. If these are the graphic depictions of sex we have parading around as entertainment, we should be ashamed of sex.

The show as a drama? Remember thirtysomething? Remember how everyone hated thirtysomething? Yeah, this is MUCH worse. Supposedly, these are realistic depictions of marriage. This is exactly why I'm staunchly single. I hate all these characters. I particularly despise the two blondes that I can barely tell apart. I have a blonde hangup anyhow. I don't like them as a general rule. And this show proves the adage that they all look alike. Milquetoast, myopic motherfuckers with too much money and too little moxie.

I can't even post a picture to show you how much they resemble each other. Okay. Yes I can.


Kinda gross, isn't it? And here's what separates their characters: One is not having any sex, and the other is having lots of sex but doesn't have a baby. That's all we know and need to know about them. They are women defined by their womanly problems, with similar haircuts and similarly pointy-faced mates.

I've already said too much about these losers. A new season of Dexter starts at the end of September on Showtime. You know, that's the show about the serial killer who kills serial killers. Fitting. Because between the firepower of Dexter, Duchovny, and Weeds, I have a feeling that Showtime is poised to slaughter HBO.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Smokin' Aces

I finally got a chance to see Smokin' Aces this past weekend. I figured I'd like the movie, because it's got Ray Liotta and Andy Garcia and Jeremy Piven and plenty of guns. So, really, what's not to like? Well, I was disturbed when I saw the DVD case, because someone was in it that I didn't expect. Someone I flippin' HATE. BUT! It was all redeemed. In fact, the movie made me applaud and laugh out loud early on. This Joe Carnahan, he knows what audiences want to see! If you don't like any spoilers, don't watch this clip. However, if you want to see what makes this movie aces, check this out. And remember, this scene happens early on in the movie!



Oh, it still makes me laugh!

Friday, September 07, 2007

Cannes they do it?

Another season of Entourage has come to a close. Unlike the reception of Medellin at Cannes, I applaud them.


This season had some problems, and those problems were what plagued the Cannes cut of Medellin: there was just too much. Now, I love excess, and I loved having Drama, Turtle, Vince, Billy and Ari around all summer. Oh yeah, and E even had a couple moments where he didn't annoy the piss out of me. Taken on the whole, the arc of Medellin this season was excellent. But it was also blatantly clear that HBO had ordered up extra episodes to run alongside the dearly departed Sopranos this spring and then they whipped their workhorse boys of summer all summer long. And there were filler episodes. Most of those episodes had some serious hilarity from Ari and Lloyd, which made them not only watchable, but pretty enjoyable. Ari rescuing Lloyd from the lascivious writer was a particular favorite of mine.

But in these filler episodes where the Medellin action ground to a halt, the guys wandered about without much purpose -- much like Hollywood -- and the show loses some of its charm at those times. That's when it tries to compensate by being the male SATC, which is what made plenty of people kneejerk against the show in the first place. Because though Vince is a cutie, there's just not much tension in watching him get laid. Eric had a failed business/romance with Ana Farris, and if we all didn't hate Eric so much, his relationship foibles would be more interesting. I mean, look at him in that picture of up there! So tightassed you could shove a lump of coal up his ass and he'd shit a diamond later that day! So, since Vince holds no mystery and the thought of Eric having sex makes us nauseated, they basically have to rely on Drama and Turtle to carry the day when it comes to outlandish sexcapades.

And, luckily for them, once again Drama came through!


Nobody suffers indignity quite the way Johnny Drama does. Better, no one revels in the indignity and finds a way to pump his ego with it the way Drama does. So his adventures in Cannes were the perfect ending to his capers this summer.

As for the rest of the boys and Medellin, it turns out Eric was right about the movie being too long and needing re-cut. I kind of figured that was how it would roll, considering that's the way they've cast Eric -- as the supposed brains behind Vince's success. I buy it and all, but I still just really dislike the fucker. No matter how much the runt stands up to Billy Walsh -- and no matter how outrageously insane or wrong Billy is -- I still root for Billy. He's an arrogant prick, Walsh is. But Eric still just peeves me.

They've gotten a lot of mileage out of Harvey Weinstein this year. Either the real Harvey has an excellent sense of humor, or he gives extra latitude because Eric Weinstein is a producer on the show and I assume he's related to him? Probably his son? Anyone know for sure? If so, that only makes it all funnier! And, in the end, Harvey did end up in the driver's seat, didn't he?

I loved how this season ended. Once again, Vince comes off looking like a professional, classy artist instead of a spoiled, money-hungry actor. It may not be realistic, but it's nice to watch someone with so much integrity. And it's even better to watch him get routinely punished for it! After getting adjusted to the outrageous success these guys pull out every season with every project, the show has formed a new depth by now making them struggle so hard for their indulgences. Medellin has a lot in common with some other plagued movies. Apocalypse Now comes to mind. But so does Waterworld.

So what'll it be? Ultimate box office and Oscars for Medellin? I don't know. (but I'd be willing to be an awful lot of money on it.) I do know this: I sure wouldn't be upset if Entourage strutted off with the Emmy for best comedy this year.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

A star is Bourne?

If you only enjoy action movies that like, make sense, then The Bourne Ultimatum isn't for you. Yes, there are some really clumsy dialogue passages, same as in Supremacy. For instance, when someone really wants Jason Bourne dead, instead of shooting him, they try to talk him to death with exposition. And yet, miraculously, even after massive info-dumps, things are still murkier than a Karl Rove explanation.

The Bourne franchise also suffers a bit simply because of its premise: It's about a guy trying to save his own skin. Most successful action movies raise the stakes considerably higher than that by having the hero of the piece fight for someone else's well being. John McClane had a bunch of hostages and his beloved Holly. Keanu was speeding down the highway for passengers and that chick who told him that relationships based on intense experiences don't last. James Bond takes Pussy Galore for himself but is generally saving the whole world. But Jason Bourne is the perfect symbol of our self-involved generation, because the whole heart of the matter is that he's trying to find himself.

What saves the Bourne films from ridiculousness is that their chase scenes and fight scenes are really freaking good. Choreography and filming mesh together to really make it feel like an intimate assault that can make a collectively experienced audience still lean forward in their seats. And, somehow, Matt Damon can make us root for Bourne.



I can't figure out exactly why I like Damon so much. And I do like him enough that I've tried to pick apart the exact reasons. But just like Bourne's identity, I can never fully grasp his appeal to me. It just seems like he's the antithesis of his no-talent, smarmy pal Affleck. There's something everyman about his looks. He's cute and attractive, but approachable. He never seems to be working onscreen (with the possible exception of The Departed) -- he just is the guy who's up there. Also, who else in his generation has shown such smarts in choosing roles? Even in the monstrosity that was Ocean's 13, his Linus never pissed me off. I still liked him, even if the nose did not, in fact, play.

There's something so blessedly normal about this guy. And yet when he's called upon to play unbelievable characters with unbelievably big brains, his quiet and understated manner works to make it believable. I know intellectually that I'm watching Matt Damon, but he's one of the few actors out there who's so damn unaffected and un-scenery chewing that he's able to uphold my suspension of disbelief for prolonged periods so that I end up watching the character he's playing. And really, there aren't many actors out there today who do that. That's part of what it makes it not-insufferable when he has to deliver such turgid lines like, "Marie used to help me remember the names of people I killed."

Damon has a kind of throwback feel, his style is more casual and laid-back Newman and Redford as opposed to the much imitated Brando-Pacino-DeNiro style that most actors today favor. But I could never imagine that Paul Newman would be willing to strap himself next to Redford to play a conjoined twin in the Farrelly brothers movie Stuck on You. Nor could I ever picture Redford picking up a gun and giggling with glee as he executes a boardroom as the angel of death in Dogma.

Damon's Bourne doesn't have room for silliness like that, but it must say something that people root for Bourne. I mean, yeah, on the surface, he fits the pattern of the modern antihero what with all his past murdering business and all -- and yet not really. He was a killing machine, which is good. But, but, he was programmed to be that way, and he seems awful upset about the murders. In today's entertainment climate where the main characters are either alcoholic narcissists, drug addicts, or vituperative careerists -- and those are just the females -- we clearly like having characters with faults. And yet here's Bourne, this guy who's done awful things, and yet is clearly not an awful guy; he's more like a lost child, really, almost innocent of his sins -- and yet we still like him despite the fact that he seems to be a decent person. What the fuck? He's not a mob boss or polygamist, so what's to like?

I know. It doesn't make a lot of sense. Just like large portions of the Ultimatum script. Chase scenes shouldn't hold that much sway, should they? But just like Damon, already greater than the sum of his parts, I still like it.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Wipeout

So, any other assholes out there who actually kept watching that Deadwood-replacing, Milchatrocity John from Cincinnati? Yeah. I did. What. The. Fuck? The only entertaining part of this show is to read the crappy reviews of it, which it so sorely deserved, and then to hear people defending it with the same old tired cliches. "I enjoy INTELLIGENT programming!" "It makes you THINK." Bullshit. This wasn't about thinking. It was about believing. Believing in whatever was thrown out there on the screen and refusing to think about it, just accept it.

It made no fucking sense, this show. Milch threw his (admittedly funky) dialogue out there and kept repeating refrains and didn't play by any rules. People die and resurrect, people levitate, John keeps saying, "I don't know Butchie instead," and there's a little surfing, and it's cool and explained because that's how John's father wants it! Fuck Milch.

There were some acting bright spots on the show, such as Ed O'Neill. And Brian Van Holt ended up being pretty funny if you were able to stomach his ticks and quirks the first several episodes. But most of the acting was bullshit. Though the stylized dialogue was often funny, it often felt forced and just...bullshit. It worked on Deadwood, but drowned in its own self-consciousness on the beach here.

Deadwood was partially so compelling because it was about a time, place, and growing society that didn't have rules or laws. So it was about how people functioned and formed the necessary laws -- or disregarded them -- to suit themselves, and society. In contrast, John from Cincinnat was simply about breaking or ignoring any storytelling rules. Dues ex machina up the everloving yin yan to create any sort of wonderment or tension they cared for.

And don't tell me it's "smart" television that anything goes and we're supposed to find it divine because there's some other cosmic controlling factor. I like stuff that breaks the rules, but there still needs to be rules. Otherwise you've just got a bunch of wacked-out, would-be surfers roaming the beach and waiting for bullshit to happen. And that's what this show was. Bullshit. But oh yeah, it sure did look a lot cheaper to produce than Deadwood. Well there you go. You get what you pay for.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Bridging the culture gap with gratuitous voilence and nudity!

M'kay. So now I'll tell you my super-secret hidden agenda for posting about Paglia's nostalgia pageantry. Part of the reason that crotchety "things were better in my day" attitude hit me so hard this week was because 300 came out on DVD last weekend. Me, I'm getting older myself. And I won't lie to you, I had a horrible reaction against this movie when it was first released for a very shameful reason: My nephew loved it.

Petty, isn't it? Oh yeah it is. It was the height of "my old shit is better than your new shit" arrogance on my part. He loved this movie and insisted on me going to see it in the theater. Honestly? If I hadn't had any sort of feedback from him before going to see it, I'd have loved it. Here's the movie: Blood, boobs, brawn. What's not to like about it? It's a great flick!


But me and my nephew, we had recently had a prolonged culture swap that failed miserably. He won't read. He doesn't like Nirvana. He thinks Goodfellas is too slow and boring. (!!) Seriously, how was I supposed to communicate with this kid? So in my small little mind, when he came along loving this movie, I figured since he thought everything I liked was shit, that our tastes couldn't ever parrallel. So I watched 300 with a jaded, crotchety old bitch's eye. It sure didn't have the violence of The Warriors! It didn't have the sex like Showgirls! It was stylized with Bullet-time so it reminded me of The Matrix, which had Keanu Reeves and a superior script. (Shut up! The first one WAS good!) Also, that is NOT how the Battle of Thermopylae went down!

But you know what? Once I got bucked off my high horse and pulled my own head out of my ass, here's what I saw in the movie: Gerard Butler and his ferociously white teeth looking incredibly sexy, especially rounded up with a whole gang of nearly-naked Spartans as they threw spears. Again -- what's not to like? I won't go all Pauline Kael and say that this movie is trash at its finest, because, frankly, though it did have stylized action and fetishized both violence and war, it wasn't exactly revolutionary. It also wasn't historically accurate, but it was extremely faithful to the Frank Miller comic it was based on, which means it was even better. Bonus -- Rodrigo Santoro, also nearly completely naked for prolonged stretches.

But see, I didn't appreciate it until it was jammed down my throat a second time on DVD, after I'd gotten over my snit. I fear these sorts of snits are going to start coming along more frequently now that I'm getting older and more entrenched in my ways and tastes. (How fucking hip and modern can I be expected to be, I listen to Bobby Darin fer chrissakes!) I just hope my nephew tolerates and then slaps me out of my snits so I don't miss out on graphic violence and near frontal male nudity in the future!

The Age of Arrogance

The biggest laugh I got this week was compliments of Camille Paglia and her monthly Salon essay. I've always liked and admired Paglia. Though I disagree with what she's saying just as often as I agree with it, she's an intelligent woman with a strong, almost confrontational writing style. How she got appointed as a great cognoscente of pop culture, I still haven't figured out. Because she most certainly does have a big brain, and an even bigger ego-filled head to contain her big brain. And yet, that doesn't preclude her from being able to take her big old head and shove right up her own ass.

I mean, this woman spent countless pages over the years trying intellectualize her lust for Keith Richards...and Madonna! I have no problem with someone having a taste for Keith...or Madonna. But when you try to wrap it up in psuedo-historical-psychological-grandstanded philosophical crap, you lose me. Not everything needs to be footnoted with Edith Wharton references or have allusions to Foucault or the Peloponnesian war. Get over it, Camille. Keith played a mean guitar, wrote "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and looked kinda hot in a vampiric, overly drug gorged way. He was a bad boy, and bad boys are hot. Madonna? She sold sex. It's called whoring. It's been done for centuries. It didn't make her revolutionary. It made our culture less puritanical by accepting and commercializing whores. You like bad boys and whores. It's cool. We all do.

And yet, Paglia's writings mostly entertain me. When I read her column this month, she got me to bust out laughing with this riotously outrageous passage:
Aside from Francis Ford Coppola's "Godfather" series, with its deft flashbacks and gritty social realism, is there a single film produced over the past 35 years that is arguably of equal philosophical weight or virtuosity of execution to Bergman's "The Seventh Seal" or "Persona"? Perhaps only George Lucas' multilayered, six-film "Star Wars" epic can genuinely claim classic status, and it descends not from Bergman or Antonioni but from Stanley Kubrick and his pop antecedents in Hollywood science fiction.

Fucking funny, isn't it? Immediately, I thought she was joking. I thought she was intentionally yanking the reader's chain to stir controversy and discussion, and that her tongue was firmly planted in her own cheek, probably getting a giggle as she wrote that. Later in the column, she manages to up her own game when she crowns Kelly Clarkson the savior of modern music. I shit you not here, man.

So it was then, after the Clarkson comment, that I applauded her panache and brass ovaries. To be willing to make such blatantly retarded critically inclined opinion assertions...in public! But then I started thinking about her big brain and realized that maybe she wasn't joking and that she'd taken navel-gazing to incredible new heights by inserting her own head up her ass and inspecting the interior of her intestines with fatuous fascination. Then, it was the removal of her own cranium, and its passage back out through her rectum, which left her covered in shit. She then proceeded to shake this shit off her head and it landed all over the page. A page which she subsequently submitted to Salon, and which they in turn not only published -- but paid her for!

How does this fucking happen? Seriously. I want to know! How the FUCK does someone reach the stature of a Camille Paglia and then get PAID to write absurdly stupid things on the page that end up stinking not of reasoned intelligence but of self-satisfied nostalgia? Don't get me wrong -- I like nostalgia, man. Clearly, Paglia has a connection with the art of her time, including Keith Richards and Ingmar Bergman. And I like reading analyses of Bergman's work, especially if they're tinted with a "in my day" personal perspective.

What I laugh at reading is when an aging person has the knee-jerk reaction of either condemning or ignoring any film, music, writing, or art that's happened beyond their pinnacle--of-discovery formative years. It's arrogance at its peak. And when it comes from one of our supposed "great thinkers" like Paglia and is published in Salon, it reeks of stunt-journalism, where the need to create controversy is more important than actual relevant commentary and criticism. And that's when I get jealous. Again -- someone, please, tell me -- how the fuck can I get one of these jobs?

I understand that it's an "opinion" piece, and so comes under the protective blanket where it's no longer really required to be relevant or critical or, apparently, even make sense. I understand Paglia and this piece do its job by getting people all frothed up and going there to read it. I understand that I'm part of this machinery by writing about here and providing links. But that's just the point -- it IS fun. And it's fun for me to write on my blog and talk about how shit-filled Paglia's once seemingly-intelligent head has become.

I'm not sure that I'm jealous of Paglia, exactly. If she was joking, I'm jealous as hell, because she's still one clever, calculating broad who knows how to keep herself in the dough. But if she was serious in her statements, I kind of feel a bit sorry for her. Yeah, she's still getting the paycheck and attention, but she's missing out on some really fantastic movies and music that are happening now. The world is passing her by as she lives with her big brain up her own ass.

For real now, though. How the fuck do I get a gig where I can do what she's doing?

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

What kind of Funny do you fancy?

I found this little test from a link at Maryanne Stahl's blog.

I'm really not big on those personality tests and such, because I have a pretty firm fucking grasp on what my personality is like, so why would I take a test about it? That'd be like consulting a magic 8 ball about whether or not I'm going to graduate high school. But I figured this one might give me some laughs, so I clicked the link.

It's fast and it's supposed to tell you if your sense of humor is light or dark, clean or vulgar, and spontaneous or something else. I didn't get many giggles from it. Nor was it a big shock what they say my sense of humor is like. They don't tell you if you are funny or not, though. I guess there's no way to gauge online if your "blue steel" face is funny or just pathetic.

Anyhow, here's what they've deemed me. What are you?


Your Score: the Shock Jock



(66% dark, 42% spontaneous, 42% vulgar)



your humor style:
VULGAR | SPONTANEOUS | DARK


Your sense of humor is off-the-cuff and kind of gross. Is it is also sinister, cynical, and vaguely threatening to the purer folks of this world. You probably get off on that. You would cut a greasy fart, then blame it on your mom, and then just shrug when someone pointed out that she's dead.

Yours is hands-down the most outrageous sense of humor; you like things trangressive and hardcore. It's highly likely (a) you have no limits (b) you have no scruples and (c) you have no job. Ironically, it's your type of humor that can make the biggest bucks in show business.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Howard Stern - Adam Sandler - Roseanne Barr




The 3-Variable Funny Test!
- it rules -



Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Monday, August 06, 2007

Friday, August 03, 2007

Darin' to love Kevin

For the three or four people who've paid attention to this blog over the past couple years, the following statement probably isn't shocking. I love Bobby Darin. I mean, I love Bobby Darin. When I'm feeling ground down, and that's been happening a lot lately, a surefire pick up on a particularly crappy day is to go home and throw on Aces Back to Back and swing my blues away.

Occasionally, I take a little heat from people about my Darin love. I'm not sure, but I have a feeling that's because Darin's legacy isn't quite accurate in a lot of people's minds. The reason I think that is because more than once, someone has come over to abuse my pool and vodka bar and when I happened to be spinning some Darin, they wouldn't recognize it. I'd tell them who it was and they'd get a funny face and either say, "You mean the 'Splish Splash' dude?" or, dismissive, "Yeah yeah. Mack the Knife." And from that I infer that he gets a minor blip of pigeonholed name-recognition from many people but not much else. Then, of course, by the time they've heard him sing the holy hell out of "Artificial Flowers," the martinis start going down more smoothly and they start to re-calibrate their opinion of Mr. Bobby Darin.


That makes me happy when people take a second listen to Darin. Because besides having a set of pipes that could blow the roof of the Copa, Darin was the quintessential antithesis of a one-hit wonder. Darin played the piano, drums, and guitar, along with writing plenty of his own material, and songs for others. His early incarnation was that of a teen idol, but his career took a turn when he demanded more creative control and released the jazzy-campy "Mack." And then his career went into full swing. He hit his stride as a vampy showman and sometimes torchy-saloon singer, but he was always best known for his full-swinging, jazzy style. Selling out the Copa, winning Grammys, marrying Sandra Dee, acting, and then eventually letting Vietnam change his hipster ways into that of a full-blown hippy, thus he even conquered folk music.

None of this, of course, is news to you if you've seen the Kevin Spacey biopic Beyond the Sea. And for that, I profusely thank Kevin Spacey.

Beyond the Sea isn't a perfect film. When I first heard of Spacey tackling the role of Darin, I thought, "He's too old." Already in his mid-forties, Spacey was a little long in the tooth to be playing Darin, who died, much too young, at 37. But Spacey mostly overcame this with the construct of the movie to make the pieces fit.

My second thought about the movie, upon hearing that Spacey would be doing his own singing, was, "He's fucking nuts." For real. Who in their right mind would want to be compared to Bobby Darin like that? There is no way, no fucking way, you can win. Worse, you can possibly look bad. Trying to outsing-swing Darin is kind of like trying to drive better than Ricky Bobby, trying to cook more fucked-up than Sandra Lee, or trying to out-Thetan Tom Cruise. Double Oscars are swell, but it doesn't make someone Bobby Darin. But, after seeing the movie, I realized that Spacey mostly overcame this handicap of not being Darin by having a darn good voice of his own.

Kevin, he's not Bobby. But his voice does bear more than a passing resemblance to Darin's when they're in the middle register. His lower notes lack the muscle that Bobby's had, and though he stylistically mimics and bends notes in Bobby's signature style, it's not quite as cool sounding, possibly because although Kevin's range is really good, it's not quite on par with Bobby's. But what he does capture, with both broad strokes and loving details, is Bobby's overall style. The arrangements of each piece of music are spectacular. He takes the film's namesake song and nearly doubles it in length by adding a flouncy and vibrant extended musical portion. He comes off best in the more folky or showtuney numbers, like "Simple Song of Freedom" and "The Curtain Falls." And, notably, Kevin's got a nice touch of heartbreak in his voice for the slower-tempo numbers and ballads. A bit of a nice contrast, actually, because Darin never really strikes me hard as a balladeer, with a few notable exceptions. (His "Don't Dream of Anybody But Me" slays me.)

It's on the swinging tunes that Bobby shined brightest, and I have to say, I never would've guessed that Spacey had it in him. After all that Keyser Soze and Lester Beauty business, I kind of thought he was a bit...I don't know... serious. But Kevin, he can seriously swing. He doesn't have the same chops, but he sure doesn't drown when he goes up a "Lazy River" and it's actually not a charade when he sings "Charade." Frankly, not only does Spacey have it in him, he clearly loves it. And he does it well enough that I've found myself listening to the soundtrack a few times.

If you're looking for a historically accurate picture about Darin, that's not what Spacey made. But that's also clearly not what Spacey was going for. It's romanticized, particularly his relationship with Sandra Dee. What Spacey did was give us an artistic rendering of Bobby, and in that capacity, the film is both joyfully good and heartbreaking sad. Which, of course, means it's a smashing success.

Spacey had built up an awful lot of respect, capital, and clout in Hollywood, and he cashed it all in on this one movie. Passion projects and labors of love can be dangerous territory for stars like Spacey, because they can reveal the laughable banality, off-putting ego, or utter lack of other skills that were always masked by repeating other people's words in front of a camera. But, happily for Spacey, and luckily for the audience, Kevin had the skills as a filmmaker, humility of love for his subject, and understanding of his subject's foibles to pull this all off. Every frame of the movie and every cut on the soundtrack drip not with reverence but with care and often joy.

As for Kevin's acting like Darin. Well. My frame of reference is different from Spacey's, because I was a baby when Darin died. So I never really knew much of the man as a person. But I'll trust Spacey on it. I don't really know if the big old schnoz he plastered on his face was necessary as part of the rendering. Yeah, we get it. Bobby had a nice Roman nose. Thing is though, Bobby's nose fit him and he was still kinda cute. But Spacey deformed his face a little with that nose and it was just distracting. But, Spacey didn't do it to mock but because his instincts told him it was right, so I can accept that. Also, okay, maybe it was a little funny. And, really, how can I question his acting? He's Keyser Soze, man! I always liked Spacey, even if he didn't really hold a place as one of my lovable favorites. But with his singing and dancing and fighting with Sandra onscreen, he really did bring the man to life for me in a way I'd never known him.

Honestly? It all kind of makes me jealous of Spacey while admiring the hell out of him. I'm jealous because he was able to go ahead and create something he was so obviously into, and do it so damn stylishly. But I also admire him because it would've been an awful lot easier for him to not take the gamble and just keep cashing paychecks for bullshit like "K-Pax." It's just so very clear that he followed his heart on this, and his heart took him to a great place and gave an awful lot to other Darin fans like me.

I don't think the flick was a huge commercial success, but I know that Spacey kept saying his major intent was to introduce a new generation to Bobby Darin. And that is a worthwhile goal. Part of me loves Kevin now for making me feel like less of a dork for having such an affinity for Darin's music. You know, because movies totally validate our existence and all. Maybe only fans flocked to the theatres for its initial release, but as the movie now pops up on cable channels every so often, I can't imagine that at least a handful of people who watch won't be piqued enough to look into Darin a bit more.

And if it brings even one person around to checking out and discovering the awesome that is "Darin at the Copa," Spacey oughta feel damn good about himself, because he just increased the happiness in the world by a little bit.

Bobby Darin said that his wish was "to be remembered as a human being and as a great performer." And that's why I now also love, love Kevin Spacey. I don't know if he realized he was doing it as he was making Beyond the Sea, but Kevin has helped make that last wish for Bobby Darin come true.

Spacey has recently said that he no longer cares about his acting career. I think people have misinterpreted that comment to mean that intends to not act in film and continue his work at London's Old Vic. What I think Spacey was really saying is that he hit the peak and did what he wanted and he's not into the game of being tops in Hollywood anymore, but that he'll still take roles. Whatever he meant, I wish him nothing but the best.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Secret Confessions in Paperback!

Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA by Ellen Meister -- I loved this book! And you will, too. And now you can get it in paperback!


Seriously. You will LOVE these crazy characters. And you'll laugh a whole bunch, too. For more info, visit Ellen online

New Zealand -- Why Not?

Are you watching Flight of the Conchords? They kill me. Whether Jemaine is dressed up as Ziggy Stardust David Bowie or Brett is trying to learn to flip the bird, they're just funny. This week's race war with the fruit vendor was too much, man. I wish they had the other song -- "Mutha Uckas" -- for download this week, because Brett getting all badass and singing "he's gonna wake up in a smoothie" is just the best. But they do have "Leggy Blonde" up. So, enjoy.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Never say Die, Bruce

Alright, let's get this out of the way right off the top. Yes, I know Bruce Willis is kind of a crazy fuck and all. But I can't help it. There's just something about him -- and he still has that something -- that's so charismatic and engaging and enjoyable to watch that I can't help but dig him. He's older and balder but that squinty glint of mischief in his eye is still clear and I can't resist.

And if you go to see Live Free or Die Hard this summer, I doubt you'll be able to resist him either. This is the summer of blockbuster sequels, with Spidey, Pirates, and Ocean's each entering their third (and presumably final) movies into their repertoire. They say three time's a charm, and those movies did do big business.

But Die Hard is a much older franchise, with the original flick being released 19 years ago. That original, to me, still stands as one of the finest action movies ever made. It was remarkably smart in addition to being clever and it spawned a large number of inferior rip-offs over the next several years. Bruce was making a name for himself on "Moonlighting," but Die Hard propelled him to box office gold and movie star status. His John McClane was both a reluctant hero and loveable, cocky smartass. He took movie quotes to new heights with the unforgettable "Yippee kai yay, motherfucker."

Also noteworthy, he made bleeding sexy.

Over the years, the second and third entries into the franchise really hadn't suffered the suck quotient that most sequels do. They weren't the same caliber of the first movie, but they ranged from decent to pretty good, which is saying a lot. And a lot of the credit goes to the character of John McClane as played by Bruce Willis. The stunts stayed real, the action was heart-palpitating, and McClane cracked jokes.

Now, nearly twenty years later, here comes the fourth film of this series during the summer of blockbuster sequel pageantry. It seemed everyone making the other movies decided they had to make things complex and convoluted to somehow justify their existence. The studios and directors understood that people like to see shit blow up onscreen, but they also seem compelled to make the shit blowing up be couched in faux-artsy-fartsy plots and gaudy sets.

Luckily, Bruce is back to show us that's just not the case.



In what may become the sleeper hit of the summer, he teams up with Justin Long to save us all from terrorists who're hacking all the systems that make our country tick. And believe me, they blow up a lot of shit while saving us all!

Best? Most of the blowing up of shit is real, man! You really can't top that. Don't get me wrong, I like CGI effects in some capacities and think it enhances a lot of movies. But, when shit is blowing up, I want to see the real thing. When pixels are crashing, burning, twisting, and suffering, there's really no excitement there.

And excitement is what Live Free or Die Hard is about. Director Len Wiseman and writers Mark Bomback and David Marconi seemed to get what others didn't. Bigger and badder can be good, but not when it's just bigger and badder confused plots and blurry action. There are a few twists in the flick, but if you've seen the other flicks, I really don't think you need to be as clever as John McClane to figure out what this movie is really all about. And that's the beauty of it. It keeps it simple and just keeps roaring forward.

Bruce and John McClane are older, and that's acknowledged. But here's where Bruce still has the drop on a few other stars who've recently tried to reprise old roles or still kick-ass in action movies. Bruce, he still can pull it off.

Times, they have certainly changed. Wanting the most bang for the production dollar, they kept this movie at the PG-13 rating. And I personally find it appalling that all the blood, violence and destruction isn't a problem for this rating, but the aforementioned "Yippee kai yay, motherfucker" money-quote has to be truncated to not include an audible version of the "fucker" portion of the phrase. But that's our society. Blowing shit up is okay for kids, but saying "fucker" is not. Fucking the ratings board.

But I certainly wouldn't let a quibble about our decency standards sour me on this entire movie. It's definitely not as smart, fresh, or clever as the original. Most of the jokes, in fact, are callbacks to the first. (The best is when a feeb named Agent Johnson comes to help out McClane.)

Timothy Olyphant as the designated bad guy works. It took me a really long time to place his face. For a while, I thought he looked Josh Duhamel, but knew he wasn't. I'm very familiar with Olyphant from Deadwood, but without his Seth Bullock 'stache and wild west greased back hair, his face just wasn't clicking. Ultimately, it was his cold demeanor and hard eyes that helped me connect the dots, and what worked so well for his role here.

Justin Long has taken heat over his "this movie is better than God" comments, because a lot of people like to get pissed off over ridiculous shit. But I thought he did well in his role as the young hacker thrown into this dangerous partnership with McClane. His humor has an innocent timbre that plays well against McClane's weathered, wiseass routine.

It may not have the beautiful jewel-box plot of the original, but this new flick does summer movie-going right. It starts with a bang, and races forward with plenty of thrills and chills as it blows shit up. It proves that even two decades later, Bruce, Die Hard, and the basic action genre, still have plenty of life.

Oh. Also noteworthy? Bruce is still sexy when he bleeds.

Yippee kai yay, motherfucker.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Sitdown with Donald Capone

My pal Don Capone was kind enough to take the time to answer some questions for me regarding his latest release, the comic-slanted novel Into the Sunset, which is now available.



I loved this book, and was really excited to hear him tell me a little more about it.

1) Into the Sunset is about a young man who decides he wants to live in a retirement community. How did you come up with the main premise of the story? As a busy New Yorker, is this something that appeals to you in theory?

While bringing my own mother around to check out these types of places, I had the same reaction as my lead character, Wayne. Which was basically, "Holy shit! This is great! I want to live here!" So, once I had my character in a retirement community disguised as an old man, I had to make something happen. It couldn't go smoothly, or there'd be no story. It had to all come crashing down eventually. Living in a community like The Sunset appeals to me personally, but I know it's just a case of "the grass is always greener."


2) You're a fan of The Sopranos. Didn't that show make it clear to you that moving anyone, for any reason, into a retirement community is a bad idea?

Yep, and things end up not so great for my lead character, too. Assisted-living communities are so popular now (seems new ones are being built every day) that I think we'll see them as the setting in more and more books, TV shows, and films. I'm glad I am one of the first to use this setting. A lot of potential for good stories there, both serious and comedic.

3) Though he has certain problems, overall Wayne Benson is a cool, laid-back guy. Did you base some of his personality on yourself or anyone you know? How about his friends? All imaginary, or ripped from the headlines of your life?

Little bits and pieces are me or people that I know—for all of the characters. But really not that much. And I don't know how cool Wayne is. He was a really selfish guy in the early drafts, then I gave him some heart and vulnerability. He's just a guy looking for a home.


4) If you were casting Sunset as a movie, who'd be in it? What would the soundtrack be like?

While I was writing the book I didn't have anyone in mind for the character of Wayne. Now I think it would be a good part for Ashton Kutcher.

For Eleanor I had in mind Julie Kavner (aka Marge Simpson) for some reason. Though I think Eleanor needs to be sexier, someone like Diane Keaton, though she's been on a real cold streak lately. As for the soundtrack, I actually mention a lot of bands in the book. U2, Cake, Green Day, The Ramones, Blink 182. Stuff like that. While in the Sunset, some old-time music would probably be playing, though. Maybe there has to be two soundtracks, one for each of Wayne's personalities. And the soundtracks should definitely include some funny dialogue from the movie between songs, like the soundtrack for Animal House.


5 a) Let's talk about writing in general. I've heard some writers say they write primarily to please themselves first. Others, I've heard say they write for an audience. Which do you do?

I think I write for myself. Stephen King has a theory of having a "first reader," someone you are writing for, someone you have in mind that you know will appreciate what you're doing. A spouse, whoever. But I think I write what I would want to read. That's my criteria. I am my own first reader.


5 b) Sometimes, there's tension amongst writers between the literary and commercial boundaries. Do you favor one or the other for reading? If forced to hear someone else categorize Sunset, would you prefer to hear that it's literary or commercial?

I think I do have a literary style, which comes out in my short stories (and possibly my next novel), but I think Into the Sunset is definitely more commercial. Which doesn't mean it's not well-written, just that it's probably too silly to be deemed "literary." I mean, there are toilet paper jokes in there! It's like a comedy film not garnering Oscar nominations. But, hell, I'd watch Office Space any day over Crash. As for my reading habits, I can read something just laugh-out loud funny, like anything by Tim Dorsey. Or I can read The Road, which is very gray and ashy (and literary).


5 c) If you were forced to categorize, which would you say your strongest asset is in Sunset: the craft, the art, or the storytelling? (or something else?)

Well, all those three things are really inseparable. But if I had to choose, I'd say the storytelling. The plot pretty much cranks along at full speed. I tried to keep in mind Elmore Leonard's rule about "cutting out the parts that readers tend to skip."


6) How do you think your favorite writers have influenced your writing?

Well, there are my favorite writers, and then there are my favorite writers. I've always listed John Irving and T. C. Boyle as my all-time favorites, but those guys are so good they're in another league. You can't even aspire to them (or, at least, I can't). This is what I got from those guys: from Irving I got the semi-colon; from Boyle I got the fucked-up shit always happening to the lead character. Now some of my other favorite writers are: Jonathan Ames, Ted Heller, Nick Hornby, Tim Dorsey, Christopher Moore, Bill Fitzhugh, and Elmore Leonard. From those guys I got the high-concept plots, engaging dialogue that includes lots of rock n' roll references, and screwed up romantic relationships.


7) Say you sold 10,000 ebook copies of Sunset, and only 10 paper copies. Would that satisfy you as much as if the stats were reversed?

10,000 copies? Are you high? Is that a typo? Actually, I get more money for the ebook, so that would be fine by me. Really, it doesn't matter. I just want people to read the book, whatever the format.


8) You've also serialized a novel online through Rebel Press, Like I've Never Been Born. Do you think this sort of electronic reading is going to continue to blossom?

People have a short attention span online. That's why flash fiction is perfect for the internet. Also, you can finish the story before your boss magically appears behind your desk. Not that I am speaking from experience, mind you. You shouldn't do that at work. NOW GO BACK TO WORK RIGHT THIS INSTANT! YES, YOU!!

Seriously, I think some version of the ebook will become practical. Like music on an iPod, you could load up your reader with books, go on vacation and have several books with you, though you'd only be carrying around something the size and weight of one book. Just think, you'd be able to search through the book easily if you had to refer back to something, or even switch over to an audio version of it! How cool would that be? Sony has the Reader, but it isn't Mac compatible, they have no clue how to market it, and no one really knows it exists. I'm waiting for Apple to pick up the ball here and do for publishing what they did for the music industry. Maybe they will incorporate it into the iPhone.


9) Rebel Press is growing with the latest new releases. What are your ultimate goals with the company?

The original intention of Rebel Press was to get exposure for the writers involved, so we could get another writing credit on the old resume, then enter the books in various contests which would hopefully lead to more exposure and more credits. So I'm not deluded. Those are still the goals. One day I'd like to have an ezine version of Rebel Press that would focus specifically on new, unpublished writers.


10) I've asked it before, but let's see if you've changed over the past couple years. You can't have both. So, from your writing, would you rather have critical acclaim or lots of cash?

The critical acclaim.


Thanks Don! Also, as a side-note, I stole the "who would you cast" question from Ellen Meister, who routinely does this with authors on her blog. It's cool. And, to answer Don's question about if I was high when I asked the one question, I was drunk. Nevertheless.

Now Available from Rebel Press

Into the Sunset by Donald Capone.Amazon

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Katrina Denza profiled

Check out the hugely talented Katrina Denza at Writer Profile Project.

Monday, July 09, 2007

I couldn't title this post because Blogger is being a fucktart. Anyhow.

Are you watching Flight of the Conchords after Entourage? If you're not, you should give it a try. It's REALLY funny. As with some other HBO shows (Curb Your Enthusiasm, Extras) the humor is calibrated a little off-center, but for a show about a band trying to make it in New York, it's not the off beat kind that you're thinking of.

It actually goes well in conjunction with Entourage, because all the Hollywood excess and good luck and lavishness of that show can really make you want to fucking kill yourself if it's the last thing you watch on a Sunday night before going to bed and knowing you have to face another workweek in your shithole job. I mean, yeah, Drama and his loser proclivities should help ease the sting, but even with Vince now being broke, they're still clubbing and coozing and though I've grown to love three of the guys, the knowledge that there are talentless peckerheads like Eric Murphy populating LA -- living high on the hog for doing nothing -- really can be a pisser. I was really hoping Harvey would've smashed his face in when Eric was supposed to tell him he couldn't buy Medellin. But, of course, Drama saved the day there.

Anyhow, I digress. I didn't mean to talk about Entourage. My point was just that Conchords brings you back down to Earth and makes you feel not-so-bad about yourself. I mean, what with Bret and Jemaine having one fan, sharing a bedroom, and taking public transportation. Give 'em a try.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

William Reese Hamilton

This month's Eclectica is featuring some excellent writing set in Venezuela from William Reese Hamilton.

Tagged by Paul

Paul A. Toth has tagged me.

The rules:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.


Here's my eight things:

1. I can't ride a bike. I've tried to learn several times but always end up injured.

2. I swam with a shark once, and went scuba diving with a whole bunch of sharks. Hammerheads. They're very cool and beautiful and primal, but I was really, deeply scared. The best part of the whole thing was this loudmouth asshole who kept making fun of me for being nervous before the dive. They warned us many, many times that the most important thing to do was to NOT get freaked out and swim away. Asshole got down there and when the sharks showed up, I looked over to see his reaction and only saw a cloudy trail of sand in his wake. He totally bolted. Surfaced too fast and got black eyes. Laughing at him made the terror worthwhile.

3. Right now, I believe that Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee is the funniest show on television. I'll talk more about this shortly on the blog, but in the meantime, if you have a chance to catch this gem of a show, please do. It's on at 5:30 PM weekdays on the Food Network.

4. If celebrity encounters interest you, I've had a few. Most notably, I've been yelled at by Greg Maddux and fell on my face in front of Andy Garcia. The yelling at by Maddux? Oh, I totally deserved it. The loudmouth asshole I referenced in number 2, he's got nothing on me. Look up "obnoxious" in the dictionary and you'll find a picture of Susan DiPlacido after eight stadium beers. The whole ugly incident also cost me my favorite boyfriend. For some reason though, I still laugh about it, so I don't regret a second of it! The Garcia thing, I don't think I deserved that humiliation. But my friends still laugh about it so I don't regret it.

5. I would rather swim with sharks than speak in public.

6. I once got arrested for streaking. The following detail probably doesn't need stated as it's implied, but I had been drinking. I'm telling you, that Cocktail Hour with Sandra Lee can lead to some wild stuff!

7. I have a tattoo that reads "Please return to Caesars Palace." Again, with the cocktail hour. You know.

8. I struggled an inordinately long time to come up with this list. I love to talk, but prefer to talk about things that interest me. I don't interest me, because I'm a boring person. I have a few decent anecdotes, but they're best told verbally while swapping stories over vodka.


Since I'm not a rulebreaker, I tag:
Biff Mitchell
Dennis Mahagin
Don Capone
Maryanne Stahl
Ellen Meister
Jordan Rosenfeld
Diane
Middle Aged Suburban Diva

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Get AMERICAN COOL this summer!

AMERICAN COOL now available from Rebel Press!



ENTER the world of AMERICAN COOL, where risk, rejection, and romance are played to win. When characters meet every roll of the dice with grit, humor and determination, is it enough to change the stakes? AMERICAN COOL is Susan DiPlacido's first collection of short stories.

Amazon
iUniverse

Available soon at Barnes & Noble and Booksamillion.

Also, read a lively interview with me here.

This book is published by Rebel Press, and I thank Rebel profusely. I can't thank Don Capone enough. He designed the kickass cover and set everything up and encouraged me and dealt with my difficult freak-outs. Another huge thanks to Ellen Meister, a fast rising literary superstar who was kind enough to give me a great blurb on the book.