NY Times' Emily Nussbaum Likes 70s TV ... and so do I
Clearly, Emily Nussbaum of The New York Times likes 70s tv, revels in it, and, quite frankly, so do I, so it's all good. But, as they said in the 70s, don't go breakin' my heart, Emily Nussbaum, stay for a while, see this 70s thing through. The reasons for that 70s love, though, are not so much for artistic excellence, on my part at least, although in the cases of Land of the Lost , I, Claudius, Roots and Schoolhouse Rock, excellence is in abundance, but the real reason is more generally because people of my generation -- kindergarteners in the 70s -- viewed that culture at large with the wide eyes of wonder at 70s reality, or, what was going on. This is not my thought but the thought of an interesting letter in the Arts and Leisure section of tommorrow's NY Times from a man whose name escapes me (I threw out my A & L subscription copy with the old coffee filter this morning, alas).
So, as Emily Nussbaum sexes us up with a wonderful exposition on Starsky and Hutch, and how they shepharded in the gritty tv drama era of the 70s, when ethnic cops, divorced cops, slutty cops, and cops living in slums themselves took on the underbelly of our decaying urban centers. And hardboiled drama (the 70s were synonymous with urban decline, grafitii, "white slavery," Fort Apache the Bronx -- so the rise of the cop, as cultural hero, was all but telegraphed) were all the rage, here are some other (making ironical quotation marks in the air) "Big 70s Subjects" I'd like to see Ms. Emily -- my new journo sex symbol, by the way (sorry, Lola Ogunnaike) -- tackle, like 70s cereal box "face" and former footbal star, Lynn Swann:
1) Schoolhouse Rock's The Figure Eight, Infinity and the Nietzche's concept of The Eternal Return Question. Come on, Emily, I've been puzzling over this concept for the better part of twenty years. I mean: What does that song mean, Emily Nussbaum. Could you break down for us the mathematics of infinity in Arts and Leisure?
"If you could make a figure eight
That's a circle that turns 'round upon itself
Place it on it's side and it's a symbol meaning ... infinity"
What-the-fuck? Is that some veiled reference to the Bill Murray character in Groundhog Day? Help me out here, Em; break me off some meaning.
2) Of The Dramedy and It's Discontents. Why oh why, dear reader, did this particularly significant cultural artifact achieve it's provenance and peak in the 70s? Was its rise related in some phantom-sinister manner to the urban decay of the age? Were the execs affraid of too much drama and therefore threw in some giggles? And, as an offshoot to the dramedy, is the troubled youth, who often was the dram in dramedy. That was a big issue in the 70s, these troubled youths who "mouthed off" to parental authority figures. In the 60s, the kids really only wanted peace, love and understanding (okay, the Beats also wanted hot sex and South American Drugs and poetry, but they still snuck out to do it). But in the 70s a whole new breed of ruffians, like Ralph Macchio on quintessential 70s dramedy Eight is Enough, and the troubled Kristy McNichol on the oft-forgotten, but once highly popular, Family. These kids were testing the limits of 70s freedon -- they mouthed off to their parents to their faces! Nowadays this noble banner is being held up by that angry kid on WB's Everwood who keeps yelling at Treat Williams for moving his family only so that the ungrateful ass can get a good life. And bloggers. We mouth off to authority figures too with mischiefFuck. *averts gaze*
3) Bad Science Fiction. Of course, in order to co-sign on this topic with me, you would have to agree -- at least in principle -- that there is, in fact, such a thing as good science fiction. What was it about the 70s that caused such bad science fiction? Bad fiction is bad enough, but why drag "science" into it -- and is it really science if you mention things like other "galaxies" and "alien races."
Was the rise of bad sci fi related to the demise of the folksy humanitarian impulse that spurred that 70s sense of that whole 'hey baby, what's your sign?' (again with the planetary references), Keep on Truckin' and UNICEF commercial era? Had we grown tired of the planet in the wake of the OPEC scandal and yearn for off-world travel? Had Carter fucked the whole shit up that bad? Or am I being too idealistic in my tele-metaphysical speculation: Was it merely tv execs trying to get up into that Star Wars bitch?
Whatever the case, we were inundated with some interesting at the time (but, in retrospect bad) sci-fi, among which, stinking up the DVD storage area at Amazon's warehouses are Space 1999 and Battlestar Galactica.
4) Commercials with a Social Message. Hey, what's up with that, Emily? Emily Nussbaum, explain why so many commercials in the Age of Aquarius had such a strong social message and sense of universal brotherhood (like Lowenbrau's "Here's to Good Friends") and, frankly, just love sweet love (Love, American Style)? Two examples of this species come to mind almost immediately: one, the Coke "I'd Like To Teach the World to Sing in perfect Harmony," and the "Keep America Beautiful" ad campaign where Native American Iron Eyes Cody cried at the lack of environmental awareness of the 70s.
So, Emily, you've now got a full plate on explaing 70s tv and the big questions. Keep on truckin'
Saturday, February 28, 2004
Will Amanpour Get Her Iranian Visa?
As Haiti spirals into, quite possibly, a massacre in our Western Hemisphere, as Carribean -born Secretary of State issues strongly worded memorandum, native Iranian uberjournalist Christianne Amanpour is being denied a visa to cover Iran. While While action or inaction in Haiti will probably be the legacy of the Colin Powell Doctrine, just as Kosovo and Rwanda were for Clinton, Amanpour is effectively frozen out of any action.
Aidainternational writes:
"'Refusing a visa to a foreign journalist is nothing unusual for Iran, but this incident is obviously part of the present tension in US-Iran relations,' said Reporters Without Borders secretary-general Robert M�nard.
"Calling on Iran to grant the visa, he noted that the head of the official news agency IRNA was summoned by legal officials on 30 September after he had put out a report of a public opinion poll showing 74.7 % Iranians wanted talks with the US to resume. The 22 September report appeared the day after the Guide of the Islamic Revolution, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, had made an especially harsh attack on the United States.
"Iranian officials gave no reason for refusing Amanpour's visa application. During her last visit to the country, she did a report on Iranian young people which seems to have displeased the regime, which is in the habit of blocking the return of journalists who have done reports considered critical. CNN is seen by Iranians via satellite."
The Corsair would like to give a few reasons Amanpour's Visa was denied:
-Amanpour is one of Iran's most successful native citizens. Ali Khamenei's tyranny is anti-success.
-Amanpour, in almost twenty years of reporting, has not been kiled in reporting. This is displeasing to the tyranny.
-The tyrant in Iran found her Somalia reporting for CNN too "one sided" in it's account of the warlords against the US.
-It is common knowledge that if you see Amanpour doing a report on a country on CNN International or 60 Minutes, chances are you are not one of the G-8 Summit of nations.
-They felt she gave Milosevic a raw deal.
-The "Supreme Guide" Ali Khameni fears that Amanpour will question his nonexistent qualifications in the travel industry.
-Amanpour serves as a strong role model to Iranian women, which scares the geeky and illiterate tyranny.
As Haiti spirals into, quite possibly, a massacre in our Western Hemisphere, as Carribean -born Secretary of State issues strongly worded memorandum, native Iranian uberjournalist Christianne Amanpour is being denied a visa to cover Iran. While While action or inaction in Haiti will probably be the legacy of the Colin Powell Doctrine, just as Kosovo and Rwanda were for Clinton, Amanpour is effectively frozen out of any action.
Aidainternational writes:
"'Refusing a visa to a foreign journalist is nothing unusual for Iran, but this incident is obviously part of the present tension in US-Iran relations,' said Reporters Without Borders secretary-general Robert M�nard.
"Calling on Iran to grant the visa, he noted that the head of the official news agency IRNA was summoned by legal officials on 30 September after he had put out a report of a public opinion poll showing 74.7 % Iranians wanted talks with the US to resume. The 22 September report appeared the day after the Guide of the Islamic Revolution, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, had made an especially harsh attack on the United States.
"Iranian officials gave no reason for refusing Amanpour's visa application. During her last visit to the country, she did a report on Iranian young people which seems to have displeased the regime, which is in the habit of blocking the return of journalists who have done reports considered critical. CNN is seen by Iranians via satellite."
The Corsair would like to give a few reasons Amanpour's Visa was denied:
-Amanpour is one of Iran's most successful native citizens. Ali Khamenei's tyranny is anti-success.
-Amanpour, in almost twenty years of reporting, has not been kiled in reporting. This is displeasing to the tyranny.
-The tyrant in Iran found her Somalia reporting for CNN too "one sided" in it's account of the warlords against the US.
-It is common knowledge that if you see Amanpour doing a report on a country on CNN International or 60 Minutes, chances are you are not one of the G-8 Summit of nations.
-They felt she gave Milosevic a raw deal.
-The "Supreme Guide" Ali Khameni fears that Amanpour will question his nonexistent qualifications in the travel industry.
-Amanpour serves as a strong role model to Iranian women, which scares the geeky and illiterate tyranny.
The Passion of The Bill Murray
Okay people, the horizon is now in view, and everything, even the swift moving Gainsborough clouds, are irradiated by a haunting reddish-bronze sunset. The quest is almost over, fellow pilgrims. Our ship has broken it's last wine-dark swell before the docking, and we are nearly hugging the shore. The Oscars are upon us, people. And now, more than ever, we must motivate to make sure that Bill Murray wins Best Actor.
Good to see that he made the cover of the New yotk Times Magazine this week.
So, what about Bill? What about his oft-spoken of "nuanced irony"? Will it be enought to overcome Sean Penn's over the top superemotional performance? Will emo beat nuance?
Will someone just give the Oscar to Bill Murray already? Just give-it-to-him: hand that baby over to Billy. Now -- shnell, not yesterday. His performance in Sophia Copolla's Lost In Translation was one of subtraction, not addition -- continuous over the top gambits, or screaming, or even crying like a pussy every frame of the film.
Imagine a Best Oscar going to an underplayed performance, a bittersweetly comic performance, the gentle man going through the inevitable motions of decline. Bill here is playing a style of self, a mode of being. And Bill Murray -- for lack of Oscar nominations -- is an actor in decline yet at his peak, adding irony on to sublety. How better to reward irony than with irony? Give the subtly-nuanced rendering of decline a thumbs up, Hollywood. Give Bill Murray an Oscar for portraying "Bill Murray."
Denzel Washington's dirty cop in Training Day was the most powerful and full-on, cut all the stops, performance in recent years. Septemeber 11th, to a degree, fueled our need for that kind of catharsis: a big evil wolfish lead villain devoured by his own excess. Denzel's evil cop was a big fat Osama Bin Laden effigy. In contradistinction to that performance (pats himself on the back for finding a use for "contradistinction"), wouldn't it be wonderful to have Bill Murray's muted Hollywood actor jetlagged in a foreign land win it this time around? Why? Because we, like Bill, are older; we've been languishing in the stream of time just a little bit longer than we were when we saw the world in terms of black and white. Now we want to examine the varieties of gray.
Murray has been snubbed by Oscar before (The Corsair shakes his head balefully at man's base nature). The fact that Murray has never been nominated is a crime. Murray was straightforward and emotionally rich in Rushmore. He created a multi-layered, if conflicted and earnest personality in The Razor's Edge. And Murray was overlooked as the subtle (there's that word again) but funny cuckolded psychiatrist in The Mighty Tennenbaum's. Murray is all about rendering different shades of beige. Some people believe acting is screaming and crying, Murray is not of that school. Besides, doing that kind of shit will drive you mad.
My favorite Bill Murray flic is Meatballs, which is also the first film I ever saw, so take my suggestion with a grain of salt ("spazz ... spazz ... spazz"). There will never be a time quite like the 70s, in Canada, no less: Canada is a nation obsessed with folksy humanitarianism, think Pierre Trudeau and their relationship to the Native Americans. And the 70s were a decade of Aquarian folksy humanitarianism. Now top that off with a summer camp, Camp Mohawk, of Meatballs.
There was an innocence (notwithstanding Murray's very un-PC manhandling of fellow counselor Roxanne, played a bit on the butch side, by the unforgettable Kate Lynch). And for the kids who don't get the ad-libbed sex jokes(I was, like 5yrs old at the time, and devoid of irony or snark or smarm, all of which flooded forth, with torrential velocity, in high school years), there is the cockles-warming relationship between Murray and the affable Chris Makepeace's character, Rudy the Rabbit. That relationship would never happen today as a result of the cynicism arising from the Catholic Church and internet sex fiends and Jacko. If Bill Murray showed that much interest in a camper nowadays, he'd be washing the laundry of Chuck Zito and Addabezi.
Anyhoo: To me, Bill Murray is the coolest man on the planet earth, Oscar or not. But boy will I be happy if Bill Murray wins this year. The Cutty Sark will flow in triumph. (And, of course, if he loses The Cutty Sark will flow in defeat, only this time mixed with Corsair tears). So, the reddish-bronze sunset gives way to a purple twilight, the winds spiral once again out to sea, and Bill Murray is very much our Oscar hopes with fingers tighly crossed, our breath held and precious Cutty Sark spilling in the process.
Okay people, the horizon is now in view, and everything, even the swift moving Gainsborough clouds, are irradiated by a haunting reddish-bronze sunset. The quest is almost over, fellow pilgrims. Our ship has broken it's last wine-dark swell before the docking, and we are nearly hugging the shore. The Oscars are upon us, people. And now, more than ever, we must motivate to make sure that Bill Murray wins Best Actor.
Good to see that he made the cover of the New yotk Times Magazine this week.
So, what about Bill? What about his oft-spoken of "nuanced irony"? Will it be enought to overcome Sean Penn's over the top superemotional performance? Will emo beat nuance?
Will someone just give the Oscar to Bill Murray already? Just give-it-to-him: hand that baby over to Billy. Now -- shnell, not yesterday. His performance in Sophia Copolla's Lost In Translation was one of subtraction, not addition -- continuous over the top gambits, or screaming, or even crying like a pussy every frame of the film.
Imagine a Best Oscar going to an underplayed performance, a bittersweetly comic performance, the gentle man going through the inevitable motions of decline. Bill here is playing a style of self, a mode of being. And Bill Murray -- for lack of Oscar nominations -- is an actor in decline yet at his peak, adding irony on to sublety. How better to reward irony than with irony? Give the subtly-nuanced rendering of decline a thumbs up, Hollywood. Give Bill Murray an Oscar for portraying "Bill Murray."
Denzel Washington's dirty cop in Training Day was the most powerful and full-on, cut all the stops, performance in recent years. Septemeber 11th, to a degree, fueled our need for that kind of catharsis: a big evil wolfish lead villain devoured by his own excess. Denzel's evil cop was a big fat Osama Bin Laden effigy. In contradistinction to that performance (pats himself on the back for finding a use for "contradistinction"), wouldn't it be wonderful to have Bill Murray's muted Hollywood actor jetlagged in a foreign land win it this time around? Why? Because we, like Bill, are older; we've been languishing in the stream of time just a little bit longer than we were when we saw the world in terms of black and white. Now we want to examine the varieties of gray.
Murray has been snubbed by Oscar before (The Corsair shakes his head balefully at man's base nature). The fact that Murray has never been nominated is a crime. Murray was straightforward and emotionally rich in Rushmore. He created a multi-layered, if conflicted and earnest personality in The Razor's Edge. And Murray was overlooked as the subtle (there's that word again) but funny cuckolded psychiatrist in The Mighty Tennenbaum's. Murray is all about rendering different shades of beige. Some people believe acting is screaming and crying, Murray is not of that school. Besides, doing that kind of shit will drive you mad.
My favorite Bill Murray flic is Meatballs, which is also the first film I ever saw, so take my suggestion with a grain of salt ("spazz ... spazz ... spazz"). There will never be a time quite like the 70s, in Canada, no less: Canada is a nation obsessed with folksy humanitarianism, think Pierre Trudeau and their relationship to the Native Americans. And the 70s were a decade of Aquarian folksy humanitarianism. Now top that off with a summer camp, Camp Mohawk, of Meatballs.
There was an innocence (notwithstanding Murray's very un-PC manhandling of fellow counselor Roxanne, played a bit on the butch side, by the unforgettable Kate Lynch). And for the kids who don't get the ad-libbed sex jokes(I was, like 5yrs old at the time, and devoid of irony or snark or smarm, all of which flooded forth, with torrential velocity, in high school years), there is the cockles-warming relationship between Murray and the affable Chris Makepeace's character, Rudy the Rabbit. That relationship would never happen today as a result of the cynicism arising from the Catholic Church and internet sex fiends and Jacko. If Bill Murray showed that much interest in a camper nowadays, he'd be washing the laundry of Chuck Zito and Addabezi.
Anyhoo: To me, Bill Murray is the coolest man on the planet earth, Oscar or not. But boy will I be happy if Bill Murray wins this year. The Cutty Sark will flow in triumph. (And, of course, if he loses The Cutty Sark will flow in defeat, only this time mixed with Corsair tears). So, the reddish-bronze sunset gives way to a purple twilight, the winds spiral once again out to sea, and Bill Murray is very much our Oscar hopes with fingers tighly crossed, our breath held and precious Cutty Sark spilling in the process.
NY Times On Mel Gibson and Bach
Twice today in the Arts and Ideas section (the highbrow section), the New York Times cooly took Mel Gibson to task, horsewhipping him publicly (excuse the allusion) comparing his film, "The Passion of the Christ" unfavorably to Bach's St. Matthew's Passion. Like, duh, guys: how many people could come off looking good compared to one of the seminal works of Western Civilization?
Anyhoo: Edward Rothstein writes in his Connections column:
"... Perhaps the Gibson/Bach comparison is most revealing for its contrasts. Mr. Gibson's film, 'The Passion of the Christ,' which early attendance figures suggest may become a worldwide success, reinvents the Passion in a late medieval mode, exhibiting a lusty fascination with flagellation, a fetishist's attentiveness to whips and welts, a panting anger at grotesquely caricatured villains. 'By his wounds, we are healed,' reads the prophet's epigraph for Mr. Gibson's film, and bleeding wounds are primarily what are seen throughout.
"After seeing Mr. Gibson's 'Passion,' in fact, and suffering through two hours of scourged flesh and pent-up fury, I listened to Bach's 'St. Matthew Passion' with amazement, awe and relief. Next Friday night one of the best contemporary interpreters of Bach's 'St. Matthew Passion,' Philippe Herreweghe, will lead a performance at Alice Tully Hall; it should probably be prescribed as a remedy for every viewer of the film."
Ouch, that is, though, a wonderfully bitchy remark, macking Gibson look like the violence-obsessed ass that he is (in striking contrast to the philosophy of Christ). And just below Rothstein, Mary Gordon, recent author of a scholarly tome Joan of Arc, places the final nail, as it were, into Gibson, nailing him, once again, on the lack of, uhm, intelligence in his film:
"A great deal of screen time is taken up with the flagellation of Jesus. What does this accomplish in an understanding of the meaning of Jesus/ life and death? How is Jesus different from any other person of torture? How is 'The Passion of the Christ' different, then, from 'The Silence of the Lambs'? Jesus as a person with mind and spirit is not very present in this film. This may be partly because Jim Cavizel, who plays Jesus, is not an actor of great psychological sublety. In the scenes when he is ministering rather than being bloodied, he is merely bland."
Gordon too references St. Matthews passion, which brings us too the question, who drank more from the great fountain of Jesus Juice? Bach or Gibson? Qui es mas macho?
On Inspiration:
"The Holy Ghost was working through me on this film, and I was just direction traffic. "
Gibson
"Bach wrote the St. Matthew Passion while in Leipzig. (The Passion is the story of the crucifixion.) He borrowed words and sometimes melodies from others to write this work. The text of this Passion is taken from St. Matthew's Gospel, chapter 26-27. Bach never wrote an opera but this work like other passions of his are very close to opera with the whole story told in song. All lines were sung. Bach remain in Leipzig twenty-seven years until his death."
Lessonspage biography
Winner: The Gibsonator
On Box Office:
"Bach died in 1750 and was essentially forgotten. No monument or tombstone was put at his grave."
Lessonspage biography
"In a marketplace filled with mostly uninteresting titles, The Passion of the Christ comes at an opportune time taking over the media spotlight and creating almost a one-picture field. The decision to open the Jim Caviezal-starrer on Ash Wednesday was brilliant since Christian moviegoers will be in the mood for this kind of film at this time, plus it allows the pic to be topical all the way through Easter Sunday in early April leading to a solid theatrical run. Until a month ago, most of the interest remained with devout Christians, but the rising tide of controversy and media coverage has snowballed and Passion now stands as a can't-miss pop culture event film that will be seen even by those who are not very religious.
"As a subtitled film in the dead languages of Aramaic and Latin, Passion was a tough-sell since conception. With little starpower on-screen and a production that led to the most graphically violent telling of the story of Jesus' death yet, there was every reason to believe that the R-rated picture would only appeal to a certain segment of the population, and not to mainstream audiences. But behind-the-camera starpower from Gibson allowed for ten times as much press coverage as other directors would have gotten. Now, the Biblical tale has become a giant force in the multiplexes with a launch on Wednesday in a massive 3,006 theaters with a total of 4643 prints."
Gitesh Pandya, Boxofficeguru.com
Winner: Pow! Zam! Gibsonroonie!
The Critics?
"The real test of greatness, both in content and in performance is the effect of repeated hearing--especially repeated hearing without focused concentration. After a while, both the art and the artistry of a recording like this make themselves felt in an undeniable way. Most important of all, the effect of Bach's St. Matthew Passion is to immerse the listener in the feelings and philosophies of an event that forms the foundation of western culture. If you think that's an overstatement, put this in your car cd and leave it there for a week. It's amazing what treating classics of art like drive-time distraction can do for your perspective. I found it particularly helpful to alternate a few days of the St. Matthew with a few days of the B-Minor Mass. The contrast was striking and highlighted the intensely dramatic and at the same time personal aspect of the Passion. And this performance delivers over and over again. While the initial impression of the opening bars is somewhat ponderous compared to other performances (e.g. Harnoncourt), the intensity and passion of the playing and singing is amazingly consistent throughout. These people really believe in this music."
Amazon.com review of Bach: Matth?us-Passion
"My thumb was way up. I admired the film as a work of passion and obsession by Mel Gibson. Obviously, it comes from his heart. And I think it?s a very well-made film. On the other hand I was shocked, as many people were, by how violent it was, and I think the message that needs to get out is, this is not a family film."
Roger Ebert
Winner: Okay, marginally? Bach
Total: With two categories to one, Gibson is clearly the greater artist. Move over Monteverdi, there's a new artist in town, and he put the mad in mad max! I mean, really, what were the cultural elite thinking? (averts gaze at the NY Times)
Twice today in the Arts and Ideas section (the highbrow section), the New York Times cooly took Mel Gibson to task, horsewhipping him publicly (excuse the allusion) comparing his film, "The Passion of the Christ" unfavorably to Bach's St. Matthew's Passion. Like, duh, guys: how many people could come off looking good compared to one of the seminal works of Western Civilization?
Anyhoo: Edward Rothstein writes in his Connections column:
"... Perhaps the Gibson/Bach comparison is most revealing for its contrasts. Mr. Gibson's film, 'The Passion of the Christ,' which early attendance figures suggest may become a worldwide success, reinvents the Passion in a late medieval mode, exhibiting a lusty fascination with flagellation, a fetishist's attentiveness to whips and welts, a panting anger at grotesquely caricatured villains. 'By his wounds, we are healed,' reads the prophet's epigraph for Mr. Gibson's film, and bleeding wounds are primarily what are seen throughout.
"After seeing Mr. Gibson's 'Passion,' in fact, and suffering through two hours of scourged flesh and pent-up fury, I listened to Bach's 'St. Matthew Passion' with amazement, awe and relief. Next Friday night one of the best contemporary interpreters of Bach's 'St. Matthew Passion,' Philippe Herreweghe, will lead a performance at Alice Tully Hall; it should probably be prescribed as a remedy for every viewer of the film."
Ouch, that is, though, a wonderfully bitchy remark, macking Gibson look like the violence-obsessed ass that he is (in striking contrast to the philosophy of Christ). And just below Rothstein, Mary Gordon, recent author of a scholarly tome Joan of Arc, places the final nail, as it were, into Gibson, nailing him, once again, on the lack of, uhm, intelligence in his film:
"A great deal of screen time is taken up with the flagellation of Jesus. What does this accomplish in an understanding of the meaning of Jesus/ life and death? How is Jesus different from any other person of torture? How is 'The Passion of the Christ' different, then, from 'The Silence of the Lambs'? Jesus as a person with mind and spirit is not very present in this film. This may be partly because Jim Cavizel, who plays Jesus, is not an actor of great psychological sublety. In the scenes when he is ministering rather than being bloodied, he is merely bland."
Gordon too references St. Matthews passion, which brings us too the question, who drank more from the great fountain of Jesus Juice? Bach or Gibson? Qui es mas macho?
On Inspiration:
"The Holy Ghost was working through me on this film, and I was just direction traffic. "
Gibson
"Bach wrote the St. Matthew Passion while in Leipzig. (The Passion is the story of the crucifixion.) He borrowed words and sometimes melodies from others to write this work. The text of this Passion is taken from St. Matthew's Gospel, chapter 26-27. Bach never wrote an opera but this work like other passions of his are very close to opera with the whole story told in song. All lines were sung. Bach remain in Leipzig twenty-seven years until his death."
Lessonspage biography
Winner: The Gibsonator
On Box Office:
"Bach died in 1750 and was essentially forgotten. No monument or tombstone was put at his grave."
Lessonspage biography
"In a marketplace filled with mostly uninteresting titles, The Passion of the Christ comes at an opportune time taking over the media spotlight and creating almost a one-picture field. The decision to open the Jim Caviezal-starrer on Ash Wednesday was brilliant since Christian moviegoers will be in the mood for this kind of film at this time, plus it allows the pic to be topical all the way through Easter Sunday in early April leading to a solid theatrical run. Until a month ago, most of the interest remained with devout Christians, but the rising tide of controversy and media coverage has snowballed and Passion now stands as a can't-miss pop culture event film that will be seen even by those who are not very religious.
"As a subtitled film in the dead languages of Aramaic and Latin, Passion was a tough-sell since conception. With little starpower on-screen and a production that led to the most graphically violent telling of the story of Jesus' death yet, there was every reason to believe that the R-rated picture would only appeal to a certain segment of the population, and not to mainstream audiences. But behind-the-camera starpower from Gibson allowed for ten times as much press coverage as other directors would have gotten. Now, the Biblical tale has become a giant force in the multiplexes with a launch on Wednesday in a massive 3,006 theaters with a total of 4643 prints."
Gitesh Pandya, Boxofficeguru.com
Winner: Pow! Zam! Gibsonroonie!
The Critics?
"The real test of greatness, both in content and in performance is the effect of repeated hearing--especially repeated hearing without focused concentration. After a while, both the art and the artistry of a recording like this make themselves felt in an undeniable way. Most important of all, the effect of Bach's St. Matthew Passion is to immerse the listener in the feelings and philosophies of an event that forms the foundation of western culture. If you think that's an overstatement, put this in your car cd and leave it there for a week. It's amazing what treating classics of art like drive-time distraction can do for your perspective. I found it particularly helpful to alternate a few days of the St. Matthew with a few days of the B-Minor Mass. The contrast was striking and highlighted the intensely dramatic and at the same time personal aspect of the Passion. And this performance delivers over and over again. While the initial impression of the opening bars is somewhat ponderous compared to other performances (e.g. Harnoncourt), the intensity and passion of the playing and singing is amazingly consistent throughout. These people really believe in this music."
Amazon.com review of Bach: Matth?us-Passion
"My thumb was way up. I admired the film as a work of passion and obsession by Mel Gibson. Obviously, it comes from his heart. And I think it?s a very well-made film. On the other hand I was shocked, as many people were, by how violent it was, and I think the message that needs to get out is, this is not a family film."
Roger Ebert
Winner: Okay, marginally? Bach
Total: With two categories to one, Gibson is clearly the greater artist. Move over Monteverdi, there's a new artist in town, and he put the mad in mad max! I mean, really, what were the cultural elite thinking? (averts gaze at the NY Times)
Plato and the Founding of the Academy
Okay, those of you who have been with this blog since it's conception in October 2003 will know, by merely reading the title of this, that I am psychologically compensating for the fact that I ran Lil Kim's ill na-na as lead blog for two whole days straight. I can hear your collective groans from the outer limits of the blogosphere. In my fevered ex-Catholic mind I am wondering whether or not that fact makes me a pormographer. I know: I crave intellectual respectablity despite the fact that I am an inveterate gossip with a hankering for the naughty. That having been confessed, my dear reader, please hear me out on this decidedly non-snarky blog, my guilt here does not mean that the following review of John Bremer's book Plato and the Founding of the Academy, by one Noam Gedalof, from the St. John's College Alumni newsletter is not fucking fascinating. Plato's Republic to me has always been as darkly beautiful and mysterious as the Ancient Greek sense of equating morality with Geometry, even going so far as to imply in Aristotle that a formula for virtue could be found in The Golden Mean.
Give it a shot, like you might a glass of good cognac. I think it is really interesting if not amusing, like I usually am (or try to be). Noam writes in his book review:
"
John Bremer says he has come into the possession of a letter purporting to be from Plato himself, and addressed to his great nephew. Bremer, a former St. John's (College) tutor, describes how the letter came into his possession, presents the text in English, and in 100 pages of footnotes and other tabulations and analyses develops and clarifies the letter's contents.
"In the letter, the author elaborates a scheme of the design of The Republic based on a twelve hour reading period, beginning at noon and ending at midnight. The way into duration is the sylable count. The Republic may be divided into 240 three minute units -- each of roughly 750 syllables. (Bremer calls them Bremer Units) The speed is fast, but not unrealistic. Plato would have composed on wax tablets, most likely of equal size, and in this way he could keep track of both the number of syllables on each tablet themselves -- by numbering them. He could follow the time frame in which each part of the conversation played out. And he could also -- and he surely did -- compose each numbered tablet with reference to other tablets, and often with them side to side.
"What emerges when The Republic is viewed through this lens is an architectural marvel -- suffused with symmetries musical, astronomical, geometrical, even choreographic. The famous Divided Line, for example, itself divided in extreme and mean ratio, comes at precisely The Golden Section (the point which divides in extreme and mean ratio) of the duration of the conversation. An elaborate and precise ring composition also reveals itself. Bremer has shown this with a table that places summaries of tablets 1 and 240, 2 and 239, and so on, side by side.
"The design of The Republic for once finds concrete exposition in Bremer's work -- a truly new way to read the ancient text."
Okay, those of you who have been with this blog since it's conception in October 2003 will know, by merely reading the title of this, that I am psychologically compensating for the fact that I ran Lil Kim's ill na-na as lead blog for two whole days straight. I can hear your collective groans from the outer limits of the blogosphere. In my fevered ex-Catholic mind I am wondering whether or not that fact makes me a pormographer. I know: I crave intellectual respectablity despite the fact that I am an inveterate gossip with a hankering for the naughty. That having been confessed, my dear reader, please hear me out on this decidedly non-snarky blog, my guilt here does not mean that the following review of John Bremer's book Plato and the Founding of the Academy, by one Noam Gedalof, from the St. John's College Alumni newsletter is not fucking fascinating. Plato's Republic to me has always been as darkly beautiful and mysterious as the Ancient Greek sense of equating morality with Geometry, even going so far as to imply in Aristotle that a formula for virtue could be found in The Golden Mean.
Give it a shot, like you might a glass of good cognac. I think it is really interesting if not amusing, like I usually am (or try to be). Noam writes in his book review:
"
John Bremer says he has come into the possession of a letter purporting to be from Plato himself, and addressed to his great nephew. Bremer, a former St. John's (College) tutor, describes how the letter came into his possession, presents the text in English, and in 100 pages of footnotes and other tabulations and analyses develops and clarifies the letter's contents.
"In the letter, the author elaborates a scheme of the design of The Republic based on a twelve hour reading period, beginning at noon and ending at midnight. The way into duration is the sylable count. The Republic may be divided into 240 three minute units -- each of roughly 750 syllables. (Bremer calls them Bremer Units) The speed is fast, but not unrealistic. Plato would have composed on wax tablets, most likely of equal size, and in this way he could keep track of both the number of syllables on each tablet themselves -- by numbering them. He could follow the time frame in which each part of the conversation played out. And he could also -- and he surely did -- compose each numbered tablet with reference to other tablets, and often with them side to side.
"What emerges when The Republic is viewed through this lens is an architectural marvel -- suffused with symmetries musical, astronomical, geometrical, even choreographic. The famous Divided Line, for example, itself divided in extreme and mean ratio, comes at precisely The Golden Section (the point which divides in extreme and mean ratio) of the duration of the conversation. An elaborate and precise ring composition also reveals itself. Bremer has shown this with a table that places summaries of tablets 1 and 240, 2 and 239, and so on, side by side.
"The design of The Republic for once finds concrete exposition in Bremer's work -- a truly new way to read the ancient text."
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Lil' Kim's Naughty Bits EXPOSED
The links you are about to recieve are NOT SAFE for work. I repeat: do not click on these links when in the company of a boss or supervisor, or you will be fired. They will throw you out on your ass, people!
Okay, that having been said, Lil' Kim is famous for not wearing panties. Infamous. It's like she's allergic and needs to expose herself.
Anyhoo, as she battles Bill O'rielly on the subject indecency, she may want to rethink the whole panty thing in the age of cell phone cameras. Now, The Corsair cannot guarantee that these are the real deal, as he did not take them himself, but the source is adamant that they are, so take that as you will. Here. And here. Lil' Kim is crazy like Swayzee.
As David Chappelle's exquisitely rendered Rick James might say, "If I had two more arms I'd give ya four thumbs down!"
The links you are about to recieve are NOT SAFE for work. I repeat: do not click on these links when in the company of a boss or supervisor, or you will be fired. They will throw you out on your ass, people!
Okay, that having been said, Lil' Kim is famous for not wearing panties. Infamous. It's like she's allergic and needs to expose herself.
Anyhoo, as she battles Bill O'rielly on the subject indecency, she may want to rethink the whole panty thing in the age of cell phone cameras. Now, The Corsair cannot guarantee that these are the real deal, as he did not take them himself, but the source is adamant that they are, so take that as you will. Here. And here. Lil' Kim is crazy like Swayzee.
As David Chappelle's exquisitely rendered Rick James might say, "If I had two more arms I'd give ya four thumbs down!"
Ashton Kutcher is 30!
Yeah, his bio says he's 26, but Ashton Kutcher, who plays teenage hearthrob Michael Kelso on That 70s Show, hasn't been a teenager in well over a decade, according to that significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer. He's actually 30 years old!
"According to a bazillion press clippings, actor Christopher Ashton Kutcher was born Feb. 7, 1978, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. But Los Angeles County Registrar's voter registration records show a Christopher Ashton Kutcher who was born in Iowa and currently residing in Beverly Hills with a birth date of Feb. 7, 1974."
Shit.
"Pure coincidence? A clerical error? Call us skeptical, but we think not!
"If Kutcher really IS 30, that would make his so-called May-September romance with 41-year-old Demi more like a July-September romance and take some of the sizzle out of the relationship.
"Ashton's representatives insist that he was born in 1978 and when he appeared on 'The Tonight Show' back in January 2003, Kutcher himself confirmed the same thing to host Jay Leno.
"But if that's the case, why do the L.A. voter rolls have him listed as 30? Hmmm, could it be 'The Butterfly Effect' ... or are we just being 'Punk'd'?"
The Corsair feels for Ashton. He became famous for his youth, forst in That 70s Show, then as a boytoy. And in a town of liars, er, I mean actors, getting called on this is pretty lame. But it is just too juicy to ignore. Sorry, biscuit.
(Ed Note: Due to work constraints there will be no blog tommorrow. Sorry)
Yeah, his bio says he's 26, but Ashton Kutcher, who plays teenage hearthrob Michael Kelso on That 70s Show, hasn't been a teenager in well over a decade, according to that significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer. He's actually 30 years old!
"According to a bazillion press clippings, actor Christopher Ashton Kutcher was born Feb. 7, 1978, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. But Los Angeles County Registrar's voter registration records show a Christopher Ashton Kutcher who was born in Iowa and currently residing in Beverly Hills with a birth date of Feb. 7, 1974."
Shit.
"Pure coincidence? A clerical error? Call us skeptical, but we think not!
"If Kutcher really IS 30, that would make his so-called May-September romance with 41-year-old Demi more like a July-September romance and take some of the sizzle out of the relationship.
"Ashton's representatives insist that he was born in 1978 and when he appeared on 'The Tonight Show' back in January 2003, Kutcher himself confirmed the same thing to host Jay Leno.
"But if that's the case, why do the L.A. voter rolls have him listed as 30? Hmmm, could it be 'The Butterfly Effect' ... or are we just being 'Punk'd'?"
The Corsair feels for Ashton. He became famous for his youth, forst in That 70s Show, then as a boytoy. And in a town of liars, er, I mean actors, getting called on this is pretty lame. But it is just too juicy to ignore. Sorry, biscuit.
(Ed Note: Due to work constraints there will be no blog tommorrow. Sorry)
The Kournikova Boytoy Tour
It looks like Anna Kournikova is pulling a Colin Farrell, and going through the opposite sex faster than a meteor about to burn itself out. The 3 AM Girls have been up all night chronicling her conquests since breaking up with Enrique Englesias. They write:
"The Russian tennis strumpet has finally been ditched by Spanish crooner Enrique after he heard reports of his other half's antics over the weekend.
"The final straw was the news that Anna had been seen in Las Vegas getting close to actor Mark Wahlberg in a number of nightclubs on Saturday.
"The pair then booked a suite in the Vegas Palm Hotel on Sunday night and emerged looking 'tired but happy' the next day.
"And that wasn't the only time she's strayed. Earlier last week she'd been spotted getting friendly with New York Yankees baseball star Derek Jeter.
"'Enrique was so upset and he says it's definitely over this time,' a source tells us. 'He couldn't stand the thought of her with someone else.'"
"But we're hardly overflowing with sympathy for Enrique. Since he met Anna he's been linked to a string of women, so she's finally giving him a taste of his own medicine."
Note to young, beautiful, rich and famous people: fidelity is overrated.
It looks like Anna Kournikova is pulling a Colin Farrell, and going through the opposite sex faster than a meteor about to burn itself out. The 3 AM Girls have been up all night chronicling her conquests since breaking up with Enrique Englesias. They write:
"The Russian tennis strumpet has finally been ditched by Spanish crooner Enrique after he heard reports of his other half's antics over the weekend.
"The final straw was the news that Anna had been seen in Las Vegas getting close to actor Mark Wahlberg in a number of nightclubs on Saturday.
"The pair then booked a suite in the Vegas Palm Hotel on Sunday night and emerged looking 'tired but happy' the next day.
"And that wasn't the only time she's strayed. Earlier last week she'd been spotted getting friendly with New York Yankees baseball star Derek Jeter.
"'Enrique was so upset and he says it's definitely over this time,' a source tells us. 'He couldn't stand the thought of her with someone else.'"
"But we're hardly overflowing with sympathy for Enrique. Since he met Anna he's been linked to a string of women, so she's finally giving him a taste of his own medicine."
Note to young, beautiful, rich and famous people: fidelity is overrated.
Page Six Blind Items
Thank god for Page Six blind items, they keep bloggers like me busy, especially on the slow days. This is no different:
"WHICH Broadway hunk lost his chance at being the next James Bond because of rumors he's gay? The movie's producers found out he was a little too close to his male assistant, and were worried about the secret getting out and weakening the Bond machismo . . . WHICH former supermodel and her hubby are on the rocks? His constant philandering with sexy young women in bars has finally come to a head, and she is said to be shutting off the tap on their marriage . . . WHICH hard-partying 'celebrity deejay' was recently bounced from L'Ermitage hotel and the Hyatt in L.A. while frittering away his share of the family fortune on drugs and booze?"
The first one, I'll guess is Hugh Jackman. I don't know why I say that, but it just seems right. Gawker agrees. Choire Sicha writes, "Hugh Jackman, this one's easy; he's starring as a gay playboy in 'Boy from Oz' and he's the only one hot enough right now to be considered for James Bond... no, John Stamos in 'Nine' doesn't count..."
The second blind item is Cindy Crawford, The "bars" comment screams "The Pulse" Rande Gerber, who owns bars and is a former model. Gawker agrees, "Cindy Crawford and Rande Gerber?"
The last one is hard. Very hard. I'm guessing Paul Sevigny, because, frankly, he and Rosanna Arquette are the only celebrity deejays I know about. But I'm pretty sure I am wrong on that. Gawker has a better guess. "How about Cameron Douglas, Michael's 23-year-old son-- maybe he's in need of a little attention?"
Thank god for Page Six blind items, they keep bloggers like me busy, especially on the slow days. This is no different:
"WHICH Broadway hunk lost his chance at being the next James Bond because of rumors he's gay? The movie's producers found out he was a little too close to his male assistant, and were worried about the secret getting out and weakening the Bond machismo . . . WHICH former supermodel and her hubby are on the rocks? His constant philandering with sexy young women in bars has finally come to a head, and she is said to be shutting off the tap on their marriage . . . WHICH hard-partying 'celebrity deejay' was recently bounced from L'Ermitage hotel and the Hyatt in L.A. while frittering away his share of the family fortune on drugs and booze?"
The first one, I'll guess is Hugh Jackman. I don't know why I say that, but it just seems right. Gawker agrees. Choire Sicha writes, "Hugh Jackman, this one's easy; he's starring as a gay playboy in 'Boy from Oz' and he's the only one hot enough right now to be considered for James Bond... no, John Stamos in 'Nine' doesn't count..."
The second blind item is Cindy Crawford, The "bars" comment screams "The Pulse" Rande Gerber, who owns bars and is a former model. Gawker agrees, "Cindy Crawford and Rande Gerber?"
The last one is hard. Very hard. I'm guessing Paul Sevigny, because, frankly, he and Rosanna Arquette are the only celebrity deejays I know about. But I'm pretty sure I am wrong on that. Gawker has a better guess. "How about Cameron Douglas, Michael's 23-year-old son-- maybe he's in need of a little attention?"
Howard Stern: Is This The End?
"This is the end, Beautiful friend
This is the end, My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again"
The Doors, The End
It looks like we are witnessing the slow and bloody demise of Howard Stern's immensely successful radio show. First his sidekick Jackie "the Joke Man" Martling left the show, ostensibly to "punch up scripts" for tv and film. Then, just last week Stuttering John Melendez. Then the feud with Jay Leno. And now, just yesterday, six stations unceremoniously dropped Stern, caving in to FCC pressure as a result of Janet Jackson's tit. Which, incidentally, are not remotely as interesting as Monica Belucci's sumptuous breasts (thanks for the link, Uncle Grambo)
Again, Marksfriggin.com summarizes the discussions this morning:
"Howard said he knows the story is big if he ever sees himself on the cover of the NY Times. He told Robin that he heard from his agent last night that he was suspended from the San Diego station last night. He didn't know it was going to be all 6 of the Clear Channel stations. He said he saw himself on the front page of a paper right next to Jesus from Mel Gibson's movie. He said that he thinks he looks better than Jesus. He said that's all he cared about when he saw the Daily News. Then he saw the awful picture that the NY Post used. He said they hate him over there and use the worst picture they can find.
"Howard said he got a call from Robert Schimmel yesterday while all of this was going on. He said he did't even know he was under attack at the time. After talking to Bob he found out about the suspension. Howard heard that the head of Clear Channel has to testify in front of congress so that might be why all of this was going on. Since Clear Channel is in breach of contract they may not even have rights to the show anymore. He also heard that he should stop talking about this congresswoman who was getting upset about the things he was saying about her. Howard said she's not going to stop talking about him so he doesn't know why he has to stop talking about her.
"Howard said after he found out all of that he watched ''American Idol.'' He told Robin about the people who got voted in and discussed that show for a couple of minutes. Howard went on to talk about how crazy this censorship stuff is and how they're saying that it was racist comments that got him removed from these stations. He said it was a phone caller who made a racist comment though, not him.
"Howard said he really doesn't know what's going on and he's not sure why he's being taken off of these radio stations. He said he had to read the paper to get his information. He said that the papers are reporting that he was taken off because of a ''vulgar'' show he did. Howard also said they're claiming it was an ''indecent'' show he did but he doesn't understand that because he hasn't been accused of doing anything indecent.
"Robin told Howard that in USA Today they said that he was yanked but the syndicator stood by him. Howard said that would be Mel (Karmazin). Howard read some of the articles that were written and the comments that the Clear Channel people were saying. Howard said that he's going to be the sacrificial lamb in all of this indecency stuff. Artie said it's pretty scary that they're not allowed to talk about a politician. He said that it's frightening."
Under attack from Jay Leno and now the FCC. Stay tuned for how this little contretemps resolves itself.
"This is the end, Beautiful friend
This is the end, My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again"
The Doors, The End
It looks like we are witnessing the slow and bloody demise of Howard Stern's immensely successful radio show. First his sidekick Jackie "the Joke Man" Martling left the show, ostensibly to "punch up scripts" for tv and film. Then, just last week Stuttering John Melendez. Then the feud with Jay Leno. And now, just yesterday, six stations unceremoniously dropped Stern, caving in to FCC pressure as a result of Janet Jackson's tit. Which, incidentally, are not remotely as interesting as Monica Belucci's sumptuous breasts (thanks for the link, Uncle Grambo)
Again, Marksfriggin.com summarizes the discussions this morning:
"Howard said he knows the story is big if he ever sees himself on the cover of the NY Times. He told Robin that he heard from his agent last night that he was suspended from the San Diego station last night. He didn't know it was going to be all 6 of the Clear Channel stations. He said he saw himself on the front page of a paper right next to Jesus from Mel Gibson's movie. He said that he thinks he looks better than Jesus. He said that's all he cared about when he saw the Daily News. Then he saw the awful picture that the NY Post used. He said they hate him over there and use the worst picture they can find.
"Howard said he got a call from Robert Schimmel yesterday while all of this was going on. He said he did't even know he was under attack at the time. After talking to Bob he found out about the suspension. Howard heard that the head of Clear Channel has to testify in front of congress so that might be why all of this was going on. Since Clear Channel is in breach of contract they may not even have rights to the show anymore. He also heard that he should stop talking about this congresswoman who was getting upset about the things he was saying about her. Howard said she's not going to stop talking about him so he doesn't know why he has to stop talking about her.
"Howard said after he found out all of that he watched ''American Idol.'' He told Robin about the people who got voted in and discussed that show for a couple of minutes. Howard went on to talk about how crazy this censorship stuff is and how they're saying that it was racist comments that got him removed from these stations. He said it was a phone caller who made a racist comment though, not him.
"Howard said he really doesn't know what's going on and he's not sure why he's being taken off of these radio stations. He said he had to read the paper to get his information. He said that the papers are reporting that he was taken off because of a ''vulgar'' show he did. Howard also said they're claiming it was an ''indecent'' show he did but he doesn't understand that because he hasn't been accused of doing anything indecent.
"Robin told Howard that in USA Today they said that he was yanked but the syndicator stood by him. Howard said that would be Mel (Karmazin). Howard read some of the articles that were written and the comments that the Clear Channel people were saying. Howard said that he's going to be the sacrificial lamb in all of this indecency stuff. Artie said it's pretty scary that they're not allowed to talk about a politician. He said that it's frightening."
Under attack from Jay Leno and now the FCC. Stay tuned for how this little contretemps resolves itself.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
The Passion of The Bill Murray
Okay people, the horizon is now in view, and everything, even the Gainsborough clouds, are irradiated by a haunting reddish-bronze sunset. The quest is almost over, fellow pilgrims. Our ship has broken it's last wine-dark swell before the docking, and we are nearly hugging the shore. The Oscars are upon us, people. And now, more than ever, we must motivate to make sure that Bill Murray wins Best Actor.
So, what about Bill? What about his oft-spoken of "nuanced irony"? Will it be enought to top Sean Penn's over the top superemotional performance? Will emo beat nuance?
Will someone just give the Oscar to Bill Murray already? Just give-it-to-him. Now: shnell. His performance in Sophia Copolla's Lost In Translation was one of subtraction, not addition -- continuous over the top gambits, or screaming, or crying like a pussy every frame of the film.
Imagine a Best Oscar going to an underplayed performance, a bittersweetly comic performance, the gentle man going through the inevitable motions of decline. Bill here is playing a style of self, a mode of being. And Bill Murray -- for lack of Oscar nominations -- is an actor in decline yet at his peak, adding irony on to sublety. How better to reward irony than with irony? Give the subtly-nuanced rendering of decline a thumbs up, Hollywood. Give Bill Murray an Oscar for portraying "Bill Murray."
Denzel Washington's dirty cop in Training Day was the most powerful and full-on, cut all the stops, performance in recent years. Septemeber 11th, to a degree, fueled our need for that kind of catharsis: a big evil wolfish lead villain devoured by his own excess. Denzel's evil cop was a big fat Osama Bin Laden effigy. In contradistinction to that performance (pats himself on the back for finding a use for "contradistinction"), wouldn't it be wonderful to have Bill Murray's muted Hollywood actor jetlagged in a foreign land win it this time around? Why? Because we, like Bill, are older; we've been languishing in the stream of time just a little bit longer than we were when we saw the world in terms of black and white. Now we want to examine the varieties of gray.
Murray has been snubbed by Oscar before (The Corsair shakes his head balefully at man's base nature). The fact that Murray has never been nominated is a crime. Murray was straightforward and emotionally rich in Rushmore. He created a multi-layered, if conflicted and earnest personality in The Razor's Edge. And Murray was overlooked as the subtle (there's that word again) but funny cuckolded psychiatrist in The Mighty Tennenbaum's. Murray is all about rendering different shades of beige. Some people believe acting is screaming and crying, Murray is not of that school. Besides, doing that kind of shit will drive you mad.
My favorite Bill Murray flic is Meatballs, which is also the first film I ever saw, so take my suggestion with a grain of salt ("spazz ... spazz ... spazz"). There will never be a time quite like the 70s, in Canada, no less: Canada is a nation obsessed with folksy humanitarianism, think Pierre Trudeau and their relationship to the Native Americans. And the 70s were a decade of Aquarian folksy humanitarianism. Now top that off with a summer camp, Camp Mohawk, of Meatballs.
There was an innocence (notwithstanding Murray's very un-PC manhandling of fellow counselor Roxanne, played a bit on the butch side, by the unforgettable Kate Lynch). And for the kids who don't get the ad-libbed sex jokes(I was, like 5yrs old at the time, and devoid of irony or snark or smarm, all of which flooded forth, with torrential velocity, in high school years), there is the cockles-warming relationship between Murray and the affable Chris Makepeace's character, Rudy the Rabbit. That relationship would never happen today as a result of the cynicism arising from the Catholic Church and internet sex fiends and Jacko. If Bill Murray showed that much interest in a camper nowadays, he'd be washing the laundry of Chuck Zito and Addabezi.
Anyhoo: To me, Bill Murray is the coolest man on the planet earth, Oscar or not. But boy will I be happy if Bill Murray wins this year. The Cutty Sark will flow in triumph. (And, of course, if he loses The Cutty Sark will flow in defeat). So the reddish-bronze sunset gives way to purple twilight, and Bill Murray is very much our Oscar hopes.
Okay people, the horizon is now in view, and everything, even the Gainsborough clouds, are irradiated by a haunting reddish-bronze sunset. The quest is almost over, fellow pilgrims. Our ship has broken it's last wine-dark swell before the docking, and we are nearly hugging the shore. The Oscars are upon us, people. And now, more than ever, we must motivate to make sure that Bill Murray wins Best Actor.
So, what about Bill? What about his oft-spoken of "nuanced irony"? Will it be enought to top Sean Penn's over the top superemotional performance? Will emo beat nuance?
Will someone just give the Oscar to Bill Murray already? Just give-it-to-him. Now: shnell. His performance in Sophia Copolla's Lost In Translation was one of subtraction, not addition -- continuous over the top gambits, or screaming, or crying like a pussy every frame of the film.
Imagine a Best Oscar going to an underplayed performance, a bittersweetly comic performance, the gentle man going through the inevitable motions of decline. Bill here is playing a style of self, a mode of being. And Bill Murray -- for lack of Oscar nominations -- is an actor in decline yet at his peak, adding irony on to sublety. How better to reward irony than with irony? Give the subtly-nuanced rendering of decline a thumbs up, Hollywood. Give Bill Murray an Oscar for portraying "Bill Murray."
Denzel Washington's dirty cop in Training Day was the most powerful and full-on, cut all the stops, performance in recent years. Septemeber 11th, to a degree, fueled our need for that kind of catharsis: a big evil wolfish lead villain devoured by his own excess. Denzel's evil cop was a big fat Osama Bin Laden effigy. In contradistinction to that performance (pats himself on the back for finding a use for "contradistinction"), wouldn't it be wonderful to have Bill Murray's muted Hollywood actor jetlagged in a foreign land win it this time around? Why? Because we, like Bill, are older; we've been languishing in the stream of time just a little bit longer than we were when we saw the world in terms of black and white. Now we want to examine the varieties of gray.
Murray has been snubbed by Oscar before (The Corsair shakes his head balefully at man's base nature). The fact that Murray has never been nominated is a crime. Murray was straightforward and emotionally rich in Rushmore. He created a multi-layered, if conflicted and earnest personality in The Razor's Edge. And Murray was overlooked as the subtle (there's that word again) but funny cuckolded psychiatrist in The Mighty Tennenbaum's. Murray is all about rendering different shades of beige. Some people believe acting is screaming and crying, Murray is not of that school. Besides, doing that kind of shit will drive you mad.
My favorite Bill Murray flic is Meatballs, which is also the first film I ever saw, so take my suggestion with a grain of salt ("spazz ... spazz ... spazz"). There will never be a time quite like the 70s, in Canada, no less: Canada is a nation obsessed with folksy humanitarianism, think Pierre Trudeau and their relationship to the Native Americans. And the 70s were a decade of Aquarian folksy humanitarianism. Now top that off with a summer camp, Camp Mohawk, of Meatballs.
There was an innocence (notwithstanding Murray's very un-PC manhandling of fellow counselor Roxanne, played a bit on the butch side, by the unforgettable Kate Lynch). And for the kids who don't get the ad-libbed sex jokes(I was, like 5yrs old at the time, and devoid of irony or snark or smarm, all of which flooded forth, with torrential velocity, in high school years), there is the cockles-warming relationship between Murray and the affable Chris Makepeace's character, Rudy the Rabbit. That relationship would never happen today as a result of the cynicism arising from the Catholic Church and internet sex fiends and Jacko. If Bill Murray showed that much interest in a camper nowadays, he'd be washing the laundry of Chuck Zito and Addabezi.
Anyhoo: To me, Bill Murray is the coolest man on the planet earth, Oscar or not. But boy will I be happy if Bill Murray wins this year. The Cutty Sark will flow in triumph. (And, of course, if he loses The Cutty Sark will flow in defeat). So the reddish-bronze sunset gives way to purple twilight, and Bill Murray is very much our Oscar hopes.
President Bush and Dick Cheney: A Dialogue
It's no secret that Dick Cheney is not a popular man throughout the land. Even his daughter may have something to say about the Administration's ban on gay marriage. In fact, many consider him too powerful. But now that polls show Bush trailing potential challengers John Edwards and John Kerry, he may want to consider a stronger ticket. In other words, could Dubya ask Cheney to step down "for the good of the party"? You know, a "health related" stepping down. Is Bush powerful enough? Here's a little imagined dialogue of possibility:
Cheney: Mr. President?
Dubya: Good to see you, Dickster, hows the ticker doin'?
Cheney: Oh, fine, sir; got a clean bill of health.
Dubya: Oh, is that so (sly smile plays on his lips). Are ya sure you wouldn't want to take some time off?
Cheney: Sir?
Dubya: You know, like the entire second term.
Cheney: (dumbfounded) Wh-aat?
Dubya: Well, it's this war thing, Dickie, sorry to say. Nothing personal. If Kerry picks someone like former Senator Cleland and runs as a veteran who cares, then we are in deep doo doo. I can't run on a National Security platform down south if they start rallying vets against you for being such a goddamned chicken hawk
Cheney: But, sir, I object, I --
Dubya: No, I know you aren't a goddamned chicken hawk, Dick. Wouldn't have asked you to join the ticket if you were. But politics is about the perception. How else do you think I broke John McCain in South Carolina in 2000?
Cheney: But I was Defense Secretary --
Dubya: Speaking of that. Didn't you administer pop's First Persian Gulf War?
Cheney: (puffs up) Why yes, I did indeed.
Dubya: And who was the general in the field, he had a funny name. Polish or somethin'
Cheney: (nervous) Shwarzkopf, er ... Norman Shwarzkopf.
Dubya: (smiles) Stormin' Norman, I like that. See that, Dickie, we've already got a nickname for him.
Cheney: But, sir --
Dubya: And he's from Florida, isn't he?
Cheney: Uhm, yes, sir --
Dubya: Perfect (reaches for a pretzel). Him or Giuliani would be just the ticket for the ticket. Giuliani at the New York convention would be perfect. I'd campaign in the South, and Rudy would just stay right there in the tri state area of NY, Jersey and Connecticut.
Cheney: (desperation) But, if I may speak frankly, what about Wyoming, sir. You couldn't have swept that state without me on the ticket.
Dubya: I guess we'll just have to manage Wyoming's whopping three electoral college votes without ya, Dickster. A vacation is a good thing. Sound mind and all that.
Wishful thinking on The Corsair's part?
It's no secret that Dick Cheney is not a popular man throughout the land. Even his daughter may have something to say about the Administration's ban on gay marriage. In fact, many consider him too powerful. But now that polls show Bush trailing potential challengers John Edwards and John Kerry, he may want to consider a stronger ticket. In other words, could Dubya ask Cheney to step down "for the good of the party"? You know, a "health related" stepping down. Is Bush powerful enough? Here's a little imagined dialogue of possibility:
Cheney: Mr. President?
Dubya: Good to see you, Dickster, hows the ticker doin'?
Cheney: Oh, fine, sir; got a clean bill of health.
Dubya: Oh, is that so (sly smile plays on his lips). Are ya sure you wouldn't want to take some time off?
Cheney: Sir?
Dubya: You know, like the entire second term.
Cheney: (dumbfounded) Wh-aat?
Dubya: Well, it's this war thing, Dickie, sorry to say. Nothing personal. If Kerry picks someone like former Senator Cleland and runs as a veteran who cares, then we are in deep doo doo. I can't run on a National Security platform down south if they start rallying vets against you for being such a goddamned chicken hawk
Cheney: But, sir, I object, I --
Dubya: No, I know you aren't a goddamned chicken hawk, Dick. Wouldn't have asked you to join the ticket if you were. But politics is about the perception. How else do you think I broke John McCain in South Carolina in 2000?
Cheney: But I was Defense Secretary --
Dubya: Speaking of that. Didn't you administer pop's First Persian Gulf War?
Cheney: (puffs up) Why yes, I did indeed.
Dubya: And who was the general in the field, he had a funny name. Polish or somethin'
Cheney: (nervous) Shwarzkopf, er ... Norman Shwarzkopf.
Dubya: (smiles) Stormin' Norman, I like that. See that, Dickie, we've already got a nickname for him.
Cheney: But, sir --
Dubya: And he's from Florida, isn't he?
Cheney: Uhm, yes, sir --
Dubya: Perfect (reaches for a pretzel). Him or Giuliani would be just the ticket for the ticket. Giuliani at the New York convention would be perfect. I'd campaign in the South, and Rudy would just stay right there in the tri state area of NY, Jersey and Connecticut.
Cheney: (desperation) But, if I may speak frankly, what about Wyoming, sir. You couldn't have swept that state without me on the ticket.
Dubya: I guess we'll just have to manage Wyoming's whopping three electoral college votes without ya, Dickster. A vacation is a good thing. Sound mind and all that.
Wishful thinking on The Corsair's part?
The Passion: Early Morning Box Office
Matt Drudge has been on top of Mel Gibson's Passion like ... er, never mind (please excuse that image).
Anyhoo: today is no different for the intrepid Miami-based proto-blogger. Drudge notes thay in little Plano, Texas, (link via CNN's Thom Patterson) as far as The Passion goes, it's on like popcorn:
"Thousands of moviegoers in Plano, Texas, spent the morning of Ash Wednesday viewing Mel Gibson's controversial 'The Passion of the Christ,' courtesy of a local businessman.
"Three early-morning showings of the movie about the crucifixion of Jesus began at 6:30 a.m. Wednesday, after Arch Bonnema bought thousands of tickets for $42,000, according to a spokeswoman at his church.
"'It was his passion,' said Pat Spackey of the Prestonwood Baptist Church. 'He was just so moved by the movie that he wanted everyone to be able to see it.'"
Okay, so am I the only one who was blown away by the image of people going to see a little bit of the ole ultraviolent at 6:30 am? Oatmeal? No. Cookie Crisps? No. Eggs with Catsup? No. The blood of our precious lord? Priceless.
New Yorkish cuts them down to size. And so does Matt at Lowculture.
Matt Drudge has been on top of Mel Gibson's Passion like ... er, never mind (please excuse that image).
Anyhoo: today is no different for the intrepid Miami-based proto-blogger. Drudge notes thay in little Plano, Texas, (link via CNN's Thom Patterson) as far as The Passion goes, it's on like popcorn:
"Thousands of moviegoers in Plano, Texas, spent the morning of Ash Wednesday viewing Mel Gibson's controversial 'The Passion of the Christ,' courtesy of a local businessman.
"Three early-morning showings of the movie about the crucifixion of Jesus began at 6:30 a.m. Wednesday, after Arch Bonnema bought thousands of tickets for $42,000, according to a spokeswoman at his church.
"'It was his passion,' said Pat Spackey of the Prestonwood Baptist Church. 'He was just so moved by the movie that he wanted everyone to be able to see it.'"
Okay, so am I the only one who was blown away by the image of people going to see a little bit of the ole ultraviolent at 6:30 am? Oatmeal? No. Cookie Crisps? No. Eggs with Catsup? No. The blood of our precious lord? Priceless.
New Yorkish cuts them down to size. And so does Matt at Lowculture.
Penny Lover
"I'm not a big fan of the handshake ... I think it's barbaric, shaking hands, you catch colds, you catch the flu, you catch this, you catch all sorts of things." If you identified Donald Trump as the author of this oft-repeated riff then you are dead on.
The trouble is that it doesn't mesh with a comment he made to FHM in the March issue. Check out this slice:
Trump: If I see a penny on the sidewalk, I always pick it up, because, psychologically, I want to do that."
FHM: Seriously?
Trump: Absolutely. I do it all the time. That's the way I am.
Okay, leaving aside the fact that this naught else but complete bullshit, lets zero in on the whole penny-hygiene thing. Donald Trump, worth, oh, approximately $2 billion by conservative estimates, bending over, fat ass akimbo, picking up Abe Lincoln's from the gritty expectorate-laden Midtown streets. And yet he will not shake your hand?
Priceless.
"I'm not a big fan of the handshake ... I think it's barbaric, shaking hands, you catch colds, you catch the flu, you catch this, you catch all sorts of things." If you identified Donald Trump as the author of this oft-repeated riff then you are dead on.
The trouble is that it doesn't mesh with a comment he made to FHM in the March issue. Check out this slice:
Trump: If I see a penny on the sidewalk, I always pick it up, because, psychologically, I want to do that."
FHM: Seriously?
Trump: Absolutely. I do it all the time. That's the way I am.
Okay, leaving aside the fact that this naught else but complete bullshit, lets zero in on the whole penny-hygiene thing. Donald Trump, worth, oh, approximately $2 billion by conservative estimates, bending over, fat ass akimbo, picking up Abe Lincoln's from the gritty expectorate-laden Midtown streets. And yet he will not shake your hand?
Priceless.
Allegra Beck
Allegra Beck. This from the New York Times:
"At the end of this month, on her 18th birthday, Allegra Beck will come into control of her 50 percent of the privately held Versace firm; her mother owns 20 percent and Santo, 30 percent. The family's holdings include the fashion business, which had sales last year of $486 million, as well as a villa on Lake Como and a town house in New York. The family has sold the Miami Beach house.
"Though her name is as prominent as a Hilton, Ms. Beck isn't a typical heiress. This is in part because of what she has endured and in part because her father, Paul Beck, and her mother, who are separated, have shielded her from the news media. She attends a private school in Milan and is often present at her mother's runway shows. But, while Ms. Beck will soon be free to exert control over one of the most famous labels in fashion, she plans to enroll this fall in an American university to study drama and business."
The Corsair would like to take this opportunity to formally extend to Allegra Beck a full scholarship to the Ron Mwangaguhunga School of Drama and Business, registration guaranteed upon turning 18. Call me?
Allegra Beck. This from the New York Times:
"At the end of this month, on her 18th birthday, Allegra Beck will come into control of her 50 percent of the privately held Versace firm; her mother owns 20 percent and Santo, 30 percent. The family's holdings include the fashion business, which had sales last year of $486 million, as well as a villa on Lake Como and a town house in New York. The family has sold the Miami Beach house.
"Though her name is as prominent as a Hilton, Ms. Beck isn't a typical heiress. This is in part because of what she has endured and in part because her father, Paul Beck, and her mother, who are separated, have shielded her from the news media. She attends a private school in Milan and is often present at her mother's runway shows. But, while Ms. Beck will soon be free to exert control over one of the most famous labels in fashion, she plans to enroll this fall in an American university to study drama and business."
The Corsair would like to take this opportunity to formally extend to Allegra Beck a full scholarship to the Ron Mwangaguhunga School of Drama and Business, registration guaranteed upon turning 18. Call me?
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Topic A: Ron Galotti and Candace Bushnell on Tina Brown's Talkfest
(new posts see below Tina blog: for Tuesday 2/24)
Mr. Big, Ron Galotti, made an excruciating appearance on Tina Brown's Topic A last night. Excruciating.
The former Vogue, Talk and GQ publisher interrupted an all girl discussion of the influence of Sex and the City for one segment. One segment. Then he whisked off into the night.
After Tina Brown made an apology to Candace Bushnell, Mr. Big returned to the center of New York media, strutting down the aisle, full into the all-girl gab session on Sex and the City.
After a very stiff hug, Bushnell noted, twice, that she was married to someone else (as is, of course, Mr. Galotti). Panelist Aisha Tyler, Laura Ingraham and Erica Jong sat by as Galotti made a few comments and then disappeared. By the next segment, the girls got into a no holds barred discussion on the meaning of the HBO series.
One wonders how that strange tv moment came about? The Corsair will take a stab:
(phone rings)
Tina Brown: Hello, Tina Brown speaking.
Ron Galotti: Hey, Tina, it's Ron.
Tina Brown: (awkward silence) oh, ehm, hi, Ron
Ron: Long time, huh?
Tina: Uh, yeah ...
Ron: So, ya gotta show on CNBC, Topic A. Your doing all right with yourself, I see.
Tina: Well, yeah, you know.
Ron: --yeah
Tina: (after an excruciating moment) Uh, what can I do for you Ron?
Ron: We had some good times, eh Tina?
Tina: Yeah, good times all around.
Ron: At Vanity Fair and the New Yorker
Tina: Right, good times (pause)
Ron: --so ...
Tina: What are you up to Ron?
Ron: Oh, this, that and the other thing, you know the ad recession
Tina: Yeah
Ron: Hey, I just thought of somethin'
Tina: Really?
Ron: Yeah, are ya doing anything for the finale of Sex and the City?
Tina: Uhm, er -- just a girl chat show, you know, Manolo's and that sort of thing.
Ron: Hey, I'd be great on that.
Tina: No, really Ron, it's a discussion with me and Aisha Tyler, and Candace Bushnell and --
Ron: Candace?
Tina: (pause) Uhm, look Ron
Ron: You gotta put me on, Tina. I'm the original Mr. Big.
Tina: Ron, I ...
Ron: I've always been loyal, Tina, a paisan ...
Tina: (breaking down) yes ...
Ron: Just get me on, let me talk a bit about me, make me look good.
Tina: (resigned) okay, Ron; just one segment.
Ron: Great. I always said Mickey Rourke was wrong in The Pope of Greenwich Village. Italians don't outgrow people, they outgrow clothes. And neither does Tina Brown.
Tina: -- Right. I'll talk to you later.
Ron: Don't worry, it'll have synergy.
Tina: (unenthusiastically) great
(new posts see below Tina blog: for Tuesday 2/24)
Mr. Big, Ron Galotti, made an excruciating appearance on Tina Brown's Topic A last night. Excruciating.
The former Vogue, Talk and GQ publisher interrupted an all girl discussion of the influence of Sex and the City for one segment. One segment. Then he whisked off into the night.
After Tina Brown made an apology to Candace Bushnell, Mr. Big returned to the center of New York media, strutting down the aisle, full into the all-girl gab session on Sex and the City.
After a very stiff hug, Bushnell noted, twice, that she was married to someone else (as is, of course, Mr. Galotti). Panelist Aisha Tyler, Laura Ingraham and Erica Jong sat by as Galotti made a few comments and then disappeared. By the next segment, the girls got into a no holds barred discussion on the meaning of the HBO series.
One wonders how that strange tv moment came about? The Corsair will take a stab:
(phone rings)
Tina Brown: Hello, Tina Brown speaking.
Ron Galotti: Hey, Tina, it's Ron.
Tina Brown: (awkward silence) oh, ehm, hi, Ron
Ron: Long time, huh?
Tina: Uh, yeah ...
Ron: So, ya gotta show on CNBC, Topic A. Your doing all right with yourself, I see.
Tina: Well, yeah, you know.
Ron: --yeah
Tina: (after an excruciating moment) Uh, what can I do for you Ron?
Ron: We had some good times, eh Tina?
Tina: Yeah, good times all around.
Ron: At Vanity Fair and the New Yorker
Tina: Right, good times (pause)
Ron: --so ...
Tina: What are you up to Ron?
Ron: Oh, this, that and the other thing, you know the ad recession
Tina: Yeah
Ron: Hey, I just thought of somethin'
Tina: Really?
Ron: Yeah, are ya doing anything for the finale of Sex and the City?
Tina: Uhm, er -- just a girl chat show, you know, Manolo's and that sort of thing.
Ron: Hey, I'd be great on that.
Tina: No, really Ron, it's a discussion with me and Aisha Tyler, and Candace Bushnell and --
Ron: Candace?
Tina: (pause) Uhm, look Ron
Ron: You gotta put me on, Tina. I'm the original Mr. Big.
Tina: Ron, I ...
Ron: I've always been loyal, Tina, a paisan ...
Tina: (breaking down) yes ...
Ron: Just get me on, let me talk a bit about me, make me look good.
Tina: (resigned) okay, Ron; just one segment.
Ron: Great. I always said Mickey Rourke was wrong in The Pope of Greenwich Village. Italians don't outgrow people, they outgrow clothes. And neither does Tina Brown.
Tina: -- Right. I'll talk to you later.
Ron: Don't worry, it'll have synergy.
Tina: (unenthusiastically) great
David Guest's Medical Records or, He Denies any Amaurosis Fugax
TheSmokinggun.com via Gawker gets the goods on David Guest's medical records, and it is a treasure trove of yum. So much so, in fact, that this gossip pirate has only scratched the surface dubloons of its booty.
We find out, for instance, that Guest, who has a "significant medical history," is allergic to polyester. And his signature is, well, demonic. He takes oxycontin, (aka poor man's heroin) two times a day. His bowel sounds are positive.
The guys at TheSmokinggun.com fill us in:
"The 2003-4 documents, just filed in connection with litigation between Gest and estranged wife Liza Minnelli, purport to record the 50-year-old producer's fragile, pain-filled existence since Liza allegedly went Sonny Liston on him last June during a London holiday. Since then, Gest has been living in Hawaii, where he is presently being treated with a 'bizarre and irrational course of medications and treatments,' according to a New York doctor who reviewed Gest's records for the Minnelli camp. The records are filled with accounts of Gest's morphine drips, insomnia, lesions, elevated cholesterol levels, and other details from his stays at Honolulu's Queen's Medical Center."
As to the mechanics of the ass whipping -- alleged ass whipping -- that Liza handed out:
"The patient was struck on the forehead, temporal and parietal areas by his spouse on June 18, 2003. He states that he was assaulted by his spouse on numerous occasions over the last year; however the last occasion was especially violent."
Oh god, this is juicy. Read it all here.
What do we learn? That doctors who cater to the rich and powerful will often enable any nutso or addictive behavior so long as said upper tax bracketer has the green to pay for it.
TheSmokinggun.com via Gawker gets the goods on David Guest's medical records, and it is a treasure trove of yum. So much so, in fact, that this gossip pirate has only scratched the surface dubloons of its booty.
We find out, for instance, that Guest, who has a "significant medical history," is allergic to polyester. And his signature is, well, demonic. He takes oxycontin, (aka poor man's heroin) two times a day. His bowel sounds are positive.
The guys at TheSmokinggun.com fill us in:
"The 2003-4 documents, just filed in connection with litigation between Gest and estranged wife Liza Minnelli, purport to record the 50-year-old producer's fragile, pain-filled existence since Liza allegedly went Sonny Liston on him last June during a London holiday. Since then, Gest has been living in Hawaii, where he is presently being treated with a 'bizarre and irrational course of medications and treatments,' according to a New York doctor who reviewed Gest's records for the Minnelli camp. The records are filled with accounts of Gest's morphine drips, insomnia, lesions, elevated cholesterol levels, and other details from his stays at Honolulu's Queen's Medical Center."
As to the mechanics of the ass whipping -- alleged ass whipping -- that Liza handed out:
"The patient was struck on the forehead, temporal and parietal areas by his spouse on June 18, 2003. He states that he was assaulted by his spouse on numerous occasions over the last year; however the last occasion was especially violent."
Oh god, this is juicy. Read it all here.
What do we learn? That doctors who cater to the rich and powerful will often enable any nutso or addictive behavior so long as said upper tax bracketer has the green to pay for it.
Kiefer's Sweet Julia Memories
SAG Best Actor in a TV Drama Kiefer Sutherland tells Ananova that he thinks fondly of his time dating Julia Roberts.
Ananova writes:
"'All in all, we had two great years', the actor has told Fuer Sie magazine.
"'But the media hype and our lack of experience destroyed everything.'
"Speaking about his change from movie to television roles, Sutherland, 37, said he finally realised Hollywood life wasn't for him.
"'The big bosses have all the power, they bring you down, don't keep their word and treat you like dirt', he said.
"'If you live in Los Angeles, you are in their hands'."
Oh, so it's the media's faultnow, is it KiKi? Gee, and I thought it was because Kiefer was cheating on Julia Roberts with a stripper-gogo dancer named Amanda Rice (stipper name, Raven), who sold her story to the tabloids, telling them, in the process, that Kiefer regularly referred to Julia as "the ice princess."
Blame the media, Kiefer.
SAG Best Actor in a TV Drama Kiefer Sutherland tells Ananova that he thinks fondly of his time dating Julia Roberts.
Ananova writes:
"'All in all, we had two great years', the actor has told Fuer Sie magazine.
"'But the media hype and our lack of experience destroyed everything.'
"Speaking about his change from movie to television roles, Sutherland, 37, said he finally realised Hollywood life wasn't for him.
"'The big bosses have all the power, they bring you down, don't keep their word and treat you like dirt', he said.
"'If you live in Los Angeles, you are in their hands'."
Oh, so it's the media's faultnow, is it KiKi? Gee, and I thought it was because Kiefer was cheating on Julia Roberts with a stripper-gogo dancer named Amanda Rice (stipper name, Raven), who sold her story to the tabloids, telling them, in the process, that Kiefer regularly referred to Julia as "the ice princess."
Blame the media, Kiefer.
The Kid Stays in the Picture, and: Friedman vs. Waxman
Roger Friedman's Fox 411 column relays some very strange information regarding the 13 year-old cancer stricken boy at the center of the Jacko sex abuse case. Friedman quotes Rush Hour 2 director Brett Ratner as saying:
"'[The boy] would sit in my director's chair. When I told him to get up, he'd tell me to go to hell.' Ratner said, 'He used to tell me, Brett, I don't like the last shot' while he was watching us make the movie. He's telling me how to make my movie! He's more street smart than I was at that age. If someone tried to fondle him, he'd punch them in the face. He's an adult. I think the jury will see that.'"
Okay, lets bypass the fact that the kid is acting like Orson Wells, and he's only 13. Friedman goes on:
"Ratner confirmed for me what I've heard a lot now from others: that actor/comedian Chris Tucker bonded with the boy when he was ill. I've told you before that it was Tucker and Adam Sandler who the boy wanted to meet when he was at a camp for sick children. It was through Tucker that he met Jackson."
Okay, first things first: how the fuck does a 13 year-old boy get is kind of juice? Were his first words out of the womb, "It's all about who you know, baby." Did he chill at the Chateau Marmont when he should have been in kindergarten? What the fuck is up with this kid giving directing pointers to Brett Ratner? Granted we live in a media savvy age, where weekend box office results are news items on the Sunday night news, but come on.
Anyhoo: Speaking of Friedman, Cynthia Cotts, the media reporter for the Village Voice, weighs in on the his feud with Sharon Waxman of the New York Times, and finds that Roger just wants a little respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T:
"The Fox scribe's latest point of contention (ed note: with Waxman) involves a $70 million loan payment that Jackson reportedly owes, a payment that has either been made or not, depending on whose sources you trust. On January 13, Friedman reported that the payment had been made by two 'Jackson stalwarts'; a month later, on February 12, Waxman reported that the payment had not been made�and that Jackson may face bankruptcy as a result.
"Friedman says he was too 'tired and incensed' to ask Waxman about her reporting on his story about the loan payment. (Perhaps it didn't occur to him that she didn't credit him because her sources contradicted his.) Instead, he wrote to New York Times public editor Daniel Okrent, expressing his shock at the alleged theft. According to one source, the letter begins, 'I can't believe she's doing this to me again!' Waxman wrote a letter defending her work, and shortly thereafter Okrent informed Friedman that no correction would be forthcoming."
Cotts casts her net far and wide to find out what journos think of Friedman, and finds,sadly, "other scribes express varying degrees of affection and pity for Friedman. One calls him 'marginal, with delusions of grandeur'; another says he wants 'to be respected.'"
Cotts concludes:
"Friedman says he has nothing against the Times reporter personally. 'I'm not her media critic; I'm not looking into her stories,' he says. 'My main complaint is that there's no citing of previous reporting in her stories ... I invite Sharon Waxman to lunch anywhere she likes, on any coast at any time. Just please stop this doing this thing. Just give me credit.'"
And respect, methinks. Roger just wants a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t.
Roger Friedman's Fox 411 column relays some very strange information regarding the 13 year-old cancer stricken boy at the center of the Jacko sex abuse case. Friedman quotes Rush Hour 2 director Brett Ratner as saying:
"'[The boy] would sit in my director's chair. When I told him to get up, he'd tell me to go to hell.' Ratner said, 'He used to tell me, Brett, I don't like the last shot' while he was watching us make the movie. He's telling me how to make my movie! He's more street smart than I was at that age. If someone tried to fondle him, he'd punch them in the face. He's an adult. I think the jury will see that.'"
Okay, lets bypass the fact that the kid is acting like Orson Wells, and he's only 13. Friedman goes on:
"Ratner confirmed for me what I've heard a lot now from others: that actor/comedian Chris Tucker bonded with the boy when he was ill. I've told you before that it was Tucker and Adam Sandler who the boy wanted to meet when he was at a camp for sick children. It was through Tucker that he met Jackson."
Okay, first things first: how the fuck does a 13 year-old boy get is kind of juice? Were his first words out of the womb, "It's all about who you know, baby." Did he chill at the Chateau Marmont when he should have been in kindergarten? What the fuck is up with this kid giving directing pointers to Brett Ratner? Granted we live in a media savvy age, where weekend box office results are news items on the Sunday night news, but come on.
Anyhoo: Speaking of Friedman, Cynthia Cotts, the media reporter for the Village Voice, weighs in on the his feud with Sharon Waxman of the New York Times, and finds that Roger just wants a little respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T:
"The Fox scribe's latest point of contention (ed note: with Waxman) involves a $70 million loan payment that Jackson reportedly owes, a payment that has either been made or not, depending on whose sources you trust. On January 13, Friedman reported that the payment had been made by two 'Jackson stalwarts'; a month later, on February 12, Waxman reported that the payment had not been made�and that Jackson may face bankruptcy as a result.
"Friedman says he was too 'tired and incensed' to ask Waxman about her reporting on his story about the loan payment. (Perhaps it didn't occur to him that she didn't credit him because her sources contradicted his.) Instead, he wrote to New York Times public editor Daniel Okrent, expressing his shock at the alleged theft. According to one source, the letter begins, 'I can't believe she's doing this to me again!' Waxman wrote a letter defending her work, and shortly thereafter Okrent informed Friedman that no correction would be forthcoming."
Cotts casts her net far and wide to find out what journos think of Friedman, and finds,sadly, "other scribes express varying degrees of affection and pity for Friedman. One calls him 'marginal, with delusions of grandeur'; another says he wants 'to be respected.'"
Cotts concludes:
"Friedman says he has nothing against the Times reporter personally. 'I'm not her media critic; I'm not looking into her stories,' he says. 'My main complaint is that there's no citing of previous reporting in her stories ... I invite Sharon Waxman to lunch anywhere she likes, on any coast at any time. Just please stop this doing this thing. Just give me credit.'"
And respect, methinks. Roger just wants a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Page Six Blind Items
Blind items are fun. With a little indirect communication we can avoid the whole lawyer mess. Today's PageSix presents us with some of the good stuff:
"WHICH Broadway composer had a torrid affair with fake plastic surgeon Dean Faiello, who fled to Costa Rica after he allegedly killed his patient Maria Cruz and buried her body under concrete in his Newark home? . . . WHICH 'happily married' model isn't so happy after all? Although she and her hubby present themselves as the perfect couple, insiders say they're talking divorce . . . WHICH porn hustler is so desperate for celebrity pals to attend Mardi Gras with him, he has offered every "star" a free ride on his jet, five-star accomodations and $4,000 in cash for play money? So far, no one will risk their reputation by being seen with him. "
Okay, the first one I have no idea about. I'm not even going to try to fake like I know anything about Broadway composers. The second one sounds like Cindy Crawford. I'm not quite sure why her particular name sprung to mind, but the image of domesticity is one that Crawford seems to be pushing a bit ... a bit ... too hard (do we need to see her blindingly-blond child in a commercial for automobiles?). Do we need to always see her progeny by the immensely shallow pub purveyor, "The Pulse," Rande Gerber? And the third sounds like Larry Flynt, who always wants attention. And he has a "centerfold pink" jet. Eeeeeewww.
Then again, Gawker, who is a better guess than me, says, "The third blind item... gotta be Joe Francis, right? I just saw him referenced on another headline as someone everyone's avoiding... And this has been months in the works. This sounds like something he'd do, and it sounds like something that should happen to him. It's about time, actually."
Yeah, Joe Francis sounds like someone who would pay celebrity to surround him at Mardi Gras.
Blind items are fun. With a little indirect communication we can avoid the whole lawyer mess. Today's PageSix presents us with some of the good stuff:
"WHICH Broadway composer had a torrid affair with fake plastic surgeon Dean Faiello, who fled to Costa Rica after he allegedly killed his patient Maria Cruz and buried her body under concrete in his Newark home? . . . WHICH 'happily married' model isn't so happy after all? Although she and her hubby present themselves as the perfect couple, insiders say they're talking divorce . . . WHICH porn hustler is so desperate for celebrity pals to attend Mardi Gras with him, he has offered every "star" a free ride on his jet, five-star accomodations and $4,000 in cash for play money? So far, no one will risk their reputation by being seen with him. "
Okay, the first one I have no idea about. I'm not even going to try to fake like I know anything about Broadway composers. The second one sounds like Cindy Crawford. I'm not quite sure why her particular name sprung to mind, but the image of domesticity is one that Crawford seems to be pushing a bit ... a bit ... too hard (do we need to see her blindingly-blond child in a commercial for automobiles?). Do we need to always see her progeny by the immensely shallow pub purveyor, "The Pulse," Rande Gerber? And the third sounds like Larry Flynt, who always wants attention. And he has a "centerfold pink" jet. Eeeeeewww.
Then again, Gawker, who is a better guess than me, says, "The third blind item... gotta be Joe Francis, right? I just saw him referenced on another headline as someone everyone's avoiding... And this has been months in the works. This sounds like something he'd do, and it sounds like something that should happen to him. It's about time, actually."
Yeah, Joe Francis sounds like someone who would pay celebrity to surround him at Mardi Gras.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Late Night Talk Show Wars, World War Two
Not since Helen Kushnick, Jay Leno's late balls-of-steel manager, sparked off the Late Night Talk Show Wars has there been this much belicose sentiment in the television ethers.
This time, Stuttering John Melendez appears to be the causus belli. E! Television late night talker Howard Stern weighed in on the noteworthy stutterer's defection to The Tonight Show this morning., saying of the Doritos munching comedian, "he can never be me."
Other chestnuts were bandied about, like:
"I told (Leno) what an ass he is ... you're just an ass ... a dummy."
"Everyone in the industry is going to laugh at (Jay)"
"(Leno is) just desperate ... you're not edgy."
"(Leno) wants to be me and he doesn't want to be me -- he wants to be the good guy."
Marksfriggin.com does an excellent job of summing up the hostility and the tone:
"Howard said Leno asked him if he's mad that he's taking John. Howard said he asked Jay how much more material he's going to steal from his show. He said that Jay acted like he didn't know what he was talking about. Howard said he told Leno that he stole the idea of sending out some wacky guy to ask questions on a red carpet to celebrities. Jay told him that Steve Allen used to do that stuff. Howard said he asked Jay about the homeless game and how he stole that idea as well but Leno said that Steve Allen did that as well. Howard said that Jay just couldn't admit that he's stealing this stuff from him.
" ... Howard said he told Leno that he can't get 18-25 year old men to watch his show and what he's trying to do is get John, from his show, to get that audience. Howard said he told Leno that his show is lame ... and he can't develop his own people. Howard said that Leno also said he heard how John wasn't getting paid that well on the show. Howard said he told Jay that he was going to give Jay a list of what he pays people on his show so he can take care of all of them as well. He said he also found out that the previous announcer, Edd Hall, used to be Letterman's production guy which was kind of weird.
"Howard said this move (hiring John) was as weird as Jay hiding in a closet and spied on some NBC executives. Howard said Jay asked him if they're still going to be friends. Howard said they were never friends so, no, they're not going to be friends. He said he told him that he's the ... lamest guy on the planet. He said he doesn't care what he does but he looks like a stupid ass. He also said that John gets these jobs where he doesn't have to do anything and he's the luckiest guy around.
"Howard said that Jay has stolen like 20 elements from his show but won't admit it. He said that the head writer from the show might as well have a funnel from the show to his ass. Gary (Dell'abate) came in and said that he heard that Howard and Jay had worked things out and were going to ride the wave of publicity. Howard said that Jay called him again and asked him if he wanted to do his show to talk about this stuff. Howard said he's going to talk about it on his own show and not do Leno's show.
"Howard said that John could have come to him before taking that job to try and get more money. John came in a short time later to talk about it. Howard said that John's whole attitude has changed since this happened. He said he went to Atlantic City with John and John was mouthing off to the dealers down there. John didn't know what he was talking about."
Check out Marksfriggin.com for an excellent wrap up of the whole brutal rant of Stern's decomposing show here.
And as if this weren't inflamatory enough, ABC Late Night talker Jimmy Kimmell got into the mix, sending Stern a brutal letter(email?), saying, in part,"(Leno) plays dumb and nice but this guy is a fucking snake!"
Stern also mentioned that CBS Late Nighter David Letterman contacted him and had some words, but that wasn't going to be discussed on air.
Methinks The Second Late Night Talk Show Wars begun have ..
Not since Helen Kushnick, Jay Leno's late balls-of-steel manager, sparked off the Late Night Talk Show Wars has there been this much belicose sentiment in the television ethers.
This time, Stuttering John Melendez appears to be the causus belli. E! Television late night talker Howard Stern weighed in on the noteworthy stutterer's defection to The Tonight Show this morning., saying of the Doritos munching comedian, "he can never be me."
Other chestnuts were bandied about, like:
"I told (Leno) what an ass he is ... you're just an ass ... a dummy."
"Everyone in the industry is going to laugh at (Jay)"
"(Leno is) just desperate ... you're not edgy."
"(Leno) wants to be me and he doesn't want to be me -- he wants to be the good guy."
Marksfriggin.com does an excellent job of summing up the hostility and the tone:
"Howard said Leno asked him if he's mad that he's taking John. Howard said he asked Jay how much more material he's going to steal from his show. He said that Jay acted like he didn't know what he was talking about. Howard said he told Leno that he stole the idea of sending out some wacky guy to ask questions on a red carpet to celebrities. Jay told him that Steve Allen used to do that stuff. Howard said he asked Jay about the homeless game and how he stole that idea as well but Leno said that Steve Allen did that as well. Howard said that Jay just couldn't admit that he's stealing this stuff from him.
" ... Howard said he told Leno that he can't get 18-25 year old men to watch his show and what he's trying to do is get John, from his show, to get that audience. Howard said he told Leno that his show is lame ... and he can't develop his own people. Howard said that Leno also said he heard how John wasn't getting paid that well on the show. Howard said he told Jay that he was going to give Jay a list of what he pays people on his show so he can take care of all of them as well. He said he also found out that the previous announcer, Edd Hall, used to be Letterman's production guy which was kind of weird.
"Howard said this move (hiring John) was as weird as Jay hiding in a closet and spied on some NBC executives. Howard said Jay asked him if they're still going to be friends. Howard said they were never friends so, no, they're not going to be friends. He said he told him that he's the ... lamest guy on the planet. He said he doesn't care what he does but he looks like a stupid ass. He also said that John gets these jobs where he doesn't have to do anything and he's the luckiest guy around.
"Howard said that Jay has stolen like 20 elements from his show but won't admit it. He said that the head writer from the show might as well have a funnel from the show to his ass. Gary (Dell'abate) came in and said that he heard that Howard and Jay had worked things out and were going to ride the wave of publicity. Howard said that Jay called him again and asked him if he wanted to do his show to talk about this stuff. Howard said he's going to talk about it on his own show and not do Leno's show.
"Howard said that John could have come to him before taking that job to try and get more money. John came in a short time later to talk about it. Howard said that John's whole attitude has changed since this happened. He said he went to Atlantic City with John and John was mouthing off to the dealers down there. John didn't know what he was talking about."
Check out Marksfriggin.com for an excellent wrap up of the whole brutal rant of Stern's decomposing show here.
And as if this weren't inflamatory enough, ABC Late Night talker Jimmy Kimmell got into the mix, sending Stern a brutal letter(email?), saying, in part,"(Leno) plays dumb and nice but this guy is a fucking snake!"
Stern also mentioned that CBS Late Nighter David Letterman contacted him and had some words, but that wasn't going to be discussed on air.
Methinks The Second Late Night Talk Show Wars begun have ..
I'm Ralph Nader, Bitch!
Like David Chapelle's exquisitely rendered Rick James skit, Ralph Nader just doesn't seem to give a damn what other people think of his loppy antics.
The Corsair worries in the dead of night that all those young college students -- idealists, really -- who have not been broken down by a life of sleazy compromise and corporate whoredon, like me, your humble blogger, will flock to a Nader run. All those disgruntled Dean and Kucinich voters will probably give Ralphie a hearing, thus, in the process, siphoning votes away from the eventual nominee, you know, the one guy who actually stands a chance of beating Bush. (ed note: The Corsair still hopes John Edwards is the eventual nominee)
I'll always have love for Nader, I suppose, for his admirable past contributions to the protection of the weak over the years -- his auto safety reform, his lobbying reform, his useful citizens groups, and history will surely have a warm, if small, place for him, but I do not understand this quixotic run. Nader will not win; he cannot. He will be lucky if he pulls more than 4 percent. The folks at Ralphdontrun.net make a powerful argument.
Nader has been such an effective critic of the pursuit of power for the sake of ego, but lately, well, ever since 2000, when he actually made a political difference on a national scale, his eyes have betrayed a certain ... inamorata ... with his newfound "player" status. The greater good is becoming less important as the stubborness of old age crystalizes all those persnickety personality faults acquired over a lifetime fighting in the political wilderness.
Something faint but sinister is emerging, in the manner of second act of Wagner's Parsifal, from deep within Nader's once blameless public-crusader persona ... a smile erupts abruptly when there shouldn't be one, when the subject of influencing the final vote count comes up. I don't know. I believe a great man has fallen prey to the pursuit after the Wagnerian Ring of Power. Very sad; very Gollumesque, chasing after "his preciousss!". Even saints can be sinners, it seems.
Of this point I am certain: if Nader got a little nookie once in a while, the Democrats wouldn't be in this bind.
Like David Chapelle's exquisitely rendered Rick James skit, Ralph Nader just doesn't seem to give a damn what other people think of his loppy antics.
The Corsair worries in the dead of night that all those young college students -- idealists, really -- who have not been broken down by a life of sleazy compromise and corporate whoredon, like me, your humble blogger, will flock to a Nader run. All those disgruntled Dean and Kucinich voters will probably give Ralphie a hearing, thus, in the process, siphoning votes away from the eventual nominee, you know, the one guy who actually stands a chance of beating Bush. (ed note: The Corsair still hopes John Edwards is the eventual nominee)
I'll always have love for Nader, I suppose, for his admirable past contributions to the protection of the weak over the years -- his auto safety reform, his lobbying reform, his useful citizens groups, and history will surely have a warm, if small, place for him, but I do not understand this quixotic run. Nader will not win; he cannot. He will be lucky if he pulls more than 4 percent. The folks at Ralphdontrun.net make a powerful argument.
Nader has been such an effective critic of the pursuit of power for the sake of ego, but lately, well, ever since 2000, when he actually made a political difference on a national scale, his eyes have betrayed a certain ... inamorata ... with his newfound "player" status. The greater good is becoming less important as the stubborness of old age crystalizes all those persnickety personality faults acquired over a lifetime fighting in the political wilderness.
Something faint but sinister is emerging, in the manner of second act of Wagner's Parsifal, from deep within Nader's once blameless public-crusader persona ... a smile erupts abruptly when there shouldn't be one, when the subject of influencing the final vote count comes up. I don't know. I believe a great man has fallen prey to the pursuit after the Wagnerian Ring of Power. Very sad; very Gollumesque, chasing after "his preciousss!". Even saints can be sinners, it seems.
Of this point I am certain: if Nader got a little nookie once in a while, the Democrats wouldn't be in this bind.
Maximum Exposure
The Smokinggun.com leaves The Corsair a more than a little nervous about technology and privacy issues as they detail the shenanigans of one Mark Huffman, owner of the ironically named tanning club, Maximum Exposure. The folks at Smokinggun write of the tomfoolery,"Huffman ... was nabbed earlier this week when a male customer noticed what appeared to be a camera hidden in a wall fan, according to the below Reading Police Department report. When cops arrived, they found evidence of Huffman's clandestine taping operation as well as pot plants and kiddie porn."
Fuck. Well, I'm glad I have a natural tan right about now.
Cincinnaichannel.com reports:
"In what some might call a fitting irony, it was another piece of high-tech gadgetry that eventually got Huffman busted, (WLWT Eyewitness News 5's Brian) Hamrick reported. A patron saw what he thought was a camera in a vent, and using his own cell phone -- a source of its own controversy recently -- snapped a picture of the camera and took it to police.
Irony and technology, deep in Reading, Ohio -- Jerry Springer country, by the way. I just thought this was an interesting story, gentle reader. I don't have anything to say on it either way.
The Smokinggun.com leaves The Corsair a more than a little nervous about technology and privacy issues as they detail the shenanigans of one Mark Huffman, owner of the ironically named tanning club, Maximum Exposure. The folks at Smokinggun write of the tomfoolery,"Huffman ... was nabbed earlier this week when a male customer noticed what appeared to be a camera hidden in a wall fan, according to the below Reading Police Department report. When cops arrived, they found evidence of Huffman's clandestine taping operation as well as pot plants and kiddie porn."
Fuck. Well, I'm glad I have a natural tan right about now.
Cincinnaichannel.com reports:
"In what some might call a fitting irony, it was another piece of high-tech gadgetry that eventually got Huffman busted, (WLWT Eyewitness News 5's Brian) Hamrick reported. A patron saw what he thought was a camera in a vent, and using his own cell phone -- a source of its own controversy recently -- snapped a picture of the camera and took it to police.
Irony and technology, deep in Reading, Ohio -- Jerry Springer country, by the way. I just thought this was an interesting story, gentle reader. I don't have anything to say on it either way.
Kristin Davis to Keep Charlotte Pieces
Proving that today is indeed a very slow newsday, Yahoo notes that Kristin Davis, who plays Charlotte on SATC will be keeping much of her wardrobe after the season ends.
"'I have a lot of quintessential 'Charlotte pieces,' Davis told AP Radio recently. 'I have a lot of her vintage clothes. I have a lot of her shoes, except for the ones that I'm really, really sick of because they hurt.'"
And in further late breaking news, I have decided to have the national drink of Peru, Pisco, with my dinner tonight.
Anyhoo: Bunsen gives us the last screen shot -- spoiler alert! -- and Matt Haber, from Lowculture, sums up the meaning of Sex and the City.
Proving that today is indeed a very slow newsday, Yahoo notes that Kristin Davis, who plays Charlotte on SATC will be keeping much of her wardrobe after the season ends.
"'I have a lot of quintessential 'Charlotte pieces,' Davis told AP Radio recently. 'I have a lot of her vintage clothes. I have a lot of her shoes, except for the ones that I'm really, really sick of because they hurt.'"
And in further late breaking news, I have decided to have the national drink of Peru, Pisco, with my dinner tonight.
Anyhoo: Bunsen gives us the last screen shot -- spoiler alert! -- and Matt Haber, from Lowculture, sums up the meaning of Sex and the City.
My Pal Susan Shapiro
Last night as per my usual Friday night rituals (excepting, of course, the Azazel Goat) I went to the local bar for some jesus juice, hit on the ladies, came up dry, and, ultimately, got home zozzled (great word, zozzled, it was coined by Edmund Wilson, the daddy cool of American literary curmudgeons in his book The Sixties; Edmund liked Ginger snaps, liverworst sandwiches and gin, not necessarily in that order, mind you) That damned Cutty Sark had gotten the best of me. For some reason I assumed that a little light reading would solve the problem of my perilous equilibrium. So I picked up my old pal Susan Shapiro's book Five Men Who Broke My Heart and started reading. It's fantastic, brutally honest, funny, just beautiful. And I'm not just saying that becuase she is one of my favorite people in the world. I barely slept because I was so into what Susan was saying.
Susan will be on The Today Show on Wednesday, and reading at KGB Bar on Tuesday night. I'll be the one drinking Cutty Sarks and laughing at Sue's jokes.
Miramax has got to option this story and get Helen Hunt to play Sue.
Last night as per my usual Friday night rituals (excepting, of course, the Azazel Goat) I went to the local bar for some jesus juice, hit on the ladies, came up dry, and, ultimately, got home zozzled (great word, zozzled, it was coined by Edmund Wilson, the daddy cool of American literary curmudgeons in his book The Sixties; Edmund liked Ginger snaps, liverworst sandwiches and gin, not necessarily in that order, mind you) That damned Cutty Sark had gotten the best of me. For some reason I assumed that a little light reading would solve the problem of my perilous equilibrium. So I picked up my old pal Susan Shapiro's book Five Men Who Broke My Heart and started reading. It's fantastic, brutally honest, funny, just beautiful. And I'm not just saying that becuase she is one of my favorite people in the world. I barely slept because I was so into what Susan was saying.
Susan will be on The Today Show on Wednesday, and reading at KGB Bar on Tuesday night. I'll be the one drinking Cutty Sarks and laughing at Sue's jokes.
Miramax has got to option this story and get Helen Hunt to play Sue.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Eminem's Mom Mugged ... On Eight Mile Road!
Navigating Eminem's sordid past is like perambulating through one of Steven King's creepy-ass Maine towns. At midnight. In Winter. On foot. It's a looonng Eight Miles. Only, Eminem's Detroit is tougher: Have you ever tried to fight for your ass -- literally -- with a crazy eyed tweaker round Motor City way? No? Oh well, I guess then it was just me.
Anyhoo: Bob Hartlein of that significant cultural artifact the Star weaves a winding tale of la vida loca that surrounds Em:
"Five years into his estrangement with his mother Debbie Mathers, Eminem remains so resentful of her that his only response to her recent carjacking was to call her a 'bitch,' a family member tells Star.
"Late on the night of Thursday, Jan. 22, Mathers, 49, was visiting a gas station on Detroit's dangerous Eight Mile Road when she was carjacked at gunpoint. (A 16-year-old Detroit boy was apprehended and charged shortly after the incident.) Her purse -- which was in the car and has yet to be recovered -- contained 'a manuscript of a book she was writing about Marshall and baby pictures of him,' says the source."
One would expect some comfort from your son if this were to happen to you, right? Not in the Mather household. Love is for pussies:
"This ordeal was yet another stroke of bad luck for Debbie, following her diagnosis with breast cancer a few years ago, says the source. And although she avoided injury during the crime, the source says that Debbie was subjected to a fusillade of angry words from her son.
"'Look b****, of all the places for this to go down, Eight Mile Road, where my movie [2002's 8 Mile] was filmed!' Eminem allegedly yelled over the phone after learning of his mother's latest misfortune, the source says. 'Couldn't you pick another place for it to happen?'"
Damn ... it's a hard knock life. Where's the love, Marshall? (shakes his head dejected at the lack of compassion in this godless Post September 11 world, whispers) Where's the love? Just because she didn't throw down for your baby pictures, cornbread, that doesn't make your moms a punk. She has cancer! But wait, there's more:
"For years, war has been raging between the 31- year-old hip-hop mogul and his mother. In 1999, Debbie filed an $11-million slander lawsuit over some disturbing and potentially defamatory lyrics (he fantasized about killing her and called her a pillpopper) on his debut album, The Slim Shady LP.
"In response, Eminem cut Debbie off both financially and emotionally, the source says.
"To make matters worse, Debbie recently lost her Michigan home to foreclosure, and has since been living with a friend in a bad area of Detroit, according to the family member. Now, this vicious reaction from her son is almost too much for Debbie to bear, says the family member."
The Corsair munches on salt-free popcorn, whistles to no one in particular about all of this trailer park shit, and, appalled, continues reading:
"Eminem may not have much time left to mend fences. According to Debbie's brother Todd Nelson, she isn't getting treated for breast cancer, which she has been secretly fighting for two or three years. 'It only became known to family members in the last six months,' Nelson tells Star. Another family member thinks the disease is causing Debbie to waste away to what seems like a skeletal figure. 'Debbie isn't receiving any treatment for her cancer, partly because she can't afford it, and partly because she's in denial,' says the source. 'At this point, she doesn't care about her health: She continues to smoke, and most of the time, she's too weak from grieving over the eldest son she's lost to get out of bed. But maybe if Marshall showed her some love and compassion, she'd have a reason to live.'
"The source adds that friends and family are stunned at Eminem's alleged insensitivity and indifference toward his mom: 'None of this seems to be a wake-up call to Marshall to extend an olive branch. He just doesn't seem to have it in his heart to forgive her for whatever past mistakes she made, and help her out -- especially now, when she needs him the most.'"
It's like a car accident that you can't help but watch even though you know it's wrong. Surely this has something to do with the decline of American democracy ("and don't call me Shirley"), but I am too tired to give it the old Jerry Springer's Final Thought. Thank God it's Friday (*sips Cutty Sark*). For everyone out there who thinks your family is dysfunctional ...
Navigating Eminem's sordid past is like perambulating through one of Steven King's creepy-ass Maine towns. At midnight. In Winter. On foot. It's a looonng Eight Miles. Only, Eminem's Detroit is tougher: Have you ever tried to fight for your ass -- literally -- with a crazy eyed tweaker round Motor City way? No? Oh well, I guess then it was just me.
Anyhoo: Bob Hartlein of that significant cultural artifact the Star weaves a winding tale of la vida loca that surrounds Em:
"Five years into his estrangement with his mother Debbie Mathers, Eminem remains so resentful of her that his only response to her recent carjacking was to call her a 'bitch,' a family member tells Star.
"Late on the night of Thursday, Jan. 22, Mathers, 49, was visiting a gas station on Detroit's dangerous Eight Mile Road when she was carjacked at gunpoint. (A 16-year-old Detroit boy was apprehended and charged shortly after the incident.) Her purse -- which was in the car and has yet to be recovered -- contained 'a manuscript of a book she was writing about Marshall and baby pictures of him,' says the source."
One would expect some comfort from your son if this were to happen to you, right? Not in the Mather household. Love is for pussies:
"This ordeal was yet another stroke of bad luck for Debbie, following her diagnosis with breast cancer a few years ago, says the source. And although she avoided injury during the crime, the source says that Debbie was subjected to a fusillade of angry words from her son.
"'Look b****, of all the places for this to go down, Eight Mile Road, where my movie [2002's 8 Mile] was filmed!' Eminem allegedly yelled over the phone after learning of his mother's latest misfortune, the source says. 'Couldn't you pick another place for it to happen?'"
Damn ... it's a hard knock life. Where's the love, Marshall? (shakes his head dejected at the lack of compassion in this godless Post September 11 world, whispers) Where's the love? Just because she didn't throw down for your baby pictures, cornbread, that doesn't make your moms a punk. She has cancer! But wait, there's more:
"For years, war has been raging between the 31- year-old hip-hop mogul and his mother. In 1999, Debbie filed an $11-million slander lawsuit over some disturbing and potentially defamatory lyrics (he fantasized about killing her and called her a pillpopper) on his debut album, The Slim Shady LP.
"In response, Eminem cut Debbie off both financially and emotionally, the source says.
"To make matters worse, Debbie recently lost her Michigan home to foreclosure, and has since been living with a friend in a bad area of Detroit, according to the family member. Now, this vicious reaction from her son is almost too much for Debbie to bear, says the family member."
The Corsair munches on salt-free popcorn, whistles to no one in particular about all of this trailer park shit, and, appalled, continues reading:
"Eminem may not have much time left to mend fences. According to Debbie's brother Todd Nelson, she isn't getting treated for breast cancer, which she has been secretly fighting for two or three years. 'It only became known to family members in the last six months,' Nelson tells Star. Another family member thinks the disease is causing Debbie to waste away to what seems like a skeletal figure. 'Debbie isn't receiving any treatment for her cancer, partly because she can't afford it, and partly because she's in denial,' says the source. 'At this point, she doesn't care about her health: She continues to smoke, and most of the time, she's too weak from grieving over the eldest son she's lost to get out of bed. But maybe if Marshall showed her some love and compassion, she'd have a reason to live.'
"The source adds that friends and family are stunned at Eminem's alleged insensitivity and indifference toward his mom: 'None of this seems to be a wake-up call to Marshall to extend an olive branch. He just doesn't seem to have it in his heart to forgive her for whatever past mistakes she made, and help her out -- especially now, when she needs him the most.'"
It's like a car accident that you can't help but watch even though you know it's wrong. Surely this has something to do with the decline of American democracy ("and don't call me Shirley"), but I am too tired to give it the old Jerry Springer's Final Thought. Thank God it's Friday (*sips Cutty Sark*). For everyone out there who thinks your family is dysfunctional ...
The Book of Pam
Lloyd Grove weighs in on the strange rise of Christianity in the lives of silicon-enhanced celebrities. Yesterday, Britney was enduring "the passion," now, apparently, Jesus works his magic on Pam Anderson. Hep C? No, true believers ... JC. Shmears:
"THE PASSION OF THE SEXPOT: I suppose it was inevitable that even Pamela Anderson would get religion. The buxom former 'Baywatch' babe and hardcore-video star sermonizes in Jane magazine:
"'I now love going to church. It's nondenominational, but they preach from the Gospel with sincerity. I've been reading the Old Testament lately. But the Book of John is also a good place to start. I've never felt anything but love from the people at the church I belong to. It doesn't matter to them that I'm on TV. Who cares?'"
Jesus gets all the hotties. It must be that cultivated trustafarian hippie look he's got going on. It practically shouts: my daddy's rich! Anyhoo: Rush and Molloy, our favorite crime fighting-gossip reporting couple (when will Miramax option their story?), does an exhaustive survey of celebrity religion that is a must read, among them:
"Wesley Snipes says, 'I never fail to pray before a meal.'
"For all her 'dirrrtyness,' Christina Aguilera says, 'Right before I get onstage, I gather my band and dancers in my dressing room. We hold hands and my bass player leads us in prayer, or sometimes I'll lead the prayer.'
"Reliably kooky Courtney Love thanks the Church of Scientology on her new CD, 'America's Sweetheart,' but says she also attends a Baptist church in South Central Los Angeles every other Sunday. 'When they say, Father, I just replace that with Mother, ' she says."
Yes, indeed, Court certainly is a mother.
Also in Grove is the extremely odd note that eminent Shakespearean scholar Harold Bloom pulled a Falstaff on feminist Naomi Wolfe when he "placed his hand between her legs."
The article will apparently be on sexual misconduct at Yale for New York Magazine. Beatrice (via Old Hag) notes that Camille Paglia -- a Bloom padawan -- has inserted herself into the mix. Stay tuned.
Lloyd Grove weighs in on the strange rise of Christianity in the lives of silicon-enhanced celebrities. Yesterday, Britney was enduring "the passion," now, apparently, Jesus works his magic on Pam Anderson. Hep C? No, true believers ... JC. Shmears:
"THE PASSION OF THE SEXPOT: I suppose it was inevitable that even Pamela Anderson would get religion. The buxom former 'Baywatch' babe and hardcore-video star sermonizes in Jane magazine:
"'I now love going to church. It's nondenominational, but they preach from the Gospel with sincerity. I've been reading the Old Testament lately. But the Book of John is also a good place to start. I've never felt anything but love from the people at the church I belong to. It doesn't matter to them that I'm on TV. Who cares?'"
Jesus gets all the hotties. It must be that cultivated trustafarian hippie look he's got going on. It practically shouts: my daddy's rich! Anyhoo: Rush and Molloy, our favorite crime fighting-gossip reporting couple (when will Miramax option their story?), does an exhaustive survey of celebrity religion that is a must read, among them:
"Wesley Snipes says, 'I never fail to pray before a meal.'
"For all her 'dirrrtyness,' Christina Aguilera says, 'Right before I get onstage, I gather my band and dancers in my dressing room. We hold hands and my bass player leads us in prayer, or sometimes I'll lead the prayer.'
"Reliably kooky Courtney Love thanks the Church of Scientology on her new CD, 'America's Sweetheart,' but says she also attends a Baptist church in South Central Los Angeles every other Sunday. 'When they say, Father, I just replace that with Mother, ' she says."
Yes, indeed, Court certainly is a mother.
Also in Grove is the extremely odd note that eminent Shakespearean scholar Harold Bloom pulled a Falstaff on feminist Naomi Wolfe when he "placed his hand between her legs."
The article will apparently be on sexual misconduct at Yale for New York Magazine. Beatrice (via Old Hag) notes that Camille Paglia -- a Bloom padawan -- has inserted herself into the mix. Stay tuned.
Whatever happened to Slim Goodbody?
True, he was slim. Very slim. Okay, John Burstein was the classic ectomorph geek. But we were wild and innocent youth at the time. What were we to know about cool? But even as a kid, I did pick up a certain ... nervousness. Now, maybe that had to do with a really fast metabolism on his part. Or, maybe it's just the plain fact that dressing up in his mom's panty hose with your innards haphazardly pained on them isn't the best way to make a living. And add on to that the fact that he did this in front of kids. In the name of (makes broad ironical quotation marks with his fingers) "health education."
Said ectomorph with an afro would actually sing these horrible -- horrible -- rockabilly ditties and dance this really spastic jazzercize numbers, chicken legs flapping in the wind, all in full view of kids. How lame is that?
When I was a kid at the UN School it was considered lame to watch Slim Goodbody. Nowadays similar social leprosy could be gained from admitting to the consumption of Benson and Hedges cigarettes, or purchasing a Kenny G album.
For whatever unfathomable reason of the childhood cruelty of my generation, the Yemeni Ambassador's kid at the UN School was considered a geek. Kids are old school like that. Now, in his early 30s, that kid is right about now a mid level official in the tyranny there, taking out all his childhood aggressions on innocent civilians. Shit happens: I can't be held accountable.
Anyhoo: Even that kid -- let's call him the monkeyboy -- he thought Slim Goodbody was lame. That guy. And you know your up shits creek without a paddle if your shtick cannot appeal to the undiscriminating tastes of the Yemeni Ambassor's kid.
True, he was slim. Very slim. Okay, John Burstein was the classic ectomorph geek. But we were wild and innocent youth at the time. What were we to know about cool? But even as a kid, I did pick up a certain ... nervousness. Now, maybe that had to do with a really fast metabolism on his part. Or, maybe it's just the plain fact that dressing up in his mom's panty hose with your innards haphazardly pained on them isn't the best way to make a living. And add on to that the fact that he did this in front of kids. In the name of (makes broad ironical quotation marks with his fingers) "health education."
Said ectomorph with an afro would actually sing these horrible -- horrible -- rockabilly ditties and dance this really spastic jazzercize numbers, chicken legs flapping in the wind, all in full view of kids. How lame is that?
When I was a kid at the UN School it was considered lame to watch Slim Goodbody. Nowadays similar social leprosy could be gained from admitting to the consumption of Benson and Hedges cigarettes, or purchasing a Kenny G album.
For whatever unfathomable reason of the childhood cruelty of my generation, the Yemeni Ambassador's kid at the UN School was considered a geek. Kids are old school like that. Now, in his early 30s, that kid is right about now a mid level official in the tyranny there, taking out all his childhood aggressions on innocent civilians. Shit happens: I can't be held accountable.
Anyhoo: Even that kid -- let's call him the monkeyboy -- he thought Slim Goodbody was lame. That guy. And you know your up shits creek without a paddle if your shtick cannot appeal to the undiscriminating tastes of the Yemeni Ambassor's kid.
TV Notes
Matthew Starr pretended to be an earthling, but he was really the Crown Prince of the Planet Quadris. His father was overthrown by tyrants, so he was sent here to develop his telekenetic powers then go back to throw down some furious anger at his oppressors. His mentor is Louis Grossett Junior, who also pretends to be his science teacher.
As opposed to, say, Bennu of the Golden Light, who is a messenger from an alien world, a scout. Bennu is looking for his lost companion, Mira. He aids people in distress with his freaky magical amulet. You better recognize.
Alan Fawcett was the host of a show which scored pantomimers on originality, appearance and lip synch.
Quincy's understanding of forensic medicine was way ahead of it's time for prime time tv. He, Quincy, of the LA Coroner's office. He lived on a boat, was a 70s swinger, and played detective to find evidence to support his theories of unexplained deaths. This did not endear Jack Klugman to the po-po.
Greg Evigan played the independent trucker BJ McCay. He was a medevac pilot in the Nam and, somehow, managed to smuggle a chimp named Bear back with him. Living in a truck has it's advantages, as he croons in the theme song, "Best of all, I don't pay property tax." Sheriff Lobo was always on his ass for something or other. Quite possibly this was tax related.
Robert Gulliame -- who insists that he is not Haitian/caribeat, played an upwardly mobile household executive-budget director-Lt. Governor, Benson DuBois. (*snickers* DuBois?) His plight mirrored the rise of African Americans throughout the 70s, more accurately than Good Times (the low estimate) or The Jeffersons (an inflated estimate of the African American plight). He bantered with the Wagnerian housekeeper Gretchen Krauss, played so ably, ironically by the Nebraska-born Inga Swenson. That freaky kid Missy Gold with the big eyes and the adult dialogue kind of wierded me out. She harshed on my "I'd Like To Buy The World A Coke" 70s vibe.
So, now you know.
Matthew Starr pretended to be an earthling, but he was really the Crown Prince of the Planet Quadris. His father was overthrown by tyrants, so he was sent here to develop his telekenetic powers then go back to throw down some furious anger at his oppressors. His mentor is Louis Grossett Junior, who also pretends to be his science teacher.
As opposed to, say, Bennu of the Golden Light, who is a messenger from an alien world, a scout. Bennu is looking for his lost companion, Mira. He aids people in distress with his freaky magical amulet. You better recognize.
Alan Fawcett was the host of a show which scored pantomimers on originality, appearance and lip synch.
Quincy's understanding of forensic medicine was way ahead of it's time for prime time tv. He, Quincy, of the LA Coroner's office. He lived on a boat, was a 70s swinger, and played detective to find evidence to support his theories of unexplained deaths. This did not endear Jack Klugman to the po-po.
Greg Evigan played the independent trucker BJ McCay. He was a medevac pilot in the Nam and, somehow, managed to smuggle a chimp named Bear back with him. Living in a truck has it's advantages, as he croons in the theme song, "Best of all, I don't pay property tax." Sheriff Lobo was always on his ass for something or other. Quite possibly this was tax related.
Robert Gulliame -- who insists that he is not Haitian/caribeat, played an upwardly mobile household executive-budget director-Lt. Governor, Benson DuBois. (*snickers* DuBois?) His plight mirrored the rise of African Americans throughout the 70s, more accurately than Good Times (the low estimate) or The Jeffersons (an inflated estimate of the African American plight). He bantered with the Wagnerian housekeeper Gretchen Krauss, played so ably, ironically by the Nebraska-born Inga Swenson. That freaky kid Missy Gold with the big eyes and the adult dialogue kind of wierded me out. She harshed on my "I'd Like To Buy The World A Coke" 70s vibe.
So, now you know.
Bowing to the Guy who Plays Jesus
Drudge reports via The NY Daily News' Tracy Connor that The Passion of Christ actor James Caviezel has actually had people bow down before him on the street. The Corsair has only had that happen after a particularly aerobic performance in the bedroom -- kidding. Well, not really. But the Daily News says:
"James Caviezel, who plays Christ, said he got an equally eerie sign six months before he auditioned when a stranger came up to him and said, 'You'll be playing Jesus.'
"Caviezel noted his initials are J.C. and was 33 - the same age as Jesus when he was killed. He said he's had fans bow down before him, and shrugged off the hardships of playing the physically demanding part.
"'We're not called to the easy life,' he said. 'You either carry your cross, or you're crushed under the weight of it.' But Caviezel did not sound so Christ-like when he described how he looked after he was struck by lightning as he hung on the cross. 'I looked like I went to see Don King's hair stylist,' he said."
We're not called to an easy life? What the fuck is up with that, buddy boy? Have you noticed that people surrounding this holier-than-thou project are starting to sound vaguely first century desert father what with those goddam platitudes? Not to lump all Christians into this generalization on my part (and what is blog logic if not flawed but said with zest?): but they seem to have this mighty desire to be morally superior to everyone else. Cavizel, listen to me, sweetbread: you are an actor starring in a cheesy interpretation of the last 12 hours of a world-historical moment: you are not Jesus himself. You are not even Billy Crudup. This is not you. Repeat after me, Jimmy: I am not Jesus. George Jefferson is.
Drudge reports via The NY Daily News' Tracy Connor that The Passion of Christ actor James Caviezel has actually had people bow down before him on the street. The Corsair has only had that happen after a particularly aerobic performance in the bedroom -- kidding. Well, not really. But the Daily News says:
"James Caviezel, who plays Christ, said he got an equally eerie sign six months before he auditioned when a stranger came up to him and said, 'You'll be playing Jesus.'
"Caviezel noted his initials are J.C. and was 33 - the same age as Jesus when he was killed. He said he's had fans bow down before him, and shrugged off the hardships of playing the physically demanding part.
"'We're not called to the easy life,' he said. 'You either carry your cross, or you're crushed under the weight of it.' But Caviezel did not sound so Christ-like when he described how he looked after he was struck by lightning as he hung on the cross. 'I looked like I went to see Don King's hair stylist,' he said."
We're not called to an easy life? What the fuck is up with that, buddy boy? Have you noticed that people surrounding this holier-than-thou project are starting to sound vaguely first century desert father what with those goddam platitudes? Not to lump all Christians into this generalization on my part (and what is blog logic if not flawed but said with zest?): but they seem to have this mighty desire to be morally superior to everyone else. Cavizel, listen to me, sweetbread: you are an actor starring in a cheesy interpretation of the last 12 hours of a world-historical moment: you are not Jesus himself. You are not even Billy Crudup. This is not you. Repeat after me, Jimmy: I am not Jesus. George Jefferson is.
The Justin Furor
Cyberspace is buzzing like Swayze over Justin Timberlake co-hosting of the Motown special. Apparently, he's not black enough. He's got a stronger blaccent than me, anyway.
Here is some of the buzz going around about it bout it:
"(It) makes Black people look SIMPLE to request that he NOT host because he didn't stand behind the Super Bowl fiasco. The reasons he shouldn't be hosting Motown-anything are way more important than that shit." -- Newlywed
"Timberlake was their second choice after not being able to put together a reunion of Rare Earth." -- Anon
"so would you have a problem with a black person who was heavily influenced by a white artist hosting a white awards show?" -- shyshy
"This is a cultural insult? Okay, so where were they when Snoop was walking around with with women in dog chains to the MTV Awards? Where are they when Snoop parades a pimp around with him all over the place?
"The Boondocks comic strip has hit the nail on the head this week, with the way we act." -- Anonymous
"The decision for Justin to co-host this special was made prior to his notorious event with Ms. Jackson. I didn't agree with the decision for him to host the show when it was first announced and now that he sold Janet out, he should be removed and his 'ghetto-pass' should be permanently revoked!
"Seriously, he was a bad choice from the beginning. I know the TV execs want to meet a certain demographic for the show, but at what expense? The producers of this show need to reconsider their initial choices and go with someone else. Perhaps Beyonce or even Usher but certainly not Mr. Timberlake. " --golyte, los angeles
Stay tuned.
Cyberspace is buzzing like Swayze over Justin Timberlake co-hosting of the Motown special. Apparently, he's not black enough. He's got a stronger blaccent than me, anyway.
Here is some of the buzz going around about it bout it:
"(It) makes Black people look SIMPLE to request that he NOT host because he didn't stand behind the Super Bowl fiasco. The reasons he shouldn't be hosting Motown-anything are way more important than that shit." -- Newlywed
"Timberlake was their second choice after not being able to put together a reunion of Rare Earth." -- Anon
"so would you have a problem with a black person who was heavily influenced by a white artist hosting a white awards show?" -- shyshy
"This is a cultural insult? Okay, so where were they when Snoop was walking around with with women in dog chains to the MTV Awards? Where are they when Snoop parades a pimp around with him all over the place?
"The Boondocks comic strip has hit the nail on the head this week, with the way we act." -- Anonymous
"The decision for Justin to co-host this special was made prior to his notorious event with Ms. Jackson. I didn't agree with the decision for him to host the show when it was first announced and now that he sold Janet out, he should be removed and his 'ghetto-pass' should be permanently revoked!
"Seriously, he was a bad choice from the beginning. I know the TV execs want to meet a certain demographic for the show, but at what expense? The producers of this show need to reconsider their initial choices and go with someone else. Perhaps Beyonce or even Usher but certainly not Mr. Timberlake. " --golyte, los angeles
Stay tuned.
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