I have a short list of celebrities I despise....suffice to say, Kim Kardashian and her ginormous ass sit atop that list. I know so many talented actors & performers that struggle to make ends meet, and that twit parlays friendship with Paris Hilton & a mediocre blowjob of Ray-J into a television show?
(coming down from soapbox now)
Then there's Mike Lupica, who could barely be considered a "celebrity", yet his columns are regularly published in the Daily News, a newspaper I subscribe to. So I encounter him on a daily basis more than Kim Kardashian's ass.
That said, I have to share this story. An All-Star game attendee emailed Deadspin.com this report from deep within the hallowed grounds of Yankee Stadium. Apparently, Lupica was having a tough time gaining access to the lower level — where the important people sit! — during Tuesday night's All Star Game:
Great all-star game story with some pictures...i was sitting by the entrance to the concourse in the lower level and i hear someone screaming at security so turn to look up the tunnel. It's Mike Lupica and he wasn't being given access to get to the lower field box level so he decided to throw a fit...he pulled a, "do you know who i am" to the guards and ultimately got nowhere, but it was easily an enjoyable moment watching his face turn bright red and freak out during the game...
July 14, 2008
I could not stop laughing while reading this story. Justifiable, or am I truly a sick bastard?
ST PETERSBURG (Reuters) - A Russian woman in St Petersburg killed her drunk husband with a folding couch, Russian media reported on Wednesday.
St Petersburg's Channel Five said the man's wife, upset with her husband for being drunk and refusing to get up, kicked a handle after an argument, activating a mechanism that folds the couch up against a wall.
The couch, which doubles as a bed, folds up automatically in order to save space. The man fell between the mattress and the back of the couch, Channel Five quoted emergency workers as saying.
The woman then walked out of the room and returned three hours later to check on what she thought was an unusually quiet sleeping husband. Police refused to comment.
The St Petersburg Emergency Services Ministry said a private rescue service removed the man's body.
Video on the television channel's website showed emergency workers sawing away the side panels of a couch to remove a man in his underwear lying headfirst between the cushions. Emergency workers said the man died instantly.
Just click here and prepare to laugh a LOT! I can't decide which image is more dead-on, the Hilton Sisters or the Olsen Twins? You make the call:
I've seen one of the Olsen's - I believe its Mary Kate - a bunch of times in the Village. Always with the ubiquitous cigarette dangling from her hand.
June 1, 2008
OK - so I saw Sex & the City with my BFF Heather (are straight guys allowed to have BFF's)?
Anyhow, we both are huge SATC fans, and we both thought it sucked.
I read this from the NY Post and found myself nodding furiously throughout:
From the NY Post - needless to say, I found my head nodding furiously throughout:
Suppose there were thousands of men who, every Thursday night, dressed up as Chewbacca or Boba Fett and headed en masse to an inviting "Star Wars"-themed neighborhood where they could discuss their strange obsessions at bars like Cloud City or Jar Jar's Joint while guzzling specialty cocktails (the TatooTini, the Hothmopolitan).
That would be strange, but not quite as strange as what happens at the "Sex and the City" theme park in the Meatpacking District, which is about two years away from installing its first TGIFridays and already is to hip what Mark Hamill is to acting. Unlike the "Star Wars" nerds, who are under no illusions that they will ever actually take the Millennium Falcon out for a chance to complete the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs, the "Sex and the City" fangirls think that they can live the life they see on TV.
So they swarm the night, staggering packs of "Sex" geeks - the hungry streets beneath them cackling, "Say hello to my leetle cobblestones, Manolo mamas!" - heedless to the fact that the ratio of them to their male equivalents is already the inverse of ComicCon and getting worse. The cougars of the movie, reviving their Jurassic snark for one more pun-dump, have digital airbrushing on their side, but in reality, bitchy 43-year-old women are not the center of attention at the clubs. Sexist? Not I. God.
Even 33-year-old women are not living in reality in this town. The multiplexes and networks and bookstores can barely accommodate all the movies and TV series and books (almost all written by men; one, I recall vaguely, written by me) about comical manboys coming to terms with the need to grow up. There is no equivalent message getting through to women. For them, it's all "27 Dresses" and "Made of Honor" and novels from "Pride and Prejudice" on that sling the same fantasy: There are two handsome, successful men chasing me. Whichever one will I choose? Then they walk into the bar at Pastis and discover: 150 single women, 50 gay men, 50 straight married men and 25 single straight men, but it's so loud that it's impossible to talk to anyone anyway.
And of those 25 single straight men, how many of them would meet the standards of the "Sex" geek? The show is a six-year moanathon about male flaws. They have shoe fetishes (ewwww!). They're too close to their mothers (Ick!). They have body hair (OMFG no way!) Women are the flawless norm against whose behavior all men are to be measured.
The mating talk among single men is less exacting. It boils down to two questions:
* Is she hot?
* Is she a pain in the ass?
If the answers are yes and no, respectively, the consensus is invariably: Keep her.
They don't suspect it, but as they poke over their arugula, Mad Dog Miranda, "Has the Good Ship Relationship Hit an Iceberg?" Carrie and Disney Princess™ Charlotte are all being disqualified on general pain-in-the-assery. (Samantha isn't, really, but on the other hand Kim Cattrall is old enough to have appeared in "Porky's"; "Family Guy" wasn't too far off when it referred to "SATC" as "three hookers and their mom.") They deride men who break up via Post-It Note, omitting that from the day the first tin cans were strung together the preferred method for women to dump men is to simply stop returning their calls (then mock them some more, for not "getting the hint.")
The "Sex" obsessed think they're after Wall Streeters, but even their target group don't meet their standards. These guys deal in numbers. They aren't interested in Matisse, much less why Nina Garcia left Elle. Women used to talking to each other, and to gay men, tend to find financiers dull. Moreover, the moneymen work such long hours that they're not available for prancing through the nightlife. If you take an investment banker to a Broadway show, he'll sleep through it. If he can spare time for a hobby, it's going to be ESPN, not DKNY.
Hannah Solos, consider making a long-term commitment to reality. Head for the nonfabulous Midtown pub. Strike up a conversation with that guy watching the Mets game. He's slightly shorter than you, he refers to beers as "brewskis" and he's wearing pleated pants, but you're not exactly Queen Amidala.
May 28, 2008
"Look, it's terrible, I know, but weakness really, really bugs me, to the point that if there is a wounded bird on the sidewalk, I look at it and I go: I think I'll just kick it."
- Jodie Foster tells Britain's Daily Mail
This quote rocks!
However...I'd say that her failure to publically admit she's a lesbian, and bypass the opportunity to serve as a role model for closeted gays & lesbians everywhere, could be construed as "weakness"....
May 14, 2008
OK, this is a weird blog...one that most people reading this can give a flying fuck about the topic. Which is - the Florida Marlins signing of Hanley Ramirez to a long-term contract. Hate to admit, Hal Steinbrenner has a point...
Here's what pisses me off - and it's kind of a contradiction. On one hand, I despise the Yankees for having the biggest payroll ($212M) in baseball. I can't root for a team like that, not growing up a Hartford Whalers fan when my team was always the "little guy" getting its players stolen by big-revenue cities.
On the other hand, since MLB has full revenue sharing, the Marlins get a guaranteed, initial investment of $70M....that SHOULD have been required to be put towards their salary cap. Yet, their payroll for 2007 was $22M. Are you kidding me?!?
Why is no one else pointing this out? The fact that these asshole owners are taking a revenue sharing measure - pocketing most of the money - and positioning themselves as the "good guys" when they FINALLY get off their ass and invest in the team they own (ie Ramirez)?
They're too gutless - or cheap - so they pocket the money. Its disgusting.
Hanley Ramirez - lets be clear, he is one of the absolute top future stars in MLB. The Marlins are being treated like they're doing such a great thing by investing PART of their profits into their payroll....while the other teams are doing that all along!
In order for MLB's revenue sharing system to work, there has to be a minimum salary "floor" for teams like the Marlins that are cheap fuck's and constantly circumvent the system. Until then, its a joke.
ps - none of this means that Hal saying Jennifer Love Hewitt is his "favorite actress" is no less ridiculous. That admission left me speechless.
March 28, 2008
Back in my Clark University years (early-mid 90’s), my favorite singer was absolutely Juliana Hatfield. She managed a fierce mix of anger and sexy, even though she wasn't "model hot." If you remember "Spin the Bottle" you know entirely what I mean.
Unfortunately, pretty singer-songwriter types have their celebrities fade when they get older. You don’t even realize its happening, but Regina Specktor moves into your consciousness while Juliana leaves.
Judging by what I see all over the place — countrywide — young women seem to want to look like Heidi Montag. (By the way, I hate the fact that I know Heidi Montag’s name; that I know who she is; that she takes up any space at all in my consciousness. And the fact that I actually enjoy watching The Hills proves that television — and cable tv in particular — has ruined my brain. And I don’t even have cable in my home but, still, the damage gets/got done — see how dangerous and insidious it is? I’ve watched The Hills when I could’ve been reading a book or painting a painting or trying to find a cure for cancer.)
March 14, 2008
Happy Anniversary, Knicks Fans!
Ah, to live 7 blocks from Madison Square Garden...home of the most embarassing franchise in all of professional sports. In 2008, "most embarassing" is truly saying something, as the Knicks have surpassed the LA Clippers, Detroit Lions, and Baltimore Orioles (controlled by the buffoonish Peter Angelos) for that distinction.
Just think of the names involved in the franchise - Zach "Leave of Absence" Randolph, Isiah "Street" Thomas, James "Pompous, Bloated, Genetic Lottery Winner" Dolan, Stephon Marbury, who calls himself "Starbury" despite never once winning a playoff series, Eddy (Donut) Curry, Jerome "$30 Million 11th Man" James - the list goes on. It is just an impossible team to root for. Impossible. A bad joke.
February 11, 2008
Normally I don't get excited about anything having to do with politics, but this week brings 2 potentially exciting exceptions to that rule:
1. The escalating chance that Obama will be the Democratic nominee, become President, and come up with a sensible, imminent plan to get out out of Iraq & Afghanistan.
I am a Libertarian, and though Obama is not an ideal choice (I was solidly behind Ron Paul who lacked the money to make an impact), he is an excellent speaker & a marked improvement over Bush, Hillary or McCain.
2. The Clemens-McNamee steroid hearings in Congress. There is no doubt in my mind that Roger Clemens did both steroids & HGH. What is unfortunate is that with the notable exception of Sylvester Stallone, no one is willing to extol the many virtues of HGH - thus, it gets lumped in with 'roids.
I like television. Its a very uncool thing to admit, especially living in Manhattan, 2 blocks away from Times Square and a cab ride from pretty much anything.
I like to go out, work out, go away, read, do lots of other things too. But the thing about TV is that its gotten so damn good over the past few years that I always make time for my favorite shows. When I was growing up, it kinda sucked....formulaic, predictable shows with laugh tracks such as Family Ties and Diff'rent Strokes ruled, with a dash of Don Johnson Miami Vice velveta cheeze thrown in.
No longer. From Sopranos & Sex and the City on, HBO raised the bar. This summer, a few have qualified for "record new episode" status on my DVR...which, by the way, is the greatest invention since sliced bread:
* The Bronx is Burning - Oh, to be a young adult in '77, when Studio 54 was opening, Reggie Jackson was in his absolute prime, and CBGB's was creating an insane underground musical revolution. Since I was 3 at the time, a time machine complete with "flux capacitor" would come in handy.
Anyway, ESPN did a great job with this mini-series!
* Damages Glenn Close & Ted Danson absolutely kick ass in this show that makes being a lawyer look a LOT more interesting than its reality. Take it from me.
* Weeds/Californication If you get Showtime, you know this hour goes down like a nice bottle of pinot.
* Rock of Love Reality TV at its best - Brett Michaels is one lucky, little man. VH1 finds an upgrade from Flava Flav.
* My Boys I would marry Jordana Spiro this second - I am completely serious about this!
May 11, 2007
From Dan Savage of the Village Voice, who apparently shares my distain for squishy people:
Q: I'm a bisexual woman married to a wonderful man. However, his father is a homophobic asshole. For seven years, I've bitten my tongue. Recently, I decided to speak up. In an e-mail, I asked my father-in-law to be just a bit more sensitive as I am bisexual. The point was completely lost on him. He asked my husband whether he knew that I was "gay before we got married" and denied that bisexuality even exists.
This is having a really negative effect on me, bringing up the shame I felt when I first came to terms with my sexuality. I know that I need to distance myself from such a negative person. He is an asshole. My husband is supportive of my feelings. But how do I protect myself and still be a part of this family? I was a self-confident, GGG, kinky nympho, and now I'm feeling really insecure and I cry each time I try to have sex. How do I get over these feelings? —I HATE MY FATHER-IN-LAW
A: One asshole relative managed to unravel your self-confidence, destroy your sex life, and turn you into a weepy bag of slop? Toughen the fuck up, IHMFIL. There's an anti-gay pogrom under way in Poland, homos are being executed in Iran, and gay men and women are being lynched in Jamaica. You've got one asshole relative and you're melting into a puddle? Please. Focus on your wonderfully supportive husband and your non-asshole relatives, remind yourself that it could be worse, and give your father-in-law a chance to come around. Most asshole relatives do.
And in the meantime, here's how you get over these feelings: Make up your mind to stop being ridiculous. Your father-in-law is an asshole, without a doubt, and after putting up with his shit for seven years, you had an absolute right to say, "I'm bisexual, asshole, and I don't appreciate your asshole hateful, bigoted statements about queers, you dumb asshole. Knock it the fuck off. Asshole." But if your self-esteem is so fragile that anything less than an instantaneous 180 on your father-in-law's part was going to utterly destroy you, IHMFIL, then you should have kept your mouth shut.
April 10, 2007
Perez Hilton described this column as "Bold, Brilliant, Beautiful..." and I could not agree more! Written by Mike Penner of the L.A. Times:
During my 23 years with The Times' sports department, I have held a wide variety of roles and titles. Tennis writer. Angels beat reporter. Olympics writer. Essayist. Sports media critic. NFL columnist. Recent keeper of the Morning Briefing flame.
Today I leave for a few weeks' vacation, and when I return, I will come back in yet another incarnation.
I am a transsexual sportswriter. It has taken more than 40 years, a million tears and hundreds of hours of soul-wrenching therapy for me to work up the courage to type those words. I realize many readers and colleagues and friends will be shocked to read them.
That's OK. I understand that I am not the only one in transition as I move from Mike to Christine. Everyone who knows me and my work will be transitioning as well. That will take time. And that's all right. To borrow a piece of well-worn sports parlance, we will take it one day at a time.
Transsexualism is a complicated and widely misunderstood medical condition. It is a natural occurrence — unusual, no question, but natural.
Recent studies have shown that such physiological factors as genetics and hormonal fluctuations during pregnancy can significantly affect how our brains are "wired" at birth.
As extensive therapy and testing have confirmed, my brain was wired female.
A transgender friend provided the best and simplest explanation I have heard: We are born with this, we fight it as long as we can, and in the end it wins.
I gave it as good a fight as I possibly could. I went more than 40 hard rounds with it. Eventually, though, you realize you are only fighting yourself and your happiness and your mental health — a no-win situation any way you look at it.
When you reach the point when one gender causes heartache and unbearable discomfort, and the other brings more joy and fulfillment than you ever imagined possible, it shouldn't take two tons of bricks to fall in order to know what to do.
It didn't with me.
With me, all it took was 1.99 tons.
For more years than I care to count, I was scared to death over the prospect of writing a story such as this one. It was the most frightening of all the towering mountains of fear I somehow had to confront and struggle to scale.
How do you go about sharing your most important truth, one you spent a lifetime trying to keep deeply buried, to a world that has grown familiar and comfortable with your façade?
To a world whose knowledge of transsexuals usually begins and ends with Jerry Springer's exploitation circus?
Painfully and reluctantly, I began the coming-out process a few months ago. To my everlasting amazement, friends and colleagues almost universally have been supportive and encouraging, often breaking the tension with good-natured doses of humor.
When I told my boss Randy Harvey, he leaned back in his chair, looked through his office window to scan the newsroom and mused, "Well, no one can ever say we don't have diversity on this staff."
When I told Robert, the soccer-loving lad from Wales who cuts my hair, why I wanted to start growing my hair out, he had to take a seat, blink hard a few times and ask, "Does this mean you don't like football anymore, Mike?"
No, I had to assure him, I still love soccer. I will continue to watch it. I hope to continue to coach it.
My days of playing in men's over-30 rec leagues, however, could be numbered.
When I told Eric, who has played sweeper behind my plodding stopper for more than a decade, he brightly suggested, "Well, you're still good for co-ed!"
I broke the news to Tim by beginning, "Are you familiar with the movie 'Transamerica'?" Tim nodded. "Well, welcome to my life," I said.
Tim seemed more perplexed than most as I nervously launched into my story.
Finally, he had to explain, "I thought you said 'Trainspotting.' I thought you were going to tell me you're a heroin addict."
People have asked if transitioning will affect my writing. And if so, how?
All I can say at this point is that I am now happier, more focused and more energized when I sit behind a keyboard. The wicked writer's block that used to reach up and torture me at some of the worst possible times imaginable has disappeared.
My therapist says this is what happens when a transsexual finally "integrates" and the ever-present white noise in the background dissipates.
That should come as good news to my editors: far fewer blown deadlines.
So now we all will take a short break between bylines. "Mike Penner" is out, "Christine Daniels" soon will be taking its place.
From here, it feels like a big improvement. I hope with time you will agree.
This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
This recent controversy with Imus and the "nappy haired ho's" comment he made on his radio/MSNBC show has not died down at all, and its been over a week.
All the key players here are really hard to root for:
* Don Imus: Talentless old skeleton whose show has sucked for years. I listen to WFAN whenever I'm wearing a walkman in NYC....except between 6-10 am weekdays. "Imus in the Morning" is brutal radio, and I've believed for years that it should be replaced by a good sports talk show.
That said - he doesn't deserve to be fired for the remark.
* Al Sharpton: Are you kidding me? Talk about people in glass houses throwing stones! What an opportunist! And doesn't being a "Reverend" mean you're supposed to forgive?
* The gutless, weasel advertising sponsors that are leaving the show at the first hint of controversy. Imus has been saying offensive things for years! Yet, cover your ass, sponsors! Al Sharpton & Jesse Jackson might hold a press conference!
Please. Imus has always gotten good ratings and has sold lots of product for lots of companies. The minute the shit hits the fan, rather than show a modicum of loyalty, they all go running away with the rest of the herd.
* The Rutgers women. I do feel badly that after getting to the NCAA Championship game, this happened and stole their opportunity to celebrate a successful season.
That said - I'm a UCONN fan, and if Imus had stuck with the line that preceeded "Nappy haired ho's" and just said "those are some rough looking girls"....well, he would have been right. Rutgers has always recruited academically lower than UCONN. And something tells me that most of these girls have heard FAR worse insults from the rap records they listen to.
On that note, here's a GREAT column from the NY Post titled "A Culture of "bitches, ho's and niggas."
Let's stipulate: I have no love for Don Imus, Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson. A pox on all their race-baiting houses.
Let's also stipulate: The Rutgers women's basketball team didn't deserve to be disrespected as "nappy-headed ho's." No woman deserves that. I agree with the athletes that Imus' misogynist mockery was "deplorable, despicable and unconscionable." And as I noted on Fox News' "O'Reilly Factor" this week, I believe top public officials and journalists who have appeared on Imus' show should take responsibility for enabling Imus - and should disavow his longstanding invective.
But let's take a breath now and look around. Is the Sharpton & Jackson Circus truly committed to cleaning up cultural pollution that demeans women and perpetuates racial epithets? Have you seen the Billboard Hot Rap Tracks chart this week?
The number one rap track is by a new sensation who goes by the name of "Mims." The "song" is "This Is Why I'm Hot." It has topped the charts for the last 15 weeks. Here's a taste of the lyrics that young men and women are cranking up in their cars:
This is why I'm hot
Catch me on the block
Every other day
Another bitch another drop
16 bars, 24 pop
44 songs, nigga gimme what you got
We into big spinners
See my pimping never dragged
Find me wit' different women that you niggas never had
For those who say they know me know I'm focused on ma cream
Player you come between you'd better focus on the beam
I keep it so mean the way you see me lean
And when I say I'm hot my nigga dis is what I mean
Let's move down the Billboard list, shall we? The No. 2 rap track in the nation this week is by Bow Wow and R. Kelly (yes, the same R. Kelly who was indicted five years ago on a raft of child-porn charges and is still awaiting trial). The "song" is called "I'm a Flirt" and it's been on the charts for 12 weeks:
Ima b pimpin
I don't be slippin
When it come down to these ho's
I don't love em
We don't cuff em
Man that's just the way it goes
I pull up in the Phantom
All the ladies think handsome
Jewelry shining, I stay stuntin'
That's why these niggas can't stand em
Ima chick mag-a-net
And anything fine I'm bag-gin it
And if she got a man, I don't care
10 toes and I wanna be, cause I gotta have it
Al Sharpton, I am sure, is ready to call a press conference with the National Organization for Women to jointly protest this garbage and protest the radio stations and big pimpin' music companies behind it. Or perhaps the New Civility Squad is not convinced yet that the Billboard chart toppers I've highlighted are representative?
One dumb radio/television shock jock's insult is a drop in the ocean of barbaric filth and anti-female hatred on the radio.
Imus gets a two-week suspension. What kind of relief do we get from this deadening, coarsening, dehumanizing barrage from young, black rappers and their music-industry enablers who have helped turn America into Tourette's Nation?