White House spokesman Tony Fratto

Not much else to say, though Republican Presidential Candidate and Southern Baptist Minister Mike Huckabee seems like one of the above too (btw, the arrow's only pointing at me... er... her, but that don't mean shit)...

Oh, wait, I do have a Liver Sport Report: Major Beleaguered Baseball announced today that instead of inserting a * beside the stat of a record broken by a player in the Steroid Era (like when Big Head Barry and the Bonds passes His Honor Hammerin' Hank Aaron in a month or so), they'll be putting a picture of an Asteroid. Though Bud "None For The Wiser" Selig is and has been Major League Baseball impersonated (since his coup d'etat years back of O Fay Can You Vincent), he had no comment. He figured an Asteroid will go there for him.

Check out mediocrenewyork.com already, will ya...

Georgia ('s granddaughter's tits) on my mind

Ok, so I know I'm not alone in tanking this Gary Marshall stinker, but if I were you, I'd rule out seeing "Georgia Rule" for different reasons than those you may have already heard or read. Everyone seems to be saying that Lyndsay Lohan's performance in this cinematic after-school special (as a lying slut who gets soap in her mouth) is the films single asset. I disagree, there are 2, her tits. Those wonderful natural specimens of voluptuous, blossoming femality, along with her uncanny (I wonder why?!) ability to deliver lines about blow jobs and seeing/touching her de-pantified punani, are the only things that stand out in "Georgia Rule", so skip it.

Mixing a standard rich fish out of Cali water story with a tentative tale of adolescent rape is admirable of Director Gary Marshal, but it's pushing it too, esp. when the former includes hoky slapstick gags, tasteless jokes about kiddie erections and gratuitous shots of Jane Fonda's aging (yet somehow still shapely) tucas. I commend Marshall for bringing to the screen a touchy subject, but the sad thing is that what he ended up with is a Laverne Dafazio meets Big Ragu storyline (in this case, Lohan and some pick-up truck ridin', bohunk, Mormon model), uneasily trying to live alongside something bigger, and the wooden dialogue and over all cliche sitcominess that ensues makes the Director's sister Penny's clunker "Riding in Cars with Boys" seem like Oscar material by comparison.

Lohan's bi-atch Lolita keeps the soap afloat, but mainly, as I said, for visual reasons. As for her co-stars, only the oddly likeable Dermot Mulroney succeeds (did he have a hair-lip?), though his role is purely a transparent plot device to counter a fat, creepy Cary Elwes (where the hell has been?!), as the scripted "bad man". To round out the cast, Desperate Housewife Felicity Huffman, lookin' eerily like Edie Falco, plays a desperate housewife, and Jane Fonda, in the title role, has obviously kinda lost her acting ability (along with the extra skin that used to shape her face).

In conclusion, there were 2 "Georgia Rule"s I was able to take out of this film:
#1 - thumb your nose (or hold it) at so-called dramatic turns by Lyndsay Lohan, unless you can't get enough of her tits
#2 - make sure Jane Fonda does not break her rule to stop getting plastic surgery (before her plastic surgerized skin breaks off)

Regarding the title of my lil' review here, well, I cannot vouche for Barbarella of yor Jane Fonda's knockers anymore, but had Ray Charles been alive and able to behold Lohan's bountiful barbarellas, I think a certain song woulda been renamed.

Here comes duh Spider-Man (3)

Spider-Man 3 "duhs" whatever a Spider-Man movie can, apparently, as it earned like a
quadrillion freakin' bucks domestically and internationally over it's 1st weekend. This may be the case, but I felt like that kid in Oregon who just had 2 spiders removed from his ear the other day after I saw it; kinda violated, an' like hurtin' near the brain and shit. Shoulda-been-a-Hobbit actor Tobey Maguire is back with his weirdly endearing but poorly acted, goofy (and seemingly totally stoned) take on Peter Parker, but am I the only dunce who still doesn't see what the appeal is to Kirsten Dunst? As Little Pete's aptly named love drug of choice, Mary Jane, she is once again just plain annoying as all get-out, and that face of hers is growing more and more prune-like yo. James Franco, on the other hand, who reprises his role as best bud Harry Osborn, fares better. This time around he gets to stretch his forever James Dean-esque persona a bit more, and at times he seems like he's acting in a far better picture then the one he's in. The best thing to come out of this 3rd spinneret in the Spidey series though is yet again the addition of the new peas in the pod; Bryce Dallas Howard as Gwen Stacy, and Thomas Haden Church as The Sandman. With the arrival of Howard, this series finally has a hot chick, and one that was written within its original Marvel Comics pages to boot. As for Church, what we have is yet another example of a talented actor playing a Spider-foe and stealing the Spider-show. Now there's also Topher Grace for good, bad and ugly measure, as the demented Venom, a latter day comic villain from the The Amazing Spider-Man,
but he arrives via some Nickelodeon-style (albeit black) gook from outer space, and in my opinion this character woulda been better off staying there. Don't get me wrong, I like Topher, and I'll never be able to get over his name, but I guess I'm an old-school comic book fan, and this Venom shit just doesn't work alongside an, er, more believable crook like Sandman. Venom's addition magnifies, in this mediocre reviewer's eyes, what's really wrong with the Sam Rami Spider-Man movies: they can't decide who their fans are.

Hell, I collected Spider-Man comics when I was a kid because I thought he was cool, but the facts are that he ain't on screen no more. Yes, I'd rather see him statically pushed on a pin along a flat, drawn skyline in the 70's cartoon than over-hyped here. Spider-Man's a sell-out now, and comes off more like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo then a Super Hero too (maybe they should call the next won "Spider-Doo?"). About 2/3rds of the way through this flick, during S3's version of the now-requisite silly musical montage-thing that ruined Spider-Man 2 for many, my Spidey-senses were tingling alright, or something inside me was, and so I got up and went to take a piss. Having to sit through that crap, along with scenes like the one where Peter canoodles with Mary Jane atop a huge web-hammock he spun himself, is downright embarrassing for a true Spider-Man fan, and thusly killed this film for me. Yes, the CGI effects have gotten better with this installment, but the Cool, Go In (and see the shit) factor that the X-Men series has is missing, and I hear they're gonna keep squishin' these Spider-Megamovies out until Tobey Baggins is doing his worst 30-something year old teen ala Brandon in 90210 (now he woulda been a good Peter Parker back then, def. a more believable chick magnate). If they want to keep spinning these yarns for grammar school kids, fine, then I guess it's time for me to finally sell my old Spidey comics that I've kept sitting around all these years. I'll still keep Thor, as I don't think they can down-size the God of Thunder...

Weird... it just occurred to me that somehow Batman traded places with Spider-Man over the years and became the cooler screen Super Hero for the masses. When I was a kid, however, that woulda been unfathomable, as no one I knew would buy a DC comic to save his life... Oh well, my recommendation if you want to see a good Spider-flick? Rent "Eight Legged Freaks"... Nuff said

*with this review, and all upcoming reviews, you'll also be able to check 'em out now at www.mediocrenewyork.com....

Neighbors, "C-I-L mah lan lawd" and the like

So, it's been a couple weeks since I last posted. Why? Well, been scrambling a bit b/c I'm up for a new lease soon, but with Nazi landlords my getting one is not a done-deal. Speaking of apts., tennants and the like. I had an unusual encounter recently with my next door neighbor. I was coming home one night, walking up the stairs, when I ran into my super coming down the stairs. She proceeded to tell me how my neighbot was causing a ruckus and the tenent right below her was about to call the cops. I decided to intervene in order to help out my neighbor, as she's always seemed pretty cool, and who wants the cops called on you, y'know? I knocked on hert door, but what I saw was hardly what I expected to encounter. Yes, as advertised, she was stoned drunk, but what was unexpected was that she was stark naked. I stood there, with the door open, and reasoned with her, telling her to just let whatever beef she had go, but it was kinda hard to concentrate and divert my eyes, let alone listen to her standing there talking to me in the raw, full blonde bush and all... not half bad for a mid 40's women too. I'd just come back froma failed date, and believe you me, I woulda pounced if given the invitation... This leads me to the display you're about to see: here's an actual letter I got from a psycho neighbor while I was living in Northampton, MA, circa 1989. I played guitar, acoustic guitar, and walked around in my apt., as one does, and one day I get this visit from a ripped dude with tats from head to toe, only tighty whiteys on and a dumb bell in hand. He tells me to quiet down, which i do. The next day, however, I get this note talking about "bad blood", that his "kids locked up 20 years old", and that my guitar playing and "stomping" is "hurting (his) health and happiness". Needless to say, I moved out. I sure as hell am not moving out of my place now, so until I solve this shite, you may be hearing less from me...

Insane, Britney shears in public, then surgically attaches mane to bald pussy to assure no more bad pubic publicity... and what does this mean?

More to the point, do I care? Heck, maybe she enjoyed it when her gash was splashed all over the news, and so she's decided to shave it all off... I dunno. She may very well be going down the Anna Nicole hole, which is too bad, but then again, at least her survivors will be well taken care of financially. Call me cruel for saying that, but come on?! Get it together people, I can't even pay my bills, make rent or headway in my career, and here's a couple people shitting it away. I mean I see a women wearing just a box in fucking 15 degree weather on the streets of New York during a record horrible winter, and I'm supposed to give a naked mole rats ass that Britney is having a nervous breakdown?! Ok, maybe there is nothing more important then finding out exactly who America's Next Top Model is, or then knowing whether a certain multi-million dollar a year athlete will be able to cope with and enjoy playing this coming year knowing he's not signed yet the following year. I may have already mentioned it once in SNOT, but mediocre Baseball cowboy Kevin Millar once said (when asked about not being signed to multiyear contracts) something to the extent of, and I paraphrase "hell, I'm privelaged to be able to play, and after my first year in the Majors I had enough money in the bank to set up my family and my brother's family for the rest of their lives". Have we come this far below the threshold of reporting, and therebye, caring about, what really is going on and what really matters in this world that the whereabouts of a contract extension, or, for that matter, Britney's pussy covering gets more coverage then the wherabouts of a place to live, or, for that matter, Osama Bin Laden? When I was young, people used to talk about my generation as being jaded and cynical as though that was a bad thing, well it is the only thing now, and can you blame that when the only thing that floats is bullshit? Who's to blame? Well, truth be told, the media does spread this shit like peanut butter, but it's Mr. Shit himself that has to take the fall. Who's Mr. Shit? Well. there are many Mr. Shits out there, and they're running the shit show (Bush, Trump, Steinbrenner, Ovitz, blah blah blah, you know who you are, keep hiding). It'll take one of 'em who rise above the rest of the splatter and say enough is enough, for there will not now, or ever be a revolution, let alone a change of course, without the help from the rich, that we know, b/c, well, for one thing, the poor are just plain too fucking busy working their asses off just trying to stay alive. But one rich turdlet like Britney dropping like a fly doesn't fly, that only breeds sympathy, and hasbeens like Jane Fonda and Sally Field announcing that they've renounced plastic surgery at age 70 (to show that aging aint bad) just doen't cut it. History shows us that a member of the wealthy class has to gather up the humbled masses first. Who's that gonna be, not Britney, that's for sure. Gisele? Derek Jeter? Not likely them either, so why should we pay so much attention to all these folks other for then b/c of their lone skills, and by paying attention to them, I also mean pay them outrageous amounts of cash, that they just hoarde (yes, that's all they do with it, a sprinkle here and there for a charity now and then like seasoning on a steak in the heart, but really, they just use it to make more for themselves, b/c one house and car just aint enough, now is it?). That's the question of the day I want answered in the papers, or on the boob tube reality shows, etc. Fuck, I'd audition for that show: "Who wants to lead a million out of poverty and suffering?"... but no, Britney is suffering, so we put all our bills and debts and uninsured health and miseries on hold for another pathetic miniseries about a bimbos fall from grace. Didn't we learn anything with Marilyn Monroe? They say that history repeats itself too, but I'm afraid that's all they mean these days by that.... Anyway, I do have a sense of humor too (it's going by way of my diminished sense of pride), and while I cannot care about Britney's plight, I can stare (and chuckle) at her Kojak impersonations above n' below with the rest of 'em... Enjoy.

Good Fanta Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

So, I've had the flu for the past few days, and my synapses are even farther apart than usual, making it hard to think, let alone write an original thought. I'm indebted to keeping up this here blog a magog thing though (not that anyone is reading it, I snicker once again), so here's a little funny filler to keep you warm on this Godforsaken chilly winter night, namely, a scene from Bad Santa (yeah, 2 months and a couple of years to late, I know, but courtesy of my dear old gruff but lovable friend Peeper... good to see you again the other night man):

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"Gin: Look here, get him outta here and I'll go smooth things over with Chipeska, Tell him it was food poisoning or something.
Marcus: What do you mean, get him outta here?
Gin: Take him to the car.
Marcus: In case you didn't notice I'm a motherfucking dwarf, so unless you got a forklift handy, maybe you should lend a hand hmm?
Gin: That figures. You want all kind of set-asides. Special treatment 'cause your handicapped. You're all the same.
Marcus: Special treatment? I'm 3-foot-fucking-tall you asshole! It's a matter of physics. Draw me a sketch of how I get him to the car, huh?
Gin: Bitch, Bitch, Bitch!
Marcus: Sketch it up, you fucking moron. Fucking Leonardo da Vinci.
Gin: What'd you call me thigh-high?
Marcus: I called you a fucking guinea homo from the 15th-fucking-century, you dickhead!
Gin: I could stick you up my ass, small fry.
Marcus: Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?
Gin: You got some lip on you midget.
Marcus: yeah? Well these lips were on your wife's pussy last night. Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while? Asshole"

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And now I lay me down to sleep, thinking 'bout landing that pilot I auditioned for the other day (you know the one, the sweet-ass job that'll get me out of this dead-endless downward drinking n' thinking spiral), and hoping to revisit that exciting dream I had last night, where I was a Mexican outlaw on the lam from Underworld types, escaping one near death scenario by harnessing a wild boar like a sandscaped water ski, and finding myself in yet another while romancing a couple of exotic chiquitas at a rural wedding I happened upon... Make any sense? Sadly, no, 'twas a dream, but a pretty visual and visceral one at that... Oh yeah, Happy Valentine's Day to y'all. Apparently, the average American with a loved one/partner/signif other/girlfriend/boyfriend/lover/fuckbuddy/crush or whatever you macallit spends $100 on this Holiday. If that's the way it is, that's the way it iiiiiiissss. I'm not saying that solo is the payolo either, but I'll take the part over the heart on this day, this year...

daily spews: "swipe"

Spews continues with its look at the City's shoddy Subway system...

David Wrong

So, duh Post (who else?) reported the other day how NY Met's star David Wright visitted the White House recently to shoot the shit about baseball and Iraq and stuff with moron in chief George Dubyah-ew! Bush. Now we all know that baseball players (and atheletes in general) are not supposed to be the sharpest tools in the shed, I mean we don't pay them outrageous amounts of cag for their wit and intelligence, now do we? Of course, there are quotable exceptions to the rule, like Bill "Spaceman" Lee, Pedro Martinez, Joe Torre, Johnny Mac, George Forman, The Greatest, Kareem Abdul Jabbar (and I'm sure some football and hockey players I can't think of now) to name a few, who've marveled us with their skills on the court, field and btw the ropes, and then some, but most of the time it's as it should be: "shut up and play, ok?". As far as David Wright is concerned, I like this guy, I mean how can you not? I may be biased b/c I met him in person (at his Hard Rock Cafe David Wright foundation fundraiser), but let's face it, he plays the game right. He's got an abundance of skill, an award winning goofy smile, a penchant for charity, and a sort of lovable dumbness about him, ala a do-gooder Manny Ramirez (without the attitude, corn rows and mental lapses). I could easily call him out on his choice of having vacant headed and bland voiced Nick Lachey sing at his fundraiser, but that's not enough to sour me on this guy....

This may be, however, and now puts David Wright in the category of those celebs to watch out for (but not for good reasons, b/c he may seriously screw things up for himself in the future if he keeps acting so publically dumb. Mark my words, I hope we don't have to whatch his head grow either, but keep tabs on it, cuz it may get real big and full of itself (not smarts). How sweet it woulda been if Mr. Wright had told Bush that he was wrong, and then, clubbed him with a baseball bat to prove a point. But no, David kissed Goliath's pimply ass, saying he had "goose bumps all night" while dining with El Presidumbo. Listen to his words: "sitting accross from the president, the leader of the free world, it was a once in a lifetime experience"... ok cliche buy, gotcha, and since when has this world been free? The coolest thing out of Wright's mouth was when he said "the president definitely knows his baseball", but only b/c it suggests that the presidunce definitely does not know his politics. He went on to say that "knowing how busy the president is, for him to spend that much time with us was really something special"... yawn. Hey, haven't you read the papers David, this president has taken more vacations then any other president, ever, and he obviously is trying to avoid work at all costs. You may have been living a dream in going there my boy, but the White House has been like a freakin' fantasy camp already for the manchild who lives there these past 6 years, and trust me, I'm sure these days our fearful leader would rather be out shagging fly balls and hitting the batting cage then sitting in the world cage he's in. You shoud've just given him a signed batting helmet and left it at that, cuz he's gonna need one the next 2 years just to shield himself from all the 90 mile an hr. hardball criticism that's rightly gonna be thrown at him. Hell, you could probably do as good a job (if not better) then your hero, so from now on, why don't you do the Wright thing, David, and keep it on the field, ok?

fashion weak

So, I'd be remiss if I didn't blog something about the first ever fashion week held in NYC (ultra "yeah, right!!!"), now wouldn't I? Fashion Weak, held 4 weeks a month 12 months a year, represents a gathering and celebration of rich gay people and the clothes they where. The industry hopes that if there's enough hype around certain designers with Italian French hybrid names, that the price of blue jeans and dresses eventually to be made by slaves in impoverished nations can rise above the average monthly income of a so-called middle class family. The absurdity of this event is best encapsulated in a statement made by emerging designer Monica Moss (ok, she's not French or Italian in name, but she does, according to her press kit, radiate "beauty, originality and joyfullness"). Here goes: "fashion is a photograph of the soul"... truer words have not been spoken, my friends, I mean, how fucking profound can a mannequin get? Thank God her family "quickly recognized her talent" at an early age. Moss then showed "a strong conviction and determination to become a notable fashion designer"... this chick had a plan, man...

Now, it's unfair for Snot to just pick on her, as she is a Bolivian fox, if nothing else. It was her "philosophy" (that ignorant quote you just read) that led me to "feature" her, if you will. Fashion Weak is way more than the some of one individual's stupidity. I went to a few of these events, and it's all a crock. Don't get me wrong, as these were and are very important events, made evident by the intimidating, complex security measures enforced that keep the riff-raff (read: fashion challenged, not in-the-know, un-high cheek boned, smart and straight) elements out. I couldn't get into many of these damn things, for you know, who am I to view amazon imbeciles prancing in formation wearing threads that I'll never see on the rack, huh? I did get into some of the she-she afterparties though, and managed to partake a plenty of the free alcohol-a necessity when you don't even get a 2nd look from the higher than thou lower than I.Q. girls around you (and I'm not exactly chopped liver). Hey, I've actually even done the runway thang myself, it's like "voila, 20 seconds and over, people clap b/c you're fucking wearing some clothes... whoop de doo", but Fashion Weak makes me want to run away, period. You may pine for some of these beauts when you see em' in the magazine spreads, but when they're standing next to you like mutant gazelles on acid, they have diminished appeal, and that's the truth. That's why it's so hard to get into Fashion Weak, b/c they don't want you to know that. Now, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't kick a model out of bed for eating crackers (which they won't, b/c they don't eat), but what is the big deal here?

Sigh... it is a big deal though, and we shop like we breathe in this country, ready to knock over the next guy as if a new item of clothing was a last gasp of oxygen. This apparently makes it important that we celebrate this industry all the many weeks during the year that we hold "Fashion Weak". Aside from the occasional gift bag, free drink and opportunity to see gay males make utter fools of themselves at parties, I think this repetitive occurance is pretty lame... I may change my mind though if a sweet-ass armani suit fell in my lap after it (said lap) had been danced upon by Kate Moss (or Monica Moss). I may even honor Fashion Weak as Fashion Week should the both of them then follow my Armani-clad ass back to my humble Lower East Side abode and spread their magazines with me... more than once.

...in a related story, the NY Post said today that a majority of women surveyed would "give up sex for 15 months if they could get a new wardrobe in return"... now does this illustrate the difference in the 2 (there are 2, right?) sexes, or what?!? Imagine asking guys the same thing, I think all of 'em, straight or gay or hybrid would say a profound "too hell with that"...

... in yet another related story, The Post (again) stated that a recent study suggests that "sweaty guys get the girls"... not at fashion week yo. And not at any of the places I've been to in NYC where girls are supposedly there for the getting. True, when I haven't washed my hair for a few days chix comment on it, but that's hair sweat, or grease, not b.o. brother. Smelling like an old gym sock doesn't get you anything but the people sitting on the subway near you to move away.

That's it.

daily spews

here's something you'll be seeing more of here @ snot. This first example is one I did with my pal KD 2 years ago. The Spews may shape-shift into different forms along the way, and surely won't appear daily... enjoy.

kitty litter? ... rock n' roll hoochie koo

Ok, so if you're just joining snot (and lets' face it, the only people tuning in here are those just joined, as I basically let everyone else fly after 13 inactive months), you'll probably think that I'm a whiner, a ranter, bitter, etc. Well, you're right (and fuck Dennis Miller).

So, now that we've gotten that cleared up, here's a short blurb (or catcall) b4 I head out on the town (it's freaking fashion week... again, and again): any of you see that lil' news item in Da Post (my fave shit rag to find crap in), titled "Cat-astrophe"? Thank you Post-ops for printing it, nice to know there's a heart beating behind your fascistic skin, and not only the snap of a wanker yanking his lil' prick. Basically, for those who didn't see the article, it reported that a bunch of homeless people had their pet cats ripped from their hands recently while they were squatting in a shelter, b/c "city rules" says that for some reason or other pets aren't allowed on shelter premises (or for folks who can't afford 'em now I guess?). Fifteen or so felines were abducted by enforcement at the Hells Kitchen hotel, and most likely taken to their deaths, or a neighborhood chicken restaurant. "It's like losing family" said one homeless resident. Damn... I can imagine. If my mothers 2 lil' dogs or cats were taken from her she'd be devastated beyond belief...

Now, I'm sorry, but what does this lil' story here tell you? I'll tell you what, and I'm no conspiracy theorist (who has time to actually theorize these days? I mean I can barely count to 2 anymore), but it categorically says that the bloody apocolypse is coming, that's what, I mean don't it?!?! This is the catastasis; Felix the cat now, Felix the human tomorrow. Have we become Gestapo, bustin' into peoples environments (wherever they may be, cathouse, catacomb, cathedral, whatever) and taking family members we deem inappropriate? We tap your phones, now let's snap (up) your pets? Hey, I don't give a cat's ass whether this was at a city-owned shelter or not, it's still the peoples' city isn't it? It's still the peoples' country isn't it? Isn't it? Riddle me that Cat Man, cuz we're in a bad way, whether you choose to close each cat's-eye to that fact or not. The lord of my expensive slum tries to evict its tenants when we're 2 weeks late with rent, gives you 7 days to pay or move out... that's potentially catastrophic, no? If that approach were rampid? Where's the litter to soak up the pain, yo? Let's start showing a little more humanity again in this country, shall we, I mean how much can it hurt us (to care)? Are we worried that that'll cost us too much of our precious money? Call me negative, and I say in return that the bad attitude toward our own lesser fortunate brothers and sisters that's permeating the world these days smacks me as being postively evil, the nadir of negativity. I know rules are rules, but they can be broken, just like pets. What were these "enforcers" worried about, an outbreak of cat scratch fever? Hell, I know someone who had that, and it sucked, but that's hardly the pandemic we should all be scratching each others eyes out over now is it? Love thy neighbor (gag if you want, but that concept is not what stinks these days)...

One last thing, totally off the subject: Even though I had "The Stranger" (or my brother did) when I was a kid, I've always been one to call Billy Joel "The Antichrist" since then, encountering much negativity from people who grew up listening to the guy (and who put him on a pedestal next to Dylan, Young, Springsteen, Reed, etc. , instead of the stinker I thought him to be). I mean, even when "Moving Out" came out on Broadway, this guy still held a place in peoples' hearts. Well, no longer (do I think him the Antichrist). Like Reed (who's been cleared just b/c he was Bowie, Iggy and Patty's friend, and hasn't seemed as publically pretentious the last few years), Joel has gotten a hall (not Rock Hall) pass from me, for the song "It's Still Rock n' Roll To Me". Prior to tonight, he, Phil Collins and John Cougar Mellonhead were duking it our for putz of that decade. Now, the resurrected diddy I mentioned is no "Rock n' Roll" (Reed's opus, or homage or something), but the sentiment is there, I agree with it, and the tune plain moves. I heard it tonight @ Motor City, and it's place in the '80's catalogue made sense again. Plus, it warmed me once again to the drunk who wrote it (another trait I now appreciate Billy for... btw, I hear that Joel keeps a grand piano @ the halfway house he frequents when not crashing cars from downing too many bottles of red and bottles of white). Again, before this eve I acknowledged the Piano Man only for spawning that cute, short keys playin' chick of a daughter he has with Christie "Sports Illustrated Uptown Vacation Girl Swimsuit Model" Brinkley. Strange how you can all of a sudden be corrected one day (as I've been) after experiencing an elongated disgust w/ someone... Now, as for that girl recently who was trying to sell me on Rudy Guliani, fuck that shit. Maybe "hiz boner" cleaned up the streets in NYC and rose tall when the towers fell, but that guy is a creep. I saw him in person once, @ a Matzah Ball eating contest no less, and was struck by his huge noggen (thankfully, not physically), but if he becomes president, we all better whatch our cats an' more, cuz our civil liberties are doomed.

and now... some more succinct celebrity reviews

Harry Connick, Jr. - if Andy "Mayberry" Griffith and Mark "Big Mac" Macgwire had a baby. Nice, uh, extremely muscle bound guy, heluva voice for real
Mathew McConaghy - this guy's got a humongous head, a prerequisite for successful actors apparently (what about Gary Sinise then?), though successful obviously doesn't necessarily mean talented in this case. Dude is super slick though, I'll give him that
James Franco - a rather "petite tete" in comparison (gives Gary a run for his money)
Gary Sinese - despite the stuff I just said about his head size, this guy is the coolest, and wise
Sam Shepherd - really looks like you can light a match off his face
Drew Barrymore - wanted to hate her, esp. as I'm not a fan of her on film, but she's just so damn sweet n' uber cool
Ethan Hawke - liking him more and more since he's gotten so freakishly ugly
Uma Thurman - liking her less and less since she's gotten so snobbishly bitchy
Bill Paxton - one heluva guy
Billy Bob Thornton - about as cool as he comes off onscreen (sorry, boring I know, but...)
Brad Pitt - this guy and I could hang out. After he and I stopped talking to each other, people came up to me and spoke to me as if I was him
Elijah Wood - intense hobbit (I honestly think he is one!)
Vin Diesel - overly friendly, nice buff, bald village person (I'm not sayin')
Jessica Lang - her eyes are lookin' more and more Asian I'm afraid (stay away from the surgery my dear, you're an icon)
Joan Allen - a bit meaner and way taller then I remembered her
Natalie Portman - an adorably elphan rich socialite brat
Renee Zellweger - way hotter in person (an' she told me I wasn't so bad myself... we'll meet again I hope)
Campbell Scott - absafuckinglutely like he appears onscreen; kinda smug, ultra chill, laid back bachelor uncle who's prematurely grey
Clive Owen - what can I say? I wanna be this guy
Willem Dafoe - a living primate, which contradicts how cavemen are depicted in those commercials these days
Jay Z - kinda comes off all like "aw shucks" in person, like Dwayne on What's Happening, but cooler
Matt Damon - super nice guy, but he works it, fakin' that smile til th'aint nobody left in the room
Leonardo DeCaprio - now you see him, now you don't
Samuel Jackson - wears dumb hats in public, almost something Bill Cosby-esque about this cool motherfucker
Michael Keaton - can you please stop doing Michael Keaton all the time?
Sammy Sosa - nice guy w/ chip on his shoulder, and I honestly don't care whether he did 'roids or not. Screw Big Mac, to hell with Barry, but I like Sammy, and you know you do too
Johnny Rotten - genuinely rotten to the core, I love this man
Mary Kate an' Ashley Olson - flyin' monkees (excuse me if I already used this one in a past SCR, just so fun to say)
Lyndsay Lohan - that chick from the smoking room in high school who's still sexy even though everybody's already fucked her. Dirty, but I'd let her (same excuse-pardon me if already said this one in a previous SCR)
Ally Sheedy - looks like a stressed-out, chain smokin' stick figure
Bruce Willis - the kind of guy who whoops and hollers during movie premieres (I know, cuz I sat right next to him). More power to him... wait, is he a 'Publican?
Cedric The Entertainer - pretty damn entertaining, I had no idea (though he looks exactly like a fat Martin Lawrence, I won't hold that against him)
Scarlet Johanson - will you marry me?
Tommy Lee Jones - scared the shit outa me in person
January Jones - I'd let her any month of the year... if only (sigh... I knew she'd make it Dan)
Constantine Whats-your-name-opolis (from American Idol) - your 15 minutes are way over Bon Jersey
Dan Hedaya - middle aged hipster, fuckin' love this guy
Mark Wahlberg - absofuckinglutely regular guy, just don't get into any of his entourages wassabi eatin' contests
Adrien Grenier - super friendly, albeit kinda dull, guy. Woulda been a teen idol for sure in the 70s
George Clooney - I wanna be this guy too... I mean, who doesn't?
Juliette Binoche - kinda lost a beat due to age, but I'd still do Frenchy, I mean just thinkin' about her in Damage, and Blue (or was it Red? or White?)
Sharon Leal - girl, you're dreamily smokin'
Clint Eastwood - wholy shit, what do I say to Clint fuckin' Eastwood?!
Jack Nicholson - "I remember you!" "she was 15 goin' on 35"... legendary cool
Vera Farmiga - meow
Ewan McGregor - nifty duds this bloke wears, stand-up chap
Annabella Scoria - drop-dead gorgeous (I asked her out but was rebuffed). Cannot believe she's pushing 50
John Voight - reminds me of my dad, genuine
Penny Marshall - Laverne lives on Shirl
Ron Howard - Richie, Opie... shucks you're a nice guy, seriously. Don't know why I thought Ralph Malph was cooler than you man, what's he directed lately?
Sting - holy shit, I was expecting an ass hole and I got... joe friendly. Thanks, you made me feel like all that high school idol worship did not go to waste
Martin Scorcese - you rock sir, keep on talkin'
Kate Winslet - you're a lucky man, Sam
Ralph Machio - still looks like he's 17, and probably bummin' about that
Luke Wilson - beer bud. Boy, we could score multitudes of chicks together dude (like he needs my help)
Billy Crudup -for someone who reads so well onscreen, this guy is one short (and blocky) dude. I thought film was supposed to put on weight?
Vaclev Havel - I cannot believe I met this Vaclev Havel
Robert Deniro - looked like he thought I was gonna bite him or somethin' when I introduced myself, kind of reacted "are you talkin' to me?" style w/out sayin' it (wouldn't that be cool if he said that?)
Parker Posie - so, uh... how about that drink? (no more smart alek responses my dear, I can't think on my feet as fast as you)
Stevie Wonder - it's fucking Stevie fucking Wonder!

That's it for now. I'll have loads more of these for ya in the future...

4 a fleeting moment 2night I had 666 myspace "friends"... and she breaks just like a little Factory Girl

But do 666 "friends" occuping my shared networking space mean anything? If so, will someone be sending out a bulletin that the freaking world is coming to an end or something? Or, perhaps b/c my last band's myspace page has close to 3000 of those so-called friends (almost as many peeps as Americans killed in Iraq), does that negate me from eternal hellfire and damnation? Heck, I don't really give a rat's ass, I'm not a religious man, but I am curious nonetheless about that #, and thinkin' someone out there in myspaceland could enlighten me on this very unimportant subject... Hmmm?

In other "news", I just got in from the Ziegfeld premiere of "Factory Girl", and I'm beat knacked. Here's sort of a review though: It was ok. Guy Pierce, as butt ugly asexual phony fuck-up asshole scenester pop art icon Andy Warhol = great. Yes my sweet revisonist comrades, Andrew was all that and a can of soup, but the film goes too far trying to state (without mentioning names as you know) that Bob Dylan was the real mccoy genius in comparison, which I don't really buy. You know, there were true blue artists at the time who thought both of these guys were poseurs. Anyway, besides that point, Haden Christenson -though far too young and perty lookin' for the role- was charming as the Dylanesque character. Zimmer Man should not me upset by this films portrayal, not in the least, he should be flattered for Christsakes, esp. that a better lookin' dude then himself played him. If he has any beef with how he's perceived, it could be that Annakin Skywalker, the dark prince and evil side of "the Force" was cast to play him (I like that irony, Warhol as Luke Skycocker, both with blotchy skin -Andy's due to what... acne? and Luke's due to a motorcycle accident by Mark Hamill before "The Empire Strikes Back", which kept him from probing Leah's interstellar panties from there on out), though we all know that the Jokerman was a prick back then (see "Don't Look Back").

As for Sienna Miller in the title role, well, though she's passable, and def. a hot factory worker, she is a fairly unlikeable Edie Sedgewick, and there lies the rub
in this pseudo-Shakesperean power struggle (all the elements are there, as the love triangle thing underlines this film: princess chooses one prince over the other -who may or may not have rather had the chosen prince for himself- he feels spurned, she does herself in after the chosen prince, unwilling to wait, moves on, yada yada). Besides the question I kept asking myself, namely "what has this actress done before, besides appearing on page 666 arguing with ex-Jude Law?" she is:

A) too old and leathery at 30-something to play the "it girl", and

B) she's also too old to play a young Dylan's lover (plus, Dylan woulda been older then her even at that time too, no?)

I mean, hey, Mrs. Miller is good, don't get me wrong, and her tits have held up,
but she's not as fetching as we all know (and see in stills at the end of the film)
the young moonfaced Edie was, plus there's this bitch-Goddess thing she has from the get-go (that seems more fitting for her latter years, and perhaps for Nico from the start) that reminded me of a particular older model girlfriend I had once, who seemed to resent her waning years at all times, and repelled people, not attracted them. Though Edie was supposed to be a highly wound-up, brittle creature (who broke "just like a little girl", according to Dylan), I'm sure she didn't wear this quality on her sleave, as depicted, not if everyone flocked to her (as we all know they did). These filmmakers also don't convincingly make the case that she was anymore or anything other then Twiggy or others branded "it" before her, and Miller's casting makes her seem even less unusual then she may have in fact been. Perhaps hasbeen American beauty Mena Suvari (who appears as Sedgewick's friend) may have been better in the part, she certainly has that moonface thing going these days...

Ok, besides my views on the actors (and Jimmy Fallon? Must I have to see him in another picture? I know he's the consumate scenester, but...), the film was well-done, just not marvelous. I, like many, am drawn towards flicks about this era, but there's got to be a story there that's more then just rich girl succeds then falters, and the classic tragic elements fail to hit home. The camera work, usage of diferent lenses and filmstock worked to help carry the load, and the score, whatever it was (and obviously it was not from VU and their contempraries), was damn good (the fake Velvets stuff worked, esp. in conjunction with classic Tim Harden tunes as the Dylanesque soundtrack, it all kept you in the film without them resorting to cinematic classics of the day like "For What it's Worth" or something. This helped to keep the film's indie-ness (for what that's worth).

Well... that's all I have to say on this subject, I've already written far more of a "review" than I intended. The film gets a solid C+ from me, a half-hearted thumb w/ a sprinkle of blow up the nose (as opposed to one up the ass). The premiere
afterparty, on the other hand, sucked my fucking harmonica. The P/R motherfuckers (bespectacled girl, you know who you are) running the event had the gaul to have the party at the Chelsea Hotel, but not at the Chelsea Hotel, for one. Plus, they segregated the regular folks with passes from the cast in 2 separate bars attached to the hotel, which made those who showed up late in the post-film eve feel like all those un-hipsters who couldn't get into the Factory back in the 60's I'm sure, and thus thought Warhol to be one big pretentious a-hole. This led me to believe upon heading home that the the film's legacy will be one of "we don't quite know what we were trying to say other then the 60's were pretentious". Dylan's sueing them, as you know, Edie comes off like a trust funded drug addicted slut, and Andy, despite all the dirt spread on him, comes off (b/c of Pierce) like the enigma he still is, give him or take him. "Factory Girl" is the right name then for Edie Sedgewick and this film, but I'm not sure selling a movie about a plastic babe is gonna fly these days past NYC and Hollywood. That lifestyle sure did look fun back then, and decadence could fight Dylan-essence and probably even win these days too, but both Warhol and Dylan were breaking ground then, while neither seems esp. relevant right now (nor does a spoiled whining brat with a penchant for exorbitance and tantrums for that matter). Edie Sedgewick was def. a notch above Paris Hilton b/c of her
victim qualities (not to mention ability to actually speak), and Dylan and Warhol miles above their present incarnations, whoever they are, but all this NY '60s folly onscreen now seems pretty dated and meaningless. We've buried it already, the Factory on 14th is like a Whole Foods or something now, and so we fantasize about it (on film, and by having premiere afterparties with exclusive lists where Patrick McMullan, photog to the Stars cannot even get people in)...

Ok, so my above diatribe was more like a series of lame Warhol prints that added up to nothing then a real, honest-to-goodness in-depth review. Do I care...? No, I just mirrored a convoluted film with some jibber jabber about it. What I am more concerned about at this hour is that I had 666 myspace friends for a shining moment and no one wrote to congratulate me. Because of this, I had to say more than just a few words about something, hence you go, (Factory) girl.

It was cold as dick outside 2nite, huh?

"her wild ways mended"... what a tool

She's sitting on a floor cross-legged, dressed like a new recruit of some hippy cult, holding a big ol' flower (in place of a str8 male model's cock or 5th of Jack Daniels most likely). "She" is Miss Usa Tara Conner, who terminated her supposed hard-partying ways and just completed rehab... What a crock. I read about this today in the same paper that mentions Brian Jones (a real candidate for rehab back in the day) looking all "haunted, wary" in The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll and Roll Circus (reviewed b/c it's airing on the tube tonight, Sunday). The Beauty Queen slut in question claims she's "a completely different person" now. So, she's been transformed from Wendy O. Williams to a snow white Vanessa Williams you say? I guess that means she won't be winning any more contests (or friends for that matter)... what a bore. Vanessa didn't come as clean as this milk toast mama though, did she? Cause the nausea just keeps flowing, as she explains ad-gag what she was like before she was saved, or, before she took the new tried-and-true rehab approach to saving her career. Let's face it, P/R people are the (don't get) high (anymore) priests of today. Drunk babe says "before I entered rehab, I hardly knew who I was". Awwww, poor baby. You were Miss USA idiot, but beside that fact, who the hell really knows who they are at age 21? I still don't have the foggiest notion at age 40, that's probably why I'm sitting here at 1:29am on a Saturday night in the middle of the neverending Lower East Side Bar Hop Til-You-Drop fest writing shit that no one's probably ever gonna read and drinking some vino full knowing that I have to be up early Sunday to catch a train to go shoot a short film out of town
(semi-ironically, I'm playing a religion's prof who starts offing people, not that I'm gonna go and do that but... well, there's some irony in there somewhere, somehow, I just can't put my finger on it right now b/c that finger and another one are tickling the keyboard 2 finger-style as I speak).

Back to Tara Conner and her tale of woe: apparently, little Miss Makers' Mark told People Magazine (of all people!) that she had tried drugs and had her first encounter with the sauce at age 14... what a little booze bag crack ho! Hell, I had a fake I.D. at 14 and was hitchhiking to score weed and buying beer for the High School football team soonafter (I'd tell 'em that a case of Schaeffer cost more then it did... heh heh heh, what a little scoundrel I was... now if I could only figure out a way to make money grow now like I did then... I suppose I could buy beer again for underage ki... nah). Well, she (Miss USA) is better now, after probably giving The Donald a blowjob for a second chance and agreeing to go to rehab so that she can continue her career path towards feature films and Entertainment Tonight hosting. She's emerged saying "I suffer from the disease of alcoholism and addiction"... her nose just hasn't turned red and bulbous yet I guess, or maybe she snuck a lil' nosejob in there at her lil' Beverly Hills retreat (or wherever her cush rehab was) while we were not looking. She spent a whopping 31 days there, including Christmas and NYE... let me tell you, what a sacrifice she has made for her sex life, let alone her career! She has now "learned the tools to live a clean and sober life of recovery" she says, sounding like a robot in West World, "from rehab, I gain sobriety". What a tool. The paper did not mention, however, that her next sentence was "so let's party be-ahtches!"... well, probably not, but now that her "wild ways" have been "mended" she is supposed to spread 'em in Playboy, let's see her get through that w/out a line or 2 from the photog.

So, now that I've attempted to tear Tara a new tush, let me tell you why I decided to write about this rehab stuff. Well, not only did I have nothing else to write about tonight, but also, you may have read recently that this rehab shit has been getting way out of hand. That dude from that TV show -Yada Yada Washington or whatever his name is- just announced he was going to rehab for calling a cast member a fag, and there have been a plethara of other examples of famous types giving themselves up to stints of rehab after one public faux-pas or sloppy night on the town too. It's just a matter of time before Brittney will enter rehab again so she can rid herself of her nasty habit of showing the world her vagina. Apparently, Mel Gibson and the like can now just pay to have their blood cleaned and name cleared and we're supposed to turn the page, just like that. I guess there's a Kramer disclaimer though, as gay bashing and anti-semitism are ok while racist talk towards African Americans by fading has-been comedians is not, but the point is is that all this rehab shite is just an obvious attempt by publicity spinners to make rich fuck-ups seem contrite as quickly as possible so that they can resume making hordes of cash for them and their possees. Man, if I screw up, I have to deal with it, myself. Is George Bush next I ask you (yeah yeah yeah, I know I said I wouldn't mention his name again for a while)? How convenient would it be for him if he could just hold a press conference and say "I suffer from delusions of grandeur. I'm a dictator and I senselessly sent over 3,000 American kids to their deaths, not to mention murdered innocent Iraqi men, women and children for oil and the love of Big Daddy". We know he was (still is?) a coke head. Miss USA, meet Mr. USA.

That's it. I need a drink... outside. You can find me at Revolver playing Russian Vodka roulette.

For "I am the decision-maker"

I think not bucko. Radioshack already holds that mantle, and I'm breaking out my trusty Exec D (as seen in the film "Together" and the TV pilot "Battle of the Band" thus far) to prove it. Besides, I thought you were "the decider"? (see April 18th, 2006 Mr. Forgetful, coo coo ca choob)...

Heading out, just wanted to throw in that lil' addendum to my last post. I promise: unless Butch (or is he Sundense and Cheney the former?... who cares) says something else stupid in the following 24hrs, my next post will be not of the Politically Unsaturated variety (I may have to rethink that name for these segments, as I have saturated you quite with this kind of post of late).

It's blistering cold outside, yet I'll brace it cuz I need to drink socially, g'night Blog Boy.

Bush's State of Illusion Address

Ok, so before you gun me down for the accompanying pic you see here -and no, that's not Nancy Pelosi or Hillary Clinton- let me tell you its origin. The image is one I photoshopped over 2 years ago for a band poster for my then band, Rollo. It was shot down by former bandmates, but that's another matter (as they will have their day of reckonning in "Snot" soon enough, damn you bet). I came accross the file just after that State of Illusion Address tonight and thought it funny as ass, and a graphic that could perhaps finally see the light of day (and appropriately, after years of darkness from this neverending Iraq war). Personally, as those who know me know, I've also never been scared to display any outward disgust for things I dislike (like the George Bush thing, for example), and what have I got to lose that I haven't already by posting the pic? This administration has mightily contributed to making my life worse as is (higher rent, extra job and health care anxiety, a nonsensical audit by government tax blood hounds, etc.), and as Sen. Jim Webb (of the "Democrat Party", as Bush so obviously, deridingly referred to his Stateside enemies) put it, Bush "took us into this war recklessly" and "we are now, as a nation, held hostage to the predictable -and predicted- disarray that has followed", so we're all pretty much fucked already...

So, bird flipped, now let me flip the page and talk about that scripted camelshit you heard tonight. I for one am flabbergasted that anyone viewing the Prez dispenser this eve could say that he came accross "strong", or "at ease", puh-lease! Again this manchild offered no plan, instead making his head case by saying that "failure would be grievous and far-reaching" if we do not deploy more troops. What does all that mean anymore? Haven't we already failed? I mean good grief! Is he saying that by dragging this quagmire out longer and killing even more people that we will be looked upon any less worse than we already are by the rest of the world (incl. Iran and other potential foes)? Seriously, what does it take to boot this poor excuse of a Texan out of his job? As Sean Penn so eloquently put it recently, and I paraphrase, if we can impeach Bubba for a hummer, "yet accept these almost- certain abuses (by the Bush administration) without challenge, we become a cum stain on the flag we wave". Sen. Webb seemed to be the only guy with gonads enough to step up to King George tonight, saying "the War's costs to our nation have been staggering. Financially, the damage to our reputation around the world, the lost opportunities... and especially the precious blood of our citizens". As for Dem(ocratic) other bums in attendance tonight, how phony did all the bipartisan stroking seem when applause broke out each time Bush raced through other policy issues (like healthcare for instance), spitting out one-second slogans that meant absolutely nothing? Slogans yo, that's all they were. Apparently though, Democrats "will continue to hold him accountable". Oh, thank God for that, hallaluyah! They've done such a damn good job of showing that dude who's boss so far, haven't they?! What does that statement add up to when Bush seems to continue to have his way with everybody, much like a rich Ivy league brat in the movies might have his way with a towny whore? This President's latest skewed pleas for sacrifice conjure up images for me of him as a lil' smarmy pecker cheating his way through college off the backs of hard working students and buying his way into the national guard during wartime. It's one thing to be a cheerleader, but another thing to be a leader. The only thing Bush seems to be able to lead is us into ruin, and the only thing he seems to want to sacrifice is the truth. Tonight was just another reminder of that in this bloggers opinion.

What a sham of a mockery these State of the Union Addresses are. It's kinda like knowing you have a terminal illness but not being able to afford to do anything about it I think. I see this "show", his mouth moves, they applaud, he says something all down homey-like, and they lap it up all nicey nice and gufaw, and then the press corps disect the whole damn thing he said-she said-style til they're blue in their red faces, and nothing fucking gets done. Now you see it (the address), now you don't (get any answers). Ok, so there's gonna be bisexuality, or bipartisanship, and the new speaker's a woman and both of the NFL coaches in the Super Bowl are Black for the first time, whoop de doo. Call me a pessimist, a spoil sport, sad sack, bitter, what have you, and say the finger is no adequate response, but what else can I do? Hot damn, I like seeing change, but I'd like to see real change, on more than the level of this girl got that seat and that bro got that job. I'm sure I'm not the only person who's tired of having to count his change always. That's something that a good-faith government that doesn't repress, spy and rape their people (and other peoples people) you'd think could help out with. The facts are that we are counting on these schmucks and schmuckettes to make change, make the world a better place for you and me, not a worse one. I'm no "big Government liberal" in saying that. They're fucking in charge! Remember the ol' trickle down theory? Well trickle that down Bonzo. The trickling just doesn't work with corporate money, that we know, but I for one never thought that my government officers were to be like C.E.O's anyway, y'know (maybe mini MIke Bloomberg can be both -or pretend to be both- but could you imagine the Donald running our country? I mean, I'd love to see that big fat oaf tell Dubyah he's fired, but...). Conservatives saying "you've got to help yourself" doesn't mean shit when you've got nothing to help yourself with. Barefoot and pregnant aint to far from the truth of their philosopy in a nutshell... Anyway, don't want to go there (at least not now), so back to what I was saying about Government trickling: like a parent teaching his/her kid the right way, and that kid teaching his/her kid, and so on, they have the power, and it'd be nice to see it do some good that I can see. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's tired of all the invisible "growth" this administration talks about. Seems to me like when a show's bad, it should be canceled, and that show tonight was just another episode in a series with historically low ratings. The problem is, we can't seem to change the channel. I ask you: has Bush's State of Illusion become one of those reality shows that we as a nation are addicted to? I say fuck that, but if it is, then vote him off already, cuz we plain aint survivin', and I can't bare to watch anymore.

*(By the way, I wrote this entire blog better earlier, but the bloody internet crashed and I lost the whole damn thing. That bummed me out, to say the least, as my word play was at the top of its little game, but I was determined to write this shit again. Needless to say, it was tough trying to remember all the ins and outs from the 1st time my thoughts boarded the train, so if this entry seems a bit jumbled, half-assed or whatever, well, that's the reason. If you don't accept that and never want to read another word I write, well... then I raise a finger to you ;) -RM

BLACK EYE ADVISORY FOR THURSDAY, JANUARY 25th

THE ANNUAL HOOTERS SWIMSUIT CALENDAR TURNS 21 Can you believe it? Man oh mammary, how time flies! Now I'm not going, y'understand? Why, cuz I can't break my streak of never having attended, now can I? But, I urge y'all to attend. Personally, I'd rather wait for the 1st annual "skeeter bites" calender celebration... Anyways, below is the info for those of you who want to go, should be a hoot if nothing else.

CELEBRATION & SIGNING AT MANHATTAN HOOTERS (Where will they be signing? Or will they let you sign them? Hmmm? I wonder)
MEET THE 2007 SWIMSUIT CALENDAR GIRLS IN PERSON
WHEN: Thursday, January 25th
12 Noon-1:30pm & 5:30-7:30pm
WHERE: HOOTERS RESTAURANT
211 West 56th Street (Between Seventh & Broadway
(212) 581-5656
WHAT: The 2007 HOOTERS CALENDAR
GIRLS were selected from over 17,000 Hooters Girls
Worldwide. They will sign their calendars and pose
for photos. This annual event is a celebration of one
of pop cultures favorite icons: the Hooter Girls. For
retail info and press info please visit
http://www.hooterscalendar.com/

So, I thought that this was the perfect event to announce a new feature that you'll be seeing here at "Snot", that being heads-up notices of events, premieres and so forth and so on, fer free. Now, I can't tell all, but I promise there will be some juicy insider knowledge found here, and I'll also be spilling some 1st hand gossip and insight from in-the-know events I've personally been at this past year (when I was not blogging of course), as well as ones I plan on crashing... er, attending.

Lastly, in case you were wondering, the above pic I found in the trash when I worked at Topps Bubble Gum once upon a time in there old Brooklyn factory. Nuff said.

Der Bears and Perez Hilton made me do this

I just had to write again after being told point blank that I'm essentially nobody unless I read Perez Hilton these days. It was agreed upon in said conversation that there is most def. a place in society for a non-smiling, non-gay version of his holy dyed-red hairness' awareness of goings on and such. Fuck. I was already doing him (not physically) with "Snot", and more. So, it's time to dust off and reenter those time dishonored Succinct Celebrity Reviews, Liver Sports and (newly coined) Politically Unsaturated musings once again that continue to keep me from getting a good night's sleep every night. What's taken me so long, you ask? Well... I wish I could say that it was b/c I worked round the clock for a year trying to
figure out how to post pictures on here, and so I just plain gave up, but that's only 90% of the case. In actual fact, I've meant to blog my system dry hordes of times (since the last time I penned a damn thing here 13 months ago), but I've just been plain busy trying to make a Goddamn living, and bottling it all up until I've (on more than one occasion) almost gotten myself killed an' shit. Where to start? Well, this here is a new start, comprendo? The next few testicle moanials found here will be melanges of stuff I'm thinking about now and incidents, etc. that have happened to me, upon me, plagued me, played me etc. over the past 13 months. I've got to sleep now though b/c I (obviously) have nothing to say of any real importance this eve. I'll merely leave you first with kudos to Rex Grossman and the Bears, and to the Colts, for slugging it out in grand fashion against the Pats earlier today in their respective NFL championship games. Yeah, I lived in Mass and raised a beer to the Brady bunch a few years ago, but I think it's fitting that we not play anymore Patriot games and trump any such notion of patriotism right now anyway, so bravo lil' Colts and Simpleton Manning for running over 'em. As for the Bears, hey, though I have mixed feelings on Chicago as a place to do anything except hunt Abacrombie and Fitch wearing zombies, I did live there, like the Cubbies and have been likened to a papa bear myself more than once in my life. They've also been seen as underdogs (underbears?) all year, even though they shot outa the gate like damn Colts, so more power to 'em. Also, being a Grossman myself, well... daddy please don't stop, it wasn't his fault, he means so much to you, so run Jewey run! (I'm half Jewish, so if you take offense to anything I just said, go fuck yourself. Take it out on Nazi Mel,
a heluva filmmaker but an obvious creepo, and if Jamie Foxx can say the N word, then I can certainly goof on my own tribe)... Did I mention I was going to bed? Well, I will, but first, we welcome back Rollo Manhattan, so look out hollow Hilton, cuz I'm a coming for you. Hell, I'll bang Paris and make you wish you'd a holed up for good in Park City, cuz this is my city again, y'hear? An it's rock n' roll it was built on, not the other version (heh heh) remember? If you need further insistance, stay tuned. This is going to be fun...