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...

Liver Sport Retort... Hollidazed and abused

Johnny Damon is a phony turn-coat, trader Benedict Arnold "self proclaimed idiot" prick who's no longer Samson but De Liar. Yeah, the Bosox are an utter mess right now, lacking 3 key field positions (possibly soon a 4th), a leadoff batter and a GM, but you don't just become a Yankee like that, not if you have any class, or give a shit about the fans that made you the rockstar you think you are... shame. Heros=zero$, free agents are really secret agents, and agents, we all know, are really scum. Symbolic though of the way the general public is ignored, abused and left without faith by our government. We've got an out of touch Richy Rich hypocrite Mayor and a spying unrepentant Prez with blood on his hands and a mixture of oil and coke clogging the few synapses he has left and... oh, too hell with it. All the best to all of US with money to burn, money to wave and flags to wave. Money and the flag are synonomous, right, so why don't we burn them flags again then? Such a symbol hardly means what it used to, now it's about tipping ones cap 'n chewing the fat of tobacco while we shop 'till we drop, spend spend spend on our new ephemeral lil' gadets that are supposed to make us more in touch but are actually designed to keep us from interacting anyway. Goodwill to all men (designer duds at a smidgeon of the price can be gotten there). Really though, I love this time of year, drinking with the family, showing each other how much we mean to each other by spending money on gifts for one another... I do it. I also dig the nonsense holiday called New Year, when everyone gets so sloshed, champagnes a pop and pants a drop... let's all try and make our New Year's resolution be that we kick King George the bomber outa office, trounce NY's King George and his bombers on the unequal baseball playing field, and that the gloom n' doom of reality hits lil' Mikey Bloomberg finally, so that he reaches into his own pocket for things other than his dishonest campaign spending... and that we all get laid a heluva lot by those we really want to bed, those who need money get money and those who have too much of it stop sitting on it. All it's gonna do is give ya a fat ass anyway, so rock and unload... So long Johnny, we apparently hardly knew ya. You can take your cash flow an' run to first you leadoff jerkoff, but your integrity was cashed in when you shed your loyalty and flowing locks... still, I love New York (the city, not the team), born here, forlorn here, torn here an' can't wait 'til next year

Peyote Coyote says "Leave the Driving to Us"

That's actually the name of one of my songs with my new band PERMISSION, which is playing it's inaugural gig this Wed. night, 10/26 @ 10pm @ The Delancey Bar's "Death Disco". Peyote Coyote (not Peter Coyote)...well you'll just have to read on. For more about PERMISSION, and the gig (which is f**kin' free), you can check us out on myspace at www.myspace.com/permissionyc... Anyway, it's 2am Monday to Tuesday, I'm exhausted and I'm writing something here for the first time in over a month. Yet again I've failed to live up to my promise here to write more regularly. It's not like I have the time, but then again it just aint easy to throw down a few notes and jots with blogger.com. Everytime I log onto here it tells me I've lost my cookies or some shit, and then past posts revert to earlier stages whether I like it or not. The good ol' frayed journal I use to draw pix in the margins of paste lil' scraps o' newspaper articles in never had the convoluted problems I've encountered here. Furthermore, this past month saw my page get ransacked daily by spam. I continuosly get these "comments" from "anomimous", "useranonimos" and "musica"(?) saying "wow, great blog. You should check out this new ultimate hair removal product I have" or some shit. What have they got to gain from leaving a comment here? Spyware and adware is seriously pissing me off. I already lost a computer to that crap (but gained a band name) a couple of months back (long story)... Speaking of long stories, I have many of 'em to spill from the last almost 2 months but can't possibly recount them all now. This particular posting is going to seem all over the place b/c of that... who cares though, right? I'm writing at least, and your glims are reading something new here finally. I've got all these scraps o'paper from the past 7.1378 weeks with tidbits of shits that add up to a whole helluva lot garbanzo beans, and at first I thought I'd excavate them here. However, I read them and now think them to be the meanderings of an idiot dying to leave town. Most of these musings were written before Ieft town in fact-I went to a wedding in New Mexico mid-September that saw me have my first spirtual experience combined with some good ol' late night hot spring skinny dipping. A strange trip indeed that was all kinds of upside down n' backwards forwards with things leading to the next that led to another thing which led to yet another and so on. This seems to be the way things have been much more of late then ever. From thinking that finally Bush will come to shove and Dickless and the G Boys will be run outa town on a rail. From the Delay indictment to the 2005 dead Americans in Iraq the end may finally be in site for this present nightmare administration. Why did we have to have them there in the first place you ask (or don't ask)? Well, this seems to be the way things are going these days-we gotta take a trip through hell to see a little help. In New Mexico it seemed like everything came full circle. Girls met in Goodwill followed us around the State and ended up doing peyote at a campfire with us and a stoned spiritual hot spring couple that knew the girl who got married-met her after she went back home when her mom passed after she was supposed to be my roomate and then showed up at a party thrown for someone who didn't come when I met her as the subway doors closed but she met her future husband there and yada yada yada. Confused? Well... yeah. It was a fantastic trip, and now it seems like everything chas some sorta reason for happenin'... though i have no idea why (obviously)... Now I told you this was gonna be a sloppy blog... Ok, what else. The White Sox are the New Red Sox. Love it. A bunch of misfits in this 1917 vs. never ever been series. The Astros'll be back, but this one belongs to the Chisox. The cubs are next... That was my liver sport report. I'm done in from a year of Red Sox glory. they folded, yeah, but to a superior team, and not the Yanks. Once the Bombers bombed too, I was free and clear from any feeligns of Sox withdrawal. the White Sox were the obvious team to root for, and my having lived in Chi for a couple years made it easy. That and the fact that Fisk played there. I also love their whole disco demolition, short wearing, midget walking, martian dropping history. Hell, I wear Black Sox all the time... ok, enough Liver Sports, I know. Don't get me started.... What else... I met a girl last week that was A-1. Been a while, and though she's outa town and has a bf, I fell for someone again for like the first time since the Ice Age... she exists. Ok, I can get laid with the best of 'em, but this was real yo... Boring, I know, I can hear you yawn. I'm yawning too at my non-clever entry here, but maybe that's the future of "Snot"-less smug wordplay and more honest journalizing. Ok, sexploits will be kept at a minimum, but I'm kinda tired writing about stupid-ass celebrites in succinct reviews that are all they're worth, and gov't corruption without interruption. Maybe this spiritual experience I had-and then getting woken up freezing by coyotes without any false notions about getting lost on the way to shangrila with manipulative young New Hampshire beauties named Nico who lock their keys in their hearts and cars-has lasted with me past the first horrific subway wait and ride I had upon return to Gotham. I have a band now that is made up of genuine cool, good people-not the foursome of cockrock creeps named Joe, Brian, Hubert and Jon that wasted my time the past few years. I also am in the midst of filming another lead in a feature-just a couple months after the last one, and it's another sympathetic everyman part that would go to an A-lister if the money was all there. Shit is good. Broke? Yes. Behind on rent? Yes. Girl I dig in Scandanavia and not in the Loisaida? Yes, but I'm likin' my chances. Maybe you can get snot off a suede jacket afterall. Oh Lenny, put down that baby rabbit, don't do yourself in buddy. I'm as jaded as the rest of 'em, but I aint gonna get all wound up and wind up dead from too many Nipsey Russels and things to do myself in with Bob Denver. "Do the do" is what my dear deceased friend Diane used to always say, and I think the the is important-don't wanna go the way of the dodo now do I? Diane, I miss you darling. You inspired me beyond belief, and I will not let you down... And Rock.

"I'm kinda hangin' loose"-Bush... ok, but shouldn't this guy be hangin' on a noose by now? You be the judge...

Hi people,

I'm usually not one to pass on these forwards I get, but our Government (or lack thereof) has really gone too far (or too short) with this Hurricane Katrina thing. If you've been to N'Orleans as I have, you know what a jewel within these United (Red) States it is, but it seems like the obvious place for Bush to ignore in times of need. The place descended into anarchy yesterday with looting, rioting, dead bodies strewn along the streets, babies in gutters, rapes in the open, and law enforcement turning in their badges saying "go to hell-it's every man for himself". One man put it best by saying "I don't treat my dog like (this), you (Bush) can do everything for other countries, but you can't do nothing for your own people. You can go overseas with the military, but you can't get them down here."

Isn't this the logical result of the last 2 elections, a bulls__t war (that Bush has now stated a brand new reason for continuing) and a lame response to the Tsunami a year ago? It's a national disgrace, that's what it is, so when is enough enough? If the GOP can drive Clinton out of office (and now Bush asks him to lead the relief effort with Bubba's buddy daddy Bush Sr.-another story alltogether) for getting his knob slobbed-on, where are the calls for Bush's impeachment for blowing off his own people? The economy is (hush hush) slipping once again into recession (did it ever slip out of it?), gas prices are 3 times what they were a few years ago, and PEOPLE ARE DYING.

I saw a manaquin upside-down in a trash can the other day here in NYC, and nearbye was a guy sleeping inside an empty trash can (that was on its side)... is it good that people just walk on by these days when they see such obvious symbols of our country in shambles...? "Oh, it's his fault that he (the can man) is in such a bad way" one might say, well I suppose then it's the manaquin's fault too...? Same difference?

Ok, back to New Orleans and the stat(utory rap)e of our nation. One seafood merchant there summed it up best when he said "Give us some vehicles and we'll get ourselves out of here". Bush wants us to do things ourselves without government involvement, right? Well, suffice to say, this seems like a prime example where he's dead wrong. I'm gonna go out on a limb here, but historically, revolutions have needed the rich to gather the grumbling and crumbling masses to proceed (as the poor are working too damn hard and just plain don't have the necessary resources), so if our government can't help our own people, and we can't turn a corrupt and inept government out apparently, why don't the rich amongst us show Bush how to lead, and start by aiding thy neighbor in New Orleans... Answer me that.

... I wasn't planning on writing all of the above, but it's been a bunch o' months since I threw such thoughts into anything but songs. Perhaps I'll start up my blog again... (If you liked my riotous rant above, please feel free to check out some old bloggings of mine at www.rollomanhattan.blogspot.com. I get like 200 hits a week there somehow without doing a damn thing, so maybe I'm onto something, I dunno, maybe not. In any case, read Michael Moore's letter below, and pass it along if you agree with it. Go ahead and pass along my extended blurb as well if you think it'll help the desparate situation our country is in.

Stay cool,
Alex Emanuel (aka Rollo Manhattan)


Dear Mr. Bush:

Any idea where all our helicopters are? It's Day 5 of Hurricane Katrina and thousands remain stranded in New Orleans and need to be airlifted. Where on earth could you have misplaced all our military choppers? Do you need help finding them? I once lost my car in a Sears parking lot. Man, was that a drag.

Also, any idea where all our national guard soldiers are? We could really use them right now for the type of thing they signed up to do like helping with national disasters. How come they weren't there to begin with?

Last Thursday I was in south Florida and sat outside while the eye of Hurricane Katrina passed over my head. It was only a Category 1 then but it was pretty nasty. Eleven people died and, as of today, there were still homes without power. That night the weatherman said this storm was on its way to New Orleans. That was Thursday! Did anybody tell you? I know you didn't want to interrupt your vacation and I know how you don't like to get bad news. Plus, you had fundraisers to go to and mothers of dead soldiers to ignore and smear. You sure showed her!

I especially like how, the day after the hurricane, instead of flying to Louisiana, you flew to San Diego to party with your business peeps. Don't let people criticize you for this -- after all, the hurricane was over and what the heck could you do, put your finger in the dike?

And don't listen to those who, in the coming days, will reveal how you specifically reduced the Army Corps of Engineers' budget for New Orleans this summer for the third year in a row. You just tell them that even if you hadn't cut the money to fix those levees, there weren't going to be any Army engineers to fix them anyway because you had a much more important construction job for them -- BUILDING DEMOCRACY IN IRAQ!

On Day 3, when you finally left your vacation home, I have to say I was moved by how you had your Air Force One pilot descend from the clouds as you flew over New Orleans so you could catch a quick look of the disaster. Hey, I know you couldn't stop and grab a bullhorn and stand on some rubble and act like a commander in chief. Been there done that.

There will be those who will try to politicize this tragedy and try to use it against you. Just have your people keep pointing that out. Respond to nothing. Even those pesky scientists who predicted this would happen because the water in the Gulf of Mexico is getting hotter and hotter making a storm like this inevitable. Ignore them and all their global warming Chicken Littles. There is nothing unusual about a hurricane that was so wide it would be like having one F-4 tornado that stretched from New York to Cleveland.

No, Mr. Bush, you just stay the course. It's not your fault that 30 percent of New Orleans lives in poverty or that tens of thousands had no transportation to get out of town. C'mon, they're black! I mean, it's not like this happened to Kennebunkport. Can you imagine leaving white people on their roofs for five days? Don't make me laugh! Race has nothing -- NOTHING -- to do with this!

You hang in there, Mr. Bush. Just try to find a few of our Army helicopters and send them there. Pretend the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are near Tikrit.

Yours,

Michael Moore
MMFlint@aol.com
www.MichaelMoore.com

P.S. That annoying mother, Cindy Sheehan, is no longer at your ranch. She and dozens of other relatives of the Iraqi War dead are now driving across the country, stopping in many cities along the way. Maybe you can catch up with them before they get to DC on September 21st.

Don't cry for me Paula Abdul... ever, ok? (you leather-faced ex-Laker girl you)

I actually talked a few times on the phone with a chick who's cousin was (is) that pathetic teeny bopper-metal ex-Am Idol Constantine (insert Greek last name here). She and I never have met, but when we were about to arrange to meet for the first time on the horn her cuz was getting to some orange alert Am Idol level or something. We didn't speak again, and then I fortuitously turned the tube on a couple weeks back at the precise moment that he was getting booted. I thought the whole spectacle terribly sad to behold, and so I called her to express my condolences. We spoke for a bit-or rather she spoke at length and told me all about her and her families near brush fire with fame and fortune hunting. The next day she called me back just to make sure that I wasn't working for a tabloid... I laughed.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Below is an example of how Craigslist Ads for actors have gone too far. However, this is what actors have to wade through to find shit these days if they aren't rep'd by a top tier agent:
2005-05-16, 9:15AM EDT

"I'm shooting my senior thesis film and one of my lead characters needs to be a hermaphrodite. I'm looking for a mostly feminine looking person with a vagina and something that can be approximated as a penis. My thesis is not porn, but it includes hardcore sex. I also need a male actor who is comfortable doing a sex scene with a hermy. Compensation: meal"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

...still getting emails for Kerry (as in John) meetups. What a joke. We lost, he's finished, kaput. I met him and am sad to say that, but it's true. He got a "Swift" kick in the crotch which he never got up from, and we're getting screwed now b/c the rest of our country couldn't tell a man from an ape.... anyway, this just came in the inbox today. Pathetic... what, do they want to lose the next election too? After the organizer of these so-called meetups appealed for money (ala paypal) from meet-uppers to keep going, there came a retraction soonafter (written in some weird GWBush-esque double speak too... is Casey one of us, or one of them? Or... a feriner 2 boot... ah betchya he is, string 'im up Karl...):

"Your organizer, Casey, sent the following message to the members of NYC Democrats: Everyone who sent funds, those funds were returned, it was just a screening process and I was going to return everyone's funds anyway, yet I get yelled at and a lot of people leave. You're welcome." ?????????????????????????????

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Gettin' tired as fuck. I caterwaited 2night fer more rich folks at some Whitney thing (they do have interestin' art there, stuff that'd make Big Giuli mad fer sure) and left exhausted of brain and body. I've got a wheel barrel fulla witty anecdotes (promises promises) and tantalizing snippets of nothingness that are zinging through my ever popping whateveryoumacallits, but they'll have to wait. I tell you, I'd write more often if every time I logged onto this thing I didn't have to make sure certain past entries don't revert to earlier prehistoric states (if you know what i'm talking about here and can provide an answer to this I'll buy you a drink). So.. here's the last bit-o-honey for y'all until next time, and it's a Liver Sport retort (you know me too well... as I can't openly talk about my sex life on here, and I've alredy bitter honey'd you 2 death 2night, what's left but some lil' blurb about the great American past-time, idol chit chat to call it that: Mike Cameron... love this guy. I was a defacto Mets fan as a kid (Dad's fam were Bk Dodger fans until they swore off Baseball when O'Malley took the money and ran), so (except for '85 and Pedro), I get a thrill when they do ok. Cammy is fun. He came back recently from an injury and reentered Right Field at the right time as Rookie phenom Victor Diaz was losing his Manny Ramirez-ness. He immediately started hitting, and 8 games later is still on fire. The Yanks (of course), Padres, Angels, Orioles and Astros all want him, but his response to questions about that is: "that's what them dudes in suits do over there." Yes, it's a beautiful world we live in.

I'd rather be a camel driver in Morocco then a swine herder in Castillo

Don't ask...

ok, little time to write, but backed up like a mofo. Getting my new band together (yet again), hoping I don't fall into the same trap of trusting ass holes. Band divorces as you know, are fucking hell, and don't give me that "there's been no fluids exchanged crap", money changes hands w/in bands quicker then with any signif other, and we do share mics in the rehersal room...

Not what I wanted to talk about here. Nor do I want to spend much time on a liver sport report. The Yanx are celler dweelers and I don't care that the Sawx are in 2nd b/c... the Yanx are celler dwellers. Here's a quote though from the always quotable Dave "Big Papi" Ortiz-glad he's comin' around and not dwelling on Petey Martinez's unsavory exit from the AL anymore-this came during a turning point game for Boston recently after he drove in Trotsky Nixon: "I was just praying to get a hit man. I haven't got a hit in a long time, it's been tough up there man. My part of the game is hitting, if I don't hit it's like I'm just stealing money"... I'm happy that I minly stick to baseball as a fan. No matter what kind of roid barry Bonds muscles into his butt cheet or gamma radiated flaxseed cream that he rubson his coctail peanut sized scrotum the wrong way, the sport doesn't have a Shaq to contend with. The puny human Nets stood no chance in hell against the Miami monster. they were so frightenend in their air jordans that when Shaqzilla wasn't clobberin' and Wade had been stayed they were still Vince-able... poor Carter. Makes you think that had Shaq been on the attack when his Airness was rulin' the court that the Bulls might not have won as much as they did. O'Neal, cross-eyed monster or not, is well-deserved of being right up there with Wilt Chamberlin as the 2 greatest big men of all time, hands down. Jordan had those rare air leadership qualities, no doubt, combined w/ a tendancy for 50 pt. playoff games, but intimidation's a factor in Basketball more than any other sport. You got 5 guys to hold 'em, not 9...

I really have to split now, but will leave you with some Succinct Celebrity Reviews from my first-hand viewing as a F**king server at the Chanel Costume Ball last week at the Met:

Marylyn Manson-will make a smoothe transision to circus clown

P Diddy-has his bodyguard go to the john with him

Russel Simmons-take the baseball cap off, you're wearing a tux

Linda Evangelista-gorgeous hawk lady

Richard Gere-sports same squinty-eyed hamster look as ever, white hair or not

Andree 3000-def. regretted wearing the same outfit as us waiters (though we didn't have a yarmulka on.. what was with that?) Nice (short) guy though.

Mary Kate and Ashley Olson- didn't eat (surprise surprise), but neither did Jake Gylenhall (who was larger then those two flyin' monkey lookin' chicks put together)

Vanessa Paradise-looks like a junkie, or at least like she was a junkie

Karl Lagerfield-lose the silver gloves gramps

Naomi Watts-poor woman's Nicole Kidman

Kevin Costner-I got him 2 glasses of milk

Lauren Bush-plain and lovin' tevery minute of fame she shouldn't have

Jimmy Fallon-ditto, but sorta funny at least (not so sure about that actually, what's funny is that he actually is considered to be a romantic lead in a film? Who's runnin' this show?)


More to come...

liar liar funeral pyre?

Yeah, ok, so shoot me. I'm a baaaaaddd baaaaaddd blogger. Time has been flyin' like the seat of my pants on fire through this life and finding the time to sit here with you and recount the days past has been harder then recounting past elections. What better time to address the masses again then today though, Tuesday, the day Her Cardinal Rat Fink (real name "J. Wellington Wimpy" Ratzinger) became Benedict Ahh-nold the somethingth, our new Pope. Hell, "I'd rather pay you Tuesday for a Hamburger today" anyway (???). Now, mind you, I have written some blog entries here and there since last we (or I) spoke, but they were mini-blogs over at my myspace page. Most of them have been about the downfall of the last incarnation of my band Rollo, and not about the downfall of civilization as we know it. This one today is only partly about that as well, and the in-coronation of our new Papal leader. I did post a lil' blurb (hardly a blog, a blurg even, and definitely not a blob) a couple weeks past about John Paul though (not of George and Ringo fame, but more famous perhaps). His death was surely bigger then Lennon's, and maybe even Lenin's, and though he never declared himself to be bigger then a Beatle, the pope and cirumstance that followed his passing has been like no other death in my lifetime. Lennon's was huge, and rightly so, as he was super-talented and taken in his prime. Lenin created a whole new political ideology, but the Pope... well, not sure what he did, but I'm sure he did more then the Fed Ex Pope on Conan. He made people feel better, plus, he once went dog sledding in Alaska, led by mutts "Satan" and "the Devil" (true story). His demise, however, ironically coincided with the death of Frank Perdue, the Chicken "Pope" if you will (or at least a king of advertising). Here's what I had to say a few weeks back on the subject:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

R.I.P. Pope John Paul ll & Frank Perdue... both dead @ 84

each rose to prominence as the public face of their respective "companies" some 20-30 odd years ago. The tender Pontiff, who (sign-of-the) crossed the road shortly after the poultry magnet did on Friday, will be missed far more than his famous feathered contemporary though. It is unknown, however, whether JP2 actually uttered the memorable nugget "the church is the best way to sell a superior chicken"; a universal truth that has long been attributed to him (joke). All kidding aside, I grew up with Frank Perdue adams appling his way into my living room through the cluck of the tv. Not being a religious buyer, I didn't have the same opportunity to feel like I knew JP2. He had a nice looking face, and became the veritable king of the popes as far as popes come, but I have to wonder, is/was it good that we've made the popemeister into some cult icon akin to a celeb ad man for his product (religion)? May they both rest in peace (no, I'm not gonna make another dumb pun here, as you can see it comin' I'm sure...drumsticks please)

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Ok, so the Pope is gone but he's not forgotten, this is the story of a Johnny... Rotten? Well... I dunno about that, I'm not religious (not true, Rock n' Roll is my religion... yeah, it is, ok? Dig? I'd like to see you say that with a straight face like I just did). It seems to at least be the story of a Rat(zinger). How about all the hooplah and brew-ha-ha and hooey that we've made of all this though, huh? What a sad comment on our times when the changing of the Pope is like the new OJ Trial (there's your Johnny Rotten, though Cochran left the building recently for good, before he'd ever get blamed for being his satanic majesty)... Here's this old white guy with a funny chapeau ruling the front pages of the tabloids the last few weeks like he's started religion or something. Jacko, Canseco and all the other whackos shovin' stuff into little boys bodies as well as their own must be pretty psyched to have seen the old guy go, for their news was obviously not fit to print in bold letters, no matter how dispicable their news was becoming. I mean, Jacko's going down, that's becoming plain as the lack of color on his face, as numerous people have come forward to recount how his nimble gloved fingers went a walking down the pants of many a pre-pube visitor to whitey's house, Never Say Never Land. The mighty Canseco, on the other hand, went to bat and actually gained points b/c Barry Big Head Bonds and Mark the Monster McGwire started looked ever and ever more like scamps and not Home Run champs. Where is the steroid scandal in the papers now though? Up in the black smoke that rose from the Pope castle perhaps, the other day when the wizards of Rome were deliberating over their cauldron. Just goes to show you that God is hot these days, so if you're planning on doing a new reality show, you better get out the Jesus freaks and Bible thumpers, b/c they are news my friends. Shal I say that old Tammy Fay may be the new Anna Nicole? I for one thought that that black smoke thing was weird. I mean what's up with them getting all medieval on our ass like that, huh? This is the 21st Century, send up fire works or a missle or something, not soot... Anyway, enough about the Pope. There'll be more to spout on the subject I can assure you (if I can get myself to write more often... btw, thanks to all of you who've continually checked in on "...Snot" daily. You've given this here pope (dope?) hope even though there's been only old news to peruse).

Yeah, ok, so I suppose I haven't written mainly b/c I've just been so Goddamn busy, buey runnin' around like one of Dead Frankie's chickens with my head cut off mostly, just tryin' to cluckin' make a buck. This past week saw me screw up twice though, leadin' me to believe I've gotta screw my head on straight again (if it ever was), and then with all the mention of blogs today (like the "We love Ratzinger" one or some shit-there are literally thousnads of them apparently) I just couldn't resist but to write more in the bad book here. Now when I say I screwed up, as I did before, I mean that I hurt myself. Last week I almost punctured my lung with a broken rib as I slipped foolin' around on a job, and this week I stupidly carved a chunk out of my hair just off my temple b/c I wasn't paying attention while doing my sideburn cutting ritual thing. Then I went and did it again a few minutes later! I look like a freakin' labotomy victim as I write this, and if I hadn't channeled my artistic prowess and applied some acrylic paint, glue, hairspray, magic marker and cut hair scraps, I wouldn't have been able to go out in public the last couple of days. I've had some decent auditions of late though, and can't not go to a call-back just because I look like frickin' Frankenstein Perdue...

Ok, as I can write for hours, or days, or months now b/c I've neglected to for so long, I'm gonna call it a night. I want to find out how Kidd n' Carter and the Nets played and if 'n they followed through on their ass-a-whumpin' of Washington (not the Nats, though how about them, huh?!) Wizzards (yeah, it always manages to somehow come full circle... or become full-blown), and also whether Randy got tagged for another tater by the D-Rays and if the Sox broke their tie with the B-Jays. I do have lots to talk about in some choice Liver Sports reports comin' up, and I also have to give you the lowdown on my band Rollo's recent breakup (I got rid of the trash if you will and am in the midst of forming a Rollo that transcends the junkyard wars while still managing to be that cool found sound object you'd hope to stumble upon while smoking a loose joint at the land fill). I'll also tell you about my own religious experience lately (I played a church-goin' God nut in a short recently-a guy who recited passages from the bible and then dons a ski mask and breaks into houses of non-believers, complete with the blood of a sacrificial lamb... fun).

I'll leave you now with a few new succinct celebrity reviews. Should I repeat any past ones, well... sorry, I got a labotomy, remember (or was it a migdelectomy)?
-RM

Lyndsay Lohan -that smoking room slut in Jr High we all wanted to bang like there was no tomorrow

Benicio Del Tauro -hit on me. His big grey mound of hair reminded me of my Grandmothers, though she didn't have a smile like Bob Mitchum

The lead Singer from the Goo-Goo Dolls -walked unnoticed along Times Sq., with a face that would make Kevin Bacon seem like an Ivory Girl

Kevin Bacon -rode his bike unnoticed down the Hudson River Promenade, foot loose and fancy free. His hair blowin' in the wind giving Benicio a run for his money

Willem Dafoe -nice, blocky guy with a face that would make the lead singer of the Goo Goo Dolls seem like an Ivory Girl
Katie Holmes -Yo Yo ma, can I have one of her for Christmas? Damn, she purty: slender, tender, def. not a lender

Sophie Dahl -trying to give katie a run for the money in matching white dresses, she looked like a ghostly lobster. I think she's older then she's letting on, still hot, but that might be b/c she was wearing a fur inside on a warm Spring day, and then there's all that blow she's so obviously doing. Rich dad, poor dad.

David Wells -heluva nice guy, and now that he's a rock'em Red Sockem' Ruthbot I don't have to feel bad for sayin' that.

Perry Ferrel -damn, he short (but stylin', man is he stylin'). I don't usually get impressed by celebs, but he rocks.

Jack Nicholson -what can I say. I was in awe. Jack's the man. Has this Leonid Breznev thing goin' but I'd take a bear hug from him.

Liev Schreiber -asshole (I probably already had this one, but you can never call him an asshole too many times, same with Ethan Hawk).

... there's more, but I have work to do.

(Wade) Blogs...

Current mood: disappointed

are not people too, or at least mine aint. but here's my dis-claimer: sometimes things are said in the heat of the moment that don't necessarily reflect how i'm feeling on every given day of the slob for sakin' week. they also may be a composite of thoughts about different things that have been churning in my stomach or charging my spirit. if you think i've slighted you in a particular entry i've written with my keyboard shaped tongue, i urge you to take a deep knee bend and not get those panties in a wadd, as who really cares what's said in my blog anyway? seriously, this page aint no trial blazin' tabloid or reality showboatin' blah blah ganooj (well maybe it is blah blah ganooj), it's just an example of free speach baby, an' so i retain the right to be general, enigmatic, ironic, sardonic, catatonic and bitter as all hell in my spew, but please don't come to the conclusion that it's got anything to do with you .
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I started I stopped
Current mood: drained

been incinerating the candles at both ends of late rehersing this frustrating play like
a mofo, on top of Rollo and a slew o' films-haven't had time to blog fer shit you may have noticed (thinking me all words an' no words). I have added a few short ones over at the old rollo @ myspace address though, so if yer absolutely dyin' to be poisoned by my infectious word warpage, head on over to Rollo, where they're charcoal broiled.
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imposing stones

... refers to new lyrics of a new song of the same name by my band Rollo. If you wanna read 'em, or any other lyrics o' mine for that matter (cause you're like that, which is something I like) let me know...
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Those three lil' thoughts were provoked on myspace, an 'have nothing to do whatsover with Wade Boggs gettin' his Hall o' the Un-Shamed induction a month ago. That was a nappy occasion, as I grew up watching that lucky chicken spray hits all over Fenway. He was the guy who wasn't supposed to make it; hittin' for average despite his average looks, pimply red beard, surly disposition and unsure fielding. I don't care that he rode horse at Yankee stadium or told the D'Rays he'd ride their hat into the Hall, we all knew he'd make it as a Red Sock. Too bad Jim Ed Rice didn't get in with him, but I think next year is his year as there are no marquee new guys with guarenteed keys to the palace... I wasn't planning on writing a damn thing, as I'm sick as a dog, and tried from tripping back late night from NJ. I did a shoot there where I wore black Angel wings and then I rode a bus back with a crazy Willie Nelson lookalike who danced around me doin' the symbols of the cross by my head (and every other head that boarded the bus). After I dropped my lil' myspace driblets of recent days here though, I thought I should add some new words to the mess that is this blog. I just did though, and can't heave anymore on you as I'm about to heave myself and break out into a cold though which I'll try to splin to you in further detail if I'm still alive Wed. Keepin' up with this shit is hard, and tryin' to delve backwards in my brain to retrieve past ideas/thoughts (a mode I'm still in after my extended vacation from blogdom) is doubly difficult, but I remain committed to doin' my damndest. Until then-@

fan hitting and fan sh**ting

No, I'm not going to get full into another potentially great blog entry gone by that happened on my watch-that familiar episode a month ago or so when Ron Artest and Jermaine O'Neil and other Pacers got Pistoned at fans in Detroit and took some of their (roid?) rage out on the most unruly of them. I will say this though, in a little Liver Sports report; Artest-someone I'd been following since he was the apparently lesser of 2 rookies (Elton Brand? Hardly a Brand name...) signed by the Bulls like 5 years ago-was sent up the river for his part in the bro-hah-ha, which is a shame only in that he's one of the more interesting players to follow, despite being a yet another thug in the post-MJ era of the game. I mean, producing a rap cd with an old white lady and then claiming you're exhausted b/c of it? Come on, you can't make that sh*t up. The Nets, the only team I somewhat pay attention to besides the (yawn) Yao Ming/Tracy McGrady tandem, should perhaps p/u aged trouble shooter Jayson williams, don't you think (?), esp. now that they've been reduced to a 2 man team of Cream Puff Carter and the Kan't gut me outa here fast enough Kidd... Baseball has become a year round sport thanks to the cooked up Hot Stove arms race of the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees carrying on their in season rivalry off season. I think that MLB may have gone too far though in arranging for the 2 teams to open AND close the season against one another next year, as if 19 (!) regular season games this past year wasn't enough. It kinda makes it all seem like pro Boxing now, where you can see 2 guys fight each other whether or not they're the 2 most qualified; the "match-up you'd most like to see you no longer have to dream about!". I guess this was comign after they took away all curiosity with Interleague Play. Don't get me wrong, games b/w the Sox and Yanks are like THE best, most euphoric, spine tingling games ever, but making it (selling it) in your face like that may only where this prize rivalry out in the eyes of the public. I for one could give a sh*t about interleague play now... though I soppose a Pedro Met's match-up vs. a randified Yanks could get my attention. The Sox-Yanks rivalry got to where it's at naturally though... well, with the exception of unnatural substance users Sheffield and GiamBalco on the Yanks that is. This offseason saw these 2 teams make some pretty wild moves-the Sox losing Pedro the Whiner (who nonetheless gave them 6 or 7 great years and will always be commended for the money he's put into the DR), Derek (high and) Lowe and Orlando Cabrera, but ratcheting it up a notch on short stop with Edgar Renteria and picking up flame throwing underachievers (so far) Matt Clement and Wade Miller, and big OLD steady bad boy David Wells. The Yanks got a couple ifs on the mound in the overrated Carlos Pavano and potential of yor pitcher Jaret Wright, as well as oldy but a steady infielder Tony Womack, and then really hit it big with their much anticipated aquisition of jerky green back giant Randy "you talkin' to me?" Johnson. I for one am not sure how well he'll deal with the pressure in NYC (or at least perhaps I'm hoping he'll implode), esp. after that first episode where he balked at a cameraman the other day... Well, that's enough Liver Sports, didn't intend to even write so much actually, but I'm so overdue that stuffs gonna start pourin' out me (like Giambis liquifying muscle tissue)...
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Got an almost unbelievable email yesterday about a sublet, see it for yourself... I doubt you'll wanna be looking into it afterwards:

"Hey everyone, friends or whatever you might be, as most of you know, I was recently robbed and stalked my my dog walker. As it turns out, he's not only a disgusting psycho who stole everything that is valuable to me (incl. a tutu, a red lipstick and a Blonde Redhead CD); he also belongs to one of the most powerful Italian families in the W. Village... so I'd better get the h*** out of here, now that I'm pressing charges against him, etc, etc. So i'm moving to the E. Village--finally!!! At least something good came out of the misery! One little thing though-for a couple of reasons, I don't want to break my lease. Rather, I'd like to sublet it. The apt. is a studio w/ a separate kitchen, new appliances that were never used as I hate cooking, old-fashioned style w/ moldings, fireplace (not working) and nice floors. The subway is around the corner (A,C,E,B,D,F,V,1,9). The monthly rent is $1200. Hit me back!!"
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The New Year is fanning the flames on the problems left unfixed of last year (see Iraq, our Gov't., the economy), and the s**t is hitting the fan. I've stayed in decent spirits, perhaps as my brain is still numb from all the spirits ingested (at an outragious pace) over the holidays. But car towings, bank account siezings, open container Sparks drink tickets and "your band's too loud" rants are starting to wear on my nerves. I've an enviable role in a new play, a potentially beautiful thang with a gorgeous n' cool Jennifer Connely-esque girl shaping up and other things to think about-so even though I'm feeling today like iron weights are pressing down on my shoulders, giving them a Joaquin Pheonix-style slope (something I'll take if it means a career like his is looming), I'm not complaining. Yes, my friends, these stream of consciousness rants of mine are not complaints, but more like raves, done with a semi-E like smile. It's important to remember that things could always be worse. "Mia culpe" as my moms always says... here are a few succinct celebrity reviews to end this entry on:

Oliver Platt -head is fat
Adrian Brody -pretentious scare crow
David Grohl -more goliath then david, I mean this dude's blocky
Johnny Cash -Hi, he's __________. Regal man (in black)
Kris Kristopherson -mini Kris
Selma Blair -blair bitch style, smokin' (I thought)
Jake Gylenhall -acts older, no shoulders
Quentin Tarrentino -coke lobster
Jim Jarmusch -if Don King morphed w/ Johnny or Edgar Winter
Martin Scorsese -seemed eager to pleasy
James Taylor -Two Lane Two Penny Loafer
Debby Harry -sexy n' scary
Dee Dee Ramone -gone Dee Dee gone
Krist Novoselic -doesn't he play for the Dallas Mavericks? Krist figure in fact
Ivanka Trump -lil' tramp should get chin implant (whom I kidding, she was hot, chin or not)
Evander Holyfield -muscles in his head
Vince Gallo -shallow
Chloe Sevigne -where'd you goe Chloe? wanted to talk to you (and ask you why you did Vince "shallow" Gallo)

...damn, if I rack my brain these'll keep comin'. That's enough for today, got stuff to do.

Backstay

Ohhhhh may-aaaannn, where have I been? I stopped sharing my quicko sicko thoughts with the public in September 2004 on a whim b/c I was just so damn busy, and sick of writing about what would end up being the most completely hopeless Election year ever. I never imagined though that 3.5 months would sail by without my writing to you not even once (oh, I wrote-songs, reviews, manifestos on toilet paper and great walls w/ a sawed-off fish spewing sea water, just not here)-hell, I actually even forgot my password and user name it turned out when I tried to blog on tonight, and my computer cookies swallowed any leftover data, so I wasted a good chunk o' time throwing out possible user names and passwords that I mighta woulda coulda used or something. I even thought for a minute that the Blogue and Magogue powers that be had given up on me and decided to banish me from scratching out my thoughts on their chalkboard again. Finally, the secret seseme bagel dawned on me like lookin' @ my mug in a spittin' clean plate, and voila, here I is again. Really, every week I've gotten these site meter emails sayin' that so many so an sos and whomayacallems that I've never had the good fortune to meet have been spending their quality time reading my garbled thoughts of yor, STILL chuckling perhaps @ past "snottings" that have carmelized like dinosaur dung in amber, and I've kept saying along the way "oh, I'll get back to it...", but I never have obviously, and the thoughts that should've made it to the small screen have been piling up like my dirty socks in that corner of my room that I never set foot in and, well, it started lookin' like I'd never blow an' wipe my slate clean for y'all again. Then tonight, amisdst no other emails that came in, I got a few messages at home base that my blog had touched the hearts (or privates) of a few people, and I even got a comment from some guy tellin' me that I got something wrong in a post from like August or something-that's dedication damnit, and they deserve better then what i haven't been given' em. No, i'm not gonna say "you love me, you really love me!", but I will just say that baby, I am back to the egg on my face in black spin talkin slide listin' lash handed ground stagin' chain gang o' slang smothered in saddle soap an' pootie tang stoppin' future strokin' woods water yard trackin' drop bitin' seat drivin' business yo. The last few months have seen lotsa, well, lotsa lotsa. I still bust it w/ my band Rollo (though we almost combusted it over the duration), an' we have some good gigs a comin' up @ Sin-e 1/12, Lit 1/26, the Pussycat Lounge 2/5 and Delancey 2/23. I'm also acting out as per usual, with a new play in the near horizon called "Countdown", in which I play some loveable counselor guy who ends up scandelously molestin' an underage girl, and a film called "Trade", in which I play some evil FBI dude in the future who's out to corrupt any which way he can. I will, as I get used to bloggin' again (it's a whole other mindset of fingers that make this sludge slide so slicklike on the screen) try to recap the last few months too to the best of my knowledge or lack thereof-months which saw not only the continued evidence of the downfall of our society as we know it, but also 2 events that affected me directly, good and bad: an amazingly unexpected world series triumph by the Beantown Red Sox, and the Tsunami disaster so unfathomable in scope that no matter how or where I write it down on here it trivializes it. By no means have I given up also on commenting on our Gov't. Crime Lords, and I promise to heap my views upon y'all as much as ever-perhaps even more now that I'm so well, uh... rested. As to the Red Sox victory (and Beltran, sneaky Pete and the Omar Maniacal Mets, as well as RJ and the Spanked Yankee$, the Carter-era Nets, Kobe/Shaq n' Boggs' plaque, Bonds, Giambi an' the Shefs coctail peanut sized balls and Mientkiewvviwkmsiheexaitz gall), well you can rest assured my friends that Liver Sports will rear it's ugly head again and again, as well as reviews of cds and those mini-bites of celebs I used to do that you all love and detest so much, etc. Yeah, it's all comin' back in 2005, bigger, faster, stranger. Hell, I may even throw some sexual exploits into the mix, you know, just for fun. Catch you on the flipside.

Part 1: Gettin’ Play by Player: when Kangaroo Kobe came a Courtin’

The following is an edible tran-strip of Eagle County Sheriff’s Detectives intercourse with Kobe “I Need A” Bryant the night after he did the ol’ in-out in his Colorado hotel room, a whiz-bang that led to rape allegations. This tran-strip was first published by Game Facial, a local fanzine of the region. It recently appeared in a censored version in tabloids nationwide after Team Bryant was succesfully able to force the "star fucking" accuser to drop her allegations by threatening to ruin what little was left of her life.
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Det 1: We just want to talk to you about it, and find out your side of the story and what and who went down.
Det 2: But we, like you, don’t want to do it in front of everybody.
Kobe: All right, but this shit’s personal. Who’s side of the story you gonna follow? This is my career.
Det 2: We’re not here to destroy your career or your image, but we do have a serious matter at hand to resolve. This is our job, so just cooperate, ok? Matter at hand, job, get it?
Kobe: Ask me what, ask me how, ask me anything, but ask me now.
Det 2: Did you have a “female party” last night?
Kobe: Um…. next question.
Det 2: Same as the first.
Kobe: So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Ok, I dig. Yeah, I was with a “lady” who showed me around her… yes, did she say I did something to her? She showed me around the pool, she came… to my room, she showed me her back view, I mean, the back view, where she bared all and came, I mean all the bears come… up to the window, and that’s about… it. We shot the shit and that was it, finito. I speak Italian.
Det 2: Apparently. So, what’d you guys “shoot the shit” about?
Kobe: Just shot the shit like I said. She asked me what I was here for, I told her to get down on her knees… I mean, my knee… you know, what I was here for… my knee… yeah.
Det 2: And…?
Kobe: Um… she wanted to be a singer, like in the shower an’ shit-not a golden one mind you I…
Det 2: Go on.
Kobe: Um, she had like, um her tattoo, w/ like music and instruments n’ shit on it, queer like.
Det 1: Did you ask her to come last night so you could… check her out?
Kobe: Come back to my room, yeah. That’s when she showed me the tat.
Det 2: Ok… where was her “tat”?
Kobe: Oh, shit… Um, she had one on her ankle, legit like, and said she had one on her backside wit’ notes, of the musical variety.
Det 2: Was it cool?
Kobe: Um, yeah… sorta… she showed me.
Det 2: How did she show you?
Kobe: She had like a strap on… not a strap-on fellas, I mean, heh heh shit, but but… uh, anyways, she lowered it. I told her to turn around and she lowered it and she showed me.
Det 2: She lowered the boom so to speak, huh? So, uh did you guys hug or kiss or… spoon?
Kobe: No.
Det 1: Okay. Um, I’ll be blunt and ask you. Did you fuck her Kobe?
Kobe: No.
Det 1: Okay. Um, yet there is an allegation that unconsensual fucking occurred last night, okay. All right. (Kobe starts weeping like a baby) Hang on, okay, hang on sloopy... er, Kobey, don’t get excited. Look, I understand you have every right to be upset, okay, but you know, I’m giving you an opportunity to tell the truth if something did happen. She, she submitted to, she submitted to an exam. Okay.
Kobe: Aw man, you’re shittin’ me? Look, is there any way I can settle this, whatever it is, I mean…?
Det 1: Well… what do you mean by settle? How much “settling” are we talking here?
Det 2: Doug, uh uh, not a good idea.
Det 1: Righto, damn.
Det 2: Your tellin’ me.
Kobe: Look guys, uh, can I call you guys? If my wife found out that anybody made any type of allegations against the Kobester, she would have my ass, and I’d never hear the end of it. That’s all I care about.
Det 1: Mr. Bryant, look, I understand your concerns and frustrations, okay, I’m on a short leash myself, but I need to find out if this actually happened. I mean, it could have been a complete turn on, er… come on. I mean she could have been leading you on, or… whatever.
Det 2: She consented to an exam.
Kobe: Right, you said.
Det 2: We received blood, pubes…
Kobe: Gotcha.
Det 2: Semen.
Kobe: Okay, okay! Fuck… damn I hate that word…. You sure it was mine?
Det 1: Your semen. We’ve got the physical evidence right here in a petri dish.
Det 2: It’s in a beeker.
Kobe: That’s some sick shit man.
Det 2: So… be straight up with me Ko… be. The hairs, they were black, and they weren’t straight up-you know what I’m saying? Yao Ming wasn’t “in the house”. Is there any reason why any of your pubic hair…?
Kobe: Christ, you really gotta go there?
Det 2: Just be straight up, we’re not gonna tell your wife or your coach or anything like that. Did you do the wild thing with her?
Kobe: Uh… this is what I need to know fellas, cuz I did do the nasty with her. Cuz Kobe was horny like a (inaudible).
Det 2: We know how it is. Was it consensual?
Kobe: Yeah it was sensual, totally.
Det 2: What makes you believe it was consensual?
Kobe: Cuz she started kissing my (inaudible), an’ then she bent over doggy-style and (inaudible).
Det 1: Officer McGruff-like, I see. All right. Did she come?
Det 2: From the get-go?
Kobe: Um, we walked around naked, went to the room, started fucking, she showed me the bedroom on her back (inaudible). I said actually I’d like to do it in the pool, I said I aint going by myself out there, you’re… a ho. She said well I already came, but I’ll open it up again if you want or whatever, I asked if she had any butt-beads and she said yeah I have ‘em in the back. And I said how appropriate, um, now we talkin’, well can I see em’, she’s like well I might have to show my (anatomical detail deleted) again if I show them to you but she’s like well maybe I’ll do that anyway and I’m like cool, and she gets up to leave or whatever and she gives me blow job so I kiss her back and then you know I started undressing and caressing her or whatever and then she puts her hand on my, you know, my California Blacksnake or whatever, and it kinda goes from there like a hundred times an’ shit ‘til the bears come home an’ take a shit in the woods if you know what I’m sayin’.
Det 1: Um… ok, not really but, I’ll move on. It’s possible that at some point that she may have told you no, I can’t take it all. Maybe she did lead you on a teeny-weeny bit and she kissed your… uh… snake and then she said now, I can’t make this fit, this isn’t happening.
Kobe: (Inaudible) if she’d a said that, I would a pulled out, no spooge, no nothing.
Det 1: Did you “spooge”?
Kobe: No.
Det 2: Well there’s always premature ejaculation, are you one of those?
Kobe: Say what?! Are you kidding me?
Det 2: I’m not kidding you, they teach you that in seventh grade sex ed…
Kobe: Stop right there man, that’s cold.
Det 2: Sorry.
Det 1: So… how long is your… well, you know? California thing?
Kobe: (Inaudible) fifteen inches maybe.
Det 1: And the best ones are straight Kobe, is yours straight?
Kobe: Hells yeah.
Det 2: Did she scream? Did you have her from the back of her head or her neck? Was it good?
Kobe: Held her from the back? You’re sick man, no… I wouldn’t… well, alright, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Det 1: Good band.
Kobe: I did hold her from the back, and I went like this: eyuuumph!!! I had my right hand like this, my other hand like that, my left foot like so, and my right one up here and my 3rd leg was kinda positioned this way and… (cut off)
Det 2: And you stayed hard?
Kobe: I don’t know, my manhood here, it’s strong.
Det 1: Where was she bent over at?
Kobe: There’s um, a little chair she liked to call “the love seat” where we got down, and she had her leg up so’s I could get a leg up, an’ she bent herself in half like so and I threw a leg… uh, up.
Det 2: Okay… Was it messy or anything like that?
Kobe: Aint it always though?
Det 2: Yeah, well, she had a lot of bleeding.
Kobe: Awww man, shit! You’ve gotta be pullin’ my leg, from where?
Det 2: Where do you think Mr. Bryant, from her vaginal area.
Kobe: Aaaahhhh!!! Don’t say that would neither. Christ… Look officer, there was no blood on my $700, 000 Italian suit, none whatsoever man, matter of fact, I still have the boxers, they’re %100 imported silk (inaudible), white as Larry Bird, nothing on them…
Det 1: Is it okay if we take those?
Kobe: Well that’s some sick shit but… I guess so. But I don’t want the media to see ‘em, in case I left some skid marks on ‘em or somethin’.
Det 1: We don’t want to see that either Kobe, so, nevermind.
Kobe: Don’t mention it. That’s why we’re here, right?
Det 2: Yes, that’s why we’re here at this time of night, yes.
Det 1: And we’re doing everything we can to try and get you out of this Kobe, we’re working on it, okay? I, I can’t promise you dick, I wish I could, but I can’t. Unfortunately, in order to work the system, you can’t cross the line too quickly, just like on the basketball court with a defending lineman, the umpire might throw you out of the game or something.
Kobe: Uh… yeah, I… see…
Det 2: Hey Kobe, have you ever gone, er, “one on one” like this before? Had allegations made and…
Kobe: Al le what? No. Are you kidding me? Never, I like, I know how to treat a lady, with the utmost respect an’ shit, absolutely, positively %100 nothing, no bullshit.
Det 1: I mean, is it possible that you guys had the music too loud or something, and she told you no and you couldn’t quite hear her?
Kobe: No, we was listening to Barry White man, not nuthin’ slammin’ or nuthin’ like that.
Det 1: Hey! Have you got something against the (cut off)?!
Det 2: No, Doug Doug, he said Barry White man, not “white man”, don’t get your panties all in up in a wad.
Det 1: Oh… right. Thanks Dan, uh… never mind.
Kobe: (gulp).
Det 2: Back to the matter at hand. Kobe, did you ever ask her if you wanted, if you could (sexual detail deleted)?
Kobe: Yeah, of course I did, I’m not stupid. That’s when she put up the red flag.
Det 1: Said no.
Kobe: No, now I didn’t say that.
Det 1: You… never mind.
Det 2: So, you like to (sexual detail deleted)?
Kobe: Who doesn’t?
Det 2: Good point.
Kobe: That’s my thing, dig? I mean, not always, I aint Shaq, I mean, so I stopped. Jesus Christ man.
Det 1: So how was this consensual?
Kobe: Sheeesh! How was it not, I mean it was totally sensual, she, we…
Det 1: You mutually “kissed”, there’s no question about that.
Kobe: We “mutually kissed”, as you say, yeah, so?
Det 1: Did you start…?
Kobe: She bent over backwards man, on her lonesome.
Det 1: Right, right. Okay, let me back up to the kissing. Did it escalate? Foreplay type issues, grabbing?
Kobe: Ejaculate? No, not yet, I told you, but… well, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Det 1: Good band.
Det 2: You already said that.
Det 1: Right…Go on Kobe.
Kobe: Sure, sure, sure, sure. So, she put her… you know… on my… well, you know, penis an’ shit, and that’s it, and then she started playing with that (inaudible).
Det 1: Okay, okay, I don’t need to hear anymore.
Det 2: But Doug, uh, we do need to hear more.
Det 1: Damn… Um… whew… ok, did she give you oral sex or anything like that?
Det 2: Doug, we covered that already.
Det 1: Right… hey, is it hot in here Dan or is it just me?
Kobe: Hey, can I say something here?
Det 2: Go ahead Kobe, don’t mind him.
Kobe: Okay, so, after like five positions an’ shit, I said um what’s your name? Give me your number, and while your at it, give me a (sexual detail deleted) um, and then kiss it this here way like (inaudible), and then she gave me a (sexual detail deleted).
Det 2: Wow. So that’s how you (sexual detail deleted)?
Kobe: Yeah, quick an’ easy like. I’m a pro you know.
Det 1: You sure are!
Det 2: Then what happened? We’re all ears...

(end of Pt. 1)

"I wanna no if you like me or knot becuz mad people telling me mad stuff? Jus tell me ur self"

...fresh direct from a "note" I found yesterday on the sidewalk.

*Friends & journey people*,
my band ROLLO is playing a FREE early show @ the Luna Lounge (ok, so they're all free there) tonight, Thursday, September 16th @ 9pm sharp! If you haven't yet been initiated into the glorious cult of rockability that is ROLLO and their raw, fuel injected raunch n' roll stylings, well this may be your perfect opportunity! ROLLO, giging in the metropolitan area only since May, has been compared favorably to the likes of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Kills, X, Television, JSBX, Jet, Blondie, the Pixies and the Stones (as
well as many other kickin' bands), so don't be left behind the curve! Hope to see you @ the FREE rock show... Luna is located @ 171 Ludlow Street in the scenic Lower East Side of Manhattan. Yours-RM

=====
http://www.rollo-ny.com (hear our music, see what we look like n' shit)

Rollo is:
Hubert Dulay-tweed guitar samurai
Alex Emanuel-joe strummer/vocalic leadoff
John Dillon-smasher of kit and lighter of it
Sally Donovon-blondie tonk vocalista sista

Rollo upcoming live performance fiestas:
Thursday, 10/07 @ The Knitting Factory 830pm
Saturday, 11/06 @ The Lakeside Lounge 1030pm
New Years Eve @ Wembly Stadium w/ Mick and the Stones via direct satalite feed from Uranus

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Ok... other news: I saw an ad on craigslist for stupid human tricks and decided to apply. Why the hell not, every freakin' reality show out there is about stupid humans these days, and this would only be for a minute or so. My proposal (thought up in about 2 sex flat) was the following:

"...for the duration of the time alotted me the "trick", I'd like to rock in a rocking chair while rolling up a de-rolled roll of toilet paper, as Paul and the band play "Been a Long Time Since I Rock and Rolled" by Led Zeppelin. As it would have been a "long time" since I'd done that, I'd display the utmost emotion while doing the dumb deed"... sound stupid enough?
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Has this been the worst Presidential race ever or what? When are these guys going to debate? November 1st? It's like a f*ckin' reality show itself, with the 2 people on the the "Sureal" World (an actual reality show concept I have, ask me about it, but don't steal the fucker)who;ve been thrown into bed with each other but can't stand each other's guts slingin' mud balls left and right. It's plain to me, and should be to the rest of the country (unless we really are as dumb as we look), that W has GOT TO GO. This guy is re-writing the constitution b4 our eyes, seizing documents that should be made public, polarizing the country b/w the ultra rich and super poor like NEVER before (no, WORSE then the 50's, 60's 70's my friends), dragging us into WWIII, and bold-faced lying to the people about this, that and every other f*ckin' thing. Wake up and smell the smoking oil I say, open up your history book to Germany in the 30's and read the fine print. Yeah, so Kerry has screwed up (thank God he has Carville aboard), who made Nader our savior? (not to mention W of course). The elephantitis party has been calling democrats big government flip floppers since the stone ages, what else is knew? Go to the museum of Broadcasting and watch them spin the same yarn of deceit since the dawn of television. Check out what the American Conservative Union insultingly has to say about Kerry and the Vietnam thing, and honorable man who admirably served out country and questioned an unjust war: "as a young hard-shell leftist who had turned against the war, Kerry may have had an ideological predisposition to favor the communist regime of North Vietnam" (?!?!)"the more you examine Kerry's involvement with the Vietnam Vets against the War, the more you see what a histrionic production it was, what a piece of street theater: Bogus veterans. Bogus medals." Here's another propaganda snippet about Kerry, this time about the present war: "You'd have to search carefully through the annals of American history to find a U.S. Senator whose public statements have been better crafted to demoralize our troops at war or to embolden our enemies to resist us more resolutely." Give me a break.

Ok, I've gotten about as riled up as I need to be today, should've perhaps written this stuff right before I played tonight. I just want to leave you with one other thing. The other night I did a focus group for NY radio (Q104.3 I'm sure, though they wouldn't tell us). What a sham. They gathered about 3 guys my age in a room, and gave us a "Mix Master
Perception Analyzer Device" (serious) to rate 800 song snippets (yes, 800... 3.5 hours) that would help decide programming. It was painful with a capital p for pissed off yo. I had to sit through countless Billy Joel cuts, Elton John, what have you. The "new" rock that was included consisted of 3 Nirvana tunes and 5 Pearl Jam songs... ouch. The other "new" music they had was one Elvis Costello song, 2 Clash songs, the worst of U2, 2 Cars songs and... well, that's it. Afterall, music aint what it used to be the powers that be tell us. This is so sad. Yes, I sound like a broken cd I'm sure, but come on...
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Next up: some overdue Liver Sports thoughts (yay for Russian tennis chix, much as I always have a spot spot for Jenny and a (albeit "harder", if you catch my drift) soft spot for Serina), as well as a few slices from a lil' book called "A Guide to Better Living: A Practical Handbook of Enormous Scope", that tells you, among other things, how to: "be a better marriage partner", "enjoy work", "overcome tensions", "improve your appearance" and "make use of new scientific developments". Oh boy, I can hardly wait...

Two Zoo New Reviews au gratin, and a FREE Rollo gig to boot this Thursday 9/16, 9pm sharp @ le Lounge de Luna

If you gander at my links (lancenotawholeheluvalotof), you'll notice near the bottom that I've started doing some cd reviews @ a lil' site called Kevchino.com. This is on account of my marvy writing here @ Snot, and I hope to parlay this little side-thang into a way to make a little extra cash, know what I'm sayin'. Besides that hidden desire, I really like doing it, throwin' my opinions out there (if you haven't noticed). Well, I know that I'm at least a blog behind, and the scraps of paper have been accumulating, waiting for me to throw up in the air to see where and how they land, but today, I'm going to give you a peak @ couple of the cds reviews I just did over there, as I can't trust your lazy trigger finger to bring up that site, esp. when there are so many other exciting, tantalizing web offerings to choose from... Talk soon, and do swing by Luna this thursday night, September 16th, at 9pm sharp, b/c Rollo is playin' for free, and we good (Luna is located @ 171 Ludlow Street, b/w Stanton and Houston in Manhattan's scenic Lower East Side. Don't take any wooden hickeys-AE... (er... RM)

Helio Sequence
"Love and Distance"
Sub Pop | 2004
Album (10 tracks)
5 out of 10 - Good and bad. Just OK.

I really dug the hypnotic way this disc began, even though I couldn’t quite place who or what they sounded like (with that oddly featured mouth harp, beat box and rock-steady drum mix goin’ on et all). The emergence of the first lead vocal pulled me away from my reverie though, as it just seemed too “groovy” or something for the rest of the music. This proved to be a major problem for these ears throughout “Love and Distance”, the new offering on Sub-Pop by The Helio Sequence. It’s a shame, as the band definitely has a way with interesting choruses despite their tendency towards trite verses, as many of them tended to pull me right back into the song at the precise point when I had almost completely lost focus. Nowhere is this trend better exemplified then on the second track of the cd, “Repeater”. The song begins, like so many on the disc, with a very cool instrumental groove, but one that only gets left behind by lyrics that are not up to the task. In this case, singer Brandon Summers croons “I’m on a roll and there’s nowhere to go, where we going now, out of control”… come to think of it, I couldn’t have said it better myself. The tune redeems itself, however, with a pretty amazing chorus, one that conjures up the likes of Franz Ferdinand and the Beatles. At other points on the disc, The Helio Sequence are at their best when they reminded me, however fleeting, of those bands, or XTC, Let’s Active, Stereolab and Mercury Rev for that matter. The band seems to be at their worst when the bombast of bad U2 sets in, a Prefab Sprout drippiness saturates the mood, or they force Sparklehorse without the sparkle. The lone songs where the exact opposite verse/chorus phenomenon (that I mentioned earlier) occurs are “Let it Fall Apart” and “Everyone Knows Everyone”, titles that seem to almost dare the listener to try and pidgeon-hole this band. The low point on the cd has got to be “Blood Bleeds”, a song that almost kept me from listening to the remaining three songs on the disc. I’m glad I didn’t give in to this impulse, however, as the following track, “S.O.S”, I found to be one of the most enjoyable songs on the entire album. This push and pull does make “Love and Distance” interesting to listen to, and demands that it get more than one turn in the cd carrier, but I’m still not quite sure who this band is and what this all leads to…

Sahara Hotnights
"Kiss & Tell"
RCA | 2004
Album (11 tracks)
9 out of 10 - Simply Amazing.

Ok, so this disc did instantly make me want to put the top down on the convertible Camaro in my mind and frolick in the hot summer sun with a bitchin’ blonde babe in a bikini. From it’s opening “Start Me Up”-era Stones meets Divinyls exuberance, Sahara Hotnights’ new disc “Kiss & Tell” (RCA) aint no mere cherry bomb though. Catchy hooks, riptide guitar riffs, rock-steady (albeit simplistic) drumming; these girls have got it going on. The temptation for many (I’m sure) has been to lump them in with all the “chick rock” bands that have ever broke, been bought, burnt and bit, but that’s just not fair. Yeah, they seem to be “hot”, and there are some Runaways in the Hot Sahara Night (I also wouldn’t scoff at any Susanna Hoffs and co. comparisons) but this bands’ strongest asset seems to be their ability to really pen a tune, and play it. Check out the cool guitar licks on “Walk on the Wire”, “Mind Over Matter” and “Stay/Stay Away”, or the bands’ knack for well-placed and executed backing vocals (no easy task… I know) throughout the disc. As to Maria Andersson’s lead vox, well, they may not win awards for their unique timbre, but she can transform her instrument to resemble the singer from Heart at one moment, Karen O at another, or a female version of that Strokes bloke at still another, and her words (for the most part) work, which is the most major of complements I can give to a rock band for their lyrics. For example, the “Sister Havana”-esque “Stay/Stay Away” features the line “I never shut, I never close”-hell, I wish I could drop a phrase that right-on and to-the-point. Along with Sahara's crafty songwriting, the interplay between the bands' two guitarists and drummer (Josephine Forsman) are the glue that keeps everything moving forward. It was apparent to me also that this band has done their homework, for there seem to be many disparate influences at work and at play here, from the Buzzcocks to the Cult, Imperial Teen and possibly even… Marshal Crenshaw. My only real complaint is that “Kiss & Tell”, at just under 35 minutes, runs kinda short.