Celebrity News: The Band-Aid for Writer's Block

LIFE IMITATING ART?: Russell Crowe arrested Monday morning and charged with second degree assault after allegedly throwing a telephone at an employee at his Manhattan hotel.

The guy is just masterful. Seriously, who freaks out and throws a phone at someone's head? That's absolute psycho behavior. Yet despite the embarassing arrest and pictures of him walking out of the police station splashed across newspapers everwhere, he immediately hits the talk show circuit and kills whatever public ill will might have been percolating following the incident.

Crowe very earnestly apologizes on Letterman, the sincerity just oozing out of him. And people happily applaud and absolve him of his sins. "Hey, the guy may have a serious anger management problem and feels that he can abuse 'common folk' for the most trivial of reasons, but he seems like a pretty nice guy. And he sure does seem sorry about the whole thing. Plus, 'Cinderella Man' kicks ass!"

Hello, assholes!! The guy is an ACTOR!! He's convincingly played a retarded math genius and a Roman gladiator, so what makes you think he's not faking it when he claims to be "embarassed" by his actions and expresses his remorse? Being a celebrity doesn't mean never having to say you're sorry, but it does mean that you'll be forgiven quicker than Lindsey Lohan can snort up an 8-ball.


STORK WATCH: George Stephanopoulos and Ali Wentworth welcoming their second child, daughter Harper Andrea, Thursday morning in a Washington D.C. hospital.

I hope they're getting a paternity test done. "I don't know, George. Sometimes I just look at Ann and think she'd be the kinda chick that'd....unh. Oh, hell, I'm sorry man."


ON THE TRAIL OF THE PINK PANTHER: The release date for MGM/Sony's remake of The Pink Panther, starring Steve Martin, pushed back from Aug. 5 to Feb. 10.

I saw the preview for this one before 'Star Wars' and my immediate reaction was something between a dry heave and a wet fart. It looks utterly and completely awful, one of those "what the hell were they thinking"-type projects that make average people like me feel that movie executives are fortunate to work in an industry where stupidity is an asset. Everyone knows that trailers are the most deceptive bits of propaganda in existence, as a well done trailer can make even the biggest, most steaming pile of shit film look like a winner. So when a trailer, like the one for 'Pink Panther', makes the film look about as appealing as a one night stand with Paul Giamatti, it doesn't take a genius to predict that the film's grosses will settle somewhere between 'Heaven's Gate' and 'Gigli.'

I never found Steve Martin that funny (aside from "The Jerk" and parts of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"), but this is pretty clear evidence that he's entered Eddie Murphy territory. Maybe he hasn't picked up any transvestite hookers yet, but his career path is eerily similar to Murphy, who officially sold his soul to the devil before "Beverly Hills Cop II" and has been cranking out improbably high-grossing crap ever since. But I don't think even the Prince of Darkness can make 'Pink Panther' watchable.


BIG SCREEN BART: Nancy Cartwright, the voice of Bart Simpson in The Simpsons, telling BBC Radio 1 that a feature film version of the Fox cartoon series is in production. Cartwright said the film would take at least two years to complete.

While I'm still pretty certain this is going to be great, I'm having a bit of a hard time imagining how they're going to stretch a 22 minute show over an hour and a half. Will it translate to the big screen? Can the steady stream of brilliant pop culture references and industry in-jokes be sustained throughout an entire feature film?

The legion of 'Simpsons' fans is rabidly devoted, so they're taking a sizable risk with this project. I don't think a bad film will sink the franchise, but I would be surprised if the show goes on much longer if the movie flops. And I don't think I want to live in a world without 'The Simpsons.'


POSSIBLE MISSION: 'Mission: Impossible 3' finally scheduled to begin shooting July 18 in Italy. Recent reports had speculated that the project might not go forward due to budget concerns and intense negative press coverage of Tom Cruise.

I'm sick of talking about Tom since I'm still mad at him. But it's amazing what he's done to his career in the period of a few short weeks. The cat is out of the bag - the guy is nuts, and not just a mildly, Matthew McConaghey-type nuts. We're talking Brandoesque insanity.

This article details the finely-tuned spin machine that has worked overdrive to keep the wacky Cruise juggernaut afloat thus far. Clearly, the machine has broken down.


PROBLEM CHILD: Kelly Osbourne checking back into rehab to deal with some "personal issues," Us Weekly reports.

I don't understand, nor have I ever understood, the fascination with the Osbournes. During their heyday a few years ago, everyone LOVED that show and talked about it like it was the funniest damn thing since the John Waters episode of 'The Simpsons' ("I like my beer cold, my TV loud and my homosexuals FLAMING!!!"). I tried watching it a few times and couldn't get across how painful it was watching Ozzy putter around like a 90-year-old man in firmly in the grips of dementia. For Christ's sake, he's about 50 and has turned himself into a near-vegetable by abusing his body relentlessly. God knows there are still ants crawling around in that rotting brain (see #1). Really, gleefully watching Ozzie stumble around the house is not much different than walking through the Tenderloin pointing and laughing at some babbling bum wearing a tinfoil tiara who's just shit himself. And the bum probably speaks more intelligibly than Ozzie.

And are there any more ghastly beings on the planet than those two kids? Both are, in addition to being completely and utterly fugly, two of the most spoiled, obnoxious little shits on the planet. They scream, swear, fight, dope up and generally contribute NOTHING to the planet. Why oh why do people find it entertaining to watch them go about their shallow and pointless lives? I blame them for paving the path for the most detestable show ever to disgrace the tube: "My Super Sweet Sixteen", a show that makes me want to throw a telephone at my own head.

Anyway, in a few years the whole family will be completely ravaged by drug addiction and incapable of caring for themselves. They'll all putter around aimlessly, drooling, shitting themselves and muttering unintelligibly like lobotomized trolls. That's when I want to see MTV bring the cameras back for another season - "The Osbournes: The Incontinent Years." "Tune in next week when Jack drops a deuce on the rug and no one can summon the motor skills to clean it up."

EXTRA! Cruise replaces Damon in 'The Bourne Insanity'!

Seriously, all jokes aside - is this man completely insane? Is it possible he was always like this and no one noticed? If not, he's either completely immersing himself in preparation for a film role as a crazed retard or we're witnessing a legitimate mental breakdown. Watch the clip above and try and tell me there isn't something very, very wrong here. I mean like bottles full of urine in the living room, Brad Pitt in '12 Monkeys' wrong. And if that doesn't convince you, read this.

Scientology is insane, and I can only assume most of the practicing scientologists in the world are suffering from some sort of mental defect. But I'll bet even they're wishing Tom would shut the hell up right about now.

Warren Sapp has stinky soul, breath

Warren Sapp is not the most popular player in the NFL. He's loud, obnoxious, a notorious cheap shot artist, and during interviews he comes off like Deebo on crystal meth.

But according to Kris Jenkins, DT for the Carolina Panthers, Sapp has also been moonlighting as the Devil, perching on his shoulder and causing him to hit the bottle while sinking into debilitating depression.

Jenkins, who recently came forth to talk about the depression and drinking problems he fought while injured last year, essentially attributes his entire downward spiral to the existence of Sapp, and in particular to being forced to watch Sapp celebrate a victory in November.

Here's an excerpt from the AP article in which Jenkins hilariously discusses his overwhelming and irrational hatred for Sapp:

The low point came after the Panthers' Nov. 7 loss to the Oakland Raiders, when Jenkins was forced to watch Warren Sapp, a player he dislikes intensely, celebrate on Carolina's field.

Jenkins turned to drinking to get him through the long, lonely days.

"When we played Oakland and we lost to Sapp, I stopped going to the games then," Jenkins said Thursday. "I was going to the games up to that point. I couldn't go to the games anymore. After that, that's when ... I've never been an alcoholic, but I upped my consistency of it."

As hard as it is to believe that one rival player could send Jenkins into such a funk, he said that all his problems escalated after that game.

"I hate him. Everybody says I'm supposed to be polite when I talk to you all, but I hate him," Jenkins said. " He talks too much, he doesn't make sense, he's fat, he's sloppy, he acts like he's the best thing since sliced bread. He's ugly, he stinks, his mouth stinks, his breath stinks, and basically his soul stinks, too.

"Not too many people have personalities like that and survive in life. I don't know how he does it."

Coming up next on 'Most Perplexing Sports Feuds': Cecil Fielder discusses how the Tigers' catering department ruined his career.

I know it was you, Tom. You broke my heart.

As I can't seem to get cranking on any real posts, I'll retreat to the cliched mainstay of blogs everywhere - the Celeb Gossip Wrapup Report, with some witty jabs peppered in for good measure!! Brace yourselves....

GET A ROOM, GUYS: An exuberant Tom Cruise declaring his love for new galpal Katie Holmes on Monday's The Oprah Winfrey Show. He repeatedly jumped up on the couch, told how dating the actress was "beyond cool," and left the possibility open that the two might marry.

This one really troubled me. I'm sure most of you have, by now, seen Tommy jumping around like Crispin Glover on Letterman, proclaiming his love for Katie Holmes and prattling on about scientology. It was a supremely disgraceful performance - when Oprah starts getting uncomfortable with a guest's exuberance, you know they've gone too far.

The reason it troubles me is because - and I feel just barely secure enough to admit this - I've always had something of a man crush on Tom. "Top Gun" was a defining piece of cinema for me, and I can't tell you how many times I pretended to be Tom - running around the yard shooting down bogeys, playing semi-homosexual shirtless volleyball with the boys, doing tongue tricks with Kelly McGillis (or in my case, the family cat). Women loved him, but he was legit enough that guys didn't care if he was shirtless on the cover of Tiger Beat. He was fucking Maverick.

I've remained a fan of Tom through the years. I've always felt like he's one of the few actors who rarely makes a truly crappy film ("Far & A-Gay" notwithstanding). "A Few Good Men", "Mission Impossible", "Minority Report", "Collateral" - all solid, entertaining films made so largely by Tom. And "Jerry Maguire"? Well, let's just say he had me at "Help me help you!!!!"

He's always just kind of exuded 'cool'. Not a forced, Bruce Willis-style 'cool' - just an easy, "I can flash my teeth and instantly fucking rule you" type of cool.

So his convulsive performance on Oprah was supremely disappointing. He didn't just sit back, smile, and own the audience like he usually does. He pandered to a bunch of middle aged women. He professed his undying love to a chick whose claim to fame is that she starred on "Dawson's fucking Creek." In short, he gave Chris Kattan some competition if they ever decide to make a Mr. Peepers feature film (God knows it must be in development). And that's just sad.

Look, I don't know if Tom is gay, as so many people speculate. But I'm now pretty sure he's a huge dork, and that hurts more than anything.

GETTING REAL: Kevin Spacey signing on for the upcoming TLC reality series Going Hollywood, in which he'll serve as a mentor to showbiz interns.

"Billy, let me teach you about the casting couch."

RAMBO REDUX: Sylvester Stallone preparing to reprise his role as Vietnam vet John Rambo, 17 years after the last Rambo film came out. If Rambo IV proves successful, there could be more films on the way.

People are idiots. They'll plunk down money to see all kinds of hideous shit, and they're always anxious to welcome a fallen star back with open arms (see Travolta, John).

But I can't see this one flying. Stallone has always been a poor man's Arnold Schwarzenegger, and even he hasn't had any sort of film career for a decade (the political thing is no excuse for "Collateral Damage"). Plus, Sly already had his shot at a "legitimate acting" comeback film with the painful "Copland." Don't give up your ringside seats, Sly. No one wants to see your wrinkled, leathery ass running around killing Iraqis. Not when the scars of 'Rocky V' still haven't healed.

And then there's this....

LITERARY RING: According to Daily Variety, Sylvester Stallone will direct his own screenplay about the life of literary giant Edgar Allan Poe. Robert Downey Jr. is being considered for the lead and shooting's expected to begin in Europe in the fall.

Well, it does sound incredibly scary. Probably not for the reasons they'd like.

DON'T FORGET ABOUT THEM: The cast of classic '80s movie, The Breakfast Club, planning to reunite at the 2005 MTV Movie Awards, airing on June 9. Everyone's confirmed except for former Brat Packer Emilio Estevez, according to USA Today.

I'm way too lazy to attempt an actual tally, but I wonder how many reviews of "Breakfast Club" featured lines like "the future's bright with this cast" or "Judd Nelson is a superstar in the making." Flash forward 10 years, and the only one with half a career is.....Anthony.....Michael....Hall. And having a show on USA that typically runs at around 1AM barely qualifies as half.

SECOND DOWN: After teaming up in The Longest Yard, Adam Sandler joining forces again with Chris Rock to produce the latter's script, The Gilmores of Beverly Hills, a comedy about a low-income black family living in Beverly Hills which Rock will also star in.

I remain undeterred in my assertion that someday, somewhere Chris Rock will make a film that doesn't rely solely on racial humor. He's a talented, smart guy who can knock it out of the park occasionally, but every time he starts a sentence, "You know how white people...", I just cringe.

SLAVE FOR MOTHERHOOD: Britney Spears telling People that despite a "horrible" bout of morning sickness, she's loving life as a pregnant woman and the sex is great. "I think it's better than it was before," she said. "I think it's best. Sex is crazy good."

Would you ever have imagined 2 years ago that hearing Britney Spears talk about having sex could make your stomach turn?

I watched "Chaotic" the other day, just to get a glimpse of the abomination that has caused critics across the country to simultaneously develop brain aneurysms. It took me less than 2 minutes to realize many of them were showing restraint in dubbing the show "nauseating", "nuclear waste" and "the TV equivalent of having Artie Lange eat an ear of corn and shit on your face" (OK, I made that one up).

The one overriding feeling I had while watching the show was embarrassment for Britney and Rat-erline. Not that I give a shit about Braterline (or Spederline, or whatever the fuck naming convention the lame-ass gossip mags have adopted), their marriage, their unborn child or whether they live or die. But anytime people make themselves the joke of the free world, all the while insulating themselves so completely that they never find out they're the punchline, I feel bad for them. I'm kindhearted like that, I guess.

The fall of Britney has been something to behold. People have talked about it, but I don't think people truly appreciate what we've seen in the last year or so with Britney. I mean, this girl was THE 'it' girl for half a decade. I guarantee you that from 1999 through early 2004, she won the poll for 'If You Could Bang One Person....' by a margin of no less than 2 to 1.

And now? She's pulled a virtual '"Crying Game" on boys and men everywhere, causing erections across the world to instantaneously drop like Chris Farley after an 8-ball. Seriously, does anyone, anywhere, still think she's the least bit sexy? She's gone, in record time, from every boy's wet dream to a Jerry Springer guest wannabe. Say her name in 2002 and the word "hot" or "slut" likely jumped to mind; now, it's "trailer trash" or, well, "slut" - but it's not the same, wonderful kind of "slut".

With "Chaotic", whatever was left of her mystique has been stripped away, micturated upon and set on fire. After this show, the curtain has officially come down. Everyone watching now knows that she is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, a complete and utter retard. She's the vapid, obnoxious chick in high school that you're willing to hang out with only because she's kind of hot and you just might get a piece. She's...well, like, totally ordinary.

But I think it may be even worse than that. Something tells me she's Michael Jackson with fake tits and a darker complexion. Everyone recoils in horror at Michael now, but I bet when he first started bleaching his cornhole, people still held out hope that he would grow back the jheri curl, throw on the sequined glove and stop chasing prepubescent boy tail. Maybe we should learn a lesson from the sad tale of MJ and simply stop caring before a 278lb Britney ends up in front of a judge explaining why she burned down her trailer park deep frying a Snickers.

Or you could tune in for more of the downward spiral next Tuesday at 9PM on UPN!!!

Kasabian at Popscene.....gratis!!

Pontiac commercials aside, I think Kasabian is one of the better new bands to come around in a while. Yes, they're a bit contrived and their lead singer needs a good kick to the nuts, but the music is undeniably catchy and danceable.

They played Slim's back in March and tore the place down, so I'm looking forward to seeing them at another club show (they're also opening for Oasis and playing BFD this summer; both shows are at Shoreline).

Kasabian plays Popscene (330 Ritch Street - off Townsend between 3rd and 4th) on June 9, and they've recently announced that the show will be FREE. This, of course, means that there will be an ungodly swarm of people lined up outside for hours vying for the 300 some tickets. I'd rather pay $20 and not have to deal with that crap, but I may do it anyway. The Slim's show was that good.

Sean, I'm thinking not.......

He's currently at 6 on the "Hot or Not" scale, but I think that's a little generous. Let's get it down to about 4 where it belongs. The disgusted look in the face of the kid checking out his ass is priceless.

Coldplay - The Fillmore, May 4, 2005

As I sat back and watched the masses riot over the few available tickets to Coldplay's gig at the Fillmore on Wednesday, I struggled to restrain myself from gloating about the fact that I had scored a pair through a fortunate personal connection. For one, I was deathly afraid of jinxing it and watching the tickets fall through. But I also felt a little guilty about going to a show when so many die hard fans willing to sell their right nut/left ovary for a chance to go were left out in the cold. Luckily, I'm pretty selfish and that guilt lasted about 2 minutes.

As the day of the show approached, it took a bit of effort to get into the proper frame of mind to appreciate what was a pretty unique opportunity. I felt like I needed to spend a good day or two listening to the Coldplay catalog to remind myself why I became drawn to the band in the first place because, while I'm still a fan, I haven't exactly been a 'practicing' fan in a little while.

My CD player had Coldplay in permanent rotation back in 2003 when 'A Rush of Blood to the Head' was released, and it killed me when I had to skip their Shoreline show that year because of a prior commitment. I marveled at the way their songs could elicit such strong emotions and the way they carved out such a distinct sound, one that played well across gender and demographic. Sure, they were a bit waily and saccharine at times, but it felt genuine.

But somewhere in the time between my discovery of the band and their ascent high into the arena rock stratosphere, I forgot about Coldplay. I began discovering other, younger, edgier bands and listening to Coldplay with increasing rarity, occasionally turning the channel when 'The Scientist' or 'Clocks' came on the radio for the 13,405th time.

Still, the madness surrounding the buzz gig helped to rekindle a lot of the old enthusiasm I had for the band. I couldn't help but get caught up in the craziness and the feeling that this was an event of some significance, or at least a pretty rare experience. If people were willing to change dirty old man diapers or hand someone the keys to their car for a chance to go, I should probably feel pretty fortunate for getting to go at face value.

Standing in the long line at the Fillmore prior to the show, there was a definite energy in the air that represented the end of a long, strange trip. Some stubborn, determined folks walked up and down the line all but begging for tickets, but with 20 minutes to go until showtime, defeat began to show on their faces. And it was at that moment I began busting out my best Nelson Muntz laugh ("HA ha!").

Inside the Fillmore, there was a mix of people slightly different than the standard rock show attendees; more yuppie-types and girls in F-me pants and fewer concert tee-wearing fanatics. With tickets going for $500 - $1,000, this wasn't overly surprising. I'm not enough of a live music purist to get really worked up about that kind of stuff, but I can imagine some of the more hardcore fans - particularly the ones who coughed up two weeks' pay for a ticket - were foaming at the mouth at the sight of some of the stuffed shirts in attendance.

The band took the stage at 9:00 to rousing but not overwhelming cheers. It was clear that the crowd was energized in anticipation of the set, but I think I had expected something a little more riotous.

They opened with 'Square One' from the new album, a nice song but not a real grabber. It took the first few crashing cymbals of 'Politik' to get the crowd going. And from there, they didn't let up.

Mixing in old and new, they stormed through a fairly brief 80-minute set. Their debut album, 'Parachutes', was the least represented of the three albums, with only a stellar 'Yellow' and a brief, endearingly flubbed version of 'Don't Panic' making the cut. The tracks from 'AROBTTH' drew the biggest reaction from the crowd, none more so than the played to death but still fantastic 'Clocks'.

They sampled heavily from the new album, playing 7 songs in all. I often need to hear new songs a few times before I can pass judgment on them, and none of the new ones played Wednesday immediately jumped out at me. The hazard of having such a clearly defined sound is that, at least upon first listen, new material tends to sound the same as the old. I wouldn't say there are any real sonic surprises among the new songs, but there are no stinkers, either. 'A Message' and 'What If', as well as 'White Shadows' from the L.A. gig in March, seem like winners.

The band sounded fantastic, despite what seemed to be a fairly muddy Fillmore system. Chris Martin's voice was strong and every bit as crisp as it is on the albums. Lead guitarist Jon Buckland was dead on with all of his solos (save for the 'Don't Panic' flub) and Will Champion's drum work shone during percussion-driven songs like 'Politik' and 'God Put A Smile Upon Your Face.'

The most indelible impression I took away from the concert was the professionalism and confidence with which the band performed. That may translate as 'boring' to some, but it shouldn't. So many bands perform as though they've just read the "Live Rockers' Handbook", with practiced poses and predictable, "I love this fucking town!"-style banter (see Bravery, The). The bands who get it realize that when the music's good, the performance speaks for itself. You don't need to light your guitar on fire or play the drums with your cock - you just need to convince the audience that you're giving them everything, that music represents more than just a way to make a living. It's a sign of musical maturity as much as anything, which is why U2 is fairly incapable of putting on a bad show at this point.

For Coldplay, the live experience begins and ends with Martin, who effortlessly exudes likability and moves around the stage with purpose, if not intensity. His gyrations (such as his human second hand during 'Clocks') can be a little out there but never feel contrived. He easily and confidently interacted with the crowd, something that many bands seem uncomfortable or unwilling to do but which adds so much to the concert experience. In an intimate setting like The Fillmore, it played particularly well as he expressed genuine gratitude for the fans' support and dealt admirably with an annoying chick who kept shouting "I love you, Chris!" and "You rock!" as though she invented the Annoying Wannabe Groupie act.

No rock show is worth $1,000, nor a prosthetic leg, nor a car, nor.....etc. But it's hard to imagine anyone left the Fillmore on Wednesday disappointed by Coldplay's performance. The crowd was treated to a rocking, intense, thoroughly enjoyable set from a band that may never again be able to play in a 1,200 seat venue without inciting a full-scale riot. The aptly named gig certainly generated its share of "buzz", but in the end it was hardly necessary. Coldplay's music speaks for itself, and loudly at that.

Here's the complete setlist:

Square One
Politik
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face
Speed of Sound
Warning Sign
Yellow
Low
The Scientist
Don't Panic (abbreviated)
Till Kingdom Come
Clocks
What If

Encore:
A Message
In My Place
Fix You

'The Onion' Party on May 13

Courtesy of CraigsList, this could be worth checking out.

The Onion Party - Friday, May 13

craigslist and INFORUM Welcome America's Finest News Source to San Francisco! WHAT: The world's most popular news satire publication is coming to the streets of San Francisco. craigslist and INFORUM invite you to celebrate in style at 12 Galaxies with bands, beer and The Onion writers (who apparently also DJ)! More than 4 million readers visit The Onion online for genius headlines like, "Supreme Court Rules Supreme Court Rules" and "Drugs Win Drug War." Get your much-needed weekly dose on street corners beginning May 12.

• 10:45 - 11:30pm: Dead Hensons
• 11:30 - 12:30am: Special Guest ONION DJs
• 12:30 - 2:00am: DJ Jester the Filipino Fist
• 2:00 - 6:00am: Staring Contest between Onion writers and craigslist staff

WHO: The Onion writers & management
WHEN: 10 p.m. Doors Open
WHERE: 12 Galaxies, 2565 Mission Street, San Francisco
HOW: Free event - No tickets or reservations necessary!

I went to Coldplay and you didn't

And I didn't even have to blow a 300lb, 35-year-old virgin to get there!

Review to follow a bit later....

Coldplay Fillmore Tickets: Spanish Fly for Losers

It didn’t take Dionne Warwick to predict that there would be an unbridled frenzy when the tickets for Coldplay's Wednesday “buzz gig” at The Fillmore went on sale last Sunday. Do the math – 1,200 seat venue...tens of thousands of fans looking for tickets…at least half of the tickets likely already spoken for before the public even had a crack at them (due to radio stations, record execs, Ticketmaster employees, Evil Geniuses, etc.). It was bound to get messy, and messy it has gotten.

As anyone who logged onto the Ticketmaster site at 10:01 AM found out, tickets sold out in roughly the time it takes that little Japanese guy to eat an all-beef frank. This left many, many, many people out in the Cold (sorry, that's terrible). But rather than causing a little natural frustration among fans who had hoped to attend a cool, intimate show, the masses have responded with uncaged fury. In thousands of posts on message boards, web sites and Craigslist, “true fans” have raged at the band, the venue and "Ticketbastard" because of perceived inequities in the ticket distribution process. Nevermind the fact that one of the biggest bands in the world playing a very small venue means that tickets will inevitably be scarcer than non-pedophiles at a ‘Star Trek’ convention - it’s a conspiracy at work!!

It’s been amazing, surreal, sad, and hilarious to witness the whole “buzz gig” saga unfold. There's been so much energy devoted to the controversy, you’d swear John and George were reincarnated for a special dual-headlining gig with Beethoven's ghost and Wyld Stallyns. Maybe a better comparison is the Golden Ticket frenzy in ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’; I’m fairly certain at least one wealthy factory owner suspended production and had all his employees hammer away at Ticketmaster’s site. At least with that, the Golden ticketholders got to frolic with exotic midgets in a twisted Candyland-on-acid setting. This is just a damn rock show by a band that, while good, ain’t exactly U2 (no matter how much they want to be).

In addition to the millions of pipe-dreaming “superfans” who are posting impassioned pleas on Craigslist for tickets to the show, there is another prominent trend developing: the burgeoning “tickets-for-love” trade market. A staggering number of posts have popped up from “decent looking, slightly overweight, sorta shy” guys (translation: replicants of Comic Book Guy from ‘The Simpsons’) offering tickets to the show to “attractive, fun girls who like to have a good time” (translation: hot sluts who will be so grateful for the CBG’s generosity that they’ll at least entertain the notion of putting out).

On the flip side, there have been countless requests for tickets by “hot, superfun chicks who like to have a good time.” Some have gone further than others with their offers, but most contain at least an implicit offer of carnal rewards. While I admire the opportunistic gall of these women, I just can’t imagine why anyone would take the bait. No matter how pathetic he is, a guy would be fucking nuts to give away a ticket to a chick just because she claims she’s “hot and fun” when he could turn around and sell it for $500-$1,000 on eBay. That’s good whorin’ money!

I don't know what it says about the state of romance when Coldplay tickets have become a substitute for balls in asking chicks out. Probably nothing, except that there are many, many guys who feel no shame in bribing girls who are presumably out of their league to go out with them.

In addition to the straightforward sleaze on Craigslist, here are some other innovative, amusing and mystifying approaches to the Coldplay ticket fiasco:

• A guy who’s using his extra ticket as a bargaining chip to get a job. You’ve got to admire the practicality and instinct in capitalizing on the frenzy of morons. I’d hire him.
• A guy offering fine wine for a ticket. The heart of rock and roll is still beating.
• People offering trades for Pixies/Tom Petty/Keane/Black Crowes/Snow Patrol/(insert other mediocre-to-crappy band here) concert tickets. Good effing luck.
• A guy (presumably in jest….although in this case, who knows) hilariously offering his prosthetic leg for a ticket.
• A person offering a ticket in return for a child who will be used to perform various forms of manual labor. Chilling to think about how many earnest responses and offers this person will get.
• A person advocating a mass protest the night of the show to stick it to Ticketmaster, Coldplay, ClearChannel, etc. Yes, the spirit of the ‘60’s is alive and well in SF.
• A woman offering a ticket to anyone who'll take care of her elderly, bed-ridden father while she's vacationing in Florida. Ah, the dignity of aging.
  
• A guy offering his 1994 Honda Accord LX for 6 tickets.
  
• I don't know how to sum this one up, but he's very thorough.
  

I'm sure the show will be a good one, but the real spectacle is going to be looking at the faces of the people filing out of the Fillmore as they come to the realization that they just dropped a grand/slept with a fatty/mortgaged their house/donated a kidney/sacrificed their dignity to attend an 80-minute rock show. That's the real show, folks, and tickets are free to all.