Front Row Seats

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

2005-06-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

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'!

2005-06-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-06-02T22:30:00.000-07:00

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!!

2005-05-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

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.......

2005-05-13T15:12:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-08T17:26:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Coldplay coming to the Fillmore on May 4

2005-04-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

In case anyone hadn't yet heard, Coldplay is playing a special "buzz" gig at The Fillmore on Wednesday, May 4 in advance of their upcoming tour. Needless to say, this is going to be a next to impossible ticket to get. They're not selling tix at the Fillmore box office, so everyone's going to have to play the phone/online lottery game. Last time I played that game (for the U2 concert in San Jose), I got through after 3 minutes and the show was already sold out. The Fillmore seats about 1,800 people, so I think 2 minutes is probably a realistic estimate. Happy dialing/clicking!

Most Disturbingly Unsurprising Fact of the Day

2005-04-27T11:27:00.000-07:00

In a really disturbing article from today's LA Times, a detective in a Toronto Sex Crimes unit focused on catching pedophiles reveals that basically all of the freaks they've caught have been hardcore 'Star Trek' fans. From the article:

On one wall (of the squad room) is a "Star Trek" poster with investigators' faces substituted for the Starship Enterprise crew. But even that alludes to a dark fact of their work: All but one of the offenders they have arrested in the last four years was a hard-core Trekkie.

Det. Constable Warren Bulmer slips on a Klingon sash and shield they confiscated in a recent raid. "It has something to do with a fantasy world where mutants and monsters have power and where the usual rules don't apply," Bulmer reflects. "But beyond that, I can't really explain it."

Anyone who's seen 'Trekkies' or the brilliant Triumph clip at the 'Star Wars' premiere knows that this revelation is about as surprising as Courtney Love announcing she has substance abuse issues. I'm all for escapism, but there's something more than a little unhealthy about adult nerds retreating from their miserable lives into artificial fantasy worlds constructed by even bigger nerds. The idea that some of these wanks may extend their deviance to the sexual realm is hardly a shocker.

If I'm a cop in the sex crimes division, I'm staking out every damn fantasy/sci-fi convention in the world, herding the freaks into prison buses en masse, and giving them the Abu Ghraib treatment until they crack and cough up their caches of child porn. Sure, you'll trample on the civil liberties and prosthetic pointy ears of some harmless kooks, but I think the world's prepubescent youth will breathe a huge sigh of relief when roughly 90% of the predatory pedophile population is thrown into the pokey for a heavy dose of rectal justice.

I can see it now - "Law and Order: Star Trek Sting".

"Oh say can you........uh"

2005-04-25T01:58:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, Carl Lewis and Roseanne Barr are breathing sighs of relief. We now have a new title-holder in the category for "History's Worst Rendition of the National Anthem." Singing before a Canadian hockey game, this poor girl absolutely mangles the 'Star Spangled Banner,' forgetting words and generally looking like Ashlee Simpson on 'SNL.' Then she makes the extremely ill-advised decision to come back out for a third time. Bad goes immediately to worse.

Here is a link to the painfully hilarious video.

Kasabian back in SF

2005-04-24T23:12:00.000-07:00

The official site has new tour dates listed for this summer. Kasabian will be at Popscene (330 Ritch) on 6/9/05. While I'm glad they're coming back and would definitely like to check them out again, this one has the makings of a big mess. Popscene doesn't sell advance tix and the venue is TINY. At this point, Kasabian is probably a little too big for a small club like that. Fortunately, I'll probably be unemployed in early June, so camping out won't put a big crimp in my lifestyle.

The Mancharrrrrr-ian Candidate

2005-04-20T17:01:00.000-07:00

This story restores my faith in the institutions of higher education. Schools may be cracking down on drinking and kicking fraternities off campus like felons on 'The Apprentice', but the rebellious spirit of youth is alive and well at NC State.

Sick of Izod-wearing, squeaky-clean candidates who use proper grammar, the Wolfpack Nation has gotten behind a new kind of candidate in the race for student body president. His name is The Pirate Captain, and he's demolishing the other candidates who must feel like, to quote Jay, somebody shit in their cereal.

Among the highlights of the campaign thus far: The Pirate Captain (actual name Will Piavis) "came to the candidates' debate with a green parrot on his shoulder" and said that, should he win, "I might be gettin' a few extra buttons for me shirt."

With victory pretty much assured, I can't wait to see how this plays out. I'm sure the guy got hammered and thought it would be a funny joke to dress up like a pirate and walk around campus, probably never believing he might actually win. Now he's got to consider the prospect of going to serious, humorless student government meetings where he's going to have real duties and responsibilities. Is the guy going to keep up the pirate act? Can he really make decisions that affect roughly 30,000 students while communicating only in pirate talk and donning an eye patch with a parrot perched on his shoulder?

I, for one, hope he stays true to his pirate roots. He's got a pop culture trend on his side - pirates have never been hotter than they are right now. Between the success of 'Pirates of the Caribbean', the Seinfeld puffy shirt, the increasing popularity of the term 'butt pirate', and the enduring comedy of the Sea Captain, the public has demonstrated decisively its hunger for all things pirate.

If he can pull this off, who's to say where his political career might go? Stranger things have happened.

Chariots of Feces

2005-04-19T13:27:00.000-07:00

This story struck a sentimental note with me, as I have a very dear friend, Mateo, who was similarly overcome by the brown plague while running the L.A. Marathon. To summarize, British marathoner Paula Radcliffe began suffering from "stomach cramps" at about mile 21 of last Sunday's London Marathon. Rather than look for the nearest portaloo, Paula popped a squat in full view of all and turned the chocolate hostage loose. Great quote: "When I stopped, I could hear people all around me going 'Oh'."

Paula recovered and won the marathon. In contrast, Mateo finished in 3,781st place, demolished a good samaritan's bathroom, and walked around for an hour after the race with shit-stained white shorts. Edge: Paula.

The Wages of 'Sin'

2005-04-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

The 'comic book adaptation' genre is about one 'Daredevil 2' away from carving out a permanent place for itself between the 'inspirational retard' genre and the 'Jean Claude Van Damme Memorial underground street fighter' genre in the Hall of Worthless Cinema. The last decade or so has seen a ton of films based on comics, and most of them (with the exception of the first 'Batman', 'The Crow', 'Men in Black' and the 'X-men' films) have been steaming piles of shit.

They all pretty much have the same general plot - complex hero flirts with annoying love interest while trying to defeat a colorful villain and come to terms with his superhuman ability to fly/pick up a building/release toxic ass gas. The good ones have either created their own dark, visually fascinating world ('The Crow') or figured out that they can't take themselves too seriously and just had fun with the idea ('Hellboy', 'Batman'). The bad ones ('The Hulk', 'Daredevil') act as though they're exploring the deeper meaning of spandex tights.

But until 'Sin City', no comic book movie has been created that actually simulates what's fun about reading a comic book. It's not about depth or character development - it's about consistent action, sharp, one-liner heavy dialogue and atmosphere with a capital 'A'. People read comic books for the immediate escapism they provide. 'Sin City' isn't an adaptation; it's a living, breathing comic book.

The film, set in a hellish urban jungle called Basin City, starts out rather inauspicously, trotting out 'King of the Ass Hats' Josh Hartnett to unconvincingly play a dapper hit man. He may be a 'hottie', but the guy's acting is about as emotionally intense as a text message. It's a mercifully brief scene, and the film quickly gets down to business with the first vignette, featuring Bruce Willis as a tough, graying cop out to stop a deviant child murderer, also the Senator's son, from killing a young girl. The violent tone is set early, as Willis' Detective Hartigan blasts off body parts like he's taking out the garbage. He rescues the girl and sacrifices himself to keep her alive ("An old man dies. A little girl lives. That's a pretty fair trade.") The scene ends, for the moment, with Willis being pumped full of lead by his traitorious partner (Michael Madsen). But in Basin City, no one really dies until they're ready to.

The next epsiode is the film's best, a gritty story about a depraved yet charismatic killer (a surprisingly appealing Mickey Rourke) named Marv who's out to avenge the murder of a gorgeous call girl named Goldie (a damn fine looking Jaime King), killed while lying next to him in bed. He's a sadistic, unhinged sociopath - but it's impossible not to root for him as he shoots, dismembers and disfigures his way to the truth. Also, his probation officer (Carla Gugino) is extremely hot and really likes being naked.

It's a ton of fun watching Marv romp through the underworld, meting out excessive justice and living by his own twisted moral guidelines (eg. you can't kill someone unless they deserve it, but if they do, you're free to turn them into Robert Shaw at the end of 'Jaws'). By the time he catches up with Goldie's killer, the audience is unabashedly rooting for the coming torture. It doesn't hurt that the killer is played by the eminently tortureable Elijah Wood.

The violence hardly lets up in the third vignette, which features Clive Owen as (what else?) a murderer. Owen's Dwight is dating Shellie (Brittany Murphy), a barmaid with plenty of baggage. When some of that baggage turns up, in the form of a menacing ex-boyfriend named Jack (Benicio Del Toro), Dwight chivalrously takes care of it by adminstering a violent swirlie to Jack in a recently used toilet bowl. This sets into motion a chain of events that leads Dwight into Old Town, a district ruled by heavily armed and implausibly gorgeous hookers, led by S&M diva Gail (Rosario Dawson), who enforce their own laws. Dwight, who has a soft spot for the ladies (especially Gail) and cannot tolerate men who abuse them, joins up with the women of Old Town to avert a bloody war between the cops, the mob and the hookers.

The film then picks back up with Detective Hartigan, now recuperating in the hospital. He's being rehabilitated courtesy of Senator Rourke, a corrupt politician hell-bent on avenging his son's disfigurement by Hartigan. Once he's healed sufficiently, Hartigan is thrown in jail, framed for molesting Nancy, the girl he rescued. While in prison, he's kept going by the weekly letters he receives Nancy, who after eight years has grown up into a full-blown hottie who looks a lot like Jessica Alba.

When the letters stop coming, Hartigan fears that something has happened to Nancy. So he.......hell, its just more of the same ol' wonderful ultraviolence. Only this time the recipient is a creepy, foul-smelling creature named Yellow Bastard. Yes, 'Sin City' has its moments of David Lynchian absurdity in addition to straightforward carnage.

'Sin City' is chock full of cameos by big name actors, which is usually an extremely annoying and distracting cinematic convention. But with the exception of Hartnett, most everyone holds their own and avoids falling into the trap of "look at me" grandstanding.

Willis' best days are definitely behind him - buying him in a John McClane-type role is getting increasingly difficult, especially after the Lindsey Lohan rumors and the fact that he hasn't broken Ashton Kutcher's legs yet. But he pulls it off here, believably playing a burned out cop with a kind heart and doing a reasonably convincing job of pretending he doesn't want a piece of Jessica Alba.

Owen is great as the detached killer, Dwight. He was born to play this type of role; the Cockney accent adds to the stonefaced mystique. And Del Toro is perfect as a vile cop who's as miserable in death as he was in life. The guy plays scary way too well (see "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas") not to be a creep in real life. Or maybe he's just that good of an actor.

Rourke is the film's biggest winner, both because he probably needed it more than any of the other actors and because he simply nails the role. Playing a scuzzball, he clearly drew upon his real life experience of actually being a scuzzball to bring an extra bit of believability to the part. Regardless, his performance is the best thing in 'Sin City' (except for Carla Gugino's rack).

It's tough to know what to make of 'Sin City'. It's a movie, but it's like nothing I've seen before. It will be inadequately compared to 'Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow', which was the first film to be shot entirely in front of a blue screen, as 'Sin City' was. But while 'Sky Captain' was an insufferably boring, pseudo-artsy homage to old 1930's and 40's sci-fi movies, 'Sin City' captures the seamy urban underworld of detective novels and crime serials with maximum grit and flair. It may have been created largely in the graphics lab, but it feels very vibrant and alive.

There's no deeper meaning to 'Sin City', except that it leaves you to ponder why watching a man get dragged by his face from a moving car is so damn amusing. 'Sin City' sets out to provide a specific, disposable brand of ultraviolent, ultra-visceral entertainment, and it succeeds marvelously. When a man ripping off another man's genitals with his bare hands gets the theater laughing uproariously, you know you're watching a good flick.

I give it 3.5 angry monkeys out of 4.

The Bravery at Slim's - March 29, 2005

2005-04-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

The Bravery are an interesting illustration of the fickle nature of indie music buzz. A few months ago, they were the up-and-coming band of the moment, chosen #1 in the BBC's influential "Sound of 2005" poll and all but handed the title of 'Next Big Thing.' Their debut album was leaked a few months early and received largely positive acclaim, with two singles ('Unconditional' and 'Honest Mistake') receiving pretty solid radio airplay. It seemed this was a band worth the buzz.

Then it all seemed to turn a bit sour. Before the album was even released, a torrent of backlash began to swell among those who questioned the credibility of the band, especially after the revelation that lead singer Sam Endicott had sported blond dreads as the bass player in a reportedly awful ska/rock band called Skabba the Hutt. Some picked on their sound, calling them derivative and unoriginal, while others fixated on their fashion style, which ranges from Strokes hipster chic to The Cure goth rock, painted fingernails and all.

I saw them at Cafe Du Nord back in mid-January, but was forced to give them an 'incomplete' due to A) an equipment malfunction that marred a good portion of the band's short set, and B) my extreme drunkenness, which completely erased my memories of the second half of the set.

So when I heard they were coming back to co-headline a show at Slim's with Ash, I was all in. I was digging the CD and wanted a chance to see them again in a less comatose state.

I bought tickets in late January and then proceeded to gradually lose enthusiasm about the band until their show last week. I don't know if it was the persistently negative comments I had heard in the weeks leading up to the show or the fact that the album doesn't really lend itself to repeated listens, but I was having a hard time motivating myself to head out for the Tuesday show. Two huge margaritas at Don Ramon and a few Heinies helped the cause a bit.

Ash opened up (well, The Crimea technically did, but I didn't make it for their set), and stormed through an energetic, if a bit short, set. I haven't listened to Ash that much, but they're a fun live band and they've got a great presence; there's no pretense, just music. As they wrapped up, I was wishing they'd played a bit longer than the 8 or so songs they ripped off.

Leading into The Bravery's set, I was all set to have a miserable time. I was tired, bored, and not nearly drunk enough. There was a ridiculously long wait between sets while the band's gang of retarded roadies limped around the stage in extreme......slow......motion. If these assholes had been in charge of setting up the Popmart stage, it might have taken a month.

After more than an hour, the lights dimmed and The Bravery came out to 'Unconditional', my favorite song on the album. Fuzzy memories of the first show started coming back to me, and I realized that I did indeed enjoy the show in January. And I was already on the way to enjoying this one.

When you ignore all the cynical sniping by the band's critics, it's really hard not to love their music. I challenge anyone not to dance to 'Honest Mistake' or do some heavy head-bobbing to 'Out of Line.' I've heard a lot of New Order/Joy Division/Cure rip-offs, but few of them pull it off like The Bravery.

They sounded great as they powered through an album's worth of songs, bringing a surprising amount of intensity to their live act. I had seen them on MTV a month ago and lead singer Sam Endicott seemed about as comfortable onstage as a fat girl singing 'Baby Got Back' at karaoke. So it was nice to see that he had developed something of a stage presence (even if it was a bit excessively Morrissey-esque at times).

They encored with a rousing 'Fearless' and walked off to healthy applause from the sold-out crowd. Plain and simple, they delivered. It wasn't a transcendent, religious musical experience (Pearl Jam at San Jose's Spartan Stadium in '95 was as close as I've gotten to that). But it was a helluva fun show, a solid performance by a band that has been given far too much praise and criticism in its short life.

Regardless of how derivative or manufactured or trendy the band is, they crank out thoroughly enjoyable, danceable, catchy songs. And what more is there, really?

"But you mustn't tooouucchhhhhh!!!!!"

2005-04-04T21:50:00.000-07:00

This should kill 15-20 minutes or so. I don't think I've ever liked anyone who didn't like 'The Simpsons.' Highlights: 00 Homer Song, Under the Sea Song and Dating Game Song.

Hello, McFly!

2005-04-04T21:38:00.000-07:00

This is by no means a new clip, but I nearly wet myself watching it today and felt the need to pass it along. Anyone who's ever seen an interview with Crispin Glover knows that it's an interesting viewing experience, but this puts all his other performances to shame. Here is an appearance he did on Letterman back in 1987 when he was on to promote 'The River's Edge' (also starring a pre-'Bill and Ted' Keanu Reeves). Rumor is that the guy was on acid, and good luck mounting a meaningful argument against that. Letterman knows the interview is the lost cause from the beginning, and watching him trying to half-salvage it by bantering with a shocked Paul Schaffer is the best part of the clip. OK, that's a lie. It's the karate kick, by a mile.

Pat O'Brien: A Little Too Much Access

2005-03-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

You don't get to where Pat O'Brien is without being supremely competitive. They don't just hand out jobs as host of 'Access Hollywood' or 'The Insider' - you've got to scratch, claw and molest your way to the top of the trash TV anchor food chain.

So when Bill O'Reilly ingeniously conjured up a sordid sexual harassment scandal to generate publicity, Pat knew he had to strike back. He couldn't let O'Reilly soak up all the depraved glory, further cementing his reputation as the king of sleaze "journalism."

Well, Pat has struck back with a vengeance. He's seen O'Reilly's loofah fantasy and raised him a coked-out voice-mail that would make Richard Pryor blush. But he didn't stop there. Pat has also apparently been a terror at work, harassing colleagues at holiday parties, making hilarious gay propositions and dropping N-bombs on his brothas at the office in the worst attempt to be "down" since Aaron Carter G'd up back in 2002.

There's also apparently a picture out there of Patty O going solo, which I find hilarious but hope never to see. It's just a guess, but I'm betting Pat is hung like a "Forever Young"-era Elijah Wood. He just gives off that small dick vibe.

Pat's currently hiding out in "alcohol" rehab, but it will be high comedy watching him address the issue when he emerges. "Today's top item in 'The Insider' celebrity gossip news is....what the hell?!?" Does profuse sweating cause hair plugs to spontaneously fall out? He'd better hope not.

Listen to Pat's captivating voice-mail performance here.

Insert obvious "Michael Jackson Memorial Hospital" joke here

2005-03-25T12:57:00.000-08:00

Yes, this is a real logo.

Get this man some Paxil and a bat

2005-03-24T12:16:00.000-08:00

Barry Bonds, aka "He Who Could Not Be Bothered", has begun to crack. His last few press conference performances have demonstrated a side not seen before, a bit of vulnerability. Whereas previously he had mostly been "Standoffish, Arrogant Bonds," he has morphed in the last few weeks into "Angry Bonds", "Defiant Bonds", "Candid Bonds" and, most recently, "Dejected Bonds." It's been a startling display of erratic behavior from a man who has always pretty consistently been a one-note asshole.

In a sense, it shouldn't be too surprising. There's little doubt that Bonds has it tougher than any other professional athlete. Granted, most of it is the product of his own creation, but that can't make it any easier to endure on a daily basis. He is vigorously heckled in every major league park, stalked and harrassed by the media, and held up by grandstanding politicians as emblematic of a "crisis" in professional sports (though Big Mac has graciously stepped up to take some of the heat).

He's also praised, or at the very least credited, for having an incomparable ability to tune out all external distractions and turn his complete focus to performing on the field. His numbers amid the steadily-growing furor the last few years have been simply incredible, truly seasons for the ages. He has virtually transcended the sport, becoming a player for whom opposing managers literally change the rules of the game. The relentless torrent of accusations and speculation haven't thrown him off his game a bit, an impressive feat of detachment.

But there's only so much a man can endure, and Barry's comments on Monday painted the picture of a frustrated man needing badly to come out from behind the angry facade and unburden himself, maybe plead for a bit of mercy. He trotted out his son and, somewhat poignantly, discussed the effect the turmoil has had on his family. He talked about his mental exhaustion, how he's "jumped off the bridge." He even suggested, albeit in casual fashion, that he may have to miss the entire season due to his knee injury.

The latter claim set off alarms across the nation, leading the sports media to take Bonds' half-ass exclamation and run it up the proverbial flag pole as if it were a legitimate statement of belief or intent. Suddenly, he's "missing the entire season(!!!)", headed for the glue factory ahead of schedule. Clearly, they opined, the man has been beat down by the attention and abuse; maybe, at age 40, he's had enough?

Still, I don't think it's time to call off the season just yet. Monday was just the latest chapter in the fascinating story of Barry Bonds, a guy who just can't figure out how to coexist with the media that stalks him so persistenly. Possibly the greatest athlete of the past century, Bonds is also supremely ill-equipped to handle the kind of fan attention and media scrutiny his play - and omnipresent, Pigpen-esque cloud of controversy - demand. He's also not a schmoozer and he doesn't care enough about what others think to dance for anyone. In all likelihood, he's just as moody, arrogant and self-righteous as he usually appears, and he doesn't have the energy to try and change anyone's mind. As a result, he's become a flashbulb-popping spectacle to most fans, not a human being.

People simultaneously give Bonds too much and too little credit. Some write him off as an arrogant idiot, but the man has a brain and can occasionally come off as eloquent and insightful, especially when talking about his approach to hitting. If I were a Giants player, I would pull up a stool next to his massive La-Z-Boy and try to soak up whatever knowledge I could. I'd be frequently belittled and there's a good chance he'd try to steal my personal chef, but I guarantee I'd emerge a better hitter.

But at the same time, Barry isn't smart enough to be taken seriously as a spokesman for anything except his own fractured state of mind. He has demonstrated time and again in interviews that his mouth is only periodically connected to his brain. When he gets in front of a camera or microphone, he picks a mood (usually "toxic") and spews a word salad of comments that have no consistency; I've literally heard him blatantly contradict himself in consecutive sentences. In the past few years, we've heard Barry threaten retirement a number of times, blame racism for his persecution over his (admitted) use of steroids, attempt to diminish the gravity of steroid use by comparing it to labor exploitation in Third World countries, and reassure us about the size and functionality of his testicles. Clearly this is not a man who sticks to his PR script when talking to the press.

The defining Barry Bonds quote, one that puts all of his ramblings and diatribes into perspective, was uttered to the NY Post about a year ago: "I don't even believe half the shit I say." And if you've listened to him enough, you know that he doesn't.

No, Barry Bonds will not be retiring. Nor will he be missing the season. In fact, I'll be surprised if he misses more than a couple of weeks. The guy hasn't run at full speed since 1998, so having a slightly gimpy knee isn't going to affect him as much as most players. Bonds, for all his prima donna behavior and occasional bouts of verbal diarrhea, is a fierce competitor who desperately wants to win a World Series. And he, like everyone else in San Francisco, knows that it ain't happening unless he carries the Giants there on his massive shoulders.

So I join the rest of the Giants nation in hoping that Barry shakes his case of the blues sooner than later and starts treating fans and media with the same indifferent distaste he always has. Until I see #25 out there dogging fly balls in left field and crushing fastballs into the Cove, it just won't feel like baseball season.

Spoon Hitting the Road - And Coming to Amoeba!

2005-03-22T23:25:00.000-08:00

With their new album, 'Gimme Fiction', set for official release on May 20, Spoon is hitting the road in the coming months. I can't say I'm loving the new CD; it's OK, but a bit boring and nowhere near as good as 'Kill the Moonlight.' But having seen two Britt Daniel solo shows in the past year, I am really looking forward to seeing the full band perform live. In addition to the June 20 show (at the Fillmore, I believe, though it doesn't specify below), Spoon is doing an in-store gig at the legendary Amoeba Music in the Haight.

Here are the Spoon 2005 US tour dates:

06.01.05 - Atlanta, GA - Variety Playhouse
06.02.05 - Carrboro, NC - Cat's Cradle
06.03.05 - Washington, DC - 9:30 Club
06.04.05 - Philadelphia, PA - Theatre of Living Arts
06.05.05 - Toronto, Ontario - Lee's Palace
06.06.05 - Northampton, MA - Pearl Street
06.07.05 - Boston, MA - Paradise Rock Club
06.08.05 - New York, NY - Webster Hall
06.09.05 - New York, NY - Webster Hall
06.10.05 - Cleveland, OH - Beachland Ballroom
06.11.05 - Chicago, IL - Vic Theatre
06.12.05 - Minneapolis, MN - First Avenue
06.13.05 - Lawrence, KS - Granada
06.14.05 - Denver, CO - Bluebird Theater
06.16.05 - Portland, OR - Crystal Ballroom
06.17.05 - Vancouver, British Columbia
06.18.05 - Seattle, WA - Showbox
06.20.05 - San Francisco, CA - TBA
06.21.05 - Los Angeles, CA - TBA
06.22.05 - Tempe, AZ - TBA
06.24.05 - Dallas, TX - TBA
06.25.05 - Austin, TX - TBA

Coldplay: Paying for the Sins of Keane

2005-03-22T16:50:00.000-08:00

Coldplay has gotten the shaft in the court of musical opinion of late. A few years ago, pre-platinum album sales and arena tours, they were an essential buzz band, praised for their unique sound and great live presence. Well, some claimed they were highly derivative of U2, but most everyone agreed that they were a great new band destined for big things.

Now, the buzz has dried up and the perception is that Coldplay has officially become a 'supergroup.' That label, while complimentary in a sense, can also be dubious praise. A lot of music fans, occasionally myself included, have a hard time getting really excited about a band unless they feel they're among the 'early adopters', discovering a musical jewel before it goes mainstream. When a band 'makes it' and is embraced by the masses, being a fan just isn't as fun. Telling people you saw Coldplay at Shoreline Amphitheater, surrounded by 35,000 12-year-olds and pinheads who spend the whole show chanting "Play 'Yellow'!", isn't likely to impress anyone.

Since 2000, Coldplay has released two solid-to-stellar albums that had the misfortune of getting grossly overplayed (no fault of the band's), toured the globe a few times over, taken up some political causes, and married a (formerly) A-list Hollywood actress. So perhaps they've knowingly forfeited some of their indie credibility, but has that made them any less of a band?

The recent announcement of their new album and world tour hasn't been met with much enthusiasm from "in the know" music fans. Some act as though Coldplay is at fault for their rapid rise to musical glory, as though they should share the blame for inspiring countless, and mostly inferior, ripoff bands featuring soft piano, emotional lyrics, and falsetto-wailing lead singers.

And that's simply not fair. When you strip away image or fan dynamics or gossip column prominence, Coldplay is simply an innovative, talented band with a knack for churning out catchy, melodic songs. They've progressed musically with each album, a fact that bodes well with a new release coming in a few months. They may not be Franz Ferdinand or Bloc Party or whatever other flavor of the month is charming indie hearts (including my own) at the moment, but they're not Pearl Jam either, a once great band that hasn't made a listenable song in years.

I'm anxiously awaiting the pirated leak or, God forbid, the official release of the new album, 'X&Y', due out June 6. I may skip the show at Shoreline, however.

For a preview of the new album, check out this live recording of Coldplay's performance from the March 12 KCRW concert at Universal Amphitheater in LA.

I don't get it Paul. What's going on this Tuesday?

2005-03-22T13:09:00.000-08:00

For those of you wondering why Paul Silas got the boot yesterday as coach of the Cleveland Cavs, despite the fact that he had guided them to a respectable 34-30 record and the 5 seed in the Eastern Conference, I think I've found a clue. Apparently Paul made some, uh, questionable comments to the Cleveland media prior to the return of Carlos Boozer - who jacked the Cavs in the offseason by agreeing to a deal with Cleveland and then suddenly Benedict Arnold-ing it over to the Utah Jazz for more money - last week.

Clever Paul, when asked about Los' return, said "Well, we'll 'see you next Tuesday'," to which an astute sportswriter responded, "Uh, isn't the game tomorrow?" Paul, not exactly a master of subtle humor, clarified by commenting, "If you spell out see (C) you (U) next (N) Tuesday (T), what does that give you? That's what he is." Oh, OK. We get it now, Paul. You believe the man is a vagina.

I'm thinking Paul imagined it going a little differently, like he'd toss out a few sly and smirky yet obscure lines about Boozer and then be able to plausibly deny their true meaning. Instead, he immediately gets flustered when his feeble attempt at cleverness flops and all but tells the media, "Yo, that dude is a big, hairy cunt. Yeah, that's right - C-U-N-T, CUNT!"

Well, Paul got his medicine yesterday, but I'm wondering what's going on with the Cleveland media when the head coach of the LeBron Dynasty calling a guy a "cunt" in plain view of several media members doesn't even merit a mention in the next day's newspaper. Are they just so thrilled to have a player actually worth a shit in Cleveland (apologies to Bob Wickman) that they're willing to whistle and look the other way when a coach drops a C-bomb on a former player rather than risk LeBron sanctions? I've never thought of the Bay Area media as vicious - certainly not on the level of Boston and NY media - but I guarantee you if Mike Montgomery called Gilbert Arenas "Twirling With A Tutu", they'd be on him like Karl Malone on little Mexican girls.

The only reason this came to light was because a Jim Rome listener forwarded the audio to him. Rome discussed it on his show yesterday, doing what Cleveland's illustrious sports media failed to do - be a journalist. And when Jim Rome is a bastion of journalistic integrity, it sure doesn't reflect well on journalism as a whole.

It kind of makes you wonder what else we've been missing out on in Cleveland. Maybe Tim Couch's departure was less about his Pop Warner-caliber play than his outspoken promotion of Islamic jihad against America. Maybe Zydrunas Ilgauskas' post-dunk flava is actually a shout-out to his Nazi brotherhood (he does have a shaved head). Perhaps......sorry, I just can't think of a single Cleveland Indian besides Bob Wickman, and I already used him.

While I'm extremely disappointed in the Cleveland media, I'm comforted by the knowledge that Paul Silas will likely coach again in the NBA, enabling the birth of an instant classic fan taunt - "See you next Tuesday! Bum bum ba ba bum! See you next Tuesday! Bum bum ba......" Now that's a great time out.

You can listen to Paul's performance here.

Doves are comin' to SF!

2005-03-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

Fantastic news - Doves are playing the Fillmore on Sunday, May 1. This is a show I've been waiting for since I started getting into them back in early 2003. Naturally I went and bought 8 tickets right away.

If you haven't listened to Doves much, get yourself to the nearest illegal P2P application and download some of their songs immediately, particularly 2002's 'The Last Broadcast.' They have such an amazing, distinct sound; you'd never call them derivative. Sure, there are influences (I've heard U2 referenced often in album reviews), but when you hear a Doves song, there's little doubt who it is.

Tickets can be found here for the May 1 Fillmore show.

Here is the full list of North American tour dates:

May:
Sun 01 - San Francisco, CA - The Fillmore
Tue 03 - Seattle, WA - The Showbox
Wed 04 - Portland, OR - Aladdin Theatre
Fri 06 - Vancouver, BC - Commodore Ballroom
Sun 08 - Salt Lake City, UT - Club Sound
Mon 09 - Boulder, CO - Fox Theatre
Thu 12 - Minneapolis, MN - Quest
Fri 13 - Chicago, IL - Vic Theatre
Fri 20 - Boston, MA - Avalon
Sun 22 - Philadelphia, PA - Theatre Of Living Arts
Mon 23 - Washington, DC - 9:30 Club

Kasabian at Slim's - 3/11/05

2005-03-13T22:28:00.000-08:00

I've been to some pretty good shows recently, among them Britt Daniel at Swedish American Music Hall in late 2004 and The Bravery at Cafe du Nord in January. But I can't remember the last time I've been to a show that rocked from start to finish like Kasabian's gig on Friday at Slim's. The band may be new, but they already have a good grasp what it means to be a great live act (they should share some tips with The Strokes, who were more the Country Bear Jamboree than an actual rock band when I saw them in 2003).

Kasabian was technically opening up for The Music, but it was pretty clear that the majority were there to see them. There's been a steady buzz building around the band for the last few months, despite the fact that their debut album has yet to be released stateside (ah, the wonders of the internet). Tickets sold out quickly and were being scalped outside and online for as much as $60 a pop. Not sure I would have paid that, but it turned out it would have been worth it.

In a fiendishly clever move, Kasabian sent out one of the worst bands I've ever seen to open the show. Called Morningwood, they featured a thoroughly generic sound and a screeching lead singer who, as one of my friends observed, looked like a slutty Mama Cass. And I can tell you that a slutty Mama Cass gyrating onstage and imploring a not-yet-drunk audience to "take off your clothes" is about as sexy as watching Mia Tyler wolf down a 24-piece bucket of KFC.

After the unpleasantness, the lights dimmed and Kasabian came onstage looking like their last showers were back in the UK several weeks ago. They opened with with 'I.D.', one of my favorite tracks off the album, and stormed through an energetic 45 minute set. With a minimal back catalog, the setlist pretty much mirrored the album, although I thought I heard one or two good new songs mixed in.

Kasabian's beat-heavy sound lends itself extremely well to live performances; I haven't danced since downing a flask of tequila at a Pimp's & Ho's party freshman year, yet I couldn't resist doing some heavy head-bobbing (no, I wasn't on my knees). It's fun to be at a show where EVERYONE is having a good time, regardless of how familiar they are with the band. I'd be curious to see if their sound plays as well in large venues, but it works extremely well in a small club atmosphere.

They closed with an intense version of 'Club Foot', muttered something in Manchester-ese and walked off the stage to a very hearty ovation. Well done, mates.

The Music followed, but the crowd's energy had peaked with Kasabian and they never really seemed into it. The Music are a solid band with some decent songs, but it doesn't help that their lead singer, Adam Nutter, sounds like a mix between Chip & Dale (pick one) and Michael Jackson. And their bassist looks a helluva lot like Jerry O'Connell in 'Stand By Me.' That just ain't rock & roll.

I'm not sure when Kasabian will be back in town; judging by the response, there's probably a pretty good chance they'll put together a solo club tour in the near future. I highly recommend checking them out while they're still playing small venues. They probably won't be for long.

To get a sample of Kasabian live, here are couple of MP3's from London's Cabinet War Rooms in mid-2004:

Club Foot
Reason is Treason

MLB 2005: I Need You Now, More Than Ever

2005-03-11T19:25:00.000-08:00

As we count down the days until the beginning of the 2005 MLB season, I'm struck by one overriding emotion: relief. I've always been a big baseball fan and I'm always excited for opening day, but the dawn of this season holds additional importance.

This is because I've spent the last five months living in sports fan hell. The universe has chosen this point in time to even itself out, punishing me for all of the joy I've felt over the years being a fan of Bay Area sports. It's been a good run - 49ers dynasties, consistently competitive Giants and A's teams, the endearing comedy of the Warriors.

But since the end of the 2004 baseball season, the well has officially run dry. This year, I stopped watching the Niners after week 3, gave up on the Warriors after game 11, and I just wasn't able to muster the enthusiasm to get behind the Clash in their playoff run. The one pleasant note to this historically futile stretch is the fact that I haven't had to hear about the Sharks at all, save for the occasional "what are they doing without hockey" update about some player who's been forced to work construction to feed his family.

So it is with open arms that I welcome the artificially enhanced behemoths of baseball. I've spent a ridiculous amount of time mentally preparing for the season, devouring every piece of written word on just about every player from A-ball up and holding an endless number of debates with friends about trades, free agent signings, and Jose Canseco's testicles.

It is because of this tireless, and more than slightly pathetic, devotion that I feel comfortable offering up a few predictions for the 2005 MLB season:

Bringing Home the Bacon: Yankees. This is hard to write, both because I consider them to be emblematic of all that is wrong with baseball and because my heart truly thinks the Giants have a shot. But the Yanks had a very solid offseason, greatly improving their pitching staff and picking up some nice complementary players (including Tino Martinez and Tony Womack). It may not be smooth sailing - I think there's a better than average chance that Kevin Brown and the Big Unit will murder one another, and there's a decent chance Trot Nixon and Kevin Millar will gang rape A-Rod in the Fenway visitors' locker room (those gay porn moustaches are fooling no one, guys). But the Yankees were the second best team in baseball last year and they've improved, while the Red Sox have declined a bit on paper. That makes the Yanks the favorites.

Bringing up the Rear: KC Royals. The Devil Rays are a pretty safe pick in any year, but they've actually got a fair amount of good young talent and I think they're due for a bit of a turnaround. The Royals, on the other hand, have the look of one of the worst teams since Prohibition. Their lineup is a collection of "Who the hell is that guy?" guys, and their rotation isn't much better. They're very young, but the only real prospects are Jeremy Affeldt and, to a lesser degree, Zack Greinke. Mike Sweeney is treated like a God there, but what has the guy ever done except spend months at a time in traction? They get additional minus points for starting Terrence Long, a charter member of the "My Least Favorite Players of All Time Club" along with Lee Stevens, Wayne Franklin and Candy Maldonado. The Royals are simply terrible this year and are already the prohibitive favorites to take this spot for the next three years.

Chan Ho Park Memorial Award for Big Money Free Agent Signing Most Likely to Result in a GM's Suicide: Pedro Martinez. We live in slightly more fiscally responsible times, so nothing rivals the galactic boner that John Hart pulled in giving Chan Ho a 5 year, $65 million contract in 2001. But Omar Minaya's decision to give Pedro a 4 year, $53 million deal is very shady in its own right. He's well past his prime, in rapid decline (albeit from pretty incredible heights), has serious health concerns and carries an enormous amount of baggage that will be repeatedly kicked around by the ruthless NYC media. There were some some other pretty horrible pitcher signings this offseason - Kristina Benson for 3 years and $22.5 million, Eric "Mediocre" Milton for 3 years and $25.5 million - but paying $13.25 million a year to a guy who spends most of his time with a Latin midget and whose shoulder is hanging by little more than a thread is begging for disaster. All in all, the 2005 Mets have definite Hindenburg potential.

Good Team Most Likely to be Shitty: Dodgers. I say this not as a Giants fan/Dodger hater but as someone who thinks "prodigy" Paul DePodesta may be the second coming of Steve Philips, a guy giving the impression he's the least convincing double agent since Leslie Nielsen in "Naked Gun 33 1/3." The guy has made a string of bad-to-awful trades (among them the Paul LoDuca/Guillermo Mota/Juan Encarnacion for Brad Penny/Hee Seop Choi debacle) and questionable free agent signings (essentially choosing brittle, streaky, battery-friendly J.D. Drew over a budding potential franchise player in Adrian Beltre, not to mention throwing ridiculous money at Derek "King of the Headcases" Lowe). I look at their big money roster and see a lot of combustible/obnoxious personalities - Odalis Perez, Milton Bradley, Jeff Kent, Lowe, Jeff Weaver - and little dependable talent, especially considering the size of the team's payroll. I think Jim Tracy is a solid manager, but he's probably a bad month away from having the clubhouse equivalent of Folsom Prison in "American Me." Hide the bags of rice, Jim.

Shitty Team Most Likely to be Halfway Decent: Milwaukee Brewers. Make no mistake - Milwaukee is a loser organization, ineptly run for years and rarely ever approaching competitiveness. But they've got a little something going, with some legitimate young talent and indications that they've actually started to develop a clue when it comes to personnel moves. Ben Sheets is a stud, on his way to becoming a top 5 ace. Prince Fielder and Rickie Weeks, both apparently "can't miss" studs, are a year or so away. And they practically stole Carlos Lee, who's already a stud and still improving, and Lyle Overbay, a solid, Mark Grace-style hitter who will be going .320, 25, 100 for years to come. Doug Davis is a solid lefty arm and if either Victor Santos or Chris Capuano develop into something, well, the Brewers will be cooking with gas. I'm rooting for them just for the fact that I want to see the sausage race get the respect it deserves as one of the most inventive pieces of in-game entertainment to come along in a while.

Milton Bradley Memorial Award for Player Most Likely To Have an On-Field Meltdown: Milton Bradley. I can't imagine anyone else taking this one until Milt rides off on the B&O Railroad to retirement at his Park Place mansion. Unless Albert Belle comes out of retirement or Ty Cobb is resurrected from the dead.

Player Most Likely To Have an Clubhouse/Press Conference Meltdown: Barry Bonds. The guy has been amazingly resilient through what has been a pretty lengthy shitstorm of media scrutiny and fan abuse. But I think he's showing signs of cracking, none more obvious than his graphic Testicle Monologues from last week. The guy is getting old and crotchety before his time, bad timing considering he's drawing an ever-increasing amount of attention as he pulls closer to the home run record. Every man has his breaking point, and Bonds isn't smart (or dumb) enough to be the exception. I just hope T. Long is nearby when the eruption comes.

If the Giants fall out of the race early, I would love to see Sabean go out and trade for Jeff Kent for the last few months of the season just to give fans something to watch. I really think it would make a dynamite reality show. They could sell the rights to Spike TV or another edgy network that doesn't mind extreme violence. Every day Kent could go out and talk to the media about how steroid users are no good, cheating bastards, smirking and saying, "No comment" when asked about Bonds. Then once a series Bonds will corner him in the dugout and put him in a chokehold or shove a forearm in his throat, causing Kent's abnormally large head to turn red and threaten to pop off. If the atmosphere gets too tense, Sabean can bring Benito Santiago back for comic relief. His interviews during the 2003 playoff run were absolute virtuoso performances.

Player Most Likely to be Drafted to My Fantasy Team and Subsequently Cursed for 6 Months:
Pat Burrell. "I know it was you, Pat. You broke my heart." Every year for the last 4 years I've picked the guy, and every year he's KILLED me. The one year he came through, 2002, I dropped him early on (fearing another Burrell-esque slump) and watched other managers ride his hot streak. I'd like to say I'm done with him, but something about the guy keeps me coming back. I don't know if it's our shared status as Bellarmine College Prep alums, the fact that he used to date Heather Mitts, the fact that I had a nice conversation with his stacked ex-girlfriend on NYE 2003, or what, but our fates are hopelessly intertwined. I'm powerlist to resist.

Giants Player Most Likely to Cause Me to Throw the Remote at the TV: Brett Tomko. I came near to naming this one the "Cody Ransom/Ricky Ledee Memorial Award", but the miserable bastards didn't play enough to merit it. And now they're mercifully gone from our lives. Tomko, his hot two months last season notwithstanding, just pisses me off. He'll be cruising along, dealing 95 MPH fastballs and hitting spots, then BAM!! Mental meltdown. He's all over the place, getting shelled, losing his shit. Driving me crazy!!

And although AJ Pierzynski is a prick, something about a guy gutlessly trashing a guy to the media, effectively making him a villain before he really had a chance to prove otherwise, left a sour taste in my mouth. Tomko just strikes me as an uptight pain in the ass, an opinion often born out by his pitching performances. I'm stocking up on universal remotes as we speak.

Monkeys: Suddenly Not So Funny

2005-03-08T16:03:00.000-08:00

We've all heard that monkeys/apes (I've never really understood the difference) can be, contrary to their funny looks and hysterical poop-flinging tendencies, quite dangerous when provoked or mistreated. Despite these earnest warnings, I've always gotten a laugh out ot the notion of crazed, killer monkeys on a murderous rampage. It's kind of like when people tell you that hippos turn vicious and deadly when their territory is threatened. I don't care how big and fast they are, when I see a hippo coming towards me, I'm reaching for a handful of marbles.

But now I am officially a believer. In fact, not only am I a believer, but I think that monkeys have passed the mountain lion in the hierarchy of "Animals I Don't Ever Want To Be Within A Mile Of Unless A Triple-Reinforced Steel Cage, Electric Forcefield Or Pope-mobile Stands Between Me And Them", just behind the great white shark and the giant dolphin with rabies........and maybe this thing.

The reason for my changed perception of monkeys is this story. I've read and seen some sick, amazing shit since the dawn of the internet age, but this pretty much takes the cake. I really couldn't believe it when I first read the details; it's like the plot of a bad horror B-movie.

For those too lazy to read the story, here's the condensed version: an old couple goes to a Bakersfield animal sanctuary to pay a birthday visit to their old chimp, taken from their home years ago after biting off a woman's finger (this is called "foreshadowing"). They offer him some cake, forcing the other monkeys into a jealous rage. Yadda yadda yadda, they're all of a sudden reenacting the Mason Verger dog food scene from 'Hannibal.'

The result? St. James Davis, 62, lost all the fingers from both hands, an eye, a foot, part of his nose, cheek, lips and part of his buttocks in the ferocious attack. Oh, and his genitals were mauled and disfigured.

Sweet jesus! What was left of the guy? I'm picturing a mixture of the Norton-ized Jared Leto from 'Fight Club' and Sonny Landham following his ill-advised "time to take a stand" showdown toward the end of 'Predator.'

I love the quote from his wife: "One was at his head, one was at his foot. But all that time ... he was trying to reason with them," said a sobbing LaDonna Davis, who herself had a thumb bitten off. Hey St. James - when you realized that the chimps weren't as receptive to your rational pleas as, say, Dr. Zaius might be, did you consider actually FIGHTING BACK?!? Maybe ripping off some monkey balls, wildly swinging your stumps or trying SOMETHING to keep them from turning you into a human Mr. Potato Head? If I'm getting viciously mutilated by a gang of renegade chimps, you can bet your ass that I'm at least taking a few monkey ears and nipples with me.

I think the real tragedy here is the fact that the attacking chimps were shot dead by sanctuary workers. Those two had great potential as guests on one of Jay Leno's wild animal segments. Watching them chew the chin off that talentless hack would be worth a month's pay, I think.

Anyway, best wishes to St. James and his few remaining body parts. As for me - well, I think I'll be cancelling my zoo visits for the next decade or so.

Bruce McGill: A Tribute to the Man With No Grade Point Average

2005-03-07T01:00:00.000-08:00

Pop quiz, hot shots (sorry, 'Speed' was on FX's 'DVD on TV' today, which is co-hosted by a chick who may be among the top 5 hottest pieces of arse in the world....that's a blog post for another day): which legendary actor has shared screen time with John Belushi, Sly Stallone, Al Pacino, Jean Claude Van Damme, Russell Crowe AND Richard Dean Anderson?

The answer: Bruce......Travis......McGill (the title of this post was a pretty good hint)

I've always been a fan; MacGyver was for me, like so many 25-32 year old men, a defining piece of pop culture, and McGill was as essential to the show as pineapple smoke bombs and ridiculous plot twists.

But I was reminded of his greatness while watching 'My Cousin Vinny' this weekend. His 'Vinny' turn is a classic McGill performance - unobtrusive, yet solid and compelling. There's just something about him that separates him from other character actors, something that instantly elevates any scene in which he appears.

Bruce has never gotten to bend over a distraught Halle Berry or play a Hungarian uber-criminal with a limp and a cool name. And that's OK. He's not suited for the rigors of a leading man; to steal a line from Pee Wee Herman, I've seen better heads on boils. But in many ways, Bruce's contributions to his films are equally as significant.

What Bruce offers is peace of mind. When you see that paunchy figure stroll into the frame, bags under his eyes that would make Yasmine Bleeth jealous, you immediately think to yourself, "Hey, this movie can't be that bad." Something about the man inspires trust; he's kind of like the anti-Clint Howard.

Ask yourself this: when was the last time you saw a bad McGill performance? It certainly wasn't in 'The Insider', where Bruce contributes one of the film's top 5 moments by screaming red-faced at a smarmy tobacco lawyer to "wipe that Goddamn smirk off your face!"

And definitely not in "Runaway Jury", where Bruce bites into one of his meatiest roles - Judge Harkin - with relish, commanding the courtroom and striking the perfect balance between hard ass and man of reason.

But for many, Bruce's career will be defined by one of his earliest film roles. He has but a few lines (and one memorable rendition of the William Tell Overture), but it's hard to reflect on the movie's many strengths without thinking of him. The role, of course, is Daniel Simpson Day, a.k.a. 'D-Day', the motorcyle-riding bad ass who embodies the rebellious spirit of the Delta house. He serves as something of a sidekick to John Belushi's more prominently featured (and equally great) Bluto Blutarski, but his moments are his own. Two words - "Ramming speed!!"

Who knows what the future will hold for Bruce McGill? One thing's for certain - as long as Michael Mann keeps making movies, Bruce will never want for work. That means a few more good movies will be that much better and a few mediocre ones will be better than they deserve to be. The man, the myth, the McGill - the legend continues.

Beat Off The Chains of Porn

2005-03-06T23:15:00.000-08:00

This blog is not just about humor, entertainment and monkeys. It's about helping people who are evil become less so. As everyone knows, pornography - in addition to securing a seat for you in hell and causing your palms to sprout hair - will turn your heart black and make God hate you. Beating off to porn may seem like an innocent and natural way to relieve stress, but it's actually tantamount to building yourself a prison cell of sin, held together by a glue-like substance.

Luckily, there is a new resource for those who are currently in the sticky clutches of porn. An Ohio-based organization called 'Setting Captives Free' is offering an online course that purports to offer freedom from sexual impurity....with a little help from the Lord.

Take it from 'Chad', who struggled for 18 years with porn and masturbation (or P&M, as it is efficiently called by 'Captives'), causing him to live a 'double life': God-fearing, 'Passion'-watching, Bush-voting man by day and lotion-squirting, callous-forming, 'Spice'-watching spankaholic by night. Thanks to 'Captives' and Christ's G-rated love, Chad has gone from a 'drowning man close to death' to 'a new creature in Christ', a man free of impure desires and saving a ton of money on Kleenex.

Forcing grown men to deny their natural sexual desires has worked so spectacularly for the Catholic church, it's almost common sense that 'Captives' should preach the same approach to the masses. It's really a no-brainer - how can the cheap thrills of Lex Steele's natural curve and Bridgette Kerkove's 'double A' compare to the holy joy of regular prayer and imaginary love and acceptance from some bearded guy who's been dead a couple of thousand years?

If you, too, are a slave to the beat, I implore you to check it out. You're only 60 days away from sweet, bland salvation.

Has there ever been a pic with a monkey in it that wasn't funny?

2005-03-02T10:22:00.000-08:00

Celebrity Injustice

2005-02-25T11:40:00.000-08:00

Like all good things, the celebrity porn trend simply must come to an end. It was intriguing, voyeuristically exciting at first. But like 'The Sopranos', the trend is rapidly losing its entertainment value and moving toward cliche.

Don't get me wrong - we've had some good times: Rob Lowe's episode of 'Candid Camera' minus consent forms, Pam Anderson and 'Big Gun' Tommy Lee in 'Love Boat 2000', Paris Hilton in the X-rated version of the 'Silence of the Lambs' climax, and of course Beetlejuice and what may be Nell Carter setting the gold standard for midget smut (apologies to the legendary Bridget the Midget).

But this is just too much. The Chyna video was pretty bad, but it's really no more than you see on any given episode of the 'Surreal Life' beneath those inadequate fuzzies. But the thought of having to see Fred Durst's ugly mug making the O-face makes me want to choke on my own vomit, which coincidentally is the reaction I have whenever I hear 'Nookie.'

The whole story is sketchy - why would anyone, anywhere have the slightest interest in seeing Durst administer a money shot to some skank groupie (shudder to think what the Bizkit's groupies look like at this point)? It's like someone going out of their way to steal an advance copy of Ethan Hawke's next novel/Kobe's follow-up to 'Visions'/etc. All in all, it seems highly suspicious that this 'accidentally' leaked to the public.

I think it says something about the state of celebrity and, hell, society when homemade celebrity porn videos have become a powerful marketing tool. So your band is an irrelevant relic of the mercifully brief rap-metal era and you've made yourself into a walking joke due to, among other things, your obsession with Britney Spears, who herself is a big walking joke. Time to leak a porn video! After all, it did wonders for Pam/Tommy and Paris (not so well for Tonya Harding, though, but there were bigger problems there).

Inevitably this will lead to a spike in visibility for Durst, carrying him to unprecedented heights on the prestigious 'Yahoo's Top 10 Searches' list, pulling 'Rollin' briefly out of the radio archives, and no doubt driving hordes of Web surfers to the excellent IHateFredDurst.com.

But in the end, our society will be that much weaker for having witnessed it, for rewarding Fred by once again making him relevant. We'll be inviting every other has-been and wannabe to "accidentally" misplace their own sex tapes, opening the door for the John Teshes and Bea Arthurs of the entertainment world to claw their way back into our lives. Is that what we want? Bea Arthur bent over and growling like a laryngitic polar bear, bathed in eerie green light? I think not.

Only one thing is for certain - if it happens to be Britney in the video, we all owe Freddie a big time apology.

"Paging Dr. Kevorkian. Bob DeNiro's on the line, Sir."

2005-02-21T22:42:00.000-08:00

If you were to run a poll asking people to name the top 5 actors of the past 50 years, it's a pretty safe bet that Robert DeNiro would turn up on about 90% of the lists. The man has spent the better part of the last half-century giving great performances in countless memorable roles: Vito Corleone in 'Godfather II', Jake La Motta in 'Raging Bull', Jimmy Conway in 'Goodfellas' and Neil McCauley in 'Heat', just to name a few. He has rightfully transcended being merely an actor and is a legitimate cinematic institution, along with the likes of Al Pacino, Dustin Hoffman and Peter 'Money Shot' North.

But right now, the man who once singlehandedly almost made 'Jackie Brown' watchable is forcing us to consider the following troubling questions: How much slack does 35 years of general greatness buy you? How long until you're exiled to the world of straight-to-video with 'Surreal Life 6' fodder like William Baldwin and Sly Stallone? Are 10 Det. Mitch Prestons ('Showtime') > 1 Max Cady ('Cape Fear')?

They're questions that bear asking, because DeNiro is currently on a Feldman-esque run of cinematic futility. DeNiro has arguably had, outside of Michael Jackson and maybe Lindsay Lohan's dad, the worst beginning to the 21st Century of anyone in the world of entertainment. His credits, beginning with 2000's 'Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle' and continuing with the recent, vomitous 'Hide and Seek', read like an application for a Razzie's Lifetime Achievement Award. The Man Who Was Travis Bickle has been reduced to sharing top billing with a nine-year-old (happy birthday this Wednesday, Dakota!).

What's saddest about the debacle that has become Robert DeNiro's career is that it seems no one even cares that he's begun mailing it in, stooping to self-parody rather than actually acting. He's not even relevant enough for people to get upset when he squeezes out a rancid turd like 'Godsend' or 'City by the Sea' or 'Showtime' or....you get the picture. For Christ's sake, there are near-riots when 'Gigli' is released yet no one has the energy to register robertdenirosucksass.com when 'Analyze That' is forced upon us?

Perhaps I'm misreading this, denying the man his due credit. Any man who could handle Naomi Campbell in the height of her diva-ness must be afforded the benefit of the doubt and then some. Maybe he's scheming to pull a Travolta, slumming for a decade or so in crappy TV movies and wretched family fare (please, please - no talking babies/dogs) before exploding back on the scene like a million tsunamis in some trendy new director's quirky homage to 70's crime drama playing a bad-tempered transsexual hit man with an affinity for goofy hats.

Until that happens, the DeNiro faithful will just have to buckle down, grin and bear it while their man outgrows this unfortunate phase. We may not yet have seen the worst of it; judging by the last few films, there could be a teaming with Hilary Duff in a remake of 'She's Out of Control' on the horizon.

I still have faith, however, that we'll see at least one more great DeNiro performance before the man is put permanently out to pasture. 2 to 1 odds that it will be in a mob movie playing a Conway/Vitti/Corleone/Capone hybrid, but at this point, we'll take what we can get. As his Dwight Hansen said to Leonardo DiCaprio near the end of 'This Boy's Life', "You'll remember me! You'll remember me!" Indeed.

So rock & roll it's ridiculous

2005-02-21T21:20:00.000-08:00

New Spoon

2005-02-19T01:56:00.000-08:00

The long awaited new Spoon album, titled Gimme Fiction, is due out May 10, but what do release dates really mean nowadays? The torrent is below. I plan on giving it a good listen in the next few days. If it's half as good as the new Doves album (also leaked, due out March 20), I'll be a happy man.

http://tracker.zaerc.com/torrents-details.php?id=1630

To Blog or not to Blog?

2005-02-19T01:55:00.000-08:00

Starting a blog, now that everyone and their retarded cousin has one, feels a little like becoming a Nirvana/Sublime/INXS fan post-shotgun/needle/belt & double headed dildoes. Blogs are no longer an original, anarchic way to express oneself. Maybe the best ones still have a bit of that revolutionary spirit that comes with having a following and no editor to censor the commentary. But when Wil Wheaton has his own shitty blog, the format has officially become uncool (though the man gets some props for contributing voice work to 'GTA: San Andreas').

Still, the idea of putting together a blog has been calling to me of late. Some of my friends, too lazy to do one themselves, have suggested this may be a good way to consolidate my offbeat thoughts and stop "clogging email inboxes." Sure, 37 penis-lengthening solicitation emails each day are OK, but a few friendly and occasionally humorous notes are just too much. Assholes.

I'm not sure what I hope to achieve with the blog. Writing is a passion of mine, but I often find it boring as hell, which doesn't bode well for me updating this thing with any kind of regularity. Maybe it's a test - conquer the blog, then the world (or at least the treadmill). More likely it's just going to be a place where I can post my demented rants and links to articles about people severing their own genitals or screwing live chickens.

So the blog adventure begins here. I have no roadmap and no agenda, so don't expect a theme. I expect it will be an unoriginal blend of pop culture ruminations, sports columns, music raves and rants, and drunken ramblings. Although my coordination drops precipitously after a few shots of jager, so I wouldn't expect muzh psat 2AM on a Staurday.

Anyway, to the three people who will ever see this blog, I welcome you. To show my appreciation, I give you this.