Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Conversation of the Day

Co-Worker 1 (An older woman, in her sixties.): (addressing everyone around) I read an article that says that the baby boomers are going to have to work longer and later into their lives. Not because of financial reasons or Social Security but because the younger workers are just not qualified. They don't have the important skills that the baby boomers do.

Co-worker 1, as she's wont to do, says shit like this quite often, and, in general, as was the case this morning, everyone, including yours truly, ignores her. But then there's the failsafe. Directly address the woman I'll call Co-worker 2. Co-worker 2 doesn't respond to anything around her unless she's directly addressed. I suppose it goes without saying that Co-Worker 2 is a baby boomer.

Co-worker 1: Co-worker 2, did you hear what I just said? This article says that the baby boomers are going to have to work longer and later into their lives. Not because of financial reasons or Social Security but because the younger workers just aren't qualified. They don't have the important skills that the baby boomers do.

Co-worker 2: Oh. (pause) My hair is so frizzy today.

I wanted to stand up and applaud.

Quote of the Day

"Last night I attended a panel discussion entitled "Is California Governable?," featuring the governors who have befouled Sacramento for most of my life -- Jerry "Gov. Moonbeam" Brown, George "The Duke" Deukmejian, Pete "They Keep Coming" Wilson, and "Singapore" Gray Davis. Brown was Huffingtonesque (though more entertaining than his ex-girlfriend), wrapping spacy paleo-leftism in a faux-centrist package. Deukmejian was Rotarian and mostly comatose, except when talking about how we should tax the hell out of gambling. Wilson got off the biggest laugh lines (when someone in the crowd hissed at him for supporting "paycheck protection," he expressed concern that they were leaking), but came off like a pinch-faced sourpuss, shaking his head theatrically in both disagreement and assent, and complaining at length that voters were too stupid to do much except choose whatever the television instructed them to. Davis, as usual, was an ass-covering robot." - Reason's Matt Welch

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Savage Love

Macho Man Randy Savage's Night at the Roxbury. This made me laugh way more than it should. While this only scares me. (via Catchdubs)

Teen Horniness Is Not A Crime

In the first screenwriting course I ever took, one of our bigger projects was to create an entire biography for one character, from birth to whatever age they'd primarily be in the work of fiction we imagined they'd best exist in. In precisely written shorthand, that's the adopted daughter in an eccentric family prone to playwriting, secret cigarette smoking, a penchant for Lacoste, and many many romantic entanglements, including one with her brother. Some use all these details in montages cued up to The Ramones' "Judy Is A Punk," while others utilize it to get you hyped for their upcoming book/film. The Wall Street Journal hit on it, specifically focusing on the site devoted to Bret Easton Ellis' fictional wife, Jayne Dennis, from his forthcoming, Lunar Park. (That's what we call photoshop fug, kiddies. Yowza.)

And, now, there's more insanity from Richard Kelly's forever gestating Southland Tales, including fictional commercials for fictional/fantastical products with taglines that resemble lines from other fictional material (see: Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads.) and personal web sites for fictional characters (to be played by Sarah Michelle Gellar), which include the lyrics to songs like "Teen Horniness Is Not A Crime".

(Via AICN and Not An Exit.)

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Larry Legend

When a franchise is as desperate as the New York Knicks are, caution and reason must, MUST be thrown to the wind. Automoton/Team owner James Dolan is meeting with Larry Brown today, presumably to offer him the head coaching position. Interim head coach Herb Williams, who has had to watch his team chase every piece of stray tail around, while always pining for the one that got away, will likely be shown the door soon enough. His contract officially expires July 31st. (I feel for Herb, who has always had the short end of things at the Garden. Maybe this is best. He can now go somewhere else and be treated halfway decently.)

Brown is, of course, untrustworthy as they come, and most likely will ditch the Knicks in two or three years for the next shiny object that distracts him. However, he's too great a coach, and the Knicks are in too great a need of anyone or any thing that could reasonably be described as "great" that Dolan and every other brainless jacktard working for NYK must put aside all their fears, all their hesitation, all their premonitions of coming home and finding a Laker jersey clad Larry in bed with Jeannie Buss, and hire him. NOW.

Mr. Dolan, you've done nothing right. Your time as a completely useless waste is up.

Alone in the Dark

I saw Gus Van Sant's Last Days last night. It's pretty brilliant and moving, beautifully made, and, except, maybe, for Look At Me, my favorite film of the year so far. There's a sequence towards the end of the film, where Blake (Michael Pitt) is alone in the shed behind his decaying mansion. His hangers-on are leaving the mansion and one (Lukas Haas) spots him inside the shed, from a distance. Blake is now out of focus, seemingly dressed in all red. It's obvious that Haas knows he should go over there, check in on his friend, see what's what. But, at the same time, he's afraid to or apathetic about it all, considering the inability to communicate with Blake these last few days, with him becoming little more than a mumbling, listless mess. And he goes off, never having checked in.

This sequence brings it all together for me. Watching from afar, it's all fuzzy and a little bit scary and we only know so much about what really is going on in there, in the head of the man inside that room. We may think we know more, but we only know so much. It's at once dreamy, gazing at this mythic figure (fame in conjuction with importance to the individual) and wondering what he's doing in there, wishing to know or be a part of it, his life. But, at the same time, being so frightened by this image, thoughts of pain and death and madness making the warmth of the car, and the comfort of driving away from this scene, all the more enticing. One image can mean everything and, here, it brings everything together, all the pieces that Van Sant is putting together: the corruption of the free, natural world that Blake wishes to run to (he sings "Home on the Range" with aching desperation) with his heroin buried in the earth and the trains/airplanes disturbing his Jeremiah Johnson-like sojourn through the woods, the search for something, anything, to connect with, aside from the solitary, emotional purge afforded by his music (there are two really incredible musical moments in the film), Kim Gordon's recitation of her "rock n roll cliche" speech that she seems to have given a hundred times and that Blake gets but can't seem to do much of anything about, the desperation to connect/inability to connect arc, by way of Boyz II Men, Mormon missionaries, visits from confused salesmen asking him how his "business" is going and how many "customers" he's added in the last year, phone calls from managers and bandmates and his wife, and the Velvet Underground, which are at once disaparate but all interconnected. I think I'm rambling now. It's really fantastic. I highly recommend it.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Quote of the Day

"I'd like to be a bartender. It would be very specific: It would have to be happy hour, or else very late at night. People go to bars to speak up — to tell you their stories. Happy-hour patrons would be full of boasting, flirting and good cheer. And by the time it was late, they would be quite drunk, perhaps overcome by loneliness and despair. They would tell you something quite deep — or else nonsense." - Wong Kar-Wai on what job he'd like if he wasn't a filmmaker (via GreenCine Daily)

It Goes There

In a fairly serious article about the very self serious Degrassi: The Next Generation in this Sunday's New York Times, the differences between Canadian and American television standards are discussed. For example:
Topic: Erections

On DVD: In drama class, Spinner (Shane Kippel) has to act out a scene with Paige (Lauren Collins); he gets an erection in front of everyone. We can see the cause of Spinner's embarrassment before he runs out of the room. Paige's response: "That is why no one should ever wear track pants."

On the N: The visual has been edited out; we only see the faces of the laughing kids and a grimacing Spinner. Ms. Lindman: "Thinking about the N specifically, as well as U.S. broadcast standards, even through clothing, erect penises are things you do not see on basic cable or broadcast television."
Other "Topics" include "Drugs," "Date Rape," and "Child Abuse," again reminding all those who forgot that Degrassi does, in fact, "go there." Remember, once upon a time, you could have a character named Boner (before sending him off to the Marines for some reason) but if Boner were to have been aroused by any number of things (Joanna Kearns in only a towel, Ben's mutant unibrow, Hillary Swank as a suicidal patient of Alan Thicke's, sadistic fat jokes at the expense of pre-DUI/child endangerment Tracey "Mother of the Year" Gold, etc.) we, as Americans, could not handle seeing it. That said, Canada's fairly wretched when it comes to these things, and the whole issue is that Degrassi airs on The N, which exclusively markets to teens, tweens, and me. So, that said, whatevs to editing out Spinner's wood and forever shelving Manny's abortion episode. They've all seen the boys-in-one-room-girls-in-the-other-what's-happening-to-my-body-is-that-Scott-Baio-talking-to-me-about-boners-video in the sixth grade. They can handle it. It's not like we're having Dora explore herself (wink wink nudge nudge). That would be inappropriate. Or would it? It would. Or would it?

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a Match

Forget Will Smith's Hitch. The real deal is enough:
He met Ms. Ma in April, 2001, while in New York preparing for another mission. An old friend invited him to the Bowery Bar for brunch with several stylish women from the music and film business, including Ms. Ma. "I was so out of my element," he said. "I was very intimidated by how cool and hip and fashionable everyone at the table was, except me. And then Maria started talking about Cambodia and Christopher Hitchens."

Ms. Ma, 37, a vice president for marketing in New York with Sony's music division, said: "Hitchens had just written a book on Kissinger, saying he should be tried as a war criminal partly because of the secret bombing of Cambodia." It was just Mr. Sand's kind of subject. "I thought, 'Maybe we could go out. She's hot,' " he recalled.
Sand, a relief worker turned journalist, married Ma on July 4th. You can read the whole thing here. (via Hitchens Web)

Monday, July 18, 2005

Hey, Norm!

From everyone here at the OV, including the ghost of Harry Caray...HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOM!

Conversation of the Day

Guy1: When was that?

Guy 2: Right after I got my faux-hawk.

Guy1: (nodding) That's right.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Inside Deep Throat

In his way, Hitch lurves The Secret Man:
Woodward's allegiance is to print, not to writing. He doesn't write so terribly well. He keeps saying things like ''as best I can tell,'' and he confides that the ''irony'' that Felt lives on Redford Place in Santa Rosa, Calif., is ''not lost on'' him, which it certainly is on me. However, the penultimate chapter, in which he explains his adamant position on the protection of sources, is a passage that one hopes will be taught in schools. It exhibits real care and measure and scruple, and reminds me of why I sat so still in that cinema in 1976, and why I shake with mingled rage and admiration as Judith Miller now sits in jail.
And my favorite bit:
Almost every year after he became a celebrity, Woodward had to deal with theories about the identity of his source, and his answer was always the same: no comment. Some of the speculations were obviously risible prima facie: did anyone really imagine Henry Kissinger or Alexander Haig taking a risk in order to uphold even the narrowest conception of ethics in government? There were two ways through the thicket. The first, pursued by James Mann in a brilliantly lucid Atlantic Monthly essay in 1992, was to conduct a long march through the institutions and to establish that only one organ of government, and only one man within that outfit, had the motive or the ability. The lazier method, pursued by this reviewer, was to ask Nora Ephron on the grounds that she had been married to Carl Bernstein and would certainly have got it out of him. Both inquiries yielded the same result, though Ephron insists that she worked it out for herself.
You can read the full review here.


I have a list of my most hated coaches. It's short:

1) Phil Jackson - Big Chief Triangle. Satan. Leader of the team that consistently ruined good portions of my childhood and adolesence. If I was Dr. Buss and I found out my daughter was fucking this guy, I might just kill her.

2) Mike Keenan - Coaches the Rangers to the Stanley Cup in 1994. You know I like that. During the playoffs, denies that he's listening to offers from other clubs and thinking of leaving, mid-contract for another job. He then takes another job, leaving the Rangers in the lurch. He doesn't just cheat on you. He fucks the other person in front of you, and with penis in orifice, has the nerve to throw up his hands and say, "What?"

3) Ray Handley - The most unqualified man to ever hold the position of head coach in the history of the National Football League or any other organized sports league where the players are paid. Yes, I just said that.

4) Jeff Torborg - In charge when Bobby Bonilla breathed the air and challenged Art McFarland to a brawl after he didn't like a question, Vince Coleman maimed a child with firecrackers, Bret Saberhagen sprayed bleach on the press, and the whole lot of them made calling the Mets the Mess popular again. When kids go bad, it is often best to ask the parents a few questions. Mr. Torborg, are you aware that your kids are rotten bastards? And if you are, what do you plan to do about it? Mr. Torborg? Jeff? Are you asleep?

5) And, of course, Pat Riley. Riles left the Knicks a year early, right when the going was about to get tough and the glamour of the job had faded. He then went to Miami and made them the Knicks (like South Florida...which may as well be the sixth borough...but with pastels) and brought forth that rivalry and all its intriciacies (P.J. flipping Charlie Ward, Van Gundy wrapped around Zo's leg, etc.) And if you were wondering what prompted this list, Riley may or may not be returning to caching soon, forcing out Stan Van Gundy, and jumping back in right when the glory is so close. No matter how this plays out, Riles is a douche. He's fucked with Stan's head and his players' heads. The media will bring this up any time the team loses a few games in a row and for that Riley has done close to the amount of damage he'd have done if he actually does what I think he'll do, which is fire his coach and take over. I knew rooting for the Heat during the playoffs would come back to haunt me. Now I feel dirty.

Crit of the day/Rod Stewart huskiness

"The real groans come when the Redwalls get serious. "What's this shit goin' down 'bout the FCC?" asks Baren in full "Gimme Some Truth"-Lennon mode on "Falling Down", before launching into a perfunctory chorus ("Darling, I've been falling down"). It's a good thing the Redwalls are defying the censors, or else society might go bereft of such controversial statements as "Love is all around/ And it's for everyone" from ballad "How the Story Goes", which sees Baren trying on Rod Stewart huskiness. Then there's "Front Page", which opens with newscast snippets about violence in Israel. This song desperately wishes it could be "A Day in the Life", but "the world keeps turning around and around, yeah, around", and turns out it's only "Angel of Harlem"-grade Bono bluster. For finale "Glory of War", Baren dons the nasality of Bob Dylan or Barry McGuire and pens a generality-laden Vietnam War protest a few years too late. Somewhere, Karl Rove is smirking." - Pitchfork's Marc Hogan on the latest Redwalls jawn, De Nova

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Every Which Way

John McCain is pro-life as long as, admittedly, his daughter isn't the one knocked up. And I suppose he's also a little soft on his pro-censorshop stances when he wants to earn cred with his kids...y'know...when they're not all preggers, finding the candle stick hidden in the tree in this month's issue of Highlights (already circled by some bitch who if my dad had his way wouldn't be allowed in this air conditioned oasis) in the waiting room of Planned Parenthood. Why do I say this, you ask? Well, kiddies, I'm sure you already know. John McCain is doing what we (and by we I mean me) wish we were doing...he's in a Boob Raunch Fest! Well, really, he's in Wedding Crashers, so he's really just in an issue of Maxim, which we know is generally just a precursor to anyone's real Boob Raunch Fest. But, ho ho, I love this shit. Hypocrisy is the hottest thing since Marilyn Manson killed puppies on stage...well, except for the part about it actually happening. Whatevs. Despite being a douche and a fake, McCain's living the dream. I can only imagine having my name and the words Boob, Raunch, and/or Fest making up the top headline of the day on the Drudge Report. Fuck, I'd even accept it if it was the headline on the Heffalumpington Post. But I should be clear, my Boob Raunch Fest activities are only the result of my anger over foreign occupiers. You guys want some candy?

Stay Classy, Peoria

Peoria, IL police chief Settingsgaard is confronting his city's prositution problem head on. I know what you're thinking. There aren't enough hookers for the people of Peoria? Good, God, no! Something must be done! Wrong, wrong, wrong, sickos. They have too many. And Settingsgaard wants to get rid of them. He's taken to posting pictures of pimps and accused johns on the web. (Pier, you didn't go to Peoria when you went to Chicago, did you?) Now, this has caused some controversy. Obvs. But Settingsgaard has responded and in doing so, he's put on his Dr. Phil bald skull cap and taken to doling out advice:
For those of you who choose to solicit Peoria's prostitutes, I suspect you and those who sympathize with you, will be most affected by this change in policy. The Journal Star and others seem to think that we should protect your wives and your children from the embarrassment of finding your picture on our website. Am I mistaken or is it your responsibility to protect your wives and children from this embarrassment? You choose to skulk around our neighborhoods and engage in illicit sex acts in your cars, expose yourself to potentially deadly diseases and then carry those diseases back to your homes yet somehow the Police Department is endangering your family? We are trying to protect your family. Join us. Here is a novel idea. If your wife is not meeting your needs, try meeting hers. It can do wonders. No wife at home? Try finding a decent woman whom you can love, cherish and respect and then make her your wife. If you are not willing to put in that kind of effort, try a dinner and a movie. Whatever you choose, take it off of our streets. You have become a cancer and we are tired of it.
And, in regards to the controversy, he has this to say:
To the Journal Star I admit that I was surprised when I read the headline of your editorial. I began to read "Keep Peoria sex trade off the ..." My mind subconsciously completed the sentence with the word "streets." That seemed like such a logical conclusion to the sentence. I find it far more important to keep the sex trade off the streets than I do keeping it off the Police Department's website. It was stated in your article that posting photographs may destroy families, cost people their jobs and even lead to suicides. Allow me to offer an alternative thought. It is criminality that leads to these dire consequences, not the act of holding criminals accountable. I am grateful to you for your coverage on this issue. While I disagree with your position, I appreciate the ideas that came to light as a result. You asked, "Why not post photos of drug buyers and drug sellers?" Be patient, we will get to your request as soon as we can.
I look forward to hearing how Settingsgaard and his wife enjoyed their Friday night together, first with an intimate dinner, followed by a late showing of Hustle & Flow. (via Hit and Run)

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Dead to me

If you're in a persistent vegitative state (if such a thing even exists), quitting is an acceptable choice, that is, if one even knows they're quitting. But if you're "in control" of all your faculties and you acknowledge the big red balloon that's waved before your eyes every morning by your secretary, there's just no excuse. Yeah, I'm talking to you Jeb. You're not blind. You haven't had extremities amputated. You can see the balloon. You can touch it. You can, when all alone in your office, practice kissing with it. Now, sure, you might not be qualified to be governor, let alone president of these United States, but I at least thought you had the moxie to ignore all logical evidence and push forward, employing Mark Fuhrman (as FOX News has) to further investigate a homicide that never was. But, noooooooo:
Bush had asked State Attorney Bernie McCabe to investigate Schiavo's case after her autopsy last month. He said he now considers the state's involvement with the matter finished.

"Based on your conclusions, I will follow your recommendation that the inquiry by the state be closed," Bush said in a two-sentence letter.
Jeb's not so much about sticking with it. Sure, sure, he talks a big game. But when the going gets tough, he just walks away. Even if you're still alive.

Quote of the Day

"It's hard to say which of O'Connor's decisions was the worst. It's like asking people to name their favorite Beatle or favorite (unaborted) child." - Ann Coulter, as unbalanced and amusing as ever

This unitard is chafing, Ingmar and I doubt it will, as you say, add a new element to the existential angst in my monologue

Not one to go for the cliche, you know, "it's like blah blah blah...ON ACID," Aeon Flux creator Peter Chung ups the ante in describing his creation:
"My description of my own agenda [for the 'Aeon Flux' television show] was 'James Bond directed by Ingmar Bergman.'"
Modesty: the hottest thing since Liv Ulmann in a black leather unitard holding a big gun. H-O-T.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

.500 Baseball

From The Black Table's Midseason baseball report:
The Mets are respectable now, which is why overpaying for the two top free agents on the market will do for you. We actually kind of liked the Mets more when they were terrible but full of scandal. Grant Roberts -- busted for steroids earlier this year, incidentally -- taking a huge bong hit on the pages of Newsday. Bobby Valentine wearing glasses in the dugout that made him look like a bespectacled Tom Selleck. Mike Piazza having press conferences to make clear that everybody knew that he liked to touch boobies and stick his pee-pee in hoo-hoos. Those were the days. These Mets are boring. Either Pedro needs to bring back his midget or Carlos Beltran needs to blow a gossip columnist...something.
I'll take boring... (via TMFTML)

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Ernest Lehman, R.I.P.

Eve Kendall: How do I know you aren't a murderer?
Roger Thornhill: You don't.
Eve Kendall: Maybe you're planning to murder me right here, tonight.
Roger Thornhill: Shall I?
Eve Kendall: Please do.
"In brief, the best of everything is good enough for me."

Belated Brevity

Mr. and Mrs. Smith:

1) Reminded me of Spies Like Us. Then kind of made me want to leave and go and buy Spies Like Us and watch it, if only for the scenes where Soviet interrogators do their business in a shack adorned with posters from Reds and Doctor Zhivago. Angelina is Dan Aykroyd. Not that I needed to tell you that.

2) Super best: Use of Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros' "Mondo Bongo."

3) Eh. Could've been worse. Happy birthday to me.

And so ends tonight's episode of belated brevity. Tune in next week. Or don't. Whatevs.

FireHire Layden

"I am really pleased to make this announcement. Scott has an extensive amount of basketball knowledge and will bring a great deal to our coaching staff." - Utah Jazz head coach Jerry Sloan on the hiring of former Knicks GM Scott Layden as an assistant coach

Upon reading this quote, I felt compelled to write a letter to Jerry. It might go a little something like this:

Dear Jerry,

Mr. Sloan, you don't know me, but I felt it important to write you after hearing your comments on the hiring of Scott Layden to be an assistant coach. Knowing that you must have had a say in this hiring, I felt it my obligation to ask you a few questions. Have you had a stroke? Is there a meth lab behind your garage? Do you find yourself falling down a lot lately? Are the characters in this letter becoming jumbled as you read?

Let me know.

You make me laugh,

A little light in the thong

So, apparently, in April of 2003, Gary Payton, Sam Cassell, and Jason Caffey were charged with assaulting a male exotic dancer. The fight started after the trio insulted the male exotic dancer's wife (Vida Asante), also an exotic dancer. What kind of insults a jug eared alien like Sam Cassell throws at people will be left to your imagination, but, anyway, the dancer didn't fare so well in the brawl, leaving him with injuries to his left ear, eyelid, and shoulders. And, now, the case has gone to court, and the story gets better. Adrian Cimpean (31, bethonged entertainer) claims that he has been unable to work since the assault. He says he "has had a ringing sensation in one ear, he is often depressed and feels insecure."

That last part is my favorite. Well, boo-fucking-hoo, Chippendale. Do you feel sad? Stick out your bottom lip and pout. Look, we've all had our ass kicked at one point or another by a trucculent pair of point guards and tubby power forwards that may or may not be still in the league. We've all tried to defend the honor of a significant other and regretted the results, even if the "you're my hero" sex was super hot. But get the fuck over it. Shave your chest, grease up, put your favorite thong on and give the ladies what they want. Is baby too sad to slap paying customers in the face with their dingle? Awwww. Nobody cares. Get on that stage and make a wad of ones. Now.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Fear Factor

"Far too much work is done to make children feel their world is safe and reassuring. That's a tremendous waste of time for teachers, who should be spending time teaching poetry, history and science. For Valentine's Day at school, my youngest daughter, who is 12, sends a Valentine and gets one. When I was a kid, it was a day of extreme anxiety and tension, as it can only be and should be. One: Will you get a Valentine at all? Second, will you know who it is from? Because it would mean someone had or hadn't made an effort, and yours had already been sent. These anxieties are important. They prepare you for life. She gets a Valentine from the entire class. They might as well e-mail one from the headmaster to everyone. It's painless. Excitement-free. Risk-free." - Christopher Hitchens