Scene's Changing, Bro

Via Sully we read of a dude's connection to Walker Percy's The Moviegoer having changed when reading it in his 20s instead of 18:

In the five years since I last read it—the time elapsed between repetitions—five years’ worth of life has accumulated. Reading my chosen terms of “family” and “obligation” as thematic signposts is as obvious a reflection of my present life as “asses” was for my eighteen-year-old self. If my first reading was an initiation into the narcotic and transformative powers of reading, this second time is my initiation into the truth of the repetition. Of time isolated as a variable, its effects measurable amongst the data of memory.

I read The Moviegoer about a year ago and felt pretty much nothing about it at all. And I didn't give a shit about The Confederacy of Dunces either. But I will say that the crown jewel of this sentiment for everybody has to be The Catcher in the Rye, of course:

Like anyone who was a teenager, The Catcher in the Rye had a hold on me in my youth. And I still have a warm spot for it, and nothing stops it from being a really, really good book. But the older I get the less it means to me. I mean, I've never thought to myself "Gee, I wonder what Holden Caulfield would do in this situation" as I might with, say, Tom Joad. At the end of the day, Tom Joad is Paul Westerberg in 1984, and Holden Caulfield is your average Williamsburg hipster in a nouveau-rock art fusion no-bass-included Japanese haiku band: for all we know the last time we read of Tom walking away from Ma is followed by him getting his head bashed in for not being happy to work for 3 cents a day; Holden we're fairly certain will simply end up at another private school for fellow rich kids, and in a  few years he will look back on his melo-dramatic teen years and laugh. Both characters' stories have merit. But only one actually grows with you the more you experience actual life.

Orphanz with a Z

Here's a list of the 10 Most Inspiring Orphans, the only one of whom I'd do being Marilyn Monroe. I actually DID know Harry Potter was an orphan thanks to the days when I was "teaching" kids in the hood.

Meghan McCain Is Very Important, Should Be Taken Seriously

An Open Letter to Meghan McCain:

Dear Meghan,

You have great titties, but you're not funny.  Stick to what you do best: taking pictures of your titties, and then writing long articles "indignantly bemused" that people have enough time on their hands to talk about your titties while there's still world peace to solve.  We all have our roles in this world, and that one's yours.

Thanks!
XMASTIME

Meghan McCain will be getting her own tv show, because of course we're all holding our breath waiting to ehar what she has to say about, you know, anything.

"Raising McCain" will follow McCain, 28, as she interviews "experts, regular people and members of her generation, exploring the most important and unusual questions of the day, framed by Meghan's experiences in her personal life." The network will air 10 half-hour episodes of the show, which McCain recently described  as "‘Meet the Press’ meets 'Jackass.'"

This makes sense since of course we're all so desperate to know what her thousand year-old father thinks about anything and everything in the world.

Too bad the cameras weren't rolling when she and I went out on a date.

"Let's talk about serious things."

Set Us Up Til We're Dead

Apparently, you fuckers are no longer guzzling wine like you're supposed to be, including even - LE GASP! -  France:

In 1980 more than half of adults were consuming wine on a near-daily basis. Today that figure has fallen to 17%. Meanwhile, the proportion of French people who never drink wine at all has doubled to 38%. In 1965, the amount of wine consumed per head of population was 160 litres a year. In 2010 that had fallen to 57 litres, and will most likely dip to no more than 30 litres in the years ahead.

I of course think it's due to me sounding like a fucking fairy the last time I drank a bottle of wine:

 Journal Entry

May 26, 1994 10:00am Tappahannock, VA

I just drank a bottle of wine. I told myself I'd have it done by the time we got to Cherry Hill, but I was done with it by the time we got out of town. Are we larger than we think? Does everything actually come from us? Or vice versa? For example, people believe that religion is greater than themselves, that we come from God and religion.  But look at the images we have of God. He is in OUR image, WE created the vision. Yet we are led to believe that we were created in his vision...by a book that was written by, ta-da!...us.  Ahh, life. It's not the life you're given, it's the life you take. Life is good, and I could be dead tomorrow. Seriously, I need to call ________ and dump her this afternoon.

Beatles Browbeat

Today's Beatles Browbeat over at Slate asks the question "what the hell WAS the Merseybeat?":

But what was that sound? If you asked the Beatles and their similarly-coiffed and -clad young friends at the time, they probably wouldn’t have had a good answer. These bands might have shared outfits and haircuts and an early affection for skiffle music, but was their sound really so distinctive? After all, much of their repertoire consisted of covers by rock, R&B, and doo-wop acts (their harmonies were often inspired by the latter). Lennon himself would later say, “We don’t think there is such a thing as the Mersey Sound. … It just so happened we came from Liverpool and they looked for the nearest river and named it.”

Previous Beatles in real-time 50 years ago stuff HERE.

Opening Day Tomorrow

Oh, ye peeps of no faith:

Brian Cashman’s broken right fibula has become symbolic of the state of the Yankees.
It’s a team is so bruised and battered, even its general manager is wearing a cast.
The Yankees’ center fielder, shortstop, third baseman, first baseman, No. 4 starter and lefty specialist are each on the disabled list. Their No. 2 and 3 starters, corner outfielders, replacement corner infielders, closer and designated hitter are each 34 or older. It seems that expectations — at least from those outside of the Yankees clubhouse — have not been lower since before the late 90s dynasty.

Pizza Boxes

The interns over at guerreotype took a few moments away from mainlining olive loaf and trying to convince everybody in sight that Metal Circus is the best Husker Du record ("yo, Mould was guitarmonizing with HIMSELF bro, you hafta catch the waaaaaaaaaave!....") to come up with a brilliant Tumblr idea:

people opening empty pizza boxes

Of course by "brilliant" I mean "obviously an homage to Xmastime, which is, as always, the right thing to do, thank you (insert whoever you are here.)"


"Yo, who ordered 'no sausage'?"

When Virginia Basketball Mattered (aka The Dark Ages)

Picture courtesy of XMASTIME

Some people see March 30, 1981 as the day President Reagan got shot. I see it as the final game Jeff Lamp, Lee Raker and Terry Gates ever played for UVa, beating LSU in the last NCAA Final Four consolation game ever played, somewhat perversely becoming the last team ever to win it's final tourney game without winning the tournament.

Looking on it now, kinda surprised they haven't brought this game back, as I'd be another game to squeeze $$$$$ from tv. You got people sitting around waiting for the Monday night game, why not play the consolation game on Sunday?

Monopoly

A library in Prince George is using Monopoly to do something besides merely pick up chicks (I, of course, see everything and anything as an opportunity to pick up chicks):

The Monopoly program offers something different. The players, ages 11 to 26, may come to get away from the stresses of life. But the founder of the group hoped they would see parallels between Monopoly and the prospects of their success: Both are games of choice and chance.

“We’re trying to teach them financial literacy, but we don’t tell them that,” said Kim Carrington, the Prince George’s substitute teacher and parent activist who started the program. “We tell them what a great game it is.”

And yes, I'm still trying top sell Parker Brothers on a version based on my old loft in Williamsburg:
I should create a Monopoly based on my loft.

"Stuck in kitchen for 20 minutes while Frank blathers on like a crack-fueled Daffy Duck about nonsensical shit nobody on Earth remotely gives two shits about. Go back three spaces - scratch that, jump out the goddam window, you're fucked."

"3,288th straight day with no ladies in the loft. Please stop playing this fucking game." 

Hey look - it's Marley!

The Best of Malcolm Tucker

I've mentioned him a few times on Xmastime (...as opposed to in the New York Times, I suppose...), and here's a "greatest hits" collection of Malcom Tucker for m the BBC's great The Thick of It. done of course by Armando Iannucci, whose Veep is premiering its second season on HBO next week. Superslice!

Hypocisy 101

Mukluks: Sully

10 Years Ago Today

10 years ago tonight, Hayday rocked The Charleston. It was also the last night before NYC's smoking ban in bars.  Since this is an excuse to repost the same old shit   In accordance with this week's gay marriage news, here's an old post with pics from that night. Enjoy!

What Happens to Fags

A lot of stuff has been going around re: Prop 8, should same-sex marriage be made legal etc etc. People wanna talk about the Constitutional ramifications (ooooohhh....doesn't "ramifications" just SOUND like someone's getting ass-handled?) of such an amendment, and they also wanna talk about what effect it would have on traditional marriage. I don't know what effect it would have on traditional marriage, but I am here to tell you what will happen if it becomes okay for queers to get married: they will die.

How do I know this? Let's take a walk:

Oh look, here's Hayday rocking a nice set out at the Charleston. No big deal, just melting some faces. Hey, you worked hard all week; you've earned the right to have your ass handed to you by my bordering-on-the-absurdly frighteningly awesome fretwork.


Oh look, here's Xmastime bringing his buddy Dave up to play a song. I think it was Cant Hardly Wait, if memory serves me. And by "if memory serves me," I mean some kids from the Netherlands YouTubed it and are prolly filming me right now, as we speak.


Okay, here we are, rocking, blowing the roof off the place, and Dave comes over to sing into my mic and...OH SHIT!!! WE KISS!!!!!!!!!!! Dish & Brian have that "omigod, we're playing with fags!!!" look on their faces.


And since we kissed, now God has decided to step in, and what does God do with fucking fags? That's right - he fucking vaporizes them; turning them into green dust, never to be seen again.

I mean goddam, that was it - "bye bye, faggot!" God seemed to say. To be honest, I have no idea why he spared me. Maybe cause I played high school football, so he knows my gayness might've been a thing of the moment? But poor, poor Dave...ain't seen him since. Zap, gone. After our third encore that night, when the police finally showed up to disperse the crowd and I had picked out my "Tail of the Night," I remember thinking geez, what happened to Dave? And now we know. If you're queer, God will fucking vaporize you. Vote accordingly, America.

My Fans Are Getting Younger

Original Fireside Chat they're watching HERE.

Now THAT'S Some Bullshit

Camon. Now, I can see rewarding the dude with sex for housework, but you actually believe your girl starts creaming when she sees you tapping the bookshelf with a feather duster? DOUBT IT. I'm thinking that woman are making this whole urban myth up to get men off their asses and help out. Kudos to women, this is the best idea they've come up with since...well, this may be their first one, but still.  - XMASTIME

As you loyal readers already know, I've long debunked the whole "doing housework = more sex for me" bullshit, and today? Total vindication: in some online article that could change in the next ten minutes, like everyfuckingthingelse.

But now a new study in the American Sociological Review casts doubt on the truth of this happy feminist idyll. Men routinely doing “female” chores appear to have less—not more—sex. According to the authors, Sabino Kornrich (Center for Advanced Studies in the Social Sciences, Madrid), Julie Brines (University of Washington), and Katrina Leupp (University of Washington):

Couples in which men participate more in housework typically done by women report having sex less frequently. Similarly, couples in which men participate more in traditionally masculine tasks—such as yard work, paying bills, and auto maintenance—report higher sexual frequency.

The Short Bus is No Dummy

100 Metro Back Together

The Curious Career of The Strokes

Is This It – The Strokes
This album by the Strokes really IS the very definition of “cool.” Unfortunately, it’s not very “good.” Sorry, but just because a coupla rich heirs to the throne made an album that was better than whatever Blink 182 album came out that year doesn’t exactly make it Sgt. Pepper. - XMASTIME

THIS GUY HERE remarks on the weird tale of The Strokes, who for a split second meant so much but then became so little, and yet weirdly still commmand probably as much attention as they want:

The Strokes presently occupy a dubious place in pop culture: They're a legacy band generally considered to be important in contemporary rock history, but whose moment in time is otherwise perceived to have long since passed. Here's a snapshot of where the Strokes are in 2013: On an episode of the laudably terrible prime-time drama Smash, the hipster bona fides of bad-boy Brooklyn-based composer Jimmy were established when he trashed the Strokes as something he liked "when I was 15." When Smash is clowning you, you've truly maximized your value as cultural shorthand for "passé."

Was it REALLY all about timing?

The importance of timing here can't be overstated. The metaphorical significance of Is This It — the most lauded New York rock record since the late '70s — coming out shortly after September 11 has already been talked about to the point of tedium. But the tangible value has been somewhat underrated: In the fall of '01, the rest of the country really wanted to embrace NYC again, even if it meant cheering for the Yankees to beat the Diamondbacks that year in the World Series. For those of us who had never been to Gotham, the Strokes signified what we thought New Yorkers were like: They were young, fashionable, and "ethnic" looking. They wore excellently tailored jeans and cheap leather jackets. Their music simulated the primal urban electricity of speeding taxis and overcrowded dive bars. Is This It transported you to a world where it was always night and raining and everything was rendered in grimy, noirish black-and-white.

I don't mind The Strokes. There's worse bands, there's better bands. Though I still think of this about the hysteria around them by "rock critics":

On one hand it's like music critics who just decide to write whatever the others are writing just cause it's easy (see the Strokes endless "Television meets Velvet Underground!" reviews from 2001 that surely came off a mimeograph machine...whatever the fuck that is.) 

Also, were they the last super-hyped-up band like that before the internet came along?

Replacements: Footnotes

I'm often fascinated by uber-footnotes in history; either in pictures (eg. who's the woman in the picture they always show kneeling over the body at Kent State?) or otherwise (eg Raymond Jones - to quote Wikipedia: The Beatles had recorded the 'My Bonnie' single with Tony Sheridan in Germany...Epstein's version of the story was that a customer—Raymond Jones—walked into the NEMS shop and asked Epstein for the "My Bonnie" single, which made Epstein curious about the group.") Who are these people? Has anyone ever interviewed them? That should be a whole book, interviews with these footnote people. There's millions of 'em. - SEE XMASTIME FOOTNOTES HERE.

Part of The Replacements lore is how Paul Westerberg became the singer, as it's been told 1000000 times:

“One day a friend asked me if I wanted to go hear a band play,” he says. “We pull up, and it’s that house on 36th and Grand. I walked in very casual and didn’t tell them that I had been listening to them. I was immediately struck by Tommy. His amp was bigger than him.”

The band was calling itself Dogbreath and featured 12-year-old Tommy Stinson on bass, his 19-year-old half-brother Bob on guitar and 18-year-old Chris Mars on drums. By the time Westerberg left the Stinson house, he was officially a member of Dogbreath.

The guys in Dogbreath asked Westerberg if he knew any singers, so for the next rehearsal he brought along Oat’s vocalist. Dogbreath liked him fine, but Westerberg had other ideas.

“I pulled him aside afterwards and told him that I liked his singing, but the other guys weren’t into it,” says Westerberg. “I told them he wasn’t into it and I would sing until we found somebody else.”

Who the hell was that guy?

Now.

Photograph

Capturing shit on film is kinda weird anyway, isn't it? I mean, who knows where you might be in a picture somewhere. Some family from North Dakota get their picture taken on the Boardwalk, you happen to be walking behind them and there you are, on some mantle in a room in a house in a town you'll never even know exists. Maybe in 1983 you took a picture, and beside a tree in the picture happened to be a girl you end up meeting and marrying 20 years later. Same with movies - e.g. the last scene of "Valley Girl," when the camera pulls away, showing the LA freeway packed with cars. What if you were in one of those cars? There you are, on film forever. Kinda creepy. - XMASTIME

Looks like that very thing has happened.

Alex and Donna Voutsinas have a picture that shows both of them together in Walt Disney World 15 years before they actually met and married. The two were from different countries, and both just happened to be vacationing with their families at the same place and same time.

The faded 1980 photo shows Donna, 5, with her family while Alex, 3, was being pushed in a stroller in the background.

Trippy!

Mukluks: The Girl Who

Thanks Husky!! :)

Daily News

Doing my first Daily News crossword puzzle in forever...which means, of course, you get to endure my previous thoughts on it. You're welcome, Earth!
---------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know if I love doing the Daily News crossword puzzles every day for the sake of doing them or because I really, really love the way my pen sinks into that weirdly soft paper. Can you buy blank paper like that to write on?  Hmm.

*

Dear Daily News Crossword Editor:

The correct clue to give for

SH__ __ O__

is "_________ was a bloodbath; 1500 men died in that half-acre known as..."The Hornet's Nest", not "A Civil War battle."  I mean, come the fuck on with that shit already. Get a clue OHMYGOD I totally just made that up!!!!!!!!!! 

*

Dear Daily News Crossword Editor:

Answers in your puzzles need to be real words.  "Cee", as in "letter before D", is not a fucking word.  It's a sound.

*

There is no moment worse than when you're doing a crossword puzzle on the train and the pen stops working.  And there's no greater joy than a few minutes later when it suddenly begins working again.

It's also a little thrill to finish both Daily News puzzles before you get home; one diminished by therein being forced to do the fucking Jumble (that scrambled word game for assholes!)

* 

Coupla days ago I sat down on the train and started working on my crossword puzzle. We're gliding along and then at a stop this ridiculously hot chick gets on and sits down right across from me. I tried not to ogle as I went back to my crossword. After a minute or so I realized oh shit, I hadn't filled in any letters, I wasn't writing anything. I panicked; instantly thinking shit, she KNOWS I'm just staring at the puzzle like a fucking idiot, she's thinking I'm a complete retard!! and this is the Daily News puzzle, it's not fucking rocket science. I desperately searched for a clue I would know the answer to. Nothing. And I know she's looking and I know that if only I could answer a bunch quickly, she'd realize I'm a genius, tear of her shiny purple blouse and I'd be all up in there. Then it dawns on me...she can't see WHAT I'm writing; she can only see THAT I'm writing!! So BAM!! I take my pen and just start writing, filling in squares with whatever letters or words I wanted; sometimes pausing briefly to act like I was thinking, then jotting it down. Brow furrowed. This is brilliant I chuckled to myself, wondering if she'll want our kids to go to private school. I could tell she was tres impressed as I kept "answering"; A C G G T T T E R and on.

Of course. She eventually got up, walked off the train without so much as looking at me. Prolly hadn't even known I was there in the first place, much less how I was doing at my fucking crossword. Ah well. Here's to quick thinking when it comes to chicks!

*

Easter Time's a-Comin'!!!!

First of all, Easter reminds me that I'm still looking to start my "Save Your Soul!" business.

But seriously, Easter sucks.  First of all, it's a real signal of the onset of Spring, which means Summer's right around the corner and I'll be boiling in my own sweat, crying.  When I was a kid it seemed like we went to Mass every day that week, which meant I wore my 600% polyester tan "suit" with a brown clip-on about five fucking times, and then the "piéce de resistence!" was lining up Easter morning the same as we did Christmas morning, getting all wound up "ooooh, did the Easter Bunny come??!?" only to find out that yes, he had, but instead of leaving toys or anything remotely fun or useful, he left a gay basket with candy in it.  Wow.  Thanks asshole; how long do I hafta pretend I give a shit before I can throw the crap out?  Ugh.

And why is Easter on Sunday?  If Jesus died on a Friday and then rose from the dead three days later, wouldn't that be a Monday?  Or did the Church for once in their lives make a good decsicion, saying "that would mean we'd hafta go to Mass on Sunday and then AGAIN on Monday, so fuck it"?  Why not just make it Good Thursday, and go from there?  Did "super-ripped dude with a smokin' body nailed to a cross" just have an end-of-the-week "feel" to it?

And of course Jesus' friends turned on him.  Can you imagine the shit they were getting from their mothers?  "Weeeellllll, I hear Mary Christ's boy is healing lepers and turning water into wine; what the hell are you doing?  Weren't you going to be a chiropodist?  I'm very disappointed in you.  Why can't you be more like that Jesus?"  My mother would drive me crazy whining "why can't you do better in Trigonometry, like your friend Robert?"  He wasn't even the son of god, and it was fucking maddening to hear.

"Really. I spend 3 months introducing USD certificates of deposit into London as the first new negotiable instrument in the market since 1888, and this motherfucker brings me...a bunch of fucking candy. Hmm."

Xmatime Movie Review: Phil Spector

...in my own version of "athlete takes signing bonus and buys Maserati," the first time I got a big check from my old real estate job ($9,000) I went straight to Times Square and bought the Phil Spector box set, which for some reason heretofor (thentofor?) I had thought out of my reach. Also, I got a tug job from an Asian chick. Okay, that's not true. But woulda been cool. But then, so woulda turning into a werewolf in the middle of a high school basketball game, so. Life, eh? A kick in the vas deferens. - XMASTIME

Pacino was great ("wait - I'm Al Pacino, AND I get to play a lunatic?!?!?") in that he basically gave his monologues from Glengary Glenross over and over. Unfortunately, as someone who's absolutely fucking loved Phil Spector for a long, long time, this whole murder trial thing is the least interesting part of his life I care to see. I couldn't stop wondering why the hell they made the movie in the first place. In the end, the entire thing felt like it was created simply for the moment he shows up in a crazy wig. I mean, who gives a fuck?

I Already Miss You Guys

BS List Alert

Gothamist lists The 6 Best Chinese Dishes in NYC.

Somehow, Kam Sing didn't make the cut.  Whack.


I wonder why.

Note Opera, Updated

Years ago HERE I wrote:

Last night I started reading a used book, and I guess it had been used as a textbook before because a few pages in I started see hand-written notes in the margins. I started wondering who was this person? Where is she right now (the handwriting was obviously a woman's)? What's happened in her life since she read the book? I started wondering if there's ever been a time when two people were brought together this way - someone falls in love with someone's handwritten notes in a book, and then tracks that person down (maybe they had written their name in the book.) 

Then all of a sudden a few pages later I started seeing a second set of notes, of a different handwriting. A dude's handwriting. Amazing how things change then, right? "Oh, who the fuck does this dude think he is?" I'd sneer. I'd look at what he'd written or underlined and scoff "what an idiot!" or "gee, no shit, professor!!!" Then I'd look at her notes and would hear The Sound of Music in the background wjhile nodding my head "yes, so true, so right...YES! great insight!!!" 

So now I've got this fucking soap opera going on as I'm reading this fucking book. Except I have no idea who the people are or what they even look like. Or if they're dead or alive. It's fucking exhausting.

Via SULLY we see a guy wondering a somewhat similar thing re: notes found in books:

For whatever reason, I happened to open the book and saw the message from Mark to Joey.Something about that note, handwritten by an unknown to an unknown of whose whereabouts,gender and relationship I was unaware, struck me as both tragic and powerful. …
Maybe someday this book will again find its way to Mark or Joey and I’ll get to meet them, and ask them if it worked out, if their orgasmic moments were enough to survive life’s difficulties.

Regret du Jour

I thought of a hysterical euphemism for anal sex the other day, then forgot it. Sorry.

This Is Cool

Story HERE.

Beatles Idol

Flipping through the tv tonight I notice that American Idol is doing all Beatles songs tonight. ""But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), "didn't you blog about this very thing almost exactly 5 years ago, March of 2008?"

Why, YES I did, faithful readers!  And here are those golden nuggets of dynamo, from back when I was awesome!!!!

ENJOY!
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
AMANDA:
Back in the USSR
Grade: 4

not really good. kinda rote what we've come to expect from her. she was exciting, which is good, but the singing was just okay. weak/messy even in some parts. becoming a one-trick pony.

KRISTY LEE:
You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
Grade: 6

Britney beginning? Wtf? Surprisingly digging the verses. Choruses blow. Looks like a second chin is creeping in, stay away from the Swedish Fish between shows baby. Was okay, shoulda opened up more.

DAVID A.:
The Long and Winding Road
Grade: n/a

Fucking christ. He aint started yet, but know I wouldn't pay a nickel to have McCartney play this steaming pile in my bedroom. I refuse to comment on this. I'm really starting to hate this fucking kid. Should be beaten with Heather's fake leg.

MICHAEL:
A Day in the Life
Grade: 4

Does he have cum in his hair? Speaking of which, just blew the high note. A tough song to do in 90 seconds. Hmm. If only the Beatles had another song or two he could choose from. Not doing it for me. Singings okay, but blah. Looks to be finishing strong. Oh sorry, already mentioned his hair. Whoops. Was wrong, shitty ending.

BROOKE:
Here Comes the Sun
Grade: 4

HUSBAND?? wtf. Was falling for her. Will not help her grade with me. She sounds like Jimmy Buffet here. Her dress looks like a melting candle. Christ. Boring me to sleep. Oh, GREAT note at the end. Ugh.

DAVID C.:
Day Tripper
Grade: n/a

Whitesnake? Piss break.

CARLY:
Blackbird
Grade: -3

Lemme guess. This will be a slow lament. Bracing myself. Not a good start. Is that icing she's wearing? Ruffles on top look like the top of a cake. If she popped out of a cake naked right now she may save this. Otherwise, crappy. Toothpicks keeping my eyelids open. Next!

JASON:Michelle
Grade: 4+

Another shitty song choice. What the fuck? So now we have the guy I've always thought looked like Kermit the Frog singing in French. Am I in the middle of a fucking movie? Not terrible so far but who cares. Bonus for having the biggest eyelashes in the world (implants?) Falling asleep.

SYESHA:
Yesterday
Grade: 2+

Oh gee, "Yesterday." What a shocker. This is the worst night I can remember. And who held the meeting that said "you know what guys lots of Beatles songs are amazing, but let's make sure to pick the ones that are dull to begin with and then suck any life and spirit out of them as well. Maybe later on we can have Pixar replace your images with slabs of wood. Good luck!" Fucking christ. Back to Syesha. Rack's looking good at least. Even Seacrest took a peep, which is like a vegetarian sniffin a porterhouse. Is she even singing? Is anyone in the band under the age of 60? This is terrible. Tho nice to see Charles S. Dutton can play guitar. Next!

CHIKEZIE:
I've Just Seen a Face
Grade: 7

Interesting song choice. An Xmas slice. Rooting for him. Interesting take on the melody. And by that I mean I am bored to tears and drawing kittens on my nuts with a Sharpie to stay awake. Oh gee, he's doing the ol slow start/pick it up thing like last week. Simon will pounce on this. Maybe that's how Chikezie handles his lovemaking in the boot-oire, but camon. Still, best of the night so far. By far. Fuck it, giving him a 7 even tho he was as the woofman sez pitchy. At least he's not dull.

RAMIELE:
I Should Have Known Better
Grade: 0

Is she a midget? Oooh, superslice. Let's see if she keeps this one up-tempo for once. She...looks like a stripper. A foot-tall stripper with a stupid hat to put my gin & tonic on. Hmm. Me nosso hoooooorny. Thankfully, apparently her mic is turned off too. Awful. I think the band has even given this one up. Drummer just texted Randy "In & Out Burger in 5?" A shit ender on a shitty night. Goodbye Ramiele.

Annual Bracketology Reprise

From 2009:

I think it’s a mark of how comfortable we all got with the idea of having an “idiot” in the White House that we’re supposed to believe that on top of fixing the global economy and running two wars and inventing national healthcare President Obama can’t also take about 60 seconds to make NCAA picks about teams he knows or cares little about and spend 20 minutes exchanging harmless, kinda pre-scripted banter with the world’s most harmless late-night host. In other words you Republicans, just because in your ideal world the government must be staffed with complete idiots so that they destroy said government doesn't mean there aren't still some smart people in power. Despite your best efforts.

Cheetos Time!

Another great short film by John Romeo! 😜

If She's Blowing Me, Hasn't She Already Had Enough Scotch?

March 19 Classic Post

This one's from 2010:

Sandra Bullock's Husband Cheated on Her

I can't help but think wow, did she get blindsided by all this.

March 19 Classic Post

This one's from 2009:

March 19 Classic Post

This one's from 2008:


Xmastime Does a Children's Book.
3/19/2008


Goodnight moon.
Goodnight dresser.
Goodnight couch.
Goodnight 2/3 empty 40oz Bud bottle.
Goodnight pile of empties in corner growing fur.
Goodnight 8 year-old copy of "Penthouse Variations."
Goodnight 1/3 empty 40oz Bud bottle.
Goodnight jizz rag (Buster)
Goodnight small pile of broken glass on floor.
Goodnight "Hardcastle and McCormick" screenplay (rough draft.)
Goodnight rats.
Goodnight rats' friends.
Goodnight 4 year-old copy of "Penthouse Variations."
Goodnight moon.

March 19 Classic Post

This one is from 2007. Back when I was awesome.
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Tough Guys!

Though I did not let myself watch my usual Melrose at 4pm followed by a double shot of BH 90210 today, I did think they deserved a little thought on my part. And all I could think of was how the fuck did shrimpy, hair gel-shorn, $200 t-shirt wearing white pussies like Dylan and Jake become the “tough” guys on their shows? Who casted these cats?

“I’m gonna need a gruff, no-nonsense tough guy who with a glowering look can let the bikers at the bar know to not fuck with him...BINGO!”




"Hi guys!"


“and ooooooooh, we’ll put him on a bike! With a helmet!”



“Vroom vroom!!!”

I mean, if Dylan came up to you all angry looking for a fight, would you even notice him? Camon.






“I’m so tough I punch myself in the head during my Salon 70 photo shoots.”

Same thing with Melrose. The older, even MORE gruff Jake...lookout everyone, he’s a loner!!...even though he shares a swimming pool with 10 other people. I’m sorry, but if I’m about to get into a fight with some dude and I find out he has a swimming pool where he lives, any intimidation that might have been there is gone. Drained, even.

Oh no, here’s our tuff guy waiting to whup your ass.....

....just don’t get no blood on his incredibly pressed, tucked in t-shirt (ooooohh, BLACK tee! Scary!!!) Again. I don’t think I’ve ever lost a fight to a dude with his shirt tucked in. Or with hair like this:

I mean, come on Aaron Spelling. Like your daughter with her “tits” and “acting” at least try to fool us. We deserve that much, no?
















“No. You don’t. And as soon as my Balanchine method step class is over I’m gonna kick. your. ass.”

“Get him, Dylan...and yeah, your hair looks great...WAY great, man.”

Smackdown Is Over

Apparently, The Simpsons has beaten Cheers in Vulture's Sitcom Smackdown.  I'm not really a Simpsons guy, but I get it. I didn't have them in my own Final Four, but there's no real denying what The Simpsons has become over the past few decades.

EVEN BETTER, this led to this awesome article, A Cheers Writer's Memory of Finale Night:

Second memory: My partner David Isaacs and I have what we call the “Prince of the City” theory. Simply put, it means the moment you think you’re hot shit is the moment you will be cut back down to size. It never fails. 

So it’s about 2 a.m., I’m walking back to the hotel. It’s a bit chilly; I’m wearing a trench coat to protect against any more rain. And I’m reflecting on the night and how this little show I’ve been involved with had become a national phenomenon. And I allowed myself to think I must be a pretty damn good writer to be a part of it. Just at that moment, a passing truck roared through a big puddle and I got completely drenched. I mean, sopping wet, soaked to the bone. And I had to laugh. Hail to thee, Prince of the City.

Bracketology

By TUITION!

Sunday Morning Bullshit

The list really is incredible: Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Condoleezza Rice, Rudy Giuliani, and current Republican Senator Richard Lugar.  I mean, what the fuck?  Isn't that like interviewing the Chicago Cubs after The World Series? - XMASTIME re: the ridiculous guest rosters of the Sunday morning talk shows

I've never watched the Chris Hayes show, and prolly never will, but I think TNC gets this right:

The other four shows here are rooted in "The Big Get," and are framed around an interview with a senator or a governor, people who generally tend to be white and male. But Chris features politicians in the way that they feature anyone else. If he gets a senator or governor, great. If he doesn't, oh well. From his perspective there's no real reason to believe that John McCain is going to give you the most informed perspective on housing policy.

I've never really understood the whole "no matter what the subject is, let's start with John McCain and work ourselves down from  there", when they're obviously surrounded by experts on the given subject. Crock of shit. This policy has made those shows pretty unwatchable. "We're doing a segment on Derek Jeter...if McCain can't do it, I guess we'll settle for Derek Jeter."

Final Vinyl

Personally, while I grew up with and love vinyl, I could give a shit about whether or not a song is delivered via vinyl or mp3 UNLESS it's a Ramones or Phil Spector song - to me, the Wall of Sound was made for vinyl, and the rest is just jerkoffs trying to sell you something. Believe me, unless the Wall of Sound is involved, you're not missing anything on your earbuds. - XMASTIME

Via SULLY, we see someone else finally being honest about his precious ears:

Like some people who say they have fibromyalgia or gluten intolerance, far more vinyl collectors think they’re audiophiles than actually are. Owning a decent turntable does not turn your ears into trembling flowers, unable to bear the bitmapped harshness of digital. It began to dawn on me—me, someone who had preached the sanctity of vinyl from my record-store pulpit for so long—that I couldn’t really tell the difference between a 7-inch and an MP3. Or rather, I could tell there was a slight difference, but it wasn’t enough to justify the huge portion of my income that I was spending on vinyl.

Xmastime Classixxx

Re: my high school gf, whose birfday was today. From 2008:

Today is the birthday of my first love. We broke up about 17 years ago, but each year this day remains the same: I stare out as if looking for a lost ship to return to shore with my beloved, asking "When will my love return? And when she does, will she give me back my fucking letter jacket?" - XMASTIME 

Saw my high school girlfriend this weekend (NO, unfaithful readers, not "like that" - she has a husband, for chrissake!  And some kids!) We must've lost that little bit of a connection with us over the past few  decades  years, since when I said "so, how are you doing?" she did not rightly pick up "where the hell is my letter jacket?" from my tone. That stings. We might finally, really be over.

HAPPY BIRFDAY

To the incomparable GRANT HART!

See when I met him HERE.

Bracketology, by Xmastime

The season is upon us. Remember:

And now the craziness begins ie who got in, who didn't get in, the seeding etc. As I speak Mad Dog's heart is seizing as he peels Mike's oiled hair back, screaming. Every year, I study the brackets like they're the Dead Sea Scrolls; upon completion, EVERY SINGLE TIME I look at my picks and honestly think "...you know what...I don't see a wrong pick here..." and I try to stuff in as many ACC teams into the Final Four as possible. Which, I guess, would be by definition...four. And, of course, by the end of Day 1 my bracket sheet is hurled in the garbage, wrong wrong wrong, and I swear the next year I'm gonna pick by uniforms a la Dwayne picking football teams on their helmets. 

What does drive me crazy though...dudes filling out more than one bracket. Gutless. They fill out their "real" one, then fill out another one with their "upsets." Their wacky bracket! So that when a 15 does beat a 2 they can crow abut it, cause it was on one of their 192 bracket sheets they filled out. Fuck that. Me? As 8-Mile once said, you only get one shot (shout out to Medium G.) So here's my one bracket for all to see. - XMASTIME 

Every single year (except this one now, so of course I'll look like a fucking idiot) my tournament picks go the exact same within my little Yahoo group: Day 1, I sprint way out ahead of everybody, and by the end of the 2nd day I am so far ahead of everyone else I have to practice my false modesty act in front of a mirror, saying things like "oooh, I thought I picked (insert losing team), guess I didnt. Boy was that lucky!" But the whole time the smarm is thickening as I mentally pat all my friends on their heads, thinking hey, I played the game! They dont know what they're doing, I AM THE EXPERT!!! Because we're boys, every year I take particular glee in finding my boy Op buried at the bottom of the basement, with picks so awful I have both hands on my hips as I lean back, parallel to the ground and loudly "har! har! har!" in my room by myself for about 10 minutes.  

Then the next weekend comes, and the gap starts closing. Okay okay, dont panic, Im thinking, my bracket sheet worn down to its original pupa. I'm still out in front, and Op foolishly picked Strawberry Shortcake and Grandpa Munster to go to the Final Four. 

Of course by the end of that Sunday night I'm under my bed in the dark, naked save for a thin coat of Country Crock spread, weeping as somehow everybody (including Op) has vaulted past me and I am buried DEEP at the bottom. Way bottom. EVERY YEAR this happens like clockwork. I'll keep you posted. Sigh. - XMASTIME

Memory Lane

This guy came up today, a classic from one of my  self-appointed  all-time posts as chosen by my  me  fans:

I spent the last 3 days in a continuing-ed class for my job. No matter how many of these things I take as an adult, I always revert back to being in school as a kid: sit down, shut up, and don’t mess around with crap. But everyone else just strolls around, brings in chips, yammers away etc. Me, I’m in the corner assuming that someone’s about to start screaming at me any second. I have begun to notice throughout the years however that in every class, there are some of the same fucking characters that keep popping up. Such as:

Instructor “…as so, when washing animals use soap and water…”
Guy: “what about horses? Should we use soap and water for horses?”
Instructor: “Yes, of course, soap and water for horses. So, as we-“
Guy: “I’ve got 2 dogs, what about them? Soap and water for them?”
Instructor: “Yes. Dogs too. Now, if w-“
Guy: “What about hamsters?”
Instructors: “Yes. (icy ‘please shut up stare’ now settling in). Now, -“
Guy: “What if I wanna wash dogs AND hamsters, should I use soap and water?”

You get the picture. Meanwhile every fucking inane question he asks adds onto the class time, driving you insane with rage. Your only hope here is that someone confronts him in the bathroom during a break and tosses him out the fucking window. Otherwise, a 4:45pm stop time means 4:45pm. Unreal.

A close cousin to this jackass is the middle-aged woman who wants to regale the class with anecdote after anecdote of every fucking thing her company has even done, every case that has ever come up. SHUT UP YOU OLD BAG!!!!! This person also needs to be “dealt with” during a break.
Instructor “…as so, when washing animals use soap and water…”
Guy: “what about horses? Should we use soap and water for horses?”
Instructor: “Yes, of course, soap and water for horses. So, as we-“
Guy: “I’ve got 2 dogs, what about them? Soap and water for them?”
Instructor: “Yes. Dogs too. Now, if w-“
Guy: “What about hamsters?”
Instructors: “Yes. (icy ‘please shut up stare’ now settling in). Now, -“
Guy: “What if I wanna wash dogs AND hamsters, should I use soap and water?”
You get the picture. Meanwhile every fucking inane question he asks adds onto the class time, driving you insane with rage. Your only hope here is that someone confronts him in the bathroom during a break and tosses him out the fucking window. Otherwise, a 4:45pm stop time means 4:45pm. Unreal.

A close cousin to this jackass is the middle-aged woman who wants to regale the class with anecdote after anecdote of every fucking thing her company has even done, every case that has ever come up. SHUT UP YOU OLD BAG!!!!! This person also needs to be “dealt with” during a break.
You get the picture. Meanwhile every fucking inane question he asks adds onto the class time, driving you insane with rage. Your only hope here is that someone confronts him in the bathroom during a break and tosses him out the fucking window. Otherwise, a 4:45pm stop time means 4:45pm. Unreal.
A close cousin to this jackass is the middle-aged woman who wants to regale the class with anecdote after anecdote of every fucking thing her company has even done, every case that has ever come up. SHUT UP YOU OLD BAG!!!!! This person also needs to be “dealt with” during a break.
A close cousin to this jackass is the middle-aged woman who wants to regale the class with anecdote after anecdote of every fucking thing her company has even done, every case that has ever come up. SHUT UP YOU OLD BAG!!!!! This person also needs to be “dealt with” during a break.

1) THE GUY THAT ASKS A THOUSAND QUESTIONS. We all know how these classes work – you gotta do them for your profession, to cross them off on your to-do list to keep whatever license current. So you show up, sign the attendance sheet and get the hell on with your life. Even the instructors are like “I will try to get you out of here early if we can cover the material.” Which means “I’ll stand here and talk for a few hours, and if you let me run through this garbage as quickly as possible without fucking bothering me we can leave in time for you to get home and rub one out to the Tyra Banks Show.” We all know this and respect it. But there’s always ONE jackass who wants to fucking ask question after question and so then we don’t get out early. The class is fuming at him, the instructor is staring at him and trying to shut him up using a jedi mind-trick, but the dude won’t stop asking questions. But the best part is, they're not even good questions, it’s not about concepts – it’s always him latching onto one question and then WANTING TO PAINT EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO!!!!!!! If you’re a pet groomer, for example, it would go like this

Oh, Sarah Palin

She just gives and gives, doesn't she?

But, her most ridiculous moment of all ridiculousness had to be when the jabbering hockey-momming-lip-glossing-pit-grizzley-bullying 2008 reject read an Obama-Teleprompter joke, throwing out there a tired four-year old remark to the effect, “Hey Mr. President, its time to step away from the teleprompter and do your job.” Nothing new here, just some old rotted raw meat for the crowd, like the rest of her speech, but the amazing thing was, she read her Obama teleprompter joke FROM A TELEPROMPTER. 

Yes, just before she was to take her turn with the talky-hatey thing, something very odd happened, for the first time all day. The stage crew appeared and set up … teleprompters. NO ONE had used them up to this point, they weren’t even on or near the stage for anyone else at all. Not even Michele “one L, two crazy eyes” Bachmann had used a teleprompter til then, but Sarah had to have them, because her speech was too long to have written on her hands. Talk about your choots-pah!

Awesome.

Your Weekend Sniffs

But I sure wish we could flash-forward to the inevitable Playboy spread. - Xmastime on Sniffy Wiffy (heh heh heh)

Her raucous speech at the CPAC this weekend finally has Sarah Palin understanding what both she has to offer and what the old men of her party really expect from her:

On gun ownership: "You should have seen what Todd got me for Christmas. Well, It wasn't that exciting. It was a metal rack, case for hunting rifles to put on the back of a four-wheeler. Then though, I had to get something for him to put in the gun case, right. So, this go around, he's got the rifle, I got the rack."

THANK you!  Finally! 

This line might get her in trouble though:

On young conservatives: "My only piece of advice to our young college Republicans is you've got to be thinking Sam Adams, not drinking Sam Adams. And that's just a joke. I don't want to know hear from the CEO of some brewery accusing me of being an anti beer-ite."

This is obviously influenced by the famous "anti-dentite" bit on Seinfeld...is Sniffy Wifft really aligning herself with East Coast elitists New York Jews? Will her now hating freedom, Jesus, and Jesus' scrapy, lovable sidekick Baby Jesus get her in trouble with "real" Americans?

Look Who Wants Some More of Your Money

Latest "best of" from Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen, in which he finally unleashes archival, fanatics-only nuggets such as Born to Run, Hungry Heart, and the "I thought this song was only a rumor!!!" Dancing in the Dark.

Thanks Boss!

Dyslexic Slavery Boat

History du Jour

The very first instance of someone saying "deez nuuuuuuuuts."

My Hometown

Today finally got an ATM.

Yessssssssssss!!

Our favorite escaped cobra of course has a few words to say about celebrating the man who drove the snakes from Ireland:

There were NO snakes in Ireland before he even got there. How did this guy get his own holiday? Where's my holiday? I got rid of all the polar bears in Ireland. Don't believe me? Try to find a single polar bear in Ireland. Yep, that was all me. Holiday me, please. 

On St. @BronxZoosCobra's Day, everyone has to wear snakeskin. If you don't, people are allowed to bite you. 

The holiday drink of choice? It's appletinis for everyone. Snakes and apples have gone together from literally day one. And guys love appletinis, but never get to order them because it doesn't seem like a manly drink. Well, go crazy on St. @BronxZoosCobra's Day, guys.

Hmm.

Whoever did this doesn't seem to know the difference between "backup" and "sidekick"....

Portman...No, Not Natalie. Calm Down.

...a personality quirk of the GOP is an inability to empathize with anybody's suffering unless they have personally been touched themselves - BELOVED XMASTIME

I'm glad Sen. Rob Portman has come out in favor of same-sex marriage:

In the interview with CNN, Portman tells Bash, "I've come to the conclusion that for me, personally, I think this is something that we should allow people to do, to get married, and to have the joy and stability of marriage that I've had for over 26 years. That I want all of my children to have, including our son, who is gay."

And yet it's eye-rolling/heavy sigh in that here's YET ANOTHER CASE of a Republican demanding to deny basic civil rights to others until it, you know, affects him or her personally Yes, congrats, Senator. You're a goddam hero.

Facebook Friend News du Jour

Thinning the herd today. That's right, today's the best thing about being on Facebook: the cuts.

Florida? Haven't These People Been Through Enough Already?