Sick Days and Sunshine

Sick day today! Leaving for Miami tomorrow morning!

See ya!

Savin' All My Love for... uh... Crack

My personal beef with Whitney Houston stems from the fact that her debut album, Whitney Houston, broke the record for highest-selling debut album ever... a record previously held by Boston's totally kickass and equally eponymous debut. Contrasted with the shaggy, geetar-shreddin', doobie-puffin' everydudes who brought us "Smokin," "Rock 'n' Roll Band," and "More than a Feeling," Whitney's milqeutoast, mom-friendly music-to-get-a-pedicure-to seems all the more unbearably saccharine. The way she says the word "heat" in "I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)," or the fact that she had a monstrous hit after ripping off Dolly Parton and "heating things up" onscreen with perennial toilet-filler Kevin Costner just chapped my hide to no end.

Which is why I'm so glad that Whitney has finally come around.

Then:
"First of all, let's get one thing straight. Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack. Let's get that straight. Okay? We don't do crack. We don't do that. Crack is whack." (Whitney to Diane Sawyer, December 4, 2002)

Now:



The new, improved, skeleton-with-a-face Whitney is fine by me. Ever since she married Bobby "Ghostbusters II" Brown, it's been all uphill. Pot busts, crazypants rambling, coke, crack, denial, acceptance, reality TV... like Pete Doherty, Whitney has made a cottage industry out of utterly falling apart in public. (Bobby, too, but no one ever expected great things from Bobby; he wasn't even "the talented one" in New Edition.) Take, for example, today's alleged pictures of Whitney's bathroom during a drug binge. The Whitney Houston with crack, joints, cans of Budweiser, and (puzzlingly) a screwdriver lying around on the bathroom counter is a Whitney Houston I can root for. It makes her way more likable.* Which proves that (for me anyway) rampant self-destructiveness is a highly appealing quality in a celebrity. This is intersting, because the same behavior in, say, the dude next door who sells aluminum siding, or perhaps your kid's second-grade teacher, is decidedly not cool. Then it becomes a "cause for concern" rather than a cause célèbre.

So I guess the moral is this: Crack may be whack, and it certainly plays havok with one's housekeeping skills, but it makes for a richer, more interesting, more compellingly human Whitney Houston experience.

*I still like Boston way better.

Big Tuesday

The new Yeah Yeah Yeahs (Show Your Bones) and Ghostface Killah (Fishscale) albums come out today. Thus far, reaction to the former is mixed, while the latter has people fawning all over it. Buy both and split the difference. (And no, I do not work for the RIAA.)

Lance sent a link to the Rolling Stone article on the wild life of Pete Doherty. Give it a read. Petey's obviously the tragic figure of our age. That, or he's a junkie buffoon.

I LOVE NEW YORK.

**UPDATE** Check out The Condensed Scarface. (Careful, it has the dirty, dirty eff word in it.) [Thanks Siobhann]

Capsule Reviews

Ready for some hott critique action? Well let's go!

V for Vendetta: Too much goddamn talking, and not even in the service of any original ideas.

Inside Man: Heist movies are clearly not Spike Lee's thing, and the movie seemed to go on for days, but the performances are great and Clive Owen is possibly the coolest man alive (King Arthur notwithstanding).

2006 Whitney Biennial: Day for Night: First off, too much bad installation art. Everyone's going to get sick of me saying this, but I have one rule about art... If you have to read an explanation or analysis of a piece before you can appreciate it on any level, then it's shitty art. This is in no way a bow to philistinism or even a call for "traditionalism." Far from it. I love conceptual art when it communicates an actual concept. Good art tends to be either intellectualy or aesthetically engaging. Great art is often both. Crappy art requires wall text, an audio guide, and/or a catalogue essay in order to be appreciated. Anyway, lots of crappy art, but there was some great stuff by Paul Chan, Rodney Graham, Hanna Liden, Florian Maier-Aichen, T. Kelly Mason and Diana Thater, Marilyn Minter, Jim O'Rourke, Francesco Vezzoli, Christopher Williams, and especially JP Munro and Anne Collier. Collier's photographs are amazing and I wish I could afford one. Also, in the interest of balance, the review in The Village Voice raved about the show.

Arctic Monkeys @ Webster Hall: Absolutely believe the hype. Just an amazing show, even if it was way too short. They're on a short list of current bands (including the Futureheads and the Walkmen) who are even better live than on record. I can barely get my mind around the fact that these guys are like 19 years old. Anyhoo, Brooklyn Vegan has the usual amazing pictures from the show, along with links to reviews.

Okay, enough unsolicited opinionificatin'.

Some sad news: Buck Owens passed away over the weekend. That's a bummer. He wrote and recorded one of my favorite songs, "Act Naturally." (Also, the Beatles' cover of that song is my all-time favorite Ringo Starr performance.) As always, I'm sure the New York Times has a good obit. The great Stanislaw Lem died too. Assuming the law of threes holds up, we've got another famous stiff comin' down the pike shortly. Unless these two are the tail end of the Don Knotts cycle.

FINALMENTE...

I am ashamed to admit that I have utterly neglected to plug Toby's amazing Live from the WB podcast. It took some other blogger doing it first for me to realize the oversight. Anyway, it's a funny, Billyburg-tastic romp through my favorite neighborhood that I don't technically live in anymore. Because I live in Bushwick now. There, I said it. I live in Bushwick, not "East Williamsburg." And I'm okay with that. Really. (Also, please donate to their AIDS Walk New York team.)

Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

"Hello children. Tonight I'm going to make sweet love to your rectum."

More on that later...

For those of you on the left coast, I suppose I shoud confirm that I am, in fact, alive. St. Patrick's Day was very fun, but it was not among my more...storied Paddy's adventures (no broken hand, no "telling people what I really think of them," no green beverages, etc.). Cal did manage to lose in the first round of the NCAA Tournament that night, but I was too blissfully tanked to care by then. Alcohol truly is the cause of and answer to all of life's problems.

While I don't usually wax diaristic here, I must briefly discuss my eventful week: Monday night was the Annie show at Mercury Lounge. Now, you know how I love Annie, and she did score #7 album and share the top single spot (with Bloc Party) in Listmania 2005. So trust me when I say... WORST. SHOW. EVER. Luckily, it was so bad we had a great time. Redboy shouting "more lasers!" every time the keyboardist used a random laser effect (approx. 7.5 times per song) was worth the price of admission. And Annie may be a cutie, but she can't even sing with the help of some near-criminal overdubbing and multitracking. Deliciously awful.

Tuesday was a banner day... got cable, got a bed, and got the Interwebs at home. Finally, the management is dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century.

Today at 3:00 is a little work field trip to the 2006 Whitney Biennial. A snotty, impenetrable critique will follow shortly. (Speaking of deep thoughts about art, I forgot to mention a wildly self-aggrandizing little tidbit: McSweeny's has asked to include my Conceptual Art list in their upcoming McSweeny's Book of Lists. I'm gonna be a published...um...listmaker. Plus I get $25! Righteous bucks.)

And now back to the mining of popular culture for worthless trinkets!

The new Walkmen single, "Louisiana," is currently streaming at the band's MySpace page. It's good, county-fried fun.

I'd love to say that my new musical revelation, Band of Horses, was mine alone because I'm so goddamn plugged-in. But that would be bullshit, as it all started with a Bitchfork review (oh the shame!). Stereogum has an MP3 on offer as well. Connoisseurship provenance notwithstanding, it's a great fuckin' album. Imagine My Morning Jacket with more heartbreak and a handful of quaaludes.

Finally, did anyone else see the new episode of South Park last night? The death(?) of Chef was without question one of their most inspired shows. Highlights included a cop giving a molestation-demonstration doll a rim job, and the following quote from Kyle's Scientology-baiting eulogy: "We shouldn't be mad at Chef for leaving us. We should be mad at that fruity little club for scrambling his brains."

Today Everyone Is Irish

Jaaysis Mary and Joseph! Feir fook's sake wouldje lookit them feckin' nipples! True fact: Legend has it that the 'Hoff lactates green beer on this one day every year. I, for one, would love to suckle at those teats of plenty until I've gotten my fill of St. Patrick's Day cheer. [Thanks to Paddy O'Furniture for the picture]

Grossed out yet?

Tonight's plan is simple: I shall drink and drink and drink and drink and then I'll fight and fight and fight and fight. As the typical American observance of St. Pat's tends to cast my heritage in a fairly negative light, a more mature man would probably disparage the holiday altogether and stay at home with some corned beef, cabbage, and soda bread. I, however, am not a mature man. Not even close. I'm getting piss drunk tonight and probably doing lots of moronic stuff. I shall wake up a) in the emergency room, b) in the drunk tank, c) on the floor of my bathroom, fully dressed, or d) on the floor of your bathroom with my pants around my ankles.

May you have an equally grown-up holiday.

(Speaking of holidays, Sarah sent me a link to some great gift ideas for next Valentine's Day.)

Finally, thanks to Suze for sending me the YouTube of Billy Bragg performing "A New England" on Conan O'Brian the other night. So bummed I missed it.

"It wasn't the meth that put me in the ER, man. It was trying to wrestle that horse."

I love The Onion (from whence today's headline came), but not half as much as I love the Onion A.V. Club. Today's edition is a doozy, especially the list of 14 Exceptionally Memorable Movie Robots. (They totally passed over the robots from Disney's The Black Hole, but other than that it's cool.) Also of note is the Matisyahu interview. At first I thought the idea of a Hasidic reggae artist was a bit gimmicky, but the guy seems very genuine. I still don't care for the music itself, but it's hard not to respect someone this articulate about music:

"As a kid, you heard music, you saw musicians, and it gave you a sense of hope. You heard a song, and you felt that that song understood you, that there was someone else who knew what you were going through as a youth, as a person, as a being. Music has the ability to heal, that ability to give a person hope. To give a person courage and strength, and a certain outlook on the world they live in. A song is a means to take all these separate things, different instruments, different notes, and you string them together and you harmonize, and you make it all come together into one thing.

In a certain sense, that's what the world is like. It's this world of lots of distinctions and lots of little details. The idea in Judaism, really, is that it's all one. All part of the same song. When a person listens to a good song, and they can look out at the world and their lives and see the dark and the light, the negative and the positive, all the different elements, all come together in one holistic poem, that is a very healing and very reductive thing, and that's what my music is about. Trying to give that to people."

Retarded Entertainment News Updates

Speaking of meth, hyperactive comedy tornado Jack Black eloped with a girl he met in high school. Even better, I almost went to that high school. Dodged a bullet there... it's a "performing arts" school, which means today I would probably be a disgruntled waiter.

And speaking of marriage, Michael Douglas apparently went on a wee tirade about other celebrities' marriages/romances (including Brangelina) and what a sham they are... then the cantankerous old cuss went home to his incredibly hot wife who's a mere 25 years his junior. Physician, heal thyself!!

Everyone knows NBC's Joey sitcom is dead weight, but this quote from a recent ratings wrap-up is ultra-priceless: "Perhaps NBC should have kept Joey locked in the basement. That way, the sitcom would have been spared the indignity of running fifth in its new Tuesday home behind shows on Fox, CBS, ABC and Univision, home of the Spanish-language telenovela, Contra Viento Y Marea." Tu eres un perdador muy grande, Tribiani.

Finally, if you haven't read John Lydon's two-fingers-in-the-air "Official announcement from the Sex Pistols regarding the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame," you probably should. Lydon to the core; self-aggrandizing, semi-articulate, and utterly fucking hilarious.

"Be Mine" Is the Early Favorite

Kate Moss bought a golden vibrator. Man, I don't even own a coffee machine. [via Gawker]

Kate's new 24-karat BFF really brings home just how much more worthless shit I need to buy. My pal Fish Taco over at Soaking Wet Panties came up with the brilliant idea of throwing an apartment-warming party... with a gift registry. Genius. I've lived in my new place for over a month now, and the unpacking continues. Perhaps it's time to schedule that "buy me stuff" party? I'll get right on it, as soon as I regain consciousness from my favorite holiday on Friday.

In the meantime, feel free to peruse the registry. **NEVER MIND** Turns out it's a huge pain in the ass to creatre a registry and Amazon won't give you a URL for a wish list. So screw it... hilarity aborted.

It occurs to me that it has been a while since the management did a list. Here's a [cleaner] rehash of an old favorite:

SONGS THAT ARE MAKING ME [POOP] IN MY PANTS WITH HAPPINESS RIGHT NOW

1. Method Man (feat. Ghostface) - Afterparty
2. Out Hud - It's For You
3. The Knife - Heartbeats
4. Guided by Voices - Game of Pricks
5. Apollonia 6 - Sex Shooter
6. Billy Bragg - A New England
7. Mr. Lif - Long Distance
8. Plastic Bertrand - Ca Plane Pour Moi
9. Steve Malkmus - Animal Midnight
10. Da Backwudz - I Don't Like (Oomp)
11. Mogwai - Emergency Trap
12. Delta 5 - Mind Your Own Business
13. Alan Braxe & Fred Falke - Intro
14. Youth Group - The Frankston Line
15. The Natalie Portman Gangsta Rap

Got a list? Feling some new tunes? Send that shit in, bitches!

"P" Is for "Portman"

How did I not hear about this?????

P is for Portman
P is for pussy
I'll kill your fuckin' dog for fun
So don't push me

I am now deeply, 100% in love with Natalie Portman. She is the coolest person on the planet today. Those SNL Digital Shorts are killing right now.

**UPDATE** Looks like YouTube had to pull the clip at the behest of NBC. Check it out on the official Web site instead.

The Most Mundane, Unsurprising News of the Day

Thanks to Nina for this scandalous-if-it-weren't-so-obvious scoop. Can't vouch for its accuracy, but then I don't really have to. I mean, duh. Those boys in Washington can't even surprise me anymore.

**UPDATE** Now this is something I was definitely suprised to see in the papers! Dedicated to all my freinds who went to University of Texas. Now that's what you'd call a Texas Longhorn. (Okay, my friend Maggie made that joke... I just want to take credit for it.)

The Ex-Presidents: More than Just Surfers

At this point, Brokeback Mountain parody trailers are fairly commonplace. Chances are you've already seen Brokeback to the Future, for example. Nonetheless, the management must recommend that you check this out. Mainly because it involves the greatest movie ever made and the two finest actors of our generation.