Friday, December 28, 2007

Thursday, December 27, 2007

When Afflecks Attack



It’s the nature of the beast that bloggers misspell shit, although I’m worse than most. I once misspelled the word “card.” In a headline. These mistakes are the natural byproduct of a non-stop news cycle, too little sleep, too much caffeine, and the absence of fact-checkers. So my blogger friends (yes, blogger friends) and I often help one another out by shooting each other emails like “hey, the link on your Halle Berry story doesn’t work” or “Lindsay Lohan has been in rehab three times, not two.”


Thus, today's email exchange between me and my lovely friend Henry, who’s now working at my former place of employ, Usmagazine.com.

Me: Hey, Zahara is almost 3 years old -- not almost 2.

Henry: Damn. Thanks much.

Me: That's ok. I spelled Hitler's name wrong in a post the other day. Though, in my defense, it was only because I'd cut and pasted a statement issued by a publicist.

Henry: I almost published Violet Affleck as “Violent” this morn.

Me: That would’ve been pretty awesome: “Violent Affleck Hits Local Playground”

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Sidewalk Rage



Midtown is normally a very busy section of New York City but it gets exponentially more crowded during the holiday season when, it seems, entire populations of Midwestern and Southern states decamp to Manhattan to visit Rockefeller Center and Radio City Music Hall. These two landmarks stand between my office and the subway station that ferries me to and from work every day. So for two months, twice a day, I have to weave through the throngs of people who have come to gape at the unsuspecting 80-foot Spruce cut down in its twilight years for our general enjoyment. Like slow moving oil tankers, these tourists.

I’m not normally an angry person but lately I’ve found myself succumbing to sidewalk rage, a pattern of behavior brought on by thick crowds, symptoms of which include overaggressive speedwalking, elbowing, pushing, and loud ahem-ing at the people that stand in my way. I wrote the following text to my friend Jessica during high noon of PMS week, a time of the month that my boyfriend and I have come to refer to as The Zone of Pain.

Me: Omg, I hate plowing through the Rockefeller Center and Radio City tourists every day. I honestly just want to tackle every one of them from behind, grab their heads in my hands and bash them into the concrete.

Jessica: You are a good (if violent) person.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Live from New York...



Five days after undergoing media training, I made my terrifying live television debut on Studio B with Shepard Smith on Fox News. (Of course, I'd been on TV before, but that was mostly Red Eye which comes on at 2 a.m. and is slightly less formal as evidenced by the time I was on the show and declared that the state of Florida "looks like a wiener.")

My boss called me into his office on Friday and said that Fox requested I come on the show to talk about how Conan, Leno and Letterman are finally coming back on the air next month in spite of the writer’s strike.

Boss: “How did you do in media training?”

Me: “I was nervous at first but I loosened up after about 10 minutes.”

Boss: “Well, we need you to go on Shepard Smith this afternoon. It’s a 3-minute segment.”

Me: “So 7 minutes after it’s over, I’ll be completely relaxed.”

(Shep couldn’t have been nicer, by the way. When it was over he gave me the verbal equivalent of an affectionate arm punch and said, “Don’t worry, it gets easier.”)

Sunday, December 16, 2007

1 Girl, 3 Cups




Unsurprisingly, this night ended with vomiting.

Possible Names For My Future Gay Bar

Handcock's

Shits and Giggles

The Salty Nut

The Penis Mightier

Balls Incredible

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Your Breakfast Cereal Comes Full Circle


So if they're "Big Bite" Mini-Wheats, aren't they just...Wheats?

Thursday, December 13, 2007

When the Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Blogging



I'm sorry to dwell on Billy Ocean but I've got something to tell you – rather, I've got something to say -- about the song "When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going," the single on the soundtrack to Jewel of the Nile.

If you haven't seen the movie, it's the sequel to the equally excellent Romancing the Stone. Jack (Michael Douglas) and Joan (Kathleen Turner) are living the easy life on a yacht bought with the proceeds from a gigantic emerald extracted from the gut of a precocious crocodile. Alligator. Whatever. It's worth seeing for the awesomely bad special effects when the croc bites off the hand of a militant drug lord who somehow manages to continue smoking his cigar.

Where was I? In Jewel, Joan decides to travel to the Middle East as the guest of a sheik to escape their marital doldrums, but winds up being abducted instead. Jack decides to rescue her with the begrudging assistance of Ralph, played by Danny DeVito. Mad adventuring and ethnic stereotyping abounds. (ie. At a Sufi celebration , Ralph says to Jack, "Look at these guys, Colton. No sheep is safe tonight!" Gotta love the 80s.)

Point is, I love the song and the movie so naturally when I realized that the music video is based on the movie, I had to live-blog the proceedings…

23 secs: Probably the greatest opening bass line of all time.

30 secs: Whatever happened to synthesizers, right?

56 secs: The female saxophone player's hair is outstanding, as is her leather miniskirt with a zipper running up one side and the blouse TUCKED IN.

1 min 11 secs: The part that always throws me about this song is the lyric "I'm gonna make you stand and deliver/And give me love in the old-fashion way." Is he talking about doing her from behind? What is love in the "old-fashion way"? Without birth control? In missionary position with the lights off while sexually repressed? Lots of loose ends here, Billy.

1 min 18 secs: Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, and Danny Devito appear on backup clad in white tuxes and, yes, there are bowties for everyone. For once Billy is actually the best dressed person in the room, which is really saying something.

1 min 23 secs: I can't say enough great things about Kathleen Turner. Remember when movies had women in them instead of girls? Best legs in the business. I dunno what happened there, but THIS makes me worried for Diane Lane.

1 min 30 secs: Jesus, Danny Devito is tiny, isn't he? Google reveals that he's two inches shy of official midget status. There's also a cyber conspiracy theory that he wears lifts and is actually shorter than he claims based on photographic evidence of him standing next to 5’½” wife Rhea Perlman. This is exactly what Al Gore intended when he invented the Internets, by the way.

1 min 43 secs: Omg. Synchronized air punches for emphasis!

2 min 40 secs: I get the feeling Catherine Zeta-Jones just has this video on file and threatens to show it to the children whenever she wants something from Michael.

3 min 20 secs: Watching this makes you realize that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan were totally derivative in addition to badly permed. Not to mention prone to starring in films centered around a man on mission to jump into a flaming volcano.

4 mins 7 secs: In an incredible succession of events, Kathleen and Michael start bouncing Danny between their bodies like that old SNL Night at the Roxbury skit and pretend to beat his ass before they all run offstage.

4 mins 8 secs: I know it's silly, but the viewing experience is a bit soured for me knowing how Douglas' real life marriage turned out. When his 23-year marriage to Diandra Douglas fell into the doldrums, he divorced her in June 2000 and had a baby with Zeta-Jones just two months later. So the real lesson is: When the going gets tough, divorce your wife for a woman 25 years your junior whose father is younger than you are. Then again, I guess that title is hard to fit on a cassette.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

How I Sleep At Night


Beware Would-Be Robbers: Even after 15 years on the job, Humphrey the Bear will not hesitate to break your shit.

The other day I underwent media training for my new job, designed to prepare us in case we ever appear as talking heads on celebrity talk shows or news programs (is that redundant?). It basically entails sitting at a news anchor desk and looking into a camera while several publicists impale you with baiting questions as if you were a guest on The O’Reilly Factor. While this is going on, you try to maintain your composure and come up with informative, snappy answers that won’t get you fired. About 25 questions in, one of the pretend interviewers sneered, “Princess Diana was killed because the paparazzi chased her down! You’re a part of that industry. How do you sleep at night?!”

“Pills,” I retorted. “How do you sleep at night?”

Actually I didn’t say that. I came really close to saying it but my boss was sitting right there and I figured that I should probably wait until my health insurance kicks in before implying that I’m a rampant pill-popper. Instead, I said something to the effect of, “Well, that was 10 years ago and it was an isolated incident…” Etc., etc.

How do you sleep at night? is an interesting question, though, with a totally uninteresting answer which I will share now.

First I take two Lunesta (what -- you thought I was kidding about the pills thing?); then comes what I like to call Setting Up the Defensive Line. You see, as a direct result of a childhood spent watching Unsolved Mysteries reruns, I’ve grown up with the understanding that there are many people in the world trying to kill me. And what better time to kill someone when they’re asleep and you have the advantage of the element of surprise? This is why, every night, I have a ritual to safeguard against any unforeseen attacks.

I check the closet to make sure no killers are hiding in there, and then I check the bathroom and the laundry hamper because the closet’s way too obvious. You’d think my 5’9” Self would be able to fend off someone small enough to fit in a hamper, but when you have the element of surprise working in your favor, anything is possible.
Next, Humphrey Bear and Stuffed Lamb are set up at the foot of my bed to stand guard against the forthcoming murderous midgets and closeted villains. A pillow fort is erected around the edges of the bed. This has less to do with safety than general comfort, and to ensure that I am surrounded at all times by excellent softness. I highly recommend this.

Then I place myself into the middle of the pillow fort and pull the covers over my head. I do this because of the lingering psychological damage caused by a kindergarten classmate who swore that if I didn’t cover my neck while I slept, the vampires would come. Next I smoosh the comforter around until I create a breathing tunnel so that I do not run out of oxygen while snoozing the night away in Fort Slumber.

Then I realize that I forgot…to…check…the…windows. So I get up and do it all over again.

Yes, I am completely serious, and yes, I am 28 years old. And now you know how I’ve made it alive this long!

Sunday, December 09, 2007

A Private Moment With Puffs Plus VapoRub



Ladies, do not buy the Puffs Plus tissues containing Vicks VapoRub when you have a bad cold and then later forget yourself and accidentally use one of the aforementioned tissues to wipe your special parts. Trust me, this is not an experience you want to have.

Unqualified Advice to the Broken-hearted



Last week, a reader posted the following comment on one of my posts:

Anonymous said...
can you please do a post about ridiculously insane breakups? i just went through one and need to read your entertaining thoughts on the anger and ridiculous things said back and forth (or just from side) at two people who one day prior were in love and planning their entire lives together.

isn't it such a phenomenon? let's say a girl gets absolutely verbally murdered by her ex bf a day after the aforementioned things being said. does she hate him from then on?

your thoughts would be priceless!


Oh Anonymous, sadly there's nothing entertaining about breakups, as anyone who saw The Break-up will tell you. They're awful and soul-annihilating and some of the most painful moments you will ever experience in life. Love and breakups are also thoroughly ridiculous on principle. So, one day you're closer to this person than any other human on the planet; you know more about them than even their own parents. Then out of nowhere you split up and become strangers and never speak again. I mean, how effed up is that? In the abstract it sounds like one of those unbelievable movie plot lines you watch and say, "Well, that's just not realistic at all. There's no way a bus could jump a 50-foot gap in the freeway. I don't care how fast it was going."

If love and breakups were a movie, I'd walk my ass out of the theater and tell my friends, "It was completely illogical. Didn't make sense at all. Don't waste your time and money." But of course, everyone goes to the movie anyway. Like 2 Girls, 1 Cup, some things just have to be experienced for yourself. No matter how bad the movie, we always manage to suspend our disbelief and convince ourselves that the next one will be better

But I digress. To answer your question, yes, totally just go ahead and hate him. Or just pretend that he died.

I will say, however, that past experience has taught me that everyone gets theirs in the end so take solace in that. Back in college I dated a guy that I really took for granted. I remember my mother saying to me at one point, "One day you're going to fall for a guy who treats you as badly as you treated [NAME REDACTED]." Of course, she was right. The next guy I dated was an utter douche. He ended up dumping me on my birthday via cell phone from another girl's party. But you know what? After me, he dated a girl who strung him along for years and banged all of his friends. Also, she had herpes. Karma is a bitch and she buys roundtrip tickets.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

You're So Vein



Photo taken last year at the New York magazine Oscars party. And the Best Use of Blood Vessels goes to...

My boyfriend makes fun of me because I ruin half of our pictures with my gigantic forehead vein that pops out whenever I'm happy or excited in any way like some sort of ridiculous forehead boner. Reminds me of when I used to squeeze my little sister's doll and try to make the head shoot off while she shrieked in horror (which was like 5 years ago, by the way -- she's 12 now).

But I'm not alone in this. Go watch any Julia Roberts movie in which she cries and you'll see hers jump out, threatening to hit the camera man in the face. In my own defense I've compiled a list below of some other celebrities who are living in vein. I'm not positive who that last bitch is (Tanya Roberts??) but her head does it too so I'm obligated to love her. United we bulge!







The End is Nigh



As if the booming music alone wasn’t enough to convince you that Abercrombie & Fitch is now essentially a nightclub, the Fifth Avenue branch has installed a velvet rope and a bouncer. But do they have bottle service?

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Let's All Get Ripped

About a year ago I was running down 23rd Street on a cold night -- late for an ironic dinner at Olive Garden –- when the pointy toe of my boot caught the hem of my wide-legged tweed trousers. I went flying. It was a cold night so I’d had my hands buried deep down in my coat pockets. With nothing to break my fall I found myself trapped, straitjacket-like, in a prison of my own making. All I could do was turn my head to the side at the last second as I skid on my stomach across the concrete so I didn’t smash in my face.

I survived but I ended up tearing a hole in one of my pant legs which I still haven’t gotten repaired. A normal person would have put them away until they could visit a tailor, but I love them and I can’t help it. So I keep wearing my Banana Republic cashmere cardigans with those otherwise impeccably tailored Theory pants with a big ragged hole in the knee like those faded ripped jeans people used to wear to Cyndi Lauper concerts.

As I reach for them time and time again, I say to myself, “Eh, if anyone asks I’ll just tell them that it happened on the way to work today and I didn’t have time to go back and change clothes.” I do this with a lot of things. Stain on my favorite shirt? I just pretend it happened over breakfast. Missing buttons? It just popped off an hour ago -- damndest thing! I wish I could say I’m making some sort of statement but I really just hate shopping so I don’t have that many clothes and I’m too lazy to make it to the dry cleaners.

But the other day, as my mother eyed the fissure in my slacks: Inspiration! “Hey, what happened to your pants?!” Mother asked.

“Oh...uh...it’s this cool new thing that all these writers are doing,” I said. “Ripping up our tweed pants as a throwback to the 80s. I think the hipsters started it or something.”

"Really?" she said. "How cute!"

The more I think about it, the more I like this idea. I'm going to wear them around the East Village until they catch on. It'll just be a matter of time before they show up at Urban Outfitters where -- like the unlimited salad and breadsticks at the O.G. -- the douchey trends just keep coming. Say hello to the Sequin Igloo Mini and the Plaid Apron Skirt!

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

This Is Why They Call It "Getting Face Time"


On the bright side, my hair looks awesome.

This is a wireimage photo of me covering the Gotham Awards last night, a fitting symbol of the faceless red carpet reporter, isn't it? I ran into Emile Hirsch, who I profiled a few months ago for Rolling Stone and he said, "Hey! Nicole, right?" Sigh. Naturally I said, "Yeah!" The most amusing moment of the night came when a bunch of us were angling for an interview with Keri Russell and an Entertainment Weekly reporter barked, “Excuse me, I can’t have other reporters stepping in my den.” Stepping in my den! Hahaha! asdkjlkl;kfjdkfjdklsj!! EW indeed.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Coworker Alex v. Jimmy Kimmel


Coworker Alex


Jimmy Kimmel

My new coworker Alex looks more like Jimmy Kimmel than Jimmy Kimmel looks like Jimmy Kimmel. See him in all his Jimmy Kimmelness in the photo above.

Overheard in New York


"I want to see the damn church!" -- Woman on the street outside my office straining to see St. Patrick's Cathedral

Monday, November 26, 2007

White Chick & Gang Signs: Bindi Irwin Still Exploiting Her Father’s Untimely Death Edition



I would like to start off by saying that, this holiday season, I am thankful for every single one of Bindi Irwin's "Crocmen" (who, P.S., should really be wearing Crocs). They can be seen dancing backup (gayly!) to Bindi's new eco-themed rap which she performed on Monday's Today show.

I know she's a little kid -- and don't get me wrong, I'm delighted she has joined our white chicks & gang signs posse -- but there's something about her face that's really freaking me out. Notice how she never changes expression? It brings to mind last year’s Christmas eve shopping in which a woman at a “Freeze 24/7” kiosk in Macy’s convinced me to sample her wares. “Come get froooooozzzzen, girl!” she trilled. After she applied the cream to my face, said face did not move for the rest of the day. That year I couldn't even pretend to be surprised on Christmas morning.

One lyric of note: “Grizzly bears should really be afraid of me.” Well, YEAH. Shit, I’m afraid of her. Anyone who looked into her eyes during the first 10 seconds of this video knows she’ll cut a bitch and then have the bitch stuffed and mounted in her playroom.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Two Girls, One Vile Video



Yesterday, in an effort to overcome our working-on-a-Sunday ennui, my photo editor told me the story of "2 Girls, 1 Cup,” a video clip so disgusting that people have been filming themselves watching the video for the first time and uploading their reaction videos to YouTube. The gay dude above is one of my favorites. After watching him, I decided I had to see it but Photo Editor warned me, “Don’t watch it. It will ruin your day, if not your life. I literally threw up in my mouth a little.” After that I got scared, so I made my friends Jo, Jessica and Chris watch it. Their reactions below…

Jo: ok...I got 2 seconds in and actually physically gagged.

Jessica: I gagged, and stuff NEVER makes me gag. It was a screaming scene in the office for a sec, with people who were like, "As soon as I heard you I knew what you were watching..." It's like watching a beheading video. Once you do, you can never go back.

Chris (who works with Jessica): I want you to know that when we watched this, not only did both of us shriek and flee the computer, but then the rest of our office mates gathered to watch, prompting Jessica, whose computer is within eyeshot of mine, to accidentally glance at part of it again. She buckled over and ran for the bathroom, where she is currently. No word on whether she ralphed. Standing by.


Okay, now I'm really afraid. I feel like it's going to be like that video from The Ring but with feces. If you dare, go watch it yourself at www.2girls1cup.com, and maybe someday I’ll sack up and try to live-blog it. (But after watching the reaction puke, probably not.)

Overheard In My Apartment

Me shrieking to my boyfriend while throwing clothes everywhere: “I don’t even know how to dress for a Saturday night out in Brooklyn! It’s so much easier in Manhattan where we all just dress like sluts on the weekend.”

Overheard In New York

Via Overheard in New York...

Creepster: Have you ever had a tampon stuck inside of you?
Chick: Well, once when I was drunk I had my period and stuck another one up.
Creepster: So, did it get stuck?
Chick: No... But I'm not a fucking gaping hole, if that's what you think.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

It's A Shame

New York is the worst city in the country for the Walk of Shame. There’s more people to witness your shame and it’s not like you can just hop in your car and drive your ass to your front door. You have to walk home or take the subway. You can get a cab but you still have to stand there on the street corner drawing stares while you try to hail one and then it’s going to cost you. How much is it worth to you to avoid the shame? $5? $10?

My friend Jessica went to a wedding at the Pierre hotel Saturday night and woke up at her boyfriend’s apartment late this afternoon. She cowered on his couch till the sun went down, put her party dress and peep-toe pumps back on and then finally went home, pretending she was on her way to a Sunday night black tie event.

It reminded me of this time a few years ago when I hooked up with this guy I'd been seeing after a cocktail party. At 7 a.m. the next morning I prepared to get the hell out of his apartment, fancy dress, strappy heels and all. Just as I was about to walk out the front door, I stopped. Out in the hallway of his apartment building were male voices, followed by some grunting and a scraping sound. Movers. Shit. Someone was moving at 7 in the freakin’ moanin’ on a Saturday. In a moment I was about to step out into the hallway, these dudes were going to take one look at me and know the whole story.

“Just own it,” I told myself.

I walked out the door, faced the three enormous moving guys standing before me, holding my hands up as if to surrender. “Walk of shame, boys!” I announced. “Walk of shame!”

“Ain’t no shame in that, girl!” one of them said. Then they all high-fived me as I walked past.

I Think Diddy's Website Just Sexually Harrassed Me


Unfortunate boots in the hizouse.

I’m not sure which poet laureate Diddy hired to write copy for his website and bring his sexy to cyperspace but this is how he explains Mr. Combs' influence on hip-hop. From Diddy.com:

Diddy does something with the musical cutting edge of music forms; it sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard before, massaging the ear as passionately as it shakes the ass.

When I read that last part I picture Diddy's lyrics reaching out and shaking my ass around the way Ray J double-handed Kim Kardashian's sizeable cheeks in their sex tape promo (it's 36 seconds in if you're so inclined). Then again, my ass is so flat that Thomas Friedman should be writing books about it, so it probably wouldn't have the same impact.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Cruising Stephanie March



Pretty much anyone who knows me is aware of my obsession with Law & Order, especially SVU. Hence my elation when I looked up from my manicure at Bloomie’s Nails on 23rd St. and 7th Ave. today and was faced with Stephanie March (aka: Assistant District Attorney Alex Cabot). She was drying her nails at the dry station directly across from me.

What happened next was not unlike every interaction I had in middle school with Mikey Hyman, my unfortunately surnamed crush with whom I had a torrid one-sided affair from 6th through 8th grades. I loved him and would have had his babies, even though he barely knew who I was and I hadn’t gotten my period yet.

I immediately flushed bright red and shrank in my seat. I counted to 30 and then looked over at her and then looked away. A minute later I looked back. I would pretend I was looking around the room and then let my eyes rest on her for a second and then look down. Glance. Wait for one minute to pass. Glance. Glance.

Ohmigod. Did she see me looking at her just now? Does she know that I like her?Should I say something to her or is that just annoying? I should say something to her. Otherwise, I’ll regret it and hate myself later. Okay, but don’t be too needy. They don’t like that. You remember Jesse L. Martin back in 2004, don’t you? Should I make a move? Oh, she’s walking this way. Go, go, now now!!!

As she approached I thrust out my hand – Stop in the Name of Love-style – and she stopped and looked taken aback.

There were so many things I wanted to tell her. How she was even more beautiful in person. How brave she was when she took on the mob, then took a bullet in the shoulder and had to fake her own death and enter the witness protection program. How I didn’t blame her at all when her kid ate all those magnets last week on Grey’s Anatomy. How I didn’t really understand what she was doing in those white sweatpants with the black appliqué flowers up the side, but that I would support her no matter what.

Instead I just blurted out, “You were my favorite ADA!”

“Oh, thanks!” she said brightly. “Thanks so much for telling me that.”

She strode out the door. Normal breathing resumed. Man, it's like, I always knew she'd be cool, you know?

Friday, November 16, 2007

The Harvard/Yale Game: A Photo Retrospective

I was supposed to go to The Game tomorrow but it turns out that I have to work this weekend. :-( In tribute I am wearing my "Huck Farvard" t-shirt to the office on Saturday and posting some pics from Harvard/Yale games past. These were from a less sober time when I used to throw back 10 shots in an evening and say things like, “You know, I think I just don’t get hangovers.”

Nowadays I can get hungover just from looking at these pictures and when I go out I have two drinks and am like, “Wow, is it 10:30 already?” Maybe it’s best I not go and shame myself from my inability to rage in my old age.


Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go to Yale, no girls go to Harvard


Drinking straight from the bottle while holding a cup. It seemed logical at the time.


Awwww, college boyfriend! So sweet. Naturally, we later broke up and never spoke again.

Suck it Harvard!


Yup, still kinda drunk.


I actually wasn't drunk here. But I am wondering how I managed to have a bigger rack back then than I do now.


Fuck Harvard!


The end.

Gay Zebra

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Way To Go, Cougars, Way To Go!



We had the television on at my new office yesterday so I got to enjoy E!’s hour-long special “Hollywood’s 25 Hottest Cougar Tales.” (Oh E! You're so punny and eternally enthusiastic.) Meanwhile, this morning the Today show devoted an entire segment to the phenomenon:

Too often the term cougar is used in a negative way that is unflattering to all women. It’s the image of an older, unhappy woman chasing after younger men. Nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, we are certainly attracting younger men, but they are the ones doing the chasing. The younger man is recognizing just how much we have to offer.

Allow me to share with you a story from a few years ago when a male friend of mine (probably 25 at the time) was dating an older woman. “You know, sometimes when I’m in bed with her, it’s so awesome because she’s older and more experienced and knows exactly what she wants," he said. "But then sometimes I just look at her and think, ‘Damn. You’re old.’”

The woman was like 32. This story will haunt me till the day I die. Or get my first face lift. Or both. R.I.P Kanye’s Momz!

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

My First Maxim Cover!


People did an article on my December cover story for Maxim on Sarah Michelle Gellar! Yayness!

I pledge my eternal love to the mag’s editor-in-chief Jim Kaminsky who’s probably given me more opportunities than anyone since I’ve been in the biz, including some plum writing assignments at Rolling Stone.

He remembers me when I was just a lowly Maxim intern with no idea how to work the copy machine (some things never change). I hope that one day you, too, get the opportunity to work in an office with a bar on wheels and intramural Slim Jim eating contests.

What's More Terrifying?


More than 100 Osmonds reuniting or the number of Law & Order episodes queued up on my DVR?

Monday, November 12, 2007

White Chicks & Gang Signs



Homecoming 1997 -- senior year of high school


My girl Skyler and I during college in The Middle of Nowhere, TX


This was taken last year. I have no excuse.

I don’t know how it has taken so long for me to discover the genius that is White Chicks & Gang Signs but it has immediately been added to my Pantheon of Awesome which already houses Hot Chicks With Douchebags and Men Who Look Like Old Lesbians. The shot at the Fontana del Moro in particular is a modern day masterpiece. I’ll admit it, I’ve flashed a Bloods and Crips sign or two in my day. See, in my high school there actually were gangs (a year or two after I graduated they limited the dress code to black, kakhi, navy and white in an effort to stop students from wearing gang colors to school). Due to my close proximity to these gangs, I felt it acceptable to flash the symbols myself which is how I ended up looking like the lead singer of Tool and the Gang.

When The Shrimp Caesar Salad Becomes Too Much Effort


I think it's really unfair for someone to charge $7 for a meal in which they leave the tails on the shrimp. If I'm performing an amputation, shouldn't someone be paying me?

Sunday, November 11, 2007

I'm Just Going To Say It


Until I checked online just now, I really wasn't sure whether the eggs came out of the hen's vagina or the hen's butt.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Monster Bunnies!



There's a lot to object to in this old article about "monster bunnies" being bred in order to alleviate food shortages in North Korea.

"They'll be used to help feed the population," rabbit breeder Karl Szmolinsky told SPIEGEL ONLINE.

"One rabbit provides a filling meal for eight people. There are a variety of recipes such as rabbit leg or rabbit roulade. No one buys rabbit fur anymore though, I just throw that in the bin," says Szmolinsky with chilling dispassion.


There is also a lot to like, namely the bottom photo in which Karl appears to be violating one of the bunnies from behind.

Where Were All The Teacher-Injuring Deathscalators Back When I Was In High School?


The nefarious deathscalator.

In my hometown of Houston, six people at a teachers’ conference were injured yesterday in a freak escalator accident.

“About 30 people were on the moving stairs at the George R. Brown Convention Center when it unexpectedly sped up, then abruptly stopped. A fire captain says everybody on it ‘just rolled down to the bottom.’”

Hahaha fjdk fjdksfjdks!! Serves H.I.S.D. right considering the “education” they’ve been offering up all these years. In my biology class freshman year, we watched Jurassic Park over the course of a week and then wrote a short paragraph summarizing the plot of the movie. That was considered "teaching." I think I actually watched more movies in school than I did in my free time. Now you know why I graduated in the top 5% of my class. And why there are so many spelling and grammar errors on this blog.

Yeah, I Could See That


Gratuitous sleepy kitten video
My best friend Lindsey recently visited a friend’s baby for the first time and had this to say: “Not sure if I wouldn’t be just as excited about a kitten, but I did like hers better than most.”

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Oprah Discovers YouTube, Is Shocked It Somehow Managed To Become Successful Without Her Ringing Endorsement





YouTube founders Chad Hurley and Steve Chen made the pilgrimage to O-town on Monday, appearing as guests on The Oprah Winfrey Show, which dedicated the entire episode to the video sharing site and its rising stars.

Her O'ness told the audience, "YouTube founders Chad Hurley and Steve Chen, who rarely grant interviews because of their busy schedules , say they were inspired during a dinner party at Steve's San Francisco home...."

Ahem. If I may interject. I interviewed this duo for a freelance article I wrote for Rolling Stone a year-and-a-half ago. While it's true that they rarely grant interviews, it's not because of "busy schedules," although I don't doubt that their calendars are packed. It's because they're trying to mask the fact that despite having conceived and launched an internet sensation, they actually kind of have no idea what they're doing. This was my impression anyway. They've wisely surrounded themselves with high security gatekeeper publicists to micromanage their every move and quote to give the impression that they’re shrewd businessmen and technology savants. And, frankly, they pulled it off brilliantly, playing Microsoft off of Google like a co-ed flirting with two dudes at rival fraternities until Google sealed the deal with their staggering offer of $1.65 billion.

They're equally savvy with the media. Here’s what happened when I approached them about doing a profile:

First they asked that I send in the questions via email, which they would then answer via email. Er no, I can't just email you the questions so that you can pass them on to your publicist, have her write some canned answers and then send them back to me. (Also, they wanted to limit me to only five questions. Dubya tee eff?)

After much negotiating, they finally agreed to do a phoner with both their publicist and manager conferenced in on the line. And? They chimed in. Chimed! Allow me to explain. It's not unusual for a publicist or manager to listen in while a journalist interviews their client. Annoying, yes, but not rare. However, there's a literal unspoken rule that the publicist will sit there silently and only say something in the event that you ask an inappropriate question or say something patently offensive like, "Hey Richard Gere! Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me! Say, I've got a joke for you: What did the gerbil say when Richard Gere walked into the pet store? Woof! Ha – get it?" And, even then, it's usually just a hearty throat-clearing to signal the reporter to cut out the shenanigans and move on.

Yet these two fully joined in the discourse! They routinely interrupted and answered for Chad and Steve (particularly whenever the term "copyright infringement" came up), which made the whole process incredibly difficult. Another problem? The guys gave me almost exactly the same quotes and anecdotes they’d give the other publications they had spoken to. I was left on a tight deadline with an interview full of stock half-quotes and the spokeswoman's chirpy interjections. And don't even ask about a follow-up interview. They probably would've wanted to conduct it entirely in Facebook status updates.

Whatever. The article turned out fine. Steve and Chad's unvarnished giddiness is actually pretty endearing. And as I said earlier, I don't blame the guys for shrouding themselves in spokesbots. It's understandable. Hell, the gold hoop earring alone needs its own publicist.

(Here is a video of Chad and Steve on YouTube talking about talking about YouTube on The Oprah Winfrey Show. It's so meta! If you look under your chairs, you'll find your own imploded heads.)

The Best Two Lines in Charlie Sheen's Wikipedia Entry*


In 1990, Sheen accidentally shot his then-fiancée, Kelly Preston, in the arm; she suffered only a minor injury requiring two stitches. The relationship ended shortly thereafter.

*There's a cocaine joke in here somewhere but damned if I can find it. I will point out that Kelly's left breast is exhibiting exactly why women can't wear suspenders. It's next to impossible to keep them squarely on the breast so they always end up slipping to the sides. Then your breasts are just poking out in the middle while the suspenders flank them almost like jail cell bars, as if to imprison them in their own ridiculousness.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

If M. Night Shymalan Directed Kitten Videos



This is not another sleepy kitten video or even your garden variety fighting kitties video. No, this video comes with a twist. The story opens with our two young warriors engaged in a most steadfast battle. Angry Kittens have big paws and they don't know how to use them, so instead they just sort of mash them in each other's faces for awhile to little effect. It's a bit like watching white girls fight.

Further into the narrative, a third kitten comes on the mise-en-scène and seems like it's going to be the voice of reason in this world of fluffy chaos. Instead, it boots all over the place; that is, every place but the newspaper laid out just for these types of occasions. But as Kitten #3 shows, sometimes actions speak louder than mews. The unscripted barf distracts the adversaries from their personal issues and they stop fighting so that they can watch their would-be mediator hurling. Freeze frame, the end.

If only Condi could find a similar resolution for Palestine and Israel.

Monday, November 05, 2007

You Know, At The End Of The Day, "U Can't Touch This" Was A Really Great Song



Note how the older woman doesn't even flinch. She's obviously been here before.

The Best Worst Action Movie Clichés



For whatever reason, TNT felt compelled to air Sahara on an endless loop Saturday night. Matthew McConaughey may be the only hot male celebrity who renders himself less attractive by wearing less clothing. After enduring his latent shirt allergy for the last few months, I’m now utterly repulsed by the sight of his areolas. It didn’t help when someone pointed out that he has ridiculously short arms and when he runs, it is reminiscent of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Anyways, while I watched the indefatigable Dirk Pitt and his trusty sidekick Al embark on their various “high-flying adventures,” I was struck by how bad the movie was. It was really bad, y’all. There’s this one part where they’re handcuffed to the back of a pickup truck so they take out some screws and then the truck’s bed falls off. Then they drag the bed through the sand dunes until they come across this old abandoned plane which happens to have a tool kit, which they use to undo the handcuffs and repair the plane so they can go sand surfing to Steppenwolf's “Magic Carpet Ride." That was actually one of the more believable sequences.

But it got me thinking about wonderfully bad action movie lines in films like Armageddon, Independence Day, and the Die Hard and Bourne franchises. Here are a few I came up with:

“Sir, you’re going to want to take a look at this.”

“Now, people, now, move it!”

"Boss, you're gonna want to take this." [Holding up phone]

"Time is the one thing we don't have!"

"Sir, you better get down here."

“This better be good!” (Usually used when the phone rings at an ungodly hour to inform someone important that the world is about to go to hell in a hand basket)

“Get me the President!”

I'm Just Going To Say It

When I first started getting into music and I kept seeing the word "Feat" on a bunch of songs, I just figured that it was the name of a really prolific rock band.

Toilets and Brownies: A Recipe for Awkward


My Super fixed my clogged toilet earlier today and I thanked him by giving him a plate of brownies. I just happened to have made some the night before and I didn't know what to do after he emerged from my bathroom holding a plunger and some sort of device that looked like a keg but probably wasn't. It’s always an uncomfortable moment when you’re standing before a man who just finished dealing with your shit. Anyway, they were just sitting right there so I awkwardly thrust the plate at him and said, “Here!” He gave me a strange look and left. I dunno, is that weird? Like, “Hey, you just unclogged my toilet. Please accept these sumptuous treats that look exactly like feces except that you can eat them.”

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Boo-Yah: Happy Halloween!









The thing about Halloween in New York City is it can often be difficult to tell if people are actually in costume or not. This is a town where I once sat next to a man on the subway dressed full-on as Merlin the Magician – in March.

As I strode around the city on Saturday night, I found myself wondering, “Is that guy in the cowboy boots, tiny athletic shorts and a baby-tee on his way to a Halloween party or is he just an East Village hipster tool?” and “Is that drag queen doing some trick or treating or is (s)he just turning tricks?” And of course, the eternal question: "Are those chicks dressed like naughty schoolgirls or are they really just sluts?" I don’t need to dress like a slut on Halloween because when I dress like a slut I do it on my own terms. With that in mind, this year I decided to go as a douchebag. I wore my douché t-shirt, a striped button down with a popped collar, indoor sunglasses, two bottles of Summer’s Eve strapped to my hips and impromptu finger guns.* Basically, I'm That Guy at the college frat party.

This idea would prove to be better in theory than in execution.

“But where’s the bag?” A male friend asked eyeing the douche bottles.

“There are no bags. It’s just bottles nowadays. No one’s used bags in years.”

“Oh,” says friend. [Looks confused]

What’s sad is that I showed up at a bar in Soho and almost every guy there was wearing the exact same thing (minus the douche bottles) and this time they really weren't in costume.

*As you can tell from the progression of photos, as the night wore on, many elements of the costume were drunkenly lost in various bars in NYC. And, really, what's douchier than that? Liquor treat!