Uch

Hasn’t she learned her lesson by now?

Blame him for all of the British bloggers

Veteran Broadcaster Alistair Cooke Dies at 95.

At least he was an American citizen.

Good morning Air America. Now go away.

Simply because I generally agree with you doesn’t mean I will ever listen to talk radio of any sort. [Alas, Sue Ellicott’s show is on way too early for even a charity listen.]

If you want to hear Al Franken’s nasal drone go here.

The Purple One (and I don't mean Barney)

Unlike the reunited Van Halen (easily my favorite band growing up), Prince ain't no nostalgia act. He surrounds himself with crack musicians --the NPG was tight as hell-- and refuses to simply rehash canned album versions of his hits. Prince is the baddest 5'1" motherfucker (5'4" in his studded stilleto boots) on the planet. Although I will try to keep this from becoming a boring fanboy, circle-jerk review, the show was sooooooo solid that I just can't help myself.

He opened strong with "Musicology," followed immediately by:

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life"

and a great "Purple Rain"-era medley. The show remained at that fever pitch through the encore.

I have NEVER heard Staples as loud as it was during this show. True to the build-up, Prince played almost all of his hits (and a bunch that he wrote for others including a stunning "Nothing Compares 2 U").

I won't bore those of you still reading with a set list or any other fanman shit. I will only say that my highlight was the acoustic set during the encore (just Prince and a rhythm guitar) including a stripped-down "Little Red Corvette" and a divine "7" (the full NPG joined up mid-song). Of course, a 10-minute "Purple Rain" closed the show.

By the way, I lied before about my seat location. The roomie (a much bigger Prince fan than I) and I ended up on the floor in the fourth row - 8 feet from the little guy.

NPR reviews Prince

Is this Kate Beckinsale or Carrot Top?

You know it’s going to be a good day when . . .

Nic Harcourt plays both A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall (Dylan’s original) and 2000 Light Years From Home on MBE.

[By the way, Prince was ridiculous last night. Details forthcoming.]

I'm semi-legit!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ladies & Gentlemen- I can now be Googled.

Alas, the HONEY pot is empty

Disney Victorious in 13-Year Fight Over Winnie the Pooh

"[Pooh's] misconduct is so egregious that no remedy short of terminating sanctions can effectively remove the threat and adequately protect both the institution of justice." I guess the bear DID steal Eeyore's tail.

A bookstore's best friend

Barnes & Noble, Borders, Brentano's, et al. all see significant spikes in their respective stock prices every time I get a crush on a girl. If she casually mentions a book in the course of conversation -BOOM- www.amazon.com.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. I have initially read books by Vonnegut, Trollope, Wolfe, Woolf, Joyce, Fielding (???), Jong (ugh), Bourdain, Miller, Nin, Kerouac, de Sade, Hemingway, Smith, Tolstoy, Lawrence, Eco, Kafka, Powell and Nabokov (among many many others) because I got sweet on a girl. Of course, the books remain firmly in my grasp, while most of the women have faded into the vapors of memory.

By the way, I bought a copy of this the other day.

Cooking possum, redecorating trailers & screwing immediate family

Time Unveils New Women's Glossy for Wal-Mart Only

The women's monthly, which will focus on topics such as relationships, recipes and home repair, will be sold "at every checkout cashier in every one of their stores," said Diane Oshin, the magazine's publisher.

Once upon a time I would have given a shit . . .

Van Halen Ends Feud with Former Singer, Sets Tour

JOB PERKS

I just came from screening "Shaun of the Dead" -- our new British comedy/satire/horror picture -- in our deluxe executive screening room. You know you have not lived until you see three people using pool cues to bash in zombies' brains synched and choreographed to Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now":

Yeah, I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars
On a collision course
I am a satellite I'm out of control
I am a sex machine ready to reload
Like an atom bomb about to
Oh oh oh oh oh explode

Four days until . . .

Prince & the NPG live at Staples -- opening night of the Musicology Tour -- 2nd FUCKING ROW! -- Can't Hardly Wait!



(Yes, it's a Minneapolis Music night here in Southern California.)

Eurotrash does "The OC"

Please do yourself a favor and check out ET's thoroughly hilarious (and scarily accurate) summary of tonight's episode of "The OC". And for all of those Mischa Barton fans out there, please remember to use protection; you know where she's been. I'll play it safe and stick with the luscious Summer.

Excellent . . . I now have html picture power!!

STARFUCKING

A little background: I live in Los Angeles. Now, I'm not from Los Angeles (no one is really from LA), but it's where I lay my head when the valium kicks in. And yes, I work for a studio.

I am an eating, drinking, Armani-wearing, BMW convertible-driving cliche. And I hate the fact that it eats my soul and defines me a little more every day. (Of course, I used to work at BIG LAW FIRM; they didn't want my soul - they settled for my entire existence.)

Occasionally, however, there are days at work when I actually feel the redemptive glow that stems from truly experiencing creativity and productivity in action (My god, it's only my fourth blog entry & I've become fucking Tony Robbins). Today was one such day.

My favorite location manager invited me to the first day of shooting "POTENTIALLY GREAT MOVIE" at a key location. Since I had been instrumental in coercing the nice old man who used to live in house to give it to us for a pittance, I felt a keen sense of pride walking throughout the set. They let me sit right next to Cool Director as he called "Action" and watched the video playback. I saw Veteran Leading Man and Ingenue-of-the-Moment interact in an awkward, yet tender father-daughter bedtime scene. It was magical.

I was on the set for over four hours. At best, thirteen seconds of the footage I saw will make it into a theater near you. Fuck yeah, I love the movies!

Shandi all the way

About to go to a viewing party for the ANTM2 finale. You have to love the fact that an ostrich-walking, Walgreens-working, white-trash felon is the only one of the final three who could feasibly have a couture career.

Thank you Gawker for the link to Cheesedip's outstanding preview (and for turning me on to Elizabeth and the blogging world in general).

THE KING'S A SCOT!

Aye, it turns out that, in addition to the blue suede shoes, Elvis had a kilt around his ankles when he took that fateful crap.

11:30 pm Monday night. Waiting for the dryer to finish. First ever post. A test, if you will. I am treading gingerly in the footsteps of giants who will get links as soon as I learn some fucking html. Why do I have an uncomfortable gastric feeling that I'm only doing this to impress a girl? Oh, wait . . . it could just be the curry chicken from Whole Foods. Whew.

O.K. I think I may have figured this out:

I dedicate my virgin effort to three who tempted, awed and inspired me (and got me so fucking lit I covered the whole tab): Maccers, Eurotrash and Elizabeth. Of course, now that I opened this mini-Pandora's Box, they're going to eat me alive . . .

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." ---Cecil 'Stud' Cantrell