Tuesday, July 31, 2007
I feel like I felt the day I realized that Christianity is bullshit. I just got back from the City North theatre on Western Avenue where I walked out of I Know Who Killed Me less than 30 minutes into the movie. Like every other movie in the world, the production was shit, the acting was hackneyed, and thematic content pandered to the worst tendencies of a cowardly people. But the fucking torture, man--fuck! I thought this was going to be some good, old-fashioned torture--like chaining Lindsay to a basement wall and whacking her tits with a belt while she sincerely instructed you to stop and maybe cried for a while. You know, like what any reasonable guy would do if he met her. It was nothing like that; it was some really sick shit--really fucking sick. I know I'm about two years behind everyone else on this, but my confidence in her has been seriously compromised. And now all I want to do is fucking dismember Hollywood and bury Kerasotes Theatres alive.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Apparently last night while Billy Bush of Access Hollywood was on Larry King Live, discussing LL's most recent criminal charges, LL emailed Bush and--you guessed it--proclaimed her innocence. Quoth Lindsay: "Yes. I am innocent ... did not do drugs they're not mine. I was almost hit by my assistant Tarin's mom. I appreciate everyone giving me my privacy." While Lindsay is in hiding at someone else's house in Beverly Hills, at least one mainstream news source is asking what I was asking myself yesterday morning--how long can Lindsay do this ruitine before she gets herself killed?
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Pictured here in police custody this morning, Lindsay Lohan was arrested at 2:15 AM today when police pulled her over and found her smelling of alcohol with a baggie of blow in her pocket. For some reason that only God knows, LL was driving on a suspended license in a car that she doesn't own, chasing a car driven by the mortified mother of one of Lindsay's personal assistants. This is Lindsay's second DUI charge in three months, not to mention the drug charges. So, anyway, I admit it: she has a problem. She was released on $25,000.00 bond, but she's definitely going to be doing time.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Ja Rule and Lil' Wayne were both arrested last night in separate incidents where they were pulled over by NYC police in their respective vehicles and their respective loaded .40 Caliber handguns were discovered. God, Ja Rule is so fucking stupid. If you ask me, I say Ja should have been arrested for driving around in a Maybach like he's hot shit even though he hasn't recorded a hit record in five years.
The decomposed body of Deena David, 35, was found last night at about 9:00 PM in a garbage bag in a closet of a residence on the 3600 block of Belmont. Police arrested a man who lives at that residence at about 2:30 AM today at O'Hare International Airport. The suspect was carrying a one-way ticket to Mexico. Chicago police identified the suspect as the former boyfriend of the victim's mother, and opined that the suspect and victim had "a very close, personal relationship."
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Is there absolutely nothing that can't be reduced to a wooden nickel of women's empowerment? In the middle-aged version of the college girl who claims that Lolita is her favorite book, Time Magazine's house book critic Jane Smiley has recommended The Marquis de Sade's Justine to women as a beach blanket book for this summer. Did you know that reading this "page-turner" is "the first step" to redressing all the contemporary ways in which women and girls are exploited?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Samantha Ronson, Lindsay Lohan's special lady friend, is suing Perez Hilton and another blogger for defamation for publishing claims that Ronson possessed cocaine for Lohan's sake. And, to be fair, as accusations of the commission of a crime, the statements do seem to constitute defamation per se. Plus, maybe she can get injunctive relief so Perez has to wash his fucking hair.
In other news, Page Six of The New York Post is reporting that some nudie pictures that Calum Best took of LL have been stolen from his computer, and website celebslam.com claims to have the images ready to be uploaded onto computers in workplaces all over the world.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Chuckle. Lindsay Lohan has found an unlikely cheer-me-up book to read to get her through her recent slump--namely, The Prince, by the kill-or-be-killed political theorist and proto-pragmatist philosopher Machiavelli. "I was going out with someone and they said I should read Machiavelli and I was like, 'Nah', and then I was, 'Ok, I'll read it', and now it is always with me," she explained. Funny; when I was 21 and going off my rocker, I usually turned to something more like Boethius' The Consolations of Philosphy, or the treatises by happy-go-lucky metaphysician Chuang Tzu. However, Lindsay probably could use a perusal of The Prince's chapter "On Avoiding Flatterers." But the really funny thing is that she was probably just really drunk and what the guy actually told her was that she should start listening to Makaveli, which is a really fucking good album.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Although our culture has a limitless tolerance for all things manipulative or sadistic, one thing we simply will not abide is the sincere expression of human feeling. In a recent development in our collective rejection of all things non-ugly and non-hateful, a Houston sixth grader was charged with a felony and moved to a remedial school because she wrote "I love Alex" on the wall with a baby blue Sharpie. Remember, girls, youth is the time for you to do anything you want--see the world, drop out of B-school, fuck strangers to impress your girlfriends, and make sure to surround yourself with people you revile--but if you ever, ever, love anyone, know that the punishment will be severe.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Last Friday I took the Blue Line down to the UIC stop and walked down to South Union Arts, a newish music venue/art gallery in an old Baptist church on a frontage road by I-94 and surrounded by almost completed condo developments riding on the coattails of a boom around the UIC campus area. I had trekked to UIC--an area in which I don't exactly hang out--to see Calvin Johnson, that primary icon of the DIY world, the Morrissey of American indie pop, or whatever. As far as I'm concerned, indie rock was born when Beat Happening toured Japan. Anyway, it's a big deal to me, so I made sure I went to this show (even though I couldn't get anyone to come with me) since I hadn't seen a listing for an act I gave a fuck about since Lily Allen played the Metro about a month before the Beamish and Bulmers ruitine foiled her tour.
South Union Arts is an interesting place. It has a (free) parking lot, which is unheard of. The cover charge is on a "donation" basis, so I guess if you're a college kid living on a shoestring, you can actually just be like "uh, I'll get you next time, guys." And it's BYO, but I suggest planning ahead, because the only nearby source of liquor is a 7-11 that has a less than ideal selection. I ended up getting an ass-pocket of Jack Daniels for something like $7.89, a purchase that I will simply characterize as "retarded."
Although the Chicago Reader gave a fawning notice of the opening act--some Lilith Fair "c"-rag from Canada--I spent her set in the venue's designated "smoking section," i.e. the front stoop and parking lot, polishing off the bottle of whiskey while talkative college kids yammered about writing poetry and repeatedly made unexplained literary references, each reference totally lost on everybody except whoever had made it.
When Calvin went on, I dutifully entered the unusual theatre space--the part of the church that would have been used for worshipping--accented by an actual neon crucifix above where the alter would have been. The turn-out was less than I had expected. About 100 people occupied the movie theatre-like seats. Every one in attendance without exception was younger than me--and I was two years old when Beat Happening was formed. The stage was maybe six inches off the floor and about three feet from the audience. Calvin, almost inevitably, casually held a yellow Telecaster and wore a white oxford shirt and gray jeans, his hair cropped exactly as it is in every photograph you've ever seen of him. Calvin strummed the 'Caster with his fingers as if it hadn't occurred to him to play it any other way; he was accompanied only by a dude playing drums. As I told myself I didn't know he could sing with this much strength and subtlety, college girls stared at Calvin, transfixed, with their mouths open. I had come to see some old-fashioned twee-pop with a lot of attitude, but it became clear that Calvin had much more than just swagger; he had written really well-phrased songs and he performed them with real aplomb. As Calvin did a few numbers a cappella, I thought "I'd say he's got amazing range, but I don't really know how to measure that," and "Does he look like Joe Beatty? Like if Joe looked even more like his dad?" As the set continued, my delusions became more absurd: "Did Stephen Merritt build his entire career by mimicking this guy?" "I got it: he's like the blonde Elvis."
South Union Arts, 1352 S. Union, Chicago, www.southunionarts.com
K Records, Olympia, WA, www.kpunk.com