MUSIC

The Jonas Brothers: The Sugar Overload Is Bad For Tweens' Health

By Anna Apocalypse

A Once upon a time, I was a tween living 20 miles outside New York City, with only my stereo and CDs to channel my angst.

The Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Bush, Silverchair, and Everclear were my relief, gracing my Discman on a consistent basis. Some may diss these bands as carbon copies of one other, but there's no denying that they were comprised of musicians who knew how to play instruments.

The same can not be said for The Jonas Brothers, or Hannah Montana, or any of the other dozens of manufactured pop acts that tweens are currently being spoon fed. Adolescence is not an easy thing to go through (sixth grade girls can be so cruel ). Kids really need music that can help them vent their rage against the machine, not cardboard cut-outs manufactured by the pseudo "family friendly" Disney.

Okay, I'm biased. After all, when most girls were lusting after Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys in 1998, I was taping up posters of Kurt Cobain. I've never been a huge fan of contrived pop music, but it's obvious to anyone with ears that these sugary snacks that pass for pop acts won't produce the next great sound wave.

So, next time your child/cousin/sibling is nagging you to buy them Jonas Brothers tickets, toss them a copy of Nirvana's Nevermind instead, and show them what real angst is all about. And make sure their alternative-listening, Hot Topic-shopping brother or sister cuts out that My Chemical Fall Out Romance Boy shit while you're at it.

Together, we can free tweens from disposable pop stars and, hopefully, widen a few adolescent minds along the way.

Anna Apocalypse, who blogs at Pop Apocalypse.Blogspot.com, will comment periodically at CrabbyGolightly.com on music.

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August 31, 2008

RACE

Michelle Obama Frees Black Women From Stereotypes

By Danielle Cadet

WATCHING MICHELLE OBAMA ONSTAGE MONDAY NIGHT WAS LIKE THROWING OPEN A WINDOW AND BREATHING FRESH AIR.

The eloquent and elegant Mrs. Obama represents black women whom too often go unseen in our culture: those who live straddled between the black and white worlds. Because too often, those who have been the beneficiaries of economic success must forego their ethnicity.

Not Michelle. As she addressed the nation, I (and perhaps every black woman in America watching) held my breath and crossed my fingers. I prayed that every strand of hair was in place, that her neckline wouldn’t cut too low. I prayed that she sounded educated and independent, but simultaneously supportive of and in love with her husband.

Educated black women look to Michelle Obama to give face to an overlooked demographic. More often than not, I was the only black girl (or only black person for that matter) in my school room, and every time I opened my mouth it felt like I was speaking for every black person in America. For Michelle, the Democratic Convention was her classroom and her speech represented every black woman in America.

The very idea of Mrs. Michelle Obama, lawyer and mother, provokes a challenge to whites and blacks: she’s hard to make fun of, unlike Condoleeza, and she’s not self-loathing like Clarence Thomas. Michelle Obama is also not your average “white-washed” black woman in the political sphere. She is confident and comfortable in her own skin; she gives flesh to the ghost that is the black successful woman.

As a nation we question the “blackness” of affluent African Americans. The truth of the matter is, we have nothing to validate. It’s possible to be a black success story outside of the constraints of the stereotypical “black norm” (because, honestly, most of us aren’t rappers, athletes, or drug-dealers).

As a child of the new millennium, I’ve never had to use separate bathrooms or drinking fountains, or sit in the back of the bus. But I’m aware of the different America I live in because of my skin color. I’ve been asked numerous times to choose between my race and my success. I’ve been told that I’m not “black enough,” and frankly the only people I ever identified with in popular culture were the children from The Cosby Show.

For me, Michelle Obama is the 21st century’s Claire Huxtable in the flesh. She is the positive projected future of young black women. For the first time in my life, the television has become a mirror in which I can finally see people just like me.

Danielle Cadet is a Danielle is a journalism student Northwestern University who likes to write about fashion and popular culture catastrophes.

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August 28, 2008

POLITICS

No Vapid Star Here: Michelle Obama Shines At The Democratic National Convention

By Crabby Golightly

IF IT WAS STRATEGY THAT ALL THOSE WHO SPOKE BEFORE HER WOULD SOUND LIKE THE FARAWAY WHISTLE INSIDE A SEASHELL, IT WORKED.

For Michelle Obama, Chicago South Side Girl, Ivy-Leaguer, likely-future-first-lady, stole the show at the Democratic National Convention's opening night in Denver.

Opening the prime-time hour, Democratic Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi sung the praises of the party's nominee Barack Obama and, more notably, Hillary Clinton. "All Democrats salute Hillary Clinton for her excellent campaign,'' the Lady Speaker of the House said one minute into her address. "Our party and our country has been strengthened by her candidacy." She pooh-poohed John McCain's record as "experience of being wrong on the failed Bush policies that have weakened our economy and taken us from the Clinton surpluses to the reckless Bush deficits."

Soon afterward, Camelot survivor Caroline Kennedy took the stage and waxed romantic about Obama inspiring millions to have hope. Although she delivered her words clearly, Caroline proved she doesn't have her protege's gift for soaring rhetoric. People listened out of respect for her name, and to the man she came here to honor: her "Uncle Teddy," Sen. Edward Kennedy. A mawkish videotape served as premature obituary for the Massachusettes Senator, followed by a surprise but predictable address by Kennedy himself. C-SPAN's cameras kept cutting to Caroline and Maria Shriver in the audience looking grim or tearful as their uncle spoke. "Uncle Kennedy," being treated for a brain tumor, pledged that he would be on the floor of the U.S.Senate come next January.

There were some comments by unknowns like Miguel Del Valle, the Chicago City Clerk, and Candi Schmieder, an Iowa delegate, college dropout and mother of three who was inspired to hope once again by Mr. Obama. Jesse Jackson Jr. also spoke, but all I heard was more seashell whistles.

My ears suddenly cleared when former Senator Jim Leach, a Republican from Iowa, took the stage and excoriated George Bush's record. What was this? A Republican dissing his party leader? This was no white noise.

"As a Republican I stand before you with deep respect for the history and the traditions of my political party,'' Leach said. "But it's clear to all Americans that something is akilter in our great republic. In less than a decade America's political and economic standings in the world have been diminished...Seldom has the case for an inspiring new political ethic been more compelling, And seldom has an emerging leader matched the needs of the moment."

Leach ended his speech by saying he supported a "transcending candidate who I am convinced will recapture the American Dream and be a truly great president." Holy Cow! This was news!

Finally, the night's keynote speaker arrived, introduced with a schmaltzy video that humanized Michelle. Gone were the rumored horns substituted by a halo.

And then she was in the flesh, wearing blue V-neck sweater dress and a radiant smile. She gave the performance of her lifetime, with more passion and feeling than anyone who had come before her that evening. It wasn't what she said so much as how she said it. She appeared sincere and classy and likeable; she had practiced hard and it showed. We also met her mother and now-deceased father, good folks you'd be proud to know, and a brother-turned-best-friend. And, of course, we got to hear Obama say during a live feed from Kansas that his wife looked awfully cute too. On the count of three, now: Awww, isn't that sweet?

I couldn't find the ''perfect bite" from her 17-minute speech, so check her performance out in its entirety here, and then make your own call.

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August 26, 2008

TELEVISION

The Dual Nature of Model Isis: Both Role Model And Pawn

By Benjamin Bradshaw B. G

LAAD president Neil Giuliano praises America's Next Top Model for the inclusion of a transgendered contestant for the upcoming 11th season. This is a first for the show that has only previously exploited natural women for television ratings.

The CW announced that Tyra Banks's model search (read: girls that are remotely pretty and some who are kind of ugly that haven't been on another reality competition yet) will include Isis as a twist. Previous twists have been less controversial, including a blind girl, one with Asperger's syndrome, and a few "plus sizers."

I welcome Isis after 10 seasons of a tired formula that only changes when the judging panel is downgraded. The drama plays out:

~ The impressionable models have petty fights in a house that is literally filled to the brim with misty photos of Tyra Banks.

~ One girl refuses to get naked or covered with zoo animals, or both, for which she is eliminated.

~ Tyra has bad hair at the elimination ceremony.

~ After such a rewarding experience the models cry, Tyra cries, and they fade into oblivion (which includes occasional appearances on The Tyra Banks Show).

The inclusion of Isis has earned the show praise from Giuliano who told US Weekly that he "applaud[s] Tyra Banks and The CW for making this historic visibility of transgender people possible," but I'm not so easily pleased. Giuliano's theory holds true in the right surroundings, but it isn't for any competition that had Janice Dickinson making judgment calls. A reality TV show won't offer the transgendered community historical visibility, but it will offer a lump sum of money at the expense of dignity.

Alexis Arquette, David Arquette's sister, was among the first transgendered contestants to appear on Reality TV (with shenanigans to shame Chris Crocker). Her screaming, umbrella-heaving stint on the Surreal Life didn't enrich America with "visibility" of the transgendered population, but it did shamelessly bump her career.

The wacky camera-hogging was at the expense of the whole LGTB community and as with most poignant shows like the Surreal Life, she embarrassed herself into temporary "novelty stardom." In Isis's case, a modeling career could be respectfully obtained with less scripted drama outside of the ridiculous ANTM house with an actual modeling agency (and she won't have to get naked and covered with zoo animals).

As with most of reality TV, the variable isn't the prize, but the instant fame and negative attention. It just so happens Isis is lucky enough to be the newest -- and freshest -- press-seeking pawn for the ANTM franchise.

Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising student who blogs at CrabbyGoLightly.com on culture, ads, and corporate monsters. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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TELEVISION

It Must Be Monday! 'Mad Men' Minutes on 'The New Girl'

By Miz J

Wow. Uh, I take back everything I said last week about being bored. Except for the funny stuff.

We find out a shit ton of information this week – and it’s about time. Naturally, the show starts off with a slow simmer, but quickly turns to a boil in order to wrap up old business and head on to the new stuff. So hold on to your hats, folks, this is going to be a short but bumpy ride.

First off, the Good Doctor (that’s what I’m calling this guy until I get a name) has proposed to Joan, prompting her to fill her own shoes in order to prepare for her wedding and all that. Guess she wasn’t bluffing to Roger about knowing the day he’d ask and stuff – clearly, Joan understands The Game and how to play. Enter Jane, the hot new secretary all the guys can’t get enough of – i.e., the new Joan. Not much happens with Jane in this episode, aside from the viewers learning right off the bat that she can issue a put-down with Joan-like acidity: “If you need help finding a dead file, please let me know; otherwise, pitch your tents elsewhere.” HOLY SHIT. I want to see her and Peggy get into a curt-ness fight, for real. It would be snip-tastic and totally bitchy, and I would burn up my notebook trying to write it all down for future reference.

So, away from the snit-fest, another interesting development is taking place – the fact that Pete and Trudy still can’t seem to get pregnant. I actually feel a bit sorry for Trudy, knowing what I do about Peggy and all, since it’s clear from that little piece of info that it’s Trudy – not Pete – that's unable to procreate. Trudy tries everything to get Pete to knock her up before finally seeing a doctor; at one point, right after placing a ton of nudie mags in the bathroom for Pete, I am totally sure that she’s going to cross paths with her hubby with a shrunken head in her hands or something. But we all know the inevitable answer, and by the end of the episode, so does a very disappointed Trudy, who looks around her lovely apartment and asks Pete, “If we can’t have a baby, then what is all this for?” Le sigh. Don’t depress me while I’m drinking, Trudy. Booze is a downer, and you’ve got me guzzling.

All of this, however, is small potatoes when compared to the shit Dashing Don’s landed his chiseled jaw in this week. Bobbie is still pursuing him, under the guise of wanting to celebrate the start of Jimmy’s new show. Seems the Utzes let that jackass bend the terms of his contract to do it, which, hey, good for you, ya douchebag. So Don goes to the restaurant for drinks with Bobbie and runs into RACHEL MENKEN, who is married, which makes me sad, because she’s way more interesting than Bobbie can ever be. She walks away from Don and only allows herself the briefest of glances, which must set Don off, because Don tries to lure Bobbie up to her beachfront property to…well, you know. And if you don’t, then this is not the show for you.

Anyway, I said “tries” because they never make it up there. Fact is, they’ve been “celebrating” a bit too much. More so than I’ve been using quotation marks. Bobbie sticks her head out the window like a true bitch and says “I feel so good,” to which Don responds, “I don’t feel a thing.” Bobbi then leans into Don and he gets distracted and swerves off the road, and this is the point where I go, “Heh. Feel THAT, Don?”

All this excitement earns Don no nookie and a sweet DUI charge, which he sure as hell can’t tell Betty about. He sure as hell can’t make bail, either. What a night. Guess who he calls? Peggy, who makes the bail and puts up Bobbie for a day or so until her black eye heals. Meanwhile, Don’s trying to sneak in the house, but Betty’s not having it, since she figures he’s out having all the extramarital fun while she’s stuck at home waiting. He makes up a lie about having high blood pressure, taking meds for it and then mixing them with booze and wrecking the car. Ladies, be honest: which is worse here? Cheating or LYING about cheating and WRECKING THE CAR to boot? I couldn’t decide, so I had another drink.

Back at Peggy’s place, Bobbie can’t figure out why Peggy’s being so hospitable for no apparent reason. She keeps pressing, but Peggy’s not giving it up and I wish she would because I have a feeling I’m about to get some valuable info here. I’m right, by the way.

Turns out that while Peggy was in denial about the birth of her son, Don was trying to figure out where the hell she disappeared to, since they’ve got makeshift dildos and lipstick to sell to women and she’s the only one who knows how to do it. So he finds her and gives her a bit of the ol’ Whitman wisdom (like what I did there? Wit and wisdom? Heh): “It never happened.” Oh, Don. I’m surprised at you. Have you ever given birth or witnessed one? It’s not something you’ll soon forget.

Bobbie leaves Peggy with some advice, too: “You can’t be a man, and you shouldn’t try. Be a woman. When it’s done right, it’s very powerful business.” Oh, really? Like, hmm…I don’t know…FLIPPING A FUCKING CAR powerful?

Later, the Barretts strut into Don’s office to thank him for the whole Utz contract thing, which means that Bobbie’s probably in for a few more episodes. Which also means that Don is going to keep living dangerously. Hope Peggy’s up for a trip to the morgue next week. After a long, tense day, Don comes home to a salt-less dinner; thanks to his BS about the high blood pressure, Betty’s no longer serving it to him. Wow, now there is literally NO SPICE in his marriage. Way to get literal, writers of Mad Men. But hell, I’ll forgive it this time, since they’re starting to give up some of the goods.

End credits, Viagra and Just For Men commercials roll. Can you see Don Draper giving a moving Carousel-like speech to the Viagra people? “These guys are old, and dying…to be recognized as the virile, experienced men they are.” Now THERE’S an ad I’d set down the remote for.

Miz J, who works in advertising, has tons of opinions and a big mouth to broadcast them across the globe; however, the Internet saves her the trouble of yelling. Check out her blog at Miz J.

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August 25, 2008

MUSIC

Heads Up: New Music To Sample This Fall

By Anna Apocalypse

 

Anna Apocalypse's plugs some of the most-anticipated music for late 2008:

Cold War Kids – Loyalty to Loyalty
This Long Beach quartet captured my heart and landed the #6 spot on my top 20 albums list of 2006 with their debut, Robbers and Cowards. Culled together from their various EP’s, Robbers and Cowards made quite a strong statement, utilizing different elements from blues to soul to plain ‘ole indie-rock to create an album that was unlike any other released that year. Fast forward two years later and Cold War Kids are back with their follow-up, Loyalty To Loyalty. Will it contain shuffling percussion and singer Nathan Willet’s howling vocals? Will it touch upon such heavy topics (as Robbers And Cowards did) like religion and alcoholism? If the free track on their MySpace page is any indication, Loyalty To Loyalty will show a whole new side of Cold War Kids that fans weren’t expecting and I cannot wait for September 23rd to explore it.

The Rosebuds – Life Like
I’m always impressed by bands that release new albums so soon after their previous ones, like in this case of The Rosebuds following up 2007’s Night of the Furies with the upcoming Life Like. Night of the Furies was the soundtrack to my spring last year, with songs like “Get Up and Get Out” and “Cemetery Lawns” bursting with pop hooks, creative arrangements, and the vocal trade-off of Kelly Crisp and Ivan Howard. Although Life Like is due for release in October rather than the spring, I have no doubt that The Rosebuds will once again win me over with their perfect sense of melody and structure.

Annuals – Such Fun
Such Fun is a perfect title for the Annuals’ sophomore release, as even after touring consistently for the past two years in support of their 2006 debut, Be He Me, the six-piece North Carolina outfit still manage to look like they’re having the time of their lives at every single live show. Although Annuals have yet to give fans a sneak preview of their new songs, recent EP’s like 2007’s Frelen Mas and this year’s split with Annuals alter-ego band, Sunfold, Wet Zoo, seem to be a pretty good indicator of all the fun that will be had on October 7th.

Chad VanGaalen – Soft Airplane
Although his albums are rarely less than fifteen tracks long, I’ve always had a soft spot for Calgary’s own, Chad VanGaalen. Perhaps it’s his ability to take the simplest pop melody and open it up, making it sound brighter and bolder than any other musician could. Or maybe it’s his eccentric arrangements and penchant for combining obtuse metaphors with confessional, romanticized lyrics. But either way, it’s hard to resist the lure of VanGaalen’s excellent songwriting. Expect his newest album, Soft Airplane, to showcase VanGaalen at his most confident, taking his lo-fi charm and contrasting it against a background of pop complexity. Soft Airplane is due out on September 9th.

Mogwai – The Hawk Is Howling
Despite the ridiculous album artwork and poor title, I still have high hopes for Mogwai’s sixth full length album. Considering their strong discography and specifically 2006’s Mr. Beast, I’d say the odds are definitely not against Mogwai just yet. Although Mr. Beast only hit the #17 spot on my Top 20 list of 2006, I can still fondly recall just how great of an impact that album had on me two years ago. From the brutal “Glasgow Mega-Snake” to the tranquility of “Travel Is Dangerous,” Mogwai stretched themselves creatively and showed fans that they can do pummeling metal instrumentals and calming slow-burners without missing a beat. Expect them to stun longtime fans all over again when The Hawk Is Howling is released on September 22nd.

Anna Apocalypse, who blogs at Pop Apocalypse.Blogspot.com, will comment periodically at CrabbyGolightly.com on music.

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August 24, 2008

BUSINESS

Bossman's Edict: Watch More Porn

By SexyChattyCatty

When I’m not lounging around watching the flotsam and jetsam of reality TV, I watch porn.

I’ve seen some of the dirtiest, nastiest porn out there (oh, those Germans), just short of bestiality (which is just plain weird).

But I get paid to do it. And I watch it in the office probably a lot like yours, except we produce a porn website. Terms like watersports, anal tulip, bareback and squirt are thrown out at our weekly meetings with straight faces. Different positions, toys and bondage equipment are discussed.

Also, as in typical offices, we surf the web during the day. Do a little shopping, catch up on the latest moves by McCain and Obama, watch snippets of a video on YouTube.

Well, all that has to stop. A memo today from our boss stated that we were spending too much time surfing outside sites.

He said that we get lost in YouTube and MySpace and, like, waste time. Heavens! So all extraneous surfing is out… unless it’s another porn site.

Yes, we’ve been encouraged to view even more porn than we already watch. But I don't think he meant “2girls1cup.”


SexyChattyCatty comments at CrabbyGolightly.com on TV, America's favorite snack food.

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August 22, 2008

TELEVISION

Who's That Girl? Elle Says Myia Ingoldsby’s Hairstyle is Fall's New Look

By Danielle Cadet

As far as this junk-TV junkie can tell, the only thing saving Bravo’s “Date My Ex: Jo and Slade” is Myia Ingoldsby’s hair.

Though I am repulsed by Jo De La Rosa’s shallowness and Slade Smiley’s control issues, I confess that watching the show is like gorging myself on cotton candy: I always feel sticky afterwards. I haven’t heard the word “douche-bag” (compliments of Jo’s Ari Gold-esque suitor David while describing Slade) since high school, and I have to admit it put me on a nostalgia trip.

And then there’s Myia Ingoldsby, Jo’s so called “best friend,” a.k.a. random girl who just happens to be British, poised, and available enough to host her “friend’s” dating show.

Although I can’t help but wonder where the hell she came from, Ingoldsby does have one redeeming factor -- her hair. According to fashion handbook Elle, Myia’s thick cut bangs are one of fall 2008’s top 10 “it hairstyles.” (Or is this some bored editorial writer's idea of a practical joke on the public?)

Her locks are also bleached enough for her to fit in with the best of LA’s “real fake” blonde, tan, and big-breasted women. You never really know how her hair will be styled when she steps onto the screen: pin straight, curly, bun, braids? But you can always count on her signature thick bangs that barely reveal her eyes.

Do I smell “spin-off”? Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Danielle Cadet is a student at the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University who likes to write about fashion and pop culture catastrophes.

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August 20, 2008

POLITICS

Here's A Fix For Rush Limbaugh's Oral Depravation

By Crabby Golightly

RUSH LIMBAUGH KNOWS SOMETHING ABOUT ORAL FIXATIONS.

The $400 million dollar man just can't help himself. A quick glance backwards reveals Rush's compulsion to stuff his mouth. The first piece of evidence is that he was a "big fat idiot," emphasis on the big and fat for just this minute.

The radio kingpin slimmed down after comedian Al Franken called Rush "fat" in the title of his 1996 antidote to Rush's verbal poison, the kind that causes knee-jerking.

The second, most obvious piece of evidence that he was deprived during what Freud called the "oral stage" is that he can't shut up. Limbaugh has been polluting the airwaves since 1988 when his nationally-syndicated radio talk show first aired.

Interestingly, Freud concluded that those deprived during the oral stage may be preoccupied "with oral activities. This type of personality may have a stronger tendency to smoke, drink alcohol, overeat, or bite his or her nails. Personality wise, these individuals may become overly dependent upon others...On the other hand, they may also fight these urges and develop pessimism and aggression toward others."

Let's see now, Rush goes weak-kneed for Republicans, smokes cigars, gorged himself on food for decades, is the dictionary's face of venom, and doctor-shopped to keep himself supplied with prescription painkillers. (I haven't checked his nails.) If he walked into a shrink's office, that would add up to a lot of clues for diagnosis.

But the most recent evidence of his flawed personality is his innuendo that Elizabeth Edwards should have talked less and given husband John Edwards more blow jobs to prevent him from straying with his baby momma, Rielle Hunter.

"We know — we've been told that Elizabeth Edwards is smarter than John Edwards,'' Limbaugh said on his radio show. "That's part of the puff pieces on them that we've seen. Ergo, if Elizabeth Edwards is smarter than John Edwards, is it likely that she thinks she knows better than he does what his speeches ought to contain and what kind of things he ought to be doing strategy-wise in the campaign? If she is smarter than he is, could it have been her decision to keep going with the campaign? In other words, could it be that she doesn't shut up?" He continues on to say that Edwards' "found somebody that did something with her mouth other than talk."

But do you see how he builds on crazy in one "ergo" false statement after another? Yep, that's a symptom. Rush is mental.

Or maybe he's jealous because he could never land a lady like Elizabeth, pretty and smart with a law degree. His three ex-wives? Choose your favorite between the secretary, the usherette, or the aerobics instructor.

What weren't you doing, Rush, that made all three of them leave you? Maybe none of them could give you what you really wanted. To which I say, put a dick in it.

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August 19, 2008

TELEVISION

'Mad Men' Minutes: Where's My Redemption From Boring?

By Miz J

Okay, this episode focuses a bit more on Peggy, which I like, because there’s no more interesting and unpredictable character on this show.

Yeah, yeah, Don’s got the murky past, but if you pay attention closely enough, you’ll realize he’s very subtly handing you all the answers, which I’ll detail in a minute.

But first – has anyone else noticed that Joan Holloway seems to have given herself a bit of an (unnecessary) upgrade up front? Holy cow, her boobs are like watermelons. Is this doctor boyfriend that she mentioned in the first episode a plastic surgeon? I have to wonder.

Back to Don. It’s Sunday morning, and Don wants some action. Things are kinda hot…and then the kids come in, all, “Mommy! Mommy!” So we then see a shot of gin being poured by Sally for Don. Because spoiled mood = all-day bender. Don and Betty get wasted.

It’s in this episode that we’re finally a little more privy to the kids’ lifestyles – and they are NOT wholesome. As the episode progresses, you’ll hear Sally’s inappropriate sex talk and see Bobby act out and straight-up lie about stuff. It’s weird territory, people. I hope you came prepared with a Tom Collins or two for yourself.

Bobby is particularly in need of discipline in this episode, and Don, despite Betty’s persistent requests for spankings (not for herself, of course, but that would have been INFINITELY more interesting and much less predictable) is apprehensive. Early on, I bet that Don was beaten often by his own father, and naturally, that ends up being true. See what I mean about handing out the clues? The guy’s not an open book, but the best pages are definitely already dog-eared for you.

But! Peggy (or, rather, her crazy, way-too-religious family) saves the day again. There’s a hot new priest hanging out at the church, and it makes things a little more interesting for Peggy, who’s not really into the whole Catholic scene, seeing as how she just had a married man’s baby and all. Catholics sort of frown upon (read: shun) women who “seduce” married men. So you can see why she’s not really all that into it until the hot guy comes around (that harlot!).

The hot priest asks Peggy for presentation help for Palm Sunday. Meanwhile, Duck is arranging to pitch American Airlines, schmoozing a client at a bar and ordering up a call girl named Vicky for him, who immediately poses as his wife when Roger Sterling walks in. Later, Pete fills Roger in on the fact that Vicky’s not just his girl, but EVERYONE’S girl, so Roger immediately makes a date with her for himself. Although, he’s not ashamed to hit on any of the guys’ wives, either – remember last season when he got too close for comfort with Betty? Mm-hmm. So Vicky comes over, and Roger tells her, “I have to tell you, I’m not in great health,” to which she replies, “Don’t worry, no one ever dies doing this.” And I so hoped he would, so that SOMETHING INTERESTING WOULD HAPPEN. He’s fine. They go out to dinner and that’s that. Bo-ring.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Barrett pops by to see her favorite reason to commit adultery. That’s Don, in case you missed last week’s recap, or can’t keep all your Mad Men adulterers straight. There are many; I know. But this time, it’s business first: she’s got a great idea for a Candid Camera-type show for Jimmy to host, but he’s gotta get out of the Utz contract to do it. Don suggests talking up the opportunity to the Schillings, explaining that the show would make Jimmy more popular, and, in turn, boost sales of Utz Chips. Done! Oh, Don, you shrewd motherfucker. Earn that extra-marital nookie!

It’s Palm Sunday, and Bobby has burned himself on the griddle, which means a fun family trip to the ER! Except that Don just got a call from Duck, and the American pitch is scheduled for Good Friday, so they have six days to pull it together, and he’s gotta go in now. Betty makes him take Sally with, much to Joan’s chagrin, as she’ll not only be typing, answering calls and making copies, but babysitting and fielding questions about her enormous boobage too. What a great way to spend a Sunday.

Fast forward to Good Friday. It’s time for the American pitch. Everyone’s dressed to the nines. Everything’s ready, and then Duck walks in, head hung in shame. American fired that guy they were schmoozing, so, uh, there’ll be a pitch, but it’ll be kinda pointless, guys. Don is pissed that they resigned Mohawk, because now they’re out that money in addition to not gaining this new client. Roger tries to argue that “old business is just old business,” but Don gives him this WTF side eye, and I’m inclined to side with him. I like my funds secure and my money un-funny, thanks. So during the commercial I was guzzling booze and muttering “Duck Sucks” under my breath. I was the only one who thought it was funny. But that’s okay.

Back in Brooklyn, everyone loves the new priest, Father Gill. And Gill takes a shine to Peggy, which is just too much for Peggy’s sister. And, as good a person as she believes herself to be, she connives with the best of ‘em – by going to “confession” where she vents her frustration with Peggy’s bad choices to Father Gill. See, these are the times where I’m glad I just have a brother. That way, when Easter Sunday rolls around, a hot priest doesn’t hand me an Easter egg “for the little one” and leave me standing there all embarrassed and shit. Which is exactly what happened to Peggy – in front of the whole neighborhood.

End credits. Color me angry, and kind of bored. Although I AM excited to see what Peggy will do to her sister next week – poisoned scrambled eggs, anyone?

Miz J, who works in advertising, has tons of opinions and a big mouth to broadcast them across the globe; however, the Internet saves her the trouble of yelling. Check out her blog at Miz J.

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August 18, 2008

FILM

Oliver Stone Has Lost His Mind

By M-Tron

OLIVER STONE IS TRYING MY PATIENCE.

You can only eat McDonald’s so many times before you throw up all over yourself. And you can only sit through so many awful movies before you become desensitized to cinema that’s actually important.

What lingering indigestion I had from 2007’s onslaught of cinematic greasy spoons was turned into a full-blown ulcer when spring 2008’s Chinese buffet rolled into town. M. Night Shyamalan served up my first piping hot mouthful of processed gray animal matter with The Happening, which I washed down with a melting Oreo McFlurry disguised as the Saw V theatrical trailer. And now comes Stone's W.

I have abandoned all hope.

Before even thinking about W, it is necessary to divide Oliver Stone’s career into two parts: respectable and not important.

His notable films Platoon, JFK, Natural Born Killers, and Nixon are from Stone’s halcyon days. While I can’t seem to rewatch any of these, they’re not altogether unpleasant; though historically inaccurate, there’s sick pleasure in being in the courtroom as Kevin Costner guides us through the grainy Zapruder footage. You want those sneaky government bastards to pay, because for all his bringing the world this much closer to Armageddon, deep down we all liked Jack Kennedy, damnit.

With Nixon – which I actually haven’t seen – you have a figure so vile that the movie writes itself. Add Anthony Hopkins and it’s not really surprising when you’re thanking the Oscar committee for a fifteenth nomination of your cinematic achievements.

In 1996, with his career firmly established, Stone could have gazed back at the Age of Respectability with pride, content with his considerable talent as a writer and director. But he didn’t. And now we’re dealing with his mess. Leaving credibility and good taste behind, Stone dove head first into the many mistakes that marked his Age of Unimportance. 1997’s U Turn, which I rented as a kid because the trailer promised a then-attractive Jennifer Lopez in a steamy love scene with Sean Penn – retrospectively a disgusting, even unholy coupling – was forgettable at best. Besides a grizzled Nick Nolte playing himself, there was little to take away from the dull tumbleweed thriller.

Then Stone decided to try his hand at a sports movie, and what we got was 1999’s Any Given Sunday. Though by no means as bad as what lay ahead, half of this film is Al Pacino screaming blitz formations into his boom mic. The other half is Jamie Foxx trying to act. None of it is important.

Going into hiding for five years, Stone reemerged with his Frankenstein monster, 2004’s Alexander. Lasting three hours, Alexander the “Final Unrated Cut,” is what you’d expect if the History Channel decided to make an overwrought six part miniseries for non-humanities majors.

But you can’t give up on the guy who brought us Platoon for Christ’s sake. Not yet, anyway. I was willing to forgive flops like U Turn and moneymakers like Alexander because Stone was a comparatively respectable man. At a time when Bruckheimer, Bay and Emmerich reigned supreme for fueling idiots with overblown summer blockbusters, Stone stood as the old guard; a knight-errant fallen from grace, but noble nonetheless.

World Trade Center destroyed that image. Shattering the glass floor separating the miserable second half of Oliver Stone's career from oblivion, this crass recreation of September 11, 2001 plunged him forever into the murky depths of worthless genre pieces; he landed in the layer of hell just above the creators of Disaster Movie and Bum Fights. The tag line says it all: "Glorifies that which is best in the American spirit." It's telling that Nicolas Cage and his gang of back lot B-actors running wide-eyed through smoldering CGI rubble for two hours exemplifies the best of our cultural values. In terms of disregard for basic human dignity, World Trade Center is only slightly better than an episode of True Life.

World Trade Center marked the end of Stage II, Stone's laughably bad phase, and announced with thundering cannons his dangerous penultimate demise. But it would take something even more disgustingly self important to complete the transformation into UltimoStone. Something so stupid that its component parts were not included in the mathematical set of all possible combinations of cosmic matter. Something so absurdly over the top that it became sentient and perceived its own embarrassing existence. It would take something like Oliver Stone's final testament, W, to see him through to his full-throttle, straight to the fucking moon endgame.

M-Tron writes regularly about movies at Manpants. Among his favorite films are Bottle Rocket, Saving Private Ryan, and The Big Lebowski .

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August 16, 2008

SCIENCE/FICTION

Monster Mania! 'Big Foot' Promoters Promise To Unveil Mythical Creature's DNA, Video, Pictures

By Crabby Golightly

THIS NEWS JUST MIGHT LEAD TO THE MONTAUK MONSTER FINALLY GETTING BURIED. BIGFOOT IS BACK.

Bigfoot, a hairy ape-like hominoid whose very existence is questioned by cryptozoologists, has been seen most frequently in the Northwest U.S. and Canada. The creature was most recently spotted in Ontario by two women who were berrypicking. The beast, also known as Sasquatch, has been reported in hundreds of sightings worldwide, but Wikipedia says that "most scientific experts on the matter consider the Bigfoot legend to be a combination of folklore and hoaxes."

Now, two Georgia men say they have a corpse of the species in a freezer somewhere near Atlanta. And today, Rick Dyer and Matthew Whitton, who operate "BigFoot" tours and a website at Bigfoottracker.com, will hold a press conference in Palos Altos, Calif., during which they promise to reveal DNA, video clips and photographs of their hairy find. The two contend they found the beast in Georgia's north woods.

"It was very frightening at first," Rick Dyer told The New York Times. “There’s a lot of comment being made that it looks fake, or it looks like a suit. But these people wasn’t there when I was sweating, pulling this thing through the woods.”

The two Georgians have the backing of Tom Biscardi, founder of the Great American Bigfoot Research Organization. In 2005, Biscardi claimed his group had captured a Bigfoot that weighed over 400 pounds and stood 8-feet tall, but the claim turned out to be a hoax.

Crabby speculates that this latest discovery might have something to do with the million dollar reward offered in June by binocular manufacturer Bushnell and Field & Stream magazine. The two companies offered the joint reward to anyone who can "provide an unaltered photograph/video, verified and substantiated by a panel of scientific experts [including a zoologist and biologist], the evidence required to prove a Sasquatch/Bigfoot/Yeti exists."

But as LiveScience's "bad science columnist" points out, "This is, of course, a marketing promotion and not a genuine search for Bigfoot. There's no way to authenticate a Bigfoot photograph by itself; the image is simply a two-dimensional pattern of pixels. To truly prove a Bigfoot exists, you'd need corroborating hard evidence like a body, teeth, or bones."

Crabby predicts that today we will definitively learn one thing: where we can buy"Bigfoot for President" t-shirts.

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August 15, 2008

SCIENCE/FICTION

Will Earth Become Alien After the Second 'Big Bang'?

By Al Perham

FEARMONGERS ARE SPREADING ALARM THAT COME OCTOBER 21, when European scientists officially unveil the world’s largest particle accelerator and attempt to recreate the “Big Bang,” the world as we know it could end.

The European Organization for Nuclear Research will use the Large Hadron Collider to test the existence of the theoretical Higgs boson, which Wikipedia says “could confirm the predictions and 'missing links' in the Standard Model of physics." A documentary on this “six billion dollar experiment” was produced by the BBC.

Yet scientists calculate there is a 1 in 50 million chance that the experiment could create a black hole or a new type of matter, "strangelets,” either of which could destroy our world. Another risk: that the fabric of space could be ripped, creating "a truly cosmic cataclysm.”
Nothing gets the ol' creative juices flowing like the threat of future obliteration! So for your reading pleasure, I’ve imagined several sci-fi possibilities to consider.

Scenario One: Time Travel Becomes Possible

Time travel has been a desire among humans ever since we started making bad decisions back in 10,000 B.C., right up until the production mistake known as 10,000 B.C. From Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court to the Back to the Future series to Quantum Leap, humans have expressed fascination with time travel. What would I do if I could go back in time? I would be the man to take a bullet for Phil Hartman, thereby creating a strange paradox where I die and no longer exist in the past or the future. Hence, by not saving Phil, I actually live. Get it? Makes me dizzy just thinking about it.

Scenario Two: We Provoke The Wrath of the Netherworld

Ghostbusters taught me that Bill Murray doesn't like to make money off surefire nostalgia blockbusters. It also taught me that residents of the netherworld are dicks. I mean, between the 100-foot marshmallow monsters and the babynapping -- why would we want to mess with these beasts? Although that Slimer seemed like a pretty hep cat, but I'm sure he smells like the ectoplasm that used to come with action figures. That gunk would get everywhere.

Scenario Three: We Create "A Black Hole"

There's a chance that black holes are only bad in our imaginations. My theory is that black holes are only devastating to matter outside their radius. We'll all be safe if the hole is big enough. Hooray!

Scenario Four: The Fabric Of Space Rips

Might the next Big Blowout be the key to interstellar travel: exploring new galaxies, meeting aliens, America becoming the intergalactic “peacekeeper?” (Is Alpha Centauri on the cosmos’ axis of evil?) Or could it be the opening to alternate dimensions? Which will be your favorite -- the cowboy hat dimension? The everyone-talks-with-a-bad-Christopher Walken impression dimension? Or will it be the dimension in which Al Gore won the 2000 election? The possibilities are endless!
What's my favorite? The one where I'm getting paid for this.

Scenario Five: "Dark Matter" Materializes

The final and most probable outcome is truly exciting: Wikipedia describes dark matter as “matter that does not interact with the electromagnetic force, but whose presence can be inferred from gravitational effects on visible matter.” Is this mystically powerful crap capable of solving all our problems? Could it be the sought-after alternative to oil (hah hah, aren't I topical), to the magic elixir that increases the reproductive rate of penguins? Surely the real ”dark matter” would deliver a bigger payoff than that envisioned in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: packing peanuts. Do we really need more of those?

Al Perham is a comedy writer who collaborated on "Spend!", which opens August 14 at The Cornservatory Theater in Chicago and runs to September 11. Get information on the show here at Facebook. You can reach Perham at Alpherham.blogspot.com.

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August 14, 2008

TELEVISION

Bernie Mac, Josh Allen, Evoking Tears For Different Reasons

By SexyChattyCatty

There was a lot of crying these past few days in the SCC den.

Bernie Mac is dead.

Only 50 years old, Bernie was a brilliant comedian and actor, and now he's gone.

I loved Bernie Mac. He was tall, dark and handsome. He’s only a couple of years younger than I and we grew up in similar situations – poor, inner-city, large families under one roof -- the roots which grew his comedy.

I liked that I recognized all the songs on his TV show. And although he looked like he could beat your ass on a whim, he was just a really nice, round-the-way brother.

Mr. Mac made his film debut in a small part in 1992’s Mo’ Money, but it was 2000’s Original Kings Of Comedy that made him a household name.

It’s said that Bernie refused to change his comedy for Hollywood and that’s why it seems he just burst on the scene around 2000 although he’s been wise-cracking since grade school.

He died from complications of pneumonia, but has suffered from sarcoidosis, a tissue inflammation disease, since 1983. If I lived in Chicago you best believe I would be at his memorial service this Saturday. I am sure the 10,000 seat House Of Hope will be filled, with standing room only, to honor a man who was taken too soon.

But, just like life, I found reason for tears of joy too. Josh Allen won the title of America’s Favorite Dancer! For me it was a foregone conclusion since I could see right from the start that he is freakin’ AWESOME.

And the judges just didn’t like his dancing; they were intrigued with him. He was supposed to be a breaker but would throw in sneaky ballet moves. Then he proved to be adept at any and every style of dance thrown at him.

I was incredulous that the final two were Twitch and Josh, two breakers. But Twitch, who almost made it last year and came back to try again, was an early favorite of the judges. Two breakers – whose personalities and abilities pushed them to the forefront.

I would have sworn it would be Katee and Josh since they were never in the bottom group and the judges couldn’t say enough good things about them both. The show did have the decency to recognize Katee by giving the top girl $50,000, something new this year. I can’t wait to see them dance again somewhere, anywhere soon. Hear that choreographers out there!


SexyChattyCatty comments at CrabbyGolightly.com on TV, America's favorite snack food.

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August 12, 2008

OLYMPICS

Rocket Man Michael Phelps Smashes Time Barriers, Shoots Into Olympic History

By Crabby Golightly 

HE WAS ALREADY FAMOUS FOR WINNING EIGHT MEDALS AT THE 2004 OLYMPICS. Today, Michael Phelps becomes legend, becoming the winningest Olympian in history with 11 medals to his name.

The Baltimore native, who some have preposterously called an "average" 23-year-old, has three more competitions left to swim in Beijing. Three more chances to protect his herculean record for decades to come.

"He is just another person, but maybe from a different planet,” Russian Olympic swimmer Alexander Sukhorukov told the Associated Press. Or perhaps Phelps is just alien while standing on terra firma.

No matter, because Americans will be claiming him as their own and boasting of his record-breaking feats in five of the five meets he's dominated so far. Phelps' two goldwinning performances propelled him to the top of the news cycle, followed rightly so by the second-place finishing U.S. Olympics gymnastics team.

China's underaged acrobats consistently outperformed the Americans, the exception being the deceptively steely-minded 16-year-old, Shawn Johnson. We'll see her next time, I'm sure. The U.S. gymnasts took the silver medal.

After the U.S. team shaved more than four seconds off the world record for the 800 freestyle relay team, coming under 7 minutes for the first time, Phelps gave a brief interview in which he appeared modest and unfettered from his own celebrity and accomplishment. Recognition of his accomplishment had yet to settle in.

Phelps confessed he had teared up a few times, but hadn't found words to express his feelings. To which I say, no need, Michael. Let the pundits and commentators wax poetic. All you need to do is stand tall, smiling ear to ear, dripping wet.

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TELEVISION

Something New: "Miz J's 'Mad Men' Minutes. Episode: The Benefactor.

By Miz J

I play a little game when I watch Mad Men: every time someone takes a drink or acts drunk, I take a little sip of my own. Because I’m an alcoholic and a masochist, it puts me in the spirit of the show.

The game works out well for me tonight, because five minutes into the episode, there’s already a boozing incident and I’ve got a jug of Long Islands in the fridge that aren’t gonna drink themselves. I’ll be amazed if I can still type at the end of this one.

We start off with the taping of an Utz’s Chips spot, starring comic and all-around douchebag Jimmy Barrett. This guy’s sooooo talented, he can tell fat jokes and humiliate his client’s wife. Naturally, no one laughs, and the situation reaches epic proportions back at the Sterling Cooper offices. Which means more drinking for both the characters and myself. Mmm, cirrhosis. At this point, I’d tell you all about Betty and that cute young thing that rides horses with her and how he’s got a huge crush on her even though he’s engaged, but I just did. Now let’s get back to the action, since she won’t act on it, no matter how many ways Young Dude tries to make it happen.

Barrett’s caused such a commotion that everyone rushes to Don’s office (I’d be so sick of that job by now if I were him) to see if he can ooze his way into everyone’s hearts and put this whole mess behind the agency to save the account. And Dashing Don rarely disappoints. Um, except when he’s cheating on his wife. Or stealing a fellow soldier’s identity after his untimely death. Or pushing away his emotionally fragile younger brother to the point where he commits suicide. Or telling his kids how to mix him up a perfect Tom Collins. Or…well, never mind. That’s really enough for now, isn’t it?

It’s payday at Sterling Cooper and Harry accidentally opens Ken’s check instead of his own. So now he knows that Ken’s making $100 more per week, and he calls his wife to tell her all about it. Being pregnant, sick and cranky, she first offers him a few suggestions to help him figure out how to make that money, but when he knocks everything down, she basically tells him to do something about it, or let her kneel at the porcelain god in peace and quiet. Because really? If I’d been all sick like that, I wouldn’t have even picked up the phone because HE DID THIS TO ME! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHbluhpuke!

Back in Don’s office, the crisis planning is over, and everyone walks out feeling good about Don batting clean up again. I assume they’re going back to their individual offices to drink, so I gulp one down too. On the way out, though, Sterling stops Don to tell him that his secretary Lois had no clue where he was. Up to this point, she’s been awful anyway, so it’s no real surprise that he tells her to “stick to the switchboard.” While Don’s trying to figure a way out of well, everything, Harry calls a friend at CBS for job leads. No such luck, but the friend tips him off about a show he’s got that they can’t get a sponsor for. Harry finds a potential sponsor in Belle Jolie, since the show revolves around a thorny women’s issue. This move moves Harry up. More drinking for me! Another day, another shoot with Barrett. This time, Don catches Barrett's wife/manager Bobbie heading out to the Copa, and Don offers to drive her there. Of course, they pull over and cheat on their spouses first. Once home, Betty surprises Don with his watch – repaired and engraved. I think I see him feeling bad about the other chick for a split second, but it passes and he heads upstairs to call her and ask her and Barrett to have dinner with him, Betty and the Utzes, in order to apologize and set things right. This guy mixes business and pleasure like I mix gin and soda – in one delicious, overpowering, intoxicating balance. Mmm, another drink for me.

Um, where the hell is Peggy? Two lines in the background does not work for me, because I have to know why her baby was taken away. Naturally, at the dinner, Don manages to smooth things over. I won’t tell you how, because I was actually surprised at the vile way he did it, and I will not repeat it here. At least not until I’ve had too much to drink. Which should be soon. So Don puts his hand up Barrett’s wife’s skirt and tells her to make an apology happen or he’ll ruin Barrett. Problem solved, even though Betty’s out there working double time to charm this pig over. I really wish she’d bang the Young Dude. Especially after the car ride home, when she cries tears of joy over what a great team she and Don make. Wow, Don, I feel like an asshole FOR you. And that calls for another drink. See you next week, cats.

Miz J, who works in advertising, has tons of opinions and a big mouth to broadcast them across the globe; however, the Internet saves her the trouble of yelling. Check out her blog at Miz J.

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August 11, 2008

TELEVISION

Tori Spelling, Loveable Poor Little Rich Girl

By SexyChattyCatty

CONFESSION TIME! I LIKE...TORI SPELLING. There, I said it and I feel the lightness that comes with dumping secrets.

The doe-eyed star, going into the second season of her reality show, "Tori And Dean, Home Sweet Hollywood," has always been a favorite of mine.

I was thinking about this while looking at "Death of a Cheerleader," on Lifetime this weekend. (Okay, maybe I should keep some secrets.) And I never miss a showing of "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger," the "funniest bad" movie in creation. What is it about Tori that makes me feel like we could be friends in real life?

I am as far away from being a thin, blonde, rich young starlet as cheese is to the moon. But although Tori was raised a child of extreme privilege, I have the feeling that it has never really affected her. Maybe it's the way she treats her nanny; maybe it was how funny she was in her short-lived show, NoTorious; maybe it's her nose.

She only spent a short time as a nightclub hellraiser with pal Shannon Doherty. And her only real scandal has been dating her husband Dean McDermott while they were both still married, then supposedly getting cut out of her father's will: she was reportedly left only $800,000 of the Spelling millions.

Was it the insecurity she showed when her husband had a hot, young scuba instructor? She's the only woman I've heard admit that since she stole her husband away from someone else it could also happen to her. I was blown away that a Hollywood starlet could realize this.

They seem to struggle, she and Dean. It seems she's always struggled, first to get out from under the Spelling name. Then, to prove she could act. Now by teaming up with another B actor and putting every bump and bruise out there for all to see.

Thanks for keeping it real, Tori. I'm cheering for ya.

SexyChattyCatty comments periodically at CrabbyGolightly.com on TV, America's favorite snack food.

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August 10, 2008

POLITICS

The Definition of Narcissism

By Crabby Golightly

According to the American Psychiatric Association’s “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders", the Narcissistic Personality Disorder is the mental disorder of people who need admiration, lack empathy and have a grandiose sense of their self-importance.

Narcissists display "a pervasive pattern" of grandiosity in fantasy and behavior, with symptoms usually emerging by early adulthood and presenting in a variety of symptoms. To achieve this diagnosis, a person must exhibit five or more of the following:

(1) Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements).

(2) Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.

(3) Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people or institutions.

(4) Requires excessive admiration.

(5) Has a sense of entitlement--unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations.

(6) Is interpersonally exploitative--takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends.

(7) Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others.

(8) Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her.

(9) Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes.

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August 09, 2008

TELEVISION

Get On Your HazMat Suits: 'A Shot at Love' and 'Rock of Love' Announce Casting Calls

By Benjamin Bradshaw B.

495 PRODUCTIONS, THE PEOPLE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE COPY-CAT DATING SHOW A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila (who will officially top my “List of People Ruining America” after George W. Bush leaves office) posted a casting call recently on www.ShotAtLoveCasting.com.

Tequila’s tired reign as bisexual bachelorette (read: “skeezy butterface with bad tattoos”) will be taken over by a new and yet unannounced sorta-celebrity (who will also be a sorta-bisexual). 495 Productions used the casting website to showcase the company’s outstanding lack of quality by misspelling “San Fransisco,” “Massachusets,” and “Detriot.”

In related news (but with more bandanas), Rock of Love will be returning in the form of “The Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels.” VH1 and 51 Minds production, which spawned the celeb-reality block with The Surreal Life, will hold casting calls in 10 cities during Michaels’s upcoming tour. TMZ posted a sneak peak of the New York auditions here with all the usual suspects.

Bret’s first two reality relationships didn’t work out (supposedly) because of his busy touring schedule (and his revived career that ties him to projects like that “Hard and Heavy” late night CD infomercial for Time Life). The new “Love Bus” hopes to find girls (read: “former porn stars”) that can handle Bret’s lifestyle by just using groupies from his natural habitat (a tour bus serving as an STD sample platter).

This new format is really just freshening up the cartoonish scenarios and degrading challenges, but I’m confident that there still will be lots of sex and zebra print cowboy hats. After all, a rose by any other name still has its thorn.

Both of the casting announcements are good news for reality TV hopefuls and I can assume that America's trailer parks and strip clubs will be emptied of residents and employees in search of stardom.

Diseases will be swapped and nudity censored soon enough in this reality TV “perfect storm” and I’ve already got my blond wig and bandana ready for premier night. Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising student who blogs at CrabbyGoLightly.com on culture, ads, and corporate monsters. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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BUSINESS

Lights Out At Your Local Bennigan's? Try These 'Cheesy' Alternatives

By Benjamin Bradshaw B.

BENNIGAN'S GRILL AND TAVERN DECLARED BANKRUPTCY LAST WEEK, closing 150 corporate-owned stores without warning to employees who were called before their O’Shifts and told not to show up.

By filing for Chapter 7, (and not Chapter 11, which allows companies to “restructure” and stay afloat), the stale restaurant chain’s management essentially shrugged their shoulders, muttered "aw, fuck it," and packed up their green top hats.

Another 160 locally-owned Bennigan’s will remain open with plans of carrying on the company’s deep-fried legacy.

Yet from where I sit, the “family dining” restaurant is indistinguishable from T.G.I. Fridays, Applebee’s, Chile’s, and many other themed mid-range bar and grills. The Irish theme (which is whole-heartedly represented by beer-battering lots of stuff in Guinness) fits their classics: the “O’Cajun Salmon,” the “O’Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich,” and “Asiago Fried Cheese.”

I grieve for the miniscule but loyal Bennigan’s fan base. So to serve the public, I provide here a list of possible menu replacements at other dining establishments available in a strip mall near you.

Instead of “The Big Irish” burger: “Two half-pound patties, two slices of American cheese, mustard, pickles, and an extra bun in the middle.”
Try a Big Mac with mustard.

Instead of the O’Cajun Grilled Seafood Platter: “Two spicy crab cakes, a 7 oz. grilled salmon fillet, and a skewer of eight grilled shrimp served on a bed of Rice O’Riley with a side of cole slaw and remoulade sauce for dipping.”
Try Red Lobster, which whips up an eclectic seafood mix. But you’re going to have to B.Y.O. cole slaw. Sorry, dude.

Instead of New World Chicken Fajitas: ”Marinated chicken breast grilled together with onions and peppers. Served with warm tortillas, guacamole, sour cream, Colby cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.”
Order from The Taco Bell Value Menu.

Instead of Bamboo Chicken & Shrimp: "Three chicken skewers and three jumbo prawn skewers grilled to perfection. Served with warm lo mein noodles and a side of spicy Thai peanut sauce for dipping.”
Substitute with --

Oh, fuck this. I’m not paying for this shit when I can just circle the food court for free Bourbon chicken samples.

Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising student who blogs at CrabbyGolightly.com on fashion, trends and advertising. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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August 08, 2008

POP CULTURE

Hundreds Flood Officials Seeking to Officially Adopt Corpse of "Montauk Monster"

By Crabby Golightly

HORDES OF DEAD ANIMAL LOVERS OVERWHELMED OFFICIALS IN MONTAUK, LONG ISLAND DEMANDING THAT THE MYSTERIOUS "MONTAUK MONSTER" BE GIVEN A PROPER BURIAL.

PETA also sent volunteers to pressure local officials to keep scientists away from the freakish corpse of the so-far unidentified rotting beast.

Speculation was rampant that the animal was a government experiment gone wrong. Others theorized that the beast had fallen from the sky, or perhaps had been coughed up from the earth's center where it had been buried by Scientology's evil galactic overlord Xenu 75 million years ago. Still others speculated that the thing was yet another victim of the fiend dumping body parts along Canada's Atlantic Coast.

Island officials reported an uptick in the number of locals doublechecking the credentials of plastic surgeons practicing around the Island.

Kidding! Just kidding! Just had to be a part of the Montauk Monster Mystery.

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August 07, 2008

POP CULTURE

My World Is Crumbling! Not. Chris Crocker Quits YouTube

By Benjamin Bradshaw B.

CHRIS CROCKER RELEASED A FINAL "GOODBYE" VIDEO ON YouTube, THE SITE THAT launched him from small town girl to “household name.” (Read: household joke).

In the video (which I have replayed about fifteen times with hopes of diagnosing whatever the fuck social and psychological issues he has), Crocker reveals that he decided to delete his account because the site is ashamed of their most popular user and the “self-declared face of YouTube.”

Whenever I pop over to YouTube I usually stay comfortably away from Crocker's giant library of personality porn, and I have only seen the most famous, “Leave Britney Alone” video! (Which, coincidentally, I mistook for a reenactment of that famous scene from Saved By The Bell where Jesse breaks down after becoming addicted to caffeine pills). Every time he speaks I watch in horror through the cracks between my fingers just like I would passing a car wreck. (Or, more accurately, a clown-car pile-up but with more wigs and makeup.)

Crocker used his last YouTube vlog to announce his new website mschriscrocker.com where he will carry on his treasured legacy and “finally let [his] tranny-ass hair down.”

While I shutter at the idea, I feel the shenanigans will lose momentum without YouTube (because he's the type of pseudo-celebrity that you give in to watching because they just won't go away (see: Carmen Electra). Crocker's a phenom, but YouTube is a revolution. Chris Crocker is a funny face to brand, but then so were the Geico Cavemen. Basketball was still big when Michael Jordan went to baseball, and we presume coke dealers didn't suffer when Amy Winehouse when to rehab.

My advice to Crocker: remember where you came from and don't try and outdo your maker. (That didn't even work in “I, Robot”). Before this tranny ass, YouTube had the waterskiing squirrel. Now that he's leaving, thousands of gay boys across America are poised to fill his red sparkly heels and he will likely fade into reality TVland, or the club-hosting world of ex-pseudo-stardom.

Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising student who comments periodically at CrabbyGolightly on fashion, trends and advertising. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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TELEVISION

Tim Gunn, 'Making Things Work' After Bravo

By Benjamin Bradshaw B.

Tim Gunn, America’s Gay grandpa, made zip, as in $0 during his first season as Project Runway’s “mentor”, the show’s executive producer Harvey Weinstein revealed last week in court wranglings over the show's sudden move from Bravo to Lifetime.

And what did Gunn make the second season? $2,500 per episode, which barely covers costs after he updates his gray suit collection. It’s a good thing Gunn was savvy enough to profit off a book, a show, a deal as the chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne, and a catch phrase (which even Charo will tell you can coast a one trick pony for decades).

But to agree to the series on a “pro bono” basis just makes him that much more of a likeable, genuine father-figure just putting in his volunteer hours for the less fashion-fortunate. Tim Gunn is the Bill Cosby of 2008 minus the jello.

While the revelation gives Gunn points for likeability, it gives Weinstein et al. “dirt bag mogul points.” The Weinsteins are the wealthy citrus tycoons to Gunn’s underpaid migrant worker. The show is moving from Bravo to (the less gay and more middle-aged)Lifetime now and Tim Gunn is along for the ride.

I predict two things: One, Gunn will receive a ridiculous and “accidentally revealed” paycheck increase. Two, Gunn will be there until season 16 on his deathbed even if he’s the last original face, pumping out his catchphrase but with less sass and more bathroom breaks (a la William Shatner).

Moving to Lifetime is a step down, but America’s gayest (as in happy!) grandpa will likely “make it work” until the show finally fizzles and is re-re-located to the E!

Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising who blogs at CrabbyGolightly.com on fashion, trends and advertising. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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August 05, 2008

BRANGELINA

I'm Off The Fence: Count Me On 'Team Aniston'

By Crabby Golightly

WE UNDERSTAND THAT SOMETIMES A MAN, OR A WOMAN, FALLS OUT OF LOVE WITH THEIR SPOUSE, MEETS ANOTHER WHOM THEY FEEL IS THEIR 'SOULMATE,' AND DECIDES TO DUMP THE FIRST BRIDE AND GET ON WITH THEIR LIVES.

At first, Crabby fell into the camp that thought Brad Pitt wasn't wrong to jettison his "best friend" Jennifer Aniston in exchange for dark angel Angelina Jolie, rumored to have teased Brad mercilessly on the set of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith." He took his time deciding whether to ditch the wife, with BFF Courtney Cox and hubby David Arquette admitting that Pitt resisted the temptation as long as he could.

But it's been more than three years since Pitt called it quits then hooked up with the ho Angelina Jolie. And Crabby is using the word figuratively not literally. But am I the only one who thinks that these two narciccus are out of control? Collecting babies like they're puppies? Cavorting around the world with children in tow? Selling baby pictures for $14 million? Posing for dollars in the current People magazine? Does the word "over-exposed" mean anything to these two? Does the word 'decorum' hold any meaning for this gypsy woman? Or is the world one big mirror through which they can arouse themselves?

I've got to lay most of the blame at the feet of Ang. Brad, for god sake's, has been engaged to nearly every single woman he's ever dated, among them Juliette Lewis and Gwynneth Paltrow. Does the phrase P-whipped mean anything to you?

We are thrilled, overjoyed, orgasmic (cause isn't that how they want us to be?) that the world now has improved DNA through the blessed births of Shiloh, Vivienne and Knox. Now, Brad, Angelina, go away, will you? Please? And a special aside to Jennifer: forget the ring, get on John Mayer's stick and cook up a baby. Mayer's a tall cutie and you can make a beautiful baby. And when the Jolie-Pitt kids start getting arrested for driving drunk at 14, you'll thank your lucky stars that God blessed you with normalcy.

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August 04, 2008

MUSIC

Radiohead Reigns Supreme At Chicago's Lollapalooza

By Anna Apocalypse

THERE WAS LOTS OF HYPE TO LURE ME TO LOLLAPALOOZA THIS YEAR.

Was Barack Obama really going to introduce Wilco? (No.) Would Rage Against The Machine incite a riot in the sweltering Grant Park? (Almost.) But only one band inspired me to fork over my money to Perry Farrell and his corporate sponsors: Radiohead.

The British art-rockers -- a decade past their commercial prime -- was the main draw on the first day of Lollapalooza, capturing Friday night's headline spot.

Of course, there were other acts playing that day as well. I had planned on arriving around 5 p.m. to catch some of Cat Power's set, but a slow ride on Chicago's Blue Line and only one entrance into the festival stole that chance. Once in, I opted to catch Grizzly Bear, which proved good judgment. In addition to crowd favorites like “On A Neck, On A Spit,” and “Knife,” the band cranked out four new songs (including “Two Weeks,” performed on David Letterman a few weeks ago) that sounded fantastic. I can't wait for their new record, which is going to blow minds.

I followed up Grizzly Bear with Bloc Party, in part to secure my spot when Radiohead emerged afterward. Clad in an ObamaT, bright red shorts, and vintage Nikes, frontman Kele Okereke stirred up the massive crowd with standbys like “This Modern Love,” “Like Eating Glass,” and “Positive Tension,” as well as newer songs from 2007's A Weekend In The City, including “Song For Clay (Disappear Here)” and “The Prayer.” They were good, but it was clear that everyone was biding time for Radiohead.

Then, at precisely 8 p.m., the two jumbotrons mounted on each side of the stage flickered with rainbow-colored lights, blips and bleeps echoed out of the speakers, and five rockers dubbed Radiohead dashed onstage to thunderous applause.

Opening with “15 Step,” the first track from 2007's pay-what-you-want album, In Rainbows, Thom Yorke's stunning falsetto cut through the evening's steamy air. Next, the familiar distorted intro to “Airbag” rang through the park, followed by “There There,” and a handful of tracks from In Rainbows. The playlist ranged their entire discography, save for Pablo Honey, that is. Perhaps the best moment of their entire set came during “Everything In Its Right Place,” when fireworks erupted from nearby Soldier Field that synced up perfectly with the guitar distortion in “Fake Plastic Trees.” It was, no joke, a great climax to a satisfying romp.

Lollapalooza wrapped up Sunday night in Chicago. You can check out more coverage of the festival here.

Anna Apocalypse, who blogs at Pop Apocalypse, will comment periodically at CrabbyGolightly on music.

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August 03, 2008

POP PSYCHOLOGY

The Joke's On You: Recognizing Sarcasm Gives Me The Social Upper Hand

By Anna Apocalypse

SCIENCE HAS HANDED ME THE ULTIMATE DEFENSE FOR MY SARCASM: My forked tongue proves that I am socially savvy, can read verbal cues and am not suffering from brain damage. So there, Mom! You should thank god for my talent!

The proof is in the parahippocampal gyrus, so says neurophysiologist Katherine Rankin of the University of California, who used an MRI to detect what part of the brain was "turned on" by sarcasm.

As the New York Times put it, "What you may not have realized is that perceiving sarcasm, the smirking put-down that buries its barb by stating the opposite, requires a nifty mental trick that lies at the heart of social relations: figuring out what others are thinking."

This skill of recognition helps us separate danger from safety, enemies from friends -- in short, to survive.

To honor this great scientific discovery, I was going to pay homage to a few moments in my life when sarcasm saved me, but then I got distracted and started watching TV's timeless ode to sarcasm: Seinfeld. The episode was “The Switch,” when George dates a woman he thinks is bulimic and Jerry dates a woman who doesn’t laugh at any of his jokes. Early in the episode, Jerry remarks to Elaine: “I mean, how can I be with someone who doesn’t laugh?!”

Jerry has a point. I can’t imagine being friends with or dating someone that "doesn't get it." I like to think that those of us inclined to be witty and sarcastic are the more successful members of society, able to balance humor and seriousness all in one quick stab of the tongue. And now that I know that every snarky comment is a test, I plan on measuring the efficacy of each parahippocampal gyrus that I encounter. And I'll have the perfect rationalization: I'm just helping the human race to survive.

Anna Apocalypse, who blogs at Pop Apocalypse.Blogspot.com, comments periodically at CrabbyGolightly.com on music and pop culture.

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POP SCIENCE

Proof There's No Such Thing As A Secret: 'Kevin Bacon' Six Degrees of Connection Theory Confirmed

By Crabby Golightly

CRABBY WILL NEVER SNEER AT NAME-DROPPING IN THE SAME WAY EVER AGAIN.

That's because Microsoft scientists have proven that "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" isn't just a trivia game but actually just how close humans are connected.

Enabled by 30 billion electronic conversations between 180 million people worldwide in June of 2006, two Microsoft researchers crunched the numbers and concluded that the connection between any two people on average really is just six degrees of separation or 6.6 degrees to be exact.

"It was pretty shocking,'' Eric Horvitz, a Microsoft researcher who performed the experiment, told The Washington Post". "People have had this suspicion that we are really close. But we are showing on a very large scale that this idea goes beyond folklore." Horvitz conducted the study with colleague Jure Leskovec.

And Crabby thought she was special that she had rubbed shoulders with those who could count among acquaintances Oprah, Lionel Richie, HBO wonderkind David Simon and TV quack Dr. Phil. Turns out she's just human after all. But adept at namedropping, no?

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August 02, 2008

POP CULTURE

Miley Cyrus is Disney's Contracted Virgin

By Benjamin Bradshaw B. D

ISNEY'S LATEST CASH COW SAYS, "I LIKE TO THINK OF MYSELF as the girl that no one can get, that no one can keep in their hand.”

The statement wasn’t another stereotypical song lyric (just yet), but in fact Miley Cyrus’s explanation of why she’s abstaining until marriage.

Since The Jonas Brothers made the same declaration a while back, I am forced to ask myself: is this TMI part of the "packaged" formula?

The tradition of teen stars (not “Girls Gone Wild,” but mall-rats with uneven facial hair) publicly talking about the sex they aren’t having has been around at least since the hay day of Britney Spears. Remember when she rattled on about abstinence five years before she wound up barefoot, pregnant and bald at a gas station bathroom? And then -- Oops! She did it again -- and a baby second popped out?

Miley is just the latest in a long line of teen stars with publicly-declared sexless agendas and there is one common denominator: they’re all signed with Disney. The company (who is so successful because of their ability to keep us in a dream world) knows that these empty promises appeal to America’s parents who are appeased by the pander and then say, "Yes, you can buy the Miley Cyrus CD because she swears off sex." Never mind Hannah Montana's skeezy outfits (because that’s how it is when you're a rock 'n roll teenager.)

Professed abstinence may be marketing 101, but the odds of it being true are about equal to putting a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in front of Gary Busey & asking him not to drink it. Sure he’ll say okay, but the second you leave, Busey's hitting the sauce.

There's a steep learning curve during teen years, and the inevitable experimentation ought not to be discussed in a hefty business contract. It's with mistakes that you find out who you really are. Amy Winehouse didn’t plan to be drug addicted & toothless when she was 12, but shit happens. God knows she’d be down & out with a Disney contract right about now.

So I say to Miley: Have your clumsy, awkward teenage sex before you hit 18 and end up making up for lost time, barefoot, in a gas station bathroom.

Benjamin Bradshaw B. is a fashion merchandising student who will comment periodically at CrabbyGolightly on fashion and advertising. You can reach him at Myspace.com/taterzz.com.

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August 01, 2008