If you have just returned from some place that doesn’t have the internet or don’t give two fucks about celebrity bullshit, you have no idea what I’m talking about. That’s good. You are a good person. I envy you. I envy you because I read all those ridiculous celebrity blogs written by annoying Queens who make a living ripping on some dumb actresses’ bad choice in eye glitter.
I read them because they’re a good quick read, they’re funny and it gives me something to talk about when with other people who read this crap. I’ve always believed that if you have something in common with everyone, you can get along with anyone. Or something like that. That’s how I’m justifying it anyway.
Anyway, if you’ve just returned from Iraq where you were hunting for the real culprits of 911, you wouldn’t know anything about the Isaiah Washington fiasco that is currently gripping America. Here’s what went down:
Washington, who stars on Grey’s Anatomy, called one of the other actors a “faggot” during an on-set argument. That subsequently forced the actor out of the closet and made Washington look like a grade ‘A’ asshole. He then couldn’t keep his mouth shut, denied he said it and then farted out a bunch of bullshit that made him look even worse.
I don’t watch Grey’s Anatomy, or Grey’s Sexcademy, as I like to call it. It’s a sucky show about humping doctors that brain dead morons watch to get a tingle in their nether regions. I’m all for humping (that’s what it will say on my tombstone), but this show is just lame. If you like it, good for you, but pornos have better plots and acting I’m sure.
Washington sounds like a dickhead. From all accounts, he’s a hot head and anyone who would react this way has got some issues. Especially since he works in Hollywood where an actor being gay is probably as common as wearing socks. If you work in movies or TV, pissing off the gays is like going to a NASCAR race in a turban, handing out anti-American literature. It won’t end in a good way.
So all the celebrity bloggers, who just happen to be fat, homely Queens, are all over this guy’s ass; calling for him to be fired and ripping him all kinds of new assholes. Oddly enough, no one is saying they will stop watching the show. I think that would really do some damage, but I guess they need their bad TV just like the rest of us. But they want blood and are doing everything in their power to get it.
But then I started thinking about it: people are really freaking out about this and for why? Is this really about someone calling another person a “faggot” or does it go deeper than that? I would agree that calling someone a faggot in this case is bad. The guy’s sexual preference shouldn’t be a factor here. If there’s an issue at the work place, where someone puts their pecker should never be a concern. So why are the gays so pissed off about Isaiah Washington?
Race baby. Race.
This is all about race. The Isaiah Washington fiasco has reached shrill, shrieking proportions simply because he’s black.
I will be the first one to call bullshit on someone playing the race card so you know I’m not a weak-willed, white guilt liberal looking to spread the good word by enabling some trumped up racist claim. The funny thing is, no one has brought this up in this case. They’ve let Washington twist in the wind and I’m frankly surprised.
I guess what he did was pretty bad. “Outing” the guy was kind of uncool. I would think if you were gay, you would like to pick the time and place of your coming out. Having some jerk yelling it across a soundstage for the celebrity obsessed world to hear is probably not his cup of tea. That was uncool. But after that, the actor went on Ellen’s show and she told him “how brave he was.” What? Really? Brave huh? I’m not really seeing how this guy is so brave for going through this. He gets paid a lot of money to act in a world that, behind the scenes, is very supportive of his orientation. There are far more people that have endured far worse punishment, physical and emotional, for their sexuality than this guy. Did it scare him because a big scary black guy said it to him?
I think that’s where this stems from. Black people have the “N” word. The “N” word is nigger in case you didn’t know. I personally don’t say the “N” word because I do find it offensive. I know black people (and most white people) find it offensive so I don’t use it. But a lot of black people do use it and I think the majority of the gay community, who have been maligned through hip hop and various aspects of black culture, feel like this is a way of striking back. Listen to any hip hop album and homos are constantly derided and “faggot” is used as a way to put people down. My guess is that Isaiah Washington opened his mouth and our gay brethren saw fit to cram decades of resentment down his throat.
The racial aspect of this is disturbing because it ceases to be about calling someone a nasty name based on who they are. It suddenly becomes a political issue where people are not considering that one asshole ran his mouth, but indicting a whole group of people simply because they’ve got momentum and want to intimidate anyone from saying something like it again. That’s fine, but shouldn’t you want people to stop saying it because they have learned that it’s wrong? Or is the out come that they’ll get fired enough? While one is harder to achieve, the other creates resentment and lasting bad vibes.
The only reason Mel Gibson wasn’t run out of Hollywood is that he makes tons of money. I’m sure there’s a Jewish guy or four that have a hand in helping Mel’s movies to the big screen. He said all the right things, but really if he didn’t make money, no one would have dealt with him ever again. Isaiah Washington doesn’t have the luxury of being Mel Gibson. He’s just a no name actor that no one ever heard of until this incident. Maybe this is good for him in the long run. Currently he went to “rehab” for his problem and will return to his hit show loving the gay life I’m sure.
Washington deserves most of the shit he’s getting but overall it just stinks of a racially motivated occasion for some payback. I for one think that’s a cycle you will never be able to pull out of.
So I’ll still read the bitchy celebrity blogs, but now I see them in a different light. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they all love that fucking lame hack Madonna, now they gotta play the Gay card against the Race card. And that’s a card game I never want to see.
JR
Friday, January 26, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
50 Most Loathsome People
Simply awesome. I think I referenced this list last year and it's even better this year.
Have at it:
The BEAST 50 Most Loathsome People in America, 2006
Have at it:
The BEAST 50 Most Loathsome People in America, 2006
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
JB: Doing it to Death
Did I mention how much I love James Brown? When the GFOS passed around Xmas time, I was going to write something up but didn’t (obviously) because 1) I’m kinda lazy and 2) I wasn’t sure I could due justice to how bad motherfucking ass this guy was. I’m a huge fan and yet I didn’t know how to talk about him.
Well, he’s still not buried and there’s all kinds of turmoil over his estate; his creepy wife is crying to Larry King about being locked out of the house and Al Sharpton seems to have his hands deep into the Hardest Working Man in Show Business’ business.
I’m not one to think that someone can’t “rest” until their body is in the ground, so it doesn’t matter to me if he’s buried or not. I think they should keep him above ground like Lenin and maybe I can go to wherever he is and pay my respects ten years from now.
At any rate, JB was just super bad. As you’ve probably read by now, there wouldn’t be hip-hop as we know it without JB. His style, his delivery and in particular, his music, contributed more to modern music than anyone in past 100 years. He’s that fucking cool.
Prince is a poor man’s James Brown. All his moves, his crazy wardrobe and the bulk of his shtick are cribbed right from JB’s playbook.
Justin Timberlake wishes he could take a couple of hairs off of JB’s corpse because there is more funk in the man’s follicles than in Timberlake’s whole body.
The first time I ever saw James Brown was on TV and it showed one of his early performances where he does the thing where he pretends to be overcome with how hard he’s performing and has to be helped off. A guy comes out and puts a cape on him and helps him off, but right before he leaves the stage he regains his strength and tears back into it. I was just blow away by this. I didn’t understand it, but I loved it.
Listen to any of his music where he’s calling out to the band members and telling them what to do; it’s a testament to the incredible musicians he had working for him as much as it is a showcase for his total mastery of the music. It’s been parodied for a long time, but JB could wave his hand and the band would stop on a dime. Wave it another way and the horns would hit him however he wanted it. He was like a diabolical sorcerer conjuring a wicked brew that you couldn’t wait to suck down.
Put on “Greedy Man” with its relentless funk or the slow, sticky jam that is “The Payback” and try and tell me this man wasn’t some sort of musical god on earth. He was.
Listen to his songs and just try to identify all the samples that were later used in countless rap songs. It’s just too bad he didn’t get paid for it when he was getting the shit sampled out his songs…where were Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson then?
Regardless of my paltry words of praise, there literally won’t ever be anyone as great as he was ever again. We’re left with his legacy though, through his music and all the people who copied him, wanted to be like him or just plain were affected by him.
God speed JB. Give up, turn it loose.
JR
Well, he’s still not buried and there’s all kinds of turmoil over his estate; his creepy wife is crying to Larry King about being locked out of the house and Al Sharpton seems to have his hands deep into the Hardest Working Man in Show Business’ business.
I’m not one to think that someone can’t “rest” until their body is in the ground, so it doesn’t matter to me if he’s buried or not. I think they should keep him above ground like Lenin and maybe I can go to wherever he is and pay my respects ten years from now.
At any rate, JB was just super bad. As you’ve probably read by now, there wouldn’t be hip-hop as we know it without JB. His style, his delivery and in particular, his music, contributed more to modern music than anyone in past 100 years. He’s that fucking cool.
Prince is a poor man’s James Brown. All his moves, his crazy wardrobe and the bulk of his shtick are cribbed right from JB’s playbook.
Justin Timberlake wishes he could take a couple of hairs off of JB’s corpse because there is more funk in the man’s follicles than in Timberlake’s whole body.
The first time I ever saw James Brown was on TV and it showed one of his early performances where he does the thing where he pretends to be overcome with how hard he’s performing and has to be helped off. A guy comes out and puts a cape on him and helps him off, but right before he leaves the stage he regains his strength and tears back into it. I was just blow away by this. I didn’t understand it, but I loved it.
Listen to any of his music where he’s calling out to the band members and telling them what to do; it’s a testament to the incredible musicians he had working for him as much as it is a showcase for his total mastery of the music. It’s been parodied for a long time, but JB could wave his hand and the band would stop on a dime. Wave it another way and the horns would hit him however he wanted it. He was like a diabolical sorcerer conjuring a wicked brew that you couldn’t wait to suck down.
Put on “Greedy Man” with its relentless funk or the slow, sticky jam that is “The Payback” and try and tell me this man wasn’t some sort of musical god on earth. He was.
Listen to his songs and just try to identify all the samples that were later used in countless rap songs. It’s just too bad he didn’t get paid for it when he was getting the shit sampled out his songs…where were Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson then?
Regardless of my paltry words of praise, there literally won’t ever be anyone as great as he was ever again. We’re left with his legacy though, through his music and all the people who copied him, wanted to be like him or just plain were affected by him.
God speed JB. Give up, turn it loose.
JR
Travel Journal 2000: Barcelona
Here's more from my travel journal. This is re-printed exactly how I typed it way back when. I had run off to Europe in early 2000 and hung out in Paris, Barcelona and then Dublin. I was posting this to the Hooligan website at the time, and while some of it is kind of embarrassing, it’s still pretty funny. Enjoy.
Travel Journal February 2000
The coffee in Barcelona is how that woman from Good Times likes her men: Hot, black and strong! The coffee’s good and that’s not all. Barcelona reminds of how Cuba must be. Spanish speaking people with palm trees lining the streets, and buildings you think of when someone mentions Earnest Hemingway.
But Madrid is where Hemingway used to hang so Barcelona, or BCN for our purposes, has its own vibe entirely. But I could bore you with how beautiful I think Spain is. If you’ve ever been there, or even thought about going, you already know this. No, my travel journal will center not on the actual travelling, but the pitfalls and embarrassment that seems to come with it.
My first night in BCN I hooked up with an old friend by the name of Steve P. Steve has lived in BCN for the better part of 10 or 12 years so he was the main man to have show me around. We were going to warm up around 9:30 at a bar where you can pick up and play any guitar on the wall. I’m a master guitar player (ha) so I thought this sounded very cool. The place was closed because the people were on vacation. Vacation? “No one goes on vacation in February!” I exclaimed. I was on vacation dammit, and they needed to be open! Not really. Regardless we moved on. We went back to Steve’s place to have some beers before “really” going out.
People in Spain don’t eat until 10 p.m. and don’t really start partying until midnight. My second night in BCN, we stayed out till 6 a.m. (another story entirely). We went to Steve’s to have some beers.
Steve’s place is small. There’s enough room for a bed, a couch, a kitchen and a small bano (that’s bathroom in Espanol). But as he told me, the real reason he lived there wasn’t for the apartment, but for what was beyond the door in the kitchen. As we walked outside, I was treated to the most marvelous view in the whole motherfucking city of BCN.
A ‘panty dropper’ is something like the view from a house or apartment that will facilitate the dropping of women’s panties once you get them up there. Steve’s view could drop more panties then Leo Dicaprio, Brad Pitt and Ricky Martin combined. This was one spectacular fucking view, man. I took it all in, drank some beer and enjoyed Steve’s hospitality from his killer vantage point.
After some time, we moved down the street to a bar Steve frequented. The place featured rock and roll memorabilia on the walls and rock and roll tunes pumping out the stereo. The place was great and would be somewhere I’d hang out if it was in the states.
It was around midnight at this point and Steve said, “like clockwork, this bar will fill up at one.” Bing. One o’clock hit and, like he said, the place filled up before I even knew it. It was packed and hopping. We had carved out a corner earlier so we stood there drinking beer and having a wonderful time. This, believe it or not, is where our story begins.
It was at this point I was introduced to one of the local BCN beers. Voll Damm was its name and I will never, for the rest of my life, forget it. Voll Damm is a fairly hearty brew which tasted like a heavier Michelob than anything else. When in Rome. It tasted good so I drank it. Or I should say I drank an enormous amount of it. I was drinking Voll Damm like it wasn’t just going out of style, but like I had a fire to put out somewhere deep within my body. Bud lite it wasn’t, but I was sure drinking it like it was.
Steve had a friend named Steve who was there with a nice French girl (yeah, I know!). We all talked, rocked out to classic rock and proceeded to get fucking locked. On the train to BCN from Paris I started coming down with a cold. I was getting sick one way or the other so I just said fuck it. I’ve drank my way through colds before. I’m an old pro right? I partied on like a champ (or chump depending on how you look at it). I had two Heinekens before I even met up with Steve and about five cans of San Miguel at his place. I then inhaled about five bottles of Voll Damm at the bar. Drunk right? Wrong. Really, really drunk. What Steve declined to tell me was that each bottle of Voll Damm is around 8% alcohol. I got slaughtered like a pig at Easter.
Steve and Steve saw me chugging Voll Damm like Coors lite and told me the next day they were going to say something, but….. I would’ve done the same in their place so I can’t be too mad. Regardless, the Voll Damm binge combined with the first nasty days of a cold, made for one of the worst and most punishing hangovers of my entire life.
I drink. And despite how tanked I was, I handled it like a true warrior. I’ve been drunker than this, but the hangover made me want to go home to momma. Leaving the hotel, I almost threw up in the hallway. There was a strange, feces like smell in the stairwell. Imagine that? It was gross, so every time I left or came back to the place I’d run up the stairs holding my breath. Now, it almost killed me. I think I was a pale green, but I was afraid to look in the mirror for fear of scaring the vomit out of me.
By the time I found the Picasso museum, I was the walking fucking dead. I was the guy in the “Thriller” video whose arm just kind of falls off. Usually I feel like the dead guy who starts doing the Robot at the end. When I got to the part of the Picasso Museum where a lot of his pen drawings are featured, I almost puked in front of a bunch of Italian tourists. I could’ve slept right there. I almost puked, but years and years of dealing with hangovers has conditioned me to not puke in a public place no matter how bad it wants to come out.
One time I went to a Sorority function when I was in college. You travel somewhere on a bus and you get really drunk and laid if you can still see straight. The thing about Sorority functions is you can go balls out, but you just can’t puke in the bus on the way back. The girl who took you to the thing will get fined and in a heap of trouble if you do. The time I went to this Sorority function, I got really, really drunk on Greyhounds (vodka and grapefruit juice). My date was unconscious and I, in a semi-conscious state, willed myself not to puke for a 40 minute bus ride back down twisty mountain roads. If you’ve ever had a ‘few too many’ a ‘few too many times’ you know exactly what I’m talking about. My brother once puked in his mouth and then swallowed it because someone was giving him a ride home and he didn’t want to puke in their car. Now that’s one tough mother!
Anyway, puking in front of Italian tourists and the magnificent works of Picasso was not in the cards for me. I got back to my room and slept it off. I was absolutely polluted. This hangover would have killed a lesser man I’m convinced. That night though, I went out til 6 in the morning. I was drinking beer. Not Voll Damm mind you, but I still got back on that horse and rode. I was sick as a motherfucker, but hey, I was in Barcelona. No time for a hangover (even as gargantuan as this one) when you’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. BCN is fantastic. The Gaudi architecture will blow you away. We could see the Sagrada Familia from Steve’s panty dropper. Sagrada Familia is a church that Gaudi designed in the late 19th Century and is still being built today. It’s fucking amazing though and you can go up in the towers. The rest of the city is stunning as well. The whole place has a great vibe. And while I’d suggest to definitely go and see Barcelona, please keep your Voll Damm intake to just a few.
Travel Journal February 2000
The coffee in Barcelona is how that woman from Good Times likes her men: Hot, black and strong! The coffee’s good and that’s not all. Barcelona reminds of how Cuba must be. Spanish speaking people with palm trees lining the streets, and buildings you think of when someone mentions Earnest Hemingway.
But Madrid is where Hemingway used to hang so Barcelona, or BCN for our purposes, has its own vibe entirely. But I could bore you with how beautiful I think Spain is. If you’ve ever been there, or even thought about going, you already know this. No, my travel journal will center not on the actual travelling, but the pitfalls and embarrassment that seems to come with it.
My first night in BCN I hooked up with an old friend by the name of Steve P. Steve has lived in BCN for the better part of 10 or 12 years so he was the main man to have show me around. We were going to warm up around 9:30 at a bar where you can pick up and play any guitar on the wall. I’m a master guitar player (ha) so I thought this sounded very cool. The place was closed because the people were on vacation. Vacation? “No one goes on vacation in February!” I exclaimed. I was on vacation dammit, and they needed to be open! Not really. Regardless we moved on. We went back to Steve’s place to have some beers before “really” going out.
People in Spain don’t eat until 10 p.m. and don’t really start partying until midnight. My second night in BCN, we stayed out till 6 a.m. (another story entirely). We went to Steve’s to have some beers.
Steve’s place is small. There’s enough room for a bed, a couch, a kitchen and a small bano (that’s bathroom in Espanol). But as he told me, the real reason he lived there wasn’t for the apartment, but for what was beyond the door in the kitchen. As we walked outside, I was treated to the most marvelous view in the whole motherfucking city of BCN.
A ‘panty dropper’ is something like the view from a house or apartment that will facilitate the dropping of women’s panties once you get them up there. Steve’s view could drop more panties then Leo Dicaprio, Brad Pitt and Ricky Martin combined. This was one spectacular fucking view, man. I took it all in, drank some beer and enjoyed Steve’s hospitality from his killer vantage point.
After some time, we moved down the street to a bar Steve frequented. The place featured rock and roll memorabilia on the walls and rock and roll tunes pumping out the stereo. The place was great and would be somewhere I’d hang out if it was in the states.
It was around midnight at this point and Steve said, “like clockwork, this bar will fill up at one.” Bing. One o’clock hit and, like he said, the place filled up before I even knew it. It was packed and hopping. We had carved out a corner earlier so we stood there drinking beer and having a wonderful time. This, believe it or not, is where our story begins.
It was at this point I was introduced to one of the local BCN beers. Voll Damm was its name and I will never, for the rest of my life, forget it. Voll Damm is a fairly hearty brew which tasted like a heavier Michelob than anything else. When in Rome. It tasted good so I drank it. Or I should say I drank an enormous amount of it. I was drinking Voll Damm like it wasn’t just going out of style, but like I had a fire to put out somewhere deep within my body. Bud lite it wasn’t, but I was sure drinking it like it was.
Steve had a friend named Steve who was there with a nice French girl (yeah, I know!). We all talked, rocked out to classic rock and proceeded to get fucking locked. On the train to BCN from Paris I started coming down with a cold. I was getting sick one way or the other so I just said fuck it. I’ve drank my way through colds before. I’m an old pro right? I partied on like a champ (or chump depending on how you look at it). I had two Heinekens before I even met up with Steve and about five cans of San Miguel at his place. I then inhaled about five bottles of Voll Damm at the bar. Drunk right? Wrong. Really, really drunk. What Steve declined to tell me was that each bottle of Voll Damm is around 8% alcohol. I got slaughtered like a pig at Easter.
Steve and Steve saw me chugging Voll Damm like Coors lite and told me the next day they were going to say something, but….. I would’ve done the same in their place so I can’t be too mad. Regardless, the Voll Damm binge combined with the first nasty days of a cold, made for one of the worst and most punishing hangovers of my entire life.
I drink. And despite how tanked I was, I handled it like a true warrior. I’ve been drunker than this, but the hangover made me want to go home to momma. Leaving the hotel, I almost threw up in the hallway. There was a strange, feces like smell in the stairwell. Imagine that? It was gross, so every time I left or came back to the place I’d run up the stairs holding my breath. Now, it almost killed me. I think I was a pale green, but I was afraid to look in the mirror for fear of scaring the vomit out of me.
By the time I found the Picasso museum, I was the walking fucking dead. I was the guy in the “Thriller” video whose arm just kind of falls off. Usually I feel like the dead guy who starts doing the Robot at the end. When I got to the part of the Picasso Museum where a lot of his pen drawings are featured, I almost puked in front of a bunch of Italian tourists. I could’ve slept right there. I almost puked, but years and years of dealing with hangovers has conditioned me to not puke in a public place no matter how bad it wants to come out.
One time I went to a Sorority function when I was in college. You travel somewhere on a bus and you get really drunk and laid if you can still see straight. The thing about Sorority functions is you can go balls out, but you just can’t puke in the bus on the way back. The girl who took you to the thing will get fined and in a heap of trouble if you do. The time I went to this Sorority function, I got really, really drunk on Greyhounds (vodka and grapefruit juice). My date was unconscious and I, in a semi-conscious state, willed myself not to puke for a 40 minute bus ride back down twisty mountain roads. If you’ve ever had a ‘few too many’ a ‘few too many times’ you know exactly what I’m talking about. My brother once puked in his mouth and then swallowed it because someone was giving him a ride home and he didn’t want to puke in their car. Now that’s one tough mother!
Anyway, puking in front of Italian tourists and the magnificent works of Picasso was not in the cards for me. I got back to my room and slept it off. I was absolutely polluted. This hangover would have killed a lesser man I’m convinced. That night though, I went out til 6 in the morning. I was drinking beer. Not Voll Damm mind you, but I still got back on that horse and rode. I was sick as a motherfucker, but hey, I was in Barcelona. No time for a hangover (even as gargantuan as this one) when you’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. BCN is fantastic. The Gaudi architecture will blow you away. We could see the Sagrada Familia from Steve’s panty dropper. Sagrada Familia is a church that Gaudi designed in the late 19th Century and is still being built today. It’s fucking amazing though and you can go up in the towers. The rest of the city is stunning as well. The whole place has a great vibe. And while I’d suggest to definitely go and see Barcelona, please keep your Voll Damm intake to just a few.
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