HD UGLY TV . . .

Rosie O'Donnell was recently named the "worst looking" celeb in High-Definition TV, and although I don't know the exact criteria for this designation, this doesn't seem particularly shocking to me.


Phillip Swann of TVPredictions.com, a website that covers the HDTV industry, came out with his list of rankings that puts O'Donnell at the top followed by Howard Stern, Teri Hatcher, Britney Spears and Burt Reynolds (who I can attest to after watching him in HDTV on "My Name is Earl" this week).


HDTV is known for its crystal clear reception and, much to Hollywood's chagrin, its ability to pick up every line, wrinkle and crevice on a star's face.

Swann says "no one enjoys the view of Rosie in high-def" and adds that she "looks like she uses a Brillo pad" to wash her face. Ouch.

Of Stern, he said that the satellite radio star has undergone the "worst abuse of a surgical scalpel since Jack the Ripper roamed the streets of London." Brutal.


Hatcher topped last year's roundup, but this year she fell (or rose depending on your point of view) to number three. "She's so thin that she could pass as a mother of four... in Darfur." This seems offensive to Darfur.

Spears was attacked as "Mrs. Federline is just 24, but she looks 34 in HDTV," and Reynolds took some heat for a "face looks like it's been Scotch taped back in place."

Finally, Madonna was pulverized by Swann as having cheeks that are "more caved in than a West Virginia coal mine."

I have seen no picture of Swann, but I hope for his sake that he looks pretty damn good in any medium because he spared no expense in ripping these people for their flaws.

To be fair, Swann did note that some stars hold up remarkable well under the glare of HDTV as Scarlett Johansson, Beyoncé, Eva Longoria, Ben Affleck. No shit.


Some people would look good if you smeared them with peanut butter and threw them in a burlap sack - not that I've ever considered doing that to anyone.

-BDS

Quick Hit Friday . . .

"If you're looking for sympathy, you can check between shit and syphilis in the dictionary." - Paul Gleason, "Johnny Be Good"


I feel bad for Anna Nicole Smith after losing her son to a deadly mix of methadone, Zoloft and Lexapro. Who I don't feel bad for, however, is her lawyer, Howard K. Stern, the self-proclaimed father of her new baby.


Although I wouldn't rule it out, Stern has competition from some other guy who also claims to be the father. If I were Anna, I would go with bachelor #2 because Stern seems like a complete and total dipshit.

Apart from the obvious reason, I'm not sure why I enjoy it so much when celebrities are photographed in see-through tops.



Posh Spice and the rest of them have to know that they will be photographed and their breasts will be on display. I suppose it's a small price to pay for a little extra press coverage, eh?

I dig these Mark Nason boots, but I'm worried that I can't buy and wear them without being in a band. Is this true?


I'm not sure what disturbs me more, that Clay Aiken came within a hair of having the #1 best-selling album this week or his hair itself, which looks like a dead otter is draped to his head.


Todd Phillips could never make another movie again, and rest of the laurels of "Old School," which despite being quoted while drinking far too often, remains a great comedy. "School For Scoundrels" opens today, and it looks like a rip-off of several different movies that are likely far superior such as "Rushmore."


I might be swayed, but for now, I'm highly skeptical that Scoundrels will be any good at all.

This is when running on the beach is not sexy:


Oh, Mischa Barton, you're lucky that you are no longer on "The O.C." which peaked during its first year where you were easily the worst actor on the show.

Per usual, I like to end with what I consider to be a good visual, and the colors here are enough for me.

Happy Friday.

-BDS

Sex Tape For Screech . . .

The celebrity sex tape market is set to induct another member to its ranks, and they are going strictly D-list with this one.

D is for Dustin Diamond, aka Screech from "Saved By The Bell," and D is also for Dirty Sanchez which is a filthy sexual maneuver that DD supposedly performs on the tape.


David Hans Schmidt, who has become famous in the sex tape industry by peddling videos featuring Paris Hilton, Colin Farrell and others, claims ownership to the Screech tape.

Diamond shot the film at a hotel, and narrates the feature where engages two women in various combinations and positions. It allegedly starts with Diamond in a bathtub, and ends with Diamond introducing one of the women to a Dirty Sanchez.

For those people who have no idea about the filthiness of a "Dirty Sanchez" let me just say that you never want to be on the receiving end of one - especially from Screech. The term describes a deviant sexual act that involves doggy-style lovemaking, feces, and hand-drawn mustaches.

Schmidt is out shopping the tape with rumors circulating that it has been generating significant interest.


I suppose I have a morbid curiosity about the thing, but my main question remains: What the hell did Mr. Belding do to all those kids during school that turned them into such deviants when they became adults?

-BDS

Stay Out Of Volkswagens . . .

I am sick and tired of the new round of Volkswagen commercials that keep invading my television viewing.

In the past, I've always liked VW cars fairly well as I've ridden in some Jettas and Passats and a bright yellow Bug on one occasion. But my opinion is starting to sour due to these ads which keep showing horrific and jarring crashes involving Volkswagen cars just when you least expect it.


The first time I saw one of these ads, it made me jump, and even with each new commercial and subsequent viewing of old ones, I still find myself tensing up just waiting for the collision to occur.

Just what the marketing genius behind this series was thinking is beyond me. I'm sure the idea was obviously to stress the safety of VW automobiles, but it has actually had the opposite effect on me.

Instead of considering these cars safe, I now believe them to be moving targets that nearly anyone else on the road plans to t-bone when you're driving around with your friends.

I would go so far as to say that I will volunteer to drive or simply pass on a ride from anyone who offers me a lift in one of these death machines in the near future.



Life is too short to tempt fate, and Volkswagen has only themselves to blame for putting this association in my brain.

VW = Terrible Crash is not the message that advertising dollars should be spent on, and although you could argue that it has raised brand awareness, it's still for all the wrong reasons.

-BDS

Burning Fiercely With Some Extra Help . . .

Rumor has it that in addition to canoodling (always felt like using that word) with Owen Wilson, the self-proclaimed "Butterscotch Stallion" (great nickname), Kate Hudson also has six toes.


That's right - apparently Hudson is sporting an extra digit on her foot, which might not affect her movement, but it sure as shit throws the whole story about the Little Piggies going to the market into utter disarray and complete anarchy.

I considered this news vaguely interesting, but no deal breaker because at least it's a small extra toe, however, I don't think I'd feel the same nonchalance about an additional big toe - that would just be nasty.

For years, Halle Berry has also been rumored to sport a little something extra on her foot.


The reason it took so long for this to come to light was that Berry is so damn good-looking that nobody every paid attention to her feet, unless you have an unabashed foot fetish or simply couldn't bear to look directly at her gorgeous face and killer body. But I digress.

These actresses and their extra appendages did start me thinking about other extras that I've encountered or might encounter in the future.

Ever since I saw "Total Recall," I've always felt that it would be worth the money to pay for a 3-breasted prostitute because I remember it being a powerful turn-on at the time.

While I haven't seen an extra mammaried hooker outside of that film, finding a third nipple isn't all that rare. I don't care as much for this scenario because they tend to be in semi-strange places, and their disclosure while becoming intimate can be surprising and distracting unless you have the focus of a Tiger Woods or a parking meter cop.


And don't even get me started on boasting three eyes because while some cultures might consider it a form of enlightenment, I just consider it to be something out of ancient mythology, "The Goonies" (not really a 3rd eye per se, but enough space and distribution to qualify in my book for good ol' Sloth) or someone who hails from their hometown near Chernobyl.


Finally, the expression "I'm as happy as a puppy with two peters" has been coined, manipulating and used extensively for years and would set the gold standard for an extra appendage.

It always sounded intriguing to me, however, I'm not sure that the reality of having two dicks would be as good in practice as it is in theory. In my mind, having a single dick has already gotten me in enough trouble for a lifetime, and throwing another one into the mix would only add fuel to the fire which burns brightly like the Bangles alluded to in that song "Eternal Flame."


I guess there really can be too much of a good thing - at least when it comes to an extra penis.

-BDS

Up On The Mountain Vol. 3 . . .

{Editor's Note: This is a semi-regular series of high-water mark performances that spans movies, television, books and life its ownself.}

Personally, I don't much care for Ben Stiller's launching pad to the upper echelon of comedians - "Meet The Parents" - because despite some funny moments (Speedo scene, Owen Wilson) I found the movie too awkward and painful to truly enjoy.

That is not the case with "Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story" where Stiller kills as White Goodman, the spandex-clad, dirty mustached, narcissistic moron who owns a set of upscale gyms and refers to his rival Vince Vaughn's club as a "shit heap" and his clients as a "mongrel race."


Vaughn got top-billing, but Stiller steals the movie out from under him in virtually every scene by taking Goodman to a demented, delusional level that he maintains throughout the entire running time.


It's hard to pinpoint just how many great scenes and lines that Stiller delivers, but let's start with his wardrobe as he has no shame in wearing spandex or an all-white jumpsuit with his "shiny shoes" for a date with Christine Taylor, his real life spouse.

He tries courting Taylor by strolling around reading the dictionary because he likes to "break a mental sweat too," but just to make sure he's fully-prepared, Stiller also inflates a cod piece in his spandex shorts to give him the advantage in the battle of the bulge department.

This painting behind his desk is just as phenomenal as his clothing, and as Stiller notes in the film, a metaphor for him taking the bull by the horns, although that also "really happened" according to him.


The best comedy usually happens when an actor fully embraces the inherent silliness of the character that he is playing. Looking stupid should not be a limitation, and in fact, it is almost a requirement for a fully realized performance that will stick around long after the movie ends.

Stiller embraces this philosophy to the nth degree in "Dodgeball," never breaking character or softening his creation in the slightest and while I can't remember a single line from Vaughn in the film, anytime I think of White Goodman I always laugh.


And that is a very good thing for a comedy.

-BDS

Deal Breakers . . .

"Ain't it funny how liquor and the flicker of a candle
Makes you see if from a different view
I've never gone to bed with an ugly woman
But I sure woke up with a few," - Bobby Bare

Everyone has standards, although some are obviously higher or lower than others.

This is especially true about people who we might consider dating, fooling around with or marrying. These choices can be as complex and razor-tight demanding as completing a lucaractive business deal, and much like any potential agreement, there are deal breakers that can ruin the whole thing like a fart in a car.

Over the years, I developed a few of these moral absolutes that I tend to live by, but this list is constantly in flux because things can be added or subtracted (unlikely) at will.

And they don't even revolve around looks that often because appearance is an immediate visceral reaction, however, most of the deal-breakers occur after the initial attraction stage.

BDS's Absolute Deal-Breakers:

- Using the word like way too many times in like such a short sentence or something like that

- Hair in the ears


- Any woman with bigger arms than me

- Someone who wears sunglasses in a dark club who didn't just come from the eye doctor or else she better be so smoking hot that she needs the shades all the time to hide from her fans.

- Owning more than 6 pets of any given species inside one household (this doesn't apply to those living on farms)

- Good friends with Dick Cheney


- Lapses into a British accent at dinner parties for no apparent reason

- Can't adequately appreciate the talents of Mickey Rourke


- Cannot spend more than 90 minutes getting ready to go out unless it is an extremely formal occasion and even then the results better be worth the wait

- Has an imaginery friend who never left after elementrary school

- Summer teeth - some are straight, some are crooked, some are missing, etc.



This is only a partial list, but it seems to grow larger with each passing year. I'm not sure if my standards are more exacting or if I'm just becoming more of a misanthrope, however, I refuse to apply labels and will continue to say no thanks to anyone boasting these attributes.

We all have our standards, eh?

-BDS

Feeling Nasty On A Sunday . . .

Maybe it's because Sunday is beating me down per usual. Or it might be due to the gray weather outside and the prospect of another work week settling into my brain.

Whatever the underlying rationale, however, the fact remains that these pictures of Jared Leto, Prince William and Kate Bosworth have done nothing to brighten my mood.

Leto seems intent on proving that he is morphing into a rock star. I'm not exactly why this entails dressing like a drunken gypsy hooker or the doughiest goth boy this side of Brandon Davis, but it certainly seems to be a pattern these days for him.



I generally don't give two shits about the British Royal Family unless something truly bizarre is afoot, which usually happens when Prince Harry decides to dress like a Nazi or something, but I do know enough to remember that Prince William was supposed to be the stud of the group.


Those days appear to be over as he looks about 20 years older than he really is (although I admit I couldn't tell you his true age if you paid me).

Finally, and I hate to keep harping on this subject, but Kate Bosworth looked so much better only a few short years ago.


I'm begging Kate to stop the madness immediately and go share a cupcake or three with Leto before it's too late.

-BDS

Plowing Cameron . . .

Cameron Diaz filed a police report this week accusing a photographer of assault with a deadly weapon after he got into a brouhaha with Diaz and Justin Timerblake over some pictures.


Diaz and Timberlake were leaving a friend's home in Hollywood just after midnight Wednesday when a photographer who had been hiding in the bushes jumped out and tried to snap a picture of the pair, said police Officer April Harding.

The couple chased the photographer "a short distance" until he allegedly got into his car and then drove towards Diaz and Timberlake, which caused Cameron to lunge out of harm's way.

While I don't condone mowing people (even celebrities) down in the street, and despite my feelings that Diaz was unfairly harrased on this one, there's just something about Cameron that irritates me enough to understand where the photographer was coming from.

It's hard to articulate just what Diaz has done to cause this feeling, but the fact remains that it's there and it's not budging.

Anna Farris came close to nailing it with her homage or send-up up of Diaz in "Lost in Translation," although Farris denies she based the fictional character on Cameron.


Or maybe I'm just angry that Cameron has never been as fresh and sexy as she was when she first came onto my radar opposite Jim Carrey in "The Mask."


I suppose some things must remain a mystery, and this is just another one to add to my list.

-BDS

Quick Hit Friday . . .

Quote of the Day:

"What you don't know about me, I could just about fit in the Grand fucking Canyon," - Silent Bob, "Chasing Amy"


It's Friday again, and I need a quiet weekend after ACL this past one to recover my senses and watch the UT football team stomp Iowa State into oblivion.

Before that happens, however, let's wrap up the week in style:



But first a public service announcement; if you see you these women during your travels this weekend please feed them. Money can buy all the giant sunglasses and designer handbags in the world, but it obviously cannot be used to purchase food.

Help them before it's too late.

I generally don't spend any of my time nor care very much about Clay Aiken and his preferred sexuality, but I would tell him that wishy-washy denials like this (as told to "People") will not put those gay rumors to bed.


"What do you say? It's like when I was eight, I remember something would get broken in the house, and Mom and Dad would call me in and say, 'Did you do this?'

"It didn't matter what I said. The only thing they would believe was, 'Yes.' People are going to believe what they want."

Weak. Very weak.

Someone at the other end of the spectrum is Alec Baldwin, who is loud, frequently funny and occasionally a bit of a scary alpha male. He's got the body hair and attitude to prove this out, and in the latest issue of "GQ" he tears into his ex-wife's lawyer, Judy Bogen, who is battling Baldwin in a drawn-out custody battle.


He calls Bogen a "300-pound homunculus whose face looks like a cross between a bulldog and a clenched fist. She's this hideously angry-looking woman. She'd snarl and hiss."

Kim Basinger retorts, "I am appalled by the statements made by Alec Baldwin in GQ. I am sickened by the fact that somebody can speak this way about another human being."

This Baldwin attack might be nasty, unprovoked and uncalled for, but damn if he isn't right. No wonder he's the top Baldwin brother (not that he's been given a run for his money in this regard since the mid-90s).


Kid Rock and Pam Anderson might not be the classiest couple walking this planet, but I bet they have one of the best sex lives because I can't see either one saying no to any deviant request that I can think of - and that is quite a few.

So let's end with that image since good sex is always a good idea, and with that in mind, happy Friday to all.

-BDS

Man Bites Panda . . .

That title should have merited some attention because while man bites dog has been around for awhile, man bites panda is an entirely different matter.

But this is not a misprint nor red herring plea to be read because on Tuesday a drunken Chinese migrant worker guzzled 4 jugs of beer and then jumped inside the panda enclosure at the Beijing Zoo.


Once inside, this drunken buffoon tried to visit Gu Gu the panda who was peacefully sleeping before Zhang Xinyan startled the animal, who in turn bit Zhang on the right leg.

Then things really got ugly. Zhang was so enraged by the panda attack which he provoked that he decided to bite Gu Gu in the back to even the score.

“I bit the fellow in the back,” Zhang was quoted in a Chinese newspaper. “Its skin was quite thick.”

Witnesses said that a tussle soon ensued between the two combatants that ended with Gu Gu biting this pickled moron on his other leg. Other tourists yelled for a zookeeper, who got the panda under control by spraying it with water, and Zhang was hospitalized.

Ye Mingxia, a spokeswoman for the Beijing Zoo, confirmed the incident happened but would not give any details. She said Gu Gu was “healthy.”

“We’re not considering punishing him now,” Ye said in a telephone interview. “He’s suffered quite a bit of shock.”

Gu Gu doesn't deserve any punishment for this incident, but I think that Zhang should be banned from ever visiting another zoo and possibly flogged in front of Gu Gu while the panda munches on leaves and shouts insults.


I've always thought that having a panda around the house would be an excellent addition as they seem to be very mellow creatures. It's too bad that they are so rare and expensive because I would have already had one long ago.

Obviously, I wouldn't startle the panda or try to bite in the back, and I have no sympathy for Zhang because if 4 beers caused him to do something this stupid then he deserves to be savagely bitten by Gu Gu and mocked by the general public.


I mean it's not everyday that some joker has a few beers and then gets his ass handed to him by a panda bear.

-BDS

Up On The Mountain Vol. 2 . . .

{Editor's Note: This is a semi-regular series of high-water mark performances that spans movies, television, books and life its ownself.}

I was recently reminded about the greatness of "Bull Durham," and more specifically Kevin Costner's role as Crash Davis when a wise person quoted the film and said "The world is made for people who aren't cursed with self-awareness."

It's one of several astute observations on life that are peppered throughout the movie in which Costner gave what will probably be the performance of his career.


He was very good in "Fandango." He was excellent in "No Way Out." He was even better in "Tin Cup." We need not mention "Waterworld," "3,000 Miles to Graceland," and the awesomely deplorable "The Postman."

"Bull Durham" came along at that perfect nexus where a star is still on the rise, and then they manage to snag a juicy role in a movie that fits them perfectly - and Crash Davis was that role.

This was before the overwhelming hubris that nearly did Costner in, and his portrayal of a mostly washed-up minor league baseball player with too much self-awareness hit all the right notes in a movie that had more than a few.

Susan Sarandon definitely rivaled Costner as his love interest, and I remember thinking when I saw the movie for the first time around middle school, that their interaction was the first "adult relationship" I had seen onscreen.


It just felt right that Costner would tie Sarandon up and paint her toenails, or that he would casually stroll around in her blue Kimono while eating Wheaties before ultimately deciding that he would rather screw her on the wood table than finish his breakfast of champions.

Those kind of games seemed adult and sexy as hell.

Besides the relationship side of the movie, Costner also managed to nail the sports scenes which can be daunting for some actors who look about as athletic and believable as Clay Aiken at a strip club.

Tim Robbins is a good example because despite turning in some fine acting in "Bull Durham" his pitching delivery left a lot to be desired. Where Robbins failed, however, Costner excelled as I never doubted that he could play catcher and hit home runs for the Durham Bulls.


The film also gave Costner the ability to flex his emotional muscles as his character was alternately cocky, humbled, angry, joyous, stern, comedic, melancholy and authoritative.

Costner never made a false move while navigating through any of these emotions, and he also got to give a great speech to Sarandon about his beliefs which he listed as:

"Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight."

That's a hell of a way to say goodnight, but a great speech to deliver by an actor who hasn't hit a high-water mark like this one since he was leading the Bulls to victory and teaching Nuke about getting to the Show and the value of a good cliche.

-BDS

Turn Your Back And Urine Trouble . . .

I can't remember where I found this picture, but it really got me thinking about deep questions concerning life lessons, the illusion of safety and personal hygiene.


These weighty topics all stem from the central question regarding the eternal topic that has plagued modern man for decades: Is there ever a situation where it is acceptable to piss on a small child's head while his back is turned?

Although the answer seems to be an obvious and resounding "No," lately I'm not so sure this is the right path.

Maybe it is a great idea to urinate on small children because it's an early lesson that if you don't stay constantly vigilant that life will shit (or in this case piss) all over you.

Trust nobody - not even family. Sometimes, especially not family as you might be tempted to let your guard down due to blood relations and then they use that weakness to gut you like a striped bass.


It seems entirely possible that shattering a young adult's illusions about life being kind and gentle is a good one to learn while innocently dog-paddling in a swimming pool versus being pushed in front of a bus.

Hell, the kid is in water - the urine would just wash right off, and although he might object to the temperature of the stream, it could be easily rectified with a furious paddle to the deep end.

It might even make him a better swimmer too.


All in all, there actually seems to be very little downside to this choice apart from a few psychic scars, and the high potential for neighborhood scorn if someone were to witness such an incident.

But that's a small price to pay for an early lesson which will likely stick with that lucky child for a lifetime.

{Editor's Note: Obviously, I do not have children of my own}

-BDS

You Wreck Me, But I Still Love You . . .

"All the vampires walking through the Valley
Move west down Ventura Boulevard," - Tom Petty, "Free Fallin"

Soon after Tom Petty finished this song to a roaring ovation the rain did indeed start falling down in torrents at the Austin City Limits Music Festival last night.


Petty was the headline act to wrap up the 3-day musical orgy that ran the gamut from Gnarls Barkley to Guy Clark to Son Volt to Ben Harper to Willie Nelson to Jack Ingram to Van Morrison and many more.

Fortunately, the rain slackened within about ten minutes, and after a slight delay to keep the instruments dry, Petty and the Heartbreakers came back to finish a strong set by tearing through "American Girl," "Refugee" and an encore that hit "Running Down a Dream" and "You Wreck Me."


All in all, it was a fitting way to end the weekend because I definitely feel wrecked as I sit on a rainy Monday morning drinking black coffee and trying to make sense of it all.

Festivals have their own special vibe, and also present their own special problems. My hope is always that the musical acts feature enough highlights to make me forget about having to deal with crowds of sweating brutes tramping across open fields from stage to stage.

"It's so hard to find my way
Now that I'm all on my own," - Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"

Luckily, this year's ACL did have enough highlights for me to consider it a success as there is something special about being inside a giant crowd and hearing Van Morrison tear through "Brown-Eyed Girl" as everyone sings along. This same feeling held for Willie Nelson digging into "Whiskey River" and Tom Petty going through "Mary Jane's Last Dance."

It's simply a little bit amazing to be part of that scene, and those 3 songs made the cost of the 3-day pass worth it by themselves.


But like almost anything (with the notable exception of pizza and sex) there was a downside that included such things as:

- If you weren't singing along to a great song, the sheer size of the crowd, which totaled more than 60,000 every single day, got irritating to me in a hurry. It's just not that fun to wait in gigantic food lines and have very little personal space to call your own.
- If you're playing with a glow stick, hackey-sack (sp?) or Frisbee in the park then you're no friend of mine.
- While it wasn't 107 degrees and windy like last year at ACL, it was still pretty damn hot until the rains came down. This causes a lot of flesh to be on display, and it has always been a bizarre phenomenon to me that it's always the people who should cover themselves up who flaunt their flesh like streetwalkers and it's the ones who you wish would walk around buck naked who cover up like it's the Middle East. Strange.
- Port-a-Pots are one of the worse creations on Earth as they were the hottest and most cramped places at the festival, yet they made up for their lack of size by smelling like hot, rotten shit. I feel especially sorry for women who have to use those things because they are just nasty, and I would much rather take a leak in the grass than enter one, and I would if I didn't care about a second ticket for public urination (the first came in college and is not something I care to talk about right now).


With all the good music, it feels a bit ridiculous to dwell on the rough patches, and the festival was definitely worth it even if I feel like I still need a weekend to recover from my weekend.

"Well I wished I was in Austin
In the Chili Parlor bar, drinking Mad Dog Margaritas
And not caring where you are," - Guy Clark, "Dublin Blues"

Clark capped his set with this gem, which perfectly captured how I felt by Sunday at midnight as the hordes streamed through the exits, stepping over plastic water bottles and beer cans and sloshed their way back home.

I wished I could sit inside a quiet bar with a bowl full of chili and a margarita and not care about going to work on Monday or anything else.


It's too bad that life often intrudes on our fantasies as I've got meetings to attend and work to do as the week is only beginning and it's time to forget the 2006 ACL Festival and put the nose to grindstone - or possibly hide under my desk and take a nap.

-BDS

A Quiet Weekend For Blogging . . .

One thing about music festivals is that no matter how fun they might be, they are still draining as hell to be out in the heat and inside a mass of humanity stalking around like punch-drunk water buffaloes.


Last night at Austin City Limits was excellent as it was the first time I've seen Van Morrison in concert.

Tonight, it will be Willie Nelson.



There will be a full report on the festival on Monday or Tuesday and also a new look to the site with any luck at all.

My brother, the other half of 2 Dollar Productions, has been working on this project and some visual changes should be happening very soon.

So with that in mind, I found this image on the web some time ago and tend to like it, although that white tiger is starting to make me increasingly nervous.


Back to the Festival & The Herd . . .

-BDS

Progress Report Of Sloths And Men . . .

It's officially been one month since I began my diet, and I recently sent some pictures of my results to my nutritionist for a progress report.

The feeling is vaguely like getting your report card in elementary school and knowing that you would have to show your parents that you received a poor mark in citizenship.



Luckily, we both agreed that I was hovering around a solid B right now, and it was good to hear some validation because here's been my unofficial score card for the month:

- General anger with the world - 7 (out of 10)
- Specific anger towards commercials featuring food - 9 (out of 10)
- Number of alcoholic beverages consumed - 1
- Number of dairy or sugar products consumed - 0
- Average number of meals per day - 7
- Days of cardio activity - 27
- Days of weight-lifting - 23
- Need for a deep-tissue massage - 9.5 (out of 10)
- Sense of humor - Dropping like a stone
- Sexual activity and stamina (as told by my wife) - Roughly akin to a 3-Toed Sloth on tranquilizers

- Amount of time spent thinking about sex - Decrease of at least 20%
- Amount of time spent thinking about food - Increase of at least 20%
- Number of erections caused by Tex-Mex - 1 and I don't care to discuss it.

All I do know is that it's a sad state of affairs when you stop dreaming about getting laid, and start dreaming about food and drinks.

Call it a moral flaw or a sad preoccupation or a self-inflicted wound because all are correct, however, I'm determined to see this through for at least 4 more weeks because the Dean of the NYC agency will only accept an A or higher.

So it's back to the drawing board for now.

-BDS

I Need A New Show . . .

I need a new TV show to watch this season.

Every year I tend to pick one series that I'll likely watch for the year, and I've been on a good winning streak since around 2000 as this time period has yielded a track record that runs from "Alias" to "The Shield" to "Arrested Development" to "Lost" to "My Name Is Earl."



The pressure comes from the selectivity because I don't have time for more than one new show per given year.

It's a tricky and difficult to get just the right mix of TV to watch as too much will leave you a zombie and constantly filling your Tivo box whereas too little will cause you to miss a bit of weekly joy.

You also have to take into account your hour vs. half-hour mix because this is also important. Sometimes you just can't spare the emotion or time for an hour program (roughly 45 minutes without commercials) and therefore a few 30 minute jobs (22 in reality) need to be there to cushion the load.

Right now, the shows I already have programmed into my Tivo are:

1) "My Name is Earl"


2) "The Office" {This is simply the best comedy hour on television with these back-to-back}
3) "Lost" - Last season meandered a bit, but I'm still intrigued and want to know more about The Others and the backwards society on the far side of the Island. And what's up with that giant foot statue anyway?
4) "Nip/Tuck" - This is often bad and ridiculous, but I got hooked a few years ago because all my clients were watching it and now I continue for no good reason at all.


5) "The Simpsons" - Still good after all these years.
6) "Deadwood" & "The Shield" - These come on later in the year, which is good because they would push things too far if they were on a normal run schedule.

New series are already starting and will continue over the next few weeks, so I must work fast.

I have a few under consideration - "Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip," "Jericho," and "Smith" but am more than willing to take suggestions.

The only requirement is that the quality must be high as there is a history to consider, and I never want to add something horribly wrong like "According to Jim" or "The War at Home" to my list because I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than watch that kind of crap.

-BDS

Premature Ejaculation Cure Coming Quickly . . .

In two ground-breaking new studies that would have profoundly benefited Jason Biggs' hapless and horny character in the "American Pie" films, scientists recently announced that there might be an on-demand cure for the prevention of premature ejaculation.


The drug is dapoxetine, a short-acting selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor that has been in regulatory limbo since the FDA issued a "not-approvable" letter last Oct. 26.

Those bastards at the FDA are always keeping the important drugs out of our hands, although I hold absolutely no personal interest in the matter, but if you happen to run into Kim from my 9th grade Algebra class don't believe a word she says because she has the morals of a goat and lies like a rug.


Anyway, my concern is purely scientific as this sounds like it could help couples all over the world with results like these:

Of 2,614 men (mean age 40.5, range 18 to 77) with moderate-to-severe premature ejaculation, 870 were given a placebo, 874 took 30 mg of dapoxetine, and 870 took 60 mg of dapoxetine as needed, one to three hours before anticipated sexual activity.

At baseline, 1,623 (62%) of the men ejaculated under a minute after penetration, with mean values much the same across the groups. according to the intravaginal ejaculatory latency time as measured by stopwatch. Mean intravaginal ejaculatory latency time at baseline for the three groups was 0.90 minute (SD 0·47), 0.92 minute (0.50), and 0.91 minute (0.48).

I'm no Dr. Ruth, but I imagine that being in and out in under a minute would not lead to a high degree of sexual satisfaction for the woman involved.

At week 12, both dapoxetine doses were more effective than placebo. (P<0.0001, for all doses versus placebo). Intravaginal ejaculatory latency time was 1.75 (SD 2.21) minutes for placebo, 2.78 (3.48) minutes for 30 mg dapoxetine, and 3.32 (3.68) minutes for 60 mg dapoxetine.

Those number represent a 3x improvement thanks to the drug, and now you get 3 full minutes of intense pleasure before the well runs dry.

That my friends is what science is all about as cancer, AIDS, etc. can all take a back seat to Old Whitey in order of importance.

But I wish Johnson & Johnson (the company name is a bit ironic given the nature of the drug) would have just tapped me to help them find a cure as I discovered long ago that thinking about Rosie O'Donnell, slow-pitch softball and dung beetles will keep me in check every single time.



Every damn time Kim.

-BDS

Flip-Flopping About Fergie . . .

There are issues in life that I constantly flip-flop about, and unlike George Bush who will dogmatically cling to an opinion regardless of supporting evidence, I have no problem admitting that things change and there are shades of gray virtually everywhere.

This vaguely philosophical discussion obviously brings us to Fergie - the Black Eyed Peas vocalist and soon-to-be solo artist who will drop her debut CD, "The Dutchess," on September 19th.

Her first single, "London Bridge," is supposedly at the top of the charts, and although I haven't heard the full track, I have heard that the song is a double entendre and fairly dirty.

But I'm not that interested in her music by herself nor with the Peas.

It's Fergie who continues to perplex me because it seems that she is a shape-shifter of the highest order. This thought revolves around the fact that I can't ever decide whether she's pretty damn good-looking or whether she looks more like a transexual who might have a tight body, but a face that you wouldn't want to see by the light of day.



The difference is as vast as the Grand Canyon because the first opinion gives you more flexibility, however, the latter would dictate that you make your carnal explorations after dark or after several drinks.

These pictures help illustrate the point as I think her look is fairly sharp in her schoolgirl-got-attacked-by-a-paper-shredder outfit (the outfit itself you could obviously question).

I tend to see more pictures of Fergie looking like she does in the second one, and it's those images that make me question my judgement and constantly shift my thoughts about her.

For now, I'm withholding my final verdict as this is clearly a work in progress, but I'm sure that there are many people who are far wiser than me when it comes to Fergie.

Josh Duhamel would probably be a good place to start.

-BDS

Travolta Runs Wild On Land & In The Air . . .

John Travolta owes the second half of his career to Quentin Tarantino.


Before Tarantino tapped Travolta (I'm a sucker for alliteration) to play Vincent Vega, the former Warthog was busy making sequels to "Look Who's Talking" and other horrendous crap like "The Experts."

After nailing his role in "Pulp Fiction," however, Travolta jumped back to being cool and used this as a catalyst to push him back into leading man roles for the next decade.

But lately things have been looking less than stellar for Travolta.

First, the upcoming "Dallas" movie has been plagued by departures (J-Lo) and script problems and lately several disturbing pictures have been floating around cyberspace.

This one is more easily explainable as Travolta is in character as Edna Turnblad in the upcoming "Hairspray" movie.


Although I understandy why, the sight of a portly Travolta dressed very believably as a woman still sends chills up my spine and causes my testicles to shrink like I'd been doing laps in an ice-cold swimming pool.

That one is a bit less strange than this picture which found Travolta preparing for take-off aboard his jet:


I don't believe that guys are never allowed to express their feelings as a drunken hug and "I love you man" seems reasonable under most circumstances.

That being said, I have to draw the line at kissing another man full on the lips as a goodbye gesture, but then again, everybody is different and maybe that's how Travolta likes to start his flights as captain.

Whatever the rationale, it still left a perplexing question in my mind: If this kind of thing happens on the stairs, what exactly is going on in the cockpit?

That was brutally obvious and juvenile, but I couldn't help myself.

-BDS

A Man With No Vices . . .

"I gave up on smoking two years ago,
and I ain't been drinking for a month now or so
I tell everybody I've nothing to hide,
while I keep the devil locked deep down inside," - Robert Earl Keen

As I stood in Gruene Hall this past Friday night drinking a cold Shiner Boch and listening to Robert Earl, I tried to remember just how long it had been since my last one.

It's been roughly 3 1/2 weeks since I started my diet which threw out alcohol, sugar, taste, sodium, dope, simple carbs and pornography.



Actually, I'm lying about that last one, but it's still an empty feeling to be a man with no vices.

I can drink black coffee, which gives me something to latch onto, but sometimes there is a nagging feeling that something is missing.


That something is a vice to hold close, and turn to when you need an outlet to occassionally blow off steam and take a short-term break from hard reality (the beer will be the only violation for another 5 weeks).

I realize this can be a slippery slope as many an addict has started out this way, and ended up on permanent vacation, however, I have no concern for myself in this regard as I've tried most things at least once and nothing has ever gotten in the way of my work, my life and my sanity.

My OCD wouldn't allow it to happen.

But now it's starting to affect me due to the simple knowledge that I can't indulge every so often.

I might not want to partake, but I do want to believe that I could if the circumstances were right.

Hell, I don't even know if I could fully trust someone who claimed to have no vices.

This kind of lifestyle can only lead to collecting way too many cats, practicing extreme taxidermy or becoming a serial killer.


We all need an outlet, and while I'm in no danger of hacking up my neighbor, I am starting to miss a little vice in my life.

-BDS

Paris Blows Her Way To Jail . . .

It's time to add Paris Hilton to the latest list of celebs who enjoy downing cocktails and driving too quickly through the streets of California.


Maybe she was drowning her sorrows regarding the stagnant sales of her debut CD, but Hilton was arrested on suspicion of DUI early Thursday morning when police noticed her Mercedes McLaren SLR driving erratically.

Police on the scene believed that Hilton exhibited signs of intoxication, and they administered a field sobriety test on the heiress who blew a .08 AND an undercover officer who just happened to be in the area.

Kimberly Stewart, Rod Stewart's daughter, was a passenger in the car, and despite her vocal and emphatic rendering of "Do You Think I'm Sexy," officers told her take the downtown train next time and then escorted Hilton to jail.

Just hours after her arrest, Paris Hilton called into the On Air with Ryan Seacrest show and told Ryan that she may have been driving a little fast in her Mercedes McLaren SLR, but it was only because she wanted a burger.

She told Ryan she had a long day shooting her new music video, then went to dinner with sister Nicky Hilton and girlfriends (guess she must have bypassed the actual food part of dinner or threw it up later), attended a charity event hosted by Dave Navarro and had one margarita.

This lone gunner Margarita was the catalyst, but the speeding was caused by the fact that she was "starving" for an In-N-Out Burger.


I don't believe this for one second as I have a hard time picturing her eating one, but if she did, I have no doubt that Carl's Jr. is pissed after she appeared in soft-core burger porno ads for them last year.


Cops took a booking photo, which an LAPD spokesperson says will not be released. An LAPD source would not confirm if Paris glammed it up for the camera, but revealed "It doesn't look like Nick Nolte."


We can all be thankful for that.

-BDS

One Hairy Suri & One Poor Katie . . .

It turns out that Suri Cruise does exist, and she's making her debut on the new cover of "Vanity Fair."


{Editor's Note: This is the one of the worst headlines/puns I have ever seen and VF should be ashamed}

I'm not going to start making fun of innocent babies, however, I will say that Suri's time out of the spotlight must have been spent growing hair because she's got enough to make a warm winter jacket and she's only a few months old.

It makes you wonder just what kind of food little Suri has been eating as well as if the Church of Scientology has somehow added extreme vitamin potency to Katie Holme's breast milk.

But while I won't say anything about Suri, I have to say that poor Katie Holmes has turned tired, hollow-eyed and matronly virtually overnight.


It started around the time she started dating Cruise, but once she got really pregnant and now post-Suri, Holmes has gone from a vivacious, healthy-looking young woman to a shell of her former self.

You want to help her run, but I have no doubt that she might have a GPS system secretly implanted into her buttocks so Cruise can find her anywhere at anytime.

Unfortunately, it might be Mission:Impossible for Holmes to run far, far away - although I bet she could still crawl through James Van Der Beek's window and hide.


He could probably use the company.

-BDS

Screw Feet (Not In My Book) . . .

Although I think I boast a pretty nice pair of feet, I still wouldn't want to lick, suck or fuck them.


These puppies won't be up for any foot-modeling gigs in the near future, however, I've seen many a worse appendage attached to the ankle of many a person walking this Earth.

I've always thought that feet were one of the stranger parts of the body despite the vital purpose that they serve. But function aside, I find them to be strange and unappealing.

These thoughts ran through my head when a guy at my gym casually told me this morning that he would "love to get a look at the feet" of a fit blonde woman on the assisted dip machine.


I don't know this guy well at all as we've only engaged in a few conversations due to the fact that we generally work out at the same time on most days.

As my gaze followed the direction of his finger, I let my attention shift to several areas of her body, but her feet never even made the list.

In fact, they were kept off the list because she had already worked up a pretty good sweat, and the odds were that her feet were even hotter and sweatier than her torso because they had been trapped inside her athletic shoes like little sausages for quite awhile.

"I could care less about her feet unless she's got a nasty hammer-toe or enough hair to braid on the tops," I said.


This guy went on to explain that he loved feet (almost to the point of worship in my mind) and stated that he found them "powerfully erotic."

Since I didn't share his views, I moved away to a far corner of the gym to do some crunches and ponder his love of feet far away from him.

I figure that everybody has certain body parts or body types or a love of flogging that gets them hot and bothered and harder than a petrified Oak tree in the middle of winter.

And while I might suck on virtually anything in the heat of the moment, the mere thought of a woman's feet would never give me a partial erection in the middle of a crowded gym.

-BDS

Harming My Eternal Soul . . .

So I was standing in Best Buy today to pick up the new Bob Dylan CD when I decided to kill some time in the comedy DVD section.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular, and that's exactly what I found when I suddenly stumbled upon "Soul Man" for $4.99.


This movie featured one of those plots that could only be deemed reasonable and acceptable (and in no way offensive) in the 80s.

In no other decade could you base an entire movie around this: A priveliged white-bred fuck-knuckle kid from L.A. (C. Thomas Howell) gets into Harvard Law School, and then when his Dad won't pay the bill, decides that the only reasonable alternative is to exceed the recomended dosage of experimental tanning pills while adding a Jheri-curl and then apply for and take an African-American scholarship to attend the college.



What follows is meditation on race and discrimination that was a precursor to "Crash" in the elegant way that it deals with this thorny issue.

Actually, it's not even close as we get to watch Howell embarass himself on a basketball court, get pulled over by cops on dubious charges, bed a horny white girl who wants to test some sexual stereotypes, and romance an actual African-American woman (Rae Dawn Chong) who's a single mother to boot.

My take-away was simply that C. Thomas Howell could be white, black, green, brown or yellow and he would still be a dipshit.

But the funny thing was that a few decent actors like James Earl Jones, Leslie Nielsen and Julia Louise-Dreyfous read this script and said "Yes, I need to do this."

It's one thing for 80s goofballs like Arye Gross and Dawn Chong (who you knew would never act after the decade ended), however, Jones should be ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, I should also be ashamed of myself because I bought, watched and critiqued this forgotten classic and now my soul is hurting.

I guess the devil really does find work for idle hands, although I had always thought of this concept in terms of masturbation in the past.

-BDS

Up On The Mountain Vol. 1 . . .

{Editor's Note: This is the first in a semi-regular series of high-water mark performances that spans movies, television, books and life its ownself.}

"Dazed and Confused" is a great movie.


I have no qualms about this statement as it's funny as hell, and depicts the aimlessness, cliques, drinking, simple pleasures and conflicts of high school as well as I've ever seen it onscreen.

You could pull any number of great performances from the film as Ben Affleck was phenomenal as O'Bannon and Parker Posey just killed her bitchy senior role.

But it was Matthew McConaughey's turn as Wooderson that catapaulted him onto the Hollywood scene and nearly ran away with the movie.


Sporting tight pastel pants and a dirty mustache, McConaughey made Wooderson his own and merged with him so completely that it's hard to say where one ended and the other began.

Wooderson was supposed to be a smaller role until McConaughey turned up with sleaze and charisma to burn as it's hard to strike the perfect attitude and tone to deliver lines like "That's what I like about high school girls - I get older and they stay the same age." (This might not be word for word, but it's close).

By putting that charm and vague filthiness up front and center, McConaughey drew in viewers as well as the girls in the film that he was chatting up and seducing.



He also ad-libbed one of the closing scenes best lines when he told Pink and the rest of the crew to "just keep livin'."



J.K. Livin' is now the name of some company that McConaughey runs, and it was a perfect ending for the film as the group drove down the road to buy Aerosmith tickets.

It's the simple pleasures that keeps life interesting, and it was McConaughey's performance in "Dazed and Confused" that deserves to be mentioned in any discussion about his career.

-BDS

Juice & Man Titties . . .

I have it on good authority that steroids are normal in the fitness modeling industry.

This is because they do make your body harder and more cut than anything else, and it also lets you get away with partying more while still maintaining your physique.

Unfortunately, I don't think I can do them for a couple of reasons.

The first is that I hate needles and don't relish the thought of jamming one full of the juice into my ass on a regular basis.

There's also the health risks which include liver failure, heart disease, strokes, stunted growth, decreased sexual function, body acne, violent mood swings, premature death and perhaps worst of all male breast enlargement or bitch tits as they are known in some circles.


Screw heart disease and liver failure what really stops me from using them is the possibility that I would suddenly grow breasts.

I've always joked that I couldn't be a woman because I would never get anything done except stay inside the house and play with my breasts all day.

There's also "Fight Club" to consider as the thought of Edward Norton's face being smushed into the sweaty and heaving bosom of Meatloaf is enough to make me as terrified of this phenomenon as the plague.


In the end, I think I'm stuck with this horrendous diet for awhile longer, and I guess I'll have to keep my breast theory a hypothetical because the alternative doesn't appeal to me one single bit.

-BDS

Music, Gruene & Pabst Blue Ribbon . . .

One of the reasons I love living in Austin is the live music in and around the city.

In the next two months, I have tickets to see Tom Petty, Gnarls Barkley, Willie Nelson, Guy Clark, Van Morrison, and others at the Austin City Limits music festival in Zilker Park, then I get to see the Rolling Stones come through Austin for the first time in October and the music tour starts tonight when my brother and I travel south to see Robert Earl Keen at Gruene Hall.


Gruene Hall lays claim to being the oldest dancehall in Texas. It looks like it might be true as the venue is just a long rectangular room with old wooden floors that have been worn down smooth through years of concerts.


It's an intimate venue with a good sound system, which are two things that I look for in a concert.

I also have my typical shirt ready for the concert as I always wear this to Gruene Hall or other places of similar ilk:

IMG_0596
Originally uploaded by twodollarproductions.

IMG_0597
Originally uploaded by twodollarproductions.

I have never worn this shirt, and not had at least 3 strangers come up to me and tell me how much they love it. One night at a Jerry Jeff Walker concert in the Broken Spoke, this one couple started a bidding war for the shirt which ended at $42.

They were saddened and chagrined when I told them it wasn't for sale for a couple of reasons:

1) I happen to like the damn shirt quite a bit

2) It was a gift from my best friend who found this little treasure in the window of thrift store in Dublin, Ireland.

Besides, this shirt is like Spanish Fly to older people and hipsters who like the retro feel of it.

Who knew that there were that many people who liked the cheap, smooth and satisfying taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon?

We'll see if the streak continues tonight, but regardless, it will be a good way to start the Labor Day Weekend and I also plan to suspend the no alcohol consumption clause in my diet for about 4 hours because it would be morally reprehensible to listen to "The Road Goes On Forever" without a Shiner Boch in hand.

-BDS