"Time, why you punish me," - Hootie and the Blowfish
I'm not much into quoting Hootie, but for some reason that song got stuck in my head and coincided with a general feeling I've been having about time. 
Over the past few years I've grown extremely protective of my time because it's one of the few things that you never get back. There's also never enough of it to satisfy me.
To combat this predicament, any request of my time must undergoe rigorous scrutiny before I agree to the challenge.
Nowhere is this increasing litmus test more apparent than in the social obligations that I agree to attend. In high school and college, I would go to nearly any event regardless of whether I liked most of the people or not.
It was expected, and there was always a decent chance of getting completely drunk, hooking up, making an ass of myself or all of these at the same time.
But now, I have no time for getting together for dinner parties, drinks or virtually anything that is being spear-headed by people I consider work friends or acquaintances. 
Friends with durabilitiy are an entirely different matter. Those are vital to life, but the rest I could do without and have been for many years now. I'm not rude about turning down invitations, yet there's always a convenient excuse for me not to attend some event.
I tend to worry about people who feel driven to spend every waking moment with somebody else. I've always thought that if you can't entertain yourself that you're probably not very good company for other people.
There's no question that I would rather spend an evening alone, doing anything except making small talk with a group of people that will never enhance my life and only contribute to stealing away my free time away from work. My capacity for these kinds of evenings has diminshed faster than Britney Spears' self respect.
Obviously, this is all a cover-up for the fact that I didn't do a damn thing this weekend and enjoyed it.
-BDS
{This is the fourth in a semi-regular series of posts regarding great cinematic sex scenes as defined by me. This is completely arbitrary and open for interpretation, but so is life.}
David Lynch movies are usually incomprehensible, extremely creepy and musically unnerving. While I respect his work, I tend to enjoy Lynch in small doses - much like Frosted Flakes and spanking .
"Mulholland Drive" is easily one of his best films ("Blue Velvet" being another one) as it does make sense in a Lynchonian way, and also features one of the hottest lesbian scenes in cinema history. 
The "plot" follows the nightmarish descent of an amnesiac woman (Laura Harring) into several worlds in Hollywood as she attempts to recover her memories with the help of Betty (Naomi Watts). These are the main characters in the film, but there are numerous others who appear in a world that is hard to decipher but impossible not to watch. 
Even If Lynch doesn't capture your imagination, "Mulholland Drive" is worth a rental for the scene with Watts and Harring near the film's conclusion where they caress, nuzzle and get extremely naked on a couch.
Harring in particular just oozes sex in this film and Watts really rises to the occasion as well as both are topless, both look great and nobody holds anything back. 
These are key elements of any good sex scene, and the fact that the participants in "Mulholland Drive" are great-looking women and fine actors only enhances the appeal.
-BDS
"You look like a doily," - Ethan Hawke, "Reality Bites"
It seems like it's been rather slow in Hollywood this week, but I suppose these things happen as you can only have so many Britney melt-downs, so many Anna Nicole stories, and so many stars checking into rehab. Then again:
Irish actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers, currently starring in Showtime's "The Tudors," checked into rehab for alcohol abuse this week.
His representative, Meredith O'Sullivan said "After a non-stop succession of filming, Jonathan Rhys Meyers has entered an alcohol-treatment program."
I suppose it's good to have someone check into rehab BEFORE saying/doing something amazingly stupid, but the rationale still seems lame because I work a succession of many days every single year and it has yet to drive me to seek help.
Beauty queen Shanna Moakler has infuriated Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan after she posted their contact details on her MySpace page.
In a related story, I have been hanging out at a pay phone by the local 7-11 for hours on end this week making calls. Many, many calls.
When not sparring with the bloated toad known as Karl Rove, singer Sheryl Crow also made a case for using only one square of toilet paper when you go to the bathroom to help save the planet. 
I think we all would like to help the Planet here and there, but when it comes to the Earth or wiping my own ass, it's really not much of a decision at all. Recycling my newspapers is an entirely different matter.
Hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons said Monday that the recording and broadcast industries should consistently ban three racial and sexist epithets from all so-called clean versions of rap songs and the airwaves.
Expressing concern about the "growing public outrage" over the use of such words in rap lyrics, Simmons said the words "b**ch," "h*" and "n**ger" should be considered "extreme curse words."
We'll see if this gains any traction as I foresee many problems, but in response, the Country Music Association is looking into banning any song with words like "cheating," "trains" or "getting drunk" in them which will leave tons of dead airtime to fill.
Rosie O'Donnell will leave "The View" TV show when her contract expires in June, ABC announced Wednesday. 
I guess Rosie told ABC execs that they could "have a nice View of her giant behind" as she walked out the door after the sides couldn't come to terms on a new contract.
In the midst of serving a 35-day jail sentence in Florida on contempt -of-court charges and fresh off a federal indictment on multiple counts of bribery and tax evasion, Joe Francis, the Girls Gone Wild mastermind, just got himself another legal headache as prosecutors charged him with misdemeanor sexual battery.
According to his 18-year-old female accuser, Francis approached her at the swanky party and touched her breasts, buttocks and inner thighs, despite her repeated protests for him to stop.
The two things that surprise me about this include: 1) What was Francis doing at a swanky party in the first place 2) The girl was actually 18.
Hugh Grant has been arrested for allegedly throwing a container of baked beans at a photographer, London police said.
The Metropolitan Police don't identify suspects who haven't been charged, but said a 46-year-old man was arrested Wednesday night on suspicion of assault and released on bail. No charges have been filed, police said.
The photographer said Grant became very angry after being snapped eating a giant bowl full of beans, and after hurling the fiber-dense side dish, Grant pushed him roughly to the ground and pinned his arms while blowing farts onto his cheat for half an hour prior to the police showing up.
As ugly as that image is, let's end with a better one:
Since it's the end of week, get everything off your chest and let nothing weigh you down and . . . Happy Friday!
-BDS
{This is the eighth in a recurring series that will only happen when I have consumed far too many spirits with my brother. Last night, a few pitchers of Spaten were consumed which triggered strange thoughts, candid insights and pure horseshit. Selah.}
* When someone starts off a sentence with "I'm really not a racist/sexist/pervert/etc" then you can bet that the following statement is 98% likely to nullify their first statement.
* Anybody who says they would continue to work after winning the lottery simply needs more hobbies.
* Sharing a group hot tub with a hairy individual is like showering with a Werewolf and I wouldn't advise becoming embroiled in either situation. 
{Editor's Note: This is NOT me nor did I take this picture.}
* Anyone who makes quotations marks with their hands during a conversation without being facetious about it makes me very nervous.
* Stringing more than 3 clichés into a 10-minute conversation makes you sound like a total moron, which is a good thing to remember during a job interview.
* There are few things that are more boring than watching someone else's vacation video.
* When you see a guy walking around carrying a large bouquet of flowers your first instinct is to wonder "I wonder what he screwed up?"
* Those red-assed baboons made me laugh in the third grade, and they still do. 
* I like my balls as much as anybody walking this planet, but I feel no need to constantly check to make sure they're still in place while in public. Privately, that's an entirely different matter.
* After careful consideration, I think that Sofia Loren is the oldest person I would still sleep with these days. 
* Show me a guy who hasn't wanted to deliver some asshole a horse's head a la "The Godfather" to send a message and I'll show you a total wimp.
-BDS
{This is the third in a semi-regular series of posts regarding great cinematic sex scenes as defined by me. This is completely arbitrary and open for interpretation, but so is life.}
Springboarding from the amazing threesome scene in "Wild Things," it's not geographically hard to leap to the more normal pairing of William Hurt and Kathleen Turner in "Body Heat."
This movie is also set in Florida, where everyone sweats like crazy and that kind of heat and perspiration can only lead to sex. A lot of hot, swampy sex that does nothing to alleviate the sweating, it in fact can only increase it, yet this combination yields an excellent carnal scene that takes advantage of passion and destruction.
This film is a good early 80s film noir that featured Turner when she was still sexy, Hurt sporting a seedy-looking mustache and also introduced the world to Mickey Rourke who pops up in small role near the end of the film. 
But the sex scene in question occurs early on when Hurt follows Turner to her husband's luxurious house. Of course the husband is somewhere far away, and after flirting and sweating all night, Turner attempts to send Hurt home without a horizontal mambo, a result that doesn't set well with him. 
Hurt stands outside her front doorway in a frenzy of lust, and watches Turner prowl around inside.
Infuriated by the snub and with absolutely no regard for the high cost of window replacement in Florida, Hurt then grabs an outside chair and hurls the piece of patio furniture through the window. Turner seems to enjoy this display and the duo paw each other and sweat some more.
Nearly everyone in the movie complains about the heat, and as I already mentioned, screwing is only going to make the participants hotter.
But then again, if I have to sweat like an animal there is no better activity to engage in than sex and this scene definitely proves that point.
-BDS
I love when I forget about the merits of someone or something, and then discover it again to realize that it's not merely good, it's great.
And so it went with McDonald's soft-serve ice cream cones this weekend. 
It had been quite awhile since I'd had one, but that time lapse won't happen again as I had forgotten just how tasty those damn things were. The consistency and flavor was far better than I remembered, which caused me to order a second cone from the same slightly perplexed woman working the drive-through.
The fact that I was more than a little sideways at the time probably didn't help matters as I ravenously devoured the cones before they could melt.
After leaving with an ice cream headache, I started thinking how great it would be to have one of the McDonald's ice cream machines in my house, much like I think about having a giant espresso machine after visiting a Starbucks. 
{Editor's Note: This is NOT one of my illegitimate children in the picture. I have no association with this child.}
But upon further thought, it would probably be a bad idea and lead to digusting habits, not to mention the general upkeep and explanation for invited guests.
It's one of those things in life that are better in theory than reality - much like having your picture taken with Kevin Federline, but it didn't stop these classy ladies from doing so in Vegas recently. 
It's a poor state of affairs when K-Fed appears to be the smartest man at the table, but I hate to disparage the guy too much considering he's sitting with a bevy of blondes, just finalized a multi-million dollar divorce settlement and probably has at least two McDonald's ice cream machines in his house.
Bastard.
-BDS
{This is the second in a semi-regular series of posts regarding great cinematic sex scenes as defined by me. This is completely arbitrary and open for interpretation, but so is life.}
Since I started this series on Wednesday, I've had more sex on the brain than Charlie Sheen hopped up on Ecstasy and Viagra, and therefore I had to jump very quickly into "Wild Things" to satisfy my urges. 
Even if you can't appreciate the lurid spectacle that is "Wild Things," there is no arguing that the sex scene featuring Matt Dillon, Neve Campbell and Denise Richards is possibly the best threesome ever enshrined onto a movie reel.
The setting is perfect - a sweaty, swampy Florida and after hoodwinking some local authorities, Dillon shows up at a Gator motel to find Campbell and Richards already waiting for him. 
Dillon feigns anger, but this quickly segues into the realization that things are about to get hot and sweaty.
It's hard not to laugh as Dillon removes Richard's panties while remarking that "teachers learn the most interesting things about their students." I guess so.
From there, it's all about Campbell making out with Richards, who promptly removes her top to let her surgically-enhanced breasts swing free and clear. Champagne is flowing - literally - as it is poured on bodies and lapped up like dehydrated hyenas by the participants. 
All the while, Dillon starts grunting deeply and saying things like "oh yeah" a lot.
And I don't blame him one bit because I'm sure he knew during shooting that he would never get involved in another carnal scene nearly as good as that one.
-BDS
"I can smell a lie like a fart in a car," - Christian Slater, "Pump Up The Volume"
The weather has been close to perfect in Austin this week, which makes office work that much more depressing, but the weekend is looming with more sunshine and plans to get outside and enjoy it, so let's knock these life-altering stories out of the way to get things started:
Sanjaya Malakar was finally voted off "American Idol" on Wednesday night, thus ending a long journey filled with more opinions on his hair than his actual singing, which was generally deemed to be mediocre at best. 
Some people were angry that Sanjaya kept leaping past more qualified singers to remain in the competition, but since when was competence a prerequisite for getting places in life as it hasn't stunted the career growth of Joe Rogan or Paris Hilton.
Reports say three lawyers filed complaints in Indian courts against Gere and Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty for kissing at a public function recently, where Gere was helping raise money for AIDS in between his attacks on Shetty.
The complaints came after angry crowds in several Indian cities burned effigies of Gere. 
I felt the same way after watching Gere in "First Knight" and "King David," but it just seemed like too much effort to make an effigy and then burn it.
Lindsay Lohan said recently that she enjoyed her time in rehab, but doesn't consider herself an addict.
Her room was "all white, with a parquet, and it was different! I just felt safe," she said. "I thought, `I'm going to stay here tonight.' And I stayed there. For a month. It was great."
Lohan later added that since her stint in rehab, the dark clubs with the pulsating music and the constant partying until 3 am feel "dangerous" and "confusing" yet she's also staying inside them for awhile too.
Edward Norton has been cast as Bruce Banner in the forthcoming The Incredible Hulk, according to reports.
Norton is one of my favorite actors, and I only hope they're paying him lots of money as green as the body paint he willl wear when the Hulk transforms into someone you "wouldn't like when he's angry."
In a slap in the face to girls in my kindergarten class, Angelina Jolie said this:
"I was very sexual in kindergarten. I was a member of a group called the Kissy Girls. I created a game where I'd kiss the boys and give them all cooties. Then we'd make out and we'd take our clothes off. I got in trouble a lot." - Angelina Jolie tells the new issue of OK! U.K.
If getting in trouble with Jolie is wrong then I don't want to be right.
Last month The National Enquirer reported that singer/actress Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony were involved in a heroin scandal and now they are suing the tabloid.
The article said Lopez and Anthony were "caught up in a heroin scandal" and featured a picture of Anthony standing next to Michael Star, a photographer facing child pornography and heroin possession charges in the USA.
Lopez was heard commenting that she might "still be Jenny from the Block, but that block does not include heroin being sold in the streets and although my husband is gaunt with the questionable hygiene of some addicts, we both hate heroin like the plague."
A summer cruise for gay and lesbian families organized by Rosie O'Donnell has cut Bermuda from its planned itinerary because of possible protests by church groups in the British island territory.
I can't say I would line up for that protest, but I damn sure would sign a petition requesting that O'Donnell "Just Says No" to any two-piece bathin suits while onboard the ship or strolling through any ports of call.
In a related story, the New York Post reported that Donald Trump sent Barbara Walters a black "girdle-like outfit" that his nemesis Rosie O'Donnell wore in the film "Exit to Eden."
"I sent it to Barbara to hang in her office because I didn't want it in mine. It was funny, except that it was really gross. It's disgusting," Trump told the New York Post. "I feel sorry for (Rosie's) wife. It can't be pleasant." 
Trump really needs to find a new hobby because this obsession with O'Donnell is getting flat-out ridiculous and sad.
In a re-affirmation that true love does exist, Marilyn Manson told a French newspaper that he has found his double in new girlfriend Evan Rachel Wood.
Manson said "She's 19 and certainly that's very young, but that's not a problem for me. She likes the same things as me. She understands I like to get up when night falls and go to sleep at dawn." 
What 19-year-old doesn't like to stay up all night long?
Since we're celebrating night owls and nocturnal activities, let's end with an image that could lead to late nights: 
So whether you sleep all night or live by the mantra that I'll sleep when I'm dead, indulge yourself and . . . Happy Friday!
-BDS
{This is the first in a semi-regular series of posts regarding great cinematic sex scenes as defined by me. This is completely arbitrary and open for interpretation, but so is life.}
Risky Business - Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay
This was a phenomenal 80s movie, and was far better than any project which boasted a plot around a high school kid turning his parents house into a brothel and then throwing a giant sex party to raise cash for a missing glass egg had any right to be. 
Tom Cruise is the student in question, and Rebecca De Mornay plays his love interest and top-notch prostitute who helps him pull off this massive undertaking. The duo have one fine sex scene near the middle of the film where the doors of his parent's house are blown open by some insanely powerful and unseasonable wind, a weather occurrence which doesn't derail Cruise from mounting DeMornay near the living room. 
That one wasn't bad.
But the real show-stopper, the scene which earned "Risky Business" a place among the finest on-screen sex romps occurs near the end of the film when Cruise and De Mornay hop aboard a train.
{Editor's Note: Unfortunately I could find no image of this scene in Cyberspace}
The scene is shot with muted lighting and some slow-mo shots, which underscores the dramatic tension and the conflict within the characters as De Mornay rides Cruise in a nearly empty train car.
The scene was both necessary and hot, which was a stellar combination that earned the mass transit interlude a place among the very best.
-BDS
{This is the tenth in a recurring series which will explore the brutally complex concept of monogomy in increasingly outlandish scenarios. We hope these will be illuminating what-if scenarios, and that they will cultivate some intense philosophical discussions around what, if anything, really constitutes cheating.}
Is It Really Cheating If:
Your washer and dryer are busted, so you decide to visit a local fluff-and-fold emporium close to your loft. 
It's late and somewhere in the middle of your last spin cycle, the door opens and in walks an attractive brunette with a sack full of dirty clothes. You admire the way she separates her light and dark colors. Her ass looks like two red delicious apples riding inside a denim hammock, but you barely register that because you have a wife/fiancé/girlfriend at home.
With ten minutes left in your cycle, you catch her looking at you and then she comes over.
"Get up on the washer" she says, and you oblige with your feet dangling off the front. The cycle starts to whirl, pound and thump as she casually climbs astride you from front and proceeds to ride you, denim on denim, front to back, over and over again for the remaining 9 minutes until the you finish off at precisely the same time as the cycle ends.
She never says a word, but now you have another load to wash because your jeans have been soiled.
So, since there was no skin-on-skin contact, and you wash away any lingering evidence of the event, is it really cheating?
-BDS
Before watching "Grindhouse" this weekend, I saw a preview for the upcoming film, "Next," a thriller starring Nic Cage and Jessica Biel. 
A brief synopsis: Cage was born with the ability to see two minutes into the future. After years of living in the shadows as a musician and gambler, he is recruited by the FBI to prevent future terrorist attacks, but Cage wants nothing to do with that gig, he simply wants to settle down with Biel and screw like rabbits (and I can't say I blame him).
Despite Biel's appearance and the fact that Cage is a fine actor (albeit one whose film choices have been more than questionable these past 5 years or so), I have no desire to see this movie as the plot doesn't do it for me. 
And after the preview ended, my main question wasn't whether Cage could use his powers to stop a nuclear bomb from detonating in Los Angeles, it was how could someone who sees the future not realize how ridiculous they would look after choosing to sport a wig that could only rival Joe Pesci in "JFK" for sheer cinematic awfulness? 
{Editor's Note: The extensions look far worse on a giant theater screen than they do here}
It's always good to use your powers for the greater good, but sometimes, charity has to start at home, or on your head.
-BDS
