I like food, food tastes good

The way I see it, your eating choices nowadays are this: eat affordable garbage (full of chemicals, hormones, pesticides, fat, sugar, etc.) that will kill you in various ways (cancer, obesity, high cholesterol, etc.). Or, eat organic whole foods, which unless you can grow your own everything, are usually quite pricey.

Oh wait, there's this choice, too! Organic food on $7 a day! I made it through one page of this article, which poses such preposterous suggestions as having vegetables for breakfast and combining your proteins (hello, '70s-style vegetarianism?) before I became overcome by snorts. Even I, a longtime vegetarian who was a super-strict vegan for years, will not lay that kind of diet trip on myself.

Vegetables for breakfast! The very idea! So as usual, everything will be fine, as long as you're rich. If all you can afford is Burger King's 99-cent menu, then good luck to you, sir.

Nice nice very nice Wednesdaaaay!

You know who has aged exceptionally well?




















JON BON JOVI.

Annnd, he has a line of jackets out with Kenneth Cole to help homeless people. Boyfriend also recently did a benefit for Habitat for Humanity and other charities ( I like how this article calls Richie Sambora a "surprise guest" when he performed with Jon.) Never mind that if I paid the $795 for one of the Kenneth Cole jackets I would be homeless. Let's just focus on how well-preserved Jon is. It's almost as if he's made a pact with the Jersey Devil.

An extremely cute...trap?

Cute Overload, my most favorite website ever, lifts my spirits so reliably each morning that I think there must be some primitive chemical parenting phenomenon going on in my body to cause it. I know that babies look cute with their big eyes and their fiveheads (as opposed to foreheads) and such so that you want to take care of them. But when you look at photos of cute baby animals online, can it really trigger a physiological response? Enquiring minds want to know.
I want to know!
xo,
CO"cute overload" kane

Rat tail spotting

Today brought a rare urban spotting of an adolescent rat tail.


Being that this look was considered extremely cool among my peers around 1984, and has been totally out of style since not long after that, I'm really surprised it hasn't ironically come back yet. Although it may have and I just haven't been hanging in the "right" places. (Where "right" = wrong)

[Yawn]

So apparently three beers and one whiskey over the course of an evening on a full stomach for Old Lady Kane now means waking up at 3:30 a.m., fretting, and not being able to go back to sleep until around 7.
I did polish off the rest of this amazing book, though:




American Hair Metal by Stephen Blush (author of American Hardcore). So much to say about this, but my brain's not working well. Hopefully will later. [Stares for one minute, presses publish button]

You'll have a gay old time

Wow. There's a website attempting to provide a list of bands that put the listener in grave danger of becoming gay.

Clearly there are a few on the list who exist soley to turn any red-blooded American Christian soldier into one who should neither ask nor tell, such as Queen, Erasure, and Sufjan Stevens. Sneakier conversion bands include Wilco, Eagles of Death Metal, and the String Cheese Incident.


We know what that mushroom and that bone really mean, String Cheese! (Worst band name ever?)

Hilarious. Thanks, Love God's Way!

And in further "things that make ya go gay" news, did you know that soy can make you so(y) homosexual? That is the claim made by World Net Daily, the self-proclaimed "leading Internet newssite in both traffic and influence."

Elton John must have eaten a lot of soy as a child, because as the experts at Love God's Way helpfully point out, he is "really gay."

UPDATE: The first item is probs a hoax.

(Thanks to the gabbers at WFMU for these hot tips.)

Playgirl party

Thursday, January 25, 7-10 at Happy Ending
Complimentary Magic Hat Beer, finger food, and jam-packed goodie bags
Special appearance by February Centerfold King Lexus
RSVP to pgedit@playgirlmag.com

Fuggo to the max!!!!

As a New Jersey native with a metal past, I have committed seen some fairly heinous fringed crimes against aesthetics. But this. Whatever devil wears this Prada bag, having laid out an amount of cash to do so that actually kills starving children in Africa, should officially be shot. If I see one of these in real life I will openly LOL in the face of the wearer, and her little punt dogs, too (which biologically shouldn't exist).

Maleficent Proposal Wednesdays®©!

I have nothing nice to say about celebs this Wednesday. And I have a vid to share with you later but am currently experiencing technical difficulties. Meanwhile, here is another sure-fire winning idea that I do not endorse but which would be a hit with the mean, mean asses of (our) home(land):



The Embarrassment Show!® This could either be like a "This is Your Life" in TV-show format where the sole purpose of conjuring up memories and bringing in special guests (one-night stands, resentful exes, former friends, cruel family members, etc.) is to embarrass the contestant, or it could simply be a blog where anyone can post any video, story, or document to humiliate someone they know.

Work out the libel/slander legalities amongst yourselves, I'm just the ideas person. You're welcome.

Today's real posting is coming tonight, but until then,

A confesh.

What was that I was saying about getting wiser? Last week I voluntarily watched a roco (romantic comedy), that I'd gotten a DVD screener of, Trust the Man. And then I got mad when it had the total roco ending* of the two formerly troubled couples declaring love for each other in front of an entire Lincoln Center audience and then concluded in a wedding and a wacky chasing-after-the-car-being-towed scene. BARF! What did I EXPECT from a roco!?! That it was going to end in existential angst, like, "Oh well, some things just don't work out. You move on and are never quite sure if you made the right decision or if love is behind you forever and all that is ahead is malaise and dissatisfaction and loneliness. The end!"

*If you consider this a spoiler, consider it also a spoiler for every other roco. And also, you are dumb.

Admittedly, though, I did LOL a few times and was pleased to spy Jim Gaffigan in a bit part playing a most tormented-looking sex addict.

Way to totally rule, bday weekend

Best present: this homemade cloud monster (note clouds and lightning bolts), complete with tag reading "Kristina Wong made this instead of smoking crack."






















Early Friday evening, despite sassing my boyfriend falling completely on my ass when attempting to sit down (my chair had fallen back from the weight of coats), resulting in the blossoming of multiple bday bruises, kicked off a weekend which solidly ruled from there on. (Pictured: Julie Klausner, fellow bday girl Therese, et moi.)

Saturday: watched this while shouting lots of feedback at the screen:






















Sat night: Ten hooting and hollering people packed my living room to watch this awfulsome movie that I'm rather obsessed with: The Room.






















Sunday: Continuing the Pam Grier/afros/70s fashions/ass-kicking lovefest, started the day with this:























Followed with this:




This documentary, Jesus Camp, left me with a lingering case of the fear, but I highly recommend it--it shows how Evangelical Christians are creating an army of indoctrinated children and amassing formidable political leverage.

Sunday night: And speaking of obsessions and recommendations, went to pals Julie & Jackie's awesome comedy show, Obsessed, where comics and regular folks present for your entertainment evidence of their obsessions, with special guest Janeane Garofolo (obsession: HBO's Rome). Not only was the show hilarious (and dare I say uproariously funny at times), but I also scarfed a brick of Mo Pitkins' deep-fried mac cheese.

My beau and I topped it off by cramming delicious vegan cake into our pie holes at Moby's vegan teahouse Teany. I didn't tell Mobes about the mac cheese.

It's a birthday miracle

It snowed! On my birthday! The season's first dusting is currently melting from the Brooklyn bamboo, formerly of the pocket park that was plowed to make this much more profitable parking lot.

Today I'm 33. Thirty-three is beyond any age I dared to speculate about as a kid, when my predictions of the future stretched only to the fantastical year 2000. I was definitely going to have a baby in the year 2000 (Surely I would be married by age 26!) so I would always know how old he or she was without having to do any math. I like how I included laziness in my plans for the future.

In some ways, I think my young self might be a bit dismayed by the state of affairs in my adult life. But in other ways I would impress proto-cokane, like with this (awesome time-wasting!) record of my travels:



I did nearly all of that traveling on my own dime while having just about two nickles to rub together. (That + living in New York = credit card companies' dream patsy.) Looking at that, I feel like I've done a just-okay amount of world-seein', but I'm only getting started, which is a good outlook to have on one's birthday.

One thing I dig about my thirties: there's truth in the old chestnut, "With age comes wisdom." Example: Aerosmith's 1979 album Night in the Ruts. As a teen, I never gave this title a second thought. As a grown-up pornographer reading it again for the first time in years, though, I instantly saw the phrase for what it is: a spoonerism for "right in the nuts." Oh, Aerosmith! Always with the innuendos. (Come to think of it, did they mean something else by album title Done With Mirrors...? And possibly Big Ones...and possibly everything that ever came out of Steven Tyler's mouth?) Perhaps not the best example, but I digress. Yes: Totally wise now.

Sonic truth

Dudenesses, I am thrilled to have interviewed Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore about their 20-year-plus relationship for the Feb/March love issue of the ever-awesome BUST, which should be on newsstands just about now. Go buy the ish!

It was a phone interview, and I'm actually glad it wasn't in person, because it probably would've gone something like this.

I'm so full of ideas

Recent enterprises featuring sexualized tattooed girlies have been all the rage: phenoms like Suicide Girls, Burning Angel, nouveau burlesque dancers, roller derby grrrls, and now the Pillow Fight League--$20 at the door this Friday admits one to watch cute retro-outfitted hipsters pillow fight in (all together, now!) Williamsjerk.

It's too late for me, as I squandered my youth preparing for this ill-paying writing career, and I'm not nearly inked enough, but allow me to posit the following occupational suggestions so that all body-modified young ladies might be stars:

HotScotch Hellions™®©
Sexy Slapfighters®©™
Double Dutch Sluts©®™
Hide and Seek, Sexy-style®©™
Tag Hags®™©
Dyke Dyke Goose™®© (we're talking lipstick lesbians, of course)
Sassy Swordfighters©®™
Supermarket Sweep with Tattoos, Piercings, and Sometimes Dreads©®™
Underpants Square Dance ©®™


You're welcome!

Farewell to another chunk of brain cells!

I got sucked into the season premiere of a popular reality program called "American Idol" last night. Perhaps you've heard of it? This is the most manipulative piece of evil masquerading as family programming I've ever seen. And I couldn't tear my eyes away from it, in the same way I once had to look at a deer that had been hit by a car whose guts were literally spilling out of its side every time it tried to stand up. Only in this case, the deer are the poor misguided slobs trying out for the show who think they have a shot, the guts spilling out are their hopes, dreams, and sense of self-worth, the car is the four judges and keeps ramming into them over and over, and all of this happens in front of the whole world.

They start out the season following this sweet Minnesota gal who works at like Glamor Shots at the Mall of America, establishing several times for the slow folks at home that her idol is Jewel, and then in her audition the judges--including Jewel--swiftly eviscerate her so that she's sobbing on the floor. And it pretty much goes downhill from there, highlighting people who were so nervous they couldn't remember their lyrics, culminating in this poor soul.














He's an unstable adolescent who, apropos of nothing, uses those hippy juggle-stick-things while faintly singing. When given the inevitable rejections, he flies in a rage and then cries, and thanks to this will surely be forever tormented by everyone at his school.

As for those who made it, you could just see the judges picking their prototypes: the rags-to-riches Whitney Jr. who was born a crack baby, and the woman in fatigues they clearly chose to for the purpose of tugging patriotic heartstrings because her husband's in Iraq and she's in the Army Reserve (they actually showed her talking to a photo of him she wears around her neck!).














Hey, dummies in America: Freedom! Get the evildoers with encouragement from American Idol and its official beverage Coca-Cola! What a wholesome time we've had today!

The ending of that anecdote with the deer is that I happened to be on my way to the vet and asked the vet to please go put a bullet in that deer's head. And he did! (It was probably a shot from a hypodermic needle, not a gun, but that's not as dramatic.) We should be so lucky with this show. But oh yeah: it's the number one show in the country. I'm going to try not to ever watch it again.

Saying Something Nice About Celebs Wednesdays!™

Pam & Tommy are two great freaks that freak great together (as seen on video). Plus they both seem genuinely sweet. I enjoy it every time they get back together.* As soon as Pamela's divorce from Kid Rock went public, Tommy was all, "I'll be right over!" and then was photographed giving her a pat on the arse. Gregarious Tommy was always my fave Crue member, and Pamela took the brunt of a whole night of personal jokes to help animals for Peta on her Comedy Central Roast. Which, by the way, is very funny.

*Officially they are not getting back together. For now.




You know who totally rules in that roast (and in life)?



Bea Arthur.

By the way, when you do a Google image search on Bea Arthur, various arist's renderings of her naked come up. Guess what turns up when you Google image search "Pamela Anderson" and "Tommy Lee"?

We broke the world

Why, I remember a time when winters used to mean snowdays! Sledding until red in the face and froze in the foot! Seems as though it were only last year!

In fact, it was just last year. But not this one! This morning I heard on the radio that Russia just had their warmest December in history, and that there isn't even any snow in Moscow. Now...I don't claim to be an expert on world climates, or on global warming, but...shouldn't there be snow in RUSSIA in JANUARY?!

A certain beloved and therefore unnamed family member of mine dismissively claimed the other day (as per Fox News) that temperatures go up and down. You know: Sometimes we have a warm winter. Sure, this is just like that wacky time in the '50s when the polar cap melted and flooded the Northern Hemisphere. Sure was hot that summer! And that was before everyone had air conditioning! So I guess nothing humans do will ever have a negative effect on the environment, as long as Fox News says so. [extreme non-snow-day'd *sigh*]

Update: In Russia, it so hot bears wake up angry from hibernation! What a hot country!

(Images courtesy of Jess, who finally developed her 2006 photos.)

I'm shocked and awed

You've seen the awesome political comic strip Get Your War On. Now you can see it live! How on earth can this 1-D clip-art satire be made into a live show? It's carried off with amazing creativity by Austin's Rude Mechs theatre company with an ensemble cast of office workers, five overhead projectors, some cheesy overhead effects and primitive animations, a handful of musical sequences, and a few silly costumes.

Back in the scary fall of 2001, Get Your War On was one of the first cathartic, funny but smart commentaries to emerge, covering the insane events that began on September 11th and haven't stopped since. This show reminded me of things I'd long since blocked out, and though it's funny, the subject matter is actually dead serious and I got a bit choked up a time or two. (But I think we Irish-descended folks tend to like a bit of sad with our funny anyway.)

I know, I can't believe this is the third theatrical performance I've seen (and enjoyed!) in three months, either.

Seriously, go see this show, playing through January 28 at 59 E 59.


(I ripped my posting title off from a 2003 White Stripes record review by Tracie Egan. It was too perfect to not use, though. )

More fun with early '90s MusiCards

A battle royale (with cheese):

Who is the master of early '90s hip hop?



The back of this card makes some tall claims: "M.C. Hammer has not only become the most successful rap artist of all time, but has transcended rap itself through his innovative and highly entertaining combination of music, rhyme and dance."



The back of this one reads: 'To whomever thinks he is the king, the prince or whatever of hip-hop, M.C. Hammer is in effect and will take all titles one at a time or all at once,' the then-unknown rapper boldly declared on the back of his debut album, released in early 1988. He wasn't lyin'."

Ooh, please, Urkel, don't hurt 'em! (I think I'll bring back the term "in effect.")



The back of one of the four Vanilla Ice cards I have calls him "white hot."--emphasis on the white, right MusiCards? Here he's all, "Ay! You got a problem?" in his Wilson's jacket and Chess King trousers. As Robby Van himself I think would acknowledge now, no one could look more asshole than this.



Unless he was wearing a T-shirt WITH HIMSELF ON IT.

The answer: They are all (real) winners: Hammer is the master of verbally grandstanding, Ice is the master of visually looking like a bag o'dicks.

MySpace refused to run this ad

Wonder why? They're owned by Rupes there in the ad. Click on it!

Maleficent Proposal Wednesdays®©!

As far as culture is going, I am of the general opinion that we are in the end times. But just because I try to keep things positive, that's not to say I don't come up with ideas that seem to me pure evil genius. Ideas that if, say, Vice magazine were to employ them, would be some of the most popular websites (then books then movies etc.) ever. (I know they're like Canadian or something, but this mag is precisely what I speak of when I speak of williamsjerks.) So as a counterpoint to Saying Something Nice About Celebs Wednesdays™ , I bring you my weekly Maleficent Proposal™. (I'm not crazy about the name, but I forgot the one I came up with just before crossing over to the land of nod last night.)

Holiday Newsletter Hecklefest©®!

This would be a blog where any urban jerkoff can post the innocent holiday newsletters of their suburban family members, and scan in any supplementary photography/photo cards that may have accompanied it, then let everyone heckle away.

Of course I think this would be funny, but very cruel. So if anyone uses this idea, I have to get a percentage of the millions you will surely make. (Then since it'd be blood money, I'd have to donate it to help animals or something.)

Saying Something Nice About Celebs Wednesdays!™

Cybill Shepherd is cool. In her recent Time Out interview, she cracks herself up. Hey, I do that, too! I think we'd get along.

On models:

"So many of them on the runway just look like big blanks. I just find that horrific. I can’t look at the clothes. I find myself looking at the woman. Makes me want to go have a big, old cheeseburger."

On Carole Lombard's performance in My Man Godfrey:

"When I first saw it I realized it’s okay to be sexy and funny and blond and beautiful. And I feel self-conscious saying that, but often as a “beauty,” you’re not supposed to be funny. I have a theory that you have to be careful of what cosmetic things you do to your face, because [you] might not be as funny."

On being awesome (from imdb.com):

"I never wanted to be Jane. I always wanted to be Tarzan. I didn't want to vacuum the tree house. I wanted to swing from the vines."


Hey! I don't want to vacuum, either! We should def hang.

H***y housewives

OK, I'm not angling to be the next Erma Bombeck, but does every vacuuming session (you know, once every It's-way-too-cat-hairy-in-here timespan) have to end with a high-pitched mechanical squeal, the smell of burning rubber, and me cursing profusely?

Apparently so. The other day I vacuumed up my favorite brand-new blouse's tieback thingie, and it got torn. This type of incident makes me less inclined to clean again, rather than delivering a reward I should feel for a job well done.

(I Google image-searched "housewives" to find a cute retro illo for this posting, and you might want to try it as an exercise: every image that comes up is either some darling midcentury illustration or graphic hardcore porno. Interesting.)

I made this!

I think I might have a probelm

...can't...stop...laughing...at...dollar store toys....



Dear God, Please make Dance Boy stop.



Finding Numo



Sad.

Lessons from early '90s RockCards

I have dozens of pop & rock trading cards from 1991 made by RockCards (which I'll highlight this posting) and ProSet Super Stars MusiCards (which we'll look at next time). Apparently all my income was disposable income back then, and when I found these at Sam Goody they were already marked down to 25 cents a pack or something, so it was a no-brainer: 10 packs it is! As with many things, hindsight reveals a few lessons that were hidden back then.

Let's begin with David Coverdale of Whitesnake, back in his halcyon days of Tawny Kitaen gyrating out of his car window. His blurb on the back reveals that he was planning on taking a two-year hiatus.



BIG MISTAKE, COV! Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. And on that note:



Dana's quote on the back is: "We wanted to create a unique style of hard rock with edgy lyrics...We set out to capture a vibe that would make people still freak-out when they listen to our album ten years from now." That's one for the NO COMMENT DEPARTMENT!



On the back of this card, David Ellefson lays it down: "He admits he can't stand 'spineless worms' (you know who you are)." Uhh, Dave? Zoological heads up: all worms are invertebrates. The lesson is, the bassist of Megadeth hates all worms.



The writeup on the back of this one reveals the truly shocking factoid that someone who used to be in Minor Threat went on to join Junkyard?!

One thing is certain: There is nothing kids love to see filling up a trading card more than a large old man head.



...except maybe one with a moustache.

WombSpace

Someone on MySpace has their baby's ultrasound up as their main photo, and has changed their display name to IT'S A GIRL!!!!


[not actual photo]

Is anyone else a bit disturbed by this? The unborn baby's already on myspace. And I'm already making fun of some fetus I don't even know.

I'm really glad the Internets weren't around when I was a kid. Except, you know, they were twinkling in Al Gore's eye or whatever.

Undressed for success

Last night was the standing-room-only debut of my pal Giulia's new monthly show at Mo' Pitkins, Stripped Stories, co-hosted by Margot Leitman, of whom I am now also a fan. Even though I was standing and seemed to be in the wait staff's busy way the entire time, this show reminded me that I love this city (although the city and I have a complicated relationship). The simple premise is: people (comedians & regular folks) tell their dirty stories of lovin' gone awry for the entertainment of all. Not since my days in the filthy-mouthed BUST office have I heard this many juicy, funny tales in a row. The hostesses shared some of their own shameful stories from their younger days, but with their current positive, feminist perspectives. And it was free!

Plus, the whole crowd played a version of "I never" (not coincidentally, the last time I played that one was at the aforementioned office's slumber party) and I got a gay-BF crush on one of the guys who almost won (the winner being the audience member who revealed through the game that they had committed the most naughty deeds). I kept looking over to him the rest of the night, every time he made a crack under his breath to his hag (I was jealous) or rolled his eyes. I wondered how he was faring with all the vag-talk. Should I post a Missed Connection for him on Craigslist? In all, good times. Everyone should check this show out, but I'm going to get there early and get a seat next time.

Saying Something Nice About Celebs Wednesdays!™

I don't know if anybody noticed, but there's a lot of negative, mean-spirited gossip and opining about celebrities happening on the Internet, on TV, and in magazines. I compulsively devour Star or InTouch weekly (What? They come to my office. It's perfect lunchtime reading!) and then feel about as good about myself as if I had just scarfed down a bag of Cheetos. So, in the spirit of being healthy in the new year:

I really like George Clooney! He is dashing, he is witty, he's a modern-day Cary Grant, and he likes to have himself a drink and a good time. He seems like he'd be a lot of fun to hang with in real life. Plus, he has a conscience; among other causes he's helped, he and his equally charming dad recently visited Darfur to draw attention to the genocide happening there (this fundraising ploy totally worked on me).



I should see something he's in sometime. I think I mighta saw him in Family Ties. No, that was sexy dumb neighbor Nick.



Here's to you, Cloon!



I think I just posted least popular blog ever.