Bad Advice

Tyra's Head!

The most irritating thing about any trip to Trader Joe's is the way the checkout clerks banter with you about your purchases. I like to buy and go, not waste 15 minutes discussing the merits of the Trader Joe Fair Trade Ginger Snap.

So I was relieved today when I got a checkout guy who was too busy chatting with his fellow workers to bother with banter. Him and the guy next to him were talking about meeting Tyra in person and how giant her head looks when it's not on TV.

The woman next to them was skeptical. "So she's not fine?"

My guy: "Nah, she's fine, but she's got a big ole head. You don't want to get into a headbutting contest with Tyra."

Happy Birthday, Shane MacGowan!

Fifty and feelin' fine!

Happy Birthday, Steve Buscemi!!!!

Dean Johnson, RIP

Even though I never met him, I was bummed to hear that legendary NY party boy/musician Dean Johnson had died under mysterious circumstances. I know I sound like a whiney old lady, but it just seems that everything that made NYC an interesting, vibrant place is disappearing and Johnson's passing is just one more nail in NYC's coffin. But instead of going off on a boring rant about how irritating the world is, I wanted to share this most hilarious paragraph from Johnson's Myspace blog:

The person I was happiest to see at LOWLIFE! was Joe Jackson's 'personal assistant' (aka boyfriend) 'Champagne', who had just arrived from Berlin where Joe is living. Champagne had introduced me to Joe once in the garden at the Belvedere, and I was thrilled to meet him although I had to refrain from shaking his hand as I was in the middle of having sex at that moment and my fingers were covered in lubricant and assjuice.

I hate when that happens! If you don't know who Dean Johnson was, you can read more here, here and here.

Lord knows I've been a jackass. . .

. . .on many occasions, but I can't say I've ever tweaked my nipples at my celebrity boss. I mean, I don't actually have a celebrity boss, but if I did, I can't imagine doing that. I'm more of a pull-my-finger type.

Lauren Weedman did that and more during her one-year tenure at the Daily Show. Her tale is so funny that I have to do the unthinkable and recommend you go read The Stranger. Not that they're a bad paper (any paper that employs Kurt B. Reighley and Bethany Jean Clement is aces by me), but they're my regular employ'er's main competition.

My publisher, Sasquatch, just released her book, A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body: Tales from a Life of Cringe and you should all go purchase it immediately. Once you read the excerpt you'll get what the cringe is all about.

So to atone for reading the competition, I demand you read both my current column and last week's as penance. Our father!

Thanks, Bitches!

Apparently, someone on my block is not a Charlie Kaufman fan. My stupid camera phone cut off the top of the sign (it referred to the film company as "bitches"), but this is how one disgruntled parker greeted our new temporary neighbors. He posted them on everywhere there was a filming permit. I guess serious show-biz folks object to profanity because some little PA puke started ripping them down almost as soon as they went up. But they weren't quick enough for me and my trusty Krazr!

Eternal Sunshine of the Shuttered Coke Bar

This is the scene outside of my building. To the naked eye, it looks like just another movie shoot—in this case, it's Charlie Kaufman's new flick Synecdoche.

Closing down streets for a movie shoot is never without deeper ramifications; where will the residents park? Why is this idiot PA telling me I can't walk down my street? Little irritants like that can really kill the excitement of having Academy-Award winners on your block.

But in this case, we're looking at more than your average discomforts—I don't want to be alarmist, but we're facing a crisis at the corner of Richardson and Union: If Royal Oak is busy housing the likes of Michelle Williams and Philip Seymour Hoffman, where in the hell are Williamsburg's youth going to score their coke? Where will underage Bambi from Staten Island vomit up 16 Long Island Iced Teas if not on my front stoop? How will I know it's 4:30 AM if I can't count on the Last-Call Larrys to wake me up by shouting Doors lyrics at top volume?  This is shaping up to be a very long and confusing week.

My Birthday Came Early!

You know how I was planning on listing all the crap I wanted for my birthday? Well, no more, because the fact that walking, talking, human poo-smear, Joe Francis is in jail and under indictment for tax evasion is the best gift any thinking gal could hope for.

Who's Got Their Hand Up Courtney's Butt?

Does LA make people crazy? Or do the crazies just gravitate there? How could anyone look at Courtney Love and think that plastic surgery is a good idea? She looks like Joan Rivers or the Cat Lady and is a good thirty years younger than either of them.

Courtney, did you learn nothing from Tara Reid's lipo scars? I understand you want to be skinny, but couldn't you just go back on the crystal, like Jenna obviously did?

The Mystery Lump

While fascinated, I haven't posted anything on Anna Nicole Smith's death up until this point. Mostly because I was too busy reading about it. But this has been troubling me for a few days now. What the hell is that ginormous lump on the medical examiner's head?

Every time Dr. Joshua Perper goes on the TV, I can't pay attention to what he's saying, because I'm too busy trying to figure it out. I'm assuming it's nothing horrible like cancer, because being a doctor, he probably would've had that thing lopped off if that'd been the case. Maybe he's hiding Danielynn up in there. It's certainly big enough to hold her.