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With Christmas mere months away (or so it seems if you enter any chain retailer), the time to find presents is nigh. Nigh!
For your consideration, The Pat Robertson & Friends Coloring Book. The coloring book presents statements from Robertson and his cronies accompanied by coloring book style art. The publisher sent out copies to international artists who, in turn, put their own unique perspectives on the pages. (Above by Billi Brand Kid.)
Does "holla" have any relation to "hola"?
Barks of a dog, probably Pooky, four houses down.
Roaring hum of an air conditioner, electrical beep announcing the cycling down of its motor.
Conversation in Portuguese, Brazilian couple two flights up.
Varying roar of a car changing speeds, fast then slow then fast again, fooled by a fire hydrant in the search for a spot to park.
Tumoltuous distant whir of the subway stopping at Broadway, heading off to its final stop.
Lightest rustle of leaves in a restless wind.
I hate/love it here sometimes.
When the call from Bankable Productions came, my surprise was very evident to the Associate Producer on the other line. This isn't a site where America's Next Top Model is a main topic, merely a strange cultural phenomenon that is noted from time to time. Yet the invitation was given to see the most recent episode before it aired. Information was exchanged and the plain-wrapped DVD arrived by messenger in less than two hours.
The DVD contained possibly the most amazing episode of ANTM, nay, any reality show ever.
The beginning is as beginnings are. The assorted girls wake up and start the day. CariDee makes a strange, unrealistic imitation of Twiggy that causes Anchal to erupt milk from her morning's cereal out of her nose, grossing out Eugena out and leaving Brooke wanting to up the ante.
A call comes to the house for A.J. where the fan-favorite, stong-performing model is informed of the death of a great aunt. What we learn however is that A.J. was raised by that great aunt and is devastated. Temporarily. She makes a decision to go on with the competition and not leave for the funeral. A conversation with an off-screen producer confirms that she chooses to tough it out.
In the first competition the models are challenged to act as entertainment reporters at a runway event attended by former ANTM models and Janice Dickinson. During A.J.'s turn at the mic, she breaks into tears which, because they do not about the great aunt, causes the other contestants to begin to wonder about A.J.'s ability to stay in the competition. At this time we learn that the departed's name was Janet. A.J. again states that she can go on with the competition.
For the main event, the TyraMail reveals that the photoshoot will involve "moving targets". The contestants are to dress and do their own hair and makeup and are driven individually to the competition. But the competition is actually in the car which is then chased by three other cars with faux paparazzi photographers taking pictures while giving chase. At this point (and really, this is insane) it is revealed that great aunt Janet was killed ... in an auto accident. A.J. is in hysterics.
Yet for whatever reason she does not withdraw from the competition.
At the final evaluation the panel goes through the photos. Tyra Banka, Mister Jay, Miss Jay, Twiggy, and guest judge Janice Dickinson go through the regular patter with all of the models. (They sing an ANTM version of the Melrose Place theme song while Melrose is on the hotseat.) A.J.'s photo comes to the screen and the judging panel eviscerates her, evoking a screaming and crying fit from the model. During deliveration, Tyra evokes a haughty "She who was on top of the top is now on the bottom of the bottom."
The two up for elimination are a composed Jaeda (still looking masculine) and a sobbing (yes, sobbing) A.J. Tyra announces that Jaeda will stay, noting that she cannot understand the severe change of temperment and ability. A.J. finally explains what has happened, the significance of the great aunt in her life and eventually sobs in Tyra's arms. During all of this Tyra's face transmutes from somber to shock to rage.
Tyra releases A.J., who is now surrounded by the other models and judges. The camera follows her off the set where she goes into a tirade (Tyrade?) at the production staff, whose faces are obscured or blurred. Essentially it is revealed that no one had informed Tyra of what had occurred. Tyra yells out "BANKable Productions! Tyra Banks! Executive Producer! You. Are. All. FIRED!" The credits roll with no music and it is announced that the show is on hiatus for three weeks.
It is the most stunning moment of a reality show that has ever been witnessed.
And then I woke up.
(Actually this is just an example that fiction is better than truth any day. Support quality writing on television. Watch Weeds! Stop watching reality television; it only appeals to your most base impulses!)
Receptionist: It's sunny today.
MO: It'll be Cher tomorrow.
Office Manager: You know, that one's not half bad.
What can you call someone to express displeasure anymore? All of the words of childhood that were expressly verboten are now commonplace. The mere mention of "bitch" or "asshole" brought the threat of a visit to a cousellor's office.
(In fact, that office saw me for calling a girl a broomstick. Said girl was flatchested and had nappy blonde hair and frankly did look like a broomstick. Three years later she would be the first in our class to leave town to have a baby. So, in fact, she wasn't a broomstick, she was a stank-ass ho. My bad.)
Over time, loosening media standards have brought to general conversation such terms as "pussy", "dick", "dickhead", "faggot", "fucker", "cocksucker", "motherfucker" and "motherfucking cocksucker". Matt Stone and Trey Parker pushed the envelope even farther with the opening of the South Park movie with the rousing tune, "Shut Your Fucking Mouth, Uncle-Fucker". At the time it provided a bit of a jolt, but now even this seems a bit tame. Some of the last vestiges were crossed when to the common language came, "cunt". As the others, it was once unspeakable and now ubiquitous.
What seems popular today is "douchebag". Popularized by John Stewart on The Daily Show it is the "pompous ass" of today. While several other new phrases have entered the lexicon with clever combinations of words none of these have stuck. "Rapeface", "assmunch", "twatsore", "herpesbreath", "cuntbrow". Ambitious tries all, but just not sufficient.
So it is with great pleasure that a new choice is now presented. May I now present to you what is hoped to be your new favorite word ... fuckwipe.
Yes, everyone is freaked out, but no, mom, I'm okay. So far the aircraft crashing into 525 East 72nd Street doesn't seem to be something grand, but as it is the dreaded "11th" and we're close to an election and, well, it is National Coming Out Day, we're keeping our eyes peeled and our running shoes on.
Meanwhile, CNN, which used to have offices in Rockefeller Center, reports that the accident site of 72nd and York is near Rockefeller Center. Which it isn't. As even someone with access to Google Maps could confirm.
So here we are again. And maybe something bad is happening. Maybe they'll shut down the subway again. And may, just maybe I need another reason to get bombed tonight.
(Sometimes my word choices are really abominable.)
The best part of waking up, is lechery in your cup, um, or bowl ...
At the Court Square subway station, the path to transfer from the G to the 7 is home to over fifteen newly installed Heineken ads, all exactly the same. A young mother walking in the opposite direction of me was dragging her three year old son who was pointing at the ads and dragging the mother toward them. She didn't share her son's fascination and was decidely pulling him away from the images. As they approached his cries became audible. Pointing at each bottle of Heineken he was excitedly exclaiming: "Daddy!"
