Saturday, May 17, 2014

Chipotle will now feature poems and limericks on their cups for customers to read while they dine:
The food at Chipotle you can’t beat
The burritos are a tasty, healthy treat
So don’t go Taco Bell
Their food is not swell

And is probable made from dog meat.
From here on end, I rag nobody, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

North Korean dictator, Kim Jong Un, will have his own action video game. It’s called “Call of Doody-Pants.”

Happy 30th Birthday to Facebook founder, Mark Zuckerberg. If you want to give him a present, he is registered at Bed, Bath and Beyond a Billionaire.

Kanye West and Kim Kardashian are getting married in Florence. When she first heard they were getting married in Florence, an excited but confused Khloe said; “The mother from “The Brady Bunch” will marry you?”

Beyonce and Jay-Z have released a statement about the video of the Solange fight in the elevator. “At the end of the day families have problems and we’re no different.” No different if your mom and dad are Ike and Tina Turner.

The favorite in the Preakness is Derby winner, California Chrome, although I kind of like the three long shots: Jay-Z’s Beatdown, Sterling’s Bimbo and Alec’s Bike Ride.

Remember the Kentucky Derby where New England Patriots’ receiver, Wes Walker, was handing out 100’s from the 14K he won? Turns out they payout was a mistake. Walker was handing out money that wasn’t his. Does this mean he’s running for Congress?
Now Churchill Downs is asking Welker for the money back. If I were Welker I would say, “Sure, you can have it back. As soon as you pay me the ten million I mistakenly meant to bet on California Chrome.”
If I were Welker I would not pay Churchill Downs back. I mean, what possible problems could occur from not paying back a massive gambling enterprise?
Since you asked:  
Was taken by the comment by William Goldman that, in the movie business, nobody knows anything. It is so true.
William Goldman is the closest the movie business gets to a true intellectual, and he graduated from Oberlin with below-average grades. He got a Masters of Arts from Columbia because he didn’t have anything else to do and snuck in as a painter/artist, which he was not.
Goldman is a talented writer, clearly, very creative, funny and rich and wildly successful. 
This guy wrote “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”  “The Princess Bride” and “Marathon Man” not to mention screenplays for “Harper” and “All the Presidents Men” and yet there were eight years after all of these where Goldman could not get arrested as a writer in Hollywood.
Even after his “The Princess Bride” comeback, Goldman got into serious Hollywood “You’ll never work in this town again” hot-water when he wrote “Adventures in the Screen Trade” for exposing producers, directors and mostly actors and studio execs as the world-class egomaniac and insecure weasel douche bags they are. Namely producer Don Simpson, and actors Dustin Hoffman, Steve McQueen, Marlon Brando, Sly Stallone (He busted Stallone as only being 5.6)  and Val Kilmer. Goldman damned Robert Redford with feint praise, but that was because Goldman was so effusive of his praise for Paul Newman. Redford simply suffered by comparison.
Essentially of all the actors Goldman worked with, there were very few he had nice things to say about: In order of highest praise, it was Paul Newman first, Clint Eastwood and close second, Cliff Robertson and Robin Wright.
That’s it. 

The rest he dismissed as wildly insecure, un-educated and difficult tiny little egomaniacs. To say Goldman despised Dustin Hoffman and Steve McQueen would be putting it mildly. 
Goldman’s treatment at the hands of the producers of -and Hoffman - “All the Presidents Men” was nothing short of abusive, and he has since backed off on that by saying, in the end, it is only the quality of the movie that counts, not the treatment of the writer.
Goldman did not know what a screen play looked like until he was in his 30’s. He had to search Times Square bookstores to even find one. Except for publishing a novel “The Temple of Gold” he was a self-described failure as a writer. He would not have even been in the movie business if La Jolla native, Cliff Robertson, had not mistaken his drawn-out short story, “Flowers for Algeron” as a movie treatment. Then Robertson - whom Goldman had high praise for - fired Goldman and turned it into the Oscar winning movie “Charlie.”
Most of the biggest successes in Hollywood never even stepped foot in college. David Geffen was a rattlesnake of a hustler and had good taste. A lot of very famous music producers and promoters were simply failed musicians looking to get laid by hippy starlets in the late ‘60’s in Laurel Canyon.
There is a great scene in “Get Shorty” to name drop, written by my Aunt’s good friend, Elmore Leonard, which exposes the movie business. Delroy Lindo’s character tells John Travolta’s character that, to write a screen play, they just have to put their story down on paper and put a few of the directions and periods and commas in the right places, and he isn’t sure they even care that much about that.
At that point, Travolta says;
“So why do I need you?”
The motto of Hollywood could be:
“So why do I need you?”
Look at an actor like Seth Rogan. He didn’t step foot in a college either, but he had written “Super Bad” when he was 18. His career took off like a meteor with Judd Apatow tapping him for “40-Year-Old Virgin” and “Knocked Up”. And he deserves it. He is a funny and likeable and seemingly smart guy.
But a few more “Green Hornets” and “The Guilt Trip” and “This is the End” and Seth is out of the actor business except for gruff voice work. Now with “Neighbors,” he is back on top.
One of the top agents in Hollywood’s credo is “I don’t sign talent, I sign heat.” Heat is a hard thing to keep in Hollywood. You don’t need vast talent, you don’t need good looks, you certainly don’t need an education, you just have to want to have “heat” more than everyone else. (See: Glenn Frey)
The Eagles were at the top of one of the most cutthroat aspects of the entertainment world, the music business, when their founder, guitarist/singer Bernie Leadon, quit.  When the Eagles were formed, Bernie had the most “heat” as the recent leader of The Flying Burrito Brothers. He did the negotiating with David Geffen to sign the Eagles to the Asylum record deal.
Cut to: four hit albums later, soon after pouring a beer over the head of a coked-up Glenn Frey, Leadon stood up during an all-night recording session for “Hotel California,” stretched, yawned and announced he was going surfing. And never came back.
Thanks to the incredible hustling of their “little ball of hate” manager, the 5.3. Irving Azoff, (The song “Short People” was by Randy Newman written about Azoff. Jimmy Fallon’s character in “Almost Famous” was based on him. “With respect.” Tom Cruise’s hilarious movie producer in “Tropic Thunder” was based on him) and their-just-as-nasty producer, David Geffen, they landed Joe Walsh and made “Hotel California.” (A lot of Leadon is still reflected in that album)
But then the coke, the egos and the pressure got so bad, their other-worldly talented bass player, Randy Meisner quits. In another amazing coup, they get the brilliant high- singer and Poco bass player, Timothy B. Schmidt to replace him. (To put the financial discrepancy of the music business in perspective, before he joined the Eagles, Timothy B. Schmidt was making $300 a week with Poco. This according to Glenn Frey) But now the leaks on the yacht Eagles are starting to show and what did they produce? “The Long Run.”
Abandon ship.
There aren’t enough excuses for cocaine abuse and lack of rapid eye movement to explain some of the songs on “The Long Run.” “Teenage Jail” “Disco Strangler” and especially “The Greeks Don’t Want No Freaks”? Please.

Nobody knows anything.
Comparing that over-produced pile of crap, “The Long Run” to the quality of the songs on the albums “Hotel California” and “Desperado” is embarrassing considering most of the Eagles talent was still on board. (Although, obviously, even Frey and Henley underestimated the contributions of the real Eagles sound by Meisner and Leadon)
Movies are a lot like albums. Nobody cares how they get made or how awful the behavior of the people involved, as long as they come out well.
And both depend, most of all, on the writing.
Most people have never heard of songwriters like Jack Tempchin or Steve Young. Many have not heard of J.D. Souther. Most have heard of Bob Seger. But without al of them and Linda Ronstadt, there is no Eagles. Period. Nobody, not even Frey, can dispute that.
In “The History of the Eagles” documentary, Joe Walsh says looking at an album like “Hotel California” makes it seem so planned out and linear. And it is anything but that. Five talented guys with huge egos all are writing songs and fighting for them to be on the album.
Bands have broken up over if a song should be on an album, what key the song should be in, who sings lead, back up, who does the guitar solo? Each instrument is recorded separately, each vocal is recorded separately, and then they have to mash all ten recordings, or tracks, together. It’s insanely tedious. Movies are ten times worse. They are combining all the many hours of film from each day of shooting.
When I come back from surfing, I have one hour of raw GoPro footage. After an hour or two of editing and mixing some music, it boils down to about a minute of footage. Imagine a GoPro/iMovie editing session that lasts a month?
It doesn’t matter how talented an actor, comedian or musician is at improvising, if they aren’t working off something that is well-written, either song or script, they don’t stand a chance. Go ahead. Name a movie or album that was entirely improvised. There aren’t any. Some director said if real life was interesting, you could make a movie out of the video in a 7-Eleven security camera.
As I have said before, I would not walk across the street to watch a musician as talented as Jack White or Eric Clapton making up a song on the spot.
Because it would suck.
Used to take my dates to the Blue Note jazz club which because it was next door to my Manhattan apartment in the Village on West Third. The women I took there all seemed to love the sound of all-improvised jazz. Me? It was good for the first ten minutes, then it just sounded like the musical equivalent of jerking off.
Outside of modern dance or poetry, you will not find a snottier and effete group than die-hard modern jazz –improv-lovers. Once my buddies and I stumbled into Bradley’s on Fifth Ave. in the Village which was packed for a big-time three- piece jazz group. We made the audacious faux pas of actually talking and laughing in a bar. To this day I will not forget the daggers these grey-bearded knobs threw us with their eyes.

Screw those snotty humps. They know nothing. Nobody knows anything. 

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Bang The Drum Slowly Song

Saw this wildly, wildly - one more time just to be annoying - wildly underrated sports movie last night, "Bang the Drum Slowly." 

If you didn't think DeNiro is a genius, compare this guy to "Raging Bull." As opposite as human beings can be. And Moriarty's performance is . . . perfect. 

"Bang the Drum Slowly" is sort of the Un "The Natural" although both are great in  opposite ways. Cried as much as "Brian's Song." The scene with Bruce's (DeNiro) dad and Moriarty outside the clubhouse is nothing less than a wonderful punch to the gut. 

Saw an interview with the always awesome, William Goldman, and he talked about how he gets so sobbingly emotional when he sees examples of stupid courage on film. Butch and Sundance's not talking about the militia they know will gun them down before they run out.

In "BTDS" DeNiro and Moriarty have stupid courage. 

Bet a lot of you Nugs and Slats did not know this: 

I am the reigning Bishop level champion in the Southwestern a-minor championship league of the game of Tegwar. Won with a Southhampton Jersey Philly Long bow. It beat a Kansas Neck Tie banana roll slam by 15 and 32 below the fly on the apron. 

It won two spersnikities to five flambosities. 

It is so hot in L.A., Donald Sterling hugged his mistress, V. Stiviano, just because she is such a stone-cold bitch. 

Opening of "Call of Duty: Ghosts" Too close . . .

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

It is so hot in Los Angeles, Donald Sterling went to Magic Johnson's house just to get the cold shoulder.

Tonight the Mets host the Yankees. This is the baseball equivalent of Jay-Z versus Beyonce's sister, Solange. 

A guy named Ha-Ha Clinton-Dix goes to the Packers the same week Monica Lewinski is on the cover of “Vanity Fair”? What comedy god did I please?

Since you asked:

Local female reporter covering the Carlsbad fire has a terminal case of Valley-girl-speak/sexy-baby-vocal-virus. She just said;

"The change of wind is a double-edged sword, on the one hand it is good, but on the other hand it is totally bad."

A sword has to get up pretty early to fool her . . . 

Not for nothing, but has anyone ever seen Paul Rudd and Brandon Routh at the same place at the same time? 

I'm throwing this out there:

The firefighters are saying they have never seen anything like eight fires started in the same day. The locations are so random they are not random. Same distances apart. A horseshoe-like pattern along the coast North, and then swing across to the south farther west. Targeting wealthy areas and a military base.

Fires started just off the 5 going North, just off the 15 going South. 

What kind of person would be motivated to cause so much destruction?   

They will catch this guy. And he will fry. 

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

It is looking a little too "Call of Duty: Ghosts" around this piece . . . 
Hellified, sanctified and vilified, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Have you seen the TMZ clip of Beyonce’s sister, Solange, attacking Jay-Z in the elevator? “Wow, I guess a bitch is one of his problems,” said everybody on Twitter.

Noah has become the most popular boys name in the US. The least popular boys name? Donald Sterling Putin.

TMZ  has security footage of Beyonce Knowles’s sister, Solange, attacking Jay Z in an elevator at the Met Gala. That is shocking. That is amazing. Beyonce has a sister?
Solange is a French word that means: Not Beyonce.

Miami Dolphins Don Jones is in trouble after making negative comments on twitter about the St. Louis Rams drafting openly gay player Michael Sam. Twitter: showing us how stupid celebrities are for seven straight years.

Congratulations to the St. Louis Rams for picking Michael Sam, the first openly gay player selected in the draft. Upon his selection, Sam kissed his boyfriend, Vito Cammisano. And that is this week’s story my Uncle Rudy will not understand.
The All-American Sam was the 249th player chosen. As risky moves go, this is right up there with choosing to go with orange Gatorade instead of the green.

The mansion in the movie “Scarface” sold in California for $35 million. $5 mil. of that is the street value of the cocaine left in the carpet.

Clay Aiken’s opponent in their close democratic North Carolina state congressional primary, Keith Crisco, 71, was found dead in his home. Apparently the strain of trying to find a Clay Aiken CD was just too much.

The St. Louis Rams drafted Michael Sam, the first openly gay player. The All-American Sam was the 249th player chosen, the seventh from last pick. As token publicity moves go, this ranks up there with the Redskins hiring a Native American security guard.   

“Neighbors” is #1 at the box office. It is a comedy that explains in 96 minutes how a schlub like Seth Rogan ends up married to, and having a kid with, Rose Byrne.

Remember the Tennessee woman who was arrested and they found a loaded gun in her vagina? In Florida you know what they call a woman with a gun hidden in her vagina? “The ultimate prom date.”

Donald Sterling told Anderson Cooper he is not a racist and then attacked Magic Johnson. What did we learn from the Sterling-Cooper interview? Apparently 1.9 billion dollars cannot buy an assistant who can yell: “Just shut the hell up.”

Random Schmandom:

Tommy Lasorda got his wish. Creepy Donald Sterling’s creepy gold-digger, V. Stiviano, was in a car accident. It was a fender bender, but Stiviano lived up to her billing. She rear-ended a car while texting and wearing a dark visor, swore at the person she hit saying; “Do you know who I am, motherf*@cker?” and made her assistant give all the information. This psycho bitch can’t go away too soon.
Come on, Canada, you don’t really think that stuff is bacon, do you?
Bet it was a fun Mother’s Day at Momma Knowles’s house. Beyonce and Solange, if you can’t be civil . . . What is their sister’s name, Futonia?
The St. Louis Rams picking All-American lineman, Michael Sam, the first openly gay player selected in the draft, 249th is about as brave a publicity stunt as the Washington Redskins hiring a Native American security guard. 249th is seventh from last. That is worse than last. At least last gets a title of Mr. Irrelevance. Sam has the pressure of being called a draft pick without any of the gravitas.
Here is the deal with little dudes and the debate of Superman Versus Batman.  When you be a little dude, nothing is more fun than pretending to be Superman. You wear the cape, you make the fists when you fly, you bounce bullets off your chest. My first good model I painted well was Superman. Can still see the bright, blood red of the cape and the Caribbean-ocean blue and the bright Canary yellow.
Then, in shockingly quick succession, around ages 6 to 7, you start to lose your fantasy buddies: the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and the second to last to go is Santa Claus. At this point Superman is the last fantasy buddy, but he is hanging on by a thread.
Then, one day after school, when you’re drinking your milk – that was hand delivered by the milkman – and eating your Graham crackers and watching the old black and white “Superman” with George Reeves, you just can’t ignore the growing gut, the wrinkles in the suit, the wires holding up his cape when he is “flying”. How he has to take a running start with a silly, silly hop to fly.
Turning to Batman is like a mid-life crisis for a little kid, super hero-wise. You can’t love Superman anymore, but you haven’t fallen for Batman. Then you give the comic books a chance. OK, cool mansion, even cooler bat cave. And then, with all mid-life crisis’s, it comes down to the car. Fire blasting turbo engine, parachutes to stop, cool, cool, loud humming noise.
With Superman it is love at first sight that fades with growing up. With Batman he slowly wins you over with the bat-pole, the bat-signal, the bat-rope, the utility belt – man, I loved that when I was a kid.
Just leafing through Laird Hamilton’s  “Force of Nature” book and I noticed his training and nutrition tips – not just from Laird, but from world class trainers – and there is a common theme: 80:20. If you work out hard 80% you can rest for 20%. If you eat well and light for 80%, you can binge a tad. Maybe not as high as 20%, but a good amount.
This is a common theme in other workout articles I have seen in “Sports Illustrated” and online. We tend to be a 100% or nothing culture, and that just isn’t needed nor is it practical.
No doubt I am guilty of what I call my Warrior/Spartan mode or my rock star mode. If I am working out and eating right it is all Warrior/Spartan grilled fish and water. Rock star mode is the other way. Drink booze and eat grilled red meat.
Since this is pretty universal with trainers these days – train hard but give them a binge/carrot to look forward to – I can’t help but wonder if this is contributing to the incidents of athletes getting in big trouble. They train hard for 8 days and then go on a day or two binder. That is a recipe for disaster.
The old days, Joe Namath and Paul Hornung partied all night every night. This continued as recently as Lawrence Taylor through Dennis Rodman. They were just gifted athletes whose talents were other worldly and they had no peers.

These days other athletes eat too well and train too well to get away with anyone doing the every night partying. But when they do go out, now, they go nuts. And this causes problems with the law.