Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
I was unsure of the assignment from the jump and the dank, rainy weather coupled with the ceremony's location (Midtown) didn't exactly push me out the door. But a soldier must march and I am certainly considered front line material for such an assignment.
After my last (pssst! Look below) assignment I came to the conclusion that shaving was my best bet if I wanted to reap the benefits of PR benevolence. Clean-shaven I look like media jail bait
and I'll take any advantage I can get.
As I stood around waiting for the talking jocks to enter the networking/backscratching/sycophanting area (cocktail lounge) I kept myself busy snagging passed hors d'oeuvres and entertaining the smallish PR representative with my hilarious folksy ways.
As my restlessness grew, I strolled into the area designated for mingling and drinking. With newfound friend in tow we grabbed sodas and when my unsolicited chaperone was elsewhere I gulped down some cheap wine.
I jumped into line with the other media members as a smattering of former players and wishful former players stopped to chat with us lower-tier media members.
I was able to speak briefly with the Round Mound of Rebound, Charles Barkley, before he was scurried to the stage to present the night's first award. It was difficult to interview a boyhood idol but it could have gone much worse.
I was beckoned to the green room to watch the program on a monitor and interview winners during their trophy photograph set to the lovely Sports Emmy background: dream.come.true. Who doesn't want to chat up producers and cameramen?!
I was able to converse with Cris Collinsworth who turned out to be quite an intelligent man. We discussed what effects a U.S. boycott of the Beijing Olympics would have on the games and relations between the two nations. While I disagreed with some of Collinsworth's assertions (a nation shouldn't use the Olympics as a forum for protest) I was surprised he supported and advocated individuals using the games in such a fashion. We discussed the differences between prior Olympics* and the global communities' calls for boycotts and contrasted them with the Beijing controversy.
Cris was whisked away before I was able to discuss candidates grandstanding with calls for boycotting the Olympics or portions of the games. But I was able to listen to Sir Charles drop more knowledge on myself and the weirdos interviewing him alongside me.
(Note: One of the reporters actually looked like the pictured Laker, [is that Vlade Divac?] but with much less hair or jumping ability.)
Chuckster spoke more about politics (outsourcing of jobs and labor, immigration, classism, problems within the black community, etc.) than basketball which was interesting and still peppered with delicious quotables:
"I think gay people should be able to get married. I say that and they (never identified) try to get me fired. I tell them to kiss my ass."
When celebrities start spouting off about social or political issues, my eyes usually start circling, rolling, and/or squeezing in annoyance and disgust. But when a celebrity has his (or her) mind right and isn't simply squawking and sounding off with little to no authority or expertise on a subject other than notoriety, but because said person KNOWS THE SUBJECT, it's refreshing***.
Charles Barkley and Cris Collinsworth are knowledgeable people. They seek to attain knowledge on a topic and don't (as far as I know) present themselves as experts when they're not.
I'm not here to present these two men as idols other than models for trading cards to be attached to bike wheels for the purpose of "clickety-click" sound production. But I left my conversations with these men with a newfound respect for their intellects and classiness.
If only they can keep the coatcheck line (40 minutes waiting for my jacket?!) in order I'd certainly attend the 30th Annual Sports Emmy Awards if invited. I gotta bring a camera, though.
*I managed to spill a glass of wine on a woman descending the stairs a few strides behind me at this juncture, too. Smooth.
**Full disclosure: I totally flubbed a historical reference and somehow overlooked/forgot in the heat of the moment (haha-that sounds so sexual) that the U.S. actually participated in the Berlin Games. All apologies to Jesse Owens and the other courageous men and women who participated. What was I thinking? Apparently not too much.
***Funny how Mystic River featured my examples (save for Sarandon) from both camps of outspoken celebrities.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I left the evening with a newfound respect for David Banner's politics and his ability to lose a ridiculous amount of weight in a short amount of time.
Mind you he wasn't shirtless at the event (nor did he have facial hair--the man shaved!) but I wanted to illustrate the "transformation." There was some serious broing out in regard to a mutual love and respect for greasy southern cuisine.
This short Jewish cat next to me kept asking me who every rapper and athlete was at the party which got a little old; but can you blame him? He was entertainment, or something, the sports guy just threw him the story that afternoon, apparently. So I gave the little bugger some slack.
Mike Jones also lost a great deal of weight which was shocking but somehow less interesting. The guy did hug me though, thus bequeathing me even more street credibility, if you can imagine that.
Other highlights: chatting about basketball with Sports History God the Schwab. He picked the Suns to win the championship this year...I guess no god is infallible. This wild-eyed black kid shouting "Hey Ashton! Ashton Kutcher!" at me for a good thirty minutes straight. Chatting up women at the event with the intent of trying to sex as many football players as possible. Watch out, dudes!
To close the night out I tried selling my V.I.P. pass to some asshole waiting in line outside in the rain but he and his friends just gave me a blank stare.
Another day, I suppose.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I stumbled upon this video earlier today of Clint Ruin a.k.a. Foetus a.k.a. J.G. Thirwell and I was ashamed at how long it's been since I've sat down and listened to some of the man's work. Fucking incredible musician who's been churning out the "hits" for nearly thirty years now--amazing.
To give you some more context, this is a video of Soft Cell covering the Suicide (the band, not the act) song "Ghostrider" with Thirwell, during his Clint Ruin years, hopping in to provide some spine tingling guest vocals. The man is a howler and I mean that as the ultimate compliment. Enjoy.
Addendum: Clint Ruin/Thirwell is one of a select few able to get away with wearing sunglasses at night or indoors. That boy is BAD! End mancrush.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Every comment I eavesdropped sounded like the same generic bullshit I've seen and heard swallowed and purged as individual cognition.
"Do these assholes even know what they're saying/think?" I'd find myself thinking to myself. That isn't meant to be an indictment of their grasp of the piece and its paling in comparison to my own, but in fact an actual question. So often I notice people espousing word strings being masqueraded as original thought when in fact it's something the speaker read or overheard.
Art and creative exhibitions as a circle jerk exercise (redundant?) are not for me. Oh, you with the ironic outfit, can you choose somewhere to have your discussion on the night's activities somewhere other than DIRECTLY in front of the piece I'm trying to look at? Thanks. Nice mustache, asshole.
The night wasn't all douchebags worthy of a fist flurry (to the face for boys and the agina for the girls) for their artistic pretensions. I also got to hang out in the company of CD Djs!!!
Let me preface/soften this section by saying that I'm sure there's some skill and a general degree of difficulty to overcome in the world of compact dics jockeying. However, that being said, shut the fuck up. Chances are you're a glorified button pusher and what you do isn't important, interesting, worthy of any acclaim you might reap. I'm all for having fun, playing/listening to music, dancing--but you're not a DJ.
I don't feel like harping on these subjects of societal dregs (fake-DJs, party photographers, underground socialites) any longer. Listen to Leviathan's last (and by last I mean most recent AND final) album and enjoy the hate. It's super fun playing air drums to "Sacred Scars."
Random note: I just found a gray hair--fuck life.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Mine is pretty raging and total pissed off hardcore/punk/metal goofiness. You'll enjoy it if you've got these.
If not, make your own.
Keeping with the "theme"...
Mishka, you've done it again. But fix your Doombox, it's fucking terrible. Bring back fun stuff and leave the nu-rave for the other dudes.
Goodnight all, time to fall asleep to nicotine withdrawals