Finally saw Traffic, and while it has its merits, it’s about as much fun as, well, sitting in traffic. Also, when we fork over 9 bucks to see a movie, we shouldn’t have to be surprised by Amy Irving. . . . Which reminds us, what’s the biggest lie in Hollywood? “Screenplay by Steven Spielberg.”
When a 13-year-old kid is bright enough to set himself on fire, how could that not be Johnny Knoxville‘s fault? We’d blame Mike Judge, but that’s just soooo ’90s. . . . The final two hours of Wynton Mars . . . sorry, Ken Burns’ Jazz covers the years 1961 to 2000—because, really, nothing much of interest happened during those years. . . .
Steve Gottlieb may have his finger on the pulse of America, but seeing him in that commercial makes us want to stick a finger down our throats. . . . Christopher Hitchens‘ piece in the new Harper’s detailing that scum fuck Hank Kissinger‘s crimes against humanity is a stunning work of journalistic integrity—just like this column, only more so.
Jason would like to send his love to his favorite new media twinkie, the raven-haired cohost of DirecTV‘s hourly guide to pay movies. She has not a thought in her head, but she knows what’s on television. . . . Bye bye, Road Dogg! Tell Dusty and Ric we said hello!
We’re still a little upset about Beaver College‘s changing its name. What a bunch of pussies. . . . On a related note: “He was a dick, a complete cock,” says JJ72‘s Mark Greaney of Michael Stipe. We knew that. . . . And while we’re on the subject of complete cocks, Alan McGee seems to have gone plum nutty. First, he attacks poor cute little Coldplay for no good reason; now, he’s slagging the Boo Radleys‘ Wake Up—one of the CB’s all-time favorite albums—as an “atrocity exhibition,” as opposed to other Creation Records releases by such McGee faves as the Diggers, Wheeler 18, and Arnold. Actually, Arnold were OK, but they don’t hold a candle to the mighty Boos!
Oliver Stone recently told Premiere that he wants “to write one movie where I write everything out and not worry about the consequences. And then walk away. Fuck it. Sunset time. You don’t have to make movies all your life.” Hey, Ollie, could you possibly convince Sir Spielberg to pack it in as well?
Has anyone noticed that Laura Bush looks like the Joker? Whereas W. always looks like the guy the wedding photographer has to tell, “No, no, look over here, please!” He’s not the president, he’s the father of the bride! Seems to us the Bush daughters are being treated with entirely too much respect. They deserve twice as much mockery as Chelsea got.
Coming soon, Cottonelle Fresh Rollwipes—yup, moistened toilet paper, baby wipes for grown-ups. Apparently one out of four Americans already uses a moist tissue after taking a crap. People really ought to eat more fiber.
Did they cast Grounded for Life at Sundance or what? Never mind that Donal Logue isn’t exactly Ray friggin’ Romano, isn’t a cross between Malcolm in the Middle and Yes Dear something of a step down for Kevin Corrigan? He isn’t even—not by a long shot!–the best actor with kinky hair on a Fox sitcom.
The only thing about Sam Raimi‘s The Gift worth unwrapping is Katie Holmes. . . . Where did this notion that Heather Graham can act come from? And hey, when’s the new Hater record coming out? Hold on a sec . . . let us think for a minute. . . . Nope. Still don’t miss Smashing Pumpkins or Rage.
We love that Cedric the Entertainer, but there’s still no better pitchman than Jack from Jack in the Box. See, it’s funny because it’s ludicrous that someone could get paid $25,000 to taste fast food! And then it’s even funnier because he charges by the nugget!
Finally, Jason’s dad ran into Wally Richardson, Mike Archie, Mark Tate, Eric Coles, and other assorted NY/NJ Hitmen at Newark Airport the other day. Go Hitmen go!
