Yeah, yeah, there’s another boring new Radiohead record. Well, we’re really sorry, but much like you kids and, say, George W. Bush or the sad state of cinema, we simply can’t be arsed to think about it, let alone work up a good dander. Let’s just note for the record that Radiohead are the biggest bunch of phony-baloney corporate lackeys this side of Eden’s Crush, only with fewer tunes. Fuck ’em. We’ve got more important things to worry about.
Hey, that Stone Cold Steve Austin, he’s snapped a gasket, hasn’t he? A man’s man, a champion’s champion, but whoo-doggie, he’s pretty much nuts!
We see Donna Martin‘s dad—yes, the great Doc Martin himself—is among the cast of a commercial for some business solutions computer thingy. Work is work, we know, but from 90210 to that? Show business—she’s a cruel, cruel bitch. . . .
Big ups to our current Best Label in the World, the fab Boobytrap Records, located in—where else?—Cardiff, the city where psych-pop guitar-rock rules. Recent releases in their monthly singles output include double-A sided treats from the great Derrero, the great Tommy and the Chauffeur, and the great Brave Captain. Awesome, angry, and anti-establishment to the nth degree, “Corporation Man” b/w “Monkey Beer” puts the Pop! back into agitpop, throwing two fingers and a pair of catchy-as-fuck choruses at the Man. Further proof that Our Martin‘s truly hit his solo stride and is back to kicking out the jams motherfuckin’ Boo Radleys-style!
Jeers to the new season of Sex and the City. What once seemed lighthearted now seems really rather sad. . . . Correct us if we’re wrong, but Carrie is neither good-looking or stylish. Truth is, she’s one of those chicks that other chicks think is hot, but guys look at and go, “She’s kind of ugly, but she’s got big tits so, yeah, I guess I’d fuck her.”
And the men just get more and more pathetic. We thought you couldn’t sink much lower than the Northern Exposure guy (except maybe with the other Northern Exposure guy), but now we have to look upon Craig Friggin’ Bierko as the representation of the Perfect Man? With a porkpie hat, no less! Right, right, he’s supposed to be brilliant on Broadway, and a Benchley-esque wit to boot, but on TV, where it counts, Bierko radiates—no, oozes—”dick.” Also, in the interest of verisimilitude, girls hate jazz, so the whole plot line is inherently bullshit. Though perhaps not quite as bullshit as Samantha entering into a committed lesbian relationship. The shark—erm, the tuna—has been jumped.
Cheers, however to Kim Catrall, who looks better naked now than the first time we saw her naked oh those many years ago. And that Chris Noth seems like a cool dude. He’s one of the few guys to throw a hump into Winona Ryder and not have his talent sapped away.
For us, Sunday was made for The New York Times. . . .
What, no Henry Jaglom movies on the American Film Institute’s list of the 100 most thrilling movies? And anyone who thinks Pulp Fiction is a better thriller than Speed or The Matrix is probably humming “Knives Out” right now. . . . Seeing how we won’t see Swordfish until at least December or January (depending on whether we watch it in a hotel or hold out for DVD), we made a point of downloading the topless Halle Berry shots from the alt.nude.celebrities newsgroup— and may we say that those beauties are indeed worth a quarter mil apiece. More, even. She am bootylicious.
The Fast and the Furious is going to make Vin Diesel a star. . . .
David Arquette, one of those Wayans Brothers, Arsenio, and now Carrot Top. Who’s doing the market testing for AT&T? Pauly Shore? And, sweet Jesus, can somebody please get Eva Savealot into a skimpier outfit? You assclowns are wasting Alyssa Milano‘s only talent, for Christ’s sake. . . .
Finally—and we do mean finally—the execution of Timothy McVeigh was, to paraphrase a great Oklahoman, a nasty bit of business.
