Friday, September 28, 2007

ABBA: The Tour

More Awesome

First of all, seeing any concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Colorado is pleasing to the soul. Although a wee chilly last night, the view did not disappoint. Neither did ARRIVAL, the world's foremost ABBA tribute band.

They are Swedish (er, I guess the Ana-Frida clone is actually Norwegian), they are admitted ABBA obsessives and they can absolutely sing the hell out of those catchy tunes ("Winner Takes it All" was my favorite"). The costumes, the dancing, the singing, even the between-song patter was authentic '70s Swedish supergroup awesomeness.

The amphitheater was nearly at capacity — people had to resort to sitting on the steps or perching on the railings — and every last one of the mofos were on their feet, dancing, singing and otherwise going berserk. Lots of little kids were there, enjoying being out way after bedtime, but I didn't see as many people in drag as I'd hoped. Oh, well.

My BFF Jaymie was my date for the evening, the tickets a birthday present for her. We recalled our prior (as in early '80s) trips to Red Rocks (bodha bags, everclear punch, shitty jam bands, stomach pumps) not so fondly and toasted with our water bottles to a much-improved Red Rocks experience. Not that we approve of taking it too far from cool, as when some 50-year old man torched up a doob, all 50 people sitting around him turned and shot him the stinkeye. He put it out.

I'm getting old. I hate, hate, hate live music concerts. I am easily enraged by the lemming-like behavior of crowds of people. I think tribute bands are a joke. I no longer drink enough at one sitting to enjoy an event secondary to being bombed and acting like a complete retard. In general, I'm unpleasant to be around.

I fucking loved ABBA: The Tour and will cherish the memory of that concert. People at my fave karaoke bar are on notice: it's gonna be all ABBA, all the time for a long time.

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I *Heart* the Gays!

And this is why:


Thursday, September 27, 2007

America's Oldest and the World's Greatest Beer

I won't tell you where I got it, since Yuengling Lager is impossible to purchase anywhere west of the Mississippi and it is essential I keep the supply chain open.

Anyway. You there on the East Coast can enjoy it wherever and whenever you want to, so what are you waiting for? Don't like beer? Trust me: you will like this one.

Plus, it's been a family-run business since its inception in 1829 and their products have always maintained the highest standards in quality (even when they were producers of ice cream during Prohibition). In contrast, the Coors family are a bunch of double-dealing Nazi sympathizers who hide shoddy product and bad politics under wholesome advertising promises. Bah!

Not to mention that Coors brewing has never produced a worthwhile beer.

Enough ranting! I have Lager to imbibe. Suckers!


Friday, September 21, 2007

Soul-killing Unfunny Comedians

(this is by no means an exhaustive list)

Sarah Silverman (and her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel): They are what I like to call "Disgruntled Bullies". You know, the kid who humiliated other kids in a wrong-headed effort to assuage their own self-loathing. It wasn't funny in 5th grade, either.

Dane Cook, Johnny Knoxville, Steve-O, etc., otherwise known as the "How Gross Can I Get and Still Keep 'Em Laughing" kids. Again, barely funny in grade school. I knew a guy who could be Dane Cook's brother in high school. Spooky-same-person, you know what I mean? Anyway, this guy destroyed every last one of his brain cells other than those required for blinking, farting, cracking stupid jokes and hitting on girls out of his league, by constantly smoking pot. I bet if that Dude cut back on the weed and worked on his jokes he could be Dane Cook.

Bill Maher
. Seriously, how did this person &mdash utterly devoid of talent or charm &mdash become so successful as a comedian? He's like Ann Coulter with a smaller dick. There are so many of these worthless comedians out there, who tell jokes like they haven't been laid in years and are suffering the worse case of constipation with hemorrhoids you can imagine. Bloated, cranky, depressed insomniacs with a shed full of axes to grind are not funny people.

Mr. Maher was behind me in line at one of those "bottle service" clubs I heart so much (ri-i-i-i-ight), back in the early '90s. He is my height, possibly shorter. I am but a wee girl. He had on makeup, my friends, which did nothing to improve his acne-scarred and hopelessly fugly face. He whined to his friend to go tell the bouncer who he was, so he could get out of the "loser line" at this "moronic club". I gave my hair a saucy flip and smiled at him. He formulated some semblance of a smile on his face right back at me. I yelled to the bouncer, "Hey, Kevin, Cap'n Douchebag over here says he doesn't belong in this loser line at this moron's club. Can you help him out?"

It turned out that Kevin the Bouncer had never heard of Bill Maher. Maher's gruesome threesome left in a huff.

Comedy is a tough business. It's hard to believe these people made the cut at their first open stage. I mean, Carrot top?

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Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Saturday Night Live

What did you do last Saturday night? Did you attend a black-tie charity gala that featured an intimate live concert with Earth, Wind and Fire? No? I did.

Yes, it was awesome. This is how close to Philip Bailey we were when we boogied. I know! We are so lucky.

It sure was weird to be at a concert with 1500 extremely rich white people. One of the trophy wives tried to get up on stage and dance and was immediately (though gently) removed by security. I told Superfly it was like the Forbes prom. Har, har.

The BAND was, of course, insanely good. You just can't appreciate The Voice and all its many octaves until he is 5 feet away from you, trilling away. Mind boggling. And hello? Someone needs to bottle some of that energy Verdine White is cranking — he is a smiling, whirling dervish of happiness and talent.

I won't soon forget that night, I tell you. Pretty sure I've always been an E,W & T fan and have passed the love to my troublets. Their favorite is "Boogie Wonderland". What's yours?

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Sunday, September 16, 2007

One Way to Interest Women in Football

Here's the girl's take on the $195 Chanel football


Here is the boy's.


Personally, I won't care until it becomes available in Eagles green. And would it kill them to be-dazzle it a little?

I'm kidding.


Thursday, September 13, 2007

Example B!


I Like 'Em Looking Like They're One Bad Call Away From Being an Inpatient


Wednesday, September 12, 2007

It's Charity Bikini Car Wash Time Again

You see, Led Zeppelin is reuniting for a one-off show in London this November.

If I survived the concert I might be inclined to storm the gates of Top Gear and steal the Stig's job in broad daylight.

So brush off those be-dazzled American flag bikinis, girls, we gotta raise some funds!


Monday, September 10, 2007

Britney at the VMAs

I actually had better things to do (read: watch football,drink beer and play NTN trivia)than watch some stupid MTV awards show. All over the interwebs this morning is vicious criticism of Britney Spears — one even has her on "suicide watch".

Watch the video on youtube or practically any website in existence and you'll see a bedraggled and plumper (though by no means as fat as she's being called by so many other pots and kettles) Britney, looking absolutely terrified and messing up her dancing and singing so badly it hurts to watch.

Poor kid, her life is spinning out of control and there doesn't appear to be anyone around her with a steadying influence. If Madonna could spare some time from adopting African orphans and doing whatever it is she does to make her arms look so spooky, she would be an excellent mentor for the poor Miss Spears. Exactly what the stale pop tart needs.

I can see it now: Madonna, taking Britney under her taut wing, putting the Cheetoh-lover on a macrobiotic diet and whipping her into shape in dance class and recording studio. Move Britney and her babies to London to give the girl a break from the paparazzi and Perez Hilton. Let her hair grow out — ditch the weaves. Take a cue from Rihanna and class up the outfits a little. If Kabbalah helps, fine, but get your head right, girl.

After a proper detox and style makeover, Britney ought to spend some time with the gays. STAY AWAY FROM THE CHAVS!

And then and only then can Britney stage a comeback.

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Wednesday, September 05, 2007


...and just in time for Mercedes-Benz fashion week.

Almost exactly one year ago I pitched a story idea to my editor and set to work on what would end up being nearly five grueling months worth of research, interviews and writing. I talked with fashion editors, fashion designers, PR flacks, automotive designers, auto design students, auto experts and women car buyers and have the acres of transcripts, tapes, emails and questionnaires, endless re-writes, etc. to prove it — not that anyone cares.

I moved to Denver in-between the last fashion week and the New York Auto Show. My story was supposed to be published then, but I got into a big scrap with the editor over my byline. There is a strong chance that my story will be published with someone else's name on it. This is due to an internal policy wherein all work generated on premises by employees is property of the company and the Editor gets to do with it what he/she will.

I'm not mad at the Editor — he gets it from all sides and has to deal with shit from which I would run pell-mell away in the opposite direction. He has always been kind and fair to me and I have to assume something more important than me is forcing his hand. It's my fault for not getting everything in official writing before turning in my story, anyway.

There is also the chance that some half-wit slag in the video department will appear in an attached video. I was to tape a video for the original story with fashion designer Dana Buchman, but had to cancel our shoot day due to my breast biopsy. When I returned to the office, I learned that the aforementioned half-wit slag would be damned if any other girl would appear in a company video but her and refused to allow our use of the cameras, etc. Why a stalwart company like this would allow a 20-something dingbat to run an important media division is astounding and incredibly depressing. This is not my fault and the slag can burn in Hell.

(Aside: Ms. Buchman is absolutely splendid and her designs for Cadillac are divine, even if most of the interior details won't make it onto production models. Also, I love her Fall 2007 line, even though I'm more of an Old Navy kind of shopper.)

*Sigh* This is a lesson learned: trust no one in publishing, keep your ideas close to your vest, examine contracts thoroughly before turning in copy and above all, trust no one in publishing.

If my name ain't on it I'll be sad, but glad it finally got published — I think it's a hell of a good story.


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Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself Dept.

This young whippersnapper of a sports reporter has just published a revelatory piece on the unfair criticism of Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb.

Look at Michael Vick. Donovan McNabb is the anti-Michael Vick. Yet the clean-living, nice guy McNabb, who is one of the most successful Eagle ever, gets nothing but grief from fans and snarky comments from the idiot sports announcers. Oh, and Rush Limbaugh.