Vote for Frank

My friend Frank's book, King Dork, has been nominated for a Quill Award. There's online voting, so please vote for it now. It's in the Teen/Young Adult section, and you can also vote it Book of the Year. While you're at it, please vote for my client and friend Lane Smith, who you may know from his classic, "The Stinky Cheese Man." His book, "John, Paul, George & Ben" is nominated for Best Illustrated Children's Book.

Better Than JonBenet, Yes, That Good

1996 was a bad year for me. You know how you look back on the last year of a long, failed relationship, and, in hindsight, the entire year just should've been lopped off like a gangrenous toe? Well, that's what 1996 was for me. It was the skid marks *after* the lumberjack disrobes. I mean, how much could one woman take? But on December 26, 1996, a date that shall live in infamy, my attention was momentarily diverted from the domestic nightmare which had entombed me. Little JonBenet. Her death was tragic, but seeing as how I am an American and all, I used it as a delectable opiate to avoid my life for hours on end. Who did it? Was it Mom, Dad, or Burke? Did the pageants point to a darker inner life, and if so, were all baby-pageant people pervy? Why was the note written from a pad in the home? Why was the glass inconsistent with a break-in? And what about the magic number, $118,000? I have gone back to suckle on this scandalous milkshake at every opportunity, reading the books, watching the specials, engaging in long, drunken discussions with my friend Erika. If my enthusiastic spectatorship was tasteless and ultimately disrespectful, I apologize. To...whomever. I needed it at the time. But now that it's 10 years later, and we have this Ed Grimley nutjob emerging from his $170.00/month Thai sex hotel to tell every camera in sight that he did it, that he loved her, and that he had sex with her, I can't really stomach it. I hope that I am a better person, but maybe it's just that my own bummer avoidance abilities are diminshed. It's called "growing up" and "needing anti-depressants" and "experiencing life as though you were a lobster headed towards that final swim on the stove." And as a direct result, I don't get as much satisfaction from the garish parade on TV. Don't get me wrong, I am still in the Lower Ninth Ward - there is no higher ground in this scenario. When I read Andrea Peyser's unbelievably caustic column in the New York Post, "Doomed By Ma and Pa's Sick Ambition," I knew I didn't have the heart to follow the story anymore. And fortunately, I don't have to. There is a way, way, way better story beginning to surface, one that we can all agree preys neither upon 6-year-old girls, nor upon Jews via a post-Moonshadows muttering Mad Max. We have THE HYBRID MUTANT. The Hybrid Mutant is a win-win. It's a real life monster. Plus, he's already dead, so you aren't gonna hurt his feelings. The next time your life is making you think seriously about sprinting toward that rainbow bridge in the sky, just give the Hybrid Mutant a try. He has blue lips. Nobody knows what he is. And he is REAL!!!

Wines

We all love our wines. But sometimes too much wines can take a handsome man from baby-faced hunkitude to wizened Jew-hating Unabomber. If you think you can handle the truth, pop a Vicodin and click on "play".

It's Time To Talk About Katie Holmes

I am a very lucky woman. I have a great, devoted, funny, handsome husband. I have a nice apartment in Brooklyn. I have been blessed with relatively good eyebrows and non-offensive ankle and foot shapes. Now, my luck has increased about a millionfold. I have a new job that involves reading tabloids for about the first hour of my job. It's like I've been praying, and God has been listening.

So, you see, girlfriend, I was busily "working" this Friday, and reading the April 24 issue of US. You know, the one with Lohan and Simpson on the cover with the word "FIGHT" in 78 point. In any case, there was a photo in there which awoke the sleeping giant within me. It was a psychotic, repellent, unbelievable photo of Katie Holmes, in what is estimated to be the 11th month of her "pregnancy" with Tom Cruise's bebe. Just take a look.

Think about it, people. Back in October, 2005, she suddenly appeared to be 5 months pregnant, outta nowhere. With her bellybutton popped out and everything. Here's a photo from October 8, 2005, the first time she was visibly pregnant. Doctors estimated her then at 5 months. That would put her at 11 months now. Jigga?

Let me just say this: I don't think little girl lost is preggers at all. I think that the allegedly sterile Cruise found someone so similar to him in bone structure and coloring (dark brown hair, hazel/greenish eyes, olive/gold skin, dimples, etc etc etc) that if it looks like EITHER of them, it will look like both of them. And must I mention the ever-so-suspect HOME SONOGRAM MACHINE? What can the purpose of this possibly be? Except to explain the ABSENCE OF DOCTOR/HOSPITAL VISITS????

I'm telling you: there is a white woman somewhere carrying some baby - either theirs, his, hers, or just a look alike. Something is rotten in nuttervillle. One woman's opinion.

The Blair Underwood Project

There are so many things I love about Blair Underwood. I love his name. I love his hair. Need I mention the "Sister, I'm Sorry project"? I love the fact that he rode into his own wedding amount a trusty steed. I love my memories of the 80s and watching LA Law. And now, psychic Sylvia Browne, in her weekly Wednesday appearance on Montel Williams, has given me a whole new reason to love Blair Underwood. He wrote a book, the subject of high, high praise from psychic Sylvia Browne. Blair's book is called "Before I Got Here," and it chronicles the pre-birth memories of numerous children, including his own son, Paris, who was born with knowledge of The Rapture. Blair's book really blows the lid off those tired old Christian theories about, you know, souls and God and stuff.

You Can't Spell Squidbillies Without An I

Have you ever drifted so deep into the crevasse of solipsism that you began to feel that all things are about you? Even things like the flailing, deadening winter Olympics and the listless, unforgiving weather? Well, one thing out in the world that yanks the me-chain hard these days is my new favorite TV show, "Squidbillies." You can watch clips here. It's from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force dudes, but I've never seen that show. Squidbillies is a cartoon, which isn't usually my favorite medium (except for you-know-who), but being that it's about a family of inter-breeding squids in North Georgia, with a theme song by Billy Joe Shaver (of "I Been to Georgia on a Fast Train" fame) and lots of totally over-the-top squid sex and violence, I honestly feel right at home in their world. In many ways, I *am* a Squidbilliy. In so many ways, we all are. I giggle, and chortle, and gut-bust every time I am lucky enough to find it on, and I laugh out loud the whole show. So, it's highly recommended. And just so - relatable. I *do* think this song is about me. Take that, Carly Simon!

Country Music Video Roundup #1 with Tris and Charles

Well, How-dee! I don't know what Saturday morning means in your house, but in the Aaron home, it means 2 solid hours of country music videos, watched from bed, with accompanying moans, griping, and, we admit it, the occasional goosebumps when gran'paw dies or what have you. Both CMT and GAC have their Top 20 Video Countdowns on Saturday morning, and between the two, there's a WHOLE lot to see. Here's our roundup so YOU don't have to watch.

1. First video up was "Boondocks" by a band called Little Big Town. This was the perfect introduction to the hee haw jugtown nightmare that is fake-authentic country music. One shot in the video is literally of a tousle-haired, sundress-wearing vixen, shot from *under a hog's belly.* This video has it all: clotheslines, pickup trucks, hay, you know, so "country" you wonder if the singer is really Australian.

2. "Believe" by Brooks and Dunn. Now, we freely admit that when "Believe" started, someone groaned. "I just can't do B & D right now," Tris said. We mean, the Red Dirt Road album, that horrible "You Can't Take The Honky Tonk Out Of The Girl" song - let's face it, there are some blights on B & D's record. Although we do love it when our favorite clown-show country music critic, Robert K. Oermann, calls for his smelling salts and swoons over how Ronnie Dunn has a "perfect tenor voice"; and we are always amused at the impotent flailing of Kix Brooks, who was originally shipped in to shake it because Ronnie's such a stiff. But, the "Believe" video gradually induced a rapt silence in the new Queen-sized. We were hooked in by the tale of friendship between our singer as a boy and the old black man down the street. The old man's life had been hard (war, dead wife, etc.), but his faith never wavered. The chorus mentions "lines written in red" and Charles (raised Baptist) had to fill in Tris (raised nothing) on what that means. "Christ's blood?" she guessed. "Well, sorta, but it's probably that all the Lord's words in the Bible are literally printed in red." A nice touch in the songwriting. The rhyme with "hearse" at the end was a little clunky, but hey, the old man's in heaven, so it's all peace in the valley. Basically, we LOVED this song.

3. "Kerosene" by Miranda Lambert. First off, we may be prejudiced because we were Buddy Jewell fans on Nashville Star, the same reality show which spawned Ms. Lambert. He was the hulking, hat-wearing, ex-high school quarterback and frat boy who grew up in a country music family, strayed, and then finally rediscovered the magic via Don Williams and Alabama, broke up with his first wife, hacked it up at Six Flags Over Texas, and sang more than 4,000 demos for established country stars, never catching a break while his second wife supported them with her nail-salon job. We loved his original song, "Help Pour Out the Rain," about appreciating your kids and telling them that, yeah honey, you will see grandpa in heaven. Good shit. Meanwhile, Miranda Lambert was the usual cute, perky young lass (see Carrie Underwood) who you've seen a million times before and will see a million times again. The camera loves her. She's got a great smile and a decent voice. Whatever, natural selection rules. So it's no surprise that Miranda's had a bigger career than Buddy, mostly because of "Kerosene," which came out last year, and was a favorite of horny pseudo-populist rock critics (the same people who thought "Redneck Woman" was a feminist classic). Miranda has awesome hair and makeup in the video, gives the boys what-for, and sexily sets stuff on fire (with kerosene!). It's one of those songs where a perfect-looking person who has had every break in the world sings about how life has screwed her over, but she's gonna make it after all. Sure Miranda, you would know. Anyway, who really cares, except for the tiny fact that "Kerosene" is a shameless, ham-fisted, note-for-note rip-off of "I Feel Alright," the title track from Steve Earle's incredible "Be careful what you wish for friends / I've been to hell and now I'm back again" 1996 junkie/crackhead redemption album that was generally unacknowledged or condescended to by those same rock critics (who had already written Earle off years ago because he never became the next Springsteen), and if they listened to country at all, preferred to ironically embrace the Garth legacy of headset arena-rock vaudeville. Well, Lambert took "I Feel Alright," changed the lyrics to a bunch of inane go-girl cliches (or just flat out repeated phrases like "smokin' gun"), whipped her hair around, mimicked all of Earle's vocals right down to the "heh" that comes in the middle of the verse, some producer gave it that digital guitar and drums boom, and then, to top if off, she lists herself as the sole songwriter! But, "Hey, it's just pop music, it's a good song no matter who wrote it, so lighten up," right? Well, no, actually, we won't.

4. "Jesus, Take the Wheel" by Carrie Underwood. This is the American Idol's first video and she looks rapturous, like some kind of glowing CGI princess lolling around in a carefree born-again Guideposts bliss state. Which is appropriate, because that's who Carrie is, after all. She's our little angel in size 0 jeans, and if we didn't need that as a nation right now, then face it, she wouldn't exist. Some of us may complain and some of us may feel a little alienated -- as EC once sang, "You're never the bridegroom / She's always the bride" -- but really, shouldn't we just appreciate what Carrie has to offer? And what she has to offer is bracingly powerful -- a pitch-perfect, cinemascope-sized voice dramatizing an undeniably positive message: JESUS HAS YOUR BACK. Essentially, he'll bail you out no matter what -- when you're laid off by Ford and have to take a job in the sporting goods department at Wal-Mart, when your employer steals the pension that you've been paying into for 30 years so now you have to keep working for ten more years despite the fact that your broken hip still hasn't really healed, or when you have to desperately transfer a $15,000 balance from one credit card to another to get a 5% better interest rate because the finance charges, if left unchecked, will send you to a collection agency and ruin your credit report for at least seven years and realistically that means that you'll proabably have to sell your house and move into a trailer. Carrie has no idea what any of that feels like, but if she did, she wouldn't be able to make it seem so easy to give over your entire life to JC, even though it kind of feels like a crazy, illogical thing to do. Here, Carrie sings about a lady who was driving, with her daughter in the backseat, hit some black ice, and was seconds away from crashing her car, when she realized that she should just hand over the keys to Dr. J. See, when you put it that way, it doesn't seem crazy or illogical at all. On the down side, the song repeats the same scenario three times, like Carrie forgot her notes back at the Hyatt Regency, and didn't know how to improvise. For us, the lack of variety was a problem. It's not a deal-breaker, but when you're making these afterlife or death decisions, it helps to be able to relate on as many levels as possible. How about a scene, for instance, where a divorced husband, drunk on White Russians, is driving home from, say, Blake's Bar and Grill, after missing his son's Little League game again, and his car hits some black ice and goes into a spin, while an 18-wheeler roars toward him. Then he realizes.....etc. Now that would've really driven the point home, but we're just nitpicking. Mostly, this song/video kicks Satan's ass.

5."Living In Fast Forward" by Kenny Chesney. Take 8 parts Jimmy Buffet, 2 parts Troy Aikman-style closeted quarterback, put him on a yacht in a coral choker and sleeveless tee shirt, griping about how hectic and meaningless life is as an arena-selling-out "hillbilly rock star." Are you throwing up yet? We did. This song will make you miss Montgomery Gentry. For real, mang.

6. "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss. Nobody in contemporary country pulls off a duet quite like Brad Paisley. While it would be wrong to compare this clean-cut pretty boy to Mr. George Jones, our favorite vodka-swilling-riding-lawn-mower-driving-cos-wifey-took-my-damn-car-keys legend, Brad has Geo's sense of aching maleness that provides a perfect counterpart to a sweet soprano like severly overexposed and most definitely NOT a lesbian, Allison Krauss. This song is very confusing, even with the literally interpretive video. This man and lady are in love, then they part, then both drink themselves to death, and THEN, after the preacher in the gentleman caller string tie buries them beneath white crosses with their names handwritten on them (hun?), they are reunited in the afterlife and it feels so good. The two-part weirdo message appears to be (1) drinking to allieviate pain works; and (2) don't worry if you die, it's really the best thing that can happen to you. While we can't argue with either point, uh, they don't seem very, uh, Christian and stuff. At least strictly speaking.

7. "(Might Just) Make Me Believe," Sugarland. Jennifer "Cagney" Nettles is the shticky blonde singer in the tight striped low-riders walking around through "cricks" and pines. Kristen "Lacey" Hall actually writes the songs and plays guitar. Guess which one's expendable? Answer: Bluebird-cafe singer songwriter and plus-sizer Hall left the group earlier this year.

8. "When I Get Where I'm Going" by Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton. We love country songs about heaven. The story line always works -- happy life gets cruelly snatched away but is regained on the "other side;" or, cruel crappy life finally becomes happy when you reach your "final reward." More simply, we just wholeheartedly agree that it's gotta be better "up there" than "down here," where the hideous schizophrenia of modern life leaves us with just enough energy to weakly implore Santino to learn how to fucking sew, already, on Project Runway. At a certain point in life (like now), it's just a lot more reassuring to imagine that this isn't "all there is." That's just us. So once again, we're feeling the aching, macabre Paisley duet, again with a rumored yet avowed and proven non-lesbo, especially since the video has a series of guest stars holding up photos of deceased loved ones -- including, no joke, Michael Reagan with a photo of Ronnie, and Mrs. Dale Earnhardt with a framed illustration of the Intimidator, direct from the Garage Mahal.

9. "Who Says You Can't Go Home" by Bon Jovi feat. Jennifer Nettles. The bimbo from Sugarland makes a stop in Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora's own Mellencamp-esque, "In a Smalltown" rip-off. The point is, you CAN go home again. And when you get there, you will find two guys in their forties with chicklets for teeth and Bruce Jenner-like feminizing plastic surgery. And there will be a team of Habitat for Humanity workers wearing Bon Jovi tee shirts. And a mugging, grimacing floozy will be making awkward, vaguely hip hop-inspired arm gestures like some kind of even-lamer Gwen Stefani outfitted in American Eagle instead of Vivienne Westwood.

10. "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Adkins. The hilarity of a sub-sub Toby Keith/Ray Benson type serial rapist-looking redneck using rap slang in da club just rules. Sign us up! This song has about as much to do with country music as "Who Let The Dogs Out," but it has everything to do with mocking hip hop's language and culture of sexism, while asserting the equal radness of country's culture of sexism down in Dixieland. White Power! Also, who knew that the lyrics "Got it goin' on / Like Donkey Kong" were ever gonna happen? BTW, this piece of Shiite was #1 on the Video Countdown. Did you see that Primetime Live about those two kids who got high on meth and wandered off into a blizzard and thought a pasture full of cows was a group of 200 foreigners who didn't speak English and refused to help them? It's like that.

A Synonym for Rooster

We tried to watch the Superbowl and halftime show. But those revolting cryptkeeper drug addicts are just too gnarly. There are 2 TV-related games in my home, Mick Jagger Mute Button (MJMB) and Sean Penn Freeze Frame (SPFF). In the former, you must watch the poultry-esque quivering of an old man in spand-sex sans "Satisfaction;" the latter speaks for itself. You just hit pause on any close up of our greatest thespian and let the craggy goodness wash over you.

Chappelle No?

Isn't it weird how this Washington Post television reporter hates Oprah's guts, and does what she accuses the big O of doing - making it all about her? Jury's still out on Chappelle, but, seeming more and more like pot-related paranoia to this child of Big Chill "those are hash brownies, honey" parents. I am still pretty mk ultra psyched for the 2 hour Liptonapalooza on 2/12!! You go, James!

Ganja Goo Balls by Great Beast

I often peruse Craig's List for comedy. "Women seeking men", the "Pets" discussion board, "Casual Encounters" - all provide ample fodder for my laff needs, while also reinforcing my shut-in's feeling that I ain't missin' anything out there in the big ole world. But no section is a bigger goldmine than "Musicians." For whatever reason, it just rules. If only the comedy greats - Billy, Whoopi, Robin, Carrot Top, Ray Romano, or Larry The Cable Guy had struck upon this formulation. Dumb guy plus music aspirations equals funny, funny, funny. Actually two of the funniest people I know have explored this theme superbly. My friend Frank in his forthcoming book, "King Dork"; and my friend Jon Wurster in his comedy CDs. Today I wandered through this lush garden of humor, eating freely of the ripe fruit of the Gods, and I duly ended up with an MP3 on my hands of a song by a band called Great Beast. Their hit single, is, of course, "Ganja Goo Balls." And I was also shown a vision from our Lord - a Christian band, admitting freely and of their own volition, that their key venues are "coffee houses, prisons, juvenile halls, recovery groups." God bless them, every one.

n.b. You *really* might wanna click on that Billy Crystal link. For rilla, gorilla.

Hustle & Flow

Some of you who have dabbled in (A) the social sciences (B) women's studies or (C) Berkeley, California may be familiar with the idea of the menstrual hut. These crazy rag riders on the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival site have taken "the hut" cyber. Break out the lavender satchels and yarrowroot tea, beyotches!!

An Agenda Observed

So, I got into this novel writing workshop in Brooklyn that starts in a week. I am pretty excited. I intend to work on a storyline that involves grieving, and so I thought I would buy a C.S. Lewis' essay, A Grief Observed . It's a beautiful little book about his wife's death and his own resulting crisis of faith. I went to my trusty Barnes and Noble in Union Square (the same Barnes and Noble where I once wandered through a James Frey "Million Little Pieces" reading by accident). After looking all around for the Lewis essay, I finally broke down and asked the customer service desk people where it was. They directed me to "Christianity" on the 4th Floor. "That's sort of weird" I thought, but, whatever. Then I got there. Between Islam and Astrology was this GHETTO little shelf called Christianity. They didn't have AGO or any of his other jillion books and essays. What the ? I wondered. Then I saw a sub-sub Ghetto section behind it called "Christian Inspiration" and bingo, there, right under a book titled "He-motions; Even Strong Men Struggle were the collected essays and novels of this great, great mind of the twentieth century. Certainly they also have a Narnia display in the kids' section; but they also had all the Narnia books here, along with the Screwtape Letters and 2 dozen other titles. I know that Jack felt inadequate in life compared to Tolkien; could he even imagine the indignity of his legacy living among the Left Behind series, right under He-Motions?