Tonight at 1:51 AM, while the boys of the West Side are swinging to the pre-Halloween hum of electro beats and down in the village greased cowboys are pouring shots of sambuca to the lustful throngs of yuppies exploring their fruitful wild side, it will have been sixteen years since River Phoenix died outside of The Viper Room in Los Angeles.
Alas poor River, I didn't know you at all, but if crushes could span time and space and death and some poorly chosen methamphetamine, I feel we could have basked in the infinite stoned silence, understanding that truly, no one knew you at all.
What so many fail to recognize is that River was a legend long before he became best known a cautionary tale of the potential tragedies awaiting young Hollywood stars. A dark beginning for anyone, he was born to two traveling hippies lured into the cult colony of The Children of God and spent his early years as the golden son of the mystical and child-molesting zealot group. His parents eventually packed him up along with and his siblings and fled back to California and as River entered school he was considered an oddity. With no friends of his own he spent his free time playing guitar with his family on the street. While other children had maps of Central Africa memorized, River wasn't sure who the president was. Instead, he found a home in the world of acting. On his first hit, Stand By Me, director Rob Reiner recalled choosing River because he thought he identified so much with his character Chris Chambers, a lonely and lively symbol of youth whose life is also cut short by a terrible tragedy.
Barring any major meltdowns or natural disasters, it looks like 2010 could be the year of the return of Amy Winehouse. The buzz around the beehive (sorry, couldn't resist) is that Winehouse has some outstanding new material in the works, which could constitute her first full-length since 2006's impeccable Back to Black. "I've heard a couple of song demos that absolutely floored me," Island
Records co-president Darcus Beese tells the Guardian today. "Hopefully, we'll have her album next
year." Consider our fingers crossed.
Last week, British prime minister Gordon Brown issued an apology
-- at the behest of tens of thousands of petition-signers -- for the
government’s persecution of Alan Turing, a mathematician and World War
II code breaker who committed suicide after undergoing chemical
castration to “treat” his homosexuality in the 1950s. Chemical
castration -- in which hormones are injected to suppress sex drive --
is just one of the gay “therapies” -- ranging from inhumane to
downright absurd -- doctors devised over the centuries.
Call me a sucker for shock and awe, but I have to admit, any comic that uses the word "vagina" (or any of its slang-ier and dirtier variations) typically has my undivided attention. Still, no one uses references to female anatomy in her act quite like the fabulous -- and fearless -- Kathy Griffin.
If you missed Bravo's Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List last night, then you missed one of the show's most insanely awkward moments. Ever. I mean, if you thought seeing her interact with ten-meals-a-day ex-husband in the first seasons was hard to watch, then check out this clip from last night's episode featuring her bombing at Harlem's famous Apollo Theater.
Children and disgruntled stage managers may not love you Kathy, but the gays still do!
Speaking of which, check out this preview clip for next week's episode in which Kathy takes to the streets to represent her homo friends and fans by rallying for gay marriage up in the big CA.
With a mere day until the drop-out Bohemian festival in Rothbury,
Michigan, rebel children from throughout the country are beginning
their Winnebago travels across state borders. A four-day extravaganza
featuring Bob Dylan, The Dead, Man Man, Cold War Kids and Umphrey's
McGee, Rothbury is a unique woodland experience that highlights the
best of electronica and folk alike. A new conception, the concert
promotes a green lifestyle and fills mornings with yoga classes
and environmental lectures. Unlike Bonnaroo, Coachella, and other
seasoned festivals, Rothbury is only in its second year, making it a
less-than-crowded spiritual (or so the drugs might make you believe)
event.
Included in the lineup is the Philadelphia-based band Lotus. Promoters of a dance scene that is defined by an innate awareness of self, Lotus brings together crowds that include beatniks, lacrosse bros and candy ravers. Jesse Miller, the bass musician and sampler of Lotus, discussed the festival and the transformation of the term "jam band" in correlation with the current music scene.
Out: If you were
to define Lotus, would you call it jam band or do you have a better title? Jesse Miller of Lotus: I usually go
with the most generic thing possible and that is “dance rock.” I think the term
"jam band" is kind of tainted. You just think of these long, pointless guitar
solos and we’ve never been about that. Even though Lotus does a lot of
improvising the band doesn’t sound like Phish, the band doesn’t sound like The
Grateful Dead, the forebearers of the scene. And even the contemporary bands
that are put in there like Umphrey’s McGee, Yonder Mountain String Band, all
these bands sound completely different. More than anything it just describes
the atmosphere surrounding the festivals or the shows.
Today in total randomness, it's rumored that Amy Winehouse, who's on a kind of perma-vacation in St. Lucia, has signed a deal that would result in a line of greeting cards and wrapping paper themed on her songs of heartbreak and woe. Says the ever-reputable Sun, "The first item in the Winehouse range will be wrapping paper with
the chorus of Rehab emblazoned all over it. The Amy-branded cards are classy too. You Know I’m No Good
is best for heartfelt apologies and Back To Black, with an appropriate
wreath, will be the respectful response to a bereavement."
Obviously the "going (or not going) to rehab" gift market has been heretofore lacking in appropriate paper goods. How good (and by good we mean "not good") would it be to give somebody a failed-intervention consolation bottle of Hennessey all done up in "No, no, no" paper!? This is one of those "news" items that invokes two simultaneous and confusing responses: "This is far too ridiculous to be true," and "OMG, I'd totally buy that."
> Boy George was released from prison early for good behavior, after serving just four months out of a 15 month sentence for that awkward event with the rent boy, the chains, and all those drugs. He looks good and said "he was looking forward to a cup of coffee and cake, and would not be drinking alcohol."
> Jodie Foster made TV history on last night's episode of the Simpsons, when she voiced permababy Maggie's first coherent utterance -- an impassioned speech for babies' rights.
> Hope you set the DVR because tonight's the night! No Doubt guest stars in the '80s-flashback episode of Gossip Girl plugging the possibly canceled '80s-flashback spin-off. Also, OMG, it's the present-day prom.
Seeing as taking Viagra may result in unwanted flatulence, toothaches, U-shaped members, and even death, scientists have developed a new erectile enhancer that is rubbed directly onto the skin and reportedly causes less side effects than the (in)famous little blue pill.
According to the UK Telegraph, American scientists at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine tested the new technique, which utilizes nanoparticle technology, on seven rats, five of which showed signs of arousal. Researchers believe the topical drug will not only cause less side effects than its oral counterpart, but will also start working its magic significantly sooner which means less waiting for your willy to wooden and more fun for everyone.
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