If Puffy and J. Lo can't stay together, is there reallly any hope for the rest of us? Hold me. I'm so frightened.
A lot of stuff happens in a week, and if any of it slips through the cracks, ol' Scoop Casey is there to pick it up, dust it off, and serve it up pipin' hot. So without further ado, here's ... Scoop Casey's News Roundup for the week of Feb. 11, ought-one.
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I'm Scoop Casey, and my Mom says I'm handsome.
Breaking news: The world this week continued its slow yet steady course toward pestilence, doom and general ruin.
Political guys 'n' gals. No gals, actually. Sorry about that.
Scoop Casey's bonus XFL coverage.
So I got some much-needed sleep last night. Went to bed at 8, woke up at 9 for the thrilling conclusion to the two-part West Wing, and went right back to sleep. More than nine hours, by my calculations. And the Impressa S90 is back on line, so all is right with the world.
More evidence that life is good: Jon Stewart will host the Grammys! I think awards shows are about the biggest waste of time ever in the history of the world, but I will subject myself to four hours of inane, self-congratulating tripe just for a few savory Stewart morsels. Yay.
And now some evidence that all may be wrong with the world: Madonna is making a biopic about Def Leppard. I'm sorry, ... what? There are so many things wrong with that concept that I don't know where to begin.
Inside.com has a cool feature: the Academy Awards Tracker, a dynamic handicapping scoreboard-type thing that tracks the fortunes of Oscar nominees. They hit the top eight categories, and factor in studio spending, media maundering, and high-level Hollywood intelligence. It's pretty cool, and I can't find any holes in the rankings as they stand today. Great, another bookmark to check every morning and fritter away my free time with.
I think that may be all I gots. Like the rest of you, I look forward to seeing what ol' Scoop Casey will have for us in the News Roundup. Until then, adieu. ßßß
So at least one of the predictions I made yesterday has already come to pass: I made a damned fool of myself at Annie's last night. Omigod.
So the karaoke, which is slated to start at 9, finally gets going around 10:30. The place is dead, and obviously no one wants to be the first to sing. My lovely wife finally goads me into signing us up for "Summer Nights" from Grease, the Travolta/Newton-John duet from the beginning of the picture. Hilarity ensues.
Tracy was good once she got into the groove, and I was not. Our friends were hootin' and hollerin' and throwing ashtrays, and generally mocking us in a good-spirited way. Next up was a leather-clad male-to-female transsexual belting out Cher songs — and totally working it. I mean, this guy was climbing up on tables, posing, the whole nine. It was out of hand. A couple of guys from Creeper Lagoon showed up, and one of them sang "What a Feeling" from Flashdance. Oh, man. High comedy.
After Tracy and I (well, I, really) massacred "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" by Elton and Kiki, I got up and belted out my go-to karaoke staple, "Wanted Dead or Alive." There was no one to play Richie to my Jon, but I gave it all I had. The transsexuals seemed to particularly enjoy it. In short, fun was had by all.
For those of you that work down here in the horse latitudes (i.e., deep SOMA), I can heartily endorse the Gin Joint. Located just a coupla blocks from our remote-ass 7th & Townsend location, they got good drinks (so I'm told) and really good food. The chef whipped up a special vegan pasta thang for me, and wasn't the least attitudinal about it. That was my second time there (first for dinner), and if you're looking for a cozy but slightly upscale local spot, it's a good bet. Especially if you like cops, DAs, and bail bondsmen.
Whatever dime-store philosopher decided you can't feel true love for an object never had the pleasure of meeting the Jura Impressa S90 automatic espresso machine. Oh, boy. We just got one in the office, and the thing is insane. The best espresso you've ever had, at the mere push of a button. I'm considering getting it a Valentine's Day card. Sorry, Tracy.
Sadly, it's shut down today for cleaning, but that may not be such a bad thing. Yesterday, by my calculations, I ingested three big cups of brewed coffee, along with one double and one quadruple cap. I'm starting to think I might have a problem. But I can quit any time. Really. ßßß
Lots of stuff happening in entertainment news today, dear readers. First off, anyone desiring to see me make a complete ass of myself singing punk rock karaoke can do so tonight @ Annie's. (Oh, look! It's Kim Wimpsett! C'mon, y'all, give Kim some love and some traffic.) Shit should jump off 'round about 10 pm.
Nextly, Puffy previewed his fall 2001 Sean John clothing line. Not really news in itself, except that 28 of his fashion pieces used fur — after he told PETA that he had sworn off the stuff. PETA was threatening to protest the fashion show, and Puffy's handlers concocted this thing that he had "evolved past the use of fur" just to keep PETA from showing up and causing a PR disaster. What a punk bitch.
And then there's Napster. Many other pundits will be covering this issue in much greater detail elsewhere, but two things are clear:
Lastly, Oscar nominations were announced today. Gladiator got 12 nominations, including nods for best picture, best director, best actor, blah, blah, blah. Did I miss something? Is Gladiator something other than a pumped-up (albeit very well done) action movie? Not that there's anything wrong with pumped-up action movies, but how in the hell is Gladiator best picture material?!?
The worst part is that it's gonna win. The two Soderbergh films will essentially cancel each other out and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon doesn't stand a chance (although it's far and away the best movie on this flawed list, and should run away with the best foreign language film award). The biggest travesty of the list isn't even Galdiator-related, though — that the icky-sweet Chocolat made this list at all should tell you what a lean year this was for quality movies.
Conspicuously absent from the list are two of my personal Y2K faves: Requiem for a Dream and You Can Count on Me. And it's just plain bad luck that Laura Linney has the misfortune of going up against Ellen Burstyn for best actress this year, 'cause Linney was so, so good in You Can Count on Me. But she's no match for Burstyn's tour-de-force performance in Requiem.
Those are my predictions, and I'm sticking to 'em. Over and out. ßßß
So I got my first official recognition from the weblogging community over the weekend, in the form of this review. Out of a possible four Donald Sutherlands, one guy gave me 3.5 (Thanks, Ed!) and the other reviewer gave me 2. Ed mentioned me in the same breath with Dack, which is about the highest praise I can think of.
Tom, on the other hand, took issue with several things about my blog — including its graphical blandness (fair enough; I'm a word guy, not a visual guy) — and my apparent disdain for his art form: the weblog.
Under the 'Vital Statistics,' blog author Ian (age 32, married - sorry gals) says "Would I be doing this if I had a life?" I can't answer for Ian, but I can say this for myself: Gee, I wish you WOULD. Some of the better blogs out there, while not totally enthralling or cleverly written, have people behind them that have full and wonderful lives. These people MAKE enough time for writing entries, and the entries they make are vicarious glances into someone's life.
Tom. It's called irony. Look it up. But thanks to both of you for the consideration.
Promise Ring, Deathray and Actionslacks @ the Great American last night. Pretty good show. Promise Ring were good, and phenomenally tight. I guess touring nonstop for four-plus years will do that to you. Shit, if I lived in Milwaukee, I'd be touring nonstop too, just to stay the hell out of Milwaukee. Deathray were less good, but still good. For a band that features two former members of Cake, who I cannot stand, they were damned good. Solid quirky college pop, à la Pavement, et al. Actionslacks were not good. Decent songs, yeah, but the band was hampered by a distinct lack of charisma and a shitty sound mix. But it was cool. Now I'm just counting the days until Noise Pop SF. ... ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
