There goes the neighborhood. BKJ's reporting on celebrity gossip.
David Hasselhoff filed for divorce from his wife of 16 years. The Baywatch star cited irreconcilable differences, but I suspect that's just a cover for the love affair with Germany he's enjoyed for so long.
Taking cues from Snoop Dogg and 50 Cent, Axl Rose is suing a car dealership--but this time it's not Gary Barbera. A car dealership in L.A. has incurred the pint-sized wrath of the rocker-turned-recluse for reportedly failing to deliver two luxury sportscars. The lawsuit filed by Rose doesn't explain how Rose, who hasn't completed an album in over a decade, is able to afford these cars, nor does it answer when or if Rose will ever finish Chinese Democracy.
It's Friday the 13th. Go see The Goats reunion show at the Khyber.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Friday Fluff Piece
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Bruuuuuuuuce!
Bruce Sutter’s going into the Hall of Fame…as a Cardinal.
Look at that beard! It's going to look great on the HOF plaque and the statue outside of Busch Stadium.
The slug for the story on the Cardinals web site says it all: Reliever also played for Cubs and Braves in career. I love the use of “also” in that sentence, as if the Cubs and Braves are mere afterthoughts. Sutter may have won a Cy Young award as a Cub in 1979, but he got his World Series ring as a Redbird.
It wasn't all joy in Mudville on Wednesday, however. Cardinals great Willie McGee did not get enough votes to remain on the Hall of Fame ballot. McGee was a two-time batting champ (1985, 1990), four-time All Star, the National League MVP in 1985, and helped the Cardinals win the World Series in 1982. Sadly, he will not be joining teammates Sutter and Ozzie Smith in Cooperstown.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
I'm Scrooge, Byutch!
The Patrick Stewart remake of Dickens's A Christmas Carol is on TNT. Somehow I can't get into this modern take on the classic. Stewart just turned away a group of men collecting for charity, and while the acting was passable, I expected him to shout, "Don't you know who I am? I'm Scrooge, for fuck's sake! My name is synonymous with stinginess! There's even a Disney character to explain my penny pinching to children. Now get out of here before you feel my cane!"
On cue, the Ghost of Christmas Past has arrived and Stewart asks, "Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold?" Scrooge is lucky this is the olden times or the specter's reply might be a little less cordial, "No, jackass, I'm just some flamboyantly dressed ghost hanging out in your bedroom at the exact hour that that other ghost is supposed to be here."
Someone should update the remake. Or stick to the adaptation.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Adios, Amigo!
Matt Morris's time with the Cardinals has come to an end. After a record of 101-62 with the "birds on the bats" he's moving on. No longer a young man, but still a damned fine pitcher, he's heading west to rejoin Mike Matheny (who always looks stoned) in San Francisco. The Giants offered him $27 million over 3 years (a lot more than the Cardinals could/would spend) to make him their number 2 starter. Even though he was the number 3 starter in St. Louis behind Cy Young winner Chris Carpenter and Mark Mulder, Morris was an undisputed leader of this Cardinals team.
Here's to you, Matty Mo. You'll be missed.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Richard Pryor, R.I.P.
Mr. Pryor, you were a funny motherfucker.
Thank you for making that last sentence possible.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Screw Monday
Well, yesterday was a big disappointment.
The Eagles and the snow failed to show up. The Eagles were completely missing in a 42-0 loss in Philadelphia to the Seattle Seahawks. Damn. The snow at least got on the scoreboard with a puny dusting.
Thankfully, I didn’t see the game until the 4th quarter when I got home from the Islands/Hail Social/A Sides show at the Church.
Hail Social have a legitimate reason to grouse about yesterday: their practice space was broken into. The band announced during their set that they are looking for a new place to play. No word on what, if anything, was stolen. If you can't put them up, help them out by buying their album.
Someone has to know something about these constant practice space break-ins that regularly occur in and around Philly.
WTF: Is "Next Great City" status based on having 30-plus Starbucks? They're fuckin' everywhere. So this is how Philly's been garnering the same kind of hype that Seattle had in the early 1990s. Get your coffee elsewhere.
Sports Wrap-up: New York City now has 2 baseball closers who employ "Enter Sandman" as their theme songs when coming out of the bullpen: Mariano Rivera with the Yankees, of course, and Johnny-Come-Lately Billy Wagner of the Mets.
Will Wagner and the Mets defer to Rivera, the elder Sandman in New York? If both closers keep "Sandman" as their themes, this could make for great tabloid fodder. The Daily News and the Post could carry a "Sandman" tally of saves on the back pages. The "Sandman" duel might even add some interest to the annual inter-league subway series, whose novel appeal is waning (coming soon: my rant that inter-league play is bad for baseball because it dilutes existing rivalries and the new rivalries it purports to create aren’t real because they’re forced).
Wagner is overlooking the obvious (better?) choice of entrance music: Richard Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries". Valkyries is some serious impending doom-type shit. Maybe Billy's trying to be his own man and stop living in Richard's shadow.
My man Izzy's choice of Sevendust on this list leaves me scratching my head, but not as much as Todd Jones' selection.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Happy Thanksgiving!
In honor of the season, I’ve prepared a feast of BKJ to give you food for thought, something to chew on, or turn your stomach. It’s all good, because I’m thankful for anyone reading and ingesting this curdled gravy skin of a blog.
I suppose the first thing I should do is establish the setting of this entry. I’m out in Lancaster County, where 80s hair metal lives forever on the radio, and Bryan Adams and Def Leppard drew the largest crowd of drunken Amish kids ever to Clipper Magazine Stadium.
Up (too) early after a night-before-Thanksgiving bender, my mom has the TV set so she can flip between the parades in New York and Philadelphia with one button.
9:20 Philadelphia/9:25 New York: After the Cookie Monster balloon in Philly it’s Thelma Houston performing on a float with dinosaurs (hooray for evolution, boo for the unintended implication that Houston’s prehistoric). This beats New York’s parade with cast members of “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” by a mile.
9:26 New York: Sticking with the upscale parade, we have a group of kids singing, dancing, and obviously hamming it up in hopes of being discovered. I can’t believe one of the little brats sang that she’s thankful for her cell phone. I’m thankful my mom changed the channel, and I tell her so.
9:26 Philadelphia: Tony Danza’s hosting the parade, but Kelly Ripa’s on the way. Marching band and pre-recorded Thanksgiving wishes from Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and The View.
9:30 Philadelphia: Bob the Builder balloon and the Brentwood High School marching band from Tennessee. Dave Roberts just exclaimed the Mrs. Incredible is hot and noticed her curves.
9:38 Philadelphia: Grease. God, I hate that musical. Is it too early for beer?
9:39 New York: Jersey Boys is a minor improvement.
While playing with the dog I lose track of time and space.
?? Philadelphia?: Jailbait cheerleaders performing to “Jailhouse Rock” and “Hound Dog”.
Got my bearings back, but I still don’t know what time it is.
Philadelphia is looking great (on TV). It’s a sunny day and the Cow Jumped Over the Moon balloon is bouncing off the Parkway followed by an Alabama marching band. Civic Pride moment: It’s great to see bands from around the country performing in Philadelphia. Cheers Philly.
Philadelphia: Danza’s departing and the Curious George balloon is deflating. What’s up with all the balloon problems? Oh shit, it's Annie. This little girl's shitty lip syncing has destroyed the illusion of the parade. Boo! I’m outta here.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Revenge of the Sixth!
File this one under old news.
Philly's the Sixth Most Dangerous City in America!*
This claim to fame beats that horseshit about being the "Sixth Borough" any day of the week. Yo New York! You don't have shit on our town with your 4th Safest City ranking. Pussies.
Go Sixers!
*Population of 500,000 or more.
Special thanks to all Camden residents who crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge to boost Philly's rating.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Camden: "We're # 1!"
Camden, NJ: Still the 'Most Dangerous' city in America.
Pop the tops on the Mad Dog 20/20, Camden. You have earned the right to celebrate.
In his concession speech, runner up Detroit's Mayor Kwame M. Kilpatrick spoke graciously, "You have to take your hat off to the city of Camden. They did what was necessary to defend their title."
And what was necessary were sharks. Not resting after their 2004 victory, Camden rechristened the New Jersey State Aquarium Adventure Aquarium and released sharks into the beleaguered waterfront city.
Running for his stripped SUV, one mauled tourist commented, "Holy shit! I thought I had gotten through the worst of it after that mugger shot me and took my wallet, but then a fuckin' shark bit my goddamned arm off!"
Inside Adventure Aquarium it was a party atmosphere.
Amidst a swarm of flipper high fives, one shark noted, "Look, it's simple, if you don't want your frickin' head bit off, don't come to Camden." A tankmate echoed the sentiment, "I live for this shit. All I do is swim and eat and make baby sharks."
Mayor Gwendolyn A. Faison looking relaxed, spoke from behind the 6-inch bulletproof glass surrounding her desk. "It takes a village. I thought Camden's title was in real trouble when they started charging $25 for parking at the Tweeter Center. It turns out my worries were unfounded; they had no intention of investing any of that money into the community."
Owners of the Tweeter Center parking lots were unavailable for comment but released this statement: With the recent announcement that Camden is the most dangerous city in America, we will be raising our parking prices to $30 next summer.
Undaunted by the escalating parking fees, one X-treme sports fanatic was hyped up about his stab wound. "Dude, this town is f'in X-treme! I live for the adrenaline rush!" At press time, at least three travel agencies were putting together X-treme Adventure tours to Camden.
Asked about the possibility of a three-peat, one carjacker was humble, "We’re taking it one season at a time." He added, "It's hard work staying on top with all the parity in the MDC [Most Dangerous City] league. You have to be resourceful. I trust in the mayor though. I mean, who would've predicted sharks. That just takes the cake."
Beaming with pride when told of the compliment, Faison leaned back in her throne, smiled broadly and shouted out the window to a bleeding pedestrian, "Be sure to tell the hospital that Camden sent ya, we have a reputation to maintain."
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Bright Eyes, Dirty Trailer
"I will die for you" is the new "Wash Me"
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Cease and De-Sixth!
How better to celebrate Philadelphia’s music scene than by calling it a New York suburb?
That’s the thinking over at Plain Parade, which just released a compilation of Philadelphia musicians entitled: Songs from the Sixth Borough.
Note to Plain Parade: The title for your Philadelphia comp is just plain awful. For shame. I expect this kind of misrepresentation from Jessica “My Chin Is the 6th Borough” Pressler, but I didn’t think you would market Philadelphia as a New York suburb.
Philebrity clued me in that Pressler’s fucked up, completely inaccurate NY Times article about Philadelphia was referenced on the Gilmore Girls. Who knew that that pile of dog shit would stink so long?
Memo to Ms. Pressler: Stop misrepresenting my town.
Half-assed letter of application to the New York Times: Dear Venerable Establishment of the Main Stream Media: I humbly offer my services to cover Philadelphia without blatant distortion of facts or comparing it to New York at every turn. In my coverage, I won’t sell Philly short in order to promote an agenda of mass exodus from the Big Apple (admit it, Pressler was just a tool in your grand scheme to get people to move out of your city, so you have a little extra sidewalk space). Thanking you in advance for the word and liquor money.
Sincerely, Jesse D’s nuts (take that apostrophe any way you like it).
Am I the only person in Philadelphia who rankles at these constant attempts to ingratiate Philly with New York? Does it not dawn on those who call this town the 6th Borough that they are selling Philadelphia’s independence (and indie rock) short? Oh, I get it. It’s just fun and no one takes it seriously, so I shouldn’t get worked up over it. Maybe I should just have a good time and let a $10 appletini at Glam melt my cares away. Horseshit. The joke isn’t funny anymore (and I’m not convinced it ever was). Philly represent.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
When the Music's Over
I grew up with this band; I remember when they were just "The Lovers". I apologize for that joke. It was the nasty biproduct of the Bigger Lovers' farewell all-you-can-drink concert. When the beer ran out, I sobered up, and had the kind of regrets that Richard Lewis knows only too well. That guy is not funny.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Your Slogan is Tasty and Stupid
In its efforts to protect seals, HSUS (Humane Society of the United States) has come up with an incredibly stupid and profitable slogan: "Club Sandwiches, Not Seals"
HSUS wants you to boycott Canadian seafood until the slaughter of seals ends. There has been no call for an embargo on Canadian bacon. The HSUS doesn't believe humane treatment of animals should apply to delicious animals, and they actually endorse the consumption of pigs (adding bacon magically transforms a sandwich into a club sandwich).
Well, if Paris Hilton sports the slogan, how stupid can it really be?
Strike Out
The SEPTA strike is over and employees are going back to work. For the past 7 days, this town was disabled by a lack of public transportation. In comparison, Chicago’s Transit Authority advertises that 100% of its buses are fully accessible to people with disabilities. That’s an ad campaign to be proud of, and it makes SEPTA’s "This is an Eating Town" ad look like crap.
Maybe something good will come out of this strike. I’m crossing my fingers but not holding my breath—except when going into a subway station. Clean up your act, SEPTA. Start with the Independence Hall stop at 5th Street and branch out from there. That station is a hub of tourist activity and sprucing it up would do wonders for your image. The way these subway stations look and smell is completely unac-SEPTA-ble.
Friday, October 28, 2005
(Buzz) Killing Moon
Consumer Alert: Blue Moon Belgian White is a Coors product.
I took a tour of the Coors Brewery in Golden, Colorado a few years ago and sampled Blue Moon. It pales in comparison to the true Belgian beers (with its measly 5.4% apv), so don't get suckered into paying inflated prices for this swill.
The label says it's brewed by the Blue Moon Brewing Company, and unless you search for information on Blue Moon you're unlikely to know it's a Coors product, which says to me that Coors is trying to attract consumers who look unfavorably on their products. And frankly, if a beer has to be served ice cold to be palatable (as Coors Light is marketed), who wouldn't look unfavorably on it?
Save the Seals
Phillybits has called on bloggers to use the Presidential Seal (pictured far right in honor of this administration) on their web sites, so I consider this entry my civic duty for civil disobedience.
Bush couldn’t give a damn about saving seals (or any other form of wildlife), but damned if his tighty whiteys aren’t in a bunch over the Presidential Seal (sorry for that unpleasant mental image).
The White House’s letter to The Onion for unlicensed use of the Presidential Seal has been widely reported. Personally I think it’s another way of drawing attention away from a leaking Cheney (common in older men according to WebMD).
The article in the New York Times about Bush taking issue with The Onion ends with a comment by White House spokesman Trent Duffy, “"Despite the seriousness of the Bush White House, more than one Bush staffer reads The Onion and enjoys it thoroughly," he said. "We do have a sense of humor, believe it or not." Obviously, Duffy’s sense of humor is not shared by Bush. Expect his termination within the month.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
There's Always Room for Jello...Except Tonight
Check out the dance card for tonight.
Ween at the House of Blues in Atlantic City
Jello Biafra and the Melvins at the First Unitarian Church
Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah! at the TLA
I had a ticket to the Ween show before I found out about Jello and the Melvins. I love Ween (and I can't count the number of times I've seen them), but the Jello/Melvins show is going to be INSANE! Plus, getting to A.C. just isn't as convenient as walking to the F.U.C.
The J/M show is sold out, so if you don't have a ticket go see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! at the TLA and support Katrina Relief (Philebrity has free CYHSY downloads). Do not be a self-important asshole and show up at the Church thinking you're going to get in. You're not. About a month ago when CYHSY played the Church there was a big "Sold Out" sign in large print hanging outside the venue. Wouldn't you know a bunch of illiterate assholes didn't think the sign applied to them and tried to get in anyway. They were turned away cold, but in the process they blocked the entrance for people with the foresight to buy tickets in advance. They were lucky it was a pacified hipster crowd for CYHSY. Try that shit tonight, and you're going to get your fuckin' clock cleaned.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Paid in "Full"
I read a long story today.*
Finished Tom Wolfe’s A Man in Full (excellent read—an immense, sprawling slice of Americana in league with DeLillo’s Underworld and Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay) that stretches from coast to coast and cuts across all stratums of society.
Although set primarily in Atlanta, Wolfe’s tale parallels Philadelphia (and probably every city in the U.S.—which may explain its vast appeal; people relate to it) with its shady land development deals, shifty politicians, tarnished sports superstars, and social maneuvering at every level (from intrapersonal to interpersonal). It’s a very cognitive novel. The wheelings and dealings that take place on a city-wide scale reflect the internal/personal decisions and motives of each individual. Man tackles issues of race, power, affluence, wealth, social standing, etc.…with everything tying together in the end as neatly (though not as pleasantly) as John Kennedy O’Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces.
One of the best parts of the novel is Wolfe’s ability to capture and contrast the relative insecurities, anxieties, and troubles of the working poor and the fabulously wealthy. It put the Terrell Owens contract in a whole new light for me. I sneered the first time I heard T.O. say he couldn’t provide for his family/children under his current contract/pay scale. This football star makes more money in a season than most Americans (myself included) will ever see in our entire lives, and yet he is crying that he can’t make ends meet. Of course, if Sunday’s game against the Chargers is any indication, T.O. has started waiting tables for extra income (and general consensus is he shouldn't quit his day job).
I probably shouldn’t feel compassion for the financial woes of someone so incredibly fortunate and rich as Terrell Owens, but after reading Charlie Croker’s mental distress over financial problems in A Man in Full, I feel better able to understand the anxiety Owens is feeling (if he’s not faking). Wolfe makes his points without beating the reader over the head with them. He cuts through race, gender, and economic status to render human every one of his characters, which doesn’t necessarily make them more likeable.
*Actually, I read it in early September.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Mass Transit
SEPTA, our sorry excuse for a public transportation system, has just unveiled a new marketing campaign. I'll leave it to others to question the timing of this expensive new ad campaign in the face of a potential strike on October 31. I'm going to question the campaign itself.
Philebrity had an entry on the ads about a week ago, but it wasn't until Friday that I came face to face with the slogans. The first two ads put the pun in "mass transit" as they both revolve around food and eating.
"This is an eatin' town, and I'm an eatin' man."
"There's no debate. It's called gravy, not pasta sauce."
For years I wondered where the "there" was in SEPTA's old slogan, "We're Getting There." Now I know "there" meant the fucking food trough. It explains everything. Why did that bus fail to stop to pick me up? Because the driver's an eatin' man and he was too damned hungry to stop.
SEPTA: Call us incompetent; don't call us late for dinner.
Dubbed the "Genuine Philly" campaign, SEPTA's website translates the intended message of the ads: "SEPTA is the driving* force and fabric that holds the Greater Philadelphia region together." If SEPTA's holding this town together, then Philly's in a shitload of trouble.
Trading cards based on the ads are available at SEPTA sales locations and feature coupons for Reading Terminal Market, which make them more valuable than David Bell's baseball card.
*Oh those punny bastards.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
I Do Run On
"It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you/Without a strong rhyme to step to"
It turns out I curse too much in my blog to access it from work. Well, fuck. Guess I'll just have to access it from home at 3 in the morning when I'm awake and sick as a dog.
This entry, my first in about a month, is a little gross. If you have a sensitive stomach (one of the few symptoms I don't currently have), but are still jonesin' for a little Bloody Knee Jerk, check out this piece I wrote on Sufjan Stevens a few weeks ago in the City Paper.
Getting back to the point, I am illin' to the point where I'm coming up with nasal metaphors. My nostrils share an appendage (the nose, for those of you who flunked anatomy), but right now they couldn't be more different. The left nostril I've dubbed Philadelphia. It has some problems, but in general it's functioning fine. Just a few centimeters away across a thin membrane (which would be the Delaware River in this metaphor), my right nostril is Camden: full of pain, pressure, and possibly a crack den or two.
My sinus cavities run deeper than the mines of Moria, and right now there's something evil and burning down in the abyss. It has me wishing Superman were real and that I could somehow convince him to shrink himself and fly into my nose (like he does with that city in glass he keeps around) and use his heat vision to burn off all the mucous from the inside of my nose. Chances are Superman would become engulfed in snot, get lost in the dark tunnels, and die.
For all the blowing, kneading, medication, and even punching, "I'm still running" to quote Sleater-Kinney's "What's Mine is Yours". My next step is to get a suction pump, attach some aquarium air hose to it, shove it in as far as it will go, and syphon out the goo. Is there an all-night pet shop around?
This entry is as disposable as a used tissue.