They say August is the beginning of the dog days of summer. The time when everything slows down, too tired from the heat to do much of anything productive. Obviously, “they” have never met The Jay (down by the bay). I’m in the middle of a flurry of out-of-nowhere projects that have left me little time to write two-handed celebrity stupidity zingers. But fret not, as I have some big stuff lined up, both for TheJay.com and elsewhere. In the meantime, and with my promise not to bring up “those girls” set firmly in my mind, I thought it might be a good idea to take a step back and try something I’ve been avoiding for some time. A link post. Though I prefer writing long columns about inane pop culture, but without enough time to lovingly craft 2000 word opusi on the proper ways to hate Reese Witherspoon, pointing out some things on the net that I have enjoyed recently proves to be an easier conceit at the moment.

I may do this once a month (maybe on the 1st of every month, call it the Links of the Rent Day, or something MUCH funnier), or I may never do this again. But until my schedule clears, here’s hoping you enjoy some things that have caught my eye.

• Here’s Episode 8 of The Offseason Adventures of Michael Vick, from the damn funny guys over at Kissing Suzy Kolber.

• A great mashup of Lost, House and 24 from esteemed comedy writer (/legend) Ken Levine.

• GOONIES ACTION FIGURES!!!!

• If you can get to the Crazy 4 Cult art show, I highly reccomend it.

• Learn about wine and fight the Oak Monster over at Wine Library TV. Say hi to my boy Gary Vay-ner-chuck while you’re there.

• Televisionary has a great round-up of all the TV panel at Comic-Con.

• You can peep the first two episodes of the great new FX drama Damages (starring hottie Rose Byrne, Sam Malone and a man dressed up as Glenn Close), over at Yahoo TV. By the way, Frobisher is fan-tastic name for a villain. Can’t believe no one’s thought of that before.

• HARRY POTTER SPOILER ALERT!!! Do NOT click on this unless you have finished Deathly Hallows. J.K. Rowling gives us the scoop on all the questions left unanswered from the HP series. A great, thoroughly satisfying chat wrap (I was dying to know the fate of the Malfoys).

• If you aren’t reading Gilbert Arenas’s NBA Blog, you are missing out.

• My older brother first made me read this, and it might be the best present he’s ever given me (I don’t count all the free suplexes and figure-four leg locks he gave me from our old childhood wrestling days. Those weren’t gifts, they wonderful little moments in time that my shrink will use to put his kid through private school.). My favorite line from this piece: “I will treat the valet with contempt and make sure that he knows that I am superior to him in life! I will tell him to “Take it easy on the brakes, Champ”!”

• Ronnie Coleman is ridonkulously ripped. Watch his YouTube clips and cry from your punyness. He has the best catchphrase of all time: “Everyone wants to be a bodybuilder, no one wants to lift this heavy ass weight!” That’s a good motto for life in general.

• McSweeney’s, while more pretentious than a double chai latte, can still occasionally bring the funny. Here’s guest writer and VH1 clip show whore Michael Ian Black’s “Complete Idiot’s Guide To Meeting People More Famous Than You“.

• In what is probably my most anticipated moment from the new Fall TV Season, CBS has put up a Slap Bet Countdown! I can’t wait to see Marshall get his “premature slapulation” revenge by dropping slap number three on the Barnacle (aka “Swarley”). Hopefully Robin Sparkles will be on hand to sing a song for the occasion.

• R.I.P. Harvey Birdman

• Finally, if you haven’t purchased your copy of Monster Squad on DVD yet, then your just a flaming d-bag of suckitude, and I don’t want you bothering coming around here. We don’t take kindly to you non-Monster Squad owning folk. Until you’ve figured out a second way to kill a werewolf, click the red “X” in the corner and be gone.

Bangarang!

It’s just not funny anymore. And I’m sick of it.

I follow dumb celebrity behavior so closely that oftentimes I can’t see the forest for the celebritards. I begin to assume that the whole of Hollywood is caught up in the basest of actions, lowest of morals, and heights of ineptitude, both mentally and physically. I am now immune to obnoxious socialites, inane quotes, patronizing interviews, and dumbed-down entertainment. I have begun to hate the thing that I love.

But then I remember that that’s not the case. Sure, not everyone in Hollywood is a Rhode Scholar, but surely not everyone is an idiot, either (hell, Geena Davis is in Mensa and Dolph Lundgren has a PhD from M.I.T.!). I remember that some people still care about the craft of acting, the craft of filmmaking, and the craft of being a respectable human being. Most of all, I remember that the reason I feel this way is not due to the majority, it’s due to three people.

Britney, Paris and Lindsay.

The bad apples, the flat beer, the assy chicken McNuggets, or whatever bad food analogy you want to use, those three girls are the reason I hate Hollywood right now. It’s just them. And their inability to keep their crazy in check. Their remarkable way, and I do mean remarkable, to continually find new ways to screw up. To destroy lives others would kill for. To piss on their god given talent (for the one that actually has some). To hate themselves, so wholly and so publicly.

We used to just joke about it and let it slide. “Oh, there goes Paris driving drunk again! What a spoiled little girl! Another scary, yet hilarious, cry for help from Britney! Let’s ignore her and instead post pictures of her fatty thighs. BURN!” But you know what? It’s just not funny anymore. And it has got to stop.

If Lindsay Lohan was an athlete, they would have kicked her out of the league two seasons ago. If Paris were a student at a University she’d have been on double secret probation since the last millennium. If Britney were just an average girl, she’d be tragic. Even more so than she is now. But society would have taken care of the problem. Society would have treated the problem with respect. Society would not have put these lost girls back into harm’s way. And we should all be ashamed of ourselves that haven’t followed suit.

Every photographer that sells pictures of these girls coming out of clubs is contributing to their downfall. Every tabloid that popularizes them, while at the same time exploiting them, is contributing to the breakdown of their mental health. And every producer, executive or company that employs them is contributing to their never-ending means of acquiring that which destroys them.

Lindsay Lohan was arrested yesterday for drunk driving, possession of cocaine, and for chasing down her assistant who had resigned because she couldn’t handle Lindsay’s crazy lifestyle. This, while she was wearing an alcohol monitoring device put on after her last drunk driving and cocaine possession arrest earlier this year. And let’s not forget, she’s fresh out of her second stint in rehab since the Super Bowl.

Britney has been having a breakdown of Anna Nicole-like proportions since her divorce last fall, and she’s a mother of two. She’s shaved her head, been to rehab no less than 7 times, posted countless insane messages on her website, partied every night, flashed her vag and her tits, disowned her mother, ignored her children, dressed like a crazy person, and generally looks like more of a scumbag than her scumbag ex-husband. And again, she’s a 26 year-old mother of two.

And Paris, well… she’s Paris. She was back in the clubs twelve hours after getting out of jail. And she went on a vacation to Hawaii while on probation (a crazy big no no).

What do these girls need to do to get the help they so desperately need? Rehab is a joke to them. The justice system favors their celebrity and throws leniency at them to the point where the girl’s don’t see consequence to their actions (it took five driving mishaps before Paris saw jail time. I’d have been in jail after the second one.). Their friends and family are obviously no help. And the blog community reveres them because their wacky shenanigans drive up traffic (I know I’ve reaped the benefit of their misfortune). So where’s the recourse for their actions? Where can they go? Who will step up?

This goes beyond preferential treatment. People make mistakes and are forgiven. Hollywood loves to embrace those seeking redemption, provided they are worth the effort. If Lindsay didn’t show enormous potential, she’d have dropped off the face of the earth years ago. Just ask Jodie Sweeten, she’ll tell you what it’s like to be on the other side. But we’ve flown far past letting these girls off the hook in the service of marketable or worthwhile talent. Whatever abilities Lindsay has are negated by her reputation and public perception. I will never again buy her as an ingénue, as a professional or even as an innocent, likeable girl. Those parts are gone for her. And I don’t even buy her as the stripper she plays in her new movie. And why would I? I’ve seen her do worse a dozen times. I know the person she truly is because she’s fucked up so egregiously so many times that we are unable to ignore it.

I can watch Bruce Willis drunkenly curse at a basketball game and not think less of him. I can watch Victoria Beckham try to be funny and accessible on her reality show and not think poorly of her (case in point: she’s a celebritard who takes care of her kids, never gets arrested for drugs or alcohol and seems to be in a loving, stable relationship. That’s how you do celebridom!). I can even look at people like Matthew Broderick who killed a person with his car, or Halle Berry who performed a hit and run, or Winona Ryder who so famously shoplifted, and not decry their existence or continued career. They made mistakes, they apologized, they didn’t let that part of their behavior continue. They never glorified in their malfeasance. Paris and Lindsay seem to revel in their ability to do harm and get away with it. They seem to enjoy being this character they play (though I think the idea of them playing characters and it not being their true personality has long since been abandoned).

I’m just sick and tired of awarding popularity to these stupid girls. And I refuse to endure it any longer. If one of those girls was a friend of mine I would not being laughing at them, or pumping them up. One of my three best friends is a functioning alcoholic. She used to like to stay relatively sober for most of the year, than go completely balls out of her mind during the summers. She called it “her time to drink”. And I had to watch her destroy herself every time it got warm outside. One summer I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired of the bad behavior, tired of holding her hair back while she puked on her lawn, tired of walking in on her hooking up with some sleezy dude (on my bed!), and just tired of her being an all-around shitty friend. So I told her I was done; that when she decided to clean her shit up, she could come find me. And I walked away. It was the only way I could get through to her how much I felt her actions were hurting her. And we didn’t speak for a long while. Eventually she called and apologized, promised not to hit the drink so hard. And I forgave her.

That is until the behavior returned. And I promptly disowned her. I wasn’t going to show her that I tolerated her actions. We stopped being friends for more than a year. It was sad and lonely and awful. I missed my bestfriend. But she cared more about destroying herself than about herself or our friendship and I can’t abide by that. One day many moons later she was in town, we hung out, and it was nice. She was her old self again. She was in school. She had direction and purpose. She was past her recklessness. She was my friend again. If my cutting her out of my life helped in any way to prompt her life change, than it was worth it. Now we are as close as ever, and I even take her to wine tastings every now and again!

I hope these three famous lost girls have someone in their life that will treat them the same way. I hope they have something to push for and look forward to when they finally turn it all around. I hope one day they look back and are disgusted by how they acted. I hope they apologize for taking away the potential we saw in them, and for degrading the opportunity we afforded them.

I’ve past the point where I find this funny, so I’m not longer gonna allow it on this website. From this point forward I will no longer be writing about Britney Spears, Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan unless it specifically relates to their acting or singing work. I won’t make fun of their partying, their drug use, their alcohol dependency, their clothing (or lack thereof), their boytoys, their obvious insanity or anything else that is tragic about them. I’m just not going to do it. That’s my contribution to their recovery. It’s my contribution to the recovery of the belief that Hollywood has good people living and working within it. That all actors aren’t sad, drugged-up, party-whore burnouts.

My contribution to the hope that future generations of Celebritards learn that this type of attitude and behavior is, as Paris stated in her Barbara Walters interview, “no longer cute”. And to the hope that I never have to turn my humor website into a soapbox like this, ever again. I like to have fun and make fun here, and nothing about this story, or any of the hundreds of similar stories that have come out about these girls, is funny anymore.

Please check out this clip of Craig Ferguson talking about his feelings on the February Britney Spears head shaving trainwreck. I agree with what he says 100%, and it was this speech that prompted my questioning of how I write about celebrities, and the effect those choices have on me.

Bangarang!

“Nobody puts Xenu in the corner!”

Bangarang!

The most curious and wonderful thing happened to me last week. But first, a lead up…

My group and I decided to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on opening night at the Mann Chinese 6 (we chose the small theater instead of the giant Grauman’s because we wanted stadium seating). That day happened to be a phenomenally busy one for me. Eight hours of my day job that were abnormally packed, my lunch hour consisted of running around the Valley catching up on errands. After work I hit up a local wine tasting I had been meaning to try for some time ($1 Wednesdays at Vendome. It’s beyond worth it. I’m now a regular Wednesday resident. I walk in and they throw me a Cheers greeting. “JAAAAAY”.). So I raced from work to get to the wine tasting so I’d have enough time to taste, then grab dinner, and then hit the theater. I get to the wine tasting just fine, dig in to some great Chardonnay’s and try to plan my next move.

You see, I also needed to meet up with my best friend A-Train, who was delivering me my everyday shoes that I left in his car after we went white-water rafting for my birthday, a few days before (P.S. It was awesome. We even capsized in a class-three rapid. I was so Kevin Bacon in The River Wild. A-Train was my moronic sidekick, John C. Reilly.). So the situation was this: its 7:30, the movie starts at 8:30, I need to drive from North Hollywood over the hill to the heart of Hollywood, meet A-Train and grab my shoes, find dinner, eat, and meet my group at the theater. Also, I’m slightly buzzed form the awesome Vendome vino. I thrive on time constraints, so I wasn’t too worried. That is, until I got into Hollywood. I had forgotten that the ESPY Awards were being filmed at the Hollywood & Highlands complex that night (where the theater is located), and in response to the event, all access routes to the complex had been shut down. There was gridlock everywhere. I suddenly saw my chances of eating and getting my shoes back (a necessity as I’m trying to rehab a bum ankle and need the shoes for that end) going up in flames.

I struggled to get through the cabal of frustrated cars. Slowly but surely, and with enough time to find food and meet A-Train, I swooped into the complex, parked my Man-UV (it’s a Baby Blue Honda CRV and thus needs the testosterone qualifier), and was on my feet and mobile by 8:05pm. A-Train, however, was coming in from Westwood and was waylaid by the everyday traffic in West Hollywood and the added impact from the ESPY’s. Since roads were blocked off we had to try Plans B-Q to get him to a place where I could meet him. We set the location (a sidestreet that required a seven minute walk from the complex) and I waited for him to tell me he was close enough for me to set out. In the meantime, I tried to find food. All of the food places, though, were closed, closing or only accepting cash (I never carry around cash, because if I have it, I spend it). So I’m racing through the crowded complex, navigating through C-list athletes, skanks all skanked up to try and hook a C-list athlete and an above-normal amount of tourists, riled up at the prospect of snapping a digi pic of the LT of the Indy Colts (a quality sighting if there ever was one).

It’s now 8:15 and counting, I have no food and A-Train is still minutes away. Choosing on the fly to just suck it up and have a theater dinner (hot dog and a water now, toilet time and sit-ups later), I decided to race out to the meeting point so I’d have enough time to race back to the theater and not miss previews. A quick five-minute jog through the ESPY holding area (is that Jim Belush? Might have been. Didn’t care), and through the streets of H-Wood and I was at the meeting spot. A-Train rolled through minutes later, I yoinked my kicks and set feet to pavement. 8:27 and I’m finally in the lobby of the theater. My cell is blowing up, my friends wanting to know my ETA, but I ignore it and focus on willing the slow concession stand workers to fill the damn sodas faster so I can grab my unidentifiable meat in a bun, get to my seat and breathe for the first time in 90 minutes.

The worker finally sloths her way through the order of guy in front of me and I’m throwing my list at her before the guy is out of my way. She molasses her way to the hot dog window and procures me the awful item, snails over to the water area and gets confused by the size of the water bottle I asked for (that being “the one that will get you back here faster”), and then finally baby steps’ the credit card transaction. I’m free. I grab all of my gear (the shoes, the dog, the water, my dignity), pitch my ticket at the taker, find my group in the dark, sit down, say my hellos and apologies and begin hyper-speed eating my hot dog because 1) it smells like ass and I don’t want it to linger through the movie and ruin my groups experience, and 2) I’m so hyped up I don’t even realize I’m going this fast. Fourteen Harry Potter-ripoff trailers later (seriously, it looked like every studio in town puked up Chronicles of Narnia and slapped a title on it), I had blasted through my dog, stolen my buddy’s milk duds, hydrated and thankfully, stopped moving.

And that’s when it hit me. I was so busy getting through my life that I didn’t even remember what I was doing there in the first place. I was about to watch the new Harry Potter movie.

A feeling of such wonder and excitement passed through me. I couldn’t even sit still! Some movies you are excited to see (Oceans 13), others you cannot wait to see (Transformers), but then there are some that are so important to you, whether due to tradition or impact on your life, that it literally floors you when the reality hits that you are in the theater and the movie is about to start. I had that feeling with each of the Star Wars Prequels. I had it with the latest Die Hard. And I had it and then some with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Butterflies in my stomach (which might have just been the hot dog performing a coup-de-tat on my intestines), a big ass smile on my face and two hours of wonder waiting in front of me. It doesn’t get much better than that.

And as a bonus, the movie just happened to be great. My least favorite of the books, but probably my second favorite movie (Azkaban is still the tits for me). Great interpersonal moments between Harry, Ron and Hermione ( I especially liked the understated way they handled Harry’s growing anger problems), amazing special effects in the climactic Ministry battle, and some quality hottie time with a near-of-age Emma Watson, the pre-approved Katie Leung (Cho Chang), and surprising gonna-be-off-the-hook hottie Bonnie Wright (Ginny Weasley). I had such low expectations because I disliked the book so much that I was floored how awesome the movie turned out to be. Other favorite things about the movie: the overhead shot of Harry and Dudley running through the wheat field, “I must not tell lies”, all the meaningful looks Ginny throws at Harry, Fred and George’s exit from Hogwarts, Voldemort on the train platform, the entirety of Gary Oldman and Alan Rickman, and of course, “LOOK AT ME!”

Walking out of the theater, I knew I was back in the Harry Potter fold, a place I hadn’t been since I finished the sixth-book (the best of the series) a year and a half ago. A place I remember so fondly. I needed to get my head back in the world fast, so I immediately went home and started reading Half Blood Prince, eager to refresh myself in time for Book 7. I scorched through the 643 pages in a matter of days, enjoying the book just as much now as I did the first time. I even got emotional in two places, 1) when Harry kisses Ginny after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup without him (I was like “Yeah boy! Get yours, Harry!”), and 2) when Snape dropped the Avada Kedavra on Dumbledore. I knew it was coming and yet I still teared up. Such is the emotional effect these characters have on me.

Like many millions of other people, Harry Potter holds a special place in my heart. I found the books by accident. I was a sophomore in college, the third book had just barely come out, and the series had not yet broken through to the mainstream. I had read a review in EW and was intrigued, but not having read the books I didn’t think much of it. I picked up the first book on a whim, cracked it open one night and blazed through it in a matter of hours. I was hooked, lined and sinkered. I immediately set my quest to find books 2 and 3. The local bookstores didn’t have them so I went to the campus library. Now, I’ve been looked down on before, but never in my life have I ever been condescended to quite so douchebaggily as when the clerk/pretentious English Lit Major tried to “help” me find Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban. Everyone else in the place needed to find a textbook or a crucial biography or science study. I was looking for a children’s book. And the guy didn’t let me forget it (“Can you please spell… Azkaban for me.”). I raced up and down the eight floors of the library, FINALLY finding one copy of part two in a remote area of the second floor. I felt like Indiana Jones reaching the idol in the beginning of Raiders. Now I just needed to avoid the flying arrows, big ass rolling boulder, and all the snobby library attendants and I’d be on the outside, safe to go read my “children’s book”. I made it out, and the effort was worth it.

I was hanging out with a lot of English Majors at the time and they never missed an opportunity to give me shit about my reading selection. “You’re reading a book about a boy wizard who plays sports on a broom? What was your high school GPA, again?” And I was like: “Whatever, you pale-faced dick. Go wipe your glasses and get back to reading your D.H. Lawrence and never getting any, while I read my kick ass magic book and bang my hottie girlfriend. And it’s not a broom it’s a Firebolt, bitch!” I took my flaming with my head held high, proud that I was reading a book series that made me happy. And I was vindicated a year later when the world woke up and went crazy for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Nobody gave me shit anymore. Because they were all struggling to catch up. I was there opening day, sitting with a group of eight year-olds on the floor of a Santa Barbara Borders, all of us lapping up the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It felt great to be amongst kids who were reading instead of playing video games. It felt great to be on the forefront of a pop culture event that I had found on my own before it all began (I felt the same way when I saw The Killers perform two months before “Somebody Told Me” broke and just knew that explode like a supernova, get overplayed and turn into crazy poseurs a year later.). And it felt great just to be reading something I liked, after being forced to read countless books I hated just to satisfy my UCSB general-ed requirements (though to be fair, the film books were a disappointment as well).

The great HP memories didn’t end there. Summer of 2004 found me hungrily (though eventually frustratingly) devouring Order of the Phoenix. The stand-out memory of my time reading that book was when I was staying at a beachfront hotel with my then-girlfriend to celebrate July 4th. She was asleep in bed, a place I should have been, but instead I was in the bathroom, quietly turning the pages, unable to join the beautiful naked girl in bed ten feet away, because I needed to see if Harry would at long last kiss Cho Chang. He did and I went back to bed. She asked me where I’d been and I lied and told her I wasn’t feeling well. You can’t always defend (or explain) the things you love.

Harry Potter also helped heal a fractured history with my older brother. We had our differences and objections for a variety of reasons, but with childhood long gone and both of us now adults and facing the real world, we were looking for ways to smooth things over. My brother started listening to the HP audio tapes, and eventually became a bigger Potter geek and me. We’ve had some great conversations over the years trying to decipher how the story will end. There’s not a lot we used to be able to talk about, 80’s WWF, white wine and The West Wing were pretty much the list, but Harry Potter gave us one more thing. And it was a big step on the road to our recovery as loving brothers (and we have a lot to talk about now).

The Harry Potter hits keep coming: my little brother dressed up as Harry for Halloween one year and looked totally awesome, I chose HP4 as my recommended Turkey Day Movie Choice back in 1995, I looked like the cool Uncle to my adolescent cousins when I matched their Harry-speak word for word. I even wrote a well-received ten-minute play about the release of Book 7 just last week. The crowd of geeks ate up the Potter love; my lead actress even told me that playing a Harry Potter fanatic was the most fun she’s ever had on stage. My love of Harry Potter gave her that moment.

And now I find myself on the eve of Book 7 Day, the last time I will ever wait for a new Harry Potter adventure (I think); the end of my long, happy journey is in sight. The anticipation of having the book in my hands, the excitement of turning the first page and stepping back into that wonderfully rich world, and the paranoia of worrying if I’ll read spoilers and ruin the experience, all these emotions are swimming through me, and my heart and mine are doing what they can to keep up. As a completist I’m glad I have been able to follow the story from start to finish. As a fan I’m both happy and sad to the see how it ends. And as a movie lover I can’t wait to see what Deathly Hollows will look like on-screen (not to mention Half-Blood Prince). But most of all I am thankful to have had Harry Potter in my life. To have been a part of this once-in-a generation cultural event. To have something so pure and enjoyable in common with so many people. To have something to look forward to at the movies. To have something to defend to the elitist book snobs. But mostly, just to have something good to read.

For those reasons and million more, I am proud to say I am a Harry Potter fan. I am thankful for Chris Columbus for casting Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson, and for setting up the world so perfectly. I am thankful for Daniel Kloves and his deft touch in adapting the first four books. I am thankful for all the people involved in the making of the movies and the publishing of the books. And I am eternally thankful to J.K. Rowling for creating something so simple, yet profound. For always striving to make the books more eloquent. For never dumbing down the content when the mainstream picked up on it. For sticking to her principals and willing this entity into existence. For giving us all something to love.

And most of all, for giving us the boy who lived.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I have a book to read…

Bangarang!

In honor of Book 7 Day Eve, I give you what is quite possibly the greatest puppet show in the history of stringed up fabric (excluding Being John Malkovich, of course). I defy you not to watch this more than once. And I outright challenge you not to hum the Ticking Noise song for the rest of the day. Of all the things that are getting me excited for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, this is doing it the most.

Enjoy.

Bangarang!

Bangarang!

Peep the Simpsonized The Jay!

I think it’s a pretty awesome likeness. I dig being yellow, as it’s a nice break from being Casper-pale and/or Kool Aid red, depending on how much sun I got that week. The best part about being yellow is that if Biff Tannen ever challenged me to a fight, but I walked away and then he taunted me with “What are you, yellow?”, instead of getting all huffy like Marty McFly and end up getting chased on a makeshift skateboard through 1955-era Hilldale, I could just say “Yeah Biff, I am. What’s it to you?” then walk away like a bad ass. Some real color on my skin and moting the Tannen family? It’s a win-win situation.

Really, the only problem with the animation is that my Simpsons Avatar doesn’t have that certain, what’s the word… ah yes, “dickiness”, that my real visage exudes. Simpsonized Jay looks like a relatively harmless dude, probably works the boom mike for Kent Brockman, or pulls middle management in the HR department at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. He dates a nice burnt sienna-colored girl and has season tickets to the Sprinfield Atoms. People like him. Even Snake, Springfield’s resident criminal (and my favorite character) is like “Who ho, that dude is OK! No robbing that guy till after Christmas.”

Real Jay, however, has a look that says “Who brought the dick? Oh, that’s right, I did! I always do! IN YOUR FACE. You’ve just been pwned!” Which, incidentally, is the look I’m going for.

Either way, this is a sweet promotional gimmick by The Simpsons Movie (which you can check out HERE). I can’t wait to plug a picture of Reese Witherspoon into the Simpsonize Machine and see how fugly I can make her. I tell you, what with this latest development and Book 7 Day rapidly approaching, how can you not be enjoying life? A new Harry Potter book and defiling a defenseless Reese Witherspoon… and I thought my birthday was last week!

Bangarang!

Btw: If you send me your Simpsons Avatars, I’ll post them on the site in a big Simpsonized user pic post.

I’m now in the awkward life position of watching my childhood treasures get tampered with by ill-conceived big screen remakes. All the majesty and warmth I feel for the shows that got me through adolescence is being tainted by remakes that are tolerable to say the most and complete shitbags to say the least. I’m angry that new generations are viewing the remake as definitive, and not the classic TV show that it inspired it. Now I know what the baby boomers must feel like, watching Mark Wahlberg and Thandie Newton in that horrible Charade remake or Jude Law smarming his way through the Alfie redo.

Moreover, there’s an inherent problem to remaking or adapting TV shows from the 70’s and 80’s: the shows weren’t that good. And updating it for a modern audience just reinforces the fact that what I thought was great as a kid was actually total crap. I don’t want to be told I was stupid for liking a show about a cat-eating alien with a penis nose living with a suburban family. Or that just maybe Saved By The Bell wasn’t the best depiction of high school life ever committed to print.

Shows like Alf, He-Man, Transformers, et al were created by people on drugs. And drug shows don’t make any sense to anyone but stoners and little kids (which explains by the best cartoon on TV right now is about a sponge who lives in a pineapple at the bottom of the sea). A single 30-something guy who raises three chipmunks that record music and get into wacky hijinks? That’s one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever heard, and yet I love Alvin and the Chipmunks. Do I think it needs a big screen remake? Not at all, and yet, here it comes.

I shiver at the memory of the legendary Raul Julia fighting Jean Claude Van Damme in Street Fighter: The Movie in his last screen performance. I shudder at the thought of Dennis Hopper sliming it up as King Koopa in the Super Mario Bros movie. And I loathe everything that is Garfield: The Movie, especially the inclusion of Bill Murray. Those movies suck because cartoons and video games never make sense! They were popular because they had fun toys that went along with the show, they weren’t paradigms of story construction. Why would I watch a horribly animated show about space cats fighting mummies if I couldn’t get the Thundercats Sword of Omens and swing it at my older brother? Producers are confused by what sold those ideas. It was the merchandise, not the concept.

Michael bay’s Transformers works because he turned the concept into pure spectacle. Independent of its ludicrous plot, the remake is a purely visceral experience; watching those robots duke it out in downtown LA, you could care less that you’re watching a remake of an 80’s cartoon about martian robots transforming into automotive vehicles. And like Bay’s Transformers, some remakes can work. With the right mix of camp, tradition, respect and originality, you can make a watchable remake of an 80’s property. But it’s not easy. The list is basically Masters of the Universe (cause Dolph Lundgren fucking rules), the first TMNT movie (with Corey Feldman voicing Donatello), Bay’s Transformers and that’s it. I have no desire to see that list attempt to be expanded by a Voltron, Thundercats, Ducktales, Smurfs, or Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. And yet, here we are.

I can’t begin to explain how wrong it is to make an Alvin and the Chipmunks live-action movie without my head exploding, and since there’s no trailer or production stills to look at, I’m going to focus my rage on the movie poster. So while I shake my head at the disintegration of my glorious Saturday morning cartoons-watching memories, here are ten things (and it could have been more) that are completely wrong about the poster for the inevitably shitty remake of Alvin and the Chipmunks, due out this Christmas.

1. Were gonna hold off for just a second on why the Chipmunks look like reject extras from one of Jamie Kennedy’s billion different stupid wigger movies, and ask why the eff Alvin in a hoodie? Is he supposed to be Eminem here? Is he gonna rap about slitting Jeanette’s throat and driving around L.A. with her in the front seat? Is he gonna date Brittany Murphy? I’m so confused. IIRC, Alvin was pretty OCD about his hat. It was his pride and joy, he never took it off. In fact, didn’t he yell about people to “NEVER… TOUCH… THE… CAP?” What’s he gonna say about the hoodie? “DON’T…PULL…MY…HOODIE…DOWN?” Lame change #463 of 1001 for the Alvin and the Shitmunks movie.

2. So wait, the Chipmunks are rappers now? How is that a good idea? It’s hard enough trying to sell the idea of three chipmunks speaking English, let alone having American Idol-quality singing voices, now you’re telling me that Jason Lee is gonna be an aspiring Hip-Hop producer who makes the Chipmunks into a furrier, PG-version of Naughty By Nature? Um… is cocaine making a comeback in writer’s rooms and someone didn’t tell me? Is that how the Geiko Cavemen got a sitcom deal?
   

3. If Alvin is the Eminem of the group, what does that make Simon and Theodore? Snoop and Dr. Dre? Cause it would be pretty awesome if Simon started getting mad high, throwing up gang signs and reppin’ the LBC.

4. For all the good Jason Lee did in his early career (Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Almost Famous, naming his kid Pilot Inspektor), he is now, for better or for worse, inherently tied to his role as Earl Hickey. I can’t watch Dogma anymore without wondering why he isn’t rocking the stache (of course I can’t watch Dogma much at all, cause it doesn’t hold up. Tell me again why Linda Fiorentino has a career? She’s like the homeless person’s Demi Moore.). Seeing him clean shaven, nudging into the poster frame, is completely ungainly. He’s the well-respected star of a hit sitcom, why is he fourth billed in a fucking Chipmunk movie? What did he do that got him demoted to the level of Breckin Meyer?

5. Where are Brittany and the Chipettes? Even though she was a haughty bitch, Brittany was pretty fly for a six inch cartoon rodent. As far as the list goes, it’s Brittany, the chick squirrel who falls in love with Arthur in Sword in the Stone, and Gadget the oblivious mechanic hottie from Chip ‘n Dale’s Rescue Rangers. If I was so inclined, I’d one up Richard Gere and pre-book OR 1 at UCLA Medical Center, if you know what I mean. I’m just saying, Brittany better be in this movie.

6. Not one interesting voice actor listed anywhere on the poster. At least Garfield had the attraction of wondering why a revitalized Lost in Translation-era Bill Murray was slumming it in a Jennifer Love Hewitt talking cat picture. That was akin to Orson Welles finishing his career playing Unicron in Transformers: The Movie. Except Bill also agreed to do the sequel! The guy makes one film a year and he chooses to voice a CGI cat in a flick NO ONE wanted to see. They must have backed up the Brinks truck and dumped a half ton of gold bullion and a bakers dozen worth of strippers from the Las Vegas Crazy Horse onto his front lawn. And he wonders why he didn’t get an Oscar nod for Broken Flowers.

7. The chipmunks themselves look way creepy. I’m not a fan of photo-realistic animation when it comes to animals. I like them to look a little cartoon-y. When you get near the point of life-like it becomes awkward to watch them talk and get into wacky shenanigans. Seeing an intentionally CGI Garfield is one thing, but the filmmakers are making it seem like the Chipmunks are supposed to look real. It’s a mistake. Alvin doesn’t so much look like a chipmunk as he does a really obnoxious Persian guy in a hoodie. Simon doesn’t look intelligent or nearly annoyed enough at Alvin. And Theodore looks like he’s holding a joint. Then again, if they’re making this a pot comedy, I might be for it. Samson Simpson, if I wasn’t a chipmunk, then why would I be wearing this hat?
   

8. Now that I’ve spent time thinking about the poster, the movie and the show, I cannot get the goddamn theme song out of my head. Alvin, Simon, Theodore! Do Do, Dodododo, Do Do, Dodododo! I may need to hit up the new Bravery single right quick, or else I’m libel to drill a hole in my head, Pi-style.

9. I can’t stress this enough, they’re in freaking FUBU gear! How is that a good idea? Why are kids gonna want to see this? Why are 20-something’s who grew up on this cartoon gonna appreciate the change? Unless Alvin fights a big fucking robot at the end of Act Three while Megan Fox rubs her abs in the background, I’m not interested.

10. You know how I want to spend the birthday of the dear lord baby Jesus? Not opening presents or spending time with my family. Not drinking some eggnog by a fire or shredding a mountain on my snowboard. It’s not seeing the new Aaron Sorkin movie with Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts. It’s not catching the National Treasure sequel featuring the unintentional comedy of Nic Cage’s attention whore toupee. And it’s definitely not seeing the new Wes Anderson movie that I’m sure to love so much I’ll own the Criterion Collection DVD of, four seconds after it comes out. It’s none of those things. I want to spend Christmas watching Jason Lee chase around four inch CGI rodents while they un-ironically rock chipmunk bling and spit some phat rhymes. Hoo boy, does that sound like good holiday times!

Can we please start (at least) considering leaving the 80’s alone? I’m all for the return of snap bracelets and new wave music, but maybe it’s for the best that we honor 80’s film and television by mocking it on VH1, and not disgrace it on a thirty foot silver screen.

Bangarang!

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In many ways celebrities are exactly like Transformers. They may walk through the day in their “civilian” form, but when the time comes they transform into all manner of characters (doctors, lawyers, cowboys, the pervert from Happiness played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman; which should not be confused with the pervert he played in Boogie Nights. Or Capote.). Their livelihood is predicated on the audience believing their transformation. And their ability to do so convincingly is what makes us love them. This is why the success of Michael Bay’s Transformers is not at all surprising. Audiences want to see transformation, whether in celebrity or robot form (it also helps that in robot form they blow a bunch of shit up and fight each other. Also, long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs doesn’t hurt.). We want to watch an epic spectacle of people overcoming obstacles, growing up in the face of adversity, finding love, becoming better people, and long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs. Transformers has all of those things, plus occasionally big fucking robots fight each other.

Watching the flick got me thinking about what I’d want to transform into. I doubt I’d pick a vehicle, just because I’m not that big a fan of cars, I have no interest to be around other cars (especially on a LA freeway), and I’m not exactly practical should the need arise to transform into my robot self and I got a car full of people (unless I wanted to crush the hell out of them, but then I’d have blood all over my paint job and that’s not cool. You cannot get blood off of leather, I’ve tried.). I’d rather be something cool like the Decepticon who transforms into the CD player. I’m completely invisible in a room, I don’t call attention to myself, I can choose not to play country music and when I want to do some nefarious shit, no one suspects the dinky Sony with the broken six-disc changer to transform into this bad ass little robot that can hack the planet Zero Cool-style. Or maybe I’d just transform into Dakota Fanning, so not only would I be a well-respected young actor with limitless potential, but I’d also be an infamous, exceedingly lethal Master Assassin. Also I’d be blonde, and that looks like fun.

Whenever I pull a J.D. from Scrubs and start daydreaming absurdist pop culture scenarios (like really, where would I hide all my body hair if I transformed into Dakota Fanning? Precocious child stars do not look like tiny manscaped clones of Robin Williams.), I like to extend my imagination into the realm of celebrity. As soon as I started picturing myself becoming the tiny star of Uptown Girls, I was flooded with thoughts about what celebrities might transform into, besides the characters they play on-screen.

Here’s what I came up with (categorized in proper Tranformers good vs. evil groups):

The Celebrity Autobots

• Owen Wilson transforms into a majestic Butterscotch Stallion.
• Matthew McConaughey transforms into a pair of smelly, well-worn board shorts.
• John Travolta transforms into a sexually ambiguous 747 with unreasonably thick hair and no ability to recognize quality screenplays.
• Paul Walker transforms into a less talented Keanu Reeves.
• Keanu Reeves transforms into Dr. Lancelot Ware, founder of Mensa.
• Nicole Kidman transforms into a smooth, contoured block of ice (but can still perform as a kick ass Moulin Rouge hooker, should the need arise).
• Jack Black transforms into the McDonald’s Grimace (and as we know, nothing can kill the Grimace).
• George Clooney transforms into a bulk-size tin of Dapper Dan Pomade (he doesn’t want Fop, he wants Dapper Dan. He’s a Dapper Dan man!).
• Demi Moore doesn’t transform as she’s always in her altered form, that of the Mighty Cougar.
• Julia Roberts transforms into a king-size box of Peppermint Chiclets.
• Sam Jackson transforms into an F-Bomb.

The Celebrity Decepticons

• Tom Cruise transforms into an anti-depressant (irony!).
• Lindsay Lohan transforms into a bottomless glass Red Bull & Vodka.
• Paris Hilton transforms right back into Paris Hilton (why would a Decepticon of her power and magnitude have a need to transform into anything else?).
• George Lucas transforms into an Avid Bay capable of malevolently manipulating your favorite movie scenes of all-time.
• Mel Gibson transforms into a giant, luscious pair of sugartits (that just so happen to hate Jews).
• Orlando Bloom transforms into a bowl of bland brown rice.
• Pamela Anderson transforms into a hyper-virulent strain of Herpes Simplex B.
• Sharon Stone transforms into Sharon Stone circa 1989.
• Steven Seagal transforms into a beached whale. Wait, strike that, he just looks like he transformed into a beached whale. My mistake.
• Dane Cook transforms into a bad joke.

Bangarang!

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It’s one thing when a celebrity releases a poor excuse for unruly behavior directly after the incident. People are asking questions and publicists want to give them white-washed answers. Often times those answers are stupid and nonsensical, written to cling to some inane image of purity. Those excuses are lame, they know and we know it, but we let it go because it is what it is. Hell, the real excuse almost 100% of the time is that they were drunk or high. And I still maintain that just saying that would be enough; it would be more relatable and forgiven then any fake excuse ever could.

But it’s quite another thing when a celebrity inexplicably comments on an incident that happened weeks or months ago, and gives an even stupider excuse for their actions. That’s just TomKat levels of publicity mismanagement. Yesterday, Britney Spears wrote a message on her website responding to the incident earlier this year where she attacked a paparazzo’s car with an umbrella. She never said anything at the time, and frankly we didn’t need her to. She had just shaved her head, was in-between bouts of rehab and it was just generally assumed she had jumped the couch. But apparently Britney felt it was necessary to “repair” her batshit craziness with an even more batshit crazy excuse.

Here’s what she said:

“I apologize to the pap for a stunt that was done 4 months ago regarding an umbrella. I was preparing my character for a roll in a movie where the husband never plays his part so they switch places accidentally. I take all my rolls very seriously and got a little carried away. Unfortunately I didn’t get the part.”

A good rule of thumb for any excuse is to never say anything that prompts additional questions. Another rule of thumb: don’t be an idiot. Both rules are violated pretty severely in Britney’s statement. She was preparing for a “roll” (sic, obviously)? One, no one pays her to act. Not now, not ever. Two, what role could she possibly have been preparing for? The Angelina Jolie role in Girl Interrupted 2: Celebritard Interrupted? Was she angling for a spot in the V For Vendetta sequel “U For Umbrella”? She hadn’t been attractive or creatively relevant for nearly four years (if she ever really was), and now she’s breaking into movies? I think she may have confused the phrase “preparing for a role in a movie” with “whatever the Klonozopan says is what I do”. Not to mention, when has it ever been a man’s role to repeatedly hit a stranger’s car with an umbrella? Is that a country western thing I’m not aware of?

Even if we go out on an extremely tenuous limb and believe she was preparing for a role, the plot of the movie is so ludicrously stupid, that even Bret Ratner was like “Yeah, me and this random club skank I’m harassing call shenanigans on that shit.” Didn’t they stop making “switching roles” movies in the 80’s when we all realized the consequence of cocaine use was Judge Reinhold? Methinks Britney couldn’t figure out how to get Freaky Friday out of the DVD player and it slowly warped her brain, Clockwork Orange-style.

“I was going through post-partum depression and could not get a handle on my mood. I’m working to correct this, and hope that my plight will serve as a boon for women who are privately suffering from this oppression to get the help they need to repair their lives. Thank you for your understanding, and I apologize again for harm or discomfort I may have caused”.

That’s my suggestion for what she should have said. It’s concise, to the point, gets you the next cover of People Magazine, Brooke Shields becomes your best friend, and now you can start getting some real sympathy. It works well for everyone and squashes that week of craziness for good. But I’m not a trained PR flack, so what do I know?

If this was her excuse, what were the ones thrown out? Because you know her people sat around a conference room throwing out ideas for how to “handle” this, and after the fourteenth Red Bull waterfall they pulled “preparing for a movie role” out of their asses and went to sushi to celebrate their genius. If I was a fly on the wall of that urgent meeting, here is what I bet some of the discarded excuses were:

• “Kevin triple-dog dared me to do it, and as you are all aware, the rules of “Dare” clearly state that the daree MUST perform the darer’s dare upon invocation of the triple-dog. So as you can clearly see, I had no choice.”

• “I was helping my sister Jamie-Lynn with a science experiment for her health class. We were studying the effects of craziness in an unstable Celebritard. As it stands, the results were inconclusive. But she did get a C+, best grade the Spears family has ever received.”

• “That’s not what you do with an umbrella? Huh. Well, what’s it for, then?”

• “I am actually a closet soccer hooligan. Liverpool had a match coming up against Sheffeld United and I needed to step up my hooliganism. You gotta stay sharp during Premiere League, cause those United fans are major tossers!”

• “It’s possible I’m not very bright. My doctors are looking into it. I’m hoping the results are positive.”

• “Lindsay, Paris and I were having a competition to see who could act the craziest without getting in trouble. I was losing and needed a quick score. The attack put me back in first, but Lindsay ended up winning when she crashed her car and passed out. Paris made a valiant attempt for a last-minute win with that whole jail thing, but you just can’t beat “useable amounts of cocaine” as a headline. Lindsay is like the Michael Jordan of competitive Celebritard stupidity.”

• “It wasn’t me, it was the one-armed man!”

• “I decided to switch roles models. Instead of Madonna, I am now following the merits and advice of renowned sane person, Courtney Love. Please allow for some inefficiency during this transitional period.”

• “I love lamp!”

• My loneliness is killing me, and I, I must confess I still believe (still believe). When I’m not with you I lose my mind, give me a sign, Hit me baby one more time!

Britney, next time, just make like Scott Glenn in Backdraft and let it go.

Bangarang!

Bangarang!

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How cool is that?

My current geek-in-residence, one Timothy “Evil” Schultz, stood in line for ten hours on Friday to get the iPhone (then spent the next 24 hours dealing with activation, just by the by). When I saw him, and it, on Saturday, I only had one question for him.

How does TheJay.com look on that beast?

As you can see, the answer is pretty balls awesome. The sunlight in the pic is a bit harsh, so let me assure you that the colors of the iPhone screen are as vibrant as any Pixar film and as crystal clear as a high end digital monitor. One of the cooler features of the phone is the ability to literally “pinch” or “pull” the screen to zoom in or out on something. So all bets are off on the relative downsides of checking the net on a cell phone. I was able to read one of my columns with ease (and I laughed my ass off, but then again, hey, narcissist!).

I watched a movie on it (Akira) and that looked great. I texted, took pics (of myself, natch) and made calls using only my index finger. I felt pretty all-powerful, which is a great sub-conscious feature. Even better than my feeling awesome, which is a pretty routine situation, obviously, is the coup de grace of iPhone convenience. That being Visual Voicemail. On the iPhone, when you have multiple voicemails, you can read a list of them and choose which one you want to listen to, as opposed to having to cycle through them. That my friends on a scale of 1 ot 10, is a 12.

If I didn’t hate Cingular with an intensity I didn’t think possible outside of Reese Witherspoon’s Cruel Intentions devil face, and wasn’t saving up for a high-end wine refrigerator, I would be all up on the iPhone like Britney Spears on parental restraining orders. As it is, I’ll just have to settle for knowing that TheJay.com not only reads brilliant on the iPhone, but looks brilliant as well. And that now I have one more device to sneakily tune to this website when I’m walking through the Apple store (twirls mustache). Well played… Apple.

Bangarang!

Today, I, and the rest of the world, or at least the Hollywood tabloidista, will honor the birth of one of the entertainment industry’s biggest and best coked out, rehab-shucking, talent-eroding, knife-wielding, weight dropping, boytoy banging, crazy as hell Celebritards since the Olsen twins turned eighteen. Yes, that’s right, batten down the hatches, order extra cases of Red Bull and Grey Goose, stay off the streets and hide your children, Lindsay Lohan turns 21 today. And we here at TheJay.com would like to celebrate this momentous occasion by bestowing 21 birthday wishes on our favorite former hottie who inexplicably dropped twenty pounds, took out her implants, died her hair blonde, started doing mass amounts of blow, showed up in a string of shitty movies, alienated the Disney crowd, put her imlants back in, when to rehab, crashed her car, went back into rehab, became tabloid fodder to the point where the paparazzi are bored of her and pretty much ruined any chance of becoming an all-time masturbatory redhead fantasy we all thought she would be, but instead ended up being considered sleazier than Paris Hilton (and Paris Hilton is a fucking convict!).

So on Lindsay Lohan’s (hopefully dry) 21st birthday, TheJay.com wishes…

1. That she switch from blow and vodka to wine. When you drink too much wine they call you sophisticated. When you drink too much hard liquor they call you Tara Reid. That’s a big difference.

2. That she (and let it be known, I’m aware how stupid this sounds) take a cue from Paris Hilton and realize playing dumb isn’t cute anymore. Fact is it was never cute on Lindsay. Or on Paris, not that it matters. The only person that can convincingly pull of “dumb as cute” is Kelly Bundy and she’s fictional.
   

3. That she agrees to become Jane Fonda’s padwan learner. Sure, the partnership may lead to Lindsay going to Iraq and shilling for Arabs (Fallujah Lohan?), but at least we’ll eventually get a Lindsay Lohan aerobics video out of the deal, which would be totally worth it. There’s comedy, there’s high comedy, and then there’s Lindsay Lohan in a leotard teaching overweight Heartland wives how to jazzercise. Plus, you know, she might also become a well-respected two-time Oscar winner. Which would be nice for her.

4. That someone reminds her Oscars are not won in a club, they’re won on a film set. And we’re not talking about the set of Just My Luck.

5. That she take it from Sean Combs and never let anyone call her La Lohan ever again. It didn’t work for Puff Daddy, it’s not gonna work for Linds. Don’t make Diddy shut down the studio!

6. That a slew of really hot boys tell her over and over again that pale chicks are cool. Nobody likes a blotchy fake tan. And pale became her quite well.

7. That she’d go back to red and stay that way. If it’s good enough for the Pretty Woman, it’s good enough for the Mean Girl.

8. That screen dad Dennis Quaid knocks some sense into her, In Good Company-style. He’s been through drugs, rehab and failed public relationships and he’s as popular now as he was twenty years ago. So take it from The Quaid, Lindsay, he is all-knowing; like that mutant tumor in Total Recall that wanted Arnold to “open [his] mind”.
   

9. That she at least consider, CONSIDER, marrying a suspicious A-list star who will turn her into a barely believable beard for a decade then release her from her blood oath (read: legally binding contract) so that she can turn into botoxed ice queen who marries a drug addicted musician but is still awesome because she makes crazy kick ass musicals with Renton from Trainspotting and horror flicks where they’re really the ghosts! And hey, I hear Hugh Jackman might be in the market.

10. That she recognizes the fact that no actress who has ever won an Academy Award has ever shown her snatch in public. Other than Helen Mirren, of course. Septuagenarian snizz is the new black.

11. That she take a note from Macaulay Culkin and divorce the hell out her no-good parents (and maybe even consider going on a North-style cross-country search for new ones. I know Brangelina are always on the look out for disadvantaged orphans.).

12. That she try to convince Rachel McAdams to do a Freaky Friday-style career switch, only when it works, she refuses to switch back. This works in everyone’s favor because who isn’t curious what a skanky Rachel McAdams would look like?

13. That Jodie Foster would slap her upside the head. Maybe some of her awesomeness would transfer to Lindsay through osmosis. Plus, there’s a small chance some of Jodie’s closet lesbianism would transfer as well. Holding knives to Vanessa Minnillo’s throat is one thing, but holding knives to her throat while sticking her tongue down the veejay’s throat is a whole other mind-blowing ballgame. Also, it might mean that Gina Gershon would be her friend, and that’s as fantastic a friendship for her as I can possibly imagine.
    

14. That someone sit her down and makes her watch Clueless again, a reminder that even beloved teen stars who don’t do crazy amounts of blow, bang skeezy C-list boytoys and put knives to boy bander girlfriends can end up without a career. Sure they may get to make an ill-advised romcom with a young Benicio Del Toro first, but eventually (read: 2-3 years) everyone will forget how insanely hot they were bungee-jumping off a bridge in LA and flipping off a cheating Stephen Dorff, and only remember the ten pounds they put on right before Crisco-ing themselves into a be-nippled rubber bat suit and “flirting” with the star of Vertical Limit. The audience goodwill only lasts for so long, is what I’m saying. And Mean Girls is now more than three years old.

15. That she consider going the Heather Graham route and start exclusively doing mediocre comedies (with the occasional erotic titty thriller starring the lesser Fiennes sibling, thrown in). At least Rollergirl has her dignity.

16. That she behead Hayden Panetierre, lest the Heroes-star take over Lindsay’s “hot young starlet with enormous talent potential and even more enormous Celebritard potential” turf. After all, as it goes in their world, there can be only one.

17. That she start sending Steven Spielberg a fruit basket every day until he takes her call, Ma-Sheen in Wall Street-style. And on that note…

18. That she dress up as a Japanese anime school girl and sleep with Quentin Tarantino. Or make Spike Jonze a mixtape. Or learn Spanish to impress Alfonso Cuaron. Or bring Peter Jackson a sandwich. Basically, that she do ANYTHING at all possible to improve the level of directors she’s been working with. I think being told how to emote by Emilio Estevez might have done the trick, but who knows?

19. That Ben Affleck teaches her to embrace the irony of their tenuous celebrity and regain the public love by being in on the joke. And he knows of what he speaks. After all, Affleck was the bomb in Phantoms, yo!
    

20. That she resurrect The Icecrotch, if only so that she can do epic, mythical battle with Dakota Fanning in an upcoming chapter of “The Stirring Tales of Master Assassin Dakota Fanning” (coming soon on TheJay.com)!

21. That she knows if all else fails, showing your tits never hurt. Just ask Halle Berry. Early career love, mid-career stall, spectacularly bad celebrity divorce, hit a guy with her car, was virtually unhireable, showed her tits, won on Oscar, became a top shelf Bond girl, now beloved by Oprah. Doesn’t that seem like the exact career track of Lindsay Lohan? I can’t wait to see her in ten years walking be-thonged onto a Caribbean beach in “The Spy Who Loved Firecrotch” while a lecherous Daniel Craig flexes his pecs and feigns interest.

Happy Birthday, Lindsay! Try to stay out of trouble.

Bangarang!

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(NOTE: This column was originally written in 2002, to commemorate the release of Star Wars Episode II - Attack of the Clones. In honor of the release of Live Free or Die Hard I am re-publishing it as a tribute to the man who started my love for waiting in line for movies. The man, the myth, the Bruno, Mr. Bruce Willis. I can’t wait to come full circle and stand in line for a Die Hard movie, one more time…)

The date had been embedded in my mind for months: July 4, 1990. On a Wednesday in the middle of an unusually hot summer, Die Hard 2: Die Harder would be released to the public. The first film, Die Hard, had quickly become a family favorite amongst me and my two brothers. We had seen the film countless times, reciting racy lines of dialogue and reenacting brutal violence at an age when we should have been playing baseball, not terrorist and hero cop. When the release date of the film was set, our house went into a collective frenzy. There was no doubt in our minds what we were going to do the night of July 4th. Forget barbeques or baseball games, if it did not entail Bruce Willis fighting terrorists, we were not interested.

The days leading up to the opening night were agonizingly slow. The commercials advertising the film only served to increase my frustration of not having seen the film. The day finally arrived, filled with joy and the feeling of vindication. My patience would finally be rewarded. Little did I know, trouble was brewing. My mother was called into a late evening meeting, we would not make the 7:30 p.m. showing. Ordinarily this would not be a problem since most films have multiple showings on any given night. Die Hard 2, however, was a longer film than most. My local cinema, the only one playing the film, was airing only two screenings, one at 7:30 and the other at 10:45 p.m. My mom arrived home at 8:30, and we commiserated on our misfortune. Being only nine years old, my strict bedtime of 9:30 p.m. would not be wavered, even by the rogue charms of Mr. Willis. I was well aware that the film would be playing in theaters for the duration of the summer and beyond, but my desire to experience the film “right now” was too overwhelming. Clever use of a guilt-trip sullied my mother’s defenses and soon we were off waiting in line for the late show.

It was my first experience seeing a movie that late; my eyes were wide with excitement and energy. The line extended around the back of the theater but no one felt inconvenienced; they all shared my deep rooted love for this film franchise. They let us in at 10:15, and I could barely contain myself. A nine-year old ball of energy, up way past his bedtime, waiting to see Bruce Willis save the world. The lights went down, and I was hooked.

Even at such a young age, I could feel the power of the opening night. At no other time is the energy as high, the audience as passionate, or the experience as genuine. My need to see movies on opening night became an obsession I have been feeding since that fateful Independence Day. My movie-going life was changed, and film’s place in my social life was forever altered. I blame it all on Bruce Willis.

The years passed, and the opening night experiences grew in number. Braveheart, summer of 1995. Watching the movie we all knew what was happening. The first night of the film’s release and we could all sense it. We were watching a Best Picture in the making, and no one else knew. Then, Apollo 13, just a few weeks later. The air-conditioning in the theater turned up so high, I felt as if I was the one trapped in space.

November 1, 1996. Throngs of pre-pubescent and newly adolescent teenagers pack an unsuspecting local movie theater, awaiting the release of the highly anticipated re-imagining of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. I was fifteen, anxious, and surrounded by braces and Clearasil as far as the eye could see. The theater had underestimated the film’s appeal, and chose to screen the film in a theater two sizes too small. Teens were turned back at the door, openly crying at the thought of a Leonardo-less Friday night. As the 7:30 p.m. mark moved ever closer, the theater began to hum with the excitement. Six hundred adolescents giddy at the prospect of watching two hours of spastic, tragic Shakespeare. When Leonardo’s face first appeared on-screen relationships ended. Girls openly wept and their dates hid in their seats. This was not a film screening, it was hormonal torture.

On another end of the spectrum was the Friday late show of Michael Mann’s sprawling L.A. crime thriller, Heat. On an atypically scorching December evening, I decided to turn my opening night obsession into a sociological experiment. The Oxy pad crowd of Romeo and Juliet had taught me that certain sects of people would only attend certain movies at specific times. To this end, I decided to forego the usual mid-evening show, and instead see the final show of the night.

Returning to the conversations heard in my Die Hard line roots, I anticipated a crowd of film-loyalists; pretentious movie-lovers spouting home-made philosophies on the merits of Pulp Fiction as a new filmic-religion. What I got, however, was a collection of individuals so contrary to anything I had expected that all my theories immediately went out the window. Entering the densely packed theater, I first noticed a preponderance of leather. Everyone seemed to be wearing it in some form, be it the jacket, shirt or pants variety. They all seemed to be unusually large and bedecked with lengthy beards. It was then that I realized what type of audience I walked into. This was no crowd of kids. I had come to the late night trucker show, with access granted to only those who owned and operated a vehicle that could double for the malicious big-rig in Steven Spielberg’s Duel. The crowd reaction was unnatural: no catty comments thrown Pacino’s way, no standing ovations or audible gasps. The only sound you heard was the rustling of leather. I was a child amongst grizzled grown-ups. Two hours of crime drama could not go fast enough.

I began to examine the crowds that joined me in my opening night excursions, finding just as much joy and pain from who I watched, then what I watched. The unusually high number of people seated legs-crossed, near the back of the theater, for Boogie Nights. The crowd full of blown hankies and teary sobs for Carl Franklin’s One True Thing. And most famously, the crowd of somber adults, turned stone silent by the effect of Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece, Schindler’s List.

(more…)

As is tradition at TheJay.com, we’d like to take the time to honor and celebrate the birth of celebrity off-spring. And there’s no better way to do that then by supposing what some other big name celebrities might be saying to the proud, new parents. And by new parents I mean just Julia Roberts. Except of course when the paparazzi are around, then that also includes her charming civilian husband Danny Moder. Since the birth of Julia’s new baby boy Henry came in so under the wire that most people still haven’t realized it actually happened a week ago (hey, the Paris machine doesn’t stop for anything, least of all the third kid of an aging American Sweetheart. Unless the kid came out with three arms, or black, we’d rather hear what Paris is reading in jail. Her thoughts on the Harry Potter series are quite illuminating), we’re gonna follow suit with this post, seven days after the fact. This way we get to honor two traditions, the birth of a celebrity baby and procrastination!

So congratulations to Julia, Danny and baby Henry from all of us here at TheJay.com! May you’re poorly-named twins not maim you in your sleep for giving the new kid such an easy moniker. Mazel Tov!

On to the celebrity well-wishes…

George Clooney: Julia, don’t take it personal that we left you out of the new Ocean’s movie because you were rabidly annoying in the las- I mean, because you were so pregnant. We just didn’t want to bother you in your time of glowing motherhood. Also, you never let me bring whores on set. And you know that’s what I need to begin my creative process. And with Pitt warming up to Angelina every morning, I needed something equally as… creative in my trailer. You understand, right?

Phinnaeus Roberts: Henry? Fucking Henry? You saddled with me a name Shakespeare would have junked and the new kid gets HENRY??!! I am so smearing peanut butter on the plasma screen.

Brad Pitt: Don’t believe a word of what George said. I’m the reason we dropped you and made Ellen Barkin the only chick on set. Angie made me sign a contract saying I’d only work with women who look like dudes. I argued hard to include you on that list, but you just never win when faced with the choice of not getting to have sex with Angelina Jolie. I’m sorry. And congratulations. I hope you’re enjoying all your three of your beautiful Caucasian, totally belonging to you by blood kids. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take the black one to pre-school before I go to the set. I’m shooting a love scene with Rhea Perlman today. (sighs) … totally worth it!

Eric Roberts: Congratulations, sis! I’m so proud of you. You are going to be as wonderful a Mother as you have been a Sister. Um… so now that I kissed your ass, can you like, get me work? I have a pretty big house payment due at the end of the month and Emma won’t give me a bigger allowance.

Richard Gere: Julia, about your new baby boy. It corners like it’s on rails.

Matthew Perry: Could my television show BE any more cancelled! So yeah, congrats on the third kid. Sorry it never worked out between us. What with you being the biggest movie star in the world at the time and me being on a show people actually liked, you’d think it would have worked. Course Brad and Jennifer disproved that theory. Whoa, just think, if we had gotten together, there’s a chance I’d be banging Angelina Jolie and starring in stuff people don’t find soul-crushingly pretentious, and you’d be mirthlessly dating Vince Vaughn. Life, huh? Could it BE any more random!

Sandra Bullock: I just don’t understand. We’re equally lovable on-screen performers. I’m arguably more attractive. I made just as cloying a Hugh Grant romcom. So why aren’t I an incredibly beloved Oscar winner who gets to make movies with George and Brad? How come I’m stuck making mediocre thrillers with the idiot from Nip/Tuck, while you’re having Sunday brunch with freaking Oprah?! I don’t get it! Is it because I did movies with three of your ex boyfriends? I’m sorry. Please don’t sick Dakota on me!

Clive Owen: You gave birth. That’s the spirit. Congrats. Congrats for your bravery. Now fuck off and die, you fucked up slag! Love to the twins.

Catherine Zeta-Jones: Darling, how are you! And the baby, so precious! Oh, what it must have been like to conceive with such a strapping young man. And with so many abdominal muscles! Michael hasn’t had those since the 70’s. When I was eight. (start tearing up) I apologize, Julie bird, I’ve just had a rough go of it lately. Spielberg won’t take my calls, Soderbergh refused to put me in Ocean’s Thirteen. I mean, Ellen Barkin instead of us! You’re pregnant and bitchy, but me? I’m GORGEOUS and bitchy! Now I have to go promote this god awful movie I made with Aaron stupid Eckhart! And the girl in the movie isn’t even Dakota Fanning. This is my penance for agreeing to do the Zorro sequel.

Hazel Roberts: Henry? You named him Henry? That’s such an easy name! Why again am I Hazel? Why did I get some stupid witch name and the new boy gets an All-American one? I am so making you a grandmother when I turn 12.

Emma Roberts: Congratulations, Auntie Julia. I just wanted to remind you of our deal. You keep these little rats out of my limelight and I’ll keep my no good idiot father out of yours. I gotta go, press tour for my new smash non-hit Nancy Drew! See you at Thanksgiving!

Dakota Fanning: Is she bothering you, Aunt Julia? Would you like me to take care of her? Lord knows I want to. Nancy Drew should have been mine! MINE! I need to shoot someone RIGHT NOW! Dammit, where did I put my uzi?

Keifer Sutherland: Julia, I came to see the baby. (Pulls a gun.) WHERE’S THE BABY???? You have five seconds to tell me where the baby is or I will shoot your civilian husband in his non-famous leg. TELL ME WHERE HE IS!!!!! 5! 4! (cocks gun) 3! 2! Oh wait, there he is. Didn’t see him there in the crib. Very cute, Jules!

Rachel McAdams: I’ve been noticing that all the other would be Next Julia’s tend to make movies with your former male co-stars or boyfriends. Since I’m the real heir to the throne I’m not going to fall into the same trap (Dermot Mulroney doesn’t count, because, well, please. It’s Dermot Mulroney.). That being said, if you go near my Ryan, even for a cameo in something, I will kill your first born daughter. I am not playing around. I secretly ruined Sandra Bullock’s career and I can do the same to you. I’m Canadian and I am not afraid of Dakota Fanning.

Danny Moder: Hi, honey! It’s me, Danny, your husband! Just wanted to see when I could swing by and take a look at my new son. So, uh, call me or have your publicist call me if you prefer, and just let me know when the paparazzi are there so I can show up with someone cute. And I promise to color match you this time. I know now how important that is to you. Oh, on a related note, that burn mark you gave me when you lit an US Magazine and threw it at my head, finally went away. It only took two skin graphs. So yeah, good news for everyone!

Bangarang!

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It’s a time of reflection for those in the unauthorized celebrity picture business. With Paris now firmly behind bars for the duration of June, Lindsay drying up in a posh suite somewhere in Malibu, Nicole trying to clean up her rep in time for her day in court, Brangelina giving it out for free to shill their respective new movies, and nary a rookie Celebritard climbing the ranks, the Paparazzi have a lot of free time on their hands. I wonder what they’ll do with all that free time? I mean really, who wants to spend the summer stalking those idiot Laguna Beach kids? L.C. is hot and all, but at some point you gotta remember why you got into this business. It was to be in the trenches, literally (the ones you dug in the dirt on the Malibu Cliffside while waiting for Tom and Nicole to go to breakfast). It was not to waste your time in front of The Standard at 2:30 am on a Tuesday on the off chance Kristin Cavallari walks out in a slinky dress and boots all over Hollywood Blvd. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing that.

So while the Paparazzi anxiously await the return of their skanky meal tickets from their respective detention centers and publicist enforced club bans, I put together a list of 21 things that the papz are likely to do with all there new found free time.

1. Stalking Jennifer Lopez, just for old times’ sake.

2. Going to the beach. Not to enjoy the ocean, but to practice burying themselves in the sand for the upcoming celebritard bikini season.

3. Hitting the gym. The treadmill, specifically. The new breed of star is mighty quick. Gotta practice getting out of the way of speeding, bloodthirsty Mercedes’.

4. Snubbing George Clooney in public, giving the star a false sense of security, waiting two minutes, and then casually following him around for the rest of the day at a safe, seemingly harmless distance.

5. Having epiphanies about their empty soulless existence, but then ultimately deciding not to get out of Jennifer Aniston’s garbage can.

6. Banding together to heighten the tabloid intensity on Hayden Panetierre in the vein hopes she very quickly becomes the next La Lohan. TV stars make the best celebritards (Hi, Shannen Doherty!). Unfortunately, as we all know, the only person who can truly create a satisfactory is celebritard is the Celebrinator herself, Paris Hilton. And though she is truly omnipotent, not even Ms. Jailbird Hilton can skankify a perfectly respectable young girl from behind bars. She can still give the girl herpes, just not celebritardation.

7. Actually eating in the trendy restaurants they camp out at.

8. Catching up on their Netflix queue. Mel Gibson’s movie Paparazzi has been ironically sitting on their coffee table for months (it’s hard to get up the urge to watch Tom Sizemore act at night when you have to take perp walk pictures of him all day).

9. Sucking up to Harvey Leven.

10. Not returning Jessica Simpson’s publicist’s phone calls.

11. Going to rehab to kick their insatiable, life-crushing Brangelina habit. While at rehab, trying to learn Vietnamese to they can use more effective ways of getting Pax Thien Jolie-Pitt to look at their camera. Something tells me the paparazzi rehab would be about as effective as the gayhab Isiah Washington snored through during FaggotGate.

12. Continuing to bribe Lindsay Lohan’s duplicitous, picture stealing “friends”.

13. Competing in a last man standing style game of “not it!” to determine who will have the unenviable task of having to cover Rosie O’Donnell.

14. Wondering out loud why Tara Reid hasn’t stepped up to get some of the free tabloid limelight. After all, for the next month there will be a considerable dearth of “drunk celebritard falling out of a limo” pics, for which she is immensely suited for.

15. Scrapbooking.

16. Reading all the recent “Ben Affleck Is Coming Back” articles, realizing how much unwarranted hell they caused him back in the day and vowing to somehow make it up to him. Not by ever watching one of his movies, but maybe by not taking those extra forty pictures of him looking scrubby at Starbucks.

17. Recommitting themselves to capturing an illicit shot of Hillary Duff doing anything at all even remotely interesting. This might prove to be a herculean task.

18. Googling Kim Kardashian and still not understanding why her picture is worth anything.

19. Getting drunk and mischievous and sending in an order to Pink Dot for three cases of Grey Goose to be delivered to Promises Malibu under the name “Han, Lo”.

20. Weighing their options of getting out of bed to snap bikini pics of Britney Spears. On the one hand, it’s an easy shot that will sell. On the other hand, they’ll inevitably spend the night throwing up their lunch, followed be restless fever dreams of cellulite-ridden buttocks devouring tiny blue thongs, scored to Britney’s dance club hit “Toxic”. What price dignity, eh?

21. Doing what any normal person with a telephoto lens would do… taking close up, high-res pictures of their junk.

Bangarang!

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“The dance is tomorrow. She’s a cheerleader, you’ve seen Star Wars 27 times. You do the math”

“I’m Jewish. That’s no cakewalk either. Last year, I was elected school treasurer. I didn’t even run!”

“Mitch, girl go pee-pee not something I want to see-see.”

“I did an episode of Bette Midler’s short-lived sitcom on CBS. I thought it was Emmy-worthy. Turns out it was A BETTE MIDLER SITCOM ON CBS!!”

You know him as Neil Schwieber from Freaks and Geeks (rest in peace greatest cancellation injustice this side of Parker Lewis Can’t Lose). You’ve seen him on various TV shows, including: Veronica Mars (speaking of R.I.P.’s, How I Met Your Mother, Undeclared, That 70’s Show, Boston Legal, My Name Is Earl and many more. You may also remember him as the Donger spoof character in Not Another Teen Movie. I know him as Samm Levine.

And he was cool enough to stop by the PopLoad show and talk to me about his career.

We spoke about all things Freaks and Geeks; how he got the part, how Judd Apatow shocked the industry by actually getting the show on the air, the positive critical reaction and how it didn’t have an effect on the ratings, and Samm’s musings of what his world would be like if the show were still on the air. Samm talked about his experiences guest starring on various TV shows; he worked with Lindsay Lohan for one day on the Bette Midler sitcom before La Lohan walked off the show. She was an awesome person even then. I wondered why he wasn’t in Knocked Up, and Samm talked about why Judd likes to put him in his shows but not his movies (which is curious… and lame). Samm told me about how he got into the business, what it’s like hanging out with famous people, his plans for the future and best of all, the total hotness of Kristen Bell. Suffice it to say, the interview rocked.

And you can download the mp3 of the interview by CLICKING HERE (takes a minute to download)!

For more cool, geeky celebrity interviews, tune in to PopLoad every Monday @ 7pm PST on www.NowLive.com

Bangarang!

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The bar none coolest thing at the Celebration was The Vader Project, and art exhibit based around a reimagining of the Darth Vader mask. Artists from around the world, and from all different genres, were given a basic black mask as their canvas and told to make it their own. This was the result. For more info on The Vader Project, including information on the artists involved, you can go HERE or HERE.

(NOTE: I’m sure these masks all have official names, but I’m not gonna go look them all up. Besides, my versions are probably a lot funnier. Also, the lighting in the room was way wonky, and it resulted in a lot of blurry pics. I did my best to correct it where possible, but not all of them are crystal clear. My apologies to the vision impaired. And those easily made naseous.)

Cool character renditions on this one.

Brain Vader

The Cabo Wabo Vader Shack (located on Tatooine, natch)

The Uni-Vader

The Statue Of Vader-y (bring me your whiny, your fearful, your bad actors)

This is crazy blurry, but I love the Yoda on this one.

Um, …ok. Kinda lame.

Rocky and Bullvader (”But Palpatine, when do we get to kill Luke and Obi-Wan?”)

The artist put NO effort into this. What is that, paper mache? This helmet is low-fi.

Pink, but still Punk Rock.

Darth Vader looks so pretentious with that goatee. What a art house douchebag!

This one is fun. Kinda youthful.

Patriotic Vader. God Bless (The) America(n) (Empire)!

I’m Seamus O’Kenobi, this is Bobby O’Vader. i’m ready to get drunk (and force choke some bitches)!

Star Wars plastic surgery gone bad. This guy has a worse eye job than Rose McGowan.

Dude, how awesome is this one? Reminds me of one of the light up bad guy from Running Man (”Thought it was pretty funny in the Death Star, didn’t you!”).

This reminds me of candy for some reason.

Darth Hick

Bozo the Sith Lord

Love the colors on this helmet. Wish I had gotten a clear shot.

Darth Hippy

Darth totally should have rocked a naked chick on his grill. He would have been less intimidating, but he would have gotten invited to A LOT more parties. A Darth Vader upside down force keg stand would be a site to behold.

And finally, my favorite helmet of the exhibit. Spy vs. Spy Vader. I would pay large amounts of money to see a cartoon of two Vaders, one white and one black, trying to blow each other up. It would totally absolve Lucas of the awful prequels. We really need to get the people of Mad Magazine on the phone. Pitch this project up.

Bangarang!

Even if you avoided the panels, neglected the Laser Tag and Droid Race, and had exactly zero interest in walking the sellers floor, there were still greats sights to be seen and fun times to be had. The people watching levels at the Celebration was off the charts. Just standing in one place and randomly clicking pictures would have yielded you high hilarity. Here are my favorite (in focus) pics from in and around the Celebration.

This is what you saw as you walked up to the Convention Center.

This is the awning you had to walk under to get to the main Exhibit Hall.

The view from the top of the stairs, looking down onto the main lobby area.

Kids love R2D2 (though they were too afraid to actually touch him). By the way, this was a working model. It rolled, beeped and the head even swiveled. It was way awesome.

These are made out of Legos. Legos! I could barely make a square out of Legos when I was a kid. But then again, I much preferred chewing on Legos, than actually playing with them. I was an odd child.

The dude in black was not pleased that I took this picture. Though he might actually be pissed because some random dude was trying to zap his alien lady. It’s hard to tell.

Is that a C.O.B.R.A. trooper? Go Joe!

Dark Jedi’s like their cancer sticks. Of course, Anakin probably smoked Virgina Slims (Sith Pussy!).

One of the many totally cute tiny Leia’s.

Even stormtroopers need a cell phone break.

Dimo likes him some Star Wars toys.

Like I said, the gold bikini is a privilege, NOT A RIGHT!

If you camped out for a four day event that never sold out, then you are crazy pathetic. It’s sad enough that the event producers felt it necessary to make this sign.

The Jay hanging with The Fett. Han wishes he could chill with us.

Blurily smooching on the Princess.

Probably the closest I’ll ever get to Natalie Portman.

Loving the R2D2 mailboxes. It almost makes me want to write a letter. Almost.

And finally, here was my favorite picture I took with a costumed character. The Jay and Elvis stormtrooper, rocking out with our Star Wars out!

Bangarang!

One of my favorite distractions at the Star Wars Celebration was the signing wall. It was essentially a hugemongous whie board with markers placed everywhere around it. Anyone could write a message to George Lucas, draw something cool, pay homage to Star Wars, bash the franchise, etc. Here are some pictures I took of the wall.

This is what the wall looked like (it stretched for about 50-60 feet):

I took the opportunity to plug TheJay.com, natch.

And I got in the spirit of things by leaving my own (typically sarcastic) message for George.

My friend Dimo got in on the wall action.

Here was his most excellent addition.

There was some other great messages left. This one pays homage to the biggest unresolved plotline of the entire series.

This is a sentiment many geeks can get behind.

Not everyone brought the snark, though. There were a few sincere, heartfelt words.

Geeks in love, how quaint. i bet that’s one attractive family.

And some people got their draw on.

When did Angelina Jolie show up in the prequels?

And lastly, here is my favorite message left on the signing wall.

Bangarang!

My geekosity has been on the wane as of late. I hated Spider-Man 3, was bored by the Heroes season finale and I didn’t even bother seeing Grindhouse. I was truly starting to wonder if the next time I accidentally caught a bit of an Everybody Loves Raymond rerun on TBS, I would start inexplicably laughing (and holy jeebus would that send me to Promises in Malibu faster than a 5am car crash with useable amounts of cocaine in my sky blue 2007 Honda CRV.). In fact, for the better part of the year I’ve been mulling the notion that I was no longer a geek at all. I didn’t dig Battlestar: Galactica when I caught up on the DVD’s. I actually became invested in Grey’s Anatomy. And I don’t think I’ve turned to the Cartoon Network in a calendar year. Could it be that I’m just a normal kid who happens to occasionally like geeky pieces of pop culture? It was a definite possibility. That is, of course, until last weekend, when I did the one thing possible on this earth that could immediately put my geek-o-meter back to 11.

I attended Star Wars Celebration IV.

You want to renew your faith in the geek religion? Spend a day with ten thousand people dressed as space aliens in homage to a sci-fi film franchise that peaked more two decades ago. Take a day of your three-day weekend to bask at the altar of a man so appreciative of fan support that he didn’t even bother to show up to his own celebration. Immerse yourself so fully into a piece of pop culture that by the end of it you’re questioning why Jar Jar Binks wasn’t in MORE of the prequels. Get down with the group living a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

And like that, I felt like socially awkward again.

It was a truly great day. I spoke to artists who spend their days drawing pictures of inane space aliens. I watched a 60 year-old man chain smoke while sculpting a bust of Obi-Wan Kenbobi (Alec Guinness-style, of course.). I saw Veronica Mars herself; rocking a Chewbacca t-shirt and making every geek pulse in the building shoot up by a measure of ten. I saw babies dressed in slave Leia costumes. I rubbed the belly of a 25 foot Jabba the Hut figure. I watched an early glimpse at what will be the best season premiere of the fall (Family Guy retelling the story of Star Wars: Episode 4 – A New Hope, with Stewie as Darth Vader, natch). I basked in the glow of thousands upon thousands of geeks, from all walks of like, from all ages, and from all races and creeds, converging upon the Downtown LA Convention Center to celebrate something special.

I suddenly have the undeniable urge to make fighting sounds with my mouth while twirling around a plastic light up stick.

Here’s how my day went down:

To get an idea of how epic this event was, you have to understand how big the convention center truly is. The Staples Center, home of the soon-to-be Kobe less Lakers, and the Duck-jealous Kings, sits next to the Convention Center, and at max capacity can seat about 18,000 people. The Convention Center is more than twice the size of the Staples. And every inch was filled with Star Wars. The lobby has a glass ceiling that’s more than eight stories tall. It was big enough to put a 30 foot Death Star replica in the middle of the lobby floor, and still make the thing look small! The e-ticket panels were held in conference rooms that dwarfed the biggest lectures halls I encountered I college (so they filled at least a thousand people). The main show floor that held all the sellers booths and the autograph area was like the biggest state fair in the country. There were toys as far as the eye could see. In fact, there was just so bloody much to take in that I became dizzy trying to plan it all out. You can do the entirety of Disneyland and California Adventure in one day, if you map it out correctly (start with Adventureland and go clockwise). There wasn’t anyway to do Star Wars Celebration in one day. I pulled it off by cutting my schedule in half, but I can see why so many people purchased four day passes. And if there’s anything a geek would want to spend four days doing (other than Natalie Portman), it would be this.

I caught the big Irvin Kershner panel. My media pass got me second row seats, which was fortunate, as there were near geek riots trying to get close enough to take a picture of the octogenarian filmmaker. And while most of the panel was a rehash of old stories long since heard in the millions of Star Wars documentaries out there, Kershner still held the room in rapt attention. He is at 84 a more commanding, eloquent and lively public speaker than our current President is at 60. And a hell of a lot smarter. His short answers were recycled pap, but when moderator Jay Laga’aia let him go, he crackled with nostalgic bite. His memories of shooting in the ice cold of Norway are as vivid as if the film was made last year. And his take on the mood of the set of The Empire Strikes Back is the kind of information Star Wars fans live for. He spoke of the turmoil surrounding the infamous Han Solo “I love you” adlib. How he was unhappy with the line as scripted, didn’t know what he wanted instead, and the crew was itching to go to lunch so that they could drink beer. That he only shot one take of the adlib, and Harrison was so tired of the scene that he barely got the line out (giving him two of the most famous improvs in movie history. Not bad for a cranky actor not known for his comedic chops.).

We learned that Lucas was only on set for a handful of Empire shooting days, as he was holed up in Marin County setting up ILM. That the actor playing Vader had to be directed rhythmically during the epic “I am your father” scene because he didn’t know the real dialogue of the scene. That in the test screenings it was revealed that everyone under the age of ten thought Vader was lying about being Luke’s father, while everyone older than ten accepted the Skywalker family dysfunction. Kershner praised Lucas, calling him “the best Producer I have ever worked with”, as well as thanking the bearded master for not cramping his vision of the film. He was told by Lucas just before the start of principal photography, “If you think of it, ILM will figure out how to do it”. That’s a nice line, but Lucas failed to add “and if I don’t like it, I’ll just wait twenty years and CGI the shit without your permission”. Kershner said he has done more than 150 Star Wars panels, but from the energy he brought to the room, I would have believed it was his first time.

I caught the panel for the upcoming “kids break into Skywalker Ranch and steal a print of Episode One flick”, Fanboys, not because I’m that stoked about the movie (I’m not), but because Kristen Bell was scheduled to attend. She, and the panel, did not disappoint. Joining the dearly departed Ms. Mars on stage were here co-stars Sam Worthington and a bearded Jay Baruchel (in a futile effort to look older). The director, writers and producers were also there, but I didn’t pay much attention to them as hello, Kristen Bell was sitting twenty feet away from me rocking a Chewbacca shirt and black Chuck Taylors. I am happy to report she is as hot, if not more, than she appears on TV, smiles easily, looks great in Star Wars gear and is honored to have donned the slave Leia costume in the flick (which is probably good for an extra 5-6 million at the box office). We got to see various scenes from the movie, for about 15 total minutes. I laughed, the crowd laughed, the scenes were cool, but now I feel like I don’t need to see the movie. It’s a one-note premise that can easily be played out in a two-minute trailer. Let’s just say that even with Kristen Bell in a gold bikini I doubt any die-hard Star Wars fan will be camping out for this one. One last thing about the panel, literally milliseconds after it was over Kristen bolted from the stage, so intent she was on not being hassled by an auditorium full of geeks. I understand her predicament, but I was bummed all the same I couldn’t get a closer (or in focus) picture of her.

Oh, and a fun quote from Baruchel, who claims he did the movie for two reasons “I get to wear the Vader costume and because there’s a scene in the movie where Harry Knowles beats [him] up”. Fair enough. But he also revealed himself to be a lifelong Star Trek fan, so even though I loved him in Undeclared, he is now officially dead to me.

Not much to say about the Family Guy panel other than to reiterate my earlier claim that their Star Wars-focused season premiere is off the chains funny. For example, Peter plays Solo and Chris plays Luke. In the scene where they’re in the gun turrets shooting TIE fighters and Luke says “Got em! I got him!”, Peter as Han Solo’s response is “Great kid, don’t get penis-y”. That equals hilarious. As was their mock of the opening crawl which took liberal bashes at Angelina Jolie and her creepy brother love, relative to the potential ickiness of a Luke / Leia love match. Seriously, how did she get America to forget that her Oscar acceptance speech was a love letter to her brother? I know she’s hot and all, but damn is that girl fucked up! We need to really reconsider Brad Pitt’s judgment on this one (but then again he did once date Juliette Lewis, so maybe his compass is just naturally skewed towards the crazies).

Other cool stuff at the Celebration was the Archive room, where I got to see many of the original costumes and models. As well as an awesome model of Luke’s head in the open Vader mask from Empire. I missed out on Star Wars Laser Tag so I could spend more time at the Darth Vader Helmet Exhibit, and boy was that the right choice. Artists from across the country were given Vader heads and told to do whatever they wanted with them, and the results were stellar. I’m going to devote a whole post to the picture I took of the heads. Truly one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a long time. I got to see a full-scale working R2D2 as well as a full-size replica of Anakin’s podracer. I took in a small exhibition of the new R2D2 LCD wall projection, where R2 becomes your DVD player AND your screen, just like in the movies. The image is about six feet across and fairly clean. For $2500 it’s way out of my price range, but well worth it if you are so inclined. The artists area was fun to walk through as most of them were doing paintings on demand, so you could watch how they work in real time. Grant Gould did a killer Jedi picture while we talked and I got some pics of his other work (he does a wide-range of pop culture work, from BSG to Heroes to famous comic book heroes. I was dying for his drawing of the cast of Lost, which by the way, awesome season finale.). I met the artist behind the Snake Plissken comic book series, and got him to autograph each of the comics in the four book set (and paid only ten dollars for the books and the graphs. Not too shabby).

The Ralph McQuarrie booth was the cream of the crop though, and I couldn’t resist picking up a few of his lesser known, non-Star Wars prints. I may be the only person at the Celebration that left without buying any actual Star Wars items, not that I mind to terribly. There’s only so many four-inch Boba Fett figures you can look at before your eyes glaze over. The brand new “Art of Star Wars” book was being pimped out like crazy, but I didn’t bite on that either. I love the look of the Star Wars world, but I’m just not geeky enough to put that on my coffee table. I don’t need George Lucas staring at me every time I grab my TiVo remote. Though I think it’s every geek’s dream to bloop bloop George Lucas.

The autograph lines were forever long, but had no one that interesting in them. How many people could possibly want Jake Lloyd’s signature? I imagine he gets a lot of slushies thrown at him on the street, Weather Man-style (“I heard you talking about midi-chlorians. So I was wondering what are midi-chlorians?” Swoosh! Red Slurpee right in his face!).

And I’m 2200 words in before I’ve even said a thing about all the great costumes. Everyone was decked out. And I’m pretty sure every person who had even a moment of screen time in the series was represented at the event (except Jar Jar, of course). I saw all manner of costume craziness, from a V For Vendetta Darth Vader to a Nacho Libre Stormtrooper. Indiana Jones was walking around, as was The Joker for some strange reason. I saw a shirtless Anakin, though I’m not sure why. And I saw countless Princess Leia’s in the gold bikini. And let me just say that like spandex the gold bikini is a privilege, not a right. Maybe consider a sit-up or two next time you know you’re gonna wear that thing. Just saying…

All in all I spend just over eight hours at the Celebration, took in the three big panels, walked the entire show floor, took more than 200 pictures, bought some goodies, FINALLY peeped the infinitely cool R2D2 mailbox, saw some great art, ate some surprisingly good food and revitalized my love for all things Star Wars. And most of all, I feel like a geek again. I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this, but thank you George Lucas. You may have raped my teen movie-going years, but you sure know how to rescue a floundering guy in a geek-life crisis. Now don’t fuck up Indy 4.

Several picture posts devoted to the Vader Helmets, the Star Wars signing wall, and the people in costumes coming up. But until then…

Bangarang!

For more great coverage of this event, check out Blogging LA, Defamer, PopCandy, or the Official Star Wars Celebration Blog.

10:07 - The Jay, OUT! Bloop-Bloop!

10:06 - Congratulations to Jordin, she’s a great choice for an American Idol, will be a great representative for the show and a (moderately) successful solo singer. Best of luck to Blake, who entertained me so well for five months; I can’t wait for the shaky, beatbox-heavy debut album, and his future career as a hit record producer. And I look forward to seeing how the Top 12 shakes up the industry; who will be the next Daughtry, if Blake will flame out like Bo Bice, if Melinda can bring back Motown, if Sanjaya can capitalize on his pop culture trainwreck potential, if I’ll ever get another look at Haley Scarnato’s fine, fine gams. So many questions… I can’t wait to find out the answers (and illegally download the singles). Thank you to everyone for reading the recaps. See you in January for Season Seven.

10:04 - JORDIN SPARKS! What a shock. NOT.

10:02 - Oh look, the judges. I forgot they were even there.

9:58 - Wait, aren’t there supposed to be, um, you know, like, RESULTS? I’m missing all the resurgent Lost awesomeness! Charlie fighting with gun-toting underwater babes, Sayid planning an Other bombing, Jack being a douchebag. I need to get my Lost on! Let’s get a move on, Idol, damn! Why is it 10pm and we haven’t crowned Jordin yet? This is what you get for putting that stupid Golden Idol awards shit on for fifteen minutes.

9:57 - Mmm, Haley legs, just the thing I needed to push me through to the final moments. Thank you, Miss Scarnato.

9:56 - Watching Ruben makes me glad I didn’t become a real Idol watcher till Season 4.

9:55 - So is Carrie supposed to be the star of the night? Because I thought tonight was about Jordin and Blake? Am I wrong? She’s been on stage more than Ryan tonight. Not that I mind seeing her more than Seacrest.

9:53 - I’m confused, didn’t we decide to just forget Taylor existed on this earth? Who let the Idol Monkey out of the cage? Just breathe Jay, seven more minutes and you’ll be blissfully Idol free for six months…

9:51 - Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club? Umm, ok…. I like Kelly and Joe just fine, but can we stay a touch closer to the AI family tree please? It’s only the LAST TEN MINUTES OF THE SEASON? What is going on here? I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!

9:49 - K-Ville looks tight. New Amsterdam looks, well, I hope David Boreanaz is getting suitably compensated for that mess.

9:41 - Really? Beaches? Really? Who approved this nonsense? I like Bette Midler just fine, but really, she has to take up five of the last twenty minutes of the season? We don’t get a Melinda/Tina duet, but we have to sit through “Wind Beneath My Wings”? Sometimes I really understand why so many people hate this show. Sometimes I remember that I used to be one of them.

9:35 - What does it say that they paired Blake with a non-Idolist and Jordin with a former Idol winner? Just the producers prepping her to join the fold. Do we really need to wait another twenty minutes to start the Sparks coronation? Even Blake has started drafting his proud loser speech.

9:34 - Can somebody get Jordin some hot tea, or honey or something? Girl needs help. Her voice is SHOT. Even Ruben is feeling sorry for her, and Ruben is in no position to feel superior to anyone from Idol.

9:31 - Look what you did America! Look who you chose last year. Are you proud of yourselves? We might as well just surrender back to the Brits, for all the smarts we have. Taylor freaking Hicks! I miss Katharine McPhee.

9:30 - Aw man, who brought the dick? Taylor Hicks brought the dick.

9:24 - And then they follow the doofy Sanjaya video and perf with a super-serious Green Day performance (?) in support of Darfur. Fuck you, American Idol! What is your stupid show about? Just crown Jordin already so I can go watch Lost. Gah! Also, if Green Day isn’t going to do American Idiot on American Idol then their presence is just not necessary.

9:19 - Imagine for a second if Sanjaya had made the finale. How crazy it would be. How much hate mail the show would receive. How many shots of that stupid crying girl we’d be forced to endure. The riots that would have been caused if Melinda had gotten the boot before him. A Blake vs. Sanjaya finale would have been cause for canceling the show. Simon would have had a meltdown on live TV. He would have strangled Paula, punched Randy in the face and cock slapped Ryan (just like they do at home) before cursing America for it’s stupidity.

9:16 - Here’s my problem with the Idol Gives Back nonsense: less than one commercial break before the adorable African Children’s Choir took the stage to make us all feel bad, Idol was giving a fake award and making fun of a developmentally-challenged kid. It’s just too disparate a dichotomy. The whole is fine on the surface, but REEKS of pretension and substantive desperation. Ugh. They might as well have put Sanjaya jumping a shark tank on a motorcycle up there, for all the good they want it to do. And that’s what I mean, they follow the sweet kids perf with a tongue-in-cheek Sanjaya Rocks video. What’s this shown supposed to be about, you know? I just can’t get over how much the whole Idol Gives back idea repulses me.

9:07 - I’ve been reading a lot of commentary about Blake and Jordin being the best final two in the history of the show, but watching Carrie do her thing I have to whole-heartedly disagree. Carrie and Bo were the best. Two phenomenal voices, two good-looking cool people. They shouldn’t be discounted because Carrie is a robot, or because Bo dropped an a-load of weight and nobody recognized him. I think because they were both country, their season gets discounted. The hicks running the asylum, so to speak. But I remember how much fun that season was. I remember how much I enjoyed watching Bo swoop in and school Constantine. Watch Carrie trounce all over the girls. Carrie is the biggest success that American Idol has ever produced, specific to record sales, her presence should not be discounted. Blake and Jordin are hip, fun and great talents, but I’d rather listen to Bo rock and Carrie belt, then Blake beatbox and Jordin try to emote. But that’s just me.

8:55 - The Wynans? What, was Tina stuck in the Thunderdome? I feel robbed.

8:52 - Did Simon just call Ryan an asshole? Cause if so, that would be legen - wait for it - DAIRY!

8:47 - Tony Bennett! That means it time for me to take a dinner break. Thanks, Tony!

8:42 - Look how happy Melinda looks! I love that! If she ends up doing a surprise duet with Tina Turner, her tiny no-necked head may explode.

8:39 - Dude, Gladys Knight! Melinda and LaKisha are so her Pips!

8:38 - Oh, Haley’s legs, how I’ve missed you! Excuse me, I have to go, um, lock my bedroom door…

8:35 - Who would win in a wigger-off, Blake Lewis or Eminem? That may be one of those unanswerable questions like Ginger or Marianne, Elvis or The Beatles, skinny pop Kelly Clarkson or pudgy angry Kelly Clarkson.

8:33 - I may have to recant my statement that Blake has no audience. Cause this beatboxing perf is in-SANE. He’s putting on a star clinic, and his skills are free!

8:29 - I can’t believe it took so long for 19 Entertainment to launch a band version of American Idol. That’s a bigger no-brainer than Kelly over Justin.

8:21 - Uh oh, make sure the prompter is working, Brandon Rogers is on stage. Also, holla Sanjaya. I think it’s possible I missed you. But then again, I used to eat paint chips as a young child.

8:18 - Why can’t I TiVo live TV? I did NOT need to see Big Bird french Ryan. You can’t do that to a poor tiny metro, you’ll ruin his foundation.

8:17 - The Golden Idol Awards? Really? Can’t we just move this along? I don’t need to see Sanjaya win ANYTHING. Also, J-hud is the house! You can’t give out gold boys with a flesh and blood Oscar winner in the front row. That’s just not how it’s done.

8:16 - J-Hud is in the house!

8:14 - Damn, she is good. Still the American Idol gold standard five years later.

8:12 - Someone hide crafty, here comes Kelly Clarkson! Just kidding Kel, you know I love you. But really, if you get a moment, a sit-up or two might be a good idea. Just something to think about.

8:09 - I’d just like to take this commercial break to mention that despite my recent axe prediction suckage, I actually picked Jordin, Melinda and Blake as the Top 3 TEN weeks ago. Don’t believe me, SEE FOR YOURSELF (written in Jordin’s recap).

8:06 - What is Gwen wearing? It looks like a Disney Princess Halloween costume made for a four year old. And I think I can see her whole new world, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down. Also, in regards to this song, zzzzzzzzz. Where’s Akon when you need him? probably grinding on a 14 year old somewhere, making R. Kelly jealous.

8:04 - They sound OK together, but they both sound ragged. Their voices must feel like Ashlee Simpson at the Orange Bowl by now. Melinda would have sounded as good as ever. Just sayin…

8:03 - Jordin looks good, for a giantess. I like how far away they started on the stage. It was like a forced perspective scene from Lord of the Rings. Does that make Blake the Frodo? Or the Samwise? Let’s just move on…

8:01 - Teri Hatcher is in the crowd. Odds on whether or not Ryan and her have an awkward on-screen chat? 5-2

8:00 - Blake is in a suit! I guess the argyle sweater wasn’t good enough for the Finale.

So, it is down to Blake and it is down to Jordin. After five months of singing, dancing, corporate shilling, song botching, Sanjaya Malakar-ing, Gina Glocksen crying, Sundance Head sucking, Haley legging, Melinda and Bon Jovi rocking, LaKisha diva-ing, Phil’s head shining, and Ryan Seacreast-ing, it is finally time to crown a new American Idol.

Since I decided to recap the American Idol performance night I have written more than 18000 words on the contestants. I have suffered the ups and down of Jordin’s “energy”. I have watched Blake struggle to find the balance between holy crap awesome and holy jeebus annoying. I have watched Ryan and Simon bicker, Paula try to sustain sobriety (and not always succeeding), and Randy becoming evermore unnecessary. I have been through it all. From the first audition to the final performance of last night (and how ironic that an AI loser closed out the season). And after all that, I knew I needed to do something special to mark the finale. So I’m breaking out the rare liveblog to chronicle what should be a spectacular American Idol Finale Results Show Spectacular.

Updates will post up, so make sure when you refresh that you are reading from the top down. So, without further ado, let’s get to the results…

THIS is AMERican Idol!

The herd has been thinned, the chum discarded chucked to the sharks, and all that is left is the top sirloin. By all accounts, the Top 4 is the best Top 4 in American Idol history. Each performer is talented, professional and for the most part, marketable. There isn’t a Sanjaya Malakar, Jasmine Trias or Constantine Maroulis in the bunch. No matter what the theme over the next few weeks, this foursome can be counted to deliver solid, entertaining performances.

Which just makes the show so goddamn boring!

Where’s the wild card? I hated Phil the Alien as much as the next guy, but at least he brought something off-kilter to the proceedings. Like you weren’t sure what he was doing there, but you’d pay attention just in case he unleashed the awesome might of his extra terrestrial powers. I need that kind of surprise. I need Elliot Yamin in there, singing so hard his head might explode like the girl on House last night. I need crazy shucking and jiving from Taylor Hicks, hypnotizing America into making him the next American Idol instead of the knock-out brunette with the powerhouse voice and the Jessica Rabbit body. Heck, after watching last nights pulse-less show, I would have been content seeing Antonella up there doing her skanky thing.

American Idol thrives off of lunacy. Performers that don’t belong, wildly poor song choices, and outfits and hairstyles that scream “To The Watercooler”! We’re not getting that this year. Instead we just get stupid quality singers. How boring. My ears may be pleased, but my adrenaline gland is as dead as Jason Statham at the end of Crank. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Sanjaya.

We’re changing things up a bit this week. I’m not going to be grading the singers on their bloop worthiness. They were all relatively “meh”, so instead I’m going to be grading them on how fun they are to actually watch. Grading them on their performance more than their voice. The BeeGees after all, are much more fun to watch then they are to hear. The confluence of the crazy facial hair, the blindingly white polyester jumpsuits, the coifs, and those crazy cool medallions, as well as actually seeing that voice come out of Barry Gibb elevates the group to a level of true pop art. And I was especially happy it was BeeGee’s night because it gives me the opportunity to show possibly the best thing Jimmy Fallon will ever do in his entire life (it would have been JT’s as well, until Andy Samberg got the brilliant idea to put his dick in a box). I’m speaking of course about The Barry Gibb Talk Show. Take a watch and have a laugh.

Awesome.

If the real Barry Gibb was even ¼ as fantastic as that clip, I knew I’d be in for a great night. My expectations were not met. He didn’t unleash a high kick, his chest hair was covered up and I didn’t see even one crazy cool medallion. He was nice enough to the kids, and I always enjoy when the artist sings along with the Idol during rehearsals, but I wanted the Barry from SNL, not the old, slightly befuddled, missing his fast ball Barry that we got. If J.Lo is the top and Peter Noone is the bottom, Barry Gibb was hovering next to Tony Bennett as far as this season’s mentors are concerned.

As far as the performances, I was hoping to see a bit of BeeGee-esque chaotic awesomeness (especially from Blake), but was sadly denied the pleasure. I blame the gender balance. Too many divas, not enough immature guys. You can’t tell me Chris Richardson or Phil Stacey wouldn’t have been A LOT more fun to see strutting around on stage, than LaKisha’s misguided attempt to Blakify “Staying Alive”. Blake gets by because of his production skills; it’s not just him on the stage with a mic, it’s also the lights, the strobes, the reverb, and the house band. The girls just get up there and belt, there’s no pizzazz to it. It’s the BeeGee’s for godsakes! Make it crazy! The show needed more falsettos. Chris’s nasal voice would have been PERFECT for this week. And again, as I said before, at least in terms of last night, I missed Sanjaya Malakar.

Let’s jump right to the grades.

1. Jordin Sparks – She didn’t try to overdo the song, she kept the melody relatively intact, and she delivered a controlled, beautiful vocal. For the first performance anyway. The second song was a bit out of her league, but she acquitted herself better than the rest of the Idolists. I like that she didn’t let the band or production overwhelm her (as she did on JBJ night), and that she modeled her look on the type of songs she was singing (classy dresses and slick, straight hair). Jordin is either great or lazy depending on the night, an attitude that fits her age but may lose her points next week. I’m not sure if she can top Blake AND Melinda to get into the finals, but if the first performance of last night were any indication (not to mention Barry’s hyperbole about her), she’s going to pull an upset next week (and maybe the week after that).

Grade: A

2. Melinda Doolittle – Things you are never going to get from Melinda: dancing, spazzing out, a view of her neck, sloppy vocals, real risk. Paula keeps asking for Melinda to wow her, but it’s not going to happen. Melinda can sing just about any song she wants and pull it off convincingly (heck, Tony Bennett wanted to marry her and JBJ asked her to join Bon Jovi), but the assimilation stops at the vocal. She’s not going to dance like Paula Abdul, vogue like Madonna, rooster dance like Mick Jagger, throw a guitar like a hard rocker, or stage dive like an idiot. She’s gonna walk out on that stage and belt. And it’s going to sound great every time. That’s Melinda in a nutshell. You know what you’re going to get, and that’s ok. She sounded just fine last night, but it was no different than five or six performances I’ve seen of her this season. I still think she’s the winner, and the judges seem ready to crown her already and hit the beach, but she’s certainly not the most electrifying of artists. Then again, what’s better, the high risk flash and dazzle of Blake, or the poised perfection of Melinda? I guess it depends on your mood. And I’m willing to bet America is in the mood for perfection come the end of May.

Grade: B+

3. Blake Lewis: The great thing about Blake is that he’s always operating on the razor’s edge. He pushes his limits and tests his audience. Yes, Paula was right in saying that he can do the beatboxing because he can, but the better answer is that he does it because no one has said they don’t like it. He’s only been in one bottom three all year (Melinda has never been in the bottom three, just by the by); it’s a testament to the audience’s appreciation for his musicality. Even though I don’t always like his style of singing (his voice is a bit weak, and he uses his dancing and beatboxing as a distraction from it), I always enjoying watching him. He’s definitely the best performer American Idol has ever seen, but he’s also definitely not the best singer. He wouldn’t have last this far against Bo and Carrie. Fantasia has him beat on watchability. Clay outnerds him. And I bet Taylor and McPhee would have taken him down also. Does he make the finals? I think so. No one wants to see a Melinda vs. Jordin diva off. But if I were voting, it wouldn’t be for him. I’ll buy his first album, but I wouldn’t pick him as the next American Idol.

Grade: B-

4. LaKisha Jones: Part of the reason I changed up the formula this week is because there really isn’t any tension as to who’s getting kicked off. Everyone knows it’s time for LaKisha to get back to her kid. She was back to the shrieking, as Simon pointed out. And now that all the boys are gone, she is vulnerable to the audience love for Melinda and Jordin. There hasn’t been much keeping her around these last few weeks other than people more deserving of getting kicked off. She’s not as controlled as Melinda, not as raw and passionate as Jordin and not as fun as Blake. She brings nothing to the finale fun. I’ll miss the potential live hardcore sex between her and Simon if she had won the whole shebang, but sometimes the potential is better than the reality.

Grade: C

Bottom Three: There won’t be one.

My Prediction For Who Gets The Axe: LaKisha Jones

So until next week, we’ve been…

Talking it up!

On American Idol!

Talking about Simon, talking about some gay sex with Seacrest!

Talking it up!

On American Idol!

Talking about Melinda, talking about crazy cool beatboxing!

Talking it up!

Bangarang!

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Some actors you just can’t help but love. Here’s my brief history with one of them…

You catch the cute blonde girl making you laugh in a bit part of the B-story in an episode of Married With Children when you’re fifteen, and that’s all it takes. Every so often you’ll catch her in a few minutes of some other random show, a brief bit on Debra Messing’s first sitcom abortion, Ned and Stacey. A couple funny scenes in a Step By Step you happened to be watching because your plans fell through on a Friday night and you’re comforting yourself with a little quality mid-90’s TGIF. And after a time, having seen her do her thing on multiple occasions, you start to take real notice. You start looking out for them.

You shamefully stay up late one Saturday night to catch a David Schwimmer HBO movie that happens to have her in one scene (though in my defense, it was called Breast Men and I was sixteen). You happily sit through Jennifer Love Hewitt’s attempts at being a poor misunderstand prom queen in Can’t Hardly Wait because your girl pops up every fifteen minutes to make you smile (Seth Green as Special K certainly helps, too. “92%!”). You even reduce yourself to watching Kristie Alley’s network TV cry for help, Veronica’s Closet, on the off chance your girl pops up, cracks a smile and smacks Dan Cortese in the mouth (what, he had it coming!). The things you’ll do for actors you enjoy.

And then one day, a breakthrough. You flip to the FOX Network, grudgingly, and fall in love with Action, a foul, sloppy, one-camera comedic masterpiece starring the douchebag from Jerry Maguire (otherwise known as Jay Mohr). And better still, as you laugh your ass off at each passing episode, you’re rewarded with your girl showing up in a recurring role! So not only do you have a great new show to follow every week, but it stars an actress you’ve been digging on for some time. All is right with the world. For about five minutes, wherein you then remember that the show airs on the FOX Network and it promptly gets canceled. But for that brief shining moment, pop culture threw you a bone.

You girl shows up on even more shows shows (Monk, Las Vegas, as the legendary Pam Macy on That 70’s Show), and you continue to enjoy her work. You hope one day she’ll break big and you can stop checking the TV Guide for her name and just TiVo her weekly sitcom, but until then you’re content in knowing that every so often while you’re watching something awful (read Navy: NCIS), your girl will pop up and make everything just a bit more fun (and tolerable).

The actress, if you haven’t already guessed, is Jennifer Lyons. And like Vinessa Shaw and Monet Mazur, two other random, underutilized actresses I try to follow whenever possible, Jennifer Lyons is someone whose work I really enjoy. She’s got great timing, knows how to sell a joke, and unlike other girls in her type, she seems to be keenly aware of how to use her (crazy good) body to her comedic advantage. She always brings the goods in whatever she’s in (yes, even Jack Frost 2: Revenge of the Mutant Killer Snowman. In fact, especially in Jack Frost 2: Revenge of the Mutant Killer Snowman!), and I always look forward to her next guest starring role, or commercial (see below for her Bacardi and Cola spot).

So with that all said, imagine how stoked I was when she agreed to let me interview her for PopLoad. We recorded it last night, and it was excellent. Beyond being fun, funny, down to earth and strikingly hot, she’s also charming as hell. We talked about her start in the industry (two lines on an ep of 90210), her familial roots in entertainment (her Uncle was Roscoe in The Dukes of Hazzard), what it’s like to be a total hottie actress (and all that entails with regards to industry perceptions of your talent), and of course, about her experiences making Action. She was quite candid about working in Hollywood; in fact, I was surprised how loquacious she was about her profession. Most actors are somewhat reserved in interviews, but Jen was quick to respond and quite engaging about her craft. I may be a little biased because she flirted with me, but I’d have to say that it’s probably one of the best interviews I’ve ever done (right up there with Zabka).

So take a listen and enjoy my interview with the totally cool character actress (and my future gf), Jennifer Lyons.

CLICK HERE FOR THE INTERVIEW!

Bangarang!

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It was reported last week that famed hobbit documentary filmmaker and giant CGI ape enthusiast, Peter Jackson, had officially begun a studio dating game for his latest production, the adaptation of Alice Sebold’s best-selling (and utterly fantastic) drama The Lovely Bones. Now, ordinarily this bit of news would go unnoticed by me. All it really is is a director making a new movie. It’s not relevant that Jackson hasn’t made a straight-up drama in more than a decade, or that he’s coming off a particularly divisive remake of King Kong. And it’s even less relevant that while I can appreciate the merits and technical achievements of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the peculiar, dark humor of The Frighteners, I’ve never actually been a fan of his work or style of filmmaking. It’s not even troubling to me that a director I don’t care for is attempting to slag off his fan base in order to indie it up on a property I find to be of unending quality and lyrical mastery.

What is troubling (and quite significant) to me is the reported budget he is looking for.

Peter Jackson is asking for a whopping $65 million dollars to make what is essentially a small, weepy family drama with very slight fantastical elements. For all that don’t know, The Lovely Bones is a book about a murdered 14 year-old girl who recalls what happened to her while in heaven, as she watches the effects of her death on her family. Aside from having to visualize heaven (think white clouds), the movie is a four-wall set and some heavy dialogue. At no point should this film cost more than $30 million, and that’s counting Jackson’s A-list salary.

The question here is, what’s all the money being used for?

It’s no surprise to me that studios were hesitant to buy the rights to the project. Though Jackson is a mega-successful commercial director, he has never proven to be a viable entity in and of himself. He received widespread critical acclaim for his little girls lost drama Heavenly Creatures (which launched Kate Winslet), but just as soon as we started plotting him in for a yearly Oscar nod, he parlayed his newfound fame to bask in the bloody dead genre that started his career. The Frighteners was an anemic, disappointing follow-up, and after that he moved to the LotR trilogy. He never capitalized on his talents as a dramatic filmmaker. Sure, he can make an epic battle scene better than just about anyone not named Spielberg, Cameron or William Wallace, but can he deliver the goods with two people in a room sharing their feelings? Will his hugenormous geek audience come to see a Peter Jackson movie that doesn’t include orcs, apes or Elijah Wood? I have my doubts, and so does the rest of Hollywood.

This is all before we get into the budget concerns. Unless the film is stocked with marquee, A-list stars (such as The Departed), or has an unusually expensive quirk (say having to keep a legal action fund in case Russell Crowe got frustrated on the set of A Beautiful Mind), no small-minded drama should dare ring up a budget that high. This is the case for two reasons.

1. Dramas have a limited audience, as teens won’t want to see the movie, and the genre isn’t known for repeat business.
2. The success of the film is wholly dependent on intangibles. Whether the subject matter is relevant in today’s society, whether the marketing clearly sells the project (and to the right people), whether critics champion the film as a must see, the release date (a problem for even BIG dramas like Cinderella Man), the state of the marketplace, love for the cast, etc. While you can always bank on sci-fi movies having a built-in cache, dramas can never be relied upon to bring in a prepped and loyal audience.

Jackson must be banking on his name recognition to float the greenlight, and since DreamWorks did pick it up I suppose he had a point, but that still does not answer the question of why he needs $65 million to make this movie. Or why the studio thinks it can realistically recoup that cost. Here is a small list of high-profile dramas released in the last few years with their domestic box-office grosses, and their budgets in parenthesis.

• Babel: $34 Million ($22 Million)
• Capote: $28 Million ($7 Million)
• Cinderella Man: $61 Million ($88 Million)
• City By The Sea: $22 Million ($40 Million)
• Crash: $54 Million ($6.5 Million)
• The Constant Gardener: $33 million ($25 Million)
• A History of Violence: $31 Million ($32 Million)
• Million Dollar Baby: $100 Million ($30 Million)
• The Weather Man: $12 Million ($22 Million)

Only one of those films earned more than $65 million and that was due to an awards season push (as well as collective audience love for Clint Eastwood). Each of those high-profile dramas were toplined a legitimate movie star and each of them (save Baby) was merely a modest hit. Now note the production budgets. All of them save Cinderella Man were below $40 million. And the only reason Cinderella Man was that high was the salaries for Russell Crowe, Renee Zellweger, Ron Howard and Brian Grazer. The budgets of these films were kept low because producers knew that the box office potential was dicey, and because they were not that expensive to make.

So again I raise the point, why does Peter Jackson need $65 Million dollars to make The Lovely Bones?

New York Magazine reports that the astronomical figure does NOT even cover his presumably substantial fee for writing and directing the movie. So let’s crunch some numbers. Let’s assume that he’s asking for $20 Million dollars to write and direct the film (making the “real” cost of the film $85 Million). This hubris essentially caps the potential for casting a group of high profile actors, let alone one stand out star. But for the sake of the argument, let’s call his fee $20 million dollars. Now we can assume that a film of this magnitude would keep an additional $10-15 Million for the rest of the cast. So now we’re at $35 Million. The average budget for the films listed above, after salaries, is about $25 Million, putting us at $60 Million already (and these numbers don’t even include marketing and distribution costs)! Even if we assume that Alice Sebold is asking for $5 Million for the rights, where is the additional $20 Million going? Is it that expensive to create a “realistic” depiction of heaven? Is Jackson planning on building a full-scale replica? Babel was filmed in more than 20 different countries, had more than 60 speaking parts and starred two huge actors and that only cost $7 Million TOTAL! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here!

There has to be a reason he’s asking for so much money. There’s got to be something he needs the money for, beyond the cost of film, set design and salary. And since he won’t own up to his ridiculous demands, I’m left to muse on the possibilities. Here’s is what I think the mysterious extra $20 Million is being used for:

• $3 Million for his new experimental Middle Earth-breeding zoo (containing big ass spiders, orcs, bland elves and Walloping Wallobees!). He has Sean Astin down in New Zealand donating DNA as we speak.
• $3 Million for a letter writing campaign to all the disappointed movie-goers that lost 30% feeling in their asses during the interminable third act of King Kong (did we really need the ice-skating scene? Really?).
• $4 Million for hush money to Elijah Wood, owing to an agreement that made one night on the set of The Two Towers when PJ got a little handsy with Elijah’s personal hobbit.
• $2 Million to have fat pushed back into his body so that he can return to the roly-poly form that made him so fun and creative back before King Kong ate his soul.
• $3 Million to cast Orlando Bloom as a grieving uncle and then CGI some charisma into his performance. WETA technicians are locked in a room as we speak trying to figure out how to do this. The outlook is grim.
• $1 Million for legal representation to get a restraining order against Jack Black and the portly comic’s attempts at once again “rocking the drama salami peppercorn style, man!”
• $2 Million for effects work on an inevitable deleted scene that has Susie, the murdered star of the movie, randomly falling love with a large ape that has a predilection for triple toe loops and double axels.
• $2 Million personally handed to him by the makers of Eragon as an apology for lifting whole passages of the movie from Lord of the Rings.

Let’s use Million Dollar Baby as a cost comparison. Both films are directed by beloved, successful icons. Both are adaptations of well-regarded literary properties. Assuming Jackson acquires a like-minded cast, both films will be stocked with a bevy of heavy-hitting actors. And this one’s the key: both films are about small, interpersonal relationships.

NOW…

Clint Eastwood commands a large fee for his services. By all estimates he makes as much as Peter Jackson. Clint was coming off of Mystic River, a commercial and critical hit. He was starring in the movie with Morgan Freeman, himself quite a box office draw. By all rights, Million Dollar Baby (or even Mystic River) is the exact model that The Lovely Bones should be following. So home come Million Dollar Baby cost half as much? How come Mystic River cost less than 40% of The Lovely Bones? Why are Clint’s movies less expensive than Peter Jackson’s?

I’ll give you one more example for comparison’s sake, just to hammer my point home. 300, which was done completely in a digital environment and made with nearly as many effects shots as an average Star Wars movie, cost only $65 million to make. So unless The Lovely Bones is being re-envisioned as a large-scale digital war movie, replete with eight-pack abs and crazy big warrior elephants, someone made a mistake in the accounting.

Obviously, there is money being spent on The Lovely Bones that no one wants to talk about. Movies cost a lot of money, that’s just the way of the world. And some movies cost more money than they should, for a variety of reasons. Some directors prefer smaller budgets, as it helps them to retain creative control. Others just see no point in excess. Or they just work better under tighter, more demanding circumstances. And some just plain don’t know how to handle money. But this is the first time I’ve ever looked at the production budget for a movie and openly questioned it.

While there are probably solid reasons for spending so much money. I’d rather see Jackson spend less money and try to use that handicap to push his creativity. If he’s really taking a pause from making big-budget sci-fi epics, he needs to embrace the sensibilities of art-house filmmaking. And though he doesn’t get to film a heaven strewn with mythical creatures fighting to the death, he does get to make a wonderfully insightful drama about a family trying to cope with the loss of a loved one. And maybe, just maybe, he gets to be put back on the short list for Oscar.

Here’s hoping he comes to his senses, fires his accountant, and keeps the film under three hours. My ass can’t take anymore of his filmic abuse.

Bangarang!

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Peep this great new clip from an upcoming episode of television’s finest fake cop show that stars half the guys from The State, a comedy troupe which totally rocks and yet Mtv patently refuses to help recover the music liscenses so the series can get a proper DVD release like it damn well should because anyone that’s being deprived the pleasure of watching two guys dip their asses in $240 dollars worth of pudding, or Louie dipping his balls in something, or Carl with the puppy dog eyes (we wouldn’t want him to do his job!), or Porcupine Race Track, or even the inimitable Doug (”I’m outta heeeere!”), is really missing out on something special, and are potentially missing out on all sorts of random friendships they could be making with like-minded individuals who overhear them dropping The State quotes in public places and a result become life-long friends that changes them for the better, a potentially optimistic reality that Mtv is doing nothing to help foster even though so many people are lonely and that even hypothetical friendships could do wonders for boosting the national self-esteem of our citizens, or at the very least, make people laugh and isn’t that what we could all use nowadays, what with the situation in Iraq, Africa and on The View (smell ya later, Rosie!)?. Also, in a related story, run-on sentences are cool.

I’d say more, but really, the funny is all in the clip. So hop to, press play and enjoy the fiasco that is Reno’s finest. Reno:911 airs Sundays at 10:30pm on Comedy Central.

Bangarang!

We’re gonna call a mulligan on last week’s axe predictions since no one got the boot and the whole week was a sham anyway. I’ve already spoken at length about how I feel on the topic of Idol Gives Back, so I won’t rehash my thoughts now. I’ll simply point you to this take on the subject and say AGREED.

Now back to something that actually matters, namely Jon Bon Jovi. If ever there was a reason to have Rock Week, JBJ would be it. His songs kick ass, everyone and their mother has attempted to drunkenly sing “Living On A Prayer” at an ill-advised karaoke bender (“Oh, we’re halfway there…”), and the dude tapped a pristine Heather Locklear before Tommy Lee got his anaconda junk anywhere near her. If the entire music industry were this show, Bon Jovi would easily have won American Idol for the entirety of the 1980’s (Madonna would have been second, but only because she would have given Simon a hummer after every commercial break. She was definitely Antonella’s spiritual mentor.). And that’s all before mentioning that he wrote one of the best soundtrack tunes of all time (holla, Emilio!). A lot of people got psyched up for the benefit concert, what with the celebrities and pageantry and what not. Me, I just laid low till last Thursday and then began my countdown to JBJ in earnest. This is what I waited for; Blake, Melinda and Jordin taking on the rock. I sat through Country, Latin, Sanjaya Malakar, British Nonsense, fucking Old Sad Bastard Week (not to mention the suckage that was Hollywood Week Sundance Head) and now that torturous journey has finally been vindicated. As my boy Sean Connery might say… Welcome to the Rock!

I could go on more about my thoughts on the night, but it’s all there below. Aside from British Week, Rock Week was my favorite performance night of the season. From the thunderously epic lows of Jordin Sparks to the revolutionary, flip-the-script Blake Lewis performance. We got some surprise skills from resident pro Dr. Melinda Doolittle and a return to form from a soon-to-be departed LaKisha. Even Phil got on my good side, though that had more to do with the song choice and a lot less to do with the fact that he patently refuses to cover his gihugenormous noggin (he sings a cowboy song and doesn’t wear a ten gallon hat? L-A-M-E). I didn’t think JBJ brought anything particularly new to the mentor role (he pretty much just aped J.Lo), but it was great to see him actually playing with the singers (and even taking over in parts where they needed help. Ahem, Chris!). The night, more than anything, was about the lasting appeal of Bon Jovi’s music, and if the quality of the performances is any indication, that appeal will extend for many more years to come. I can’t wait to see him perform on the results show (would it kill him to give us a little Slippery When Wet medley-action?).

As stated before, I’ve decided to recap the show week-to-week and grade the singers on a sliding scale of how much I wanted to, or did, TiVo-bloop through the song. At the end of each recap I’ll make my pick for who should (and hopefully will) get the axe on the Wednesday night results show.

Let’s break it down, bloop bloop style!

1. Blake Lewis – Remember the way Jon was hesitant about Jordin’s version of “Living on a Prayer”, and how he minced words about how much he thought it sucked? The way he soft-peddled Blake’s adventurous take on arguably Bon Jovi’s biggest hit was the complete opposite of that. Paula was right; you could see how much he enjoyed seeing his song taken to such extremes. American Idol is more about the performance than about the singing, which is half the reason Blake is still in the competition. More than anyone else this year, and possibly of the shows ENTIRE run, Blake understands how to maximize his performance, how to make them bigger than the vocal, bigger than the song and most importantly, bigger than everyone else. He knows how to sell; he’s THAT good of a performer. The other reason he’s still around (and currently in the lead, yes, in front of Melinda) is that he’s not only exceedingly talented, but also keenly aware of what he is capable of. I don’t know how much of a leap of faith it really was. That was just a flat out GREAT rendition of a song we’ve probably heard and sung in bars hundreds of times. I loved it. I loved it so much I watched twice. It was so good that he’s beyond no bloops tonight. I’m actually going to give him a half-bloop bonus NEXT week. Such was the love he engendered in me tonight. If Blake ends up winning American Idol (and at the moment that is a very real possibility), this performance will be the reason why.

2. Melinda Dolittle – Sweet sassy molassey, that girl can rock! The one week you’d think she’d falter and she crushes it. How is it possible that she’s this good? She tells Jon Bon Jovi, the American King of Modern Rock, that she doesn’t know his genre and twenty minutes later he adopts her into the band! Unbelievable. She worked that stage like it was a 1986 arena tour and the speakers went to eleven. I loved the tank top, the angry hair, the attitude, and most of all, that she got me to care about a Bon Jovi song that wasn’t originally recorded before my Bar Mitzvah. On any other night she’d be at the top of the list without question, but despite how awesome she was, Blake stole the show. I am very much looking forward to seeing these two titans go at it at the end of the month. It’s going to be a superfight by the second half of the finale, with both singers barely able to even lift their mic. As soon as the credits roll on the season the producers are gonna whisk them to the hospital like the end of Rocky. I can’t wait. Yo Seacrest, I did it!

3. Phil Stacey – Phil and JBJ. It’s the chrome dome versus the classic shag. I wonder who came out on top (HINT: Go with the guy who doesn’t look like an alien)? I think it says a lot about Phil that he claims he practiced a Young Guns 2 Soundtrack song for fifteen years. He apparently never chose “Living on a Prayer” or “Wanted: Dead or Alive” when he would go karaoke. No no, he wanted what Billy the Kid got. Admittedly, I love the song and the movie it’s attached to, but c’mon, of all the Bon Jovi songs to crush on, you chose the title track from an Emilio Estevez joint? I just don’t get it, why is America voting for this guy? Ah yes, I remember, because he panders. Starting in the crowd, giving the sex eyes to random girls, mad dogging Simon like you do when you want to engender “ooohs”, rockstar pose on the catwalk, fist-bumping Randy. All that was missing from his desperation plea was a couple finger guns and Phil rocketing free t-shirts into the crowd like he was a Laker girl (fortunately Paula already loves him so this wasn’t necessary). Even Ryan, the king of fake sincerity, is all “Dude, calm your shit. Everyone knows you’re a poser. And I know of posers.” All annoyance aside, I actually liked the vocal. And maybe the decade and a half of practice actually paid off, because he seemed in control, confident and passionate. He was into it; check the tape for the sweat on his bat boy noggin as an example of how hard he worked it. If he didn’t try SO hard to be liked and didn’t have such an awful neck stump, I might actually be on his side. But as for the grade, the boy rocked it to a Young Guns 2 clip, like he gets anything more than a one-bloop.

4. LaKisha Jones – I love that her reference point for Bon Jovi was Oprah. That pretty much sums up Bon Jovi’s current place of importance on LaKisha’s iPod. As for the performance, I have to dock her points for not doing a recognizable track, and then ding her a few more for choosing Bon Jovi’s only soul song. Like she couldn’t go on a limb and TRY to rock out? She’s not winning the competition so why not take the risk? She might not have got my vote, but she would have gotten my respect. Despite all that, however, I dug the vocal. It started out iffy (natch), but she picked it up in the middle (culminating with the power note squat), and really brought it home in the end. She showed a remarkable level of passion and interest, considering how checked out she’s been the last month. And for a few seconds there I kinda thought I could see a world where she was the Next American Idol. But only for a few seconds. Add that miasma of LaKisha commentary together and what do you get? One and half bloops and a decidedly pleased recapper. And that’s all without going into SIMON LITERALLY MAKING OUT WITH HER. I think we can kiss his objectivity goodbye. Sheesh.

5. Chris Richardson – Since he brought it up, I went back and watched Chris Daughtry do “Wanted: Dead or Alive” for comparisons sake. And what I found was that there was no comparison. Daughtry, without the house band and the studio audience and the stage production thoroughly crushed the Finalist hoopla-enhanced Chris R. There was nothing new there, and on a night when Blake completely flipped the script, doing nothing is a death knell. I was bored, and I’ll bet so was America. I wish there was something more I can offer here, but there isn’t. There just wasn’t anything to his four minutes of tape, beyond a guy singing a song that’s been sung better before. Two-bloops and a peace out, Chris R. Sorry you couldn’t ever escape the Timberlake crutch.

6. Jordin Sparks – Jon Bovi isn’t the worst actor in the world, but when he even can’t keep a straight face over the suckitude that is Jordin singing “Livin On A Prayer” you know something horrible is about to happen. And boy did it ever. The house band overpowered her from the word go, she undersold the FIRST lyric and the stench of uncertainty permeated in the studio like Keanu Reeves ramping up to do a Shakespearean soliloquy. She wasn’t fast enough with the lyrics, she definitely wasn’t loud enough and she didn’t even attempt to understand what the song is about. If the goal was to make it her own, she did the complete opposite of that. Just a total failure on all fronts except “Kick Ass Frizzy Hair”. Why did she think she could do this particular song? “It’s My Life” would have been MUCH better, and she would have crushed “Always”. I have to blame her age for this, as ANYONE over the age of 21 has sung this song roughly 623 times at parties, weddings and karaoke joints across the country, and KNOWS how to rock it. I think the clue was when she told Jon that her Mom grew up with the band. This just wasn’t her music; it was over her head. My problem is that if she knew she was gonna tank, as Paula pointed out, then why did she go with it? At this stage in the game she should have known better. A disappointing two and a half bloops for Jordin (though she’ll be safe this week).

Bottom Three: There won’t be an official one this week. Ryan will make two groups of three and boot one person from each one. But if there was a bottom three it would probably be Chris Richardson, Jordin Sparks and LaKisha Jones.

My Prediction For Who Gets The Axe: Chris Richardson and LaKisha Jones

Bangarang!

William Goldman’s classic adage about the intelligence of Hollywood, “Nobody Knows Anything” needs to be changed. In light of recent events, the quote should now read “Nobody Knows Anything. Especially Network TV Executives”. How else can you explain the rash of inexplicable scheduling changes this season?

From ABC moving Lost (a perfect 9pm show) to the dreadful 10 spot (where viewers have already sat through two hours of programming, not to mention a full day of work, and are in no condition to sit through the mindfuck that is The Further Adventures of Oceanic Flight 815.). Or Fox’s decision to promote Drive ad nausea for two months only to announce days before the premiere that the show would only air five times instead of 13? Why would we choose to invest in a show that will only be around for a month? And let’s not even get started on NBC’s decision to take Heroes and The Office off the air for six weeks this Spring, and delay Scrubs till January only to pull them for nearly a month in February to launch Andy Barker P.I. which was then pulled after two (!) airings even while it was getting the best reviews of any new show of the mid-season.

But by far the most agonizingly dense decision by any network has been the continued abuse of their critical jem, Veronica Mars. Veronica Mars has clawed, scratched and fought its way on the air for two seasons. Critics drool over the show, there is a small but rabid fanbase, the DVD’s sell well and Kristen Bell is a bonafide star-in-the-making. It has all the pieces in place to be a fixture on TV for at least five seasons, except the one thing that truly matters: network support. The CW, in their infinite collective wisdom of being on the air all of six months, decided to pull the show off the air for six weeks in the middle of the season and run a Pussycat Dolls reality show in its place.

This would be OK for any non-serial, as most shows of that nature can go away and come back and no one would be the wiser (hell, the Law & Order franchise practically has a patent on this move), but Veronica Mars is a series that benefits from continuity and stability. It’s a show that actually strives for complexity, a true rarity in an era of dumbed down television; fans are rewarded for their loyalty by getting complex storylines that pay off so far down the road it would make the Lost Writers Room bow their heads in shame. Much like the aforementioned Lost, Veronica Mars needs to be on television as much as possible to help guide the viewers through the season. It’s nearly impossible these days to follow a series from premiere to finale without missing an episode, and Mars might be at the top of the list of hard to follow shows.

However, and it’s a significant however, the journey is worth it. And I just don’t understand why The CW doesn’t recognize that.

They chose to keep VM in the WB/UPN merger, so they must have seen the potential of the show at some point. They must have received the thousands of fan letters begging them not to cancel the show. They must have noticed that the show has been nominated for a WGA award, and that Kristen Bell has been nominated for a string of awards, as well. But most of all, at some point, they had to know it was the best show they had.

Gilmore Girls is a dying ship. 7th Heaven is on its last rites. Smallville is bloated and tired. Supernatural is just as poorly attended. One Tree Hill is a second-rate Dawson’s Creek with the most unbelievable “young” high school students this side of Ian Ziering. America’s Next Top Model and WWE Smackdown are reality shows and fake spectacle, respectively, and shouldn’t be compared to the drama slate. And NONE of the sitcoms have shown any traction in the nation consciousness (I challenge you to name be even ONE cast member from All Of Us). Veronica Mars, on the other hand, is well-written, superbly acted, young, hip, and given the chance, eminently marketable.

How difficult would it be to put Kristen Bell in the same marketing league as Felicity’s Keri Russell? She’s going to start developing an even wider fanbase once Fanboys and Forgetting Sarah Marshall come out, and greater critical acclaim once Roman and Flatland are released. She’s pretty, smart, a great interview and fiercely loyal to her show. She’s not gonna give you salary headaches like a certain beeyotchy Gilmore Girl, or try to distance herself from her show like a certain eight-headed, former resident-Capeside douchebag. I’d be willing to bet Kristen Bell would do Veronica Mars for a decade, if given the chance. She’s a star on a network that is sorely lacking in them. It’s beyond me why The CW is choosing to ignore this fact.

The ratings of the show seem to be the only real mark against renewal. I can understand the notion that a network should never settle for mediocre numbers, but when the entire network slate is one giant mediocre Nielson rating, landing in the 110th as opposed to 117th spot on the chart is splitting hairs. Veronica Mars airs Tuesdays at 9pm, opposite the Dancing With The Stars results show (already a built-in audience), House (with American Idol’s ginormous lead-in), The Unit (taking away the entire male 31-49 demo), and the bastard Law & Order spinoff, Criminal Intent. That’s four huge shows with marketing support dwarfing that of The CW, on networks that are more widely watched and even more widely available than The CW. At what point were the expectations of this show so high that they were expected to topple anything the Big 4 put out?

The average rating for a CW show is 2.1 million people. Top Model and Smallville regularly hit twice that number, while the sitcoms role at or below the average. For the 2006-2007 television season Veronica Mars has averaged about 2.5 million viewers, well above the network average. It hits very near the same numbers as 7th Heaven, a show that’s MUCH more expensive to produce. With this in mind, I can’t really understand the argument that the ratings aren’t good enough to warrant a fourth season.

Last year Veronica Mars was on opposite Lost at a time when the ABC drama was a real ratings behemoth, and yet, VM’s ratings went up. The main reason for this? It had Top Model as it’s lead-in. The key thing to remember here is that viewers were willing to choose the show over Lost, assuming they had a reason to be on the network before Lost began. This year, with a sub-par Gilmore Girls as it’s lead-in, VM is stagnant in the ratings. The key here is that the fanbase will always be there for the show, but if The CW wants more viewers they have to support the show with a better lead-in. And that point is the same for any television show, not just VM. Look at what CSI did for Without A Trace, or Friends did for Will & Grace or going back to The CW, what Smallville has been doing for Supernatural (namely saving it’s life). Very few primetime network shows can survive on their own without help; even fewer can do it on a network that’s watched by less than half its competitors. Throughout it’s run Veronica Mars has shown that given the opportunity, it can do just as well as anything else the network puts out, and in some cases, even better.

Most cult / small shows need a few seasons to get going. Take Cheers, Seinfeld or Buffy as examples. All were ratings-poor in the first few seasons, but took off by their 3rd and 4th seasons. Shows that are more difficult to watch or are non-traditional need support and longevity to sell their premise. A teen private eye is not an easy sell in a time when the other personification of teen life on television is My Super Sweet Sixteen. Moreover, noir is not a particularly popular genre. Lost is just as labyrinthine, but it’s base genre is epic sci-fi, which has traditionally sold very well on TV (think The X-Files, which I’d like to point out, also took four seasons before it became a phenomenon).

I just can’t understand the logic behind dumping a brand you put three years into building solely for an intangible potential a new brand might show. What is harder, building an audience for Veronica Mars, a show that has already established a presence in the national consciousness and only needs a good marketing push and a prime time slot to shine, or a COMPLETELY new presence that may or may not find an audience? Let’s go further… if you were a betting man, which show would you say has a better chance for longevity, Veronica Mars or the soon to be aired Hidden Palms? On the one hand you have a critically acclaimed drama starring a gorgeous and talented star on the rise and on the other you have a trashy teen soap that was pulled from the Fall line-up because it didn’t test well enough and stars the most hated actor in the history of television (that would be Taylor Handey, who played the loathsome Oliver on The O.C.)? I don’t know about you, but I’m going with the cute, sassy blonde girl that takes down former Clash of the Titans actors.

Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas has been wonderfully vocal about the state of the show. At times he has said there’s a 60/40 chance for renewal, other times he has said that the future of the show rests on the ratings of that execrable Pussycat Dolls show (and thank god that show dropped off the face of the Earth. Go grease a pole at the Forty Deuce, whores!). And to their small credit, The CW has given the show ample opportunity to potentially continue. They asked Thomas to make the final five episodes stand alones, which may attract viewers that were too afraid to jump into the series because they hadn’t been there from the beginning. And they asked Thomas to pitch multiple potential story arcs for Season Four, should the network think the show could do better with a slightly modified premise (for the record, I would rather they continue the college years than jump forward to Veronica as an FBI agent. Trying to explain away half a decade of Veronica’s life would be far more difficult than just making the college years more interesting. Hell, I could do that one right now. Kill off Logan, make Wallace and Mac into Veronica’s personal Scooby gang, and introduce a Big Bad that she needs the whole season to take down (a la Buffy). There. Done. I just bought the show another half million viewers.). There have been both good and bad signs on the road to renewal, but the next five weeks are the most crucial.

If the show can show some improvement it would do wonders for its chances of survival. It just needs a little help. It’s an underseen diamond in the rough; a television show that works hard to be great and asks a lot of its viewers. It never panders and it never dumbs itself down. It doesn’t introduce cute babies or have gimmicky weddings. It’s not stale and crusty like half the CBS dramatic line-up and it’s not trashy like the majority of the FOX line-up. Veronica Mars is a quality show in an era of lesser standards. And if The CW can’t understand that, then I’ll live with it. But I won’t have any reason to watch their network, either (I’ve gotten over my Kristin Kreuk crush, too).

I’ve gone over time on my frustration of this topic. Of my continued annoyance on the part of network executives fucking with my favorite TV shows. And I could go on even more about what needs to be done to fix the situation. But really, I just want to convey one thing. One crucial thing… Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, just give Veronica Mars a chance. I need Kristen Bell on TV every week for my own well-being. So help The Jay stay sane and give me this one thing. Give me a Veronica Mars Season Four.

Bangarang!

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Some opportunities you just can’t say no to. Like seven years ago when I ran into Samuel L. Jackson at the San Francisco Airport at 7:30 in the morning on a Tuesday; I just couldn’t pass up the chance to tell him he was robbed for an Oscar for his performance in A Time To Kill. Or that Phantom Menace was, um, not so much (and yes, in case you were wondering, he was wearing a Kangol hat. And black leather pants and jacket. At 7:30 in the morning. What do you want? He’s Sam Muthafuckin’ Jackson!). Or when I had the chance to interview Billy Zabka for PopLoad, and I totally took the opportunity to get him to say Daniel-San was a pussy. There are just some things in life you must do.

One of those things presented itself to me earlier this week. I heard about a marketing stunt being done by MSN TV where they were hosting a Dear Abbey style column featuring the Coreys. Yes, those Coreys. Haim and Feldman. Stars of the international acclaimed films Liscense to Drive, Dream a Little Dream, Michael Jackson Takes A Lover, Drugs Are Bad Mmkay and the TNT not classic National Lampoon’s Scuba School. The stunt is a promotional gimmick to support what appears to be the greatest reality show in the history of human existence, A & E’s “The Coreys: Return of the Lost Boys”, coming this summer to blow our minds. MSN TV is asking people to submit questions to the boys and they will answer them on the site. Getting a chance to drop some Q’s on the Coreys? How could a cynical internet humorist resist? I can’t. It’s just one of things in life you must do.

I’m breaking this questions column up into two parts, one for each Corey (because the stars of Blown Away deserve double billing). These are the questions I submitted for Corey Haim.

To read my questions for Corey Feldman, go HERE.

Ten Questions For Corey Haim

I always liked you better. The Affleck to Feldman’s Damon, you were always more fun to watch (druggies are infinitely more interesting than douchebags). Your movies were cheesier (which is a good thing). Your “acting” was lacking in a way even seminal master of the craft Keanu Reeves could make fun of (an even better trait - gotta support my boy Keanu!). You were the quintessential tragic example of celebrity gone wrong (your E! True Hollywood Story should be taught in acting schools nation-wide. It should be required viewing for every Celebritard than has ever spent anytime at Hyde. Lindsay Lohan should list it as her favorite movie on her MySpace page. Truly you are a sage purveyor of important non-wisdom.). And you were so much easier to look at than Feldman. I’m not saying I wish you were still around, because really, what would we do with you, but I do kind of miss you on-screen. Your direct-to-video work was exemplary; I must have seen Fast Getaway twenty times when I was a kid (I appreciate anyone who gives work to Cynthia Rothrock). Let this be our little secret… I was more stoked for Fast Getaway 2, than I was for Jurassic Park 2. That’s how much I dug the movie. And let’s not even get started on Prayer for the Rollerboys. Half of the reason I was a blader in high school was because of that movie (I really wanted an opportunity to take off Patty Arquette’s panties at a post-apocalyptic Venice Beach rollerblading rave. You lucky bastard. Look what you threw away!). Man, I just don’t know how you screwed it all up so bad. Why didn’t you turn out like Robert Downey Jr. He had to have taken as many drugs as you, but twenty years later he’s still kicking ass as an A-list actor, while you’re jonesing for your second dose of Methadone at the Toronto Free Clinic, desperately hoping someone rented The Lost Boys so you could get the .84 cent residual check and buy some Hostess Zingers. Why didn’t you star opposite Val Kilmer in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang? Why didn’t you woo famed leprechaun actor Calista Flockhart in the unwatchable final seasons of Ally McBeal? Why haven’t you at least considered Prayer of the Rollerboys 2: Pray Harder?

So many questions… I truly hope you can right the ship, Corey. And I’ll be keeping an eye on the cable stations every so often, hoping I catch your scragged out face underacting opposite Jeff Fahey or some other such washed up B-lister in a grade-Z DTV flick just like old times. I know why Feldman didn’t survive (he sucks), but one of these days I hope to find out why you didn’t (my early suspicion? You suck too.).

To the questions!

1. What happened to your face man? Did you go to the same plastic surgeon as Mark Hamill? Or Tara Reid? Maybe The Joker? Gosh. Even Courtney Love is like “Dang, what happened to Lucas?”

2. Who nailed Nicole Eggert more on Blown Away, you or Feldman? Yeah, it was you! Baywatch babes don’t bump uglies with pug-looking a-holes. Follow up question: How bummed were you that you cast Eggert before she got breast implants? The movie would have made at least $80 bucks more if you had some Charles in Charge plastic boobage on display. It also would have made more money if it was any good at all. Just, you know, by the by.

3. You once got to pull the panties off noted television psychic and former Alabama Worley, Patricia Arquette, in your (secretly kick ass) rollerblading movie Prayer of the Rollerboys. Tell me, did she ever use her psychic powers to predict that you’d go so bonkers with drugs and ruin your (not really) promising acting career to the point where you’d be begging COREY FELDMAN for some direct-to-DVD cameo love? And if she did, dude, why did you not heed her psychic words? Alabama Worley is never wrong!

4. Cynthia Rothrock. Did you hit it? Did she hit you?

5. Do you ever watch Grey’s Anatomy and think how much you want to violently destroy Patrick Dempsey for stealing the big comeback you so richly don’t deserve? Follow up question: if you were on Grey’s Anatomy, what do you think your “Mc” nickname would be? Dr. McDruggy? Dr. McDouchebag? No, it would be Dr. McUgly, wouldn’t it? Yeah, that’s the one.

6. Why haven’t you called in a favor from Keifer Sutherland and gotten yourself a role on 24? After all, he helped out C.Thomas Howell, and that guy sucks almost as much as you (Side Out, notwithstanding)!

7. Heather Graham. Please tell me you hit that. And, if so, did she wear rollerskates to bed?

8. Who’d you piss off not to get invited onto The Surreal Life? Even stupid Balki Bartokomus got on there and he’s done even less to benefit cinema than you (Meego, notwithstanding).

9. What do these numbers have in common? “24” “62.87” “0” “14.50” and “-7.49”? They’re the grosses of your last five movies. Just thought you might want to know. Yeah, the moneymen for Snowboard Academy might be looking to get a refund from you.

10. How much do you remember from the 90’s? Eight days? A combined four months? Do you even know what The Matrix is? Maybe your former colleague, global megastar Keanu Reeves can explain it to you.

Whoa.

Bangarang!

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Some opportunities you just can’t say no to. Like seven years ago when I ran into Samuel L. Jackson at the San Francisco Airport at 7:30 in the morning on a Tuesday; I just couldn’t pass up the chance to tell him he was robbed for an Oscar for his performance in A Time To Kill. Or that Phantom Menace was, um, not so much (and yes, in case you were wondering, he was wearing a Kangol hat. And black leather pants and jacket. At 7:30 in the morning. What do you want? He’s Sam Muthafuckin’ Jackson!). Or when I had the chance to interview Billy Zabka for PopLoad, , and I totally took the opportunity to get him to say Daniel-San was a pussy. There are just some things in life you must do.

One of those things presented itself to me earlier this week. I heard about a marketing stunt being done by MSN TV where they were hosting a Dear Abbey style column featuring the Coreys. Yes, those Coreys. Haim and Feldman. Stars of the international acclaimed films Liscense to Drive, Dream a Little Dream, Michael Jackson Takes A Lover, Drugs Are Bad Mmkay and the TNT not classic National Lampoon’s Scuba School. The stunt is a promotional gimmick to support what appears to be the greatest reality show in the history of human existence, A & E’s “The Coreys: Return of the Lost Boys”, coming this summer to blow our minds. MSN TV is asking people to submit questions to the boys and they will answer them on the site. Getting a chance to drop some Q’s on the Coreys? How could a cynical internet humorist resist? I can’t. It’s just one of things in life you must do.

I’m breaking this questions column up into two parts, one for each Corey (because the stars of Blown Away deserve double billing). These are the questions I submitted for Corey Feldman.

To read my questions for Corey Haim, go HERE.

Ten Questions For Corey Feldman

Oh, Corey Feldman, how long I’ve waiting to grill you on your career. The rise, the fall, the MJ period, your inexplicable hookup with Vanessa Marcil, a girl so out of your league they haven’t even invented the sport she plays, your legendary assholish stint on The Surreal Life, why you seem intent on running into me at random locations in The Valley wearing only flannel pajama pants and a ripped t-shirt, and most of all, how someone so pug-faced, obnoxious and patently unlikeable could have had such an illustrious career (assuming you can consider Meatballs 4, The burbs and Lipstick Camera, illustrious). Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. I hope your comeback is gratifying, financially successful and most of all, extremely short-lived. You suck, Corey Feldman. You truly, truly suck.

To the questions!

1. Who was more stoned on the set of “Dream A Little Dream”, you, Haim or the writer? Because that shit made no sense!

2. How was the airtime divided between you and Haim for your joint E! True Hollywood Story? Did you do best of seven rock, paper, scissors? Did you flip a coin? Was there a hair-gel off? Or, like, first to not O.D. on illegal Mexican horse tranquilizers gets the right of first refusal on the lead segment? Inquiring minds want to know.

3. How bummed were you that Chris O’Donnell stole the role of Robin in Batman Forever from you? Did you have to add nipples to your Michael Jackson suit just to calm your bruised ego?

4. Speaking of the king of pop, do you and Macauley Culkin ever meet to have a good cry together?

5. Does Jerry O’Connell ever call you up and just start laughing? Don’t fret though, maybe he can get you a part on his hit primetime network drama. Or as the stunt double for the kangaroo in Kangaroo Jack 2. Or maybe his bangin’ supermodel fiancée can set you up with a heavyset girlfriend with a great personality. The O’Connell’s are known for their generosity (and skeeviness).

6. Do you remember an incident about ten years ago where you almost got hit by a car in the parking lot of Ralph’s off of Reseda and Devonshire in Northridge, CA? And then someone stuck his head out the window and yelled “Wassup, Dinger?” And you practically recoiled in disgust and bolted off? Yeah, that was me. Sorry about almost killing you. And for mistaking your character name from Dream A Little Dream. Next time I try to cripple you with my two-ton automobile I’ll be sure to reference one of your actual roles. Maybe Mouth from The Goonies? Or you could choose.

7. What’s it like to be thought of as the most obnoxious has been celebrity in the history of The Surreal Life? And seriously dude, I know you suck and all, but how is that even possible? You were up against the likes of pantheon douchebags Vanilla Ice, Tawny Kitaen, Jose Canseco and Dave Coulier. Truly this must be a career low for you. Even lower than playing second fiddle to Marc fraking Dascascos in the maligned Crow TV show.

8. How can someone so ugly have such a long career? The 80’s were a strange, awful time for aesthetics.

9. You were the lamest Ninja Turtle. That’s not a question, I just wanted you to know. Even dumbass Michelangelo was cooler than you. Seriously. I can’t stress enough how bad an actor you are. Like Sanjaya bad.

10. What color is Michael Jackson’s penis? Is it taupe? It has to be taupe, right?

Goonies never say die!

Bangarang!

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Sometimes it’s OK to be wrong. Those times are when you thought someone didn’t like you and it turns out they did. Or when you assumed a movie would be terrible and you actually ended up enjoying it. Or when you don’t think you’ll find the right type of internet porn for your particular mood and then BAM, the internet comes through like a perverted champ. Or, in the case of American Idol, when the collective stupidity and hostility of the American voting public awakens to their own absurdity and end the reign of the long national nightmare named Sanjaya Malakar. If I had to be wrong AGAIN, I was glad to be wrong last week. It’s not ironic when I say this: Sanjaya out!

I’m not an insensitive person. I can appreciate people trying to do good. But something just rings a touch… false about Idol Gives Back. Maybe it’s the thunderous corporate sponsorship whoring. Or that the show itself is so superficial that the mere idea of them striving for depth and meaning is patently ludicrous. Or that we were a wacky water cooler hairdo from Sanjaya playing a part in this farce gala. But I just can’t seem to get behind the hoopla. It all seems so… fake. Ryan Seacrest is not Anderson Cooper, as much he wants so badly to be. And Paula and Randy don’t exactly strike me as people who care about anything beyond their wardrobe and residual rate. Simon comes across as the only real sincere person up there, and that’s because his frigid public persona has more emotional places to go than a former pop star and the bassist for Journey. But seeing Simon marvel at a food bank only goes so far. I hope I’m awed by the charity of the stars in tomorrow’s big benefit concert, but I’m leery. Here’s hoping I don’t throw up in my mouth the first time Ryan mugs for the cameras with some poor starving African child. This is American Idol, indeed. (blech)

But ANYWAY…. On to the bloop bloop review.

I liked that there was no mentor, as it would only have dragged down the pace of the show. Not to mention seeming quite tacky. However, I was really hoping to see Blake work with Bono. The level of potential awesomeness would be nearly unparalleled (the only thing that could top it would be Melinda dueting with Aretha, which I still think may happen in the finale). Hopefully I’ll get my wish tomorrow night. I enjoyed all the performances for then most part. The theme helps calm the Idol contestants down. They tone down the theatrics and just sing, which is a welcome reprieve after the vocal rollercoasters that were Latin and Country week. If we get solid performance nights for the rest of the season, this may go down as the best season of American Idol ever. Despite the Universe of Sanjaya.

As stated before, I’ve decided to recap the show week-to-week and grade the singers on a sliding scale of how much I wanted to, or did, TiVo-bloop through the song. At the end of each recap I’ll make my pick for who should (and hopefully will) get the axe on the Wednesday night results show.

Let’s break it down, bloop bloop style!

1. Melinda Doolittle – She’s not even competing on the show anymore. She’s on such a different level of the rest of the singers that it’s not even funny. She looked like she’s been ruling the stage for twenty years. That was a pro doing a pro’s work. Absolutely flawless, powerful, emotional, STRONG performance. Compliments don’t do her justice. If she isn’t making records twenty-five years from now something went horribly wrong. This girl will be THE voice for some time. She’s putting on a clinic and her skills are free. Did I bloop her? Sha, right!

2. Jordin Sparks – Blake may have been officially penciled out of the finale with that performance. I wasn’t as over the moon as the judges (really Randy, the best in six seasons? Carrie and Fantasia are gonna bitch slap you for that shit.), but I was impressed. I liked her tone, her control, her fantastic final note, and thought she looked beautiful. The package may not be as polished as Melinda, but what’s inside is just as rich. Aside from Melinda, who at this point is really just warming up for her World Domination Tour, Jordin is the only Idol contestant actually gunning for the win. She seems to be getting better, where as Blake seems to be hitting a plateau. If she can keep up these bloop free performances I think she has a real shot at the finale.

3. Blake Lewis – Blake must really be the chosen one if the Idol producers went out on got him a John Lennon song. Too bad it wasn’t really worth the money. Simon was completely on the nose with his criticisms; “Imagine” is canon, and Lennon is to male Idol contestants and Mariah and Celine are to female Idol contestants. Blake was never going to compare favorably to the ex-Beatle, so his only recourse was to be as sincere and schmoopy as possible. And he succeeded in that regard. But I found the performance bland, boring and flat. And I was slightly offended by his outfit. You want to sing a song of that caliber on a theme night like that, you have to dress to impress. Blake looked like he was going to the club, instead of performing on a benefit show. Tacky, son. One-bloop’s worth of tacky. And I wouldn’t even mention this but I took Chris to task for it, what was with Blake looking down after every line? Is that his “sincere” pose? Is it just a bad performance habit? Why aren’t these kids learning to control their amateur bullshit? We’re four months into the competition!

4. Phil Stacey – The show was called Idol Gives Back tonight. And yet Phil declines to give back by covering his ginormous alien noggin. Stingy bastard. Phil Stacey hates poor people. True story. He also hates our eardrums, because there he goes again slaughtering a bunch of defenseless low notes. A week after he got praised for going country and he botches a Garth Brooks song. Unbelievable. Send the Bat Boy home. Or at the very least, double bloop his draggy, sludge-filled vocal. Simon is right, Phil doesn’t have a bad voice, per se, he has bad tone. If he had song the way he sang last week he’d be rubbing shoulders with Melinda up top. But the tone choice he went with sounded like a second-rate Michael Bolton. And Michael Bolton is a no-talent ass clown, so Phil wasn’t exactly starting from a great place.

5. LaKisha Jones – Again with Lakisha yoinking an Idol’s song? This type of musical thievery is punishable by death in certain cultures. I’m just saying (Did you notice that even Randy and Paula pointed this out? When you can’t bank on Randy and Paula for support, it’s time to change tactics.). Well, at least the song was in her wheelhouse. She still doesn’t look connected to the show, but she did sound better than she has in the last month. The right wardrobe, nice hair, classy performance, if a touch shouty (just saying…). And I still wanted to bloop the hell out of her.

6. Chris Richardson – Stop bopping your head! That better be an unconscious nervous tick, because if it’s not, then dude, you need to get right. Everytime you tic away from the mic it only serves to show pull you out of the emotions of the song. And when you’re taking on a voice of the emotional magnitude of Eric Clapton, you have to focus hard. Let me put it this way, if Chris had sung Layla the way he sang Change the World he would have been booed off the stage. And I think the judges let all this crap slide because of the brouhaha that went down last week, vis-à-vis Virginia Tech. That was a double-bloop performance. I don’t care if Simon, Paula and Randy want to gift him some slack, Chris needs to do much better because once we kick off Bat Boy, were coming for his nasally, buzz-cut head.

Bottom Three: LaKisha Jones, Chris Richardson, Phil Stacey

My prediction for who gets the axe: Chris Richardson

The Jay’s Prediction Record: 2 for 6 (a measly 33% - I gotta right my prediction ship)

Bangarang!

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