Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Paris Hilton's Cell Phone Part 1

Okay. I’ll admit it. I looked through Paris Hilton’s phone book. She is celebrity. I am man. She is good. I am weak. It happens.
While I was being a typical celebrity-obsessed human I couldn’t help but notice that Paris had a whole lot more contacts on her phone than I do. I look through my Contacts and find 51 different entries. She has 510 entries – 10 times more than I do. I think that’s a bit much don’t you? I feel a bit…unimportant. (I would use a sad face here if I could, but real writers don’t do that. Real writers would make you feel empathy for them. Never mind. I’m not a real writer L)
To make myself feel better about myself I’m going to show you just how glamorous my phone book is using Paris Hilton’s phone book as the model of “hotness.” I’m going to do some comparisons to see who is really leading “the simple life.” (Get it?) So here goes:
Her first entry is “? Cory.” Question Cory is how I read that. Easy. I just added “Ask Jeeves” to my contacts. Your move, Paris. Winner: The people at Ask Jeeves as I just gave them a ton of free publicity.
Skipping an entry we find “A, Marco.” Not once, but twice. This is the first entry that I’m going to give to Paris. While I do know a couple people named “Mark,” including my girlfriend’s dad, I do not pretend to know a “Marco.” I assume Marco is her gardener as the name sounds Mexican or Spanish. Doesn’t seem glamorous, right? Well, I’m giving it to her because I don’t have a garden, let alone a gardener. Winner: Paris
Further down we find, “Aguilera, Christina.” Well, I used to have Christina Paradise in my contacts but lost her number when I got a new phone. I’m going to count that anyway. Since Paradise was a soccer chick here at Saint Rose, and Miss Aguilera hasn’t had a hit single in a few years, I’m going to give myself the edge on this one. Winner: Me
Moving on to the B’s we find “Bowwow.” A fine entry for Paris – at least on first glance. Bow Wow is a rapper with multi-platinum sales and has probably deflowered young pop-star Jo Jo. However, he was in Johnson Family Vacation with Cedric the Entertainer. This movie sucks in ways Merriam Webster cannot begin to describe. I won’t even mention the fact that she only has the artist formerly known as “’Lil’s,” e-mail address. What, she couldn’t “hound” him for his number? Winner: Anyone who hasn’t seen advertisements for the latest Cedric The Entertainer/Tommy Lee Jones opus.
Right below Bowwow, we find “Breeze;” not once, but three times. Come on Paris. At least be honest. 510 contacts? More like 508! What a poser! Winner: Me
Next up, “Cantrell, Blu.” I don’t have anyone named, “Blu,” but I do own Jerry Cantrell’s double album Degradation Trip. Unfortunately Paris can invite Blu out for a night on the town, while I can only sit in my room listen to a CD. Winner: Paris
Now I found one that really bothers me. “Columbo.” Seriously, what have we come to in today’s society? I doubt Paris has even seen Columbo. I’m reasonably sure that she doesn’t know the Detective personally and that’s why she doesn’t have an e-mail address or phone number for him. My good friend Ben owns the Columbo box-set on DVD. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to add Matlock and Sipowitz to my contact list. Winner: Ben Frey
After Columbo we find “Connelly, Kevin.” Who the fuck is that? Chris Connelly’s little brother? Winner: Me

I’m going to take a quick nap before I continue. This is just too much fun for me. When I come back I’m just going to go with the contact name and then go from there. Fuck intros.

“Dad” Ha! I’ve got one of them too! My father has a badass mustache. Does Paris’? I seriously doubt it. Winner: Mac Douglas’ mustachio!
We’re almost done with the “D’s” and this is the first time I’ve noticed any glaring omissions from Paris’ contacts – no Carson Daly. Is there really anyone in show business that is important who wouldn’t have Carson Daly’s phone number? He is the most important person in Hollywood. Pathetic. No wonder her album can’t get any air-time. Winner: Anyone who knows Carson is a winner.
“Dave, Super” Okay, she a lot of my admiration when I realized she didn’t have Carson’s number, but she’s picked up some major points on this one. Just check this link: I can’t believe Paris knows Super Dave! I just wet my pants, I’m so excited. Edge: Fans of great stuntmen everywhere!
“Diego” He’s either on a soap opera or he fixes something around her apartment. Winner: Minorities everywhere. Just don’t rape the girl Diego.
“Durst, Fred” Isn’t this mother fucker dead yet? All the rock stars in the world and she’s got Fred Durst in her phone book? Is this her current contact list or one she threw out about 4 years ago? Winner: The Who for finally having a good version of Behind Blue Eyes recorded.
“E, Shannon” She was a star of the American Pie films and played Justice in J&SBSB. Good for you Paris. Edge: Everyone. Why everyone? We’ve all seen Shannon Elizabth’s breasts and they are spec-fucking-tacular.
“Egplant dike ass” Who would have thought that someone who’s been sodomized on night-vision would use such language? Winner: Eggplant farmers finally get some free publicity.
“Eminem” I don’t want 50 Cent to rip me on next Mix Tape Monday, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Winner: La La
“Fergie” I saw on that Fergie was getting a ton of crank calls because her number was leaked. She wants to kick Paris’ A. Winner: Anyone who gets to see Paris and Fergie wrestle.
“Gotti, Victoria” If this is one of the actual Gotti’s…Have you seen growing up Gotti? Italians…(writer pauses to shake head)…Winner: Albany
“Green, Seth” Does Paris realize he’s like 43? Oh well. Winner: Seth Green
“Gunn, Justin” What the fuck kind of name is that? Gay stripper? I have Justin “H-Bomb” Hadley on my list. Winner: Me
“Harris, Dr. Randy” If he’s a gynecologist … Winner: His wallet.
“Hilton, Nicky” I have my brother’s phone number in my list. Winner: Push
“Hilton, Paris” Are you fucking kidding me? She’s got her e-mail address saved? Her e-mail is listed as Which part of that might slip her fucking mind? The first name? Her second name, perhaps? Or how about the “t” before the “” All very fucking confusing! Winner: Anyone who can remember their own God-damn e-mail address!
“Ingrid Caesares” Ingrid pops up twice. First her gardener, then her handyman, now the housekeeper. Winner: INS agents everywhere.
“King, Stephen” What would she possibly do with this e-mail? “So if Tinkerbelle gets hit by a car I can do what?” Winner: Carson Daly is still the winner.
“Kourinkova, Anna” I’ll be right back…

Monday, February 21, 2005

Mahalo, Doctor Hunter S. Thompson

“There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.”

One of my dreams died yesterday when one of my heroes killed himself. When Doctor Hunter S. Thompson took his life on Sunday, we lost one of the greatest literary minds of all-time. With the Good Doctor, the big thing was finding the handle. What’s it all about? For me, it was seeing what a journalist really could do.
When I first discovered Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas I was immediately hooked. It took about a paragraph of the gonzo-novel to give me a new obsession.
Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I have an extremely addictive personality and am a natural creature of habit. When I am writing, I am writing non-stop. When I’m drinking one day, I have the tendency to drink the next day. And the day after that and so on… I can thank Dr. Thompson for the inspiration.
Discovering Hunter S. Thomspon, the man the myth, the brash, gun-toting, alcohol-loving, substance-abusing genius was to truly open my eyes as to what could be done with a strong drink, a sharp sense of humor and the ability to let every single thought running through your brain to leak down your arm and out your fingers onto the blank page.
Dr. Thompson set the kind of example that made me realize it’s not only “okay” to start the day off with a drink; it’s a necessity, man.

“You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.”

The most amazing passage I’ve ever read:
“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a main era - -the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle - -that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting - -on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - -the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

When Dr. Thompson’s funeral occurs this week, I would do whatever possible to be there. Hopefully, I will be allowed in, provided I stand quietly in the back, and don’t smoke. I certainly won’t forget the fucking golf shoes.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

oh well

I think I have a real problem here. Since a certain someone has come into my life I have had someone to vent to about these things that I used to turn into many many words. Now, I never write anymore. Fell in love and got soft. Just like Tiger stopped winning as soon as he got that bombshell. Oh how the mighty have fallen.