Monthly Archive for June, 2008

Gypsies Cast Spell. Partygoer Dances Barefoot.


In order to, not only accommodate, but capitalize artistically on, the failing attention spans of our XYZ, MTV, ADD, IM/Internet, text message generations, I propose the concept of the Epidemic feature film.

In order to define the Epidemic feature film we must first redefine the Viral Video, as the definitions proposed by online dictionaries and other sources are lazy and vague.

I.E., the Hyperdictionary defines a viral video as “a video clip that achieves widespread distribution through online sharing,” and references “a video clip or recording, esp. sent via email and which gains widespread popularity through sharing.”

And in order to define the Viral Video we must also clarify the definition of the “virus.”

Webster’s Online Dictionary’s specialty definition of the virus states “A virus is a small particle which can infect other biological organisms. Viruses are obligate intracellular parasites meaning that they can only reproduce by invading and taking over other cells as they lack the cellular machinery for self-reproduction. The term “virus” usually refers to those particles which infect eukaryotes (multi-celled organisms and many single-celled organisms), whilst the term “bacteriophage” or “phage” is used to describe those infecting prokaryotes (bacteria and bacteria-like organisms). Typically these particles carry a small amount of nucleic acid (either DNA or RNA) surrounded by some form of protective “coat” consisting of protein, or protein and lipid.”

My Mac Dashboard Widget Dictionary defines a virus as “an infective agent that typically consists of a nucleic acid molecule in a protein coat, is too small to be seen by light microscopy, and is able to multiply only within the living cells of the host.”


Accordingly, a virus is a virus as long as it infects more than one host.

And although the average length of the Viral Video varies, for purposes of the Viral Epidemic, I’m going to cap the length of usable Viral Videos at 6:00 as it will keep the creator from getting too lazy and encourage the inclusion of a more dynamic range of content.

The length of the Viral Epidemic feature film is to be reduced from that of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences defined traditional feature film minimum running time of 40 minutes. Instead, I propose the minimum running time of the Viral Epidemic be 20 minutes or more.

The construction may be completed by one director or many, statically or virally.

Therefore, with consideration of the guidelines provided above, I define the Epidemic feature film is 1) a feature film composed of Viral Videos edited together to create new meaning or to propose questions that the individual viral components on their own do not, or 2) short blasts of Internet-based video information strung together with conscious or subliminal intent, to create new meaning, however vague or well-defined that meaning may be.

And although I am author of this theory, I have yet to direct the first Epidemic. I’m short on time and totally stressed out as it is.

So if you’re just bored as fuck, or an idle genius, and want to direct the first ever Viral Epidemic, go for it, post it, let me know where the rules might be too strict or lax, where the concept succeeds and fails, and maybe I’ll edit the definition.

Don’t worry. I’m not expecting much, not at first. It’s just a theory after all. But do your best. Wow you, then worry about us.

Now get to work.

Happy Birthday Mick Jones!

I love you. I do.

Now please do your fans and the legacy of The Clash a favor and retire so someday we will remember only this…


Rec’d the following message on myspace today:

Thank you.
The reason I’m messaging you is because I met you back in Wolverhampton in December,
I was walking outside with my boyfriend after KH
Anyways you said something really nice to me and it inspired me tbh.
If you dont remember then no worries.
I dont wanna sound like a crazed stalker.

KH were kind enough to direct me to your page.
I hope you remember me.
I wanted to say thank you because of what you said really gave me the drive to get into modeling.
I?m now modeling for a hairdressers and entering competitions with them.
I got to do a catwalk and that was incredible.
I just wanted to say thank you because that’s always nice.
Thank you so much, you really really inspired me.

Was certain I suggested the young lady go find a cure for cancer, as I usually do, but modeling pays better than science so I guess I did the right thing.

Anybody else need inspirado?

Mystery Plate of Cocaine Goes Unmolested at Hollywood Hills After Hours Party

Mr. Brainwash Encouraged to Stick to Filmmaking

“Over 100 paintings, sculptures and prints” and I was in and out in less than 20 minutes.

Derivative of everything and added nothing fresh.

“Prolific” maybe, but definitely not profound.

Even if Mr. Brainwash was an elaborate hoax put on by Banksy himself to test the limits of art buyer ignorance, to fuck with the art market or to just say “fuck you” to Hollywood, it would still be a bore.

Let’s just hope that Mr. Brainwash’s brutal play-out of the whole stencil/graffiti art scene will force somebody to finally throw up something fresh.


I talk and take dirty pictures with world renown fetish and erotic photographer Alejandra Guerrero at the opening of Eye Candy Gallery and enjoy some fetish family fun time.


corporate vampire - modern mummification - definition of fetish - the scene - role playing


controlling the medium - Bogota - the press



on the Supreme Court battle for America’s right to see pubic hair

Please Take This Moment To Get Over Yourself

Whether you’re a pouty face club kid or a vascular surgeon with a God complex, and even if it’s only for practical, pride-saving purposes on down the road.

You can take your life and your work seriously, that should be encouraged. But when you strut the earth, nose up, conveniently forgetting that you?re a mere mortal, there?s nowhere to go but down.

And you will go down.

I begin this Nyquil-fueled rant by introducing you to some people who took themselves too seriously and eventually wiped out, or got tackled and beat down on, the icy sidewalk of life:

Julius Ceasar: From hooking up with hottie Cleopatra and being declared ‘Dictator for life’ of the Roman Republic to getting stabbed, tunic down, 23 times, on the senate floor by his homies, it?s obvious a couple of thousand years later that Mr. Big Stuff should’ve taken a step back and asked ‘E Tu Brute?’ a little sooner.

Jesus Christ: Being crucified in front of your fans is extremely embarrassing I’m sure, especially when you claim to be the ‘Son of God.’ Dying for our sins? Please, dude. Great spin by the Apostles though. Rolling back the stone three days later would have been a great way to redeem himself, but it never happened so whenever I think of Jesus, I just think ’sad.’

Hitler: Dude went from being named Time Magazine’s ‘Man of the Year’ in 1938 and taking over mot of Europe, to washing down cyanide with a bullet in the rubble-covered Reich Chancellory in Berlin. (This could also fall under another category of ‘how dangerous taking other people can be.’)

Charles Manson: When Manson first went to prison, the press portrayed him exactly the way he wanted to be portrayed, enigmatic and pretty fucking scary. Now he’s just a bat shit crazy old coot in a cage with a really bad tattoo. Nobody’s scared and nobody cares, except for MSNBC, and me sometimes when I can’t sleep and there’s nothing else on TV but 3 a.m. screening of ‘Helter Skelter.’

George Bush: Still wearing that stupid, shit-eating, permi-grin, douchebag of the century is now, in a vain attempt to keep Wikipedia from editing down his entry to simply acknowledge him as ‘the worst president in the history of the United States,’ having to back peddle and acknowledge the fact (however disingenuously) that the rest of the planet wasn’t super down with that his balls out Wild West calls for invasion and war, his blatant disregard for federal and international law, his rejection of the scientific communities statistical data on global warming, and all the other bad decisions he made and waved like a flag in the faces of those who justly opposed him.

Sean Penn: Ever see ?I am Sam??

Actually, he was awesome in that sappy shit too, and as annoying as he is at least he’s a ‘doer’ so scratch him off until the next time he heads to the Castro Brother’s for dinner.

The carrot top dude from CSI Miami: Never watched the show, but a regular ‘guest star’ told me how Mr. Guy many times requires 30+ takes to remove his sunglasses and squint just the right way, all the while making the rest of the cast and crew stand around on set and wait. Lame.

For Axl Rose, I reference the hair extensions, circa ‘89 Staten Island OG attire and off-key vocals that visually and sonically smothered what was the most eagerly awaited live performance by any rock n’ roll band in the last two decades.

Kobe Bryant (aka ‘The Next Michael Jordan’): Sure we all remember this smug shitbag’s sexual assault incident’ involving that 19 year old girl in an Eagle Colorado hotel back in 2003, but that was nothing compared to the beating he took in the final game of the Lakers/Celtics series.

Prince: Yes, even Prince needs to get over himself. Did you see the lame set he did with his cover band at Coachella? Already a tiny man, by the time he finished his Vegas revue I was hoping Cris Angel would come out and make him disappear completely, forever.

He’s already donning a jumpsuit and has apparently forgotten the lyrics to his own songs. Now all he needs is a platter of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches added to his tour rider and his own neon billboard hanging outside Caesar’s.

Now I’ll give you first name that comes to mind and a great example of somebody whose never taken himself too seriously and will inevitably end up more content than those who do:

Sean William Scott (aka Stiffler): I’ve hung out with the guy. He’s hilarious. And let me tell you, the producers of ‘American Pie’ didn’t hire him to play Stiffler. He IS Stiffler.

He’s perfectly aware of the fact that nobody takes him seriously and he doesn?t complain about it. And why would he? He’s living his dream.

He’s got perfect 10’s lined up to sleep with him every time he goes out, and they’ve got to get back to his multi-million dollar bachelor pad somehow. So he takes the parts he needs to fill the tank on that crazy dumb yellow Hummer he drives. No complaints.

Kudos to you, Stiffler!

And then there’s the idea of knowingly engaging in activities that run the risk of making you looking uncool, only to end up making you look cooler in the end.

Anthony Bourdain, other than being awesome for a wide array of other reasons, is also awesome because he’s aware of how uncool he can look and isn’t afraid to test the waters.

I?m no stranger to miscalculating my gravitational pull on occasion. In fact, I am a total cock sometimes. And to punish myself I offer you a few examples, off the top of my head, of how totally lame I am or have been in the past:

1. I had a massive crush on this girl once in film school. She was down and I was stoked until I got stoned on our first date, burnt my eyebrow off trying to light a joint on the stove burner and then tried to play it off like everything was cool, even though my eyebrow was gone and the girl kept asking me if I smelled something burning.

2. Because of the vibration, I get boners on planes. (Maybe this should go on the ‘cool’ list).

3. Years ago, riding a cheap high and feeling particularly bulletproof, after chatting up, and making out with, a some model girl at a party at some mansion in the hills, I got caught by that model girl mid-wipe in the midst of a ‘Trainspotting’ special.

It was an emergency. I found an ‘out of the way’ downstairs bathroom that had no door or lights (that I could find). There was nowhere else to go so I risked it. Then, out of nowhere, party girl appeared, reached in, flipped on the light, saw me, paper in hand, screamed ‘Oh my God!’ and I screamed ‘I’m just peeing!’ She left the party before I had time to flush and I never saw her again.

4. When I was in grade school I performed ‘Thriller’ at a talent show. I played Michael. Michelle Caruthers (having the closest thing to a natural afro) played the girl. I trained a troop of 20 or so completely uncoordinated kids to play backup monster dancers and made gravestones with my mom out of cardboard.

I wore the jacket. I wore the glove. I wore sequined socks. The whole thing still haunts me. So any time I’m feeling invincible all I have to do is think back to this moment and my feet are again planted firmly on the ground.

5. When I was 12 I went camping with my family in western Illinois. Some townies took me down by the Illinois River. We climbed out on a limb hanging 10 feet over raging currents. They pulled out a joint and offered me some. Playing the cool city kid card I played it off like I’d smoked a million times before. So we smoked and I got so fucking high, somehow, that first time, that I couldn’t climb back down the limb to shore. And those townie, hillbilly fuckers just laughed and laughed at my ass from the bank as I sat their paralyzed, terrified, waiting for the shitty ass Midwestern ditch weed to wear off.

And I still can’t hold my pot.

6. I went swimming tripping in a cold pool once and a super famous fashion icon then decided she’d like to see me in one of her crazy spandex neon uni-tard get ups. She walked in on me in the bathroom while, 9 dimensions away, I was re-learning how to dress myself and my penis was the smallest I’ve ever seen it, like Antarctic skinny dip, dry-humping-the-snow, small.

I?m a grower not a shower. Regardless: cold pool disappearing drug penis + pretty girl = not cool.

Anyway, there are so many… My heads a Theraflu-fueled particle accelerator right now. So as a temporary replacement, I offer you a final embarrassing moment had by my friend Julia.

Thanks Julia.

Julia (a brilliant, sophisticated lady and an awesome chef), Tommie Sunshine and I went to Lotus (hell) in NYC with an actor friend of mine a few years back. My friend was with Paris Hilton and Co. and we hopped up in her booth.

I was sandwiched between Paris and Julia. Everybody was dancing and downing some Euro-trash French dude’s magnum of top shelf vodka, then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Julia, to my left, falling backward gradually, in a kind of slow motion, into the booth behind her.

Gallons of free vodka slowing my reaction time I reached for her but missed and she landed in the booth next to ours with her back on the seat bottom, her head against the table, legs over the back of our booth, victimized by simple physics, unable to get back up, looking up at Paris (and her naked vagina), Paris looking back at her and me doubled over in laughter and unable to catch my breath.

Julia is super cool and the entire incident would have been so fucking hilariously uncool if she didn’t own it. She laughed her ass off and later told anybody who’d listen about it, turning coal to diamond and somehow making herself appear even cooler than she was before she totally wiped out hard, wasted in a posh (cheeseball) NYC nightclub in front of one of the most recognizable (annoying) faces on the planet, cool enough that I’m writing about it years later.

BOTTOM LINE: There is always somebody smarter, stronger, faster, more talented, sweeter, funnier, better looking, more charming, with better taste, a better record collection, a bigger dick and nicer tits than you have. So embrace what you’ve been given.

Everything you do has been done before and probably done better, and if you have somehow convinced yourself that you’re work, if not involving some scientific, sociological or political process, will have a long lasting effect on any large scale on this planet, you are completely insane.

The fucking pyramids are crumbling.

But you’ve still got friends.

And your friends, no matter how nice you are or they are, will inevitably talk behind your back and reality is, your girlfriend or boyfriend at any given moment is thinking about fucking somebody else.

You eat and shit and piss like everybody else and one day you will die.

I don’t care where you work, what show you’re on, whose list you’re on, what Ivy League school you went to, what record label you own, who your agent or your daddy is, how high your MCAT score was, or if that?s a diplomat license plate on the tacky ass yellow Maybach.

Stop talking loudly on your new I-phone at Starbucks about the deals your doing and how hot the girl is that you ‘banged’ last night.

Stop bragging.

Stop gloating.

Always remember, a nod is not a greeting.

Make eye contact.

Don’t cut in line regardless of you know.

Don’t block somebody?s driveway because you’ll ‘only be five minutes.’

Don’t pull out into traffic and wait for everybody else to stop so you can cross the street.

Stop yelling at the taxi driver, the door guy, the valet and the waitress at the restaurant. (It’s not their fault and if you don’t like sesame seeds you shouldn?t have ordered the toasted tofu and sesame seed salad.)

Try laughing honestly instead of chuckling snidely.

And I know I sound a little crazy.

Because I am crazy. Crazy sick. And when I?m sick I get angry because I can’t think straight.

So in order to put some ‘positive energy’ back into the universe, I’d like to conclude by issuing forth a challenge to you, the reader, to be honest with yourselves, to embrace your fragile humanity and allow the rest of us to embrace it too.

Send me a dorked out picture, video or a true story telling me how not cool you are and I’ll post it.

Tomorrow starts with you, kid.

What You Missed If You Weren’t At The Troubador Friday Night

The Ting Tings playing.

Me dancing.

Next time…

Vango - ‘It’ Cat

This is Orwell’s roommate Vango. Technically he lives with my awesome El Salvadorian landlord Salomon, but he spends alot of time hanging out on my patio and chilling on the hood of Jacket’s Bonneville.

The minute I saw him I knew there was something special about him, a freshness, something very now and natural, and so not contrived. So the other day I plied him with champagne and started shooting.

And the natural sense of drama with which Vango took on that lens: like it was the enemy, a lover, or a ghost from his past, I could see that if any cat had it, Vango had that intangible quality that makes a regular cat into an ‘It’ cat.

You just can’t look away.

Go ahead try.

Told you.

So if you’re a modeling agency, a major corporation looking to tackle the ‘youth culture’ market, or a super crazy famous fashion designer who’d like to feel the power of Vango contact me and I’ll put you in touch.