Tag Archive for 'george bush'

WE HAVE A NEW PRESIDENT!

No really. We do.

And aside from his recent silence on the Israel/Hamas conflict and that Reverend Meeks business, I think he’s pretty awesome.

And he’s black.

No really. He is.

How crazy is that?

Shouldn’t be, but it’s so crazy!

Anyway, enough on that. Speech was great as usual and well-balanced. Obama’s typical brand of inspiration paired with a much-needed heavy dose of reality. The gist was basically we’re pretty fucked right now, but if we can pull our heads out of our asses and work for a common purpose the way we haven’t in a long time, shit will eventually get better and the U.S. will return to being the great power it once was.

Not sure what brought me closer to tears, seeing that quick flash of Barack’s “I can’t believe I’m President” smile as he moved to the podium to take the oath of office, watching Bush board a helicopter bound for civilian life, or the sight of Chump Chaney being rolled out in a wheel chair like some evil family patriarch being hauled off to the home after flashing the grandkids.

Never mind. Scratch that. It was definitely the smile.

So, in case you’re one of the rapidly decreasing number Americans who actually has a job and missed it today, here’s the Inauguration and Address:

Sleep Never’s Top 15 “Moments” of 08′

Big year. Weird year. Crazy fuckin’ year.

Started Sleep Never on a whim back in April and in the 9 months since launch I’ve shot everybody from Tony Stamolis to The Ting Tings, toured the country, DJ’d for hordes of crazies, directed live broadcasts of diva pop stars, produced and directed the first “ride along” downloadable feature-length music documentary and a second “epidemic feature” that’s just about ready for your eyes. Had my “moments” stolen by everybody from NME to weird Christian websites and spent a whole lot more time smiling in 08′ than I have in years.

Along the way, I met amazing and awful people: criminals and superstars, gangbangers, drug dealers, cellists, BMXers, masked bandits, mob members, Jesus freaks, politicians and men who live in abandoned drive up bank teller machines. I’ve been threatened by fathers and offered daughters by their mothers, watched people die and celebrated life in the slums of Cleveland and at mansions in Beverly Hills.

Above all, the world did get smaller and I learned something new every day. About me. About you.

As for the future, 09’s blinding me right now, but I’ve seen that light before so I’m throwing up the heat shield until all systems are go. Until then, guaranteed there will be more moments and music and a bunch of other stuff, bigger stuff, better stuff if all goes well.

So thanks for the submissions and emails: positive, negative, dirty, inspirational or otherwise. Knowing you’re there keeps me here.

Now on to the Top 15 (in no particular order). Here we go…

All Knight,
k.

1. Cleveland: This Man Lives in an Abandoned Bank Teller Machine and Probably Has A Better Attitude Towards Life Than You Do


For the rest of the story on Keith CLICK HERE

2. Masked Boise Bandits Steal Hearts

3. Asshole Parking 101

For the rest of the Asshole Parking 101 Trilogy CLICK HERE

4. San Diego Strip Mall Raver Reveals Glow Stick Secrets. Does Not Blow Mind of Host.

5. The (Not So Delicate) Art of the 4:00 a.m. Haircut

6. Millvale, PA: Mysterious Caller Inspires Host to Find Vern

7. Eugene Flute Maker/Cab Driver Gives Tips on How to Score with Mormon Chicks

8. Ft. Lauderdale Spring Break Survivor Tells All

9. Sleep Never Hosts Salt Lake City American Idol Auditions

10. Sleep Never ‘Fishes’ Puget Sound - Catches Z’s/Sharks

11. Denver Big Band Legend Sells Truth

12. Fetish Party Fun Time

13. Former Boston Resident Brings Cello/Hope to Salt Lake City

14. Eugene BMX Daredevil Advocates Legalization of Marijuana

15. California Dreamin’

‘That’s what made me fall in love with this song, that flute.’ Mr. K Earth

Hero of the Week: Muntadar al-Zaidi

“This is a goodbye kiss from the Iraqi people, dog.” Mr. al-Zaidi howled as he threw his first shoe at President George W. Bush. “This is for the widows and orphans and all those killed in Iraq,” he yelled as he threw the second.

Well put, Mr. al-Zaidi.

Thank you for sacrificing your shoes and saying what many have wanted to say to that squinty shitbag for 8 years. And I know it’s only Monday, but unless somebody punches George Bush square in the face by Friday, I don’t think there will be a better candidate for “Hero of the Week” this week. So send me your address Mr. al-Zaidi and I’ll send you some kicks. And not sandals, something that will hurt when it hits.

This pair’s on me.

Change Came. I Slept In.

Last night I sat and wept alone when they called it. DJ’d a quick America The Beautiful/The Horrible set for three before I went out. Threw down some Ron Clark Academy, Don McClean, David Bowie, Cornelius, Radiohead, MC5, Prince, Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, LCD Soundsystem, Tom Petty, the US Airforce Band, some other shit, and somehow worked (forced) in the Presets at the end. Hit up a party. Went to Gold Room to see Dr. Wu. Drank a bit. Danced a lot. Yelled ‘Yes We Can!’ about 300 times, at friends and strangers alike. There were lots of hugs and high fives all around.

And then I woke up and soon realized that hope, like my daily dose of SAM-E, did not replace the fear, but only made it more manageable.

My worry is that we will all forget what’s important as soon as the Barack buzz wears off just like we dropped the ‘my brother’s keeper’ ball after 9/11. After the towers went down, people gave a shit about this country and about each other again for about three weeks. I remember how quiet the streets were. Everybody sitting at the stop sign waving ‘no, you go,’ to one another. I was counting down the days until the horns started blasting again and I think I made it to something like 22.

I first got excited about politics during Bill Clinton’s campaign. He somehow inspired me to give a shit about something other than music, movies, drugs and girls. Maybe it was the saxophone or the Fleetwood Mack. Who knows. Anyway, mid-nineties I moved from Chicago to LA and the future looked bright (stress on the ‘looked’ part). I was broke, but the country was fat with tech cash. There was no war that we could see, terrorism seemed a world away, torture was something other countries did to their prisoners and the most famous BJ in the world, from my perspective, was merely proof that our president had a pulse. The American Dream looked to again be in reach and I got comfortable. I got lazy. I didn’t care to say much more than ‘turn that shit up, man.’

And then Bush was elected. 9/11 hit. We invaded Afghanistan. We invaded Iraq. I devoured every bit of information I could on the rich and sordid history and politics of our country and poured over thousands upon thousands of pages detailing many of the very bad things our country has done, in secret, in the middle of the night, without it’s citizens knowing, and with no regards for the law, let alone wrong or right. (It’s one thing to be aware of the fact that the CIA helped make possible the coup that removed Chilean President Salvador Allende from power in 1973, but a crazy new world of fear opens up when you read through declassified CIA documents discussing his takedown.) And as freaked the fuck out as I was, I was once again possessed by my thirst for the truth and hope for the future.

We all too quickly forget what we stand to lose when we are happy. Positivity is obviously a good thing, but too much of it can be numbing.

As I watched Barack’s electoral vote count race towards 270 in the final hours, the weight that big sad reality couldn’t help but taint my idea of what a victory would mean. There’s only one Barack after all and if he gets too tied up in his daily presidential rigmarole, too busy to inspire, re-inspire and inspire again, this country will quickly fall back to sleep.

In his acceptance speech, Barack addressed my fear, calling us all into the service of our country, believing in us as we have believed in him. He’s already made history and has a chance to make more, so I’m going to trust him for now. But can I trust me?

Toronto: What Canadians Really Think of Americans

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.

Pour Some Out for Tim Russert

Jacket’s and I were just chatting the other day about how this dude is so incredibly on 24-7, and so passionate about his job and politics that it must affect the rest of his life in crazy ways.

I was saying how certain I was that he talked to himself non-stop even when the camera wasn’t rolling: in the bathroom, in the NBC studio hallways, in the car on his ride home from work, in the valet line after dinner, in bed, his wife sleeping beside him, and all night long, about Bush and Iraq, about Barack and how Muslim he’s not, about Hillary’s refusal to stop being Hillary, Myanmar refusing aid, about global warming, China quaking, Pakistan security forces swallowing friendly bombs, oil prices rising, the mortgage crisis taking homes, tornadoes taking homes, John McCain being old and not Bush.

I’m pretty sure I also said something about him dying on camera one day, or at least I was thinking it and sure enough Mr. Russert collapsed on the job.

He’s so wound up about something in this picture that he’s not even taking a peek at Pamela Anderson’s breasts.

Come on! I know she’s old and beat and they’re fake but… It’s Pamela fucking Anderson!

Now that’s a man dedicated to his work.

I’m gonna miss this guy.

Wonder what his Last Song on Earth was…