Speech Of The Day: Chris Christie

The cynic in me wants to say that Conservatives only get involved in social issues when it affects them personally, when the issue hits home. And, well, I guess I just went out and said it.

Still, a lot of these politicians - in part through training sessions and in part because their former jobs as lawyers demanded it - have the speech aspect of being a leader down. And hate him or love him, I believe one thing that can be said about New Jersey Governor Chris Christie is that he isn't the type of schizophrenic liar Ben Carson can be - when Christie lies, it's because telling the truth will hurt him, but he doesn't make facts up, let alone two-thirds of his own autobiography.

Here he is delivering a moving speech about addiction:

Love And Monster Trucks

And banging each other's cousins.

Oh, and public drunkenness and terrible reporting.



Poor lady. The reporter should have let her go the minute he realized she was in no condition to be interviewed, and instead delved deeper into personal questions when he saw that her being drunk led to her being open and honest. And now the whole world will know her story.

I'm tagging this with ''stupidity'', but on the journalist's part, not the woman he's laughing at and putting down.

Motivate Yourself: Sports Meets Booze

Oh God. So good.

There are music mash-ups, and the are visual mash-ups. This is the latter, and it claims to combine ''fitness quotes'' with pictures of drunk people; they are more ''sports'' quotes, and one of them is a clear hockey reference (a Wayne Gretzky quote, in fact, the one about the shots you don't take), and at least one is from football (the 'team' one). Still, these images (and the rest from the Wall To Watch page where I found them) are the funniest and truest things I've seen so far this year:

That last one just might be my favourite.

Rob Ford: The Sequel

Yes, I know, I too was under the impression that his 15 minutes were up, that not only had we had a sequel (if the crack smoking was Episode 1: The Phantom Menace, then the odd behaviour and ''plenty of pussy to eat at home'' was surely Episode 3: Revenge Of The Filth), but that we were probably at the Police Academy 5 stage of his tenure by now...

Except we had all forgotten the essential rules of sequels: they not only introduce new characters to the cannon, but oftentimes also take place in new surroundings (Hangover Part II, Vegas Vacation).

And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Rob Ford in Vancouver. Not only did he get a ticket for jaywalking, he also tried to get out of it by contacting the chief of police. That's right: he bothered the boss of the police force for a $100 ticket, because he's an entitled fucking asshole. And he did so at this classy establishment: a Shell gas station, situated across the street from the bar where he'd been drinking all night (though he was to have stopped drinking last Fall):

Video is available on Twitter and YouTube.

Which begs the question: is he ever not in a drunken stupor?

Rob Ford Resurfaces

Ok, what to start with? The fact that if this was anyone else in North America, most people would deem it extremely racist? Or the fact that Rob Ford is at it again?

Hmmm.. seems he likes swearing in Jamaican patois...



''Bumbaclot, man'', indeed.

And here is audio of him saying this ''couldn't have happened yesterday'' because while he was, indeed, drunk yesterday, that was on his own time.



But who cares what day it was shot? Wasn't he stripped of most of his power precisely because he's an out of control buffoon? And didn't he commit to stop drinking and doing drugs in order to regain some power and go for reelection?

Maybe Rob has a King complex and thinks the current-day political trick of saying exactly the opposite of what you mean gets you forgiven for everything even in the real world... but it can't. Can it?

Rob Ford Re-Enacted

That Downward Spiral Called Rob Ford

''Elect me as mayor, and I will clean this city up like you wouldn't believe.'' That was the attitude Rob Ford put forth just a couple of years ago, running to take over Canada's biggest economic center.

Like a true used car salesman, his first order of business was to eliminate bike lanes, and his second was to get as drunk as possible in as many public events as possible, a political Chris Farley if you will, without the visible and audible threat of ending up living in that van down by the river, yet you could tell just by looking at him that that was exactly where he was headed, probably in the near future.

Then came rumours about drug use - and not just marijuana, no: straight-up crack. And there could even be video footage... a video people have already died for.

After denying it - and the existence of the tape - for the better part of 2013, Ford has now admitted to having smoked crack, but he did so with his usual sense of grandeur:

"Yes I have smoked crack cocaine. But I am not an addict," he said in a stunning admission. "Have I tried it? Probably in one of my drunken stupors," he said, adding that he may have smoked it approximately one year ago.

Oh yeah - one of his drunken stupors. Makes sense. What else did he do in his (frequent) drunken stupors, kill a hooker? Waste taxpayers' money? Eat tons of donuts?

As if hearing that the police had found the video - and another one, rumoured to be a sex tape with an alleged minor - recovered from a erased hard drive (that's right, kids, hitting 'delete' is not a guarantee) wasn't enough, the mayor's boat is leaking from everywhere, and reports are coming out that he and his team hired a crack team (sorry) of hackers to erase the recording from online storage spaces.

Didn't work.

Now, I know it's never over until the fat lady sings, but I'm guessing that's merely one or two drunken stupors away from happening...

R.I.P. Lou Reed

I mentioned it when J.J. Cale passed away, and now another member of my Sacred Five songwriters has died, Lou Reed. Of all of them (Eddie Vedder, Tom Waits and Renaud are the other three), Reed's vocal delivery and guitar playing (though not his ''ostrich'' - i.e. all-the-same-notes - tuning) was the one I ended up closest to resembling, albeit not on purpose.

Rolling Stone described his singing style thusly in 1971:

Reed's voice hasn't changed much since the early days. Outrageously unmusical, it combines the sass of (Mick) Jagger and the mockery of early (Bob) Dylan, but is lower-pitched than either. It is a voice so incapable of bullshit that it makes even an artsy arrangement work by turning the whole thing into a joyous travesty. Just as arresting as Reed's voice are his lyrics, which combine a New York street punk sensibility and rock song cliches with a powerful poetic gift.

As the tributes rolled in yesterday, you could see that his influence as a figurehead of all things New York- and arts-related still stood unscathed (everyone from Salman Rushdie to Samuel L. Jackson to Iggy Pop to Ricky Gervais had something to say); he was not only as unseparable from New York as Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen and Spike Lee, he was the city's underbelly, its history of upheaval, fights for gender equality (he even dated a transgendered lady in the 70s), its rampant drug scene.

He died of liver failure, 6 months after a transplant. It wasn't from eating too much citrus.

During his career, many critics noted that he had a tendency to forgo complicated musical arrangements and lyrics, instead opting for a more direct, succinct approach; still, his long list of musical collaborators over the years would leave a jazz and prog-rock fan a mouth-watering sensation: Jack Bruce (Cream), Aynsley Dunbar (Frank Zappa, Journey), Steve Winwood (Traffic, Blind Faith), Steve Howe (Yes, Asia), Rick Wakeman (Yes), Caleb Quaye (Elton John), Steve Hunter (Alice Cooper), Bob Kulick (KISS, Meat Loaf), and jazz great Don Cherry. Among others.

Some of his collaborations were ill-advised, particularly of late (yes, I'm thinking of the double-album from hell with Metallica, but he also could have done 2003's The Raven without bringing David Bowie back into his list of friends). But mostly, he'll be remembered for great songs about 'unclean' subject matter: drugs (Heroin, Waiting for My Man), sadomasochism (Venus in Furs), prostitution (There She Goes Again), the death of a parent (Standing On Ceremony), AIDS (The Halloween Parade), some favourite movies and plays (Doin' the Things That We Want To), racism (I Want to be Black), the electroshock therapy he received as a teen (Kill Your Sons), as well as transvestites and transgenders (Walk on The Wild Side).

But he could also write the perfect ballad, as can be attested by such gems as Pale Blue Eyes and Perfect Day. And while his early solo albums Transformer and Berlin stood as hard acts to follow and are no doubt considered his ''classics'' (especially after the post-dissolution praise for his work with The Velvet Underground), I'm still very fond of some of his later works, notably 1996's Set The Twilight Reeling (whose jewel case came in various colours, mine is purple) and 2000's Ecstasy.

I'll have never seen him perform live.

Microbrewery Of The Day: Jackalope Brewing Company

I hope I go to Nashville soon, and not just because most girl-singers I know and want to work with will have moved there by year's end. Their music scene is burgeoning, sure, and beyond country music, too, but there are a few start-up businesses that show full of promise, a lot of them in the pub/club game.

One of them is the women-owned Jackalope Brewing Company, operated and managed by seemingly really cool gals Bailey Spaulding and Robyn Virball, seen below:

One of them apparently can't get enough maple syrup, so maybe that'll give them an idea about a future beer... (idea: add a salty flavour to counter-balance it and get really original)!

Drunken Funnies

I can't tell you how many times The Lady Of The House got drunk on a bottle of wine or a case of beer and I've wanted to record her so that she could hear herself the next morning - and realize just how much shit she'd make me live through.

This guy's Lady, at least, made an attempt to be funny, and he made an animation about it:

And The Survey Says...

A study shows that ''making love'' is the activity humans find the most enjoyable and rewarding, ahead of drinking alcohol - far ahead of religion and caring for children.

Duh.

Things you can feel, that are found in nature, and that distract from the useless daily grind we have invented as a means to be in control of one another should always have priority over make-believe and duties, in terms of what you take from it in the immediate moment.

Having kids, teaching them about Life, nurturing them - that's a long-term commitment that only seldom reaps benefits, and more often than not in the long run, not right away.

Logic would have dictated that, but I guess some people weren't sure. That's what scientists do: they test out even the most obvious stuff to have what they call 'empirical evidence', even though that evidence is usually a result of testing a sample population and, technically, is merely a representation of what some might feel, not all.

What a waste of time, resources and money.

Theoadore

My friend Theo likes to cook, drink, and dress fabulously, but his favourite activity is - without a shadow of a doubt - talking about cooking, drinking and what he's wearing.

Lucky for us, he recently discovered the joys of blogging and can do so online, for all to read.

Best of all, most of the stuff he makes is pretty simple, including his Bloody Caesar, detailed here.

Test two of those recipes, and call me in the morning don't call me!

She Really Likes Her Beer

The ''S'' Stands For... Stoned Out Of His Mind?

Ever notice that Hunter S. Thompson wrote as if he were talking while high on cocaine? That's because he had a habit of being very high on cocaine...

The picture above is an actual Associated Press-published rendition of a day in the life of, as witnessed by his biographer.

Then again, no surprise, we're talking about this guy:

Video Of The Week: The Breeders

It's hard to know exactly what to make of The Breeders: Pixies side-project (leader/singer/guitarist/songwriter Kim Deal was the Pixies' bass player and her twin Kelley Deal was almost their drummer), twin sisters' excuse to take drugs (Kelley went to rehab for heroin in 1995; Kim went to rehab in 2002, mostly for alcohol, but she also had drug issues), or one-hit wonders with other interesting - albeit less catchy - tracks?

 The term ''breeders'' comes from the gay community: it is how they refer to heterosexuals; this has led to a wide acceptance of the band in their circles. Kim Deal is often said to be ''a straight man and lesbian woman's ideal girl'', although personally, I find Kelley to have aged much better.

In any event, Last Splash may have been their big hit record, but I'll always remember purchasing Pod, their first, in a bargain bin at a record store in 1993, at a mom-and-pop record store somewhere in Connecticut, near a rest stop where we stopped for some Burger King (I asked for "ham-boogers and French flies"... I thought I was hilarious, the cashier didn't care for my brand of 14-year old comedy) on the way back from winning a hockey tournament in Boston.

This song, Divine Hammer - which refers either to heroin or a wonderful penis - was the third single from Last Splash, and its video was co-directed by Spike Jonze, Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon, and transgressive filmmaker Richard Kern.



Kim Deal also tried to start a movement with All Wave, a means of returning music recording back to a time without computers, auto-tune, and all that digital crap. She even got a logo made for it, which I'll have to put on one of my releases someday:

How Drunk Is ''Superdrunk''?

Apparently, it's having blood-alcohol content twice the legal amount, which is what Detroit Red Wings prospect Riley Sheahan had in his system... while driving.

Here's what the police report had to say:

Sheahan, 20, was arrested and charged with driving with a blood-alcohol content of .17 or higher and providing false information after he was stopped going the wrong way on Ottawa Avenue, near Pearl Street, shortly before midnight on Monday, Oct. 29, according to Grand Rapids Police Sgt. Allen Noles.

There's something poetic about having the words ''wrong way'' and ''Ottawa'' in the same sentence, though.

San Fran-hips-Co Beer Week

Because I had fallen behind on my Maxim, Summum, and Playboy reading, I had no idea February 10th-19th was San Francisco Beer Week!

How thoughtful of them to tack on 3 extra days to factor in hangovers.

Lucky for me, I've been on a steady diet of 10-ish beers per day since early December when my Life turned to shit. Although I've mostly been drinking Tremblays, so my shit has turned into pudding.

Role Reversals

It's been done before, but once in a while I like to see someone's vision of the guy/girl thing as they reverse the stereotypes to show how stupid (or absurd) some actions/pick-up lines are.

Off To See The Rum Diary

''That’s gibberish!'', I said, when the woman asked me for ten bucks in exchange for some gelatin candy.

But I paid anyway. I needed the sweets to bring to the movie theatre, where I’m finally set to watch The Rum Diary tonight, after six unsuccessful tries/dates.

I’ve been waiting for years to see this fucking film, before the book was even fucking released – Hunter S. Thompson had been writing about it for years, having tried to have it published since the 1960s.

And who better to play Thompson’s alter ego (he’s never referred to by his own name in any of his books, a trick Charles Bukowski was also very fond of) than fucking Johnny Depp, who did a bang-up job in Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas?

Rum is where the journalistic story starts, in Puerto Rico. Constant drinking, before the drug use. I’m off. Wish me luck.


edit: here's what I'm talking about:

Dirty Old Dive Bar

One step in the poorly-lit bar and it already reeks of their sex. The walls are icky, slimy as snot but a translucent grey, like dying fish had been glued to it and never quite died but the stench intensified.

And I wouldn't mind it at all if it weren't for the vein in my left hand begging for the chance to rip my skin open and explode - I couldn't bear contracting the infection of dead cum without having at least fucked a 6 or a 7. Or a trashy 19-year old.

I keep wondering about the shit that goes on in there when I'm not around, seeing as they usually devolve pretty quickly even in my presence. And the shitty music never helps, either, fucking cock-rock classics of the 80s, country-rock classics of the 70s, nothing modern, nothing new - a fit representation of its patrons, who never would have seen the past 20 years if it weren't for the invention of penicillin.

Drunk fucking zombies on their automated poker machines, barely pausing for cigarette breaks, drinking 3% beer 'cause it's a dollar cheaper than the regular-strength stuff that, oddly enough, also tastes like stale piss.

This is the minor leagues of daytime drinking, populated with a few youngsters, sure, but mostly should-be-retired-by-suicide dreamers holding on to the last parcel of their youth, with memories of that one day in their life where it didn't rain shit on their heads, where maybe the right whore was a decent enough actress to make them believe in Love for even a second, their first used car, the first time seeing a plane in the sky, playing with a dog, or that first welfare check that seemed like so much money.

These dreams aren't broken, they're rusted, mouldy, holding on for their fucking life with fucking duct tape - but they're still there, alive. Working. Well enough to get from point A to point D in a haze, barely flipping over a few tables, perhaps with a black eye or two, but fucking standing.

And that's why the dried-up beer, the vomit, the blood - some of it clearly menstrual - and the cum add layer upon layer of goo on the tables, floors and walls, and why we all keep coming back. Hope.