Hot Off The Presses!

Things are finally starting to look up.

Why you ask? Well, I’m in NYC, probably the most fascinating city in the US if not the whole darn world, AAAAAAND I got one of the first copies of the eagerly awaited tome LAME ADVENTURES: UNGLAMOROUS TALES FROM MANHATTAN by my newest pal, Virginia Antonelli. Now, I haven’t had the chance to read it yet, but I will when I finish the current book I’m reading.

I cannot wait.

You wanna know the best part?

I got to hang with the author last night in the city. I had a lovely time. She showed me some cool places, and we had a great time hanging out, laughing, boozing it up and chatting.

I am so happy to have a new friend.

So, my three readers, I highly recommend you check this book out.

I apologize for the bad quality of the pic, but I’m using my iPad to post this, and well, let’s just say the marriage between WordPress and the iPad tis a rocky one.

NONETHELESS, read this book! You can get it from Amazon.com

You’re welcome!

Love,
Julia

Slayer Player Slayed?

On Thursday, 49-year old Slayer guitarist, Jeff Hanneman died of liver failure at a Los Angeles hospital.

Now, liver failure is not all that unusual–especially for a hard-livin’ rock star–but in this particular case it is. Some in the medical field are saying that a spider bite Hanneman received 2 years ago was the catalyst.

You read that correctly: A SPIDER BITE.

(courtesy Billboard.com)

Here’s how the story goes: Apparently, whilst Hanneman was partaking in the ancient art of hot-tubbing, he got hisself bit by an arachnid. The owie healed–sort of–but Hanneman didn’t get medical help and soon necrotizing fasciitis set in.

Don’t know what that is? Well, I was about to post a pix of folks who had this ick, but the pix I found even made me wanna hurl, so I nixed it.

You’re welcome.

While I am not a huge Slayer fan (their music is too damn mellow for McCrabass), and I initially half-ignored the news of Hanneman’s death until I heard about the spider bite.

Some of the worst pain I’ve ever felt was when I got nipped by a Black Widow years ago, which is why this death-by-spider-bite-two-years-later angle has me flummoxed.

Spider bite deaths are rare in this day and age, which is why I am intrigued by what allegedly happened to Hanneman. I’ve heard of people almost losing body parts due to the toxic Brown Recluse bite.

But dying? There’s gotta be more to the this tale.

Until more is discovered, here’s a sweet, little slide show about the most toxic spiders on the planet. Hat-tip to the Daily Beast.

 

 

 

 

Boned

Why am I surprised when an infamous person’s 15 minutes of fame is extended thanks to the brilliant idea of making a sex tape?

I keep hoping that humanity will man-up and put the kibosh on this phenom and actually heap huge rewards upon those of us who worked out asses off and played by the rules. But, as long as there’s a buck or two–or a million–to be made, Z-list celebs and their penchant for recording every fucking move for their half-wit fan base will continue until the sun explodes and kills us all.

Let this sink in and we’ll discuss it.

From The Daily Beast.

Report: ‘Teen Mom’ Signs $1M Porn Deal

“Looks like Farrah Abraham’s “sex tape” is being made into a porno after all. The Teen Mom star reportedly inked a nearly $1 million deal with Vivid Entertainment for the release of her tape, after initially claiming it was for private use only. The porno with James Deen allegedly comes with a classy title, too: “Farrah Superstar: Backdoor Teen Mom.” While most suspected the tape was good old-fashioned porn, Abraham and even Vivid founder and co-chair Steven Hirsch ran with the “sex tape” ruse for a while. Deen, meanwhile, tried to set the record straight that no one would believe it was for private use. “I said I’m like the worst person for this job because, not to be arrogant, but people are gonna know me,” he told The Daily Beast.“

For those of you who don’t know who Farrah Abraham is, she is one of the stars of MTV’s reality series “Teen Mom.” Like all of the participants on that show, Farrah realized that as soon as her water broke, being a teen mom just plain sucks wang because not only does she have to deal with the trials and tribulations of being a teenager, she’s also a new mom! From what I’ve heard, being a new mom at any age is the toughest gig around. From time to time I would watch the season which featured Farrah, but had to stop due to the chronic laryngitis I got from yelling at the tee vee.

Admittedly, Farrah was different from most teen moms featured because her baby daddy died in a car crash prior to the birth of their daughter, Sophia, so she didn’t have worry about which baseball cap the baby daddy would be wearing when he picked up their kid for a play date with his new girlfriend’s kid. Or whether or not his facial hair was properly cared for.

Admit it–that’s mighty sad.

However, throw in her porn paramour, James Deen

 

the sage advice of the King of All Snake Oil Salesmen, Dr. Phil,  and we can use an egg timer to tell us exactly when she’ll be spit out of the ass-end of the porn industry. Well, that and the fact that she’s about as bright as a dove bar.

Am I completely surprised by this? Nah, but what this tells me is I need to have a teen mom, make a sex tape and collect a sub-mental fan base.

I’m going back to bed.

Rut City, Population: Me

I’m fried. Burned out. Toast. Beat to a pulp. Dead behind the eyes. Numb.

And I haven’t done anything physically taxing. It doesn’t make sense.

I’m suffering from knowing that I have no purpose, nothing to offer and nothing to show for my roughly four decades on this rock.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: Being unemployed blows fucking donk.

It has zapped my energy, my will to create as well as my will to be out among the living. Sure, teeny, tiny freelance gigs trickle in from time to time, but that ain’t enough to put the thoughts of tri-state crime sprees out of my noggin. I listen to my friends bitch, whine and moan about their jobs, and I have to turn off all of my impulses to fucking throttle them with my she-woman strength.

There are times when I feel like this character from Game of Thrones, is hiding in the  surprisingly under-utilized section of my soul–she’s a loyal, badass who will fuck you up if you cross her.

Brienne of Tarth (courtesy of pandawhale.com)

A bit maudlin, I know, but I’m allowed. I still scroll through shitloads of job leads every day. Some I apply to, others get trashed.

Then, there are those job leads that cause me to utter aloud WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK??

Don’t believe me? Here, check out this gem from a Houston all news-all the time-radio station.

Enjoy.

The actual requirements for the job–news editor/managing editor–were much shorter, see. And, they were typical news editor/ME duties like solid news judgment, assignment desk duties, AP Style knowledge, etc. When I read this list of “requirements” my first thought was, “Huh, yeaaaahhh…aren’t these requirements for being a well-adjusted adult?”

Not so fast.

So, as the news editor/ME, I wouldn’t be allowed to do my job–which entails being direct, sometimes demanding and expecting professionalism at all costs–but I’m not really allowed to express what I want for fear of hurting feelings or putting someone off.

I did send them a resume/cover letter combo platter and here’s a snippet of what I wrote, but nicer.

I’m a seasoned professional who is capable of working with others under stressful situations, and I expect that out of my colleagues as well. I’m tough, but fair because I realize that the news business is not always so. As for ‘evolving self-awareness’ — if you can explain what that is exactly, you’ll be able to hire whomever you choose.”

Of course, they called me.

Turns out, they have no clue about anything, and want tons of experience for roughly 9 bucks/hour and no (surprise!) relocation expenses paid even though this was advertised on a NATIONAL journo jobs website. A friend pointed out to me that the previous news editor/ME probably either got fired, or quit because he/she was doing their job, and not playing wet nurse to a bunch of fucking over-sensitive, pants-wetting, maladjusted dipshits.

Yeaaah … I’m gonna have to give you a big, fat NO.

The bigger picture here is this is what I am (and the millions of other US citizens who are unemployed) up against: These wish lists of skills put together by completely clueless hiring managers and HR departments who don’t know what they hell they’re talking about. I was recently asked to take geometry/algebra test for an editing job.

Yep, I shit you not.

I said no, then told the hiring manager that if I was going to be eliminated from consideration, is should be on a level playing field. I told her that testing me on something I haven’t done in almost 30 years is grossly unfair. She agreed and I didn’t have to take the test. I interviewed, and we’ll see if I get a call back.

Back to Houston, care to wager that they have an incredibly high turnover rate?

PS–I’ll be in NYC next week, so I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. So, watch this space.

Now What?

I’m back.. sort of. I’ve been in a funk for the past few weeks–job rejections and weird personal stuff–good, bad and sad–have sidelined me for a bit.

Y’all ain’t rid of me yet, though. You’ll see soon enough.

First, some fun. Ahem.

Feast yer peepers at this impressive hunk of man-meat, then check out Mickey Rourke.

Question: When did he start looking like my dead great-grandmother?

Then, I found this.

I think the meaning of life is in this photo. I’ve figure it out, now let’s see what you can conjure up.

In the meantime, I’m in the early stages of developing a podcast of sorts with a few of my pals here in the Windy City, and well, beyond too. Since there ain’t shit in this town for work for a fab gal like myself, I gotta find other ways to fill my days that don’t entail booze, men, hooch and free Internet porn. I’ve got a damn fine brain and wicked sense of humor, I might as well put the two to good use. I also have smart, witty friends who I know would love to join in the fun.

So, please feel free to send me topic ideas and if you want to be a guest, well, we can discuss that too.

 

 

The Balcony is Closed

It’s been a while, I know, and I was all ready to write about something I came across earlier in the week.

However, I feel the need to pay tribute to someone who’s work meant a great deal to me–Roger Ebert–who died today after a long battle with cancer.

The Eberts at an event I covered in 2007.

His death saddens me tremendously because he was a huge voice, not only in film criticism, but in life in general. His prose and wit were unmatched (except by his late-partner in crime, Gene Siskel), and there isn’t a film critic today who comes close to his abilities. He knew how to read a film, then discuss it in a way that wasn’t condescending or obnoxious.

Ebert was a writer, first and foremost, and that made him so good at his job. His love of film just added to that talent.

As most I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in the Chicago area, so watching Siskel & Ebert, and eventually just Ebert, was required of all Illinois citizens. Also, we had to read their columns to learn how to write criticism, and well, how to write in general. After Siskel died, Ebert was the only critic I paid attention to. Sure, Kenneth Turan, A.O. Scott and Manohla Dargis are fine, but…meh…their work doesn’t compare to Ebert’s.

I’ve met Ebert a few times and each meeting, he was kind, gracious and witty. The most memorable was years ago when I was a senior at the University of Wisconsin. My father had the same lawyer as Siskel and Ebert, and said lawyer had an open house at his fab, newly rehabbed greystone in one of Chicago’s tonier neighborhoods. I was an obnoxious, know-it-all film student who became quite verklempt when I heard my father say, “Oh Mr. Ebert, I’d like you to meet my darling daughter, Julia. She’s a film student at Wisconsin, and will be graduating in a few weeks. Hey, any advice you can give her would be GREAT! THANKS!”

Aaaand, my dad disappeared toward the bar.

Thanks, dad.

Great.

This guy is gonna eviscerate me, test me on my knowledge and I’m gonna, like, dieeeee. Imagine my surprise when the exact opposite happened. Ebert and I spent the next hour or so discussing Kurosawa and how important his films are to not only the film world, but to the world in general. We discussed other film makers as well, but I believe that Ebert was touched by the fact that someone so young with an odd hairstyle, dug someone like Kurosawa. Siskel eventually tagged in and the two of us discussed Truffaut for another hour or so.

Needless to say, it was one of the most memorable moments of my life.

I could go on and on about Ebert, but I won’t. I do suggest reading his past columns and his essays on contemporary American life. He had a lot to say and the world will feel this tremendous loss for years.

I leave you with two things–one of my fave Ebert’s quotes, and a Sneak Previews/Siskel & Ebert episode where the two critics discuss the disturbing trend of violence toward women in films.

“’Kindness’ covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.” —Roger Ebert

And the clips–

Plus, a bonus out-take bit with Gene. Classic.

RIP, Roger. The City of Big Shoulders won’t be the same without you.

Damn.

Armed To the Peen

You know what? This makes perfect sense to me.

British Man’s Arm Will Become His Penis

I can’t decide which hed I like better though, so I’ll post both.

I’ve bedded over 100 women… but I don’t have a penis

Andrew dreams of surgery to change his life

Thanks to the The Sun and The Inquistr. My god, to be a fly on those copy desks when the editors start brainstorming heds. I can almost hear ‘em now: “Ok, think penis, arm, sex…Hmm..a man who has had sex with over 100 woman but has no peen. Hmm..how ever shall we come up with a clever hed?”

Or something like that.

Here’s the tale of the peen, or of the arm, or of the arm-peen. Ugh. I don’t know. Just play along for shits and giggles.

Turns out, Andrew Wardle, 39, is quite the casanova for someone so young. He’s bright, funny AND good looking. He has various physical ailments–like an ectopic bladder–born with it formed on the outside–various kidney issues, berries but no twig, and a myriad of other, fun health problems.

In other words, he’s a trim magnet.

(courtesy 24Tanzania.com)

But here’s the rub (shut UP), he’s lacking one organ that is quite essential to the act of bumpin’ uglies: He is sans penis, and is so distraught about it, he never told his mates AND has contemplated suicide.

Huh?

Was he diddling blind women? I mean, I’m a woman and we do engage in such bawdy talk with our female friends. Think “Sex & The City” but much more graphic and grisly. Nothing is sacred, guys, remember that the next time you make a snide comment about a woman’s body because there is a VERY good chance she’s telling all of her friends at what a horrible lay you are.

OR, she’s being kind and raving about your enormous schvantz.

There’s no grey area here–it’s one, or the other, mmkay?

And to answer your question, I have no idea how that works. It’s a, um, head scratcher.

Back to the MIA peen. Looks like Mr. Wardle is having some sort of reconstruction surgery this summer, AND the surgeons are going to fashion something resembling a penis out of his arm.

Hang on, I gotta look at my arm for a sec.

Huh. I guess using a body part to fashion it into another body part makes sense, but if my arm was used, the results would be covered in freckles. And, that’s errs on the side of creepy because I don’t need a penis–I get mine on the outside–so why I checked out my arm as a possible candidate, I have no idea.

Anyhoo, here’s a little visual about how things are gonna go down for Mr. Wardle in a British operating theatre this summer.

(courtesy of The Inquistr)

Usually medical procedures, or certain painful events that only men can relate to (i.e. getting kicked in the balls) don’t cause me to wince because, really, I can’t relate to what it feels like to get a prostate exam.

However, this photo speaks for all of us when the idea of this operation finally sinks in.

Godspeed, Andy.