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.
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.
Now, if you’ve been reading my blogs through the years AND if you pay any attention to politics in this country, you understand that Illinois politics–especially Chicago and Cook County politics–are a blood sport. We currently have two former-governors in prison, and if you’re an Illinois pol and aren’t either under investigation at some point in your career OR haven’t spent time in the pokey for something you did whilst in office, well, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG. You’re a disappointment to the rich history that is the Illinois political carnival.
Freak show is more like it, come to think of it.
Back to Beavers, I interviewed him years ago after the whole John Stroger/Forrest Claypool Democratic primary showdown for the Cook County President election in 2006. See, Stroger stroked-out during the last days of the campaign and it’s alleged that his campaign kept it secret until the last possible second. Of course they did. Duh. That’s the Chicago way.
So, when Stroger was declared non-compis mentis, many felt that the runner-up, Claypool, should’ve been handed the wheel to go head-to-head with the Republican challenger, Tony Peraica. Even though Claypool lost to Stroger in the primary, the Cook County Democratic Party endorsed Stroger’s spawn, Todd Stroger, to run against Peraica.
Forrest Claypool
Seriously–that’s like handing the casinos over to Fredo Corleone and telling him to have at it.
Anyhoo, I was in grad school during this whole Cook County President kerfuffle and had the dubious honor of interviewing Commissioner Beavers–who also happened to sucking the teat of the Stroger clan–about what was going on. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Commissioner Beavers–Now that John Stroger is basically circling the drain, doesn’t it seem fair to put the second place finisher–Claypool–up against Peraica?
Beavers: Huh? What’s that now? The second place finisher? Fair?? You kiddin’ me?? Well, lemme tell you something honey, SECOND DON’T COUNT!
There endeth the interview.
The Toddler won, which made for some fun times in Cook County. Seriously. A roasting pan would have done a better job at running Cook County than Todd did.
Starting tomorrow, check out gapersblock.com for my tales from the crypt that is the Dirksen Federal Court Building.
One of the hidden joys of being unemployed is the amount of craptastic tee vee watching I get in on a daily basis. I’m not just talking about the political shows, but shows from the days of yore like “Bewitched”, “Murder She Wrote” and my personal fave “Emergency!”
When my sisters and I weren’t putting on our version of “Godspell” for our patient parents and our slew of household pets, we watched shows like “Emergency!” Hey, what can I say? We were kids growing up in the ‘burbs of Chicago, and there wasn’t a lot to do at night except chase fireflies and spy on the neighbors. Even after a while, the spying became tiresome. I mean, how many times can one watch the neighbor across the street get drunk and pass out on the steps?
“Emergency!” was special because it introduced me to my first tee vee boyfriend, Randolph Mantooth. He was tall, dark and handsome. And for some reason, he never combed his hair and that made him all the more foxy.
Also, the show introduced me to that dynamic duo of Bobby Troup and his wife, Julie London. You may know him better as the guy who wrote the classic song “Route 66″, and she was a fine lady crooner in her day.
Then, there was Kevin Tighe (Roy DeSoto) who went onto portray, according to Weebs, “some of the meanest, mother fuckers ever.”
Of course, the supporting cast was just as memorable as the stars. And, they sported the best sideburns and porn star staches ever.
Above is the official version, but the following is what I saw.
The episode starts out with the station treating some burned-up cop in an elevator shaft of an old building, which anyone with a trained eye can tell is a building on the backlot at Universal Studios. Guess someone started a fire via Molotov Cocktail which is causing all sorts of drama. God damn militants! Stay tuned…
So, there’s a fella from the other side of the pond visiting Station 51. He’s sportin’ a big-sexy, 70s style ‘stache. Who knows what he’s up to, guv’nuh. Jason (his name), the Brit, is only staying with Station 51 for a few days, then he’s off to Miami to check out another program and hopefully chillax with some ex-pat Cubans. I’m not sure about the ex-pat Cubans part, I just made that up since this particular scene was cut with an axe–it’s that bad.
Meanwhile, a lovely lady who appears to be some sort of rock star, is passed out in the ER. Dixie thinks she’ remembers her, and is certain she has seen her somewhere before. Cue ominous music…
Gage and DeSoto then go out on yet another call to some sort of Wild West Show gunslingin’ has-been, Homer, who has retired in the north Valley (why there is anyone’s guess). Homer’s wife, Martha, has some sort of cut and is quite scared. He was the best, Martha opined whilst DeSoto worked on her. Then, Homer fired his wee gun at an ugly flower-pot in the beige living room, and the boys skidaddled outta there before they too were covered in beige plaid and bullet fragments. Good riddance, was my reaction.
Back at the hospital, there is dissention in the ranks as Dixie dresses down a nurse who has been defiant with Doc Early. See, there have been complaints against this one particular nurse and she has to realize that she works for Dixie now and that’s that. No if, ands or buts about it! You see, folks, Dixie, is the only one who gets to have ‘tude around Rampart and don’t YOU forget it.
Patsy, the comatose rock star, has diabeetus, the flu and is exhausted and Doc Brackett AND his sideburns are seeing to it that she gets the proper care. So, he’s never going to leave her side which should be, well, interesting …
Now, a dude with something that resembles a JewFro is wondering why his client –Patsy– is still so sick. He thinks it was the militants, Brackett thinks that maybe she was doing some illegal pharma ingesting and maybe took too much brown acid, or it could the myriad of health problems mentioned above. Who knows, but we’ll find out in the 3rd act. I just want Brackett and this guy to get into a whole “My hair is foxier than your hair” type duel.
Update on the policemen.. Doc Early and Dix are discussing him, now Dixie is whining about the nurse with the ‘issues’, but I really wish they’d break into a version of “route 66″–that would make the scene so much more enjoyable.
If the catheter passed through the tourniquet, it could float in his lungs..” something no one wants to hear EVER. So it’s off to the cath lab to retrieve that sucker. Side note here: you know a scene is uber-dramatical when you hear the swelling of the strings section over the rest of the orchestra.
Oh no, Patsy is circling the drain, but dammit! Doc Brackett is gonna do everything in his power to save her! He said something like “I WANT YOU TO LIVE! I WANT YOU TO LIVE!” while holding her face and probably dislocating her jaw.
Back to the wayward nurse, Sheila. She blames herself for the tourniquet oops and now Dixie is trying to calm her–not through song, but through reason and a comforting tone. So hot–I hope they go at it later.
Uh oh, Jason is hitting on the nurses which ain’t cool since that’s Gage’s MO. See, Johnny Gage is hot–everyone thinks so, and the running joke of the show is how many nurses he can bang. However, since this show was on in the 70s, ‘bang’ was not a euphemism used to describe ‘screwing,’ and come to think of it, ‘screwing’ wasn’t used on the tee vee then either. Hmm. I’m perplexed — I don’t know what term they used.
Next rescue: A major truck accident on the WB backlot–er, I mean in the “North Valley”. The boys had to use some version of the jaws of life to pry the demin-clad Waylon Jennings lookalike from his rig. They had to be careful considering he was wearing some rather rad bell bottoms, and no one in their right mind would want to harm that fashion goodness. Poor dude has a busted ankle and Johnny ain’t feeling too great.
You know why?
Because the truck is loaded with HOOCH! MOTHER NATURE’S HAIR! MARY JANE! POT! All of the fireman instantly ran to the truck to “help” while Vince the ever-present LAPD motorcycle cop looked on with a creepy smile on his face. Yeaaah…it was alll so….niiice…
I bet those folks never figured that the pot would be legal today in California. My oh my have the times changed.
Back to the rock star– Doc Brackett thinks she’s burned out with being all sick and shit. She’s not responding to treatment, and “she may die.” Dumbass Manager JewFro doesn’t quite get it because “you gotta hit it while it’s hot.” Just as Doc Brackett is finishing up his lecture, Patsy crashes! It doesn’t look good folks, but they made sure they covered up her lady bits before saving her life, and kept them covered.
“If we don’t kill this infection, this infection may kill her!”
The finale emergency involves a mishap at a gravel pit. Wait..did LA ever have gravel pits? Really?
So, Jason gets to join Gage and DeSoto on this particular rescue, much to Gage’s chagrin. Hmm..I think something nefarious is about to happen to our guest. Back to the initial rescue, turns out this dumbass guy is trapped in a rock grinder. I mean really, so much for being careful. And just as the rescue was happening, Gage goes and slips and Jason saves his sweet ass from plummeting to his death, and Gage ends up getting a nice wedgie in the process.
“Pull man, PULL!”
Meanwhile that other guy’s legs are dead I bet.
No, no–of course they aren’t! This isn’t “ER”! He ends up getting rescued–of course–and his tuchas is shipped to Rampart for further treatment probably by .
And speaking of Rampart, Patsy is out of the woods, for now. Dixie has re-applied her nude lipstick, and Doc Brackett’s sideburns are still all kinds of awesome. Jason cock-blocked Gage from getting that hot nurse up in orthopaedics AND we learned that our English visitor is a real, live genuine hero. Tally ho, pip pip and all that then, guv’nuh.
Well, February did blow but not in the way we all know and love.
I got nothing out of it except that I got to celebrate the 18th anniversary of my 29th birthday with some friends/family (got an iPad out of it–SCORE), learned that I’m a reporter/writer/editor and NOT a research editor. and was provided with even more evidence that I need to live in warmer climes and take bets on hermit crab races.
While I was reeling after the latest shit sandwich of a temp job that ended up with me ‘not being a good fit’ (whatever the fuck that means), a few awesome stories almost got past my radar.
The first is my fave. I don’t know how else to describe this particular yarn except, well, to wonder why I am not a drug addict after reading such a tale.
Apparently, some loyal constituent in the world’s largest democracy, decided it would be neato to pay homage to his fab fave politico by sculpting a bust of said pol. Nice and not that unheard of in this day and age. However, busts of this sort are normally sculpted out fo marble, or stone or clay. Maybe even shit if certain materials are not abundant.
But, this particular bust was made out of … wait for it … BLOOD. (Thank god my gag reflex has calmed considerably after my years of being bulimic because my computer would be covered in puke right now)
Read on…
“An Indian man known only as Hussaini has recently unveiled a shocking work of art – a bust of J. Jayalalitha, Chief Minister of the Tamil Nadu state, made from 11 litres of frozen human blood, donated by him and 32 of his students.
Apparently, nothing shows admiration for a person like making a creepy sculpture of them from human blood. At least that’s what Hussaini, a sculptor and archery teacher from Chennai, must have thought when he got the idea to create a bust of Chief Minister J. Jayalalitha out of his own frozen blood, for her 65th birthday. The noted artist wanted to thank the politician for being the “most sports loving CM of India” and for her support to his archery association, and since he had a few liters of his own blood stored for special occasions, he decided to put it to good use. You see, Hussaini has had his blood drawn at three-month intervals, over the last eight years, waiting for an opportunity to use it as a medium for his sculpture. But he only had 6.5 liters of blood, and this special project required 11. Luckily, his 32 archery students were more than willing to donate the extra 4.5 liters needed to complete the project.”
Oh no, not just Hussaini’s blood is in this masterpiece, but the blood of his archery students too. There are so many jokes there that my mind can’t handle the overflow, and my stomach is starting to churn, so the need to down Maalox by the gallon starts NOW.
I know you’re all probably wondering how the entire fuck he did this, so grab a pen and paper and write it down. Or, to really get in the mood, you may want to write in your own blood.
“To create his blood sculpture, the artist first created a made one from clay. He then prepared a silicone mold, encased it in a hard outer shell and filled it with the 11 liters of blood. The mold was finally frozen at -27 degrees Celsius, for two months. On the day of the unveiling, Hussaini revealed the other big idea behind his plasma artwork – blood donation. “If I can organize 11 liters of blood, then every other citizen can follow suit and save many lives,” he said.”
I hope Hussaini realizes that donating blood to make art is not the same as donating blood to, you know, save lives.
(Courtesy of New India Express)
I hope the recipient has proper storage for this since India is not exactly known for its mild climate and low humidities. Ahem. Craaaap–can’t get that image out of my noggin. Fuuuuck.
On a somewhat happy note, the Chief Minister was none too pleased with this tribute and advised Hussaini to never do this again.
I hope he heeds her advice.
The parade of weird continues in the south Pacific.
Apparently, whilst mum was prepping her darling son for his circumcision, she said “Fuck it, I’ll just kill him because his peen is so wee, he’s in for a lifetime of hell because of it.”
And she did.
Nothing else can be said about it by your’s truly here.
According to one of my fave websites, The Sartorialist, these are the penny loafers to own. Of course, they can’t be bought stateside, so you have to wing on over to Milan to purchase them.
(Courtesty of The Sartorialist)
Not your style, eh? Well shit howdy, at least they ain’t made out of blood–that’s enough to get me to buy ‘em and I don’t even wear penny loafers.
Iggy Pop and the Stooges Ready New Album for April Release
‘Ready to Die’ features guitarist James Williamson, drummer Scott Asheton
Now, this makes me smile.
See, my three readers, 2013 was starting to look like yet another shitty year for McCrabass until I heard this news. I saw Iggy a long time ago in LA and it was quite the show–he was loud, crude-as-fuck and just plain out of control. It was one of the best times I’ve ever experienced standing up. I mean, I almost tossed my granny knickers at him, but was afraid he’d put them on and they’d be too big. He’s alluring in an ugly-sexy kinda way–if that makes any sense.
So, when I heard my favorite skanky, blue-eyed boy & the Stooges were releasing an album–some 40 years after the last one with James Williamson and Scott Asheton–I did a slow nod and muttered to my empty living room “Niiiice.” Yeah, very un-Iggy-esque but I gave up heroin before I even started and my leathers are being repaired.
Iggy Pop and the Stooges are ready with a new record, Ready to Die, which will mark the first time Pop has worked with guitarist James Williamson and drummer Scott Asheton on a full album since their 1973 classic Raw Power. As he’s done since the Stooges’ 2003 reunion, Mike Watt will fill in for the late Ron Asheton on bass. It’ll be Iggy and the Stooges’ first album since 2007′s The Weirdness, which was the last to feature Ron Asheton. Ready to Die is due April 30th on Fat Possum Records.
I don’t like to wish my life away, but April 30th can’t come soon enough. That’s kind of sad–I’m sliding down Crap Mountain again and I’m looking forward to an album release like I’m some sort of love-struck teenie bopper.
I love America. I was born and raised here. My mom’s side of the family arrived around the same time as the pilgrims. (My dad’s side will be discussed in a later post.) However, I have a feeling that my ancestors weren’t has homely looking, or as poorly dressed as John Smith and his pasty ilk were. Also, I’m quite certain that my female ancestors weren’t afraid to show a little leg or cleavage whilst plowing the fields or milking the cows.
Hey, it’s how us McCrabass broads are wired–we like to show off our lovely, freckle-y skin.
America’s a great place, but it also sucks. Especially these days.
Over the past couple of years, America has become the Land of the Stupid. I could cite example after example of American stupidity, but I don’t want to depress everyone AND I’m sure that most of y’all know exactly which examples are bouncing around in my noggin. What’s truly vexing is that stupidity is applauded and encouraged by some of my fellow Americans–this action is egged-on by the mouth-breathers of our humble society.
However, these two stories that showed up in my news feed are worth mentioning because they are the apex of stupid.
The first example is from Buzzfeed:
Missouri Lawmaker Introduces Bill To Make It A Felony To Propose Gun Control Legislation
“I filed HB 633 as a matter of principle and as a statement in defense of the Second Amendment rights of all Missourians.”
“A Missouri state lawmaker wants to make it a crime to propose any gun control legislation. Mike Leara, a Republican who represents suburban St. Louis, introduced a bill making it a class D felony for any member of the Missouri legislator to introduced a bill to that effect.
“Any member of the general assembly who proposes a piece of legislation that further restricts the right of an individual to bear arms, as set forth under the second amendment of the Constitution of the United States, shall be guilty of a class D felony,” the bills reads.
But the state lawmaker doesn’t expect the bill to go anywhere, saying he submitted it as a matter of principle.
“I filed HB 633 as a matter of principle and as a statement in defense of the Second Amendment rights of all Missourians,” Leara said in a statement provided to BuzzFeed. “I have no illusions about the bill making it through the legislative process, but I want it to be clear that the Missouri House will stand in defense of the people’s Constitutional right to keep and bear arms.”
I don’t know about y’all, and I’ve talked about this before on here and elsewhere, but it’s exhausting living in a God-fearin’ country where guns have more rights than humans. It’s bullshit. But this latest act by Misery State Rep. Mike Leara, just shows how far we as a society have fallen on the Stupid Scale.
I know, I know, I’m asking a lot from the state that unleashed rape’s champion Todd Akin on the rest of the country.
I had just enough time to catch my breath from the above story, when this story showed up in my feed.
I.. I… just… cannot …
Mary Sue McClurkin, Alabama GOP Lawmaker, Claims A Baby Is The ‘Largest Organ In A Body’
From HuffPo.
I’m at a loss. This is a prime example of American intelligence being wiped out right before our eyes.
Read, please:
“Alabama state Rep. Mary Sue McClurkin (R) is pushing legislation that would impose restrictions on abortion clinics — a move that she argues is necessary because the procedure is a major surgery that removes the largest “organ” in a woman’s body.
“When a physician removes a child from a woman, that is the largest organ in a body,” McClurkin told the Montgomery Advertiser on Thursday. “That’s a big thing. That’s a big surgery. You don’t have any other organs in your body that are bigger than that.”
Even my friends who are anti-choice have got to agree with me that considering a baby to be an organ in a woman’s body is one of the stupidest ideas ever. So, this got me thinking–what about other organs? If you have your intestine removed, is that considered murder? Is Lasik eye surgery consider an assault? What’s really frightening is the person who introduced this bill has the same lady parts that I have and supposedly considers herself a woman. Biology considers her a woman too. Huh. Interesting. The big difference between the two of us is I took a bunch of biology/science classes in school and have parents who aren’t morons. Ms. McClurkin probably learned about S-E-X via her parents and Sunday school teachers who used euphemisms for the female and male body parts: flower or wee-wee instead of vajay, pee-pee for peen, etc. You get the idea. She probably learned that babies were put in mommy’s tumtum by God or by the Jesus. Or by some type of schooling not based in reality.
How Ms. McClurkin learned about the birds & the bees is just a smidgen of the what the real problem is–the dumbing down of America when it comes to, well, everything.
What’s even more depressing is, things are gonna get stupider all up in here.
