Five Things-Montana Edition: 4/17/14

If Montana ain’t careful, it’s gonna become the next Florida.

Case in point–

1)

Police: Suspect licks officer’s eye during arrest

(via The Montana Standard)

(via the Montana Standard)

(via the Montana Standard)

“A Walkerville man is accused of licking a police officer’s eye during his arrest.

Christopher Nicholas Hiatt, 34, is in jail on a felony charge of assault on a peace officer and misdemeanor charges of assault with a bodily fluid, criminal contempt and probation violation.”

Ok, what the entire fuck? Hiatt licked a cop’s eyeball? I understand licking a cop’s balls, but his eyeballs? How? Whaa? How did the cops let Hiatt get that close? What’s really going on here?

2) So..wait..is it possible that my Nigerian prince really isn’t a prince?

Fake money traced to Butte man: Counterfeit bills came from man’s Nigerian sweetheart, police say

(via The Montana Standard)

“Fraudulent money sent by a Butte man’s Nigerian sweetheart — whom he met on the Internet — has been traced as the source of some counterfeit bills circulating around town.

This weekend the man, who thought the cash was legitimate, attempted to use fake $100 bills to wire money to his girlfriend. The cash was used at Albertson’s, Walmart and Safeway to purchase money wires to Nigeria.

Police say $900 of the fake money has been recovered. But, they suspect about $3,000 in $100 bills may have been used by the man.”

Oops.

3) I’m so glad someone found my vibrator.

Fish Dildo: Bjørn Frilund, Norwegian Fisherman, Finds Orange Sex Toy In Cod’s Stomach; Maybe A ‘Frustrated Woman On A Cruise’ Threw It Overboard?

(via International Business Tribune)

Screen shot 2014-04-16 at 11.25.31 PM

 

 “Norwegian hobby fisherman Bjørn Frilund was in for a shock when he fileted a 5-pound cod he had just caught and found an orange dildo in the fish’s stomach.

“I was astonished,” Frilund, 64, told the Local, a Norwegian English language website, on Friday. “It was totally unexpected. I had never seen anything like this before.”

While it’s unclear how the sex toy became a meal for the cod, Frilund has a theory: “a frustrated woman on a cruise” chucked the dildo off a ship in the nearby Barents Sea and the fish mistook the sex toy for the fish’s typical prey.”

I may be frustrated, but I’m NOT that frustrated.  More importantly, I’d never toss a perfectly good dildo away.

Side note: “Fish Dildo” is a GREAT band name.

 

4) I wanna put my mouth on this.

Celebrate Easter with the bacon Easter egg

(via UPI/Odd News)

(via @TheEvilChris /Twitter)

(via @TheEvilChris /Twitter)

 

5) Turn it up. LOUD.

Five Things-The Boobs Edition: 4/16/14

1) I’m so glad misogyny is still a thing.

 

2) I went to this the other night. It was spectacular.

I love John Doe’s voice, so much so I told him afterwards at the merch table. He blushed and smiled. Said he liked my freckles. Bought a t-shirt from him. Met Dave Alvin too, made him laugh.

He sang this.

 

3) I’m thinkin’ that MAYBE they should make these machines a little less accessible to tots.

Nebraska toddler gets stuck inside ‘Bear Claw’ toy machine at bowling alley

(Via UPI)

“LINCOLN, Neb., April 16 (UPI) — A Nebraska 3-year-old who escaped from his mother’s Lincoln apartment was discovered at a nearby bowling alley, but he wasn’t interested in rolling 10 frames.

Kael Ireland was found inside the “Bear Claw” machine at Madsen’s Bowling & Billiards after he somehow wandered into the establishment and crawled up the game’s prize slot so he could play with the toys inside.”


The photo is priceless. The kid just looks so damn happy, so I says just leave him there. 

 

4) So, in India, public defecation is a huge problem. What, you say? Believe it or not, there aren’t enough toilets to service a billion people, so out-in-the-open-dumps are a thing.
Until now.

Indian officials and UNICEF are working hard at getting the message across to the world’s largest democracy that public pooping is kinda gross, not to mention completely unsanitary.

Enter the Poo2Loo program. Of course, there’s a vidya explaining why public-loaf-pinching is a bad thing.

 

5) I don’t see mahself getting sick of this song any time soon.

 

Five Things: 10/29/13

I don’t really know what day it is because I’ve actually been working. Yep. I think I mentioned it before so I won’t go into the gory details. Wait..come to think of it..I can’t go into the gory details because I’d have to kill you all.

1) Apparently, scrotal lymphedema IS a real thing. See, I thought I was just being clever when I was a stripper in Greece and needed an authentic-sounding name. Via the DailyMail.

(via TLC/Las Vegas Review-Journal)

(via TLC/Las Vegas Review-Journal)

So, Wesley Warren Jr. had a …. wait for it …132 pound scrotum since he was a youngin. He could barely move, and he had to wear an oversized hoody upside down so his scrot could be covered. Plus, he had to lug around a plastic milk crate with him everywhere he went so he has something to place his sack on while he was chilling out. Long story short, he had it removed, but here’s the rub–turns out his wedding tackle is teeny, so he’s having a tough time finding love.

And that’s alllll I’m gonna say because if I say anymore, I’ll get into a heap o’ trouble.

2) “Britney Spears’ music used by British navy to scare off Somali pirates”

Via The Guardian.

Who knew that screeching like a cat caught in a washing machine with a wombat would actually scare would-be terrorists or pirates or whatever the term is these days?? Britain knows what to do. Their wit cannot be topped. They get it, and those of us across the pond can only give them a slow clap and an approving head nod.

We can’t top it. Seriously, it can’t be done.

I mean, we can but that would involve shooting the terrorists/pirates, but this way only their ears bleed and gets them scurrying from daylight–never to come out ever again.

I’ve never sat through at Britney song so I don’t know just how shrill she is…hmm…there’s no time like the present.

3) Um, I don’t know of a time when it hasn’t been cool for broads to toke up.

Will It Ever Be “Cool” For Women to Smoke Marijuana?

 

4) As for Banksy, I don’t care what he has to say about the WTC. He should just stick to making awesome scribbles on buildings n’ such. See, this is one of the many problems with the Internets–people who, in the pre-Internet age, wouldn’t get recognition are now getting lots of it. Sure, much of that recognition is good from some folks/causes, but for some, well… NO.

5) Time for a palate cleanser–need to get rid of that Britney mess from earlier.

Enjoy.

 

All Is Right With the World Again

Really, Jules? How can you say this–especially after you experienced a quick & painful hiccup in your non-existent career yesterday?

iggy_pop_and_the_stooges-hollywood_palladium_ACY6879

Well, here’s why.

From Rolling Stone.

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.

IggyPopStooges

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 need a do-over.

 

 

Conundrum

Help me out here please.

Which one is Donatella Versace and which one is Iggy Pop?

Any luck? No? Well, me neither.

Ok, here’s another.

Holy Former Heroin Addict. I still can’t tell.

Maybe it’ll help if I separate the two, study them individually then try again.

Here’s Mr. Pop:

Those photos don’t do dick for me.

Hang on….

Wow. Jennifer Aniston sure hasn’t aged well. Poor thing. Hon, if you want to look good as you age, you can’t be a dullard. Sadly, Ms. Aniston has the personality of a footstool–but that’s a possible future post.

Back to Mr. Pop — who I dig, by the way. One of the best performers ever — I suggest you spend the moola and see him. Totally worth every damn penny.

He was totally hot once — a total US–UGLY SEXY. Sidenote: We have the same hairstyle here.

Ok, now I’m beginning to see the difference. Iggy has less nose & facial hair –but probably not much –than Donatella. Also, Donatella has a teefus issue. You’d think she woulda taken some of the scratch she used to pay for her plastica to get her teefus fixed. They have doctors for that you know. Good ones too.

Now I’m really confused. My brain hurts.

I need a palate cleanser.

Oh that did it. Much better. Palate cleansed and then some. Thank you, Mr. Irrfan Khan. You’re so pretty.

Not QUITE done with him yet. Funny, he resembles someone with whom I’m closely yoked.

Well played, Bollywood, well played.

Digression can be a bad thing from time to time.

Ici Madame Versace — she’s been committed to memory. Ok. Got it. Good. Finally. Ready to move on.

Aaaaaaaaaand I’m back to square one.

 

 

Weller, Paul Weller

Some folks dig the Beatles. Others dig the Dead. Many like me dig Zappa and Mary J.

However, I dig Paul Weller most of all.

Paul Weller

Weller is an incredible song writer and a musician. Yes, he’s a rare bird–he sings and plays things like gee-tars–at the same time! It’s madness!

In this day and age with all of that horrible screeching that people consider singing (I blame “American Idol”), and the use of the shit-blanket auto-tune, it’s a comfort to know that singer/songwriters are somewhere … out there … still making great music. They might not be pretty, but hot damn, they know how to write great lyrics and play real instruments. Granted, he doesn’t have the best voice, but his talent as both a lyricist and musician make up for his sleepy voice.

Weller gets it right every damn time he puts pen to paper and a pick to strings.

Here’s a sampling, but I suggest you check out the album “Wildwood” — you won’t be disappointed.

Plus, he puts on one helluva live show.

The Weaver — lyrics by Paul Weller.

Can you put a smile back on, all these faces
Of all the people from such different places
And if you can succeed, what then will you achieve,
With a different tune to play, you’ve been saving for a rainy day

Will you heal the scar that’s on, the years been wasted
The tears spent of the past, just filling spaces
Or is love forever gone, banished to a smaller part
Hide behind your wall and start, to get to the very heart

An’ if you wanna shoot the moon, make sure that you know why
Careful, fly too soon, better let someone else try

I’m the weaver of your dreams, I get rid of your bogeyman
I’m here to smash the shell you’re under, an’ get you into another thing

I’m the weaver of your dreams, I put paid to the rocket men
I’m here to break the spell you’re under, an’ get you started with another plan

Could you put a kiss back on, the lips so twisted
Waiting for the chance to start, dipping into wishes
Or is love forever gone, banished to a smaller part
Hide behind your wall and start, to get to the very heart

And in the midst of the darkest night
Think of me and hold me tight
So that I might live to see
All the weaving of my dreams

Country — lyrics by Paul Weller

I know a place not far from here
Where lifes sweet perfume fills the air
And if you want I’ll take you there
If you want I’ll take you there

Into the light out of the dark
Where only love can heal your heart
And if you want I’ll make a start
If you want I’ll make a start

This place I say – half hour away
Is that so far to go – so near
And further on we’ll find the time
And lose the discontent we feel – that we feel

I feel the time we’ve yet to reach
Is not yet within our own belief
But I feel sure that time’ll come
If it goes on at all, said – if it goes on at all, whoa – if it goes on at all, 
hey – it goes on and on and on and on 

I know a place not far from here
Where fresh cut grass will fill your hair
And if you want we’ll lay a while there
If you want we’ll lay a while there
If you want we’ll lay a while there.

Enjoy.


Cheesy title about taking chances goes here

On Wednesday, I’ll be winging it out to Los Angeles for about 2 months to look for journalism/media work. I’ll be subletting a place from a young actor who will be setting up shop for 6 months in NYC to star as Happy in “Death of a Salesman” opposite Philip Seymour Hoffman on Broadway. Mike Nichols will be directing. After a few starts and stops with dealing with sublets on Craigslist, I found Finn and Sarah’s place, had it checked out by one of my dearest, most trusted friends, and after getting his thumb’s up, I went for it.

To me, at this stage in my life, subletting an apartment is a big chance. Yes, it seems small to someone who’s had an easy go of it, but for me, right here-right now, it’s HUGE.

However, in the past, I have taken huge chances — and — surprise, surprise — risk taking has worked out well for me. Hard to believe, eh? Yeah, it’s hard for me to believe at this point in time too. I do this thing, see, this thing where I look back on my past experiences and remember them as being purely awful and disastrous. Funny I think that way considering they weren’t … maybe it’s the fear and gnawing anguish I felt that made them seem tantamount to drinking hemlock. The fear of miserable failure perhaps. The worst is remembered — not the joy felt by someone who eventually succeeds. And succeeds BIG.

So, here’s an edited list of the chances I took. The successful ones. Wait, all of the big chances I took were successes. Imagine that…they really were. I’m still getting used to the concept of McCrabass succeeding.

1) Sweet 16 in the land of Jerry Lewis worshippers- It was scary but oh so fun, and I learned to worship Reblechon cheese and the French language. Yep. Look it up. That summer I was introduced to Flaubert and Beckett. Need I say more? Oh, and I learned the French reallllly love Barbra Streisand. (thanks to my little sister, Catherine Shandler, for reminding me of this time — she inspired me to write this post.)

2) Westward, ho! Hey, when your parents say you MUST GO TO COLLEGE BUT WE’LL PAY FOR IT, you take advantage of it and go to the unfamiliar, the distant, the strange. Well, LA wasn’t that unfamiliar: Older sister Liza and two of my cousins, Jane and Caroline, were out at Occidental College so I had ventured out there a few times. I didn’t decide on Oxy though, I wound up at USC. Turned out to be a big mistake, which takes us to chance #3.

3) Left USC for UW/Madison — mid-year — mind you. Transferring mid-year just isn’t done, young turks.  Yeah, I was desperate to get the hell outta LA and far away from the ultra-conservative, ultra-Greek USC. Gag. So not a good fit for the tough-to-mold McCrabass. So, I took a huge leap of faith and ended up at a school I had never even visited.

Hot damn, I got lucky because I fell in love with Madison. How could one NOT get the warmies for Madtown?

Or my personal fave …

Who knew that once I set foot on campus that I would have to study? Something that wasn’t exactly encouraged at USC at the time. At Wisconsin, I studied Film, African languages and politics, and psychology. My first love was film, and what happened with that love affair is explained next.

4) Westward, ho part deux. Shit howdy — talk about wingin’ it. I had maybe one contact out there, but I worked that contact over like an old French whore. I was the networking queen and that skill kept me employed in the business for about 11 years plus another 2 or so back in Chicago. But, before we get back to Chicago (you knew it was coming), let’s chat about McCrabass in LA. I worked on movies. Lots of them. I made lots of friends — many of whom I’m still in contact with today. I had some serious relationships — one ended up in an engagement which eventually went south, one ended up with my friend Lisa dumping my recent ex’s CD player on the floor of his condo whilst helping me move out, then mimicking “Roseanne”: “I hate myself for that.”

Then there’s the Lump (affectionately nicknamed by David B), and a couple of decent fellas I managed to run off or who managed to turn out to be choads. In short, the LA-based McCrabass Man Pile is quite large.

5) Sweet Home Chicago. The last few years in LA, Ursula kitteh and I were fearless but that made us weary so we packed up the Honda and headed east — to the wilds of west suburban Illinois then into Chicago — where I dove into film teaching, improv training, marriage, journalism graduate school, journalism employment, then soul-sucking unemployment and other, tawdry various forms of humiliation which I have discussed here previously. I’ve been here for about 11 years, and most of my professional tenure here has been a right pig fuck of a disaster. The upside of this chance was I got to be with my family and that has been wonderful — worth the humiliations. They’re my rock, part of my soul and I wouldn’t be splayed on the floor in the middle of the night, banging out this post if it weren’t for them and their unending love and support.

Now, these days, things are different. A new chance has to be taken because Chicago is dead to inexperienced, but older than the normal newbie journos like me. No one wants to hire the older, way smart broad with tons of life experience. They want to hire young and clueless. Fine. Go for it. I just don’t need to witness the bad crap while freezing my tits off. I’ll do that in LA, thankyouverymuch.

6) Everything old is new again. On the 11th around 2pm, I’ll be cruising down the freeway heading toward my sublet, and with each minute I’m in LA taking in my new life there, something from my past LA life will come creeping into my mental Rolodex. It’ll be up to me to decide whether or not to file it or trash it. I’ll probably end up using some of it to enhance this chance I’ve been given. I’ll treat them as blessings, a lesson but one thing I’ve already realized–I’ll never go home again.