While many may know her from stints in television shows like “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Ray Donovan,” “Big Sky,” “Law & Order” and several others, actress Brooke Smith is invariably *BEST* known for her memorable portrayal of star-crossed Catherine Martin, the hapless senator’s daughter who is repeatedly posited to put the lotion in the basket lest she get the hose again in Jonathan Demme’s 1991 classic, “The Silence of the Lambs.” For better or worse, it was a breakout role that she will probably never entirely shake.
But beyond her acting, there’s a side to Brooke Smith many may not know. Now in her early 50’s, Brooke grew up in the suburbs of New York City, but became deeply ensconced in the nascent New York Hardcore scene of the early 1980s, hanging out with bands like Agnostic Front, Murphy’s Law, the Cro-Mags and Cause For Alarm. I wrote about her back in 2011, when her photos of the Lower East Side punk community came to light, and they were and remain a real revlation. As an added bonus, Brooke was also, for a time, the roommate of the late singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley (it was Brooke who first introduced him to the music of Bad Brains, whose “I Against I” he’d later cover). Back when the Earth was young, I posted an MP3 of that recording to a music discussion board in the wake of Buckley’s passing and bizarrely got in a really heated email exchange with the late singer’s mother, but that’s another story.
In any case, Brooke was recently a guest on Turned Out a Punk, the podcast of Fucked Up lead singer Damian Abraham I’ve mentionedbefore. Brooke is quick with some great anecdotes about the CBGB matinee scene and so much more. Plus, she’s got a book coming out about the whole thing. If you’re a fan of of this stuff as I am, it’s well worth your time. Check it out here.
I got a text from my filmmaker friend Drew, earlier today, invoking a name I’d not heard in a long time — Ugly George.
For those who may be unfamiliar with that distinctive name, Ugly George was a somewhat notorious New York City figure from the late 70’s. As mentioned on this ancient post, George was one of an elite, forward-thinking cadre of televisual pioneers who took to the burgeoning frontier of public access television with singularly prurient zeal. Alongside similarly inclined folks like Screw Magazine’s Al Goldstein and erstwhile porn actress Robyn Byrd, Ugly George hosted his own, late-night cable show on public access that pushed any number of envelopes and buttons. But where Al Goldstein basically used his show — “Midnight Blue” — as potty-mouthed bully pulpit for his disgruntled-consumer invective (in between clips of grainy porn and escort-service ads), and Byrd used hers as a somewhat numbingly repetitive vehicle for self-promotion, Ugly George had a gimmick all his own, and despite his inarguable disregard for taste, decorum and decent human conduct, his endeavors did indeed make for genuinely compelling viewing.
George’s particular shtick involved the man roving the streets of the city looking for inexplicably obliging women (he referred to them as “goils”) to “interview.” It should be noted that Ugly George dressed in a frankly ridiculous and disarmingly revealing silver get-up that one would be very hard-pressed to describe as “flattering” (hence the man’s moniker), augmented by weighty video-capturing equipment (that technology still in its toddlerdom) that made him look like a kind of portly, priapic cosmonaut.
Once George lured in a willing subject, he would then invite them to a nearby alley, secluded courtyard or vacant vestibule and somehow convince them to voluntarily strip on camera (among….umm…. other things), all the while luridly narrating for his viewers (whom he referred to as “students”) the progress of his pursuit. I imagine it was designed to be titillating, but even if you were understandably revolted by George’s antics, witnessing his strenuously unlikely powers of persuasion was pretty fascinating.
Astonishingly, Ugly George kept it up for a very long time. As a kid, I do remember seeing him on the streets every now and then (suffice to say, he was hard to miss). Beyond the audacity of his venture, Ugly George was no small-risk taker, loaded down with clunky video equipment strapped to his back, making him something of a vulnerable target when he fell afoul of a vexed boyfriend or self-appointed moral vigilante. I vividly remember local news reports about George getting the crap beaten out of him on a few occasions, which I suppose was an occupational hazard.
After a while, Ugly George seemed to fall off the radar, his name reduced to a sleazy footnote from a bygone era of a less salubrious New York City. I remember Al Goldstein going through a series of financial tribulations before passing away from a kidney disorder in 2013, and I believe Robyn Byrd is still out there somewhere (she once accosted me, circa 1986, at the Tower Records on West 66th Street, brandishing a copy of the Beastie Boys’ License to Ill and asking me if she should buy it, to which I said “yes”), but I never heard what became of Ugly George.
Prompted, presumably, by this same thought, my friend Drew texted me out of the blue this morning to see if I might know how to get in touch with him. Now, why Drew thought I might know how to reach his Ugliness momentarily begged several questions (what sort of company must he think I keep?), until he explained that he thought Ugly George would make for a great documentary. I concurred and said I’d reach out to another contact of mine, erstwhile Screw Magazine illustrator Danny Hellman (who once gamely sold me an original illustration of Cop Shoot Cop and Iggy Pop) to see if he might have any leads.
As it happened, however, while I was waiting to hear back from Danny (who, regrettably, never crossed paths with Ugly George), Drew got back in touch with me to say that someone had done an Ugly George doc. We were both deflated by this discovery. I remember feeling similar when I learned, right before meeting with a literary agent, that someone had beaten me to the punch with a book about idiosyncratic singer/songwriter and former Modern Lovers leader Jonathan Richman only a year earlier. These things happen.
In any case, in the event that the above description has piqued your curiosity or gotten you all hot and bothered, … you can view that documentary (sadly unembeddable) by clicking right here.
I have something of a long history of harping on about music biopics (summary: THEY SUCK), but -- in all candor -- in the wake of "D.O.A.," "The Punk Rock Movie," "The Great Rock N' Roll Swindle," Alex Cox's "Sid & Nancy" and Julien Temple's "The Filth & The Fury" -- to say nothing about Lydon's multiple memoirs, Jon Savage's "England's Dreaming," Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain's "Please Kill Me," John Robb's "Punk Rock: An Oral History," Steve Jones' "Lonely Boy" and Glen Matlock's "I Was a Teenage Sex Pistol" (and this is just a select smattering of media -- there has also been a pile of TV documentaries) ... is there any actual *NEED* for a biopic on the Sex Pistols?
I mean, even a cursory listen to the gratuitous cash-in that was Some Product: Carri On Sex Pistols tells you pretty much everything you could ever really need to know.
BOTTOM LINE: Want to learn about the Sex Pistols? Get ahold of a copy of Never Mind The Bollocks, listen to it and GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE!!
My friend Chung was instigating a conversation on Facebook, earlier today, based around a controversial billboard used to promote the Rolling Stones’ 1974 album, Black and Blue, which featured an image of a woman who’d been tied up and abused. While also comparable to a similarly objectionable billboard the Doors used to promote L.A. Woman (which featured a woman incongruously crucified on a telephone pole), I immediately thought of an old poster I’d spotted promoting a gig by — of all bands — Kraftwerk. I did some quick Googling to find the image in question, but came up with nothing. Then, I remembered that I’d probably put it on Get Back to Work, my ancient Tumblr page.
I started Get Back to Work (or Get Back Vassifer, really) as a complete lark — much like this blog — mostly as a means of aggregating images that appealed to my sensibility. This included album covers, GIFS, flyers, tour posters, promo photos, comics, memes, drawings, weird ads, archival pictures of New York, outtakes, t-shirts, movie stills, foreign movie posters, magazine covers, curious videos, risqué images, sci-fi, monster movies, cool graffiti, interesting book jackets, propaganda posters, Japanese robots, concert shots, ticket stubs, odd postcards, political humor, old New Yorker illustrations, badges, strange animations, unexplained phenomena, prurient doodles, and other bullshit like that, all presented usually without any explanation, in no order and more often than not without any helpful tags.
I occasionally had an agenda. It was a good place to store images, or at least set them to one side for later potential use here on Flaming Pablum. After a while, though, it just became an unwieldy pile of cool stuff collected for no readily apparent reason.
It seems I’ve occasionally added a scant image or two over the past year, but it’s far from a regular stop. But in searching for that Kraftwerk poster (which I eventually found here), I took a long, perilous trip down the rabbit hole. There are some truly great things to be found, if you’ve got the time.
Today, I turn the ignominious age of 53. It’s not a number I know what to do with. There are things I feel I should have accomplished by now that I haven’t, critical boxes that should have been checked by now that remain unchecked and practices I still partake in that I invariably shouldn’t. I am not pleased by any of these facts.
That all said, viewed through the prism of COVID-19-scarred 2020, I have absolutely no complaints. For the past eight months or so, I have been able to spend way more time with my children than normal circumstances would have ever allowed. As both kids are now firmly into their teens, they’re at an age that would traditionally have them scrambling away from the company of their parents with all stealth. This has been our silver lining.
The kids are both in school … kinda (hybridized in-person/remote learning models), the wife and I are both working, and everyone’s health has been a-okay thus far.
My favorite food is: There are many, all depending on mood and circumstance, but I’ll go with a perennial favorite: Prime Rib.
My favorite sport is: I abhor professional sports with a white-hot vengeance, but I did enjoy pitching for the TIME Magazine Softball team for 12 years.
The best show on TV is: Right now, I’m quite enjoying “Ozark” and I want “Succession” to come back.
The coolest person in the world is: I’m the last person qualified to answer that.
My best subject in school is: Art.
I’m really awesome at: Abusing adverbs.
If I could change my name, it would be: … really confusing for all parties concerned.
My favorite color is: Purple.
When I grow up I want to be: …able to walk outside without having to wear a mask.
My parents are too strict about: I only have one left, these days, and she’s more “particular” than “strict.”
My favorite song is: “Eighties” by Killing Joke
My favorite book is: “Please Kill Me” by Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain
When we stop for a treat, I get this: Sausage McMuffin with Egg
4 words that describe me are: Opinionated. Laborious. Volatile. Insufferable.
When I was little, I used to: … be less tall.
My favorite scripture story is: The ones with Satan in them.
My favorite season is: I am not partial to only one.
The best snack ever is: …probably not good for me, at this stage.
My favorite superhero is: Ghost Rider
The food that makes me want to barf is: I am not fond of Feta cheese.
The car I would love to drive when I turn 16 is: I did not have a license at 16, I am ashamed to say.
My best friends are: … not fond of having their relationships subjected to hiearchy and quantification.
The cutest girl/boy I know is: My children Charlotte and Oliver.
The most memorable day this year was: March 12, the day we were dispatched to work from home.
If I had one wish it would be: To have stopped COVID-19 before it was ever unleashed on the world.
The best thing that has happened to me this year is: Spending an otherwise inordinate amount of time with my kids.
One thing I want to learn to do this year is: Achieve effective regime change and impose overdue justice on the clown car of evildoers that is the Trump Administration.
The thing that scares me the most is: Four more years of Trump.
One thing I need to work on is: Just one?
If I could go anywhere it would be: Until the virus is gone, I have no real desires to travel.
The most important lesson I’ve learned this year is: Too many of my fellow Americans are irretrievably stupid, stubborn and arrogant.
If I could meet one person from history it would be: I’d prefer to look to the future.
Back in the summer of 1989, I landed an internship at a certain glossy music magazine. I won’t name it here now, but I’ve done so before, so if you really give a damn, you can probably figure it out. In any case, a huge part of why I was so excited to work at said magazine was because of several articles I’d read by a certain staff writer who I’ll also not name right now. I found their work to be scintillating, insouciant and ever on-point. When I actually got to the magazine and met the writer in question, however, it was a real bucket of cold water in the face. While their writing remained entirely informative, inspiring and entertaining, their personality left huge amounts to be desired, and they treated all and sundry with disdain and borderline contempt. It was a total let down.
Years later, I landed a staff position at what they were then-calling MSNBC Digital, acting as a homepage editor for the website of “The TODAY Show." In retrospect, the stark dichotomy between the sunny sensibility of said morning program and my own interests and predilections should have amply spelled out that I was pretty much doomed to fail at this job, but hey … a gig’s a gig. I tried to keep my pointed, contrary opinions about its content and programming to myself (no easy feat, and one I did not always master), and got on with it. I lasted about four years, and was squeezed out ignominiously. That particular chapter was not much fun and still smarts after all these years.
But when I was just getting started at TODAY dot com, a large, initially-perceived perk — for me, at least — was the concept of working literally just down the hall from Keith Olbermann, the … at-the-time … angrily eloquent mouthpiece of the Liberal Left. Having originally gotten his start in sports journalism — a field about which I know nothing, and care even less about — Keith had gradually distinguished himself as an insightful and incisive political commentator, one who pulled no punches, but delivered his simmering editorials with incredulous aplomb. During his years hosting MSNBC’s “Countdown,” his was a voice I’d regularly pay attention to, speaking what I considered to be finely sharpened truth to power.
As such, I was pretty amped to meet the guy and maybe shoot the shit around the water cooler, so to speak. Suffice to say, this fanciful scenario was never going to be on the menu.
While an amiable-if-sardonic presence on the television screen every evening, Keith Olbermann stalked around the windowless halls of that corner of 30 Rockefeller Plaza like Darth Vader onboard an Imperial Star Destroyer. He did not engage in witty banter — let alone eye-contact — with the junior staffers and woe unto thee who dared try to make casual conversation in the men’s room. To say the atmosphere was uncomfortably chilly around the man is an observation of charitable understatement. Much as with that afore-cited writer at the glossy music mag I’d interned at decades earlier, I did not end up befriending, chatting with, accosting or bugging the man in any capacity. End of story.
Evidently, it was not just the meager digital flunkies like myself who were put off. Keith Olbermann ended up leaving the auspices of MSNBC, but not because he was boorishly stand-offish, but rather over donations he made to the campaigns of Democratic congressmen. From there, he acrimoniously hopscotched to a host of different outlets — notably Current TV and GQ, for short spells — before landing back at ESPN. Given that I don’t give a rat’s ass about sports, I didn’t follow his progress there.
So, yeah, even though my own strikingly limited interaction with him wasn’t especially positive, it’s to be remembered that it’s sometimes better to not meet your heroes. But while I wouldn’t necessarily want to work in a cubicle outside his office, I still think the man’s political observations are well worth listening to, however floridly expressed they may be.
Newly released from his contract at ESPN, Keith has just launched his own YouTube Channel wherein he’ll be sounding off on the remaining days before the impending election, as we plunge headlong in a Hellish death-spiral into the gaping maw of chaos.
Here’s his first episode and — typically — he ain’t wrong.
Here’s a curious clip. Purportedly from 1986, here we see a supposedly tense stand-off in Greenwich Village — specifically on Waverly Place between Washington Square Park West and Sixth Avenue — between an alleged drug dealer and … Neil Diamond. Mr. Diamond has apparently had enough and is ready to inflict some damage with a billy club (although it looks more like a small baseball bat), successfully scaring off his would-be opponent … in front of a convenient camera crew.
After the almost-melee, Mr. Diamond laments the encroaching preponderance of crack vials in the leafy byways of his neighborhood. At no point does anyone bust out into an impromptu rendition of “Sweet Caroline."
Now, I realize, 1986 is quite a little bit ago — I’d have been a college freshman, at the time — being even then, picturesque Waverly Place in the Village was more likely to have been the scene of some comparatively placid weed deals (or, even more likely, oregano posing as weed) rather than a locale wherein to procure crack. I'm not entirely positive of the true providence of this little portion of video, and I’m not saying there wasn’t drugs or crime in the Greenwich Village of 1986, but one suspects this presentation might be more than a little “dramatized.”
Moreover, I had the great honor of meeting and interviewing the inimitable Neil Diamond at a Songwriters Hall of Fame function in 2019. That is very assuredly not Neil Diamond, although Gothamist isn’t entirely sure.
This, by the way, is the real Neil Diamond of New York City...
KISS never won a Grammy. Queen never won a Grammy. The Ramones never won a Grammy. Devo never won a Grammy. Blondie never won a Grammy. Talking Heads never won a Grammy. XTC never won a Grammy. The Stranglers never won a Grammy. The Buzzcocks never won a Grammy. Siouxsie & the Banshees never won a Grammy. Gang of Four never won a Grammy. Public Image Ltd. never won a Grammy. KILLING JOKE never won a Grammy. The Sisters of Mercy never won a Grammy. Bauhaus never won a Grammy. Rush never won a Grammy. The Cocteau Twins never won a Grammy. Talk Talk never won a Grammy. Julian Cope never won a Grammy. Echo & the Bunnymen never won a Grammy. Wire never won a Grammy. SWANS never won a Grammy. Cop Shoot Cop never won a Grammy. New Order never won a Grammy. Nick Cave never won a Grammy. The Replacements never won a Grammy. Husker Du never won a Grammy. The Smiths never won a Grammy. Parliament never won a Grammy. Bad Brains never won a Grammy. Venom never won a Grammy. Black Flag never won a Grammy. The Sex Pistols never won a Grammy.
Well, it's that time of year again. Sure, we have two whole days left, but for all intents and purposes, 2019 is over. As such, let's go ahead and dust off this old thing. Away we go...
What did you do in 2019 that you'd never done before?
I’m really wracking my brain, but I’m not coming up with anything.
Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Nope, as discussed here, I gave up my umpteenth attempt at a Dry January in 2019 after only ten days, citing any number of arguably ridiculous and weak-willed rationalizations for doing so, and here we are again. This year, however, there is a new variable.
Shortly after this past Thanksgiving, I scheduled a long-overdue appointment with my primary care physician. I’d been neglecting to take care of certain things, investigating a few others and I’d been recently perplexed by the way in which my left foot was seemingly no longer feeling the way it used to. There was no pain involved, but it seemed to fill my shoe in way that felt simply … different. I can only describe it as being akin to the sensation wherein your sock is sort of bunched-up, and you feel an excess of crowding at the toe. Of course, I immediately assumed I had gout, given my affinity for beer. Or, more correctly, given my foundation in Catholic guilt, I immediately felt I deserved gout. In any case, preoccupied with this assumption, I figured it was prudent to go have it checked out.
As it turned out, I do not have gout. I’m told that if I did indeed have gout, I’d bloody well know it, as the pain involved is said to rival similarly acute maladies like Kidney Stones (which I have experienced). This all said, my doctor couldn’t really explain my weird foot/toe problem, which was a bit frustrating.
On the plus side, I got a reasonably clean bill of health — no egregious deviations from normal in most capacities. On the minus side, he did suggest my blood pressure was a bit high, going on to suggest that a sharp curtailing of alcohol would invariably do me some good. So, while not quite “doctor’s orders,” I am taking that to heart, so to speak, and endeavoring to once again swear off the suds until I go back and see my medicine man for a follow-up visit in …. dear lord …. late February.
Mind you … it’s not January YET!
Watch this space.
Did anyone close to you give birth?
Not just yet, but one of my sisters-in-law is preggers and due in February.
Did anyone close to you die?
Mercifully, no one in my immediate family left us this year, although the mother of a dear friend of mine did, which was and remains quite upsetting.
What countries did you visit?
As documented here, the we spent a glorious five or six days in Paris this year, which I highly recommend.
What would you like to have in 2020 that you lacked in 2019?
A different president.
What date from 2019 will remain etched upon your memory?
Don’t know that there was a single, isolated date of significance, but last week, just a day before Christmas, we learned that our son was accepted, “early decision,” at the high school of his choice. We are very proud.
What was your biggest achievement of the year?
While I’m exceptionally proud of what my children have accomplished, I don’t think I particularly excelled in any specific capacity in 2019. I'm just trying to adopt, adapt and improve, as they say.
What was your biggest failure?
Too many options to choose from.
Did you suffer illness or injury?
No illnesses that I’m immediately aware of, but I did manage to lacerate my own tongue once or twice (as detailed here).
What was the best thing you bought?
Probably the flight tickets to Paris back in early October. Beyond that, I bought my son a guitar for Christmas, which he’d asked for upon returning from summer camp. I’m all for it. We’ll see how it goes. Watch this space.
Whose behavior merited celebration?
Once again, I’d cite my children. While, yes, both now in their teenaged years — and all the things that said age entails — they both take their schoolwork very seriously and routinely earn high marks on their respective report cards. Admittedly, there is now much more eye-rolling and attitudinal pushback than ever before, but I cannot complain, and remain very proud of both of them.
Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Pretty much the entirety of the Republican party and everyone who still slavishly supports the Trump Administration, regardless of the growing glacier of damning evidence of its unprecedented corruption.
Renovating the kids’ room, the Paris trip and the looming reality of paying two tuitions for my budding high schoolers.
What song will always remind you of 2019?
I hate to say it, but if there is a single song that reminds of 2019, it’s invariably one by someone like Lizzo. There were several songs I was fired up about this year (see list here), but I can’t name one that singularly screams “2019” to me.
Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
I wonder if I suffer from a bit of that seasonal melancholy, as I’m somewhat inexplicably blue quite often, these days. By the same token, that might also have something to do with how speedily my children are growing and how old I’m feeling.
Thinner or fatter?
I have it on sound authority that I have actually lost weight, although I couldn’t even begin to tell you how or why that is the case.
Richer or poorer?
Trying to live and work in Manhattan while simultaneously trying to feed, clothe and educate two children leaves one feeling always poorer.
What do you wish you'd done more of?
Earning. Paying closer attention to certain things.
What do you wish you'd done less of?
Drinking beer on my couch. Shirking various responsibilities. Procrastinating. Sounding off unsolicitedly about stupid shit.
How did you spend Christmas?
Out at my Mom’s place in Quogue.
Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
No clue.
Did you fall in love in 2019?
Already very much in love.
How many one night stands in this last year?
Zero. I remain happily married.
What was your favorite TV program?
I quite enjoyed “Succession,” I must say.
Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
There’s a certain accusation persistently thrown around by Trump and his slackjawed supporters that Liberal Democrats are driven by a judgement-impairing hatred for Trump. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi famously cited her own Catholic upbringing upon snapping at a reporter for suggesting same, claiming that her faith prevents her from harboring any hatred for anyone. That’s lovely and all, but being that I don’t hold any public office, and, despite also being raised a Catholic like Speaker Pelosi, am largely unencumbered by feelings of obligation to any religious dogma, I feel absolutely ZERO regrets about firmly stating that I genuinely HATEDonald Trump and his supporters with every fibre of my being. I’m not shy about it. I’m not ashamed about it. I think it’s healthy and, frankly, natural to express it. I won’t pretend otherwise.
What was the best book you read?
While I enjoyed “More Fun in The New World” by Tom DeSavia & John Doe and had higher hopes for Debbie Harry’s memoir, “Face It,” I have to say the book I probably got the biggest kick out of reading this year was my re-visitation of “The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories” by H.P. Lovecraft while dropping Oliver off at camp in location-specific Vermont this summer.
What was your greatest musical discovery?
Last year was a banner year in that I discovered the one-two punch of rock majesty in the form of Daughters and IDLES. 2019 didn’t bring as much fruit in that department, although I was quite enthused about the band John (shit name notwithstanding) and was happy to acquaint myself with 2013-era Nine Inch Nails, who I’d unwittingly slept on.
What did you want and get?
The long overdue impeachment of Trump.
What did you want and not get?
The long overdue dismantling of Trump’s Administration, his ouster from office, his indictment, his conviction and his imprisonment.
What were your favorite films of this year?
As someone who has always harbored a fascination for the story of the Manson Family, I have to say that I was quite into Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood."
What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 52, and spent it strolling the lovely byways of the Marais in Paris with my family. Again, highly recommended.
What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
For Robert Mueller to have more effectively and emphatically done his job.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2019?
Somewhere between “Is this inappropriate for a man my age?” and “Would one of the Stranglers have worn this?"
What kept you sane?
The necessity to provide for my family.
What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
None really spring to mind, I have to say.
What political issue stirred you the most?
Where does one begin?
Who did you miss?
Ric Ocasek, Daniel Johnston, Ranking Roger, Keith Flint, Steven Jameson, Vaughan Oliver and, most of all, Mark Hollis.
Who was the best new person you met?
Some new colleagues at work.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2019
I don’t know if he made the phrase up, but a writer named Richard Carlson published a book in 1997 called “Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff … And It’s All Small Stuff.” That’s pithy and clever and generically reassuring and all, but it’s also a load of bullshit. I’m not suggesting that you should frantically preoccupy yourself with all manner of daily minutia to the point of distraction, but I don’t think it’s at all prudent to tune out and skip the required reading in favor of the Cliff’s Notes either. By all means, keep life in perspective and prioritize accordingly, but pay fucking attention to the details, because therein is where you’re probably getting fucked or about to unwittingly fuck yourself. At two pivotal points in 2019, there were instances when had I just been paying a wee bit more attention, I might have saved myself a substantial boatload of trouble. In both cases, things worked themselves out, but in neither instance were those outcomes guaranteed. Before you hit send, re-read that e-mail. Keep your bankbooks in order. Don’t just take their word for it. Study your monthly statements. Follow up and follow through. Send prompt thank-you cards. And as the Ice Cube once sagely rapped, check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Song lyric that sums up 2019
It’s February The world is wearing shorts The world is wearing its heart on its sleeve There’s bad news to report But the president can’t read
So, yeah, I watched the Oscars last night. I have precious little to say about it beyond that I truly appreciate that "Bohemian Rhapsody" did NOT win the Best Picture award. It was like a decent VH1 movie at BEST. I didn't see most of the other stuff.
In any case, during the course of proceedings, they showed this Budweiser ad featuring Charlize Theron demonstrating her billiards prowess in a bar. Yeah, yeah, ho hum, right? Oooh, she's sexy, etc. etc.
The thing that got my attention was during a fleeting glimpse of the jukebox ... the cover of Miami by The Gun Club...
It is probably the highest-profile exposure the band and the late, great Jeffrey Lee Pierce will ever receive, however brief.
Watch the full ad...
This, incidentally, should you not be familiar, was The Gun Club....
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