Thighs Wide Shut

“Congrats o’ Master o’ Thighs! Wanna go get a funnel cake with us?” – LL & Mischa

Thighs Wide Shut has finally reached its first major milestone. Go to Google, type THIGHS WIDE SHUT (with or without quotes) and then hit “I’m Feeling Lucky”. Everytime you do this, you will automatically go directly to this super amazing site, which you are already enjoying. That means TWS is the #1 Thighs Wide Shutter around. Move over lame-o Salon.com article and whatever the hell this is, West Coast Swing Dancing, cause the Thigh Master is here to stay!! This is my domain biz-acthes. Big ups, mad props, and many a thanks to YOU, my dear readers, for making this momentous occasion a reality. Next stop: “Getting Lucky” with Lindsay Lohan and/or Mischa Barton.

Thursday night was so fetch. One amazing movie and one bliz-zazing concert. If only every night of my path-ethic life could be like this. OK, throw in some HJs & BJs, maybe a lil bowling, and then yer talking! My eyes hadn’t peeped so much beauty since last weekend’s trek to Coatcheka, Cali. My pants were around my ankles for most of the night (in preparation for No Pants Day), cause I was watching two of the most gorge-yus liz-adies do their thang. Imagine watching Lindsay Lohan ROCK out on the big screen for a good hour and thirty-seven minutes and then meself riz-ocking out to the hot bod and sweet sounds of Sharin Foo and the Raveonettes, all in one magical evening. I priz-ohm-is, a full review of Mean Girls (…and Coachella Part III) will be posted haste, but I think I need to start 15 new blogs just to have enuff space to write my treatise on LL’s latest opus. In the meantime, here’s the deli-yo on the Raisinets show:

The Raveonettes

Thursday, May 6th – Bowery Ballroom

If Buddy were alive today, he’d tell the ‘nettes to “Rave On”.

If you’ve never seen a show at the Bowery Ballroom, you really haven’t lived. It’s gots to be one of these finest venues in the country. Not only is it tiny and you can get really close to Meg White‘s splendidilicious boobies, but there’s tons of bubbalicious hipster chicks who rock out with their… rocks out. I’ve seen all sorts of shiite there: Blur, The Hives, and even Huey Lewis & The News (which was 1/2 umcredible and 6/7 snoozefest). Anywho, the Raveonettes raved on this night, like Buddy Holly being swallowed up by BlackDildoMotorcycleClub‘s roaring g-tars. In today’s overproduced music scene, it’s refreshing when a band can reproduce their signature sound live. This is the case here. It’s an open and shut case. Anyone know where I can find Justin Case? Case closed.

Who conned the Fonz into directing this?

Sorta like the Black Keys, the Raveonettes aren’t eggzactly original, but they sure beat crap on a stick like not so thin Lizzie Mark McAguirre. The ‘nettes only have an album and 1/2 worth of material, but they gave it their all throughout the hour-long set… unlike Cop And A Half, which was thirty-seven minutes longer. They kicked through continents and ripped through all the hits: “That Great Live Sound”, “Attack of the Ghost Riders”, “Do You Believe Her “, and my personal rave, “Little Animal”. A lot of the songs sure sound the same, but who cares? If you get to hear the same 3-minute gem over and over, that still constitutes a rockin’ good time. Check the Rock n’ Roll Handbook… it’s in there.

You can spell “food” w/out Foo.

And I’m pleased to announce that I am finally in love with someone over the age of 18. Who? Sharin Foo. No, she’s not part of the Foo Tang Clan/Foo Fighters, or owner of Ruby Foo’s, or even Stephen a foosball champion, but just one super-crazy-dope-fly Danish girl. I wish she was an apple strudel danish so I could lick her sweet sugary outisde and taste her gooey insides. Sorry you had to read that, but she’s so f-in smoking. I was so hot after Mean Girls that I had to take cold shower, and after Foo-Schniker melted my heart and raised my flag, I had to have an ice bath like Tim Robbins in Jacob’s Ladder. Catch them if they come to yo city. It’s worth it. And be sure to bring a change of underwear.

Before I can review the LL rock-a-thon known as Mean Girls, I have to tell you all about the spate of horrid movie previews my eyes peeped. Along with Brad Pitt’s un-credible Troy accent and Spidey 2‘s shady FX, It’s going to be a long f-in summer.

– Box office queen, LL need not worry about 2nd-rate tweenster Hillary Muf. Why? Cause it looks like Lizzie Whorebag takes all the scripts Ms. Lohan turns down. Peepage the trailer to A Cinderella Story. What the fudge is that crap all about? And since Hillllary Muffff is such a LL wannabe, they even recruited Chad Michael Murray who was LL’s love interest in Freaky Friday. So f-in Beck. But bee leavea you me, if LL was in this, I’d be camping out for it right now.

– Sleepover: I don’t know who the target audience for this shitpic is, but I’ll assume it’s blind people or complete morons like Claus, who knows only what he reads in the New York Post.

– Guy Pearce probably had short-term memory when he signed on to a movie about two baby tigers who grow up to be big tigers, called something like Simmba and Dikembe Mutmbo: Two Brothers. This is a perfect movie to take kids to or if you want to get real laid.

– Finally, I couldn’t find the extended new version of the The Stepford Wives the trailer, but do not seek it out! It ruins the whole f-in the movie. And who was the mastermind that thought casting Bette Midler was a good idea? Just rent the original, OK?

Btw, when are we going to see a Mischa Barton movie? I want to have a Boston Tea Bagging party near the region of her head.

Please to Mischa, Hope you guess my name!

Â

Know what May 15th is? Masturbate-A-Thon 2004. I support any event where meat or abusing one’s meat is the driving force. Please don’t bother me while I’m in the “special room” cause I’ll have plenty on my mind… namely Lindsay Lohan (much more on here later) and new love of my life, Mischa Barton. Link via Chillary G.

Where did we leave off? Oh yeah, I was balls tired and passed out with a belly full of In-N-Out Burgers. And away we gogh gogh!

Saturday May 1st

Don’t you just love vacation? All you end up doing is waking up earlier than you normally would, you spend a shitload of money, and you’re always running around, never relaxing. Nonetheless, this is Coachella time, and mees gots to get my groove on.

The cigarette that’s for ghetto hipsters

Woke up round 8 am, walked outside to smoke a chub and to check the weather. How is my cigarette already lit without me lighting it? Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s 123782183 degrees and it’s only 8 AM!!! It tasted like burning. With the liz-adies asleep, me hit the road and picked up some water, a $28.99 carton of Parliament Menthol Lights and some water. What’s that smell? O lord, I’m not getting swamp ass already, am I? Got my first useless “What’s Up Coachella” text message. It told me it was going to be hot, that I should drink a lot of water and wear sun tan lotion. Jeez. If I wanted motherly advice, I would have called mumsy. Any-haze, the gals finally woke up, took 14 hours to get ready, cause they girls, and we wiz ready to rock steady.

Wees stopped at some dumpy-ass place that served cheap breakfast. This eating establishment was right out of David Lynch’s head. It also doubled as a Budget moving store. There was mad people up in that bitch and the only people working was the cook, one sloppy waitress, and some sweaty-ass dude who kept forgetting to get me OJ and the check. Although there were mad flies abound, the food was top notch. Top notch as in it sure beats starving! Off to the show.

Richie and Julia Gulia can’t decide whether to czech out Howie Day or Erase Errata

Quick background: The event is called Coachella, which is the name of a town, but the event actually takes place in Indio (also the name of Robert Downey Jr’s child). It’s held at the Empire Polo Field, which is where they filmed the polo scene in Pretty Woman and one very special episode of 90210 that I can’t quite remember too well. This is Coachella’s 5th year and my second tour of duty. I went to 2002’s shebang, which included Bjork, Oasis, The Strokes, The Chem Bros, Charlatans UK, and Jurassic 5. There are two outdoor stages, 3 tents, a film festival, strange bikes you can ride, shit to buy, and every food imaginable (plenty more on that later). This is the closest thang to the original Woodstock for us hipsterinos, but it’s staged every year… and they keep topping themselves with the f-in lineup. This aint no Warped Tour, no OzzFest, no Limp Biszkskit poop-a-thon, and this isn’t your daddy’s Jim Croce concert. This is fucking Coachella. Hellz yella.

After taking some ghetto-back ways to avoid traffic, we arrived in the grassy parking lot. 3 lots and one smelly ass horse stable later, we arrived at the gates. This was it, the moment I’ve been anally preparing for since January. Soon as we got in we had to use the port-a-potties. The show barely started and the toilets in a box reeked worse than microwaving fish. Hot rotting poo aside, it’s time to f-in riz-ock.

The Sounds were the first band we peeped. And lemme tell you, the sounds of the Sounds sounded great. They played their three breast songs, “Seven Days A Week”, “Dance With Me”, and “Living In America.” Then it was off to watch 2 seconds each of The Sahara Hotnights, The Evens, and 5-time Coachella alumnus, Peretz (aka Perry Farrrrelll). After that we were stilled by the sounds of The Stills. I didn’t know much about em, but still, they put on a decent enuff show to watch most of their set. Still-rific!

“Joyous”? More like BOOOOORING

Beck was up next in the tiniest of all the 5 stages. We knew there would be a crowd so we made camp as all the hipsters with the ironic tee-shirts began to fill up our surroundings. It all started off fine with “Cold Brains”, but it went straight down the toilet like a goldfish from there. He started playing boring-ass music and putting me to sleep. He was so quiet and boring that the ghetto-blasting tunes from the “dance” music tent overshadowed him. Mees seen the Beckster before, but this was horrid. Is this what happens when you marry a Ribisi? To the heeezey. And I aint the only one who was disappointed. Uncle Grambo likened it to a, “back alley abortion of a performance.” So f-in durst.

I should have followed my heart and checked out more of Junior Senior. When we did hear em in a smelly tent, they were covering “Twist and Shout.” I felt like I was at a Bat Mitzvah and “We Are Family” was up next, so it was time to bolt. Walking around we heard the Hieroglyphics singing “Clint Eastwood”? Why? Whooops. I found out later that Del the Funky Homo (a Gorillaz member, for those of you living in a cave) joined them onstage. A few Death Cab For Cutie (by far, the lamest band name I have ever heard of) tunes later and it’s off to another smelly tent to czech out the Black Keys. Megbot used to work at an Akron record shop with Key maestro, Dan Auerbach. It’s been awhile since they’ve seen each other, so backstage humping was out of the question. Anwyho, the Black Keys f-in rock. It’s not like their sound isn’t crazy original (think White Stripes meet Led Zep blues), but its miles away butter than most of the Jimmy Eat World shit out there. By the way, wasn’t JEW supposed to be there? Maybe Beck and his lame-ass-ness scared them off.

I dare you to name one thing that’s fried and covered in sugar thats awful

With a bunch of crap that I didn’t want to see, it was lets eat junk food time. Why eat a complete meal when you can eat crap. Sure they had healthy shit like fruit and hippie-vegan garbage for hippies, but I aint having it. It’s vacation and I’m packing on the pounds (sort of like any other day for me). While the liz-adies waited in the huge smoothie line, I opted for a funnel cake covered in caramel and o course, powdered sugar. As I was wolfing that down like a champ and joined the liz-adies in line, I noticed they were selling frozen chocolate covered banananananas… my Achilles heel, my kryptonite, my secret lover. Life is good, and my belly agrees!! During the break in the action, I also attempted to meet up with Uncle Grambo, ole IU pals Shady, Pfife Dawg, and Busta Hayman the II, and Lindsay Lohan via text massaging, but my cellie-cell was on the fritz lang. I guess when you pack 50K + peeps into one place, techmology breaks down. Oh well, the liz-adies are all the company I need…

Checked out kibble and bitz of Sparta as everyone awaited the most awaited band that everyone awaited to see: The Pixies. I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life. I used to rock out to Doolittle and Trompe Le Monde while I played hours of Nintendo’s Dragon Warrior. I felt like everything was coming full circle. So how did they sound? PERFECT. F-in mint. And they played EVERYTHING. “Debaser” was debomb. “Here Comes Your Man” made me come on my hand. “Wave of Mutilation” was a wave of awesomenesssness. Sounded better than when I first heard it in the 2nd best Christian Slater movie of all time, Pump Up The Volume. Towards the end of the set, Megbot really had to pee and dragged me along. When I got back, I found out I missed “Where Is My Mind?” I was about to ask Megbot where is her mind for making me go with her. Oh well, there’ll be plenty of chance to hear it again when los Pixies comes to NY later this summer and winter. It’s hard to describe how a band really sounds… especially if you have a limited vocabulary, so why don’t you just download their whole Coachella set for yourself. Link via Burned By The Sun.

A qwik stop for the Rapture and DJ Laurent Garnier, and we had to scurry back to the main stage for a lil Radiohead. Me love the Radiohead, but I still don’t understand why they are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO huge in America. I’m more baffled about Coldplay, but they aint playing, so lettuce not speak of them ever again. Why is Radiohead so popular? This was their only North American stop of 2004 and it basically led to the 1st Day selling out. The set was pretty much the same as when I saw them at MSG in Rocktober. Everyone went wild when Thom Thumb and his epileptic dance style were kicking it to “Creep.” That isn’t even a good Radiohead song people. Qwik side story. I won tickets to see Belly (“Feed the Tree”) back in the early 90s. Radiohead was the opening band. Yep, the opening band for BELLY (who suffered the Rolling Stone cover curse)! I was young, dumb, and filled with foam. I was crowd surfing during “Creep” and got to touch Thom’s hand. I never did wash that hand… until that day I was trapped in a closet and had to wipe my ass with my left hand.

Mischa, let me buy you a funnel cake

After dat, there were 3 bands all on at the same time that I wanted to catch. At this point, my eyes were going to fall out of my head and I was too stoned to even spell “Agrarian Socialism.” Phantom Planet played in the cursed Beck tent, so that was already 2 strikes against them. And by the time we got to the tent, we just missed “Big Brat.” Since I didn’t want to hear Mischa Barton’s O.C. theme song, it was time to pay a visit to Electric Six. That lasted about 4 seconds, and Kraftwerk ended our noche. I don’t really care for their “music”, but I do like the Flea/Peter Stormare ripoff group, Autobahn from The Big Lebowski, and for that reason alone, I had to peep them.

Day 1 in the can. A 14 mile walk in the dark back to the car. I felt like a zombie. I wish I felt like a mummy. That way I could at least sleep in a sarcophagus and live at the Met. I was covered in dirt and sweat, but I was too friggin’ tired that I couldn’t even take a shower. I think I scared the liz-adies, cause they said I passed out with my eyes open. But were my thighs wide shut?

Kwik cool sightings on the day: Joan hotness of Joan of Arcadia fame and a dude wearing a Cutters shirt. BIG UPs!!

Sorry, I didn’t have the balls
to take a pic with Joan