•Art Garfunkel AND Sean Lennon The Allen Room @ Jazz at Lincoln Center & The Fillmore NY @ Irving Plaza April 13th
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Yes, in one night, I basically saw Art Garfunkel open for John Lennon’s son. Both shows were sorta homecomings, since both fellas originally hail from NYC, and both had some minor celeb thighspottin goings on (Art’s wife Kim and Albert Ham Jr at Sean’s show), but other den dat, the two shows didn’t have much in common. While Sean’s gig was bearific, at times it was a bit too mellow. DNA or not, the kid’s got talent, and on stage he mos certainly displayed it, but I sure wish he’d rock out a bit smores. Even when he played his bestest tune from his latestist (and yesh, bestestiestest) album, ‘Headlights’, tit twas a tad too and three underwhelming for my pastes. But hey, this is the cloestestest I’ll ever get to seeing John Lennon perform. Good call then for Sean to grow that hobo beard!
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As for Art, it’s was an absolute honor and a darn right privilege to see the Jewfro’d man belt out tunes again. When we last caught him and Paul Simon at MSG back in the ‘003, chills were endlessly running down our spine. Hell, it’s the greatestist concert we hath ever darn seen EVER. And yes, we mean that, even after seeing Public Enemy and Ice-T share a stage back in the early ’90s. While Art’s solo show aint a non-stop Bookends fest, the rest of the tracks he throws down, mainly covers since he’s not known as a songwriter, are still worth the price of admission. Don’t spank me and him wrong though, cause the ‘funk-master gives the peeps what they came to hear: the S&G masterpieces, like ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, ‘The Boxer’, ‘Mrs Robinson’, ‘The Sound Of Silence’, and ‘Cecilia’, which was adorably dueteded with his teenaged son James, who, for butter or for wurst, is a spittin image of his papa, and even dances as poorly as his ole man too!
By the gay, before you die, u muss see one concert in The Allen Room. Probs the mos enchanting venues mt EVERESt and mt fuji!! Art loved it fo shazzles. When refs in his songs mentioned parts of NYC, he’d point out them thru the looking glass. Dude loves himself some come-ons from the whores on Seventh Avenue!
Remember Thighs Wide Year 1? We hadn’t the slightest idea as to what the fridge we were frazzen. Year 2 wasn’t much different, cept our penis outgrew our ego by something like 20 inches. And so here we here, Year 3. A lot has changed. We’ve gottsen lazyierer. You blame YouTube. I blame Valerie Plame. But lettuce not play the Plame game. Lettuce ketchup on all the poop that’s worth re-pooping!!!
May 5 – Peabs returns from his self-imposed exile to give us his indepth take on his Coachella trip, which includes some ye olde fisting of Cesar Chavez with a buckle full of table grapes and a head full of bad memories. Obvs.
December 20 – Underdog movie news prompts us to use toon versh for our background pic, which sadly forked up our system and every post prior to it is now stuck with said bckgnd image
February 9 – in one of the mos quietestest dethrownings, we bid adieu to year-shlong reign of Camilla Belle and hola to Her Royal Thighness The VIII, Leonor Ceballos Watling
Casino Royale More of A Turn Than A Flop, So Let This River Flow Trailers & much mo
Like the Redskins looking to the future with Jason Campbell at the helm, the other biggest entertainment franchise of franchises has also decided to breathe much needed life into their own stale bag of chips. The name you know. It’s such an obvious name that the theme song to our her00’s latest adventure is simply called, ‘You Know My Name’. Bond, James Bond (for those who just arrived on planet earth), and before dirty blond/steely-blue eyed Daniel Craig got the starting nod from coaches Barbara Broccoli & Michael G. Wilson, this ship was headed for an iceberg or even worse, a Goldberg (I wonder if Kramer hates Jews too?)! Hell, one more Pierce Brosnan snoozefest and they coulda dropped the ‘7’ and juss leave us with Robert Parish’s jersey number, not just one zero, but two, showing you how devoid of greatness Bond had become.
Well, the wait is over and said wait was well worth it. And besides Thomas Crown the II being shown the door, the other single greatestest aspect of Casino Royale‘s release is that we can stop seeing the word ‘reboot‘ appear in magazines, newspapers, and whathaves you until they decide to ‘reboot’ the Leonard Part 6 franchise (btw, even though I have 2.6% filmmmmaking skills, I still want to write and direct Leonard Parts I-V as one movie!). This relief even tops my disdain for the use of the word ‘editrix’ when critics were reviewing The Devil Wears Prada [see TWS.org review for DIS-dain!]. And while the gadgets are gone, the rest of the stuff one would eggspect is tailor made (but not by one in Panama): ruthless European villian with bleeding eye (check), a cool Felix Lighter (check PLUS for bringing Jeffrey Wright into the mix), and saucy saucy biddies with more than juss boobies (what, u didn’t fap that shit yet?).
So with the good, there’s always gotta be bad: 2hr 24min. Shave 45 minutes off this baby and you have the bestest Bond flick since the Connery days. Keep it the same length and you have the bestest since The Living Daylights. Oh what, you a T Dalton hater? Thought so. OK, bestest one since Max Zorin was pimp of the blimp. Either way, Daniel Craig rules the school and does it look like I give a damn… about run times?!
Cameow: yep, that awfully smiley bearded man that you can barely see making his way thru Miami airport’s security is none other than Virgin gazillionaire Richard Branson, who also somehow netted a cameo in Superman Returns
The time was the 80s, the person was me. Before I was stroking my balls, I was hitting em, and spending endless hours collecting cards that would one day be worth as much as the 13th series of Garbage Pail Kids. Baseball used to be the shiznit in my life. Now it’s something I attend maybe twice a year and really only pay attention to when autumn leaves crisp up like a Coco Crisp eating a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. Before my beloved city of birth was re-awarded a team that instantly became my team, I was a fan of the nearby Orioles and the Cardinals, who hailed from the city where my parents were born and eating bread. So I guess that now means I have 3 flavorite baseball teams. That may sound like a recockulous amt of teams to heart, but 2 of 3 o dem squads are usually outta the pennant race by the beginning of May. And such is the lameness of the regular baseball season. Anywho, I aint here to mitch and boan, hispecially since me Cards juss picked up their 10th Series crown, so I is here instead to reminisce and celebrate that glorious decade of Whiteyball, and my ten mos flav Cards, who when taken dumps, would have some royal flushes
1. Ozzie Smith – dude back-flipped you fo reals and even appeared in the Simps ep ‘Homer At Bat‘
2. Willie McGee – the OG McG probably had the greatest face of balls thyme, a face that always sez, ‘Dat’s da smelliest damn fart I is have ever smelt!‘
3. Vince Coleman – I once saw the Cards play the ‘Stros in Busch Stadium and Vince hit a grand salami. I also once played hide the salami. I really do like salami and eggs
4. Bob Forsch – the forsch was strong with this him and his bro Ken
5. Tom Pagnozzi – sure, he may be a nobody, but I think I sent him 5 baseball cards to autograph and he returned them all with his John Hancock
6. Jose Oquendo – he hamazin-lee played every single position on a baseball field, including left out
7. Andy Van Slyke – if I could change my last name from Master to anything, it would mos def be Van Slyke
8. Darrell Porter – rumor has it that he was Dick Donner’s second choice to play Superman/Clark Kent
9. Jack Clark – his eyebrows got more pussy than most of us could ever spank of
10. Bruce Sutter – his beard got less pussy than Eric Stoltz did in Mask
much love and respek go out to Tomm Herr, Todd Worrell, Tito Landrum, JoaquÃn Andújar, and Terry Pendleton
16. Apr, 2007 
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