Thighs Wide Shut

– I think instead of banning gay marriages, we need to ban Z-list celebs from creating their own urls. I mean, I don’t bee leave for a second that anyone would marry a hippo, let alone, would want to read about it. And Blair Warner, get the facts straight, cause people stopped caring about your life about 16 years ago. [Link via Zach de la Roachclip] At least two of your schoolmates are putting their names to good use: MindyCohn.com and KimFields.com. Don’t even bother searching for Nancy McKeon.com or .org, cause there aint one.

– Where does your name rank within the 1000 most popular American names? My sorry a$$ name is ranked #2. That’s why I’m legally changing my name to Thigh Master. And people who name their children Del Monte or Courvoisier should be shot on sight.

– Perry Farrell is not giving up on this year’s Lollapalooza. Hey Per, just get the Pixies, Lips, and Spree to play in NY for one day and all will be forgiven.

– Los Beasties’ To the 5 Boroughs went straight to #1 on the Billboard Charts. Wow, sadly this is the 1st album I’ve bought in ages that’s hit #1. I mean, I’d rather dump on Usher’s CD than buy it.

– Australia seems to be a bit behind the times with this headline: Lindsay’s So Hot.

– What do Mr. T, Pete Rose, the 6 Million Dollar Man, and the San Diego Chicken all have in common? They’ve all had their own candy bars or gum.

– Here’s a lil time waster for you.

– The real reason the internet was invited: Rate My Camel Toe (NSFW) [Link via Tim “Fudger” Altie]

– Lettuce be honest here folks, what’s all this hubbub about Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 gettin’ an R rating? I guess I’m forgetting about all those 13-16 year olds who get to vote in November.

– Our pal The Thinker has taken his thinking over to Europe and the results are umcredible. Czech out his report from Venice.

– And finally, please whatever you do, don’t click on this link that includes many a pictures of men with their wieners between their thighs. [Thanks, er no thanks to Warner Sistahs]

Wham!

– It’s official, The Sopranos are back from the dead. Or more like back with the dead. Finally, something actually happened on the show and I’m not talking about some fat dude getting head in a parking lot. I kept pleading for more whackings per episode, but my confidant Dicky Greenleaf/Mr. Pibbums told me that’s not what the show is about. Me was like, me don’t care, more whackings!! They’re in the mob. Mob = whackings, end of f-in story. Well, the writers stashed away their Annette Bening/horse fetishes and got back to the whacking!! And as eggspected, the family whacked-a-mole, who’s name be Adrianna. Don’t worry folks, she’s going to be reincarnated as Joey’s sister on the Friends spin-off. With this and last week’s whacking of Sherry Palmer on 24 I haven’t seen something this shocking, this lurid on television, since the series premiere of The Mullets on UPN. With one episode left, all hell is about to break loose like a girl turning 16. Too bad season numero seis doesn’t air until 2006!! By then Lindsay Lohan will be turning 20, the major awards will be handed out the World Beard and Moustache Championships in Berlin, and Greece still won’t be ready for the 2004 Summer Games.

– The word vulva.

– The Streets’ new album, A Grand Don’t Come for Free, is mos def worth picking up. Normally you’d think that 50 minutes of a guy just talking about fish and chips and getting ripped wouldn’t be all that amusing, but some how Mike Skinner pulls it off. What was known as “spoken word” has now become “blogging over phat beats”.

– Ponch still cares about highway safety! And what have you done for me lately Larry Wilcox?

– For 16 days in February ’05, Reichstag wrapper, and MC, Christo and his bizatch, Jeanne-Claude, will be bringing their long gestating dream art project to Central Park. 7,500 Gates, 16 feet high each, will be built and follow the edges of 23 miles of footpaths. If yer Wes Craven for mo information about this massive undertaking, I’d suggest you head on over to the best art museum this side of the globe, The Met.

– This guy also enjoys hot chicks, but he happens to have more time on his hands then me.

– Props to Marty Score and his The Last Temptation of (the) Christ. It wasn’t as well directed as Mel Gibson’s overblown snuff film, but he did let Jesus rock out with his coccyx out and bang a hooker… no seriously, and he even had children and broke-danced for shekels! Le only down side to the movie was what me and Wannamaker dubbed, one of the worst casting decisions ever: Harvey Keitel as Judas.

– I’m an Airhead and you will be one too after checking out the French duo’s KCRW session on LA. F-in mint.

– Napoleon Dynamite is the breast comedy I have seen since The Big Lebowski and Rushmore. It is that good. I took in my second free screening on Sunday and I intend to attend a 3rd.

For those of you non-believers, I urge you to go. I’m going to urge overkill you so much that I’m even offering up 5 free passes (that’ll admit two each) to a NY screening on Thursday, June 10th. Be one of the first 5 to email me and the passes are yers. And if you don’t like it, the Thigh Master will give you yer money back… And remember, a vote for Pedro is a vote for your wildest dreams!

– Waste yer time with this suckers.

– First there was You’re The Man Now Dog, now there’s this Milton Waddamsism. [Link via Shady Harry’s Son]

Bam!

– Wanna buy a used Arnold Schwarzenegger cough drop? Too late. Now get yer ass to Mars.

– Puff Daddy cares. No, he really does. My girl the Garvester weighs in on his politcal ambitions.

– Have you seen the new GI Joe Spy Troops cartoon movie yet? Don’t. Unless of course you don’t want to save whatever’s left of your precious childhood memories that George Lucas and his new Star Warses haven’t already urinated on. It looks like 3rd-rate Pixar animation meets The Lawnmower Man‘s long outdated virtual reality.

– For some odd reason, I was drawn back into The Whitney to get one last bad look at their forgettable Biennial. No change in opinion. Modern art can lick my chode. Note to Whitney: drop the pretentious crap and photos of guys’ shlongs and buy some more Edward Hoppers! Hop to it.

– I saw all of about 12 minutes of something with a Philip Glass score called Naqoyqatsi. I felt like I was walking through The Whitney again. My eyes can only take so much Clockwork Orange style torture. I was cured alright.

– So if there’s a 3-D church online, when’s the first synagogue being posted? I always need an eggcuse to eat virtual pigs in a blanket and rock out to “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge or “Celebration” by Kool And The Gang.

Thank You Cannes!

– The French gave us the Statue of Liberty and a kind of toast. They also handed out the prestigious Palme d’Or (aka, the top prize) of the Cannes Film Festival to Michael Moore for his revealing documentary about the Bushes, Fahrenheit 9/11. I wonder if he’ll have trouble finding a US distributor now. Czech out Ebert’s report of the festivities here.

And besides being named coach of the year and being 1/2 pregnant, 1/8 lesbian, t.A.T.u. are going to star in their own cartoon movie! It’s being co-produced by Japan and Russian and will be released overseas this November. This toon is going to be hottest thing on the silver screen since Kathy Bates got nekkid in About Schmidt. I’ve seen a lot of messed up stuff in my life since working at an animated porn factory, but there were two things I always longed to see: Jessica Rabbit naked [nudity, duh] and the dykenamic duo from t.A.T.u. get animated and then… get animated, if ya know what I mean. Gawd I’m one semi-old dirty bastard. Good thing I don’t believe in Hell!

Not fluent in French Fries? Then maybe yer dumb like me (and these people) and didn’t know that RSVP stood for Repondez, s’il vous plait or Revolutionary Surrealist Vandal Party.

I dabble a little bit with EA’s FIFA Soccer 2004, but other than that I’m no longer a video game junkhead for the first time in my life (I was born with Atari’s Combat in my blood). That all may all change once Nintendo’s new handheld drops. This thang gots two screens, touch-screen input, voice recognition, and wireless communication. I bet this thang is 76 times more powerful than one of those Commodore PET Computers they stuck us with in kindergarten.

Coolest ping pong you ever did see here (Windows Media)! [Link via Hot Tuna Heltz]

If you were on death row, what would your final meal be? Mom take note cause I’ve had naughty thoughts about an almost 18 year-old and may go away for a few years: My final eatsings would be a 5 biscuits from Popeye’s, a pecan waffle from Waffle House, bacon, Tangy Taffy, 12 funnel cakes, 2 frozen chocolate covered bananas, a Steak & Shake vanilla milkshake, and one Super Big Gulp of Cherry Coke to wash down that heart attack. Anywho, here’s a site chronicling the last suppers of dead men walking. [Link via Warner Sisters]

Speaking of almost 18 year-old future wives, I should just rename my site Thighs Wide Grambo cause the King of all Media beat me to the Lohan punch once again!! Doesn’t mean I aint going to post the breastest magazine cover ever since last month’s issue of Juggs.

The Cover was supposed to read:

Why is Lindsay Lohan falling

in love with the Thigh Master?

Saturday was quite a Ruth buzzi day for the Thigh Master. I broke away from my precious computer (trust me, click here for Two Towers Engrish subtitles) and took in a day of “culture”. Lettuce begin!

Troy

Before setting foot in the theater, I had (Native American) reservations about this movie. The preview didn’t eggzactly entice me and for some odd reason, the font they choose rubbed me the wrong way. But I’m a sucker for BBF (Big Budget Fiascos) and men with their shirts off, so I had to see it. So before I start rambling on and on about leather aprons and Brad Pitt’s a$$, lemme tell ya, this movie is worth a peep… unless you haven’t seen Mean Girls or any of the other Muss C Movies of course!

Here’s the basic story for you Iliad iliadiots: Orlando Bloom sweats Brendan Gleeson’s bootylicious peach of a wife, Helen, so dang much that he steals her and brings her back to Troy. Orlando’s bro, The Hulk, isn’t too pleased as he knows this will cause a war with the Gyro-loving community. Gleeson’s bro, the original Hannibal Lecter, uses this as a ploy to conquer the Trojans and their condom factory. But Dr. Lecter knows he’s going to need the big guns in order to win, so he pleads with Boromir to contact his hunky friend, Brad Pitt. Anywho, shit happens and the war begins. For the rest of the movie, its basically, “Hey, you killed my nephew, I’m going to kill your grandmother.” And so on and so forth. Along the way we keep getting to see Brad Pitt’s thighs and half of his ass. And when he’s fully clothed, looking like Michigan State’s mascot, he’s busy running around kicking glass and taking names. The one thing didn’t make much sense to me was how they would fight, then stop and say, “OK, lets stop and fight tomorrow.” What a bunch of wusseses!!

I saw this flick at one of the breastest theaters ever, the AMC Empire 25, located on the “new” 42nd Street. They have cushy seats and that fangled DLP (Digital Light Processingâ„¢) by Texas Instruments… this isn’t your daddy’s TI-80 folks!! Too bad the 1s and 0s (read: crappy CGI) that make up much of Troy didn’t translate well with the 1s and 0s of Texas Instruments’ supermachine. And I wasn’t aware of this, but I happened to attend a crowd participation screening. This old woman next to me kept saying how this girl loved Brad Pitt and how Brad Pitt loved this girl. Thanks, I couldn’t figure that one out meself Granny Smith and yer delicious apples!!

Here are some closing arguments on the flick:



– This is the perfect date movie: fighting for the lads, bare chested males for the broads!

– Peter O’Toole is really old.

– Brad Pitt should only play psychopaths ala 12 Monkeys and Kalifornia.

– CGI can never compensate for real people or real things. There’s a reason why Cecil B DeMille and his epics were DeBomb (see his Ten Commandments).

– Eric “The Hulk” Bana has superstar potential. I always sympathize with the characters he plays and I want to feel his chest (and no, I’m not gay. My sick devotion for LL should prove that).

– In the Line of Fire is still director Wolfgang Petersen’s breastest movie.

– Why did they cast some German bizatch to play Helen, when they should have picked Keira Knightley.

– Apparently it’s in Orlando Bloom’s contract that he must use a bow and arrow in every movie he’s in. Time to branch out Bloomy!!

– You can lead a wooden horse to the people of Troy, but you can’t force them to take it.

– Brian Cox (the OG Dr. Lecter) is so best! I’m glad he’s having a career renaissance, cause he f-in deserves it!

– Sean Bean should really change his name to Boromir.

– Saffron Burrows has one of the most unique faces around and is so going to be the 2nd Mrs. Thigh Master.

– I’m glad I live in the 21st Century cause back then blogging would have been so borrrrrrrrrrring. Speaking of borrrring…

Art Garf Funk Un-Cool

After that 2 and 3/4 hours of pure entertainment, it was time to hit up some of the city’s finest art museums. Went to check out the Whitney‘s annual Biennial (which means “an event that occurs every two years”). Whatever. Lemme tell ya, post-modern art blows llama cock. Just cause you put an empty pack of smokes and some liquor on a table doesn’t mean it’s art. Duchamp and the other dodo Dadists did that shizzle over 80 years ago and it wasn’t art then either… and this is not a pipe. And what was with all the crappy video installations? I think those “artists” were former directors who couldn’t get their work eggcepted by Sundance, so they make us suffer for it by including it in the exhibition. Borrrrrrrrrrring. The lone bright spot was this crazy-ass room, designed by assume vivid astro focus, that was covered from floor to ceiling with a hodgepodge of images and black-light stizzle. Good thing they had some umcredible Edward Hopper and Thomas Hart Benton pieces on the top floor, or I might have gone postal. After that, I needed a relief (more awful art puns!) from the post-modern hell my eyes took in and rolled on over the 2 year-old Austrian and German art museum, Neue Galerie.

Their collection isn’t jynormous, but what they do have is rather impressive. I don’t know of any other American museum that has more than five of Gustav Klimt‘s masterworks, but this place did! Kudos. After dat it was thyme to head on over to me final pit stop, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. What a bad day for art, cause besides post-modern art, my least favorite art was on display here, minimalistic garbage. Look at me, I can paint a canvas completely white! Or wow, I’m so cool, I can hang up some light bulbs!!! At least the building itself is something to marvel at… althought the exterior could use a paintjob.

Lessons learned:

– BBF (Big Budget Fiascos) aren’t always awful.

– The Whitney Biennial gets wurst and wurst every year. What ever happened to artists who just painted people and objects?

– Frank Lloyd Wright was right.

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