Somewhere

 

Wouldn’t it be great if I could spend millions of other people’s dollars shitting out a meandering cinematic therapy session about my daddy issues?

What if it took place at the Chateau Marmont? That way, I could direct an entire movie without ever having to leave the hotel pool.

Maybe my rock star baby daddy could play some of his music on the soundtrack. If he lets me use everyone’s favorite song in the trailer, it’ll make it seem like I’m tapping into a deep well of emotion instead of regurgitating yet another self-centered story about the emotional immaturity that comes with a life of privilege and excess.

Oh wait, what am I thinking? I’m not Hollywood royalty. No one in their right mind would let me do that.

I guess I’ll just go write something snarky on my blog instead.

 

Coke Talk of the Day

TMZ was on a TV near me this morning. I only saw it for a few minutes, but I’ve needed a fucking shower ever since.

Take away the cameras. Take away the studio. If those creeps did what they did while sitting around in some Burbank basement, they would be arrested for eight kinds of conspiracy and nine kinds of harassment.

Porn is a more wholesome endeavor than TMZ, and certainly more worthy of first amendment protection.

If I were a crafty entertainment lawyer, I’d put together a class action lawsuit including all the celebrities that TMZ regularly fucks with. The stalkers at TMZ can cry “freedom of the press” all they want, because this wouldn’t be a simple cease and desist type situation.

I’d argue that they are generating content for entertainment purposes, not news gathering. Sure, they’re protected by the first amendment, but this isn’t about invasion of privacy. It’s about intellectual property. They are monetizing celebrity likenesses without permission, and they owe collective damages.

Fuck it. I’m sure I don’t know what I’m talking about with regard to the law, but our celebrity culture is long overdue for some checks and balances.

I wonder if Corey Feldman will go to Corey Haim’s funeral dressed as Corey Haim.

(Yes. This is actually a tasteless Michael Jackson joke.)

Lady Gaga

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Those of you who know Andy Kaufman will understand that I’m paying Lady Gaga the highest of compliments.

When a King Dies

Soak it up, kids. This is our “Elvis is Dead” moment. You only get this once in a generation.

It doesn’t matter if you thought he was a freak. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t like his music. It doesn’t matter one bit what you thought of him. He was a king, and when a king dies the world is never the same.

The media circus we will witness in the coming days will seem cartoonishly silly, but I promise you this is an important moment. The cultural implications of June 25th, 2009 will ripple outwards into the Zeitgeist and forever mark your memory.

Michael Jackson is dead, and — let’s be clear — so is your youth.

It’s why you have that knot in your gut, even though your head tells you this is all so ridiculous. Deep down, you know. In the decades to come, this day will forever serve as a demarcation line between being young and being old.

That’s what it meant to our parents when the King of Rock died back in 1977, and that’s what the death of the King of Pop will one day mean to us.

Don’t swallow that lump in your throat. It’s real, and we shouldn’t be ashamed to mourn our youth.

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