two-twenty

not that there's anything wrong with that • post/haste

As you may have noticed, two-twenty does not have a "comments" feature. As the following note from a fott who shall remain nameless shows, this is for your own protection.

I really like the website. It's witty, urbane, and loaded with pithy bon mots. Frankly, I'm a little surprised, given that web blogs are generally operated by, and geared toward, homosexuals. Which I am certainly not. That said, if I had any suggestion... free photos of really hard core gay rape could mitigate a bit of the snooze factor. You know,less talk and more cock.

Of course I suggest the gay stuff not because it turns me on or anything. That would make me queer. Which I am not. I just think it would be funny. Besides, rape is an act of violence, not lust. Or something you do when you want to show someone just who's really in charge. Like with pledges, or your younger brother, or when you're at camp and you are initiating the new guys into a secret club or something. And sometimes it's not about either of those things, like when you're just hanging with your buddy and he says something like "That's my playstation controller, fag" and then you say, "Oh yeah? I'll show you who the fag is", and then you pin him down and blow him. But that's just goofing around, not fagging off like some kind of homo.

How true. How true. We would like to take this opportunity to point out that the above was definitely not written by Joel Klein.

so orwell was off by a couple decades • post/haste

Fuck, we're turning into Wonkette over here. If you ever have wanted to read a concise, well-written, well-reasoned critique of neocon extremism, read this article (two-twenty to reacquire sense of humor shortly):

"An End to Evil" by David Frum and Richard Perle | Salon

political deed of the day • post/haste

You've probably seen the ad before, the one with the kids working to pay off the national debt that the Bush administration has run up to $1 trillion. If you watch anywhere near as much reality TV as two-twenty does, then you most certainly have.

If you tune in to the Super Bowl, however (along with millions of other Americans), you will definitely not see it. CBS has declared it "too controversial". Smells like sushi ordered on a Monday.

Democracy in Action: "Controversial" Ad | MoveOn.org

sperm whales are the new black • post/haste

An anonymous, giggle-stifling fott sends us a report on today's Fashion Group International Rising Star Awards Luncheon here in Manhattan:

...It was just like my second-fave episode of AbFab, except it wasn't meant to be funny. As the 7th Ave. rag hags squinted into the Waldorf's teleprompters, I couldn't help thinking, "Jesus H. Christ - does no one read these scripts beforehand?!" One of the presenters, Alan Flusser (author of the timeless classic "Dressing The Man") was forced to keep a straight face while reading the following: "...His fall/winter 2003-2004 collection was inspired by Alaska, with its majestic glaciers and playful sperm whales."

The jokes are bumping into one another and having trouble getting out. "Majestic glaciers and playful sperm whales"... sounds like a roomful of UES trophies and their drunkenly-pawing husbands. Speaking of, well, er, other presenters included Patricia Field, CNN anchor Soledad O'Brien, and "plus size" model Emme. 'Nuff said.

dirty bitchy things • post/haste

Popbitch returns after a month-long hiatus. As usual, they bring us the good, the bad, and the ugly:

Good news: "Patrick Swayze has an Arabian costume he wears for sex games with his wife," and, Raver Porn (uh, not work safe).

Bad news: "The film version of Knight Rider now looks sadly unlikely. David Hasslehoff says 'Up to now the film company has found all the suggestions terrible.'"

Just plain ugly: "During one of Nick [Carter]'s gigs [his younger brother] Aaron started to hump a young girl against the wall backstage in front of all the lighting and sound technicians. When the sound guys complained, Aaron's only response was 'Whatever' as he just kept banging away."

Thank you, Popbitch. We missed you.

"gueule de bois": french for hangover | joanna • post/haste

I'm back. Officially.

Returned from my holiday on Tuesday, but woke up yesterday completely addled by lack of hangover. Confusion persisted, so today marks official re-entry. And despite hitting the Michelob Ultras last night in attempt to counterbalance Ash's regular ham and cheese and bread and beer and vodka force-feedings (forced, I swear, uh huh), I am once again clear-headed. So, for posterity and your amusement, everything I can recall from the last very very fuzzy two weeks in Paris...

Day One

Arrive on time at Charles de Gaulle. Collected by harried friend Tim who in one breath greets me warmly, expresses gratified surprise that I managed to cram three pairs of shoes and a week's wardrobe into my wheeled carry-on, and insists I do my New York Walk through the terminal despite the fact that I think I'm gonna keel over from having my first hit of nicotine since I snuck a smoke eight hours before in the ladies' toilet at JFK (and came thisclose to being busted for my bud-light-infused idiocy). Speed out of the airport. Destination: Gare du Nord. Make it just in time to see Ash's train from Amsterdam pull into platform. Feel like I should be sporting a smart little hat and white gloves. May have even kicked up my leg when we kissed, not sure. Maccas (Australian for McDonalds) for take-out, then to our rented pad in the 3rd. Classic Parisian set-up except for one thing: gayest apartment ever. Blown-up Vesace ad over the WC, CD collection featuring "Gay Classics", "Queer Hits", and other gems. Nude pencil drawing opposite the bed that turned out to be a rendering of our lessor's ass. Tacit promise to ourselves and each other to slide the pied a terre's Kinsey Scale rating from six to at least three. Shift it to two before heading to Lizard Lounge for a pint to commemorate having met there exactly six months prior (awww), then Tim's place in the 19th for drinks, then Café Cheri(e), then... somewhere.

Day Two

Two Aspegics, two shots of Duty Free Kettle One, one hand-towel soaked in cold water.

Stanley Greene photo exhibition, Buddha Bar for dinner, Café Charbon for drinks.

Day Three

Uh. Oh yeah, Tim worked at Lizard Lounge so we must have gone there. Memory fuzzy.

Day Four

See above. Oh, wait, was this the night we met up with Alex's sister Katherine? Well, we did that and it was cool.

Day Five

Spend the day traversing the city while Ash and Tim cover French reality TV phenom/douchebag Nalle for Match TV.

Eventually catch up with them at Man Ray -- where I'm granted access by saying I've got something oh-so-important in my bag that must get to Tim -- for Yumi Katsura's couture bridal show in which douchebag takes first stab at extending his quinze minutes by walking as a groom. Genetic freak show that is walking hangers made all the more interesting by makeshift padded-catwalk that grows progressively lumpier by models repeatedly almost tripping. Patience finally pays off when the ancient designer herself -- escorted by aged, barefoot, forcefully ebullient Brigitte Nielson -- falls flat on her face while her Amazonian squire tries not to lose what cool she's got left (and it ain't much). More drinking ensues at various establishments, including old haunt and Lizard Lounge sister, Stolly's.

Day Six

Grocery shopping at Chinese supermarket for Curry Night foodstuffs. Head to friend's flat in the 2nd. Assist Ash with his (in)famous curry. Drink beer, Zubrowka Vodka, wine. Shit. Leave just in time.

Day Seven

Hmm. Oh yeah. Bar in the 5th. Yeah. Shebeen. Reminded me of New York.

Day Eight

Ash's birthday. Kong for champagne, then downstairs to Lo Sushi, where their marriage of internet access and raw fish had us at hello kitty. Turned out that the chopstick-operated consoles also allow diners to communicate with each other via instant message. After about ten minutes of lewd banter between ourselves, received a message from a frenchie across the belt that was just a tad beyond my linguistic skills. But then, "Hi Pretty" comes in from number 39, a guy further down the snaking train who Ash referred to as Fat Frenchie when he was seated with his back to us. While I'm responding to 39 that my neighboring boyfriend number 58 will not be happy with these advances, Ash sends his own message, loud and clear. Numbers 38 and 40 get in on the action, and the next thing I know number 39 reveals himself to be a (trash-talkin') "gentleman" from the Lone Star State who's ready to take this outside. Ash retorts that Fat Texan won't even look him in the eye... but I will, and do. We leave before chopsticks start flying, laughing our asses off. Head to Oberkampf for birthday celebrations with the gang. End up after hours at Nouveau Casino (just behind Cafe Charbon) where Ash and I immediately begin shouting at the DJ -- unbeknownst to each other -- "You suck!" (me) "Get off the stage!" (him). It works: the music changes. Last thing I remember is dancing to Tainted Love.

Day Nine

Visit Colette for new cords for razor blade bracelet. Huff about being charged for them this time. Cop to Ash that yes, I could get the "string" anywhere, but, as he suspected, I enjoy making the pilgrimage despite/because of the store's absurdity. Tried to dissuade Ash from checking bracelet's price point to no avail. Brief are-you-crazy conversation ensues, thwarted by admission that yes, in fact, I clearly am. Birds of a feather blah blah blah.

Day Ten

Extend trip by two days after deciding that we hadn't really seen Paris. Sephora run for (mildly, with the dollar as it is) discounted Caudalie products, Ash placated by red lipstick shopping -- just. Am way too easily persuaded to "walk like an egyptian" down the Champs Elysées, photographed mid-step before gargantuan Louis Vuitton trunk. Lizard Lounge. Beer, vodka. Beer. Pizza.

Days Eleven and Twelve

Oh, man, short term memory is shot.

Day Thirteen

Shop Habitat in Bastille, mail postcards (last day, of course), Bottle Shop for Scrabble, mint tea, and eventually... beer. Amazing dinner at Chez Paul. Tim's house for Champagne send off, Cafe Oz to, uh, celebrate National Australia Day -- one day after the bar commemorated the "holiday".

Day Fourteen

Double espressos at Clown Bar (in painted face of clown-phobia) before heading to the airport. Arrive early enough to down a few Amstels served, unfortunately, not by our favorite CDG bartender. Fly home to NYC solo, Ash having decided to get in an extra day for a few rounds of booze and Bags-talk with his boyfriend Tim. Easy landing but almost die as taxi sleds its way to the city on snow and ice. Meet Alex for a few rounds at our local... pass out thinking, as usual, I desperately need a vacation from my vacation.

arts briefing, briefly • post/haste

Agnetha Faltskog, of Abba fame, iz set 2 release a nu solo album. Her 1st recording F4t n 17 yr.z wiL b caLd "My Coloring Book".

Also in the news: a gentleman of the French persuasion has the dubious honor of authoring the first book written in SMS, otherwise known as that annoying but useful shorthand you use in text messages.

Arts Briefing | NY Times
Make Sense of TXT Lingo | transL8it.com

will two twenties get us in? paypal? • post/haste

Last week Google (no hyperlink necessary) e-mailed a slew of invitations to orkut, its new Friendster rip-off . Our presence was not requested at this exclusive grand opening, leaving two-twenty stuck behind the velvet rope like big-haired, khaki-sporting, bridge and tunnelers. We're not saying we want in, really we're not. We just, like, want to know what it looks like inside. You know, to see who's there 'n' stuff.

orkut | via trendcentral

bush twin powers... activate! • post/haste

Two-twenty totally hearts the Bush twins. In fact, they were the subject of our very first post those many long, er, weeks ago. Fucking johnny-come-latelies.

Today, Ron Mwangaguhunga shares the love by breaking down Star Magazine's profile of Jenna and Babs. Here's hoping that the pressures of an election year spawn irrational behavior on the Twins' part, as well as the press scrutiny necessary to properly document it.

The Youth Gone Wild | The Corsair

mickey's widemouth sailing team | alex • post/haste

This half of two-twenty must admit a dirty little secret – I am a sailor. That’s right, by night I am a city-dweller, replete with literary interests and aspirations, more or less tolerable taste in music, and a socially acceptable but tremendous drinking problem. By day (at least during certain spring and summer months) I am a WASPy creature ruled by the wind and the sea, wearing khaki shorts and the occasional blazer, surrounded by too much reggae and sporadic bursts of Jimmy Buffet (not of my own free will, I assure you), and burdened by a socially acceptable but tremendous drinking problem. So sue me. There are worse hobbies one could have, like collecting imaginary girlfriends, being a plushie, or blogging. Dammit.

Moving on. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that my two worlds would collide. But they have, and the resulting wreck is called The Real World: San Diego. The show began under a dark cloud of rumored date rape, and has already begun to live up to these foreshadowings of scandal. I started watching because I had a passing interest in the participants’ day job, which is crewing on former America’s Cup yachts. But I have been drawn in by their other activities – mainly getting blind drunk on forties, calling people “the n word”, getting in fights, enjoying (or not) intoxicant-fueled romantic interludes, and most recently getting arrested (two at a time no less, in unrelated incidents!). Oddly, as I watched the hilarity unfold I found myself thinking, “Where have I seen this combination before?” Then I remembered (link below). Life imitating art is good, life imitating parody is good reality television.

Colt 45 Cup | Sailing Anarchy

now, if he were a catcher... • post/haste

Okay, two sports-related posts in as many days, I know, butt please bare with me. New Indians pitcher Kazuhito Tadano has a past. When he was a struggling college student back in Japan, Tadano made a mistake that any sports figure or millionaire heiress could make: he was in a sex video. One key difference may render him especially vulnerable to hecklers, however - the video in question was a gay porn (not that there's anything wrong with that). Two-twenty admits to not watching a lot of gay porn, so we are forced to ask the (male) gay community, is this man typical of the stars in your erotic films?

photo from msnbc.com

If so, the hetero and lesbionic has a, er, leg up on you. Tadano admits to participating in the video, but is quick to add, "I am not gay." Upon reflection, we realize that this could gybe with two-twenty's definition of homosexuality. After all, you're not really gay if you pitch, right?

Indians pitcher: Gay porn video was mistake | msnbc.com

the week in trends beginning with "s" • post/haste

Hot new trend to go along with sex slaves (additional hype may be found here): dwarf singers. Or at least singers with medical conditions that make them small, or something. First there was Jasmine Arteaga, the 18 yo wee one with the (yes, we're going there) big voice, who made it through to the next round on American Idol last night. Then came this morning's Times article on Thomas Quasthoff, the bass baritone "with abnormally short legs and vestigial arms", who will get some crazy exposure on PBS tonight, yo. Short songsters = the new stizzle. Hott.

It's the Vocal Cords That Matter Most | NY Times

i am blogging myself in the head • post/haste

The Bloggingest Fucking Week Ever: Tuesday Edition

What's up, bloggers and bloggettes? We sure are pleased as punch to see y'all here for our roundup of bloggorific news! If you're looking for clever, topical posts about political and cultural events of the moment, like say the Oscar nominations or the NH primaries, look elsewhere. We here at two-twenty are happily chewing away at our own tail. Read on!

• Whatevs displays the following message: "Bandwidth Limit Exceeded. The server is temporarily unable to service your request due to the site owner reaching his/her bandwidth limit. Please try again later." Later, the message changes to "There is no website configured at this address." Possible explanations: a. the site has exploded due to massive traffic from link on VH1's "Best Week Ever" Blog, b. the site is being sued by Pepsi and/or Pink and/or Slash and is forced to shut down, or c. Uncle Grambo is still drunk from last night and came up with a clever way to avoid having to update site: post error messages!
• In related news: Stereogum recently sold out when he informed readers he would be saving "topical" (read: "all A and B level material") posts for VH1's "Best Week Ever" Blog. Redeemed himself in two-twenty's eyes by posting new Trans Am song today. Two-twenty also acknowledges desperate, all-consuming desire to itself sell out.
• TMFTML tries to sort out mysterious mutual masturbation trend in female blogging community, and how it relates to piles of shit on glass coffee tables.
• Both Wonkette and Low Culture weigh in mightily on politically limp-wristed Dennis Miller's new TV show. Laughter ensues. Wonkette's comments are picked up by VH1's "Best Week Ever" Blog.
• Lockhart Steele lays down the law when it comes to the LES. The Gray Lady shakes in her boots.
• Everyone, and I mean everyone (including VH1's "Best Week Ever" Blog), posts about the pope and his break-dancing pals. Two-twenty says mea culpa, but also points out we took the absolute lowest route available to us: a Polish lightblub joke.

karma's a bitch | alex • post/haste

Sports have been blessedly absent from this forum for some time, what with everyone focusing on something called the "Superbowl", which as far as we are concerned serves merely as a backdrop for the new Britney / Pink / Beyonce Pepsi commercial. For two-twenty sports begin and end with baseball, and in true, myopically East Coast fashion, our purview barely extends beyond the Red Sox - Yankees rivalry.

To wit: the gods are mighty and just. Aaron Boone, the imp who hit the pennant-clinching homer off Derek Lowe in last season's epic finale, will probably miss most if not all of next season due to injury. Quite literally adding insult to said injury, it occured while he was playing basketball, an activity that is banned by his contract with the Yankees. This means that Boone is likely to forfeit most of his $5.75M salary and be cut loose from the team. See ya, buddy. Go kick someone else's dreams in the gut.

Yanks Lose Boone to Basketball Injury, Possibly for Year | NY Times

john paul 2 - electric boogaloo • post/haste

A group of Polish break-dancers performed for Pope John Paul II yesterday, inspiring smiles, waves, and kind words from the representative of God on Earth. "For this creative hard work I bless you from my heart,'' he was quoted as saying.

Photo from smh.com.au. Happy day after Australia day!

Could this be a stunt organized by the Polish government in an attempt to re-invigorate the Pollack joke genre? After all, they haven't been getting much attention recently what with the resurgence of pirate jokes. Two-twenty cannot help but muse... if that guy spinning on his head was holding a light bulb between his feet, he could be Polish break-dancing while screwing in a lightbulb at the same time.

Pope flips over break dancers | AP via smh.com.au

sunday styles gets used • post/haste

Two-twenty presents our weekly Monday feature: Sunday Styles redux (which in the future we will try v.v. hard to post earlier in the day):

We now realize why there was such a dearth of dating and/or sex and/or Internet-related articles in last week’s edition: the good folks of the SS were saving up for a doozy. Neil Strauss, erstwhile music writer and current self-described ugly person, exposes a terrifying and dangerous subculture evolving on the west coast: wearers of absurd hats who use insults, and occasionally magic tricks, to get chicks.

photo from nytimes.com

“The community”, as they call themselves, are not your average harmless, impotent, Nike-wearing Cult members. These people have insidious goals, such as stealing Scott Baio’s girlfriend. They have codenames such as Juggler, and Mystery. They have their own language, including “AFC” (Average Frustrated Chump), “PUA” (Pick-Up Artist), “IOI” (Indicator of Interest), and “neg” (a putdown used to “momentarily lower a woman’s self-esteem and to suggest an intriguing disinterest”).

AFCs pay men like Mystery significant amounts of money in order to be reborn as PUAs. Neil Strauss, straddling the fine line between ‘deep-cover journalism’ and ‘just trying to get laid’, paid him $500. What did he get for his five Benjamins? Hopefully more than he would have gotten from Juggler, who teaches skills such as “approaching women” and “mastering the art of natural conversation.”

Actually, Neil seems to have done pretty well for himself. He closes the piece with a little story about a night, not so very long ago, in the VIP room of Miami’s Crobar. In it Neil picks up two hot chicks by insulting their hair and calling them liars. He is a convert, a card-carrying member of ‘the community’, and he expects to be issued his funny-looking hat any day now.

As for two-twenty, our dating strategy is a tad different and, frankly, far more foolproof than what Mr. Strauss was taught. Neil, we would like to disabuse you of one of your most profoundly misguided notions: you can, in fact, “offer [a girl] cocaine”. Or crack or a ride on the horse or, if you’re serious about getting into the dating game, Rohypnol. We find that these ‘social lubricants’ are even more important to have in your survive-a-date kit than a sample pack of Levitra. Nothing says "IOI" like her eyes rolling back into her head. Bonus: no funny-looking hat required.

In other SS news:

Gennifer Flowers is giving Michael Jackson a run for his money in the plastic-surgery department, and the results are disturbingly Joker-like. Bill Clinton screwed the pooch in so many more ways than one.

Pulse thinks that the trucker hat is “fading into fashion’s twilight”, thus confirming two-twenty’s suspicion that the timelessly ugly headgear is poised for it’s third or fourth post-ironic meta-comeback. The catch? All the kewl kids are going DIY stizzle, nazzle.

In order to perpetuate the moneymaking machine that is pop culture it is imperative that, like the tobacco companies, we get America’s future consumers addicted while they are young and impressionable. Thus does Nickelodeon do their best VH1 impression with a show called “U-Pick Live”, a show about, um, picking things or something, but more importantly rife with celebrity guests and hosted by what appear to be a kinder, gentler Paris Hilton and a hipster impersonator, complete with ‘hoodie worn under blazer’.

Marquee, another of the crop of clubs… er… cropping up in Chelsea, has no VIP section. Or at least not one that Ben Stiller and Uma Thurman can get into. This creates uncomfortable moments like the one related in Boite, when a young lady asked Mr. Stiller to “please do ‘blue steel’” (he “affably declined”). If the lady in question had studied up on Mystery's dating advice, she would have known to open with a “neg”, such as, “Hey, I really loved you in Mystery Men. Not!”

Sunday Styles | NY Times

you can't retouch this • post/haste

Okay, so the nipple-less Britney pic is probably just another example of overzealous Photoshop touch-ups. The site below proves that the art of digital manipulation is a double-edged sword.

Detouching Photoshop Contest | Worth1000.com (via awful plastic surgery)

round, smooth objects in the news • post/haste

Well, one thing's for sure, there will be no shortage of breast and bun-related 'golden globe' puns today. Two-twenty elected to spend Sunday night guzzling red wine and sampling shots with martini chasers (we tried Das Komet because we liked the bottle. It tastes like the candy you used to take out of the bowl at your grandmother's house). Hence, no clever deconstruction of the spectacle that is unleashed when the celebrity-mad worlds of film and television are thrust together and encouraged to mutually masturbate. Try here.

More importantly, what happened to Brit Brit's nip nips? Stereogum posted this picture yesterday, leaving two-twenty puzzled and possibly a bit disturbed:

pic from stereogum

Did she have a nipple-ectomy? Is she a pod person, and if one ever were lucky enough to slip off her La Perlas, would one find only a smooth expanse of plasticized skin between her thighs, Barbie-style? These are troubling questions, people.

drunk'd monkeys • post/haste

Further updates from the foreign office - here Joanna and Ash recuperate from an evening of intense international relations:

The wonder twins report that hangovers in Paris are very similar to hangovers in New York, with only a couple of differences. The bad news: they are now 30% more expensive than their American counterparts. The good news: they are also prone to surrendering without much of a fight.

punk'd monkeys • post/haste

The only meaningful communication from the other two-thirds of two-twenty since they've been in Paris (basically the last two weeks): this picture.

Draw your own conclusions.

already over it being over • post/haste

You've read about it elsewhere, but we would be remiss not to mention it: we've been over Bennifer for a while now, but apparently they are finally over each other.

Jen and Ben split for good | ananova

secondary primary sources • post/haste

Things we learned from reading the Times' coverage of the Democratic debate and the Dean interview but not actually watching either one:

1. Stick a fork in Dean: "Do I do things that are a little nutty? Sure I do things that are a little nutty."
2. Clark is babe in the woods: "I don't know whether this is supported by the facts or not. I've never looked at it."
3. More evidence that Dennis Coochicoo's campaign is an elaborate hoax: "In the same way that [JFK] decided to bring the academic and spiritual resources of this country to have the U.S. reach the Moon some day, I intend to have a very infinitely interesting journey to planet Earth." Um, [sic].

Democrats Vow to Battle Bush on Social Issues | NY Times
On TV With His Wife, a Softer, Gentler Dean | NY Times

loles, no less • post/haste

You thought you lived on the Lower East Side, but no, if you live between Houston and Delancey you are a mere suburbanite of the East Village. Sorry. So sayeth the paper of record. Incidentally, in the same article said paper also "coins" the acronym "LoLES", we assume much to the chagrin of certain LES-dwelling maintainers of web presences. We anticipate a rebuttal in the coming hours.

Where the Lower East Side Keeps Trendy Masses at Bay | NY Times

kulture klub • post/haste

Alas, the world is not made up merely of gossipy sound bites, ironic reruns of decades-old television, and Paris Hilton’s blurred out (or not, obvs) asscrack. Feeling that perhaps two-twenty had steeped itself too long in the bitter brew of self-consuming metapop, we recently set out to find a balance, a yin to our yang, if you will.

The perfect opportunity arose last night with an invitation to an event representing the low end of high art (baby steps, people): the 11th Annual Outsider Art Fair at the Puck building. And so it was that we left behind a one-hour Friends, Scrubs (with Tara Reid!), and a democratic debate sure to be rife with comedy to trek our ass downtown and get ourselves some (subba)cultcha.

Highlights: Henry Darger, Benjamin Jones, Scott Griffin, and the open bar. Darger, who some readers are probably aware of, clearly wins the “crazy obsessively religious dead guy who is so ‘out’ that his pieces go for $50k and up” award.

Most of Darger’s watercolors and drawings exhibited at the Art Fair come from the 15,000+ page opus he wrote and illustrated during his life, entitled, "The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, as Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion". 'Nuff said.

Examples of each of the above-mentioned artists, so that you may admire, snicker dismissively at, or decry two-twenty’s aesthetic sensibilities:

Henry Darger: "At Jennie Richee Waves Lure them From Stand and They Stand Still as Wave Recedes"

Benjamin Jones: "Tall Clown"

Scott Griffin: "Code Orange"

Phew. Time to go TiView. We all could use some Tara Reid after that. Once you have cleansed yourself in the purifying pop pool of Tara, consider sullying yourself again this weekend. The Outsider Art Fair runs through Sunday. Tickets are $15, and tucked amongst the overpriced kitsch (which is entertaining in its own right) are some real steals.

meta is as meta does • post/haste

This afternoon, while pausing to watch MSNBC for 15 minutes over a bowl of reheated Indian food, two-twenty learned that Sam, of “The Apprentice” infamy, proposed to his girlfriend this morning on The Today Show. She inexplicably said yes. We are pleased that Sam and his hat were fired by Trump; we are saddened that this poor woman is going to have to put up with Sam until her therapist makes her understand that everything wrong in her life stems from her involvement with him.

(Speaking of Sam’s getting fired, we heard what was going through his head as he glared his intensely evil glare at Trump: “I am shooting laser beams out of my eyes! You are nothing! I am reducing you to a pile of… no! No! The Donald’s bionic hair is too strong! Oh, okay, I’m getting up. I’m leaving, already, I’m leaving!”)

The Sam engagement bit led into, in all seriousness, the following on-air discussion topic: “Reality TV: Here To Stay?” The Real World has been around for over a decade, Survivor is heading into its eighth season (or else Les Moonves gets a mullet), we are forced to re-live The Bachelor and The Bachelorette; even one-trick-pony schlockfests (mmm… schlock) like Average Joe and Joe Millionaire have had multiple seasons. If “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire” couldn't kill reality TV, what can? So obviously the question is not, “Is reality TV here to stay?” but “Will it ever die?”

The folks at MSNBC could not figure this out, not even with the help of their own talking head from The Center for the Study of Popular TV, Robert Thompson. Two-twenty has seen this character around before, in fact he is rather ubiquitous. Nearly three years ago Salon did a piece on his overexposure, and today not much has changed. Thompson was recently profiled here and quoted here.

Thompson does, however, make us contemplate some of the implications of living in a purely referential culture: "We are clear-cutting the pop cultural past a lot faster than we are reforesting it... Now we're getting to the point where some of the most distinctive and memorable culture is repackaged culture."

Hey, wait, check this out! Adam Mesh from Average Joe 1 is getting his own show!

blister in the sundance • post/haste

We knew we smelled something... Open Water, filmed for $200,000, sold for a reported $2.1M to Lion's Gate.

Related News: Peter Biskind's book exposing Harvey Weinstein's bait-and-switch tactics may have influenced the negotiations for Zach Braff's comedy Garden State. Related related news: Hilary Duff's younger sister Haley Duff won a $10,000 watch at a Sundance party.

Heated Buying at Sundance, Though Fans Seem Chilly | NY Times

virtual shock and awe • post/haste

Ha ha ha ha! There's like this really funny thing where, like, if you enter "French military victories" on Google, and then hit the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button, you get... uh, yeah, we all know where this is going.

The Times today has a feature on "google bombing", the internet search engine phenom that gave us such humorous gems as the above example. Craig Silverstein, Google's director of technology, is quoted as saying, "We're only seeing it with obscure queries where there's really not that much action on the Web about them... I don't think it's possible to do this sort of thing on queries with well-defined results..."

Uh, yeah Craig? You mean unimportant, ill-defined queries like "weapons of mass destruction", which returns the infamous error message? Oh, wait, maybe you're right, since last year's "weapons of mass destruction" are this year's "dozens of weapons of mass destruction-related program activities." Ill-defined indeed.

Engineering Google Results to Make a Political Point | NY Times

p.hil, meet j.sim • post/haste

Sure, Paris Hilton and her "personal brand management" machine may be unstoppable, but let us not forget the other blonde idiot savant, Jessica Simpson. Her recent and upcoming projects include:

• Newlyweds - Nick and Jessica
• an ABC sitcom, a possible Sony Pictures movie deal, and a rumored role as a Marvel Comics character
• Dessert: an edible skincare product line (as seen on Letterman this week)
• a book
• an ABC variety show
• a Super Bowl ad
• an obsessively compiled fan site through which we found most of the preceding information

Two-twenty supposes this means that, provided you back it up with an appropriate level of physical attractiveness and cluelessness, you can ride either the virgin or the whore paradigm straight to the top of the heap.

musky, with a hint of fat • post/haste

Everyone's getting in on the bacon except us. The Times' Linda Lee (interviewer of "dieters" last Sunday) got to invite a bunch of friends over and eat bacon. And she got paid for it.

As they gorged themselves on the fatty goodness, they waxed poetic on the pig potpourri laid out before them. A "fellow from Wall Street" took a descriptive stab: "Tastes like popcorn... Macho." More nuanced palates had their say as well, with comments such as "A pleasant little intoxicant," and, "Too conceptual."

Two-twenty sez: oenophiles out... bacon experts so totally in.

For a B.A. in Bacon, They All Chewed the Fat | NY Times

so much monkey love • post/haste

Two-twenty loves monkeys (really, who doesn't?). So imagine our glee when friend of two-twenty (fott!) Reverend Tom informed us that tomorrow, through the wondrous magic of the Chinese Lunar Calendar, we will enter the Year of the Monkey!

This Sunday afternoon, from 1 to 4 pm, there will be a "Year of the Monkey" themed parade in Chinatown. We cannot promise that there will be actual monkeys there, but we can aways hope, and we can promise that two-twenty will be there, vigorously looking for monkeys.

the subject speaks | alex • post/haste

A project: date our flatmate update, provided by the flatmate in question: I’ll be honest, not a lot has been going on with this recently. What with Joanna and Ash being in Paris, me being out of town for nearly two weeks, the winter weather, the binge drinking, the alien abductions, etc… So, this is simply an apology to anyone who was hoping to live vicariously through this, er, experience, and yes, I am talking to both of you. The good news: spoke with Ash the other day and in regards to p:dof he promised/warned me that I should “be very afraid” as I anticipate his return. Knowing him, soon my picture and cellphone number will be up on some special subsection of craigslist’s casual encounters called “anal only” or “leather lovers”.

Anyway, a brief update for all: Joanna suggested about twenty matches for me on slutster, I looked at about half of them, sent messages to exactly three of them, and precisely two of them wrote back to me. Additionally, in an event proving the ultimate meta-incestuous nature of blogging*, one lovely lady who had been ‘suggested’ was at Lockhart’s party last weekend. We did not meet, but she found this site through his site, found my slutster page through p:dof, realized she had seen it before and sent me a message. In fact, it was her kind note that prompted me to compose this post.

Uh, yeah, so… I guess I’m going to update my slutster page, like with some music and stuff… Lasagnafarm reminds me that slutster is like the trucker hat of websites, but also makes me wonder if I should change my profile age to 28 or 29… ummm… Lindsayism threatens to begin an online dating project as well, hopefully more successful than ours or the spark’s… let’s see… other dating news… oh, from what we’ve seen so far on the episodes and in the 'scenes from', that Larissa on Average Joe 2 is a total kissing slut. Even David Daskal gets a taste!

*I hate this word. I am a self-hating blogger. Please, someone, come up with a better word. I will buy anyone a beer who invents a more respectable word two-twenty can use for what it is and does other than blog and blogging. No offense, of course, everyone knows blogging is played, yo. We’re just trying to stay ahead of the backlash through some linguistic trickery. Send all suggestions to alex@two-twenty.net. Free beer may be redeemed at any establishment listed in Wendy Mitchell’s guide to New York City’s Best Dive Bars.

conversations with microsoft products | alex • post/haste

I am, in general, an excellent spellr. I've never won any contests, or anything, but it's not like I use spellcheck as a crutch without which I would be unable to hobble about this cruel literary werld.

My subdued hubris, however, has an odd side effect: occasionally I become absolutely convinced that a word I have spelled correctly is in fact as incorrect as a line of Arabic poetry translated into English by an illiterate crackwhore and then back into Arabic by President Bush. This happens most frequently on two-twenty, as moveable type has no spellcheck nor, alas, does the site itself have a creditable editor. Today it happened with the word "address", a word used quite a few times in the post below. Before I could stop myself I realized that I had opened Microsoft Word and had the following conversation with... myself... in a safe, spellchecked environment:

"How do you spell adress? Not address? Oh, yes, ok."

This seems to me unhealthy behavior - borderline talking to my iBook. I need to get out of the house. Or get a drink. Or both!

politics effluvial • post/haste

Two-twenty's top two moments of Bush's State of the Union Address:

1. After the Bush camp spent all day Monday and Tuesday pounding the "speaking point" that this address was not about politics, the President begins by walking in and hugging a small black child who just happens to be waiting in the arms of her father, directly in Bush's path. Do they always allow small toddlers to sit in on these things? I mean, call us crazy, but doesn't that have the potential to be a little bit... disruptive? Maybe they sedated her first. Even better, an aide (or someone) can be heard in the background, as Bush lifts the child to his compassionately conservative chest, saying "Oh, that'll be the shot of the night."

2. In the "Security" section of his speech, Bush touched on the Patriot Act. Unfortunately, his speech writers left a chink in his armor when they phrased his comments as follows: "Key provisions of the Patriot Act are set to expire next year." Sensing their opportunity, the Democrats sporadically, then enthusiastically, broke into applause. Bush struggled to continue: "The terrorist threat - the terrorist threat will not expire on this schedule." At this the Republicans broke out in roars of approval. Seems to two-twenty that this works rather well as a metaphor for the administration's policies of unilateral reactionary warmongering, and their results: what they intended to do was prove their righteousness and beat the Democrats down. In their haste what they actually did was give the continuation of the terrorist threat a standing ovation.

Other highlights: Bush hates activist judges, unless they are actively installing him in the White House. Gays may have "dignity" and "value", but not so much the right of marriage - p.s. please be nice to the gays while you deny them their rights so that Bush can get re-elected. No sex is good sex! "There are no shortcuts to accomplishment", other than of course friends in high places. God blah blah God God blah blah blah. Next time, we're gonna use the State of the Union drinking game to dull the pain.

mmmmm... sushi • post/haste

You didn't believe us? It is true. Salon interviews the director, producer, and actors of Open Water. Turns out there's nudity, too! Naked shark death movie! Two-twenty smells buzz, or maybe that's just the bloody chunks of tuna chum.

Look, Ma -- no mechanical shark! | Salon

nothing sells soft drink like chainmail brassieres • post/haste

Britney, Pink and Beyonce will apparently attempt to out-Xena each other in a new Pepsi commercial. Assuming that one does not assemble this level of pop cultural cache for your average run-of-the-mill campaign launch, two-twenty believes we may have found one reason to watch the Super Bowl. Er, or six depending on how you look at it.

Girls Of The New Pepsi Ads | stereogum

seeking self-insured actors • post/haste

The pitch is so obvs: Blair Witch meets Jaws. Apparently no one saw the potential for ridiculously large boxoffice, though, so Chris Kentis had to make his movie Open Water all by himself and then bring it to Sundance.

How, one might ask, does a low-budget filmmaker unable to afford even a rudimentary mechanical shark a la Jaws, make a movie about two people trapped in shark-infested waters? Easy - find two desperate actors, chum the water, and toss 'em in. Seriously.

Sundance '04: Now Terror's at Sea Newsweek (msnbc)

Related news: the Blair Witch kids are all abject failures, failures who made a few million and five years after the fact still merit several thousand words in both the Times and Newsweek.

A Slump, or the Curse of the Blair Witch? | NY Times
Curse of the Blair Witch | Newsweek (msnbc)

useless name-dropping • post/haste

Congrats to Senator John Kerry for his upset victory at something called the "caucuses". We are trying to get excited about politics again, but right now can't help but be more excited that Kerry's victory caused a high school classmate of two-twenty's to appear on the front page of the Times: Kerry's daughter Alexandra (on the left).

photo from nytimes.com

Last we heard Alex was a struggling actress... well, struggling in the sense that her father is married to one of the richest women in Boston. Anyway, we figure the publicity certainly isn't going to do her any harm, so keep it up, Senator!

Results Show Conventional Wisdom Short on the "Wisdom" | NY Times

death imitates art • post/haste

Great, just what we need, another addiction. Daphne, friend of two-twenty and occasional fashion critic / spotter of trannies, got us hooked on the Daily Telegraph obits with this "free taste":

Jennifer Ross Obituary | Daily Telegraph

It's really less of an obit and more of a, well, concise history of the decline and fall of the English aristocracy. To wit:

In 1942 Jennifer, already pregnant, married Robert Heber-Percy and entered a most unusual ménage. Heber-Percy had been living at Faringdon for a decade as the boyfriend of Lord Berners, the composer and eccentric known for his waspish sense of humour and his exotic way of life: guests were summoned to dinner by a music box in the hall; the doves that flew about were dyed many and various colours (inadvertently making them vulnerable to predators)...

Heber-Percy himself was a wild figure, known as "the Mad Boy" in Berners's circle. He had done more than enough to earn the sobriquet... He once nearly killed a woman in Salzburg by throwing a tankard from a restaurant, attempted to commit suicide and had to be removed heavily tranquilised. When he arrived in Florence he was "carried into the hotel in a semi-conscious state still dressed in his Tyrolean costume and with his hair hanging all over his face". At Amalfi he hit Berners over the head with a button-hook when Berners, wary of being spotted at the table with a young man sporting a bright red shirt, refused to accompany him to breakfast on the terrace.

When pressed, Daphne kindly forwarded on another fix, leading us blindly, indeed helplessly, down the slippery slope to full-fledged dependence. An auspicious beginning:

GRAHAM MASON, the journalist who has died aged 59, was in the 1980s the drunkest man in the Coach and Horses, the pub in Soho where, in the half century after the Second World War, a tragicomedy was played out nightly by its regulars.

leads to a brilliant and summary end:

[He] cooked Mediterranean food well, liked Piero della Francesca and Fidelio, choral evensong on the Third Programme and fireworks. After Marsh Dunbar's death in 2001, with almost all his friends dead, he sat imprisoned by emphysema in his flat, with a cylinder of oxygen by his armchair and bottles of white wine by his elbow, looking out over the Thames, still very angry.

Between those two gems lie sixteen additional paragraphs describing, among other things, Mr. Mason's associations with "many of the painters as well as the writers, actors, layabouts, retired prostitutes, stagehands and hopeless cases that then gave Soho its flavour."

Enjoy.

Graham Mason Obituary | Daily Telegraph

words to live by • post/haste

Ok, what the hell is going on with all of these crazy dadaist spams? The totally random word lists were one thing, but now some of these generators appear to be including grammatical rules. Are the machines... learning? This one came today, from one Lionel Coates, with a subject line implying that two-twenty needed to get its debt under control (which may or may not be true):

Now and then, defined by coneflower. When you see near symbiosis, it means that toward everybody takes a bavaria break. Indeed, living with crumble make a truce with carload near. Most people believe that inside analgesic negotiate a chaotic with from, but they need to remember how complete about discreet.Now and then, from cook cheese crap over. When for stamen dies, around sweeps the floor. Most people believe that inside reach an understanding with beyond, but they need to remember how merry.

Furthermore, about feels remorse, and inside scratchy to related to. When over is knowingly, living with difficult compete with inside.

This is sort of like those messages from televangelists and psychics that don't really make sense, but have just enough general relevance to ensure that those who are appropiately vulnerable and unstablewill view them as absolute, incontrovertible truths. Two-twenty is seized by an irrational desire to send Lionel Coates a bunch of money... as long as he takes credit cards.

four thousand one hundred and twenty words • post/haste

As promised, pictures of two-twenty's near-death experience at Welcome to the Johnsons. Here a firefighter descends into the bar's basement, begging the question, what does the basement of a bar modeled on a late-seventies-era basement look like?

And here our intrepid photographer catches a surprisingly artsy image of firemen standing on Essex Street:

The fire gave us an idea: flaming scorpion bowls at Waikiki Wally's.

Which inevitably led to karaoke in the back room (technically the downstairs of Lucky Cheng's). Here a lovely "lady" who ought to be on Vice's "Do" list offers a leather-clad friend of two-twenty some heartfelt encouragement.

Special thank you to Kathryn for remembering her digital camera and playing well with others.

they eat their young • post/haste

Gee, USA Today must be a really fun place to work, what with all of the employee comaraderie and good will and whatnot. Jack Kelley, the former boy wonder at America's largest McNews source was recently "encouraged" to resign due to concerns about the veracity of his reporting. The media gods decided that was not punishment enough, so now there is going to be some sort of massive inquiry into Kelley's entire body of work.

Here's where the love comes in: it was an "anonymous internal complaint" that started this whole ball rolling, and apparently several of Kelley's coworkers at USA Today were so certain of his big fat liar status that they have been keeping "dossiers" on him for nearly a decade.

Ascent of USA Today Reporter Stumbled on Colleagues' Doubts | NY Times

Other surprisingly interesting things we learned from today's Times Business Section: CBS Chairman Les Moonves recently promised to get a "mullet haircut" if his network did not bring Survivor back next fall, and you can buy the Beastie Boys' former (failed) record company, Grand Royal, here.

wwjd? use wmds • post/haste

Next must-have fashion accesory for denizens of Williamsburg: "Who Would Jesus Bomb" shirts. Now if they only made these as trucker hats...

Funny Bush Cheney 2004 Campaign Gear | Cafe Shops

sunday files • post/haste

Another week, another bloody Sunday Styles section. As promised, we present Things We Learned:

Joyce Wadler was asked to leave Schiller’s by neurotic owner Keith McNally. A note to dear Joyce: ladies who co-open tea shoppes with Moby and New Yorker cartoonists are not the kind of “celebrities” you name drop in the opening paragraph of a story which you intend for us to continue reading.

Paris Hilton would not approve of this week’s On The Street fashion tableau. A challenge to Bill Cunningham: make at least the rest of January fur-free. Not because we care, precisely the opposite- we are bored.

There is a whole new and predictably expensive way to smell like you’ve spent the weekend soaking in a gin-fueled depression: buy Bombay’s new designer scent, Blue Ruin, er, sorry, Infusion.

In what we assume to be an elaborate Daily Show prank, some dork named Dennis Kucinich is running for president and enjoys unprecedented popularity among America’s transcendental meditators.

A couple of guys made a movie about dieting. They were interviewed over dinner by Linda Lee, and the guy on the diet had lobster bisque, filet mignon, and creamed spinach.

Oh, and surprise surprise, a Ginsburg married a Horowitz. Even more surprising than that surprise: not one piece on dating in Manhattan. Nothing about sex parties or singles cruising the web, not a peep about lesbianism or S/M or the more empowering aspects of casual sex. It makes us miss Vanessa Grigoriadis.

Fashion & Style | NY Times

cheating death on the les • post/haste

It's true, the lower east side really is a death-trap! First the electrocutions (hey, good band name!), then yesterday two-twenty was nearly immolated while attempting to become inebriated at Welcome to the Johnsons (one of the few places where unemployed bums can still afford to drink, as they put it, "seriously"). There was smoke on Essex St. and then (someone claimed) a manhole cover started "sparking", and next thing you know there are three firemen between me and my PBR. They opened up a hole in the floor and checked out the basement for flames and dangerous gasses, and although it turned out that there were none they still practically saved us. Firemen: still NYC's - and two-twenty's - heroes. Pics coming soon!

Related news: two thumbs up for Essex's twelve buck brunch, which comes complete with three yummy breakfast cocktails! Related related news: there exists some strange game that large groups of people play in public places, which involves drawing straws to see which two members of the group have to exchange shirts. A tip: if you are going to play this game please, please for the love of god, have attractive friends.

virtual infamy • post/haste

Whew, quite a weekend. Let us begin with the obvs: on Saturday night Lockhart Steele and friends threw down on the LES for a second thirtieth birthday party (the first one, apparently, was in Vegas and was only for the kewl kids). There were a veritable smorgasbord of web-based personalities in attendance, including Gothamist, Whatevs, Lindsayism, JVG and the ex-Miz Gawker, Elizabeth Spy(as in the magazine)-ers (now located here, and here). All were quite wonderful, although we only saw the lovely Lindsay at a distance and did not get a chance to speak to her before she spirited herself away to other environs. There is still hope, however, as plans exist to try and catch The Information at Sin-e tomorrow, and Lindsay will surely be there protecting her boyfriend from hordes of slavering hipster chicks. Two-twenty is extraordinarily embarrassed to admit that we (I) were (was) rendered speechless by the arm-warmered fabulousness of the aforementioned Miss Spiers. Turns out two-twenty is better read than spoken with.

One can only assume that this will be a much blogged-about event, once everyone recovers sufficiently to type. Two-twenty is only too happy to add to the insanity, and by the way is only able to type because we (I) are (am) still drunk. Happy birthday, Lockhart – now is probably a good time to get started on the Book of Ages: 31.

p.s. special thanks to felony for being two-twenty's honorary date for the evening. hey, wait, her boyfriend is in a band too. those musicians get like acres and acres, huh?

who wears short shorts? • post/haste

The AP reports that Sepp Blatter, president of the world soccer association, thinks female footballers should wear sexier uniforms. "Tighter shorts, for example," said Blatter, adding, "Pretty women are playing football today. Excuse me for saying that."

One female Norwegian player retorted, "If the crowd only wants to come and watch models then they should go and buy a copy of Playboy." Er, or watch the Lingerie Bowl. God bless America.

FIFA president calls for sexier uniforms | msnbc.com

beat it, judge, cuz i'm bad • post/haste

Happened to be watching CNN when Michael Jackson left his arraignment a few minutes ago. Surprising no one, he plead not guilty. Surprising some, especially the CNN commentators, he hopped up on top of his car while music (garbled, but presumably his) blared and shook his ass a little while flashing "victory" and "we're number one" signs.

photo from cnn.com

CNN opines: lack of contrition shows disrespect for court. Two-twenty opines: shaking ass atop car with two cameramen shows massive and perhaps misplaced respect for own media machine.

Michael Jackson pleads not guilty to molestation charges | cnn.com

holding down the fort | alex • post/haste

I would like to apologize for the dearth of posts in the last couple of days -- as loyal readers are no doubt aware, two-twenty is operating at half strength while Joanna and Ash reunite in the land of the cheese-eating surrender monkeys. More to the point, the site's remaining correspondent (yours truly) has had to be up in Boston for a couple of days preparing to sell assets in order to finance his addictions to therapeutic MDMA, expensive bourbon, and having a roof over his head.

As usual, not a lot of exciting news up north - the closest thing to a media scandal I could find was this dopey WBZ news radio anchor who has been surreptitiously broadcasting "local" New England news from his vacation home in Florida for the past two winters. Shocking.

Local anchor feels our pain from afar | Boston Globe

i'll have a grande world domination with skim, please • post/haste

Who's afraid of the French? Until recently, Starbucks. The Seattle-based behemoth waited until their European presence was nearly six years old before venturing into the coffee war's belly of the beast: Paris.

The world's largest stimulant peddler's primary competition will likely not be the wee neighborhood cafes, but rather Columbus Cafes, a chain of about 40 stores purportedly modeled after New York espresso bars (which two-twenty assumed were modeled after French espresso bars. Go figure). Philippe Bloch, Columbus' founder, stated that Starbuck's Paris opening made him feel like he was "going into a nuclear war [armed] with a knife."

Starbucks opens first shop in Paris | Salon

is it leftovers or is it art • post/haste

We see them every day, or at least once a week. Odd little AP items that make us chuckle, or smirk, or wince; items that elicit a passing interest and then fade back into the undulating static tapestry that is the background noise of our digital age. One lass, however, one Rachel Elder, was not content to let this little gem pass her by. Her in depth report on foil-wrapping turns up a regular zombie-loving Christo.

HOW TO WRAP YOUR FRIEND'S APARTMENT IN TIN FOIL: A LOVE STORY. | Black Table

simply resurrected • post/haste

Oops. Two-twenty may have hastily implied yesterday that The Simple Life had had its run. Turns out Fox has unearthed a "LOST EPISODE!" (caps theirs) that will air on Monday, January 26th at 2030 hours EST. Strangely, it seems like the episode guide synopsis is already up on Fox's site, as episode #7 following the reunion.

The Simple Life Official Site | Fox.com

what's in a name • post/haste

Many have commented on the newer random name generators that spammers have adopted, possibly in an attempt to incur our mild interest and half-hearted amusement (along with god's wrath for the deeply evil deeds that they commit, obvs). Some have also mentioned the odd strings of seemingly irrelevant words that rest at the bottom of these junk mails, presumably in order to throw off spam-blockers (who would include "menhaden" in a solicitous email, right?).

Well, we got a good one of each this morning. Slippage P. Mercifully writes: "embryonic utmost dwarf cadaver". Right back atcha, Slippy.

Speaking of random name generators (did I really just type that?), if you're feeling less dadaist and more scifi geek, try the Star Wars edition with fun results like Xanatos Sorlin and Taelros Yavok!

The Star Wars Random Name Generator

simply over • post/haste

Where to begin. The Simple Life ‘Reunion Special’ was so horrifically awful that two-twenty needed a Silkwood shower and a Lady Macbeth hand-washing session afterwards in order to feel even remotely cleansed. We are still handling raw meat with plastic gloves for fear of spontaneously infecting it with e. coli or possibly even mad cow disease. There is no doubt in our mind, what’s left of it anyway, that this show must somehow be involved in any- and every-thing relating to degenerative brain disorders.

First: Leeza Gibbons must be shot. Her soulless, shilling, simultaneously grossly sucking-up and grossly patronizing performance defies any explanation or deconstructive reasoning other than the obvious: cash money. Any “journalist” worth their salt should have had one and only one question for Miss Hilton: Where is the Simon Rex – Nicole Lenz threesome video and may I please have a copy? Seriously, Leeza's disconcerting effort to make everything MORE than it was – the Altusians more hicklike but also more genuine and wholesome; PH and NR both more fabulous and more trashy (granted, impossible); the audience more exultantly self-debasing – all of this relentless knee-high-boot-wearing hype just left us with a really bad taste in our mouths. Or maybe that was the sherry cooking wine we’ve been reduced to drinking since it’s too cold to venture outdoors and none of our “friends” will deliver us a case of Ketel One.

Although much of the blame must fall on Leeza, two-twenty admits that an interviewer could hardly be presented with a collection of less talkative subjects through which to ply her trade. The sad truth of the matter here is that assembling a not particularly intelligent (though possibly well-meaning) Arkansan family, two not particularly intelligent (and clearly contract-fulfilling) no-talent fashion-victim celebutantes, and one not particularly intelligent (and hopefully on the slippery downward slope of her career trajectory) hostess on a stage does not make for compelling television. Throw in an audience full of people who should be ashamed of themselves for participating in this sham, and a shiny new Dodge Durango, and you have an unmitigated, embarrassing disaster. Granted, that Braxton was disarming, but following the recent resurgence of 'talent show' programming the last thing we need is another kid (and attendant parent) looking to cash in his or her calculated cuteness for a small piece of the fifteen-minute pie. And please, Fox, we know this was filmed in Arkansas but do they not have set designers there? Two-twenty has seen better production values at preschool Christmas pageants.

Much better than Fox’s ‘special’ was the E! expose on Nicole Richie (which two-twenty reminded you to TiView. Ooh, look, a new word!). Within the first thirty seconds we had already learned that Nicole is in fact not the daughter of Lionel and his first wife, but rather is the product of the boundless and un-wedlocked love inspired by nightly exposure to Lionel Richie’s soulful tunes. In layman’s terms, Nicole is the bastard daughter of Lionel’s then-drummer and an unnamed stage dancer. Now that, friends, is quality television. Other tidbits we learned: the heroin Nicole had in her possession when busted while driving with a revoked license (only days before she was due in rehab) was so totally not hers. Also, the cluelessly maniacal laugh she breaks into any time she is asked an embarrassing or potentially damaging question is not a defensive mechanism, it’s just her vibrant personality.

If you have some sick desire to expose yourself to more harrowing outtakes from The Simple Life, you can pre-order your collector's edition dvd here:

DVD: The Simple Life (2003) | Amazon.com

baghdad's loss is our gain • post/haste

Two-twenty would like to congratulate Ash on successfully getting out of Bags, and Iraq, in one piece. We are very proud of him and think he did a great job. Here’s one of the last examples of his work that the Times printed before his departure:

It kind of looks like the sleeve art on a never-released Belle & Sebastian single called, say, “The Day Xochitl Asked us to Bottle Our Sweat at the 375th Street Y”. Very postmodern Rockwellian dystopia. Whoa… when a wee picture in the Times sends your brain on a tangent like that… it’s called art, folks. The photo actually illustrates a story about “Freedom Rest”, a soldier’s spa in Baghdad where American troops can rest up for the long, possibly never-ending search for WMDs that lies ahead. “It’s a great escape from getting mortared,” quoth Sgt. Xochitl Barragan – hey, quelle coincidence, heh?

Speaking of French, or in pidgen French, or whatever, Joanna and Ash are probably right about now reuniting in Paris. Have fun, lovebirds. Two-twenty misses you.

In the Center of Baghdad, an Escape to America | NY Times

and it would have worked if it weren't for you meddling kids • post/haste

Trae Lindley, PH's Arkansan boytoy, started his new year by meeting with modelling agencies including IMG and Elite in New York, reports US Weekly.

Having just watched our latest TiVo'd episode of The Simple Life, two-twenty is puzzled. How do boys with fashionably mod hair, names like "Trae", and all of their teeth end up in bumfuck AK? We suspect that some enterprising Altus mom heard about the show, saw her opportunity, proceeded to buy up some fashion magazines and rent Zoolander, and faster than you can say Hugo Boss transmogrified her son into a model. Sort of a postmodern twist on those creepy moms who parade their children to kiddie beauty pageants and provide us city slickers with modern-day cautionary tales like the JonBenet Ramsey story. Seriously, though, doesn't the kid kinda look like he was modelled (npi) after Owen Wilson's Hansel?

Related news: we don't know how we missed this when it was originally written, but we are glad we found it now - a lovely expose of Paris and Nicole's absurdly bad behavior during their stay in Altus, courtesy of the New York Post. Thank you, google, for the unexpected trashy treats that you provide.

PARIS' TRAIL OF TRASH | Free Republic (copied from NY Post)

spider hole is the new glory hole • post/haste

It's true. Operation America is Always Right or Re-elect President Bush or whatever they are calling it these days would be much better, and much more interesting, as a porno (last item).

THE BLACK LIST: BACK IN BLACK WITH 76.4% MORE CRAP. | The Black Table

seek and ye shall find • post/haste

Occasionally -- okay, frequently -- two-twenty checks our webstats to see how people come to nibble on our little slice of the digital pie. Here's a small sampling of some of the funnier referring URLs for your amusement... or maybe just ours.

''underage drinking" bad things
2004's bitches of bahrain
Mishal Husain, Sexy pics.
australian sperm banks
funny looking midgets
January 13, 2004's weather forecast in Manhattan Beach
joanna alex ash blog

bacon up that sausage • post/haste

It's not like we ask for much, people. Well, okay, we may have asked for a beach house, but that was nearly half in jest. In all seriousness we asked for only one thing, just one simple thing this christmukkah: a membership in the Bacon of the Month Club. We did not recieve one. Lockhart Steele did. Two-twenty is jealous. And bacon-less.

living in a world of fools • post/haste

"Do you have any BeeGees?"
"Of course I do."
"Do you have 'How Deep is Your Love'?"
"Of course I do."
"Can we listen to it? I don't know why but it's stuck in my head."
"Of course we can."

our spies are everywhere • post/haste

Turns out two-twenty had a source placed at this weekend's Ian Spiegelman bash. So secret a source, in fact, that even we did not know that we had him/her until he/she emailed us yester-eve. Turnabout being fair play, we feel we must print the dish on the dishers:

david carr totally missed the 3 best things about ian spiegelman's party:

3) richard johnson committed the most egregious fashion violation of 2004 (and we haven't even seen an awards show yet): he had on an off-the-peg, brooks brothers-type grey suit - WITH A BLACK T-SHIRT ADVERTISING THE RAMONES. I think sometimes queer eye should run a disclaimer that says "do not try this at home, especially if you are about to turn 50."

It seemed somehow appropriate to two-twenty that skeezy trannies were there to up the catty factor, then we thought it odd cuz we remembered that Spiegelman once infamously offered to "kick the living shit" out of some "faggots", then we remembered that he wrote a book called Everyone's Flaming and it made sense. Wait, sorry, burning. Everyone's Burning.

p.s. yes, in fact, due to the recent over-exposure in sunday styles, sex is now officially over, at least in manhattan. sorry. the good news: you can still get it on behind walmarts and in quick-e-mart parking lots in the midwest for another year or so.

sunday styles make for monday smiles • post/haste

Two-twenty loves to gripe, and it is becoming increasingly clear that few things provide more instantaneously gripe-ready material than the Times' Sunday Styles section. In fact, two-twenty hereby resolves(!) to make it a Monday morn tradition to deconstruct at least one or two items from the section that tries so earnestly to maintain relevance in an increasingly uncaring world.

Firstly, we have Warren St. John's adorable little piece about sex (parties) in the city. Covered by the Post and referenced by two-twenty, oh, let's see, over a month ago, the article did contain one surprise: Mr. St. John declined to interview Chris London for it!

Page three actually offered a nifty tidbit: a Greenwich Village eatery called Wallse (Austrian cuisine... hmm. Call us close-minded but the phrase is not kicking our salivary glands into overdrive) offers its smokers cashmere wraps for their butt breaks, thereby eliminating at a stroke both the shivers and the shakes. Two-twenty knew it was only a matter of time before smoking became fashionable again. Our momentarily higher interest level was soon beaten down by several dull columns about a 34 year-old professor who thinks strangers should let down their guards and talk more. We suspect that his lack of "attitude" has resulted in precious few dates, and he thus has elected to (ab)use his academic position as a platform from which to launch his attempt at rewriting the rules of social intercourse in Manhattan.

Moving on, apparently fur isn't only for ass-uggly Australian boots anymore. They make jackets out of it! And people wear them when it is cold outside! Okay. Lastly, Jennifer Beals has ended up in the only logical place her career arc could have landed her: playing a lesbian in a "racy" (read: boob-laden) cable-only series. Go figure.

So there you have it. The one question two-twenty is left asking itself is: what Internet- or drug- fueled sex/dating phenom will Sunday Styles report on next? The Love Lump (thanks, Fleshbot)?

Sunday Styles | NY Times

tina fey for prezzie! • post/haste

In the good news-bad news department: the Pew Research Center has determined that roughly one fifth of young adults claim to get their campaign news primarily from TV satires and comedy shows. Better, we suppose, than getting it from FOX News, but does it bode well for the future of the free world if Jon Stewart has a strong influence on American politics? Sure he's funny, but c'mon, have you looked at the guy recently? He's like one maniacal leer shy of being an evil dictator.

Why doesn't everyone do as two-twenty does, and get their news from the BBC? You get nifty accents, a somewhat more objective POV, and the hott hott hott Mishal Husain!

Poll: Alternative news gaining influence | Salon

that's an expensive french fry • post/haste

Jeez, two-twenty sure gets around alot for a couple of un(der)employed slackers. Just when one gets back from excercising his pirate skills in the islands, the other is off for a romantic reunion with her bf in gay Paris (insert PH joke of your choice here. We're just not going there. No, really, we're not.). Bad news for the two lovebirds, though: frighteningly, the US is becoming to the EU what Canada is to the US, financially speaking. That's right, 30% less.

Perhaps we should stop blaming Canada for everything from mad cow disease to the blackout, and start shifting some negative publicity towards those upstarts on the continent. Does anyone really want the French involved in controlling the World's fiscal destiny?

Dollar at new record low vs. euro | msnbc

he's no a-rod, but we'll take him | alex • post/haste

To those who care: the sox have brought back one of my favorite dirt dogs, Brian Daubach. Some players still hold the fact that he played during the '94 strike against him, but for me he always kind of epitomized the scrappy nature of the Red Sox.

In related news: Lockhart Steele lists Tile Bar (1st/7th, aka WCOU) and The Magician (118 Rivington) as the two best LES bars for Sox fans in his exhaustive LS.com 2003 Lower East
Side Awards.

Oh, while we're on the subject of "sports", two-twenty as a whole does not particularly care for football, but for various personal reasons we would love to see a Patriots-Eagles superbowl. So please, people, add them to your bedtime prayers (that, btw, is when you nightly kneel by your bed, not the toilet).

Red Sox bring back Daubach | redsox.com

home is where the vodka is | alex • post/haste

I'm baaack. It is entirely possible, indeed likely, that you never even missed me. I have spent the last ten days on a freakishly undeserved vacation, sailing about the BVIs with my impressionable younger sisters. I am happy to report that they returned home with no more tattoos than they already had when they left. I have it on good authority that they were already confirmed alcoholics before they were able to pronounce my full name correctly, so don't blame me.

What did I miss? Apparently not much, since US Weekly, which my sister had the decency to pick up in San Juan during our return trip (and kindly allowed me to peruse), declared both Ugg boots and trucker hats "hot". Ugh. I saw the date on that "magazine", and let's just say it included the numerals "2004".

I have had a few moments to look over what is quickly (and unfortunately) becoming my weekly muse: the Times Sunday Styles section. So much to comment on, so little time. To tide us over I will merely make reference to that wee item in "The City" section, entitled "The Art of Going Too Far": Page Six's Ian Spiegelman does not speak. He quotes, and the music at his parties may "suggest" "capers", but, lo, he is wise, and to the press he does not speak. At least not to David Carr of the Gray Lady.

Urban Studies: The Art of Going Too Far | NY Times

diving into the shallow end • post/haste

Set your TiVos... on Friday January 9th at 10 p.m. E! News Live will premier a special on Nicole Ritchie entitled "Her Simple Life". The network promises to probe "a little deeper into the world of the socialite reality star". Only a little deeper, you see, because... oh, you know.

E! Entertainment Special - Nicole Richie | eonline.com

do you really want to make me cry • post/haste

Ever since 2004 began we have noticed a sharp increase in the number of televised advertisements for the Rosie-backed Boy George musical "Taboo". And like those before it, most notable "Evita" and "Aida", the commercial's series of ten second songbytes has etched its way into our brains. Our very confused brains. "Dressed to kill, kill to dress"? What the hell does that mean?

Clearly the producers are attempting to boost ticket sales with this aggressive spate of ads. We kindly suggest they air commercials featuring Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane doing anything, anything at all, except singing those goddamn songs.

Taboo the musical - by Boy George

single, mostly-white females • post/haste

One of the funniest (post -- no pun intended) New Year round-ups we've ever read listing NYC's most desirable bachelorettes. If you're short on time, just skip to the "cons", e.g., Ally Hilfiger, "Prone to crying jags; nasal voice could crack a diamond." Sparklingly brilliant (pun intended).

New York's Most Eligible Bachelorettes | New York Post Online Edition

pop goes the world • post/haste

After over ten years of drinking fake Pepsi, Iraqis will soon be able to have the real thing -- oh, wait, isn't that Coca-Cola? No matter. Free from trade sanctions now that Saddam's been dragged from his hole, PepsiCo has again partnered with Baghdad Soft Drinks Co. to bottle the world's number two cola, prompting Coca-Cola to rethink its thirty-six-year-long unofficial Arab boycott. Since two-twenty cares about our Middle Eastern friends and remains ever loyal to Coca-Cola (especially Diet Coke, to which we were once horribly addicted), we hope the honchos at Coke decide to enter the Iraqi market. After all, what exemplifies democratic freedom more than having the opportunity to take the Pepsi Challenge?

Pepsi Making Comeback in Iraq | Reuters via NY Times

your new pet rock • post/haste

California-dwelling owners of Apple's iPod are pursuing a class action lawsuit against the company because the digital music player's warranty fizzles out before the battery. Meanwhile, in New York, the Neistat Brothers have taken a cooler, more iPod-like, less typically litigious revenge tactic. Seen those billboards spray-painted with "iPod's unreplacable battery lasts only 18 month$? That's them. See their movie here...

iPod's Dirty Secret