two-twenty

ryan seacrest's personal advice columnist • post/haste

Who the eff is Alan Goldsher? Well, according to his MSN byline he is a sort of modern day Renaissance man:
 
Alan Goldsher's advice columns have garnered a cult following of satisfied singles and the recently coupled. Alan - who, as a bassist, has recorded with Janet Jackson and Digable Planets - is the author of the novels "Jam" and "The Record Haus," as well as the book, "Hard Bop Academy: The Sidemen of Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers." Visit Alan at www.alangoldsher.com, or ask him your question at askalan@match.com.
 
(By all means, please do visit Alan. While you're there, you can sign his guestbook, a place for "Shoutouts, props, whaddups, and the like".)
 
According, however, to any sort of objective reading of this piece on today's msn.com start-up page, Alan Goldsher is, put simply, a girl. Either that, or phrases such as "getting dumped is heinous", "squishing his heart", and "big-time passive/aggressive treatment" have escaped from the pages of Cosmo and found a new home in the male psyche.

this ain't no holiday | joanna • post/haste

Today's postcard from Ash:

Other felicitous Pixies songs from my brain's vast lyric-rolodex:
"Where is My Mind?"
"There Goes My Gun"
"Wave of Mutilation"
"I'm Amazed"

Feel free to play along.

jules and jules • post/haste

After reading Page Six's announcement of Julian Casablanca's engagement to assistant band manager Juliet Joslin (via gawker), we had to take a look at the "presumptive Mrs. Casablancas". Here she is, in a still nabbed from The Strokes' video for "Someday":

Doesn't she look a little like Yoanna, the second season winner of America's Next Top Model?

Eh. Whatever.

the worms crawl out • post/haste

The Tumbleweed Pet Poo Converter we bought last week finally arrived today, providing two-twenty with approximately thirty minutes of excitement, and, hopefully, enough dog-shit-to-worm-shit fertilizer for a lifetime.

Installation went relatively well. After deciphering the instructions (which were written in Australian), Joanna decorated prepared the worm's new home by lining it with last Sunday's Style Section, followed by a layer of dirt.

Alex was responsible for worm relocation...

because worms freak Joanna out.

So here they are.

We'll let you know how it goes.

holy shi'ite • post/haste

So you're a Shi'ite Muslim and you're wondering if you can have anal sex with the woman you've married temporarily, or if it's cool to keep your money in an interest-bearing account at a non Muslim bank, or how to deal with a friend you no longer want to talk to... where do you turn? The Grand Ayatollah Sistani provides answers to these questions and many more at his incredibly helpful website, www.sistani.org.

(In case you're feeling lazy, the answers to the above questions are, yes, anal sex is permitted though undesirable; it is permissible to earn interest at a non-muslim bank; if you want to ditch your friend you still have to say hello to him and ask after his health, and visit him if he gets sick.)

to do: women holding court edition • post/haste

If there is any chance that Courtney Love is hanging out in New York this weekend after her court appearance, then obviously your plans are set. You must stalk her like a mother-effing stalker, and see if you can get her to rant randomly at you from her perch on a bathroom floor. Again.
 
If, however, C.Lo declines to grace us with her presence (and attendant words of wisdom), you will have to look elsewhere for entertainment and inspiration over the Sabbath. May we humbly suggest the Trampoline Hall Lecture Series, which arrives in Manhattan this Sunday at Marquee, 356 Bowery, at 7:30 pm. Everyone loves a good non-expert opinion from time to time (George W. especially, apparently), and the premise of Trampoline Hall is exactly that: accomplished professionals offer short lectures (followed by Q & A) on topics that have nothing to do with their field of expertise. Pop culture-related topics are disallowed, ensuring that the evening will at least begin by establishing lofty cultural heights from which to fall. You can read about the 2002 lecture tour at McSweeney's.
 
For various reasons, of varying relevance to you the reader, two-twenty is particularly looking forward to gallery director Sheri Pasquarella's treatise on the Hoover dam and its connection to Man, Nature, and Greek Mythology. And possibly Star Wars.
 
In related news, we would be remiss if we did not recommend that everyone go see newly-employed
Eurotrash, newly-housed Lindsayism, and newly-politicized Ultragrrrl at the WYSIWYG Talent Show next Tuesday. TMFTML sightings are likely. Oh, and bring a spoon.

random thoughts: why can't we all just get along edition • post/haste

This is so true: no time to blog is the new black. Two-twenty is ashamed to be a part of yet another apathy-related trend associated with our generation, though we are also smugly pleased to find ourselves once again, through absolutely no effort of our own, on the cutting edge of the blogosphere (and the next time you try to slice a tomato with a sphere as opposed to your trusty ginsu, you'll get a pretty fair idea of this cutting edge's overall utility).

So, we apologize, blah blah blog. Spring is here, projects are in the works, the freelance world is showing signs of life, and as always we are faced with alcohol to be drunk, hangovers to muddle through, friends to see, enemies to avoid, and etc. et. al. as well. The international backdrop of seriously depressing shit before which we are now forced to act out our meagre passion plays has also, perhaps, caused our more frivolous creative streams to dry up a bit, in anticipation of a long, hot summer of deception, diplomatic fumbling, scapegoating and mudslinging. So much to look forward to. Speaking of which: Rumsfeld to Army: "We're proud of you." Army to Rumsfeld: "Fuck off."

Disturbing media trend: yesterday, early in the day, stills from the Berg decapitation video shown in the mainstream media pictured only the rank of five masked men standing behind a kneeling Berg. By the end of the day, FOXNews Channel was playing the video and stopping it just as the central figure (now identified as al Qaeda-linked Musab al-Zarqawi) pulled a knife from beneath his shirt. Today, foxnews.com posts a still image on its front page of the presumed al-Zarqawi holding Berg's hair in one hand, and bringing the knife towards his neck with the other. We (or that portion of two-twenty who could stomach it, anyway) have watched the video, available at Salon and, oddly, through Ultragrrrl. It is not pretty. More importantly, it blurs the issues at stake in Iraq by pumping up an "Us vs. Them" mentality. Just as last week the images of American GIs abusing Iraqi prisoners pumped up a similar mentality in the Arab world. In other words, this can only end badly.
 
Speaking of the prison abuse scandal, a beautiful irony resides in the administration's response. The neocon fuckheads who espouse a Straussian philosophy, heavy on the Plato's Republic, and who insist that they should be entrusted to protect the masses by any means necessary (including lying to the public) due to their moral superiority and supreme personal responsibilty, are the same neocon fuckheads who are immediately willing to hang the blame for Abu Ghraib on a few bumblefucks from West fucking Virginia. I hope one of those poor slobs gets a decent lawyer and this whole thing blows up in Rumsfeld's patrician lap. Smug hypocritical fuck.

Speaking of neocon fuckheads, it is becoming abundantly clear that these true believers are just as self-importantly delusional as all of the lefty utopian idealists of the sixties and seventies. The only difference is that rather than dreaming of an impossible world where everyone gets along, they dream of an impossible world where everyone gladly lies down and places their neck beneath the jack-booted foot of sanctimonious zealots (and then asks if they can please lick the dirt off). Happily, it is this delusional aspect of their thinking that, after destroying any semblance of international stability, may finally bring the neocons down. To wit.

Anyway. How 'bout them Sox? Or Yanks? Whatever.

postcards from the edge | joanna • post/haste

Ash sent the following postcard from his embed in Iraq via the New York Times this morning:

He's been hanging out with the 1st Armored Division for about a week now, almost the whole time he's been in Iraq.

For a multimedia take on what's going down in lovely Karbala, check out Fox News' video page and click on the "Nightime Firefight" link. Nuckin' futz (yeah, I saw that movie).

poo knew? • post/haste

Two-twenty just spent almost $100 to buy a pound of Redworms and a Tumbleweed Pet Poo Converter. Apparently, if starved, the worms in the box will eat anything, including Atlas' shit, and convert her waste into "worm castings". The resulting worm poo can then be used to fertilize our garden. So disgusting, but so cool. And who do we have to thank for this miraculous invention? The Australians.

let the blood bath begin • post/haste

Today, the fifth of May, marks not only the anniversary of the 5 billionth drunk Mexican (or something), but also the beginning of New York City's newest media war: the battle of the bird cage liners. Yes, today AMNewYork's new competitor the  New York Metro paper hit the streets (we're not sure of their web site-- newyorkmetro is rather, uh, taken, and frankly we couldn't be troubled to look much further than that). No word yet on Vegas oddsmakers' take on the situation, but two-twenty can report the following:

At 34th and Park two pushers of the Metro paper had strategically placed themselves between that busy intersection and the entrance to the downtown 6 train at 33rd. Flustered AMNewYork slingers huddled at the bottom of the station's stairs, passing out their product to loyal customers and trying in vain to shove a second piece of crap into the hands of those poor souls who had already been accosted just moments before. Tensions appeared high. However, at 14th St./Union Square's popular southwest corner exit, sales associates representatives from both media empires stood at the top of the stairs, in close proximity, offering their wares with hands stained equally black by the smudge-prone ink of solidarity. Perhaps not chummy, but certainly not combative. AMNewYork and the Metro paper: the"Hatfields and McCoys" of free dailies, or the Donald Rumsfeld and c.1980's Saddam Hussein of worthless rags? Only time will tell.

'METRO' Free Tabloid Prepares Launch in New York City | adage.com

Metro Launches Daily in Crowded NYC Market | mediainfo.com

brushing my shoulders off, pulling my sox up | alex • post/haste

I didn't gloat. When we swept the Yankees, I didn't start preaching from my digital soapbox. When we won six straight, I didn't start predicting a ring, or hurling sneering comments at passersby wearing pinstripes, the number 13, or hats with the 2003 AL Championship logo on the side. I held my tongue, and look where that got us. A five game skid.

So, fuck it: the 2004 Boston Red Sox are the best team ever in the history of baseball. They are going to win the championship of the world galaxy universe this year. Everyone and everything else pales in comparison to the bright shining greatness of this baseball team. In other words, best team evs.

Let's see if that helps.

Red Sox Rally Falls Short | redsox.com

from the home office of nyc | joanna • post/haste

The Top Ten Reasons I'm Happy to Be Back Home in New York City

10. No longer having to pretend that I'm talking to someone on my mobile phone to prevent strange men from chatting me up on the street.

9. Seeing no signs to acknowledge or ignore instructing me not to flush any paper products whatsoever -- including toilet paper -- down the toilet.

8. No more being surrounded by drunk Australians (though I do very much miss one in particular).

7. The opportunity to use crazy fast wireless whenever I want without feeling obliged to shell out a fortune on Momos or espressos at the Four Seasons Istanbul.

6. Being able to buy well-made cocktails almost anywhere that contain vodka that is not Smirnoff. Don't get me wrong, as far as domestic big-brand beer goes, Efes is top notch, but a woman's gotta switch it up from time to time.

5. Bacon. Bacon, bacon, bacon.

4. Having the chance to finally play with the loot I bought at the Grand and Egyptian Bazaars. Already overhauled the living room; will play guess-which-spice-I-bought-when-I-was-freaking-out-from-the-variety later.

3. Wearing a clean pair of jeans. The ones I brought to Istanbul/Cannakale/Gallipoli became so dirty that I have (maybe) finally broken my habit of wiping my hands on my jeans to clean or dry them.

2. Hanging out with my effing cool friends.

1. Reuniting with Atlas, beagle extraordinaire.

(Special note to Uncle Tommy: thanks for taking care of the old lady. Your fellow Taurus celebrates her ninth birthday on Wednesday and has specified that you are not obligated to buy her so much as a bone, so grateful is she for your presence while mum and dad were away).