In Remembrance Of Bea Arthur...

(Better late than never.) Here's Rufus Wainwright's California, where he pleads, "my new Grandma Bea Arthur, come on over." I like to believe he wrote this, because Bea was some form of electric comfort via his television set during lonely times away from NYC.



He loves to tell the story of meeting Bea and spilling out this long, wordy tale about his including her in this song. The reason being that he and his Grandma really bonded while watching Golden Girls, and Bea, of course was their favorite on the show. Ever the sass-mouth, Bea just looks at him dryly, and retorts, "I'm not your fucking grandmother!" and walks past him!

Blander

Holy Schmoly! Blender magazine has bitten the dust, leaving only two, Spin and Rolling Stone, vying for the spot as mainstream music's most shameful. I can't tell you how many times I applied for a job at this rag with this no response. Oh whelp! I suppose the saddest part is that their final cover has American Idol's Kelly Clarkson on the cover.



Being the first American Idol winner, Clarkson represented that even a small town gal from where-ever-the-eff-she-was-from could be a star, and live the American Dream. With her face gracing the cover of Blender's last issue, one could go as far to say that perhaps the American Dream is dying-- or maybe just shitty over-produced music fueled by reality TV shows is dying. Let's hope it's the latter.

For all those unhappy now-jobless pups who wouldn't hire me at Blender, I recently found this really cool artist, Richard Perez who can empathize:


CHECK MORE OF HIS WORK ON HIS FLICKR

Friend of Dorothy

Today, Callie posted on the Bust blog about the TV movie version of Alice in Wonderland which, like her, I remember loving as a child-- but also being a bit freaked out by. In fact, I think the scary aspect helped heighten my intrigue. 

This reminded me of another movie in that category: RETURN TO OZ

Oh yeah. That's a little Fairuza Balk as Dorothy!

This came out in 1985 (as did Alice in Wonderland!), and is something of a sequel to the The Wizard of Oz (starring Judy Garland, of course). It's actually based on the novels "The Land of Oz" and "Ozma of Oz" which were the second and third books in the Oz series begun by L.Frank Baum. There were fourteen in all! This one has a much darker spin from the beginning in comparison to its predecessor starting with when Dorothy is taken to a mental hospital by Aunt Em to treat her insomnia and for the crazy stories she tells about the Land of Oz! The doctor in the hospital is said to work miracles with electricity AKA gives SHOCK TREATMENTS! Dorothy escapes with the help of a mysterious girl who helps her back to Oz. Unfortunately Oz has become a terrible place due to the Gnome King's rule and she must rescue all her friends, and save Oz! 

By the movies that I liked as I kid, I think I was just destined to do drugs. There was no way around it. Watch the movie in its entirety HERE, you'll see what I mean.

I Can't Hardly Stand It

R.I.P. LUX INTERIOR oct 21, 1948 - feb 4, 2009

While driving through California, Lux Interior, born Erick Lee Purkhiser, picked up a flame-haired hitchhiker named  Kristy Wallace AKA Poison Ivy. By 1976 the two married, moved to NYC,  and birthed the psychobilly sleaze band, The Cramps-- A sound that consisted largely of psych, garage, blues, country, and surf rock. Other members of the band have changed over the years, but the two continued to perform together until today when Interior sadly passed away of an existing heart condition. The Cramps were important members of the blossoming music scene of the 70's and 80's happening in the East Village and LES, namely at CBGB and Max's Kansas City. Interior was well-known for his Iggy Pop-esque gyrations on stage, flamboyant get-ups, and hiccuppy, growling vocals.  Music fans have already begun clogging fan sites with messages in remembrance of him. My heart goes out to his "bad girl vixen", Poison Ivy. He will be missed and remembered.

ON A PERSONAL NOTE: I remember the first time I heard The Cramps. I was in my ex-boyfriend's car (who was only a friend at the time) when we were living in the mountains in Boone, NC. He only had a tape deck in his car, so he would make tons of mixtapes that he would title "Coolsongs #". He probably had 150 of those tapes, plus the ones other people gave him. I had just gotten in the car, when I heard the opening clangs to "I Can't Hardly Stand It", and then the aching, hiccup of a voice (Reminded me of my beloved Elvis), "We-heh-heh-ll the sun's gone down, and you're uptown...I-i-i-if you don't know. I love you so. You got me all tore up." At the time, I was madly head over hills for aforementioned friend, and I couldn't believe how this song seemed to be coming right out my own soul! Such a cheeseball. So that weekend, I went on a trip to Chapel Hill and sought out Bad Music for Bad People. I can't even tell you how many mixtapes that song has gone on (Sorry dudes I've sorta liked and maybe loved before.)

The Late, Great Silver Jews

I apologize for the tardiness, but I'd like to have a moment of silence for the Silver Jews who played their final show 2 days ago at Cumberland Caverns (an underground cave!) in the quaint town of McMinnville, Tennessee. Some past Jews members were in attendance and played alongside the band including founding drummer (and former Pavement drummer) Bob Nastanovich, but unfortunately not the third founding member, Stephen Malkmus (most notable for fronting Pavement.)
REVIEW OF SHOW

Please gaze upon the below photo taken by Dave Black of final permanent band members Cassie and David Berman whilst you ponder such great albums as American Water and Tanglewood Numbers.



And here is a mesmerizing video of a girl belly dancing to "The Wild Kindness" off of American Water.


SIDE NOTE: Years ago I happened upon some work by (the now sadly deceased) Jeremy Blake called "Sodium Fox" in a gallery in Chelsea. David Berman is one subject of this work, and narrates a video included in the exhibition. Post-Silver Jews, I hope he continues to participate in this medium, though Berman noted on the Drag City message board that he plans to concentrate on "screenwriting or muckraking"-- whatever that means.

Energy

Having been stuck at home 1.) sick 2.) with no job 3.) afraid of frost bite, I've been getting a healthy dose of T.V., so I just saw that Pepsi Commercial with The Apples in Stereo's song 'Energy' in it. I actually didn't even realize it was them until I googled it, but after I did, it got me thinking. This could be bad.

First of all, here's the real video for the song directed by none other than Elijah Wood:



The video is pretty blah, but the song has been motivating me out of my personal blahs.

Second of all, I once won tickets to see The Apples in Stereo off my college radio station in North Carolina for their 2003 tour. It happened about this time 6 years ago. At the time I was going to UNC-Greensboro, and loathing all of my surroundings. Teen angst! Yessss! So I found my rather puerile review of the show.

I was 19, and looked something like this:

Apples in Stereo were really good, although the audience was being pretty lame. I mean, you would expect some people to dance or something with the kind of music that they are...but whatever. I mean, people started leaving before they even cut the lights back on in the club, nevertheless, the band came back and did an encore for the remainder of the polite people who paid to see their show. They look different than I thought they would...but they seemed really friendly and and bubbly...which I guess matches their music. Also...it was very smokey in Cat's Cradle(worse than usual)...and I thought my eyes were going to fall out. I am so glad they outlawed smoking in clubs in NY...one more reason to live there! (NOTE: BAHAHAHAHA!!!!) After the show, of course we had to go to:

(a 24-Hour greasy spoon in Carrboro. popular with the college-folk.)

(This is my friend, Adam at Time Out. He lives in Oakland now, and is married to a friend of the girl seated next him.)

So that was it...then we got back really late...and i had to park in BFE (Translation: Bum-Fuck Egypt)...and walk all the way ACROSS campus to my dorm, carrying my huge cd book, among other things. It was freezing outside. This was definitely my least favorite part of the evening.

p.s. i only have $35 in my bank account. uh mom? help...?

Not much has changed, I guess. I have since purchased an Ipod. (Although, I still have all my disks and tapes-- most likely covered in a layer of dust-- in a trunk in my apartment.)

December 2008 to Now.

Got laid off from my (semi-)fancy magazine job, but I didn't care that much. Great experience, low pay. Note: No job in the magazine industry is fancy. Looks like six to ten of my acquaintances have had the same thing happen to them recently, so I don't feel like a total loser. Left for North Carolina two days after my last day on the job. Immediately upon landing headed to NorthLake mall in Charlotte. Only 4 shopping days till Christmas! Bought my boyfriend a couple books-- one of my favorites, Like Water for Chocolate, and The Koran-- He said he wants to read the major religious texts this year. Got the fuck out of there before my head exploded. Headed to Concord Mills, another mall full of fat, sluggish shoppers. Got a 20-minute massage in the middle of the mall by a small young Asian kid. Worried that my ass crack was hanging out of my jeans the whole time, but then sorta got into it (Not in a sexual way). Met back up with my mom, feeling tired and sick, stopped at a craft store for some yarn. Spent the rest of the night on my parents' new leather couch engulfed in their plasma screen making a scarf for my stepmom. Woke up the next morning feeling mildly hungover even though I hadn't drunk anything. Headed to another mall. Bought my dad a Studs Terkel book, my boyfriend a robe, socks, and underwear, and my mom the new one by John Grisham-- Oh and my brother a Panthers jersey. At some point, bought my mom some other stuff, but this is all getting boring by now. Christmas Eve morning I woke up still feeling exhausted, but feeling like I could run a marathon from the adrenaline I was pulling out of the reserves. Headed to my grandparents'. My grandma has an embroidery machine, so I embroidered some gifts for my boyfriend's family. Got in a fight with my mom, because I needed to meet up with an old friend, Maren, from college, but went anyway. Had shitty wine at an Italian restaurant where they tried to charge us for Frangelico that we didn't drink. I almost told them to leave it on the bill, and bring us the shots-- but didn't. Went to my Aunt's for my family's traditional Christmas Eve celebration. Played Christmas charades and the gag gift game. Wished there was alcohol or a nap involved. Stayed up till 3am helping my mom wrap my own presents, and thinking to myself how much a waste wrapping presents is. Christmas morning started at 9am. Stockings, presents, ate quiche. Got to my dad's by 11:30am- presents-- headed to my grandma's. Nursed a glass of wine. Headed to my other grandma's. Walked into a fight between my teenage cousin and my mom because she told him to stop texting at the table. Ah, kids these days! After dinner everyone is forced to open gifts one by one-- a close equivalent to a 3-hour Indian burn. Loved to see the family though. Back to my mom's. My friend, Matt came over to chat with me while I packed. We went to high school together, and he lived in NYC for awhile, now he's in Austin. I miss him. The next morning I was up by 7am and at the airport by 8am to head to San Francisco. My plane was delayed by 3 hours, but I made my connecting flight in Chicago by 5 minutes. On the plane to SF was trapped by the window by a lady with MS who couldn't move her legs. To get in and out, I had to fully straddle her, so I didn't get my free soda for fear of not being able to get out to pee. Met my boyfriend's parents for the first time. Felt anxiety over whether to shake hands or hug upon meeting them. I awkwardly did both. Had my third Christmas dinner of the season, but I was starving, so it was okay. Went to Fisherman's Wharf, and saw the seals, but most of them were retired for the winter. Had a decent soft shell crab sandwich, and bought some greens at the fresh foods market for New Years day. Tried every free sample I came across. Also, got a migraine, and felt like I was going to puke later in the day. Took a nap. Went to a restaurant called Bix that was all decorated like the 20's for my boyfriend's parents' anniversary. I mean, it was decorated like that all the time, not just for the dinner. Had marrow bones that were so rich the marrow dripped down my chin, tuna ceviche with jalapenos, and lamb sirloin. My headache was gone, so we met my friend, Leti from NYC at another bar that I forget the name of in the Mission, and later danced at a bar called the Knockout that my boyfriend claims he had been to before, but I dunno. Kind of drunk, we cabbed it back to the Marina, the hoity toity neighborhood my BF's sister lives in. Up and out the door by 10am for a ride to Napa Valley. We'd rented a van and driver, but the twists and turns on the way there were making me nauseous. Stopped at In-n-Out Burger. People rave about that place, but I'd take Wendy's or Taco Bell over that mash any day of the week. Yes, I got it "animal style." Stopped at a bunch of wineries. Ended up with three bottles in comparison to Mike's family's 6 cases. A meager, but good start to our collection. Napa is beautiful though. Go there to dream. That night, I think we had sushi at a place called Zushi Puzzle.  Sashimi, sake, rolls, the usual. I can't remember what we did later. Might have just had wine with Mike's fam. The next day walked from the Marina to Lower Haight. My legs are still burning from it. Found a rad vintage Betsey Johnson sweater dress at some thrift store there, ate pizza, and gave some away to some gutter punks. On the way there Mike realized the Butthole Surfers were playing the Fillmore, and got Gibby to put us on the list. I was psyched because we didn't get to see them in New York. This old hippie was doing those crazy psychedelic oil projections behind the band, which was cool. Just to note: The bouncers at the Fillmore are fucking dickwads. Met a girl outside the venue from Spain. I think her name was Ana. She had recently married her ex-boyfriend of eight years and said, "As long as you love, nothing else matters!" Grabbed a cab to a bar in the Mission appropriately named Casanova's to hook up with Mike's friends. The ratio of dudes to girls was 4:1. I went in to pee, and overheard a convo between two highly made up gals, "Brian Boitano? Don't we know him?" "Yeahhh. Didn't he go to --insert high school name here--?" Regarding the scrawling, "I <3 Brian Boitano!" on the wall by the bathroom mirror. As I was jetting out of the place, ran into Mike's friends who ushered us to a bar around the corner surrounded by bikers. Slow-danced to Love and Rockets, So Alive with Mike, and established it as "our song." I know, barf. On the cab ride home, had an arab cab driver who wore a purple turban, and good-heartedly talked to us about love and marriage. Next morning realized our legs weren't the best mode of transport, and took the 22 Bus to Pacific Heights for some upscale thrifting. I got an incredibly short vintage Ungaro dress to wear New Years Eve. It's turquoise and looks good with my hair. Mike found an awesome three piece suit, but it was a tiny bit too tight, so he decided against it. Made fajitas for Mike's sister and her boyfriend, and rang in the New Year at a dive-y sports bar in the Marina called the Horseshoe. Mike's sister's boyfriend is obsessed with all sports, but especially the Oakland Raiders. Mike bought everyone tequila shots to toast instead of champagne. We wanted to get out of the Marina, so we went to another party that Leti told us about that was basically a college kegger thrown by adult goths and ravers-- Or those reminiscing "the good ol' days." She wasn't there though, so we met her at another party full of party kids whom I felt I might have been friends with a few years ago. We arrived back home at 6am. Slept the majority of the next day. Saw that Benjamin Button movie. The next day was Mike's 30th birthday. We had really good vietnamese in the Financial District, hot toddys at Vesuvio where I ran into my long lost friend Adele who was bartending there, then took BART to Berkeley, which was totally pointless. I wanted to go to this little Ethiopian place I saw there, but met up with Mike's sister instead, who drove us back into the city, and steaks at Izzy's in the Marina. Got really drunk later on Manhattans at another dive that I liked better than the last one we were at. We returned home to take stupid drunk photos of each other that we can never show anyone. The next afternoon headed to the Mission again on a bus. Buses in SF are not like NYC subways. Quickly learned to sit in back, as sitting in front will force you to sit next to every homeless and/or crazy person smelling of urine/feces that boards. One guy got on with his own squishy butt cushion smelling like a booze factory, and made friends with another who thought he was Howdy Doody. Got Mike Mexican food at a place that looks like it could be in LA, and new shoes from a store that mostly sold colorful suits to pimps or those who wanted to look like them. The food was mediocre, but the shoes are A+. Arrived back in New York a couple nights ago. I've been sitting in my pajamas for a full day now staring at two unpacked suitcases.

To Do In 2009: 1.) Unpack suitcases 2.) Find job.

(This has been an homage to Bret Easton Ellis.)

Pictures of Me When I was 22.

R.I.P. Studs Terkel

"My epitaph? My epitaph will be 'Curiosity did not kill this cat."


MAY 16, 1913 - OCT 31, 2008

"Perhaps it is this specter that most haunts working men and women: the planned obsolescence of people that is of a piece with the planned obsolescence of the things they make. Or sell. It is perhaps this fear of no longer being needed in a world of needless things that most clearly spells out the unnaturalness, the surreality of much that is called work today."

I was required to read the Pulitzer Prize winning Louis "Studs" Terkel's Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression in a history class in college by an awesome professor who had long hair and always wore tweed blazers with leather elbow patches. This was perfect for me as it reminded me of swinging on my Grandma's old porch swing while she told me of how I came to be. These stories are truer than those in any history textbook, as they came directly out of the mouths of those who lived them. Studs' uncanny ability to relate was also used as a radio host on 98.7 WFMT Chicago between 1952 and 1997, and a political activist. On his hour-long program he would interview guests as diverse as Bob Dylan, Leonard Bernstein, and Alexander Frey. Terkel, age 96, recently fell in his home this past October, and had been suffering since. He is said to have died peacefully Friday evening. I'll borrow Studs' weekly radio sign off and say, "Take it easy, but take it."

Check out his new book, P.S. Further Thoughts From a Lifetime of Listening scheduled to be released in December, and also these titles from the past: Giants of Jazz, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do, And They All Sang: Adventures of an Eclectic Disc Jockey.

His Eyes Were a Blue Million Miles

RIP Paul Newman
You will forever live on in my bedroom atop this fabulous pillowcase (Scored on Ebay for 6 bucks!), and in my salads. 

Here's a screen test from Paul's early years, alongside James Dean:

With that, we shall review a bunch of songs about blue eyes to remember the azure pools that were his.

REM- Pale Blue Eyes (Really Awesome Cover! Live in Passaic 1984)


Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band- Her Eyes Were a Blue Million Miles (Big Lebowski fans?)


Elvis Presley- Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain (Another version by Charley Pride: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmVEMMnAQvo Willie Nelson also does a great job too, but duh. It's Willie Nelson.)


The Black Crowes- Bad Luck Blue Eyes Goodbye (This song comes on my iPOD shuffle about every 3 songs. It's really weird.)


Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young- Suite: Judy Blue Eyes (Live at Woodstock)


Stray Cats- Baby Blue Eyes (Where did Brian Setzer disappear now? Oh, he reunited these dudes for a "Farewell" to Australia--and to his pride-- tour, of course!)


The Blue Comets- Blue Eyes (Although it's all in Japanese, so who knows if that's what they're saying? Cool song anyway. Organ organ organ!)


Timmy Curran- Blue Eyes (This guy was a pro-surfer and just released an album. I actually kind of like this cheesy folky song, although he has a new souped up heavily produced version that's even cheesier with a video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkrAZI92Oxo)

Bullet- White Lies, Blue Eyes (This is the kind of shit you start finding once you dive into a wormhole on Youtube.)


Steve Lawrence- Pretty Blue Eyes (This guy is like a white Sam Cooke-- sort of.)


Lastly, here is an amazing tribute video someone made to figure skater Evgeni Plushenko (Yeah, no clue who he is either.) to The Who's 'Behind Blue Eyes'.

A Supposedly Fun Thing He'll Never Do Again

R.I.P David Foster Wallace



DFW is one of the people that made me want to write. Sadly, he was found in his home around 9:30pm yesterday to have committed suicide. Much beloved by many readers, his sardonic wit will live on in his bestsellers, and will most surely be unsuccessfully emulated by imitators to come. (SOURCE)

Here is a link to his commencement speech to the Class of 2005 at Kenyon University. If anyone knew about the human condition, it was this guy:

http://www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html

I. NEED. JOB.

I don't read Gawker daily, but I just caught up on the back-posts and, wow, they are on top of their shit! I wasn't really going to talk about this, but since GAWKER is, I suppose I will too.

Last Thursday, June 26th after organizing a huge breakfast for some PR company beauty product launch in the place of my previously happy employment, I was called to a meeting with the general manager of the place. In that meeting, the grand announcement was that the restaurant had been sold, and everyone there was immediately out of a job. That place was Bette-- owned by Miss Bungalow 8 "Nightlife Queen" Amy Sacco, which Gawker knew about the next day. CRAZY.

Here's the article:

Is this the end of Amy Sacco? We're going to say it is. The onetime NYC nightlife queen's restaurant Bette in Chelsea—formerly considered a complement to her club Bungalow 8, a food-and-fun empire that would never be destroyed—is closed. No big to-do; just a lock on the door, and the end of an era. What happened?

A tipster to Eater says:

At Bette last night for the closing party. I live and work in the area and dined there fairly regularly. The bartender told me that Amy Sacco sold the restaurant and gave the staff about 8 hours notice.

Cold. Why, we remember a few years back when we were talking about Sacco's "quest for total domination," and HBO was planning a story about her rise to fame. She had so much success in the city, she said she'd rather die than return to her native Jersey.

Then things started to slowly go downhill. Rumors flew that Sacco was stiffing her PR agency; the usual suspects started placing bets on when Bungalow 8 would close. Her doorman struck out on his own. She tried to export her magic to London, but failed to find the same popularity.

Sacco recently called New York nightlife—and herself—"overrated." Now she's been proven right.

YES, GAWKER. The notice given was completely cold. I cannot say much more, as I loved working at Bette. I loved all those I worked with, although I stood in the same room with Amy only once the entire time I worked there (She did give me hand-me-downs from goody bags she didn't want though, which was nice.) I actually had gotten up at 5am to throw a private event beginning at 7am that ended up being a total stressful nightmare, to only have my hard work followed by the news that I was out of a job before noon. I might as well tell you friends, lurkers, and stalkers, I was and still am in shock.  The meeting promptly commenced with a round of drinks on Bette. Cheers! 

(I did not attend the closing party, however. I chose to stay home and ordered Chinese food, watched movies with my boyfriend, and sulked like a good sport.)

NOTE: Even though it's easy and fun to pick on Ms. Sacco, we should all be looking at this from a much broader angle. I've watched the cover counts in several popular restaurants in NYC decline over the past year or so, and it wasn't because they had lost their edge. People simply can't afford to blow all their dough on decadent dining right now! Sacco's decision to chuck Bette was probably just good business sense. She's simply cutting off the (non-profitable) fat to save room for the meat (i.e. whatever other endeavors she is sitting on these days.) As I mentioned in my previous post, Jann Wenner may be looking to do the same thing! Everyone knows the economy is in the toilet, but if the rich kids are watching their backs, is anyone looking out for the rest of us?

Suicide Jumping: Not Just For NYU Students Anymore

What oh what could make this beautiful 20 year old supermodel off herself?

I'm dumbfounded and it seems that her friends are too, but Russian model, Ruslana Korshunova, is believed to have leapt to her death from the balcony of her Downtown NYC apartment building yesterday afternoon. She would have been 21 on July 2. Source

In other celebrity gossip:

Jann Wenner may be selling US Weekly.

During Wenner's recent appearance on "The Charlie Rose Show," Rose questioned him regarding sales of Rolling Stone to Conde Nast getting rumors swirling. An industry rep from Conde Nast stated that it wasn't the Wenner founded Rolling Stone they wanted, but much more valuable US Weekly as it would "make perfect sense for Conde Nast to buy." Seems like Wenner is looking to make bucks ($750 million according to the NY Post) to keep his baby afloat in times of crisis, perhaps? If Jann Wenner is downsizing and conserving, how bad off are the rest of us? Yikes! If you're ever in midtown or the financial district, look out for flying dudes in business suits-- and models too, I guess.

The Sick And The Dead

Amy Winehouse (only sort of) Has Emphysema at Age 24
Earlier this week, the boozy bluesy floozy's dad told the press she has an "early stage of emphysema" from her crack and tobacco shmokin'. Now her publicist is refuting this with the statement that she has "traces of emphysema." I don't really see the difference, but either way she is now "covered in nicotine patches" and recovering. Do they make crack rock patches? Maybe that would help.

Kermit Love Croaks

The "Sesame Street" costumer, who also designed costumes for renowned ballet choreographers Twyla Tharp and George Ballanchine saw his last "sunny day" today, when he died at age 91 from congestive heart failure. He was co-creator, along with Jim Henson, of Big Bird and designer of costumes for Mr. Snuffleupagus, Oscar the Grouch, and Cookie Monster, among others who resided on "Sesame Street." He insisted that he was not the namesake for the green guy with an affection for one obnoxious pink pig, but judging from his choice in partners, I beg to differ.


Failure: George Carlin's Heart
I was never a huge George Carlin fan, but his success is worth noting, so I made up some appropriate words to go on his tombstone:

Here Lies Beneath one gorgeous George
Many of his words were quite poor
Though his tongue sharp, he did amuse
Your mom, your sister, and banged them too
Now he's gone from a failed heart
But no one will forget his profane art

"Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits.”
May 12, 1937 – June 22, 2008

Impetuous Imus Eats Shoe (Again).
Don Imus has another snack on his cowboy boot after a conversation regarding football player Adam 'Pacman' Jones' recent request to no longer be referred to by his nickname leads to another questionable remark. Jones, whose nickname is associated with six prior run-ins with the law, would like to relinquish himself from the bad boy reputation. Upon hearing this news, Imus responded, "Well, what color is he?" Given that Jones is black, Imus blurted, "Well, there ya go..." After losing his job last year when he referred to Rutgers' team, the Scarlet Knights as "nappy headed ho's", Imus really has no room for slip-ups. Now he's back-peddling, and it's not exactly cute to watch. I keep expecting him to say, "What?! I love black people! I even allow them in my home!"

No Mo' Mojo

R.I.P. Bo Diddley

Dec 30 1928- Jun 2 2008

http://prod1.cmj.com/articles/display_article.php?id=68047471