Leslie Gray Streeter

Rock Hall Nominees: Yowza!

This just in, possums - The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has just announced the nominees for induction next year. And it's good! Not only does the list confirm that I'm old (many bands that I consider contemporaries are eligible, meaning theie first release was 25 years ago or more), but that the Hall is really trying to be inclusive in terms of musical styles. Here are the noms:

- Chic, whose jazz-funk-dance ditties "Good Times" and "Le Freak" provided the model for..well, pretty much any '80s dance music. And the band's masterminds, Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards, produced and wrote for just about everybody;

- The Dave Clark Five, the Beatlesque Brits whose "Glad All Over" is the happiest song this side of "You Are My Sunshine." They had 17 top 40 hits in three years. And Dave Clark was a singing drummer. Singing drummers are the best;

- Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five were not only rap and hip-hop pioneers, but recorded "The Message," the first great socially conscious rap track. And it's still poignant and commanding;

- R.E.M. is the most relevant indie band of my generation. Really.

- The Ronettes were a combination of theatrics, toughness, talent and drama. Ronnie Spector, of course, was married to Phil "Musical Genius' Spector, and was the voice of the ultimate musical teen queen melodramas. And she was my model for how to do liquid eyeliner;

- Patti Smith is the Godmother of Punk and the inspiration to generations of girls who rocked on their own terms;

- The Stooges scare me. And that's what punk's supposed to do. All hail;

- Joe Tex was covered by everyone from James Brown to Elvis Costello, and he was the first soul musician to have a pop hit (1965's "Hold What You've Got." ) Plus, he ain't gonna bump no more with no big fat woman.

- Van Halen kicks butt. They are rock n roll because they embraced on-stage excess, soaring guitars and emotion and the idea that this was supposed to be fun. So there.

There is not a loser nomination on this whole list, but only five get in. This is tricky, because at least three of them have been eligible for ages and still haven't gotten in. Would it be fair for relative whippernappers to leap-frog over them? Maybe not. But life's not fair. Here are my picks:

- Grandmaster Flash: There would be no modern music scene without hip-hop, and without this band's fusion of various musical styles to slap listeners upside the head;
- REM: Because you know they're getting in;
- Patti Smith: I pick her over Iggy and the Stooges, because I wouldn't want to pick two punk acts when there's so much other music that needs to be recognized. And she deserves it more. I know they're influencial. But she's even more so.
- The DC Five: I'm sorry, Ronnie. I am such a huge Ronettes fan, but when we're going '60s rock, I gotta go with the band who wrote their own music and kept the hits going. But I'm doing my eyeliner extra-thick tonight. Better luck next year;
-Van Halen: Because I wanna see that induction reunion jam. Where's Gary Cherone?

More Gregg Allman!

Today in the TGIF section, you'll be reading my interview with rock legend Gregg Allman. That's only half the story - literally. Allman is a regular Chatty Cathy, a laid-back and failingly friendly guy who's the best kind of interview. And that is someone who doesn't skimp on the chatter, who doesn't make you pull the words out of his throat like a meat out a crab claw.

The only problem is that it was more than the print version of the interview could take. So here, if you're interested, is the rest of the story...I feel like that guy on the radio.

We join Mr. Allman talking about his recent health issues.

Q: Are you OK?
A: After I turned 50, I did the whole series of tests - a colonoscopy, a liver biopsy. I'm 10 years sober now, and I worried if there was any scirosis. I came out smelling like a rose. I got a clean bill of health. I'm so proud of that. But I did just have a growth on one of my ears, I'd always put SPF on my face, but I didn't think about putting it on my ears. There was a carcinoma taken out of one of (them). It looked like a big zit. . . . Pardon me.
Q: No, that’s cool.
A: The plastic surgeon himself calls me, and you know there's something up when they do. He says "Mr. Allman, I hate to use the old "C" word, but we need you back here"’ So I went back and had it removed. It's not the kind of carcinoma that spreads.
Q: That’s good. So I guess you can be an example to the fans.
A: You have to pour the sunscreen on all the skin all around your ear. The sun just sits there and bakes you. I ride my motorcycle and fish. I remember coming home and my ears just being cooked. So yes, don't forget to get your ears.
Anyway, then I had to see the doctors again. (Because of the hernia) I lost a bunch of weight. I hit some kind of wall at 212 pounds, and I couldn’t seem to get past that. Now I’m down to 179. I got me some of
those good skinny low-rider jeans. God, are they expensive. But they sure look good. (In the '70s) those huge bells were out. I never liked bell bottoms. I had these huges ones in the '70s. People reading this will
remember this, especially if they’re over 50. You’d get the small bells, which were like stovepipes, the same size from the knee on down. The next (size) was a slight bell, and the next was the huge ones. The butt was tight, all the way to the knees, and then they'd take off. They'd be flapping in the breeze. They looked good on the girls. But not on me.

Q: I spoke to your son Devon, a musician in his own right, the last time he was here with his band The Honeytribe. Did you give him advice?
A: I never gave it till he asked. And then I did. He asked me why nothing was happening with his career. I said "Every time you call me, or I call you, you’re always at home. Your ass needs to be out on the road."
In 1970, the Brothers worked 306 nights a year, and we didn’t even make enough to pay taxes. You had to earn $2,000 a year to pay taxes and not one of us had to pay taxes. But we got seen by a lot of people. That’s when Bill Graham heard about us. He said ‘"Who are these Allman boys everybody’s talking about?’"
Bill Graham was the sultan of rock. He was one of the finest human beings I ever met in my life. He was about giving you a fair shake. That’s all you want. I have some posters of us, some old ones, live at the
Fillmore and so on and so on. You look at it and the third band down would be The Allman Brothers. It might be BB King and Little Feat and you would look down at the bottom, and it would say "7 dollars and 50 cents." Now, a show like that would be $170. I’m still doing the same thing. I got a few more aches and pains, riding that bus.
Those buses are million-dollar affairs now. One of mine pulls a trailer with all my stuff in it. I take two Hammonds with me. If one breaks down, I got a back-up. They’re 425 pounds. I wish I was a harmonica
player sometime, believe me. I’m playing a lot of guitars this trip, though, electric guitars and acoustics. I’m doing a lot of picking.

Guns N' Roses: Welcome to the Awesome

Before we commence to embarrassingly gushing over last night's Guns N' Roses "Chinese Democracy" tour opener at Sunrise's BankAtlantic Center, it is necessary to give Axl Rose a strict finger-wagging.

It is completely inexcusable to make your fans wait more than an hour after the last opening act for you to deign to come onstage at 11:20 p.m. Especially since the bulk of your demographic is in their late 20s and early 30s, have jobs and/or families, and are going to be completely wiped out and useless at work the next morning because your portion of the show didn't end until 1:30 a.m. So, shame, shame, shame.

However, the show was pretty much the most exciting, gut-pumping, lighter-flicking thing seen so far this year in South Florida.

Yes, it's true - long the butt of jokes for his stage shenanigans, band line-up shuffling, creative hairdo and long-delayed "Chinese Democracy" album, frontman Axl Rose and his reconstituted Guns delivered a more than two-hour set that covered most of their older hits and at least one new number.

The relaxed, friendly and cheerfully profane Rose admitted to being a little worse for wear following some debauched evenings in Miami ("I'd like to know where I was in the wee hours of this morning"), which may have explained his many departures from the stage to allow various band members solos that occassionally slowed the evening down.

But those solos, including a strong guitar jam by former Nine Inch Nails guitarist Robin Finck and an almost Jim Brickman-esque piano piece by longtime keyboardist Dizzy Reed, still couldn't zap the energy of Capt. Axl and his still-seductive stage snakiness.

The concert started strong and mostly stayed that way. After the hideous wait (and there's still no excuse for that) the lights went down on a stage flanked by the letters G N'R in Chinese-like characters. Ominous storm trooper-type music began to play as the restless fans began yelling things like "Come on!"

And BOOM!, just like that, the staccato strains of "Welcome To The Jungle" greeted geysers of pyrotechnic flare-ups and the appearance of the strutting Rose, his multi-colored braids tied back behind his head.

"You know where you are?" Rose screamed along with the crowd. "You're in the junnn-gal, bay-BAYY!"
Why, yes we are. Grab that pith helmet and stun gun and elaborate, my friend.

Rose's voice has always been something of a contradiction - a pleasant raspiness that turns into a seductively dangerous shriek. It was in evidence during "Jungle," as well as the intense "You Could Be Mine," "Mr. Brownstone" and "It's So Easy." By the end of the show, he sounded like he'd over-extended himself, but he never stopped throwing himself into it, even with the probable hangover pounding on his cornrows.

The band did pretty much everything you'd think they would - the strongest bits included the expert bombast of Wings' "Live And Let Die" (and did you remember how good that thing was?), the welcome whistle of "Patience" and a gleeful "Sweet Child O' Mine."

Oddly, for a tour named "Chinese Democracy," there was very little evidence of the still-unreleased album that lends it its name. Toward the end, before the stomping encore of "Paradise City," Axl and company did the title song, a loud and solid number that invokes the importance of thinking for yourself and not letting them fool ya and what-not.

It's OK, although it's no "November Rain." However, it blended seamlessly into the rest of the Guns N' Roses canon, and the modern Guns N'Roses blends seamlessly into the band's legend.

Rock Star Supernova - Super No-No!

Things are getting kinda heavy, as one-hit wonder rap group snap might say, for our friends in
Rock Star Supernova. First, they had to adopt that tongue-twister name after another group called Supernova threatened a lawsuit if they didn't drop their name slowly and back away.

And now, there's drama with bassist Jason Newsted, who was my favorite of the Rock Star guys because he always seemed to think he was critiquing a music theory class than judging a cheesy reality show. The band just put out a press release saying that Newsted's having shoulder surgery to repair many painful-sounding injuries he suffered trying to catch a 90-lb bass head that had fallen from on top his amp.

Ow.

While Jas is recovering (and good luck with that, buddy), he may be out nine months, which seriously
messes up plans for the RSS tour that starts on New Year's eve (their album comes out Nov. 21.)

Not. Good.

Angelina: Beauty in brownface?

Editor Larry slid this one across the virtual desktop a few minutes ago. It's a blog about Angelina Jolie's upcoming portrayal of Mariane Pearl, widow of slain journalist Daniel Pearl, in the movie version of Mariane's memoirs. Apparently, Angelina darkens her skin to play Marianne, who is, in real life, of mixed Cuban/Dutch heritage and raised in Paris.

Emerson seems to think it's silly to worry about the race of the actress playing a part since we're all of mixed race, and who can find a person who's exactly the same racial makeup as anyone else, and why does it matter, and a lot of other pie-in-the-sky stuff that's easier to say when you're not an ethnic actress looking for interesting parts. It's bad enough that few serious works about ethnic lead characters are produced. Check out this NPR story about how hard it is for ethnic actors to be cast in love scenes
But when you have to fight white actresses for those parts, it's gotta be a slap in the beautiful face.

Emerson has a point that Jolie could do a good job with this part (in a film that she is producing with Pearl's permission) no matter what her heritage. Apparently Pearl doesn't have a problem with it. I have to admit that I was taken aback. It's hard out there for any actor, but when you are precluded just by your race, there's a problem.

I guess you get it or you don't. You don't have to be a person of color to get it, either. You just have to look at the realities of Hollywood, the continued ghettoization of ethnic actors and the rancid lack of good roles for them, and see why people are upset. I'm not saying it's as bad as blackface back in the ancient racist (well, more racist) days of Hollywood. But it is much easier for a lighter-skinned actor to be cast as someone ethnic (see Marissa Tomei as a Cuban in "The Perez Family") than it is for a darker-skinned person to be cast as a light-skinned person. Unless, of course, you're Eddie Murphy in comic white face on "Saturday Night Live" or those families on FOX's "Black/White." The playing field is not even and it's silly to pretend that it is, or to be mad at people for pointing it out.

I'm sure Jolie is fine. She's a talented actress. But get a clue, man. If you really can't see what the point of contention is, there's a problem. And it's all of ours.

Pop Stuff Round-Up: "Runway"and "Model"

During last night's "Project Runway" finale, when the judges tried to explain to Michael "The ATL" Knight why his collection was over-the-top, it occurred to me how much culture can play into what snooty judge Nina Garcia calls "the taste level." To wit: They're going "Michael, it's too much with the gold accents and the big prints and the shoes and the big bag," and you can hear him thinking 'So, your point is?'"

Some of us raised with the spectre of the big, bold Ebony/Fashion Fair shows, with their (ahem) delicate ensembles of bright orange and ostrich feathers, were similiarly confused, at least momentarily.

(And the above hootch-tastic Ebony Fashion Fair look is not by Michael, but by classic Italian house Missoni. So there.)

We know, inately, that looking like a human Bedazzler project is not cool. But something about the bigness of bright colors and crazy, crazy prints taps into some part of us, something that feels like nostalgia and courage and that smells like baked macaroni and cheese and chicken. I know why Michael lost, because some of that stuff was tacky. But I know where he was coming from.

In other news - Uli wuz robbed! That is all. I liked Jeffrey's stuff OK, and I know that being a nice person is not a requirment for talent. I just hope that little boy he loves so much doesn't learn that the best way to be noticed is to be a holy nightmare to anybody who disagrees with you, and that is the way to win.

Of course, Jeff did win. So never mind.

"Model" twin powers, activate!: My new favorite pose-lings on "America's Next Top Model" are twins Amanda and Michelle, who, here to fore, had not a bit of personality that I could see, or that the editors had allowed to be featured. But there was a beautiful moment yesterday where Michelle admitted that she was conflicted about her sexuality, sending her sister into tears.

Everyone else was afraid that Amanda was upset that she was gay. But as a twin, I immediately understood that those were not tears of anger but of protectiveness, that she had no idea how other people might react, and that she, unlike a lot of people on this show, seemed to remember that she was on national TV and could not control the way this very sensitive information might be presented. I love how much they love each other, and that they would gladly punch somebody out for the other. My sister and I are the same. We fight and disagree, but we fiercely protect each other. Don't mess with twins, man. You don't want that kind of trouble.

Pop Stuff: "Runway," the Taye of TV and just saying no to "Hallelujah."

I'll be front and center in front of the telly this evening, as many of you will, for the finale of Project Runway. I've been crossing my fingers for Michael "Brace Face" Knight, my little sweet innovator from the ATL (Holla!). But if the dresses he showed Tim Gunn last week, and the early reviews of the Bryant Park shows, are any indication, brother's gone hootchie. And that's sad, because even though the work he used to get on the show reflected his contributions to music videos and the celebration of giddy urban tackiness, he really went outside of his comfort zone this season and pulled out some amazing, varied work.

Sigh. My money's on Uli, who never saw a print she didn't like. My mom likes Laura, because she'd wear her clothes if she could buy them. I like Uli's stuff because they're very South Florida friendly, and because they flow enough that you could eat a lot of shrimp and stuff and no one could see your belly getting bigger. These are the things I think about when choosing a garment, ladies and gents, and it's important not to mock me.

And it's Daybreak, if you wanna believe: I don't know if Taye Diggs' new Groundhog Day-esque show Daybreak is going to be any good. All I know is that everytime I see the promo, the announcer says "Taye Diggs....." and pauses, and I'm like "I'm in! I don't care if the next words are "...shopping for organic chickens at the Boca Whole Foods!" What an effective ad!

A quickie: Can't we establish some sort of moratorium on Jeff Buckley's version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah in sad closing scenes on TV shows? I never watch Criminal Minds but accidently taped it instead of Law and Order SVU last night. So I get sucked into this horribly violent tale of a vigilante serial killer avenging his parents' death. At the end, he's killed, and as his body is being taken out to the ambulance, the familiar tender voice of the late Buckley starts playing. Come on, now. It's still a beautiful song, but its poignancy and power as a dramatic device have been tapped into regularly (most effectively when poor Mark Harmon got shot on The West Wing). By now, it's just standard and no longer seems effective. Just lazy.

Pick a new song, people. Buckley and Cohen both deserve more than to be a cliche.

Eric Stoltz in some kind of "Court Martial"

Sometimes, the embarrassment of riches that is the South Florida social calendar makes me cry, because there's just too many things to do. Take next Monday, when I am scheduled to watch Peter Frampton come alive at the Sunrise Theater in Ft. Pierce. I just found out that on that very same night, Eric Stoltz will be performing in Herman Wouk's "The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial" at Miami's Carnival Center.

Auggggh! As a card-carrying member of the John Hughes generation, I've seen Some Kind of Wonderful, starring the lovely Mr. Stoltz, about 30 times. And it gets worse every time I watch it - dated dialogue, skewed romantic logic (It doesn't matter if he's ignored you for years! He'll figure it out the very moment you're walking away for good and choose you over that popular girl!) and bad hygiene (It's OK if he gives you the earrings the popular girl just took outta her ears and gave back to him to give you to you! And don't bother swabbing them - Bacteria means he loves you!)

Yet, I watch it all the time because of the soundtrack, and because of Eric Stoltz's beautiful red hair, deep-deep chin cleft and sensitive demeanor. Those attributes inspired me to watch some really weird movies just because he was in them, including this bad Gothic sopa opera called Sister Sister and Anaconda, which he spent the majority of passed out on a boat. He's also been in a lot of Cameron Crowe movies, and this Showtime series where he was naked (not that I cared.)

Anyway, he's doing a national tour of Wouk's war-related drama, sponsored by L.A. Theatre Works. This is the only night it's going to be in South Florida. If you go, tell me how it is. But don't make it too good. I'll cry more.

Sheryl Crow extra: You'll Be Wrapped Around Her Finger

"You're wonderful! You're delicious! You're oh so yummy! Quit your jobs and come on the road with us!"

And thus Sheryl Crow, celebrated singer of songs, survivor of cancer and owner of ridiculous good looks, buttered up a smitten Sound Advice Amphitheatre crowd that was already, by this time, virtually buttered, seasoned, fried and served with a side of hush puppies and cole slaw.

Part of the fun of the show was that Crow had such a rapport with the audience, which had already been hooked by John Mayer and his combination of good looks, great musicianship and slyness. (See the fabulous review here.) Crow seemed even more at home on stage, winning the room with a bag of tricks that went a little something like this. Dig:

- Crow did a heck of a lot of sing-alongs, one of the must-haves when establishing crowd rapport. The best were her cover of Led Zepplin's "Rock And Roll" and the moment where the audience enthusiastically shouted up the line in "If It Makes You Happy" that goes "I still get stoned." Crow grinned, supplying the kicker "I'm not the kind of girl you take home." Apparently, it's not the kind of audience you take home, either. Cheeky audience!

- Only a confident performer can do the Funky Chicken, as Crow did during "Every Day Is A Winding Road," and look elegantly goofy rather than just...goofy.

- She dedicated the melancholic and sweet "Home" to West Palm Beach. I'm sure she does that with all the cities. But we in the audience were such smitten love puppies that we didn't care whether she was lying or not.

- When Crow was at Sunfest a few years back, "Soak Up The Sun" was her big recent hit. She did it last night, saying she doesn't do it much. That's a pity, because it was spirited and fun.

- Ever notice that the "Ooh ooh ooh"'s in the chorus of "Steve McQueen" sound like Steve Miller's "Take The Money And Run"? You probably did. I'm just slow that way. Never mind me.

- "The First Cut Is The Deepest" is lovely, but even more lovely live and spare. Sigh. Serve me up with some hush puppies.

A Pop Stuff History Extra: 40 years of "Clarksville"

40 years ago today, The Monkees were enjoying their third week at number one with "Last Train to Clarksville," their first number one hit. The faux Beatles, and the television show that launched them were an instant smash - which didn't surprise the show's musical mastermind Don Kirshner. The fact that people are still talking about them doesn't really surprise him either, but he says it doesn't seem that long.

"When I heard it was 40 years, it was like when they did the 30th anniversary. I couldn't believe it. Time flies when you're having fun," he says. "It's hard to believe that people still care about (the show). It's pretty exciting."

To Kirshner, who, you might know, lives in Boca, it was pretty simple - you get the right talent, the right songwriters and watch the magic happen. Since he was one of the masterminds of the Brill Building era and had a stable of the best writers in America - Goffin and King, Neil Diamond, Boyce and Hart - it seemed there was no way the Monkees could lose - "To me, everything emanated from the song, like with the book of a Broadway show," Kirshner told me.

However, not everybody had as much faith in Kirshner's formula - and by "everybody" I refer to The Monkees themselves.

"I had Carole King and Neil Diamond, but the boys were giving me a hard time in the studio," Kirshner remembers. "When Neil played 'I'm A Believer,' I told Micky Dolenz 'You could say that to every girl in America.'"

The girls believed it, because of the songs, and because of who was singing it. The Monkees covered your cute bases - Davy the cute one, Micky the funny one, Peter the cute goofy one, and Mike the sullen poet wool hat wearing one. They had varying musical and acting experience, but they didn't have Don Kirshner's track record. You would think this would have made them defer to his expertise. But if you know the story, you know that's not the case.

" Mickey had been a child star in 'Circus Boy,' Mike was a country singer, Davy was on Broadway in 'Oliver' and Peter was playing in Greenwich Village. I had to formulate the songs and the feel of the show, and that's what they didn't like about it," he says. "As you know, everything I'd put out had been number one. I had creative control, and I picked all the songs. Every song was in the Top 40."

Still, the boys, Mike Nesmith particularly, chaffed at all the control, and there were times they turned him down - "I played them the song 'Sugar Sugar' and they laughed at it. So I decided to do it with The Archies (with singer Ron Dante), because they were an animated group and didn't talk back. Everything was a struggle with (The Monkees)."

Eventually, the group got their way and Kirshner was ousted from the project. They kept recording, but arguably, their best hits were behind them. Kirshner, who says he got a reputation as "the puppet master," says he holds no personal animosity toward the Monkees, including Mike Nesmith, "who wrote some good songs, including for The Stone Ponies."

He just wishes he'd had more of a chance to keep the music and the magic going.

"We could go out this weekend, and if you give me four kids, with a song like 'I'm A Believer,' and we could have a hit," he says. "I was coming in with Neil Diamond and Carole King, which was an awesome thing, and (the guys) saw me and thought 'Who is this guy with the suit coming in from New York? We wanna do our own thing.' I was giving them the meatiest gig they ever had. All I was trying to do was to make it easy for these guys. My job was to take four unknown kids and sell the Beatles."

Ultimately, Kirshner thinks the Monkees will be remembered "no differently than the Ritz Brothers or the Marx Brothers. The show made its comedic impact and it'll take its place there."

Of course, there's also the music.

"As a record-selling group, you could compare them with anyone, with the Stones, with the Beatles, and any of the biggest selling groups. With all the hubbub, I must tell you this - I think they'll have their place in history because the songs have become timeless. There have been rememberance tours and reruns. I think if we had teamed up again, we could have done it one more time."

But then, we'll never know. Still, with all the 'he said, he said' that's gone on in the last 40 years, Kirshner says he's not upset by whatever people choose to believe.

"I can't control what other people think. They always say 'There's two sides to every story - your story and the truth," he says.

Jackass Number 2: OK, yeah, it was funny.

So this week marks my fourth anniversary as a staff member of this here newspaper, and next month marks the fourth anniversary of my first Flick Chick movie column for the Post. I don't write that as a regular feature anymore (although ol' FC rears her fabulous head every once in a while and will forever). But something happened a couple of weeks ago that suggested it might be a good time to revisit that very first column.

That event was the release of the mega-successful Jackass Number 2, or, in its original title, Boys Are Gross. The original Jackass, in 2002, was one of several movies that I reviewed in my first column, as sort of a 'Meet The Flick Chick" marathon. Jackass, featuring Johnny Knoxville and his merry band of self-inflicted pain and poo-loving friends, was at the end of the marathon, mostly because I had friends coming in that weekend and didn't want to have to sit through it by myself.

They have never forgiven me.

It was pretty much what I thought - Knoxville, Steve O, Bam Margera, et al treating themselves like a real-life Road Runner cartoon, the urine snowball eating being a particular high...er, lowlight. What I didn't expect is that I laughed some, although I was sore ashamed, as they say in the Bible. I wrote: "Is there some masochistic stupidity epidemic of some kind, and who should we contact about doing a telethon?"

I was stunned when I found out they were releasing a sequel, although I don't know why it was surprising - the first one was a hit, and Hollywood will remake anything that makes money rather than come up with a new idea that doesn't blow. I was even more stunned when J2 became the No. 1 movie of its debut weekend. I mean, I know that a society at war will retreat to mindless things sometimes to numb the pain, but are we that wrecked that we'll pay 8 bucks to see pale, shirtless dudes eat poo?

Apparently, yes. In fact, I had some friends who went to see it the first night and loved it - my friend Dave loved it so much that he went again the next day! And it wasn't just 20-something dudes who liked it - the reviews from actual professional critic-types were enthusiastic. What the...? I had to investigate - was it really time to start that "Jackass Kids" telethon, or was there something worthwhile there?

So, being a professional and all, I bought a ticket to J2, bringing along my aforementioned friend Dave, who had already sat through it twice but was happy to go again, his brother and his brother's girlfriend. Dave was also the only person I know that I could get to go with me, as poo is not high on the list of the usual Flick Chick posse (I believe the exact words of one of them were "Good luck to you.")

And here's the thing: It's gross. So gross. But funny. Now, the gross parts were not funny, and I speak of the horse semen chugging, the fake beard made from hair whose origins you don't wanna know about, the poo eating and...well, anything involving poo. (The Flick Chick remains staunchly and prejudiciously anti public displays of poo.)

But I'm going to admit a fundamental comic truth, that dates back to the first time a Cro-Magnon man threw his club back to smack a sabertoothed tiger and accidently knocked himself silly - falling down is funny. It's even funnier when the person is doing it to themselves, because if you're too stupid not to strap yourself to a rocket and launch yourself across a lake, I don't have to feel bad about laughing at you. Don't cry for me, Bam Margera, because I'm sure as heck not crying for you.

I am, however, laughing with you, and Johnny and Steve O and Wee Man, because J2 does something the original did not - present the Jackass guys as a little more human, rather than just overgrown fourth-graders with precious little boundaries - or apparent use for pants.

For instance, Bam, whose shtick mostly involves tormenting his parents (who are blamed for letting him back in the house), is deathly afraid of snakes, and so when he's surprised to find himself trapped in a trailer with a king cobra, he freaks more than the normal person would. And I can't say it wasn't funny, because if you mess with your mama like he does, you have some Karma-dictated justice coming your way. But you almost wanted to hug him after his torture.

And the sequel has brought with it better editing - the closing musical number featuring a certain confetti-tossing dandy from the original is brilliant - and a better class of guest stars, who sit around and watch these idiots maim themselves. Oscar winners Three Six Mafia show that while it's hard out here for a pimp, it's even harder for a boy eating cow poo. And actor Luke Wilson lets himself get shocked for no good reason in the closing credits, because he's rich and it didn't leave a scar in the prettiness.

I can not say that I will rush out to see Jackass 3, if there is such a thing. But yet I can not say that I will not, because I honestly didn't expect to like this one.

Yes, I'm still slightly ashamed of me. But at least I'm laughing.

ANTM: Models Wobble but Can't Calm Down!

So this morning I'm talking to my buddy C. about last night's almost Biblical smackdown of contentious, cuckoo-bananas model Monique on America's Next Top Model, and I say "Well, evil is as evil does."

"Yes," C replied, "but rarely on reality TV."

How true that is: Deception and mean-spirited tomfoolery often go arm-and-arm with cunning and a willingness to doanything to win. Meanness also goes well with ratings, which is why the most drama-filled and possibly crazy models often linger long after their expiration date. But the judges, including Tyra "You'll Never Be Me" Banks and her band of cackling fashion minions, got it right yesterday. Yes, the tall and slim Monique is drop-dead gorgeous. She's also, unless the editors are really creative, a hideous person, or at least pretended to be one out of insecurity, a need for attention, or perhaps a very tight weave.

Girlfriend not only spent hours on the phone just to spite the other girls and freaked out when other people tried to use it, but then slathered a substance I will only describe as personal bodily fluid on the bedspread of her arch-enemy Melrose. Nasty, nasty, nasty. Beyond nasty. Unheard-of nastiness. I mean, heifers have been clocked for much less than that, 'cause that's some nasty mess.

Melrose decides not to clock Monique like she deserved, which is fine, because apparently God and the universe and the forces of dehydration had something for her. They sicced Monique, making her unable to move and unable to participate in the week's photo shoot, which involved walking on a tilting runway over a pool. So very Battle of the Network Stars meets Vogue.

So at the end, the judges, who seemed to be unaware of the nasty fluid-slathering, decided to kick Monique out because they didn't have a photo shoot to judge, and because they felt she must not be committed enough to drag her tiresome butt out of bed and look pretty, dang it.

Normally, I'd say they were being harsh, but Monique behaved appallingly, and she had to go. Of course, she was roundly mocked by judge Miss J., who turned the phrase "She doesn't want to be here" into a wicked gospel jubilee of glee and derision. It was beautiful. Bye, bye, Crazy. Don't let the door hit your enormous and delusional ego on the way out.

And in other news: What is with this season and the good guest stars? In seasons past, they've been stars of the ( former) UPN who needed to get in a plug, or people who just need work. But so far we've had Queen "Oscar Nominee" Latifah and now Dennis Quaid, who's so dreamy that I can't stand it. If he wanted to be the new McDreamy, Patrick Dempsey wouldn't be able to even put up a fight. Anyway, he sponsored a charity fashion show in Austin, Texas featuring ANTM girls from years past and...who cares? We got to see Dennis Quaid, who is, honestly, much better looking than anyone on this show.

"The Class": A thought.

I really like this show - it's funny, with interesting characters who have chemistry and lines that are
written by people who obviously understand subtlety and a well-timed joke. Why can't these people write every show?

Another thing - People have rolled their eyes at this show because all of these people, who were in the same third grade class and have now reunited as grown-ups, are white. And at first I was like "Well, that's ok because a lot of schools are all-white and not diverse, and that's not uncommon."

But then, I see the opening credits and see that there are actually little black kids in the class! Why
bother to stock your opening credits with token black kids when they don't even get thrown a co-star
bone?

Just wondering.