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14 February 2005 February, the most misspelled month Also the month of the great giveups and gimmes, namely the last dying sputter of the previous year in the form of two of the biggest and most boring human spectacles that America has ever thought up; namely the Grammy Awards and the Academy Awards. Last night, the Grammys competed with the return of Detective Mike Logan to Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Guess which one I was more interested in? Unfortunately, the writers seemed to not know how to give guest star Chris Noth enough to do and so, he mostly chewed scenery behind the show's undisputed star, Vincent D'onofrio. The talk is that if D'onofrio continues to fall ill on the set, Noth may return - which might serve to end CI's run even as the producers seem to think it would save it. Who knows? So, back to the Grammys. To be honest, I watched bits and pieces of the show, starting with the big grand opening thing. Yawn me a fucking river. How many times can we sit through the banality of dance-band-of-the-year-Peas and their "get up and jump around like this is interesting to you" hit music? To tell you the truth, the reason they move around so much is so you won't notice how stupid they all look when the music ends and you realize that no one dresses that badly anymore. No, wait, there's Gwen and Eve. Poor Eve. She got off to a great start on the Bulworth soundtrack seven years ago (and, check this, so did Black Eyed Peas, albeit not a great start. New music, my ass. Check out their embarrassing career moves) and now she's singing duets with the worst female star in rock music since Courtney Love. At that point, I started dinner. So, after Criminal Intent's teaser, it was a easy enough to go back to CBS for a moment and be held in awe by the stunning shittiness of those fat fucks who call themselves "Lynryd Skynryd" these days. Guess what, fat boys? Freebird is Fucking Dead. Gretchen Wilson should lose all her "hell, yea" points for being on stage with these greasy bastards and pretending she rehearsed that albatross. Terrible. Speaking of which, Melissa Ethridge...ok, that's all I can say. Get a wig. Fuck's sake. In other scary grrl news, who the hell keeps letting Amy Lee into these shows? Last year's guilty pleasure is starting to look more and more like the girl who was dumped the night before prom, but shows up defiant and looking to score with whatever guy gets dumped by his date during the Big Dance. Give up, Ms. Lee. No one wants to make an album with you this year, either. And that pretty much ends my Grammy summary. At least my cultural attache, Mr. VanDer Klopp will be pleased to know that the song he ghostwrote for Britney won an award. Even though he, like myself, can only echo the sentiments expressed so well by Chuck D - "Who gives a fuck about a goddamn Grammy?" Because I know I haven't, not since Lou Reed's excellent New York album was snubbed in 1989. |
Obligatory Nonsense
Who the hell is mat
catastrophe?
Obligatory Links Areafound weirdness: The Cat With Hands.
Archival Footage 2004 ---
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June
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