Blogging on Meds

I’m going to Denver tomorrow and can’t think about politics for another God damned second. So…how about drugs and sex!

Lohan shows some coke bloat while chilling w Marky Ramone at Beatrice. And yes I do think these two hanging together is cool…

Under a sub-head of “Herogram,” Gawker has a funny vignette up today about a Euro who goes to Beatrice Inn, the famed West Village dive club, every night and uses corny lines (”You bad girl”-style) and offers coke—but doesn’t sniff it—to get poon:

The thirty-something “Bea rat”—a real-estate investor who claims an interest in screenwriting —goes in, usually alone, almost every single night. He approaches a woman and says, “I’m going to find you later because you look like the kind of girl who wants to do very bad things.” If you’re French, he calls you “Frenchy.” If a girl’s Italian, he calls her “Siciliana.”

More importantly, the seduction is accompanied by the promise of cocaine, back at our Casanova’s apartment a few blocks away…

Most cunning of all: the cap-wearing Euro doesn’t actually share the cocaine: that way the calculating seducer remains sober and ready to take advantage of any opportunity. Too creepy? “Well, do you do coke?” a Beatrice bartender asked. “If you do coke, he’s a cool guy.”

Bro, you suck! Why waste money on blow? You’re so…Euro!!! All you need to get laid at Beatrice is a wang—though it helps to have the ability to sing along when they play R Kelly’s “Ignition (Remix)” while grinding on a female. Here’s the lyrics, and I’ll highlight key phrases. Attn all Euros, start memorizing so you can stop that $50 per gram non-habit:

Now, usually, I don’t do this but uh….
Go head’ on and break ‘em off wit a lil’ preview of
the remix….

Now I’m not trynna be rude
But hey pretty girl I’m feelin’ you
The way you do the things ya do
Reminds me of my Lexus coupe
That’s why I’m all up in ya grill
Trynna get you to a hotel
You must be a football coach
The way you got me playin’ da field

Hook:

So baby gimme dat “Toot toot”
And lemme gi’ ya that “Beep beep”
Runnin’ her hands through my fro’
Bouncin’ on twenty fo’s
While they sayin’ on the radio

Chorus:

It’s the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin’ that body
Got ev’ry man in here wishin’
Sippin’ on coke and rum (rum)
I’m like so what I’m drunk (drunk)
It’s the freakin’ weekend
Baby I’m about to have me some fun (fun)

Bounce (10X)
C’mon

Now it’s like “Murda She Wrote”
Once I get cha out them clothes
Privacy is on the do’
But still they can hear ya screamin’ mo’
Girl I’m feelin’ whatchu feelin’
No more hopin’ and wishin’
I’m about to take my key ‘n’
Stick it in da ignition

Repeat Hook

Repeat Chorus

Crystal poppin’
In the stretch Navigata
We got food everywhere
As if the party was catered
We’ve got
Fellas to my left (left)
Hunnies on my right (right)
We bring ‘em both togetha
We got drinkin’ all night
Then afta the show
It’s the afta party
And afta the party
It’s the hotel lobby
Yeah, around about four
You gotta clear the lobby
Then take it to ya room and
Freak somebody

Can I get a “Toot toot”
Can I get a “Beep beep”
Runnin’ her hands through my fro’
Bouncin’ on twenty fo’s
While they sayin’ on the radio

Repeat Chorus(2 times)

Outro:

Girl we off in this Jeep
Foggin’ windows up
Blastin’ the radio
In the back of my truck
Bouncin’ up and down
Strokin’ round and round
To the remix
We jus’ thuggin’ it out

TAGS: Cocaine, Denver, Drugs, drunk, Politics, Review

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Nate Johnson and Tharin Gartrell: The Nazi meth dudes who were or were not trying to kill Obama…

Authorities are investigating whether a man arrested with rifles, ammunition and drugs in his truck made statements threatening Barack Obama, but emphasize he never posed a “credible threat” to the candidate or the Democratic National Convention.

When asked if he felt there was a plot to kill Obama, Nathan Johnson said, “Looking back at it, I don’t want to say yes, but I don’t want to say no.” Johnson was interviewed while being held in jail on drug charges. He said he wasn’t involved in any plot.

Three senior FBI officials said it’s unclear whether shooters could have had a clear path to hit the stage from outside the convention hall. At least two of the men may have had white supremacist ties, the officials said, adding that it was unclear whether any of them were serious about carrying out threats. The officials spoke on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to discuss the case.

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NOTE: I originally posted this up here in Feb. But since Joe Biden was named VP, and this story is about his nephew Jamie’s band, I figured I’d repost it to remind you that other Bidens besides Joe are cool…I should’ve titled it “Just Don’t Make This About My Uncle…” Anyway, enjoy and check out Bloody Social.

New York Magazine commissioned this feature in summer 2007, but it never ran. My job was to spend a few months following the band Bloody Social, who feature Calvin Kleun male model Jamie Burke on vocals, Joe Biden’s nephew Jamie Biden on guitar, and Drew Beat from Bold on drums. My editor quit right as the story was finishing up. In summer 07 no downtown crew raged like Bloody Social. Endless thanks to Adam Fisher. Also to Vegas and JZ…

Bloody Social Nights: The Ballad of Burke and Biden

Jamie Burke and Drew “Beat” Thomas

1.
Downtown rock band Bloody Social are about to perform at a party sponsored by Myspace at Irving Plaza. But first the band has to takes some pictures. Every lens angles towards singer Jamie Burke, the London-born Calvin Klein model, a lanky, grunge-y longhair. His two black suction cup eyes mesmerize the paparazzi as they yell “Jamie, Jamie” without pause. Burke leans left and whispers to Bloody Social’s guitarist, who’s also a tall long hair named Jamie—Biden. He’s the nephew of Democratic Presidential candidate Joe Biden. The two Jamies wear all black, save Burke’s grey suit vest over a sleeveless tee and Biden’s grey bandana. The rest of the band is blurred among Bloody Social’s dozen-strong posse: a crew of club promoters, fashion designers, pro skateboarders, hairstylists, rockers, and models.

At 22, Jamie Burke is already an established playboy. A scan of Google images shows Burke in various states of boldface. Snowboarding in Aspen with Kate Moss. Smooching Lindsay Lohan outside Pastis in the Meatpacking District. Massaging a topless Sienna Miller on a Caribbean beach. Chilling with Boy George outside a club. Walking hand in hand with Courtney Love. Gracing Calvin Klein’s premier Soho billboard space on Houston at Broadway, his nose ringed blue steel stare and sexy man locks embracing model Lara Stone. A New York Times Style article headlined “Another Summer Of Love” using said billboard as a prime example of a neo-hippy fashion trend. Burke and crop-top Armani model Agyness Dean hugging nude in Vanity Fair, dubbed “Models du Jurs 2007.”

It’s 11pm, show time, but the thousand-capacity room is only half-full. Even amongst this sophisticated, guest list-only crowd of publicists, assistants, bloggers, editors, and label reps, Bloody Social are a band most have heard of but never actually heard. Taking the stage bathed in red smoke and feedback, Bloody Social blasts the spacious club with heavy Hollywood influenced blues-punk, a unique sound in New York’s current Brooklyn-centric 80s influenced rock scene. Burke shimmied across the stage doing a swerve dance, singing in a raspy, Weiland-y, voice. Biden breaks into a deep space solo.

A few songs in, the crowd polarizes. Men flee towards the (open) bar at the club’s rear while women swoon to Burke’s sermon. A girl at the bar points out that two of the band’s song choruses, “where do we go now” and “kick start my heart,” are already taken by Guns N’ Roses and Motley Crue respectively. Another girl, who works at Bumble and Bumble salon, says she could “never date a guy with better hair than me,” admitting that the entire band does.

Bloody Social formed just six months ago. Cocooned within a nightlife-fashion-celebrity nexus, the band has fast earned a reputation for unruly club shows and sordid after-parties. But with the record industry’s 20% annual decline hitting year seven, Bloody Social has no label bankroll and are in the unique position of being rock stars without a record. Leaving them stigmatized as male socialites trying to capitalize on connections. Still, the band’s first six months have been a montage of pure rock n’ rock mythology, complete with meddling starlets, battling egos, magazine photo shoots, tabloid gossip, and decadent trips to Miami, LA, and Brazil.

Ten minutes after Bloody Social’s set ends, I’m downstairs in the men’s room. Suddenly Burke bursts in with two sweaty, skinny women. All three huddle into a metal stall. This being a Live Nation venue with a North Korean police state vibe, one had to be impressed by Burke’s public Columbian orgy. A third girl pops in a few seconds later screaming, “Jamie, you fookin’ bastard!” in an Oxbridge accent. Burke opened the stall door and yanked her in too. Cheers, mate!

2.
“Just don’t make this about my uncle,” says Jamie Biden, 28, hiding behind thick plastic aviators and a newly grown beard. It’s a hot August afternoon outside the Belmont Lounge on E 15th St near Union Square. Biden is the Belmont’s newly hired “creative director,” and a previously upscale bar is now effectively a rock band’s clubhouse.
It gets better after jump…
(more…)

TAGS: 2004, attack, Bloggers, Brooklyn, Bush, drama, Drugs, free, Gorilla Biscuits, India, Joe Biden, Julian Schnabel, Kate Moss, kids, leak, Milk Studios, missing, model, Music, myspace, Nas, New York, New York Times, pennsylvania, Pete Doherty, political, Rehab, skateboard, skateboarder, Sports, Staten Island, The Box, The Strokes, Travel, vegan, Vice, Vice Magazine, war, wasted

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Wah, wah, Vice is suspeneding their letters section because they don’t get enought real letters:

No letters page this month. You know why? Because we aren’t receiving enough real letters. We mainly get emails now, and people don’t think when they write emails.

Then Vice goes on to decry technology, like something out of a Delillo novel from 82. But maybe the problem isn’t email or technology, it’s Vice itself. Maybe Vice gets dumb letters because of its legacy as a really, really dumb magazine.

Vice Magazine hit its zenith in 2001, right after 9/11, when everyone on earth wanted to know what it felt like to be young and vulnerable in downtown NYC. Back then Vice was a crude, honest, and pure reflection of the coked-out Billburg/LES axis of sleaze. No magazine had ever so perfectly mixed art with ignorance.

Around 2003, when Vice fever peaked, the magazine had a grand opportunity to become more than a post-puberal text. By this point, Vice had almost single-handedly redefined fashion and art photography. Its aesthetic and image were so cool, so New York, that the company’s marketing arm exploded—and seemingly every booze and shoe were re-branded by Vicers.

2003 was also the year Bush and co illegally invaded Iraq under false pretense. It was the year America began it’s decline from hyper- to merely super-power. What did Vice do? Nothing. Instead of using its new $$$ to become a real magazine, covering real events, Vice kept on pushing tits, drugs, and farts.

It wasn’t until 2006 or so that Vice woke up and realized the world was on fire. They did a cool story on Bin Laden, written by an AP correspondent. They publsihed an Iraq issue. They started a TV network, VBS, that did “gonzo” reporting on poison frogs and politics. But it was too late. No one took them seriously. And by the time Vice’s first film, Heavy Metal in Baghdad, was released this year (complete with Converse co-branding), Vice had pretty much lost it’s cultural capital. That’s a shame because Vice has done a lot of great work in the last few years. But by failing to cover that crucial moment in American life, circa 03-04, when the country really went mad (kaos in Iraq, Abu Ghraib, Bush Redux) Vice missed it’s chance to transcend farts and become authoritative journalistic documentarians. And that’s why they continually get stupid letters. 

 

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The pink bus to the pink hotel. Two guys you’ve all known forever: Sean Dorsey and Gabe Banner party in AC…pics c/o Lindsay Boivert

Gawker and New York Magazine’s Grub Street picked up my way too over-the-top recollection of a bus trip to Atlantic City for the opening of the Beatrice Inn’s new hotel venture, The Chelsea. Big thanks to both, and to whoever tipped Gawker off.

Gawker called me “nightlife dude,” which works I guess (way better than “nightlife douche”). All this stuff about Gawker always going after people is not neccassarily true. Consider: They could’ve easily shredded me for the AC piece. It was overwrought, dumb, filled with tons of stupid inside jokes, and more than a little arrogant. But they held back. This is the third or fourth time Gawker’s been more than fair with some retarded post of mine. We broke some Chris Matthews bullshit a few months ago and were really unprofessional when the story hit, pulling it offline and not releasing a statement for days. But they fact-checked and were patient and ultimately as professional as any media outlet I’ve ever dealt with. The hype on them as unconscionable vultures is bullshit.

Here’s the Grub Street post:

Beatrice Team Creates Nowness, Newness in Atlantic City

Blogging on Meds recounts a heavily, well, “medicated” press trip to the Chelsea (the Beatrice Inn team’s new project) a couple of weekends ago. The write-up starts with “You get the bus driver high as he wheels around the city picking up everyone you ever met, ever” and goes on from there, and while it isn’t quite poetic enough to be Fear and Loathing in Atlantic City, it sure does mention drugs a lot. “People yell, hug, scream, sing songs, make out, do drugs, smoke hash and weed, all the good stuff — and you’re still on the bus. You love that the Beatrice party ethic isn’t irony based like the BK/LES scenes, nor is it status based like the Meatpacking or Chelsea (how else do you explain your loser-ass riding on this bus).” Blogging on Meds thinks AC and the Chelsea might just be the next big thing: “What works for The Chelsea and Team Beatrice is their collective now-ness. No amount of sentimentality or metaphor can be used to capture that nowness, the newness. It’s this very urgency that makes you think The Chelsea could indeed set a precedent and create a new weekend spot for downtown’s kids.” Sounds kind of like riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave, as HST would’ve put it. Then again, maybe it’s just the weed talking.

The funny thing is, I kind of hate Hunter S Thompson. Fear and Loathing 72 is a great book, but this is a guy who had endless talent and wound up wasting it (whereas I have no talent). Nothing sums up Hunter’s decline better than his trip to Vietnam in 74. The fall of Saigon; Cambodia about to hit Year Zero. Where’s Hunter? Running to US Embassy with a cooler full of beer, ignoring history to protect his own (in)sanity. As much fun as it is to party, loathe, and write about it, that stuff doesn’t matter. When given the chance to report on his generation’s biggest story—Nam—Hunter cracked. That’s why I’ll take one Bright Shining Lie over thirty Fear and Loathings…

Also, I wrote the Beatrice piece as a kind of dual satire. It was written in second person ala Bright Lights, Big City, because you can’t write about NY partying without homage to Jay McInerney. And you especially can’t write about the Sevingy clan without it. McInerney was the one who dubbed Chloe “It Girl” in 1994 a 7000-word New Yorker story. Second, I co-wrote a book, Babylon By Bus (Penguin Press 2006), about a bus ride into Baghdad that, as one would expect, went horribly wrong. So satirical bus rides are my shiite.

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CORRECTION: Nicole Brydson wrote in an email that neither John Ford nor his brother Juan ever lived with her.  Rather the Ford bros just slept on her floor. Fordsy!!! Also, I spelled Nicole’s name wrong and she’s from NYC not the Hamptons. Yes, I’m retarded.

Left, Paul Sevigny and Vegas being filmed by Inigo Gilmore on the front steps on The Chelsea Hotel, AC. Right, drink in hand…Pics by Lindsay Boisvert.

You’ve been invited to a “soft-opening” party by the owners of the Beatrice Inn for their new venture, The Chelsea Hotel in Atlantic City. A bus to AC is supposed to leave from the corner of Jane St and 8th Ave at 7pm. It’s a Friday, 25 July. You were told there were only 10 seats for your friends, but by 7:30pm you realize there are 60 seats on the (pink) bus, most empty. You call everyone you’ve ever met, ever. You get the bus driver high as he wheels around the city picking up everyone you ever met, ever. 

8:30pm. The bus leaves with thirty or so people, including two middle-age Turkish guys, a half-dozen Euro females (a Slovene, an Austrian, two Italianos, two Brits), a black chick w/ fake tits and Ivy League degree, etc. A lot of laws are being violated (mostly by your lawyer). A makeshift bar, two seats covered in ice, is stocked with every kind of booze. There’s a British Elvis impersonator/television correspondent filming everything. You don’t care because you know you get to keep the tapes.

You realize by 9pm that this is the best bus you’ve ever been on, ever. That’s due to the whos and whats of the party. See, the Beatrice Inn is New York’s sole “dive-club.” In less than two years it has branded an unparalleled party ethos—one that combines everything downtown that’s not lame or too trashy with pure excess. It translates quite well to a bus party. 

Loud indie and rap music via iPod doc spark a dance party. People yell, hug, scream, sing songs, make-out, do drugs, smoke hash and weed, all the good stuff—and you’re still on the bus. You love that the Beatrice party ethic isn’t irony based like the BK/LES scenes, nor is it status based like the Meatpacking or Chelsea (how else do you explain your loser-ass riding on this bus). 

Upon arrival you’re greeted by Paul Sevigny, the DJ, ex-promoter, Beatrice Inn owner, A.R.E. Weapons band member, and former Club Anthrax-goer who is originally from Darien, CT. He wears an old, ripped navy blue sweater with light tan pants. He walks your whole party into the lobby. The all white modernist space is furnsihed with purple couches and phallic lamps and jammed with a weird mix of Philly-area middle age tourists and downtown New Yorkers sipping stiff drinks from red plastic cups.

“The party is in the penthouse,” Sevigny says. “Sign up for rooms here. And thanks for coming.”

Sevigny’s sister is Chloe, the actress, and that surely helped his rise. But you can’t deny the brilliant Britpop/punk/post-punk/downtown-style Paul perfected in the late 90s and early 2000s. The Sevigny style wasn’t wigger-y and druggy like Supreme/Vice, the era’s other dominant downtown vibe. It was just cool and fun. But like Supreme and Vice, Sevigny has proven one of NYC’s most durable brands. Take when you recently interviewed at a national gossip magazine, and the first question they asked you was if you had access to Beatrice. “That’s the only club we really care about,” the weekly’s news editor said. “Nowhere else gets the celebs acting as wasted and slutty.” Not wanting to sell people out for money, you never took the gig, but Beatrice certainly is unique in the celebs-gone-wild respect. For example, Heath Ledger’s last stop on Earth was Beatrice. 

You remember going to Spa Wednesdays, an early 2000s party Sevingy hosted on 13th St in Union Sq. (Spa’s the club Vince Vaugh and Jon Faverau went to with Diddy in the movie Made.) You remember the all-white side-room, where Razzle the dreaded HC kid did the Afro-beat party. And the time Smelly Tom bought Veuve bottles for the now-bargain price of, like, $100 per bottle. All the Brazilian girls. “Michael James” as the door name. Stone Roses into James into Sex Pistols… 

Penthouse beer filled tub. On the bus.
(more…)

TAGS: beer, Boston, Brooklyn, Drugs, iPod, kids, Las Vegas, Movie, Music, NATO, New York, NSA, paris, Pirates, war, wasted, williamsburg, Yankees

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I’m not going to condone felony hit-and-run on the 55 in a monster truck. Nor am I going to make light of driving said monster truck (complete with a giant picture decal of yourself) down the wrong way of a crowded Balboa street “causing pedestrians to flee in terror.” Running red lights, crashing into cars, driving on the median and almost killing innocent people in Newport Beach… none of these things constitute normal behavior. I can’t even begin to speculate on what caused the UFC and PRIDE fighter, Quinton “Rampage” Jackson to freak out like this last Tuesday, but I sincerely feel for him.

It’s easy for even the most compassionate people to dismiss a guy like this. He beats people up for a living, he’s testosterone personified, a giant ego with a giant truck to match… I get it. They attribute his actions to steroids and/or drugs and claim it was his choice but don’t bother ask if there could be a bigger, more complex problem that not only made this possible but even probable.

I met Quinton after I moved to Huntington Beach, California around early 2000. I was running my gear company, called Next Level – designing and marketing merchandise and starting to sponsor fighters. I was also training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost full-time and backstage at a lot of fights. A bunch of gyms at the time were either in location limbo or wrapped up in partner politics, so I was a constant visitor to several simultaneously around Orange County and LA. Quinton had moved to HB recently as well, his goal was to become a professional fighter but he was basically living in his car he was so broke. But he was always a nice guy that never complained, he was never too good to learn from anybody smaller or less experienced than him, never too prideful to ask for help, never too egotistical to see his own flaws and never too tired to work. He got hyped when you caught him in a knee-bar and was quick to congratulate you, but he would only let it happen once (true story). When it became pretty obvious that all the pros were buzzing about him and those top pros that visited were starting to get their asses kicked by him in training, he still talked humbly about his aspirations and his kids. He later beat almost all of those pros in Pride and UFC rising quickly to the top.

It’s fair to ask if steroids or drugs were involved when it pertains to the mixed martial arts world - steroids are fairly common throughout the professional social ranks and the in-crowd of hobbyist fighters in the United States and even more in countries like Brazil and Japan where the sport is absolutely huge and winners are national heroes. Up until somewhat recently, MMA was considered an outlaw’s sport in the U.S. with ex-military fighters from fallen third-world countries (where drugs and roids are plentiful) and old-school juicers dominating the top international levels of the sport. Sympathizers of Baseball’s (or cycling’s) steroid problem take notice - all excuses apply, ie: the pressure is too much, everybody’s doing it, can’t be competitive without it, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed, etc. The most serious painkillers are around too; you just have to ask anybody on the mat if they know a good sports medicine doctor and you’ll soon be drugged up enough to giggle through arm-lock training with your torn rotator cuff.

See Mark Kerr shooting up opiates in the HBO documentary “The Smashing Machine” or Rico Rodriguez’s first episode on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew for good examples.

A couple of weeks ago, Quinton lost the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship to Forrest Griffin. Then Tuesday something we don’t yet understand obviously triggered Rampage to freak out. We don’t know if it was drugs, roids, depression or some other serious problem but in time we will find out the truth. If you’re so quick to judge Rampage as guilty of his own vices and condemn him to bad karma, you should have your “compassionate” card pulled.

Dana White, President of the company that owns the UFC was on a plane reportedly in 17 minutes to help. To the best of my knowledge, companies don’t usually show that kind of love for their employees and that might just be what this industry and many others need. After being released on $25,000 bail on Tuesday, Quinton was 5150’ed (committed to a mental hospital) for a three-day mental evaluation on Wednesday. White mentioned that Quinton been fasting - drinking only energy drinks and effectively not sleeping for a few days straight.

Before we move on to labeling Quinton “crazy” let’s just slow down and compare this to other famous freak-outs. If Quinton were a comedian, where would your prejudices lean? After Dave Chappelle walked away from like $50 million with Comedy Central and went to Africa, the press and the public called him crazy only when they weren’t alleging hard drug abuse. After the dust settled, Dave came back for an interview on Inside The Actor’s Studio where he used the example of Martin Lawrence to put this subject into perspective. “The worst thing to call somebody is crazy, it’s dismissive,” Chappelle said. Dave asked how Martin Lawrence, having survived great success and a stroke with a smile ended up screaming on the street waving a gun? Seems like a valid question to me.

“These people are not crazy. They are strong people. Maybe the environment is a little sick.” Chappelle said

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The Guardian Reported that Royal Navy warships in the Gulf intercepted 23 tonnes of hash, cocaine, and opium. Sales of the drugs are said to be funding the Taliban. The Royal Nay’s regional commander said:

The scourge of illegal drugs is a vital source of funding for the Taliban warlords who seek violence against Afghan, British and Nato forces. Our mission in Afghanistan is one of absolute importance, and by seizing these drugs we have dealt a significant blow to the illegal trade.

It’s a good catch by the Royal Navy, but I’m not sure “significant” is the right word. Try miniscule, maybe.

According to the 2008 U.N. World Drug Report, Afghanistan last year produced 8,200 metric tonnes of opium alone, accouting for 92% of the world’s supply of the drug. So, if the Navy’s haul was mostly opium, that’s 0.28% of what Afghanistan produced last year. According to the same U.N. report, drug busts in 2006 resulted in the seizure of nearly 384 tonnes of raw and prepared opium, which is about 4.7% of today’s total opium production in Afghanistan. Antonio Maria Costa, the head of the U.N.’s Office of Drug Crime, estimated that the Taliban earned $100 million from the drug trade in 2007. The number jumped to between $200 million to $400 million if other drug-related activities are included. That’s a lot of money, certainly enough to finance an insurgency and to recruit. Can we get Monsanto in there to give Afghani farmers some genetically modified seeds?

Rahmat Gul/ASSOCIATED PRESS

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Drugs

I love CNN’s Baghdad psycho Michael Ware. The dude always looks coked up on-air. And, so I’ve heard, Ware was/is a major rager of the hard drug variety. Even better, the guy said Obama and McCain are talking about “another country” than the Iraq he’s living in, where a civil war has killed hundreds of thousands with no end in sight.

Better yet, Mick fought some State Dept cock-tractor (who claimed to have ”killed people” in Iraq) for “several hours” over that 60 Minutes hot chick, Lara Logan.

Per Gawker:

SO the print Enquirer further claims that Logan’s second affair is with CNN reporter Michael Ware, and that Ware fought Burkett over it in Baghdad.

Then the contractor dude who announced in court that he’s having this affair with Logan told his wife that he killed people in Iraq. Which is maybe not true?

Finally, Lara was “entertaining” some people in Baghdad when Ware came in and then him and Burkett fought for HOURS and even ended up in the CNN safehouse! It’s amazing they had time to cover the war, what with all this drama.

Anyone who has “killed” anyone ever would likely be able to take down a druggy like Mick Ware. So this State Dept bro is likely a liar. I can so imagine this fight, too. Richard Engel is such a pussy in comparison…

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…nee, it’s Wayne’s world!

Weezy shocks world! En route to a million sold in first week, Tha Carter 3 shatters industry estimates, proves there’s no such thing as over-exposure. Where’s the Rolling Stone cover? Meet 08’s biggest artist…

Wayne jams with Baby on ‘Leather So Soft” at Beacon Theater summer 07. Rolling Stone dropped the ball and had The Eagles on the cover this week, so here’s a sweet XXL cover…  

A year ago, if someone told me that in 365 days a black guy would have the Democratic nomination, the Celtics would be one win from a championship, and Lil Wayne would sell a million records in the first week and have the number 1 song in the country—about getting blow jobs nonetheless—I’d have laughed. But it’s all true. America’s not so bad. Ha…

I’ve been following New Orelans’ Cash Money Millionaires for a decade (Baller Blockin’ is my favorite movie after Citizen Kane). Ever since Juvenile’s “Ha” brought “bounce” music mainstream, Cash Money’s been my shiite, and this is by far the highest they’ve gone. Lil Wayne is a bonafide pop megastar! Let’s chart the rise and rise of Lil Wanye…

Flashback: June 22nd, 2007, Lil Wayne’s first-ever New York performance. Sold out. The Beacon Theater, a tri-deck Art Deco jewel, is packed with 3500 fans. It’s 10pm, and Wayne’s two hours late. No one thinks he’s going to show—even DJ Kahled, who came up from Miami with Wayne.

Twenty more minutes pass. The lights go down. Adolescent female screams.  Wayne bounds onstage in a blinged out RUN DMC shirt, dreadlocks flopping. “Yalls motherf*cking po-lice almost didn’t let me in the building,” Wayne’s first words, sounding stressed. “I love ya’ll. But fuck ya’ll police.”

(more…)

TAGS: A Milli, Celtics, Drugs, free, kids, Lil Wayne, Movie, Music, New York, NPR, nypd, political, Review, Shiite, Summer Jam, Tha Carter 3, Video, war, Weezy, White People, youtube

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Crazy mofo billionaire Henry T Nicholas was charged today:

Federal officials unsealed one indictment Thursday alleging co-founder Henry T. Nicholas III of chip maker Broadcom Corp. spiked the drinks of technology executives and customer representatives with ecstasy and maintained a warehouse for ecstasy, cocaine and methamphetamine.

A second indictment unsealed Thursday accuses him of conspiracy, securities fraud and other violations relating to stock options backdating while he was CEO.

This is nothing new. Dude had a dungeon (!!!!) in Laguna Beach! From July 2007:

The co-founder of semiconductor maker Broadcom Corp., under scrutiny in a federal stock options probe, was accused seven years ago of building an underground hideaway at his estate to indulge in drugs and sex with prostitutes, according to court documents.

In a draft complaint made against Henry T. Nicholas III, a construction crew claimed the billionaire failed to pay them millions of dollars for work performed between 1998 and 2002, and used “manipulation, lies, intimidation, and even death threats” when anyone threatened to quit.

The illegal network of tunnels and rooms underneath Nicholas’ Laguna Hills estate was kept secret from his wife and city officials, the documents said.

The purpose of one secret room was to allow Nicholas to “indulge his appetite for illegal drugs and sex with prostitutes,” the crew claimed.

Nicholas had his private jet pick up prostitutes in New Orleans, Chicago, Las Vegas and Los Angeles “and bring them back to the Pond for his rock star friends,” the draft complaint said. “He provided his guests with transportation and cocaine, Ecstasy, methamphetamines, marijuana, mushrooms, and nitrous oxide [laughing gas]” — and even arranged for his private helicopter to land at a nearby hospital helipad, it said.

I’m speechless.

TAGS: Cocaine, Drugs, Las Vegas, war

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I hate fraternities. Luckily, I went to UC Santa Cruz were the “Greek” system was basically non-existent. The LA Times, and The Dirty (among many other news outlets) are reporting that 96 people, including 75 San Diego State University (”SDSU”) students were busted in a 6 month undercover drug sting that involved 7 different fraternity houses. While this news should come as no shock to anyone who’s ever stepped foot on a college campus, the stupidity of some of the actions is slightly awe-inspiring. Check out this guys “drug sale”! Incredible:

Kenneth Ciaccio, 19, a member of the Theta Chi fraternity, sent out a mass text-message to “faithful customers,” saying that he was traveling to Las Vegas and would not be able to make his normal cocaine sales, the DEA said.

Sounds like the California state college system is producing some real stand up individuals:

One alleged dealer was just a month away from receiving a master’s degree in homeland security and had worked with the campus police as a security officer, officials said. Another student who was arrested on suspicion of possession of cocaine and two guns was a criminal justice major, officials said.

Does anyone actually learn anything at undergraduate college anymore? Well, anything besides how to make a beer bong with common household items, and how to scam your parents out of living expenses? Makes you want to home-school your kid, doesn’t it?

TAGS: Drug Bust, Drugs, Fraternity

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This post is in honor of the ads John McCain, patriot, statesman, purchased on this website today…

Take that GOP ad buyers. We support trannies…

Once upon a time (like the mid-’90s), a party promoter named Michael Schmidt had a novel idea: drag queens dumping the lipsynching routine to sing rock and roll live onstage. No one knew what to expect when they first opened the doors to Don Hill’s on the fateful night that SqueezeBox! was born in downtown Manhattan. With Mistress Formika presiding as hostess and den mother, the drag queens rocked New York nightlife in a way no one had ever seen before. But what began as a place for queer misfits who’d rather hear a guitar riff than a disco beat turned into a pansexual free-for-all. Straight or gay. Preppy or punk. Man or woman (or somewhere in between). All were welcome at SqueezeBox! as long as they were there to have fun. Though celebrities like John Waters, Drew Barrymore, and Johnny Knoxville were regular fixtures, the movie stars, drag queens, punks, and everyone in between partied elbow to elbow, waiting for a glimpse of what would happen on stage. And what a stage. Not only was it graced by legendary performers like Deborah Harry and Jayne County-it was also where the Toilet Boys were born and John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask started working on Hedwig and the Angry Inch. But when big, bad Giuliani blew through New York nightlife to “clean it up,” the party ended-with chins up and middle fingers in the air-after seven rocking years. Directors Zach Shaffer and Steve Saporito capture the raw, debauched energy of SqueezeBox! in their uniquely stylized mix of archival performance footage and interviews, offering those who were there a chance to relive it, and those who weren’t a chance to get a taste of the action. Seven years after the seminal party closed its doors, SqueezeBox! is the ultimate tribute to what can never be recreated nor forgotten.

Squuezbox, a 90 minute film, is playing tonight at 12:30a, AMC 19t/e 3rd

This, on the same day when Brazilian soccer great Ronaldo was busted in Rio with a trannie...and lost his NIKE contract.

The transvestite also accused Ronaldo of asking him to buy drugs.

Marradona-esque.

The new Spitzer heart Dupre!

TAGS: AMC, downtown manhattan, drag queen, Drugs, free, GOP, Jay, John McCain, Manhattan, mccain, Movie, New York, Race

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The Warfield is in an awesome neighborhood. By awesome, I mean its littered with crack heads, beggars and crazies. It’s right next to a strip club and right around the corner there’s actually a decent restaurant. We started there, had a few drinks and walked over. The Warfield is also a pretty mellow place… you feel safe of persecution just in case you end up being a total fucking idiot in pursuit of a great time. There’s plenty of bars selling a variety of beers and the room is a generally simple layout with every seat being pretty good. The crowd was a reminder that we are getting old. We’re thirty somethings. I see less and less shaggy hair every time I come out to a show like this. Male pattern baldness is a bitch. Luckily one need not to sport a mane to rock the Clarks Wallabies. So predictable but what fucking ever. Richard Ascroft is our hero, so the least we can do is respect his uniform.

(large tan left footed Wallabie, front and center)

We had general admission tickets. Right on the floor which we’d normally call the pit… if The Verve was a hardcore band. Thankfully those who’d once enjoyed a hardcore show or too were there also, friendly faces from which to sway shoulder to shoulder with. (Those there know the full story - Pete, maybe not.)

My favorite feature of certain adult shows like this one is NO OPENING BAND. Who gives a shit about some dumb emerging band that was pushed onto the bill from some major label crap? I don’t, you don’t and quite frankly, you probably have a job to go to in the morning so you wanna get on with it. I assumed I’d be, as I was, a little drunk and work in the morning sounds like a terrible idea, so I took PTO.

(cell phone cam)

So the band took the stage. The old farts in the crowd were good enough for a Wednesday night. After a bit of screaming throughout the room, Richard Ashcroft mumbled something. He looks younger than us. He’s still skin and bones, wearing a black zip-up shirt, mostly open with no undershirt. He looks happy.

I don’t write set lists down, nor have I ever paid attention to song titles anyway. I’m one of those people that thinks what ever word is said most often in the chorus is probably the song’s title. I try to enjoy the show and that means allowing the entire set to melt together into one giant experience. Maybe Azriel can help me fill in the blanks and make corrections. I’ll try my best, but here’s a short rundown. (Those who want to be surprised in New York should stop reading.)

“This Is Music” - yes and it was awesome.
“History” nope, WTF?
“Sonnet” yep!
“Bittersweet” yep! “It’s a masterpiece” Rick says.
“A New Decade” booze makes my memory fuzzy but I think yes
“The Rolling People” oh yea
“The Drugs Don’t Work” yes, the semi-epic version
“Weeping Willow” yup
“Lucky Man” yes, maybe the best song live
“Velvet Morning” yes, yes, yes.

And a new song, which I can’t describe but was pretty good.

For the ending, The Verve practically did turn into a hardcore band as seen here in this terrible cell phone video clip. I think it’s some of my best camera work to date. Don’t ask me if they were good. At the beginning of the clip you can see a cloud of smoke puff up from the nerdy guy in front of me. He was obviously having a good time. Yes they were really good.

Update: I forgot to say, Ashcroft dedicated a song to Ken Kesey. Nice!

TAGS: beer, Crack, Drugs, drunk, HBO, idiot, Music, new song, New York, Review, Richard Ashcroft, The Verve, Video, war, youtube

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Randy Rhoads, guitar god.

Randi Rhodes, whatever.

When I saw the headline “Randi Rhodes calls Hillary a ‘Big fucking whore’” I thought, “Whoa! Did Randy Rhoads, he of Ozzy Osbourne guitar ripping fame, come back from the dead to hate on Hills?” Then I realized it was just some crappy bag of hot air on Air America Radio. Yawn.

ED: if I wasn’t such a burnout, I would have remembered Lissa’s way more in depth Randi post. Kids, don’t do drugs.

TAGS: Drugs, Hillary, kids

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My Grandmother is pretty cool. She’s almost 90. Last month she hurt her back and just got placed in a nursing home. They put her on some kind of drugs. My mother emailed me detailing some awesome hallucinations. Not sure whether her brain is more affected by drugs or age, but getting old doesn’t sound too bad…

I’m not sure what she is on…

She told me that you were going to start traveling again and would be making a lot of money playing poker. I told her that I was pretty sure that you hadn’t played poker in a few years. She is pretty funny these days.

When the plant you and Mac sent came yesterday it was in a box. I asked her if she wanted me to open it. She said she knew that it was a urinal. That was what she asked for. Imagine her surprise when she saw the beautiful plant. I also explained to her that women can’t use a urinal since they don’t have a penis. She thought that was funny too.

This morning she called me and said that when the nurse came to get her up for breakfast she didn’t want to get out of bed, so she told them she was having a heart attack and needed rest. The nurse wanted to take her to the hospital. I told her she shouldn’t be making shit up. I just never know what she will do next.
If you have a chance…give her a call.
Love…Mom

TAGS: attack, Drugs, Travel

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(Left, Evan Mann caught Cave and the Bad Seeds in NYC a few weeks ago. Right, nice pony.)

Two aging musicians—both age 50—weighed in on the state of New York City. One’s an Aussie cult rocker/decent novelist/screenwriter/ex-junky. The other, a pop singer/bad actress who fakes a British accent and dates an one hit UK-caper director. Here’s what each said…

Nick Cave in NYmag:

Were you here then?
I was around in New York from the early eighties. I’ve lived here on and off. I lived in Chinatown for six months, with a political journalist who was also a junkie. He had the money, and it was my job to go and score for him. It was a special time.

Don’t you think it’s overromanticized?
No, actually. The city was so powerful. You could see the neurosis of the population in a way that you didn’t really see in cities in other parts of the world. In many ways, New York City is the one city that never disappointed me back then.

How were the drugs?
Not particularly good. The scoring experience was slightly extreme, but the drugs were not good—in America in general.

Don’t you find New York a letdown now?
Not at all. When you live in England, you see the corporateness of cities. It’s supposedly an American thing, and actually it’s not. It’s a European thing. On the English High Street, there are no small businesses at all. In New York, there still are. You can still eat in a family restaurant—it’s still very much got its character. There’s some idea that it’s cleaned up, which of course it has, but it’s still kind of deranged. You walk around the streets—it’s a completely different kind of ill. There’s nothing like it. The concept of humanity has gone to some other level.

Madge in VF:

“It’s not the exciting place it used to be. It still has great energy; I still put my finger in the socket. But it doesn’t feel alive, cracking with that synergy between the art world and music world and fashion world that was happening in the 80s. A lot of people died.”

So who’s right and who’s wrong? Let’s see. New York is on the verge of economic collapse, at the tail end of the largest commercial and residential building boom in decades (unlike the 80s, developers used great architects this time), the art market is at an all time high, more live music is played in our clubs (and subways) than ever before, the murder rate is up 30% on last year, Mayor Bloomberg just fired 1000 cops, the Governor just lost his job for fucking a club-slut/hooker, our female Senator is running for President, and Basquiat sucked compared to Kehinde Wiley. Fashion, art, and music will be one on Thursday when Kayne, Murakami, and LVMH synergize the BK Museum. You can still get heroin in Chinatown and Nick Cave, who never made a Pepsi commercial, still likes it here.

You lose, Cone Tits!!! Someone doesn’t “get” the level of humanity New York has gone to. Vogue your ass back to boring London. PS: The 80s—the most overrated decade—suck.

More of Evan Mann’s picks of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at Terminal 5.

TAGS: Crack, Drugs, Heroin, Madonna, Music, NATO, New York, New York City, political

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