Latest on twitter:
Coke Talk*
Staggering through Hollywood with an eager nose and a sharp tongue.
Dear Coke Talk | Ask Me Anything
The Good Shit | Twitter | Gmail | RSS
Staggering through Hollywood with an eager nose and a sharp tongue.
Dear Coke Talk | Ask Me Anything
The Good Shit | Twitter | Gmail | RSS
Never forget.
Oh please. You’re not kidding anyone, sweetie. Pretending you still do your own makeup is only slightly less ridiculous than pretending you produce your own tracks.
Just sit in the chair, let the professionals work, and enjoy being a highly polished cog in the music industry machine.
"It’s a dirty motherfucker that’ll shoot you in the back."
Steven Seagal, Lawman
This past weekend was a barrage of holiday parties and best friends. Now that I’m re-entering the atmosphere, I’m realizing that I may have made a deal with the devil.
At one point, we were all talking about our christmas lists in a typical four a.m. conversation over a coke mirror. I half-jokingly mentioned that I wanted a red 1961 IBM Selectric typewriter. I described this thing like it was a classic Mustang.
They all kind of looked at me funny. Why would I want something like that? I explained that my grandfather had one, and him letting me type on it was one of my fondest memories. Plus, it’s just a cool ass piece of hardware that would look great on my desk at home.
One of my really close friends who knows about my blog pressed me a little further. He wanted to know if I would actually use it. I told him of course I would.
He asked me if I could write a book on a typewriter. I said, well, probably not a whole book, but it’s one of the tools I would lean on heavily because it’s so tactile and analog and linear.
Then he said, so if the typewriter showed up under your tree, you would write a book?
Without even thinking, I said hell yes.
This is the kind of guy with the check book to actually get me a gift like that and the and brass balls hold my feet to the fire. I have no idea if he’ll actually do it, but if he does, he’s gonna make me stick to my word.
Now I’m kind of nervous.
Could you just imagine the special holiday episode of “Jersey Shore” if it had been shot back in the early sixties?
If ever there was proof that the last ten years were a cultural wasteland devoid of any artistic merit, the plain and ugly truth that Nickelback was the highest ranking band of the decade pretty much says it all. I suppose the silver lining here is that despite over thirty million units worldwide, I still don’t know a single person who actually owns a Nickelback album.
What’s a Hollywood holiday house party without a giant mirror Dredel?
Funniest thing I’ve seen from SNL in years.
I guess fake Italian food can’t endorse fake Italian people.
Forrest Gump is basically an indie romantic comedy where the Zach Braff character was born with the umbilical cord around his neck and the Manic Pixie Dream Girl gets fucked by daddy and dies of AIDS.
I’m trying to watch the second episode of Jersey Shore, and I’m finding it grating and repulsive.
I watched the premier with a bunch of friends. At the time, we were high as kites and getting ready to go out for the night. We all thought the show was fabulous trash and over-the-top hilarious.
Now I’m sober on a Monday, and the show is just grotesque and unwatchable.
This is the reality television version of “what the fuck was I thinking?” one-night-stand regret.
I feel like I woke up in a bed with Ed Hardy sheets and all I want to do is find my shoes and sneak out before anyone notices that I was there.
