From Andy Ihnatko's Celestial Waste of Bandwidth:
Morrison was immortalized first by death at 27 and then by three generations of college kids who needed a poster to cover up a creepy-looking stain in their dorm room. That voice plus thirty pounds of extra flab wouldn’t have gotten Jim Morrison past the cattle-call round of “American Idol.”
Hat-tip to reader Kate M. for the link.
And while I've got you here, a chuckle from Nick X Saves The Day.
Reporters and writers of non-fiction run into trouble when, as their story begins to take shape, they decide that that story speaks a larger truth about Us As [Adjective] Americans. Us As 21st-Century Americans, Us As Small-Town Americans, Us As Americans Knocked Back By Economic Hardship — take your pick, but whichever Americans the author now feels qualified to generalize about, it's still generalizing, and it's still an irritant.
Whether it indicates a compulsion on the part of non-fiction editors to insist on an overarching principle or sociological conclusion, or whether former city-desk editors who spend a couple of months "in the interior" genuinely believe that yet another minutely observed comparison between a small town's two contrasting coffee shops — complete with overwritten conflation of foamed milk with loss of the moral compass — is as thick with significance as the black coffee consumed without foof in the morally superior (but still condescended to) diner, it's hard to say. Regardless of the rationale, nothing can becalm my interest in a non-fiction narrative quite like a sweeping statement on small-town life.
I made jokes, but he'll be missed.
It all happened very fast — within a couple years of the Motown special. But even at the time of the "Motown 25" moonwalk, fame was old hat to Michael Jackson. He hadn't even turned 25 himself, but he'd been a star for more than half his life. He was given the nickname the "King of Pop" — a spin on Elvis Presley's status as "the King of Rock 'n' Roll" — and few questioned the moniker.
…
But, as the showbiz saying has it, when you're on top of the world, there's nowhere to go but down.
– "Michael Jackson, pop music legend, dead at 50," CNN.com
I used to have a crush on Michael Jackson. For my eleventh birthday, Troop got me the Off the Wall album on cassette, and throughout the evening, my whole sleepover party took breaks from such important business as gorging on candy and painting our nails to bug out to "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" on my parents' ancient 30-pound cassette deck. Jackson looked so foxy on the cover: cool, in control, ready to dance and then have a nice quiet talk about horses. Tween-nip, he was.
The non-embarrassing: you guys, the Newsweek special election report is gripping stuff. All day, I've given myself one page each time I finish something from my to-do list, but a little while ago I gave up and plunged in full-on. Basically, it's all the behind-the-scenes, campaign-trail info the reporters got from the primaries on, but agreed not to publish until after the election, and it's fascinating. That link should take you to the highlights, but read the whole thing, it's gossipy and insightful.
The shameful: I've gotten sucked into Celebrity Rehab after skipping it last season, and God help me but I have a little love affair going with Steven Adler. He's so sweet, even with the mushmouthy cursing! He still has his hesher hair! He just wants to get back together with his friend Slash, and for Gary Busey to shut up (behind you a hundred percent on that, friend). I have no idea what's going on with Jeff Conaway's weird group-therapy disguise or delusions of kidnapping, and Busey is damn near unwatchably sad, but: Adler. Love that guy. Call him, Slash!
The 90210 reruns on SOAPnet have just cycled back to the beginning — and you can read S1 recaps at The HeldenFiles.
You can also get yourself a big bag of Hoffernalia while browsing the Hoff's site, which I can't believe I'd never visited before (thanks to Alli for the tip).
Looking for an all-purpose, three-minute expositional answer to just about any action-movie dilemma? Matt Zoller Seitz has "The Explanation."
And the end of summer means…well, a few things, including back-to-school shopping, which I still do every year even though school is half a lifetime ago. I cannot resist the lure of new notebooks and organizing tools, and MZS's neighbors tipped me to 1) cheap, chic school stuff at Muji ("the Japanese Ikea"); and 2) a big summer sale at Container Store. My spies also told me that you can say you're shopping for college and get another 10% off just by signing up for a mailing; they don't ask for proof or anything. I'm not saying you should or should not do so; I'm saying we're in a recession.
But it also means the TN Fall Contest is approaching. Would you like to donate a prize? Would you care to help out on the administrative end? Drop me a line: bunting at tomatonation dot com. Or start shopping the proposals at DonorsChoose.org.
…If you've got any more money to spare for a good cause, considering attending the 7A benefit for Rett Syndrome Research. 7A is the production company behind Nikki, and your $65 ticket buys you some drinks, some snacks, and the chance to meet the Couch Baron. I believe the documentary is set to screen as well, so please have a look.
…The next Guyz Nite show is next Wednesday, October 17 at R Bar, 218 Bowery in Manhattan. It's also a party to promote the DVD release of the band's Die Hard video. If you haven't had a chance to catch a GN show, I highly recommend it.
…Oh, Hasselhoff. And with a new Knight Rider in the works, too.
Evidently the fine folks at Distortrait can smell what the GBC is cooking — they've put Kiefer on a girls' bike.
That goes on a t-shirt, I'd better be getting one free. Thanks to reader Elle N. for the heads-up.
In the midst of a ruthless bedroom-shelving weed sesh this afternoon, I found myself confronted with a very heavy box whose contents were a mystery to me. Said contents? Girls' Bike Club CDs. On the plus side, it reminded me to get cracking on Chapter 17 in our saga, in which Sean Penn and Angelina Jolie get married. (Oh, you'll see.) On the minus side, I ain't got room for these bad boys, so I'm selling them for $5 a pop.
Want one? BUYERS IN THE U.S.: Send $5 via PayPal to sars (at) tomatonation (dot) com; make sure to include your address. One CD per order. Shipping is included, plus a TN sticker. BUYERS OUTSIDE THE U.S.: Send $8 via PayPal to sars (at) tomatonation (dot) com; make sure to include your address. One CD per order. Shipping is included, plus a TN sticker. I'm not as free to get to the post office as I have been in the past, so shipping may not be terribly prompt; I will do my best, but depending on where you live, it could take a couple of weeks for the CD to arrive.
Sale lasts until I get sick of it. Questions, let me know.
Fig. 1: Puggelhoff
2. According to TV Tattle (also the source of the fine toy above), Variety reports that the Hoff will play himself on Tales from the Hoff: "[The] project stemmed from conversations Hasselhoff had with friends about how his life might inspire an interesting TV show."
…Really. Because I believe that was actually a conversation I had with my friend.