Sunday, March 19, 2006

SHAKIRA, FERGIE AND BRITNEY

For your basic red blooded guy, the greatest fashion development of the past thirty years is the return of the midriff. We who came of age in the seventies were met by the innocent, hippie "halter tops", which completely disappeared in the black leathered 80'. But, hallelujah, midriffs made a triumphant return in the 90's and show no signs of ever leaving.

They've become imbedded in pop culture fashion (which is a double edged sword for me, a dad of two girls) but with Britney, Fegie, Christine Aguilera and Shakira, among others, "Sexy" has a new standard.

You want "Pouty Psuedo Virginal Slut?" Meet Mrs. Federline. "Skanky, But I'd Fuck Her For A Vial of Pennicillin" Then Ms. Aguilera is more your taste.

Fergie is in her own category. The best singer and the most earned sexy quotient. She's not play acting or pushing it, like the first two women.

But, then there is Shakira. The ethnic quality adds to it, sure, she sings well, and is the most naturally hot, but this is all with a qualifcation. I'm not sure she is of the same species as the rest of the women on this list.

Let me explain. I love pizza. I am from Boston, a fine pizza city and now live in Los Angeles, a pizza wasteland. I recently spent some time in New York and had pizza all over the city, all of it spectacular. But at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge on the Brooklyn side is a place called Garibaldi's (I think)

I ate their pizza. I came to one simple conclusion. Their pizza was so astonishing and singular, that either no one else should be allowed to use the term "pizza" again, or Garibaldi's needs to call theirs something else.

Garibaldi's is the Shakira of pizza. Her unforced, smoldering sexiness, her uindenialable talent.

And that midriff. I'd wax poetic about its sinewy goodness, it's mind and agenda all its own, but that would make me sound insane. Remember John Hurt in Alien? How the creature burst horrifically from his stomach during that dinner scene? I watch Shakira gyrate thorugh a song and I easily believe that undulating somewhere between her rib cage and her navel is a cobra trying to escape.

Good god, she makes Fergie's belly look like mine.

A thought. Does that make Domino's the Britney Spears of pizza?

Sunday, March 12, 2006

WHY FERGIE, WHY?

During the 2004 Presidential campaign I was lucky enough to attend a Democratic fundraiser in Los Angeles. The entertainment was the Black Eyed Peas. I was a fan going in. (And not just of Fergie's midriff) "Elephunk" was a great, infectious album with several cuts that were instant classics.

Live, they did not disappoint. Fergie looked seriously hot, sounded even better and the group as a whole not only put on a terrific show, but their rendition of "Where Is The Love" turned the entire theater into a church. Sensational.

I walked out of there thinking that they had me in their pocket for years to come. So, how did such a great group burn away all of the goodwill they built up with me almost instantly?

Well, a steaming piece of crap called "Monkey Business" was all they needed, as it turned out. The first single, "Don't Phunk With My Heart" was unmemorable except for a video that was more stupid than funny. "Don't Lie" a pretty good single and the video wasn't bad, so there was really no reason to expect the Peas to follow that with a single that combined the two essentials of being excruiciatingly awful and inescapable.

I saw the video - highlighting Fergie with a midriff enitrely covered - should have been a sign, in retrospect - and I watched nearly half of it before I realized that I was watching the Peas. And once I did, it was with the frozen horror of the little kid that approached Shoeless Joe Jackson at the height of the 1919 Black Sox Scandal and pleaded "Say it isn't so, Joe."

I pulled into my garage this afternoon and unloaded my two daughters 8 and 3. The eight year old was singing the newest song that was going through her little head.

"My humps.
My humps.
My lovely lady lumps..."

I closed my eyes and willed the noise to stop, but it was joined by her worshipful three year old sister.

And as they danced arounfd the garage their voices echoed...

"My humps, My humps My humps. MY HUMPS!!!!'

Jesus Christ. Say it isn't so, Fergie.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

DIDJA MISS ME?

I had intended to do an Oscar recap, offering my take on the Awards and Jon Stewart's work...but sadly, I have the same window of interest the general public has...fervent through the first commerical break and dropping like a rock after that. And, once the show ends...by about noon the next day, just about the time Colin Farrell has risen with his hangover, my Oscar hangover is gone.

So, Stewart, very good....weird, tense crowd, Clooney rocked, great speech, coolest guy in town, Stiller, funny, good taped bits, too damn many montages, though and what the fuck?...Crash is best picture? Even threw Nicholson for a loop. Glad it's over - can't wait till next year.