Oh, Miss Winehouse

Jeez, this is depressing. Not a huge surprise, no, but just so freaking sad. Amy Winehouse was a force of freaking nature. One listen to any one of her songs--or a viewing of, say, the videos for the swinging high-drama "Back to Black" or the trampy, stomping "My Tears Dry On Their Own"--and you knew there was no denying that this lady was, in PJ Harvey's system of measurement, a 50-ft Queenie. Her hair alone could have had a fabulous career. Huge bummer.

Above is footage of her last public appearance, dancing on stage on July 20 while her god-daughter, Dionne Bromfeld, sang. Amy looks, yes, a little fucked up, but she also looks happy.

RIP, Miss Amy.

Also, here is a delightful interview by Jonathan Ross from 2003 or so when her first album came out.

This Is What I Looked Like When I Showed Up To Work Today

Yes, I looked like a sweaty, sagging, and soaking-wet 140-year-old woman of indeterminate race. My shirt was clinging to my body like Marcus Bachman does to his Top Gun Special Edition DVD with the deleted post-volleyball shower scene. It's so hot outside today that it's painful. Really painful. Painful like Marcus Bachman trying to slam his flipper feet into the high heels he bought for Michele. I caught my reflection in the glass of a movie theater window as I passed by it and saw that my face was so agonized from the heat I looked like I was weeping. Weeping hard. Weeping like Marcus Bachman at a midnight showing of The Boys in the Band.

In conclusion, Marcus Bachman is a gay barbarian.

Announcing the Arrival of Your New Favorite Band That Has a Viola Player In It

Folks, there are tons of bands out there begging for attention from the unwashed masses of folks who want music for free. And everyone's wondering, "Which one of these bands is the next Lady Gaga?" Well, I'm here to tell you, my band simpleshapes is not the next Lady Gaga, but we are pretty close, and here's why: First, we are attention whores. Second, I was wearing a meat dress when my bandmate Taylor saw me playing viola on the NYC subway. Third, why do you need a third? That's two very good reasons.

Anyway, yeah, simpleshapes is the musical outfit that fits your active lifestyle the best. Five out of seven dermatologists agree. Below is a homemade video of one of our songs, "A Heart." There are also a few more tracks at our Reverb Nation page, because why not? The simpleshapes material is the first three. (The other tracks are Taylor's old stuff that we haven't re-recorded yet.) Enjoy them! Also, please "like" us, "become our fan," and "give us blowjobs." This will help our doomed careers.

Why Is This Cheeto Trying to Seduce Me?

You know, I typically like to eat my Cheetos surreptitiously, without the prying eyes of those who would judge me. But how am I supposed to keep things on the downlow when into my hand falls such a suggestive Cheeto? This is primo top-tier grade-A sexual harassment. The inanimate kind, which is the worst. When's the last time you were sexually harassed by a corn-based salty snack? It's been a while, hasn't it?

This is the most unnerving snack-related sexytime since the time a pile of Fritos Scoops gave me that hella painful back rub.

Happy 4th, Paytreeuts!

Hello, illiterate nation, it's your birthday, so have a cupcake, have two! It's been a few years since I've revisited the above video, but the magic is still all up in there, in the cinematography, hair, drama, teeth, clouds, pronunciation, stars, stripes, waves, children, tank top, angels, and much, much more. This is the second most patriotic video ever made (the first is the Todd and Sarah Palin sex tape, which is surely out there; the third is the youtube of Ann Coulter eating a Mexican anchor baby).

Don't forget to sit through the three minutes of credits that start at the halfway mark. Don't you want to know who all you should thank for this? Of course you do. But in case you don't have time, I'll present to you below a short list of those responsible:

To My Family:
Linda
Danger Dog
JR
Puppy
Puppy Jr, Honey, Honey
KIDD
Patchouli
B & W
M & M
Mr. Blago
Honesty
Neighbor
Champ
Jersey
And All Our Loves to Come

But what about 3 Musketeers, Incense, Charity, and Long Island? Don't they deserve some credit for this?

Lessons from the Internet: Fans of Canadian Ice Skaters Are Fragile

The Internet is a wonderful place, full of fascinating people to meet and things to see that you would otherwise have no interest in knowing about. I never realized I needed the sweet embrace of Lolcats, for example, until there they were on my screen, lol-ing. You know one thing that the Internet is also full of? That's right: sensitive, mean idiots off their meds who love to type things twice in a slightly different fashion into their computer machines.

As none of you may recall, back in April I had some fun with a picture of Canadian ice skater Meagan Duhamel elbowing her skating partner in the face, because why not, am I right? Life is boring! Now, months later, some poor fraggle going by the name "unknown" has found this blog entry and is SO PISSED about it. Why? Because Meagan Duhamel is an amazing skater and I can't believe you would make something up about a famous person and put it on the Internet!

So now I'm being encouraged by a random person on earth to get a new job because this one is clearly not working out, due to my being a doorknob. Salient point. Doorknobs can't blog.

Fashion is Important: Men's Summerwear Edition

There's nothing more instructional than a men's summerwear catwalk pose-a-thon. That's why the Men's Fashion Week extravaganza in Milan was the most educational event to take place in the world since Live Aid. It's extremely important for us hot dudes to know what to wear to Brighton Beach, where we go every summer Sunday to do laps in the ice-cold Absolut swimming pool. And I don't know about you guys, but I wouldn't be caught dead NOT wearing the above collection of epileptic and ball-hugging pattern explosions. Why? Because stripes are slimming, especially when they're spastically shooting out in every possible direction: they confuse people into thinking you're thin, hooray!

There's a word for this ensemble, but that word is Russian and I don't know how to type/pronounce it. But it really sums things up quite nicely.

In conclusion, in the future all men will look like they were mauled by a gaggle of bitchy gay zebras.

Best Ever Gay Marriage Text Message I've Received

On Friday I was at band rehearsal (that's what you have to call it if you're in a band and you're 38) and Jimmy was at home doing what he loves: making dinner. After laying down a powerful viola track, my phone buzzed with the above text message from Jimmy.

I was so surprised and deeply deeply moved, after 14 years of being together. Because I thought we were having pizza.

Come On, New York, Stiffen Up and Make the Gays Happy

My friend Taylor and I were at the Guitar Center on 14th Street on Sunday to get a paisley pink viola chin rest (they didn't have any!) and we were trying to decide where to go next to search for one (Taco Bell?) when we heard the approaching cacophony of a demonstration, yay!

Turns out it was a pro-gay marriage stomp, which made me think: isn't there some sort of vote happening up in Albany regarding same sex marriage or something, and isn't it really close to passing?

Yes.

This better f-ing happen, Jesus God.

Shootin' It, In Which Tim and Jimmy Discuss the Issues of Our Times. Tonight, Gay Marriage in New York

Tim: Hey, if New York legalizes gay marriage should we get married?
Jimmy: No, I'll ruin your credit.

Guess that settles it!

Raucous Gatherings Dept: Puerto Rican Day, Bushwick

We all know that Puerto Ricans get a kick out of being Puerto Ricans. Who wouldn't? If I looked as good in a pair of saggy jeans as the dude in the above video does (my camera phone couldn't take its eyes off of him), I'd be throwing a parade every day, and I would certainly never wear a shirt.

On Sunday my bandmate Taylor and I were walking a friend to the Knickerbocker JMZ stop in Bushwick and also going to get beer, Joose, Tussin, shower caps, Oreos, poppers, and pills so we could practice properly, and holy moly it was loud outside. Down on Knickerbocker Ave., there were whistles, yelpings, flags, half-nakedness, horn honking, and other things signifying robust revelry. It wasn't really a parade, per se, but folks were sometimes walking in formation down the middle of the street, so maybe that counts?

I was a little disappointed that there were no dudes dancing on floats in their speedos, because isn't that what happens every time a bunch of loud folks gather together somewhere in NYC?



Below is an adorable short film I made called "Maracas," in which a Puerto Rican gentleman faces a difficult choice: continue blissfully playing his maracas or answer his annoying neighbor's persistent questions. Because he can't do both at the same time, much as he'd like to.

This film will win the short-subject documentary prize at next year's Daytime Emmys.

Diabetix Gone Wild: Tour de Cure, NYC

There aren't many days when being diabetic gets you a free sexy spandex bicyclist jersey, but last Sunday was one of those days, because it was the Tour de Cure, hooray! The Tour de Cure is an annual (?) bike ride through NYC (and other cities?) that raises money for diabetes research, which is very important these days because almost 99% of this fat nation has type 2 diabetes by the time they are 13. I'm one of the classy type 1 diabetics cursed with diseased genes, so I was never a big fatty who ate cheeseburgers and Ben and Jerry's for breakfast. No, no, my diagnosis was just blind luck, hitting me like a falling piano when I was just a skinny dumb 15-year-old.

But I'm a team player! And I love riding my bike! So along with my friends Geetha and Alyson I decided to raise some cash for what momma calls "dah-bee-tease."

Even though I was totally psyched about my free red jersey, I was a little bummed that I would have to ride around NYC for hours with the message "I Ride With Diabetes!" plastered across my back. Because what am I, 3 years old?



It was a beautiful day to ride, and we had 30 miles to cover, so things got started early, with some ceremonial screeching, about America.

We queued up for the big start, taking our place among all the other riders.





Then we were off, riding up the west-side bike path and north toward Harlem and Inwood, both of which should be renamed "Bunch of Danged Hills." And did you know that New Yorkers--drivers and pedestrians alike--have a visceral hatred of bicyclists, even ones wearing sexy red jerseys and riding for f-ing charity? The sneering animosity was palpable, and quite off-putting. Sure, I bike to work every day from Brooklyn to the west side of Manhattan and somehow avoid being killed by careless cabbies and mean-spirited bitches in Escalades constantly, but for some reason I figured there would be at least a modicum of good will on offer for those RIDING WITH DIABETES! But no, there was very little of that to be had, because of seething hatred and, sometimes, homicidal mania.

Anyway, because of all those dang hills, I needed a snack to repair a blood sugar plunge before we even reached the first break location. Here I am enjoying the hell out of a Snickers bar.

The cue sheet for the ride was long and was also on paper, not on a app like the Jetsons used, so we had to tape it to our bikes like the Waltons always did in order to lessen the likelihood of dying while figuring out where to go. (This was still very likely!)



And a short 5 1/2 hours later, in I rolled to the finish line, triumphant and ready for a cure to diabetes once and for all so I can realize the American dream of starting my days the way the Founding Fathers intended: with a large bowl of Peanut Butter Cap 'n Crunch and Nutella-smeared toast on the side.



Tour de Cure, yaaaay! To be honest, I raised some money but not as much as I could have because I just decided to do this five days before the ride. But you can still help me out, just go here and relieve yourself of all your money.

Happy Memorial Day from Jam Master Jimmy

When Jimmy isn't spinning mad-hot tracks at clubs full of hip queerballs, nude traffic cops, trapeze trannies, and trucker princesses, he likes to get away from it all and unwind. Like at Fort Tilden in the Rockaways, where we went today. It's a beach beloved, we learned today, by pasty hipster slobs who like to go topless. It was hard to look at but even harder to look away...

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Book Expo 2011

Since the big rapture DJ party didn't happen on May 21, Book Expo of America 2011, the publishing industry's annual smut festival of doom, went on as planned this week at the Javits Center in NYC with all of its scheduled special guests. This year they included Jane Lynch, Julianne Moore, John Lithgow, and probably some other people, all appearing to meet their fans among the disgusting and depraved book people in attendance from across the globe.

Also! This year, unlike previous years, I was at Book Expo not just as an (un)official BEA photographer but also, thanks to the good people at Amazon, as an author OMG! Yes, as I mentioned previously, next fall Amazon Encore, an imprint of Amazon Publishing, will be publishing my book Tune in Tokyo: The Gaijin Diaries, which I self published last summer, and to celebrate their growing publishing program they invited all of their authors to come to Book Expo and look sexy/tired. So on Tuesday I trolled on over to the Javits Center and got my Exhibiting Author badge, above for your viewing pleasure, and started exhibiting myself all over the damn place.

Onwards to the hot pix. Warning: they are often blurry.


I don't know what booth this was, but it's impossible for me not to take a picture of a table full of adorable stuffed animals. It's why I always get kicked out of FAO Schwartz.

This fancy gentleman is walking around with a box on his head pimping the book Proving God. Glad I decided not to wear mine.

Good Lord, Scientologists are weird. There was a poor girl, obviously kidnapped, dressed as a pirate and forced to hand out flyers at the giant L. Ron Hubbard booth. Right after I took this picture, the blonde woman on the right looked over at me with an expression that said, "I am going to eat your face." I returned her hungry gaze with my own that said "I will not let you eat my face."

Look at this photo of the Wimpy Kid sitting in a large snow globe surrounded by dark figures who don't seem to even notice him. I mean really look at it. It's saying something, isn't it?

Gross.

Winner of the Hottest Promotional Book Poster Award is up there on the left.

I'll give you three guesses what the title of the book in the middle of this picture is.

Pretty sure you didn't guess that right.

This is the Librarians At Play orgy booth. Things got a little unhinged right after this picture was snapped.

Just when I was giving up on seeing any celebrities, Dr. Ruth shows up at the Amazon booth to talk to Larry Kirshbaum, who has just been named vice president and publisher of Amazon Publishing's New York office. It took me a few tries, but I got my photo. She's very small and blurry.

Then, right after seeing Dr. Ruth, I walk outside and see this car that appears to be waiting for Ice-T. Did they write a book together?

Up next: the Amazon party at the Press Lounge! Above are little cookies with the titles of Amazon books on them. For some reason mine wasn't included (I was a late addition to the author list), which is sad because my book is delicious.

My ladyfriend Alyson looking awesome.

Me trying to get enough booze in me to get up the nerve to talk to some of these people.

The view from the Press Lounge's veranda.

Me and Alyson with any increasingly distopian midtown behind us. 

There's Larry again. 

Larry again.

Book Expo 2011, everybody!

Big TiT News!

Hear ye, hear ye, folks. A little publishing outfit in Seattle called Amazon--I think they have a website?--has picked up my book Tune in Tokyo: The Gaijin Diaries for actual real (i.e., not self-) publication in paperback and as an e-book in December! Can you believe they've made such a reckless/brilliant business decision?! It's through one of their publishing imprints, Amazon Encore, and what's going on, has the world gone mad?

The answer is yes, but things won't go completely batballs crazy until December, so don't lose your shit yet. Above is the new cover for the book and, shockingly, it's a billion times hotter than the one I did. Who knew that actual graphic designers could improve upon the book jacket design work of a very fast typist like myself?

Sadly, Oprah has now gone off the air so it's not possible to be one of her upcoming book club picks. But that's ok, because who wants to have to sit and talk to Oprah?