A Hickey From Kenicke

The big news about the Long Island bat mitzvah this past weekend is not the "let them eat cake" cake angle. And, oddly enough, it's not that Stevie Nicks is no longer all that fat while Don Henley is. The biggest news is that Steven Tyler & Joe Perry have both recently had some major plastic surgery, and now look like (above, left & right) Melissa Rivers and Maria Shriver!

But that's nothing compared to:

Aside from the thought of Matt Dillon and Owen Wilson frolicking together on the beach, what truly keeps me going from day to day is landing upon news like this.

First off, it includes a child of Cher chastising someone for being a stoned jackass. She had Greg ("Disneyland on acid") Allman as a stepfather, so don't go all "prescription Benadryl" to her face.

Secondly, the D-list star melting into a quivering pile of candied yams is Olivia Newton-John's ex-brother-in-law, Jeff "f**king" Conaway!!!

Summer of 1978, Grease was most certainly the word when you were a 13-year old girl, and I loved me some Conaway. He was "hickey from" Kenicke, with fluffy, feathered-back hair. Even as I slapped up the pin-ups, I knew it was slightly inappropriate for someone that old to be in the teeny bopper magazines. Even though I adored seeing him weekly on Taxi, I knew his diet consisted of chewed scenery and hammy sandwiches.

After a putrid album (which I bought...and still own) and his divorce from Rona Newton-John, he went onto to star in the best TV movie ever, as "a bitter, emotionally crippled and washed up fellow model." He then began an illustrious career as King of B-Grade soft porn movies, then confessed his coke-whore ways before becoming a born-again Christian, then starred in a crappy syndicated sci-fi series. This is what D-list Dreams are made of!

As it stood, his resume was impressively flawless. But much like a Porsche as it winds into a dangerously sexy curve, or a swan gently gliding onto a crystal blue lake, Mr. Conaway is now perfection and grace personified.

I am now feverishly learning how to needlepoint, so I can inscribe the following onto a series of pillows:

A square, sage green velvet pillow: "I did a show called TAXI - one of the biggest shows ever!"

An oblong, lemon yellow pillow: "I supported a f**king family from the time I was 10-years-old. I went through a paedophile at seven-years-old. At three-years-old I slit my f**king wrist, so keep your f**king mouth shut."

A round, white linen pillow with sky blue tassles: "If they don't want me to be Jeff Conaway then go f**king find somebody else. I've walked off shows before and I will walk off shows again."

Walk on, Master Jeff, walk off.

The Walls Have Ears

This past Monday, after a 2-week recess, the Supreme Court re-opened for business. Just after a group of citizens made it inside to get seats for the show, a large chunk of marble fell off the building and crashed onto the stairs.

The full details of the incident are here. But what I love the most is AP's dry commentary in this paragraph:
"The piece that fell was over the figure of Authority, near the peak of the building's pediment, and to the right of the figure of Liberty, who has the scales of justice on her lap."

While the building stood relatively empty for 2 weeks, the administration faced implosion and shame. Talking heads to the left and the right filled up media space, going berserk over troubling lies and/or lame attempts to cover them up.

But nothing speaks louder than the "thud, thud" of fine Vermont marble long-bombing down onto concrete. There is something quite dramatic about that particular dentil in that exact position disengaging itself from the building at that precise moment.

This building felt it necessary to speak up, but was it commentary or prophecy? Either way, don a hard hat and listen up.