The man who made Oprah cry

In October, Oprah added her Book Club stamp of approval to the memior about addiction, A Million Little Piece by James Frey. When Frey was brought onto her show, Oprah, tears and everything, said how amazing his book was and how much she loved it. Roughly translated that means "cha-ching, cha-ching, James Frey, you lucky bastard." Now, Oprah's book club, and memiors (especially about seeing the light after drug addicion) are usually two things not worth mentioning, or even really thinking about.

But aha!

James Frey recently has been exposed as more of a ficiton writer than a memoir one. (http://www.thesmokinggun.com/jamesfrey/0104061jamesfrey1.html) Publishers don't fact-check memoirs, so Frey got away with making up a complete spectrum of glorious crap about beating up police officers and suicidal friends.

Anyone who thought Oprah was going to put up with that shit was dead wrong. Dead wrong. She had him on the show Thursday and put him on a couch for and hour to watch him squirm. After interrogating him for the entire show, saying things like “You betrayed millions of readers," she ends by saying:

"I appreciate you being here. It is a difficult time and I hope you were joking about there being a gun backstage—not worth that."



Dead meat.

New Heights in Douchebaggery

You know, I never liked Kanye West. I thought his formula was tired. All of his songs sampled old soul hits while Kanye rapped about how amazing he was. But I kind of liked Gold digger, and forgave him for a multitude of sins when he said "George Bush hates black people" on live tv. Dude's got balls. or tourettes.

Oh, yeah, now i remember why I hated him.

Take time to appreciate the realistic crown of thorns, fake wounds oozing fake blood, and the obviously practiced grimace.

After the cover shoot, he probably went shopping for jewelry, got a pedicure, then went for a daily ass-kissing session with his hired team of personal assistants who are only to refer to him as either Jesus, My Liege, and/or Supreme Master of the Universe. Yeah, life is tough for Kanye.

via http://www.gawker.com : "Lest you find the cover offensive, remember that it’s okay if a magazine uses a person of color as Jesus — that conveys sympathy and respect. If it were Mark Wahlberg or Piper Perabo tied to the cross, however, that would mean eternal damnation."

Patrick Wolf and Pope John

Patrick Wolf and I have a lot in common. In an article I read, he said, "I Spent my 2005 free time in all night illegal techno or hardcore punk squat parties, and went through an obsession with disco string arrangements. Listened to a lot of grime pirate radio stations. I also bought a clavichord and piano and am now recording everything in 24bit." Totally freaky man, me too! Well, um, I did listen to a lot of grime. (The only thing that ever grabbed me was Dizzee Rascal's Fix Up Look Sharp, which is about as mainstream you can get, I think.)

And wouldn't you know, we have the same New Years resolutions - "I have banned myself from Cornwall, lycanthropy, folk, laptops, and lo-fidelity."

He also says, "I also woke up the day of the end of my tour and felt a desperate need to throw everything I owned away and get spontaneous again, break some bones and have fun."

Exactly. That's why I'm switching schools. Not that Patrick Wolf had anything to do with it, but fuck, I've spent a year and a half at Newton and my mind has been deep fried into an almost comatose state. Another year and i might be bordering on a vegetable. So if I have the opportunity to burn the proverbial 'best years of my life' (disgusting phrase, right?) somewhere else, why not?

So, here I am, jumping off a cliff. What's the worst that can happen? Dying on impact would make for a very quick death, anyway.