Postcards From the Ledge

I'ma hop in and hop out right quick (word to Raekwon the Chef) with a few thoughts that I've been churning in my mind like curdled milk:

1) I'm not dead. Yet. Right now, food, clothes and medicine is all I need. That and Orange Crush. And my spine (word to Mike Stipe). And perhaps lots of cigarettes, booze, and fast women. What can I say? I'm high maintenance*.

2) Better late than never: THE LEATHER BALL IS BACK!!! PRAISE THE ALMIGHTY**!!! In other, less exciting news, the Miami Heat are sub .500. The fuck?

3) Mark Whalberg was nominated for an Oscar for his role in The Departed. Ummm...Great movie, great acting, but Marky Mark is barely in it, and his performance, which amounts to him hamming it up by acting a first-class asshole who swears a lot, is the least noteworthy of the starring ensemble. Jack Nick totally got screwed.

By the way, is there a year that goes by when Judi Dench is NOT nominated?

4) I can think of only ONE better way to use one's hands than this.

5) Jason Kidd.


Until next time. I'm gonna go get drunk and eat something living***.



* Did I spell that word wrong? If so, fuck it. No time for spell checking, Dr. Jones.

** AKA Steve Nash's bleeding hand.

*** No, not a penis, Mr. Funnyman.