Do I dress like Interpol?

This is all second hand info, because everyone knows I don't wake up before 10am, but apparently it was stated on the FNX morning show today that I dress, and I quote, "like Interpol?" Someone made a comment about the pill, then I got a friendly shout out followed by the notion that I "dress like Interpol."

Huh. Anyone hear this?

Don't insult Coldplay!!!

From my Hotline column in today's Herald: When Radiohead released “In Rainbows” online late last year without a fixed price, the band figured fans would chip in a few bucks to download the album. It was right.

So maybe Coldplay already understands that most self-respecting folks won’t pony up a dirty dime to hear the first track off the overwrought UK balladeers’ upcoming album. Which is why Coldplay’s new single, “Violet Hill,” is available for free download starting Tuesday, when fans can darken their former shade of “Yellow” over at coldplay.com/song starting at 7:15 a.m. Fans then have to pay for it after one week.

“Violet Hill” is the first track off the band’s upcoming album, the ridiculously titled “Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends.” Not to be outdone, Coldplay is also playing two massive free concerts, one at London’s Brixton Academy and the other at New York’s Madison Square Garden (June 23).

The free show at MSG should be the ugliest display of cheap grandiosity since Sean Avery suited up for the New York Rangers.

First off, never allow me to complain about my job after that Avery comment was published. Ever. But the entry also led to some fairly flacid hate-mail, most of which was a variation of "Why you no like the Coldplay?!?!" Sadly, this email from GTD, with "Get real, please" in the subject line, was my Russian breadwinner: "What on earth is your problem with those guys putting on a free concert?? Go pick on someone who actually deserves it. Snooty idiot."

Fair enough, GTD.

Long / Short

My Pet Winehouse

I really don't understand the whole Amy Winehouse thing (go Duffie, kids), but I loved me some My Pet Monster when I was a litle kid. Thankfully, it never sang. Separated at birth? A long-lost sibling? Good fucking god, those teef.

Adult toy:

Kid toy:

Regeneration Tour, I <3 Belinda Carlisle

Show of hands: Who is going to the Regeneration Tour on Aug. 20 at the Pavilion? Look at this ‘80s doozey of a lineup:

Human League – Ok, decent headliner, though I bet they haven’t aged well. Life in a cocktail bar is bad for the skin. But drum machines are timeless.
Belinda Carlisle – Holy shit. My first love. I used to watch the “Heaven is a Place in Earth” video with one hand in my pocket and another on the screen. And true story, I used to turn it off three-quarters through because she ends up sucking face with some dude (It turned out to be her hubz). It was a true precursor to my life of juvenile jealous rage. And I’ve never, to this day, heard how the song ends. But I bet the heavy metal breakdown outro and ghettotech back-beat is killer dope. But seriously, her solo catalogue is top-notch and mad underrated: “Mad About You,” “Summer Rain,” “I Get Weak” and the best song she’s ever done, the truly majestic “Leave A Light On For Me”. Sigh. I feel 8 years old again. What a way to go-go.
Flock of Seagulls – VH1’s favorite flakes should still be credited with writing “Wishing,” one of the greatest new wave songs with one of the greatest synth loops ever created. I can listen to an hour-long version of the last two minutes of this song. No joke.
ABC – “Poison Arrow” and the “Look of Love” are worth showing up to the Pavilion at 6pm. Who broke my heart? Well, Belinda did in 1989.

Anyway, so fucking delish. This is all in one night, under one New England sky, for just $25. Maybe I can finally meet Belinda. Maybe I can hear the end of “Heaven is a Place on Earth.” Do you know what that’s worth?

No Devils, no RoL, what's a boy to do but watch Predator Rap?

So I’m like a lost puppy these days, as both Rock of Love II and the Devils’ season came to a screeching conclusion (or silent thud, depending on your POV) in the past week or so. Now, I don’t really have the Devils equivalent of Daisy's MySpace page to get me through the idle rigors of an NHL off-season, and outside of passively rooting for the Rag$ to lose versus the equally-deplorable Pittsburgh Penguins, I couldn’t give a fuck-all in Crosbyville as to who win the Stanley Cup this year. However, reading that the NHL league office has nixed production of the Sean Avery Rule t-shirt is good news. Sweet consolation prize for fans that once saw their team win three Cups in nine years. Then again, I was rooting for Oscar de la Hoya’s niece to win Rock of Love, so maybe this is the punishment I get.***

Last off season I made a buncha racket about trading Patrik Elias and/or Brian Gionta for a physical presence on the blue line (the Canucks’ Mattias Ohlund, anyone?), and that would-be presence might have knocked new Vogue intern Sean Avery on his ass a few times in the deciding games of last week’s Devs-Rags games. If only we had anyone who stepped up and vicked this guy. Colin White, was your vag itchy? David Clarkson, not as tough as we thought. Maybe Cam Janssen would have made a difference, maybe not.

But oh, how I long for the days of Scott Stevens. We were pushed around, out-gunned and systematically embarrassed by our biggest rival, leading out Greatest Player Ever to unravel after no one on the team stood up for him. Awesome. I cried about consecutive second-round exits last summer, and now we’re handed an opening-round defeat to the overpaid cross-town dip shits in Blue. Sweet. And no, I wouldn’t have shook Avery’s hand either if I was Martin Brodeur. HOF goalie Billy Smith of the NY Islanders never shook hands with anyone after a playoff defeat, but of course the media scrutiny that exists today wasn’t a fraction of that in 1980. You shake hands with players you respect after a hard-fought series. Brodeur showed Avery the kind of disrespect the Rangers forward showed the game all series.

In any event, it looks to be a long off-season. Thank God I have the Predator Rap to hold me over.

*** Hey, back to Daisy from RoL again. It’s now all news and shit that she’s related to former boxing champ Oscar de la Hoya. Do you think that Oscar and family were kinda embarrassed by her all those years? I mean, they couldn’t get a family member to appear in the episode where they brought the other sluts’ parents to the show, and now suddenly her Family Fucking Tree is out in the open for all to digest?!!? Something is up, here. Imagine of Oscar went on RoL instead of Chaz’s sister?!?! If it took a silver medal performance on Cock of Love for Daisy’s family to finally accept her, then so be it.

Big Dipper secret show (tonight)

A little birdie told me that Big Dipper, acclaimed late-'80s indie/post-punk dudes who have temporarily left the suburban life to reform to destroy all newcomers, are playing a TOP SECRET show tonight at the Midway Cafe in Jamaica Plain. They go on a 9pm sharp, and if this doesn't end up being true, well, then, good thing I put it here and not the Herald, amirite or amirite?

Thanks to the always-awesome folks at Merge Records, Big Dipper has a very nicely packaged 3-CD anthology, "Supercluster," out now, and the "official tour dates look like this: 4/24 at Maxwell's in Hoboken NJ, 4/25 at Southpaw in Brooklyn and 4/26 at the Middle East in Cambridge.

I can has ROFLCon? Yes!

This week the ROFLCon hits Cambridge, a two-day e-fest that has invited Internet celebs such as Tron Guy and the dude who created I Can Has Cheezeburger. If I didn't just hang up the phone with D.A.B. from VH-1's dope new show "Miss Rap Supreme," this story would be my favorite so far this month.

Also in the papers, Hotline-style: The Rumble finals have a certain Wednesday-night-at-the-Abbey-Lounge feel to it, and KRS-One's "Stop the Violence" tour is postponed after he got hit in the head with a thrown bottle. Lovely.

Florida says no to Truck Nutz

There are so many things that need to be discussed today -- Like... how Martin Brodeur rightfully dissing Sean Avery Friday night in the handshake line, the Devils ass-kicking at the hands of the Rags$, KRS-One's "Stop the Violence" tour being postponed after he got bottled on-stage in New Haven, the Boston Marathon ruing my life, the Daisy beatdown on the Rock of Love reunion and of course, my ever-growing desire to be elsewhere.

But all takes a back seat, for the time being, to the Florida senate trying to ban Truck Nutz!. Story after the jump!

TALLAHASSEE - Motorists could face a $60 fine for displaying an increasingly popular attachment to the trailer hitch of their pickup trucks.

Carey Baker, R-Eustis, the Florida Senate's transportation chairman, won a two-day fight over decorations that resemble male genitalia -- devices dubbed "truck nutz."

"Just as it would not be appropriate to show that device on the Senate floor, it's not appropriate to have that hanging from the back of a truck on a public road," Baker argued.

His provision was amended onto a larger transportation bill (CS/SB 1992) passed Thursday.

A companion House bill does not include the prohibition -- which was vigorously opposed a day earlier by Sens. Jim King, R-Jacksonville, and Evelyn Lynn, R-Ormond Beach.

"There's got to be better things for us to be spending our time debating," said Senate Minority Leader Steve Geller, D- Cooper City.

Casiotone For the Painfully Alone, and professional dog-walking

From the noosepapah:
Today's Hotline discusses Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, which is at the Middle East tonight, as well as the Black Crowes never-ending tour. Yesterday, I nabbed the cover story with a piece on professional dog-walking services.

Yeah. The Information are at TTs tonight, if you need something to do. They is good.

Devils lose again; put me in a Senior Center pronto

I am definitely mellowing in my old age. Last night, I plopped my fat ass on the couch, and went to war with my beloved-yet-outgunned New Jersey Devils as they battled the Rag$ at the oval shit hole known as Madison Square Garden, home of clearly the worst fans on Earth (Seriously, they’re all 40-something, secretary-fucking weekend-dad businessmen in cheap suits, with spoiled chubby 10-year-old kids named Ethan who wear replica Jagr jerseys with the numbers cheaply ironed on. These little shits are no different than the douches who wore Adam Graves jerseys back when I was in high school. And those kids are all gym teachers in Lindenhurst now, so they can go fuck themselves. Dad too, and not just when he’s yelling at junior for missing the cut-off man in a Little League game. But I digress.)

Anyway... I was saying I’m mellowing because... well... the Devils lost, and while I was pretty disappointed, I can’t fault my boys. Tie game until three minutes left, they fought and scrapped in an environment more hostile than the Moscow boxing rink in Rocky IV. I’m proud of them, even though they’re now down three games to one. This is not the most talented Devils team, but they don’t quit. If I ever run in John Madden, I’d buy him drinks until he passed out. This team has heart. I just wish they could score.

But beyond the game, I really enjoyed sitting down at 7pm with my lady and my long-time friend, ripping killer iz and ordering shitty-yet-tasteful take-out, rising to my feet in agony or joy every time something interesting happened. It’s well-documented that playoff hockey is like nothing else, and a Devils playoff push has become a rite of spring. There’s something so comforting about it. The day light outside when the puck first drops, the intensity within the arena, the balls-out effort of both teams involved, me wearing a t-shirt under my red Elias sweater.

I don’t think I’ve ever truly enjoyed a Devils loss, but last night was simply great entertainment. Yes, I was inconsolable for a good hour post-game, but I really live for moments like this. If watching sport is nothing but a get-a-way from the bullshit rigors of the real world (from the human jazz stain who slammed into my parked Jetta on Barrows the night before, to making a last-minute tax dash with H&R Block’s finest foreign bureau preparation team) then last night was mission accomplished.

I just wished they won. A few years ago, I’d be looking to start a bloodied donnybrook with any fucktard wearing a blue shirt in the newsroom. These days, I appreciate the good times. Well, the good times before the game-winning goal breezed past Marty Brodeur.

We are not dead. These games are close. We stormed back 3-1 on a much-stronger Flyers team in the 2000 ECF, and we can pull that shit again. Ok, we don’t have the A-Line, but we have Brodeur. And I’ll never bet against any team that’s led by John Madden.

...In the Papers: FNX show goes local, Bret Michaels comes to town

From today's Herald: The shit-tastic FNX Best Music Poll concert (May 10 at the BoA Pavilion) got a whole lot cooler with the addition of Passion Pit and Eli "Paperboy" Reed to the lineup. Now everyone can go home at 8pm and miss Death Cab for Cutie, Presidents of the USA and Bob Fucking Mould.

Also in my column: Michaels! Michaels! Michaels!

This past Sunday, Bret Michaels of Poison chose Ambre as his “Rock Of Love,” opting for the almost-40 soccer mom over Daisy, the young, collagen-infused human floatation device. But if the rumors are true, Michaels and Ambre weren’t getting on so well once the cameras stopped rolling.

So it’s a fairly safe bet that by the time Poison hits the Bank of America Pavilion on Aug. 7 (with Dokken and Sebastian Bach in tow), Michaels will be single again. He might even be single already!

So ladies, lock the cellar door and prepare to talk dirty. After the Pavilion show, Michaels and his collection of colorful bandanas will swing by the Hard Rock Cafe for an exclusive meet-and-greet.

“Bret will be there about 11:30 and will hang out, sign autographs, have drinks with the crowd until closing time and, who knows, maybe he’ll even sing a song or two,” said Dan Millen of Rock On concerts.

Tickets for the Hard Rock party are $25 in advance at ticketweb.com and rockonconcerts.com. No word yet if Dokken will head over to the Silhouette Lounge in Allston for their own after-party.

Miss Rap Supreme preview

VH1 premieres "Miss Rap Supreme" tonight at 10pm, and my preview of the show pops up in today's Herald. I'm kinda obsessed with DAB, because rapping ex-junkie white girls from the Fall River area are like family to me. More thoughts to come.

First-ever NJ Devils/Rock of Love diary

It dawned on me, around 9pm tonight, that I’m likely the only guy in America simultaneously rooting for Daisy to win Rock of Love and the Devils to beat the Rags. Yes, here I sit, channel flipping between VH1 and Game 3 of the Devils-Rangers game, live from MSG.

Daisy MADE A LIST... bitch came correct for the finale, she's fighting for her man. And with that, the Rangers score early in the 3rd to tie the game at 3. I missed this live. Better off.

So just as Daisy starts questioning shit and whips out a list, the Rangers start to pepper Brodeur, who stands on his head to preserve the sudden 3-3 tie. How I’m going to keep up with both unfolding dramas, I have no idea. Nevermind the Habs-Bs game at the Garden or Yanks-Sox from Fenway. Thank God there are no girls here. (Or maybe this is why there are no girls here.)

Fuck it, I’m selling out and starting a running diary… running blog? I dunno. Let’s see how this shakes out.

9: 15pm: Brian Gionta still sucks. This guy plummeted in two years huh? Pat Verbeek should get his record back. No one has been more affected by Scott Gomez’ departure than Gionta. I’m waiting for him to deflect a Gomez shot past Marty, just on instinct. Meanwhile, Daisy doing what Gionta can’t – getting offensive on Ambre, who fires back “Surgery can make me hotter, but surgery won’t make her smarter.” She mumbled this as she pulled up to the Ferullo soccer fields in North Woburn. 3-3 tie in hockey, anyone’s game on Rock of Love.

9:22 pm: Rock of Love goes to commercial break, so I have 90 seconds of uninterrupted Devils hockey. Nine minutes left in regulation, and we have the offensive prowess of an underwear-less Ambre. But we’re gonna get a Devils goal soon. I call Langenbrunner, but I doubt he scores before Brett Michaels does.

9:24 pm: Commercial breaks for both channels. On VH1, we get an Ashton Kushner movie trailer, while Versus slings GK Elite sportsear. Ok. Haha here’s an ad for Poison at the Pavilion this summer!!!! Fucking Dokken is on this bill. Was Ratt unavailable?Ugh. Beer sales at the Pavilion will be through the roof during Dokken's set.

9:26 pm: Eight minutes to go in regulation. We can dodge a potentially devastating Game 3 with a sneaky win if someone steps up. On Channel 43, Bret and Ambre are eating by the beach, looking as hot as my parents in the Heritage Springs old people playground. Snooze. Devils have slowed this game to a crawl, maybe they forgot there are no shootouts in the post season.

9:27pm: Ambre says she’s not like Daisy. Let’s see if Gionta stops acting like Gionta and scores a fucking goal here.

9:29pm: The Devils power play is as firm as Michaels’ hairline. Mother-daughter conversation going down in the hotel between Daisy and Ambre, but just 4 minutes to go in NYC...

9:33pm.: Bret gives Ambre a necklace, which is symbolical of the shit he’s about to do to her. He puts it on her as just Brodeur gets ran by the Rags. BRODEUR IS UNDER SIEGE. Jesus Christ if Scott Stevens was still playing, this shit would not be tolerated. And you bet your Gary Bettman bobblehead that Lou Lams will ensure those Sean Avery antics, where he waves his hand to blind the goalie, will be outlawed by morning. Unsportsmanlike conduct for the most non-Darcy Tucker bush league play in NHL historu. Stay classy, Rangers. We may not be tough anymore, but we won't be rattled. (I'd be nice if Colin White stepped up, though, I ain't gonna lie. Can we protect our G? Please?)

9:36pm: Bret scores with Ambre. 2:17 left in MSG.

9:39pm : Devs-Rags going to overtime, still waiting for RoL to shift into overdrive. And then it does!!! Daisy offers us this latest Daisyism: “Just because I’m not 500 years old like Ambre doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want have a clue what I want know what I want.” Or something like that; I was distracted by her wrists.

9:50pm: Daisy gets on a boat. Bruins-Habs into overtime.

9:52pm: Daisy pukes off the boat. Bret finds it hot. Tim Thomas swipes the puck and makes a glove save with 14;37 left in their own OT. It’s no holds barred here in the lonely Barrows Bedroom.

9:56pm: We learn Daisy doesn’t have a white picket fence, Devs-Rags back in session.

9:58pm: Gionta hits the post. Argh.

9:59pm: MSG is playing Bush’s “Machinehead,” the Devils buzzing around the net with a strong chance by Patrik Elias, and Zach Parise is down after getting high-sticked. If only we still had Jeff Friesen, this game would be ours.

10:02pm: My head is going to explode.

10:05pm: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOAL DEVILS!!!!!! MADDEN ON A BANK SHOT. The Devils are alive!!!! Woo!!! Now, let’s see if Daisy can use her rimshot to seal her own win. Let’s go for the Vanya gold!

10:07pm: ...Ok, back to RoL. Oooh we’re gonna need an Ambre MONTAGE!!! We’re gonna need a montage!! Team Ambre, fuck yeah! (Devils won!!!)

10:09pm: Haha’s at Daisy waving to the help at the hotel.

10:16pm: I dazed off in the haze of Devils victory glory when the SECOND Poison concert commercial snapped my focus back into shape.

10:18pm: Haha, Daisy said Ambre is 80 years old. Now Daisy is staring at her wrists again. I can’t believe anyone is still reading this. If only there was a fucking Suede webcast I could corner the market on writing about shit no one cares about.

10:19 pm: Ok… ELIMINATION TIME. Bret looking good, wearing the earth toned satin suit. He gets into it, says he loves them both, how they both rule, but not as hard as John Madden for being a true New Jersey Devil.

10:21pm: Here we go, kids, this is it, true love revealed!! Not a dry eye in the house… and we have commercial break.

10:26pm: “Toughest decision (Bret’s) ever made in his life”… and Daisy, the tour ends here... OH SNAP... awwwww poor thing. God dammit. I knew Ambre would win this. Ugh. Looks like Brett needs a chauffeur, not plastic swimmies, for his kids. I feel for Daisy, she really came alive in this finale, and it was great hearing her attack Ambre's 1912 birthday. Every rose has its porn, Daisy. I still <3 you. As does Charles. And CC DeVille, prolly. Just stop crying into your wrists. Please.

10:28pm: “Ambre you are my rock of love.” Ok. I’m spent. Now, I find it hard to believe Bret won’t tag Daisy again. But whatever, we’ll see if these two wacky 40-sumthins can get have a family or whatever it is they’re off to do. Suddenly, it's awkward. I’m sure Ambre already has the minivan warming up in the driveway.

10:30pm: ...ahhhhh Heather and Daisy throw down next week on the reunion. Jesus H. LEAVE DAISY ALONE!! I’m going for a walk outside. I need an emergency Tedeschi run after all this drama. Maybe even Reef Café. Or a life. Definitely need a life. Go Devils!

RIP Bob Greene

A truly sad day, as two-time Pulizer Prize winning journalist Bob Greene passed away this week at the age of 78. Greene was my mentor and professor at Hofstra University in 1999-2000, and his investigate reporting class remains one of the toughest challenges I've ever faced. He was a large, intimidating man (and God help you if you forgot the last "e" in his name) but was also very compassionate, caring and always helpful through his remarkable reporting insight. He called us his "pups," and that we were. It's said a lot about the old guard, but they truly don't make them like Bob Greene anymore.

If you want to be amazed at this guy's life --and the respect he earned while living it-- check out Newsday's front-page obit in today's paper.

When your passing is the splash on the cover of a paper like Newsday's, you realize the impact.

LA Riots in Cambridge

I've decided to leave the Barrows Cave tonight and roll riverside to the Mid Easy, where California dance mavens LA Riots is throwing down the dirty electro disco party. Oh my fuzzy-fuck dance goodness this should be A+-level Awesomeness. If you have no plans tonight, this comes highly recommended, we rarely get a glimpse of the kind of dance music that's currently killing on the west coast. LA Riots have remixed all sorts of dope shit, from Justice to Hot Chip to Kylie.

There's a slew of other DJs along with Boston's Hot Pink Delorean and Philly beat bitches Innerpartysystem, who amazingly pull off a Joy Division cover that's not feast-loin cringe-worthy. I have no idea who goes on when, but it's Thursday and chances are meant to be taken. I'll need to snap out of my week-long lethargic state to fully embrace this one, but I suspect it will be worth the flair. I might even buy a t-shirt.

Radiohead in Boston, BCN goes 1995

Today's Hotline: Radiohead hits Boston in August, 'BCN thinks its 1996 with and C. Faraone reports that Termanology gets signed. (Nevermind the wrong byline.)

I think I'll pass on seeing Radiohead. I caught them several times in the Bends-OK Computer era, and after that they completely lost me. Seriously, I just don't fucking get it. But then again, BCN Radio thinks its cool to have Stone Temple Pilots, Filter, Pennywise and Everlast headline their big-assed summer concert (Le Rave de Rivah), so what the fuck do I know about anything?

But to be fair, I think I'd rather see that BCN lineup than the FNX BMP Concert with Death Cab For Cutie, Presidents of the USA, Amanda Palmer and Bob Mould. Boston, can we wake the fuck up already?!?

...In the papers, April 8

1. A challenge goes out to local bands to write a playoff song for the Bruins, the way Al Jourgensen wrote a goal-scoring anthem for the Chicago Blackhawks.
2. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" turns 100 years old this year, and it's the third-most-sung song in American history, behind Happy Birthday and the national anthem.

Whoa! Lifetime steals Project Runway

Somewhere in middle America, Meredith Baxter-Berney has busted out her pink sequin jumpsuit, as Variety is reporting like whoa that Lifetime has stolen "Project Runway" from Bravo. The elderly network awarded Heidi & Co. a 5-year deal.

And now Bravo, realizing Wednesday night fodder "Top Chef" is essentially the Pizza Hut of reality TV, has filed a lawsuit saying they weren't given right of first refusal or whatever. Personally, I'm eagerly awaiting the original production of crossover sensation "I Know My First Name is Michael Kors."

Saul Williams speaks about Nike ad pitch

A few weeks ago I was startled to hear Saul Williams' lethal electro-hop anthem "List of Demands" used in a Nike ad. So in advance of his show tomorrow night at the Paradise, I chatted with the NYC poet/rapper about his decision to sell the song to the corporate giant, which appears in the Herald today.

Williams is one of the more engaging and thought-provoking artists out these days, and his reasoning behind the pitch is solid, even if some fans are bullshit. But it's a podium, as he said, and damned if I'd criticize this guy for wanting his message heard. He has it right, even if he chooses Nike as the vehicle.

A few years ago, Carl and I caught his show at Axis just as “List of Demands” was released. It was an early, mid-summer gig on the Evil Strip, with the Red Sox out of town but the Eurotrash on their way to Lansdowne at 10pm. Williams hit the stage around 8:30 or so, with about 30 people in the room. It was so barren you could hear the bartenders talking ragtime, and his DJ looked flustered when he walked onstage. Suddenly, Williams came out, told us "it's not (our) fault the promoter fucked up," and invited everyone on the stage. He ripped shit up a good 45 minutes as the crowd formed a semi-circle around him, instantly creating a basement-show vibe and a personal party for those attending. I didn't mention it in the article, but he vividly remembers that show, and called it one of his "favorite shows of all time." Mine too. That's how Saul Williams rolls.

Rock of Love 2's Final Deuce

Ok, damn. The Rock of Love 2 battle between the Groupie, the Soccer Mom and Real Doll took a backseat just six minutes into tonight’s show because... holy fuck... we saw Bret Michaels’ un-obscured ...HEAD! No cowboy hat glazed in Rodeo’s vag, no obnoxious-ass Sunset Strip bandana. Just Bret’s sweet golden locks, flowing like it was a motherfucking photo shoot for “Look What the Cat Dragged In.” It really put everything in perspective.

Anyway, tonight was the “Meet the Parents” episode, except for Daisy who has no family since she was spawned outside a porno shoot at Area 51 the same year "Look What The Cat Dragged In" came out (and since it came out in the 80s, we can’t retroactively say the album “dropped.”). While it would be hard to top last season’s alcoholic performance by Heather’s dad and the hick riot-act by Papa Lacey, these shows are always good. And I was just about to make a crack about Destiney’s Dad being on Alien Nation the same year "Look What The Cat Dragged In" hit Sam Goody shelves when it’s revealed he has terminal cancer. He seemed mad chill with the leopard print forehead tat and the New Hampshire head shop purple velour jacket, and he and Bret definitely bonded. He was psyched as shit to have his baby girl end up the Dr. Scholes insert to Bret’s boot-alicious face. My roommate even predicted the “In Memory Of...” still at the end, and sure enough, the dude has already passed on. Suck city.

But speaking of passing on... Destiney is gone!! Nevermind the fact she went on a reality show to bone the singer of Poison while her dad was dying. The real jester shit here is the tattoo (2nd place: we learn she was rejected in casting for Season One!!!). After finally settling on having the RoL logo tattooed on the back of her neck to commemorate “the experience” (Hey nothing says “good decision” like indecision at the ink parlor) Destiney is sent home, leaving us with the 78-year-old Mom and Daisy, who we now know was cheated on by Charles, presumably during the last Papa Roach tour. At elimination, when Bret asked if Daisy had anything else to say, I was hoping Rikki Rocket was gonna walk out and tea bag her. But no dice.

Whew. Ok. Next week is the finale, and Aaaam-brayyyy “turns up the heat” by saying she’s not wearing underwear to dinner. Just like someone born in the 1940s would say. Like Daisy EVER wears underwear.

Go Daisy Go. A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

Giants pitcher bitchslapped by elastic band

From the Sporting News player update section:

Keiichi Yabu - Giants April. 6, 8:50 p.m. Keiichi Yabu's status for Monday's game is uncertain after he hurt his eyes when the elastic bands he was working out with Saturday became unhooked and snapped across his face.

Make Holly a Supermodel? NO!

It’s Friday, I’m in love, blah blah blah, but I’m also wikkid bummed that Holly won “Make Me A Supermodel” last night. I guess it’s no surprise, as skinny, moderately hot chicks get the most work, and the three remaining dudes weren’t all cat’s meow to begin with. But high comedy arrived when Ben’s fugly wife arrived.

Darling needs to get over to Chinatown and get herself some chin. And while she’s there, maybe she can buy a discount clue from one of those 99 cent shops, because if that shit wasn’t TENSE when Ronnie sauntered in, I don’t know what is. Clearly Ronnie and Ben sipped Guy-Tais in the Bone Zone during production. "Bromance" my ass, shit even R-Dawg’s Mom had to be all “They’re Just Friends!” Right.

Maybe Amanda (what’s up with fake bitches named Amanda?) rolling up to see Perry was just as tense, but Evs City, he rolled over and died in her arms as soon as she rang the doorbell. But my concerns of Perry’s slutty gf shifted to Polly’s hand, where apparently her Erik Estrada-looking hubby glued some weird-ass statue to her paw. I was happy to see the producers found a way to remove it in time for the final – and USELESS – runway scene. And if the Holly Hubster didn’t go back to the Bravo-paid hotel to tag Amanda on the DL, then my whole world is a lie.

Anyway, now the second-best show on TV is over and done, and I’m left with the final episodes of Rock of Love II to hold over my trash-tv fix. I have to say, the MMAS cast had more character and intrigue than most shows these days, and I genuinely liked the final six or so.

But moving on, VH-1 sent me an advance copy of “Ego Trip’s Miss Rap Supreme,” which is essentially Part 2 of the “White Rapper Show,” so hopefully that fills the void. My girl Persia better be reppin’ in this shit. It premieres April 14, but I’ll have thoughts on it sooner, and something in the Herald that Monday.

Lastly, the Pill is tonight, and I just got an email from Camp Scorcese that “a crew” from Marty’s new film, Shutter Island, (The latest Dennis Lehane novel-turned-Boston-jerkoff-fest-on-film) is heading to Great Scott for some dancin’. Maybe I’ll throw on “Basketball Diaries” on the big screen in case Leo DiCaprio rolls up and busts a move to Pulp’s “Common People.” If it gets too ironic and roaches climb the walls, I can call my Daddy he could stop it all, yeah. xo

Opening for the Clash. Kinda.

Life gets a bit stranger at TTs tomorrow night, as I'm the "opening act" for Carbon/Silicon, which is Mick Jones of the Clash's new joint with the not-Billy Idol dude from Generation X. It's a 90-minute long DJ set, and I go on at 9pm sharp. It's hella sold out, but I'm sure tickets are avail somewhere. Not that you're interested; I just wanted to post about it.

Hawk attack at Fenway Park!!

The Boston Channel swoops in with this breaking news:

BOSTON -- A red-tailed hawk attacked a girl on a tour of Fenway Park Thursday, drawing blood and sending the girl to a hospital for treatment.

The middle school student was touring Fenway with a group from the Memorial Boulevard Middle School in Bristol, Conn., when she came within 40 feet of a nest the hawk had built on an overhang near the press box.

The protective hawk swooped down on the girl, its talons cutting her head above her eyes. She was taken to Children’s Hospital by ambulance where she was treated and released.

"The girl is fine," said Red Sox spokeswoman Susan Goodenow.

Raptors often build nests at Fenway Park during the off-season. "Massachusetts Fish and Wildlife was already scheduled to visit Fenway today to look at the nest. They were on the way when the attack happened," Goodenow said.

A hawk was videotaped by reporters touring Fenway earlier this week when it perched on a railing outside luxury suites at the ballpark.

The nest and the egg were removed from Fenway by the Boston Animal Rescue League. The hawk flew off after the attack.

Rumors are true

For those keeping score at home, the Paradise Lounge closed on Tuesday, giving the last-second boot to its April commitments. Pretty short turnaround, especially considering the Live Nation/Dise people said they were unsure of what was going on late last week. One rep emailed me late Thursday to say nothing was "set in stone." They must have an All-American team of officials over there to crystallize their reconstruction plans between Friday morning and Tuesday. Goodtimes.

My speculation: the Joe Dunne & Live Nation partnership, which bought the Dise from the Lyons Group last month, breaks down like this: Dunne (an Irish pub owner) takes over the Lounge and make it another Lir/McGann's, while Live Nation operates the main room. Of course, no one wants to fucking talk about it, so who really knows. Maybe we'll get another House of Bruise. My odds are still 50/50 the Paradise is called the Fillmore Boston by 2009.

In other news, convincing your girlfriend you take Viagra each day before you hang out together might have been a better April Fool's Day gag than the whole "got a job in LA" thing.

April Fool's Day. So I hear.

So it's April 1, a day of conniving trickery and evil tomfoolery, and my ballyhoo'd ass got off to a rousing start this a.m. by leading Queen B to believe I was called to Los Angeles to interview for a job at L.A. Weekly (which I applied for last week or so). I certainly will be getting my ass kicked later this evening.

In other news, today's Herald Hotline is filled with goodness: Lee Genesis gets run over by his own car in Miami; Dropkicks go Gold; and I share more dirty thoughts on Sunday's Rock of Love. While I don't normally come up with the headlines, that "Genesis 03:29 - Let there be brakes" is all sorts of Vanya.

Also, only two more days until the finale of the second greatest show on TV, Make Me a Supermodel. My ruble is on Ronnie; the lady likes Perry. But if Holly finally shuts her southern drawl piehole, we're all truly winners. (Except Perry's ex who is banging Britney's boyfriend)