HARD-TO-CLASSIFY MUSICIAN ? HEADLINE OF THE DAY: Tom Waits gives the devil his due | Film | The Guardian

Tom Waits gives the devil his due

At 59, Tom Waits has finally landed the role he was born to play: the devil. He reveals how his part in Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus was informed by a lifetime's fascination with beatniks, stories and lonely old men

'I'm an honest-to-God old man' … Tom Waits and Christopher Plummer in The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus. Photograph: Everett/Rex

All thoughts of conducting a straightforward interview with Tom Waits turn to steam within seconds of his arrival in the Soho hotel suite. I come in through one door, carrying a notepad and a tape recorder. He comes through the other, carrying the exact same equipment. "Now OK," he says, arranging his effects on the table. "You have your questions for me, and then I have some questions for you." Introductions complete, he whips off his porkpie hat to let the hair stream up. He could be a conjurer unveiling a rabbit.

1. The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
2. Production year: 2009
3. Country: Rest of the world
4. Cert (UK): 12A
5. Runtime: 122 mins
6. Directors: Terry Gilliam
7. Cast: Andrew Garfield, Christopher Plummer, Colin Farrell, Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Lily Cole, Tom Waits, Verne Troyer
8. More on this film

One does not so much interrogate Waits as be granted an audience, a private performance. Talking to the press, he once confessed, is like talking to the cops. You only do it when you have to, and it is always better to bear false witness. So he will claim he was raised by a pair of circus acrobats, or that he met his wife after busting her out of a convent, or that he trained as a doctor and still occasionally practises on the kids. "Most of the time I just tell 'em stories," he allows. "And if the stories are entertaining, who cares whether or not they're true?"

Waits is in town to discuss his role as the devil in Terry Gilliam's film The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. I tell him Gilliam has said this is the role he was born to play, and he chuckles and says he can't think why; he was raised in the church. I mention this is actually his 25th screen role and he shrugs and says that Oh Lord, he wasn't keeping track. In person, Waits looks much the same as he always did: the same hunched, simian posture and weathered Dustbowl features; the same wispy, rust-coloured bouffant. This, perhaps, is the benefit of a life spent play-acting the wily, disreputable old puck. At the age of 59, he has finally grown into the costume.

Now look, he says. He figured I would probably ask him about some movies he likes, so he has done his homework and written them down. He crouches over his notepad and reads out the names. Putney Swope. The Pawnbroker. The Ox-Bow Incident. "Did you ever see a movie called Dirty Little Billy?" he asks, squinting up at me. "Starred Michael J Pollard. Made right around the same time as McCabe & Mrs Miller."

The jump-rope test
Acting, he points out, is merely a sidebar. He has been fortunate enough to work with the likes of Coppola and Altman, Jarmusch and Gilliam, and yet this has always been secondary to the music. Music was his first love – but then everybody loves music. "What you want is for music to love you back. That's why you pay your dues. You want to feel like you belong and are part of this symbiosis, metamorphosis, whatever you want to call it. That one day … " He coughs and regroups. "I used to imagine that making it in music – really making it in music – is if you're an old man going by a schoolyard and you hear children singing your songs, playing jump-rope, or on the swings. That's the ultimate. You're in the culture."

Is that what motivated him? The quest for immortality? "I guess, to a certain degree. Whether you say it or not, that's what you're thinking. You want to feel ongoing, because it's like getting extra time." He glances at the page. "Now, what do you think of Zatoichi? The blind samurai."

'We're all insects crawling on the shiny hood of a Cadillac'
Waits was born not to circus performers but to a pair of teachers in Pomona, California. He was, by his own account, a strange little boy: bookish, overwound and with a tendency to be spooked by untoward noises. He did not thrive at school, he says, because he did not like the little holes they drilled in the cork-board ceiling, or the hooked stick they used to open the windows. He did not like being young, and took to shuffling around with his granddad's hat and cane.

Later, he fell under the spell of Charles Bukowski and the beat generation, and took to hanging out amid the flotsam of downtown LA. He was fascinated, he said, by "the great American loneliness", a loneliness that stretched from coast to coast and was as elusive and mysterious as ground fog. "Yeah, that all came from Bukowski and Kerouac," he recalls. "I always liked the idea that America is a big facade. We are all insects crawling across on the shiny hood of a Cadillac. We're all looking at the wrapping. But we won't tear the wrapping to see what lies beneath."

Throughout the 70s, Waits viewed the fog at eye-level. He lived semi-rough at the Tropicana motel, where he would set his piano up in the kitchen and fish his songs from the old men who sat in the lobby. "You know how it is," he says. "If you're a writer you know that the stories don't come to you, you have to go looking for them. The old men in the lobby: that's where the stories were. And then when the record label would send me on tour, I always resisted checking into the usual places. I'd step off the bus and look for the hotels named after presidents." Hotels named after presidents, he argues, guarantee a certain grubby authenticity. "The Taft!" Waits says with relish. "You could usually rely on finding a Taft in every town. Take me to the Taft! You walk in and there they are: the old men in the lobby."

Bourbon and rumba
Waits's musical output falls into two distinct categories. The songs on those early albums arranged themselves like the patrons of a seedy lounge bar. They were woozy, jazzy offerings, marinated in bourbon, and spinning tales of loss and longing and half-chances that never quite came good.

Then, with 1983's Swordfishtrombones, a curious transformation occurred, and these barflies grew wings. They began hammering on the lamp-shades and rattling the optics. They learned rumba, gospel and delta blues. They became wilder, richer, more radical.

I confess that I like the early songs as well. But it's too late, they're gone, disowned like bad relations. "I'm embarrassed by them," he admits. "It was a time when I was trying to find my place within the business. I was figuring out who I was and where that person intersected with the world of commerce. It was like I was sitting there with a ventriloquist's dummy on my knee. And the dummy is made out of wood. And after a while you start to hate each other."

Then whoops, it's back to the notebook. "Cantinflas," he says, bent low over the page. "You know Cantinflas?" Cantinflas was Mexico's answer to Charlie Chaplin and a comic beloved by Waits's own father. "Oh Cantinflas, he was something else. He had the hair and the walk. Looking back, I now see that I lifted a lot of my act from Cantinflas."

Who's steering the ship?
The catalyst, however, came courtesy of his wife. Waits met Kathleen Brennan on the cusp of the 1980s, when she was working as a script consultant on Coppola's One from the Heart. It was Brennan who broadened his range, knocked him out of his rut. Without her, he says, he would probably be playing in a steakhouse today.

"She rescued me. Maybe I rescued her too; that's often how it works. Upshot is that we both got into the same leaky boat. Maybe the weight drags it down, because now you've two people sitting in it. Sorry, baby! But on the other hand you've also got two peoples' imagination to patch it up again."

The fact is, women are just that bit smarter than men. "Everybody knows she's the brains behind Pa, as Dylan might have said. I'm just the figurehead. She's the one who's steering the ship."

Specifically, she has steered it all the way from downtown LA to a home amid the hills of northern California. Brennan helped Waits to clean up his act. He quit smoking, embraced sobriety and went on to raise three children who are now all but grown, except the singer argues no one ever really grows, they just become different. In the meantime, the albums have kept coming, even if they wash in at a slower rate these days. Real Gone, in 2004, was his last collection of original material. Since then, he has put out Orphans, a collection of offcuts and offshoots, and has a live album, Glitter and Doom, set for release next month. "I'm almost 60," he marvels. "An honest-to-God old man. I'll write you from there and tell you what it's like."

Do we have time for one last trip to the notebook? It transpires that we do. Waits loves Toby Damnit, a short film by Fellini, and the opening scene from Once Upon a Time in the West, when the tin windmill turns around and says "Weaargh! Weaargh!" He loves Central Station and City of God; all those fresh films out of Latin America. I tell him about Tony Manero, a Chilean black comedy that came out earlier this year. He likes the sound of that one and duly jots it down.

"You know what one of my favourite movies of all time is? And if I'm at home with my kids and say, 'What do you want to see?', the big joke is, 'Aw Dad! Not Pig in the City!' But I love that movie. I'd see that any time."

I tell him I like the Babe sequel myself, but am now struggling to recall the details. Wasn't there some scene in a vivisectionist lab? A tragic orangutan who won't leave his cage because he is not properly dressed? "Oh, I know," groans Waits, raising a hand as if to ward off evil spirits. "Oh God," he says. "Don't." Nothing pierces his heart so keenly, it seems, as a monkey that has spent too long in the world of men.

'When you're in hell, keep going'
I ask whether he ever feels nostalgic for the wild years, when he lived at the Tropicana and laid his head at the Taft. "I can't say that I miss it," he says with a shrug. "We're all eating our way through the potato. Like they say: when you're in hell, keep going. Don't look back, because someone might be gaining on you."

In any case, he says, so what if he no longer holds court at the Tropicana? The world is different, but it is not entirely different. There are still dark pockets to explore, so long as you know where to look. If he wants to spend a night out on the railroad tracks he still can: he just has to plan it in advance. And if he cares to check in at the Taft then hey, he can do that too. "I kept hold of the room key," he confides. "I can go back anytime I want." And at this point, Waits dissolves into an emphysemic cackle. "That's the key," he says. "The key is the key."

Tom Waits gives the devil his due | Film | The Guardian

YouTube Roundup of the Day: Maverick headers, potty-mouthed sportsmen and Roy Keane's laser-stare | Classic YouTube | Sport | guardian.co.uk

Maverick headers, potty-mouthed sportsmen and Roy Keane's laser-stare

The Republic of Ireland v Italy at USA 94, a young Kevin Keegan and Brett Favre's miracle also feature in this week's round-up

1) If you're scoring your 200th goal in the Argentinian top flight, you might as well mark the occasion in style. What better way to do so than by nodding home the winner for Boca Juniors in a five-goal thriller at La Bombonera against Velez Sarsfield ... from 40 metres out. Martin Palermo take a bow.

2) Another remarkable header, albeit less intentional. A young Steve Waugh scones Arjuna Ranatunga on the back of the head whilst throwing for a run-out. Here are some more comedy cricket injuries (unless you're on the receiving end), plus a nasty collision/astonishing catch combo.

3) The only things missing are the red beams, as a BBC reporter is subjected to Roy Keane's most gimlet-eyed laser-stare for having the brass neck to ask if the Ipswich Town manager might walk away from his latest managerial post. Those toes you can hear curling are your own. We're not sure why Keano took umbrage at the question - it's not as if the former Manchester United midfielder is without form in the field of messy, unexpected break-ups. To see a more cherubic, cuddly and - let's face it - infinitely less entertaining Keane, click here.

4) On the subject of former Republic of Ireland internationals, Keane's old team entertain Italy this weekend in a crunch World Cup qualifier. Italy may be hot favourites, but a win for the Irish wouldn't be unprecedented in World Cup history, as this footage from the finals at USA 94 attests. Marvel at the tears of joy, marvel at Terry Phelan's facial expression, marvel at the American commentators referring to Ireland as "England" before describing Ray Houghton's shots as "a chipper".

5) We don't feature table tennis very often on Classic YouTube for fairly obvious reasons: because it's rubbish. At least that's what we thought until we saw this rally, followed by this wizardry. Finally, would the last two nerds with far too much time on their hands please turn off the lights.

6) Parental advisory alert! It may not be his mother tongue, but Heerenveen potty-mouth Christian Grindheim is able to tell this cameraman where to go in perfect English. Elsewhere, Sir Alex Ferguson gets a ticking-off for dropping the b-bomb, while an umpire gives former Baltimore Orioles coach Earl Weaver as good as he gets in a breathtakingly foul-mouthed tirade.

The best from last week's blog

1) English football's decidedly unimaginative pitch invaders could learn a thing or two from this bloke.

2) The title of this clip is "If You Watch 100 Times You Will Still Laugh". Whoever named it isn't exaggerating. We hope you like the pain.

3) Man on skis and under helmet-cam gets caught in avalanche. Scary stuff.

4) An innocent, fresh-faced young teenager who's just broken into the Scunthorpe first team does his first ever TV interview. His name? Kevin Keegan.

5) With two seconds left on the clock, Minnesota Vikings quarterback Brett Favre, age 66, throws a miracle pass to stun the San Francisco 49ers.

6) If basketball players get three points for shooting a basket from "down town", how many do they get for scoring from the other side of a big house or halfway down a waterslide?

Maverick headers, potty-mouthed sportsmen and Roy Keane's laser-stare | Classic YouTube | Sport | guardian.co.uk

WRITERS WHO ARE ONE LETTER AWAY FROM COCAINE INSUFFLATING SUPERMODELS HEADLINE OF THE DAY: Kate Mosse: the woman with the golden touch | Life and style | The Guardian

Kate Mosse: the woman with the golden touch

Novelist Kate Mosse talks about feminism, family and founding the Orange prize

Author and founder of the Orange prize Kate Mosse. Photograph: Linda Nylind

On more than one occasion in our interview, Kate Mosse shakes her head, and says, "Obviously you can't write that. It sounds too gooey." It's a recognition of just how charmed her life can sound; looked at from a distance, it could easily make bitter eyes burn green. There are her two bestselling adventure novels, Labyrinth and Sepulchre; her steering of the Orange prize from scandal to success; the long, happy relationship with her first love, Greg; the two kids she clearly adores. In fact, if you are a troubled writer, or just a troubled person, a part of me recommends you look away now: this story won't necessarily make you feel better.

Full disclosure: I first met her some months ago, when I was a judge on the Orange prize. She immediately made me want to confide my darkest secrets – perhaps a result of her growing up as one of three tight-knit sisters. She has been described as having "indefatigable enthusiasm and steely charm", but while the former is certainly true, her manner is not really steely, but head-girlishly straight- forward. (She is the eldest sister; she knows that this shows.) Mosse was from Chichester, moved to London, and then back. Her success is big town; her chosen life is small town.

At 47, she has just published her latest novel, The Winter Ghosts. She is modest to a fault about her writing – regularly referring to her books as "yarns", which lowers expectations alarmingly. Yet The Winter Ghosts is a deftly written tale, propelling you compulsively through the story of Freddie, a young man adrift in the late 1920s, after his beloved brother has been killed in the first world war.

Mosse says the starting point for the story, "was really the nature of grief, and how incredibly hard it was for everybody, but particularly young men, to be allowed to grieve after the first world war. What would it be like if you idolised your older brother, and you'd never quite been the wanted child, but he made it all right – then he was gone?"

The answer is that you might have a breakdown, head to southern France, crash your car, and become embroiled in a woodland community suffering its own terrible loss. Like the two novels that precede it, The Winter Ghosts knits together eras, combines a strong historical story with a more modern one, and makes it clear that, while times and values may shift, people's deepest concerns don't change much.

It looks likely to be another success – surprising, in some ways, since Mosse never set out to be a writer. Growing up with a solicitor father and amateur archaeologist mother, she was determined to be a musician, practising her violin constantly, until, at about 16, she realised she "wasn't good enough. Well," she revises, "I was good enough to be in an orchestra, but I wasn't any better than that." She couldn't have been a soloist? "Exactly. And I knew that I would not be happy."

After her all-girls' comprehensive, she studied English at Oxford, and discovered feminism. Between her sisters and her school, Mosse had grown up in a strong female environment; she had never considered anything off-limits to women. On joining a consciousness-raising group in the early 80s, she started discussing the issues of the era, "Reclaim the Night, pornography, rape . . . Some of what was said was just jolly silly, but some gave me pause. I began to call myself a feminist – and still absolutely do – because it was the first time that I'd consciously thought that things might be different for someone just because they were a woman. Before that I had thought, rather naively, that we were all judged, very straightforwardly, on what we did."

After temping at the publisher Hodder & Stoughton, she landed a permanent job and began racing through the ranks. By her early 30s, she was an editorial director at Hutchinson, and was offered a promotion. She didn't take it. Pregnant with her second child, she had been "whingeing" to an agent friend about the contradictions this prompted – she'd always thought herself free of body image worries, for instance; now she found herself in the thick of them. He encouraged her to write about it. She left her job, and the book, Becoming a Mother, led to another non-fiction book, and then, following more encouragement from a friendly editor, her first two novels, Eskimo Kissing, and Crucifix Lane.

Along the way she became a founder of the Orange literary prize for women, prompted by an all-male Booker prize shortlist in 1991. To Mosse, the argument was, to repeat one of her favourite words, straightforward: the industry knew that a large proportion of what they published was by women, who also made up a majority of their audience, yet book awards didn't reflect this at all. Mosse genuinely thought, "that everybody who loved books would be throwing their hats in the air!" about the new prize, but instead there was a wave of accusations that it was sexist, unnecessary, a lame duck. A headline above photos of the six shortlisted authors read, "Obscene, brutal, boring and dreary drivel".

Did Mosse consider jacking it in? "No. If the critics who said that it was sexist [to exclude men] had also been campaigning when women weren't allowed to be ordained, I would have respected that, but they weren't. The other criticism that was interesting was that it's a second-rate prize because men aren't included. I thought, 'They don't think that the Booker is second-rate because only certain countries – based on a very old, imperial system – are eligible.'" (While the Orange prize is open to all English language novels written by women, the Booker excludes US authors.) The moment that she knew it would be fine was when Iris Murdoch turned up at the first Orange prize party; when Anne Michaels's brilliant Fugitive Pieces won the prize in its second year – having sold only 800 copies beforehand – the carping calmed.

Mosse sometimes describes herself, her politics, as woolly – she says that her husband, who took her surname, is a far more hardline feminist than she is. But with her forthright dedication, her 4am starts, her clear devotion to family (her mother, father and mother-in-law all live with her), she has achieved a huge amount.

The Orange prize, for which she is the honorary director, seems to have changed the culture: since it launched, the number of female Booker nominees has soared, a significant shift. And, having only really seen herself as a proper writer since starting Labyrinth, she has come into her own on the page. It might seem "gooey" to say it, but Kate Mosse's success is thoroughly deserved. Don't hate her for it.

The Winter Ghosts by Kate Mosse, published by Orion, is out now, price £14.99. To order a copy for £13.99 with free UK p&p, go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.

The women's page invites your comments. Do we still need women-only awards and prizes? Post below or email women@guardian.co.uk

Kate Mosse: the woman with the golden touch | Life and style | The Guardian

ACTORS WHO NOW SUCK HEADLINE FROM BRITISH MEDIA OF THE DAY: Jack Black and other once-good actors who suck | Film | The Guardian

Jack Black and other once-good actors who suck

Cast your mind back and recall the days when Jack Black was funny, Jude Law could act, Scarlett Johansson was fresh. So why did they all lose the plot?

• Buzz up!
• Digg it

• Joe Queenan
• guardian.co.uk, Thursday 8 October 2009 21.45 BST
• Article history

Stale, fetid, mephitic, nauseating … Jack Black in Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny.

Moments before the film The Time Traveler's Wife began rolling, the cinema I was attending screened a "preview" of a new video game. The star of the game, whose highly recognisable voice would be used to bring the principal character to life, was Jack Black. I had recently heard Black's voice in the animated film Kung Fu Panda and, while channel-surfing, had glimpsed a few minutes of Nacho Libre, Black's sendup of Mexican wrestling culture. I had also heard my son mention both the band Tenacious D and the film based on their exploits, and seen a few snippets of Black's turn in King Kong, where he played a porky impresario. Finally, I had watched him in Ben Stiller's 2008 comedy hit Tropic Thunder, where he played a subordinate role to Robert Downey Jr and Stiller himself. As I sat there in that darkened room, listening to his half-hearted pitch for what sounded like a thoroughly generic video game, it occurred to me that it would now be almost impossible to convince anyone under the age of 20 that there was actually a time when Jack Black did not suck.

1. Tropic Thunder
2. Production year: 2008
3. Country: USA
4. Cert (UK): 15
5. Runtime: 106 mins
6. Directors: Ben Stiller
7. Cast: Ben Stiller, Brandon Jackson, Brandon Soo Hoo, Brandon T Jackson, Danny McBride, Jack Black, Nick Nolte, Robert Downey Jr., Steve Coogan
8. More on this film

Black – the classic example of the raffish outsider who initially spits on the entertainment industry, then is seduced by it, and then comes to epitomise everything that is wrong with it – first came to the public's attention in the 2000 film High Fidelity, in which he played a hilariously idiosyncratic record store employee. Prior to that, he had appeared in a number of films, including The Jackal and The Cable Guy, in which he played the designated loser. Three years later, Black would achieve his greatest success in School of Rock, again playing a dyspeptic slob. As far as I can tell, these are the only films in his recent CV in which he does not flat-out suck. He sucked in Shallow Hal, he sucked in Orange County, he sucked in The Holiday, and he sucked in Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny. He also sucked in King Kong, Saving Silverman, Year One and yes, Kung Fu Panda. It is almost impossible to suck in a film in which only your voice is used, but Black sucked anyway.

Even in the rare Jack Black film that is not explicitly revolting – the exuberantly irreverent and very clever Tropic Thunder is a perfect example – Black succeeded in turning in a useless performance while those around him shone. Tropic Thunder is the film in which Black, playing a fatso sourpuss, heroin addict movie star stranded in an Asian jungle, gets upstaged by Downey Jr, Stiller, Matthew McConaughey, Tom Cruise, Nick Nolte and basically everyone else in the film, including a small child who never says a word in English. That is really embarrassing. It may explain why Black pouts through the entire film. He knows he's getting smoked.

It is not our purpose here to upbraid Black for sucking, nor to encourage him to stop sucking, nor even to suggest steps he might take to at least suck less. At this point in his career, it is almost impossible to believe that Black could ever be anything other than what he is. Following in the trail blazed by Bob Hope, Dan Aykroyd and a few others, Black is a sterling example of the actor who starts out seeming like a breath of fresh air, and then turns into something stale, fetid, mephitic, nauseating. That is a process that it almost impossible to reverse. It can be done; it has been done. But you wouldn't want to bet the rent money that Black can do it.

This being the case, the wisest, fairest course is take a detached, scientific approach toward the situation and examine the very concept of hardcore, full-tilt sucking in all its manifestations. There are three questions that should concern us here: Were the seeds of thespianic vileness already planted in the performer's personality at an early age and the rest of us simply failed to notice it? Or was Black one of those supremely cunning individuals who masqueraded as an appealing, multifaceted, bona fide talent to get his foot in the door and then sprung the trap of suck on us all when the moment was propitious? Or was Jack Black always meant to be a churlish loser whose inherent obnoxiousness only became apparent once he moved out of the sidekick role and emerged as a star in his own right?

The shark awaits its cue
For what it is worth, here is my theory: When the fat slob Chris Farley passed away in 1997, Black gradually inherited the roles Farley could no longer fill. But unlike Farley, who emitted a sweetness and innocence - he did, after all, go to college in Milwaukee, hometown of Liberace and the Fonz - when he was actually born in Madison,Wisconsin., Black was almost certainly predestined to suck, because the very things that made him amusing when he was a sidekick would make him tiresome once he got top billing: his smirk, his snarl, his whining, his basic meanness, his poor grooming habits, his bred-in-the-bone creepiness, his face that only a mother could love, but not necessarily his mother. In the fullness of time, it was inevitable that Black would wear out his welcome. He would be given tasks too large for his meagre talents. Thus, in another nod to the Fonz, this is not a case where the shark got jumped inadvertently. Black's shark was just biding its time, waiting to be jumped.

The single greatest problem posed by Black's appearance on screen today is a phenomenon sometimes referred to as the aureole of anachronistic atrociousness, whereby people who did not always suck are surrounded by a glimmering halo of barely visible non-sucking that evokes vague memories of the time when they were not fully fledged enemies of the people. Each time these actors perform, the Ghost of Goodness Past hovers above them, bathing them in a flickering light, serving as a bittersweet reminder of the time when they seemed fresh and new, when their very existence was a relief from the appalling triumvirate of Daniel Stern, Joe Pesci, and Steve Guttenberg. Like Judas Iscariot or Robespierre or Chris Martin, these people were not born monsters. They grew into the role.

Scarlett Johansson's seven-year-itch
Obviously, it would not be fair to Black to single him out as the only member of his generation who started out tickling the common man's fancy, and then told the public to stick it where the sun don't shine. When Scarlett Johansson first burst upon the scene, her air of normality, her sleepy manner, her reassuring lack of movie-star looks, made her seem fresh and new. This was back in the days of Ghost World and Lost in Translation. Now, years later, after Scoop and Match Point and The Nanny Diaries, as Hollywood has tried every trick in the book to repackage her as a postmodern Marilyn Monroe, that early charm has faded and she has been exposed for what she is: Scarlett Johansson.

A similar trajectory describes the careers of Matthew McConaughey, Gwyneth Paltrow and even Jude Law. This trio made their names in films like Emma, Lone Star, The Talented Mr Ripley, Dazed and Confused, Amistad, Hard Eight and Shakespeare in Love. But that was a long, long time ago, and in the interval there have been How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Sleuth, The Wedding Planner, Two Lovers, The Good Night, Sahara, We Are Marshall, Failure to Launch, Fool's Gold, Two for the Money, Infamous, View from the Top, Alfie and, of course, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. The difference here is that Paltrow, Law and McConaughey are talented actors who have lapsed into sucking but could easily stop sucking if they wanted to. Paltrow took time off from being useless to make The Royal Tenenbaums. McConaughey made Tropic Thunder. Law made All the King's Men. They may suck now. They will not suck forever.

The Travolta syndrome
We can all take solace from the realisation that those who suck can in fact revert to a pre-sucking state, if they only put their minds to it. This is a phenomenon sometimes referred to by clinicians as Travolta Syndrome. Caution, though: Those who suffer from Travolta Syndrome invariably have lapses and go back to sucking. There is also a second condition called Clapton's Septic Aphasia, which causes those who did not always suck to momentarily revert to not sucking. The non-sucking may never be repeated, but it is there. It also doesn't last very long. If you blink, you will miss it. It could be an optical illusion. I have a friend who insists that on 13 January 2002, Rod Stewart stopped sucking for a minute-and-a-half. She actually claims to have been there when it happened. She timed it. She even had a video of the event.

I checked the videotape. Alas, she is quite mistaken.

Several years ago, after Dan Aykroyd admitted that he had never seen a good number of his movies, I wrote an article in GQ demanding to know why Aykroyd should be exempted from such misery while the rest of us had to suffer. The problem, as I soon learned when I was contacted by one of Aykroyd's simpering minions, was that Aykroyd himself was not aware of the low repute in which his films were held. I suspect the same is true of Jack Black. Black is not evil; he is merely oblivious. This is the difference between Black and Aykroyd and, say, Ghengis Khan. Ghenghis Khan was aware that he was not a nice person. He did not delude himself into thinking that the millions of people he put to the sword enjoyed it. And to his credit, he never tried to pass himself off as a maverick, an iconoclast, a subversive, or an outsider. Ghenghis Khan was a standup guy.

Ghenghis Khan knew the score.

• This article was amended on 9 October 2009. The original gave Chris Farley's birthplace as Milwaukee. This has been corrected.

Jack Black and other once-good actors who suck | Film | The Guardian

BRAINY WEIRD REPOST OF THE DAY: Another 5 Insanely Titled Books - Oddee.com (oddly titled books)

Another 10 Insanely Titled Books

Published on 2/17/2009 under Names - 230,867 views
TAGS: Oddly titled books


What's Your Poo Telling You?
"All the greatest hits are here: The Log Jam, The Glass Shard, The Deja Poo, The Hanging Chad... the list goes on. A floater? It's probably due to a buildup of gas. Now think back on last night's dinner, a burrito perhaps? Yep, also here."



Cunt Coloring Book
"This book contains about 25 drawings of flower-like genitalia. Each drawing is beutiful and unique - just in the same way that every woman is beautiful in a different way."



Fuckin' Concrete Contemporary Abstract Algebra Introduction
"Reading Fuckin' Abstract Algebra is a small adventure that one undertakes before doing something profoundly conventional. Probably this is the most fucked academic book, but definitely it is the best one to have fun and to learn from."



How to Good-bye Depression: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way?
"I think constricting anus 100 times and denting navel 100 times in succession everyday is effective to good-bye depression and take back youth. You can do so at a boring meeting or in a subway. I have known 70-year-old man who has practiced it for 20 years. As a result, he has good complexion and has grown 20 years younger. His eyes sparkle. He is full of vigor, happiness and joy. He has neither complained nor born a grudge under any circumstance. Furthermore, he can make love three times in succession without drawing out."



Zen of Farting
"No one knows much about its author, Reepah Gud Wan, who lived before the 10th century in China and Japan, except that he was a legitimate Buddhist monk who tired of the inability of his students to grasp the essence of his teaching. In order to shake them up, he introduced the Zen of Farting, expecting his students to see the joke, laugh at it, and then understand his Buddhist teachings better. Unfortunately, they failed to get the joke--and zen was the result. "

Another 10 Insanely Titled Books - Oddee.com (oddly titled books)

“Not Monday Night Football XXX” (VIDEO Link) TRIPLE-X HEADLINE OF THE DAY FOR MY LATE-NIGHT READERS TO DISCOVER: John Madden’s Penis Delightfully Absent

John Madden’s Penis Delightfully Absent From “Not Monday Night Football XXX”

By Ottimo Massimo, 5:00 PM on Thu Oct 8 2009, 23,657 views (Edit, to draft, Slurp)

Copy this whole post to another site

cancel

select site advertising consumerist deadspin defamer fleshbot gay fleshbot gawker gizmodo idolator io9 jalopnik jezebel kotaku lifehacker valleywag artists gawkershop sploid

Perhaps XPlay was concerned about offending fans? We personally would've been stoked to finally see Howard Cosell's little monkey.

Not Monday Night Football XXX

Studio: XPlay
Director: Will Ryder
Cast: Angelina Armani, Lela Star, Sarah Vandella, Layla Rivera, Jaelyn Fox, Jessica Bangkok, Britney Stevens, Ashlyn Rae, Alyssa Reece, Topanga Fox, Ally Ann, Yurizan Beltran, Amia Miley, Tatum Pierce, Delila Darling, Cindy Jones, Mai Ly, Sophie Dee, Laci Laine, Rick Madrid, Billy Goodrich, Lee Bang, Evan Stone, Thomas Ward, Scott Lyons, Eric John, Kris Slater

It's one thing to parody a sitcom, but parodying an American institution like Monday Night Football requires both a solid sense of humor as well as serious focus on fucking. The challenge for XPlay is even greater with this parody because there are no protagonists to ground the plot, and no classic conflicts to spice up with sex. As a result, "Not Monday Night Football XXX" features an amalgamation of sportscasting legends doing what makes them memorable.

Rick Madrid plays the staccato-voiced Howard Cosell, who commands the preview show that the film is based around. He is joined by John Madden, played by Billy Goodrich, who spends time with fans, draws on the telestrator, and pimps tough-actin' Tinactin.

True to life, celebrities stop by to plug their latest projects/remind us of their scandals. OJ Simpson has his future read (keep in mind this is the 80s OJ), causing the fortune teller to flee the scene. Bill Cosby (manned by the same Thomas Ward who starred in "Not The Cosbys XXX") shows up as well, followed by a furious Laci Laine who demands Cosby leave his wife for her.

Although these allusions provide amusing intermissions from sex, they feel more like piecemeal potshots and less like parodies of the events they reference. Poking fun at the gimmicky, self-serving habits of a major network is clever, but without a strong, over-arching plot to center the jokes, the parody becomes a gimmick itself.

And like most parody porn, there's a clear distinction between the amusing and the arousing. There was one instance of Madden using the telestrator to discuss his favorite things about Angelina Armani (boobs, eyes, long, flowing hair), but it would've been doubly as funny to see him narrate an instant replay, telestrating the path of Eric John's cock as four cheerleaders tackle him in the locker room. Perhaps a "BAM!" or two would've been appropriate.

But there really isn't much to complain about. The simple fact that seventeen girls cram into five separate scenes is a daunting feat. With such an enormous cast, one might wonder how parody prince Will Ryder manages to coach this dreamteam to glory.

The answer? Teamwork: four gals for every gent, and no one hits the sidelines when the action is on. There's no showboating, no ball hogging, and the fans go wild for every play (seriously, there's non-stop cheering). Also, since every sex scene features a POV moment, viewers at home get to feel like they're part of the team! The sportsmanship is simply awe-inspiring.

Of course, there are a few star players. Evan Stone and Angelina Armani have the only one-on-one scene as the legendary quarterback Manhattan Joe and some floozy. He helps her get her foot in the door as a sideline reporter, so she helps him get his cock in her mouth.

"Well if I'm gonna taste your cock," she says, "I want you to taste my pussy." See? Teamwork.

Also exciting is the fact that Yurizan Beltran has her first non-solo scene. Yurizan, Lela Star, Mai Ly, and Alyssa Reece get bored watching the game at home, so they decide to ditch the remote and grab the vibrators. Even though it's her first time, Yurizan gives it 110% and really goes deep. I sincerely hope she continues this sociable trend.

The general mindset for parody pornographers seems to be "What if this show had hardcore sex in it?" Unfortunately, the finished product presents the question "What if this hardcore sex had jokes near it?" And while it's smart to unite the eternally homosocial institutions of pornography and sports, it's important to make sure they play together well. Perhaps "Not Monday Night Football XXX" could've used a couple more scrimmages before hitting the field.

And now I'm out of football puns.

John Madden’s Penis Delightfully Absent From “Not Monday Night Football XXX”

BIZARRE FASHION HEADLINE OF THE DAY: Lindsay Lohan Ruins Ungaro; Jane Aldridge Has a Boyfriend! His Name Is Amit; Louis Vuitton Afros Don’t Take Us to Funkytown

The Clotheshorse (10.9.09): Lindsay Lohan Ruins Ungaro; Jane Aldridge Has a Boyfriend! His Name Is Amit; Louis Vuitton Afros Don’t Take Us to Funkytown

Friday October 09th 2009, 3:02 pm
Filed under: Beanstockd

The week started off with Sunday’s Ungaro show in Paris, which was “artistically advised” by Lindsay Lohan and designed by Spaniard Estrella Archs. The show, which featured trashy clothes and sequined heart-shaped nipple pasties, was deemed a total disaster. And yet, Ungaro CEO Mounir Moufarrige says he thinks even the bad publicity will be good for the house. Also, Lohan’s lips grew two sizes overnight! Check out what’s new from Paris at NYMag’s The Cut Blog.

Looking for some new sustainable pieces? Check out New York based designer Meiling Chen. She’s got an entire line of eco-friendly pieces that don’t look anything like the ones you’d find at your local hemp-based boutique.

Jane Aldridge, the fashion blogger better known as Sea of Shoes, has a boyfriend! She revealed him to her fans the other day. His name is Amit, and he’s just as well dressed as she is. He too has a blog, but he doesn’t photograph his outfits because he thinks doing is “vain, narcissistic and pathological.” That’s awkward. Note: Amit has already taken down the blog post in which he said the words above.

Check out these fabulous sustainable jewelry pieces by The Harbinger Co. Their Etsy shop is overflowing with funky laser-cut bamboo pieces.

Try and tell me you’re not obsessed with the way this dress falls on the body. It’s from Sosume, an Aussie label that’s helmed by not one, but four designers – all of whom share a sustainable philosophy. The line’s easy pieces are made from Modal (derived from beechwood) and Tencel (eucalyptus pulp), and a portion of the proceeds is donated to charities and organizations that work to keep our world sustainable. Forget Ts by Alexander Wang – these pieces look even softer!

Jean Paul Gaultier made a baby plate just for 19-year-old model Jourdan Dunn so that she could walk his Paris runway. Dunn also sported a cone bra. She’s seven months preggers.

Note: when I die, I want to be buried in Alber Elbaz’s Spring 2010 collection for Lanvin. Any piece will do. Featuring everything from frothy tulle mini-dresses to leather pouf sleeves, Elbaz once again hit it out of the park.

Back to Paris for a moment. Viktor and Rolf told the press they were inspired by cutbacks. “So we took a chainsaw and hacked away at the excess, starting with the tulle,” said Viktor. Voila, the dress optical illusionary gown at right!

Looking to revamp your wardrobe for fall? Can’t afford the McQueen booties above as an early Spring present? Worry no more, beanies. Check out Sublet’s Fall 2009 line. It’s full of wearable sustainable pieces. As the founders say, hemp has come a long way. Speaking of McQueen, he’s suing Steve Madden for copying his Faithful booties. Madden has long been famous for knockoffs, but his Seryna bootie comes a bit too close to the original.

Marc Jacobs went street chic for Louis Vuitton Spring 2010. Apparently, Vogue’s Grace Coddington “whooped with delight” as the first afro-ed model came down the runway. However, it doesn’t exactly seem like the models are feeling their hair, non? Come on ladies, take us to Funkytown!

Alexander McQueen is such a genius. I mean, look at these shoes. McQueen’s show featured alien-like models, but the shoes killed it. How do you even describe these babies?

Karl Lagerfeld has spent so much time in Vermont that he’s started to feel their fashion choices. Case in point: he sent clogs down his Spring 2010 runway. Come on Karl, my doctor mother wore them first.

Forget Chanel, I’d rather spend my autumn in Untitled 11:11’s easy eco-friendly pieces. Their trendless, simple and ladylike pieces are made from locally sourced fabrics. Check them out here.

Beanstockd

SAMHSA Releases Latest TEDS Report on Substance Abuse Admissions

Contact Media Services: (240) 276-2130

Date: 10/9/2009
Media Contact: SAMHSA Press
Telephone: 240-276-2130

SAMHSA Releases Latest TEDS Report on Substance Abuse Admissions

The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) is issuing its latest Treatment Episode Data set (TEDS) report.  According to the report, the criminal justice system was the largest single source of referrals to substance abuse treatment, accounting for 37% of all admissions (approximately 671,000 of the 1.8 million admissions).

Using TEDS, this report examines substance abuse treatment admissions referred by the criminal justice system and compares their characteristics with admissions referred by other sources. Understanding the impact of these admissions on the treatment system is critical for program planners and policy makers at all levels of government. 

 

Notably, the report found that criminal justice system referral admissions were less likely than all other referral admissions to drop out of treatment (22 vs.27 percent).  In addition, the most rapid area of growth within criminal justice system referrals has been among those younger than 18 years of age, increasing from 38 percent of adolescent admissions in 1992 to 47 percent in 2007.

 

Five primary substances of abuse accounted for 96 percent of all substance abuse treatments admissions in 2007: alcohol, opiates (including heroin and prescription painkillers), marijuana, cocaine, and methamphetamine.  Criminal justice system referrals were more likely than all other referral admissions to report primary alcohol abuse, marijuana abuse, methamphetamine abuse, and less likely to report primary opiate abuse.  The high rate of criminal justice system referral admissions younger than 18, may have contributed significantly to the high rate of admissions with marijuana as a primary substance of abuse.

 

Additional findings:

Criminal justice referral admissions age 25 and over were more likely than all other admissions to be employed either full or part time (42 vs. 22 percent).  Male admissions referred by the criminal justice system outnumbered female admissions at a ratio of 3 to 1.

 

The racial/ethnic composition of referrals from the criminal justice system as compared to other referral sources was similar:  non-Hispanic White (60 percent); non-Hispanic Black (19 percent) and Hispanic (15 percent).  TEDS includes admissions to facilities that are licensed or certified by the State substance abuse agency to provide substance abuse treatment.

 

The complete 2009 TEDS Substance Abuse Treatment Admissions Referred by the Criminal Justice System report is available online at: http://oas.samhsa.gov/2k9/211/211CJadmits2k9.cfm, or by calling SAMHSA’s Health Information Network at 1-877-SAMHSA-7 (1-877-726-4727) and asking for publication number  TEDS09-0813.

SAMHSA Releases Latest TEDS Report on Substance Abuse Admissions

(3 Videos) GRAPHIC! THE BODY FARM Pts. 1 - 3 Hunting for Clandestine Burials

Hunting for 'Clandestine Burials'

Featured Video   (Warning; contains graphic content.) Hunting for 'Clandestine Burials' A key element of training for FBI Evidence Response Teams is learning how to find and properly excavate burial sites while preserving key evidence. Transcript           Part I: FBI Trains at Body Farm Story | Gallery Part II: 'Scraping the Layers Away' Story | Gallery

 

Headline Archives
BODIES OF EVIDENCE Part 2: 'Scraping the Layers Away'
07/16/09
Dr. Stanley Rhine oversees FBI personnel at a Body Farm excavation site. Video | Photo Gallery It’s a balmy Wednesday morning in the parking lot outside the “Body Farm,” a two-plus-acre wooded landscape where the science of human decomposition is on vivid display. It’s Day Three of the FBI’s annual Recovery of Human Remains course. And the students, 40 FBI Evidence Response Team members, are finally going to get their hands dirty after two days of intense coursework. As they duct tape themselves into Tyvek body suits and rubber gloves, the morning air is ripe with the sweet aroma of bug spray and sunscreen, punctuated occasionally by a pungent whiff of what’s to come over the next two days. Most here have already worked cases recovering human remains. This course—led by some of the nation’s leading forensic anthropologists—provides a more scientific foundation for approaching a scene, recording it, and excavating it to elicit the most evidence. “The fundamental truth about excavation is it can only be done once,” says Dr. Stanley Rhine, a forensic anthropologist and professor emeritus at the University of New Mexico who was among the course’s instructors and team leaders. Students in the FBI  course use hand tools during excavation to protect bones and other artifacts a gravesite might yield. Video | Photo Gallery (May not be appropriate for young children) The class is divided into six teams that will venture into the woods to locate “clandestine burials,” careful to avoid disturbing the dozens of exposed corpses that make up the University of Tennessee’s Anthropological Research Facility, or Body Farm. The teams will look for visual clues that betray recent burials, such as subtle changes in soil color or vegetation. Then they will gently poke long probes into the clay to see how easily the soil gives way. The students follow rigid archeological protocols, flagging potential burial sites and then roping them off into staked grids for an orderly excavation. By early afternoon, the teams have identified sites and settled into the painstaking—even tedious—job of scraping away layers of soil and screening it for bones or other artifacts. Flags planted by students identify the boundaries of a potential burial site. Video | Photo Gallery “We’ve been working since about 8 o’clock this morning and we’re only down into the ground about four inches,” says Medora Arnaud, a photographer in our Houston office. “You have to go very slow. You’re mainly scraping the layers away to make sure you don’t miss anything.” Arnaud is on Dr. Rhine’s team, which by day’s end appears to be progressing well. A body has been discovered and mostly uncovered—rib cage, arms, one leg exposed. But webs of roots and a piece of lumber wedged in the grave are slowing things down. The next morning, teams pick up with a few more hours of digging, sketching, and screening before removing the skeletons, which are later cleaned and measured to add to the university’s growing body of work. But there are a few surprises. Dr. Rhine’s team discovers a second body in the same grave, just a few inches away from the first. Another team finds a suitcase-sized oval mass of bones and tissue in their excavation, explaining why it was so difficult to pinpoint the bones with probes. Each of the digs presents unique twists and challenges—true of most Evidence Response Team work and a key teaching point. The work is taxing, even stomach-turning at times. But Dr. Murray K. Marks, one of the course’s forensic anthropologists, puts it in perspective. “It’s just like a crime scene,” he says. “It isn’t about you. It’s about the victims or…training the agents that need to go into that scene. You put that first, and you kind of become inconsequential to the mission at hand.” Resources: - Bodies of Evidence, Part I | Gallery - More Stories on the FBI Laboratory - Evidence Response Team Unit

Hunting for Clandestine Burials

Video Coming: The Tennessee Body Farm

Hunting for 'Clandestine Burials'

Transcript

FBI’s Evidence Response Team Training in Tennessee

(sounds of people milling about, donning protective gear)

Slate: Every year a select group of FBI Evidence Response Team members trains in the recovery of human remains.

Slate: The weeklong training takes place at the Anthropology Research Facility in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Slate: The Body Farm

Lindsay Caldwell, Anthropology graduate student, Louisiana State University: The overall goal of the project is to find a clandestine burial and use the proper archeological techniques to excavate that burial. So right now the first step that they’re doing is do an overall survey of the area, and actually right now they are going to stand in a line and kind of travel down this fence line. And they have probes, so they’re going to probe for a burial and see what they think might delineate a grave.

Caldwell (to students): It can be on a slope. It doesn’t have to be flat surface that we’re working with. You know, it could be on a slope, could be on a slant. It could be underneath some leaves over there. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Dr. Murray Marks, University of Tennessee: So the main thing today is the discovery of the grave and then the beginning of the excavation, which looks at soil changes and the beginning of the map, putting in the datum point. Getting the burial or site of interest situated in space. And that’s the main thing: mapping it in with datums and things of that point. So today’s kind of the analytical part of getting the grave situated. Towards the end of the afternoon bone will be discovered and mainly tomorrow or Day Three is the actual uncovering of the bone.

(sounds of scraping, digging, birds chirping)

Dr. Stanley Rhine, University of New Mexico: Well, the fundamental truth about excavation is it can only be done once. And to excavate is to destroy. And so in the process of recovering whatever it is that’s buried there you destroy the context in which it’s buried. And the context—the surrounding soil—may contain extremely valuable information about the individual: artifacts and other things that would help in the process of identification or in trying to figure out what happened to that individual.

(sounds of scraping, dirt being sifted, voices)

Jason Kaelin, special agent, Miami FBI: We’re definitely going to be into tomorrow, for sure. Um, I’d say it’s several more hours of digging because we haven’t even uncovered the second leg bone. We do have the rib cage exposed, both arms, and one tibia and fibula. But we don’t have the other leg exposed.

Gary Reinecke, Supervisory Special Agent, Evidence Response Team Unit: Well Knoxville, we’ve been here for ten years now training. It kind of resulted in a need that we identified based on casework that we’ve came across in the field, and some international cases that we became involved in. In the late nineties we were over in Kosovo and we were helping exhume bodies over there and we saw the need for some training based on what we experienced over there.

(muffled voices, scraping dirt)

Dr. Marks: Bureau personnel are some of the best students I’ve ever had. They are the expert at the crime scene. And their goal—and our goal really—is to, how do you process this unique crime scene? How does the excavator get this in the hands of the expert? We’re not trying to turn these agents into anthropologists or dentists or pathologists. If they would have wanted to be those things they would have been them. They’re crime scene specialists, Evidence Response Team. And my goal is to train them to appreciate this evidence and how do I excavate it and deliver it to the experts that are going to work on it.

(sounds of birds, footsteps on gravel path)

Caldwell: Our burial was actually placed in a bin and then last year upon reburial they took that body form the bin and poured it in this unit and so the body is curled up. It’s basically, it’s a bundle burial, so the bones are all bundled together. And so some of the issues that you have with that are it’s not extended, so you pretty much have to excavate in a circular pit.

Kaelin (to others): We’ve detected a skull but I’m guessing there’s a body there.

Kaelin: Well, as we were excavating this gravesite we found the remains of one skeleton. Upon further excavation it appears that we have a second body that’s been sandwiched in next to this first set of remains.

(muffled voices, scraping, bird sounds)

Medora Arnaud, photographer, Houston FBI: I definitely think it takes a certain kind of person to do this. I never thought I would be able to, but as the years have gone by and working in this field you get kind of accustomed to it. You know you have a job to do. And that’s what, a lot of times, I’m sure it gets a lot of people through it.

Dr. Marks: It’s just like a crime scene—well I can’t do this or I can’t do that. Well it’s not about you. It’s about the victim. Or it’s about training the agents that need to be able to go into that scene. So, you know, you put that first and you become kind of inconsequential to the mission.

Dr.Rhine: Everyone says to excavate is to destroy. But what they sometimes forget is the other half of the equation, the flip side. Because to investigate is to illuminate. And that, after all, is the purpose of the excavation—illumination.