Blogging on Meds

Everyone knows about Southie, the Boston white ghetto made famous by Good Will Hunting and The Departed. But did you there was a place called East Boston, another white ghetto, that’s filled with Italians not Irish? Pretty neat huh? And Eastie rules. They had an Italian Fest this weekend and these two women, Gabby Rizzuto and Christin Skane, were captured by the Boston Globe.

Indeed, my forecast was correct. LiRon were on NY’s Lower East Side last night. It was the couple’s first public appearance since Lindsay’s (semi) official de-closeting earlier in the week via Mark Ronson’s girlfriend and Life and Style Magazine. Here are some are pics from the event (Sephora 10 Year Anniversary Party—an orgy of really bad outfits saved by lesbian beauty). People can hate Lohan all they want, but having one of the most visible young actresses on earth acting unashamedly gay is a net positive for America. Homophobia is the lamest concept, especially considering how many of the very same straight men who hate the gays are into anal sex with their wives, and I hope LiRon take this chance in the spotlight to showcase lesbianism as a healthy, normal lifestyle—one that even saves druggy starlets from career suicide.  

172 Norfolk, the haunted house of Richard Price’s Lush Life, hosted LiRon last night…

The Obamafication of LiLo

Sam Ronson is DJing an event at 172 Norfolk tonight. With Mark Ronson’s girlfriend admitting Lohan’s lesbianism the same week the tabloids are calling a spade a spade, could tonight be the first public outing for lesbian couple LiRon?

Nice. Here’s a young actress—gorgeous, almost dead last summer, busted with coke—somehow achieving one the greatest PR coups in history. From the beginning of her party days, everyone predicted the Decline and Fall of Lohan—but the fall was avoided. After the coke bust she laid low. But a few months ago she posed nude for New York Magazine. It shut down the magazine’s website. In the aftermath, she took one indie role and began an amorphous relationship with DJ Sam Ronson. A boy-ish looking rap and rock specialist, Ronson (the sister of Mark, Amy Winehouse’s producer) is like a lesbian Joel Madden. After the NY Mag shoot, some said Lohnan had gone too far. That looks to be untrue, as she is now semi-bullet proof, hater wise.

What can you say? Bad girl, you cleaned up, took up with a woman publicly even though Hollywood has a stigma against gays, refused to appear on your mom’s show “Mom-ager,” and didn’t buy into dad’s weird church? Impressive for a 22-year-old…it’s hard to say anything too negative. Much like Obama, who “did a little blow,” Lohan’s post-blow decisions seem sound. 

So, Inshallah, Lohan will be at this Ronson gig tonight on the Lower East Side. 

Yesterday I mentioned that children should be causing trouble in the woods not rolling around on Heelys and listening to Wilco.  Judging by the graphics from  newly launched New Jersey based comapny Totally Skateboards, they agree.

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I see muscle cars, fire, butterfly knives and chains. All things of these objects seldom lead to anything productive but they are fun as hell. In fact if you put them all together, marinate them in yellow beer and drop them in New Jersey you have a good fucking time in the making…unless you’re a girl I guess.

Jersey boys Dave Wasnak, Pat Guidotti, and Anthony Anastasio were united in the desire to create a skateboarding first company with quality products using top notch wood and simple, functional shapes.

Peep the promo to see new and old blood rip and get ready to be wiped out TOTALLY! (If you’re a surfboard dude of course….AYE!)

Totally Skateboards

Last night former first round draft pick Josh Hamilton hit a record 28 home runs in the first round of the MLB All Star Game Home Run Derby breaking Bobby Abreu’s record. Hamilton had a break out season last year with the CIncinnati Reds hitting .292 and swatting 19 home runs before being traded in the off season to the Texas Rangers.

Hamilton’s well documented battle with drug and alcohol addiction lead to eight trips to rehab and a temporary ban from the major leagues. Since being drafted by Tampa Bay right out of high school he’s fought his was back and was rewarded with his first All Star appearance at age 27. Despite actually losing the contest to the Twins’ Justin Morneau he’s become and amazing story about battling addiction but there is an inaccuracy in every article stating that he’s a former heroin addict.

I too thought Hamilton was once addicted to Heroin as I texted back and forth during the contest : “Damn,  a dude who was on Ron Ron is killing it” and “Hamilton has an ill her-ron flow! R U watching this?”. (Yes I text like a 14 year old girl, I watch Gossip Girl too)

Something didn’t make sense to me though. I had a tough time believing that Josh was a heroin junkie. All the former junkies I knew did three things :

1. Talk about how long they’ve been clean before going into some sexy tale of addiction with a 10 carat twinkle in their eye.

2. Make the worst music of their career, usually country or folk influenced with songs about children.

3. The most productive and noble and path least traveled, help other addicts recover. This one is tough because you’re forced to be around what almost destroyed you, help people who probably don’t want help and everyone who kicks heroin smokes like a thousand cigarettes so you’re probably going to die from second hand smoke.

I looked around for pictures of Josh Hamilton with his shirt off to see if he had that leathery Iggy Pop/Anthony Kiedis thing going down but no dice, in fact in all my searching I only found him talking about his former addictions to alcohol and crack cocaine. That’s right  like Tyrone Biggums, Josh smoked rocks but didn’t boot Ronzo.

Now it all makes sense. I could see Josh and his flame tattoos roasting a rock, getting aggro and smashing shit with a bat but I couldn’t picture his goatee junked out on a couch with the lock groove of a record skipping while he stared at the ceiling. So people, get that fucking shit right! My man over came an addition to the white stuff, that cooked crack, not heroin. It’s still and amazing story, I’m still stoked for him, and the performance brought a tear to my eye.

Applaud Josh Hamilton getting his shit together for himself and his family and breaking a record held by a guy who looks like he’s always getting an allergic reaction but don’t call him a junkie.

All this shock and awe at Obama’s centrist drift ignores history. Barack Obama was never an uber-liberal, despite his (thin) Senate voting record saying he was the chamber’s resident lefty.

No one better chronicles Obama’s rise to national power than the Chicago Tribune’s David Mendell in his book Obama: From Promise to Power. For the book, Mendell followed Obama from 2003 until he announced his presidential run in early 2007. The politician Mendell describes is a pragmatist with a liberal’s heart; an egotistical, insanely ambitious, and mercurial man who wants to be loved—even if that means appealing to the center for votes; a man whose career has been guided by Washington-insider David Axelrod, with an above-all focus on personal narrative; a natural wonk who has traded policy for vague rhetoric to achieve political goals; and someone whose political fortunes were dependant on Penny Priztker and Chicago’s Gold Coast monied elite. After reading the book, there’s no question Obama has what it takes to be president. But he’s a politician not a progressive activist.

Those ever-( dare I say over-) influential “Netroots” folks on the left did not study the facts before crowning Obama liberalism’s savior. Obama ran a primary campaign that was to the right of Hillary Clinton on domestic issues. (Remember, triangulated centrism was a mid-90s Clinton specialty.) Still, the net-left gave Barry unending support.

Now Obama’s disregarded the constitution in favor of telecoms—you know, phone companies, the little guy. He supported a Supreme Court ruling overturning a handgun ban in a city with an unprecedented history of handgun murder. He told black people not to try and be “the next Lil Wayne” (even though Wayne’s studied political science at U Houston and his latest record ends with a six-minute spoken-word political essay), prompting longtime Obama supporter Jesse Jackson to say he wants to “cut his nuts out.” He wants to “refine” his unrealistic 16-month Iraq withdrawal promise. And so on.

None of this should come as a surprise, however. Nor does it make Obama a weaker candidate. It just makes him less of the hope/change martyr the net-left worshipped. Of course, it’s hard not to be offended by Obama’s recent moves. But politically I respect his, well, Clintonian dedication to electoral victory at any cost.

After eight years of GOP illegal wars and criminal rule, we need a winner not a savior. And on foreign policy Obama remains a committed multilateralist. I’m looking forward to seeing how Europe and the Middle East greet him on his upcoming tour. Although this TNR piece is pessimistic about the latter stop, saying recent statements at AIPAC on Israel have soured Arab opinion, I’m not sure I buy the authors’ argument. Arabs are foremost a hospitable people. When Obama arrives as a guest, I hope and assume they’ll respond with the same open mindedness that I received upon visiting the region. If Obama needs to drift to the center to win an election so he can carry out a liberal foreign policy, that works for me.

Getty

I love “human interest” stories. Of course, every British paper picked this wire story up. Nothing like a history of Iraqi booze habits to enliven a slow UK news week. Reuters:

Alcohol is openly for sale once more in Baghdad. All over the Iraqi capital, drink stores, which closed their doors in early 2006 when sectarian strife was raging, have slowly begun to reopen. Two years ago, al-Qa’ida militants were burning down liquor stores and shooting their owners. Now around Saadoun Street, in the centre of the city, at least 50 stores are advertising that they have alcohol for sale.

The fear of being seen drinking in public is also subsiding. Young men openly drink beer in some, if not all, streets. A favourite spot where drinkers traditionally gathered is al-Jadriya bridge, which has fine views up and down the Tigris river. Two years ago even serious drunks decided that boozing on the bridge was too dangerous. But in the past three months they have returned, a sign that militant gunmen no longer decide what people in Baghdad do at night. “I drink seven or eight cans of beer a day and a bottle of whiskey on Thursday evenings,” said Abu Ahmed, a former military intelligence officer who now makes a living driving a taxi.

Iraq was one of the most secular of Arab countries until the early 1990s. Restaurants all served alcohol and there was a plentiful supply of nightclubs. None of the prohibition on alcohol seen in Saudi Arabia or Kuwait held sway. In Basra, in the late 1970s, the main local complaint was that Kuwaitis were pouring across the border and drinking the city dry. In Baghdad it was possible to sit in one of the restaurants off Abu Nawas Street on the bank of the Tigris River eating fish grilled over an open fire and drinking beer and arak (a spirit made from dates and flavoured with aniseed).

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Political campaigns, as they say, are all about narrative and image. And when Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton appeared together Friday for the first time—in a NH town called Unity no less—more of the world’s top young photojournalists were on-hand than for any other single event of the campaign (at least to my knowledge).

Tama

The fact that Getty Images sent two New York staffers, Mario Tama and Spencer Platt, both extremely talented and well-known breaking news photographers, to a tiny town in NH says it all. The Obama campaign scored an essential coup by getting these Unity photos into the public sphere.

Platt

And the NYT sent Tyler Hicks, who’s also of world renown for his news reportage. The last time all three (Tama, Platt, Hicks) shot an out-of-NY story together was probably Katrina. This underlines how powerful Hillary-Obama images are, illustrating how the two are still the biggest show in American politics.

Hicks

After Unity, Nymag’s John Heilemen (who with Mark Helperin recently sold a mid-six figure book on the 2008 campaign) states the obvious about Obama’s best choice for VP:

It it’s hard to think of anyone who would fit the change-AND-experience bill that Obama is trying to fill — except, that is, for a certain lady in a pantsuit. Hillary Clinton, of course, has plenty of baggage. And she is nobody’s idea of an outsider. But given her gender, it wouldn’t take much doing message-wise to frame her as an emblem of change. And even her critics acknowledge that her cojones are more than capacious enough to qualify her as commander-in-chief. (There is no Democrat more admired by the top military brass.) The smart set tells us that Clinton is ruled out by her husband; in particular, by his unwillingness to divulge certain details about his business dealings and to reveal the list of donors to his presidential library. And in general by the bitterness he apparently continues to nurse toward Obama (cf the remark of Clinton’s reported over the weekend that Obama can “kiss my ass” in return for his support.)

Yet if WJC were to stop behaving like a petulant adolescent and muster up a change of heart — an enormous “if,” I’m well aware, but doesn’t he owe HRC that much? — the case for Hillary would be nearly watertight. Unity. Brand equity. A fighter’s mettle. An ass-kicking ability as a debater. What more could you ask for in a veep? It’s a question that, I bet, will be plaguing Obama in the days and weeks to come.

Bleacher Bar view and the scene at C’s party c/o Flickr

The Lyons Group, purveyors of such Boston nightlife entities as Axis, Bill’s Bar, Avalon, Sonsie, and Game On, have about the worst track record in America. Despite two decades of trying, they could never open a decent club, bar, lounge or restaurant.

Or they couldn’t until now.

Somehow the Lyons Group wound up with a lease for the former storage space underneath the bleachers in dead-center at Fenway. They converted it into The Bleacher Bar, which opened last month.

I visited the space a few times in the past week. The bar’s ceiling is the actual bleachers, crooking down step by step ala MC Escher from about 25-feet at the Lansdowne-facing backside to 15-feet along the field. At over 3000 sq ft, the space could fit 400 comfortably. Its walls cut diagonally, making the bar’s widest area right in front of a garage door that, get this, looks out on a panoramic view of Fenway Park.

I mean, this is a better view than many bleacher or right field seats and you even don’t need tickets. Getting in to Fenway will cost, at minimun, $100. Best deal in Boston? Check. The Bleacher Bar is free and has cheaper beer than Fenway. It offers a full bar and serves excellent bacon cheese fries, sliders, and hot pastrami sandwiches at reasonable prices. A half-dozen high tables dot the area in front of the garage door. Wood booths line the walls. A grand, mirrored “Green Monster Bar” scales the back wall. The men’s restroom is elevated above the fray, but the architects were genius: a window above the urinal looks down on the bar and out to field. The light fixtures and ventilation system are exsposed and tastefully industrial, making the space like a Tribeaca loft/sports bar embedded inside a Fenway Park cave.

On a recent Thursday at 10pm, when the Sox had the day off, there were only about six or seven customers. We took a seat at the open garage door, a cool summer breeze a-blowing. Fenway Park was all epic hard-angled shadows, save a few emergency lights and the luxury boxes’ glow. Our waitress told us, “Yeah, we just opened so no one knows about this place yet. The Globe hasn’t done a story or anything.”

Were Boston any other city, Bleacher Bar would have a DJ and the place would be hopping on a Thursday night. Imagine dancing and raging in the shadows of Fenway?

A few day later I returned at 5pm on a game day. Bleacher Bar definitely had more customers, but it was still half-empty, and my party scored the best seats in the house—right in front of the garage door.

A few days prior, the Celtics, having just won their 17th title, had been invited to throw out the first pitch at Fenway. The team held a pre-party at Bleacher Bar. Our waitress refued to confirm whether the C’s were smoking weed. A bus boy, who was there all night, said he didn’t see anything, but did say that during a rain delay the C’s came back to the bar from inside the Park and partied with customers.

By 6pm the bar was packed with your usual Fenway rats and families, so many of whom said, “Wow, this place is great.” Suddenly, I looked out the garage door and saw Josh Becket, my hero and that night’s starter, stretching on the door. Like two feet from me!

Boston is a city with a lot of bars but very few good ones. Actually, I can’t think of one must-see bar in Boston, except Sullivan’s Tap by the New Garden. The Rat is closed. Allston’s Common Ground is good one night a week. The Middle East is in Cambrdge. Maybe there’s some other place, but there’s no chance they combine form and function as well as the Bleacher Bar.  

Lil Wayne wins Black Entertainment Television’s Viewers Choice Award—again.

This guy, who sings about blowjobs, sold approx 300k more records in his first week than Coldplay will this week.

AP Headline: T-Pain, Lil Wayne, Barack Obama rule the BET Awards

Last night, live at the BET Awards, the biggest artist in America…(PS: check out Weezy’s hand-in-pocket, Papelbon-ish jig as “Lollipop” fades in):

http://www.bet.com/Specials/BETAwards08/betawards-videos/beta_video_performances.htm?episodeid=1902&videoindex=12&playerid=betawards08

  

The scene in Copley Sq: fans and the racist cops who hate them, arresting a doo-rag-men. Pics by Geoff Kenyon.

In Europe they’re called hooligans, sometimes thugs. Americans call them delinquents, punks. In Boston, Mayor Menino calls them “knuckleheads.” Others use the anti-Irish Sully or Mick. But the most unique word to describe Boston’s insane fans is “Yahoo.” As in, “You see that fahkin’ Yahoo on TV throw a street sign through that window?”

For the past week, I’ve been among the Yahoos in Boston and various towns along Massachuesetts’ North Shore and Merrimack Valley, and in southern New Hampshire. This area truly is Celtic Nation, and it’s where I grew up. Remember, the Pats play 30 miles south of Boston, in Foxboro, and the C’s above North Station. Admittedly, I think I am a Yahoo. 

The latest episode of Yahoo-ery started Tuesday night with KG’s post-game interview. The Celtics had just won their first NBA victory in 22 years, a record 17th for the franchise. Still, it was the first ring for C’s superstars’ Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, and Kevin Garnett. Green and white confetti rained down as the Big Three got emo on the parquet.  KG—tears in his eyes, scowling, yelping, hat pulled lowed—suddenly thanked “Peanut” on network TV. 

Of course, no one knew who Peanut was. But every Yahoo in Boston has a friend nicknamed a Peanut. And with this, the streets began to fill with Yahoos, myself included, our collective inhebriated brains thinking, “Yeah Peanut!!! This one’s for you!!! Peanut…ooowwwoooowaaaawaa!!”

I was by Northeastern University—Yahoo Central—my alma matter (ok, I went there for one year), bottle of tequila in hand, a “Wooooo” on my tongue, celebrating on St Stevens St. There I spotted two Yahoos in wife-beaters aptly beating up a mailbox. One had sweet ink: a tribal armband enmeshed with a Red Sox “B.” Around the corner, in front of Our House (a bar famous for selling $3 32 oz. beers called Bruebakers aka “‘Roid Rage-ade”): ten Yahoos hugging while pogoing and yelling “Boston, Boston!”

Inside the bar, TVs were tuned to live footage of fans rioting downtown—dancing around mini-fires, running into trees, climbing trees, kissing trees, facing off with cops. I soon found myself fighting the bouncer at Our House for absolutely no reason. Kicked out, I put on another shirt and snuck back in. “Lollipop” was playing; chubby fake id chicks dancing; ‘roid bros started fighting. Damn, it felt good to be a Yahoo…

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See you at the parade!

Hey ya’ll, just got back from 24 hrs of rioting in Boston after the Celtics beat the Lakers in Game 6 by 40 points, scoring 131. Yes, 131 f–king points! Drank one too many Uncle Sal’s (tequila shot chased by beer)…

I’d like to report that Boston sports fans are cockier, wigger-ier, and more violent than ever.

Also, I scuffled with the manager of Our House after he talked shit to me for accidentally bumping into him during the trophy presentation. It got to the point where I was in the street calling him a “b*tch” as he tried to lock the bar and call the police. Thus improving our record vs the staff of Our House to 13-0. Of course, right after the beef ended, I changed clothes and went back in to the bar…

There are several achievements tonight for the Boston Celtics and the city of Boston. Buried beneath the fanfare and confetti is something very real and human to us all, it’s Ray Allen rising above adversity and the devastating news that his son had fallen ill during Game 5 to win the NBA Championship title, it’s Pierce dousing Doc with Gatorade, it’s KG hugging Bill Russell after the victory and our favorite story line, the Cigar that Red lit up somewhere during the 4th when he knew it was a lock. Boston fans are drunk off this victory and hopefully some champagne as well but let’s not forget the passion and drive that brought us here, what these individuals have gone through and most importantly what Ray-Ray has been through, this man didn’t sleep, he played this game with a heavy head and heart and was able to rise above and drain 22 three-point shots in total in the finals, the most in NBA history and lead the Celtics to an emotional victory.

Growing up in the suburbs of Boston, one thing was fact, the Celtics were gospel, they were Winners! They were a tradition much like going to Church and Sunday dinner. My Italian family would gorge after mass and then enjoy the Celtics, often times it was a playoff situation where I quickly learned to hate players named Rambis, Lamibeer, Thomas or Worthy. Ultimately the results were favorable and I wore my “Six Pack” shirt with pride as the Celtics were Champions, they inhaled the fumes of Red Auerbach’s cigars and raised banners. My father pooled together with friend to buy Celtics season tickets for a good portion of the 1980s. He could have taken anyone to some of the most important and pivotal games in NBA history but he chose his son, barely in the double digits. He shared these moments with a young boy who would barely remember the humid Boston Garden where even Greg Kite was a hero. My memories are foggy, the details are aren’t sharp but with every passing year I realize what a sacrifice my dad made, taking a young boy to so many epic games and I him and his unselfish acts for the gift he gave me. I was lucky to witness so many classic games and I realize the importance more and more each day.

One must remember that in the 1980s the Red Sox were the puffy faced hard luck girl that you could convince to date you, she was flawed and cracked but she filled a void and ultimately you knew it would end in some shouting match that stung. In the end she was a quick fix, she left you upset and asking for more even though she wasn’t your first choice but the Celtics, the Larry Bird led Celtics were that hot blond that was way out of your league. They helped you develop a swagger, you wore the color green with pride and you felt like you had the biggest cock in the room even if you hadn’t really used that cock yet. In contrast, the Red Sox, now the copyrighted Red Sox Nation®, were really the Irish bartender chick who looked ok after a few shots, the one from Southie that cursed a lot and smelled like body spray. The edge of the bar conveniently hid her big ass and the whiskey shots blurred her ruddy alcoholic features and borderline see-thru complexion. She was second place, your consolation prize but not your holy grail. She was your Calvin Schiraldi. You didn’t expect jack shit from the Red Sox aside from pain and frustration mixed with a few highs, you weren’t bringing your hard luck girl home to meet the parents but the Celtics were the talk of the town, tthe press darlings, they ruled the 1980s in Boston and were the Boston fans’ trophy girl.

As I reside in Williamsburg, Brooklyn where Red Auerbach grew up I am overwhelmed by the moment, by KG exclaiming “Anything is possible!” and “I’m on top of the world!”. Oh yeah and I forgot he also said “What you gotta say now!” before he hugged Bill Russell and asked Bill he had made him proud. Even in his ultimate moment he was humble and conscious of what was happening, big shout to KG! It’s these moments where a multi-millionaire star player is being candid with a legend where I realize how special these celebrations are. It’s Doc Rivers’ Gatorade tie-tied suit, it’s Rajon Rondo hoisting a championship trophy, it’s Big Baby getting his first minutes in the finals and most importantly it’s the fucking shit bag, soul patch having Zen-Master not getting into the history books, that’s right fuck you Phil you fucking douche. Oh did I mention that was the biggest ass kicking in a deciding game in the NBA finals?

Finally, let’s celebrate Paul Pierce, the first thing he did is thank us for supporting him, despite the emotion, the moment, the history, the energy he chose to immediately to address the regular ass guy, thank you Paul, we love you, you ARE the truth, get that SHIT in to PIERCE!

Congratulations to the Boston Celtics, to a history, a tradition and a moment Boston and its fans are enjoying now.

PS- There was a brother in a rain coat and goggles being incredible during the celebration repping hard with the mic being the master of ceremonies, big shout to that dude.

PPS- KG is on ESPN right now being humble, would Kobe or Shaq ever do that? Nope. KG always considered himself as a champion in his heart, tonight he’s one in the history books. Holler at your fucking BOY!

PPPS - Lakers, did you really lose by that much, GOD DAMN.

PPPPS - If this doesn’t make sense fuck you, it’s 1:33 AM and I am crunked, eat my shit!

ESPN Page 2 columnist Jemele Hill has everyone heated with her controversial comments that were pulled from her latest article :

Rooting for the Celtics is like saying Hitler was a victim. It’s like hoping Gorbachev would get to the blinking red button before Reagan.

The column got past her editors with this comment which isn’t surprising because they let Bill Simmons submit the same article every fucking day. Just a side note, does he have a “Sports Guy Column Generator” that spits out tired 1980s guy pop culture references in Men’s Mag Slang centered around a Boston team or his latest man-crush? Bad news Bill, Karate Kid sucks, Star Wars sucks, the Godfather is long and fucking boring and you have Bank Teller hair. Now back to Jemele, in keeping with ESPN Page 2’s style, she’s a terrible writer and she used a pretty raw comparison. Hitler and 9/11 comparisons normally result in someone going “Whoaaaa man stop it don’t go there!” as if some imaginary line has been crossed that could only be crossed by a complete asshole. I don’t have a problem with people making such comparisons, when Katie Holmes’ tits are described as the opposite of the holocaust it was cool and what Jemele did is cheap, in poor taste for an ESPN writer but the Celtics fans, especially the ones that call Boston their home are the ones who are offending me right now.

Everyone is upset in Boston, popular fan site Red’s Army is calling for her to be fired and wbztv.com posted some fan responses yesterday :

“We’re not talking about war; we’re talking about basketball,” one fan outside the Garden said. “How can you compare Hitler to a basketball game?”

“I don’t think you can say Hitler is a victim no matter what the circumstance is. That’s over the top,” another fan said.

These responses sicken me, Celtics fans are as fucking soft as the Celtics’ performance in the 4th quarter of Game 5. Boston Massachusetts is a city that was pissed off that a Holocaust Memorial was being constructed downtown too close to whatever the fucking Bank World Dunkin Donut Garden Center was called that week and too close to the Italian district, the North End. How dare they make us remember Holocaust victims while we’re staring at a statue of Paul Revere en route to a Celtics game (who the fuck went to Celtics games in 1995) belly stuffed full of carbs from the North End. This is a city built on racism, where Smitty O’Houlahan can blame anything he wants on a “nigger” and cops will turn the other red alcoholic cheek. Some area Jews didn’t even want the memorial in Boston because they felt it wasn’t an appropriate location. Downtown Boston is so fat and white that Jewish people actually felt bad breaking up that vibration

So now the poor fans are pissed off and are calling for the head of Jemele Hill the latest goat. It probably helps that she’s black as it’s easier for the city to rally against her. There is a bigger task at hand for the Celtics and their fans and that’s winning a Championship not whining about bad journalism and cheap shot comparisons.

Oh yeah, the Celtics fan side of myself would like to get a jab in though because that side of me is petty, Jemele your gummy grin and bulbous features are as shocking and offensive to me on this Tuesday afternoon as your attempts at journalism. Leave the vulgarity and cheap shot comparisons to bloggers, it’s all we have, you get the pay check, the paid appearances and fanfare, we just want to have exclusivity on swearing and Hitler comparisons if that’s cool with your fat ugly ass. Thanks.

Exclusive gossip via Social Puke

Which tattooed and glasses wearing Brooklynite (also the first man ever to sell Yankees Suck t-shirts and part-time Euro tour 2000 vocalist) saw Kirstin Dunst in a green dress, “celebrating being rehabbed” with a cigarette and cocktail in hand, dancing up a storm to the ”usual Beatrice Inn rock mix” at 4am on Saturday? And did he or did he not hit on her?

You really are a hustler. One of my favorite musicians, Atlanta rapper Young Jeezy, who’s nicknamed “The Snowman” for all the blow he’s dealt, has been implicated as a kilo-buying client in the trial of a $270 million dollar coke ring. I tend to assume most rappers lie in their songs. Not Jeezy, though. Of course, Jeezy’s best tune, “Trap Star,” is about a drug house. Ah, life as art. Crazy stuff:

Simms testified that his job was to unload BLACK MAFIA FAMILY cocaine from limos outfitted with secret compartments. He said he piled as many as 100 “bricks” of cocaine at a time inside the basement of one of BMF’s stash houses, an ultra-modern Buckhead mansion nicknamed “Space Mountain.” And he said that on one occasion, in the fall of 2004, he was ordered by high-ranking BMF members Chad “J-Bo” Brown and Martez “Tito” Byrth to set aside multi-kilo cocaine “shipments” for two customers. Simms said the customers picked up the coke from him at Space Mountain.

When asked by assistant U.S. Attorney Robert McBurney who the customers were, Simms gave two names: William “Doc” Marshall, a high-level BMF co-conspirator who testified earlier in the trial, and “Jeezy.”

“Young Jeezy the rapper?” McBurney asked.

“Yes,” Simms answered.

Jeezy’s name cropped up several times in the first two days of testimony, but only in relation to his well-publicized friendship with BMF’s Atlanta-based leader, Demetrius “Big Meech” Flenory. In November, Flenory pleaded guilty in Detroit to running a continuing criminal enterprise. He faces a minimum sentence of 20 years.

BMF is believed to have employed 500 people across the country in its $270 million cocaine ring — nearly 150 of whom have been indicted in seven states. According to testimony in Daniels’ trial this week, BMF only dealt in multiple kilos of cocaine, which were distributed to other cocaine dealers.

…nee, it’s Wayne’s world!

Weezy shocks world! En route to a million sold in first week, Tha Carter 3 shatters industry estimates, proves there’s no such thing as over-exposure. Where’s the Rolling Stone cover? Meet 08’s biggest artist…

Wayne jams with Baby on ‘Leather So Soft” at Beacon Theater summer 07. Rolling Stone dropped the ball and had The Eagles on the cover this week, so here’s a sweet XXL cover…  

A year ago, if someone told me that in 365 days a black guy would have the Democratic nomination, the Celtics would be one win from a championship, and Lil Wayne would sell a million records in the first week and have the number 1 song in the country—about getting blow jobs nonetheless—I’d have laughed. But it’s all true. America’s not so bad. Ha…

I’ve been following New Orelans’ Cash Money Millionaires for a decade (Baller Blockin’ is my favorite movie after Citizen Kane). Ever since Juvenile’s “Ha” brought “bounce” music mainstream, Cash Money’s been my shiite, and this is by far the highest they’ve gone. Lil Wayne is a bonafide pop megastar! Let’s chart the rise and rise of Lil Wanye…

Flashback: June 22nd, 2007, Lil Wayne’s first-ever New York performance. Sold out. The Beacon Theater, a tri-deck Art Deco jewel, is packed with 3500 fans. It’s 10pm, and Wayne’s two hours late. No one thinks he’s going to show—even DJ Kahled, who came up from Miami with Wayne.

Twenty more minutes pass. The lights go down. Adolescent female screams.  Wayne bounds onstage in a blinged out RUN DMC shirt, dreadlocks flopping. “Yalls motherf*cking po-lice almost didn’t let me in the building,” Wayne’s first words, sounding stressed. “I love ya’ll. But fuck ya’ll police.”

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Exclusive gossip from last night:

“Julia Styles’ friends were denied from Beatrice Inn last night,” says someone who lives in my building.

“Damon Dash was at private club Norwood hitting on every chick,” says a guy who once made a video with me of us stealing soccer jerseys in Germany in 2000.

We told you earlier about Kate Moss’s hissyfit at MILK studios during an Agent Provocateur party—according to Page Six, she left because they wouldn’t let her bring three friends into the bathroom, citing a “strict one-person-at-a-time policy.” (So basically they suggested she was a cokehead!) But Ray LeMoine, a blogger was at the affair (which happened in early May) says this is bullshit: “the bathrooms at MILK were big multi-stall affairs, and plenty of sniffing was audible from the men’s pisser. There wasn’t an attendant or anything.” Also?

MILK also has a basement party room where Moss’ old hook-up Jamie Burke’s band Bloody Social (who were also at the party) practice, so I’m sure the coke party could have moved down there. Also, I’m sure MILK owner Madzac Rassi knows Kate Moss and would’ve accommodated her. Most likely, Kate left the party because it wasn’t that great.

More importantly, why did a month-old party take so long to make it into Page Six? [Photo: Medicine Agency]

Much thanks to Gawker for picking up my post about Page Six breaking a month-old, bogus sounding Kate Moss story. And really, what’s better than Kate Moss, Page 6, and Gawker?

Kate Moss has been a constant in my life since 97, freshman year of college, when she was on the walls of every Joy Division-loving art school/liberal arts chick in Boston. By far the coolest woman of our time, Kate Moss refuses to stop dressing amazingly, dating funny people, acting awesome, going topless in Ibiza, sniffing blow with a dude from The Clash on video, and causing other mini-controversies.

Upon hearing Moss was hosting the Agent Provocateur lingerie party on the roof of MILK Studios back in May, I of course went. Jim Jones was there with Damon Dash; over 500 people drank free booze on a rooftop overlooking the Meatpacking District. Thankfully, no Lauren Conrad/Gossip Girl-level celebs were there. Rather, in attendance were a lot of regular old New Yorker—people who go to cheap Indian restaurants in the East Village for dinner or email one another about sample sales. Hardly the fabulous-life set. After all, Agent P is owned by Vivienne Westwood’s son and maintains a punk style. (Despite the above Gawker headline, I didn’t find the party lame at all. It just wasn’t VF’s post-Oscar jam, or anything crazy great.)

A month later, Page 6 runs this story about Moss wanting to go into the bathroom with three friends and being denied. P6 says she threw a fit and alluded to her being a coke head. I’m all for Kate Moss’ coke use, but this tale seemed a little out of whack.

MILK is a photography studio, one especially known for high-profile fashion shoots. The world of fashion photography is no stranger to cocaine. To think the world’s foremost fashion model would have to make a scene at a place literally designed to accommodate her is highly unlikely.

Last year I interviewed MILK’s owner Madzac Rassi for a story I was writing, finding him funny, accessible, and intelligent. Further reporting proved he had an excellent professional reputation. Surely Rassi would be smart enough to make sure Kate f–king Moss, supermodel of supermodels, had a point-person from MILK on hand at an event she was hosting. Coupled with the fact that several people I attended the event with had dealings with the party’s sponsor, and none heard of any Moss antics, the whole “Kate waited 20 minutes angry before leaving” thing seemed dubious. Even Moss isn’t crazy enough to cause a scene at her own event. And if she was, the story would’ve probably came out a month ago, when the party happened.

Anyway, this P6 piece just seemed like a weird window into gossip reporting. P6’s use of the phrase “the other day” would likely have readers thinking it occured more recently than 32 days ago. And they spoke of MILK’s “one in the bathroom” policy. But, as a person who attends these events with an eye for debauched details, the bathroom scene is something I always scope out. MILK’s men’s room was located next to a stairwell. It was like a school lavatory, tan-tiled and functional, with urinals and stalls. A MILK guard stood outside by the stairwell. Two gay guys were certainly doing cocaine when I was in there.

Now, I love Page 6—there’s no single more influential or entertaining news column—but here is a case where you wonder who the “spy” was and why/how this “story” came to light so late. So I wrote what I saw and thought.

Thankfully, there is an institution dedicated to probing media’s murkiest zonas. Gawker, for all it’s sarcasm, is a vital news source that has helped bring transparency to an industry known for “anonymous sources.” Gawker has a reputation for being harsh, unfair, and using questionable journalistic ethics. Yet over the past few months they’ve ran three posts from Med A and, in each case, Gawker were actually more professional and accomadating than they had to be. Sometimes you’ll read on Gawker “we don’t use fact checkers” but with us they have fact checked. And they’ve been open to dialouge like traditional news editors. All of this came as a surprise given the soiled reputation Gawker has. It goes to show that by attacking the media, Gawker’s been the subject of unfairly biased coverage.

Kate Moss Agent Provocateur campaign

Maybe there was another Agent P party, though I doubt it since I know people who do publicity for them, but I was at this party where Kate Moss reportedly left because she couldn’t sniff in the bathrooms at MILK. It was in like early May, and I posted about it!? If I remember correctly, the bathrooms at MILK were big multi-stall affairs, and plenty of sniffing was audible from the men’s pisser. There wasn’t an attendant or anything.

Why is this just leaking today?

June 9, 2008 — ALWAYS the rebel, supermodel Kate Moss was pitching a fit about the bathroom occupancy rules at Milk Studios the other day. “Kate was at the Agent Provocateur event,” said our spy, “and she was trying to get into the bathroom with three friends.” An attendant told the model - who was once caught on video snorting cocaine - there was a strict one person at a time policy. Moss flipped out, saying “But I’m hosting the event,” according to the source. “Kate said, ‘forget it’ and walked away. Twenty minutes later she left with her group, yelling about finding another place.”

Sounds like bullshit to me. MILK also has a basement party room where Moss’ old hook-up Jamie Burke’s band Bloody Social (who were also at the party) practice, so I’m sure the coke party could have moved down there. Also, I’m sure MILK owner Madzac Rassi knows Kate Moss and would’ve accomadated her. Most likely, Kate left the party beacuse it wasn’t that great. I mean, I was there so how good could it have possibly been! This low-blow (pardon the pun) example of seemingly shoddy, month-old gossip reporting is uber-flag raising.

UPDATE: Read more from Ray on this subject.