I think it’s unfortunate that one of the down sides of living in pretty much any interesting area or city is that, if you are there long enough, the notion that it just isn’t as cool and fun as it used to be is nearly inescapable. It’s really difficult not to fall into a bit of a rut when you see stores you used to enjoy close down, clubs you used to have a great time at are gone, friends that used to be the life of the party have settled down or just become such monumental losers that you don’t want to see them anyway. It’s hard not to feel like you should just uproot yourself and move to greener pastures sometimes. I know I’ve felt like that in a number of areas I’ve lived. Lately, a lot of my Los Angeles friends have been sharing their general ennui on this subject as well. So, I thought I might share one technique that I’ve found that can kind of help shake things up a little. Just pretend you are visiting. Give yourself a week to do all those things you’d only do if you were actually from out of town. Read the local weekly paper and actually go to everything that piques your interest. You’ll be surprised at just how much fun is actually going on right around you.

Just the other day I was feeling kinda bleh and decided I better just get off my butt and take a walk around my own neighborhood and I ended up having a really fun time. Stopped by the Frolic Room on Hollywood Blvd. and had a beer with their usual crazy assortment of odd characters. Wandered over to the notoriously crusty gay hangout that is the The Spotlight Lounge over on Cahuenga to check out Joanna Angel’s Porny Monster release party. Ran into a ton of people I know but wasn’t really expecting to see. James St James, Author of Disco Bloodbath/Party Monster: A Fabulous But True Tale of Murder in Clubland, was there too, so that was cool. Then I wandered down to Sunset and Vine(ish) to check out Cardinal Sin’s new Dark Pink club. Had a really pleasant time there, met some really cool people. Had a suprisingly interesting conversation about leisurely scenic walks in the World of Warcraft with a couple of nurses while getting to enjoy Wednesday and Darkfiend spinning some of my favorite music. Stumbled home in the wee hours.

Now, obviously, not everybody lives in my neighborhood, but the point is that there actually are more interesting things going on around you than you probably realize, and sometimes it really pays off to just stop by some bar you’ve never been inside, go see a band you’ve never heard of, take a fish printing seminar at the local museum. Amelia has a really cool collage on the theme of government’s inherant indifference to the plight of man that she did not long ago over at the Getty. There is a lot to do, so treat yourself to a kind of random sample from time to time. It’s totally worth it.

Over the years, I think Rolling Stone magazine has maintained a higher standard of journalism than most music rags. The majority of music publications are written by writers in the employ of publicists and most rarely have an article on topics other than a performer’s favorite color or fictional creative process. Although their musical tastes and mine are not always precisely the same, Rolling Stone is usually an example of what journalism ought to be.

A week or so ago writer Elizabeth Goodman did a brief piece for Rolling Stone’s online incarnation where she really blasted Trent Reznor. Full disclaimer: The Nine Inch Nails album Pretty Hate Machine pretty much changed my life. When the “Get Down, Make Love” single came out, I drove from DC to Chicago, partly so I could get it from Wax Trax before it was widely available. Some of this is a topic for another article, but I wanted to fully disclose where I’m coming from on this.

In the recent Rolling Stone piece, Elizabeth Goodman chortled about Trent Reznor not being allowed to be giddy with happiness, being goth and all. Reznor apparently confided to Rolling Stone that he had perhaps taken so long between albums because he had sort of lost his confidence and was too worried what people thought of him. The goth-industrial icon went on to explain that he felt he was developmentally past that and was likely to only improve as an artist. The writer quoted what he said and summed it up saying, “After tiring of patting his own back, Reznor went on to pontificate on another of his recent epiphanies.” A little harsh. Apparently, Reznor’s second epiphany was realizing that he didn’t care much for the twenty bands playing overly-generic, over-produced, whiny-ass emo songs he had heard on the radio and that he couldn’t much tell them apart. (Bad news Trent: most radio stations don’t really have a whole twenty bands in rotation at any given time.)

The artist went on to say that he was suspicious of the motives of why a guy might be trying to start a band today: “Is he trying to change the world and do something different and express himself…or is it because they want to fuck Paris Hilton and be photographed outside trendy restaurants?”

I think Trent is right. The nature of celebrity has changed so much. For example, I used to get so excited when a channel like HBO wanted to come shoot at my punk rock group house and interview me and Forrest Black, even though none of us had cable at the time. But HBO was not secretly trying to set up cameras in my house to catch me breaking it off with a lover or having an argument with a housemate about whose dishes were in the sink. (The dishes were mine; I use plastic now.) At the time, if HBO sent a production crew over, they were going to let me outline which areas were public and which were private, they were going to respect my wishes, and news was a straighforward interview, and not getting photographed with the wrong sex partner in a trendy restaurant.

The really cool thing about the Rolling Stone article is that it has enough rawness to be journalism. The cynic in me wonders if maybe it is not just a very very clever placed article, something designed to appeal to the sort of people who liked Pretty Hate Machine. But Elizabeth Goodman’s article feels like actual music journalism. She didn’t just write the same nonsense bullet points from a publicist which one normally sees in music articles these days. She held my interest. She may not have personally liked Trent, but she wrote her article in a way where readers could actually get a human feel for both the journalist and the journalistic subject.

So, kudos to Rolling Stone and Elizabeth Goodman and Trent Reznor for all still flying the flag.

Incidentally, Trent has been on the cover of Rolling Stone at least twice. I’m just sayin’.

Emo has been around long enough that it should have died a natural death by now. But it won’t go away. It hangs around, moping just out of view, like a skinny wuss with a journal in his messenger bag and tears in his eyes. You tell him to fuck off and he skulks away, but you see him following you again the next day. Emo needs that rejection to keep its heart pure, you see. Ugh, so creepy? Can you believe you ever thought there was something special about emo?

It’s over, emo. We’re done with you. It’s been 20 years. Why can’t you just move on?

Most emo kids are dorky enough to know the enshrined canon and history of emo, which starts in DC in ‘85 or so with Embrace and Rites of Spring. This period in history might as well be the Siege of Stalingrad to most of the grumpy larvae who cry along with Dashboard Confessional, and it’s not really accurate anyway. The first band from DC that I ever heard labeled “emo” or “emocore” was Beefeater, whose absence from the canon is mystifying, since their stance was militant vegetarian and their bass player sported the original emo beard. (Note: I grew up in DC and I saw Minor Threat live, okay, so if you’re under 35 and not a Mackaye, do not come at me with a bunch of noise you read on the web somewhere.)

As a further point, just to illustrate the roach-like endurance of emo themes, please note that emo goes back not 20 years but 200. The original emo heart-throb was Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, author of The Sorrows of Young Werther. Werther was the original emo kid, with his journals, passionate friendships, condescension to mere mortals, pathological narcissism, and of course, his tragic love of an unattainable woman. The book started a craze among the youth of the day, who imitated Werther’s style of dress, godawful poesy, and suicide. Sorrows is still taught as a classic of 18th century romantic lit, and although Goethe went on to write reams of poetry, essays, criticism, and scientific work, in his lifetime he never managed to shake off little Werther. Emo kids are like fucking barnacles.

I’m not going to drone on about which bands are true emo and which bands are plain-vanilla indie and which bands are commercial twaddle and which bands are sniveling shit. I’m not in a position to judge these things, because if something can even be plausibly mislabeled as emo, I probably loathe it. This is because emo is unendurable if you’re not an emo kid.

And what is an emo kid? Besides a pussy’s pussy?

Not that there’s anything intrinsically pussy about singing about the women you’ve wronged or who’ve wronged you. Without ruinous affairs, bluesmen would have had nothing but poverty and whiskey to sing about, a state of affairs that could have left us with no sources for American popular music other than polka. The telling difference between a bluesman and an emo kid is the number of women involved. Bluesmen come by their world-weariness honestly, by having stormy affairs with lots of cruel, wanton, mistreating, yet kind-hearted women. An emo kid can get three albums of endless whinnying out of one woman, who can’t have known what she was getting into. (The other big difference is that a bluesman’s woman would probably love to tell her side of the story. The chick who broke Mr. Confessionals heart doesn’t have to say a word. I mean, shit, who’d dump him?)

No, an emo kid is not a bluesman, no matter how much whiskey you slip into his or her Sprite. An emo kid is made up of many things: goth self-pity and eyeliner, indie kid dork chic and studied dirtiness, a bit of punk self-righteous obnoxiousness, all drowned in adolescent self-absorption.

Because above all, an emo kid is a kid. And the hardest thing to give up about childhood isn’t the freedom, the innocence, or the security (or the illusions thereof). It’s the whining. French auteur Francois Truffaut once said his films focused on children because he was not interested at all in the emotions of adults. This is another way of saying that no one wants to hear grown people whining. No one expects dignity from children, who have an excuse for not knowing that life isn’t fair. But the older you get, the more grating it is to hear you wailing about how much it all hurts. If you get big enough to be punchable, you’d better learn a little stoicism and ironic detachment before they get beaten into you.

Horribly, we must admit that all of us have been emo kids at one point. We’ve all been misunderstood. We’ve all had our hearts torn out and dropped on our Chuck Taylors. We’ve all had our personal notes read before the class. And somewhere in the recesses of our mind, we’ve all written sick-making poetry about it. But we eventually realized that we weren’t alone, and that everyone had felt like this once. And we realized that we were the only ones still whining and sulking. And we shut the fuck up and got on with our lives.

Links of historic interest. Get educated!:

Minor Threat
Rites of Spring
Beefeater
Embrace
The Sorrows of Young Werther

People often like to get me alone and confide that they would really really love to pose nude for me but they are concerned about their future careers. When I lived in Washington, DC, I just took this at face value. I’m proud of how I have lived my life. I was class president in 10th grade. If I felt like running for some community office, I don’t think I would be daunted by my – gasp – association with artistic and activist depictions of naked people. Nonetheless, I understand how someone who aspired to be a beltway insider might be concerned about limiting their career options. But I live in Los Angeles now. These are actors, models, musicians, and celebutantes whispering to me about how they crave to have their bodies in front of my lens. But they can’t, they just can’t. Maybe the conversation is titillating and erotic for some people. I don’t know. It isn’t for me.

Did getting naked on camera hurt the careers of Marilyn Monroe or Sharon Stone? How about Ewan McGregor or Bruce Willis? I’m not even going to take a stab at naming naked models because there are nudes in existence of every single successful high fashion model I can think of. Tyra Banks devotes a whole episode of America’s Next Top Model to getting wannabe models to get naked. Has on-camera nudity hurt the careers of Madonna or Marilyn Manson?

When it comes to entertainment careers, the public’s response to nudes is generally either positive interest and applause or a complete lack of awareness. Except of course for poor beleaguered Fred Durst, but the public’s brutality for him is a subject for another article.

Do you usually watch mainstream pageants? You know, the kind where kinda regular pretty girls walk around in bathing suits and say they want to become veterinarians because they love children? Thinking about it, didn’t posing nude and having the photos run in Penthouse cause one Miss America to be stripped of her crown? Yes, yes, it sure did. That Miss America is Vanessa Williams. To the best of my knowledge, Vanessa Williams is the only Miss America to have a real entertainment career, starring in movies, recording albums, and being directed by some of the top people in the world. Wow, I bet she cries herself to sleep at night every night, knowing that she won Miss America and is the most famous person ever to wear that crown, but, like, some officials don’t count her win. Because Penthouse ran some photos of her looking sort of sensual with another woman.

Does this remind anyone, besides me, of something going on in the tabloids today? Donald Trump publicly chastised Miss USA, the winner of a pageant he owns. A lot of people had, not only never heard of reigning Miss USA Tara Conner (whose name I found by Googling +“miss usa” +lesbian), but they had never heard of the Miss USA or Miss Teen USA pageants. How convenient that it was Miss Teen USA Katie Blair who Tara was making out with. Now Trump can get promo for both pageants at the same time. Had you ever heard of Miss Teen USA before? Ever watched it?

Tonight, on The Apprentice: Los Angeles, the product placement is apparently supposed to include Playboy. There is also a tabloid rumor circulating that Playboy offered Miss USA Tara Conner the opportunity to pose for the magazine. Gee, but didn’t Trump threaten to strip the pageant queen of her crown if she didn’t straighten up and fly right? How could Hugh Hefner buddy up to Donald Trump on his show and simultaneously try to corrupt his virginal pageant lesbians?

And the most famous Miss America is Vanessa Williams, the Miss America who canoodled with another woman and had nude pictures of her published. The whole world talked about it when Miss America had her crown stripped from her and I do believe the Miss America pageant’s ratings went way up. Hmm, I wonder if the Tara Conner and Katie Blair scandal could be cynically modeled on the Vanessa Williams scandal.

Nah, what kind of cyberpunk social manipulation lunacy would have to be the norm for Donald Trump and Hugh Hefner to conspire to recreate the Vanessa Williams Miss America scandal? Oh yeah, the lunacy all around us every day of the digital age we currently live in. I should really work in television.

I wonder if television execs have to deal with people, they barely know, pulling them aside to whisper about how badly they would like to get naked for them. I guess they probably do.

If you go to NBC.com right now, it looks like you can watch a full replay of last Sunday’s episode of The Apprentice: Los Angeles. Only the link on the front page of the site 404’s. I don’t blame them one bit. If my name were on that pale imitation of their earlier success, I wouldn’t want to extend the viewership of that show either.

Full disclosure: I have watched every single episode of The Apprentice. I watched all of the Donald Trump Coke Classic shows. And I watched all of the Martha Stewart New Coke shows, even with the lackluster candidates provided to Martha, and even though I have never seen anything else of Martha Stewart. Unless you count SNL sketches. Realistically, I think my viewing habits re: The Apprentice make it more meaningful when I say that I expect to permanently remove it from my TiVo queue later today. I’m writing this at 2am Saturday night/Sunday morning, January 14, and the show airs Sunday nights. At the end of this article, I’m going to tell you a spoiler for tonight’s episode. I know this secret info either because (a) I went to college with some big muckymucks at NBC or because (b) I have committed my valuable time and sharp business acumen to the lame task of figuring this out.

There was a lot I really loved about the first season of The Apprentice. I loved the whole businessman-as-rockstar vibe of the show. Before I lived in Los Angeles myself, I used to constantly get asked if I was in a band. There is no reason why living your life passionately and flamboyantly and taking the road less traveled should equate to being good at singing or playing popular music. Of course, living in Los Angeles has sapped some of my desire to put on some over-the-top outfit and traipse around town. Sure, I’m a writer and a photographer and those might sound like creative pursuits to someone who hadn’t been overexposed to La-La-Land. Truly, people in my town tend to view anyone dressed very creatively as either (a) a stylist or (b) a tourist or (c) talent. And, when LA people say “talent,” they do not mean it as in “good at something,” but rather as the raw meat of the Hollywood machine, the stuff they grind up every day. Coming out of a punk rock DIY background, I find the idea of “talent” as another species anathema. I started off publishing pictures of my friends and peers. When I picked up a camera, I wasn’t documenting something I felt separate from. But I found that dressing the way I did was a drag.

If someone had directly yelled at me and overtly told me I had to change, I would have spit on them. They could not have forced me. But the Los Angeles pressure was more subtle than that. I found that, if I looked hot on a shoot day, the photos often didn’t work out as well, as models were likely to get either competitive or amorous or both. It is easier to not bother blow-drying my hair when I got out of the tub, so I wasn’t going to bother, if it made my day harder. And I found it difficult to do business. I would meet with people where I thought we could make win/win deals and they would try to take advantage of me and be shocked when I noticed. My kinky and freaky clothing and my multi-colored hair seemed to make the businesspeople assume I was wet behind the ears. It made it a lot more likely that there were going to be sharks circling me. Sharks who were sure my looks meant blood in the water. Sharks who were going to be really really pissed when they didn’t get a meal. And I definitely bear more than a few scars from sharks I didn’t manage to get away from in time.

So, I know I’m not as obviously flamboyant as I once was, but Donald Trump became a bit of a personal hero to me, when he displayed a combination of business wisdom and charismatic garishness. Most CEOs do not get in front of the camera and I appreciated that he did. In his famous boardroom scenes, where contestants on the show were eliminated, Trump had two very businesslike lieutenants in Carolyn Kepcher and George Ross. That first season of the show, Trump also had an amazingly impressive assortment of candidates. The structure of the show was to split the candidates into two teams and have them compete against one another in business tasks. The first season candidates seemed like truly exceptionally capable and innovative businesspeople. They impressed and intrigued even with the ways they addressed a task as simple as running a lemonade stand. At the part of each episode where Trump would tell the viewers some nugget of Trumpian wisdom, I used to hang on his every word.

This makes my disappointment in The Apprentice: Los Angeles much worse. The NBC web site has nicknames for all of this season’s candidates. They are pretty uniformly stupid and include such winning phrases as The Webhead and The Believer and The Blonde. The candidates from the first season of The Apprentice appeared to be, perhaps lower on the totem pole of life than Donald Trump, at least as presented. But they were still presented as all being winners. Many had achieved greatness before the show and many went on to still greater achievements after it and perhaps partly because of it. The name of the game this season, however, appears to be to degrade the candidates as much as possible. Why Trump would want to work with someone he has already humiliated is anyone’s guess.

The first twist on the show this season is that the losing team has to sleep outside. Essentially the two teams compete against one another on various basic business tasks and whichever team loses, not only has a member fired, but they have to sleep in tents in the backyard of a house. They refer to the house where the winning team sleeps as “The Mansion,” but the view from their backyard doesn’t look to me like Mark Burnett and Donald Trump sprang for the best Los Angeles real estate. Actually, it looks like “The Mansion” is in Southern California, but not technically in Los Angeles at all. Additionally, the entire winning team sleeps in the same room on beds which look like they were purchased last minute at Ikea. “The Mansion” looks like a decent enough house and placing a whole television show in a house or two is difficult, but glorifying that pedestrian abode just gives the lie to everything Trump has ever praised or bragged about in the past. Trump Tower, where the New York-based seasons were shot, looked nice. Candidates had roommates, but at least it was not a summer camp style dormitory. I cringe in embarrassment for this season’s crop as they go on for the cameras about the haves and the have nots and how sleeping outside makes people hungrier to win and being indoors makes victory so much sweeter. Keep in mind that we don’t really have weather in Los Angeles, so it is not like the people in the backyard are getting snowed on. Has Trump actually fallen so far that the best thing he could offer winners was the opportunity to sleep indoors? Has he actually managed to find people he thinks are good at business who are dazzled merely by having a roof over their heads? Mind you, a central plot point of the season opener for The Apprentice: Los Angeles was refusing to let businesspeople go to the bathroom. I’m not making that up. I wish I were. Each season of The Apprentice has shown less of the interesting business aspects than the last. I thought the shift in focus towards personality conflicts between contestants was bad, but telling professionals they can’t use the toilet and filming how they react is just pathetic.

Other things which suck about The Apprentice: Los Angeles include Trump having fired one of his lieutenants, Carolyn Kepcher, for enjoying the limelight too much. This suggests that the mere act of pointing a camera at someone makes people think they are a greater person at the very same moment it turns them into a lesser person. Maybe true and maybe a justified rightsizing, but it makes it look like working for Trump is not quite the “job of a lifetime” that the commercials for his show suggest. George Ross, with his brilliant insight and professional gravitas, apparently still works for the Trump organization, but he doesn’t really care for LA and has work to do in New York. So this past week’s boardroom, Trump had his daughter Ivanka Trump on one side and the leader of the winning team on the other. Of course, the leader of the winning team had to act like a jerk and rub her victory in the face of the losers (even thought they lost by a very very slim margin.) Here is the big twist coming up tonight: The candidates already know that the winning team’s leader (The Hottie) will remain the leader as long as she is winning, but what they do not know is that she is going to have to switch teams and try to lead the people she just lorded it over in the boardroom. Hardy-har-har.

I thought Ivanka Trump came across great on the most recent season of the show, when she guested. Her image then was tough, beautiful, flawless, brutal but fair. Unfortunately, she apparently went to image coaches over the summer and she just comes across as a mean person with bad manners now. Her taking Carolyn’s place on Donald’s left also gives one the sense that nepotism is going to be the way in the Trump organization and it may make no difference how hard someone works. Which makes viewers ask why anyone would compete hard to get a job working for the Trump family, especially when they never let anyone else finish a sentence.

Speaking of Ivanka, most internet users will have been unable to escape the recent feud between Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell. I’ll give the Cliff’s notes, so anyone who missed it previously will now have this data filling up their gray matter. Trump owns a pageant or two. A couple of pageant girls were seen out on the town, behaving in a supposedly unseemly manner i.e. allegedly drinking, doing lines, possibly having sex partners back to her place, and maybe kissing girls. The implication was that the two pageant babes were lovers. There was a big public brouhaha where stripping one girl of her crown was discussed but she was given a second chance and the whole thing was unseemly for all involved. So Rosie stated publicly that she felt Donald did not have the moral high ground or compass to judge a twenty-year-old girl. So Trump called Rosie fat and is suing her and Ivanka told the press she felt Rosie was a bully. I’d feel more sympathy there, if Ivanka and her father were not both coming across as such bullies on The Apprentice: Los Angeles.

Full disclosure: Although I understand that Rosie appears on the show and has said inflammatory things on it before, I have never watched The View. Unless you count SNL sketches. It is my understanding that Rosie O’Donnell is a famous lesbian and my opinion that she may have felt a responsibility to speak out about the pageant nonsense. Or she could be a jerk. I have no idea.

Now, maybe I’m just letting my own sexual fantasies intrude here, but I get the impression Ivanka Trump knows how to please a woman. On the list of things this former Trump fan is horrified by is his apparent homophobia. Is it really that awful if some pageant winners make out? Is it really that awful if Rosie O’Donnell is not physically attractive to Donald Trump? Is Ivanka Trump not on the cover of The Advocate because Trump would consider it unseemly? And, most importantly, by being on the show The Apprentice, does Trump have the right to go after Rosie in court? Does The Advocate have the right to put Ivanka on their cover whether or not she wants to be there? Are they public figures who are subject to public comment? What makes someone a public figure? Does becoming a public figure make someone a worse person? I don’t know all the answers, but watching the tragic devolution of this brilliant TV show, I am definitely thinking about the questions. I hope I am not causing any damage by pointing my own cameras at people I think are cool.

At any rate, I think I won’t be buying any more Trump books or watching any more Apprentice shows after tonight. I do intend to continue to watch Saturday Night Live. But I won’t be watching Donald Trump any more. Unless you count SNL sketches.

So a lot of magazines and sites and television shows are doing top ten lists right now. I had planned to post a Blue Blood list of the top ten sexiest men and women of the past year. Unfortunately I ran out of gas after thinking of Anderson Cooper and Vladimir Putin. I didn’t even think of any women before writer’s block set in.

For those of you who do not get CNN in your cable TV lineup, Anderson Cooper is a crystal-eyed honey who helms a show called Anderson Cooper 360. He also had a New York Times bestseller come out this year titled “Dispatches from the Edge: A Memoir of War, Disasters, and Survival.” He looks like that, he is intelligent, he is curious about the world, he gets involved, and his fashion sense makes it clear he is a Vanderbilt. I could justify why it is terribly goth to be attracted to Anderson Cooper, but, trust me, it would be tasteless, so I’m just going to say he makes the list with flying colors.

Next on my abbreviated countdown is Economist coverboy Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. I know, I know, Putin arguably made some inroads against hard-won Russian democracy after the Beslan school tragedy and a bunch of war stuff in some country Americans don’t pay attention to. His gangster politics are thought by many to be bringing heinous and creative poisoning back in vogue and making it difficult for global corporations to reap the rewards of their investments in helping the Russian oil industry. But sometimes bad boys are hot. Sometimes you just want someone who is dangerously bad for you. Putin is a former spy who rose to rule a nation. That’s like being a badass cross between James Bond and Caesar. Totally fine.

All right, now that I’ve probably horrified thousands with my sorta top ten list, who did you find sexiest in 2006? I told you my answers, so nobody needs to be bashful.