by Amelia G : August 14th, 2007
Well, damn, if we didn’t all have a really good time at the Golden Gals Gone Wild gallery show this weekend. I admit I was, to a certain extent, dubious about the concept. I wasn’t really allowed to watch television as a child. My parents didn’t want me to turn out weird or antisocial or anything. So I have never seen the TV show Golden Girls, although I understand it is about a group of charismatic elderly babes who still speak like human beings, instead of like people’s warped concept of what people are supposed to act like as they age. I have this pretty much on hearsay and having walked through a room where the TV was on. So, anyway, I’m sure there were nuances in the work displayed this past Saturday which would have spoken to someone more versed in old television shows.
Curator Lenora Claire spent $110 on an oil painting by artist Chris Zimmerman off eBay, featuring Golden Girls actress Bea Arthur (I think she was the sexy one, but maybe that was Blanche Devereaux.) in the nude. Lenora Claire loved the painting and decided that it’s existence in her possession was a great reason to throw a massive multi-artist gallery show to celebrate the whole theme. I was charmed by the idea, as a lot of projects I end up blowing up into ridiculously huge things start off with exactly the same sort of thought process.
I had additional really excellent reasons for going to the gallery show, despite my innocence of sitcoms of yesteryear. First, Blue Blood’s own Ed Mironiuk did a sleekly latex-clad Bea Arthur for the show, which was featured in fliers and all that good stuff, but I love seeing art in …
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by Amelia G : March 15th, 2007
I perused TuckerMax.com upon my return from Austin, to see if there was any vital news I should include in my article about Tucker Max and his writing and his SXSW panel. There was nothing which really jumped out as necessary for an introduction piece. But, what the heck, I’ll give you all the lowdown on what he has coming up.
He is currently working on a series for Comedy Central. He envisions the show as being a 100% scripted half hour comedy with no laugh track. Something like The Office or Entourage or Tucker suggests one “picture a Sex and the City for guys, done in the vein of my stories.” I’ve never seen Sex and the City, so this doesn’t evoke much for me, but maybe it will for other folks. At any rate, a fictional comedy half hour with the feel of a Tucker Max adventure sounds entertaining to me, so I’ll be putting the key phrase “Tucker Max” in my TiVo for whenever the heck the long-ass cycle of television production produces an actual show. I just used the word heck twice in the same article. Don’t get me wrong, I like the word heck, but I think this means I am jet-lagged.
A fun factoid is that apparently one of the producers of the upcoming Tucker Max show is former ABC president Jamie Tarses, the first female entertainment chief in the industry, who is reportedly the inspiration for the character of fictional sensitive-but-tough network president Jordan McDeere on the Aaron Sorkin-written, Thomas Schlamme-directed, star-studded, and shockingly disapppointing NBC show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.
The Tucker blog announces his SXSW appearance and mentions …
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by Amelia G : March 15th, 2007
I would like to say that I was aware of Tucker Max long before he was ever in print. On account of how I’m such a spectacularly plugged-in girl on the interwebs. The truth is that there are massively high traffic sites which somehow never have audiences intersect. In actuality, I was stuck in the Phoenix airport when visiting my family and, strangely enough, the Phoenix airport actually has a pretty good Borders. Which even more strangely contained a book with a sleek black cover featuring a gentleman with an antisocial smirk holding, I believe, a bottle and a bottle blonde with her visage replaced with a Your Face Here sign. The title was the clever I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I bought it along with a stack of noir novels.
Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell chronicles the author’s drunken and salacious exploits. He came of age as the offspring of a South Beach restauranteur. From his writing, I gather his taste thus unsurprisingly runs to big-titted blondes with fit but not skinny bodies. Mildly Southern demeanor potentially a plus. Too bad for him that his intelligence level is off-the-scale brilliant. Tucker Max has raised hitting on drunk human sluts to the art form, or perhaps sport, of a more advanced species.
He comes across to some reviewers as a misogynist. He does tend to refer to women as filthy whores and mention that they owe him a rib. The following excerpt from a tale of a horseracing tailgate party drinking contest is a pretty representative exchange from his book:
1:58: She raises the first shot and gives me a toast, “Give me chastity and give me continence – but …
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