Elect Donald Trump

I'm only kidding, of course. Who could stand to have that hairdo represent America abroad?

But wouldn't it be something to have a batshit crazy leader on par with Qaddafi? Or even Berlusconi for that matter? We have never really had anyone of that calibre as the leader of the free world.  Bush was a moron, but he wasn't teetering on the brink of a psychotic outbreak. Clinton had his sex scandal, but at least it wasn't with an underage "runaway" (way to go Silvio). Trump, who has long been a bit of an embarrassment and/or curiosity (the pioneer of the financial bailout recipients -- how does one accrue $900 million in personal debt?  And I thought I was fiscally reckless.).  Gawker (yeah, I know but I love Gawker) calls him a "pretend candidate and bloated carnival act"; the Daily News (yeah, I know.  I don't read it except on Derby Day) put him in clown make-up on its front page.  Even Bill-o the Clown is mocking him.  Let that sink in.  The King of the Blowhards thinks he's an idiot for pushing the birther bullshit.  Karl Rove thinks it will marginalize him as a candidate, but who could do a better job of that than the Big Combover himself?

Thin skinned and defensive: How many presidential candidates (or public figures for that matter, Charlie Sheen notwithstanding) deign to respond to negative press to such an extent?  He's touchy enough to mark up a BLOG POST with snotty comments and "corrections" a la his response to Vanity Fair.  When described as tiresome, his inner five year old retorts: "tell that to the crowds. See ratings and polls."

Gauche:  His obsession with gold plating is definitely on a par with a middle eastern dictator.  I mean, just look at this.  Why, Donald, why must you have such bad taste?

Pimpin':  For a man with the worst hairdo in the world and a personality to match it, he'd have to have a lot of money to score the kind of, ahem, ladies we've seen dangling from his arm in the past.  I cut Ivana a little slack because she probably really needed a green card.  Marla Maples, you're just a ho.  I stopped paying attention after that because it makes me nauseous. Maybe he'll get set up with his own crew of femme body guards (though I doubt he'd want virgins).

Born with a Silver Spoon:  Daddy Fred made his millions on real estate, and little Donnie just followed in his footsteps.  Would he know hard work if it bit him in the arse?

The bad penny:  The Donald just won't go away.  It was bad enough when he was a failed real estate mogul who drove businesses he'd snatched up into the ground (e.g. the Taj Mahal, which incidentally is the only place I made money in Atlantic City) and had his high profile affair/divorce/remarriage.  No, he had to make a comeback and build that atrocity near the UN which is a blight on East River.  Then Reality TV happened and a whole new generation of numb nuts had to pay attention to him (which is the worst thing one can do).  I'm happy to report that I've never watched the Apprentice, and the only way you'd get me to do it is to give me the Alexander DeLarge treatment.

Comic Gold:  If we thought Sarah Palin and Dubya make excellent fodder for comedians, imagine a Trump presidency. The possibilities are endless.Terrifying, yes, but we need to keep Bill Maher and Jon Stewart in business, and Congress can't do all the work alone.

Shark Bubbles' Best and Worst of 2009

1. Democracy Inaction

Year's "Best" (i.e. most riveting, most to win and lose, etc.)
Election: Iranian Presidential Farce. Go Green!

Year's Worst Election: Bigotry Triumphs in Maine.

2. Tellythang

Best: Several episodes running up to (but not including) the season finale of True Blood, tied with incredible performance by Chloe Sevigny throughout the entire season of Big Love.

Worst TV: Cable News. Any. All. Yes, I'm also looking at YOU, BBC, for the helicopter footage of Tiger Woods' empty driveway for goodness knows how long, while ignoring real news. Shame.

3. Music
Best: Other than any and all things Radiohead or Josh Homme-related, I wasn't paying attention. Did I miss anything good?

Worst: Everything I was unfortunate enough to hear coming from cars, radios and other public airwaves. And Kanye West. Him being an ass makes me feel no guilt about hating that annoying fucking thing I heard booming from Church Avenue all year. Yuck.

Best Live Show - Them Crooked Vultures, fo sho. Like being reborn...
Worst Live Show - The Amazingly Overhyped Handclap Borefest. Zzzzz.

4. Random

Best Pint - McCarthy's Pub, Dingle, Ireland

Best Wine and Cheese Fridays - George and Jana's office

Best Brunch - Chicken Fried Steak at Two Boots with Tara behind the bar, any time.

Best Road Trip - Ireland, of course, with Maine a very respectable second place.

Best Dessert - Chocolate pudding at 12th Street Bar. Wow. It was really unbelievable.

5. Big Finale

Best All Around: Traveling and having fun with friends.

Worst All Around: The lionizing of Micheal Jackson. You have GOT to be kidding me.

Wackadoodle of the Week

Pokemon is a World of the Demonic!

Very sad, little man.

Worst Cover Letter Ever

Dear Ms. [Shark Bubbles],

Congratulations! You've just found your very own copy enthusiast. And why, you might ask, is kudos in order? Allow me to divulge.

For four years, my brain was subjected to an intensive, thought reforming program through which I obtained the necessary skills and qualifications to make me a successful and outstanding human, in particular, a copywriter. This program, known to some as college, armed me with scholastic and creative bullets so powerful they could put a hole through the Earth, or at least provoke thought.

Armed with these bullets I stood at the front line of global agencies such as [Agency #1] and [Agency #2, where Shark Bubbles currently works], performing laborious tasks for free, all in the name of experience. Deep in the trenches it was clear to me, this line of work was something I'd willingly put blood, sweat and tears into.

Now I am ready for battle. I am unarmed but equipped with ammo. My ammunition: letters. Letters strung together to form words, words carefully selected to form sentences, sentences that, if crafted well enough, can influence something as powerful as the human mind.

I believe in the power of words. I thrive on this power, and it excites me that I am capable of writing copy that can make someone laugh, cry, feel pain, and even give a person goosebumps.

Let me be your weapon.

[Unfortunate Junior Copywriter]

My Life according to Queens of the Stone Age

Best of Archival Facebook Minutiae (07-09)

Are you male or female?
Little Sister

Describe yourself:
I Was a Teenage Hand Model

How Do You Feel:
I Think I Lost My Headache

Describe where you currently live:
“You’ve Got a Killer Scene There, Man”

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Into the Hollow

Your favourite form of transportation:
Walkin on the Sidewalks

Your best friend is:
Monsters in the Parasol

Your favourite colour is:
Tangled Up in Plaid

What Is the Weather Like?
Feel Good Hit of the Summer

Favourite Time Of Day:
No One Knows

If your life was a T.V. show, what would it be called?
Everybody Knows That You Are Insane

Your relationships:
Misfit Love

Your fear:
Someone’s in the Wolf

What is the best advice you have to give?
Suture Up Your Future

If you could change your name, you would change it to
Avon

Thought for the day:
You Can’t Quit Me Baby

How I would like to die?
In the Fade

My soul's present condition:
Go With the Flow

My Motto:
Better Living Through Chemistry

Goodbye Hilly

I often lament that I don't have a Wayback Machine. So many amazing shows happened before I ventured out into the world. I caught some good ones in Michigan, and eventually some great ones after I escaped to New York, but I would jump in that baby in a second and revisit the legends I love.

CBGBs has a unique place in the hearts of music fans. The home to the Ramones, Patti Smith, Television, the Talking Heads and numerous other bands that changed music (and the music biz) forever. How I wish I could go see the Ramones, playing their three chord songs, back in the mid Seventies, in gritty, decaying and bankrupt NYC.

I made my first journey to NYC when I was nearly 20 years old, in March of 1988. CBGBs was at the top of my list. I just wanted to see it. I didn't even care if I saw a show there. I beheld the fabled club as I strolled down Bleecker Street with my boyfriend of the time, and grabbed my camera. There it was, in all its shabby glory. And now it and the man who made it all possible are gone.

My friend Scott was part of a gallery exhibition that sought to raise money for CBs a few years back when it had hit hard times. NYC rents were raging out of control, and venue after venue was either moving across the river to Brooklyn, or disappearing from the city altogether. I never for a moment imagined that CBs could fail. I was confident the fundraiser would do the trick, and the club would be around for another 30 years.

I hung out with my friends for a while, checking out photos and drinking cheap wine. When I had a good buzz on, I decided to buy a book of photos from the club and went up to Hilly to thank him for keeping it alive all those years. I told him my story, about how a 19 year old kid from the bowels of rural Michigan could hardly wait until I got to see the place. He laughed. After all that time, it still amazed him what his creation had meant to people. He autographed my book and shook my hand.

I heard today that he died from lung cancer two days ago. Thank you Hilly. I will always love CBGBs, what it was and what it represented, and the music you helped to unleash upon the world.