johnny fairplay

I hate this guy so much that I couldn't even bring myself to waste my time posting a picture of him.

He's now on "Kill Reality" on E! making America just want to kill him. He's just the most sniveling, weasel-like loser ever to prowl the world of reality television. If memory serves, he first came to attention as the dude on Survivor who lied about a dead Grandma to further his "game".

Now he's in the middle of a "love" quadrangle between various psycho-women on "Kill Reality". He might just deserve to end up with one of them.

For pure television purposes, he is the perfect villain (think the "Real World's" Puck) but nobody I'd like to know in the REAL real world.

Dig the Mig!

Your Australian Idol!

There are six "rockers" left, but they need not bother showing up to rehearsals or performances anytime soon.

Mark my words, the cat named "Mig" will be the lead singer of INXS. For trucks sake, he's even Australian! Plus he really is the only one that has ever made sense. He can sing. He moves well on stage. He's got a six pack. He's got that ambiguous sexuality thing that Bowie always had and Michael Stipe used to have.

So once he is crowned the new front man, what's next? I can't imagine the band playing any venues bigger than the one where they tape the show and even then, there might have to be a LOT of comp tickets offered to CBS executives and sponsors like MSN and Verizon Wireless (hey! text message me from the show - NOT!).

I'm sure the stiff robots that comprise the rest of INXS can't wait to rock out! I really feel bad for these guys, they have to constantly remind the "would-be's" and the viewing audience both live and at home, that they are a BAND, MAN and that THEY MATTER and that THEY LIVE, and BREATHE and CRY and MOVE THEIR BOWELS!

While watching "Rock Star INXS" I am thrilled, disgusted, sad, tickled pink and enraged. Sometimes all in two minutes! What a crazy world - the music business is screwed.

Target Ad Campaign in the New Yorker

Target ad (art by Bill Brown)

The August 22, 2005 issue of the New Yorker is remarkable. Not for the articles, fiction, poetry, essays or even cartoons. What is incredible is that there are two advertisers in the whole issue, the magazine itself and Target. The first ten pages contain nine separate advertisements with virtually no words each illustrated by a different artist in black, white and Target Red. The Target logo is prominent in each ad and why not? It is a terrific logo and put to work in incredible ways by the chosen artists.

As an illustrator, this is a HUGE deal. The fact that a single advertiser would fill an entire issue of the New Yorker and do it with ILLUSTRATIONS is again, remarkable. Illustrators have been talking about our industry dying out for years now. I can personally attest that my best years as an illustrator (in terms of $) are in the fairly distant past. The rise of cheap and easily acquired stock images, the cutting of advertising and magazine budgets and other factors have all contributed to the problem.

But, I firmly believe that all things are cyclical, and illustration is no exception. There may be times when you see more or less of it used, but there will always be Art Directors and Ad Execs with a passion for it who will fight to use it and are often vindicated by the success of their campaigns.

A few years ago United airlines began exclusively using illustration for its advertising in both print and broadcast media. It was groundbreaking at the time especially to Chicken Little illustrators who's unfriendly skies had been falling for some time. Now this New Yorker issue is the latest example of hopefully a phoenix rising for the profession of illustration.


A daveB New Yorker cover concept (rejected)

Tommy Lee U

So this weekend, my brother vin along with pals john A and matt K went to see Motley Crue's "Carnival of Sins" tour. It was a sweltering day in New Jersey and the evening started with our tailgate consuming cold beers and "smurf piss" - a vodka and lemonade concoction that is blue - hence the name. After each of us dunked our skulls into the cooler filled with melting ice, we headed to out 21st row seats.

The show was just about what you'd expect it to be - loud and obnoxious. I haven't heard that many "mother f-er's" since the last Tarantino flick and I wondered what the parents in the crowd thought including the alterna-family a few rows in front of us with a little girl that couldn't be more than four. It wasn't the best or worst show I've seen, but I've scratched the Crue of the "need-to-see" list.

I was looking forward to a Tommy Lee drum solo (I am a drummer) but Mr. Lee used his alloted stage time to encourage ladies in the audience to expose themselves via live camera link-up to the 17,000 plus in attendance. Now, I'm not complaining, but I would rather have seen a drum solo.

Which brings us to my new favorite show, "Tommy Lee Goes to College". The "Jersey Girls Gone Wild" incident proved to me why Tommy Lee is the perfect candidate for any and all reality programming. He is the quintessential man-child, forsaking all responsibility and notions of growing up for the next party, strip-club or late night Playstation marathon.

The show itself has more contrived set-ups than can be counted, for instance, the "pretend" blank stares by fellow students when Tommy is waiting to see the University Chancellor. The producers set him up with a likable roommate and a beautiful tutor, one who will certainly test his focus and libido. Nebraska University, no doubt agreed to the show for the publicity and it seems a University-wide memo has been circulated to agree to the show's set-ups with a wink and a nod.

Nonetheless, it is pretty funny watching the extremely inked and pierced rocker stumbling late into class and nodding off. The show probably has more footage of Tommy's blank stares than it know what to do with (a DVD bonus extra, perhaps?). I like Tommy's meetings with his student advisor and Physics professor, Dr. Gay, who feels the need to drop an "f-bomb" while talking with our hero. He probably will have to explain to University officials that he just got caught up in the moment.

I would imagine this experiment lasted no longer than a few weeks, but what a fun few weeks it must have been to be a Cornhusker!


vin B. does the dunk before the Crue show

Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them

Rafael Palmeirocchio and Curt "ketchup socks" Schilling

Its news to nobody by now that Baltimore Orioles slugger Rafael Palmeiro has tested positive for using steroids. Whether or not you believe his claim that he took the steroid in question by accident (I do not), there is no doubt that he now looks like one of the stupidest, most arrogant idiots in the history of professional sports.

Months ago at the same congressional hearing that turned Mark (the mountain) McGwire into a blubbering pile of “pleading the fifth”, Rafy (as he is known by his fans and ironic detractors) sat there, incredulous that he was even called to testify. Reading from a prepared statement, which he’s by now become expert at, Rafy jabbed his fingers at members of Congress and expressed his emphatic denial. He used words like “never”, “ever”, “cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die”, “stick-a-needle-in-my-eye”, “step-on-a-crack-break-your-mamma’s-back” and now looks all the more foolish for it. His family, fans and friends now have to call into question every promise, vow and statement he’s ever made in his life.

And here you have baseball writers saying they will STILL vote him into the Hall of Fame at Cooperstown. Are you freaking kidding me? Cooperstown has always been the most prestigious, respected and exclusive club in all of sports. I have no problem with Lawrence (coke on Sundays) Taylor being in Canton, not only for his accomplishments, but for the fact that the NFL Hall is more lenient and less hallowed than the MLB Hall of Fame.

Rafy-gate is even more ironic and distressing coming on the heels of the Cooperstown inductions of Wade Boggs and Ryne Sandberg. I watched ESPN’s coverage of their enshrinement and Sandberg’s speech may well have been directed right at Rafy and the League’s current crop of overpaid, over-hyped and over-muscled boy’s of summer. He punctuated his speech with the word "RESPECT", and I’d be lying if I said his speech, along with Boggs’ and ESPN’s Peter Gammons’ (also enshrined) did not bring tears to my eyes. I’ve also cried watching “Field of Dreams” a movie, that like the speeches of the Cooperstown Class of 2005, reminds us of the purity, the greatness and the hope of baseball.

Marty the martian on Rock*INXS

Last night on Rock Star INXS - the show where they remove the brains of the remaining members of the once great band and replace them with oatmeal and convince them to have a reality show to chose their new lead singer - there were once again a number of memorable performances. Not necessarily memorable for great singing or performing, but more so for karaoke-like stylings and histrionics rehearsed during many a rainy afternoon in front of mirrors in bedrooms adorned with Winger and Ratt posters.

Once such performance was carried out by “marty” who last week was chosen to do the “encore” which meant he got to sing the same song from the previous night once again. This is apparently the highest praise on the show outside of being called “Hutchencesque”. This week, he sang “Arms Wide Open” which was originally sung by the band Creed and their singer Scott Somethingorother. The antics and bombast would’ve made Scotty proud.

I once pondered, like in the Conan O’Brien skit, what would happen if David Bowie and Edward Scissorhands had a baby. Well, I no longer have to wonder, since marty is apparently the product of their forbidden love. How else could you explain the robot-on-ritalin pop-and-locking and the crazed spider from mars stare?

The crowd and the band seemed to love it all - I think I saw the joker in the corner pumping happy gas into the theater. And I just shake my head and keep watching. . .

Hey, mr. bus driver man...

Today is another steamy day in the big metropolis and it was only slightly less so a few hours ago when I was out running an errand. On my trip back home, I was idling at a stop light holding my hand up to the air conditioning vent waiting to feel if it would start to blow real cold air at any moment.

I watched an older woman crossing the intersection. She was walking slowly helped along by a cane, a parcel of groceries in her other hand. As she crossed the street, her bus appeared and was about to pass her by. She raised her cane and called out and just as I was about to curse the driver, he slowed and stopped a good twenty yards down the street from where the woman was. She hustled along as best as she could and caught her bus.

No doubt there was some folks already on the bus wondering what the hold-up was for, but the driver chose to inconvenience them for the sake of the woman. Good for him. The extra minute he and the others waited, saved her upwards of half an hour in the sweltering sun.

So mr. bus driver man, consider yourself the recipient of a bunch of gold stars on your karma report card.