from men.style.com.
Note to the writers: lay off U2, aight?
Bach’s back
Call us hard-hearted cynics, but we’re not convinced that the upcoming Dukes of Hazzard movie will be an instant cinematic classic, even with Burt Reynolds in the Boss Hogg role. On the other hand, it will give magazine editors an excuse to print gratuitous shots of the original Daisy Duke, Catherine Bach, and her talented replacement, Jessica Simpson, in denim micro shorts. Word is Britney Spears was up for the role in the remake, but she decided that whole cutoff look was tacky.
The planet is still savable (just)
Let’s face it, the only way you can drive a Toyota Prius and still get laid is if you’re a baseball-cap-wearing pretty boy who earns $20 million a movie. So, with the first hybrid Ferrari still a couple of decades away, what’s an eco-friendly regular guy to do? The answer? Go old-school. Classic diesel-engine Mercedes (like the one John Lennon used to tool around in) run on just about anything, including easy-on-the-emissions vegetable oil. You’ll have to install a converter kit, secure a supply of veggie oil (your local greasy spoon is a good source, believe it or not), and then hand-pump the stuff yourself. But just picture the payoff when she discovers that beneath that rugged exterior beats such a sensitive heart.
A chance to hear Stone Roses songs, live
“I am the resurrection,” he sang, not realizing that his career was about to go on life support for a decade and a half. With their eponymous 1989 album, the Stone Roses launched a generation of loudmouthed, shaggy-haired, guitar-cranking, dance-happy British bands. But self-destruction was imminent, and, among other indignities, lead singer Ian Brown found himself serving a 60-day jail sentence for being rude to a flight attendant. Over the last few years, though, Brown has been quietly (for him) putting a solo career together. He unveils his new album, Solarized, at NYC’s Webster Hall on February 26. And if recent UK gigs are anything to go by, he’ll perform some Stone Roses classics, too. A second coming, indeed.
Sienna Miller… available?
She first came to our attention as Jude Law’s other half. Blond, petite, possessed of a delicate yet nubile beauty… But enough about Jude, it’s Sienna Miller’s turn to shine. While 2004, Law’s supposed big year, fizzled faster than you can say “romantic comedy starring Ben Affleck,” 2005 is destined to make Sienna a star. First up she dons black tights to play Warhol muse/victim Edie Sedgwick in Factory Girl; then she’ll cavort opposite Heath Ledger in Lasse Hallstrom’s Casanova project. Forget all those engagement stories: Sienna, who was schooled in sedate Surrey, England, but born in New York, may soon be ready to ditch that loser Law and find a red-blooded American. Hey, we can dream, can’t we?
The return of the old-fashioned, head-against-the-wall hangover
There’s nothing wrong with vodka. Then again, there’s not much right about it, either. Flavored vodkas, vodkas with fancy names and fancier prices, Russian vodkas, Swedish vodkas, American vodkas—really, what’s the difference? Last year, some enterprising jokers even brought out a black vodka. How’s it taste? Duh, it’s a vodka—it doesn’t taste of anything. That’s why we’re cheered by the reappearance, on discerning bar menus, of old-fashioned brown liquor drinks: whisky, bourbon, rum, cognac, anything with that inviting amber glow. We’re not sure that you can really taste peaty fires or the auld sod, but we do know that a certain other spirit pales by comparison. Hold the Grey Goose, pass the Courvoisier.
Michael Powell can’t control space
Look, we were as shocked as the next hypocrite by Janet Jackson’s boob. But that doesn’t mean we subscribe to state censorship, which is why we’re getting Sirius about FCC-unregulated satellite radio. It’s every American’s right to listen to the tedious titillation of Howard Stern, the potty-mouthed ravings of that fading novelty act Eminem, or—and here we’re genuinely intrigued—the whispery, vainglorious musings of Bob Evans. The Hollywood legend’s new talk show, In Bed with Robert Evans, debuts on Sirius on Valentine’s Day. Uncork the Cristal, pay your date to stay an extra hour, and cuddle up in front of your satellite listening device.
The boob tube, redefined
Here’s the word from the Maalox-chugging programming sages in TV Land: Reality television is dead, all hail the return of the Important Situational Comedy. And Exhibit A is… um, an as-yet-untitled sitcom starring Pamela Anderson. In this new show from Steven Levitan, the creator of Just Shoot Me, our favorite professional dumb blonde plays a woman who keeps choosing the wrong men (wait, I thought they said this wasn’t a reality show?). It could be the guiltiest pleasure since VIP or the biggest yawn since Stripperella, but either way we’ll be tuning in.
Justin Frankel, still tinkering
Fanning, Schmanning. Justin Frankel created the Winamp media player, which put MP3s on the software map; dreamed up Gnutella, the basis of those industry-transforming post-Napster services; and sold his company to AOL in 2000 for $100 million. Now free from that corporate yoke, the 26-year-old has a new project—an ultracustomizable musical effects processor he calls the “Jesusonic.” “Death metal bands will like it because it's making fun of Jesus,” says Frankel. “And Christian rock bands will like it because it’s, you know, a cross.” The next revolution in music technology? Possibly not. But we’re just happy to live in a world where a mind like this is free to follow its bliss.
Global conformity discovers boundaries
American sports fans, we salute you. Your basketball players leap into the stands to beat the crap out of you; your baseball stars are pumped up with more drugs than ODB at his final recording session; your football teams have more career criminals than the entire nation of Colombia; and your hockey pros are on strike. And yet you refuse to watch that namby-pamby European invention known as soccer. In 1996, Major League Soccer’s inaugural season, total attendance was an anemic 2,785,001. And ever since then, it’s been in decline—a testament to American independence, steadfastness, and the refusal to believe that a game without regular commercial breaks really counts as a sport.
An entire year with no new U2 album
U2 and iPod, the perfect combination: two corporate cash machines masquerading as emblems of antiestablishment cool. Let's face it, U2 are about as rock 'n' roll as Ashlee Simpson. They started off as a plodding anthem band led by a posturing mulleted midget, and were surely destined for oblivion until that evil genius Brian Eno got hold of them. If Bono cures hunger in Africa, he'll only have half atoned for his musical sins. And as for the Edge: You're bald, dude. Deal with it. Luckily, they only release a new album roughly every four years, so after last year’s Bomb, your ears should be safe until 2008. (a little mean, I think -ss)
The male perm… seriously
Ever since East Village store assistants abandoned the faux-hawk and one too many web sites pushed the mullet beyond comic saturation point, there has been an aching void in the universe of the ironic haircut. Step forward, the male perm. Championed by Japanese hipsters and Justin Hawkins, lead singer of Brit sham rockers The Darkness, the long-derided but endearingly silly poodle do is poised for a revival. “Yes, we’ve seen guys come in for perms,” confirms Mike Saviello, the manager of NYC’s Astor Place barber shop. “Guys in their early twenties come in every couple months for their regular upkeep. If they don’t get them, they’ll have coronaries.” By April we expect every man on MTV to look like Barbra Streisand in Meet the Fockers.
Accountability, not dead yet
Never mind whether or not we should be there. As a platoon commander in Iraq from April 2003 to February 2004, Paul Rieckhoff saw firsthand how ill-equipped U.S. servicemen were—especially the lower ranks. And, since long before Donald Rumsfeld’s PR blunder introduced the concept of “hillbilly armor,” Rieckhoff has been holding the Administration’s feet to the fire via Operation Truth, the organization he founded to draw attention to the issue. Whether via his frequent TV and radio appearances, or a web site, optruth.org, that lets soldiers share their personal accounts, he’s doing something that warrants a salute.
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