SHINE A LIGHT, SHINE A LIGHT

Sometimes we all need a little dose of the funnest song ever.



(When the chorus hits, look at the woman over Elton's shoulder in the silvery dress. I have NEVER seen a better dancer.)

Happy Weekend!
KEVIN.

Basic Cable Recommendation: TWO-A-DAYS

After an evening of cardio and Junior's, Roommate and I were pretty tuckered out, so we flopped down on the sofa to see what was on TV. I saw teenage boys in tight pants on MTV, so naturally the remote was snatched. Now, I guess I'd seen Two-A-Days, MTV's reality series about an Alabama high school football team, at the gym once or twice before, but this was my first time ever really WATCHING-watching it. Well. Yum.

I don't know why MTV doesn't just stick to what they do best: making self-indulgent documentary series for a certain affluent, narcissistic portion of the population. They need to have fewer goddamn Fergie-Ferg videos and more of this shit, because it is ILLUMINATING.

First of all, I am always hot in the biscuit for shows about spoiled, ridiculous suburban kids, because- Hello. My life. Also, Leigh and I come from a town that had a killer (and relatively well-known) athletics program, so the whole 'jocks gone wild' element of it speaks to me as well. BUT THEN when you add the whole novelty of their ludicrous accents and lame-ass Southern ways... It's just a can't-miss. Love it.

Some highlights from the twenty-or-so minutes we watched:

1. Three girls went to a tarot card reader, and two out of the three ended up crying. Obviously, all of them asked about their marriage prospects. They're all, like, seventeen.
2. One jock gave his girlfriend, totally unprovoked, a crimson peacoat and then was miffed when she wasn't as appreciative as he would have liked.
3. An on-the-field brawl with an opposing team.
4. The same jock who gave his girlfriend the coat calls her "stupid" in front of her mother, while the mother sits there, wide-eyed, petting a dog.
5. An ominous tone is set for the next episode, when Hoover will square off against their longtime rival.

I mean, I'm kind of addicted. It's like the high school experiences of people from our hometown, but with enough difference and distance to make it just totally anthropologically exciting.

VERDICT: Hotness.

Happy Friday! KEVIN :-)

Who needs sleep?

So. Last night here on Maryland Ave, circa 2am; a car alarm went off. It did not stop honking and screeching until somewhere around 5am, when I can only assume the car's battery died. This led to me turning on a fan, putting a pillow over my head, playing tetris for an hour, and eventually, somehow; passing out. During the two hours that I actually was able to drift off into dreamland; this is what my brain comes up with:
Joe and Mike and I are in some sort of tunnel. We are running away from something; unclear what. Mike and I want to give up; and Joe is trying to convince us that help and/or a stiff drink is just around the corner. We are all very scared in the tunnel; which has now turned into some sort of Labyrinth. Hope is lost. and then, someone shows us the way out. Who, you might ask? Who rescued the three of you from the maze? Was it Kevin? Was it Barack Obama?
No. No, it wasn't either of them. It was....
FIGMENT.

Pact with the Devil

Morning, everyone- So I wake today to the news that Dunkin' Donuts, purveyor of the greatest coffee in America, has inked some sort of promotional deal/suicide with Rachael Ray, the most loathsome television "personality" of modern times.

Why is this happening to me?? Why is Dunkin' Donuts, which FOR YEARS drew in customers using a charmingly withered old man, now relying on some grating, talentless, over-polished, grinning chupacabra? (The Raybashing continues HERE.) We loved you when you had no mascot, DD! Don't alienate your fan base now! RAGE!

If Dunkin' Donuts disappoints me... I... I don't know what I'll do....

Hold me,
KEVIN.

PS- I love Dunkin' Donuts so much that one of my baby names is Duncan. Creepy or charming?

NEWSFLASH: Kevin is attracted to a "woman"!

Oh god. Have y'all seen Laila Ali on Dancing with the Stars? She is AMAZING. She is Sex. I am obsessed. It's absolutely wild how good this lady is at dancing. I mean, on paper boxers should uniformly have spot-on footwork, so I don't know why I'm surprised, but check this out:




Anyway, back to Laila Ali. It's crazy and all, but I'm pretty sure that she gives me crotchtingles. In the spirit of full discloser, Uma Thurman is the first (and up until now only) woman ever to inspire sexual stirrings in me, but.... mmmmmmm, Laila Ali.

Is it just because she's kinda mannish? Or am I just jealous of how she can cut a rug? What do y'all think?

Questioning,
KEVIN.

Knut der kleine Eisbär

Literally, is there anything cuter than this Polar Bear? I mean I thought Butterstick was cute and all, but I think the Eisbär totally wins. In case you haven't heard, Knut was born at the Berlin Zoo in December, and his mother rejected him. Then some crazy animal rights nutcases said the bear would become too human if he was raised by caretakers and should therefore be put to sleep. Media Frenzy ensues. My two favorite headlines include: "Kill this bear? Are you KNUTS?!?" (AP) and "Kill Baby Polar Bear, Animal Activists Say" (ABC) Anyway, this story amuses me for two reasons. First, did anyone really think they would actually put the bear to sleep? It's Germany! Like they need to add insult to injury by offing baby polar bears. Second, it takes place at my beloved Zoo Berlin. During my semester abroad, whenever I needed a break from my studies of genocide, xenophobia and all things evil; I would hop on the U9 Ubahn line and head to the Zoo. It was comforting. I'd look at all the animals and feel a sense of warmth and happiness. Who could be in a bad mood while looking at Elephants? It is one of my favorite places. I'm glad Knut gets to call it home. I hope he's happy there. I know I was.

Bon Jou' from The Big Easy!

I'm back in the district after a lovely weekend in Nawlins' filled with Frozen Hurricaines, Steamboat rides on the Mississippi, visits from dear friends, and the fact that my travel companion chuckled everytime we saw "I got Burbon-faced on Shit Street" T-shirts.
New Orleans was super fun, but is also kind of sad because there are so many closed restaurants and stores, places boarded up etc. On the plus side, the weather was delightfully warm, there are no open container laws and Jazz is still everywhere.
(Please note photo of me getting my first trumpet lesson in the French Quarter) Besides, I'm clearly going to enjoy myself in a city where the breakfast food of choice is fried sugared dough. MMM.
Beignets.
PS- Brangelina was in LA helping Pax Romana get settled in America. SORRY.

"Once, there was a boy called Edward..."

Touching. Gorgeous. Tender. Beautiful. Iconic. BEST.

LOVE TODAY

HEY ALL! So my talented, gorgeous, and remarkable co-blogger Leigh is off in New Orleans presently. She's there with her mother, who is a goddess in my book, for a little vacay. While she's there, I've given Leigh only one crucial mission: FIND BRANGELINA. More on this later.

Speaking of wonderful things that make my heart dance, I'm about a week into my mind-bending obsession with Mika. I'll presume that y'all already know him, as I'm usually about 10-15 years behind the rest of the developed world when it comes to new musical talent. But OMFG, I love him so much. Freddie Mercury + Jake Shears + Polyphonic Spree= Mika. He's playing in Manhattan next week, but it's obvs sold out. Also, I don't have any concert money, anyway. Kevin= Lame.

Speaking of lame, guess who's not lame?? Guess! It's Ladystein! Ladystein's not lame, like, AT ALL. (2/4 members are pictured HERE, looking prettier than such good musicians have any right to be.) They played a Rosacea Awareness show last night at Mo Pitkin's that blew my flippin' mind. Leigh and I are long-time fans of these amazing ladies, but last night was truly wonderwall. OH ALSO- Announcement! I am IN LOVE. I have met the man that I shall marry. His name is Matthew Crosby, and he's... Epic. He did a stand-up routine pre-'Stein, and... Oh. My. God. (a) He's funnier than, like, 95% of people, (b) HE'S BRITISH, and (c) His hair is truly a stunning work of art and glory- Check it out! This is his publicity shot! No shirt! I'm in love! But, like, he's heterosexual, so... Fuck it. I'm still totally enamored. I was just looking on his blog, and IT'S SO BRITISH. I barely understand it. Like, can anyone explain the following?

If I had to pick a favourite from Uncle Humour's arsenal, I'd go for one I heard from Vic Reeves. I'm sure you know it. It's a peach."My pig likes mint imperials. When she's good I like to give her one. Then I give her a mint imperial."

I mean... I have no idea what that could possibly mean.

OK. New Topic- Roommate and I took a cab from the East Village back to our beloved Ft. Greene last night, and... I mean, maybe this is too much to get into now. Fuck, this post is so long. God. When Leigh's away, the sissies ramble inanely. OK, well I'll do it real quick. Basically, we had a hipster/emo cab driver named Shawn Snowberger- late 20s, side-swept Williamsburg hair, really super skinny. Anyway, the cab had a VIDEO SCREEN. Like, we could watch the news. It was.... insane. And Shawn Snowberger made jokes and spy cams in the cab, and he told us about how he once drove a girl to Woodhaven and she took her top off and tried to pay him in sex. (He declined.)
KEVIN: Vaginas aren't made out of money, Shawn. Good call.
KATE: Well, maybe yours isn't.
I mean, it was just an exceedingly odd cab ride. So word to the wise- Don't be shocked when all cabs get these screens. (I'm kind of not a fan, but they're clearly unstoppable.)

OK, this post needs to be stopped. Right now. Thanks for reading!! xoxo

Kevin.

DILEMMA: Is this worse news for Brooklyn or the Hamptons?

The Hampton Jitney is planning a Brooklyn leg of their service.

My beloved BKLN is getting enough god damn yuppies up in it, and now this. Great. Fuck. I must have slept through the press release that yuppies and hipsters were officially merging. (sigh)

Whatever. The only jitney I recognize with stops in Brooklyn is Leigh's Ford Escape, dammit.

OMFG!! IT'S FREE ICED COFFEE DAY!!

OH MY GOD. I'm out of breath. You guys!!! This is TOTALLY my favorite, like, day of the, like, ENTIRE YEAR. Oh my god. Oh my god. Dunkin Donuts franchises across this great nation are giving away free iced coffee today to celebrate the first day of spring. (In related news, it's kinda cold out, right? Yikes.) SO GO. Oh my god. I'm so happy. This is such a beautiful day, you guys!!! AAAAAHHHHH!! ICED COFFEE!! YES!!

On Kevin's Singing Career

Last night, Roommate and I celebrated the birthday of our dear, beloved friend Maria. Maria is a great lady, and like all great ladies do, she toasted her big day at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, in the West Village. I'm a huge fan of this establishment, and whenever I'm there, I not only devour an ice cream baked potato (SO EFFIN' GOOD), but I become something of a margaritawhore as well. I think that in 45 minutes, I had something on the order of ten margaritas. This much tequila coursing through my already-boozy blood can only lead to one thing: Singing. Specifically, Roommate and I tackled the Johnny Cash/June Carter duet "It Ain't Me, Babe," which was re-popularized in the film Walk The Line. If you don't know it, it's sassy and bouncy and fantastic, and you should give it a listen. Now, I've sung this song before, with my much-adored coworker Val, but I've always done the lady part. Roommate, being a lady, made me sing the gentleman part, which is to say THE JOHNNY CASH PART. Like, OK- Try this. Make the lowest, rumbliest tones you can, and then try to sing an up-tempo country song in those tones. WILD, right? Now, I don't give a shit how poor Johnny Cash was growing up- NO ONE should sing that low. I literally have a scratchy throat today because of it. Damn that dead genius! Anyway, I'll keep all of you updated on the progress of our duet, but let's just say that I may develop nodes before this is all done. Verdict: GROSS.

xoxo KEVIN

Boars Head.

Yesterday, I got an IM from my dear friend Matt. Matt is a fellow 'Berg alum shows up to all of my parties and puts up with me when I do things like take Dramamine and fall asleep while he's taking me sailing or ask him to help me design a website while he's trying to make a conference call. What a guy. A reader of this fine blog, Matt noted that I had been to Italia. It turns out we had had our photos taken with the very same lucky boar in Florence.
(And then there's...this:
(10:35:26 AM) MattTargarona: you should have told us you were going to Florence, we would have totally gotten you 2/3 off a leather coat from this guy we me there, you just had to say you were my cousin.
J'Adore Matty.

"If that seagulls' still there we can hit him with rocks"

Good Morning, Dear Readers.
First and foremost, Joe Iconis has a blog.
That's right, Mr. Joe Iconis: Musical Genius and Facial Hair Contortionist Extraordinaire has joined the blogosphere. I'm telling you that you need to jump on his bandwagon. right now. That way, when fame hits you can be all "oh yeah, I knew about that kid back in the day from Kevin & Leigh" And I'm not just endorsing his talents because he happens to be my favorite person to share a Jack and Coke with, no sir. Broadway hot-shots such as Daphne-Rubin Vega and Anthony Rapp have noted what an all-around great guy he is. Want More? Here is a completely impartial interview by an up-and-coming young journalist with a nose for talent. Bottom Line: Listen to his Music. Read his new Blog. Go see a gig. And tell him Leigh sent you.

LEIGH & KEVIN WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Leigh and Kevin used to have comments on their blog. Then one day some of the comments got really negative, so Leigh and Kevin stopped. Many (read: two) years passed, and Leigh and Kevin became starved for attention and feedback for their good work. (Actually, Kevin was starved for alcohol. But Leigh sincerely did want to hear the voice of the public.) So comments were returned to their blog, and their readership was invited to take an active, vocal interest in the world affairs and cultural goingson that are discussed here. So, Readership, the floor is yours. Let us know what you think. But keep it above-board. We don't want to have to axe the comments again.

First topic: Angela Lanbsury. GO!

XOXO K+L=Blog

Another Note on Irishness:

First of all, anyone who doubts that Kevin is Irish should note that his name is, infact; KEVIN which is Gaelic for "handsome beloved". (Truer words were never spoken) My name, Leigh, is Gaelic and Welsh for "too many consonants". I don't really think I need to prove my Irishness, as my skin is as freckled as Kevin's liver is filled with gin. I spent a wee bit of time on St.Pats at the epicenter of my DC social life (where I can oft been seen in the company of two fab Irish lasses with the surnames of Duffy and Murphy); better known as Kelly's Irish Times. The Washington Post described St Pat's here as the following:"It's business as usual for Irish Times: Doors open at 10, Pete Papageorge plays a mix of Irish and classic rock tunes on his guitar from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. and a DJ spins in the dark, collegiate-party-like basement. It's going to be packed with 20-somethings. There's a $10 cover" SWOON.
Since Kevin got the ball rolling; I would now like to give a shout out to other Irish movies. The first being In the Name of the Father which is superb and reminds of the fact that our homeland was infact, often filled with strife. The second, Ryan's Daughter was filmed in Dingle, in western Ireland which is hands down one of the msot beautful places on earth. If you go there, you should stay here, where you can watch Ryan's Daughter on a 24 hour loop. Finally, the first R movie I ever saw, my beloved My Left Foot, (note this is my second Daniel Day Lewis film, who really should make more movies) which not only takes place in Irleand, but portrays the notion that people with Cerebral Palsy are a ballsy lot who like to curse like sailors and drink like fish. Erin Go Braugh.

Fuck o' the Irish

Every St. Patrick's Day people ask me if I'm Irish. Even though I'm more Irish than anything else (Each of my parents is about half Irish, so I guess that makes me half Irish too, right? If you think I suck at boxing- and you should- you should see me with fractions), I guess that my haggard face and supple body look too affected to be good ol' affable, drunk, warlike Irish. But I am. And I love St. Patrick's Day. Love, love, love it. I mean, it's a celebration of green (my favorite color) and drinking (my favorite fulltime job). So it rocks. I was going to write an entry about my A#1 favorite thing about St. Patrick's Day, but I have two and I can't choose.



MOLLY'S IRISH PUB- 3rd Avenue, between 22nd and 23rd Streets, Manhattan.
I first walked into Molly's with Joe and Mike (both truly beloved friends of this blog) on a Wedesday night/Thursday morning at about 1:30am. None of us had been there before, but we all immediately melted for it. 1) There was sawdust. Everywhere. 2) There are all of five people there, all seated at the bar, nodding off while laughing and discussing the matters of the day. 3) The air was (and still is) made out of this kind of weary, beleaguered optimism. The whole vibe of Molly's says, "Ay, life's a cunt, boy-o, but I'll be bringin' ye a pint, and we'll all get tru it together." It's really a very sweet place, and I've fallen deeply in love with one of the waitresses, a darling woman named Joanne. Oh, I adore her. I've spent many boozy, memorable nights there. Musty antiquity? LOVE IT! If you're a pub fan, you owe it to yourself to go. Try to get a booth where you can ogle the brick-a-brack.

Next...



THE QUIET MAN- Movie.
Maureen O'Hara > Most things on earth.
As a young'n, and this is still more or less true to this date, I had a notorious aversion to any movie made before 1968. Cinema lover though I am, I think old movies (pre-'68) are boring, lame, stilted, and joyless. The first ye olde movie whose sensibility I was truly bewitched by was The Quiet Man. If it's not the simplest premise to a movie ever, it must be one of them: A disgraced American boxer (John Wayne) moves to Ireland, where he falls for a spirited young local (Maureen O'Hara) whose brother (Victor McLaglen), himself a notorious local fighter, tries to keep them apart. It may sound lame, but it's truly special and awesome and beautiful. The scenery is insaaaaaaaane. Usually when I think of bountiful Irish hills, I think of my rack, but sometimes, in moments of introspection, I think of my beloved Quiet Man. Did I mention that Maureen O'Hara is THE SHIT? She is so god damn badass. She would drink any person I have ever met under the table. I just know it.

Bottom line: St. Patrick's Day and Irish things in general both rule, with bonus points for employing Maureen O'Hara and/or sawdust.

Next holiday up- Easter. BOO!

Kevin.

Leigh's European Tour

Mike and I have been to five countries together, and this is just how we roll.

Despite the rain, astronomical prices and stunningly odd language, Norway is beautiful

This is us atop Mount Fløyen. One gets thereby taking The Fløibanen, a cable car that literally goes through the side of mountain.


This is Mike and a Norwegian Reindeer. Approx. 15 minutes after this photo was taken, he ate one for dinner.

I was in Paris for a hot minute. Some of you may already know that Paris and I are not friends. City of lights, romanace etc. 4 trips made and I still say, eh-the Towers nice? (esp. When glittery at night) I did however get to see JEN and anyplace where Epting lives is OK in my book. Anyway, Here's me looking snarky and cranky in front of the Arc.

Apparently, rubbing the snout of this boar brings one good luck. What it brought me was an endless gelato craving and the desire to buy leather goods.

This picture is of my lovely Cousin Jackie and I on the Ponte Vecchio. Here's the thing about this bridge: aside from being the oldest bridge in Firenze, it is special for another reason. It used to be a market, but the Medicis got sick of smelling the stench of meat, fish and the plebeians- so they actually passed a law that the only things that can be sold on the bridge are gold and diamonds. For serious.

So, Florence is AMAZING. The architecture, the art, the food, The vino, the food. I mean, would you ever want to leave this view?

Back in Business!

I have returned! I'm back from Europe, which means I am jet-lagged, exhausted and in desperate need of more Tide with Febreeze laundry detergent. Until I have time for a proper post, I thought I should give you a taste of things to come:

I just HAD to share this....

Prince Harry And Soldiers To Wear Ginger Wigs In War

March 9, 2007 8:48 a.m. EST


Maira Oliveira - All Headline News Reporter
London, England (BANG) - Britain's Prince Harry's fellow soldiers have come up with an ingenious plan to protect the royal on the front line - wearing ginger wigs.

The soldiers from the Blues and Royals regiment, who will be deployed to Iraq with the prince in May, will don the hairpieces in an attempt to confuse any terrorists planning to kidnap Harry.

The troops have reportedly been going to novelty shops to pick up the ginger wigs to wear under their helmets.

A source told Britain's Daily Mail newspaper, "When we've got them on, no one will be able to tell Harry apart from the rest of us - at least that's the idea."

Harry is currently undergoing special training in combating terrorist hostage takers, after Islamic extremists threatened to assassinate him.

The prince and his Army comrades will pose as hooded hostages in role-play training exercises which will see them learn how to tackle kidnap situations.

Army chiefs fear that the 22-year-old prince will become a target for Islamic militant group al-Qaeda, who could capture Harry and use him as a tool for publicity.

Source

BREAKING: Kevin hospitalized after being within twelve feet of Madonna!

WHERE: Longacre Theatre
WHAT: "Talk Radio," starring Tony-winner Liev Schreiber
WHEN: Thursday, March 8th, 2007
WHO: Madonna. Sitting next to Naomi Watts.

Whose Bed Has This Blog Been Under?

Very soon I'll be able to announce the completion of a very exciting writing project of mine- Yay! Success! My first ever completed attempt at anything!- which has taken time and focus away from this gorgeous blog. I apologize for that distraction. 'Twas necessary, though. And not only has it allowed to actually have CREATED something (Holla for me!), but it's given me a great, great gift. By virtue of being at my computer constantly, while having my iTunes on shuffle, I have rediscovered a former love of mine that I sadly allowed to lapse. This love used to be so powerful, in fact, that it eclipsed all others and threatened to consume my entire being. I am of course describing the love of circa-1995 Kevin for.... Shania Twain.



Obviously, I have unwavering all-time musical loves- Dolly, Madonna, k.d. lang, Cyndi Lauper, The Ramones, Queen, etc. Each of these represents something permanent and steadfast in my temperament and character. (I'm like The Queen!) But in 1995, I was (a) almost comically fat, (b) discovering the world of non-Parton country music, and (c) always looking for an upbeat song about a strong, assertive Southern woman. And thus, when I discovered "Any Man of Mine," the shit hit the fan.

During the Woman In Me years, I limited my Shaniamania to pretty much scream-singing while driving around in a car. (Much to the "amusement" of my friends.) When Come On Over landed, however, the rest of the world caught on to the sultry genius that is Twain. My adoration of her felt cheap, common, easy. Certainly, I loved the hell out of "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" and "That Don't Impress Me Much," but when pop-flavored country songs permeate so deeply that overly-tanned housewives sing them on their 'girls night out,' I... I just can't get with that. And so I (shamefully) backed off of Shania a little. When Up! was released, I had a pretty sizeable relapse, and Roommate even got to see the mania firsthand when I saw Shania perform "Gonna Getcha" on the CMAs that year. But again, I backed off.

While shuffling through songs, during my feverish beer-fueled writing sessions, I heard the opening strains of "What Made You Say That," one of my all-time favorite songs (and one that is ideal to include on country mixes, by the way). It all came flooding back. The other real sucker punch came when Shania covered the most beautiful song ever written- "Coat of Many Colors- as part of Dolly's Kennedy Center Honors tribute. Click here to watch.

I mean, she rules. She just 100% rules. That's all I have to say. I'm very, very glad that Shania's talent and humor are back in my life.

Also, I know that this post is weird and boring and whatever, but I fucking love Shania Twain, god damn it.

Peace out, all. XOXO KEVIN.