Oscar Night 2010

ON LOCATION... And away we go! 7:48 p.m. at a boy party, amid a dozen guests (with one lovely lady, Katy), in the heart of Manhattan's Chelsea. Martinis forthcoming. This is (hopefully) going to be a "bumpy ride"! Let the madness unfurl, live...

THANK YOU TO HOSTS DAVID & MICHAEL!8:00 p.m. Now warming up with Barbara Walters, who is 80! Damn, I want her plastic surgeon as a Facebook friend!

8:10 p.m. Penelope Cruz on the red carpet: "I feel like the first time I came here." Girl, you sound like the day you stepped off the boat. Jesus, still can't speak English.

8:18 p.m. Jake Gyllenhaal just came onscreen. The room full of gays roared with approval... EW editor Jess Cagle... adorable (cutie pictured below). Wow, he just interviewed Sandra Bullock and said, "You look fantastic." You know that gay wanted so much to say, "You look fabulous."

8:20 p.m. Jennifer Lopez. Just like the Grammys, gorgeous. As long as she doesn't sing, love her... Sarah Jessica Parker: guest Stephen said, "She couldn't look worse." I thought he said, "She looks like a horse." Kind of the same thing.

8:30 p.m. Shh! We're starting!! David says, "What's with the do-si-do-ing" onstage?" Neil Patrick Harris, who was SO amazing hosting the Golden Globes, is invited to do the same show number for the Oscars. Pretty much the best gay we've got in the millennium, truly. Love!

8:35 p.m. Steve Martin & Alec Baldwin... thank god, daring to be irreverent. Opening monologue making us laugh out loud. And we're nowhere near drunk yet.

8:44 p.m. Best Supporting Actor: Wow, refreshing to kind of not care, though I adored Christopher Plummer in "The Last Station." Winner: Christoph Waltz from "Inglourious Basterds." Saw this movie, liked. I feel nothing. Thankfully, martini 2 has arrived. Michael's turkey sloppy joes on the way—which could possibly be the biggest winner of the night... In fact, eating now...

9:10 p.m. Animated feature... oh my god, this martini is so good... Gurgle, oh, Best Song... My god, for the days of "My Heart Will Go On" and "Fame." My mouth was stuffed with turkey, and I missed nothing. Nothing. How tragic. Music + Oscars = Zero. Travesty. This was once such an honorable category. Now it is a throwaway. What a shame. Breaks my heart, because I care about the music.

9:16 p.m. Original Screenplay: "Hurt Locker." Don't have an opinion, since I haven't seen, but are we sniffing a sweep?... John Hughes is dead? I missed that. Wow, all of these actors onstage are about my age. Reminder: Do not have plastic surgery... Ally Sheedy's neck is not a natural bi-product of one's 40s. And as we all know, men that go under the knife look like lesbians (read: Mickey Rourke, Bruce Jenner).

9:36 p.m. Outside for a smoke with Katy. Short films, documentary, Good, we made better use of our time.

9:38 p.m. Ben Stiller, one of the least funny "comedic actors." Proving to be an accurate read. Dressed in "Avatar" make-up. Idiot. Stephen says, "Not since Robin Williams has one been their own biggest fan." Zzzzz...

9:44 p.m. Jeff Bridges: A testament to aging gracefully... Adapted Screenplay... The guy wins for "Precious." Again, Stephen: "He sounds like Clint Eastwood." Winner guy says, "I'm sorry, I'm drawing a blank." Um, like you didn't have time to prepare for this moment, dude? Steve Martin saves the moment: "I wrote that speech for him." Again, our room roars.

9:53 p.m. Queen Latifah. I dare anyone not to adore and admire this lady. She says, "Let's take a look at" some technical hoo-haw." Ted at our party: "Let's not." Time for another martini...

9:56 p.m. Actress In A Supporting Role: Penelope Cruz nominated for flop "Nine"? I just asked what's below the sixth-floor window here, so that if she wins, I can quickly leap... Mo'nique... All hands in the room are raised for her win... And the Oscar goes to... Mo... I was expecting her acceptance to be powerful, potent and pure... Cursory, at best. She thanks the Academy and her lawyer, but then says how she appreciates that it's "about the performance and not the politics."

Ugh, and then she thanks the first black Oscar-winning actress, Hattie McDaniel, for 1939's "Gone with the Wind," "for enduring all that she had to so that I would not have to." Okay, uh, what about Halle Berry? And, um, we have a black president. What the fuck does that mean? In a moment, Mo'nique deflates from inspiration to Hollywood bureaucrat. Boo, girl.

10:10 p.m. Sarah Jessica Parker and dreamy Tom Ford. The room is not being kind about Sarah's hair, dress, face... I'll stop there... The winner, for "Young Victoria," dressed like a peacock, just said, "I already have two of these." Fuck you, too!

10:18 p.m. Party attendee Ted just asked what makes me think I'm qualified to write about the Oscars, if I've seen so few of the nominated movies. I tried to explain to him the difference between blogging and journalism... as someone that worked as a professional music writer for 14 years, I'm the first to acknowledge that what I'm doing here has nothing to do with any semblance of "critical" writing. This is opinion, this is fun, this is sass. Nothing more. Everyone else gets that, yes?

10:27 p.m. "Sound" and "Sound Mixing": It looks like Johnny Winter... or is it Edgar Winter... for "The Hurt Locker."

10:55 p.m. Gerard Butler and Bradley Cooper... two hotties. I can never keep straight which one is appearing in what romantic comedy. No matter... Grr...

11:05 p.m. At this point, we're in the dire straits of the Oscars. Fluffing with filler until we get to anything that matters to the masses. Tyler Perry. Not funny in a wig; less funny as a man.

11:16 p.m. Martin and Baldwin continue to be wonderfully entertaining... the show drones on...

11:27 p.m. Best Actor: Leading performers discussing working with each nominee... This is truly entertaining, the most human "performance" of the evening... And here is Kate Winslet. Class act, always. And the Oscar goes to: Jeff Bridges, 60. Michael, our co-host, applauds. No one is complaining. Standing ovation. Fifth nomination, first win. All good. God, I need to make sure both of my legs are working, since I have to take the subway home. Three martinis... enough food... think I'll be okay, thanks for caring.

11:42 p.m. Best Actress: Same scenario... I love Helen Mirren, perhaps, more than your mother. And I adored her in "The Last Station." And Carey Mulligan in "An Education." Both which I saw Saturday... which the nation has not... Stanley Tucci talking about Meryl... "your great good humor." I'm almost tearing.

11:50 p.m. And now, Actress: Sean Penn—last year's winner for the important "Milk—presenting... to Sandra Bullock, as expected. Obviously, a collective career award, for one of America's more beloved actresses. Finally, I had a little tear, appropriate since I'm normally crying during "Desperate Housewives" on ABC tonight.

11:59 p.m. Director: Presented by Barbra Streisand, which is fabu, as if they're not expecting it go to the first female director ever. And the Oscar goes to... Kathryn Bigelow, "The Hurt Locker." Everyone here is happy. I've not seen it... Now, Tom Hanks, with zero drama, hastily announces Best Picture... As anticipated, "Locker." Again, have seen so few of the nods, so no opinion. Oh, mercy, and that's that. Wow, I want another cupcake... and you get to go to bed now, while I have to wait for the NYC subway, post-midnight... Wish me godspeed!

Gene In Da House

Dear friend Gene was over for din din Saturday evening. Great catch-up, as he returns to the mainland after spending the winter in Hawaii.

Statue & The Sun

Saturday offered a hint that winter might possibly perhaps maybe actually end one day. Sunny and 50 degrees. At 6 p.m., here's the stunning view looking from the Brooklyn Heights promenade to the Statue of Liberty.

"The Last Station"

With my current lack of permanent employment (read: waah, I'm poor), I saw all of two movies sitting in a theater last year, both with Liz D. in the Hamptons: "Inglorious Basterds" and "Julie & Julia." So obviously watching the Oscars Sunday evening will not be as passionate an event for me as the Grammy Awards (though I do intend to live-blog, so stand by, cool cats!).

Today, I had a freelance assignment that allowed me to see "The Last Station," starring Helen Mirren, Christopher Plummer, James McAvoy and (Brooklyn Heights neighbor) Paul Giamatti... in a theater. Whee-haw!

Wondrously over-the-top script, beautiful acting, appreciable character development and stunning scenery from WWI-era Russia in the story of the latter years of iconic Leo Tolstoy. Helen Mirren was utterly knee-slapping with a melodramatic performance that was just good clean fun to observe.

So how naive was I leaving the flick, wondering how this movie was ignored by this year's Oscars... Doink! I had no clue that Mirren garnered a Best Actress nod and Plummer a Best Supporting Actor nom.

Well, now at least I have someone to rally for, instead of just drinking the night away.

Service With A... Hey, Wait A Minute...

Need evidence that New York's MTA is slicing away services? Here's the scene at Brooklyn's Court Street station, where I catch the R train to go into Manhattan. Where there used to be a live human in a booth...
...There is now... nothing! And for this, they want to raise the price of a monthly Metro card from $89 to $100. The times, mercy me, the times...

Lunacy @ Klimat, March 6, 2010

The first thing we whispered upon settling in at East Village wine and beer bar Klimat for our new every-other Friday happy hour: "This place is too nice for the likes of us." Beautiful decor, with colorful pillows against wooden benches, brick walls, wooden accents and velvet curtains, and a fabulous square table near the front window (where we're sitting) amid a quiet, elegant ambiance.

And the service: Wowsa. Friendly, helpful, attentive. I sampled three red wines before nodding on my selection. Two-for-one, so $4.50 each. Workable. No plastic cups here. An absolutely divine experience. We cleaned up nice for the place.(Of course, that didn't stop us from a 20-minute discussion of high-end Toto toilets that spray water up your behind. Hey, we can't change overnight.)

The Larry Craig Files, Part 500

Self-loathing is the most pathetic form of hate. California state Sen. Roy Ashburn (R-Bakersfield), a self-proclaimed family values Republican, was arrested on a DUI charge Wedesday at 2 a.m.—after leaving a gay nightclub with an unidentified man in a state vehicle.

Ashburn is a fierce gay rights opponent who has used taxpayer dollars to organize anti-gay marriage rallies as part of his "Traditional Family Values" campaign. Cali Highway Patrol officers observed the homophobic hypocrite weaving and driving erratically in downtown Sacramento, after leaving Faces, a gay nightclub, with his trick.

On the bright side, if Ashburn ever decides to come out of the closet, at least he can now legally marry in Washington, D.C., which on Thursday, joined Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont in legalizing same-sex weddings.

Census Employee: A Week To Remember

From the beginning of this temporary gig with the U.S. Census, I’ve vowed to use the experience as a new life adventure—a fresh opportunity to meet folks from walks of life far from journalism and entertainment, while, best of all, having an opportunity to literally walk Brooklyn street by street, block after block, house to house.

That week spent humbly placing staff recruiting cards on car windows in the snow… not so adventurous—though with camera in hand, I had a grand time snapping pics of intriguing architecture around the nabe. After all, it’s not every day you happen past Norah Jones’ house.

This week has been a total rush. My team of Crew Leaders remains in between assignments, awaiting the “big picture” toward the end of the month, when we log residents at Group Quarters—soup kitchens, homeless shelters, dorms and mobile food vans. As I’ve mentioned a number of times, on March 31, we’ll venture out to count homeless folks in parks, under bridges and the like.

In the meantime, we're on loan to other departments in Brooklyn NW's operation: My supervisor O lent out five Crew Leaders to staff recruiting, keeping two to himself—including meese. My assignment for the next couple weeks is to work through a list of 50+ pre-designated churches, community centers and schools, all within walking distance of home, potentially willing to lend space to the Census Bureau for training “enumerators,” those who will actually be parading apartment to apartment, to garner all info required for the Census questionnaire. Every resident that doesn’t respond to the big Q mailed out April 1… we shall find you!

(My role, as Crew Leader, will be to maintain contact with at least a half dozen enumerators assigned to me—to make sure they’re fulfilling duties, properly filling out paperwork, dealing with challenges—and reporting all back to the main office.)

But that's then. For now, I’m having a fucking blast crashing all sorts of facilities I’ve walked by a hundred times without ever having privilege to peak inside. My first coup was Long Island University’s Brooklyn campus on Flatbush Avenue. After I flashed my Census badge, I was admitted. It took three meets and 30 minutes to find the right contact. I met H, who has worked at the university for 30 years. Her office sports wood paneling, straight out of the 1970s. She flipped through a steel gray Rolodex to look up phone numbers. “Wow, that’s been in service for a while,” I offered. “This was my predecessor’s,” she said. “I tried to move my contacts online, but this is still faster. I’ll never give it up.” As a dude who still maintains a paper weekly appointment book, I nodded.

My spiel: “We’re looking for public spaces where we can train for five days, 40 hours, close to public transportation and restaurants… and this is ideal…” H, the university’s Special Events director, wasted no time accommodating. Score! She offered to show me the designated room—where trustees meetings are held—filled with windows overlooking an enormous soccer field, right in the heart of downtown Brooklyn. Who knew?

Afterward, I indulged my intrepid curiosity (life mantra: “The answer is yes until someone says no”). With a pass to wander freely, I took a self-guided tour of the main building. So many international students. So many computers and laptops. Boy, things have changed since my university days in the 1980s.

Later that afternoon, I visited St. Ann & the Holy Trinity Church, three blocks from home. I’ve been in the main public space several times—our coop hosts its annual meeting there—but I’ve never seen the worship space or the upper regions of the glorious historic site. Again, I made my appeal, to musical director G. The good news is that most everyone I talk to knows the Census is taking place this year. I don’t have to provide a lot of background. G didn’t blink; he offered the choir room, showing me the room. Once more, I was giddy over access to spaces I’d never had “authority” to visit. Total rush.

The next morning, O asked me to back up a bit and check on a Group Quarters facility, to make sure the Census could count their residents on April 1. Damn, what a difference a day makes. This downtrodden facility in downtown Brooklyn is located on a side street mixed with crappy bodegas, a meat market, shuttered businesses—and a grotesque glossy residential high-rise under construction, offering multi-million-dollar condos.

Waiting to meet with supervisor K, I sat in the TV room with the “inmates,” wondering if it was prudent for potentially combustible personalities to watch Oxygen’s “Bad Girls Club,” a reality show with a bunch of entitled drunken bitches pretty much beating the shit out of each other. At the front desk, I had introduced myself: “Chuck Taylor.” A guy who overheard took delight in my name. “You’re the sneaker!” He then introduced me to two of his pals. “You gotta meet this guy… What’s your name?” Ha ha ha, “He’s the sneaker.” I was never certain if he worked… or lived there.

I’m trying to be a nice guy here (for a change). But c’mon, I was surrounded by loonies! It was fucking fabulous! My greatest fear was that someone might take a look at my Census badge and conclude, “You betcha,” then lock me up, never to be seen again… In the end, I got what I needed, K was a pleasure, told me that 50 crazies live there, I filled out my paperwork… and escaped! Adventure: accomplished.

That afternoon, it was back to searching out training locales. I made my way to the Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims, 10 minutes on foot from home. Again: I’ve always been curious about this historic landmark, where, in the 1850s, first pastor Henry Ward Beecher publicly opposed slavery and supported the Underground Railroad—with actual tunnels under the church.

I made nice with contact S, who not only agreed to lending space to the Census, but shared it with me: the original Plymouth sanctuary, a giant two-story room surrounded with stunning stained glass. When I shared with S that I lived in the nabe and always wished I had a reason to see inside, she gave me a tour of the main sanctuary—again, surrounded by beautiful stained glass—where President Lincoln prayed in 1860. She also showed me a chunk of the original Plymouth Rock on display. “May I touch it?” She responded, “That dark spot in the middle… yes. You’re not the first.”

Okay, yes, score! In two days, I secured a third venue for Census training. I earned my wages for the week. But, my god, the experience has been magical: two historic churches, wandering all over a private university seeing what higher learning means in the millennium, and an honest-to-god loony bin. Loving every minute.

Brooklyn's Bossert Hotel: Danger?!

Posted on the Brooklyn Heights Blog and picked up by Brownstoner...

Newsmakers & Random Thoughts

TIME SHIFTING: Space.com reports that the massive 8.8 earthquake that struck Chile Saturday may have altered the Earth's rotation and shortened the length of the planet's days, according to a NASA scientist. The seventh-strongest earthquake in recorded history, he says, might have depleted the length of a day by 1.26 milliseconds.

Great. And I just bought some new jeans from Gap. Now they're going to be out of fashion that much faster.

BABIES IN BARS: Let's see. Life's leading annoyances: double-wide strollers, children running in public without adult supervision, babies crying in planes... and kids in bars. You might think I don't like youngsters. Not so. It's bad parents I detest.

An article that appeared on CNN.com today, addressed the bad habit—here in Brooklyn—of stay-at-home daddy Matt Gross, who has stirred a mini-controversy by bringing his 14-month-old daughter out to drink with him. His claim: He gets stir-crazy at home and likes to enjoy a stout with his little girl. Others in the story claim that in New York, the cost of baby-sitters is prohibitive and apartments are too small to host guests. Gross whines, "I long for adult contact. ... I don't want to be excluded from the adult world." So he takes his wee one out to pubs in his Park Slope nabe.

Meanwhile, a post on blog Brooklynian begs, "Which bars in Brooklyn are child free?" It merited 150 responses.

The deal is, if a bar serves food, it's legally considered a "restaurant"—and in NYC, you pretty much can't get a tavern license if you don't—meaning that most every destination might as well be considered all-ages. Here's my deal: There are plenty of places for mommy and daddy to take the kids, where you can grab a drink. Go to Chuck E. Cheese, which indeed does serve beer (I just checked) and make peace with the fact that you're a breeder. In 18 years, we look forward to seeing you again!

HEY, IT'S CELINE: My pal Christa, who just took over the Backbeat society page in Billboard from our dearly departed Kristina—which I founded at the beginning of the decade—found space, alongside her rock and metal faves, for Celine! It's an exclusive, from the Miami premiere of her movie, "Through the Eyes of the World."PARTRIDGE FAMILY REUNITED: Good god, after I just mentioned the Partridge Family earlier today, in my post about Karen Carpenter, a few of the original cast united on "The Today Show": Cassidy, Danny Bonaduce, Suzanne Crough and Brian Forster.

I met the first hero of my life, David Cassidy, when he appeared with (everlasting love) Sheena Easton in Vegas for a sadly lame show, "At the Copa," in 2000. He was pretty much an arrogant ass. Sheena was not nearly as kind about him... At Billboard, I interviewed Danny Bonaduce a couple times during his run as an afternoon DJ in New York radio, and he was remarkably gracious. I met his wife, partied with them, had dinner and wrote some really good shit. A wild man, for sure, but appreciative of what history has granted him.

AND FINALLY: Because there's no big story to tell here, I simply offer Chuck at 16... with my beloved pepes of the day. This pic was taken around the turn of the decade (okay, the one that began 30 years ago), taken at J.T. Thornhill's summer lake house. We were all there... the ultimate group photo of the day. I look over these faces, and remember every name and so many stories associated from so long ago. Ain't life grand?(Okay, I get it: Where am I? The tall dude, center, back row.)

Karen Carpenter

As a 10-year-old, I had two favorite acts: The Partridge Family and The Carpenters. I loved the easy, breezy sing-along melodies of David Cassidy—not to mention my first dreamy celebrity crush—but even as a kid, there was something about Karen Carpenter's aching, soulful, pitch-perfect voice that I related to, which forever changed the way I heard music—and female vocalists, in particular. The first album I owned: "A Song for You." Without Karen, I'm certain there would be no Celine Dion in my life.

Karen Carpenter would have been 60 on March 2. She died at 32 on Feb. 4, 1983—a day I clearly recall. I was in my dorm room as a college junior, listening to the radio, as the announcement was made that she had succumbed to her long battle with anorexia. I was stunned and upset: I opened my dorm door, to let the outside in, and shared the news with anyone that passed by.

It would be years before Carpenter gained any semblance of "cool." At that point, The Carpenters were the ultimate "soft rock" has-beens... Nobody my age gave it much of a second thought.

I never stopped listening to The Carpenters and in fact, my personal iTunes playlist, the 63-song "Carpenters Complete," has played through many a late night of writing.

I received an essay this morning from music writer and Carpenters' aficionado Jon Konjoyan. I share some of his words: Today we remember Karen for her remarkable gift to the music world, and for her influence on so many contemporary artists, from Madonna and Chrissie Hynde to Sonic Youth and Gwen Stefani. Interest in the Carpenters continues to grow. Last year marked the 40th anniversary of the duo’s signing to A&M, and a commemorative CD release, “40/40,” hit No. 1 in Japan.

If you grew up in the '70's, Carpenters music was part of the soundtrack of your life. For the 1973 liner notes of “The Singles” hits collection, Digby Diehl wrote: "Although the Carpenters have been recording for only four years, it is already difficult to remember a sunny afternoon at the beach without them.” It was true. In that pre-YouTube, MySpace and iTunes era, when radio was virtually the only place to hear new music, their hits played non-stop from 1970 through 1977. In 1981, they returned to the Top 40 one last time.

Because Karen's voice was ubiquitous, many took it for granted. But she received well-deserved accolades from peers. Paul McCartney called it "the best female voice in the world: melodic, tuneful and distinctive." A&M Records' top brass Herb Alpert, who signed the duo, believed Karen sang from her "dark side": "It doesn't come from that bubbly, 'up' side of their personality. It comes from their undercurrent of reality."

Pop music historian Paul Grein said: "If you made a checklist of the qualities of a great singer, Karen had them all: tremendous presence, natural, conversational ease, and impeccable intonation and control. But a checklist couldn't begin to capture the emotion she put into everything she sang. Karen had a remarkable facility for peeling away the outer layers of a song and getting to its core. And once she located a song's essential truth, she would relate it as if she were singing just to you."