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Billy Idol linked to Aerosmith role

Jan. 29, 2010, 11:33 AM EST

WENN — Veteran rocker Billy Idol has become the latest big name rumoured to be in the running to replace Steven Tyler as frontman of Aerosmith.

The band revealed they will be hosting auditions to find a new member while Tyler takes a hiatus, with guitarist Joe Perry insisting the star won’t be ready to tour with them until he recovers from a recent stint in rehab and a series of operations.

Lenny Kravitz was the first singer linked to the role, but admitted he would never take over from Tyler, while reports have also suggested former Queen star Paul Rodgers.

Now Idol is rumoured to be in contention, with Classic Rock magazine reporting he was due to meet with the musicians but pulled out after falling sick.

A source tells the publication, "Joe said he wanted to talk to Billy about joining Aerosmith, because the band were having problems with Steven. As far as I know Idol did not show up due to having a cold."

Perry recently admitted they have already talked to a number of singers about replacing Tyler, but refused to divulge any names. He said, "(There’s) a few people we’ve talked to, and we’ll see how it goes… As far as auditions go, we’ll probably just sit around and have a couple of drinks and see if we get along — because we’re already gonna know that they can sing."

lol okay.

I’d like to see Billy Idol try and sing Dream On. That would be hilarious.

Emmy-winning actor Rip Torn was arrested Saturday for allegedly breaking into a bank in Salisbury, CT., where he’s a resident, confirms local newspaper, The Register Citizen.

In what was reportedly a booze-inspired bank job, a police statement says that cops responded to an alarm at 9:40 last night where they found Torn "with a loaded revolver, and was highly intoxicated."
The many charges against the 78-year-old Men in Black star include carrying a firearm while intoxicated, carrying a pistol without a permit, first-degree criminal trespass, first-degree burglary, and third-degree criminal mischief.
Torn has had several brushes with the law over the past few years, including a dismissed 2004 drunken driving charge, and a 2007 guilty plea of being "ability impaired" while operating a vehicle.
He is currently being held on a $100,000 cash bond, and is set to appear in court Monday, Feb. 1.
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I lay in the river. The water is cold and harsh, but somehow soothing.

Considering the circumstances.

My hands clutch the wound in my stomach, desperately trying to keep my insides in place. Slowly but surely I’m loosing that battle.

The freezing water numbs my body from the pain. I hope it’s the chill that numbs me. The voice in the back of my brain tells me otherwise.

All because of the Goats.

I remember when they first arrived here, three weeks ago. I was worried then. Apparently I was right to be worried. Look at me now.

There are three of them. When they first wandered into the valley, I visited. I made my presence known. I paid them a courtesy visit, offering collected fruit and vegetables from the meadow.

They laughed at me. They laughed at my tattered clothes. They laughed at my home. They laughed at my weathered skin. They called me ugly. They called me "Troll". They laughed until I fled.

I left the food and escaped to my place under the bridge.

I felt rejection for the first time in my life. It stung. It tugged at my gut like the hooks on the end of my fishing line. The hook pulled me back into my hole under the bridge.

It didn’t take long before the presence of the goats became an issue in the meadow.

For the twenty years that I lived under the bridge, the surrounding meadow had been a peaceful, serene place. Miles and miles of long, luscious grass. Beautiful green trees, full of delicious fruits. This was my home. A home I shared with the birds and ground animals. My life was simple and I was happy.

They came from the west, over the hills. They ate everything in sight like a cancer. Who would have thought that three goats could cause so much damage. In only a week they consumed almost all of the west side of the meadow.

The animals of the meadow called a meeting. The birds, the squirrels, the woodchucks, the deer. They all gathered on the east side of my bridge, where the grass was still full, and the trees were still bountiful.

Everyone agreed that the Goats could not be allowed into the east side of the meadow. I agreed.

Unfortunately though, the animals of the meadow nominated ME the guardian of the east meadow. It seemed the natural choice, because of my size, but this was not a task I felt ready to tackle. I may be large, but I am no fighter. I’ve spent my entire life living peacefully under the bridge, fishing and gathering fruits to eat and share. I’ve never had to defend anything in my life.

The job was placed in my hands regardless. I accepted the responsibility, regretfully. I had no choice. While I was no fighter, there were too many reasons for me to be the protector of the east meadow. The squirrels and deer certainly couldn’t do it. And my bridge is the only way to the east side.

So I sat and waited. I listened as the grating sound of the goats braying and laughing and the ever present sound of chewing drew slowly closer. I found myself leaving my home less frequently, for fear of running into the goats. I was terrified of them. I was terrified of the inevitable confrontation, and I was afraid of more taunting and laughs.

I left only once. I waded up the stream and found a large piece of drift wood lodged between two rocks. The wood was just the right size for my hand, and would serve nicely as a club, if the need for one ever came up.

This was the first weapon ever lifted in the meadow.

The fateful day came a week ago. I lay under the bridge, my blanket wrapped around my body. The nights had been cold, and I was ill-prepared for winter. My fear of the goats had kept me from going out and collecting my winter food.

At first I thought it was a dream. The noise of hooves on the bridge. Trip trap, trip trap. I stirred awake and told my brain that it was a young deer. But I knew better. No deer in the meadow walked with such clumsiness… such a complete lack of grace.

I knew exactly who it was. It was the smallest goat. I closed my eyes tight and tried to force legs to take me to the surface of the bridge. After some resistance, I finally picked up my makeshift club and ambled my way up the side and onto the bridge. The smallest goat stopped walking and looked up at me, waiting for me to speak.

My mouth wouldn’t work. My brain was screaming at me, reminding me of the goat’s taunts and teases. Then my heart reminded me of the other animals in the meadow, and how they were counting on me to protect them and their food.

I adjusted my posture and tried to appear intimidating. I am a great deal larger than the smallest goat, and I used this to my advantage as best as I could. I found myself extremely thankful that I was dealing with only the littlest goat, rather than his larger brothers.

"You have to go back to your side of the meadow." I said. The small goat looked up at me, his eyes twinkling in the dark.

"Or what?" the smallest goat asked me, without fear or hesitation.

"Or… or I’ll eat you up!" I said. I don’t even know why I said that. I’ve never killed anything larger than a fish in my life. I guess I figured that if they were going to call me a troll, I should play the troll.

I lifted the club over my head in a pathetic attempt to threaten the goat.

The little goat laughed at me. That laugh cut me like no rock or branch ever had. I fought the tears. I couldn’t move. I watched as he walked around me and over the bridge. My arms would not bring the stick down on him. My legs would not follow. My mouth would not speak. I only stood and watched him take everything from me.

He disappeared into the darkness. I stood on the bridge for a long, long time.

I felt self hatred for the first time in my life. It hit me in the stomach like a bolder and knocked the wind out of me. I sat in the stream under the bridge and let the water run over my body. It did little to wash away the pain.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning the animals of the meadow called another meeting. I knew what they were going to say. The littlest goat had already done a lot damage. Bushes were uprooted and the grass was disappearing fast.

The animals didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. I knew I had let them down. I knew they were disappointed in me.

I started to explain myself, but I couldn’t. how do you tell the ones who count on you to protect them that you couldn’t stop a goat a third of your size. How you explain that? How do you explain that the little goat’s laughter was a greater weapon than your club? It’s impossible. I told them that I would stop the other two goats. They left without speaking. I sulked back to my home under the bridge.

The next night I heard the sound I’d been dreading.

Trip trap, trip trap.

Louder and heavier. I gathered my club and swung at the air, trying to prepare myself. I climbed the bridge and stood in front of the second goat.

"You can’t cross to the east meadow." I said, gripping the club tightly in front of me.

The second goat looked up me and asked "What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"I’ll bash you with this!" I said, shaking the club. The second goat looked at me a while longer.

"I’d like to see you try it!" he said with a smirk.

I forced my arms down. But they moved slowly and stupidly. It didn’t matter because I was blind with pain and anger. The goat crossed and I did nothing.

I felt real anger for the first time. It clawed at my body like a wild beast. I took my club and beat my home until it was little more than pile of broken sticks floating away in the stream. I took my blanket and curled up under the bridge.

Again sleep alluded me.

The next morning I crawled out from under the bridge. The sight of the eastern meadow hit me hard. My heart cried out at the devastation already delivered on the land. The grass was ravaged. The trees had been stripped of their leaves and bark. The meadow had been torn apart and raped.

Furious, I crawled back under the bridge.

The animals of the meadow called another meeting. I didn’t attend. I couldn’t look them in the eye. I couldn’t take their disappointment. I couldn’t explain myself, and I couldn’t offer any apologies.

I spent the day collecting rocks. Large rocks. I broke my club in half and sharpened the end to a point on the side of the bridge. I stacked my rocks on the bridge and I wait. I waited on the bridge for the oldest goat. I focused my anger on the confrontation that was sure to happen that night. I waited for hours, planning. I went over ever possible scenario in my mind. I pictured myself standing up to the third goat. I pictured him laughing at me and I pictured myself attacking. I pictured the sharpened stick piercing his body. I pictured him at my feet, bleeding. I pictured myself kicking and stabbing the goat, punishing him for what he’d done to the meadow, and punishing him for being what he is. I pictured myself avenging the meadow and avenging my broken heart. The more I pictured this, the more I wanted it.

Finally, the third goat walked to the edge of the bridge. The trip trap, trip trap of his hooves reminded me of the pain the first two goats had delivered on me.

With every step he took, anger welled up in me.

"You’re not crossing this bridge!" I yelled at him, the anger already physically manifesting. The goat stepped back, startled.

"That’s right! Go back! Go back where you came from!" I screamed, feeling confident. The Goat looked up at me.

"Step aside." The third goat said, without fear. The pain and fear swelled up in me like it had with his brothers, but I pushed it down and replaced it with anger.

"No. You’re not crossing. I won’t let you." I said, confidently stepping towards him.

"Or what?" he asked, laughing.

The anger exploded in me. I was blinded with rage again, but this time my body moved without my telling it to. I charged at the goat, swinging and stabbing.
The goat lowered his head as I ran at him. My body slammed into him and I heard a loud, wet tear. I couldn’t move, though not because of emotion, but because the goat held me in place. The horns on his head were buried in my stomach.

I stepped back, slowly, the wooden stick falling from my hand. My body slipped off his horns and I felt my stomach start to slide. I clutched my middle and stammered backwards. The goat laughed at me, blood soaking his white fur. He walked past me and crossed the bridge into the east meadow. I stumbled backwards.

My foot struck something hard and I fell, knocking over my pile of rocks. Blindly, I rolled off the side of the bridge and hit the water.

Now, I lay still as a stone. The cold water washes over my body, taking with it my blood. I lay in the stream and pray that the water will cleanse me. There is no more anger. There is only the cold, clean water. I feel fish swim over my stomach. I feel them exploring the wound. I feel my body getting numb and I welcome it. The sound of the laughing goats is distant and muffled. I no longer care about the goats. I no longer care about the fish or the rocks or the animals in the meadow or even my disappearing belly. All I care about is the clean, pure water, washing the pain away.

—-

I wrote this story nine years ago. It wasn’t on the website so I decided to repost it to archive. I edited a couple of grammar and punctuation errors and one line that I just didn’t really like. I could have rewritten a lot of it but I didn’t think I should change it too much.

I know that I’ve posted that picture of the dog with the hamburger feet before, but I don’t care. It’s like, my favorite picture ever. So it will be posted more than once. Probably many, many times over the next few years. It deserves it.

HE HAS HAMBURGERS FOR FEET! BEST DOG EVER!

(more…)

So I finally broke down and bought myself this model that I’ve been eyeballing for two years now. Luckily, the guy who sculpted it still had a copy and was willing to sell it to me.

I posted about it in October of 08 and only just gathered up the will to spend the money on it. Sandra was stressed out about what to get me for my birthday, and I had no ideas on what to tell her. I’ve pretty much got everything I want, and anything that I DO want is bigger than birthday money. So she said that I should get go on ebay and buy myself a couple of things. I bought a super cheap airbrush and then emailed the guy about the model.

One of the reasons I’ve been putting off getting this model is that I knew I’d need an airbrush to paint it, but I knew that if I bought it and didn’t have an airbrush, that I’d go ahead and paint it with regular old brushes. So since I bought the airbrush (twenty bucks) I figured it was time get this one.

What surprises me (it probably shouldn’t) is that people don’t seem to know what image this sculpt is based on. I used to avidly read Faust comics when I was a kid and I had this poster on my wall for years:

I have yet to find a paint up where someone has given her the blond hair she had in the original image. I (clearly) will paint her with the blond hair.

I really wish I could find a copy of that poster, but they seem to be non-existent now.

Sandra got me an ice-cream cake from Dairy Queen. It was supposed to be one of those goofy ones where they use the edible transfer paper and just drop a printed picture on top of it, but for some reason they didn’t do that and hand piped the picture onto the cake. I prefer the hand piped version myself. It looks like someone put some work into it. It’s not horrible considering that some teenager at Dairy Queen did it. I think it has a certain charm. I like how the “Happy Birthday” part is all fancy and the “JOE” part is just JOE in capitol letters.

With the money we got for the Acura, we bought this 2005 Chevy Cobalt. The Cobalt basically replaced the Cavalier. I wasn’t totally sold on it until I saw the mileage, which was 4000K (2500 miles) which is practically like it’s never been driven. A five year old car with less than five thousand K is ridiculous. Everything else we were looking at in our price range had 75 plus K on it. Some in the 150-200 range. Our Acura had 200+ on it. It’s practically a brand new car.  It’s a four door, which I wasn’t crazy about, but really, I can’t complain either. It’s in mint condition and we got a good deal on it. Sandra loves the shit out of it too, which is the most important thing to me, since the Acura was pretty much her car anyway.

from blindkingdom

Aoshima 1/24 Road Warrior Mad Max Interceptor last V-8

Dear portraitsbyjoe,
Joe,
Thank you for the question, but I do not ship to Canada due to previous difficulty with items being held up in Customs. I appreciate the interest however!
Best regards,
Frank

- daywalker750

---

From: portraitsbyjoe
To: daywalker750
Subject: You’ve received a question about your eBay item, Aoshima 1/24 Road Warrior Mad Max Interceptor last V-8
Sent Date: Jan-25-10 16:26:27 PST

Dear daywalker750,
Hi,
I was wondering if there was anyway you’d be
willing to ship to Victoria, BC, Canada.
Thanks
Joe

Tilda Swinton Would Be ‘Thrilled’ To Play Conan O’Brien

Former ‘Tonight Show’ host suggested the Oscar-winning actress play him in a film about his late-night drama.

By Larry Carroll

Once upon a time, two late-night legends butted heads in a battle over who would host "The Tonight Show," giving birth to a venomous based-on-fact book and movie called "The Late Shift." More than a decade later, Jay Leno is caught up in more high-profile hijinks, this time with Conan O’Brien — and if another movie is made depicting the late-night drama, Coco might have found the thespian to portray him … in Oscar-winning actress Tilda Swinton?

When O’Brien closed out his all-too-brief "Tonight Show" hosting duties last week, he requested during Friday’s final episode that if a "Late Shift"-like movie is made of the recent battle between himself, NBC and Jay Leno, he would "like to be played by Academy Award winner Tilda Swinton." As side-by-side photos of the red-headed actress and O’Brien appeared onscreen, the joke got some of the evening’s biggest laughs.

As it happens, the "Michael Clayton" actress is at the Sundance Film Festival this week promoting her new film "I Am Love," and MovieLine asked her about the possibility.

"I’ve heard about Conan!" Swinton responded to O’Brien’s reference. "I’m so thrilled.

"I would just be only too happy," the good-natured actress said when asked if she’d be willing to play him — after all, she did portray a man once before in the 1992 film "Orlando." "Yes, yes, yes, absolutely."

Pondering the cold weather in Park City, Utah, Swinton added that she’d only do it if he’d be willing to switch places with her for a while as well. "What I really would love to do is get him to do some of the things I get to do," said the "Chronicles of Narnia" actress. "It would be nice if he were here at Sundance, maybe, wearing this coat, talking about ‘I Am Love.’

"And why not?" Swinton said of herself and Conan switching roles (and genders) for a while. "Every girl should have a doppelgänger."

Ellen and I have the same birthday.

I hope this means that I get to get freaky with Portia DeRossi.

This is what the Mad Hatter looks like, you dick.

Not like some kind of rejected Ziggy Stardust prototype.

Watching Conan’s last Tonight Show was tough. It’s rough to see someone you respect so much get assfucked the way he was. When Neil Young came out and sang Long May You Run, my heart broke just a little.

Then when Will Ferrell came out dressed in his Skynard gear with Billy Gibbons, Ben Harper, Beck and the Max Wienberg band, I knew instantly they were going to play Freebird and I knew I was gonna get all emotional. And I did. Seeing Conan playing along (even taking a solo at the end) grinning, you could see the mixture of joy and sadness. It was beautiful.

There were points in the show were I found myself just getting so sad and feeling so bad that I had to remind myself that he’s not fucking dead. He’ll bounce back. He’ll get a show on Fox in seven months and then it will be on.

As badly as he wanted it, The Tonight Show was never his demographic. The people who watched Late Night aren’t the same people who watch The Tonight Show. It was doomed from the start, and I think that people figured it out pretty quick. The good thing that’s come out of this is that Conan’s fanbase has solidified into a force to be reckoned with, and they’ll follow him where ever he goes. Conan is going to be fine. It sucks that things went down the way they did, and I’ve got nothing but sympathy and respect for Conan, but it was a bad situation from it’s inception.

I don’t blame Jay really. I don’t particularly like Jay, but I don’t hate him either. There is so much politics that go on behind the scenes in these Late Night wars that we never hear about. I remember reading The Late Shift (which was a fascinating book about the battle between Leno and Letterman for The Tonight Show) and being shocked and, frankly, disgusted, by the amount of shady shit that went on behind the scenes. I’m sure this was no different.

But Conan will be alright. It might take a bit, and it might be risky, but I really think he’s got a fanbase that will prop him up in whatever capacity he establishes himself in. I’ll be there.

And props to Jimmy Fallon for his tribute tonight. I’m not a huge Fallon fan, but that was sweet.

At first I couldn’t figure out who this was. I thought it might have been Justine Timberlake, but there was no way that JT would have the balls to do this song. But then it WAS JT and not only did he have the ball to do this song, but he pulled it off, big time.

I almost cried.

The other guy is songwriter/producer Matt Morris.

Pee-Wee Herman explains the Late Night meltdown in terms we can understand.