That’s the video for “Hold On”, the first single off of KT Tunstall’s new album Drastic Fantastic (KT, btw, is my favorite singer right now; that’s right, suck it Paolo Nutini, I will not grant you your last request.). I’m not entirely sure what to make of the video. It’s either a devilishly smart way to hip up her folk routine and get her music out to the types of listeners who would reject her genre on merit, or it’s a deviously merciless parody of every female pop singer with personality ADD. But whatever it is, it rocks. It rocks all socks. It rocks the house, the kasbah and the vote. Basically, it’s totally ninja.
I’m gonna guess it’s a combination of the two choices. I saw her in concert at the Key Club last year and she had a great perspective about the industry, clearly enjoying her success but smirking at the ridiculousness of it all. She’s never been on of those ardent Lilith Fair singers who acted above it all (ahem, Sarah McLachlin), nor decried making poppier sounding music when her career called for it (cough Liz Phair cough). At the concert she gushed about standing with Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera at a photo shoot, without at all mentioning the fact that she could music them under the table. This is a girl whose clearly aware that being self-aware does not preclude her from being a good person.
In the video I caught references to clips from Gwen (bite me, Harajuku Girls), XTina, Britney, P. Diddy, Justin, that aborted Jewel makeover where she showed her ass in a fireman’s outfit, Moby, Fergie, Janet, Avril, J.Lo, and pre-breakdown Mariah, and I haven’t spent more than five minutes on MTV since before The Real World and Road Rules knew what an Inferno even was. The damn thing has everything and the kitchen sink thrown in, backed by a great mid-tempo beat, cool lyrics and an attitude thats just a bit edgier than the stuff on “Eye To The Telescope”. I’m tempted to hate it because my little down-to-earth folk singer is suddenly doing choreography with background dancers in front of a giant lit-up KT sign, but then I see that mischevious smirk on her face and know she’s not serious about any of it. Plus, hello, she does the robot in silver spandex and thin lense 80’s sun-g’s. How can I not love this video?
I’m feverishly anticipating her new record (Drastic Fantastic, due out on Sept. 18th), and fascinated by who else she’s gonna have a laugh at in her next video. Can I suggest something in a Carrie Underwood / American Idol? I have been able to stop humming “Before He Cheats” since before it got hot, and I’m about ready to shoot somebody. So I dug my keys into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive… DAMMIT!
The Scene: Famed movie director Quentin Tarantino is wheel-chaired onto a plane by renowned screen nymph Tiffany Limos. The flight attendant does her best to accommodate QT’s rather repugnant behavior.
The Players: QT, Tiffany Limos, and a Flight Attendant who desperately wishes she had called in sick that day.
INT. AIRPLANE – AIRLINE FLIGHT 544 PHILLIPINES TO LAX – DAY
A pleasant looking female FLIGHT ATTENDANT greets passengers as they board the plane. They pass threw the tiny gateway and trudge along to their seats, not looking forward to the long, cramped flight. Same as it ever was in the world of travel.
Suddenly a HEAD comes into view. It is quite large. Seven seconds later, the body attached to the head comes into view. It is that of derivative and slightly crazy film auteur QUENTIN TARANTINO. He is in a wheelchair being pushed by famed man-eating indie actress TIFFANY LIMOS. QT rolls onto the plane, talking at hyperspeed.
QT: So I was like no, OK, you can’t put your shoes back on, I like paid to see this fucked up shit. I paid to see her feet. Why would I pay to see socks, right? I’m Quentin Tarantino. I’ve seen crazy amounts of feet, celebrity feet, OK, so it’s like an honor for Quentin Tarantino to ask to see your feet, right?
TL: Yes, Quentin.
FLA: Hello sir, welcome aboard.
QT: Yeah, OK, so what’s the in-flight movie, I need to motherfucking know, alright?
FLA: I believe it’s Blades of Glory.
QT: I’ve seen it. I’ve seen every movie ever made. I worked in a video store, OK? How do you not, like, know that! It’s famous information. I’ve made movies about how many movies I’ve seen. The only reason I wrote Jackie Brown was to reference Pam Grier in Foxy Brown and pay homage to the blaxpoitation genre that I grew up watching. I’ve seen every one of those movies. Dolemite, Coffy, the whole mutafuckin gang! That’s why I can say nigger and not get into trouble. Because black people dig that I dig their shit. I’m a nigger like that. Nigger. OK.
FLA: You’re in first class sir, an OnDemand video player is available to you for your convenience.
QT: You have a real sexy vibe going on, alright. Like Lauren Holly in that movie Turbulence, when she was getting movies because of that ass shot in Dumb and Dumber. Or like Halle Berry in Executive Decision before she played Storm in X-Men and when Kurt Russell was still THE MAN, but not like he was THE MAN he was in Death Proof, because I made him the muthafuckin FUCKIN THE MAN? Baby, if you were black I’d be like damn that be a black ass, alright! Cause I can DO that, OK! What size shoe do you wear?
FLA: Have a nice flight sir.
LATER…
Quentin is having trouble relaxing in his seat. He presses the call button. The Flight Attendant reluctantly comes over to help.
FLA: How can I help you, sir?
QT: I can’t sit here, OK? Imma bout to go medieval on this seat’s ass, OK? I got a back problem, dig? I like broke it in two places yesterday when my head moved too far forward and the centrifugal force lurched my body into a spiral, right? I mean it’s hard to keep this thing up all day. That moppet kid from Jerry Maguire was dead motherfucking wrong about that eight pounds shit. QT’s head weighs sixteen pounds bald! I can crush Heineken cold kegs with this thing. Mike Meyers got all those head jokes in So I Married An Axe Murderer from that time we met at Cannes and I spent forty minutes naming obscure references to that scene where Wayne opens the door and sees a ninja training facility. I’ve seen all of those films, right? True story.
FLA: I can bring you an extra pillow if you’d like, sir.
QT: Pillows are for pussies. Do I look like a pussy?
FLA: What?
QT: Say what again? Say what again I dare ya! I double dare ya! Say what one more muthafuckin time!
FLA: There’s no need for that type of language, sir.
QT: Imma get on the floor, OK. Cause that shag is calling the QT name. And QT goes where QT goes. Plus, you can get a much better look at feet from the floor. And feet ALWAYS call the QT’s name.
FLA: You can’t lie on the floor, sir, it’s a firehazard.
QT: Look at the size of my head, OK? Look at how fucking important it is. I have more iconic pop culture locked up there than the entire Planet Hollywood franchise, OK? So it needs to be taken care of. I want the floor.
FLA: No, sir.
QT: Have you seen Kill Bill? I taught Uma all those movies. I am a master fucking karate expert. I could probably snake chop Bruce Lee if he were here. So don’t fuck with me, OK? Niggers like me should NOT be fucked with. I fuck with you, OK!
The flight attendant starts crying.
QT: Ok, alright, alright, no floor. OK! Give me your seat.
FLA: My seat?
QT: Yeah, alright, I’ll take that fold out thing. Rest my back against equipment, right?
FLA: Where would I sit, then?
QT: Take my seat, OK. Sit next to Tiffany. She’s great. She’s like my wife. I wanna marry all sorts of her. And she’s great, OK? Did you see Ken Park? She blew a guy on screen in that movie. Is that cool shit or what? She, like, MADE that style of acting. Vincent Gallo and Chloe Sevigny STOLE that move from Tiffany, alright. That’s not even cool. You don’t fucking steal things from movies, OK? That’s just wrong. Everything I ever wrote was completely O.G.-riginal. It’s all in my head, that’s why it’s so good, OK!
FLA: What about how the plot of Reservoir Dogs was a complete lift from that Hong Kong movie City of Fire?
QT: I will punch you, OK? I’ll hit a woman. I’m a powerful celebrity who can do anything. If Lindsay only gets a day for doing blow and chasing down some bitch, I may not even get probation, alright, for taking you down. And I do a lot of blow! You think I can talk this fast and quote so many movies because I’m high on life? OK, no, OK! Not fucking happening! I do, like, Vincent Vega-level drugs, alright. I’ve been stabbed so many times in the heart that I got fucking heart stabbing directions tattooed on my chest, OK! So I can do drugs. Damn I’m such a black nigger!
Quentin lies on the floor. The flight attendant immediately disables the call button for his seat and runs for her life. Tiffany waits to be told when she can give oral onscreen again.
LATER…
The plane is about to land. The Flight Attendant tries to get Quentin off the floor and back into his seat. She looks like she’d rather be helping OJ Simpson try on a pair of black gloves.
FLA: Sir, I need you to get back into your seat, the plane is about to land.
QT: The floor is QT’s seat, alright. I’m on the floor in my upright position, OK. I can’t exactly just get up. It takes two people just to get my head off the ground. Or a really powerful sit-up, and I don’t do sit-ups. I do fucking sit-downs, OK!
FLA: Sir, you have been nothing but a disgusting, arrogant pest this entire flight. We’re almost done and then I can never see you or your junky, derivative pop culture vomit movies ever again. What can I do to just get you into your seat for five minutes?
QT: … show me your feet.
FLA: Excuse me?
QT: Your feet. They’re my kryptonite. I am powerless to feet. Whenever Uma wanted another close-up she’d slip off her sandal and ask me to blow on her toes. It got me so hard. Like fucking teenage boy hard, alright? I wasted fucking miles of celluloid because of those beautiful Aryan piglets.
FLA: Uh, fine. Here!
She takes her heel off and puts her foot in his face.
QT: Humuna humuna. I suddenly want to watch My Super Ex-Girlfriend very badly. Head! Up! Now!
Quentin’s head rises like a vampire waking from a coffin. He gets to his seat. The Flight Attendant sighs in relief.
QT: Tiffany my wife, QT needs oral, post motherfucking haste, alright.
TL: No, Quentin.
Quentin pulls out a video camera and points it at her.
QT: ACTION, OK!
TL: Yes, Quentin.
She gives him oral.
QT: This is class cinema, alright. I’m gonna split this into two volumes and have the Wu-Tang Clan do the score. Get Robert do the special effects. My nigger ass is brilliant, OK! Now if I can only get Corey Haim in this movie, it would totally be his comeback. License To Drive was fucking brilliant, alright? It was GREAT, just like this oral. I love to travel.
Oh, and while I wouldn’t use the obnoxious phrase “Superbad equals Superhilarious” (in the end, it’s still just a teen sex comedy. And that genre peaked the moment Duckie become unironic), I will say that I have officially added “fellashe” to my extended slang vocabulary. And I’ve never been happier!
In one of the funnier statements recorded this year that didn’t come out of the mouth of Jonah Hill or another of Judd Apatow’s comedic marionette’s, Steven Seagal, former blockbuster action hero and current beached whale, has gone on record about the FBI investigation into his alleged relation to organized crime. On the matter of the investigation hurting his career, he had this to say:
“False FBI accusations fueled thousands of articles saying that I terrorize journalists and associate with the Mafia,” Seagal told the newspaper. “These kinds of inflammatory allegations scare studio heads and independent producers — and kill careers.”
Basically, he’s claiming that the FBI ruined his career. I’ll repeat that, because it’s important. It was the FBI’s valid investigation into his illegal acts, a procedure no one outside of the entertainment industry even knew was happening, that shuttered his brilliant light of a big screen career. It wasn’t because his acting range extended from one end of a pin to the other. It wasn’t affected by the extra 90 pounds he packed on between Above the Law and Under Siege 2: Dark Territory. It certainly wasn’t due to his proclivity to dress in garish purple kimono’s and fugtastic cowboy hats. And it had ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with the fact that his movies blew chunks so fiercely that they made Jean Claude Van Damme pictures look like James Cameron master classes. No, it was the FBI asking some questions.
Let’s be real, Seagal was never long for stardom. He squinted more often than Renee Zellweger taking in a solar eclipse. He was unable to convincingly pull off any action scene that didn’t involve him slapping a guy in the face (forget about him running from a fireball, bitch woulda been an extra-crispy chicken nugget inside of two feet). Even though he was the hero, you never wanted to see him mack on a girl (even Arnold, one of the ugliest screen kissers in the history of cinema, at least provided the visual appeal of a godlike physique). Also, the whispering delivery only works if you’re Clint Eastwood. Nothing says enraged hero like muttering your already inexplicable one liners (“Nobody beats me in the kitchen.”).
His early 90’s success came from a dubious connection to then-Super Agent Michael Ovitz (he was Ovitz’s karate instructor), and from a rare boom cycle in the action movie genre. He stumbled into one classically great bad movie (Hard To Kill), and then hit the lottery with the genuinely awesome-tastic Under Siege. Had that movie not co-starred a batshit crazy yet likeable Gary Busey, a desperately needing the paycheck Tommy Lee Jones and Erika Eleniak’s beautacious tittyballs, I doubt Seagal would have seen a greenlight again anywhere but on an street corner. But they did, and because of it’s (earned) success he went on to do a slew of evermore outlandishly terrible action movies that were a showcase for only two things: his increasingly hugemongous waistline, and the audience’s incredulity at watching a dude that big try to keep his blood sugar high enough to stay awake for ninety minutes.
But hey, maybe if the dagnamit FBI hadn’t loused up his good name (that being a wife beater and industry-renowned no-talent douchebag assbut), he would have been given the opportunity to show us a different level. Maybe even a level of open eyes, outside voice, commendable fashion sense, non-husky pant size, and oh yeah, some actual talent.
So just to reiterate, it wasn’t the fact that he cast nebbishy playwright Eric Bogosian as the evil villain in the Under Siege sequel. It wasn’t that he wrote, directed and starred in “On Deadly Ground”, a transparent and excruciating “oil is bad” message movie that had him trying to match wits with Michael Caine (really, oil is bad for the environment? I had no idea. Someone get Michael Moore on the phone, we have his next winner!). It wasn’t that his co-stars degraded from the highs of Jerry Orbach (awesome) and Kurt Russell (double awesome) to the lows DMX (is that a chat room acronym?) and Keenan Ivory Wayans (Keenan Ivory Wayans!). And it’s just not possible it was due to Hollywood giving him ten years to make movies and he producing only one actual hit. No, it couldn’t be any of those reasons. Of course it was the FBI investigation. That had to be what producers and studio executives were thinking about when his name came up on the caller id.
Unfortunately, I just don’t buy Seagal’s claims. He really should have vetted that excuse through a better publicist, because they would have told him it was a worse idea than him playing a respected immunologist in The Patriot (even Denise Richards as Dr. Christmas Jones was a more believable medical pro). Off the top of my awesomely coiffed head I could come up with ten better reasons for why his career took a crap nap. And wouldn’t you know it, I actually did. Maybe if he had used of one these, he’d be getting more sympathy (and possibly a lift out of DTV hell).
The discontinuation of Suave For Men Pomade resulted in a fraying of his trademark greasy black ponytail of grease. Audiences could not respect him anymore because of it.
The changing migration patterns of eastern-born Swallows caused a disruption in the tectonic plates of the Earth’s crust and subsequently affected audiences tastes towards bloated dudes in caftan’s playing movie cops.
If Dolph Lundgren can’t make it in Hollywood, nobody can!
Michael Jordan retiring from basketball (the second time). After that, America was just too sad to root for the hero.
The gym.
Carbs.
Having his character die a violent death in Executive Decision gave audiences the exact Steven Seagal experience they had been looking for since he first squinted his way into our hearts. America just wasn’t interested in seeing him alive again.
Grey’s Anatomy. Think about it…
Al Gore losing the 2000 Presidential race to George Bush. Bush is a HUGE Hard To Kill fan (“You can take that to the bank, Osama bin Laden!”), and NO ONE wants that guy’s support.
He… wait for it… wait for it… ah sucks!
It’s just nice that in a summer plagued by shock and scandal (I still can’t wrap my head around The Butterscotch Stallion calling it quits), we can still have a proper laugh at stupid celebrities saying stupid things. Thank you Steven Seagal, for being the bloated, squinty, greasy, wooden, fashionably challenged abortion of charisma and talent that you are (also, you rocked when I saw you in concert. And I don’t mean that ironically. Ok, maybe I do.).
Now go make Under Siege 3; sequels that no one really wants to see starring action heroes that are way way waaay passed their prime are totally in right now. And I promise the mean old FBI bullies will totally say their sorry, and your career will be as big as you can imagine. Even bigger than your jeans (or kimono, whichever travesty you’re beached in these days)!
Yahoo is reporting that The Stallion himself, Mr. Owen Wilson, was rushed to the hospital this weekend for an undisclosed reason. He is in good condition now (his shag was touch and go for awhile), and the entire Wilson family is with him (Luke took time off of his busy schedule of eating whole rolls of raw cookie dough and half-heartedly “acting” in whatever romcom Dane Cook takes a powder on). Though Doctors have yet refused to release the reason for The Stallion’s medical emergency, they have thankfully denied that it was an attempted suicide. This is good news, as though Kate Hudson is not a reason to end your life, seeing her date Dax Sheppard right after you, might be.
We here at The Jay are deeply concerned for the well-being of The Butterscotch Stallion and his shag, and hope he makes a speedy recovery from whatever ailment might be befalling him. Though what that ailment is has been quite the topic of controversy. We know it’s not drugs because he wasn’t admitted for “exhaustion”. And we know it’s not an overdose because The Stallion can’t get chemicals in the shag or it will wilt and he’ll lose all his magical powers. So what could it possibly be? Until we hear an official word from The Stallion’s physician’s we can only speculate. So it’s a good thing we love to do that.
Barring his being the first pregnant man since Arnold Schwarzenegger in Junior, or it being just a simple burst appendix, here’s what a list of what I think he might be suffering from:
Some nefarious evil-doer replaced his usual ShowSheen Detangler and Conditioner with Pert Plus and decimated the shag’s volume. The airlift to get him to the Stockholm Shag Restoration Center was not immediately available so he called 911 as a temporary solution. The world’s foremost shag-perts (that would be “shag experts”) are currently in-route. The shag is expected to make a full, luscious recovery.
During an especially hearty lovemaking session with some random bar scazz, Owen took a blow to the face and was surprised to find that his nose was suddenly perfect looking. Fearing a loss to his quirky good looks rep, he rushed to the hospital so that he could have his nose professionally re-broken. He had the schnozz reinforced with titanium, so now no manner of crazy Stallion sex can dislodge the jacked-up cartilage.
He got some stray shag hair in his eyes and didn’t know what to do. His usual cornerman, Tyson Beckford, was off on a photo shoot, so he rushed to the hospital to have a top surgeon gently blow on his pupil.
The Shag ran into Tom Hank’s Hair at a party on Saturday and words were exchanged. There was a fierce debate over just which ‘do was the bigger star and unfortunately, the argument devolved into fisticuffs. Tom Hanks’s Hair walked away unscathed, but the shag wasn’t so lucky. You don’t mess with two-time Academy Award winning hair.
Tried to remove his underwear before taking off his pants, without remembering that that’s not actually possible. When he pulled it off in Zoolander it was movie magic. Damn sneaky movie magic!
With his dealer on vacation, Owen finally sobered up for the first time since 2003. It was then that he realized, to his dismay, that making Night at the Museum wasn’t just an especially vivid dream about the time he was a midget and Ben Stiller was 19 feet tall. He immediately fainted from shock (and humiliation), and was taken to the hospital as a precaution. Mentioning of that film in his presence is now strictly verboten.
On the dubious advice of this ashram community he visited during the shooting of The Darjeeling Limited, he went on an all-Butterscotch diet. The nutrition plan backfired on Day 16 and he was rushed to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. Werthers is said to be in negotiations to acquire the contents of the pump to be used as the base of it’s next batch of Werther’s Original Butterscotch candy treat.
After watching Al Gore’s The Inconvenient Truth on DVD Owen was so distraught about the plight of the environment that he chopped off the shag in an attempt to lower his own eco footprint. The moment the hair hit the floor he realized the mistake he’d made (he’s from Texas and doesn’t give a shit about the environment), and immediately called 911. World-renowned plastic surgeons Sean McNamara and Christian Troy volunteered to reattach the shag pro-bono. The surgery was tawdry and salacious, but successful. The shag is resting comfortably, but is now brooding over the doctors’ question: “Tell me what you don’t like about yourself”.
It remains to be seen what’s in store for the future of The Butterscotch Stallion’s wondrous shag do. TheJay.com will continue to follow The Stallion’s recovery as news updates.
UPDATE: Multiple reports are coming in that Owen did in fact attempt suicide. Let me then reiterate that this post is meant as a work of humor. Black as night, gallows humor, written before these reports came upon, and still before we’ve heard anything official. I would not have fun made of someone’s attempted suicide, especially not someone who’s work, both in writing and acting, I have admired for so long.
The Scene: Famed movie director Quentin Tarantino is wheel-chaired onto a plane by renowned screen nymph Tiffany Limos. The flight attendant does her best to 
Quentin is having trouble relaxing in his seat. He presses the call button. The Flight Attendant reluctantly comes over to help.
The plane is about to land. The Flight Attendant tries to get Quentin off the floor and back into his seat. She looks like she’d rather be helping OJ Simpson try on a pair of black gloves.
In one of the funnier statements recorded this year that didn’t come out of the mouth of Jonah Hill or another of Judd Apatow’s comedic marionette’s, Steven Seagal, former blockbuster action hero and current beached whale, has gone on record about the FBI investigation into his alleged relation to organized crime. 
His early 90’s success came from a dubious connection to then-Super Agent Michael Ovitz (he was Ovitz’s karate instructor), and from a rare boom cycle in the action movie genre. He stumbled into one classically great bad movie (Hard To Kill), and then hit the lottery with the genuinely awesome-tastic Under Siege. Had that movie not co-starred a batshit crazy yet likeable Gary Busey, a desperately needing the paycheck Tommy Lee Jones and Erika Eleniak’s beautacious tittyballs, I doubt Seagal would have seen a greenlight again anywhere but on an street corner. But they did, and because of it’s (earned) success he went on to do a slew of evermore outlandishly terrible action movies that were a showcase for only two things: his increasingly hugemongous waistline, and the audience’s incredulity at watching a dude that big try to keep his blood sugar high enough to stay awake for ninety minutes.
The Butterscotch Stallion is down!
