Category Archives: Bizarre

Weird Wednesday III

Ugh. Up since 2:45. But hey, I’m not one to complain. Gotta get up anyway, right?

:-)

Today’s weirdness is called Shuh-Mo Me the Money.

First, I say this: In my opinion, Michael Jackson was one of the most amazing entertainers in popular music history; genius, both in the studio and on the stage. I think it’s become hip for all the Kool Kids to dislike him and his music for the most part nowadays, and that makes me sad because many times, folks can’t separate the artist from the art. Or they don’t want to, or don’t know how, or don’t believe it’s possible. It’s also entirely acceptable that people just don’t like his music. Whatev.

So yeah, I (and a lot of others) believe that Jackson is talented, but I also think he’s a three-dollar bill. And a smart one at that. Behold…

Remember a few years ago, when he was up on molestation charges? Well, I recall wondering to myself, “Why did he go to Bahrain to escape, of all places in the world?” I thought it was bizarre, but I considered the source and went on with my life.

Ah, but hindsight is a great teacher, Grasshopper. Looky what we got here:

Apparently, MJ took refuge in the home (or in one of the homes) of Sheikh Abdulla, son of the king of Bahrain. Since Jacko was down on his financial luck, he promised the Sheikh the moon and stars in return for enjoying a lifestyle any prince would envy. The guy not only ponied up the cash to pay overdue Neverland bills, but also sprung for a $350,000 vacation for MJ and his pals, and a $500,000 advance for his living expenses upon his arrival in the Arab kingdom. He even paid for visits from a “mind mapper” to help Jackson focus his brain — at $37,000 a crack. HA

Jackson allegedly entered into a contract to do a recording project with the Sheikh (who is an amateur musician), as well as a tell-all biography that was supposed to net the pair major green.

Then, and I don’t know why, MJ got his fill of it all and bolted. Enter the lawyers and the litigation, to the tune of $7 million. Jackson is wide-eyed and kerfluffled: “I thought it was all a gift!” Shyeah. And the Big 3 are gonna manage their money really really well this time. Promise.

So, what happened here? Cynical minds could think this:

  1. Jackson needs a place to lay low, and the Sheikh, eager for the chance to schmooze with his idol, rolls out the welcome mat.
  2. Jackson plays along with the Sheikh’s big dream, telling the guy, “Sure, we can do a record together, and then write a book and a musical. Whatever you want.” With that promise, Sheikh becomes Sugar Daddy and pays all Michael’s outstanding bills.
  3. Ten months later, tired of life at the palace and ready to get back to his career, MJ bids the Sheikh a fond farewell and skips town. Thanks for the hospitality, gotta hit the road.
  4. Sheikh Abdulla, now at the anger stage of his grief process, wants his money back.

And, not surprisingly, Jackson is now “too sick” to make the trip to testify at the trial. He wants to stay in LA and talk by video instead.

I don’t know — I could be all wet. It’s all conjecture until after the trial. But I’d be hard pressed to concede that money didn’t have anything to do with his visit in the first place. I mean, Thrilla was broke, and being roasted by the press. What better way to continue in the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed than to shack with the Sheikh and wait for things to die down stateside?

I guess we’ll find out, as yet another saga unfolds in the life of Michael Jackson. You know, the guy who still maintains he’s never had any surgery done on his face except to repair his nose so he could sing better.

Image credits: BBC, Ebony magazine, Associated Press, bahraingateway.org

Weirdness from across the pond

Ok, this is bizarre. And funny. It’s one of those times when you read an article or story that is quite serious, and then it delivers a huge punch line at the end that makes you laugh out loud.

The whole sordid tale about British radio announcers Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross is a head-shaker. The articles are long and involved, so here’s the abbreviated version (full link to follow):

I’m reading along, and it seems that a 23-year-old girl was having a fling with Brand, age 33. Then the guy found out the girl was the granddaughter of Andrew Sachs, known worldwide for playing Manuel, the Spanish waiter in the hilarious BBC comedy from the seventies, Fawlty Towers.

Well, one thing led to another, and there was Ross, back on his radio show with Brand, making sexually lewd comments about Sachs, now in his 70s.

The granddaughter — along with the British public — was horrified by the tasteless remarks on the show, and now both announcers have been fired.

I felt terrible for the girl. She was quoted in the article as being profoundly embarrassed that her grandfather had to not only endure a disgusting experience (seems the guys also left nasty voice mail messages on his phone), but to also be told intimate details about her love life. She clearly wanted to protect him, and she also felt personally violated by having her private affairs made public by a couple of morons on the radio. No woman should have to go through this. I was angry for her.

Then, the kicker.

One of the last paragraphs contains the innocuous sentence, “Miss Baillie…dances under the stage name ‘Voluptua’ in [the] burlesque troupe The Satanic Sluts.”

HAAAA

Well no wonder she was offended. Ok, I’m being snarky. If the gal wants to dance with the Satanic Sluts, then, you know…like I always say, rock on. I just laughed at being swept along by this terrible story (and it is really terrible), picturing this poor, embarrassed girl…I guess I had a different mental picture of her in mind.

You can read more about it here. Seems the Beeb have their work cut out for them…yikes. But hey, at least they don’t have Howard Stern.

Fink out.

Creepy

Just a little.

I caught a link this morning that took me to a page at Wired where some vintage Halloween pictures were displayed. Guy named Steven Martin collected the pictures, mostly via e(vil)Bay. The photos, some pictured below, seem rather….I dunno…off. Like they’re all ho-ho and ha-ha and yay, but hiding something really sinister and hideous. Like clowns.

No clue what the guy in the lower right of the above picture is supposed to be. It all kind of trips my creep-o-meter. Art does that to me sometimes.

Mr. Martin describes himself as “obsessive compulsive” where collecting old photographs is concerned. Interesting condition, that. I mean, the guy does have a strange obsession with things old and odd.

Speaking of which…the Fink is late. Gotta git. Happy Tuesday!

Non, nyet, nein.

And no. Don’t forget no.

Would I ever, ever, ever in my long-legged life do something like Dinner in the Sky?

I mean…what’s the point? The website says, “Have a meeting over London.” What?? Who could get anything done? Sure, let’s discuss the latest merger whilst suspended by a crane cable, 164 feet in the air.

I know, I know. Crane cables lift stuff that weighs a lot more than 27 people and a fully stocked bar. But it still reminds me of riding this at Cedar Point, with #1 Son and Lars laughing at me while I screamed myself hoarse, waiting for the inevitable, horrifying freefall to what I thought surely was my final moment in this world. And, of course, there’s this little issue here.

So, again. No thanks. I’ll take my chances by simply eating dinner the boring, old fashioned way: at a table on the ground.

Have a great Sunday. Ten days till we open.

Fink out.

Ok, one more thing. Apparently, in India, nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Photo credits: dinnerinthesky.com; reuters.com, cedarpoint.com

Weird Wednesday II

Today’s weirdness is called Gimme.

This from the Reuters wire.

Seems an attempt in Tehran to build the world’s longest sandwich was foiled before Guinness record book people could even measure it, because the spectators (all apparently ravenous) rushed forward and started eating the evidence.

The delicious lunch, made with chicken and ostrich meat, drew curious onlookers, who quickly metamorphosed into lunatic vultures once the masterpiece was completed. I guess they didn’t see the guy from Guinness going “Holy crap, WAIT A MINUTE!”

Behavior degraded from there. Crazed Iranians cavorted about, making mock and acting their shoe sizes, creating a shameless, free-for-all donnybrook in the street.

And all were well fed.

A few devoted scavengers stayed behind after the mêlée to gather the scraps for dessert. At the end of the day, organizers of the event were not discouraged; fortunately, they took enough photos and video footage that they believed Guinness would consider their bid anyhow. (I hope they do, if only out of relief that no one died in the onslaught.)

I guess the bizarre goes hand-in-hand with free food. Folks will do anything for it. Reminds me of last night before rehearsal started, when Brennan visited and brought chocolate covered pretzels. After my 10th one, I decided to leave some for him.

Some.

Ok, this isn’t weird, but I just noticed it, so here it is. Sarah Palin is way prettier than Tina Fey. Not trying to be snarky — it’s just an observation. I’m sure Tina is funnier, though.

All right then, my fiends. Go ye out into the absurdity, and make good things happen.

FO

Photo credit: Reuters