…Hilary Swank is the ultimate but’er face. She’s tough to watch talk but that body is unbelievable. She was showcasing the evenings best nipples.

…enough already with the stars bringing their mom and children to the event. If I have to look at Jamie Foxx all night at least give me some eye candy.

…I can’t believe Clint Eastwood’s mom is still alive.

…having Antonio Banderas sing that spanish ballad was like having Eric Clapton play guitar while John Cleese crooned a nominated Beatles song.

…Animated presenters? Give me a break!

…Sean Penn is a Killjoy.

…What was Oprah doing there? She wasn’t nominated. She didn’t present an award. Was she Mickey Rooney’s guest of honor?

…I get real uncomfortable when I watch Robin Williams.

…the budget for the cast of the movie Sideways had to be about $1500.

…the Johnny Carson tribute was the highlight of the evening.

• For all the hoopla over Chris Rock hosting the show, I was a little disappointed. His opening monologue wasn’t all that funny or original. His bit on there only being 4 real stars in Hollywood was too long, not terribly funny and bordered on being mean-spirited. (Sean Penn, the defender of truth, justice and the American way, apparently took umbrage with Rock’s comments and came to Jude Law’s defense later in the evening when he was presenting an award.) Rock’s commentary on Fahrenheit 9/11, the Passion of the Christ and President Bush were just too obvious and easy. I mean, I can’t turn on the TV for more than 5 minutes without being hit with something having to do with politics or Texas Hold ‘Em. For the love of God, can’t someone come up with something more original? Is that really too much to ask? Despite not being overly impressed with Rock’s hosting abilities, I was thankful for not having to look at Whoopie or put up with Billy Crystal’s manic 2-bit song and dance, old Jewish man voices and Sammy Davis Jr. impressions.
• I wish the Academy would have mercy on us and give us a break from Robin Williams just one year. I can’t believe he’s still doing Elmer Fudd jokes.
• What’s up with Leonardo DiCaprio’s 8th grade facial hair? He always appears to have stubble on his chin and under his nose, about as much as the average pubescent boy. One criticism of Leonardo is that he looks 15 years old. I don’t know if he thinks that sparse assemblage of whiskers on his face makes him look older, but I think it has the opposite effect.
• Not being a fan of the Destiny’s Child style of music, I only learned last night that Beyonce can’t sing for shit. But again, Hollywood was trying to appeal to the masses. I would have chosen Tom Jones to sing the first song she sang. He can wail. Ironically, he’s from Whales, but I digress. While I didn’t find the songs Beyonce sang last night terribly appealing, they were beyond her abilities. You need a Bette Midler for that stuff. And what the hell was Beyonce wearing when she sang the Andrew Lloyd Webber song? She looked like a cheap 1970’s chandelier.
• Every time I see Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, he looks more and more like the bastard son of Christopher ‘Kid’ Reid from the House Party trilogy and Coolio.
• Antonio Banderas sings about as well as he acts. I don’t know how Carlos Santana accompanied him with a straight face.
• I don’t mean to sound morbid, but my favorite part of the Oscars every year is the Montage of the Dead, the moment that they show the actors and others related to movie making who have died over the past year. I feel it’s the only real moment in an otherwise plasticine event. Yo-Yo Ma playing unaccompanied was dignified and classy in its simplicity. For once I’d like to see Yo-Yo Ma play his cello behind his head like Stevie Ray Vaughan. Because you know he can.

Today marks the end of the weeklong Best of Anthony feature. I hope everyone enjoyed it as much as I have. Today, I have a special “2-parter” to end the week of Best of Anthony with a bang. Enjoy.

Installments #4 and #5 in the Best of Anthony series

April 13, 2004

A “lady friend” of mine just returned from a three-month long trip to the Balkan Peninsula in southeasterly Europe. The main purpose of her trip was to further her knowledge in the field of balneology, a branch of medicine concerned with therapeutic bathing. She spent most of her time in Bulgaria and was able to find some extra time in the evenings to study dance (of all things) under the tutelage of one of the masters of Bulgarian folk dance. You see, dance has always been one of my “lady friend’s” biggest passions, and it’s ironic because dancing is totally unrelated to balneology!

My “lady friend” and I have been kicking around this idea for a few years now, and through demonstrations of the dance and various means of persuasion, my “lady friend” has finally gotten me to agree to join her in trying to form a Bulgarian line-dancing club. What we have in mind is an informal monthly gathering where a group of individuals meet outdoors in a tranquil park setting. We would learn and perform various Bulgarian line-dances understanding of course that there is a fairly sizable learning curve involved in mastering these intricate dances. And that’s fine because we are doing this for the fun of it, not to become a traveling dance troupe. After we are all sufficiently tuckered out from the Bulgarian line dancing, we would then enjoy various grilled meats prepared by a Thai friend of ours who is gifted in the culinary arts (but not very gifted in the balneological arts—che puzza! Just kidding, Mongkut!!). Unfortunately, we would have to ask for a modest contribution to cover the cost of the grilled meats, but the dance instruction would be free of charge. Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me.

If anyone is interested in partaking in the Bulgarian line-dancing and grilled meats, please contact me within the next week or so. We plan on starting the club in about a month when the weather gets nicer. Thanks!

June 04, 2004

It gives me great joy to report that the first meeting of The Pittsburgh Bulgarian Line-Dancing and Grilled Meats Society (PBL-DGMS) last night was a whopping success. Except for me having some difficulty freeing the grill from the trunk of my DeVille, the evening went off without a hitch.

About 20 to 25 of us assembled at a “secret location” in a local park around 7:30 last evening. We couldn’t have asked for more perfect weather. As Mongkut was setting up the grill and preparing the various meats, I set up the boom box and had my first of many Cuba Libres. While I was meeting several people whom I had never before met, Tunesmith arrived with a jug of his famous mojitos. Yes, we like us some rum!

Around 8:00, I received word that my “lady friend”, the Bulgarian line-dancing expert, was tied up at work and was going to be late. As we discussed how to pass the time until she arrived, Tunesmith went to his car and returned with a sack full of what appeared to be large inflated balls, about the size of volley balls. He of course suggested that we get a game of dodgeball going to warm up our muscles for the Bulgarian line-dancing. About 15 of us formed a circle and Tunesmith fired the ball at a young lady to begin the game. She raised her hands to catch the ball, but it traveled right through her hands, smacking her square in the forehead. Her head violently jerked backwards and she almost fell to the ground! It turned out that what prankster Tunesmith had thrown was actually a 6-pound medicine ball! Lucky for Tune, the young lady was a good sport, even though she displayed a large pink semi-circle on her forehead for the remainder of the evening. Since we obviously couldn’t play dodgeball with this sack full of medicine balls, Tunesmith directed us in a light medicine ball workout. I must admit that I was flummoxed and quite impressed with the knowledge, dexterity and skill Tunesmith displayed with the medicine ball. And I couldn’t believe what a rigorous workout that can be had using a medicine ball. Muscles that I didn’t even know I had are sore this morning from tossing around the ol’ medicine ball. I always dismissed the medicine ball as a quaint prop used in old television shows, more often than not featuring Vivian Vance or Richard Deacon in situations where they are trying to lose weight. Part of the regiment always included them being hooked up to that machine with the large belt that wraps around their waste and simply vibrated their fat, which was then followed by some schtick involving a medicine ball. Bottom-line: fear the medicine ball.

My “lady friend” finally arrived and the Bulgarian line-dancing commenced. Thank God she showed up when she did because we were tired of listening to the mixed CD of Paul Anka songs that someone brought. The dance movements were complex, but she patiently gave us all individual attention and after about an hour, we were dancing as a tight unit, pulsating and gyrating as if we were experts (at least that’s how it seemed to me but I had 5 Cuba Libres in me by then, so I’m not really sure how well we did). It was a lot of fun. Everyone enjoyed it and luckily no one injured themselves.

By the time we were ready to stop dancing, the savory smell of grilled meats filled the spring night air. Mongkut performed his usual grilling wizardry. He prepared an incredible array of meats: marinated flank steak (that was so incredibly tender that it melted in your mouth), a pork tenderloin, veal osso buco, and a grilled meatloaf. I can’t remember the last time I ate such delicious meats. Mongkut really worked hard. Tunesmith provided dessert that consisted of slices of honeydew wrapped in prosciutto. I don’t know where he got it, but that was some fine honeydew.

After we devoured all of the grilled meats, almost everyone left. A group of about 7 of us remained, sitting in the grass under the full moon, drinking our Cuba Libres and mojitos, discussing world affairs and musical tastes. It was blissful. We later decided to go get tattoos but after realizing I couldn’t fit everyone in the DeVille, we decided against it. Maybe next time. I didn’t get home until about 3:30 this morning.

I’d like to thank everyone who participated in making this event such a success. Everyone I met was very nice, except for one gentleman who sported a Rollie Fingers mustache and claimed to be a cousin of Charo. He had a body odor problem and just wasn’t very pleasant. And as a result of the medicine ball workout being such a hit, we discussed starting a medicine ball club that would also feature grilled meats.

Christian Slater filed for divorce from his wife of five years, Ryan Haddon. The two have had a tumultuous relationship — Haddon once stabbed Slater with a broken wineglass and also flew into a rage two years ago when he was caught in the couple’s Vancouver rental home getting his back shaved by topless strippers. I don’t know which is more troubling—the fact that she stabbed him with a wineglass or that he gets his back shaved.

Scientists on Tuesday reported that perchlorate, a toxic component of rocket fuel, was contaminating virtually all samples of women’s breast milk and its levels were found to be, on average, five times greater than in cow’s milk. The findings concern health experts because infants and fetuses are the most vulnerable to the thyroid-impairing effects of the chemical. The scientists’ report was not all bad news as they noted that the average breastfed infant can fart and achieve speeds approaching Mach 1.

I have previously expressed my disappointment here over men’s dress hats going out of fashion. There are however a few daring men that I see downtown who are either retro or bald who wear dress hats. What irritates me is that they all go for the Indiana Jones hat. Can’t they think of something a little more original? Do they wear them because they want us to wonder if they go on safaris in addition to heading up the corporate banking customer service team?

Actor Sean Connery is being sued by a New York neighbor who accused him of “making his life hell” with loud music, dripping water and a plague of rats. The neighbor claims construction work has “wreaked havoc on (his) collection of museum-quality Victorian and early 20th-century wicker furniture … irreparably damaged by water, falling plaster and black soot and grime.” Call me insensitive, but if you collect Victorian and early 20th-century wicker furniture, your life is already hell.

Legendary actor Abe Vigoda turns 84 years old today. Happy Birthday, Mr. Vigoda! May God bless. To celebrate this occasion, I will be dining at Louis’ Restaurant in the Bronx this evening. It’s perfect for us. A small family place, good food. Everyone minds his business. It’s perfect. Pete: they got an old-fashion’ toilet — you know, the box, and - and - and - ah the chain-thing. We might be able to tape the gun behind it.

Installment #3 in the Best of Anthony series

August 06, 2004

During my senior year in high school, I took a shop class. For our term project, we were to create something from wood. I designed a large planter and worked feverishly over the span of the semester to complete it. As a special touch, I carved an owl out of a piece of driftwood (using the Wise potato chip owl as a model) that I attached much like a decorative applique. Because I decided to make the planter special with the addition of the carved owl, the project took longer than I anticipated, and I did not complete it until the last day of school. To finish off the project and seal the wood properly, I wanted to apply several layers of the finest polyurethane to the planter to protect it from the elements. But because it was the last day of school, I didn’t have time for that. When I brought my dilemma to the attention of my shop teacher, he threw a can of Watco Danish Oil at me and told me to liberally treat the wood with the oil, stating that it was just as good as a polyurethane sealer. Being the good student that I was, I did as I was told.

I brought the planter home and proudly presented it to my mother as a gift. She loved it and baked cookies for me in return. Together we decided to plant a single corn seed in the planter, which we would harvest for baby corn. Mother and I lovingly tended to our corn plant, and I followed the directions on the can of Watco Danish Oil by applying it liberally to the planter every so often.

It was a scorching day in late July when it happened. What my shop teacher failed to tell me was that Watco Danish Oil contained linseed oil, which is flammable. Sitting in the hot sun on that sweltering July afternoon, the planter spontaneously combusted. The planter that I worked so hard to create was engulfed in flames in a matter of seconds. The flames were a few feet high and soon the evergreen trees that surrounded the planter were also ignited. I was in the yard pulling weeds when this occurred, and once I saw what was happening, I ran into the house calling for my mother, “”It’s burst into flames….Get out of the way, please, oh my, this is terrible, oh my, get out of the way, please…Oh, the humanity!” She called 911 and the fire department came and extinguished the fire.

That shop teacher was a real jackass.