Wrapped Up Like A Douche

In Search of...
The story becomes old news, and still they come. I joke endlessly at their expense, and still they come. Time passes, the leaves fall, my hair turns grey and still they come. Twenty, thirty, forty times a day—still they come. They come in search of—well, I’ve already said what they come in search of. I don’t want to make this site any more attractive to the search engines than it already is. But suffice it to say that, as much as it may pain some of you to hear—you will not find that certain shot of a certain bodily region of a certain millionaire heiress here. Nor a certain motion picture of said heiress doing the nasty. It ain’t here. And while it gives me a sense of wonderment (as it should for our friend the amateur adult film star as well) that at least once every five minutes for the past five days someone somewhere has gone looking for the things mentioned above (that are of course not here!), I wish all that energy could be channeled into something more beneficial to society as a whole.

Therefore, I would like to announce the formation of the—ok, I can say it now because it’s for a good cause—the Paris Hilton Crotch Shot Foundation.

Here’s how it will work: you, my loyal readers, will pledge a certain amount of money to the Foundation for every “hit” I receive from a search for the aforementioned picture and video between now and December 10th; at the end of that time, I will tabulate the results and all money raised will go to the Afghanistan Relief Organization, which is providing humanitarian and educational aid to a population which sorely needs it. (I would recommend a pledge of a cent or two per hit, since we're averaging about 30 P.H.C.S. hits per day.) I shit you not, people, and I will get things rolling by pledging two cents per hit myself. Let’s turn that masturbation into a mass donation. E-mail me (Wulad@aol.com) with your pledge today!

For the Jazzbos
On to the Limited-Appeal Dept.: WULAD managed to get a ticket last weekend to see Keith Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette, and Gary Peacock (the “Trio at 20”) as the closing headliners of the SF JazzFest; I’ve never seen the group live before, so I don’t know what the standard etiquette is, but I was surprised when His Keithness began speaking after the band had been introduced (since he has a reputation as something of a “difficult” performer). “Twenty years,” he said, “is not really enough.” He spoke haltingly, in choppy phrases that suggested this wasn’t something he’d prepared; he closed his remarks by saying (and this is only my best recollection), “I feel like we should thank… I don’t know, whoever we need to thank, certainly not us. We sometimes sit backstage and think, ‘What is it exactly, that we do?’ People come to hear us, I guess, and we show up on the stage, and… something happens.”

Something then proceeded to happen for the next few hours—based on the large swaths of time I’ve devoted to listening to the Trio’s recordings over the years, I would say they had a hell of a night. The second set was especially good, opening with the rarely-played “Golden Earring” (not the rock band), a fast and rollicking version of “All the Things…” (with a long sheets-of-sound-y solo intro from Keith), and a re-creation of the funky rendition of “God Bless the Child” as heard on their very first studio recording twenty years ago. The crowd was relentlessly appreciative, and wouldn’t leave until they were placated with two encores (a muted “When I Fall in Love” and a wild, quick version of “When Will the Blues Leave?”, complete with frightening fills from Jack played on those little bowls attached to his cymbals). It made me think, “Oh yeah… this was why I got into this business.”

Take Me Out to the WULAD
Lastly, some baseball news… Newsday is reporting that New York baseball’s biggest J.S. Bach fan Mike Piazza, unhappy with the prospect of learning first base on a rebuilding team, will request a trade from the Mets in the next few weeks. This is sad for me, since he’s been my favorite player on my favorite team since I really began to get serious about baseball, and some of my best Mets memories are tied up with the guy. (Such as watching him lift NY1’s Bud Mishkin into the air following the Mets’ win over the Cardinals to send them to the 2000 World Series.) But... he’s got a point. It would be wonderful to see his Non-Gayness retire as a Met, but he may be worth more to the team in trade value, and could conceivably revive his career on an American League team as a part-time catcher and DH. Hey—how about trading him for A-Rod? I’ll chip in on the salary. Maybe Paris Hilton will, too.

Addendum: I'm serious about the Foundation. Make with the pledges, WULADers of Conscience.