Tuesday, February 27, 2007 

Who's Gonna Take The Weight??? III

Jenna Jameson is without question the most well-known and successful female performer ever in the adult industry. Besides being an exceptional and eye-catching piece of ass in her early days, she also gives every new potential talent fresh-off-the-bus with stars in their eyes the hope that they, too might one day not have to submit to indignities like cream pie gangbangs or double-anal penetrations and possibly transform into respectable entrepreneurs who found and run multi-million dollar companies, never having to suffer the humiliation of another on-camera milk enema ever again. This isn't necessarily a pipe dream, per se, but I consider Jenna the exception rather than the rule, of course and strive as they might, these naive and impressionable youths need to realize they may never become and we may never see "The Next Jenna."

... and if her current appearance tells us anything, we might not even see "The Old Jenna" ever again. The Face of Modern Adult Entertainment is a shocking visual commentary on the current state of the industry. What happened exactly? Plastic surgeries? Drugs? The divorce? Whatever is to blame, the transformation Jenna Jameson has undergone in just under a year's time is a lot for any fan to mentally process (or dare I say, digest?). This is a case when a few pictures are indeed worth more than a thousand of my words.

Monday, February 26, 2007 

The Monkey Has DEPARTED Scorsese's Back

Being a black man, some readers may be inclined to give me a hard time about this blog seeing as how it's not about Forest Whitaker's Best Actor win for The Last King of Scotland or everyone's favorite full-bodied underdog Jennifer Hudson winning Best Supporting Actress for Dreamgirls. I'm extremely happy for them both, Lord knows I am. I am always rooting for "us"; I literally STOOD in front of my television with my fingers crossed for each of them (as well as Will Smith, Eddie Murphy and Djimon Hounsou) as their names were announced. I was moved by their genuine emotion and their recognition that their respective wins mean something not only to themselves personally but to our race as a whole during their humble and heartfelt acceptance speeches. It was an inspirational close to Black History Month.

But please understand, it was seeing Taxi Driver for the very first time that changed how I look at cinema. Talented as she may be, Jennifer Hudson was never on my radar until this year. Forest Whitaker, not to sell him short, has been around much longer and is an amazing thesp but until I actually see The Last King of Scotland for myself, my last memories of the big Texan are his portrayal of Lt. Jon Kavanaugh on this past season of FX's The Shield and the one that initially brought him to my and many others' attention, as a slick pool shark in 1986, in Martin Scorsese's The Color of Money.

In light of that fact, I think Forest would be forgiving of what is about to follow.


I had my fears that Clint Eastwood and his magnificently-directed and acted Japanese-language Letters from Iwo Jima would spoil my joy but it simply wasn't to be. Presented with the Oscar by a triumverate of powerful and influential director friends -- Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg -- 64-year old Martin Scorsese, at long last, won the Best Director statuette from the Academy last night. The film he directed, The Departed, starring Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson, also took home Best Picture.

And I couldn't have been happier.

A remake of the Hong Kong crime drama Infernal Affairs (whose plot always reminded me more than just a little of Woo's '92 kick-ass Hard-Boiled, something not helped by the fact that Tony Leung is in both) I knew The Departed was something special, even for Martin Scorsese, the second it was over. But I'll admit, at first, I was a bit skeptical.

For one, I hate American remakes of foreign film, especially ones from China; we always find a way to screw things up, completely miss the artist's intentions and toy wrongly with their original vision (critics and fans of Infernal Affairs have levied these compaints against The Departed, as well). Two, right from the outset, from the first time I saw the trailer and got a gander at the all-star cast, it felt as though Marty might be pandering to the public, going the extra mile to make this movie more accessible to the masses. Either way, his gambit paid off huge. And even a cynic like myself had to admit he was ultimately satisfied by the time the end credits rolled (Hell, I was grinning in my theater seat by the time the opening credits finally began about ten minutes in). As soon as I could power my cell phone back on, I immediately and randomly began dialing numbers, texting, instant messaging...whatever I could do to get the word out: "I don't care where you are, what you're doing, what time it is...get up off your ass and go see The Departed right now!"

The irony of all this is that I actually missed The Departed on its opening weekend. That particular weekend I made a promise to two female friends that I'd accompany them both to see the Dane Cook/Jessica Simpson vehicle Employee of the Month. I made a last ditch effor to change their minds at the ticket counter but for some reason, even though both consider themselves to be cinephiles, they insisted on sticking to our original plans. Don't think I've let either of them live it down.

And I'll be giving them an even harder time now that the 79th Annual Academy Awards are in the books and The Master, after giving us classics from Mean Streets to Goodfellas, from Casino to Gangs of New York, finally got what he has long and richly deserved. The most talked about losing streak in Oscar history is finally at an end. And it's about damn time.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007 


Her Highness & the New Nacirema Dream

WEEDS, next to since-cancelled ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT, just might be the smartest and funniest thirty minutes on television. After being sent the first four episodes of the second season last year weeks before they even aired on Showtime, I immediately ran out and bought Season One on DVD to catch up on all the story arcs and character history I had missed to ready myself for the remainder of the second season. Like AD, it really is just that addictive and while it’s a bit more accessible to new viewers than AD, the amazing continuity and ingenious plot twists will keep you entertained and more importantly, telling your friends.

WEEDS revolves around the life of homemaker Nancy Botwin (Mary-Louise Parker) who lives in the fictional, upper-middle-class neighborhood of Agrestic, Calif. Her storybook existence falls apart when her husband Judah suddenly and unexpectedly dies while out jogging with their youngest son. With the breadwinner gone, in order to maintain the lifestyle she and her two young sons, Silas and Shane, have grown accustomed to, Nancy begins secretly selling marijuana to the other colorful and well-to-do residents of her picturesque suburb.

Leave It To Beaver this ain’t.

It didn’t surprise me to find that the series’ creator Jenji Kohan was inspired by a few of my other favorite shows like The Shield and The Sopranos, where we’re conditioned to root for characters who work outside of the law (how on Earth can you dislike a woman who just lost her husband and only wants to provide the best for her remaining family?). The difference between WEEDS and those other shows, though, is that WEEDS is a half-hour dark comedy with the occasional hint of drama where Kohan’s inspirations are just the opposite, dramas with a subtle dash of humor. But like The Shield and The Sopranos, every character, main and supporting, is fleshed out vividly and realistically and have real moral dilemmas of their own.

Nancy’s supplier is a tough and streetwise black woman, Heylia James, (I find her a bit of a stereotype, honestly; a large black woman who’s all bluster and bad attitude) who is also helped by her nephew Conrad (Romany Malco) and her niece, Vaneeta (Indigo). Malco, probably best known as Jay from The 40-Year Old Virgin, is one of the show’s brightest spots, just as he was in that movie and the sexual tension between he and Parker easily rivals that of Willis and Shepard on their best night on Moonlighting. Nancy’s brother-in-law Andy (Justin Kirk) arrives shortly after his brother’s death under the guise of helping her raise the boys but he likely just needs a place to live as we soon learn that Andy’s a nomadic and lazy schemer. Once he realizes how Nancy makes ends meet, he’s more than happy to offer his assistance.

Nancy tries (unsuccessfully) to talk with her youngest son Shane about masturbation:

Uncle Andy's talk goes a bit better.

The supporting cast is as strong as the main players. Celia Hodes (Elizabeth Perkins), her newly-unemployed lawyer husband Dean and their daughter Isabelle are the prototypical dysfunctional surburban family. Celia is selfish, materialistic and bitchy to everyone (well, almost everyone; she screwed Conrad in the back of Nancy’s SUV when she found out she had cancer in the first season), she and her husband are unhappily married thus both have wandering eyes while their daughter, a slightly overweight and chubby kid (and is reminded of this at every turn by her insensitive mother) who dabbles in lesbianism and models “husky” kids’ clothes, is caught in the middle. Nancy’s best customer, Doug (Kevin Nealon) also happens to be an Agrestic city councilman and her accountant who has a humorous yet antagonistic relationship with Celia. When Celia decides to run for city council (an idea sparked unintentionally by Nancy) gunning for Doug’s seat to get back at him (her spitefulness leads her husband, Dean to eventually become Doug’s campaign manager rather than supporting his wife), she wins but also ends up having an affair with Doug! And Celia’s first major undertaking, a Drug Free Zone policy, unwittingly brings her at direct odds with her friend, Nancy.

Nancy and Celia: Just Like Sisters

I think what I like best is that this show isn’t just about illegal drugs. In fact, weed plays such a small part. I initially avoided WEEDS when I first heard the premise because I thought it would be just another disposable sitcom with silly stoner humor and fart jokes. How wrong was I? Since making the decision to sell weed, Nancy not only has to deal with one rebellious older son and a younger one still trying to cope with his father’s death, she’s had to use her resourcefulness (and cute little ass; Heylia's words not mine) to fend off rival dealers, juggle her business-necessitated “marriage” to a DEA agent and her growing attraction to the nephew of her supplier (when Heylia has clearly forbidden that they even be friends) all while trying to strike out on her own and run her own grow house with Conrad behind Heylia's back.

Most amazingly, this show manages to make a skinny little white woman the most attractive single mom in the world for about a half an hour. If you watch this show, you will have a crush on Mary-Louise Parker by the time it’s over. You may believe you have a firm grasp on what the term “milf” means to you when you begin but you won’t truly understand the true definition of that word until you see Nancy Botwin widen those big brown doe eyes of hers, give her trademark smirk, which ranges from sheepish and nervous to knowing and mischievous, or throw a seductive glance, then you will finally know for sure.

My advice would be to catch up now on what you’ve missed and get onboard this one before the third season takes off. See why Mary-Louis Parker, the star of a little-known premium cable television show, won the 2006 Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Television Comedy or Musical, beating out the four lead actresses of Desperate Housewives, arguably the nation’s most popular network television show at the time, when no one else thought she had a snowball’s chance in hell. It really is just that good. I only hope I’m not too late in telling you about it.

Thursday, February 15, 2007 

"Singles Awareness Day:" The Day After

Another February 14th has come and gone. On Valentine's Day, traditionally, people express their feelings for one another, exchange gifts with lovers or maybe even do something as boneheaded as revealing a secret crush or worse yet, proposing marriage. But since Cupid has been Public Enemy Number One 'round these parts for the better part of three years I wouldn't hold my breath looking for any chocolate candies or pretty flowers anywhere near me anytime soon. In lieu of that fact, I proudly present my three fantasy valentines. In a perfect world, they would've been with me yesterday and I would have showered them with...well, something.

Anna Nicole Smith (Nov 28, 1967 - Feb 8, 2007)

With a life as spectacularly strange as hers, is it any wonder it ended in an equally spectacular and strange fashion? Sure, it seemed premature at only 39 years of age, but it was certainly a lot less of a surprise than it should have been for anyone truly paying attention. People have had their fun at her expense for years now but I prefer to remember the early days when a full-figured Playmate named Vickie Smith got me hooked on Playboy magazine and kick-started an addiction, nay, an infatuation that wouldn't subside until nearly a decade later.

I was fan. A big one. I stopped following Anna Nicole's exploits after a certain point, however; the weight gain, the obvious money-motivated marriage to that octagenarian that passed away just thirteen months after their wedding, the E! reality show, etc. Somewhere between her being a Guess model and then reemerging as one for Lane Bryant I guess she lost me. That's not the Anna I fell in love with and not the one I choose to remember. I prefer to happily recall the photos of Anna dolled up like her idols and the women she slightly resembled like Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield. Sadly, life wasn't as good to her as her images were to me over the years and her son passed away from an accidental drug overdose just three short days after she gave birth to a baby girl. Who can blame her for being medicated towards the end? Regardless of what you may think of her, there's no denying she was a very special person. So special in fact that even in death she continues to cause controversy, much like her heroes before her, as men are coming out of the woodwork claiming to be her 5-month old daughter's father (and thus entitling themselves to the late widow's fortune). Maybe I should toss my hat in the ring, too. It can't hurt and I can't be any less legit than the other leeches suddenly surfacing.

Lisa Nowak

By now you've no doubt heard of Lisa Nowak. Lisa takes the concept of love very, very seriously. Deathly serious. Any woman so determined, so single-minded in her purpose that she would drive 900 miles cross country wearing an adult diaper so she wouldn't have to stop to even use the bathroom (yay, astronaut training put to practical albeit deranged use!) to confront her romantic rival is A-Ok in my book, playa. But on a serious note, if you want any more proof that we're in the Last Days, take a look at the people who have managed to make it into our once-prestigious space program. An astronaut, at least according to that movie I was forced to watch in the sixth grade "The Right Stuff", was once considered the cream of the crop, the best of the best; miraculous military minds and graduates of all the finest academies and institutions of higher learning this great country had to offer. They were physically fit and brave beyond belief with IQs that rival the world's top scientists. Nowadays, they're dressing in wigs and trenchcoats and travelling with bad intentions with a steel mallet, a BB gun, a four-inch folding knife, pepper spray, several feet of rubber tubing and garbage bags riding shotgun. I imagine this is NOT what President Eisenhower intended.

Of course, Nowak contends she only wanted to "talk" to her friend. Riiiight. If anything, when I heard the news I knew Nowak wasn't black. A sista would've had her girlfriends and her crazy cousin with her and would've been perfectly content to slash a nigga's tires, key the shit out of his custom paint job or put a cinderblock through his windshield and call it a day. Apparently, Nowak took one "spacewalk" too many and never really came back.

Elle Cee

Anyone watching porn trends over the past two years has noticed a tremendous upswing in the proliferation of "mature" women titles. MILFs is the popular term. What at one time was a small niche has become a full-blown genre and the bigger, better production companies are starting to cash in on the latest craze just like they did a few years ago when the "barely legal" thing was all the rage. At 30 years old, I don't even consider these women "older"; the vast majority of these MILFS are roughly the same age as myself. At the very least, there's less guilt when I "self-manipulate" watching a "newbie" like hot and busty brunette Elle Cee. I first caught Elle on Naughty America's "My Friend's Hot Mom" and "Diary of MILF" websites around May of last year and while she was infinitley sexy and possessed the very look I'm such a well-known sucker for, she was still a bit too uptight and reserved on-camera for my taste. Actually, she was a cold fish; as dead a fuck as anyone I've ever seen. Fast-forward to late October and the Mr. Pete-directed Momma Knows Best (Red Light District). Elle opens up like never before with Mark Wood and raises my eyebrow once again, showing flashes of potential brilliance and a bit of naughty personality. To my surprise, the freak hiding inside Elle becomes fully unleashed by the time I reach Rodney Moore's MILF & Honey 2 (Exquisite) where Ms. Cee shares the cover with another favorite, 19-year old Krystal Jordan. Visibly relaxed and exhibiting newfound confidence, (and she even gets to do an impressive bit of acting in the setup) Elle tears the house down and wrecks shop on Jack Venice and Trent Soluri, dirty-talking her way through the entire thing, completely at home and in her element. HFGO, as me and my friends would say. Thank the Lord. For a minute there I was afraid she'd be another in a long line of buxom and dark-haired disappointments I've had over the years (I'm looking at YOU, Mason Storm!). Instead, Elle Cee has officially arrived.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007 

The Shortest Month for the Longest People

Back in November of this year, a magazine which shall remain nameless contacted me to conduct several interviews with prominent black figures in adult entertainment. It didn’t take much deliberation for me to decide on speaking with Justin Slayer.

Through his business partner and cameraman, HJ, I was able to track Slayer down and after a few false starts we finally got going, having a really interesting and laugh-filled casual conversation that lasted well over three hours.

I didn’t record the proceedings for fear it might cause either or both of us to be 'less than natural' and destroy the laid back, “just a talk between friends” atmosphere I was striving to produce in order to build the rapport I needed to get the kind of answers I wanted. When all was said and done, I had all that I wanted and MORE (I cut quite a bit of controversial content for fear the magazine wouldn’t run it and it would destroy a few relationships, business and personal. I also excised a few other interesting things such as how he met Boz, Nat Turnher’s failed first foray into the business, how Justin gave Nat his stage name, Slayer speculating on a notable male performer's sexuality and the "Ayana Angel" situation, amongst other things).

Upon completion of the piece I submitted it to the interested party and sadly they opted not to publish it, for reasons still unclear to me. They ensured me a kill fee would be forthcoming (which I still haven’t seen) and that we would do more work in the future (my phone hasn’t rang). Meanwhile, this interview sits, its shelf life rapidly expiring. I may have destroyed my near non-existent relationship with the magazine, I may have now ruined my chances of getting my long overdue pay but I figure this had to be seen; it's only right considering the time Justin and HJ gave me. It’s more important to me that his fans get to read the real deal than for me to receive a phantom check and the promise of more work. So here it is, in honor of Black History Month (almost) in it’s entirety, the fit-for-print Justin Slayer Interview.


One night, in the not-so-distant past, Justin Slayer found himself in a situation not unfamiliar to young Black men in America. A traffic stop and contraband that belonged to a passenger (Justin was the driver) in the glove compartment led to a short stint in jail. Back on the street, Slayer had an important decision to make. With his other hustles “drying up” perhaps he would take the suggestion given to him by Diana Devoe, whom he had met at one of the many “fuck parties” (swinger parties) he regularly attended, to heart and give performing in adult videos a try. After all, by his own admission, he was a natural.

“I’ve been a playa all my life, man,” he relates to me over the phone. “I like girls and girls like me. It wasn’t no shock to nobody I knew when they found out I was doing this. Long before porn, I was already living the lifestyle. I was already setting up cameras in my bedroom.”

Surprisingly, it isn’t uncommon to see male fans embrace him as warmly as female fans or to stand in line for long periods of time…to have their girlfriends and wives meet Justin and take pictures with him. Anyone that has met Justin in person knows that he is, to borrow an oft-used cliché, the kind of guy you want to be and the kind of guy girls want to be with. Talking to him, it’s easy to see why: he’s an entertaining, eloquent, engaging and flat-out funny conversationalist. And boy, is he talkative. But he’s also the type of talker you don’t mind spending several hours listening to. He has a unique way of breaking down things that should be complicated and making them sound embarrassingly simple. For example:

I think one of the first things someone new to your work will notice is that you tend to keep your shoes and sunglasses on during scenes. What started that?
“Lighting. If the lighting on set is just right, where it needs to be for the consumer to see everything right, then it’s really bright and it fucks with my eyes and gives me headaches. I can’t do a scene if I’ve got a migraine and shit. So I keep’em on. I wear my shades all the time anyway, even when I’m not working. That’s just me. Plus, I pay a lot of money for’em so I don’t wanna leave’em laying around for somebody to step on or break’em or some shit. The shoes thing is all about traction. Try it. The next time you diggin’ a broad out, leave your shoes on and see if don’t get more traction that way.”

After making a splash as a performer, Justin began directing in addition to performing; first with West Coast Productions before moving to Exquisite Multimedia before finally landing at his current home, as an exclusive contract director with arguably the best gonzo distributor in the adult industry, Evil Angel. His name remains synonymous with the many great lines he has created over the years: Slayer Unleashed, Freshly Slayed, Phatty Girls and more but one series stands head and shoulders above the rest with his fans.

“The thing about the Black Pipe Layers movies is that they’re a very difficult thing to do. To be in a d.p. with another man is a hard position to be in, physically and mentally. So you want people around that you’re comfortable with so that you can focus and put all your attention on the girl and not on the other guy. I had that chemistry with Monty and Boz.”

Not only is the series hard on the male talent but it has left many a veteran starlet sore and needing days to recover. Long story short, Black Pipe Layers was all about Slayer and his cohorts “fucking the living daylights” out of assorted white women. And fans of ALL races ate it up with a spoon. But as The Roots would say, Things Fall Apart, and the nucleus that once comprised the core of the BPL posse is no more. When talk turns to the reasons as to why, it is clearly evident that it is a situation Slayer truly laments. “I’m still not over that to be honest with you.” Of J. Monty, Justin says Monty simply had too many “personal issues” to deal with that spilled over to his work, forcing Slayer to finally “push the button” on their relationship. On Boz, he’s a bit more animated and you can hear the frustration in his voice when he decides to finally spill the story.

“Real talk? It was some primadonna bullshit that caused that. I came into the game used to the attention. I lifted weights, I played ball, I ran track, whatever, so I wasn’t trippin’. But some people weren’t ready for that and didn’t know how to handle it. He made some bad decisions and it’s easy to make bad decisions. Money changes things and people’s heads got big. It went from dudes just being happy to be fucking these girls – so happy they would’ve done it for free; wondering how we even got passports to leave the country and screw these broads in Eastern Europe – to suddenly when we were traveling, he had to have his own room with a king-sized bed and all that when the rest of us were doubling up in rooms, trying to cut corners and save money so we can hire more girls, shoot more scenes and make more money.” On sets, drama would ensue over things as simple as bottled water.

Despite the friction of the past, Justin says he reached out to Boz in an attempt to mend fences and bring him back into the fold. It never came to fruition. “I might spearhead this thing but I’m not the only one he has to answer to and get along with,” Slayer offers.

Looking at what Boz does today, Slayer is disappointed. What bothers him is Boz’s participation in movies like Hush Hush Entertainment’s Daddy’s Worst Nightmare series where a non-black director and non-black female talent freely and frequently throw around the n-word, most times in the direction of the black male talent. Slayer’s baffled as to how one can work in that environment. He affects a convincing and hilarious hillbilly accent to mimic what he hears in the videos, “What would your father do if he found out you were fucking a nigger? He’d kill that fucking niggerrrrrrr!”

This sparks an annoyed tirade. “This industry is racist as shit, man. How come it’s only considered interracial if you’re having sex with a black man? You could have a Chinese or Korean girl…and then you got her with Nacho. He’s speaking Spanish and everything. How is that not interracial? Jack Napier is Puerto Rican. But the business considers him black.”

“I just don’t understand some things sometimes. Now you tell me what man sits at home and fantasizes about his girl going to the grocery store, buying a quart of milk and an enema, coming home, loading the enema with the milk and squirting the milk out of her ass? Who’s turned on by that? I mean, what’s next? You might as well just have the girl shit. Or make the milk shit-colored. Who decided that milk was the liquid of choice anyway? I just don’t get all this shit with transsexuals and strap-ons and all that. When did we get to the point that just regular sex ain’t good enough?”
I often ask the same thing. For example, I don’t get it when a guy is doing a girl doggie and he steps on her head at the same time. What girl asks for that?
“Half the girls that do that shit don’t even really enjoy it. They just do that to get noticed, to make a name for themselves. I’d rather shoot a girl that’s actually going to enjoy what she’s doing.”

Casting such girls isn’t a problem for Slayer’s camp. His movies have basically served as his calling card for years and freaks all over the country regularly contact him to be in his movies. They can’t wait to fuck Justin. But who can Justin not wait to fuck?

“Olivia O’Lovely is special. There’s just something about her. Sophie Dee got that killer good. Avy Scott got some real good pussy. Gianna. Belladonna, I’ve got to mention her. She is no motherfuckin’ joke. She is just pure. Ayana Angel has the same energy. I could fuck her all day. It takes a little bit more to get her to hit that gear that Bella seems to start at but once she’s there… Beauty. Pinky. And for some reason, Lola keeps popping into my mind. I had a good time with her. Naomi. Angel Dark, of course. Melanie Crush. Jane Darling. Adora. You know who had some real good pussy? Audrey James. Remember her? The big-tittied black girl? Her scenes looked terrible but her pussy was good as shit. And do you know who has the best pussy in the whole world? Angel Long. Yes, the real tall blonde girl. Best pussy in the world.”
Your scene in Big Booty White Girls 4 with Flower Tucci is up for Best Anal Sex Scene at the Adult Video News Awards this year. No love for Flower?
“Flower’s cool. But I think she and I both will tell you we could have done a better scene. That wasn’t a good day for either of us. When I saw that nomination, I couldn’t figure it out.”

It is his growing disenchantment with current industry trends that has Justin currently contemplating retiring from performing soon.

“I never really wanted to do this in the first place. I always just wanted to direct and produce. But it saved money for me to jump in there. And I knew I could do the shit…”
And if you want things done right…
But who steps in on the performance-side if and when you walk away?
“I keep my ear to the street. I’m still looking for next young cats out there making noise.”
So where would you like to retire to when all this over and done with?
“Brazil. There are so many bad women down there. I could just kick back on the beach and chill.”
But you named so many European women as your favorites earlier…
“Yeah, but their winters are too cold.”
Curiously ironic words from a man world-renowned for keeping on his construction boots during his scenes. Perhaps subconsciously, that’s what the sunglasses are really for: his future amongst a bevy of phat, round Portuguese asses in Rio.