NUMBER ONE.

Naked guy picture books are becoming tedious — the glut of them we mean. If we see one more black and white photograph of a mega-buff, buzz-cut dude teetering in spiked high-heels — you know, the brutal/dainty dichotomy — we’ll start doing something stupid.

Like publicly protesting Tom Cruise’s long-time-coming pay cut.

Poor Tom. But lucky Ohm. Ohm Phanphiroj’s bewitching new photography book for publisher Bruno Gmunder is titled Rare Views, and it’s a dick-rearing hit. A book totally true to its title, too. As Freshmen magazine observed:

This “unusual collection is a sleepy-eyed looking-glass into a strange and seedy lifestyle, where young hustler-types pose, piss, dress, and sleep in the various hotels, bedrooms, and bathrooms of Bonerville. One hunky model softly clutches his cock as he pisses into a cup…another shot fixates on a nude man fixing his oven…”

OK, so we’d read enough! When we contacted Bruno Gmunder to inquire about this place called Bonnerville and what the chances might be for us to hang out with some of BV’s lurid, dark-haired beauties, the very same ones that Mr. Phanphiroj rounded for his photogasms, we were abruptly cut-off and transferred over to Tom Cruise’s management firm. What the fuh…? Blame it on Mercury suddenly turning direct. But don’t blame us if you miss this trashy, artsy book.
  

NUMBER TWO

Speaking of planets and astrological lore, Mars is named the red planet not only for it’s oxidized landscapes — which make the planet glint red in the night sky — but because everything colored red is sacred to this planetary ruler of brutes and warmongers: Rubies. Rust. Blood. And don’t forget red-headed guys. Ruddy guys like actor Kevin McKidd (right), star of HBO’s 100 million dollar Rome — which finally makes it to DVD this week.

We love Rome’s bawdy, blood-saturated style, a genuine bacchanalia when you consider the tepid shit that passes for TV costume dramas as of late. Also engaging is the show’s Upstairs, Downstairs approach to its story line, dividing characters into nobilities and plebieians while we watch as their worlds collide. It’s everything we imagined 52 B.C. to be about — and then some. (When was the last time you saw an actress soaked in the blood of a just-slaughtered bull — that Mars, what a demanding deity!)

But really, for us, Rome is all about Mr. McKidd, in his role as Luscious Lucius Vorenus — one of Caesar’s soldiers and our l’amour de la rouge choice to head the net’s burgeoning Red-Headed Men Pool. Can someone explain what it is about guys with red hair that makes us go ape shit?

We’ve been told it’s their volatile nature. Though we’re certain it has more to do with their golden-ruddy nimbus, made even brighter by their (usually) pale skin. As one Nightcharmer put it, while ogling another of our favorite redheads: “I have seen at least a half dozen variations of red, maybe more and think from the aesthetic point of view it is one of nature’s wonders.”

Anyway, here’s some factoids on Mr. McKidd: He began his acting career on the stage and made his film debut in 1996 with Trainspotting. He is currently filming the much anticipated Young Hannibal: Behind the Mask. And we can’t wait to take a bite.
  

NUMBER THREE 666

Barbara Bush: Spawn of The Beast? Frankly, when we first heard this preposterous theory we didn’t want to waste any of our beautiful minds on the silliness. But then documented research and studious pictorial comparisons from Joseph Cannon’s blog forced us to reconsider. In a trice our gorgeous minds froze. Shivered. Thawed. And then reveled in the Black Magick of it all.

Certainly you’re familiar with Aliester Crowley: Occultist, sex magician, author and overseer of the finest Tarot deck available today? And some of you might even be familiar with Barbara Bush, the mother of Little Boots, the United States’ current Master of Ceremonies. Yep, this is the same Babs listed in The Beast’s (not affiliated at all with Mr. Crowley’s coven) infamous catalog of the Most Loathsome People in America. There described as: “The root of America’s decay; the poison tree from whence the fruit loop George W. Bush sprang.

Trees, roots and rotten apples? Wait a minute — a particularly strong etheric equation is about to be channeled. OK. Yes, yes…we’ve got it: Barbara Bush, as Crowley’s daughter, gives birth to a “Conquering Child,” the very same ruler that might usher in the Thelemic Apocalypse, as prophesied by Mr. Crowley some 100 years ago. Download complete!

We’ll let Mr. Cannon have the last word:

Is Aleister Crowley the father of Barbara Bush? Even she may not know for certain … more than one person has noted the resemblance — and this resemblance is not just physical. Many will recall the former First Lady’s haughty and thoughtless remarks in the aftermath of the Katrina disaster. Those “in the know” were reminded of Aleister Crowley’s similar reaction to the loss of life which occurred during the ascent of Kangchanjunga, an expedition he commanded: “This is precisely the sort of thing with which I have no sympathy whatsoever.”

NUMBER FOUR

Before we say a word about Stairway to Stardom, a 1980s public-access talent show extravaganza, it’s imperative you view this video. Some things exist in the universe for the sole purpose of transforming and expanding your notion of Fabulous.

We share your incredulity and glee. Could something so ill-conceived and innocent actually have existed after 1969 — that milestone year in which The Shaggs released their seminal Philosophy of the World, fixing the nadir of bad musical taste for all time?

Nightcharm’s culture historians remind us that Lucille Cataldo’s Hairdresser appeared during the 80s, a decade when many aspiring artists suffered crazed delusions of grandeur. Wayward hallucinations fostered by the previous decade’s disco craze. True, disco was grand in many ways, but the conceit that anyone could release — and anything could become — a disco album unleashed horrific audial mishaps. Everyone from Ethel Merman to Pia Zadora felt the urge and claimed their frightful right!

Too, as the Rolling Stones reminded us in Some Girls’ scattershot song Shattered, people in New York did actually wear — as Ms. Cataldo shows us — black plastic trash bags as fashion statements. But we’re being mean when we should be celebrating all of this precious archival footage. After all, if it wasn’t for Stairway to Stardom there would be no Star Search, no American Idol, no The View.

Everything you could ever possible want to know about Stairway to Stardom is yours for the hearing in this fascinating NPR investigation. Hurry, don’t be late!
  

What are your favorite things from the Summer of 200666? Come on, hit us with your best shot!