The Cutest Knut

Apparently, it’s video day here at Conchis Living.

In case you’ve somehow missed him, Knut – the German polar bear cub – is the new Cutest Thing on the Planet.

Yes, I know, being a straight male and using the word “cute” aren’t supposed to go together, but just watch this vid and try to resist:

On the Coattails of Destiny

My good friend Howard – of NYE at Times-Square-in-LA and HOMP fame – was in China recently with his MBA program. Afterwards, he and some classmates headed over to Thailand for some R&R. Apparently, they found Adventure instead.

In his own words: “…yes, that is me, and yes, that is fear you hear.” See what he means:



Howard, you are my hero.

Natural Wonder

There are two absolutely astounding nature series on TV right now: National Geographic’s Galapagos and Discovery’s Planet Earth.

“Galapagos” is a three-part series that explains the history and wonder of these unique islands, and features some amazing footage of its inhabitants - for instance, massive “marine iguanas” that hunt under the surface of the ocean for upwards of 20 minutes.

“Planet Earth”, adapted from the original BBC series, is an ambitious 11-parter illustrating all manners of habitats across the globe. Utilizing new camera technology, it includes the most breathtaking time elapse and slow motion shots I've ever seen. Check out this clip (this is from the BBC version – the Discovery version is slightly different, in terms of editing and narration):



And here’s a ridiculous look at a rainforest “bird of paradise”:


PLANET EARTH - Bird Of Paradise - Free videos are just a click away

Check them out. You’ve never seen anything like this.

R2 Demoted to Civil Servant?

This cracks me up...

Star Wars' R2-D2 to collect post

Post boxes across the US are to be dressed up as Star Wars robot R2-D2 to celebrate 30 years since the release of the sci-fi series' first outing.
Some 400 boxes will get the new look, including outside Hollywood's Grauman Chinese Theatre, one of first cinemas to screen the film in 1977.

The makeover is part of a post office campaign for the announcement of a surprise stamp on 28 March.

The public have been urged not to tamper with the droid mail collectors.

Chief marketing officer Anita Bizzotto said the robot postboxes were a "little teaser" for its announcement later this month.

"When you look at a mailbox, the resemblance to R2-D2 is too good to pass up," added Ms Bizzotto.

The USPS website is running a clip from Star Wars in which robot C-3PO asks: "R2D2, where are you?"

In the next shot, someone is seen slotting a letter into the little beeping robot.

During the six films of the Star Wars series, R2-D2 - regarded as a more courageous robot counterpart to C-3PO - was responsible for saving his human counterparts.

The Legacy of Anna Kournikova

This article is a couple months old now, but it just came to my attention and it's a classic. Plus, I just really wanted to post the pic that came with it.


Still from Russia with love

By Bill Simmons
ESPN, Page 2

MIAMI -- I went to the Heat-Cavs game Thursday night with my old intern, Jamie, who now works for "Rome is Burning" and came down to Miami for the week of shows here. Back when I started my old Web site in the summer of '97, Jamie was one of my first readers -- a sarcastic 15-year-old kid who landed in every mailbag mostly because I barely had enough readers to make up a mailbag. This was the same summer that a smoking-hot tennis star named Anna Kournikova started wreaking havoc, and since the Internet was just starting to round into shape, she was only resonating through some magazine photos and giddy conversations that guys had with their friends.

There hasn't been anything quite like her before or since: a blonde, bosomy Russian with killer legs and a perpetual pout. She was prettier than most supermodels. She was sexier than most Hollywood stars. When she played Amanda Coetzer in the Australian Open that year, it was probably the greatest 20-second highlight in SportsCenter history, replete with reverential silence from the anchors. They could have released that highlight on DVD by itself and people would have bought it.

Unfortunately (and this is an especially big "unfortunately"), Anna may have looked 25, but she didn't turn 16 until June 7. That meant everyone in the mainstream media was terrified to mention her appeal for obvious reasons, although a few sports radio hosts around America crossed the line during the '96 U.S. Open (and took heat for it). When she made it to the third round of the '97 French Open, I remember watching her lose to Martina Hingis (who had her own thing going since she was attractive and a little kooky, which gave her a dangerous edge, kind of like Glenn Close in the first 20 minutes of "Fatal Attraction") and thinking that, even though I was broke at the time, I would have emptied my checking account if they suddenly moved the match to pay-per-view. On the week Anna turned 16, I gleefully made a "two years until she's legal!" joke in a column and received more e-mails than I'd ever received before. She was America's underground sweetheart.

And then something magical happened: Wimbledon rolled around and Anna played the best tennis of her life, somehow making it all the way to the semifinals. Meanwhile, I was bartending and working on my new Web site -- translation: I was waking up at 11 every morning and farting around until I had to go to work -- which made me eminently available to watch HBO's around-the-clock coverage. This was an unparalleled middle-of-the-day TV experience; it made the OJ Trial seem pedestrian by comparison. Could Anna keep winning? Could she shock the world and steal Wimbledon? Remember, we were coming off a stretch in women's tennis that was dominated by Steffi Graf, Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario, Monica Seles and Martina Navratilova that swayed everyone into thinking that Martina Hingis was much cuter than she really was. We weren't remotely ready for anyone like Anna. She was like a surreal cross between the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team, LeBron's rookie season and the greatest-looking Bond girl of all-time.

Even though Hingis crushed her in the semis, that didn't stop everyone from spending the summer daydreaming about a not-so-distant future when the world's most beautiful female was (A) legal, (B) Russian (nothing like some residue Cold War tensions to spice everything up) and (C) the best women's tennis player alive. It seemed too good to be true. Unfathomable, even. Could we really spend the next 10-12 years watching Anna covered in her own sweat, bouncing around in tight tennis outfits and demolishing everyone in her path? Were we headed for a world where somebody who looked like this would win major after major, become the Tiger of tennis, appear on television 50-60 times per year and transform every red-blooded male into a diehard tennis fan? Could this actually HAPPEN?

Nope. Didn't happen.

As it turned out, Anna Kournikova just wasn't that good. When tennis experts started questioning her talents after the post-Wimbledon wave of "Here comes Anna!" stories, we all hoped it was just sour grapes. (I mean, of course Mary Carillo and Billie Jean King were going to be threatened by Anna's ascendance. She had taken women's tennis into a completely different direction, one where the game didn't matter as much as outfits and sex appeal. Why would the old guard think this was a good thing?) Anna cracked the top 20 in 1998, pulled off a few upsets, graced more than a few magazine covers, landed more than a few commercials, and caused an out-and-out riot on the Internet (nobody had more photos out there, and nobody had more people looking for them). She won the 1999 Australian Open doubles title with Hingis, lost the legendary "Headlights Match" in that same tournament to Mary Pierce (there hadn't been that much jiggling on TV since the heyday of "Charlie's Angels") and made it to the fourth round in that year's Australian and French Opens.

During that time, she also shattered Mariah Carey's record for "most girls that have ever hated another girl for no real reason." If you brought up her name in a mixed group, the claws would come flying out. Every other female loathed her, instinctively, habitually. And if you asked them why, the reasons were always petty and unsubstantiated. Stuff like, "She just doesn't seem like a nice person to me," or "She's more concerned with how she looks than how she plays" or even "I just don't like the look on her face." The only thing that came close to watching Kournikova play tennis was watching other women openly seethe about her success. To them, she was like one of those evil movie characters in a John Hughes movie who runs the whole high school, flirts with everyone else's boyfriend and makes those cutting backhanded compliments to other girls like "I'm glad you finally did something about your hair." And frankly, this made the Kournikova Era even more magical than it already was.

Everything crested in June of '99, when three things happened:

1. Anna turned 18. This meant that the mainstream media could now discuss her looks without calling her a "tennis Lolita" and making everyone feel icky. Much better.

2. She entered Wimbledon with a ton of hype and enraged the old guard to no end. You could feel the venom from Carillo, King and Navratilova throughout the HBO coverage. It was palpable and fantastic. Every time Anna nailed a winner down the baseline, you kept expecting one of them to snap and scream, "WHORE! WHORE!" I wish ESPN Classic would create a weekly show called "Classic Kournikova" just so we could relive the announcing from those matches -- it's never been approached before or since. Actually, I wish ESPN Classic would create a weekly show called "Classic Kournikova" just so there would be a show called "Classic Kournikova." Like you wouldn't watch this?

3. After winning her first three Wimbledon matches, Anna battled a heavily favored Venus Williams in the fourth round and took the first set. An upset was brewing. The crowd was buzzing. The HBO announcers were doing everything to jinx her short of screaming "Noonan!" during her second serve and dousing her photos with chicken blood. Anna was prancing around, taking that extra split-second to bend over for balls and eating it up. She was going to rule the world. You could feel it.

Only later did we realize the significance of the moment ... because that's exactly when the Kournikova Era peaked.

Seriously, that was it. Up a set to Venus, she was then decimated in the next two sets, prompting a free fall in which Anna flopped at the U.S. Open and ended up going 6-8 over the second half of 1999 (including the Venus loss). Off the court, it became obvious that she was relishing a sexpot image, showing up at various red-carpet events, refusing to confirm or deny reports that she was engaged to Pavel Bure and then Sergei Fedorov, coyly wearing a wedding ring just to screw with everyone, making an appearance in "Me, Myself and Irene" and being profiled in a leering Sports Illustrated feature by Frank Deford that practically shattered the Unintentional Comedy Scale (although the pictures made it all worth it). She was also raking in huge sums of money -- upward of $10 million a year just from endorsements -- and since she wasn't winning anything and didn't seem to care that she wasn't winning anything, that made her an easy target for grizzled writers looking for a good high-horse column.

She finished an underwhelming 47-29 in 2001 and struggled to a 16-12 record in 2002 because of back problems (or so she said), making news only because she fell for singer Enrique Iglesias after they filmed a music video together. Not only had her tennis prime passed, but she was in her 20s and the Lolita/tennis prodigy thing had vanished. She didn't seem any more or less beautiful than anyone else, and her ongoing tennis failures robbed her of that bitchy, glowering "not only am I prettier than you, I'm going to kick your ass in this match" aura that made her so great in the first place. When she effectively retired after the 2003 season, the prevailing reaction seemed to be, "She was still playing?" For the last four years, she's spent her time traveling around the world with Iglesias, playing charity tournaments and doing whatever wealthy smoking-hot former tennis players do, making news only because she lost a jaw-dropping amount of weight.

And honestly? I can't remember the last time I thought about her or heard her name mentioned. You could even make the case that she's irrelevant, except for one thing: She had an enormous and underrated impact on the sports world from 1997 to 2002, only it's never been properly understood or appreciated. I realized this at the Heat-Cavs game. Some of the Heat employees were nice enough to show us around before the game, even allowing us to hang out in Shelley's Lounge, which was unlike any other suite we've ever seen. You can't see the court because it's located near the locker rooms, but it's three times the size of a normal suite and loaded with plasmas, video games, foosball, an open bar, free food and everything else you can imagine. There's one on each side of the court, and they both spill into a much bigger bar that's open only to courtside ticket holders, celebrities and VIP guests. You couldn't have something like this in Sacramento or Boston, but you could definitely have it in Miami.

So we're hanging out in Shelley's Lounge and who walks in? Anna Kournikova and Enrique Iglesias. In case you haven't seen her, she's disgustingly thin now -- still pretty, but more like a supermodel, and you would never know that she once played a professional sport. But still, it's Anna Kournikova, for God's sake! And here's where Jamie becomes relevant to this story. First of all, in the Pantheon of Faces, Jamie's "I'm standing three feet away from Anna Kournikova" Face will never, ever, EVER be topped. I am not a good enough writer to describe it. Joyce or Tolstoy couldn't have described it. And second, as Jamie explained to us later, not only did he play high school tennis in Massachusetts during the same year that Frank Deford wrote the feature that influenced so many high school and college students across America, the team actually brought that issue on the van for every one of their its matches. Why? you ask. Partly as a good-luck charm, partly as reliably good reading fodder for any trip. The team never knew when it would get bored on the van and want to start poring through Kournikova pictures again.

For whatever reason, I never properly appreciated the Kournikova Era until she walked into Shelley's Lounge, saw Jamie's reaction and heard the story about his tennis team. Maybe she was overrated as a tennis player, but has an athlete ever had a bigger impact over a short span that couldn't be calibrated in any way, shape or form other than the look on somebody's face when they enter the room? I say no.

Eventually, we headed up to our seats and took in some of the Cavs-Heat game, which was interesting for five reasons. First, Miami's crowd was much livelier than I expected, although it was admittedly one of the marquee games of the year; if your fans can't get up for LeBron, Shaq and Wade on TNT, you shouldn't have a basketball team. Second, they have the coolest scoreboard I've ever seen -- it looks like something out of the movie "Alien." Third, the difference between Wade (killing himself and ramming his way to the rim over and over again like a running back) and LeBron (on cruise control and seeming disinterested most of the time -- and yes, I know he's hurt, but I've watched him mail it in too many times this season and we're nearing the point where Barkley needs to call him out on TNT) was absolutely startling. One guy just wants it more than the other guy. It's that simple. Fourth, Scot Pollard shaved his head into a blond Mohawk and kept his goatee with the weird knobs on it and STILL was outdone by the perplexing patch of hair on the back of Drew Gooden's neck. And fifth, it always feels like a bigger game when Shaq is playing -- even if he's not the same kind of force anymore -- and I will miss him when he retires to chase down criminals in some random town in Florida.

All in all, a good, lively game. As halftime was approaching, I glanced over at Jamie and saw his wheels turning. More Kournikova. More Kournikova. So I threw him a bone and said, "Hey, wanna go back to the lounge at halftime?" followed by Jamie answering "yes" even as I was still finishing the word "halftime."

We headed back there, walked underneath the stadium and passed through a bar to get to the lounge .. and suddenly, there were Enrique and Anna again. She was standing with her back to the wall, Enrique was in front of her, and she had her arms wrapped around him, only she was watching us walk by her and relishing the attention because he couldn't see where she was looking. At this point, Jamie was moving at the speed of the people in "War of the Worlds" coming out of their houses to stare at the giant UFO -- it's amazing he didn't walk into a chair or a table. I played it a little differently, glancing at her quickly, waiting for her to make eye contact, then glancing away like I wasn't impressed, hoping it would piss her off (like she would give a crap). We headed into the lounge to throw some water on Jamie, and not even a minute later, they were standing right behind us again and she was defiantly making eye contact -- almost like a Fembot, like she was thinking, "I'm Anna Kournikova, if you don't look impressed within the next three seconds, I'm going to shoot you with my jublees."

And for the first time, everything about the Kournikova Era fell into place. She just wanted to be noticed, even if she had to settle for two random dudes in the VIP lounge of a regular-season NBA game. Did she ever care about tennis? Probably not. Did she use tennis as a vehicle to dress in skimpy outfits and wrap every red-blooded male around her finger? Probably.

Anyway, it worked. I melted into a puddle and Jamie stopped breathing and briefly died. They pranced by us as Jamie immediately re-evaluated his life and everything that's ever happened in it, eventually deciding that this was his greatest moment since the Red Sox won the World Series. Anyone who says Anna Kournikova's tennis career didn't matter is just plain lying. She DID have an impact. Only a handful of athletes and former athletes can still stop a room in its tracks. She's one of them.

"When you were sitting in that tennis van 10 years ago," I asked him, "did you ever imagine that you'd be drinking three feet away from Kournikova?"

"No," Jamie said. "No. Never. I never would have believed it."

These are the things that happen during Super Bowl Week in Miami.

Daft Punk

Update on Daft Punk tix (for the L.A. show): presale is tomorrow, March 21, at 10am. Tix are $50. Click here for all the relevant info.

Concert Alert

This coming summer is shaping up to be a scorcher concert-wise. Last summer’s fare was surely solid, but I don’t recall there being so many exciting prospects over the horizon when spring rolled around this time last year. Some notable highlights:

TV on the Radio @ Henry Fonda, March 30/31 - Previously mentioned here, we’ll be going on Friday, the 30th. TVOTR, largely regarded as the most exciting act of 2006, rocked the Bowl last year. I really look forward to seeing what they can do in the Theatre.

Coachella @ some desert wasteland, April 27/28/29 – Would love to see Arcade Fire, Air, Kaiser Chiefs, Bjork, et al, but it ain’t gonna happen this year. If you don’t already have tix, good luck – it’s sold out, and single day tix are going for $300 a piece on Craigslist.

John Mayer, Ben Folds, Rocco De Luca @ Hollywood Bowl, June 6 – Yes, John Mayer has somehow against all odds won me over in a big way. I never listened to either of his first two albums – having dismissed them out of hand as probable kiddiepop drivel – but his recent offering “Continuum” is pure bluesy, guitar hero goodness. And Ben Folds in support – are you kidding me?! I got so excited when I saw this double billing, I shelled out $25 to join J.Mayer’s fanclub (stop laughing) and scored brilliant presale tix. General sale happens March 31 via Ticketraper (presales sold out in minutes).

Daft Punk @ L.A.’s Sports Arena, July 21 & Berkeley’s Greek Theatre, July 27 – If I had one do-over for a show I missed in the last five years, it would be Daft Punk’s run in the Coachella dance tent last year. All reports indicate it was an incomparable tour de force by the French robot masters of neo-disco groove. I have the set and can attest to its insanity – it’s one long 78 minute mash-up of every Daft Punk groove you’ve ever heard. The guitar from one song coupled with the beat from another and the vox from a third. Each time you think you know where they’re going, they pull a 180. And the visuals – omg. See for yourself (these videos give me goosebumps every time). The L.A. date may or may not be part of the Giant Village extravanganza (which is definitely that same night), while the Berkeley show is them with The Rapture, Sebastian and KavinSky. I think we’re going to try and opt for the latter and head up to my alma mater for a little madness One More Time, although I could def see us trying to do both. (Tix are not yet onsale for either show.)

Underworld @ Hollywood Bowl, September 8 – The electronic pioneers/legends are playing a rare show in the States this coming Labor Day weekend as part of KCRW’s annual World Festival at the Bowl. Tix are already available via Ticketmaster as “Encore” presales. They say you have to purchase 5 events together to get the tix, but it’s bullslhit. Word of Underworld’s participation in the festival – alongside Oakenfold and Carmen Rizzo – has barely hit the streets, so amazing tix are still available at super reasonable prices. We’ll see you there – look for us in the mob of Snowboarders in Section J2.

A word of note: if you use iTunes and want the jump on the hottest shows, grab this genius and free app: iConcertCal. It plugs itself right into your iTunes interface, scours your music collection, then the Internet, and finds any and all upcoming shows in your area by your favorite artists. It’s amazing. (This is how I found the John Mayer/Ben Folds show, btw, before it was announced publicly.) FYI, it’s been reversed engineered and proven to not act in any way as spyware – i.e. it does not send back data to any parties. Grab it now before it’s no longer freeware.

See you in the crowd.

Hello, Friends...

Hi again. Been down for the count recently thanks to work. I’m still kicking, for sure, but haven’t had the time to contribute here lately. Will try to catch you up briefly, though…

My last posting was nearly two months ago, on my bday, which incidentally was great. Spent the actual day with my fam and everyone’s respective significant others at Mako, then the following Saturday with no less than 16 great friends at Chaya. Both were wonderful, unforgettable evenings – thanks so much if you were there to share the moment with me.

Monday Jan. 29 we saw former Mexican President Vicente Fox speak at the Music Center downtown, as the first night of our subscriber Speaker Series. What a crook! The guy is like cowboy Mafioso – all bravado and no substance. He pathetically read his entire 45-min speech off his BlackBerry, and proceeded to say absolutely nothing of worth during that time. Then the audience questions began and he expertly dodged every one of them. Example: “Mr. Presidente Fox, you said at the beginning of your term that you would establish a working middle class in Mexico. Well, where is it?” Fox: “95% of Mexicans have electricity. 91% have potable water. 87% have television. 82% have laundry machines…” On and on and on. It was a joke. The only thing of import he did say was this: “Amigos, listen to me! The work you are doing in this country is important. We need the wages you earn here back at home. Please continue to send them. You are the lifeblood of los Mexicanos!” Grrrrrreat. The sole enjoyable portion of the night belonged to Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa who introduced Fox. Very slick speaker, and he says some reasonable, middle of the road stuff. I really like him.

Spent four days in February in Toronto. What an amazing city! I loved it (had never been before). Headed out for a friend’s wedding – an old buddy from my year of study aboard some 8 years ago. Our good friend Marni was gracious enough to offer her and her husband’s house as a crash pad, so a few of us from all over the world convened on Euclid Ave. in “The Annex” and basically turned the wedding weekend into one long, slurry, slumber party. The city struck me as the perfect amalgamation of New York and San Francisco, melding all the former’s cosmopolitan tendencies with the latter’s laid-back, intelligent streak. Its people were among the most friendly, approachable, open-minded, worldly - and, yes, attractive - people I’ve ever met. From fireside brunches in pubs, to sunny subfreezing strolls along hip and high-end retail promenades, to the wedding that just would not die (we were still ripping up the Four Seasons's main ballroom dance floor at four that morning), it was a perfect weekend.

(Btw, that's me, Marni, Zev & Jess up top, enjoying a little mid-morning flurry. Was the only time it snowed all weekend - ten minutes later is was sunny without a cloud in the sky. Below: Zev, Howard and yours truly bringing in the style.)

Got March off to a quick start with a night of extremes: “Wicked”, the musical, with another couple, then over to Vanguard for Digweed, MSTRKRFT and everyone else we know in this city. Brilliant evening. First of all, “Wicked” is incredible – a perfectly conceived and executed production that put the biggest smile on this “Wizard of Oz”-fanatic’s face. The back-/side-story is simply genius, and the performances, sets and costumes were awe-inspiring. Elpheba – the lead, as the Wicked Witch – was arresting in her performance. Her voice has a smooth warmth in the middle registers that just melted me inside. The songs weren’t out of this world, but they were solid enough to allow her and her costars to soar and astound. I loved every minute of it. The Pantages run has been extended “indefinitely” – if you have even the slightest interest in such things, I highly suggest you go. Digweed, of course, was something else entirely – but, needless to say, we fucking had it. Good times with great friends.

Last week a dream came true for Grace: she and George HW (aka #41) were in the same room together! Just 24 hours after passing out on the golf green in Rancho Mirage, he spoke at the Music Center as another featured guest of our Speaker Series. The man is a pimp - at 82, he is as intelligent, witty and entertaining as they come. He spoke on “values”, and held the massive hall of libs and conservatives alike rapt with attention...and fits of laughter. His worldview is spot-on, if you ask me. Such a shame the son fell so far from the father.

Just returned last night from three uber-relaxing days in La Quinta at the house of the parents of a good friend from SF. He flew down, and he and we and his parents lounged it up in style. Non-stop home-cooked gourmet meals, some serious fine wine, ridiculous amounts of pool time, and lots of laying around reading. Saturday we hit up the Pacific Life Open - the annual pro ATP tennis tourney in Indian Wells - where American Andy Roddick solidly got his ass handed to him by Nadal the Spaniard in the semis (who went on to easily win the title the next day). Roddick’s pathetic performance was only outdone by his showing later that evening at the local bar, where he - beside us - drowned his loss in a yard of green beer and endless flirtations with young, unattractive groupie girls. Too funny. Big thanks to the Spikey D for opening his beautiful family and home to us – it was a treat of unimaginable magnitude.

(Myself, Grace and Brett at the Indian Wells tennis tourney.)

Well, that’s it for now. Will try to keep this thing a bit more up to date going forward. Hope all’s well with you.