So, America’s First Top Model star, Adrianne Curry, is using her much wasted fame for a better cause than catching a Brady or living the surreal life. She is hosting a bash at the Playboy mansion June 12, raising funds for a cause she so passionately believes in, the legalization of medical marijuana. Wow, I would have never deemed her as a stoner. I mean, just because she is passionate for the cause, doesn’t automatically mean she lights up, but it peeks my curiosity of why she is making this her mission. Maybe weed has helped her through out her traumatic life of modeling, reality shows, and the dysfunctional relationships she so openly talks about during all of the reality shows she has ever been on. This woman is crazy, so maybe the meds help mellow her out. That makes sense. I just think it is funny that she goes on to list her favorite eateries in So Cal during the same article she breaks news about her mission to legalize marijuana.

What can’t this woman do? Her fifteen minutes of fame ran out a long time ago, but she somehow finds a way to stay in our hearts and minds, one blunt at a time. HEY ADRIIIAAAANNE!! Pff Pff PASS PLEASE!

For the second year in a row, Playboy and C3 put on a late night party at SXSW, and for the second year in a row, I was lucky enough to attend.

While last year, the party was housed in a giant warehouse-type thing in the middle of nowhere, this year’s event was right downtown at a giant warehouse-type thing at the corner of 3rd and San Jacinto. The line circled the block and even the media entrance was swarmed by 11 PM.

Inside, there seemed to be a new adventure tucked into every corner: free barbecue; free drinks; a room full of Port-A-Potties that also housed a Rock Band hooked up to a television the the back of a car and a well lit area with a backdrop for crucial drunken photo seshes. The people were fascinating to watch:

• There was a surly red-headed bartender. She admonished people for taking too long to order their drinks; allowed her “regulars” to skip in head of the line; and when a particularly douche-y party goer knocked over her stack of plastic cups, she fixed him with a steely glare and lectured, “Really dude? Really?” Yeah, dude. Really? One day I’m going to marry that girl.
• There was a couple–or just two like souls who found each other in an instance of pure serendipity–who boogied toward the back entrance. He was dressed in a low-cut, V-neck, red velour with white racing stripes. His humongous, curly hair was accented by a white headband, and his face wore one of the sweeter ironic moustaches I’ve seen during the trip. She was wearing skin-tight striped hot pants that could barely contain her luscious booty. Their choreography consisted of moves that my have been stolen from the Torrance Community Dance Group, and they were pretty darn fabulous.
• And I think I saw Elijah Wood.

There were bands, too. The Heavy played some songs, and they were kind of whatever. MGMT gave me a headache, but not in an awesome High on Fire sort of way. Justice started off at a throbbing cacophony and just started cranking shit louder and louder until brains started frying. That’s when shit really started going off. Moby played a DJ set, but I missed it (I’m kind of bummed about it now since we’re totally bros now), and by the time I got back (around 3:45 AM), the venue (slowly clearing out) was pumped so thick full of smoke (and I was so pumped thick full of whiskey) that my eyes started tearing. Cutting through the haze was difficult, but there were a ton of people on stage, how many, and who was actually DJing, I couldn’t tell. It looked like a lot, and they were back lit, which made it kind of creepy.

Luckily, they were still serving whiskey, and back by the photo sesh area, a woman with sweet guns (in addition to other things) interviewed Spencer. Swag included: a wristband, guitar pick, free magazine and a couple other things I’m not allowed to mention because they may be incriminating. Good time had? Oh yeah.

It was a vicious decision to be sure. On one hand, you have yourself the downtown buzz glaring at you, bands everywhere, interesting people, all cruising around darting their eyes and swaying their skinny hips. And in this downtown area last night were some amazing shows.

On the other hand, you had the goddamn Playboy Rock the Rabbit Party. Ummmmmm.

Having almost always been a man who covets the rock over the flesh, I endeavored to resist the pull of silicon and glitter (although I’m pretty sure I wasn’t on the list anyway, but that’s neither here nor there…), so I hoofed it down the thoroughfares, saw Matt Pinfield’s shiny dome broadcasting for DirectTV on an elevated hydraulic crane stage and checked out the Weakerthans at the Cedar Street Courthouse. Seriously, this was the best decision I’ve ever made about anything. The place was sweaty and packed (Austin’s morning breezes and chilliness had long since been replaced by punishing humidity) but seeing John K. Samson’s expert songcraft, along with the rest of the band’s superb set was great.

This was all after catching DJ Tommy Sunshine at the Alternative Press party on top of some building…

and before I capped my evening off with fucking HIGH ON FIRE.

Dude, if you’re not here right now, I don’t like you.

In an interview with the LA Times, freelance writer David Peisner claims that his controversial reviews of NAS and The Black Crowes in Maxim were assigned to him as previews, with the star-ratings and review context added after he had turned them in:

“I’m a freelance writer. I was assigned to write previews of the Black Crowes and Nas albums. I did that. When the issue came out, the previews were laid out as reviews complete with star ratings. I never at any point or to anyone claimed to have heard these albums in their entirety. Whatever decisions Maxim made after I turned in my work were beyond my control.”

Of course Black Crowes manager Peter Angelus had little sympathy for Peisner:

“There’s no accountability for Dave Peisner, editor James Kaminsky or Maxim magazine. They issued a partial apology to their readership, but no apology directly to the artist whose work they denigrated without having heard more than one song, while attempting to pass it off as an album review. I think Peisner’s claim is absurd. He wrote a review of music that he never heard, he disparaged both the band and the material. He said, ‘It hasn’t left Chris Robinson and the gang much room for growth,’ and yet now he’s going to attempt to pass off his actions on Maxim? Absurd.”

I’d like to congratulate both NAS and The Black Crowes for getting so much mileage out of what amounts to common knowledge. OMG A REVIEWER FROM MAXIM TALKS OUT OF HIS ASS!!??? Cue the crocodile tears is five, four…. Brings new meaning to the phrase, no press is bad press! Not to mention when was the last time Maxim was talked about by anyone beyond 18 year dudes who just got out of high school but don’t have enough balls to subscribe to Playboy? This is a win-win situation for everybody. Now excuse me while I write my scathing reviews of Guns ‘N’ Roses Chinese Democracy and Coldplay’s Prospekt. Coming soon to Synthesis.net

I’m from San Jose, which defines me as either a Giant’s or A’s fan. Green and yellow don’t really look good on me, and frankly A’s and Raider’s fans scare the hell out of me (no offense, but yall are crazy), so I’ve sided with San Francisco much of my life. That being said, lets get this out in the open: Barry Bonds is a total d-bag… amazing athlete, pretty good looking, but a d-bag none the less. He’s had countless reports of being rude to fans, lying to the press, etc… you get the picture.

Kimberly Bell, his mistress 93′-03, is appearing in Playboy (Oct.) to talk about their relationship and the drama behind his career.

Kimberly Bell was called to testify in front of a grand jury in 2005 during the Barry Bonds case. She also admitted that Barry Bonds gave her $80,000 in cash, proceeds from a memorabilia sale, which was never claimed on his tax returns.

Obviously the most important issue Kimberly Bell will discuss, is the steroid use of Barry Bonds. She has testified in court that Barry Bonds has been using steroids. According to Kimberly Bell, “He was very envious of Mark McGwire. He never said that was the reason, but I know it was.”

To top that off, there’s going to be a pictorial of her along with the interview. I in no way support the advocation of nude women in the media, and I promise you that I will only be buying this edition of Playboy for the articles…

I am not that great with words so bare with me, or just follow this link and bare with her. Hint there is good design and then there is good old mother nature.Advertising/Design Goodness: Playboy