An Open Letter to Barry Weiss of Jive Records

Dear Mr. Weiss,

First of all, a hearty congratulations to you on Britney Spears' new CD, Blackout. Despite tremendous odds, it is set to debut on top of the charts next week with sales in the 300K+ range.


However, this is not just a letter of congratulations; I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive.

Now, I know you have to tow the party line (since you're the head of this party) that states that you couldn't be more pleased with Ms. Spears' album and she is and will continue to be a leading star at your label and in pop music, blah blah blah etc etc.

Between me and you, we both know this isn't true. She's a couple months away from an inevitable trainwreck, happily chugging along to an eventual KABOOM.. but that's besides the point.

What makes her opening at #1 with the numbers she is projected to sell really is quite incredible considering that she's done NOTHING besides stay in the tabloids for flashing her 'gina, ignoring court orders, and driving around to Starbucks and various gas stations in and around Los Angeles. I may be going out on a limb here, but I believe she's done far more promoting Starbucks than her own album these last few weeks.

By all accounts (critical and chartwise), this album is good. Really good. However, the quality of the album has very little to do with her.

Here is where we get to my point: she's done nothing. She didn't write the songs, she didn't produce the songs, and, to a staggering degree, she really doesn't sing any of the songs. An album was crafted for her by a team of quality musicians and producers and all she needed to do was hum a long to a few lyrics - thats all she did, besides pose for a few pictures with a male model dressed as a priest (kudos for the extra press on that one!). But again, where are the interviews? Where are the surprise appearances? Where are the performances?.. well.. maybe its better that we all learned a little something about letting Britney perform.

I'll cut to the chase, Mr. Weiss: why are you wasting your time on an "artist" that puts forth not even the minimum of effort needed to effectively market and sell an album? It's time for a change and that change could be ME.

I have no musical talent. For all intents and purposes, I'm tone deaf. I couldn't carry a tune to save my life. Can I dance? Hell no. I have no grasp of beats or rhythms. What I DO have, though, is work ethic.

My proposal is this: give up on the Spears and give me a chance. She's over. In fact, I think if we all stopped paying attention to her, she might start paying attention to herself and get the help she most desperately needs. I'm not belittling her - she must have some sort of deep-seated mental issues that a good therapist and some time alone could fix. It's our duty to let her sort all that out. In the meantime, let's embark on a little experiment.

Set me up with the same producers, writers, and background singers that were involved in Britney's album. Sure, I'm not an international, national, regional, or local sex symbol, nor have I sold millions of albums, but I think all parties involved might feel a little better creating an album for someone who will actually get behind it.

I'll sit on the couch with Leno and hobnob with Letterman. I'll trade quips with Ellen and cook some meatballs with Martha. If Ryan Seacrest calls me, you better believe I won't leave halfway through to shower. I'll show up for interviews and photoshoots, and I won't walk off with the clothing or pee with the bathroom door open. My pets won't ruin dresses. I'll sign a deal with a coffee chain so that when I go to get a beverage, we'll both pocket a few extra dollars. When I dance on TV I'll look like a fool, but I won't be drunk and I won't be the butt of the joke, I'll be in on it. I'll guzzle champagne like the best of them at insider parties, but when I'm hungover and tired the next morning I'll make it to my video shoot and put in 100% effort.

At this point, Mr. Weiss, what do you have to lose?

I look forward to hearing from you.

Mike Burton

PS: Can we look into hiring Gloria Allred as my lead attorney? I saw her on Dr. Phil the other day and she's a real pitbull. Good person to have in our corner for my inevitable marriages, divorces, and custody battles once my album goes #1.

If Poop Grosses You Out, Don't Read This

With a title like that, I hope all of you are reading this. As Art pointed out to me, if this blog is about food I should make sure to address the other half of the eating cycle -- pooping.

As many of you may or may not know, I love to poop. It's great. It's a time to get away from it all and just center your chi and gain a little zen. When you're pooping, theres potential to be literally "caught with your pants down", but inspite of this pooping is rarely stressful or embarrassing. It's just you and a toilet, communing with one another. A ying and a yang situation - you're giving a little, and the toilet is taking.

HOWEVER, throughout my many years on this Earth I have found a few terrible situations where this most hallowed moment becomes a nightmare.

Imagine if you will that you and your chums have just had a tasty Thai meal. As you enjoy your curry more than the common man, you've consumed more than your fair share of said delicacy. Afterwards, you and a certain other chum (who wears far too much linen and pays no attention to personal grooming) are wandering the streets of some vibrant city, taking in the sights and blocking each other's conversations out. All in all, a great day -- BUT WAIT!

There's something moving in your stomach... it's spicy... it's semi-digested.. it's the curry, and it wants out.

PRONTO.

Obviously this story is not just a creation of my fanciful mind, but a real life experience. After lunch at Sripraphai and way too much beef red curry, I was hit with an imminent and pressing case of the shits.

I refuse to shit in a public place. REFUSE. I probably could count on my fingers the times I have pooped in a public place, mostly life or death situations.

When these shits hit me, I was between Astor Place and Union Square and at the time I lived at 99 John St.. so for those of you unfamilar with the city, these points are roughly an 8-10 minute subway ride (not counting the waiting for a train) or a 25-30 minute walk apart.

Now, some of you may say -- well, I'd opt for the subway because unless you're terribly unlucky, the train shouldn't take too long to come and with a little luck you'll be home and depanted in about 20 minutes.

Did I take the train? No. Fuck no. Too risky.

First, you've got the waiting for the train where you have to remain stationary, making no progress towards your goal while your poop is ready to pop out at any minute. Also, the train is bumpy and once you're in there, theres no way for you to get out.. whereas your poop is in the opposite boat as it can escape at any time.. and who wants to shit their pants not be able be to run away? And what if there is suddenly a blackout and you're stuck? Your poop won't understand this. It's impatient. It's an unruly six year old.

To be honest, though, none of this mattered at the time. What mattered was that I needed to poop and I needed to poop now and I was not about to do this in a dirty public bathroom. It just wasn't going to happen.. so I got my lineny, dirty friend (Katy) into high gear and walked, the poop fighting me with every step I took.

I've never felt so ALIVE. If I could survive this through sheer force of will than what couldn't I survive?

Long story short, I made it. I had to leave Katy behind as she wasn't keeping up (I think she peeled off to go to Zeytuna, where she once again proved that one person can decimate an entire overpriced grocery store's profits with pluck and a large canvas bag). The hardest few minutes was when I finally got in my building and was in the elevator, as my mind knew I was about to bid adieu to the poop seething inside of me, but my butt didn't understand that I needed it to keep the floodgates closed just a little longer.

I can't even describe the relief once I was free of it all, but the entire experience violated the usually calm and serene act of pooping and ever since then I've been scarred.. and I don't order curry from Sripraphai unless I know I am going straight home.

This, ladies and gentelman, is just one scenario wherein pooping can become a nightmare. More scenarios to come...

And yes, I did just blog twice today. Don't judge me.

Mike Goes To A Steakhouse

Last night I went to BLTSteak for dinner, armed with a $250 gift certificate for my birthday that Heather gave me. I left with mixed emotions.

The oysters were jamming. I love any kind of seafood, especially the variety that has a lot of legs/appendages and/or has a carapice/shell. I really can't stress that enough - I love anything edible that comes from the sea, be it crab, fish, or sponge. I have no actual experience eating real sponge, but I imagine I would enjoy it as I could pretend I was eating SpongeBob Squarepants and crushing the dreams of trillions of children (and developmently delayed adults). Back to the oysters - they were jamming. Fresh, salty, tasty... everything an oyster should be.

With the oysters I had two Pomegranate Smashes, which were basically kool-aid with a dash of vodka. Slightly disappointing.

Next came the steak, which was a revelation for me: I don't like steak. I mean, I don't HATE it, but.. I don't LOVE it. I had a medium rare filet and it was good, don't get me wrong, but it was just like.. this is it? I had it with peppercorn sauce, which helped, but I mean.. at the end of the day.. I just paid $41 for 12 ozs of steak... and it tasted good and all, but really, I just don't like steak that much and I think in general I just don't like things that are meant to just sit there and be consumed without any real preparation. I bet I could eventually learn how to cook a steak and for me, thats not real cookery. It's like art (not Art) - if I think I could eventually paint or sculpt something, then it can't be real art. Same goes for cookerying - if I could make it, its not real food.

The sides were good, but when you pay $9 for potato gratin at a steakhouse, I was sorta expecting a couple potatoes worth of gratin.. and all we got was like 6 thin sliced potatoes in gratinesey sauce. Woopty doo.

The dessert was awesome -- apple cobbler with bourbon ice cream. I'm a huge fan of pie/ice cream combinations and an ice cream that involved liquor was A-OK with me.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with all this. Basically, I think I've decided that I'm not a big fan of steakhouses.. although maybe next time I'll get something other than the steak.

This is my pathetic blog of the day. This is Mike, signing off.

The New York Times Reads My Blog

In case you thought my post last week was all tongue in cheek when I said I had great power and influence.. just check out the NYTimes Dining Section.

Yeah.

That's right. Don't fuck with me.

Now, granted, there isn't an article about champagne, but there is one about Chilean red wine. I'm a fan of Chilean red wine and I found the article interesting.

What we can extrapolate from this is that although they know I love me some champagne, they decided to indulge a subconcious desire of mine to read about Chilean red wine. In other words, I'm so important that they READ MY MIND.

I'll leave you all to stare and gawk at me in terror and awe.

The Demise of the NY Times

As this blog is so widely read and far more influential than big name sites like perezhilton.com, I feel like its time to excercise my considerable power to bring about drastic changes at the NY Times.

Yes, the NY Times, that paragon of journalism, that mountain of reporting on stuff, that pinnacle of words, the place where Deluca will strive her entire life to be apart of but will sadly never gain access to.

Sure they have "hard hitting" articles and "in depth investigations" on subjects that "matter", but... seriously.. what the fuck is up with the food section today? My thoughts? Read on.

I didn't even bother reading the article about making your own soda water. Who the fuck makes their own soda water? Why so much effort? It's fucking soda water. Just go to a bodega and get some canada dry and call it a day. Thats what I do when I want a fresh vodka tonic. I don't whip out my chemistry set and get all sciencey.. I weigh the pros and cons of being a douchebag who makes his own soda water with paying $1.25 for a 16oz bottle.. and I accept that no matter what choice I make I will sadly still be a douchebag, but not because I make my own soda water.

And um.... thanks NY Times for your insightful look at some stupid restaurant that combines bananas with bacons and avacado and ice cream that is located in a hotel (translation: overpriced fancy schmancy food I'll never bother trying).

Obviously the wine writer took a sick week, too, cause frankly, I could have wrote that dumb wine article. Red wine goes with meat, white with fish. Congrats. Really groundbreaking work.

FYI -- kids are picky because they are assholes and leeches on society.

Native Americans live on reservations and have basically been oppressed for the last few hundred years. Nice attempt to throw them a bone with an article about berries and buffaloes, though.

And.. glazed carrots? WTF?

I mean, to be honest, I'm usually disappointed with the NYTimes section to some degree... the only time I'm not is when there is an article about champagne ora review of a Thai restaurant -- I don't think theres been a week where the stars aligned and I got BOTH an article about champagne and a Thai review. However, if this were to happen next week I could forgive this week's atrocious lameness. Get with it NY Times Food section -- you've been warned!

A post about food.

I think we should all take a moment out of our day to honor spaghetti and meatballs.

As a child my Mother would make spaghetti with meat sauce and I would (and still do) have the same reaction to it as I have when someone brings up Mexican food - I hate it. Now, as it is food and I am a fan of food, I will naturally eat both Mexican/Tex Mex food and spaghetti with meat sauce after initial protests. Under the right circumstances I might even enjoy either or.

HOWEVER, what I really can't get enough of is a play on the traditional spaghetti with meat sauce -- spaghetti with meatballs. Who knew that by forming the loose meat into ball shapes could so radically change a dish? On top of being delicious, it's also a dish that I can actually make on my own.. although not all that well... BUT!... even when made by me, it's still delicious.. which only further affirms my faith in the meatball. For the record, though, my favorite meat to be used in this ball is not beef, but instead turkey.. which is also healthier.

There really is nothing wrong with spaghetti and meatballs. Unless you're a vegetarian, in which cause there's a lot wrong with you.

In other food related news, I'm really excited for Katy to try Thai food in England. One of my big fears about ever moving to England would be that the food would be bland and mostly consist of boiled meats and flavorlessness (except for Indian, which should be good cause my people own them).. but if there is decent Thai in Nottingham or Sheffield or wherever Katy is, well, that'll just revolutionize my opinion of the English. However, I need to prep myself for the fact that Katy will most likely order something that has in it something she knows she hates, but she'll order it anyways because she is a degenerate waste of space and then will tell me how awful it was.

So, all in all thats the news from this end. Keep it real, keep it safe, keep it healthy.

On Why Deluca Is Not Desmond

Auditioning last night for the role of Katy Desmond in "Mike Burton's Sad Little Life" was one Cristina Deluca.

Overall, there were a couple problems.

First of all, I'm still not sure Cristina was OK with just wandering. I think she's too schedule based a human being to be OK with wandering.. I mean, last night, she did OK because I think she really tried to get into the spirit of wandering.. but could she wander fulltime?

She also paid attention to me, which is, of course, a big problem. Instead of my usual rambling ons, I felt like I had to somehow make my talking interesting because everytime I stopped, Deluca was eyeballing me with her nerdy little eyes with rapt attention. Conversely, when she talked I felt like I had to pay attention cause she had paid attention to me. It was stressful.

Another problem was that when we went into a store for clothes, she actually encouraged me to buy things. Katy is too indecisive for that. Also, I bet she would have let me walk into every wine store I wanted and look at the champagne section without protest.

HOWEVER, there were a couple good points. When we went into Dylan's, she did pick at the candy which reminded me of Katy walking out of a grocery store with a week's worth of food tucked into her pockets... also, Deluca likes gummy things. I love gummy things. I can't remember if Katy likes gummy things because I don't pay attention to Katy.

Deluca also liked drinking. We had beers. That was very fulfilling.

So, long story short.. I'm thinking right now she's got a C+ in being Katy.

Well, to be fair, that grade should be higher, but I think putting it low will freak out the nerd in Deluca so she'll shape up and stop paying attention to me.