My Wedding Advice to George Clooney

George Clooney is getting married to Amal Alamuddin, a British human-rights lawyer. This is a very big deal, since not that many people get married. But to someone like me, who turned in his bachelor card long ago—after dating my own share of actresses, models, and professional wrestlers—tying the knot is old hat. So I thought I’d share some advice with my fellow man, the Cloonster, on how to get through to “I do.” 

BACHELOR PARTY: GO EXTREME!

Rather than strippers or the clichéd Vegas trip, George, I recommend an extreme sports activity that your buds can bond over—like bowling at Chelsea Piers. That’s what me and my man-posse did, and we had a blast! Order some pitchers of Bud and chow down on chicken fingers while scoring your last strike as a free man. However, I suggest not scheduling your bachelor party in the afternoon, as there’s a good chance that a 13-year-old girl’s birthday bash will be taking place the next lane over—something your pals will rib you about for years to come. (Lots of screaming, balloons, and Silly String.) Or maybe an Ocean’s Eleven- or Syriana-themed party would be more your style. It’s your party…can’t wait to be there, Cloons!

Click to read more ...

Dear New York: I'm the New Alec Baldwin

This week, Alec Baldwin published a New York Magazine piece announcing that he is getting out of the city, and the public eye, for good. I just want to say, to showbiz and the media—I’m willing to take his place. I think I’m really right for the job, because Alec Baldwin and I have a lot in common.  

For one thing, our hair is kind of similar. (See photo above.)

Alec Baldwin is known as a great New York actor, the kind of guy you might see performing in Shakespeare in the Park. I’ve done Shakespeare in a Parking Lot, on the Lower East Side. What could be more “New York” than having a Dept. of Sanitation truck drive through during your soliloquy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream? 

Alec Baldwin was on 30 Rock for seven seasons, and I auditioned for 30 Rock once. I didn’t get the part, but I almost had a scene with Alec Baldwin, and I’m sure we would’ve become close, because we’re so much alike. 

Alec Baldwin was married to Kim Basinger, and I’ve had sex with Kim Basinger many times, in my mind. (It’s usually like that scene in 9 ½ Weeks—she’s blindfolded, and I’m feeding her exotic foods, like nachos and buffalo wings. She’ll be like, “What’s that?” You know, all turned on. And I’ll say, “Blue cheese, babe.” Then I go to the fridge to get something else to tantalize her with, and Mickey Rourke shows up. He says, “Waddaya got there…guacamole?” I’m like, Mickey, get out of here! Kim and I are having food sex!” She says, “Who’s that?” I say, “Nobody.” She says, “Is that Mickey Rourke?” I’m like, “No, he’s not here.” She says, “Mickey…? Did you say guacamole?” Mickey Rourke is like, “Hey, Kim, what’s up?” She says, “This is getting weird” and takes off her blindfold. I’m like, “What do you mean? It’s my fantasy, so why are you saying it’s weird?!”) But I digress.

Lastly, I’m not a homophobe, and neither is Alec Baldwin (according to his article, which I do believe).

So you see, I’m the perfect person to fill the Alec Baldwin-sized hole that will be left in all New Yorkers’ lives. Maybe I’m a little less famous, now, and the paparazzi aren’t beating down my door. But what I have that he doesn’t is the desire to be a public figure. I welcome the attention, I need it, and won’t go running to some remote, off-the-media-grid place, like Los Angeles. So, New York, my door is open…come inside. Stalk me, misquote me, make my life hell. I’ll even punch you in the face.

Exclusive Photo: Golden Globes Red Carpet

Bieber Leg Tattoos: Please Don't Hate

“Police said the 45-year-old Martin was obsessed with Bieber and has a tattoo of him on one of his legs.” – USA Today

This detail has been mentioned in nearly every report I’ve read about the plot, by an Arizona prisoner and two cohorts, to castrate and murder Justin Bieber. While the foiled (thank God!) plan is scary, disturbing, ghastly, and all, I’m concerned about a potential backlash against a group of innocent individuals in the days to come. Please, let’s not all leap to judgment about everyone who has the Biebs tattooed on their leg, OK? There is nothing inherently wrong with having a tattoo of an 18-year-old Canadian pop idol on your lower limbs, or anywhere on your body. As a grown man, I’m allowed to ink whatever image I want into my flesh, and if it’s the singer of megahits “Baby,” “Boyfriend,” and “As Long as You Love Me,” that’s my own damn business. If I had such a tattoo, I shouldn’t have to explain to anyone why it’s there. It could be because Justin Bieber is the biggest thing to happen in pop music since the Beatles or Michael Jackson. Or because he’s sold over 15 million albums, has 30 million followers on Twitter, and was named by Forbes, in 2012, as the third most powerful entertainer in the world. Or maybe I got the tat because he’s a gifted musician, touched by God at an early age, a singing and dancing angel, who is also, amazingly, a pretty solid drummer (as seen at his televised concert in Central Park). Or because, as I just read in a moving tweet by a Belieber, “he sings the words every girl wants to hear and every boy is too afraid to say.” Maybe it’s because I love Justin so much -- he’s like a son to me -- that I always want to keep him in my sight and protect him from harm. Or maybe I got this likeness of the teen phenom emblazoned on my inner thigh as a postmodern commentary on our celebrity-obsessed culture -- did you ever think of that? And how do you even know it’s Justin Bieber? Maybe it’s really someone else, say the character Derek Wildstar from the late-'70s Japanimation series Star Blazers, a childhood favorite of mine. Maybe it’s supposed to be Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, sans beard. Or maybe it’s an abstract design that just happens to look like Justin Bieber to you, decorating the skin over my sartorius muscle. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. But let’s just say my tattoo is of Justin Bieber. Even so, that wouldn’t be prima facie evidence of any criminal intent, violent tendencies, or mental illness on my part. Not at all. I’m pretty sure that Mark David Chapman didn’t have a tattoo of John Lennon on his leg. However, if he did, eerie though it might seem, it would have no necessary connection to the crime that he ultimately committed. It’s just pigment in skin, folks! My point is, let’s be careful about taking logical leaps and assuming “guilt by association.” I, and others like me, shouldn’t have to cover up in shame. It’s winter in New York City, so I will wear long pants -- but only for that reason. So please be mindful, as you’re walking down the street, that anyone you see may be hiding some Bieber ink -- on their ankles, calves, or haunches -- just beneath their jeans or khakis. And that those regular citizens are no more likely to murder and castrate Justin Bieber, or any other celebrity or non-famous person, than anyone else you might see. I hope that these reflections help to dispel fear and hatred, and to encourage tolerance and love.