I know you teeny-boppers fawn over those sensitive pretty boy actors like Ryan Gosling, Heath Ledger, or Rue McClanahan. And you "hipsters" have your too cool for school favorites like John C. Reilly, David
Cross, and Estelle Getty. Well, you can have 'em all. I'll take Skerrit. That's right, I'm talking Tom Skerritt, and no "hipsters", I'm not being "ironic". You may know Skerritt from his "
Ruggedly handsome 'outdoor' looks". Or from his starring turn in
Alien, the best movie ever that's not
Days of Heaven,
The Empire Strikes
Back, or
His Girl Friday. Or maybe from his guest turn on Cheers, the
best sitcom ever. Or how about his kickass turn in
Top Gun, the best
Kenny Loggins soundtracked film ever. But that's just the iceberg's
tip. We got
Steel Magnolias,
Cheech and Chong's Up In Smoke,
M.A.S.H.,
Contact, Baretta, Hawaii Five-O,
Harold and Maude, and
SpaceCamp. So
if you need some shirtless hunk who'll pretend he's Sean Penn, call
Gosling. Or Sean Penn. But if you need a shirtless hunk who'll keep it
real, call me. Or Tom Skerritt. If you give him a good parking spot
and a trailer with a bathroom, he's on board. Now this may shock you,
but I don't have a song relating to Tom Skerritt. I do, however, have my
favorite song from 1992. That's the year Skerritt appeared in eight
major works, including the racy
Poison Ivy, the raunchy
Wild Orchid
II: Two Shades of Blue, the distinguished
A River Runs Through It, the
slackerific
Singles, and the first season of his hit show Picket
Fences. Rock on Skerritt. Badminton loves you, and not just for your
'outdoor' looks.
US Funk Team 
I'm eating Korean fried chicken up in the club when this song comes
on. The next thing I know my life is forever changed. I hustle home in
order to listen to Wisin y Yandel's reggaeton fire on repeat until the
breaka breaks when me and my two lady friends are accosted by a punk
lunatic homeless scumbag with a cane and a long, thick iron chain. He
screams lunatic asylum escape-style, "Give me thirty cents!" I
replied, "No. And why do you have a cane? Are you a Railroad Baron/The
Penguin?" He repeated his thirty cent demand, to which I retorted, "I
don't got shit." He then performs the world famous "lunge n' screech",
lunging at me and screeching "Giuliani is going to be
President!" I replied, "I don't think he's going to win." He
continued, "Giuliani is going to be the President and then I'm going
to have to fucking blow up the fucking White House," to which I said,
"Hey man, I hope it doesn't come to that." And then he lost his shit.
He swung his baron cane at me, swung his iron chain at me, told the
girls that I "wasn't worth thirty fucking cents", punched me, and
chased me down the street as the girls fled in the opposite direction.
I took refuge in a fancypants eatery while all the yuppies looked on
in horror. Hopefully they were freaked out enough to move back to the
suburbs so I can dance the night away with my ladies, the Puerto
Ricans, and yes, even Crazy Chain.
One of Philabuster's most rocked-out-to tunes these past couple of weeks has been courtesy of Call Me Lightning, a Milwaukee outfit that just signed to 
Comin' atcha first thing every Monday morning, it's The Pony Track, a super-fantastic short distance dedication to BadmintonStamps Collective founding member and internationally renown symbol for musical excellence Aaron "Pony"
Child. No fancy links, no clever write-ups, 'cause these awesome songs
don't need no splainin'. So c'mon, ride the pony!
You have to had it to Damon Albarn. When he's not working with his band, he's working with his other band. Or his cartoon band. Or some third side project we probably won't even hear about until summer that includes John Paul Jones on spoons for three tracks. And when he gets a free moment from all that? Why, he's out there trying to 
FDR was a pussy. Yeah, you heard me. Herb sat at his desk hundreds, if
not thousands of miles away from Japan lobbing atomic weapons, yet
is somehow considered a war hero? Also, he was a cripple. And, like
girls, despite all of society's misguided encouragement and coddling,
cripples are weak. Except for those guys in Murderball, I'm pretty
sure they could take me. But the biggest reason FDR is a pussy is
that he delivered the most pussy line in American history: "We have
nothing to fear but fear itself." Excuse me Franklin, but that's a
pretty big "but". It's like saying, "We should eat nothing except for
food." It is the thing you're avoiding. And why should I fear fear?
I'm not afraid of fear. And neither should you be, Delano. The only thing
you should be afraid of is some over-encouraged girl stealing your
wheelchair. So in honor of a great but kinda pussy President, here's a
pussy but kinda great song.
DJ Ben Ha Meen lives in New York City in apt. 3A.
Need some Thursday night hotness? Nicole Atkins (pic'd) has this Patience Hodgson/Juanita Stein thing goin' on that's all sweet and sexy and sassy and sing-songy at the same time. She's on stage with her band at 
DJ Ben Ha Meen lives in New York City in apt. 3A.
This past Saturday night, your two favorite BadmintonStamps contributors rolled out through New York City in truly monumental style. The main event? Of course, the final night of Arcade Fire's five show extravaganza at the gorgeous Judson Memorial Church (also known as SkinnySlim's back yard). We pulled up to the J-Mem around 8, quickly bypassed the line outside by flashing IDs (in this case, our BadmintonStamps 
After bouncing our emoting hearts out to the epic grandiosity that was Arcade Fire, we needed to dance our funky asses off to the epic kick-assiosity that is !!!. So we jetted (yes, Badminton has a G4)
from the Chuuurch to the Warehouse out on Sutton Street in Greenpoint.
By the way, it has been said that SkinnySlim is the Godfather of
Greenpoint, so you can call him 
You just don't hear that much anymore about Charlemagne. And it's
really a shame. The only bright spot in the Dark Ages, Charley dealt with
great hardships to unify much of Europe. I mean, if you think it's
easy growing up the son of someone named 
Tonight, as 
Making Time hearts Klaxons. The chart-topping Brit Myth busters will be playing Transit on Saturday, April 14th, part of a 
DJ Ben Ha Meen lives in New York City in apt. 3A.
DJ Ben Ha Meen lives in New York City. It is rumored that he received
his moniker after an ill-fated four month stint as the overnight DJ
for a smooth-jazz anti-Communist radio station in Szombathely,
Hungary. That rumor is true.
1) 2005's Harmonies For The Haunted is still totally brilliant.
Step #1: Sit down in front of your computer with a bunch of shots.
The 
DJ Ben Ha Meen lives in New York City. It is rumored that he received
his moniker after an ill-fated four month stint as the overnight DJ
for a smooth-jazz anti-Communist radio station in Szombathely,
Hungary. That rumor is true.
Some say love is a feeling you get deep down in the pit of your stomach. Some say it's all about hormones. Other's say it's all about whore moans. Some say love, it is the river that drowns the tender reed. And then there's always that one asshole who says love is driving 900 miles in an adult diaper with an assortment of Clue items in your trunk in a desperate attempt to murder your adulterous romantic rivals and once-fellow astronauts. There's probably no single right answer. But if you're a production company who specializes in made-for-TV movies, 
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It's hard to say just how we got here, but that doesn't change the fact that Philly is on the cusp of a very serious jangle-pop "moment" in musical history. When (not if) the A-Sides finally do hit the big time, expect to see labels swooping in a la Seattle 1991, snatching up less polished, more maleable prospects like The Beautiful Traps to accesorize their rosters and milk the trend for every $.99 itunes purchase they can. Catch this potential Menswear of the nu-Kinks* craze tonight at 
In case you didn't pick up a copy of the new issue this morning, you might be interested to know: Philadelphia Weekly loves us. Well, half of us, at least (
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Make no mistake. The biggest little band in Philly right now is Brown Recluse Sings. And there's plenty of evidence to support the claim: the near-perfect pop gem debut, the Black Sunday EP; the legendary performance at last autumn's 
My accountant says I need to get more "liquid" and "diversify" my
portfolio. After a lost weekend in Vegas I have learned this does not
mean pouring champagne all over sexed up ethnic hotties. It means I
gotta make more ends. So, in a bid to get richer quicker, and
following in the footsteps of my mentors Liz Taylor and Donald Trump,
SkinnySlim has decided to enter the perfume racket. Obviously I have
my own natural scent; it's sort of a mix of nutmeg, sweat, and
unicorn. That plus a pinch of Liz Taylor and Donald Trump essence.
But I'm talking about a bottled scent that I can sell in department
stores like Saks or Macy's for a ridiculous profit. Everyone from
Michael Jordan and Derek Jeter, to Britney Spears and Ashley Olsen, to
Mickey Rooney and Andy Rooney have their own perfume/cologne. Hell,
even 
The first three Super Bowl ads last night featured someone throwing a rock in a man's face, a man and a woman getting their faces smashed, and a mouse that was dragged, squeezed, and tortured. The fourth ad?
Some 
Long after the post-9/11 outrage has faded, this week will no doubt still be nostalgically remembered in ad agencies and Wharton classes for generations to come as the week that Americans witnessed the most succesful 
Like an Arab, Vegan, or Jew, SkinnySlim got some very strict dietary rules. Unlike an Arab, Vegan, or Jew, SkinnySlim's dietary rules aren't retarded. Rule numero uno: Eat at least one type of animal every day. It's important to constantly remind your belly of humans' dominance over all other species. Rule numero two-o: Do not eat the same core meal item twice in one day. If it's pasta for lunch, than it's steak or chicken for dinner, and fish for dessert. Chicken for lunch? Pasta or pizza or red meat for dinner, and fish for dessert. This rule has served me well, but has been called into question, most notably by my personal idol, Puff Daddy/Diddy/Puffy/
