Since she apparently believes she's residing in a universe where people still actually remember who she is, Sinead O'Connor has taken the drastic step of demanding that newspapers stop devoting space to her -- and has done so by taking out a full-page ad in the Irish Examiner. The verbose missive, which rambles on for 2,000 words, is laden with pleas to be left alone and insistences that she's not completely off her rocker. She also asks the apparently rhetorical -- and clearly oxymoronic -- question, "If ye think I am so ridiculous, why do ye give me any attention?" Normally, we'd use this opening to insert a few bars of Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling," but since O'Connor declared herself a priest in some cultish church, she might respond by showering us in goat's blood -- which is really hard to get out of suede . . .
Proving once again that soccer is the silliest of all sports -- well, other than synchronized diving -- a British team has agreed to temporarily rename their stadium "Palookaville" in honor of the new album by supporter Fatboy Slim. The artist formerly known as Norman Cook, a longtime fan of the tongue-twistingly named Brighton and Hove Albion club, says he chose the disc's title in part to draw attention to the team's efforts to garner themselves a new stadium to replace the rickety joint they currently call home. If Cook's open to fundraising suggestions, we're sure we could find a few folks willing to plunk down some dough for the chance to wing soccer balls at his nether regions at three-for-a-buck . . .
We're not ordinarily supportive of animal torture -- well, aside from the odd cockroach, that is -- so we normally don't mind the antics of the PETA people. In fact, we kind of get a kick out of seeing stiletto-shod anorexics trying to dodge squirts of red paint. But we're almost tempted to go to the other side whenever Paul McCartney gets up on his cruelty-free soapbox -- as he's done this week to urge California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger to ban the production of foie gras in that state. McCartney objects to the practice of force-feeding geese -- a key component to making the rich-folks' version of bologna -- which strikes us as kind of ironic, considering his eagerness stuff his dietary beliefs down the throats of anyone within shouting distance of a burger joint . . .
Having already proved themselves familiar with the notion that certain things never go out of style -- ambiguous sexuality and blatant ripoffs of David Byrne, for instance -- Franz Ferdinand have revived another classic, namely the old dine-and-dash. A London restaurateur is claiming the band stiffed him on a $1,000 check some months back after a dinner celebrating the wedding of drummer Paul Thomson. While a band spokesperson insists the drummer had just been "too busy" for the past six months to keep up with all his financial obligations, we're sure no self-respecting Scotsman would fall behind on his haggis-of-the-month dues.