The Daily Show Starring Jon Leibowitz?

A young Jon Leibowitz

Should Jon Stewart change his name back to Jon Leibowitz? Being a non-practicing Jew with an open disdain for the more invasive aspects of formal religion, I would be an unlikely candidate to tackle this issue and that of modern Jewish self-identity. But I dig on media and social commentary so away we go. The Jew-WASPifies-his-name-for-assimilation-purposes-in-order-to-make-it-in-Hollywood phenomenon has been operating since the advent of modern media. In the 20’s and 30’s, Jewish studio moguls were worried that the abstract Jewish names of its stars would seem too ethnic and scare off the dime-cinema masses. Flash forward a few decades and Mel Kaminsky becomes Mel Brooks, Issur Demsky becomes Kirk Douglas, and Robert Zimmerman becomes Bob Dylan.

The practice became so ingrained that no one really noticed or questioned it. Stewart (born Jonathan Stuart Leibowitz) launched his career in the mid-80’s, started gaining some traction in the mid-90’s, and hit the mainstream just after the turn of the millenium. I’ll spare you my oft-repeated hypothesis that Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David, by embracing their nebbishness, did for Jewish pop culture penetration what Jackie Robinson did for black athletes, but one has to wonder if it’s necessary any longer.

Ron Rosenbaum doesn’t seem to think so and writes an open letter to Stewart requesting that he embrace his roots. Rosenbaum makes reasonable comment that this re-naming is outdated and antiquated, but let’s face it, Jon Stewart is known as Jon Stewart and his personal brand value and maketability lies in the name, Jon Stewart. And anyways, why single out this guy? Last time I checked, Gene Simmons was still kicking and I can assure he ain’t changing his name back to Chaim Witz any time soon. Well, Rosenbaum has a good foundation for why Stewart is the most appropriate candidate to lead the charge back:

I think it has something to do with what I like most about your show, which is that you, like the best satirists, focus on making fun of those who put up a false front. Not that Stewart is false in any malign sense of the word. (It was your middle name—well, Stuart was!) But that it’s a kind of mask, and you spend most of your time making fun of the pretentious masks that politicians, celebrities, and big shots adopt.

Hmm, he’s got a point, Jon.

Jennifer Aniston’s “Hey Brad Look How Many Young Guys Want To Fuck Me” Tour

As you may have heard, 39 year old Jennifer Aniston will be showing off her assets while leaving just a bit to the imagination on the cover of next month’s GQ. I guess she’s trying to boost her demographics, i.e. Males 18-35 who jerkoff to her. Don’t blame her to be perfectly honest. She really got hosed on this Brangelina thing. I mean, that was ruthless. Slightly hotter and much freakier movie star unapologetically plunders her marriage and repeatedly rubs her face in it in the press? Not cool and I’m glad she’s getting her revenge, although I’m not sure schtooping John Mayer is the best way to go about it.

And another thing, I don’t understand people’s fascination with Jolie. She’s basically a cold, dark bitch who has admitted to getting serviced by an Asian bull dyke every once in a while, just for variety (I suppose). Yeah she’s smart and her lips could suffocate a hippopotamus, but the woman just gives me the hebe-jebes. People for some reason romanticize celebrities who seem dark and mysterious, but I don’t buy Jolie’s act. Her International Romper Room is a transparent vanity project that has left Brad Pitt looking more dejected than Tim Robbins after he got ganged raped in Shawshank Redemption. Whatever, Angie is just some reformed goth chick who couldn’t tie her own shoes while at Beverly.

Personal anecdote time:

December 25, 1997 my family and I engaged in the Jewish tradition of going to the movies on Christmas Day. We of course decided to see Titanic because that Leonardo guy is just so dreamy. Sitting in front of us in the theater that day was mid-70’s film star and dead-beat dad, Jon Voight. With him was a stunning brunette, bearing lips almost as large as Kate Winslett’s areolas. This chick was not even half his age, so we just assumed that Voight was using his fame and fortune to get a piece of young tail. Turns out that girl was his daughter, Angelina Jolie. Jolie had not yet reached the public consciousness, so we didn’t know any better. Anyway, Jon Voight cried like a little girl to Titanic. I’m talking serious waterworks. Then he reached over and started massaging his daughter’s inner thigh. Ok, that last part didn’t happen, but whatever fuck Angelina Jolie.

Whitney, Who Gave You Permission to Speak?

Lauren Conrad mooch-monger Whitney Port has taken a few months off from sucking LC’s toenails to film her poorly conceived Hills derivative, The City (wow, what creativity), and had this to say about New York guys vs. LA guys:

“I was recently in LA, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Everyone is kind of the exact same here.’ You have all these guys in the entertainment industry who are just trying to be smooth and super-cool. The guys in New York . . . they’re more confident and know what they want.”

Whitney, in the name of Hollywood sleazebags who think they are smooth and super-cool everywhere, please take your unsolicited opinion and shove it up your lanky ass.

If by “confident” you mean they sit around saying nothing with sullen looks on their face trying to look tough, have a wardrobe that relies far too heavily on Banana Republic, and stick 3 gallons of Dep Gel #9 to try to cover up their nappy hair, then yes, they are confident. You’re right Whitney, they do know what they want: a mindless Wall Street job that pays them an unjustified salary for moving phantom money around and contributes nothing to society while profiting off the pain of others, a cookie-cutter 6.5 brunette wife who reminds them uncomfortably of their mother, and tickets to see Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden.

Whit, if that’s what you’re into, then have fun. I’m sure you and Joey Buttafuco will be very happy together.

Boy George Brings Out the Gimp

Boy George gets convicted for imprisoning a Norwegian male escort. If you were wondering why I blog, it’s for moments like these.

Weekend Box Office Roundup

Wow, I cannot believe $31 million worth of you people actually went to see this crap over the weekend. I mean, I like Vince Vaugh and Reese Witherspoon individually, but they belong on-screen together about as much as Michael Jackson and Naomi Campbell in the In the Closet video. Is it just me or is there something troublesome about watching Michael Jackson in a wife beater with his hair pulled back screech “There’s something about ya baaaaaby, that makes me want to give it to youuuuuuu!!” Regardless, Four Christmases blazed the contemporary rom-com schlock trail of What Happens In Vegas to the tune of $31.8 million this weekend. And it’s a good thing too, since Warner Brothers somehow felt the need to spend a budget of $80 million to make a Christmas comedy about two yuppies visiting their families. Add another (let’s be conservative) $60 million for advertising, and Four Christmases should turn a profit once it rakes in about another $240 million. And who says the Hollywood studio business model is broken?

Let’s see, what else do we have?

The latest in the James Bond saga, Quantum of Solace, brought in another cool $20 mil despite having a storyline about as engaging as a pamphlet on venereal disease. I dug Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, but making a movie set in Bolivia with Vladimir Radmonavich as your villain does not make for a successful follow-up. And please, for god’s sakes, no more Bond girls with shoulder length hair. It just doesn’t work.

This weekend’s other big release was Australia, starring the World’s Sexiest Closeted Gay Guy, Hugh Jackman.

Australia’s first weekend box office take? $14 million.

Australia’s budget cost? $130 million.

Somebody at Fox is getting fired.

Other than that, Milk brought in a respectable $36,000 per screen in limited release, proving that there is an audience to watch Sean Penn and James Franco make out and Transporter 3 banked another $12 million proving that Jason Statham looks just like my friend and X 17 Poster Boy, Justin Mandile. Just thought I’d throw that out there.