SIP + FALL

The Hangover Movie

2009-05-22T13:58:00.001-07:00

May We Recommend Nyquil?

2009-01-15T15:57:00.000-08:00

It's a wedding and we're all invited! Well, that is if you are a hanger on of Katy Perry and totally OK with her marrying a 12-year-old wax doll with committment issues. Anyway, we open to the Lesser Zooey pledging her goodies to a 7th grader with a fake tan...but before the happy ending can commence, Little Bobby has a change of heart and a distinctive Adam's apple which sparks Katy into a DANCING SINGING FRENZY!

(And this is why we have no interest in watching Mamma Mia.)

There is synchronized headbopping and Katy accusing her childgroom of being a "bitch" (that's harsh Katy! He's only 12! The other one may not have descended yet!) I also have to say that if you want to marry a guy, accusing him of not being good enough for you is not exactly going to get you any faster matrimonial bliss.

Naturally, BoyWunder makes a dash down the aisle with Katy in hot pursuit who then rips off the skirt of her Stephanie Seymour wedding gown to reveal a...wedding romper? Seriously, how does one pee in that?

And come to think of it, how come there is always a guy in a hot dog costume in music videos?

Katy committs a minor felony by swiping a pink beach cruiser to chase down her shitty groom and then, we are suddenly kidnapped into an underground club...with Katy doing her best Diesel-sponsored Gwen Stefani impression. Oh, and that belt is not all that either, so can we stop cutting to it?

Finally, finally, the best part of the video comes up. No, probably second best: The bride zombies looking like coked out rejects from a Tim Burton audition swing bats around threateningly, only to dance a mad jig around WaxBoy which is rather anticlimactic. Also anticlimactic? the Nokia sponsored videophone message. It's pretty much the same bit of Katy smearing her own mascara, except with sponsorship!

Now, before we can get to the best part of the video, Katy and her comrades decide to swap their tattered wedding duds for some shiny 80s sporty spice gear. Also, there are Hammer pants. There's some poplocking and other music video staples, but what REALLY intrigues us the wind dude. We can only assume that during the course of the chase, Katy has decided that if marrying a teenager falls through, she can always default to becoming a used car salesman in gold lame booty shorts with matching eyeshadow and manic hula hoopers.

OK. NOW we are at the best part.

Before we all start having a free for all, let's just cut to the chase: Whut. Tha. Fuck.

Based on the general ending of the video, it's safe to assume that the childgroom is in fact, a child with either a vivid imagination, or KPee fed him some hallucinatory drugs before forcing him into a monkey suit. Either way, this video's plotline leaves us pondering the power of the zebras.

- Grace n' Kelley

Obsessive Fangirls Scare Me A Lot.

2008-11-15T00:40:00.000-08:00

It did not take a genius to figure out that the actor (Robert "Cedric Diggory" Pattinson) playing the lead in the Twilight movie would become ridiculously famous with enough fangirls to populate a planet (preferably one far, far away from him, if only for the screaming factor). But this post isn't so much about him or any other previous boy band or teen idol with Johnny Depp level status that pouted and pranced before him. It's this phenomenon of sheer fangirliness that has me completely bewildered--and dare I admit it? Completely transfixed.

Friends had sent me footage of these wretched Hot Topic signings which looked a great deal like a hybrid between the polar bear ice plunge exhibit at the San Diego Zoo and the arrival of a fine dignitary from overseas. A few exception though: for one, the Polar Bear Plunge is big enough to fit more than 25 people without inciting a riot amid poorly screened Korn t-shirts and tired frat-inspired boxers that promote beer funnels. And secondly, as much as I like a good-looking British boy and beer funnels as the next person, all this hoopla seems a wee bit premature especially considering that the movie hasn't even been released and the books uh, leave much to be desired.

Anyway. When I finally, FINALLY caught a news report from a recent stop in Boston, I was frankly dumbfounded by the sheer level of fangirl reactions. The screaming is expected. The crying? Um, sure. But here's where I am confused: These girls in these lines--and some of them are WOMEN WELL INTO THEIR TWENTIES AND THIRTIES--seem fairly smart without the distraction of some alluring bloke with questionable hygiene and no media filter (which is refreshing). Some of them attend college or teach school even (yes, I know). And so, you would think they would have enough sense not to want to be broadcast on their local news crying hysterically with mascara running down their faces in their broody black Twilight tshirts emblazoned with an airbrushed Edward's face on it, declaring that the one second that they spent in front of some poor kid was and forever will be "the best experience OF MY LIFE!" (BTW, that airbrush job looks nothing like the actor.)

Like, really? Isn't that just throwing the towel in a bit early? How about when you graduate from high school? Get your college degree? Or when you get married (if that's your thing)? Or discover the cure for cancer? Or go see Flaming Lips in concert? I'm just saying that before you write this off as the best experience of your life, you may want review the past 48 hrs leading up to it, i.e. camping out on a sidewalk in the frigid cold with about 2,000 fangirls all lusting after one guy (and trust me, your odds aren't looking too good if you're deluded into thinking that you may end up with him).

Ultimately, I just hope it's worth it for them. The only time I ever camped out for anything was my first year in college and my university was tapped to host the World for Peace conference (obviously, Clinton was still in office then). The Dalai Lama was scheduled to appear and give a speech, and my friend Alex and I along with many, many other students, camped out for tickets overnight. Was it worth it? Well sort of. On one hand, it was the Dalai Lama. On the other hand, no one understood a word he said during his entire speech although we're fairly sure it was positive and peaceful. Bonus sighting: A Beastie Boy (MCA!) was sitting a few rows down with his wife and then-baby.

In conclusion, I quote this anonymous comment left on Cleolinda's blog in regards to Pattinsons' sudden skyrocketing fanbase: "In 10 years, there will be a lot of embarrassed women."

P.S.: Pattinson has excellent taste in music, give or take a few weepy, emo picks (sorry, those probably appeal to the fangirls the most). I was quite surprised to see Terry Reid make it to his playlist who happens to be one of my favorite rock musicians thanks to my old Contemporary American Music professor (thanks Fred Maus!). Also equally pleased with Oscar Peterson, even though I didn't do very well in the seemingly gut class called Jazz Appreciation. (I still have the course material--it is a 5 CD boxed set, and I still listen to it 7 years later).

Best. Shit. Ever.

2008-11-07T16:28:00.001-08:00

[ From Quoted4Truth ]

Chewing On Unemployment...

2008-11-06T22:09:00.000-08:00

Today, like a machine gun going off, I received four messages from four separate friends living in four different cities with the announcement that they were currently, devastatingly, heartbreakingly unemployed. (They were also working for four different companies in four very different industries).

And I think that is when it hit me like a ton of bricks: we are in deep, deep shit. As Wanda Sykes says, "We are deep, DEEP in debt. We are one paycheck away from moving back into Momma's house." When I sat and listened to Barack Obama's speech Tuesday night, it was full of hope and a promise of change with the warning of, "It's gonna take a LOT of hard work and it won't be overnight." And I reacted like, "Oh yeah, sure, I know, of course...!" without thinking about the real impact of what that means. But now I got a little taste of what it means. It means that my four friends who stayed at their jobs for 5+ years each are now facing unemployment and a total crap job market in the worst time of the year when budgets are spent and their severance package is lower than they hoped. It also means that people who have jobs right now are truly, incredibly lucky. It means shit is going to be really, really bad before it gets any better. Oh, and according to the news right now, it also means that California state tax is going to skyrocket to be above 10%. Awesome.

So here's my deal right now: No more spending on dumb shit. I'm going to start aggressively saving again, because this shit is fucking bananas, and at any moment, at any time, this whole thing could go to the crapper. Also, I need to get my act together and learn AS3 because dammit, if that's the one thing that's holding me back from getting this huge account, I am a dumbass for not doing it.

Enjoy Your Yeast Infection...?

2008-10-24T00:22:00.000-07:00

The Sound of A Yowling Cat

2008-10-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

So, here's a little secret: EDubbz is a musician. She's also from Texas, but here's the best part...SHE SINGS WITH A BRITISH ACCENT. It's fucking crazy! I would totally put a link up, but she'd kill me, and I will see her tomorrow, so yeah. Anyway, why am I bringing this up? Because last night, I went with a friend to see an acoustic set of a few up-and-coming musicians. I had high expectations because she is an A&R person at Geffen, and you know...

Well. I was wrong. First of all, the guy who we happened to hear as we were walking in the venue was EDubbz opposite: he is British but I guess the spirit of Eddie Vedder (during the red wine glugging days) crossed with a bad recording of Robert Johnson enters his body the minute he starts warbling. He warbled about 80% of the time and then assaulted our eardrums 10% of the time with some really questionable falsetto runs that...WOW. Brutal. Garage doors probably opened around the club. And the last 10% would be him yammering on in his charming British accent about squirrels (or maybe he was saying "squirrely"?). Anyway, I'm not sure if I'm just too old for this shit, I've lost touch with what's popular, or maybe I just can't recognize great music because all these people came up to him after the set and demanded autographs and photos. My friend looked at me and winced and said, "Is it because he's hot?" To which I responded, "It's the accent. It has to be."

To be fair, I think it takes a lot of guts to get up on a stage and lay your work out for all to hear with guns blazing. So kudos to that guy for having the nuts to do it. But uh, leave the falsettos to the yowling cats and Mariah Carey. Please?

And a White Russian to You...

2008-09-28T23:30:00.001-07:00

You know how sometimes someone--maybe everyone?--recommends something to you, and then you think, "Meh, I'll get to it when I get to it"? That's how Into the Wild was for me: it had all the ingredients of everything that I'd like; but well, I was just NOT really in the mood for reality at the time. Thankfully, I have since moved beyond that brief phase and now I am hoovering up non-fiction books and true story film adaptations as if I've just climbed out of a time capsule and am trying to absorb as much reality as humanly possible.

Since the movie and book have both been out for eons, I won't rehash anything that has already been said: it's a great story, it'll make you think, and it will leave you awed. At least, it did for me. And yes, I am contemplating doing an "On the Set" AT feature on it just showing the beautiful Alaskan landscape (the LA mission however, not so much). Unfortunately, I doubt Gregory will let me go that for out on a limb.

After I watched the film, I happened to catch a rerun of that show Iconoclast on the Sundance channel featuring Jon Krakauer (author of the book) and Sean Penn (director and screenwriter of the movie). I know it's kind of cheesy to admit this, but I fucking love that show. Seriously, I find that show to be a inspiring and heartbreaking all at once. Inspiring because these people are just so mind-blowingly successful--creatively, emotionally, financially. And heartbreaking because they're so alienated because well, how many people do YOU know who are over the moon with their work and their life? My friend put it best: "It must be nauseating to be around someone so bloody perfect all the time. And rich. How many of these people do you think are lonely?"

Anyway. Back to the Sean Penn and Jon Krakauer. If you haven't seen it and you like this sort of thing, I strongly encourage you to check it out. It's truly a great episodes because it's so genuine. A lot of times, especially shows like Inside the Actor's Studio, you don't really get a glimpse of the kind of passion that drives a person to go to the middle of bumfuck Alaska for the sole purpose of telling a story about a 23-year-old guy who is going on his life's biggest and most tragic adventure. When the credits were scrolling up the screen, I felt a bit of...gratitude towards these two men for broadcasting this story and making it important for anyone who has or will read the book/watch the film.

In short: Read it or watch it, it's worth the time.

Dear 90210...

2008-09-17T23:56:00.001-07:00

You know, I was never really into 90210 the first time around (but I do remember hearing about how Luke Perry and Shannen Doherty hated each other so much that during their kissing scene, he ate like a whole head of garlic and she rolled around in cat hair knowing that he was allergic--I'd say she out-bitched him on that one). So when I finally sat down to watch the new 90210, I realized: nothing bad ever happens on this show. No, really. NOTHING BAD. For example: The hot black kid from the Wire who is super cute apparently can't park the minivan, and he knocks out the side mirror of some fancy car that will run him $500. (Which, btw, is totally realistic cuz I knocked out my side mirror in high school and it cost me $400. Back then, Infiniti G20s were like, "luxury." Or something. I dunno, it was used, OK?) In the old 90210 days, this would automatically mean that someone was going to trip down the darker alleys of Beverly Hills, score a substantial amount of coke, and start selling to all of his rich bitch friends, thereby paying him back. NOT GET A FUCKING JOB AT THE PEACH PIT.

And by the way: That main girl would NOT be drinking Dr. Pepper while getting stood up. It would be Diet Coke and you know it, they know it, and she knows it. Hell, she probably was drinking Diet Dr. Diuretic, judging by the circumference of her arm.

This is where I think Gossip Girl excels: I mean, I know it's a fantasy life but at least Gossip Girl is completely unapologetic about it. Gossip Girl on the West Coast is some post-Avril Lavigne actress who is probably 22 and wondering how to channel the spirit of Perez Hilton in her performances. (The sad thing is that she's actually a decent actress, but I didn't recognize her after her 20 lb weight loss). Unfortunately, the only thing bit of meat she's given to chew on is some long-dead feud about posting about her ex-BFF's parents having marital strife. Whut? At least Serena bedded her ex-BFF's boyfriend, AND had the powers to toss her blonde hair back in Blair's good graces. Not even ~~Jennie Garth~~ Brenda Walsh could save this monstrosity...

...But Donna Martin could! Just saying...

Death, Short Form

2008-09-13T18:16:00.001-07:00

One of my grandparents died on Friday. Friday morning, to be exact. My mom called me to tell me, very calmly, and I didn't really feel very different. I mean, I'm not very close to any of my grandparents due to our inability to communicate with each other since I don't speak a lick of Mandarin, and they don't speak a lick of English. But. I felt guilty that I didn't feel anguished. I just felt...a little sad. Maybe a wee bit empty. And worried. Worried about how my dad was taking it.

But for me, personally, hearing about my grandparent's death at the age of 98 was like reading about someone famous dying, like Isaac Hayes or Bernie Mac. Or David Foster Wallace.

So tonight, I will pour a 40 oz on the sidewalk for the old girl.

Just Because...

2008-09-08T00:41:00.001-07:00

...it's Monday. And it's directed not at you, dear readers, but at the general glum that is the Monday work day.

Dear Lil Wayne...

2008-09-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

Your performance sucked.

I want those three minutes and twenty-six seconds that I spent watching you run around "rapping" with your "grill" and "tattooed tears" BACK. And I want it NOW.

Thanks.

PS Pull up your pants. This ain't the 90s, and you are not Marky Mark.
PPS LL Cool J, I am pissed on your behalf that you didn't get a full slot. Same to you Lupe.

Catchphrases I Learned From Watching 20 Hrs of Alias

2008-09-06T18:45:00.001-07:00

During the summer TV sabbatical, I decided to rot my brain with the entire...series...of Alias. Not just season 1 or 2, but the whole hog. And here's some catchphrases I've learned and am trying to incorporate into my daily rhetoric:

• Cross-index the files. Apparently, in order to properly analyze illicit information, it must be compared with other illicit information. Daily use: "You may need to cross-index the amount of half-n-half in the fridge before thinking about putting it on the grocery list."
• Piggyback the signal. This is in reference to stealing WiFi. Or a connection. Or a satellite dish. I don't know. Daily use: "Nanny, don't you fucking THINK about piggybacking on Herbie's nap, you hear me?!"
• Wheels Up. Indicates amount of time left before departure. Daily use: "I believe we must go to Bed Bath and Beyond. Wheels up in 10 minutes."
• It's a Rambaldi Artifact. In reference to some moldy Italian dude who hijacked Da Vinci's reputation and sketchbook. Also, inherently evil and prophetic. Daily use: "Shit, my laundry has been piling up for so long that it could be hiding a Rambaldi artifact."
• Joe's Pizza. Wrong number...traced back to the CIA! Daily use: Any time and every time a telemarketer calls.

Books Recs, from the Guy Who Programs iTunes Audiobooks!

2008-09-05T23:41:00.000-07:00

When I was up north these past few days, I got a chance to hang out with one of my favorite people, Rob. He basically runs the whole operation of Audiobooks for all of iTunes, and he's kinda sorta awesome. He also has a beautiful wife and three little girls and a sick mountain bike, and if you ever see any of his family portraits, they look like outtakes from a J.Crew catalogue (really). Anyway, every time I chat with Robbo, I always ask him what books I should be reading and this time around, he vehemently recommended Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer. Considering what a mellow dude he is, it was pretty weird to hear him say, "Go get this book NOW. I mean it, RIGHT NOW. GO!" So I'm thinking it's nothing short of awesome.

(I dated a guy in college named Ben Krakauer who was--and still is--a banjo player. He dumped me in favor of "getting nasty with the banjo-pickin'." After that, I swore off dating musicians. Sort of.)

Them's Diamonds from Tiffany's, Bitches!

2008-09-04T22:53:00.000-07:00

I had to bribe this guy at work to make an iMix entitled "Just Because I'm a Whore Doesn't Mean I Don't Have Feelings." And by bribe, I mean, I had to make him a wallpaper declaring his awesome-ness. Here, I've used diamond-encrusted letters that I usually reserve for only the most deserving hip hop artists and the background from a previous project for Enchanted. Yes, the Disney movie. I think the pairing of the two is just unexpectedly perfect for Andy. Especially since he's the author of this iMix. Click on it if you dare, my friends...

This Could Be My New Mantra...

2008-09-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

Happy Labor Day to you, from me. Tomorrow, I wake up at 6 am to catch a flight up north so I can kick it with some Europeans for one day. It's very strange to say this but...I've pretty much worked at home for over a year now, and I deal with co-workers and clients strictly over iChat (not Adium, AIM, or ICQ..wow ICQ...so 90s!). When it actually comes time to meet said co-workers and clients face-to-face, it feels like...like...a blind date. Last year, I met one of my clients who I've been working with for almost a year and half for the first time at Mexican restaurant in Manhattan Beach, and it was the weirdest shit ever. Luckily, we just got drunk off of margaritas big enough to bathe in, so it was all good.

PS To everyone who sent me the link to TwiMoms: you just scared the bejeezus out of me. Like...REALLY. FUCKING. SCARED. I couldn't even look beyond the first page. OK, I lied: i read the story about the golfing to spy on the filming and when I got to the part where the lady didn't realize that golf clubs are mandatory to play golf, I couldn't handle it anymore and...yeah.

Ummm....This Could Be a Conspiracy.

2008-08-30T23:26:00.000-07:00

So. It's been like, what, a week since I wrote about Maggie visiting and Twilight yadda yadda yadda. (I got a frantic call from her a few days ago--she is heartbroken about a leaked book? More on that later). Anyway, I also vented my frustration about the books on Apartment Therapy and received a fair amount of hate emails that had me (and a few of the other editors) laughing and laughing. Why am I bringing this up again? Here's why:

About three days ago, I am stuck in fucking traffic. In Pasadena. At an ungodly hour that doesn't warrant traffic. Colorado Blvd, close to the Rose Bowl at 1 am? IT DOESN'T HAPPEN. Unless there's an accident (but even then, there's not a lot of cars to be rubber necking), New Years Eve (the parade, you know), a football game...or worse...filming. (Side Tangent: I was once stuck in traffic on Western and Wilshire at 6 pm heading to work at the Wiltern Theater for a gallery show...I literally went 3 blocks in 1.5 hrs. Why? Because they were filming a car chase sequence from the movie S.W.A.T. Years later, when I finally caught the movie on TNT, I was like, "Huh. So that's what that looked like.") As I inched along, I spied those pesky yellow filming location signs, and then...horrors of horrors! A gaggle of innocent girls wearing peg leg jeans (ugh) and Team Edward tshirts (ugh x2) were huddled around the corner and about three of them were crying hysterically. It was...bizarre. I mean, I understand fandom. Case and point, I still know all the words to Ice Ice Baby (who doesn't? C'mon.) A part of me sat idly in the car, wondering what will happen in 5 years when these girls grow up...and cringe when they relive the memory of sneaking out of their homes past curfew to get some British bloke's autograph. Hell, I still cringe just thinking about watching Cool As Ice--and I was 12!

Which brings me to the leaked book issue. Mags was in tears when she called and wailed, "She's SO ANGRY that she won't FINISH the BOOK! She posted TWELVE CHAPTERS and it ENDS right at the BEST PART!" Fourteen years olds are so great at speaking in ALL CAPS, aren't they? I find it endearing. And hilarious. And after she gushed out the whole story, I got so curious that I went online and looked. Yes, the author was pissed and has every right to be. But I will say that I got a very bad taste from her letter to her fans. Let me just put it to you this way: If I were a wildly successful writer who churned out four books, and was going to rewrite the first book due to popular demand and it got leaked accidentaly, yes, I would be pissed. But at the end of the day, I would finish it off, post it online, and tell my fans to have at it. After all, if my fourth book sucked so bad that my own fans were launching a Return the Book campaign, I would feel like giving away a companion book is the least I could do to thank them. Or maybe go the JK route and donate all the proceeds to charity. Lots of options!

On the other hand, maybe this is totally a ploy by her publishing company. As someone who builds widgets and banners that track clicks and page views and what all else, it wouldn't surprise me in the LEAST that someone is calculating how many times her "leak" gets downloaded. That's some mighty fine marketing information...

I Can't Hate When It Pays The Mortgage...

2008-08-27T22:59:00.000-07:00

Say what you will about the state of pop music--like it's crap, no one is making money, and if kissing a girl will top the charts, then the world is falling to pieces--but i really, really can't hate on it even if I wanted to. Why? Because it pays the bills, my friends. It does. So here's to you, Justin Timberlake and Hilary Duff and Hannah Montana and the entire cast of High School Musical and the Jonas Brothers and Britney Spears and Ne-Yo and Usher and American Idol: Thank you, from the deepest pit of my stomach to my carpal tunnel hands. Every time I curse you for making me pull all-nighters so you can have your dumb widget or players or websites, I'm really truly grateful. Especially when I go to the grocery store to buy food, or when I send in my monthly bills, or when I have to book a trip across the U.S. to witness my friend getting married. Cheers (now hurry up and make another record, so I can make more shit for you).

P.S. JT, if you win the Emmy for the Future Sex Love Show and you don't thank me, I will be pissed. I still have a piece of mirror lodged in my palm from smashing a stupid disco ball.

2008-08-26T17:05:00.000-07:00

Um, how come there are no Chik-fil-A's on the west coast?

Full Name: Ginger Bender

2008-08-22T23:28:00.001-07:00

So, my friend Steve told me awhile ago that he's spent exactly one year in the US (he's originally from London). As a young British bloke, Steve was--and still is--extremely outgoing and optimistic which made him sign up to be a foreign exchange student which he thought would be utterly glamorous and fabulous. He also told me that he had visions of being Luke Perry and scoring himself a buxom Beverly Hills blonde.

Unfortunately, the program he signed up for sent him to...Montgomery, Alabama. Awesome. His fondest memories of Alabama include trolling around the strip malls trying to score booze, and rallying his American peers to play rugby and failing miserably. He did, however, attend the prom and wore an all-white tuxedo and took a red-headed girl as his date.

And yes, her name is Ginger Bender. (Or as he would say: Ging-ah Bend-ah).

PS I went to Whole Foods and bought 2 scoops of chocolate-covered almonds. And I ate all of them. In one sitting. While watching the Olympics. I dunno about you, but staring at all these super svelte, super buff athletes just makes me feel less inspired to work out and just give up and eat fatty snacks on my ass.

This Shit Is Nuts.

2008-08-21T22:57:00.001-07:00

Has anyone watched the Olympics Supercross BMX racing? It is fucking crazy. And I thought gymnastics was bad--these men and women on bikes get B-R-O-K-E.

Shit.

Sick.

2008-08-21T21:07:00.000-07:00

Beyond. Fucking. Awesome.

Behind the Scenes of AT Blogging...

2008-08-21T01:32:00.000-07:00

Before I started writing for AT:LA, I have to admit that I barely blogged. Or read a blog (unless you count Television Without Pity, which really isn't a blog...OK, I read Perez Hilton, FINE, I admit it dammit! Hey, Laure does too...) I think the first few months of blogging for AT was a bit of a shock because well, it's kinda hard to come up with content all the time, and even more importantly: do you know how hard it is to use "we" with everything? Readers bitch about that all the time, and let me just say: look, I get it, I'm not trying to sound pretentious--it's a rule that we (and I do mean "we") have to abide by. The Bossman spoketh.

Anyway. Here are a few things that may (or may not) surprise you about the inner workings of the AT:LA workforce:
1. About once a week, we'll get a few dumb email. And by dumb, I mean, someone is asking us how much we're selling the vinyl Traffic Allure flooring. And it's always about that.
2. We don't get paid by studios to feature TV sets or movie sets. If we did, I'd be posting a shitload more about that. I tend to post a lot about that because I probably watch more TV than the rest of the bloggers combined. This is not necessarily a good thing, but it's the truth.
3. Only one of us is a full time blogger.
4. Every week, we pick the Wet Weedy Willy of the Week Award for Best Reader Comment. This week's comment was awarded early, and it goes unanimously to K T G.
5. I read Gregory, Jonathan, and Laure's personal blogs more than AT. I would read Abby's too, but I'm not sure she has one. I don't think they read my blog at all, mainly because...I've just started updating it.
6. At least once a day, I will skulk around my house and whine about how I have no idea what I should post about (there's a minimum of three posts a day).
7. We are encouraged not to pick fights with comments. (This is a good thing. Especially because in the grand scheme of things, it's just a rug. Or a chair. Or a plastic tree with lightbulb tumors.) So if you leave a not-so-nice comment, don't expect a heated response from any of the staff.
8. We're not allowed to post anything about the kitchen, food, kid's rooms, Europe house tours, Europe stores, or anything or place outside of our territory. So this video I've posted for Friday will probably earn me a slap on the wrist, but what the hell--it's brilliant.
9. Are people really that peeved about Austin, TX? That surprised me.
10. I never look at the Google Analytics. Ever. Sorry Gregory.

Olympic Observations

2008-08-19T21:35:00.000-07:00

1. I can't watch gymnastics--men or women. Mainly because I get real panicky that someone's going to eat shit and break their back and become paralyzed. Watching this "16-year-old" do her uneven bar exercise gave me the heebie-jeebies...mainly because she did some crazy Exorcist move where she caught herself with her arms twisted backwards. Or something like that.
2. Ditto for Trampoline. I caught a late night segment and started yelling, "DON'T BREAK YOUR NECK!" at the TV.
3. Track stars have the best accessories. Big diamond earrings, chunky gold necklaces, pinky rings....
4. Misty May-Treanor seems like she would be more fun to get beers with than Kerri Walsh. Every time they win a game, Walsh jumps up and down and squeals in a high octave, and May-Treanor just gives her a high-five.
5. Dara Torres is infuckingsane. She and Helen Mirren just made post-40 look a little brighter.
6. Ummm...what is Joan Allen doing in a movie called Deathrace? And why does the preview run during primetime Olympics coverage? But really: what is Joan Allen doing in a movie called Deathrace?!
7. Mary Carillo is the best segment host ever ("If you're a kite lover--and who isn't?")--the only thing better than her is Bob Costas hamming it up with Bela Karolyi.
8. I wonder if NBC's post-production team worked overtime to paint a smog-free Beijing backdrop behind Bob?
9. Why do divers shave themselves?
10. After watching an interview with Ryan Lochte, it's hard to imagine someone so laidback ("Me and Phelps...we just talk about chicks...") being so crazy competitive. I just picture him pulling a McConaughey and smoking a bongload and playing the drums naked in his hotel room.
11. Do the male gymnasts suffer from armpit burn on the even bars?

The Twits Have Spoken.

2008-08-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

I just spent 8 hours in the company of a 14-year-old girl (her name is Maggie) who is OBSESSED with those damn Twilight books. And after enduring many patient explanations on her part and a lot of "just read this" and "watch this," I kind of hate these books now. (Side note: Mags asked for the latest one in the series for her birthday because they were all sold out at her local Barnes and Nobles, so I got it for her and felt like a total child molester buying it. I don't know why, but I mumbled a lot to the employee chick who was WAAAAY too excited to be selling it to me, and I felt rushed to explain, "No, it's for my friend's daughter's birthday. It's not for me. I SWEAR.") I think it got worse though, when she started telling me the storylines and I kept interrupting with, "What WHAT WHAT?! He's been SPYING ON HER at NIGHT without HER KNOWING?! And that's ROMANTIC to YOU?!" But before I could go whole hog on her about the reality of 17-yr-old boys, she then professed her undying love for the guy who's going to play the vampire stalker in the movie, Cedric Diggory (real name: Robert Pattinson).

"I didn't think he'd be a good choice," she mused over her copy of Breaking Dawn, "But now I like him. He's sooo dreamy! I want to marry him!"

"You know he's just an actor right? He's not really a 100+ yr old vampire who can spout lines of Shakespeare and Brontë and buy his girlfriend a Ferrari. He's probably a big headed prat who weeps and moans about how he hates being famous and wants to run off and record a crap album. Not to mention that if you did run off with a 20something year old, it would be considered a felony in all 50 states." (This is why I don't think I'm cut out for mommyhood, by the way. I have no qualms shattering the tender and delicate fantasies of romantic teenage girls).

After I said that, she made me watch this YouTube interview with him. "See? He's not mean!" she crowed.

And to be fair, Pattinson comes across sounding pretty intelligent because...because...what the hell, he actually says that weepy vampire dude is a melodramatic idiot and his human girlfriend is a lovelorn nutbag! I like this guy! (Plus, that guy in the background eating a pizza is nothing short of awesome.) My heart is starting to bleed for him knowing the amount of crazed fangirls (my 14-yr-old buddy included) that will prey upon his poor soul and rummage through his trash bins outside his hotel, and he'll be forced to field Tigerbeat-esque questions like, "What's your favorite color? What do you look for in a girlfriend?" And then the paps will be on him like flies on shit and he'll never be able to go on a proper holiday on the beach with his model girlfriend without being accosted by rabid Twilight fans who will either throw themselves at him, stab his girlfriend, or scream at him for not sparkling in the sunlight...or all three. ("OMG! Do you think he has a girlfriend?!" Mags says, worriedly biting her lip.)

But then again...he's probably getting paid fat checks for doing the whole damn series of movies (or if he were smart, a percentage of the movie revenue), and that sympathy instantly goes away. Lucky bastard.

PS Is fourteen too young to be reading these books? The whole "She's eighteen, married, and knocked up" storyline is a wee bit laughable. But I can think of something worse...like naming your child something as ridiculous as Renesmee.

Trees.

2007-09-05T14:32:00.000-07:00

"Does anybody read the fucking mail anymore? They might as well send pigeons."

[The Slow Burn]

2007-09-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

Otherwise known as: the breakup. Yes, it’s got me good. Heartbreak has me so good in fact, that my newly shown witty cynicism has deemed me worthy of writing for this blog. I’ve begun to consider this experience some dirty right of passage into the adult world, seeing as once it happened the stories of friend’s past and current encounters with love started swirling down around me. I’m sure you reading this, have your own, or too are experiencing a breakup. These stories combined with my personal experience have me in therapy every few weeks saying to therapist, married with child, “True love probably doesn’t even exist. Everyone just settles I think, because it’s a fairytale”. (Hopefully, she hasn’t settled or I’ve just opened a new can of therapy on her). Now, I know better than to believe these jaded things I say but it’s the surliness bleeding through for now. I’ve more or less simply left Jennifer in search of Angelina and my adopted Asian baby. (Steenkz insists I adopt an Asian baby). Granted, the person I’m leaving was no Aniston. Let’s not get that twisted.

So, what is my personal newbie experience, you may ask? My nine months of “I Love You’s” and future plans together boiled over when this person and I planned a seven-day vacation together that I fully prepared for. I’d been waiting on this time together for quite a while because this person’s mother has cancer and as difficult as it was, I was being supportive and patient. On the day of flight, said person informed me via a lengthy letter that they weren’t coming because they were a compulsive liar in disguise. The sickened good kind – so good, that most of the person I thought I loved and shared my every spare moment with, who told me they wanted an apartment with me, to buy a puppy for me, to have kids one day with me, did not exist except for the supposed fact “that they were in love me”. Okay, now you may return to this blog after you’ve grabbed yourself the nearest tub of ice cream.

There are many things I’ve discovered in order to help the healing process along. I will divide them into four categories. Quick Fixes. Wallowing. The Rebound. Rediscovering / Reinventing Thy Self.

1). Quick Fixes: These are the things you can do to receive some instant gratification. For me, it was instantaneously and verbally ripping them up one side and down the other, throwing away everything that reminded me of this person, then kindly shipping the rest of it to their front porch doused in my Chanel perfume (which they later told me permeated their house). Some people prefer fire. Just be smart about these things. No Lisa Lopez moments please.

I instantly called all of my closest friends, told them I needed them, sent them the letter that had me immersed in painful shock. On the day of, Crashlander called me and listened to me cry. He later showed up with a Chicago deep-dish pizza followed by a drive to Golden Gate Bridge where we sat on a yoga mat and made a pact to finish the entire pie over deep conversation. As much as I was hurting, I felt the comfort of his gestures seeping through. One of the valuable things I took from him on that day was “maybe now you can treat yourself to some of the things you wanted to do with/for that person”.

I had seven days reserved off from work for which I had to find a new purpose. I used them to drive to LA where my good friends live. I know that it helped me into a more speedy recovery to leave the apartment for a week of road trip and nurturing. My college friends took me to party in West Hollywood, cooked me dinner, took me out to dinner, to the movies, brought me alcohol and gave me lap dances. Steenkz took me out to lunch and her mother brought red velvet cupcakes. (Note: My heartbreak meal of choice was a cheeseburger, garlic fries, a glass of red wine, and a walk for gelato while listening to Steenkz plot how she’d like to repeatedly cut said person with envelopes). Her husky welcomed me with barking chatter and many kisses. I visited my old college campus and took a minute to let my progress sink in. When I returned, I did one of those things I had promised said person I would wait until we were together to do. I drove up to Twin Peaks and stood for a moment with a Jamba Juice coldbuster (I’d developed an unpleasant cold which further increased my grouchiness). I decided I wasn’t going to wait around on people anymore to make me happy or to enjoy life. All I had done was ‘wait’ on said ex-lover.

Friends, huskies, road trips, and comfort food are medicine. Use them. I’ve also been told a bucket of chicken and a bad haircut are key.

2). Wallowing: As I’ve been told, “It’s all about the wallowing”. It’s necessary to let ourselves sulk for a bit. I let myself get wasted on a school night and roll into work late on two hours of sleep looking like death warmed over. I purchased a ‘happy meal’ for lunch. I accepted the fact that my mental state had me putting tamales in silverware drawers (hopefully not sign of early Alzheimer). I quit going to the gym for a couple weeks. I ate what I wanted. I let myself emotionally detach as my surly demeanor grew. I listened to love songs. I listened to sad songs. I cried. I let people hold me and hug me. I let people listen. Sometimes, all at once. Heartbreak is a rollercoaster. Sometimes all you can do is ride it out.

3). The Rebound: I’m told it’s more of a law, really. There was a former crush of mine whom I’d stopped talking to nearly a year. In my lone state I decided to say hello – and what do you know? Said crush said they missed me and gave me their phone number. Now, I don’t quite condone hopping into bed with the next warm body you find. You may potentially do yourself more harm than good. But, the occasional yet forward flirtation and knowing the (doubtful) option to sleep together is there has helped curb waves of loneliness and boost both ego and confidence. That, and her musical taste far surpasses.

4). Rediscovering / Reinventing Thy Self: Now, it seems common that most of us young birds tend to make our romantic partner the center of our universe. This makes it very easy to lose ourselves, too caught up in our very own Sleepless and Seattle. But what do you do when Meg Ryan doesn’t show up at the Empire State Building? Left with yourself, you embark the journey to find and reinvent yourself. I’ve found that I like to do alignment exercises while reading on Buddhism. A simple thing to make me happy and indulge my writing interest is a vintage typewriter. So I visited a typewriter shop. I decided to meet up with a stranger for ice cream even though I’m prone to social anxiety. And? She turned out to be pretty cool, and invited me out again! I’ve always wanted to learn how to screen print, so I looked up screen-printing classes. I’ve wanted a dog since I was a young little edubbs, so I signed up to volunteer at the local SPCA. I made a pact with Steenkz to hit the gym (for her it’s ballet) at least 3X a week. In which case, you may start seeing blogs about having bags of frozen peas strapped to our ass. I’m passionate about my job as a designer. I made a goal to stay at work longer and improve my creativity. In fact, I made an entire list of goals – straightened my hair and danced in the bathroom mirror in a pair of aviators. Which nearly leaves me wanting to add a #5 to this list: the Dance Party. It’s liberating, try it. Steenkz highly recommends.

I went for a drive through the city last night at sunset and while climbing a hill with a cable car paralleling, I stared out across a view and the burn hit me through the music like a rushing wave - and I let it. I could feel in that moment, the bittersweet of ‘life happening to me’. The truth is, these are learning experiences full of things we should carry for our own growth and strengthening as people. No one wants to be the lonely cat lady, or fish lady, or slut lady for that matter. It feels good to let people in and to be loved. This love, pain, and healing has given me substance as a person. And until we find “the person”, it’s best we find ourselves and learn from the ones who aren’t because at that point it will ceaselessly become all about the “we”. I’m looking forward to that day, but I want to make sure when I arrive that I have the best to offer and enjoy myself in the meantime.

As for compulsive liars and those with a shallow moral compass, a girl at work has informed me that the specific status I’m going for has a 50% ratio of them. Not an optimistic equation and probably blog worthy in it’s own right. However, considering she beat Wyclef Jean in a push-up contest and I have friends who believe in slow paper cut torture, I would highly reconsider, because you may have that coming at your ass in the form of karma. And Karma, is in fact, a bitch.

Fresh Meat.

2007-09-02T00:40:00.000-07:00

Mayyyyn, global warming is a bitch. I walked outside at 11:30 and read the thermometer and it's 97. What the hell. Thanks Bon Jovi--you may have given us such great hits like, "Wanted: Dead or Alive" or "You Give Love a Bad Name," but you put a fucking hole in the ozone with that hairspray. It's all your fault BON JOVI. ALL YOUR FAULT.

In other news, Crash and I had a summit meeting in the Bay Area this past week, and have decided since neither one of us is doing any kind of job of keeping this blog updated, we're gonna introduce a new blogger to our crew, EDubbs n' Beenkz. EDubbs may seem a bit shy at first, so here's a little backstory to familiarize yourselves. Here's a direct quote:

"I ate half a cheesecake. I'm a fucking mess."

Welcome EDubbs!

what should we call it?

2007-07-31T14:08:00.000-07:00

Therapy for my Apartment.

2007-07-05T15:42:00.001-07:00

So. Now that Crash has lighted off for Italy for a few days of rest, relaxation, and a lot of photo taking (he better come back with some hot photos, cuz I need some shit for my walls. Seriously, he's a great photographer. Don't believe me? Check out his shit here), I'm going to take this opportunity to plug another blogging venture that may or may not pan out for me. Judging from the lack of comments, I pretty much think that a) I'm so not getting this gig; and b) I have lazy friends who would rather eat ice cream then register for a site. Oh wait, that's me.

Check it out: ATLA!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

2007-06-25T00:57:00.000-07:00

So it's Crash's birthday and what's a blogger to do? Some people are hard to find gifts for (like my mum and my dad--hours of frustration, and that is not an exaggeration); and then there are others like Crash who are so easy to shop for that you end up having to edit yourself. For example, I wanted to get him this, this. and this. But it was not meant to be.

Because then I found this super duper awesome coupon that I will gladly share with you to give to your buddies when you are stumped for a super duper awesome birthday gift:

Print. Give. Good times!
Happy Birthday my bloggin buddy!

How to Rekindle an Acquaintance.

2007-06-13T00:40:00.000-07:00

If you ever feel the need to, I dunno, get in contact with an ex from eons ago, and it ended badly, and you're not sure what to write, here's a tip--don't write this (or anything similar to this):

Hey [steenks],
How goes?
Have you had any news of [name of friend you have not spoken to in 10 years]? There was a weird bout last year, we were talking on the phone and she got upset with me for criticizing US politics (?) and I've never really heard back from her. Did she go wierd or something? I miss her. If you ever get around to talking with her, let her know... life's good. and if she ever wants to say hey, she knows where to reach me.
Hope all's good with you. Where you calling home these days?

[name of ex that will never be named.]

There are a myriad of things wrong about this email (and not just misspelling the word "weird"). But here's a general rule: when shit goes belly up, and in a bad Titanic kinda way in relationships, you make a deal that implies "Let's just ignore that any of this happened and we will never contact each other and in retrospect, I will hide myself in a closet and drink booze alone while reflecting upon our time together even 10 years later." AND if you plan on breaking that rule, you better bring your A-Game. And sending an email that is about another person, political strife, and what sounds like bitterness towards another is not your A-Game, but more like hard evidence of a lobotomy that happened during the past 10 years of mutual silence.

Next Week is gonna be BAD.

2007-06-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

I'm starting intermediate ballet classes next week. 3x a week, for an hour and half.
And I agreed to it when I was drunk.

Bring on the ice baths, bitches.

The Week from Hell: A Baker's Dozen of Conversations.

2007-06-03T01:12:00.000-07:00

This past week started off good, especially because it was Memorial Day and all and there was no work to be had and no emails to answer (UNLESS YOU WORK WITH EUROPEANS, RAWR), and no long conference calls to be on the other end of. But miraculously, the week nosedived the minute the clock turned to 9 am on Tuesday morning. And while I'd like to pile all the negativity on my shoulders, it appears that everyone was in agreement: This past week, from Tuesday onwards, sucked. Hard.

Here's a sampling of choice conversations I had during the week with a variety of friends and coworkers:

Tuesday: "This day fucking blows. The server is slow and it takes half a fucking hour to download a fucking file, so I've been sitting at my desk eating cookies. I'm a fucking EMO EATER. Shut up."

Wednesday: "I cannot tell you how stoked I was to get such a long email from you while I am in China. I am desperate for contact with the outside world. Why are you getting so drunk by your computer, do tell."

Thursday: "I haven't slept in 3 days, I've gone to ballet every night this week, and I have peas strapped to my ass. Oh, and I'm working. AT 4 AM. Which just kicks ass."

Friday: "So I went on a date last night. And you know, three hours into a really nice dinner, the guy blurted out that he got together with his ex-wife. So if you don't show up at this bar tonight, I'm going to take it personally."

Saturday: "What am I doing? What am I DOING? I'm watching the fucking Starter Wife on USA, and eating a tub of ice cream and getting fat. That's what you do after you get fired from your job...No, no, after you get divorced, you get a bucket of fried chicken and a really bad haircut. There's a biiiig difference. Shit, I'd rather be a Starter Wife than unemployed."

Sunday: "I burned my eyebrows off when I was trying to light that grill."

These nachos came from Taco Bell, recognize!

2007-05-28T00:43:00.000-07:00

I will preface this blog entry with the following disclaimer: I am drunk.

That being said, I should also point out that my typing is fairly impeccable when I'm three sheets to the wind, but my grammar suffers considerably.

In this drunken state, I'm about to list the top 5 things that make me laugh uncontrollably while wasted. Or, as they say in college, "houuuuusssssed." Who tha fuck says that anymore? Maybe that was a late 90s thing. Or maybe that is like an East Coast thing. For example, on the west coast, they say, "smoke out." On the east coast, they say "smoke up." Does this still hold true? Like pop vs soda? Wait, what was I saying?

Right. Top five:

5. When you call your lesbian friend a penis when she gasps with delighted surprise about how much you look like Michelle Kwan. I totally don't in close ups (not that I would mind having her body, dood, she is a fucking Olympian which means she has 0.0001% body fat and she can do crazy triple jumps which would be a neat little party trick in my opinion. A triple lutz off of a keg? That deserves a bit of pocket change. But her nose? Puhleeze. If I had that nose, I'd be getting a nose job THE NEXT DAY.), but I do admit that in SOME PHOTOS of her there is a SLIGHT RESEMBLANCE. When I used to live in Silverlake, there was a big fat billboard of her down the street on Hyperion, and every time I went to the store (and every time the bagger lady squealed, "Michelle Kwan!!") I would pass it. And cringe. And then think, damn, can I be sponsored by Wheaties?

4. When your old friend from college rings you up and says, "I'm in town! Let's go play darts!" like it's the most natural thing in the world. Maybe if I had gone to USC or UCLA. But folks, I'm from Virginia. I went to UVA. A college friend to come and visit me would be a 5r hr plane ride away; hence the awesomeness of being totally fucking casual.

3. When your dog looks at you like you're fucking crazy. I don't know why, but you know you are doing some stupid shit if animals are giving you the "WTF" look. If my dog could talk, I would be in deep shit. Not because I do a tremendous amount of illegal shit, but because I would mortified.

2. Making your best friend (who is crankier as the day is long) drive to Taco Bell for nachos at midnight. OK, this totally brings up a memory that I've long since buried that involves my brother who was high as a kite and home for summer from his first year in college, one of his friends, and my sister driving to Wendy's around 1 am...but it's one of those stories where I think you just have to be there.

1. Upon arriving back home from the running to the proverbial border with the mythical fourth meal, your best friend pulls old photos of yourself from back in the day (aka those incriminating photos from Homecoming which will never die and I wore a salmon colored dress that belonged to my mom. Salmon? Really? What was I thinking??) and you laugh until you pee, while secretly swearing to burn all incriminating evidence when your BFF passes out on the couch.

The Sippy Cup Awards for One Tubetastic Fall

2007-05-23T00:16:00.000-07:00

If you stumbled upon this entry and you are addicted to Tivo and haven't watched this year's seasons/series finales yet, I suggest you divert your attention to updating your myspace profile or trolling on youtube. Or signing up for Match.com (it's okay to look).

Best Season Finale of 2007: Ugly Betty
While we all expected over-the-top campiness from our favorite Mode-ites, ("Eww. Dorkus interruptus!") and anticipated guest spots from the OG Betty and Kristin Chenowith ("You are so a chick flick! I would totally pay $10 to see you!"), none of us expected that Smokin Hot Santos would bite the bullet (literally) while his son Justin wailed out "Someday" from West Side Story...and all of us sitting on the couch bawled uncontrollably, throwing tissue wads at our television sets. Damn you Salma Hayek!

Worst Season Finale of 2007: Grey's Anatomy
Let's be honest. This whole season sucked. The ferry tanking? Meredith dying? In fact, the only good episode this season was George's dad dying, but even that kinda sucked because, hello? George's dad died! This season of Grey's Anatomy was also overshadowed with off-set drama that seeped in and poisoned the show. I also think all the squabbling ignited Shonda Rhimes' mean side because in a span of 22 episodes, she managed to kill Meredith, kill Meredith's mom, kill Meredith's stepmom, have Meredith slapped and humiliated in public by her drunk dad, turn Patrick Dempsey into an asshole boyfriend, split up at least 3 marriages, make 2 of the least likely people to have sex (granted, it was with alcohol, but umm, Izzie? Didn't Denny JUST die and leave you with a fat legacy? Why don't you mourn on that for wee bit longer OK?), wax off Christina's eyebrows, and leave Karev with blue balls. To quote one shrewd TV recapper, "If this storyline doesn't change directions next season, I'm going to have an aneurysm. (And clearly, if that happens, I'm going to a more professional hospital than Seattle Grace.)" At the end of this season finale, all we felt like doing was taking 4 vicodens, a wellbutrin, and chasing it with some Johnny Walker Blue label.

Most Anticipated Season Finale of 2007: Heroes
The twists! The reveals! Yatta! And it is nice to see Milo Ventimiglia playing a role that isn't a) misunderstood b) rebellious teen; and c) total douchebag.

Most Disappointing Season Finale of 2007: Heroes
While it was the most riveting series on TV this year, the series finale was built up bigger than the Empire State Building. Did it live up to the hype? Not particularly. Did anything else live up to the hype? Not if that hype was bigger than the Empire State Building. Will we watch with bated breath for season two? You bet your fucking ass we will!

Least Anticipated Season Finale of 2007: The Bachelor
Um. The officer and the alleged gentleman already spilled the beans a week after the show aired, proclaiming that he was engaged. And not like we cared anyway. The track record of him marrying whoever he got his rose on with are slim to none.

The Series Finale That Came As An Afterthought: Gilmore Girls
After a seven year run, the Gilmore Girls finally put their 140 words per second blathering to rest, with a big fat party in the rain for Rory and the whole town celebrated her awesomeness while I was left wondering, "Isn't she an adulteress? Didn't she drop out of Yale and mooch off her douchebag moneyed boyfriend? She isn't sweet little Rory who hit a deer with her mom's jeep on the way to that snotty private school to take a test." The problem with this finale was that not only did it come as a surprise, but it came one year too late. Last year, everyone was buzzing that the show would end because the creators jumped ship, so the WB piled on the extras (like a 2 hr special with the cast hosted by...BROOKE BURKE?! Really?). This year, the CW celebrated with a montage that looked eerily like the opening credits, with an old dude intoning, "Thanks for seven great years."

Best Reality Show Season Finale: America's Next Top Model
Oh Tyra. You get weirder every year. And the girls get weirder too. And slightly dumber. Actually, last year's winner Caridee seems to still retain a semblance of personality, so here's hoping that this year's winner Jaslene will do the same. This finale was dubbed the "Battle of the Accents: Jenny from the Block vs. Russian Mail Bride" Jaslene's backstory includes being raised by drag queens, which sounds superfun while battling some kind of abuse and possible drug addiction which doesn't sound as fun. And her best quote before winning: "I don't look like the girl next door. I am the girl next door IN DA HOOD."

Best Use of an A-Lister in a Series: Brothers and Sisters
While Ugly Betty managed to pull in Lucy Liu (Salma doesn't count, she fucking produces that show OK? Getting her is not exactly a stretch of the imagination or the budget), and Dirt managed a lesbian kiss with Jennifer Aniston (also not a stretch, she is BFFs with them Cox-Arquettes), Brothers and Sisters had Sally Field. Sally "Do I Look Like I Wear A Turban" Fields. And she was on there ALL SEASON. Sally Field has rocked my socks off since the glory days of Soapdish, and for that, I am truly grateful.

Worst Use of an A-Lister in a Series: Grey's Anatomy
Getting Natalie Cole on your show is one thing. Getting Natalie Cole to act, not sing, on your show is also another great feat. But sticking her with a fork in her neck while she was giving her husband a blowjob in a restaurant and thereby arriving at the pressure cooker that is Seattle Grace was quite possibly the worst fucking idea ever.

The Sarah Jessica Parker Award for How Does Someone Afford That, Really?: October Road
For some scrawny town full of beautiful people, those townies were rocking some superfine Marc Jacobs duds. If we are to believe that, then it would appear that my vet's assistant is flitting around town in a pair of $200 jeans on her $25K annual salary, instead of her perfectly acceptable Gap duds.

The Woody Allen Award for Ickiest Couple Ever: Six Degrees
As much as I will give Grey's Anatomy grief for putting a gay man and his fag hag together and calling it endearing love, it was the pairing of the delectably graying Campbell Scott (I loved you in Singles!) and the winsome Shiri Appleby who looked old enough to be his daughter. At least with Izzie and George, it was one bad sex night and a lot of uncomfortable whisperings in hallways. This pairing sexed it up every episode, and we were all witnesses to Shiri's collection of boyshort undies. Thankfully, the series has been punted to the trash heap of Cancelled Forever.

The Lindsay Lohan Award for Being On Every Single Freakin TV Show AND Commercials: Jason Lewis
After his turn on Sex and the City as Samantha's young hot boytoy, it seems as though Jason Lewis was fighting against the dying light of a career left on edited TBS reruns. Perhaps his breakup with Rosario Dawson also kicked him into high gear to become the Most Visible Man this year. Starring on Brothers and Sisters as the boyfriend to emotionally unbalanced Kevin Walker, and then on Six Degrees as the random jogger who bags Bridget Moynahan six ways to Sunday, the only thing we were left wondering was maybe we were mistaken about Jason's intelligence: He obviously knows his market audience well enough to keep him in demand and employed.

The Anne Heche Award for Just Too Much Crazy: Will Traveler
That was too much screaming in one hour. And while shit does blow up (and I am a fan of that in fictional settings), I also kept thinking, "Dude. That evil guy used to the dork in Boy Meets World!"

The Keanu Reeves Award for Deadpan Acting: The cast of October Road
With the exception of Laura Prepon, October Road's cast was middling. Maybe it was the writing, maybe it was the fact that they were all pissed that they had to play air guitar on tennis rackets and act like it was the coolest thing ever, but that was just...bad.

The Oprah Award for the Smuggest New Show: Men in Trees
Anne Heche's new role as a relationship coach Marin Frist was refreshing in the fact that she was believable as a smug motivational speaker. Too bad the show was Sex and the City...in Alaska. And also too bad that Anne Heche broke up her marriage and ran off with her co-star James Tupper (although really? Can you blame her? He's all gruff and plaid and has a kickass beard).

The Matrix Award for the Chosen One: Addison Shepherd
Although Private Practice did little for me (or anyone I talked to about it, which was suprisingly a good amount of people which is either sad or hilariously funny), it apparently got picked up as a spinoff series for ABC next fall. Which goes to show: if you are hot, redheaded, and look good in some superfine glasses, Shonda Rhimes will single you out and give you a lovely send off in your own series while torturing the rest of the cast to natural disasters, death, and interloping half-siblings. Also, I have reason to believe that Kate Walsh is one crazy broad, because I read somewhere that the movie that starred Christina Applegate and Cameron Diaz in San Francisco was actually based off of her and her best friend's early twenties. And that movie was RAUN-CHY.

So that is the wrap up of this year's finales. Remember: it's summertime. And in summer, we watch Law and Order reruns and the occasional movie. Maybe Crash will give you a movie review here and there. Or maybe we will start reviewing albums. It depends on how awesome we feel.

He Can't Act But...

2007-05-17T00:55:00.000-07:00

Keanu Reeves, you may say the weirdest fucking shit ("What would happen if you melted? You know, you never really hear this talked about much, but spontaneous combustion? It exists!...[people] burn from within...sometimes they'll be in a wooden chair and the chair won't burn, but there'll be nothing left of the person. Except sometimes his teeth. Or the heart. No one speaks about this, but its for real."), but at least you are terribly honest about yourself ("I'm a meathead, man. You've got smart people, and you've got dumb people. I just happen to be dumb.") And for that, you will forever hold a place in my little tar-covered heart.

PS I am so watching the Lake House on and it's 1 am. AND THIS MOVIE BLOWS. But at least your hair looks fetching, but you are looking a wee bit bloated. But if I had to be in this movie, I would be drinkin like a fish too. Especially if I had to deliver lines like, "Let me let you go!" a

Procrastination Nation!

2007-05-15T00:47:00.000-07:00

A very long time ago, when I was in that weird dark and twisty phase that all adolescents go through (lots of black, lots of Trent Reznor, and lots of humiliatingly bad poetry), I read a book called Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel. I think they made a movie of it starring Christina Ricci, which totally makes sense. Especially because the book is a rather graphic autobiography of a coke-snorting Harvard-attending depressed Jewish American Princess. Except it's less Sex and the City and more Requiem for a Dream.

Anyway, I remember telling my friend John (who incidentally recommended that I read it), "Why is this girl so whiny? She has like a fucking breakdown every 2 paragraphs." To which he responded with, "Yes. And she's CLINICALLY DEPRESSED."

Then, a few years after that, when I was in that weird sexy librarian phase (fashionably wrong tortoise shell glasses, lots of Charles Mingus, and lots of humiliatingly long conversation discussions about the meaning of Rothko paintings while tripping heavily on mind altering substances), I read a book called Bong Water by Michael Hornburg. I think they made a movie of it starring Luke Wilson, which totally makes sense. Especially because the book is a rather convoluted mess of unrequited love and shitty apartments in New York. Except it's less Felicity and more Rent (but thankfully without the songs and i don't think anyone dies of AIDS or knew how many seconds were in a year).

Anyway, I remember telling my friend Becky (who incidentally recommended that I read it), "Man, why is this guy so whiny? Why can't he get his shit together and move on? He's almost 30 for crying out loud." To which she responded with, "Yes. And he smokes weed every day."

Fast forward to this weekend. I found myself in my yuppie home in my yuppie neighborhood where gardening is the new hot shit, flipping through the yuppie pages of Domino magazine. There was a spread of a designer bathroom, and on the wall was a blow up poster of the cover of Bong Water, and on the toilet was a copy of Prozac Nation.

The yuppie who owned that bathroom was a mother of 3 and an inventor of fancy, expensive aromatic room sprays. And I'm not sure if she threw those things in her bathroom because she thought it would be cool and hip, or if she is trying to subliminally tell the readers of Domino that fictional characters belong in the shitter (albeit a very fancy one at that).

Will Travel...for a better show.

2007-05-10T22:29:00.000-07:00

So I thought October Road was bad.
But it pales in comparison to the worst fucking show on ABC thus far, beating out even Dancing with the Stars. Oh wait. Is Wifeswap on ABC? If so, then "Will Traveler" is the second worst show on ABC now.
Did anyone else want to punch all three guys? I'm sure Jack Kerouac, if he were alive and kicking, would bolt up and throw a bottle of rum at whoever wantonly used his book in vain in order to kick off the pilot episode. Just..NO.
So here's the summary: Stupid prank, rollerblading(!!!) in a museum, KABOOM!, screaming, more screaming, evil rich daddy with black Amex, more screaming, annoying girlfriend, screaming at girlfriend, screaming at wall, screaming at Will, dead Will burnt to a crisp, bad patriotic monologue delivery, end scene.

creative of the week

2007-05-08T16:46:00.000-07:00

David Hasselhoff's daughter should get a best documentry film oscar for her work filming her father. for now i am giving her
the creative of the week award for the whole month of may.

My Weekend, in an 8 oz glass.

2007-05-07T00:48:00.000-07:00

Being from the south, I celebrate summer with a good mint julep or six. Also, the Kentucky Derby was this weekend, and while I don't give a shit about horse racing or fancy hats, I do give a shit about bourbon. It conjures up memories of firefly evenings, picking buttercups, and blowing dandelion globes in wild abandon (which pissed my dad off immensely because I singlehandedly weeded up the backyard. Sorry pops.)

But. It's not a party without you, me, and the Easter bunny, so here's a fantasmaglorious mint julep recipe from the fine folks at Camp Chao:

Mmmm...int Juleps
by George
The recipe for the julep we were drinking comes from the memoir of southern aristocrat William Alexander Percy, adoptive father of Walker Percy. It goes something like this:

In 1 julep glass (about 8 oz):

1 inch of sugar
just enough lukewarm water to soak up the sugar
4 fresh mint leaves

Mix until sugar is dissolved

Pack the glass full with crushed ice, and fill to
top with good bourbon. Top off with ground nutmeg and mint garnish.

Stir, drink, and forget.

Beef with NBA players.

2007-04-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

All right. It's the NBA playoffs, and I totally have money on a few games. But I love watching the playoffs this year because last year? Total fucking snore. Did I watch the Baby Bulls sweep the Heat this past weekend? Yes. Yes I did. And I LOVED IT. I'm down with Shaq, and yes, I like Dwayne Wade. I even like Gary Peyton! But: I also love Ben Wallace, even though I think he shoulda stuck with the Pistons. And I really love Allen Iverson. But I think all girls do. And if you don't, there is something wrong with you, and we may not be able to be friends.

So I'm watching the Nugs play the Spurs, and I hate the Spurs. I really hate the fact that Robert Horry just scored a three-pointer and the commentators are all up in arms because he's 36 and hit a 3-pointer. OK, the man makes like what? 2 mil a year? HE BETTER FUCKING MAKE A THREE POINT BASKET DURING THE PLAYOFFS. Fuck. If I were getting PAID like him and didn't make that play, I would feel guilty. For all of 2 seconds, and then go out and buy myself a Lambourghini.

Speaking of Spurs, WHAT THA F is up with Manu Ginobili's hair? He looks like one of those kids in third grade whose mum dropped him off at Supercuts telling him to get a sweet lil cut, and he decided to take matters in his own hands and get like 3 inches off too short. So Manu, you fucked your hair up, and for the playoffs too. That's not cool.

Pussy Cat Fever.

2007-04-25T00:51:00.000-07:00

Oh Robin Antin. How you are delectably evil in all ways. I can't believe I sat through the entire season of "The Search for the Next Pussy Cat Doll." But it was worth it. Why? Not because of the skanky costumes, or the fact that one of your contestants looks EXACTLY LIKE A CO-WORKER. But it's because America got to see Lil Kim...as a mentor. And that was priceless.

By the way, that Lead Pussycat (Nicole) keeps a tight muzzle on the rest of the Pussykittens. And we're all thankful for that because if the other Pussykittens sing like Asia, it's probably a good idea to keep that quiet.

it's a really tough life

2007-04-22T20:12:00.000-07:00

Online Videos by Veoh.com

add to your favorites

2007-04-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Gwen Stefani,Alicia Keys- Kiss
Uploaded by mystica

Go see this movie.

2007-04-22T00:15:00.000-07:00

The Prisoner: Or How I Planned to Kill Tony Blair

Underneath the brutality, the injustice, and all the things that have been so very wrong about the Iraqi war; this documentary will strike a chord of hope thanks to the strength of Yunis, Khalid, and a young American soldier named Benjamin Thompson.

Visit the film's site

Dude. That is SO not Peter O'Toole.

2007-04-21T00:35:00.000-07:00

Forget Grey's Anatomy. October Road takes the Twinkies, the Ho-Hos, and the Little Debbie snack cakes for being the most predictable storylines EVER.

Here's the thing that I've discovered is so awesome about this show: it has no continuity. Take for example, an episode of CSI. The plotline is pretty standard: Someone dies, the mighty CSI-ers (including the super hot and steamy Warrick Brown--swoon!) come and collect evidence and shit, Grissom busts out a few one-liners that David Caruso only wishes he could deliver without sounding like a jackass, the case gets solved in the last ten minutes, and the dead person gets justice, all thanks to Warrick Brown, Grissom, and Catherine Willows' artificially enhanced lips. Anyway. When you watch an episode of CSI, you pretty much know how the shit is going to unfold without really knowing all the technicalities.

Unfortunately, with October Road, the episodes that have aired so far have like 16 storylines going all at once. I'm not sure if it's because the writers are trying to "keep the audience in suspense" or the fact that they might get canned any minute now. But it's really ridiculous. For example: The Fried Chicken Fatty with the Whoremonkey Wife is all being sober and mooing about how he shoveled peanut icing on the kid whose medical history is apparently common knowledge....and then, in the span of 10 seconds, he goes off and attempts to whale on some frat boys because they felt up a pizza girl with bad hair extensions in her pigtails. Now, I'm not saying that he didn't have a motive to whale on some Sigma Chis (feeling up an Avril Lavigne posing pizza girl? Wrong. Just wrong.), but couldn't they just boot that plot to like the next episode or just...leave it on the cutting room floor? I mean, I understand the bigger picture--creepy hermit guy is too big of a pussy to go over there and throwdown blah blah blah, but I think we've already established that he's 1) creepy and not endearing; 2) hermitty and not in that brooding but cute art student loner guy way; and 3) reinforcing that with this pizza girl storyline is just telling us that he has no balls.

Oh October Road. You're a volatile mix of bland acting, bad storylines, and pretty people pretending not to be pretty. And yet? We still watch you. So play on, October Road, with your crazy storylines and weirdly timed arcs. And your shiny haired actresses and be-stubbled actors. And your awesomely bad lines that we love. Play on!

WTH Wednesday: I Don't Wanna Be Your Girlfriend, Avril.

2007-04-18T21:20:00.000-07:00

For reals, I don't hate Canadians. But I'm 82% convinced that either a) they ought to pink slip their songwriters or b) hire someone to write those pesky lyrics. Or the very least, edit them.

Having that said, this week's What the Hell Wednesday goes to the esteemed Avril Lavigne. I have a lot of issues with this self-proclaimed punk princess, and it all boils down to the simple fact that she believes that she is the biggest pop star in the WHOLE WORLD, hates her fans enough to try and boot them off a plane, and can't be bothered to participate in an interview. In short? She's a douchebag. BUT IS SHE A WHOREMONKEY?

Let's examine her lyrics from her latest offering, "Girlfriend" from her vomit-inducing "The Best Damn Thing":

Hey hey, you you
I know that you like me
No way, no way
You know it's not a secret
Hey hey, you you
I want to be your girlfriend

In a second you'll be wrapped around my finger
'Cause I can, cause I can do it better
There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in
She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking?

OK, Mrs. Derek Whibley. You look like you're about 12, and I think you've looked like you're about 12 for the past 5 years or so. If only all of us could be so lucky to hold on to your secret of youth. Maybe it was in those ties that you used to wear. But I digress: You're 12 and who do you think you are? Kelis? If you married Nas, then I would say, "OK, Avril, sing about how you're gonna be Miss Susie Homewrecker and steal a man while dissing his girlfriend. AT THE SAME TIME." But you're not Kelis. And Kelis actually didn't sing about that, she was just bragging about her milkshake, and she didn't really diss anyone's woman. Because she has class (in comparison).

So my little Strawberry Shortcake from Canada: You're still too young to be singing about being the easiest lay on the putt-putt green.

back and forth

2007-04-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

the more you know!

2007-04-17T21:05:00.000-07:00

11353.7. Except as authorized by law, and except as provided
otherwise in Sections 11353.1, 11353.6, and 11380.1 with respect to
playgrounds situated in a public park, any person 18 years of age or
older who unlawfully prepares for sale in a public park, including
units of the state park system and state vehicular recreation areas,
or sells or gives away a controlled substance to a minor under the
age of 14 years in a public park, including units of the state park
system and state vehicular recreation areas, during hours in which
the public park, including units of the state park system and state
vehicular recreation areas, is open for use, with knowledge that the
person is a minor under the age of 14 years, shall be punished by
imprisonment in the state prison for three, six, or nine years.

Creative of the week

2007-04-17T17:16:00.000-07:00

Jim Goldberg.

check out more of his work here
http://www.magnumphotos.com

To My Hokies.

2007-04-17T01:13:00.000-07:00

In the fall, when collegiate football time comes around, you'd be hardpressed to find a television station that airs an East Coast game in Los Angeles. Especially when your alma mater kinda really sucks.

I attended the University of Virginia for about 3.5 years. I wasn't too keen on it for many reasons. But that's not the point. The point is: football.

There's a rivalry between UVA and Virginia Tech that has apparently been an existence since the dawn of these fine establishments which comes to a head at football. On the game front, you should know that the Cavaliers kinda really suck. And Tech? Well, they had Michael Vick for enough seasons to establish a reputable football organization. So you know they pretty much all-out spanked us every year when I was in Charlottesville.

As for fans: UVA students DRESSED UP for football games. On game days, you would see scores of boys and girls dressed like they were heading to a church service. Blue button down shirts with navy and orange striped ties tucked neatly into their Dockers. White eyelet dresses paired with straw hats and flip flops with daisies. Tech fans on the other hand, went all out with the painted faces, the lettered beer guts, even the turkey headdress (for those of you who don't know, hokies are technically castrated turkeys). On any given Cavs vs Hokie game, half the stadium was a sea of pastels with a smattering of navy and orange; the other half was simply maroon and orange; and yet the entire stadium would be drunk drunk DRUNK (this is Virginia after all).

I never got the UVA tradition. To me, there is something very perverse about drinking a fifth of liquor on that game day while wearing your Sunday best and screaming "NOT GAY" in the school song (the fifth-drinking part is a tradition for all fourth-years on homecoming, and no I am not lying and yes, some girl died once; and no I am not exaggerating about the anti-gay slur although more and more people have boycotted it). I really preferred the Tech way of doing things: I mean, you're going to a football game. You're going to be tailgating and drinking beer and going balls to the wall. Why try to layer a level of pretentious asshole-ness on it by wearing a fucking tie?

Which brings me to my Hokie friends. Because as much as there was a rivalry between the 2 schools, everyone had friends who went to Tech. And your college experience at UVA was just not complete without at least one trip to Tech where you saw one good band (because no good bands ever came to Charlottesville, they went to Blacksburg and they played at Tech's concert hall and Dave Matthews doesn't count because he's from Cville okay?) and had one raucous weekend where your Tech friends would point out the finer art of tractor racing, the abundance of cows, and the all-mighty Drillfield.

There's been enough coverage today about the incident that happened at Virginia Tech. And it's a tragedy that needs no more words, except: I am truly, deeply sorry.

GO HOKIES.

Me & You. And Every Indie I Haven't Seen.

2007-04-14T23:12:00.000-07:00

Crash and I don't watch the same movies. You should know this. If you were to ask him what his top five movies are, one of the following films may make his esteemed list: "Art School Confidential","For Your Consideration","Volver","Thank You For Smoking" and perhaps something by Peter Greenaway or Nick Cassevetes (excluding of course Alpha Dog and that wretched fucking music video for Justin Timberlake which is so over the top that it made Scarlett Johansen look like a no-talent hack. Which is not the case. If you don't believe me, watch Matchpoint. She's fucking rockin SHIT in that movie.)

If you were to ask me what's on my top five movie list, they may be: "Old School", "40 Year Old Virgin","Sneakers" (Robert Redford? River Phoenix? COME ON!), "Soapdish" among others. So you can understand why Crash has taken a firmer hand in educating my movie experience and encouraging me to support the underdogs, the lesser Hollywood class: the indies.

I have nothing against indie films. Except when I watch them, I get bored (Waking Life. I hated it. So what. Judge me. I don't care. I. HATED. IT. I also hate rotoscoping. I think I would have been more inclined to see A Scanner Darkly if it had super cool 3d effects. Hell, I would have seen that movie if it was an animated Disney flick. I also hate those fucking Charles Schwab commercials too! So there). I get depressed because indies are typically showing people who are depressed and/or shooting heroine. Or I just feel hosed for spending $10 to see a movie that is showing me nothing that I wouldn't normally see at midnight on Santa Monica Blvd.

So anyway. The other night, I caught a showing of Miranda July's "Me and You and Everyone We Know." Written, directed, and featured herself in the title role, her film was poignant enough, and had enough humor to carry off some CRAZY ASS SHIT which included some of the following scenarios (don't read if you haven't seen it, and plan on seeing it):
1. Those 2 teenage girls who have a contest to see who gives a better blow job. Their conversation leading up to them doing this was so outrageous--and yet? I totally remember 2 slutty girls in my art class having that same conversation when we were in 8th grade.
2. Lighting your hand on fire to impress your kids after your wife leaves. Wow. And yet? My friend Paul told me that he spent a night in the hospital getting beans pulled out of his nose because he was trying to impress his 3 yr old daughter.
3. Online cybersexing? No need for examples. ~~You know who you are. And for the record, I'm glad that both of you happen to be of legal age.~~

I think that's enough for now. I could go on, but then this post would be about 8 pages too long and no one would ever read this again. My point is that Miranda July's film was actually pretty fucking awesome, and I'm quite pleased that I've stumbled upon her work thanks to my good buddy Crash. If you haven't seen the movie, you really ought to. And if you haven't seen her website for her new book of short stories, you really ought to go RIGHT NOW.

PS. One movie that makes both Crash and my top five movies of all TIME EVER is "Mean Girls." Not joking. The last time we watched that movie, Crash exclaimed, "OMG! I thought the Toaster Strudel girl was BLACK!"

PPS. Crash, stop trying to pretend that you got that copy of "Under the Tuscan Sun" in a gift basket. It's OK. I totally watched that movie on ABC Family on a Sunday. And it was shitty decent. And what's more embarassing? Owning a copy of that movie, or admitting to watching ABC Family?

The Wrap-Up, So Far.

2007-04-12T00:33:00.000-07:00

We blog hard, but damn, it's hard to keep up with all this shit. So here's the round up:

1. Danielynn's dad is a named Birkhead. I dunno if that's a good thing, but it sure beats having that guy Howard K. Stern as a dad because let's face it: he looks fucking creepy, like the kind of guy who is SO obsessed over Anna Nicole and then gets delusional and acts out a V.C. Andrews storyline (ie, where there is at least 3 of the following family traumas: long lost half-siblings, incest, and a swarthy dark handsome hunk of a man who beds the protagonist and then impregnates her and disappears. Not that I ever read that smut. EVER.)

2. Marc Jacobs is freshly out of rehab, and his new BFF is...Naomi Campbell. Obviously, rehab is not only a place to shun your vices, it's also a place to shun your common sense. Nothing like drug and alcohol abuse to go hand in hand with chucking cell phones at employees. MJ sales employees, watch your heads.

3. Britney Spears has a new boyfriend. It's the guy who recorded that very syrupy song "Collide" that is featured in every single Mandy Moore movie. And guess where she collided with him? In the hallway. In rehab!

4. Dean and Tori's show Inn Love? Totally fucking awesome. Shut up, it is. Nothing made me laugh harder than when Tori was getting a sonogram and announced in horror, "Honey! Our baby looks like SATAN!" Yes, Tori. Yes, he does.

5. We are indeed One Nation under Sanjaya. If we aren't careful, this kid will be the next generation's Keanu Reeves.

6. Kelly Wearstler, the judge on Top Design who won the Björk award for Fugliest Weekly Wardrobe Ever Shown on Television, is indeed an amazing interior decorator. But did you know that she was also a Playboy playmate in 1994? So the morale of this post, ladies and gentlemen: If you are thinking about taking your clothes off to pay the rent, do it because in about thirteen years, you too could be owning your own high end interior decorating firm in fancy West Hollywood and then go on cable television to crush the dreams of fledgling decorators with Jonathan Adler (whom I adore. With all my heart. I'd like his entire needlepoint pillow collection. I'd also like his house in the Hamptons, his apt in New York, and his Barneys New York credit card).

WTH Wednesday: I Don't Have an Umbrella Big Enough for Fat Joe.

2007-04-10T22:49:00.000-07:00

Oh Fat Joe. I have nothing but love for you. I leaned back with the Terror Squad. I got it poppin'. And I felt that we thugged together pretty righteously. But Joey Crack, we need to sit down, put the champagne away, and have a heart to heart on what the hell it means when you want to make it rain on 'em hoes.

There I was, at my local Ralphs, picking out green beans, when this came blaring over the speakers:

Yeah I'm in this business of terror
Got a handful of stacks, better grab an umbrella
I make it rain, (I make it rain)
I'm in this business of terror
Got a handful of stacks, better grab an umbrella
I make it rain, (I make it rain)
I make it rain on them hoes I make it rain,(I make it rain)
I make it rain on them hoes I make it rain,(I make it rain)
I make it rain on them hoes I make it rain(I make it rain)
I make it rain on them hoes...

First of all, if you are Fat Joe, what exactly constitutes as "business of terror"? I think you're off the streets, and if you're hanging with a guy who goes by the name of Lil Wayne and you totally did a cameo in JLo's music video like 20 bazillion years ago, the only business that you could possibly terrorize is at Hermès where they apparently are still quite prejudiced against the non-French (ask Oprah).

And secondly, if you have a handful of stacks of money and were about to throw it at me, wouldn't it be more considerate to tell me to grab the nearest receptacle instead of an umbrella so I could share in your wealth? Or are you under the impression that I'm as rich as you, Fat Joe? In which case, no, I'm not, and I'll take whatever cash that is making it difficult for you to hoof it up and down a stage.

Finally, if you are giving gobs and gobs of cash to hoes, I don't know if I'd be telling the world about that. You're pretty much letting everyone know that you have to pay women to sleep with you, and if that's really the case--though I doubt it because according to a recent poll, women will happily trade in extra poundage if it comes with an equally fat bank account--but if that really is the case, you best keep that bit of knowledge locked up and the key thrown away.

Fat Joe, I tell you these things out of the deepest respect. You're a somewhat talented guy, you seem quite nice aside from the 50 Cent debacle (hell, you did a collaboration with Ja Rule. Ja fucking Rule. AFTER his stupid Grease-themed music video. I think that qualifies as beyond nice. That's pitiful nice), and you even overcame your fear of flying. So: if the rumors are true about you having ghostwriters who write all your lyrics, then you need to fire them immediately.

PS. I was going to dedicate this week to Nelly Furtado, but someone told me that dissing Canadians twice in a row for poor lyric writing would make it seem like I have a grudge against Canadians. I don't (although if your name is Kristin and you happen to be related to me and live in Canada, then I've hated you since the 3rd grade when you ran off with little Billy Carmichael which only a hoe would do. A hoe, like the kind Fat Joe and his ghostwriters would have made rain on 'em).

creative of the week

2007-04-10T14:49:00.000-07:00

“and that's all I have to say about“ - forest gump

don't be afraid to ask

2007-04-09T14:50:00.001-07:00

For Eric.

2007-04-08T23:03:00.000-07:00

During my formidable collegiate years, I lived in a house with six other girls for about 2 years. Stuffed in those 2 years were sync'd up periods, general (and specific) bitchfests, cleaning schedules taped to the fridge, how-did-your-bra-end-up-in-my-laundry?, 50 different shampoo products in the showers, sly comments in the morning after a misguided drunken hookup, and oh so much more. While we very well could have qualified to be a sorority house; from the exterior of the house, people assumed it was inhabited by raucous Natty-Lite swilling frat boys. (We had a beerpong table. In the front yard. IN THE FRONT YARD.)

One of my more tame roomates was one-half of a nauseating couple--you know, the kind that you can easily picture getting married, buying a lovely townhouse in Washington DC, owning a yellow labrador and hosting vegan dinner parties every Friday night that are scored with softly playing emo music crooning delicately in the background. She and her boyfriend Eric were like walking, breathing Barbie and Ken Go To College dolls, perfectly proportioned and compatible in every possible and enviable way: She was a psych major, he was studying architecture. She loved vintage clothes and read New York Times bestsellers. He went biking every Saturday morning with "the boys." She got up early and jogged every morning for 3 miles. He wore glasses with designer frames who barely drank and never smoked a cigarette. They met and had begun dating in their 10th grade high school geometry class and were still going strong well into college despite a few speed bumps and detours along the way. In short: they were healthy, wholesome people who could have easily starred in a summer campaign for Ralph Lauren.

In our last year of school together, Eric went off to Copehagen for a semester abroad while she stayed at school. They sent each other care packages and spoke on the phone regularly. Then he got sick, was misdiagnosed with pneumonia, and airlifted back to the States when his condition worsened. She drove every weekend back up to DC to be with him for months on end. Eventually, he was diagnosed with T-cell lymphoma and flew to Seattle for a bone marrow transplant from his younger brother.

He died that Easter before graduation.

When it was time for all of us to say our own goodbyes to him, there was a crowd outside the architecture building, and each of us released a red helium balloon. About half of them got caught in a tree which made us laugh, breaking the tension.

There is a moment that always comes back to me around this time every year. Two weeks after the balloon incident and his funeral, when all of us were getting ready to venture off and make something of ourselves, I walked in on my roommate looking like she was sitting in a fog. "Are you OK?" I asked her tentatively. And she turned to me and smiled and said, "I will be. I'm beginning to smile now when I think about him."

I haven't spoken to my old roommate in about five years now--change of addresses, change of careers, change of plans have led to us growing apart. But I'd like to think that she's doing it all: the successful career, a great husband, that townhouse in DC, the yellow labrador greeting her at the door, and soy-based Friday night dinners with Pete Yorn or Jeff Buckley crooning in the background. And smiling whenever she looks back and sees the big picture.

A Conversation with an Old Friend.

2007-04-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

S: You have about 600 friends on myspace. That's a shitload.
F: I'm getting rid of all of them.

We're in the ditch next to October Road.

2007-04-05T23:08:00.000-07:00

Thursday Night is TV Night at Sip + Fall. After the heavyweights (Ugly Betty, Greys Anatomy, CSI, etc) lumber off the screen, the networks trot out their fledgling shows hoping to catch the leftover TV viewer to build an audience and make more of them dollah dollah bills. There's an 80-20 chance that the show will tank and skulk off the radar (the Nine? What happened? Men in Trees? Was it Anne Heche?), and ABC's latest offering "October Road" doesn't disappoint those numbers. In fact, we liked how fantastically bad it is that we not only watch it...but we watch it TOGETHER. And we want to give it awards (because hell if it's ever going to win a Golden Globe. Or an Emmy. Or meet Ellen DeGeneres. Or have a special on Oprah after nine seasons wherein all of them will burst into tears and talk about how incredibly giving each cast member was when in reality everyone kept to their trailers and bitched about how a certain someone eats garlic before kissing scenes. Oh wait, that was Brenda and Dylan on 90210.)

The Line That Spawned a new vocabulary term to Be Used in Work-Related Conversation
"My last boyfriend predumped me 3 times before our first date." Predumped? It could work!

The Storyline That Spawned an insult to a Certain Grotty Coworker
The weird greasy guy who is boinking his friend's super hot wife. That shit would never happen. Well, maybe in middle America, in a small town, but don't hot people from middle American small towns move to New York or Los Angeles to try and get on America's Next Top Model?

Least Accurate Plot Point of the Episode
OK, the kid has a nut allergy and he shovels cake in his mouth that is loaded with peanut butter (like PEANUT BUTTER PIE!), and then starts losing his breath and having some kind of allergic reaction and he goes off and finds Nick who happens to be sucking face with the Hot But Dumb Student Who Can't Take A Hint...and yet, the kid is BACK to being in perfect health, hops on his little bike and travels to India and back before breaking into life-threatening hives. Way to go, Speed Racer! Don't allergic reactions happen relatively quickly? At least that's what one of my friends told me.

Most Accurate Plot Point of the Episode
The hot lawnmower guy who once had a guest spot with his less-hot brother in 7th Heaven (another show that is so awesomely bad that it's too painful to watch) ditching the Cute but Chubbed Barkeep. Sorry honey, but that man is 1) too hot to be straight and 2) obviously not in landscaping.

Most Well-Played Plot Device of the Episode
The kid being mauled by some drunken soccer mom while eerie emo music wails in the background with a choir. Crash observed shrewdly, "That kid is going to need blood and then we'll find out who the real baby daddy is." This kid is sooo going to be that town's Danielynn. And Nick? Is sooooo going to be Eddie Murphy (you know he fathered that scary Spice baby).

And finally, Best Insult to Paul Newman
We spent a weekend with a Frenchman named Seb who was obsessed with Paul Newman, and more importantly, with the movie Cool Hand Luke. How obsessed you ask? He paid the equivalent of 2,000 baguettes (plus tax) for an original poster to hang on his wall in Paris. Anyway. The point is that when Nick barges in on his dad trying to have a decent meal with his sistah girlfriend, he delivers what is quite possibly the most awesome line in the entire episode (and it's probably the most awesome line because well, the writers for this show didn't write it, the guy who wrote Cool Hand Luke wrote it): "Callin' it your job don't make it right, BOSS!" Oooh! Burn!

Since October Road isn't on next week, we'll take that valuable time to come up with a good drinking game. Like, every time Bryan Greenberg's stubble is perfectly groomed to a 5 o'clock shadow.

A Lloyd Dobbler conversation.

2007-04-04T19:17:00.000-07:00

A tip for you ladies out there: You may THINK that the guy that you're friends with (the one that you have been hoping for the past five-odd years or so will develop into a full blown relationship that will include weekly jaunts to the grocery store, Sunday afternoon picnics at Dolores Park, bike rides to the coast and back, watching episodes of Grey's Anatomy without once wondering what would have happened if you had gone to med school instead, and afternoons spent playing new music that he has never heard of and will therefore marvel at your wonderful and discerning musical taste) will one day turn to you and say, "You're amazing. You're wonderful. I want to spend the rest of my life with you because there is no one I'd rather be with."

Well. I'm sorry, but the odds are against you. Because if you haven't closed the deal yet, it's just not going to happen. Give it up and go to the nearest bar and down about 3 vodka tonics and find someone who doesn't know that you were a Girl Scout in middle school or that you blundered during your review with your boss. Don't worry, that dull ache that you will feel when you hear him moan and groan about his latest office crush or botched up blind date will pass, especially when it's aided by a helpful fifth of Jack Daniels.

"Smiling is a sign of a sense of humour being present"

2007-04-04T10:57:00.000-07:00

see what happens when you try and have a little fun! have some humor folks!

What The Hell Wednesdays: Hump Day Stumper.

2007-04-03T22:12:00.000-07:00

We listen to a lot of music for our job ("They tried to make me go to rehab/But I said Nooo noooo nooooo!"); and we also listen to a lot of music not for our job (like when Crash calls and grumps, "I'm having a bad day. Will you please turn up the speakers to your stereo and sing 'Jenny from the Block' for me? It would make my day.") In short, we are surrounded by all kinds of music from A to Z, from shithouse to stupendous, from the windows to the wall. And that means that we sometimes find ourselves singing the weirdest fucking lyrics ever written, and then when finally someone asks us, "What the hell did you just say?!", we snap back into our normal selves, with our God-given IQs, and try to blame the whole incident on a bottle of qualuudes that just happen to be in the top drawer of our desk at work.

In honor of such incidents, we'll give out an award every Wednesday to the lyrics that have tiptoed slyly into our subconscious. This week, I'd like to spotlight: Robin Thicke "Lost Without U."

There are a few things that I can look over. For example: people who use "U" instead of "you." (Pussycat Dolls, wtf is up with "Stickwitu" as a song title, much less a song?) And I can also look over the fact that Robin's dad was the dad on Growing Pains because he really can't help that fact. I can EVEN look over the fact that prior to his recording career, he penned songs for such fallen heroes like Jordan McKnight's vain attempt at a comeback album. But here's the offense that will continue to puzzle:

"Baby you're the perfect shape
Baby you're the perfect weight
Treat me like my birthday
I want it this way; I want it that way; I want it
Tell me u dont want me 2 stop (Dont stop!)
Tell me it would break your heart
That u love me and all my dirty
U wanna roll with me; u wanna hold with me
U wanna make fires, and get Norwegian wood with me"

WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH NORWEGIAN WOOD?!
At first I thought to myself, "hmm, maybe Robin's Norwegian! and this is a thinly veiled metaphor to his manhood." But upon further research (thanks wikipedia), HE'S CANADIAN. So that ruled out argument 1. Argument 2 was that Norwegian wood is highly flammable and would make excellent kindling like hairspray, a bottle of brandy, and my 8th grade polyster gym uniform. But apparently Norweigan wood is just as special as the wood you pick up at your local Vons. Argument 3? Robin Thicke was drunk and trolling the streets of Larchmont when he spied through the window of a travel agency a poster of Norway and he thought to himself, "Ah HA! Norwegian wood!"

And then, a truly shit lyric was born.

Next week: Nelly Furtado and her ill-advised Steve Nash shout out in "Promiscuous." Not only was it the most awkard lyric of all in 2006, but it went on to spawn rumors of infidelity! Shame on you Nelly Furtado!

SIP + FALL creative of the week

2007-04-03T09:44:00.000-07:00

i thought it would be a great idea to feature a creative person of the week every tuesday.
this week i would like to highlight director Joseph Kahn for his amazing
work on the gwen stefani "the sweet escape" video. the youtube version of the video is a little low in quality
so i would suggest going to his site and watching it! (which is btw one of the coolest sights i have been to in a while.)

www.josephkahn.com

the time changed!

2007-04-02T19:21:00.000-07:00

is this a sign of things to come?

It's okay to look...in Brooklyn.

2007-03-30T23:54:00.000-07:00

I've never lived in New York, and the last time I was there was about fifteen years ago for an audition that Will Never Be Brought Up Again So Don't Ask. I vaguely remember the stench of urine around subway stations. And I think I was still young enough to be scared of homeless people. Anyway. It has recently come to my attention that New York is a terrible place to date, which I find to be weird because well, there's a shitload of people there; and the city is 99.9% pedestrian (unlike LA where it's perfectly normal to drive a block and if you suggest otherwise, you will be shot dagger looks of death); and there's a bar or three on every corner. Also? Most people there are employed because it's ridiculously expensive.

But. I didn't realize the extent of how bad the dating scene is in New York until I received this lovely missive from a frustrated single friend who has been yearning to find the One (which could very well be the root of his problem): "I am not about to go fight some tranny over a girl who has a history of massive depression. Or am I?"

Brooklyn Ladies: Has it come down to picking trannies over lonely male New Yorkers with legit day jobs?

The Good, The Bad & The Queens.

2007-03-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

Remember doing wordy math problems in junior high? Like: Katie has twenty bucks and wants to buy oranges. One orange cost 25 cents from the Mexican guy on the corner, and $1.10 at the Ralphs. If Katie has a Ralphs card, who can give her a better deal?

This is our Friday wordy math problem:
Steenks has 4 different stores. Within each store are 2 different sized containers. Sometimes, the same thing goes in both containers but they have to be different sizes to fit. At 10 am, Steenks had to change out the content in both containers in all four stores due to a hawkish manager. At 12:30 pm, Steenks was told to change the content back in both containers in all four stores due to testy clientele. If Steenks has to make a change at 2:30, what is the probability that the content will be the exact same as it was the day before?

5 Things.

2007-03-30T01:14:00.000-07:00

Steenks sez:
1. I write sideways.
2. I secretly want to own one of those huge turtletop vans with the velvet seats and the minibar in the back. (they were popular in the 80s. shut up, you know you want one too).
3. I don't know how to fold a fitted bedsheet properly.
4. When i used to work in an office, I would wear headphones, but I would turn off the music sometimes to eavesdrop on the Mini Boss (it wasn't very interesting).
5. I recently discovered that I unwittingly went through a fierce navy-blue-pants phase because I just did laundry and there are about 8 pairs of navy blue pants sitting on my couch.

Crashlander sez:
1. I used to like legos until I saw a 35 yr old man playing with them...at work.
2. I have a very specific way of how I eat cookies in the afternoon (around the edges and toward the center.) I also like to eat the shells of things first.
3. I have to watch Good Morning America first thing every morning (but that's a post September 11 thing).
4. When I drive to work and see cows on the side of the road, I smile. Cuz I'm looking at cows on the side of the road. And that's fuckin weird.
5. I like driving to work everyday until I make a right by the 76.