Sweetney

Mishy-mashy-meltdowny (updated)

1. I think I have the blogger's version of ADD right now. Are there any drugs yet available for that? BESIDES COKE, I MEAN. jeez!

2. Today marks 80 days since I quit smoking. (wee hurrah!) That's 1,920 hours worth of pure, unadulterated lung sacs, people. Not that I'm, err, obsessive-compulsively counting or anything. cough.

3. My friend Angela was over at our house last night (we have a standing date to watch “Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew” each Thursday, because we're so totally awesome like that), and gave good quote, as follows:

“Libertarians are like well-spoken retarded people.” - Angela

I'm thinking someone might need to get some sloganized bumper stickers, coffee mugs, and novelty t-shirts printed up, no?

4. Remember that whole bizarre and frightening “Inside Edition” thing? Well fasten your seatbelts, because the piece is airing TONIGHT*. As in... (gulp) mere hours from now. Which begs the question: if I being drinking NOW, will I still be conscious at 7pm when the segment airs? Or should I perhaps just go ahead and ask a friend to swing by around 6:30pm and bop me on the head with a hammer or something?

Hold me?

For the record, I am in reality much, MUCH more articulate, attractive, and funnier than I appear on TV. No, seriously. It's like TV is a car's rear-view mirror, and I'm an object that is much larger than it appears. Wait, that came out all wrong...

5. In light of the impendingness of #4, I feel I should now say: WELCOME, INSIDE EDITION OVERLORDS! Please make yourselves comfortable... kick off your shoes and have a cocktail, fer crissakes! And in case any of you were wondering, here's a sampling of what this blog is like when I'm not yammering on endlessly about my dorktastic dog. (Okay, so YES, there's still dog-yammering involved there... but we're talking a trivial 8% net dog-yammering when adjusted over 12 months. I should have some graphs and pie charts made -- maybe a powerpoint presentation, yes?)

6. Oh to hell with it.

I vant to be alooooone, far from the maddening crowds....

I has outside!

*UPDATE: Literally TWO EFFING MINUTES after I posted this, I got the following email in my inbox form the person at “Inside Edition” who'd written this morning to inform me the Truman piece would be running tonight:

“I JUST GOT THE NEW RUN DOWN FOR THE SHOW TODAY. THE SHOW WILL NOT BE AIRING THIS TODAY. Sorry for all the confusion. Due to Heath Ledger passing away we are doing a lot of pieces on him. I will let you know when the new air date is.”

Sorry everybody.

If you need me I'll be hiding under a large rock, mortified and blushing, until further notice. over/out.

“Pizza? Now that's what I call a taco!”

I can't explain why this makes me so happy. It just does.

TACO TOWN!!!!

Have a good weekend, kiddos.

Not at all bitter. Nope.

Having a kid is totally cramping my style, that much is clear.

You may recall some recent mention here of my husband's well-deserved victory in our CityPaper's annual “Best of Baltimore” issue, a win that bestowed on us the distinct honor and privilege of gaining entry to their exclusive BoB party last week. And since I am sort of moldering in middle-age with a child strapped to one leg (they should make holsters) and therefore rarely (okay NEVER) cavorting about town with the cool kids, I was beside myself with excitement about attending. A party! With adult-type peoples! The cream of Baltimore's hip, insider crop, in fact! Oh, and did I yet mention OPEN BAR?

Huzzah! A drunken octopus on yon invite!

Yep, roger that. I'm all over that shit like a monkey on a cupcake.

Knowing that this party was coming up, I had to -- like most parental units -- jump through several flaming hoops ahead of time just to be able to go. First, I had to secure childcare at a friend's house. Second, I had to synchronize my watch by atomic clock to make absolutely certain I'd be on-point to retrieve our child at a reasonable time, or at least before she turned into a whining, flailing pumpkin and our friend was driven to unceremoniously toss her ass out on their back porch, like sack of potatoes FILLED WITH PURE EVIL (worse yet: PURE STARCHY EVIL!). Third, I had to dig through my wardrobe and find clothing that 1) was befitting a hipster gala in the year 2007 (umm, good luck with that! (snort!)), 2) was (relatively) clean, 3) didn't smell of some odd combination of Cheerios and Gogurt. YES, THE BAR HAS BEEN LOWERED. AGAIN.

Having settled those issues (well, to one degree or other), the evening of the much-anticipated party came. I was, in the words of Alan Greenspan, irrationally exuberant. I dressed with care, changing my clothing selections multiple times for good measure. I put on fucking MAKEUP, man. I applied goddamn hairspray, fer crissakes. And then I waited for Jamie to get home so we could go.

And waited. And waited. Aaaaaaand WAITED.

We'd planned to arrive at the party right when it started at 6:30pm, so I could cram in as much adult party time (see: BINGE DRINKING) as possible, figuring if I left the shindig by 8:30pm I could retrieve M and wisk her home and to bed before her personal witching hour of whining & flailing doom began. That would give me two full hours. Two full hours of blissful I'm not just a parent, I'm a hoooman beeeing! time. Oh joy.

Jamie called from the road around 6:15pm. He'd hit some bad traffic on the way home. He'd be late. He'd be very late.

I wilted.

All told, by the time we finally got to the party it was almost 7:30pm, meaning I had just enough time to slam down a single drink (weeps) and snap these pictures before I had to turn right around and get back into the stupid car. POINTLESS. FAIL!

Revelers beneath the ominous all-seeing Domino Sugars sign

Baltimore cityscape as Missile Command screenshot

The Baltimore Museum Of Industry: presently spotlighting our city's two main products -- Gang Murder & Crack!

Justin, Jamie, Lauren & delicious beers. You're winners, babies!

And sadly, that was it. I raced back to our friend's house and arrived just in time it seemed, as the tension-filled countdown to Preschooler Detonation had clearly already commenced. After putting my daughter to bed at home, I watched some TV. I had some snacks. And I tried very hard to weep quietly, so as not to wake up THE ADORABLE PIGTAILED MONSTER WHO HAS STOLEN MY LIFE FROM ME.

Oh, but I kid the life-stealing monster! Umm, I mean THE LIGHT OF MY GOT-DAMN LIFE.

So now, in an attempt to exhaust this topic fully and thereby purge the kernel of resentment that's taken up residence in my heart, here's a few other things that having a kid has unfortunately put the kibosh on for me:

• Crocodile wrestling
• Picking up hitchikers
• “The Lifestyle”
• Ingesting psychedelic drugs
• Snake charming
• Running out to the store to get things on a moment's notice
• Come to think of it, leaving the house at all on a moment's notice
• Sorority rushing
• Acting out old Gladiator movies using authentic weaponry
• A variety of activities involving nakedness
• Playing LPs backwards
• Drag Racing
• Openly watching “Rock Of Love” or “Charm School” on VH1

I could go on and on, of course. But enough of my festering bitterness -- what's on your resentment-inducing MIA since parenthood list? And late at night when everyone else is asleep, do you lie awake thinking about these things, and do the tears come?

There there, dear.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Aside: I've decided to relocate my Daily Photo (I prefer the generality of Daily Image, honestly) Entry over on a dedicated page, so as not to clog the delicate pipes of mah index page. Please to enjoy (like, every day! DUH!)! I'm also working on a Song Of The Week page, and I'll let y'all know when that's fully operational and ready to rock. Song Of The Week page ahoy!

And a Note to the three of you who care: No, we haven't yet replaced Nemo (or gotten a tortoise, per Mrs. Kennedy's influence), and Jamie and I are still deadlocked over the convertible issue (though I believe the resounding chorus of “BAD IDEA!” from y'all might've swayed him ever-so-slightly away from folly... fingers crossed).

Try Try Try to Understand, He's a magic man

Last night Jamie stayed overnight in DC at a friend's house to watch the football season opener, drink some brewskies, and engage in the vaguely homoerotic-tinged behavior typically associated with male bonding (intimate-proximity arm wrasslin' and overheated discussions of gladiator movies, I reckon). So being home alone and carefree as I was, how did I take advantage of all this rare and glorious time to myself?

Well I spent a good chunk of it pondering the finer points of one Derren Brown.

Something is clearly very wrong with me. HALP.

Best news I've heard all day

THANK GOD. FINALLY!

(is weeping with joy) (and praising various deities) (woot!)

Thanksyous to Kelly for the heads-up!

“Lisa, vampires are make-believe, like elves, gremlins, and Eskimos.”*

I grew up in a household where going to see movies (in the actual Movie Theater! gasp!) was a weekly occurrence. Some of my earliest and fondest childhood memories are, in fact, of swimming in enormous theater seats in the dark, craning my neck to see around the gigantic screen-eclipsing orbs of adult human heads in front of me, trying to get a glimpse of whatever luminous spectacle was unraveling in the near-distance. I have vivid recollections of weekly trips to Shakey's Pizza, where my family would gorge ourselves to an almost heroic degree on thin slices and Bubble Up, and then pile into our wood-trimmed boat of a station wagon to motor on over to the theater, my brother and I rattling around in the “way back” of the vehicle like loose change in a dryer (ah, ye olde unregulated 1970s, how I miss thee).

Astounding

More than 1,500 inmates of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Phillippines do “Thriller”:

And apparently this is just them practicing, and not the final routine.

Antidepressant TV

I wrote about this over on ye olde MamaPop, but feel compelled to apply with a virtual sledgehammer my enthusiasm for HBO's new series Flight Of The Conchords here, which you should so totally watch and TiVo and love as I do. Its the one thing that's managed to cut through the melancholy of this past week for me, and so if it doesn't do well and gets cancelled you'll have to listen to even more of my whining. And no one wants that, right? Right.

OBEY MY WILL, INTARWEBS. C'mon, I'll buy you a kebab! Bwahahahaaa!

Tragic Kingdom

During our week at Disney World, I learned many things. I learned that a bottle of water costs four dollars, a slice of pizza will set you back eight, and those Crocs with Mickey Mouse head-shaped holes that all the kids seemed to be wearing? THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS. Cheapskate that I am, I was close to swallowing my tongue over the Disney Magical Overpricing at every turn. blarrgh.

But most of all (and most painful of all), I learned that four year olds are afraid of everything.

GWAR vs. Joan Rivers

OH THE AWESOME DISCOMFORT. And how better to celebrate Memorial Day than with The Scumdogs Of The Universe (I mean GWAR, not Joan)?

The view from here

(The first in a long series of Disney World-centric photo collections)

Y'all, this is the view from our hotel room balcony:

Motherfuckin' Zebras in the hiz-ouse!

Having a great time, wish you were here.

It had to have been about 20,000 degrees inside that
costume, yet Pluto managed to stay perky and professional

I have a gazillion photos to share, and hope to get some of them up later today... I've missed you, intarwebs.

Gonna go see a man about a mouse

Tracey, you've just conquered Double Angry Eye -- what are you gonna do?

I'm going to Disney World!

No, seriously. I'm going to Disney World. We leave tomorrow, and I have a To Do list to run through today that, if given a window of opportunity, might slip off for a few and eat Pittsburgh. Have I mentioned before how much I hate the day before going on a trip? Its almost as bad as, umm, the day after coming back from going on a trip.

Anyway, I'll be updating from The Magic Kingdom as much as I'm able next week. I'm working under the assumption that going to Florida isn't like going back to some dark-ages, pre-wireless interweb time, but who knows. It is a sort of hellish place, you must admit. They might still use modems there or something. [shudder]

Expect lots of photos. No, I mean expect to be BLUDGEONED WITH PHOTOS. Just warning you now.

All Disney World-related advice/tips/insights much appreciated, particularly those specific to going with a preschooler. Its gonna be alright, right?

The Miller Metamorphosis

I've been far too busy recently to have many deep thoughts about much of anything, but if there's been one Big, Weighty Matter I've been mulling over in my head at all of late, its most certainly this: I am utterly horrified by what's become of Dennis Miller.

Somehow all of this is Bruce Willis's fault

Question: When exactly did I become such a pussy?

I ask this in light of an event that took place this weekend. On Saturday night Jamie wanted to watch a movie, and we quickly skimmed through the available TiVoed options: King Kong, which is something like three-and-a-half hours long, and who has time for three-and-a-half hours worth of a ginormous lovelorn aircraft-swatting ape? Pass. A History of Violence, which I nixed as too intense for Saturday night film viewing, and Walk The Line, which Jamie for some reason wasn't in the mood for. This left the Bruce Willis/Mos Def vehicle 16 Blocks. Perhaps you're by chance one of the, oh, five freakin' people on planet earth who've seen this film? If not, a quick plot summary courtesy of IMDB:

Bruce Willis plays Jack Mosley, a burnt-out detective assigned the unenviable task of transporting a fast-talking convict (Mos Def) from jail to a courthouse 16 blocks away. However, along the way he learns that the man is supposed to testify against Mosley's colleagues, and the entire NYPD wants him dead. Mosley must choose between loyalty to his colleagues and protecting the witness, and never has such a short distance seemed so long...

Which sounds, I don't know, passable? Perhaps not something you'll want to one day share with your children as an example of fine filmmaking, but certainly worthy of a lazy date-night-at-home looksee? And I've always had a soft spot for Mos Def quite frankly, if only because his name is Mos Def, and I firmly believe the world would be a better place if we all likewise shortened our given monikers to three-letter-abbreviations. I mean, think of how much more you'd get done in a day, not having to mouth all those extra, superfluous syllables. Who needs em'? ANYWAY, both Jamie and I agreed 16 Blocks was the night's winner, and settled in on the couch together to partake of its televisualized wonders.

I lasted about twenty-five whole minutes.

My Valentine to you

Continuing forward with the current Mental Instability & Music theme: Lookee! Steve from Blues Clues! AND! AND! JON STEWART!

I for one am feeling the love (oh yes, and the crazy, of course).

Thanks to Ozma for the heads-up!

I'm Going To Bake A Cake In The Shape Of The Moon Blowing Up

Its been a rough 24 hours here in the land of Sweetney, so I've decided to spend all my free time today watching Mr. Show, like so:

Somehow Mr. Show makes it all okay.

More soon. I owe ya'll some xmas shopping countdown booty, I know. Sorry for the delay.

Xmas Shopping Countdown: 14 days

This isn't how you planned it. You were supposed to be done with holiday shopping by now, a mere two weeks before xmas. But you aren't. And, more than that, you're tired and out of gift ideas and on a kind of zombified autopilot, counting down the last days of work before your vacation. The thought of searching around for still more gift items fills you with despair and dread. I feel you, holmes. So I'm here to help.

For the next fourteen days I'll be posting here at least one holiday shopping recommendation per day -- things I covet myself and/or have personally enjoyed recently, and in any case heartily endorse as fine gift selections this or any year. To put it another way: here's some cool shit I like that you should totally buy, yo.

Charlie Brown Christmas: The Alternate Ending

(NSFW language.)

For The Rest Of Us

Dudes.

No, seriously. DUDES.

No, wait. Scratch that. DOOOOODS!:

But really, dudes, c'mon.

HAPPY FESTIVUS!

[This post brought to you by dude.]

Odds/Ends

Big ol' interweb content-dump ahoy!

1. Guitar Face made me laugh for about half-an-hour straight.

2. I think its safe to say that Lindsay Lohan is not much of a writer.

3. Have you been keeping up with MamaPop (as well you should)?

4. Oh that David Sedaris is a funny dude.

So Long, Bob. And Thanks For All The Awesome.

Robert Altman, Iconoclastic Director, Dies at 81

Today is a very sad day for film lovers everywhere.

America's Anchors

Because you have a need to know: an absolutely AWESOME cover story in Rolling Stone on Stewart/Colbert.

Go. Read. And be filled with its goodness.

Amen, everybody.

PS: I of course forced Jamie to run out to a bookstore near his office in DC and snag me a copy of that issue. What did I marry him for if not for the retrieving of items I desire, much like an obedient Lab?

(Love you, honey!)

Answer: Lashed By Soul-Searing Flames Of Rage And Disgust

Question: What does Tracey feel upon viewing the trailer for the new Baby Bratz The Movie direct-to-video offering? (mouse over “Videos & Music”, click on Baby Bratz The Movie, click on “Trailer”)

I mean, does ANYBODY think this is even vaguely okay? And if you do think its okay, can you explain exactly how and why? Because that looks to me like a pedophile's DREAM right there.

Or, to put it another, ever so slightly more hysterical way: WHAT THE HOLY MOTHERFUCKING FUCK, PEOPLE? Is this what our civilization has come to? And is there yet a way for me to flee this planet and get away from all you people, perhaps colonizing the nearby moon or Mars, free as they are of child sexualization and blatant pedophile encouragement? I MEAN, REALLY.

WE SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED OF OURSELVES. I know I'm filled with a deep sense of shame. That I'm forced to share this planet with you people.

Oh and PS: I didn't think it could get much worse than that, but HELLO, IT JUST DID.

Two Sentence Film Review of Munich, Which I Had Somehow Confused With Syriana And Was Therefore Sorely Disappointed By The Utter Lack Of George Clooney.

Honey, do you think the fact that when we do it I have visions of hostages being shot is a problem?

Two and a half hours of stunning goodness irretrievably screwed up by ten minutes of Spielbergian heavy-handedness at the end.

Harm City.

Yesterday I got an email from the illustrious Bret McCabe, Arts Editor over at ye olde Baltimore Citypaper, apologizing for not showing up to Saturday's Rock-n-Romp, at which a mutual friend of ours played. He explained that he'd been doing rewrites all weekend for a Citypaper cover story, and that [I] would like to say that my absence turned into a solid cover feature on the new season of “The Wire,” but at this point I've seen it so many times I really can't tell anymore.

In replying, I simply stated that, Dude, you write a piece doing that show justice and ALL WILL BE FORGIVEN. And I'm pleased to report that, having read the article this morning, I will not have to kick Bret McCabe's ass.

It Was A Fun Day. But Now Its A Done Day.

On Sunday, the great and powerful Milkshake, as seen on Noggin, held a free concert in front of a local bookstore. M_ and I were in attendance. It was about 10 gazillion degrees outside. It was madness.

There were, umm, a few people there.

Mars, Bitches!

How much do we miss Dave Chappelle?

SoaP: A Brief Review.

This may be as good as the actual movie. Which I still haven't seen. YET.

Sounds delightful, yes?

Unknown White Male.

This looks pretty amazing. To imagine losing your entire past... well, its unimaginable, I guess.

Watch the trailer.

Daily Vacation Checklist.

• Slept in, miraculously, past 9am? CHECK.
• Picked apart the remains of a left over party veggie/fruit tray for breakfast -slash-lunch? CHECK.
• Watched scintillating VH1 exposes on Hollywood's diabolical starlet weight obsession? CHECK.
• Read multiple chapters in beach book? CHECK.
• Took several-hours-long afternoon nap? CHECK.
• Showered and dressed after 5pm, and then only so that I'd be able to wear this? CHECK.
• Indoctrinated the children with Katamari Damacy (AKA, at least according to Kingston & M_, “Roll King!”)

CHECK!

• Next we bring on the pizza and mojitos? CHECK.

Oh beach house life, why do you have to be so full of awesomey goodness?

A Decent Proposal.

Yesterday, while M_ napped and Jamie watched The World Cup, I went to see An Inconvenient Truth. And let me first say that, as a parent, there is almost nothing better than getting to go see a movie alone. Not only do you get to focus solely on the film -- rather than on the squirming, spastic, flesh-clad megaphone your child invariably shape-shifts into upon entering a quiet, darkened theater -- but the people-watching is spectacular. As I sat waiting for the film to start, I silently surveyed the interactions of those seated around me, many of whom fit a certain expected type: crunchy, and vaguely hippyish in that collegiate sort of way that requires the men wear sandals and the women sport multi-colored braided bracelets from Guatemala. I half-listened to their conversations about Harry Potter and farmer's market produce, happy that I could just sit and be quiet. Because living with a preschooler has made stillness and quiet almost transcendent -- nay, divine. It was the closest I've gotten in a long time to something akin to a religious experience. A-fucking-men.

Anyway, back to the movie: it is absolutely [searches for Big Word to communicate the Bigness of its Bigiosity] STAGGERING. I don't think I can express how shocked, moved, amazed, awed and downright terrified this film made me, other than by saying that I think anyone who gives a crap about the future of our wee planet (which, uhh, should be EVERYONE) NEEDS to see this movie. By the end of it I was actually crying, overwhelmed by the reality of what we've collectively done, and what we need to do to begin setting things right. In fact, I feel so strongly about this that I have a little proposal for all of you.

The proposal is, as follows: I will send everyone who sees this movie a copy of my righteous (if I do say so myself) Summer 2006 Mix cd, chock full o' 20 hot tunes to rock your world (or, well, what's left of it. HA!). Its a goodie, and well worth the price of admission to the movie.

So here's what you should do to get your copy of the mix:

1. Go see An Inconvenient Truth (find a theater where its showing near you here.)
2. After you've seen it, send me and email at sweetney AT sweetney.com with your mailing address.
3. I will respond, asking that you answer ONE QUESTION about the movie that only people who've seen it could answer, thus verifying that you've indeed completed #1.
4. If you have a blog, you must post a link to the film's website (http://www.climatecrisis.net) on it (you can write a post about seeing the movie, or just link to the site in your sidebar or linkblog or blogroll or whatever).

That's it. Everyone wins, man. Please note, however, that this offer will be good for the next two weeks only, so start planning your trip to the theater now, peoples.

Sorry, time's up!

Dear Pussycat Dolls.

A year or two back, I thought I had found a public figure that fairly epitomized everything I loathe most in popular female representation, tied up neatly in the grotesque celebutante package of one Paris Hilton. But oh, I so underestimated the depths to which our culture could sink.

How could I have foreseen your meteoric rise? I couldn't have, any more than I could've predicted the inexplicable popularity of that aboM_ble, psychosis-inducing Alex F Crazy Frog song, or Botox. Some things just don't make no sense.

Regardless of what unfortunate events led to the generation of your group, you are -- collectively and separately -- in a word, Vile. Your in-your-face sexuality isn't empowering, its banal and repellant. The only people who would find your particular brand of exhibitionism compelling are the sort who think strippers dance at clubs because they like it, and that lap dances aren't degrading because the woman is on top. In other words, assholes.

Your lowest-common-demoninator-pandering antics are, frankly, pathetic. And your music sounds like something my preschooler might pound out on a $10 My First SK-1.

I hate you. Please die soon.

Your nemesis,
sweetney

Greetings And Salutations.

Top o' the mornin', friends! A few bits and pieces:

* Threadless $10 sale ends tomorrow! Also, did you notice that they now have kids tees (also for $10 until tomorrow)?

* Watched Jesus Is Magic last night, and despite really wanting to like it -- loving the funny broads as I do -- my overall impression was decidedly “Meh”. For much of it I laughed not at all, though perhaps the film would be more enjoyable if I, say, downed a few shots of bourbon beforehand or something. Booze: The Wonder Drug That Works Wonders!

Next up: Dave Chappelle's Block Party, and you can bet your sweet ass intoxicating substances will NOT be needed for that one, suckas.

* You really must listen to this. Heh.

* BlogHer headcount: Who's going? And will you be put off if I screech your name from across a crowded room, and then proceed to physically tackle you and kiss you full on the mouth? Huh?

* File under: What, Like I'm Not Under Enough Pressure As A Parent Already?: Now I have to make SILLY CAKES?!?

* Yes indeedy, I'm all over the place today. Deal with it (you have no choice, really).

* Need a little hope and solace regarding energy and the environment? Jon's got you covered (that's MY Jon, bitches!).

My work is done here.

Colbert Commencement Speech.

Transcript here.

Also globalization, e-mail, cell phones interconnect our nations like never before. It is possible for even the most insulated American to have friends from all over the world. For instance, I recently received an e-mail asking me to help a deposed Nigerian prince who is looking for a business partner to recuperate his fortune. Thanks to the flexibility of global banking, a Swiss bank account is ready and waiting for my share of his money. I know, because I just e-mailed him my Social Security number.

A shaky, from-afar partial video on YouTube of the event, good for the audio, if nothing else. I'll update this post if I find a better video.

6/6/06.

Because everyone loves demonic children!

And for your edification, a little additional info about tomorrow's date.

I for one plan to steer clear of easily-toppled ladders for the duration of tomorrow, at the very least.

Make A Joyful Noise Here.

Does anyone know anything about this Danielson Familie movie?! Anyone that was at SXSW see it?!

?! And, furthermore, ?!

I saw them back in the late 90s at some point. They were bizarre and amazing. I still have that CD around here, somewhere...

?!?!

Psst!

Got a little time on your hands today? Put aside some of it to view this Lewis Black concert on YouTube, before its gone! (His riff -- about halfway through the concert -- on the subject of Milk is, in and of itself, totally worth your time.)

[via]

Madonna: Crazy For You.

Sacriliciousness aside, isn't this behavior just sort of, well, sad at this point?

Yes, yes, Madonna, oooooh you're so controversial, and not at all pathetic... Zzzzzzzz...

What's she going to do next for attention? Light herself on fire and hurl her body into a model of the World Trade Center onstage?

Pah-leese.

Down The LOST Rabbit Hole.

Jamie sent me an email with the following info and this note from him: “Bye-bye freetime and good parenting!”

Sadly accurate.

In what's being hailed as the largest interactive challenge based on a TV series, ABC and 19 other networks stretching across five continents are introducing “Lost Experience” — an Internet game that will feature a parallel story line that will give insight into the top-rated show. It is world-wide, and fans from different countries will have to reach out to each other and trade information if they want to start sleuthing. “The game reaches back into 'Lost' history and looks forward to future episodes,” said Mike Benson, senior vice president of marketing for ABC Entertainment. The game is specifically designed in a manner that is not dependent on information from season one or season two.

EDIT: Yet another email from Jamie: "Its hard to read as a huge link, yo." Sigh.

Barbie And The Magic Of Mommy Committing Hari-kiri.

As M_ absorbs this DVD (a selection chosen, of course, by her -- my pick was the awesome Lilo & Stitch, a decidedly different take on girldom), I feel as though I finally grasp, in an all-too-visceral way, Nietzsche's words: When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you.

Oh yeah, and how about Barbie And The Magic Of Eating A Sammich, huh? Sheesh.

UPDATE: About three-quarters of the way through the DVD, M_ turned to me and said: “I don't like Barbie. I want to watch SpongeBob!”

It seems the genetics involving taste may have kicked in, thank god.

In The Event Of Snakes On A Plane.

[click image for large/legible version]

An Inconvenient Truth.

DUDES!

Gore is back, and he's hotter than ever (heh, get it? HOT? heh)!

Looks pretty incredible, actually. I'm stoked (heh, get it? STOKED? errr.... okay, sorry).

EDIT: The film has a site as well, where you can calculate your “carbon footprint” and thus your/your family's impact on global warming.

This Exquisite Moment Courtesy Of The Email Spammers Of America.

A little something-something, composed solely from email subject lines received in the past two weeks (General Foods International Coffee-drinking in conjunction with reading this HIGHLY recommended):

Need chrysanthemum highhanded

Do chorale it cattlemen
Made abysmal red
On scathe or explore
Or form may gasp
YOUR ASSISTANCE IS SPEEDLY NEEDED.

Little baptiste the backplane
May experience aforesaid
Cliff, or prison
Again typeface but adoption
The provoke sang.

--by Ezra Pound (HA!)

[wiping away a single, perfect teardrop] That was almost as moving as the email I received today from Scotland's National Lottery informing me that I AM (somehow, mysteriously) THEIR WINNER! ONE MEEEELLION DOLLARS (or whatever their fakey monopoly-money-like currency is over there)!!!

[Insert Chappelle's Show closing credit clip:] I'M RICH, BEEYATCH!

You little people will still love me when I'm all flush with Scottish pelf, won't you?

In other news from other media, I have succumbed to the seductive, antiseptic wiles of that medical drama-type show House, and shall now commence with having vague, semi-sexual fantasies about its title character, who somehow manages to make limping borderline HOT.

PS: Besides me, who else here is totally the bitch of delicious dried mango slices?

American Idol 5: The Ridiculing.

Bucky: Lose The Pseudostache, dude. Cause you're seriously creeping me out with that.

Ace: I'm sorry, but you're not THAT cute.

Kelly: Self-destructive much, honey?

Daughtry: Tonight was it Nickleback, Creed, or Live? I can't quite put my finger on it... [Aside: Dude can sing, no doubt. But he's completely undynamic -- one note, cranked up to ELEVEN, for 3 full minutes -- and I find that, well, boring frankly.]

Katherine: UGH! Am I the only person who thought that was HORRIBLE? I don't know what the judges are on (okay, so I know what Paula is on, but that aside), but in my book that was a virtual cringefest.

Elliott: BLINK, DAMMIT, BLINK!!!

Taylor: He just finished the Elvis gestalt of that song.

Paris: I guess a person can rock out to elevator music.

People Are Weird.

I was looking at some photos from our trip to New Orleans yesterday, and ran across a series from the annual Barkus Parade, which we just happened to stumble upon while out sightseeing. This stuff makes my application of the occasional t-shirt to Truman's gyrating, dervish-like form look pathetic and amateur.

A Couple Days Early.

But I couldn't wait to link to Chuck Klosterman's review of the long-awaited GnR album Chinese Democracy.

I love the Klosterman. This makes me love him even more.

PS: Once you've reached the final line, go back and read it again. Its even better the second time around.

The Men Of American Idol In Two Sentences (More Or Less).

While the underdog-lover in me truly wants Taylor Hicks to win (if only because he's old -- well, relatively -- and as a decrepit mid-thirtish Elderly Lady, I like to see the oldsters come out on top), deep in my heart I know he's the Marty of Rock Star: INXS to Chris Daughtry's J.D.: the dude with more talent and personality who just plain isn't cute enough.

And, relatedly, a little heads-up to Chris Daughtry: this world does not need more Creed.

The Longer The Joke Goes On, The Funnier It Gets (Well, To Me Anyway).

Courtesy of the Fark SoaP photoshop contest:

More SoaP-related news from EWonline and The Hollywood Reporter. [Props to Ventura Mom for the heads-up on the latter!]

WHEEEE!

SoaP.

Looks like they're smart and keeping the name.

I fucking double-dog-dare them to make the film's tagline: “Its Die Hard... On a plane... with snakes!”

Blonde. Blonder. Blondiest.

I found the Periodic Table of Blondness particularly disturbing, but the whole thing is a more than a little, durr, creepy in its replicant/stepford wives-ish homogenization.

Newsflash: Heidi Klum is a B-yatch.

Like you're surprised.

I for one know precisely what I'll be doing tonight.

And will Bravo, which has its chief stake in Heidi Klum's bigger show, allow this display of her callousness to appear on her program's spinoff, “Project Jay”? Apparently so, as it's here tonight.

WOO-HOO!!