I wish I had more thumbs...

I'm blatantly ripping off Bill Simmons [also known as ESPN's Sports Guy] and creating my own thumbs up/thumbs down. Before I launch into it, let me just say a couple of words about Simmons.

I love this man. I truly do.

I love the fact that he references old-school wrestling and Beverly Hills 90210. I love the fact that he remains loyal to his Boston teams [even though the Pats suck. Seriously. As much as I lust after Tom Brady, I hate the team]. I love the fact that he has great taste in movies and music. I love the fact that he actually had a buddy named Sully. I love the Sports Gal and the fact that she inspired both a celebrity fantasy league and a column entitled 37 Things The Sports Gal Hates About Me. I love the fact that he believes in gameday magic [wearing the same, unwashed team jersey on gameday leads to a win]. I love his disdain for the WNBA, his true appreciation of when Rowdy Roddy Piper bashed Jimmy Superfly Snuka's head in with a coconut and the fact that he refers to his digs as Sports Guy Mansion. Most importantly, though -- I love the way he writes. Reading one of his columns is like hanging out with one of your buddies.

Anyway, on to the unapologetic rip-off sincerest form of flattery:

Thumbs Up: Those "Jose +10" commercials for Adidas. I love the all-star squad 'cause seriously, when are you ever going to get to see something like that? It reminded me of that episode of The Simpsons when the nuclear power plant bought in ringers for softball. During a pick-up game in the park, Martin gets all the baseball greats while Bart's stuck with Milhouse. Needless to say, hilarity ensues. I also love the soundtrack -- Jim Noir's Eanie Meany. A perfect song because of the classic lyric, 'If you don't give my football back/I'm gonna get my dad on you."

Thumbs Down: Dilated pupils. Thanks to my optometrist appointment yesterday, I looked like I had been chasing dragons in a Chinese opium den all day long. Worse yet, I had to take passport photos in this state.

Thumbs Up: New glasses! Black plastic frames with rhinestones in the stems. They're fabulous. I feel like the world's hottest librarian.

Thumbs Down: My sister's laptop screen crapping out after three months. There's a reason Dell has award-winning tech support. They seriously need it. I wonder what percentage of Dell's tech support is routed through India. Every time I've called, I've gotten some very nice man or woman who wants to marry me off to their son.

Thumbs Up: Pie. Not just any pie, but Dutch Caramel Apple pie with almonds. Oh my God. It's so good. A single slice puts me into a diabetic coma, but I would sell my children on the black market for this pie. The best part of all is that this delicious dish, this manna from the heavens, was a gift from the orthodontist. I think he's trying to drum up more business by rotting my teeth. It's totally working.

Tomorrow, my sister heads off to Gainesville. I'm gonna miss her like crazy, but I am so proud of her. She's gonna do amazing things.

Happy families are all alike...

[Referring to my dad]

Sparky: Yeah, well, you yell at him all the time!
Jaime: So do you!
Sparky: No, I don't! I just belittle him.
Jaime: You're systematically demolishing his self-esteem.
Sparky: He's 50. He doesn't need that anymore.

[We love our dad. We really do. He's the most important guy in our lives. That's why we make fun of him. Mockery = love.]

Bear in a hat!

I spent entirely too long watching The Hills last night. It might not be great television in the vein of 24, Arrested Development or Nip/Tuck, but I'm happily addicted to it.

The primary reason for this is Lauren Conrad. I've got a bit of a girl crush on her. She's fabulous. She's also got a wardrobe, job and apartment I would kill for. Her boyfriend, though? Not so much. It's the facial hair. I find that wildly unappealing. He looks like a drunken beaver most of the time. Not cute. That's alright, though because Miss Conrad's cute enough for the both of them.

I have a brilliant idea on how to resurrect Patrick Swayze's career. Back in the 80s, we were all a little crazy for Swayze. It's time to get hooked on that feeling all over again. I heard a rumor that the Swayzmeister is planning a foray into hip-hop. No. This is a terrible idea. No boom-boom-squiggy-squiggy, Swayze. Stick to what you're good at -- 80s pop ballads which cause twentysomethings like me to swoon. In addition to She's Like The Wind, re-record some other classics -- Take My Breath Away by Berlin and Hold Me Now by the Thompson Twins. I'm a genius.

Jake insults me with such finesse that it's impossible to hate him.

Via my voicemail: "Where are you?! You know, you're never gonna get a green card if immigration doesn't know where you are!"

Me: Yeah, I'll be in West Palm until the 2nd. I'm helping my sister pack up and move to Gainesville and Mom wants to spend some quality time with us.
Jake: What the hell is this? The brown Brady Bunch?

Friendship! It's not always about discussing feelings and being nice to one another. A real friend will make fun of you because you're an immigrant. Rock on.

Bear in a hat! Bear in a hat! The Best Friend bought me this hat. It's my new drinkin'/gamin' hat. I ♥ it, the bear and the Best Friend.

World Cup 2006: England v Sweden

Michael Owen's knee buckled on him a few minutes into the match. He was carried away on a stretcher.

I hope he's alright. We need him. It's just not the same team without him. I'm thinking good thoughts for you, O. We all are.

Joe Cole - I love you. I really do. You're a wonderful man and should be celebrated with the adding of beer to beer. Your goal was spectacular. More of those in the second half, please.

Edit -- 4:59 p.m.:

The final score at fulltime:

England: 2
Sweden: 2

Damn you, Swedes. You think you're so great with your economical furniture, your ABBA, your smörgåsbords and the fact that we can never beat you in football.

I'm still worried about Owen [please be ok], I love the fact that Rooney was so pissed off about being taken out [I'm a firm believer that you need piss and vinegar to be a good player] and I love Joe Cole's fancy footwork. It's a delight to watch [Kudos on garnering the Man of the Match honors!].

Time to scrub off the facepaint.

This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime...

I finally read The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. It was quiet and beautiful. Kind of like driving on a deserted country road on a warm summer afternoon.

It brings up the age-old question -- is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Four days of poetry, passion and being with someone who loves you in the purest sense of the word or not even knowing such a person even existed because four days in the span of a lifetime is the briefest blink of an eye.

It also raises the question of what would you do if confronted with his person? Would you run away and live the wild, passionate life you always dreamed of or would you do the 'right thing' and sacrifice your dreams for the well-being of your family.

If you did the 'right thing,' there'd be a little part of you that died. However, if you ran away, you'd be shattering the lives of three other people [in the book, Francesca was married with two children].

No matter what you do, you just can't win. It reminds me of a Chris Isaak lyric -- "This world will only break your heart."

I'm an idiot. I really am. I have all these brainless, baseless biases and I let them dictate my life. I didn't want to read this book because I thought it was chick lit -- maudlin and syrupy. The script to a chick flick and nothing more. I couldn't have been more wrong and I should have seen it. I mean, seriously -- would Clint Eastwood really direct a chick flick? Of course not!

I did the same thing with The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy. I was assigned to read it for a contemporary lit class and I complained. I moaned and groaned and pouted and refused to read anything with any connection to Barbra Streisand until my professor, Brennan Enos [great man who I need to look up, one of these days] told me to just shut up and read the damn book. I'm glad I did. It's funny, shocking, intricate and well-written.

I should live more and be less biased. I think I'm missing out by letting these ignorant ideas color my perceptions.

Now Hear This:

• Eanie Meany -- Jim Noir
• Earthquakes and Sharks -- Brandtson
• You Got Me All Wrong -- [Dios] Malos
• Mas Que Nada -- Tamba Trio

Won't you let me live, Marge?! Won't you please let me live?!

I am wearing a pink cashmere poncho. I am invincible.

Jesus Christ, why is it so expensive to travel in this country? A weekend jaunt to New York City would financially cripple me...and this is if I were staying in a cardboard box at Grand Central Station. The U.S. needs to establish a system like they have in Europe. More cheapie hostels and more no-frills, bargain-basement airlines like Ryan Air. Just looking at that website makes me want to weep. Free flights?! That's amazing. If I lived in London, I'd fly to Rome for breakfast and think nothing of it. "Hey man, what did you do today?" "I had breakfast in front of the Colosseum." How cool would it be to say that?

God, I want to travel. Oh God, I so desperately want to see the world. Hell, it doesn't even have to be the world. Let's start with the country. There are so many amazing things in the U.S. alone that I would love to experience.

I want to camp at the Grand Canyon. I want to see the Hollywood sign in person. I want to walk on the Golden Gate Bridge. I want to go shopping with Missy in New York City. I want to visit the Experience Music Project in Seattle. I want to pay my respects to Stevie Ray Vaughan in Austin. I want to listen to dirty-sweet blues music on Beale Street. I want to wear a Dolphins jersey in Boston, walk into a bar and scream, "The Pats suck! Vinatieri's the only smart one!" [Granted, this would probably result in me getting my ass kicked, but hey -- the truth hurts and the Best Friend would totally back me up]. I want to visit the ArtStar Gallery in Philly and see the Liberty Bell and Love Park. I want to drink Jack in Kentucky and eat deep-dish pizza in Chicago. I want no recollection of Vegas, only photographs.

I want to take a million pictures. I want to laugh out loud. I want to marvel at the world around me and I want to see it all.

You know I live for the day/When you say/"Baby, let's just run away..." -- Learning How To Smile. Everclear.

Dub Tee Eff...?

In response to the Italy v. USA game:


One more eye, Ref, and you'd be a Cyclops. You're already a biased assbag, so it would make a pretty interesting combination.

Come on, Team USA! Don't let the Ities get you down!

That's nice...That's nice.

Sparky [after getting off the phone with our aunt]: I think she thinks I'm retarded.
Mom: No, you're not retarded, Saya.

This was about as close to a compliment my Mom gets to.

Nice. That's nice....and I'm being serious.

Britney on Dateline

No, Barbie. You look like a prostitute that caters exclusively to clowns.

I have no sympathy for Spears whatsoever. If anything, this interview further established just how achingly stupid the woman is. Seeing her cry on Dateline didn't evoke sympathy, but rather infuriated me. Instead of appearing on national television and crying, she needs to reevaulate her life.

If you're going to carry your child in your arms, don't wear heels and make sure your pants aren't trailing on the floor. Cobblestone streets, Brit? Come on. It's New York City, not Colonial Williamsburg!

Your child should not, under any circumstances, be seated on your lap when you're driving. Especially if the paparazzi are pursuing you. All it takes is one small tap for the airbag to deploy and that would be a tragedy. One that could have very easily been prevented. Reese Witherspoon, Gwen Stefani and Katie Holmes have all gone through very public pregnancies and haven't made the gaffes she has. There's simply no excuse.

Tell your goddamn husband to get his ass out of the casinos and bars and look after his fuckin' kids...like a real man is supposed to. You might also want to see about getting him neutered. He's got way too many kids already.

According to Spears, she believes in karma. So, pursuing a relationship with a man who left his pregnant girlfriend? No, it won't affect her at all because they're in love. Well, isn't that just peachy. See -- love negates karmic law. It also negates intelligence, apparently. As someone raised with karma has part of her religious doctrine, this just annoys the hell out of me.

And for the love of God -- comb your hair and wash your damn face! This has nothing to do with your maternal ability, your relationship with K-Fed, the fact that you're constantly being pursued by the paparazzi or the fact that you're "country." It's basic human hygiene. Soap, Britney. Lots and lots of soap.

In Other News:

• Damn you, Argentina! 6-nil?! What the hell's all that about?! Damn Argies....God, I hate them. I will never forgive them for the 'Hand of God' atrocity.
• Football can change the world. Don't believe me? Ask anyone from the Ivory Coast.
• Put food in me for I am hungry.

Gol! Gol! Gol!

England: 2
Trinidad & Tobago: 0

It was nice to see Rooney finally get on the pitch and John Terry is now England's national savior.

Still -- we can't continue like this. We're gonna get trampled if we do. I also didn't appreciate going into cardiac arrest like, twenty times within the span of 90 minutes, but we pulled it off.

Step it up, boys. Play like it's 1966 and bring it on home.

My sister is the coolest person ever. I can't wait to watch football with her.

Pudding. What are we not doing?!

The Best Friend and I just had a 10-minute long discussion about the merits of pudding.

The Best Friend: Pudding's great. You can do so much with it. You can eat it alone. You can put it in a cake. You can put it in a pie. You can have sex with it.
Me: I'm pretty sure you can't have sex with pudding.
The Best Friend: You totally can. In American Pie, that dude had sex with a pie.
Me: Yeah, but pudding's different. Different dessert, different rules.
The Best Friend: You could use it in foreplay.
Me: You could, but then invariably, there'd always be some dude who was more interested in pudding than the woman. It would be like, "Get off the bed, baby! You're taking up valuable pudding room!"

Greg Behrendt's got this great bit about it. He talks about working for the Pudding Board of America and incorporating the slogan, "Pudding. What are we not doing?"

It is truly spectacular.

Back to Dub P tomorrow afternoon. I'm making a mix to listen to on the way down. So far, I've got:

• She Talks To Angels [Acoustic] -- The Black Crowes
• All-Day Love Affair -- Cee-Lo
• Nessun Dorma -- Luciano Pavarotti [in honor of the Three Lions]
• Bossy -- Kelis feat. Too Short
• Best Thing You Never Had -- Butch Walker [♥ download it now]
• Go -- Common feat. John Mayer

Speaking of Common, I was watching this special on VH1 called Hip Hop Videos: Sexploitation on the Set and it [like entirely too many things these days] made me angry.

Karrine Steffans is a former 'video girl' and wrote a tell-all book about her experiences in the industry. It's hip-hop McCarthyism -- Steffans calls rappers out and makes some serious accusations. She claims she wrote the book because she wants to warn other impressionable young women, but personally, I think this is just a sensational and scandalous way of making damn sure she gets her fifteen minutes.

I mean, seriously. Look at what you're getting yourself into. Have you ever even seen a hip-hop video?! Did you seriously think that sex wouldn't be a major part of the industry? Yes, there should be standards and morals and ethics and all these wonderfully abstract concepts, but come on. Even I'm not that naive and I was raised in the suburbs my whole life.

Another thing that annoyed me about this special was when some douchebag with a camera [calling him a director insults us both] tried to defend laschivious content in hip hop videos by complaining that society was biased against hip hop. According to him, rock videos feature beautiful women as well and aren't castigated nearly as much as hip-hop videos.

Hey Jackhole -- that's because women in rock videos usually wear more than thongs and don't have a posse of meatheads pouring Cristal over their scantily-clad bodies.

This is why I appreciate real hip hop. I don't claim to be a hip-hop head by any small stretch of the imagination, but I do have a genuine love and appreciation for the artform. When it's socially poignant, when it's intelligent, incisive and inventive, when it's a lyrical first kiss and sucker punch to the back of the head. That's when it's real.

When it's bling, bitches and blunts? Yeah...not so much. Don't get me wrong. I dig the boom-boom-squiggy-squiggy beats of Mr. Lil' Jon and the Big Tymers, but given a choice -- I'd much rather listen to Extended F@mm, Talib Kweli and Common. Better beats, much better lyrical content and razor-sharp linguistic gymnastics. As a music junkie, I love it and a writer, it leaves me floored.

♥ Current Infatuations:

• Come Back To Bed by John Mayer. This dude gets so much unnecessary stick. Not only is he an amazing guitarist, but he has a column in Esquire magazine. Where's your column in Esquire, asshat from Fallout Boy? In fact, where's your musical talent? Anyway, Come Back To Bed is currently in heavy rotation on my iTunes. The line, "Don't hold your love over my head" has been resonating with me as of late and not for the reasons you might think.
• St. Ives Makeup Remover and Facial Cleanser. It doesn't make my skin angry, which is more than can be said for crunchy peanut butter, bar soap, most lotions and excessive sunlight. Two thumbs up.
  
• Matthew Lawrence which only proves that I need to stop watching Boy Meets World reruns.
  
• Mangoes. The raw, sour ones. Nothing more perfect or reminiscent of summertime.
  

So much random rambling. I should probably sleep now.

Late night puddle of consciousness

Late night and Something Corporate on repeat mode. This can't be a good sign. I ruminate entirely too much when listening to SoCo late at night...and then, I use words like 'ruminate.' Emoemoemoemo. Lame. I wish my lawn was emo so it would cut itself.
You know what a lousy combination is? Baja Blast Mountain Dew and tequila. A lousy combination. Unlike amaretto and sour mix which is definitely the "up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a" of booze.
Tequila Dew makes my heart go fluttering like some sort of drunken hummingbird. I'm not a lush, I swear...but that's exactly what a lush would say, isn't it?
I need to read more. That, not donkey-punches to the liver, would make me a better writer. I should read Faulkner. I should read Garcia Marquez and Lahiri and Alexie and Neruda and Salinger.
Things that inspire and ignite. I want my words to sound good. I want my words to taste good. I want my words to feel good. I want them to sting and tingle like habaneros. I want them to pucker and flick like lime. I want them to burn like salt and I want them to melt and soothe like honey.
I just wanna write. Me and Talib Kweli. We got that in Common.

He who made kittens also made snakes in the grass

While the rest of the world has been glued to World Cup action, I rallied behind what many refer to as a pseudo-sport. While dragon chasers spent hours in opium dens, wrestling fans congregate in sports bars and that's exactly where I spent last night -- at Hooters, drinking beer and watching men annihilate each other with barbed-wire covered baseball bats. Ahhhh, pro-wrestling. You fill a void little else can.

It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.

You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.

Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.

Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.

The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.

One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].

According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:

• Ow.
• Why am I up before the sun is? 5:00 a.m. is not an acceptable wake-up call, sober or hungover.
• At some point during the night, I realized that I was cold, so I woke up, put on pajama pants and went back to bed. Then, I guess I felt hot, so I went to the bathroom, took off the pants, folded them and left them on the counter. I have no recollection of this, but I'm assuming this is how it went down.
  
• Last night, I visualized an entire episode of Wings while dreaming. Start to finish, credits and all. Best half-hour of television ever. I should have been a writer for that show.
• My phone should be taken away from me after consumption of any alcoholic beverage. I remember calling Missy and her answering with, "Are you drunk?" That kinda made my night.
• Seriously, ow.

Mozilla Firefox owns me, you should download Zeppelin's Fool in the Rain now, this proves that magazines/videos/TV/movies are not real and finally, idiot tourists -- It's just rain. There's no reason to pack up and move. There's no reason to panic. This is not Katrina II: The Bitch Is Back. It's merely a tropical storm. A little lightning, some thunder and lots of much-needed rain. Calm down.

I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."

I'm slipping into the airwaves...

Whoa.

I love Anderson Cooper's blog. I like Anderson Cooper, actually. Not because he's dreamy and intelligent [although, it does add to his appeal], but because I think he's helping restore the tarnished image of the modern journalist. He's trustworthy and honest and we need that now.

Cooper's blog, much like the Huffington Post Blog, is well-written and thought-provoking. What gets me about Cooper's blog, though -- is how so few answered the question at hand. The direction was, "How do you prove Jesus existed?" not "Please use this space to unleash your moral outrage."

Personally, I'm ambivalent. I haven't done enough theological and historical research to go shooting my mouth off and when it comes to a topic like this, one should be educated.

There are two kinds of people I abhor in this world -- people who read one article and suddenly, become experts and people who debate based on emotion. They only see the world from an intensely myopic point of view, ignore any contradictory evidence to whatever it is that they believe and make their point by shouting, demeaning and emotionally blackmailing. I hate that and unfortunately, I'm suckered into those kinds of debates more often than not as opposed to the healthy, passionate kind where you both walk away a little smarter and with the sense that you kind of accomplished something.

An open letter to Kate Spade

Dear Miss Spade:

This might seem a bit forward, but I love you. I really do. You make such beautiful things. You're not pretentious, ugly and omnipresent like Louis Vuitton or mundane like Coach. You're just fabulous -- simple, pretty and classy. I have fallen head-swimmingly in love with:

One day, I plan to own both of these gorgeous pieces and take them everywhere I go. They will be my little leather children.
Until that day, though [when I can justify spending $300+ on a bag or when I meet someone who loves me $300 worth], I'll lust quietly to myself.

Lots of love:

Jaime xo

In other news:

• Congratulations to Germany on their victory today. Nice one, lads. England v. Paraguay tomorrow. Gotta make sure I set my alarm for that one. My sister put it best -- "God supports the three lions." Check out her blog as it is a far more intelligent and in-depth account of FIFA news than mine.
• David LaChappelle's photography is love set on fire. I plan to have at least one of his prints framed and displayed in my home. I swear, those prints buzz like neon.
• I spent three minutes fellating a bottle over the sink today. Lesson learned: Don't put a carbonated beverage in the freezer and attempt to open it five hours later. There will be repercussions.
• I saw a Jack's Mannequin video on VH1 today. I was pleasantly surprised. One -- I didn't expect to see Jack's Mannequin videos on TV [actually, I'm amazed that they show music videos on TV period] and two -- the video's actually quite good. I love the band, so you should check them out, download: The Mixtape and Into The Airwaves and support Project Flip Flop.

I am off. I need to catch some zzz's if I'm going to be up at 8:30 tomorrow cheering my boys.

And we all like Vindaloo...

This is my sister. Alright...not really, but on June 10, it might as well be.

Sven-Goran Eriksson reminds me of Lott.
David Beckham needs to spend less time on his hair. When people have to invent a new subsect of sexuality because of you -- you're spending too much time in front of the damn mirror.
Fat Les -- you're a right bastard.

In non-FIFA related news:

• I'm still sick :/My throat's all scratchy, I can't swallow, my sneezes might be causing tremors on the Eastern seaboard and I look like a hobo....or a severely cracked out Whitney Houston. Take your pick. My immune system is a big girl's blouse.
• Today will be spent arranging and rearranging my iTunes, making playlists and mix CDs. You know how in High Fidelity, Rob found rearranging his record collection reassuring? I'm the same way. It's totally not lame.
• Things that are good: mashed potatoes, Forever Young by Youth Group and reruns of Wings on TV Land.
  

Dude, what's your blog?

More links than you can shake a stick at.

• My sister has entered the blogosphere. She listens to cooler music, reads cooler books and can grate cheese like nobody's business, so check out her blog.
• I'm sick. This week started off with a rash. What caused the rash? Sunburn coupled with a bacterial infection coupled with eczema due to my hyperthyroidism. Then, I caught the cold that both Mom and the Asian had. Sore throat? Check. Stuffy head? Check. Coughing fits? Check. Lethargy? Check. I'm a walking medical punching bag.
• Want. Want. Want. Want. Want. Please?
  
• I've been listening to a lot of Greg Behrendt's stand-up lately. Not only is he hysterical, but he's the world's most rockin' 42-year-old, he was a consultant for Sex and the City and he's written a pretty cool book. Check him out. I'm sure you'll dig it.
  
• Ramen noodles suck. A lot. How does the FDA consider this food? They cost $0.13 for a pack, they cook in two minutes and three minutes after that -- they're this mushy, inedible mess you wouldn't feed to a raccoon. In addition to that, their so-called 'flavor' packets make up your yearly recommended allowance of sodium. When it comes to cheap noodle-esque food wars [they were underpublicized due to the Cola Wars...and Vietnam] -- Pot Noodle is the reigning champ. Too bad it's only available across the pond.
  
• Speaking of food only available across the pond -- I want to try a Vegemite sandwich. Why? Because Men at Work sing about it and that damn song has been stuck in my head all week. Has anyone tried one of these things? How was it? I'm intrigued.
  
• Download: Mixtape and The Best Thing You Never Had by Butch Walker. He used to front The Marvelous 3 [remember them from a few years ago? They had a hit with Freak of the Week] and now, he's branched out on his own. Good stuff.
  
• And finally -- I thought I went to a ghetto high school....