Happy Birthday!

Happy 19th birthday to my sister! I hope you have an amazing birthday in which you eat delicious food, rock out to the musical stylings of a Mr. Billy Joel and shank Whitey for keeping you down all the time.

Are you the kid from Chino who steals cars and sets people's houses on fire?

Oh no!

"Last week, Robinson was at work shooting episode 11 of the new season of the struggling Fox teen drama, "The O.C." His last day for "The O.C." is Wednesday. Crewmembers learned this month that the network decided not to continue the series after these episodes run out in 2007."

What am I going to do on Thursday nights now? Who am I going to ogle instead of Ben McKenzie? McDreamy? Gil Grissom? Joe Scarborough?!

Why, Fox? Why must you snatch away everything dear to me? Greg the Bunny, Tru Calling, Arrested Development, Get Real, Party of Five, Kitchen Confidential -- all chopped by some idiot programming exec. Hmm...I wonder what it takes to be a programming executive, anyway? I mean, besides being completely heartless and partially lobotomized?

I'm gonna have to find something else to do with my Thursday nights now. Any recommendations?

I'll have the soup. What'll you have, King Louis?

Imagine a bullfrog puffing up. Yeah -- that's what my throat feels like right now.

I am sick thanks to a particularly virulent strain of Gainesville germs. See, if you live in a college town, you become acclimated to the various airborne diseases floating around. However, if exposed to the airborne diseases from another college down, those germs will carpet bomb your body and break you down.

I need tea. I need soup. I need Love Actually. Luckily, The Best Friend is bringing me tortilla soup from Qdoba and Love Actually from Blockbuster when he comes home from class. He's a good man.

Cinco Linkos: Five random blips you should check out.

• Uno -- airbrushing has become so standard in the media now that nobody looks like their photographs. Seeing as how I feel about as aestheically appealing as say, Britney Spears right now, I figured this link was more than apropos.
• Dos -- Keeping with the whole 'rape and pillage my childhood theme' [I've noticed that almost everything I ever loved as a child is now bad -- Hot Topic has ruined my favorite movies via mass merchandising, Bob Saget is now performing 'edgy' comedy (it's not so much edgy as it is profanity-laced and we all know I have no problems with dropping f-bombs)], check out Robot Chicken's take on Calvin and Hobbes.
• Tres -- Check out E!'s new show Starveillance. If for no other reason than to hear Tom Cruise say, "Incredible, tiny, goo-covered miracle. I love this baby! Whoo!"
• Cuatro -- I discovered this guy courtesy of The Boyfriend [who, Billy Joel fixation aside, has really good taste in music]. Check out Sideways and Teresa.
• Cinco -- Holiday scented goodies. I'm a sucker for anything that smells yummy. Although, I am a bit iffy about the peppermint.

Happy Thanksgiving

A somewhat incomplete list of things I am thankful for:

Reef flip-flops.
Alessandra Ambrosio.






















Verizon Wireless for keeping me in touch with the people I love the most.
Another Dolphins victory! [Miami: 27. Detroit: 10]
Every single Peyton Manning commercial.
The Boyfriend's Slimer impersonation.
The Boyfriend's kisses 'cause they make me dizzy, breathless and weak at the knees.
Actually, The Boyfriend period. He's an amazing guy ♥
The Black Crowes.
The guitar solo after Stevie Ray's verbal interlude in the live version of Life Without You.
Celebrity gossip.
Mom and Paps. They're not just good parents; they're good people.
Sparky because she gets stuff that no-one else does [Like the To Me, You are Perfect scene in Love Actually]
Coffee that doesn't cause Jack Bauer-esque donkey punches to the heart [read: decaf]
Really good extra virgin olive oil, bread and mozzarella.
The Travel Channel for bring Anthony Bourdain into my life.
Dana for saying stuff like, "It looks like the weight I lost in my ass went to her face!"
Tackle hugs from The Best Friend. They're crippletastic!
Dana Carvey's Critic's Choice special. Eight years later and I can still recite every last line.
Ron Livingston.






















Mascara.
The internet.
The happy noises Phoebe makes when I give her bellyrubs and 'scratchies.'
Movies based on comic books.
Cooking yummy food and sharing it with the people I love.
My flat iron.
YouTube.

Life is all about the little things. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. To anyone working retail tomorrow -- good luck!

Synonym for The Best Friend: Assbag.

This is my cell phone on the floor of my bathroom.
Why is it on the floor of my bathroom?

Because it started ringing while I was using the facilities and The Best Friend, in all his douchebaggery, sent it flying underneath the door and scared the piss out of me. Take that however you want.

















In other news -- I am a little caramel icicle. You can tell it's really damn cold because I've forsaken my beloved flip-flops for boots.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive a week in Philly come March. If anyone's got any advice for me -- I'd really appreciate it. Thanks guys!

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real

I have the cutest desktop ever.
I got it here [look for 'desktop frames']
You should get one too and show me yours 'cause sharing is caring.

That's three -- count it!

DOLPHINS: 24
VIKINGS: 20

Another win for the 'Fins! That's three since our bye -- Chicago, Kansas City and now, Minnesota.

Although the game wasn't televised at Lush Manor, I didn't miss a minute of the action thanks to The Best Friend's maniacal play-by-play via radio. If Florida experienced sub-zero temperatures, he'd be the shirtless, drunk dude with his body painted orange and teal.


In other NFL news:

Donovan McNabb tore his ACL and will be out for the rest of the season. It's a rough break for him, the team and Eagles fans. I actually really like McNabb as a QB -- he's a good, strong leader. Here's to a speedy recovery for McNabb.


In other random news:

+ Dear Gardenburger: I love you...and I think I'm turning into J. Wellington Wimpy.

+ Dear The Best Friend, The Boyfriend, The Crew and The Family: You are all going to gain weight this holiday season 'cause I'm gonna be baking like Betty Crocker on speed. I hope you guys like cookies and brownies 'cause that's what you're all getting.

And finally, this rocked my world. Hard.

Demons of Screamin'

Steven Tyler is 58. That's four years older than my dad.

Steven Tyler is four years older than my father and yet, I find myself looking at him and saying, "Damn, you're a good looking guy!"

It's the mouth. It's gotta be the mouth. Dirty, sweet and completely, maddeningly sexy. The music too. Aerosmith's live shows are pretty much religious experiences. I saw them with Kid Rock back in 2002 and it blew my mind. Best show of my life.

So, it's the mouth and the music and and the fact that Steven Tyler epitomizes the very essence of a rock star.

I love the mythos of the rock star. We need men like that -- men with divine devilry dancing at their fingertips, shamans who can raise the dead with their voices and lift spirits with their words. Men who can breathe life into the world. After all, what's a guitar? Just some wood, six strings and a couple of knobs. But, in the hands of these musical magicians, a guitar becomes animated -- a bucking, thrusting wild creature who moans, screams, weeps and howls like women wish they could.

When did the rock star die?

One can make the argument that it all changed with Nirvana. The opening chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit were the death knell for the rock star. Cobain wasn't a rock star. He became one, rather unwillingly. Both crucified and glorified by the media, but he himself was never a rock star. It just wasn't inside of him.

So, who is it inside and will we ever see it again? God, I hope so...

Cock, Rock and Hennessy

We need to put the cock back into rock. What is rock n' roll? Stripped down, it's a blues euphemism for having sex. Pop got dirrty, Snoop's making porns, Nelly's taking off all his clothes 'cause it's hot in herre and R&B's always been about sweet, sweet lovin' all night long, but rock? It's been made into a eunich!

No-one's squeezing lemons till the juice runs down their legs. No-one's screaming like Prince to Gett Off. No-one's singing about being the lord of the thighs and big ten inch....records. Enough of this pansy caterwauling, enough of the Prozac-inducing sobriety, enough of the aggression and the "Mommy didn't hug me enough as a kid" crap.

There's nu-metal which, let's face it, is nothing more than hyperaggressive, distorted shit. No sexuality there [and no kids, the Slipknot lyric -- "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" does not count]. Then, there's this whole rap-rock hybrid emerging from the murky sonic depths. Again kids -- Limp Bizkit's Nookie -- and while we're on the subject, why would a bunch of grown men want to associate their band with the word "limp" -- does not count. And emo? Don't even get me started on emo. As my kid sister says, "Better retarded than emo!".

Elvis sang, "Baby, let's play house". I don't think he was talking about holding tea parties.
James Brown got on up like a sex machine.
Aerosmith loved it up while they were going down.
Led Zeppelin had their spoon inside a jar at the candy rock store.
Hell, even the cutest boy band in the world, the Beatles were in on it -- "Please please me/Oh yeah/Like I please you." Sweet innocent veiling a far lustier message.

It's all gotten way too complex. For the love of God, just pick up, plug in, play some bastardized blues riffs and sing about men, women and sex. That's all you really need. Politics and protest songs are great. Ditto computers to enhance your sound, but someone, anyone -- strip down to the basics and make it happen! Anyone except Jack White of The White Stripes. You sir, are a raging douchetard and the fact that you consider Stevie Ray Vaughan a lesser guitarist proves that point.

Get it together, strip it down, crank it up and fuckin' A, just push play! There's a reason Elvis swivelled his hips, there's a reason Jim Morrison snaked around onstage in a pair of practically-painted-on leather pants and there's a reason Steven Tyler writes lyrics like "Pink like the bing on your cherry". It's rock, not rocket science and if it wasn't supposed to be about sex in the first place -- they never would have called it rock n' roll.

I believe with every breath I breathe

Annie Savoy: What do you believe in, then?
Crash Davis: Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Bull Durham. 1988.

It's a good question, Annie's question. One of those great seemingly simple questions that carry the weight of the world on their backs. One of those questions you can spend a whole week thinking about, I mean really thinking about, and never fully answer.

Crash's response is even better -- direct and completely honest. With the exception of the mention of the soul, there's no talk of theology, but rather a pastiche of the very essence of Crash.

That's what matters -- not the stuff you've been taught to believe. Not the things you've been indoctrinated with, but whatever you discovered of your own volition.

So, what do I believe?

Well, I too believe in the soul, but I also believe that music is truly greater than or equal to love. I believe in the guitar solo, real cherry Cokes made with grenadine and ridiculously impractical shoes. I believe in reciting every single line from your favorite movies, holding hands and that if you drive long enough with the windows down and the music loud -- it'll all make sense again. I believe in adding pepper to everything, in throwing your head back and laughing, that food tastes better when you share it and that flowers are a completely stupid gift. I believe there was a conspiracy to assassinate both JFK and RFK, that there is no greater pleasure than a pair of jeans straight out of the dryer on a cold day and that most writers are pretentious assholes. I believe in black and white photography, getting lost and finding yourself in big cities and a hero doesn't always have to wear a cape or stem from the imagination of Stan Lee.
And again, like Crash -- I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Enough about me, though -- what do you believe in?

Exit the Federjerk,

Britney Spears files for divorce.

Shock and awe, y'all.

Federline seems like a leeching toolbag and booting him out was probably the best thing that Spears could have done, both professionally and personally.

Seriously, though -- divorce is always tough and it's an especially lousy situation when there are kids involved.

Hopefully, the divorce proceedings will be civil and neither party will resort to low blows and public embarrassment. They already suffered enough of that during every episode of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic [zing!]

For more info, check out Pink is the New Blog. If there's a better celebrity gossip site online, I haven't found it.

And we're back in the game!

And at the end of the 4th:

Miami Dolphins: 31
Chicago Bears: 13



Oh....oh...what's that? Y'all hear that? It sounds like the Dolphins shutting down Chicago's chance at a perfect season again.

How sweet it is

Rockin' the suburbs

The Best Friend: Is it wrong that I identify with all these organized criminals?
Jaime: What do you mean you identify with them?
The Best Friend: Well, I can see why they did what they did to get ahead.
Jaime: Man, that's crap! Poverty doesn't justify criminal behavior. I'm poor. You're poor and you lived in a shitty neighborhood. You didn't kill people or sell dope. You're going to med school. You're gonna be a doctor.
The Best Friend: Hey man -- hustlin's hustlin.'
Jaime: Dude, you have got to stop listening to the hip hop.
The Best Friend: "The hip hop."
Jaime: Shut up.

Guess which one of us thinks Hootie and the Blowfish rocks? Yeah...