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....
  

All for one and none for me

Someone ate my frozen Three Musketeers bar.

Heads will roll, I say. Heads will roll.

This is the guy behind the guy behind the guy.

Swingers is one of my favorite movies -- solid all the way around. Good plot, pacing and cinematography. Excellent and realistic dialogue. Good character development, a killer soundtrack, high quotability and Ron Livingston [shut up -- I have a little jones]
Love it.

Searching for 'Swingers Movie' images on Yahoo!, however? Not so much. A girl shouldn't be confronted with that many penii all at once. It's startling.

Anyway, I'm re-watching the movie and I came to a couple of conclusions:

• Women are exponentially hotter now than they were back in 1996. Granted, there's that weird clone thing going on where a good majority of them have orange 'Oompa Loompa' skin, fake breasts and cocaine nosejobs, but they're still hotter.
• Smoking a cigar can make any putz look cool. Don't listen to your mom and dad, kids. Smoking is cool.
• Ditto booze. Just make sure you order something cool like a Whiskey Sour and not, say...an Appletini.
• Things have changed since '96. Now, most men wanna roll business-class [which is fine by me 'cause little brown girls are often draggin' a wagon].
  
• Post-adolescent dating is tough.

See, in high school -- it's a piece of cake. A little algebra, a little feelski behind the bleachers, a break-up punctuated by banal and depressing music and you're onto the next suitor.

Post high-school? It's like trying to find sense in Britney Spears' marriage -- damn near impossible [Why K-Fed?! I mean, even if he's hung like a whale -- he looks like a herpes ranch].

One of the reasons post-adolescent dating is so complicated is due to sex. After high school, sex becomes way more prevalent. It's a lot easier to bring someone home when you don't have to worry about sneaking them past your mom's bedroom. Besides, people are more willing to sleep with someone who doesn't have a retainer. That's a fact, you know. It's been proven by scienticians.

Another reason high school dating is considerably easier than post-adolescent dating is because the words, "Where is this going?" rarely come up. In high school, if you and your significant other make it to homecoming, you've become the golden couple of your high school -- a teenage Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee [What? You try naming a couple who've been together as long as they have]. Although some may have those fluffy fantasies that they're going to be with their BF 4-EVA and get married and live the happily ever after -- most of us are smart enough to realize that this is definitely not the case.

Dating after the legal drinking age is kind of like....well, remember in Peter Pan, how you could tell the proximity of the crocodile based on the volume of the ticking clock? Yeah...it's kind of like that. The louder the sound, the closer the danger. The future gets closer.

You know what I want to do? Go on a date. Like a real, legitimate actual date. Where you dress up and the guy picks you up and he brings flowers. You go out to eat and he opens doors and pulls out chairs. You make that awkward conversation at first, but then, kinda ease into a groove. He pays for dinner and he drops you off at your door and wants a goodnight kiss, but doesn't expect it.

That's it. Nothing spectacular. Just your boiler-plate date. Simple, right? Well, as simple as it is -- I've never done it.

That's actually a lie. Every now and then, I'll drag the Best Friend out on one of those expeditions, but that doesn't count because A) a real date doesn't have to be Shanghai'd/cajoled into it and B) I can make awkward first-date conversation for about three minutes before I launch into some story about how I saw a dude at the bank who looked just like Rowdy Roddy Piper.

Does anyone even do this anymore or has it been replaced with the 'group hang' or, for the more promiscuous, sex?

In other news:

• Today consists of nothing more than a Laguna Beach marathon and iced decaf mochas. Team LC all the way.
• Back to Orlando tomorrow. I can't wait to hit up the gym, the pool and have access to my music library again.
• The laptop might just be the greatest invention ever. I am in love with my sister's laptop -- it's got a big screen, it's practically weight-less and I love the fact that I can blog and watch Laguna Beach at the same time.
• I need a pair of super comfy yoga pants and new tank tops. I think I'm gonna have to spend some quality time at Forever XXI.

Congratulations to my sister and the class of 2006.

Love/Hate letter to Fox Broadcasting

Dear Fox:

We've got a tumultuous relationship. You beat me black and blue and break my heart [Get Real, Greg The Bunny, Arrested Development and Tru Calling], but then, you make it up to me, promising you'll never do it again.
I know you're a liar [Party of Five] but like a sucker -- I keep running back to you. That being said, I'll be back in your arms this fall thanks to this.



You could have bought me flowers. You could have written me a love letter, but instead -- you're giving me a full hour of Ron Livingston on Tuesday nights.
Baby, all is forgiven. Seriously.

However, if you cancel this show for reruns of So, You Think You Can Cross-Stitch or some other equally insipid reality show, I'll be forced to toss all your possessions out of the window and set your car on fire. Capisce?

See you in September.

Love:

Jaime xo

P.S: Hook a sister up. You know this boy like some caramel in his milk.

Congratulations Dana & Steve!

Congratulations to Dana and Steve on their engagement. I can't envision two people more perfect for one another.

Here's to your happily-ever-after.

Love you both and concerning the wedding? Two words: open bar :)

Your shadow weighs a ton

So, I knew it was coming, but still, I am shocked. It seemed somewhat....thrown together? In all honesty, I expected her to get into a knock-down drag-out fight with Julie and overdose on coke. It would have made more sense considering Marissa's addictive personality. I really liked the interspersing of images from the first season. Ryan carrying Marissa from the wreck coupled with the image of him carrying her in Mexico was just beautiful. Good cinematography.

However, night-time soaps are pretty sneaky, sis. Especially the ones on Fox. Remember Melrose Place when Kimberly came back with those insane stitches on her head? Who the hell could have ever predicted that?! The ending was left pretty ambiguous and Marissa might have lapsed into a coma, for all we know.

Either way, I can't wait for next season when Ryan hunts down Volchok. He's sexy when he's mad and beating someone to a bloody pulp. He's also sexy when he's happy, brooding, talking, eating and basically, displaying any sort of basic motor function. In addition to Ben McKenzie's remarkable ability to ignite my libido, I also appreciated:

+ Seth and Summer are cuter than a puppy snuggling with a bunny rabbit. Playing in a box together only furthered this notion.
+ Ryan calling Summer a, 'biatch.' I haven't heard that word in forever.
+ The music. This show is definitely ahead of the curve, sonically and has introduced me to so much good music [Rogue Wave, for example. Love them]. Love-love-love Kelis and if Mini Cooper's addition to the show means mo' betta hip-hop, I won't mind it so much.

Despite criticisms that the show has jumped the shark, I'm still emotionally invested. That being the case -- if Josh Schwartz ever wants to hire another ethnic love interest for Ryan ['cause we all know that boy likes a little caramel in his milk], I'm free. Just sayin'.

P.S. -- To the person/people who have been leaving really sweet anonymous comments, thanks :)

Child-proof is pretty much synonymous with idiot-proof

Child-proof cap: 1
Jaime: 0

The battle rages on...

You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby

Smoldering summer nights where the air wraps around you like a thick blanket are best spent driving.

Open windows, backroads and music. Sometimes, you have to get lost to find yourself.

It's easy to forget who you are and get lost in the parts of your sum. You become fractured and fragmented -- like shards of shattered glass, you reflect tiny pieces and not the whole image.
You become the girlfriend, the boyfriend, the employee, the student, the roommate, the friend, the ex, the daughter, the son, the father....all of these things that are part of you, but don't fully define you.

I don't go looking for myself. Half the time, I don't even know I'm lost due to all the static in my head -- stupid, celebrity gossip, songs I want to download, inane trivia, namesdatesplacestimes, questions I want to ask, information I need to Wiki [despite public opinion, porn, Chuck Norris facts and the O Rly Owl aren't the best thing to spring from the web -- information is], words I want to write and wish I wrote...

I seem to end up finding myself when I least expect it. Like discovering $20 in a jacket you forgot you loved.

It's easy to get lost, but luckily for me, it's also easy to be found.

A few more miles on the odometer, a couple of yellow lights to make wishes under and honeyed guitar strings to guide me back home.

In other news:

• Dan made me the most amazing mix CD. Citizen Cope, The Stones, Zeppelin, Everclear [♥], Radiohead, The Faces. It's one of those rare, stellar mixes that you listen to and love every song. So, not only does Dan have the best taste in movies, but he also has the best taste in music. I might just have to make out with him.
• Speaking of music, I've had Panic! At The Disco's I Write Sins, Not Tragedies stuck in my head for three days now.
• I saw the coolest thing on MTV and am having the hardest time trying to convince myself that it wasn't a dream. It was like Video DJing where one clip effortlessly melted into another. The Killers' All These Things I've Done morphed into Friday, I'm In Love by The Cure. It was awesome and I really hope MTV brings good music back to TV. If I have to see one more show about some silly sixteen-year-old dyeing her poodles pink, I'm gonna beat the girl to death with an imitation Louis Vuitton.
• I totally lied. Chuck Norris Facts is indeed, the greatest invention ever. My favorite ones are, "Chuck Norris can hit you so hard that he can actually alter your DNA. Decades from now your descendants will occasionally clutch their heads and yell, 'What The Hell was That?'" and "When Chuck Norris works out at Total Gym, Total Gym feels like its been raped."
• I'm thisclose to having a stroke. Seriously -- any more agitation today and a blood vessel is gonna pop.

That, my friends, is one nerdy honky

Dorky white guys of the world, rejoice! Your time has finally come. Though you were once castigated for your love of comic books and/or video games and your inability to play sports, this is now, nothing more than a fleeting, shadowy memory.
First it was the designer purse. Then, the runty anklebiter and now? You are just not cool unless you have a dorky white guy hanging from your arm.
Case in point -- Christina Aguilera, Christine Taylor and Rachel Bilson. All are exponentially hotter than their significant others.

Dorky is the new sexy.....as long as you don't launch into tirades about D&D. The kind of girls you want to date aren't impressed with the fact that you're a dungeon master. Trust me on this one.

I was talking to the best friend about this and he said excessive gaming leads to incredible dexterity of the digits and well...you can fill in the blanks.

Speaking of, how did Adam Brody become the breakout sex symbol of The O.C.? Especially over Ben McKenzie? I would defile Ben McKenzie in ways I'm almost ashamed to admit. Adam Brody? I'd probably just kick his ass in Mario Kart.

In other news:

Lots of travelling lately -- I was in the Bahamas on the 5th [pictures to come soon], I'm going back to Orlando on the 15th, Camping with the Crew in Ocala on the 20th, West Palm on the 21st for Sparky's graduation and then, maybe a week in San Jose, California. I think I'm going to need a bigger memory card for my camera.

Darth Smashy. Even though I hate it when people dress up their dogs, this is just awesome.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers video for Dani California is amazing. If anyone can cover sixty years of rock history, it's definitely the Chili Peppers. Question for the masses: How come the Chili Peppers aren't played on classic rock radio and REM is? Both released their debut albums in 1983. My obsession with rock minutae is sad, impressive and a little unnerving.

Question for the masses: How old do you have to be before your life starts feeling like it belongs to you?

You're a much better parent - no borders, no limits, oh go ahead, touch the Cornballer...

I'm spending quality time with the family in West Palm until about next week. In addition to hanging out with the family, my life has consisted of the following:

Books: Without sounding like Vince's completely metally-deficient, yoga instructor girlfriend in Entourage, I finally got around to reading the last Harry Potter book. I was surprised by the fact that I liked it. Well-written with numerous references to literature, philosophy, mythology, history and religion. Pretty heavy stuff for a children's book. I also re-read Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal and Kick Me: Adventure in Adolescence by Paul Feig [of Freaks and Geeks fame]. Both were uproariously funny and actually made me laugh out loud. Always the sign of a good read.

Movies: The 40-Year Old Virgin is hands-down one of my favorite movies and a rarity that gets better with repeated viewings. I rate comedies by quotability. The more you find yourself repeating lines from the movie, the funnier it is. Much like Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, The 40-Year-Old Virgin is one of those movies you can quote in any given situation. I've been spouting the, "You know how I know you're gay...?" dialogue for days now.
Another fantastic movie I got a chance to re-watch this past week was Oliver Stone's JFK. Now, I know that Stone likes to attract controversy and you can't take the movie too seriously and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, but it's a damn good film and one that makes you think. So, was there a conspiracy to assassinate JFK? There's too much damning evidence to believe otherwise. If you want to read something truly eye-opening, track down anything Bob Harris has said on the topic. He's been researching the assassination for some time and knows his stuff.

Panini: One of the greatest things my dad ever invested in was a panini press. Technically, it's a glorified grilled-cheese sandwich, but as far as I'm concerned -- it's manna from the heavens.

Illegal Immigration: Numerous debates about this have already raised my blood pressure immensely, so all I'm going to say is that sometimes, the Republicans really know what they're talking about.

The Dangers of the Internet: Although I have one and use it constantly, I abhor MySpace. Not only has it contributed to the complete annihilation of the English language [Why in God's name do people replace 'y' with 'ii'? It makes no sense! Not only is it more work, but it looks asinine], but it is a stalker search-engine. Especially when you consider just how much information can be extracted from a MySpace page. Five minutes and you have a name, a school address and a photograph. That's scary stuff.
I was watching a Dateline report about this last night and it freaked me out. Men would actually drive hundreds of miles, condoms in pocket, to meet up with what they believed were teenagers. All of them denied anticipating sexual relations, but who wouldn't when confronted with Chris Hansen and a camera crew? Not surprisingly, the deviants from Florida were the worst. One even brought along his five-year-old son! What do you expect from the U.S's most phallic-shaped state?

Boy Meets World: Did anyone else know that Shawn's real mom was a stripper and not Verna? Shocking.