iShuffle, youShuffle -- we all shuffle

Inspired by the musicshuffle community on LiveJournal:

1. Whatchu Want? -- Nine: Will, in his ongoing effort to educate me in hip hop, put this track on one of the numerous mix CDs he made me and I quickly fell in love. The low thumping bassline accentuates Nine's rasping growl perfectly and I'm a sucker for the lyric: "Whutchu want, Nine? An ill posse and my name up in lights: N-I-N-E."

2. Closer To Free -- The Bodeans: Yeah, like this girl's not gonna have the Party of Five theme song on her iTunes. Every time I hear it, I get that great visual in my head of Charlie and Bailey being all manly and sanding down wood. And for the record, I still have a crush on Bailey Salinger. Oh and does America Ferrera (Ugly Betty) remind anyone else of Neve Campbell on solid foods?

vs.

See what I'm saying?

3. I Will Buy You A New Life -- Everclear: In high school, I was quite possibly, the world's biggest fan. My collection of Everclear memorabilia includes: all the albums, including a rare British import (75% of the signed in person), the tab book for So Much For The Afterglow (also signed in person), a bunch of snapshots of me and the band, a t-shirt far too large for my person, a collection of essays on the band, a guitar pick given to me by lead singer, Art Alexakis and an ankle that can predict rain (fractured the first time I saw the band live). These days -- the band's had some line-up changes and I haven't bought an album since 2000's Songs From An American Movie Volume 2: Good Time For A Bad Attitude, but I still love the band and listening to their "old stuff" makes me immeasurably happy.

4. Scuttle Buttin' -- Stevie Ray Vaughan: I fell in love with Vaughan and his guitar virtuosity freshman year of college and I've been in love ever since. His passion really shines through his playing and Scuttle Buttin' is filled with tasty licks. It's like barbecue sauce for the soul -- you sop it up and lick it off your fingers and damn, does it taste delicious.

5. Perfect World -- Liz Phair: "I wanna be cool, tall, vulnerable and luscious/I would have it all if I only had this much." Perfect World. Perfect lyric. I can definitely relate to that.

6. Try A Little Tenderness (Live) -- Otis Redding: The best advice any man could ever dispense -- try a little tenderness and, "you've got to hold huh! Don't squueeeze huh! Please huh! Never leave huh!" The live version supersedes the album recording (a feat in itself) and Redding sings like he's got the devil after him. Sonic perfection.

7. Gett Off -- Prince: Firstly, Prince's opening orgasmic scream immediately captures your attention and then, when the purple pygmy knows he has your attention, he bursts out with this little gem: "Twenty-three positions in a one night stand." And here's the best part, if anyone else said it, you'd call bullshit in a heartbeat, but because it's Prince, you just nod and say, "Yeah. I can see that..."

8. My Hero (Live) -- Foo Fighters: I'm adding Dave Grohl to the laminated list.



He sings, he writes alternately the prettiest and most kick-ass lyrics, he plays guitar, he sings, he's funny, he's got great taste in music, he's a friend to trapped miners, he plays drums and is basically just one of the most bad-ass guys ever. While pretty much every Foo Fighters song is my favorite, My Hero holds a special place in my heart. The drumming blows my away -- it's like Bonzo riding a herd of elephants through your central nervous system.

9. Back To The Future Main Theme -- Alan Silvestri: I'm getting married to this song. No, I'm not joking. After being officially announced as Mr. and Mrs., our recessional will be to the Back To The Future theme. That, ladies and gentlemen, is love.

10. Lacrimosa (Spiderman 2 trailer) -- Immediate Music: Ever seen a movie trailer, been wowed by the epic music featured and then, annoyed to discover that it's neither on the soundtrack or the score? Odds are Immediate Music was responsible for the piece. They're a music composition company based in Santa Monica, CA and have scored the trailers for everything ranging from Spiderman 2 to Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. And because I'm a huge nerd, I have their stuff on my iTunes.

That's my list -- what's yours?

Pushing Daisies

Three reasons I loved ABC's Pushing Daisies

1) The quirky, imaginative vibe -- a signature style of Bryan Fuller (the guy who did Fox's now-defunct Wonderfalls)
2) The writing -- clever and sweet without being cloying.
3) It made me want pie. So much so that I have decided today is Poltergeist-and-Pie Day (pizza pie + a revival of the Spielberg classic and then, I'm hunting down the best damn cherry pie Southeastern Pennsylvania has to offer*. Shame I don't live in Twin Peaks).

Anyway, the basic premise:

As a child, Ned discovers he has the ability to bring the deceased back to life with a touch of his hand. However, there are two caveats.

1) He can only keep the recently resurrected alive for a minute. Any longer than that and death claims another random victim in close proximity.
2) One touch brings 'em back to life and another one sends them back to the big sleep.

As an adult, Ned (now a pie-maker and owner of a joint called, what else, The Pie Hole) teams up with private investigator Emerson Cod and together, the duo solve unsolved murders (touch a stiff, find out who murdered him, touch him again and collect the reward money).

Things get a little more complicated when Ned resurrects his childhood crush, Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles. Instead of giving her the one-two touch, Ned lets Chuck live (there goes the funeral home director!) and the trio band together to solve murders (including Chuck's own).

A solid hour of television that I will definitely be revisiting next week.

*UPDATE: Apparently, cherry pie is a dish reserved for communists and assholes because no-one in a twenty mile radius serves it. A pie-less horizon looks pretty bleak, but Wawa sandwiches help numb the pain a little.

The Hills: What Happens In Vegas

Episode here and commentary below.

This week's episode of The Hills was rather festive. The ladies (sans Whitney, plus newcomer Jill) headed off to Vegas to celebrate Brody Jenner's birthday and Spencer and Heidi celebrated their one year anniversary. As much as I dislike the unholy hybrid that is Spencer+Heidi, I do like the fact that they have a local. I've gotta work on getting one of those with The Fiance. Anyone know any good places in West Chester? Let me know.

Anyway, onto the episode.

Heh. Spencer wants to give Heidi a facial. Yes, I am a 14-year-old boy -- thanks for asking. Alright, I've got that out of my system now. Moving on.

Justin-Bobby returns as surly as ever. Firstly, who takes a guitar on a plane without a carrying case and secondly, why does he insist on stealing Audrina's sunglasses?



Justin Bobby is one part Hollywood celebutante (note the pursed lips), one part Bono as The Fly and all parts filth-encrusted. Every time I see him, I just wanna toss a bar of Irish Spring his way and hose him down.

Is The Palms the only hotel in Vegas? MTV would certainly have you believe so.

Lo (after Lauren poses a shoe-related question): Just try 'em all on!

Oh, Lo! She's a girl after my own heart and one who fully understands the importance of shoes in a girl's life. It's this philosophy that had me tearing up and down stairs in four-inch heels on Sunday. Yes, I almost mangled my ankle (again), but dammit, I looked awesome. Two different people told me I had a Jackie O-esque vibe happening and if that isn't a compliment, I don't know what is.

You Look Like A Pratt!

Yes! The 'Bitch, I'mma Brain You' Face returns! We saw this gem of an expression when Heidi white-washed Spencer's gaudy mural and it returned in full force this week when Heidi had to cut their date short.



Pratt-Daddy looks like he's three seconds away from having fire leap from his eyeballs and melt all of Heidi's plastic bits and pieces. Awesome. Just awesome.

Not so awesome? Heidi saying, "I love you" and Pratt-Daddy responding, "No, you don't" in a tone flatter than Heidi's chest, pre-plastic surgery.

Speaking of which -- I can't believe Heidi would rather spend time with Spencer than work at the Emmy's. The girl's an idiot and doesn't deserve the job she has.

And on that note, score for Elodie!



Was it a bit of a childish move on Elodie's part? Yeah, but Heidi deserved it. She's got a job that thousands (myself included) covet and she doesn't seem remotely appreciative.

Not surprised by Lauren and Brody's kiss at all. Especially when you consider how palpable the sexual tension is between the pair. Although, I was a little confused as to whether he was kissing her or eating her face.



See what I mean? I once dated a guy who tried to suction out my molars every time we kissed. It was like being violated by a dentist. No fun at all.

Speaking of teeth, Audrina's passive-aggressive whining got to me like a dental drill. Take it from someone who's dated a Justin Bobby type -- cut your losses and move on. Trust me. You'll be much happier (and when did this blog go from pop culture commentary to a laundry list of the losers I've dated?)

Quote of the Week: Our defending champion, Lauren triumphs again this week with this classy little soundbyte: "I just saw Lo's Britney!" Classic. Just classic.

And while we're on the subject -- dear God, it's like watching a slow-motion car crash, isn't it? I have no pity for Spears, but I feel terrible for her kids. Ten years from now, they'll go online and not only see Mommy's 'Britney', but see a plethora of pictures including, but no limited to, Mommy falling down sloppy-drunk on numerous occasions, Bald Mommy attacking photographers with an umbrella and Mommy endangering their lives more than once.

Schadenfreude only goes so far. At this point, it's just sad.

The Hills: For Better Or Worse

You know the drill by now. Episode can be viewed here.

Another fairly mundane episode this week. Lauren learns that Jason is engaged, Spencer and Heidi make me reach for the Emetrol yet again and everyone drinks! (My tolerance to alcohol at this point is pathetic. After pickling my liver at The Best Friend's birthday bash in July, I haven't been able to stomach more than one drink, regardless of what it is.)

Drinking with rock stars always means doing more than one shot. I don't pal around with rock stars on a daily basis or anything, but I have read Hammer of the Gods enough times to realize that any rock star worth his salt is probably half-a-step away from being a full-fledged alcoholic.

The fact that Heidi doesn't get Spencer's impassivity to china and other registry items proves that she is woefully ignorant when it comes to the nuances of men. As a general rule, most heterosexual men do not get all a'flutter when confronted with place settings. You want to see men get really excited about something? Round up his boys and toss a Wii, a copy of Madden 2008 and a 24-pack of beer in the mix.

In regards to Jason and Katja's engagement -- dub? This was pretty much my reaction too.



Yeah.

Why would a girl with a future (Katja Decker-Sadowski is a national tennis champ) want to get her fingerprints all over that train wreck? I realize that women are attracted to bad boys, but there's 'Bad Boy' and then, there's lifetime liability...and guess which category Wahler falls into?

Why was everyone playing dress-up this episode? Heidi looked like a little girl who got a little too into her Bridal Barbie playset. And Whitney with that fedora and those oversized red-framed sunglasses? Yikes. No, honey. No. I realize vintage is very cool, but a smash-and-grab of the $0.50 table at Goodwill is never a good idea.



Quote of the Week: Again, our winner is Lauren for this little vocal gem: "I don't picture my engagement party to have a keg and a Bob Marley poster." If you are in possession of either, you're probably not old enough to be considering marriage or possibly even drinking legally. Oh yeah and odds are, you're also a massive toolbox.

And speaking of tools, it's time for another edition of You Look Like A Pratt!

=

This week, Pratt-Daddy unveiled, 'The Beavis' -- an insult to low-brow humor fans everywhere. The resemblance really is startling. Everything from the fluffy blond pompadour to those harpic white teeth.

And while we're on the subject, you know what kind of asshole is embarrassed to tell his folks that he's getting married? The same kind of asshole who would stage a faux engagement for a reality show.

Next week: Vegas, baby, Vegas! More Lo! More Brody! And our favorite hyphenate return -- oh, Justin-Bobby.

I am disgusted...

Do we really live in a country where a man is arrested for asking a question?

Should a man be dragged away, wrestled to the ground and tased for using up his "alloted time" at a public debate?

21-year-old Andrew Meyer, a communications major at the University of Florida, was arrested and repeatedly tased for asking Sen John Kerry (D-Mass.) questions regarding the 2004 election and Kerry's involvement in Yale's Skull and Bones secret society.

Meyer didn't yell 'Fire' in a crowded area. He didn't threaten Kerry nor anyone else. He just asked questions...and UFPD, being the power-tripping rent-a-cops they are, hurled Meyer to the floor and jolted him with electricity, blatantly ignoring his cries for help and pleas of, "Don't tase me, bro."

John Kerry claims not to have heard Meyer's screams, but I find that hard to believe. His anguished howls tore through the auditorium and for anyone to claim aural ignorance? It's not only sad, but it must be a lie. I respect Kerry for stating that he wanted Meyer to continue with his line of questioning, but don't understand how one man can sonorously drone on and on while another lies screaming in pain mere feet away.

Asking questions might warrant a physical altercation with law enforcement in a dictatorial nation, but America is not a dictatorship and we, as Americans, have the right to ask whatever the hell we wish without fear of persecution.

The police do not have the right to brutalize law-abiding citizens. Six police officers armed with tasers versus one college student is not a fair fight and I sincerely hope that the officers involved in this incident are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

We're being told that we're fighting for freedom and democracy in Iraq. Maybe we should be be fighting for it at home first.

Links:

TheAndrewMeyer.com
MSNBC coverage
The Gainesville Sun coverage
Michelle Malkin -- a truly despicable human being in every sense of the word.
Jon Robin Baitz -- More Pinter Than Pythom @ The Huffington Post
Greg Lukianoff -- Florida Tasers Away Student Rights @ The Huffington Post
Nick Antosca -- Kerry Should Be Ashamed and the Cop Who Tased Andrew Meyer Should Be Jailed

The Hills: They Meet Again

You know the drill. Catch the show here and read the comments below:

Spencer's pseudo-slop was nauseating. "I miss you..." Dude, she's in the same city and you'll be blowing up her cell all day. Now, I realize there might be a little of the pot/kettle situation happening here considering just how much I write about missing my fiance, but for the most part, 1000 miles separated us -- not approximately 30 Starbucks locations (What's that, like five miles in L.A.?)

Speaking of Working Gal Barbie -- that's exactly what Heidi resembled: a working gal. She needs to pick up an issue of Glamour because that much cleavage at work? Definitely a don't.

The Ketchup thing was painfully planned for optimum drama. I mean, they live in Los Angeles where a new bar opens every half-hour. Would it really have been that hard for Heidi and Spencer (Spiedi? Henser?) to find a different venue to patronize?

Quote of the Week: The honor goes again to Lauren. Upon seeing Jason bobbing around idiotically in his seat, Miss Conrad commented, "That's good. You should do that when you meet people." With dry, cool wit like that -- she could be an action hero. Runner-up? Heidi of all people for the snarky, "Maybe they're back into movie-making action..." Now, I'm not saying Heidi and Spencer are the ones who spread that rumor, but judging by the look on her face -- I'd say it was pretty obvious.



Or...maybe she was just in serious need of a bowel movement. You know, other than Spencer.

Oh and speaking of Miss Montag -- who taught her the word, 'baffling'? Hearing her say that was like watching a chimp use tools for the first time. I was, well...baffled by it.

Love Lauren's gray dress! I can't find a picture of it anywhere yet, but as soon as I do -- I want. I want. I want.

Homeboy probably would poison Lauren's drink. And on that note, it's time for this week's edition of: You Look Like A Pratt.

This week, I noticed Spencer making a face that looked like an unholy union between Egon Spengler and Slimer, both from the 1984 classic, Ghostbusters. I like to refer to this face as the Slime-gler:


+ =

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a screencap of the face, so this week -- use your imaginations and check out Pratt Daddy throwing up some seriously distended hand-signs. 90038 REPRESENT!

Score for Elodie. I'd glad she gave Heidi a dressing down because Miss Montag is in dire need of one. When all of your friends jump ship, that probably means you did something wrong.

Why didn't my Loser Ex ever buy me a Chanel handbag? I don't remember that dude buying me as much as a stick of gum. Although, my loser ex never resembled a beaver in heat, so maybe it all evens out.

Final thoughts:

If we substituted a letter in the word 'aunt', we'd have a pretty good description of Heidi and Pratt-Daddy? The word begins with a 'C' and ends with an 'R', but ain't 'Contractor.'

In regards to next week's episode -- who doesn't tell their parents about their upcoming nuptials? Douchebags, that's who. Heidi, welcome to the life of being a Starter Wife. You better get yourself an iron-clad pre-nup, darling.

Oh and real quick before I dash off, let's talk about the Tila Tequila show. She's not straight and she's not gay. She's just a ho, fo' sho'.

How To Make A Grouchy Jaime

+ Searching for a vein in my arm is not like searching for the Holy Grail. It's not that hard. I am not Cusho -- the Human Pincushion. I am a 24-year-old with a slightly irrational fear of blood and needles. Be nice, be sympathetic but most of all, be quick. The last thing I need is for someone to tell me that I, "scared the vein away" before they jam another needle into my flesh. Inept medical 'professionals' = Grouchy Jaime.

+ The knowledge that the three Band-aids Medi-Wench slapped onto my flesh today will have to painfully be ripped off very soon = Grouchy Jaime

+ Paps' bedside manner = Grouchy Jaime. Yes, I've always been scared of needles and blood and no, saying, 'it's not so bad' and telling me to, 'deal with it' has never worked to make me feel better. Why, dear God, do you think it would work now? Oh and telling me that Sparky would treat me the exact same way? LIES! She would hold my hand and then, procure both pizza and DVDs for the both of us.

+ No car. No Chipotle. No Publix subs. No Wawa Iced Tea. All of these (or lack thereof) = Grouchy Jaime

+ The Best Friend might not be able to make it down to El Dub this week. No quality time = Grouchy Jaime.

+ Missing my baby = Grouchy Jaime. No kisses, no bean game (no, it's not some bizarro covert sexual reference. I'm talking about Dr. Robotnik's Mean Bean Machine), no Veronica Marsathons, no waking up to awesome music = Grande No Whip, Extra Foam, Double Shot Grouchy Jaime.

The Hills: Second Chances + more of MTV's exhaust fume television

You know the drill by now. Episode here and thoughts below.

A fairly quiet episode this week despite the return of Jason and Heidi's Lady-Macbeth-as-a-ninny impersonation. So quiet, in fact, that this week, we don't have a quote of the week nor do we get to play You Look Like A Pratt. A damn shame, that, but hopefully, next week will make up it. Anyway, moving on:

Lauren's relationship with Jason reminds me of The Godfather (as well as a soured relationship of my own): "Just when I thought that I was out, they pull me back in!" Thank God she didn't follow it up with Al Pacino's signature 'Hoo-ahhh!' That would have been disturbing.

Without Spencer's Machiavellian scheming, Heidi wouldn't have even have thought to snake the position from Elodie. No-one deserves the job more than Heidi?! Come on! What does she even do? Does loitering around the Bolthouse offices and provides her boss with gossip regarding her ex-BFFE really constitute as 'work'? Spencer is definitely the Iago to Heidi's (very stupid, very blonde) Othello. I can't believe Heidi actually had the gall to tell Elodie that she, "didn't want to step on anyone's toes." Isn't that exactly what she did?

Derek and Jarrett -- is there some factory in Jersey that mass-produces guys like this? The gym-rat-tight-tee-wearing-overgelled idiot? Does anyone actually find this attractive? Lauren said she wanted to stab herself in the eye during this excruciating date. I wanted to stab myself in the eye while watching this excruciatingly painful encounter. I mean, honestly -- who dedicates that much time to talking about vintage shirts that cost $0.40?

Let's talk Jason -- still looks like a feral beaver and still reeks of Eau de Douche. His appearance on The Hills isn't what interests me, though. MTV finally jumped on the Dancing/Skating/Knitting with the Celebrities bandwagon with Celebrity Rap Superstar -- a show that couples Q-list hip-hop hopefuls with rappers as their mentors. The 'talent' on this show?

Shar Jackson (I have this theory that your celebrity stock immediately plummets when you come into contact with Federline DNA), Perez Hilton (who kinda looks like he'll be appearing on an episode of To Catch A Predator in the very-near future)



See what I mean?

Sebastian Bach (Is there a television show he won't do?), Countess Vaughan (The Curse of Moesha, perhaps? It's like the Poltergeist curse...only much, much lamer), Jamal Anderson of the Atlanta Falcons (one too many hits to the head?), Playboy Playmate and Girl-Next-Door Kendra Wilkinson (because one lame reality-based television show just isn't enough), Efren Ramirez (that poor bastard will be known as 'Pedro' for the res of his life, no matter what he does) and rounding out this cast of winners is our very own J.Wahl.



I caught him on TV a couple of nights ago performing the LL Cool J classic, Goin' Back To Cali. Now, I know they say there's too much violence in hip-hop but if Uncle LL appeared and knocked him out, I think it would be completely justified.

What Lauren ever saw in this toolbox,I'll never understand.

Next week -- more Lauren and Jason! More Heidi and Spencer! And hopefully, a little less Justin-Bobby.

Thoughts on Britney Spears' Video Music Awards Performance

Gimme More? No. Please don't. Seriously. I've had enough.

Spears looked like she should have been gyrating at a strip club by the airport instead of being onstage at the Video Music Awards. There was nothing remotely entertaining about the performance. To call it 'mediocre' would be a kindness Spears definitely doesn't deserve. She barely lip synced and barely danced. The entire performance was far more insulting than any of Sarah Silverman's jabs. I think The Fiance put it best when he said, "This is like watching a really bad high school talent show."

"It's Britney, bitch." We know, bitch. Your exploits have been splashed all over various media outlets for entirely too long now. And when did usage of the word 'bitch' become analogous with 'edgy'?

What good is blowing Criss Angel if you can't get some bad-ass magician theatrics out of it?!

I wonder how Camp Britney is going to spin this? I mean, what's the best way of saying, "Our client was out boozing it up until the wee hours and didn't really feel it was her responsibility as an entertainer, to actually entertain" without actually saying, "Our client was out boozing it up until the wee hours and didn't really feel it was her responsibility as an entertainer, to actually entertain."

I read that Spears makes approximately $700,000 a month. You'd think she could take some money out of her Cheetos-and-Red-Bull fund to purchase some better quality hair extensions. Helpful hint -- Claire's at the local mall? Not the best place to buy weave.

Face of the night: 50 Cent.



The expression is classic -- "Trick! Sit yo' tired ass down."

Oh God - this is somebody's mother.

It Begins...

Because I am an ass of epic proportions, I missed the Colts laying the pimp-hand down on the Saints last night (41-10). Kinda bummed about that, but definitely looking forward to the 2007-2008 season.

Does living in a new city mean new allegiances? Philly may be filled with beer and cheesesteak-fueled Eagles fanatics, but this girl's still rocking the orange and teal. And this year, like every other, I'm convinced that we'll be making it to the big show.

Yes, our quarterback is almost eligible for social security and yes, we have another new coach but we're the only undefeated Super Bowl winners in the history of the NFL, we're the only pro team Dan Marino played for and we were among the stars of the 1994 Jim Carrey classic, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. If that doesn't qualify us as Super Bowl material, I don't know what does.

Being a Dolphins fan, you quickly learn to love having your still-beating heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on as if someone was putting out a fire. But when we win (especially when we beat the Pats, Jets or Bills), it heals all. There's nothing more beautiful than seeing Tom Brady's pitiful face falling against a backdrop of cheering fans decked in orange and teal. And this year, we've got a secret weapon. Well, three of them, actually.

Samoans -- fullback Reagan Mauia, center Samson Satele and defensive tackle Paul Soliai. Genetically, Samoans are superior athletes. They're big, they're tough and they can make Rice Krispies out of bones. Take Soliai, for example.



6'4" and tipping the scales at 344 lbs. Dude's built like a brick shithouse. And not only is he huge, but he can move. In 2007, big man ran the 40-yard dash in 5.02 seconds and had a 30 1/2 inch vertical jump. To put that in perspective for you -- Soliai can jump half my entire height. Yeah. Bad-ass.

In addition to unabashed optimism, the start of season also means foaming at the mouth while reading Sports Guy Bill Simmons' picks every week. Now, I love Simmons. I think he's funny, intelligent and a great writer. But, he's also a die-hard Pats fan and his picks, more often than not, suck. His wife (the delightfully charming Sports Gal), on the other hand, is awesome and in addition to making great picks, she also waxes philosophical on the really important matters (i.e.: what the hell is Heidi thinking in regards to Spencer and who had the better sideburns -- Brandon or Dylan?). For his week one pick, Simmons had this to say:

REDSKINS (-3) over Dolphins
The Dolphins' fans are angry that I stuck them in the Bruce Coslet Division yesterday; this is on the heels of Tampa fans being mad about the Tropicana Field photo essay; and the Jacksonville fans still being ticked because I made fun of their city two years ago when the NFL stupidly awarded them a Super Bowl. I'm slowly turning all of Florida against me and couldn't be prouder.

(Next up: Orlando! If you ever wanted to know why the terrorists hate us, just spend a week there and it will all make sense. I've been there twice and there won't be a third time. No wonder Shaq fled for L.A.)

Firstly, we're gonna spank the Pats just like we do every year, so you and your team can suck it. Secondly, Orlando's not that bad a city. I lived there for four years and had a great time and finally, listen to your wife! She was smart enough to pick the 'Fins over the 'Skins and come Sunday, she's gonna reap the rewards.

So yeah, football season's upon us and I couldn't be happier. In the past, the Dolphins have made both me and Hootie cry, but this year? Tears of joy, baby. Like the fight song says, "When you say Miami, you're talking Super Bowl!"

RIP Luciano Pavarotti

Luciano Pavarotti died today of pancreatic cancer. He was 71.

The English hold a bit of a special place in their hearts for Pavarotti. After all, his majestic rendition of Nessun Dorma from Puccini's Turandot scored England's World Cup hopes during Italia '90.

I think Mark Oliver of The Guardian put it best: "It may have been mercilessly parodied and ridiculed for its mass, housewife CD-buying popularity but it was the tournament's greatest ever TV theme."

I can't listen to the piece without red and white imagery flashing through my mind -- a victorious goal. An ecstatic footballer sliding on his knees while clutching his shirt, his face alight with joy. A thunderous crowd roaring with approval.

Italia '90 was 17 years ago (and we ended up losing to West Germany in a penalty shoot-out...which reminds me of a Gary Lineker quote: "Football is a simple game; 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans win") and since then, the English team has had numerous songs detailing their glory -- Fat Les' Vindaloo, The Lightning Seeds' Three Lions but in my mind, Nessun Dorma will always be the unmitigated anthem of English football.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Pavarotti.

The Hills: Rolling With The Enemy

If you missed last night's episode, you can watch it here. If you caught it -- let's discuss:

Why is Heidi's boss so interested in the affairs of Heidi's former friends? Unless my boss was a 14-year-old girl, I'd be really weirded out by that.

Speaking of Bolthouse, I cannot believe that Heidi got a chance to meet Chelsea! How is that her job?! I'd cleats-up tackle someone for the opportunity to meet Joe Cole or John Terry and I'm willing to bet good money that David Beckham is the only footballer that Miss Montag could identify in a line-up. This fact had me suffused with verdant jealousy...until I realized that Heidi goes home to Spencer every night and then, I just felt kinda bad for her.

Speaking of Pratt-Daddy, it's time for another edition of You Look Like A Pratt. This week, he unveiled the Pouting Ferret Face:

It looks like there's a tiny, very blonde ferret nesting underneath his lip. There are certain men who can pull off facial hair. Mr. Pratt is not one of them. He looks like someone ran amok on a Ken Doll using a yellow Magic Marker. Thank God he shaved by the end of the episode. It was so distracting.

Unlike the follicular follies of Spencer, Lauren's friend Ryan had the most glorious white-boy 'fro I've ever seen. It emanated from his head like rays of blonde sunshine. I wonder if that's difficult to maintain....

More Lo! The more I see this girl, the more I realize that every girl needs a friend like her -- someone who's brutally honest and will tell you, "Honey, your ass does look fat in those pants." Or in Audrina's case, if it's been four months, Justin-Bobby should probably be your boyfriend.

Speaking of Mr. Bobby, we had a thumbs up/thumbs down situation with him this week. Thumbs Up: He drives a bitchin' Camaro.
Thumbs Down: "Rebelling" against society by dodging commitment is piss-weak. In addition to this, his comment about how he got the 'gist' of Audrina was incredibly condescending. It's like saying, " You have so little substance and are so far beneath me that I don't have to attempt to fully understand you. I understand the superficial sheen of who you are and that's all the effort I have to put in." Lauren said it best -- "You weren't being oversensitive. He was being over-asshole."

Which leads us right into the quote of the episode. While Lauren's little nugget of wisdom was good, this week's distinction goes to Brody Jenner who eloquently huffed, "What a bitch," after hanging up with Spencer. Breaking up is hard to do, Brody but I'm sure you'll bounce back. It's always tragic when hetero lifemates split. I mean, this is exactly what the conservatives are on about when they talk about the dissolution of moral values in this country. We need to get back to a time when 'bros before hos' actually meant something.

And I never thought I'd ever associate Republican politics with The Hills, but I'll be damned if Pratt didn't have a little Bush moment this week. Apparently, rolling around with Spence's enemies makes you an enemy. Doesn't that sound an awful lot like either you're with us or you're against us? Spencer, I realize that you've probably only stumbled across MSNBC or CNN while channel-surfing, so let me put this in terms you'll hopefully understand -- only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes. So, let's back it up with the power-tripping, alright Anakin?

Jen Bunney has ugly shoes. I'm sorry, but those wedges were just hideous.

And here are some snaps of Miss Bunney accompanying Heidi for a spot of wedding-dress shopping. As someone who's experienced an influx of bridal paraphernalia in her life lately, I'm gonna go on the record and state that Montag's dress might just be the most generic looking gown ever.

Next Week: Jason! Heidi and Spencer's Machiavellian Scheming! More Urban Aphorisms Courtesy of Rich White Dudes!

Oh and just for a hot second, can we talk about Justin Timberlake's FutureSex/LoveShow on HBO last night?



Dear God, what I would have given to have been in that audience. You can survive with one kidney, right?

Despite The Fiance's insistence that Timberlake resembles a giant Gerber Baby (In his defense, these comments were probably spurred by my frequent verbal ejaculations of, "Oh Mr. Timberlake. Womb for rent" and "Dude, I would ride that donkey to sleep!"), the show was incredible. Tight instrumentation, sparse yet effective visuals and the vibe was much more like an intimate club show than a mythological Madison Square Garden appearance. Every song was great, but what sold it for me was What Goes Around...Comes Around. Phenomenal. Just phenomenal.

If you have mp3s of the show, please send 'em my way. Thanks guys!

So...

How was your day?

You're the reason I want to sing
You make me feel like a king
I love the sunshine that you bring
I think I'll buy you a diamond ring
A diamond ring
Baby baby say I do
And I'll spend my life with you

Diamond Ring
The Black Crowes

The Hills: Meet The Parents + some other random stuff

In case you missed it, you can check the episode out here. If you managed to catch it -- let's discuss:

This week's episode was somewhat mundane but probably had the best quotes so far this season.

Never did I ever think I'd find myself agreeing with Brody Jenner, but the Prince of Malibu made a good point when he said all Spencer's done lately is, "flake out on the homies." I would have used different terminology than Jenner, but I'm not nearly as "hood" as he is -- 90263 represent!

Speaking of great quotes, Lauren hit the nail on the head when she commented in Justin-Bobby's choice of footwear -- "Homeboy wore combat boots to the beach!" Those shoes, Justin-Bobby! Those shoes! Dude, seriously? Combat boots and sandy dunes don't mix. Invest in a nice pair of Reefs, dude. Trust me.

Jamie Cullum's All At Sea was featured this episode! I love that guy and have been a fan for a while. Click here to check out the Twentysomething album. My favorite tracks are These Are The Days, a great cover of Radiohead's High and Dry and the title track.

I actually rather liked Heidi's parents. They seem like really down-to-earth, sweet people. I especially liked how both her mom and her stepfather reiterated pretty much everything that Lauren had said to Heidi before their 'break-up.' You've got smarter people in your life than your 'fiance', Heidi. Maybe you should listen to them.

I am totally in love with the sweater Lauren was wearing at Brody's barbecue.



So if anyone knows who makes it and where to get it -- I'd really appreciate the info. Thanks!

You look like a Pratt: Since Spencer makes such interesting facial expressions, I decided I would be seriously remiss if I didn't devote a section to them. Last week, he made the greatest face upon discovering Heidi had white-washed his mural. My sister and I refer to it as the, "Bitch, I'mma brain you" face.

This week, we were treated to the 'Ken Doll Cannibal' face:



In response to the caption -- No. Dear God, no.

And the greatest thing I've heard on the show so far? Jenner's nickname for Spencer -- "Pratt-Daddy." I think I'm going to start using this term as a synonym for, 'King Douchebag.'

In unrelated news:

George Bluth Sr. was having a love affair with ice-cream sandwiches and I am having a love affair with Wawa coffee. I recommend the chocolate cookie lattes -- they're delicious.

Despite our terrible dining experience this weekend, I did get the cutest picture of The Boyfriend.



Here he is gulping down pitcher after pitcher of water after eating some pretty spicy mattar paneer.

This actually reminded me of The Simpsons episode 'Homer and Apu' when Apu came to stay with the family after Homer got Apu fired from the Kwik-E-Mart. Apu prepares a traditional Indian meal for The Simpsons and after one bite, Lisa's eyes start bugging out and she says, "I can see through time." I'm pretty sure The Boyfriend felt the exact same way.

I'm re-viewing the first season of Weeds on DVD. Love this show (clever writing, fantastic performances and soundtrack) and I'm pretty sure that Mary Louise Parker is the coolest woman ever.



Total Girl Crush. Seriously. If her portrayal of Nancy Botwin doesn't convince you of this, read the following articles by Miss Parker for Esquire magazine. If that doesn't convince, you're an idiot.

My, what a big wand you have...

(After watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)

The Boyfriend: Do you think that wizards use spells doing sex?
Me: What, like a summoning spell? Accio Orgasm?
The Boyfriend (while brandishing an imaginary wand): Clitoris!
Me: You know, I never realized just how much that word sounds like a spell....

The love of my life, ladies and gents. And hopefully the only time the word 'clitoris' will ever be featured on this blog.

I love how the Harry Potter franchise brings up the most disturbing conversations in my life. Before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out, my sister and I were discussing the 'Unforgivable Curses' and came up with an interesting quandary:

Would Accio Still-Beating Heart be considered an 'Unforgivable Curse'?

Something to think about...or not.

Dear Indian Restauranteurs:

You fail at life.

Your food wasn't mediocre -- it was just flat out bad and not only did you screw me over when it came to the food (not nearly enough curry and no incidentals. Your grandmothers are spinning right now), but you screwed me financially too. You never screw over another member of the tribe. Didn't y'all get that memo?

See, this is the problem with being ethnic. Any time you go out to eat at an eatery catering to your particular ethnicity, you get screwed because the food never tastes as good as your mom's.

That and I think that the sub-par Indian food I had tonight singed The Boyfriend's vocal chords.

From now on, unless it's made by Mom or monks -- I'm not going anywhere near it.

Sincerely:

Jaime

P.S. -- I supplemented tonight's dinner with a half a bottle of Sparkletini, so if this entry isn't exactly lucid...well, that's why.

Today was a good day/Didn't even have to use my AK

As well as being cast in The Time Traveler's Wife, Ron Livingston also topped my laminated list at #1.

I think it's safe to say that he's having a pretty damn good day.

And for mostly my enjoyment, here's the man of the hour himself:



Like a bag of hammers, I would. Yeah.

The Hills: Truth and Time Tells All

I've become addicted and at this point, it's not even a guilty pleasure anymore. I'll openly admit that I love The Hills. What's not to love? It's marshmallow TV -- it's candy that won't ever fill you up but will leave you with a healthy buzz for a while.

The Boyfriend asked me if I wanted to DVR the show last night (he refuses to watch it because his taste in television doesn't suck). My response?

Me: Oh my God, yes! Did you see what Spencer did to the wall last week? I mean, that mural is the ugliest thing I've ever seen....
The Boyfriend (cutting me off): You know I have no idea what you're talking about, right?

He can wrap his mind around a million different theories concerning Lost, but when it comes to The Hills, the boy is completely clueless. We should leave it that way, though. If he ever started dishing on what Audrina was wearing, I'd be more than a little concerned.

I also have a total girl-crush on Lauren (Girl-Crush [gurl-kruhsh]. N. -- Admiration of a member of the same sex resulting in a desire to go shopping and drink overpriced beverages with said object of affection) and this makes me adore her even more. Unlike the rest of her reality television brethren, Conrad's a class act.

Anyway, my thoughts on last night's episode:

If there was an Eau de Douchebag fragrance, it would smell like our boy, Spencer (I love that is last name is Pratt. Totally apropos considering that in English slang, a prat is among other things, 'a self-aggrandizing, pompous fuck. Someone who is full of themselves and, almost invariably, stupid as well.'). I also hate his hyper-awareness of the camera. The last scene where he started to paint over that fuck-awful mural? So obviously done because of the camera's presence.

And sidenote: That jaw. Dear God, that jaw. You could crack walnuts with it.



The only thing that makes him remotely likable is an affinity for old-school video games, but I get the feeling this kid isn't a real gamer but rather one of those nostalgia-bandwagon-hopping idiots who swears they've always played Duck Hunt.

Can we take a second to talk about Miss Montag's ring?



Yes, I know it's fake but it's the tackiest fake I've ever seen. My niece has much more realistic looking jewelry...and hers is from the Disney Princess collection (she's two-and-a-half).

Oh Lo. That's it -- just oh Lo. You're fabulous, darling. Someone needs to give her a show -- something along the lines of The Look For Less where she wanders around Los Angeles shopping and spouting advice as only she can.

The editing seemed a little off in last night's episode. I understand that it's not really reality, but the meeting between Justin-Bobby, Audrina and Lauren seemed a little funny. Speaking of the dreaded ex, I can kind of understand his appeal but it's such a stereotype -- dirty-artsy bad boy biker. It's right up there with Johnny Football Hero and Boy-Next-Door-Geek.

And finally, can someone please explain the Pinkberry phenomenon to me? I mean, it's just frozen yogurt. How good could it possibly be?

For those of you who didn't catch the episode last night, you can view it here.

I'll get you, my pretty...and your little blog too!

There's a tornado warning in Chester County until 3:00 p.m. today.

Ummm....didn't I leave all this stuff behind when I left Florida? Dub tee eff, inclement weather. Dub tee eff.

I'll let y'all know if I see some green-faced biddy flying around on a bicycle, but until then -- think good thoughts for me and pray the power doesn't go out.

Finally!

I've been waiting for Harold and Kumar 2 since the end credits of Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle.

Dear Me at Seventeen:

Hi. This is your older and wiser self at 24.

The next seven years of your life will be interesting to say the least. You'll lose people, you'll meet new ones, you'll move, you'll change but most of all -- you'll get a much better idea of who you are and trust me -- you'll really like her.

Firstly -- high school doesn't matter. Wait. Let me amend that. The academics matter somewhat, but all the rest of the stuff that's causing you to stress out? Don't even bother.

The yearbook turns out great, you pass your AP exams and prom is such a non-issue and as soon as it's over, you'll wonder:

A) why you fretted so much about it in the first place.
B) why you spent so much damn money.

Buy a cheap and cheerful dress and put the rest of that cash in your Kate Spade bag account (your 24-year-old self really wants one -- preferably from the London line).

The guy you end up going with? Good guy but not the guy for you. Try to remember the lyrics to As Time Goes By when you kiss him (which you will invariably do because he's cute and plays guitar). A kiss is just a kiss. Nothing more.

Speaking of people -- they change. They'll grow and move on and lose touch. It's bound to happen and it's all right. Very few people actually keep the promises they hastily scribble in yearbooks (by the way, an inordinate amount of people make reference to your virginity in your yearbook. Feel free to tell them to fuck off).

There's a tall white kid named Jerry at your school. You kinda know him, but not really. This guy will be the best friend you ever had. You'll end up rooming with him and Paul in college and it will be the best time of your life. Remember Paul's friends, Dana and Jake? They'll become family, just like Jerry and Paul. Think of this as a fabulous reward for all the crap you'll go through in that department in the next couple of years.

Yeah. About that? You're gonna go through a bit of a trial by fire. It all works out in the end, but for a while there -- it's gonna suck. My advice? Call bullshit when you see it and remember that the words 'Welcome' aren't tattooed on your back. You're going to meet someone who basically embodies everything that is wrong and rotten about humanity. Remember that her opinion means nothing and don't let her get to you. Like I said, call bullshit when you see it and you'll be calling it a lot in her case.

As for your love life, I know it's complicated now, but it doesn't have to be. The on-again-off-again drama you've been embroiled in since last year? Let it go. He's a tool and you deserve better. Seriously. Don't answer his calls, stop penning emo bullshit in your journals, turn off the sad bastard music and blast some AC/DC, alright?

Tough love? He doesn't love you and you don't love him. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be. Trust me.

All those people who deride your belief in a movie kind of love? They're idiots because it happens and it happens in a big way. You know Dan? The Internet Boy? Rainmann Dan? Yeah -- totally the love of your life. So much so that you move to Pennsylvania to be with him. I know, it sounds insane, but I swear it's true. Oh and in case you're wondering, he's just as cute now as he was in high school. (Proof of how amazing the Internet Boy is? You're gonna win an essay contest. Assbag McGee won't even call to congratulate you. Internet Boy, though? Will offer his genuine praise and congratulations and years later, you'll find a folder of your writing on his computer. Saved files because he thinks so much of your talent. See now why he's the love of your life? Yeah).

What else? Oh -- you find out that you have a bit of a quirky thyroid. Calm down. It's not a big deal -- just switch to decaf and your heart will stop doing that thing where it's trying to stampede out of your chest. You also discover that you're allergic to orange juice. Remember that on your 21st birthday when that last Screwdriver sends you over the edge.

The best advice I can give you is the best advice Kay gave me -- "Just keep writing and you'll be OK." Make sure you keep in touch with him. He's one of the better people in your life.

Oh yeah and one crucially important thing -- dear God, run out right now and buy a flat-iron. Seriously. Stop reading and do it. It'll be the best purchase you ever made and after one use, you'll become emotionally involved and I think your psychological well-being may even end up being connected to the straightness of your hair.

Have fun and when you're at your first Bakesale, keep an eagle-eye on the movements of the fat girl. Your/My ankle will thank you.

Lots of love:

Jaime xx

The horror, the horror....

I go to check my email and am confronted with the following headline:



The tri-skulled demon dog who guards the gates of hell just gained control of one of America's biggest automobile manufacturers?

Now, couple that with the fact that News Corp is buying Dow Jones.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the apocalypse. Please keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times and please, don't pet the horses.

Ride On, Josephine

Some woman just drove my car away.

She put the keys in the ignition, cranked the air and drove it right out of my life.

My dad sold Josephine and he didn't tell me until about twenty minutes ago where he showed up with the buyer.

A sharp amputation, a quick and jagged snap -- now you see it, now you don't.

In the words of countless country and blues singers -- my baby just drove outta my life.

Josephine was my car and I loved her. This woman won't love her. She won't know what kind of music Josephine likes (classic rock). She'll crank the air instead of opening the windows and letting the sunshine in. This woman won't be able to differentiate between the noises Josephine makes. Hell, this woman won't even know that Josephine's a she or why she's called Josephine (in honor of George Thorogood's Ride On, Josephine). To this woman, it's nothing more than her new car.

Paps always used to heckle me for how much I loved her. Said it was stupid to personify a vehicle. Joke if I wasn't careful, my car would end up turning into Christine. I told him if she ever did, he'd be the first passenger.

Silly, really. To humanize a vehicle this much. Silly, really. To type a blog post while tears blur my vision. Silly, really to care so much about a car.

But she was mine. My first and your first anything, be it car, kiss, guitar, joint or oyster, forever captures a part of you.

She gave me a sense of freedom I had never known before. She opened up this whole new world for me. She finally illuminated everything Bruce Springsteen was talking about when he talked about pink cadillacs and highways jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive.

She was mine and I loved her and now she's gone. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

One of these things is not like the other

I read this article recently about Rashida and Kidada Jones (daughters of music producer Quincy Jones and actress Peggy Lipton) and their struggle with growing up biracial.

Although I'm not biracial (my parents are both of Indian origin), I found myself relating to the Jones' story.

My mom is fair-skinned with green eyes and often mistaken for Caucasian. On more than one occasion, Indian women have come up to me and commented on "how well my mom speaks for a white woman." Paps, on the other hand, has skin the color of burnt toffee and (much to our amusement and his chagrin), looks an awful lot like Erik Estrada from CHiPS (Call him 'Ponch' and watch his face suffuse with rage -- good times).

Genetics being what they are, my sister and I inherited a combination of our parents' features. I'm tan...but not really dark. My hair is naturally dark, but it's not really that river of black ink associated with most Indians.

Not only do we not 'look Indian', apparently -- we don't 'act Indian.'

It's been this way since we were kids. Growing up in Southall (a predominantly South Asian neighborhood on the outskirts of London known for its role in Bend It Like Beckham), most of our friends wore a school uniform during the week and slipped into salwar kameezes and lehengas during the weekends. Sparky and I, on the other hand, were more comfortable in jeans with Ninja Turtle patches on the knees. Our cousins went to Saturday school at local temples. Sparky and I ate Coco Pops and watched cartoons.

As children, we weren't particularly 'Indian' and as adults, little has changed. The tea I drink isn't hot and spiced with cardamom, but rather cold, diet and bottled by Arizona. When it comes to movies, I can rattle off the most obscure Hollywood trivia, but can't name one Bollywood feature released in the past five years. and unlike most model minority Indians who study medicine or business, I went in a completely different direction and majored in journalism.

I've never really understood how to integrate into the Indian crowd. I gave it a try, but was rebuffed because despite not having an ounce of Caucasian blood, I'm "too white." A coconut, if you will -- brown on the outside, white on the inside.

How does one 'act' Indian, anyway? Watch insufferable plagiarized tripe churned out by Bollywood? Spend hours meditating underneath the statue of some poly-limbed, blue skinned deity? How does one 'act' anything -- white, black, Japanese, Cuban, Greek, Polynesian?

I don't understand why it makes sense to perpetuate the stereotypes of your culture in order to fit in with your culture? Especially when people have worked so tirelessly to abolish aforementioned stereotypes. I mean, there's much more to African-Americans than hip hop and slang. There's much more to the Japanese than video games and anime. There's much more to Cubans than booming sound systems and gold jewelry.

If I bought into these stereotypes, I'd be selling out who I really was.

So -- I'm 'too white' for the Indians (despite not being Caucasian) and I was once called a 'goddamn cockroach' by an insufferable fifteen-year-old with less brain cells than teeth (and that's saying something).

I don't have kids yet, but I will one day and but I worry about how they will be treated. I want to believe that the world will be a much more tolerant place, but know this is naive. While there are substantially more biracial people in the world now than there were ten years ago, there's still lunatics out there who believe that miscegenation is immoral and depraved. Hell, I'm sure I personally know some.

I've been lucky in life and found amazing people who are completely colorblind and would rather judge me for belting out the worst songs possible at the top of my lungs rather than judging me for the color of my skin or my heritage. Hopefully, my kids will find people like this too. Hopefully, everyone will.

Be it ever so humble...

So, I'm walking through the living room to get to the kitchen when Mom shoots me a dirty look and shouts, "Hey!"

I look at her confused -- I'm not blocking the TV and I'm wearing pants. What grievous infraction have I committed now?

Apparently, I was walking "too loud."

I was barefoot and weight 97 lbs.

Yeah.

Something tells me I'm gonna miss all this real soon...

Balsamic, Bugs and Bodyslams

Yesterday was a good day -- quality time shopping and lunching with my sister. $21 and a handful of change at Forever XXI = two dresses, two pairs of super cute underwear, a skirt and an incredibly cozy sweater. Gotta love the summer sales. For lunch, we headed to Buca di Beppo. The balsamic vinegar there is divine. I should have stolen a bottle so I could bring it home and splash it over some strawberries and basil (if you've never had this, you're missing out. It's delicious!)

Today was a better day -- The Boyfriend became an uncle again and my parents and sister finally got their green card! After fifteen years, they're finally on their way to citizenship. As for me? Uhh...I'll get back to you on that.

In other news, I'm fairly sure that God is sending a plague of creepy crawlies into my life. A couple of days ago, I found a scorpion (!!) in my room and yesterday, Mom found a snake hiding behind the TV. I feel like I'm living in the Bug House exhibit at the Science Museum

Random nonsense aside, there was something I wanted to discuss.

Earlier this week, professional wrestler Chris Benoit, his wife Nancy and their seven-year-old son Daniel were found dead in Benoit's Atlanta home.

I'm not a wrestling fan in the classic sense of the word. I've never been to a live event, I don't own any paraphernalia nor do I subscribe doggedly to the notion that it's really real and that the Undertaker has risen from the dead countless times. But, I've been watching pro-wrestling since its golden era in the 80s and although I don't really watch it anymore and couldn't tell you who hold what title or which two wrestlers are currently embroiled in a bitter rivalry, I like to keep an ear out for backstage rumblings.

The initial news came as a shock and when it was discovered that Benoit had strangled his wife, smothered his son and hanged himself -- I was completely dumbfounded.

Chris Benoit was a workhorse. A quiet man with very little of the bravado, bluster and magnetic flair associated with most pro-wrestlers, Benoit got into the ring, he did his job and then, disappeared backstage. Reticent and boring, yes, but a cold-blooded killer? That's something that I can't wrap my mind around.

I keep trying to figure it out -- what would drive a man to commit such an ungodly act? There are no justifications, no rhyme, no reason. Just conjecture.

'Roid Rage (or steroid withdrawal, for that matter) coupled with the stress of working for the WWE (the near Spartan brutality the wrestlers put their bodies through night after night, the exhausting travel schedule, months away from family), strained family relations and a history of cranial damage (one of Benoit's signature moves was a swan dive -- essentially, a headbutt executed from the top rope of the ring) may have pushed Benoit to his snapping point.

Does any of this excuse the carnage enacted on the Benoit family? No. Of course not, but it may provide a window into Chris Benoit's madness and hopefully, this tragedy will serve as a catalyst for the WWE to look into their absolutely deplorable policy regarding the abuse of anabolic steroids.

Steroid abuse has been a part of the pro-wrestling industry for years. Not only do steroids allow wrestlers to bulk up to Hulk-like proportions, but also give them the edge they need to maintain the company's exhausting tour schedule. In 1994, Vince McMahon (head honcho of the WWE) was put on trial for allegedly distributing steroids to his talent. Although McMahon was exonerated of all charges and swore to put a comprehensive drug-testing plan into effect, steroid abuse runs rampant within the company to this day and the company, horrifically enough, allows it.

Roided-up wrestlers have a bigger, more imposing physique which always plays well in the gladiator games of pro-wrestling. Steroids help them deal with the grind of working house show after house show for 200+ days a year, thus bringing in the ducats for the corporation.

But at what point does the health of an individual become more important than profit margins? In the past decade, dozens of pro-wrestlers have died due to steroid-related cardiac problems -- Eddie Guerrero, British Bulldog Davie Boy Smith, Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Perfect Curt Henning to name a few -- what does it take and how many more have to die before the WWE realizes what a heavy toll this lifestyle is taking on its employees, both physically and psychologically?

Will this tragedy bring about a change? Sadly, I doubt it will, but here's to hoping I'm wrong.

Happy Father's Day

This is my dad (the one on the right. Not the one rocking the idiotic sunglasses. That would be me).

I've never called him 'Dad', though. He's always been Papa. I think that suits him better.

He's funny, but thinks he's funnier than he actually is. He comes up with absolutely crap idea for movies. He embellishes the most ridiculous details. He's a complete smart-ass and because he's married to my mom, has the war wounds to prove it. He's infuriatingly stubborn and equally infuriatingly endearing. He'll never ask for directions, he hurls abuses at the television while watching sports and his sense of spontaneity and adventure are parallel only to his sense of humor.

All in all, he's a good man. The kind of guy you could count on in a pinch. The kind of guy you could knock back a couple of beers with. The kind of guy who will engage you in a passionate debate and not once cross that line into 'pompous jackass' territory. The kind of guy who believes in you like you want to believe in yourself.

The kind of guy who was born to be a dad...or in this case, a papa.

So, to Paps on Father's Day -- thanks for being a good guy and setting the bar so high. I'm lucky to know you and luckier still to be your daughter...but Walthamstow is still a completely crap idea. Really.

Why I love hip hop

Tupac Shakur's When We Ride On Our Enemies features the lyric:

I murder you then I run a train on Mobb Deep!

The very next line is:

Don't fuck with me/Nigga, you barely livin'/Don't you got sickle cell?

Now, the bit about running a train doesn't affect me in the least, but that line about sickle cell? It's like, "Tupac, come on. Was that really necessary? That was kinda harsh, dude."

I couldn't find a streaming version of When We Ride On Our Enemies, so the musical selection of the day is my sister's "jam" -- Changes.

Enjoy!

What? No fuckin' catharsis?!

It's not TV. It's HBO a complete mindfuck.

I've been "miffled" for a while now. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the first half of the season and actually really enjoyed the Vito storyline. Homosexuality in the mafia is something that hasn't really been explored by the media and it was interesting to see a realistic portrayal as well as Chase's take on it. But the second half of the season with the bizarre Vegas episode (and I'm usually a fan of the more surreal episodes of the show) and Chris' completely anticlimactic death were staggering disappointments. Christopher Moltisanti -- the man who committed the first murder on the show, the man who signed the death warrant for his own fiancee, the man who was going to hell for Tony Soprano -- deserved a warrior's death. Not a cold, merciful snuffing out.

In Sopranoland, people die in a hailstorm of bullets. They are suffocated, garroted and beaten to death. But, Sopranoland exists in the realm of reality and in reality -- car crashes claim lives as well. Sometimes, the Reaper appears down the barrel of a nine, but more often than not -- he pulls alongside you at 70 mph. I should have seen Chris' death as foreshadowing for the finale. Death can be violent and gloriously cinematic but it can also be understated and entirely realistic.

I gasped alongside the millions last night when the screen cut to black and immediately blamed a technological error. When I saw the credits roll, I stared at the screen incredulously -- "That's it? Six fucking years and that's it?!"

But, given a little time to ruminate, I've actually come to the conclusion that the finale was perfect. Did I want to see a blaze of bullets and bloodshed? Sure -- I take the same macabre glee in it as the rest of the country does, but if Chase gave in to our blood lust, it just wouldn't be the same.

The Sopranos has never belonged to the collective conscience. It's always been David Chase's show. He doesn't care what the audience wants. He does what he does and if you like it, great. If not, fuck you (New Jersey to the very core).

The last five minutes of the show gave the audience the most crystalline peek into Tony Soprano's life to date. The man is wrought with constant paranoia. The Members-Only Jacket guy headed into the bathroom -- is he going to come out brandishing a gun like Michael Corleone in The Godfather? What about those two black guys who just walked in? Are they coming for me? Meadow outside trying in vain to parallel park -- is someone going to come up to the window and slam a bullet in her brain because she's my kid?

No wonder the guy needed therapy.

No resolution, no catharsis and no heart-stopping climax. In the words of the immortal Steve Perry:

Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on.

It goes on and on, but unfortunately -- we don't get to peer into the fishbowl anymore.

P.S. -- My theory on the finale? Chase was just gonna snow globe the whole thing -- Tony Soprano would be nothing more than a figment from the imagination of a comatose Kevin Finnerty. Thank God I don't write for the show.

These rocks don't lose their shape/Oh, diamonds are a girl's best friend

That is a Tiffany's Lucida engagement ring. It's platinum with a one carat diamond and costs more than my life is worth (possessions and all).

And about four hours ago, Dan's mom and I were oohing-and-ahhing over just how pretty it sat on my left hand.

Oh, that's not good. That's not good at all.