Fuck You, I Love You, Do Something Different, Don't Ever Change.

What the fuck interweb. Why can't you provide me with endless entertainment, never shut down (gawker? Today? Down, like five times. What the hell.), and never, ever, ruin surprises on Gossip Girl. Well, not so much surprises, but scenes, costumes, kisses, and sets! Is nothing new anymore? Are we supposed to be satisfied just watching what we already knew was coming? It's the new "Aliens in Indiana Jones" we were all expecting, twist of any shitty M. Night Shamalamalon movie (after seeing The Happening I've retroactively decided they all sucked hard), the definitive "shocking ending" of any movie with too much hype. Maybe I want to be shocked for real. Maybe I would have watched Gossip Girl already without being subjected to set photots by staged paparazzi paid by the CW to boost ratings (face it douchebags, your target audience is and always will be young New Yorkers, 13-year-old girls and gays, nothing more). So what if it's going to crash and burn mid-season O.C. style? It'll still be six great episodes, and if I didn't know who got back together with who, and who gets fucked in a car, and who gets sand in their vagina I would be even MORE likely to watch and be excited about it.

Your show is out of control. If you believe the rumors (which, let's face it, we all do), your actors are all gay, your actresses are all bitches, and Ed Westwick's love of Chace Crawford's dick is only matched by his love of pure Columbian nosegold. I'm fairly sure that Taylor Momsen is actually morphing into Tinsley Mortimer (say their names out loud. Creepy, no?), and although having actual socialites on your show is cute, I'm not quite sure that Tinsley and Lydia Hearst are going to be boosting your ratings in Nebraska, Wyoming or, you know, the 98.9% of the country that they don't matter in.

However, then I think again. I think of how much joy GG brings into my life. How it used to brighten up the middle of the week for me, an oasis in my desert of physician tech charges and chemo spills, and then when it moved to Monday how it brightened the beginning of my week. How even though my difficult work schedule did not permit me to be home by 8pm, my friends would DVR the show and even wait for me to watch it (aw, guys, blush, swoon). I do love you Gossip Girl, and despite my bemoaning, I even love you, CW (unless you fuck up this 90210: Next Gen gem, then we are fucking over). So I'm going to attempt to not loathe, but revel in the leaks, and share a few of my favorites here, with you.

Uh...spoiler? Alert?








"...and I said rectum? Damn near killed 'em!"

Hey Kobe

A few days old, but if you haven't seen it yet, you just have to. Thanks to the homie Edgar.

Green With Angry

That's actually Travers' head to scale

OK, so what did expect from another Hulk movie, never mind one that has Liv Tyler playing a cellular biologist, right? Maybe it was Iron Man afterglow, maybe it was the boredom, but me and some dudes went down to the multiplex yesterday and saw the Incredible Hulk and, man, it was so, so, so bad. Made the Ang Lee one look positively golden.

So I went home and did what I usually do when I see a terrible movie in the theater, I went on Rotten Tomatoes to read positive reviews. And I found, to my surprise, that this piece of shit was 67% fresh, reduced only to 61% with just the so-called Cream of the Crop critics. So I read and I read and I read, and here are some of the gems I found.

The two recurring binaries come out of the obvious comparisons with Ang Lee's 2003 Hulk movie (widely criticized for being too psychological and for the Hulk looking too silly) and Marvel's other summer movie, Iron Man. Corey Calder in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune has this summed up well enough in his sub-head ("The Incredible Hulk" sets aside the head-shrinking and delivers a slam-bang action treat")(kill me now), but exemplifies it even better in his opening paragraph:

Setting aside the ponderous Freudian themes of Ang Lee's 2003 "Hulk," this installment substitutes momentum for depth and bombastic battle scenes for character development. It lacks the graceful balance of those elements that made "Iron Man" the gold standard for superhero films, but it's a blast for demolition fans.

The problem with these comparisons, and the Iron Man one especially, is that (unlike director Louis Leterrier's Transporter flicks, which are vastly more entertaining than this one) the Incredible Hulk isn't just straight ahead action, it has tons of scenes of brooding, longing, and yearning, they're just all really, really bad.

Kirk Huneycutt, in the Hollywood Reporter, uses the term "well-paced" to describe this, and I have no clue what he means by this, as I would generally take both fast-paced or slow-paced over slow-fast-sloooow-fast-slow-fast-slow-paced. Of course, Kirk Huneycutt is also an idiot. To wit:

You wonder why Dr. Bruce keeps worrying about a neighborhood being "safe." When a guy can turn into a creature that repels bullets and flips Humvees like Frisbees, what's to worry?

He DOESN'T WANT TO TURN INTO THE HULK AND/OR BE FOUND! How is that at all hard to understand?!

The action sequences are fine, I guess. There's one decent Bourne-ripping favela chase at the beginning, a lot of things get smashed (though not in very creative ways) and God knows I'm not one of those people that bitches about CGI in itself, but hey, Bill Goodykoontz of the Arizona Republic, give us a shamless, hyperbolic pun:

The final confrontation between the two monsters is a marvel (no pun intended)

Thank you Bill, I choose to believe that Rotten Tomatoes made you a Cream of the Crop critic solely because of your completely absurd name. Goodykoontz!

Finally, we get to Liv Tyler. Petey Travers (who adamantly and bravely refuses to believe that Banner wants stretchy pants for any other reason than "so his dick won't hang out") says "[Liv] does pretty and loyal better than anyone." Which, I guess is a fair description. God forbid that we might want some characteristics we can't find in a Golden Retriever from our lead female character though, especially one playing a fucking cellular biologist. She can't not sound mentally disabled. Ever. Stop casting her in non-idiot roles.

Maybe Michael Phillips, sitting in the old Gene Siskel seat at the Chicago Tribune, will be able to offer some insight on Liv (after of course, he gets done telling us that at 13, he was reading Proust and not Hulk comics, I'm serious):

Primarily, opposite the notably thin-lipped Norton, she brings enough of her own lip to share close-ups with all four of the Fantastic Four, let alone one green giant with a blackout temper and stretchy pants for all occasions.

What?! What the hell are you talking about?! Ahhh!

Phillips gets one thing right though, this score is one of the worst (he says "most boring," but whatever) pieces of shit in a while. If the constant reuse of that sad "walking away" piano theme from the old TV-show wasn't bad enough, both the suspense and romance pieces are some of the most boring, cheesy things ever. They put this film over the top into maddeningly terrible. My head is about to explode.

Tangent:
While the Hulk and the Abomination are battling through Harlem, I coulda sworn I saw Michael K. Williams (aka St. Omar from the Wire, aka the cop from Trapped in the Closet) on screen for like 6 seconds, having a piece of debris thrown over his head. So I IMDB'd when I got home (just outta curiosity, totally no White Man's "God-I-hope-it-was-him-and-I-don't-secretly-think-all-black-people-look-alike" Guilt), and it was, and what an odd cameo/waste of an actor. However, I did notice that Williams is going to be in the adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's the Road, which is directed by John Hillcoat, who made the awesome Proposition, also stars Viggo, Charlize, Guy Pearce, and Robert Duvall, and is out in November! So geeked.

5. It's Cougar Season: Ann Curry Edition



I guess it's kind of like taking jabs at small defenseless woodland creatures, but seriously, her interview with James McAvoy is downright uncomfortable. She asks him about his on-screen romantics with Angelina Jolie, and he responds that clearly, there are no emotions involved, because it's a fucking movie and that question is seriously getting a little old. However, because he's a coy little shit, McAvoy points out that if there were a scripted tongue battle in their interview, he and Curry would have to be nothing but professional. Well, that nearly sent the she-beast sailing because after heartily guffawing, she tells him she would "throw him on the floor." Full clip here.

4. Don Imus



I know, I know, easy targets about today, but seriously. While discussing the legal troubles of Adam "Pacman" Jones (his house is being foreclosed, he asked "What color is he?" After being told that Jones' race was African American, Imus responded "Well, there you go." WABC says that Imus will explain his comments on tomorrow's show.

3. Kate Hudson


Because dating Lance Armstrong means you get breast cancer (OK, maybe MK doesn't have cancer, but she could!).

2. Amy Winehouse's Respiratory System



And not just because of her usual breakfast of "Meth n' Fags", she has emphysema. FROM CRACK SMOKING.

1.Mike Myers



Not only are gawker and Perez Hilton say that he's gay, but the reviews of The Love Guru are worse than expected. Take Stephen Holden, of the Times:
"[One] might sum up The Love Guru in its entirety but only at the risk of grievously understating the movie’s awfulness. A whole new vocabulary seems to be required. To say that the movie is not funny is merely to affirm the obvious. The word “unfunny” surely applies to Mr. Myers’s obnoxious attempts to find mirth in physical and cultural differences but does not quite capture the strenuous unpleasantness of his performance. No, The Love Guru is downright antifunny, an experience that makes you wonder if you will ever laugh again."

"We're gonna win that fight!"

So I went down on the G train today to meet up with the dude who offered to buy my ticket for the Wednesday Liz Phair show on Craig's List, and afterwards, armed with $50 ($17 profit), I figured I'd explore the neighborhood (off the Bergen stop and a few blocks north so...Boerum Hill, I think? whatevers) and find some food. I ended up at Kyoto Sushi on Smith and Pacific and ordered my usual Miso Soup and Philly Roll, and decided to add something ridiculous.

So, I ordered my first ever completely deep fried roll, the TNT Roll, and boy was it funny. The roll was decent enough, whitefish, eel, smoked salmon, and cream cheese (I think that's it) battered and fried. The fish inside cooked a little, so it was a different texture from most whitefish or eel sushi, and it was a nice little changed.

The funny part, however, was when I first ordered the roll and proceeded to watch and listen to the chef look kind of confused and talk to the other chef, waitress, and manager while they all pointed at various menus. They weren't speaking English of course, but I understood the constant repetition of "TNT Roll" just fine. Anyways, I sure did feel happy with the ridiculousness of my order.

Stars: They ARE Just Like Us!

Big ups to Sarah for improving my day (so marred by George Carlin's death) by sharing a link from Oh No They Didn't, that very informative, if not often impossible to read because of thousands of user comments (in a seemingly new language). Sometimes, however, they are so on the money:




But it gets better than just a fun-lovin' MKO just flanneling it up with a tiny little dog and a bottle of Amstel. No, this was a dinner party. Also in attendance?



Sweet mother of mercy! This is about where I lost control of my bodily functions at work. The pictures are all worth checking out (there are a couple dozen of them). I'll give you a preview: there's a pinata involved.

[Source]

Change Your Plans For Saturday

So, friends, I know I'm always like house this and techno that and disco this and dance that, but listen to this one. This Saturday at the always wonderful Studio B is the craziest line-up I've seen in forever, reppin' the Detroit-Chicago-NY dance axis harder than I've ever seen it repped, and sure to promise fun, fun, fun and more fun.

Opening the night will be NYC's own Tim Sweeney, host of East Village Radio's famous Beats in Space, DFA ally, and all around dance expert who I'm sure will bring enough disco jams to make you do the bump at least 20 times before strutting to the bar and having a drink with the 5-10 [people of your preferred gender] you've picked up so far that night.

Now, that in general would guarantee a pretty sweet night, but the two DJs reppin the Midwest raise the status of the party from "should be really fun" to "holy shit what a lineup!" Second up is Juan Atkins, a man that is to Techno what Chuck Berry is to Rock and Roll, what Shikibu or Cervantes or whoever are to the Novel, what the ten shots of White Horse are to losing my wallet. Juan Atkins, along with his friends Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson, created the wonderful sound of Techno in Detroit in the early 80s, and he has steady stayed making creative music for over 25 years. With Cybotron and Model 500, Atkins made machines funk like nobody else, and the dancefloor will be full of humans doing the same.

Model 500 - "No UFOs"(mp3) (Mediafire)

Finally, from my hometown of Chicago, we have Green Velvet, who I've never had the opportunity to seen live, but is by all accounts a great fucking time whether he's DJing or doing more of a live show thing (I assume this will be a DJ set, but I'm not certain). Velvet's been holding down Chicago House since the early 90s, combining hard jacking house with one of the more entertaining personalities in dance music. Expect lots of moving and sweating; expect fun.

Here's a vid for a Green Velvet track that I'd imagine you've heard before in some place:


Anyways, for reals, Studio B on Saturday, no better place to be. Post-apocalyptic warehouse Brooklyn hoppin'.

edit: also, Thursday at the new Santos Party House joint down on Lafayette (look at this summer lineup so far!) Vice is throwing a party with free booze and a few bands, including the Vivian Girls, who I had the pleasure of seeing last weekend and who are awesome. RSVP here.

Carnivores and Disney Whores, Racist Lies While Julia Cries...

Well, I'm not actually having a bad day, so this may not be that hard. I have new clothes, that coffee table book about Norwegian Black Metal finally came out, and someone called me "funny" on Gawker today. So while everything is coming up Matt, let's look at some unfortunate losers whose days are not as cheery as mine.

5. Jessica "Sausage Stuffer" Simpson

Decked out in her best slogan-tee, Jessica decided to leave the house in the above shirt reading "Real Girls Eat Meat," which not only left ample opportunity to place any synonym for fat in that sentence, but also attracted the attention of PETA. IDIOT. I'm so glad tabloids are turning her into the next Jen "Countdown To Dying Alone" Aniston with articles such as "DESPERATE FOR TONY," and "Jessica to Tony: GIVE ME A BABY!"). OK Magazine is reporting (via "family insider") that the shirt is an jab at Romo's ex-girlfriend Carrie Underwood, who has been named PETA's "sexiest vegetarian" for two years in a row. You really showed her, Jess.

4. Billy Ray on Miley: "We just love making love music."

Cyrus went on the Today show yesterday to promote his new series he is hosting Nashville Star (you may recall he was one for about 15 minutes), and brought up his daughter Miley's Vanity Fair cover shoot...again. “I didn’t know they were gonna strip her down and wrap her in a blanket,” he told Meredith Viera. “My daddy always told me the more you stomp in poop, the more it stinks." How utterly pedestrian! DELIGHTFUL. More please! “So I was just, ‘OK, this happened. We got to deal with it.’ My mind also went back to 1992,” he continued, “I had the number-one album on Billboard Top 200 for 17 weeks in a row. And with that positive thing going on, there was also that double-edged thing of a reaction. And I remember Kris Kristofferson stopped me backstage at one of my shows and said, ‘Listen, hoss, always remember: The turkey with the longest neck’s always going to be the one everyone’s shootin’ at.’ ”

Oh but he couldn't just stop there. No, naked daughter discussions and turkey talk wasn't where Billy Ray wanted to finish this discussion. He had to bring up that other picture. The one above, where he hands are all over Miley's seductively posed body. “I’m sorry if I offended somebody. That’s just a daddy who loves his daughter a whole lot.” Like, way, way, too much. Like a Flowers in the Attic, Blue Lagoon, fucking Chinatown kind of way. “Miley and I just got caught up in this adventure of this dream and what we do for a living and, again, we both love acting, we love making music, and we love each other. I’m her dad, she’s my daughter. If a daddy hasn’t hugged his daughter recently, I recommend he does.” My dad hugs me like that, patricide is in order.

3. Julia Allison

Well, Gawker just got a little bit less esoteric. She was fired. I don't really care about her that much, except now who will support the already stellar cast of Fashion Police commenters? Goumba Johnny and Jack from Project Runway can't do it all on their own!

2. E.D. Hill
Now that she has all of that free time on her hands, I hope she enjoyed The View this morning, where Michelle Obama "terrorist fist jabbed" the shit out of all of her co hosts, even Hasselbitch!


1. Common Fucking Decency
These were sold at the Texas Republican State Convention:

There's already an apology and the money made off of the pins is being donated to charity. Oh good. No hard feelings then.

And Besides That Whole Attempted Murder Thing...

Wendy Williams needs to quit with that wig.

That is all.

"Sooner or later, you're gonna listen to Ralph Nader"

So the NYT sez that on three Saturdays in August, from 7am to 1pm, the city will close a route that extends from the BK Bridge to East 72nd to cars (except for some major crosstown intersections.

Now, this is a very cool idea in principle, no doubts, and it'll be totally sweet to see Manhattan streets free of cars (just like it is during street fairs), but will any of us be awake and in the city before 1pm? I hope so, but I'm not sure I'ma put any money on it.

5 People Who Are Having Worse Days Than Mine

So it's nearly 4pm. I've been at work for about 20 minutes now, and all because some dumb hiptard stole all my laundry. All of my dress shirts, two pairs of pants, underwear and socks. So keep your eyes peeled for someone wearing skinny jeans and a Joseph A. Banks shirt, or perhaps, my entire wardrobe being sold for $3.50 at Beacon's Closet. Seriously. Fuck. These. People.
But hey, it could be worse, right? As two people here have already pointed out, I could have cancer. Instead of actually dignifying that thought with a response, I think my day is currently going better than these five:

5. Trouble the Dog

When "Queen of Mean" socialite and noted bitch Leona Helmsley died last August at the age of 87, she left $12 million (the better part of her fortune), to a small poodle named Trouble. The dog currently resides in Florida in the hands of the manager of the Helmsley Sandcastle Hotel, where (according to her caretaker, Carl Lekic) her expenses are sizable. "Lekic put Trouble’s annual expenses at $190,000, which includes Lekic’s $60,000 guardian fee, $100,000 for ’round-the-clock security, $8,000 for grooming, $3,000 for miscellaneous expenses, $1,200 for food and anywhere from $2,500 to $18,000 for medical care." (Source)
But now the New York State Attorney General has decided that Helmsley was not in a "fit mental state" when she made her will, and has reduced Trouble's trust fund from $12 million to a shockingly meager two million dollars. The extra $10m? It's going to Helmsley's disinherited grandchildren! Psh! Fuck that noise. If any of you fuckers try and take away Yeti's $4.37 inheritance when I'm dead, prepare to be haunted.

4. Amy Winehouse

She fainted. Aw.
Says her rep: "Doctors are unsure of the cause of the incident and Amy is currently undergoing tests." THEY HAVE NO IDEA. And people say England's health care system is better than ours. I call bullshit.

3. Chaka Khan

Because she morphed into a boa constrictor and ate Aretha Franklin.

2. Betty "Social Security Reaper" Neumar

This 76-year-old bag of secrets is currently being re investigated for the 1986 murder of her husband, Harold Gentry. 22 years ago, police in Stanly County, North Carolina got a tip that Neumar had put a hit out on her husband. They ignored it. Turns out, the biddy's been married five times since the 1950s, and each time, her husband has mysteriously died. I say, good job knocking off hubbies for nearly 60 years without getting caught. (Source)

1. Jennifer Aniston

Because even if I have to go to work naked for the rest of my life, at least I am not the sad, sad sack, of one Jen Aniston. Because when TMZ has headlines like "John Mayer: Hasn't Dumped Aniston Yet," is life really worth living?

I'm out.

"Don't get murdered over your own song before you ad-lib it"

So, I'll make a proper post about Tha Carter III in a few days when the sales numbers come in (because yes, my dumbass 15 year old self, that is, in this case, quite important), and it's not like anyone can say anything that hasn't already been said on some blog or message board or whatever, but whatever.

Anyways, just a quick post today about Fabolous' verse on "You Ain't Got Nuthin on Me," cuz holy shit where did that come from?! It's like Fab-o has been saving up every awesome idea he has had for like 3 years in waiting for this verse, in which he easily outshines both Juelz and Wayne, who come with pretty solid verses themselves. Is this a one-off, or are we entering an era of Fabolous being awesome? We'll see, I suppose, but goddamn that Xzibit line.

"I'ma beat that pussy up..."

You spend your whole life hating cats, mostly because dogs (not that you've ever had one) are cooler and your aunt's cat took a piece out of your hand that one time when you were little (I think I just unrepressed that), and then, well, your hatred gets worn down eventually as your friend whose house you're constantly at gets a cat who you don't really like but whose insanity you kind of grudgingly respect and, more importantly, your new roommate has a cat that's gonna stay with you for a month or two and it's really nice and chill and friendly.

And then you walk into your room to grab your phone to go to a show and your whole room reeks of cat urine and there's a giant stain soaking through your comforter and your sheets, right through to the mattress.

Yes this is only the third sentence of this post and yes I'm pissed and yes fuck cats.

You Should Be Shot (Get it?)

Everyone's favorite maybe, I don't know, possible, bisexual reality star, Tila Tequila, has added another accomplishment to her already stunning resume of embarrassment. After California's recent ruling concerning the recognition of gay marriage, Tila has taken the opportunity to credit herself and her show with directly contributing to it. According to US Weekly the supposedly hot "star" said “It is because of me — I definitely think [my show] has helped the movement. Before it came out, everyone was still a little apprehensive about [same sex relationships]. Then they realized, ‘Wow, everyone is really into this stuff, and it is fine.’ The next thing you know, [gay marriage] is legal,”

Yes, Tila, your bullshit show that parades desperate suitors participating in a variety of events such as washing cars with their bikini-clad bodies, eating bull's testicles and drenching themselves in chocolate sauce contributed to this major California Supreme Court decision. You're right, your show made people realize "Hey, gays? Why, they are just like us! What the hell, let's let 'em get married." Oh and most definitely your show was an honest and real-life look at gay and lesbian relationships. And you're so original! No one has been fighting for this right until you came along, this hasn't been the result of years and years of struggle.

Listen, you're the focus of a dating reality show, and that's fine, but let's call it what it is - a shitty, gimmicky reality show that's just about run its course. To claim that you had anything to do with this landmark decision is not only wrong, but offensive to the people who have dedicated their lives to achieving this right.

Tila, you still have a shot at being a fucking moron, are you interested?

Lotsa Hyperlinks in This One

So, the kid Kelley Polar, who has released one of the year's best records so far, I Need You to Hold on While the Sky Is Falling, has done a version of "Magic Dance," from the classic Jim Henson weirdo muppet fantasy flick Labyrinth, for Rapster Records' new Bowie cover compilation Life Beyond Mars. It's largely in French, and it's awesome, and it's one of those things that make me think that I need to DJ somewhere again very soon. And you can get it at this post on 20 Jazz Funk Greats. There's a reason they're the first blog I linked here, and they would have been so even without alphabetical order.

"Shooting people at the Source Awards is a tradition. It's like shooting people outside of Hot 97!"

As many (all) of you know, I was a little tipsy yestereve, and am feeling the reprocussions of my nefarious actions this morning, tenfold. My strongest recollections of you all come from after making myself food, not so much before. Apologies for anything I said, shouted, or knocked over. I'm going to post a bunch of times today, to distract myself from the fact that I am so hungover. At a cancer hospital.

The most exciting news of the day comes from the Post, who reports this morning that radio host Wendy Williams' husband (Kevin Hunter) conspired to murder her rival, Hot 97 superstar (and Molly B's personal hero) Miss (Tarsha) Jones. This allegation was made in a sexual harassment lawsuit that is being filed by Williams' talent booker (and oft sidekick) Nicole Spence, against Williams and Hunter. Spence (who still works for WBLS and The Wendy Williams Experience - awkward?)also claims that Williams also tried to take out a hit - on her own husband.


That's Wendy Williams...


And that's Miss Jones. Who would totally decapitate Wendy Williams in a brawl.

"The office is run by street gangster tactics," said the filed court documents. Street gangster indeed.

Łukasz Podolski, born in Gliwice, Poland, 6/4/85

So, I've been spending my days going to Nevada Smith's on Third Avenue, as I don't have cable at the new apartment yet and the European Soccer Championships are going on. Nevada's is prolly the most famous soccer bar in the city, which comes in handy because everybody knows to go there, so you get plenty of honest to goodness Spaniards watching the Spain games, real Frenchmen watching the France games, and so on and so forth. So everyday I walk into the bar and there's a different group of people and chanting and cheering on their team in their own language and it's all real cool.

Anyways, I went for the Poland/Germany game on Sunday and it was absolutely packed with lots of Germans and even more Poles and we got our hearts broken, but that's kind of beside the point. I got to thinking the other day about how I basically hide from any organized attempts at nationalism (in college for example, no matter how many times someone told me about the Polish Club on campus, even people I didn't hate, it was absolutely the last thing I wanted to be a part of), soccer completely brings it out of me. I was singing the Polish national anthem with the rest of the fans before the game (and booing the German one, ha!) at the top of my lungs and during it I was absolutely living and dying with every kick. And I've never really questioned why, despite the fact that I've avoided all my adult life association with people based purely on nationality, it seems so natural to throw that out the window during a soccer match.

And it won't be all that much different when Poland plays, for example, Croatia. There will still be chanting and singing and passion. But against Germany, man, that was some other shit. As ridiculous as it seems to my rational, liberal self that in 2008 I should hold some hatred against Germany for past events, there was no way I couldn't think about invasions and massacres and occupations. And those are some ugly thoughts to have, sure, but at the same time, there's something oddly comforting (and, at the same time, adrenaline raising) about reconnecting with history, ugly as it may be.

I talked to some Germans after the match, not about nationalism and Nazis or anything, of course, but about soccer, and it was perfectly pleasant. And I didn't even call any of my German friends to yell at them this time. So, you know, I've survived. And I heartily recommend coming down to Nevada's with me sometime in the next 2 weeks, even if you're a neutral or not a soccer fan. Good times to be had.

TORI GIVES BIRTH TO FAKE BABY

I mean, one would assume, right?



Just in time for reality TV, Stella Doreen Spelling McDermott was born via C-section this morning, weighing in at 6 pounds 8 ounces. Spelling, who is in talks to reprise her role as Donna, the perpetual virgin, car crash/attempted rape victim, former painkiller addict and survivor of a vicious stair assault (damn you Ray Pruitt!) in the CW remake of 90210, described herself as "happy."

Yaaaayyyyyyyy.

I never saw the first reality show (Tori & Dean: Inn Love), but the New York Times seemed to think it a comic gem: "Her wiglike hair and giant face — swollen to clown size in pregnancy — work well for comedy." (Full review here). Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood? Yes please.

Damn the Man

Not that I have a ton of free time at work, but when I do there's just one thing I want to do, and that's browse the social networking scene. This pleasure is denied me however, by a cruel block by the NYC DOE. It bans myspace, facebook, and a variety of other sites. The block is in place to prevent students from visiting these sites, but it's also cramping my style. 

Perhaps I'm late on this, but I recently learned you can go to http://slyuser.com, type in any website domain name, and it allows you to bypass firewalls, filters, and bans that are so harshly imposed on us by employers and anonymously explore the internet. 

Counter-productivity, here I come.  

I think we can now conclusively say...

...Mary J. Blige was wrong.