Happy New Year!!

Frightening Thai Mascot says think before you drink and drive! I hope you all have a safe, mascot-free New Years Eve, and I'll be thinking joyous thoughts for all of you, as I imbibe a bottle of wine and some fried chicken.

Netflix, here I come!!!

What the Hell Happened to Joaquin Phoenix?

P.Diddy looks TERRIFIED in this picture. Frankly I don't blame him, Joaquin Phoenix looks like he's a step away from carving a swastika between his eyebrows and screaming "I'M CHARLIE MANSON! I'M CHARLIE MANSON!" in his face.

Ever Felt Like This?

This fits ably into my ongoing ode to how much I hate this winter.

A Tip, Gentle Readers. Moisturize, Early... and Often.

Donatella Versace, you know I'm here to help. Remember when we discussed bringing a little taste and glamour off the runway and into your own life?? Yeah... that includes the beachwear. Words to live by: no outfit is complete without sunscreen, especially when you vacation on the sun.

The most frightening thing... you're 53 years old. You look like a piece of beef jerky with softballs shoved into it.

Hugs and kisses (wait... no),

Birv

PS- you owe me a new pair of eyeballs.

Oscar-worthy You Are NOT.

I usually regard winter as the "Classy Movie" season, and I know I'm hardly the only one. We have all sorts of Oscar-bait floating around, Slumdog Millionaire, Rachel At the Wedding, Reservation Road, Doubt... films to make you think, films you can go see and make you seem totally smart when you talk about them at work the next day.

Then I go to IMDB.com, and see a group of trailers for the most ridiculous sounding movies I have ever heard. Seriously- I watch a lot of stupid crap, but these sound so... SO dumb. I've included the synopses below... I want to believe that you can blame how mind-numbingly stupid these movies sound on the complexity of trying to explain a movie in a few sentences, but sadly, I don't think so.

I Love You, Man: Friendless Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd) goes on a series of man-dates to find a Best Man for his wedding. But when his insta-bond his new B.F.F.(Jason Segel) puts a strain on his relationship with his fiancée (Rashida Jones) can the trio learn to live happily ever after?

The Ugly Truth: A macho morning TV show correspondent (Gerard Butler) makes a bet with his romantically challenged producer (Katherine Heigl): If his tips on how to land and keep a guy don't work, he'll quit the business.

The Proposal: A pushy boss (Sandra Bullock) forces her young assistant (Ryan Reynolds) to marry her in order to keep her Visa status in the U.S. and avoid deportation to Canada.

How Was Christmas??

Huzzah! Christmas is over!!! A happy and fond bah humbug to you all!!! Ironically, now that the season of "giving" is over, the general public will likely become much more polite.

Now I just need to survive through New Years, and I can start going out again. The times that I feel the most obligated to do something social are the times that I am the least inclined to do so... is that a bad thing? Should I care? Mmmm... I'm choosing not to.

I'm not one for resolutions- I fail often enough, I don't feel the need to deliberately set myself up. Instead, I'll ask the question: what are we all looking forward to as we prepare to pop the cherry of a fresh new year?

The thing I'm most looking forward to in 2009 is that people only have one more year of saying "twenty-oh-nine". I hate when people say "twenty-oh-eight" or "twenty-oh-five". It totally bugs me... don't ask me why. At least "twenty-ten" makes sense. It is a blight on an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable Sunday morning when I watch CBS' Sunday Morning, as Charles Osgood ALWAYS says "twenty-oh-eight". He says it like seven times; I cringe every single time.

I'm also mad excited about Superstars of Dance... a new NBC dance show that pits various professional dancers from different genres against each other. I have no idea how the show works...are all the countries doing the same dances? Do people vote on the best dances, even though the dances are all going to be crazy different? Is it a competition at all? Frankly, I don't care- if I did I would read up on it. I'll let it be one of the many surprises the show is sure to offer. All I know and all I care about is that it is produced by the same people that do So You Think You Can Dance (odd it's not on Fox), and it features professional dancers (screw you, Dancing With the Stars), thus I don't care what the show involves, so long as I see me some Bollywood. It starts this Sunday... be prepared for a review!!! I know you're all as excited as I am.

Clearly I set my expectations for 2009 low. If you have something more profound (or not), by all means, let me know what you're pumped for!

Christmas Winehouse Watch!

It's been practically a month since good ol' Amy has done anything press-worthy. Now she's living it up in the Caribbean. And by living it up I mean running around topless. *shudder* Believe me, dear readers, there are far more revealing pictures of her "cavorting" floating around, but for the sake of Sis-in-law's recent Lasik surgery, I didn't put them on here. Wouldn't want her to suddenly go blind. No need to thank me, I took one for the team here. Fonzipan is, for most purposes, a family blog. Aside from yesterday's winter rant.

These pictures also beg the question: Who on God's green earth would let their children get this close to her???

Merry Christmas!

Even though it's snowing sideways and I felt like this walking into work from the El today, I'm less angry... I'm pretending my car isn't resembling a turtle beached on a sandbar... all wavy legs and no movement.

In honor of the holidays... here's a photo montage of reasons to love Christmas!

Vampire Cuts Hair, Narnia Entrance Destroyed

Since I'm angry, I deserve to post about cute boys cutting their hair. If that can't make me happy, then thousands of calories will. Why, WHY can't I drink at work??

Anyway... Twilight's Robert Pattinson, always someone you can count on for crazy lettuce/sex hair, made millions of tween girls and fanilows weep as he jumped on the buzzcut bandwagon this weekend. Hmmm... still looks a bit like a sexy hobo. Thousands of unicorns, fauns and fairies were killed upon the deforestation of their natural habitat.

Winter in Chicago: a poem.

My stupid goddamn piece of shit car wouldn't goddamn fucking move from it's goddamn fucking parking spot this morning... fucking goddamn piece of fucking crap. I hate cars, I hate winter, I hate Chicago, I hate snow, I hate how goddamn fucking cold it was when I had to take the goddamn fucking El... I hate that the goddamn stupid pieces of dook at the CTA FORCE you to pay goddamn cash for a fucking CTA card, but have no goddamn ATM's at any locations, so you have to trek to the fucking WALGREENS to get some goddamn money out of the fucking machine so that you can get a goddamn fucking CTA card so you can freeze your fucking tits off while waiting TWENTY MINUTES for a fucking bastard train to arrive. I hate walking along the windy-ass fucking HIGHWAY to get to my job an hour fucking late because I couldn't move my fucking piece of crap car out of it's space, and I hate that I am covered in salt and snow because I tried to push my goddamn fucking piece of crap car out of it's spot, and it wouldn't budge because even though I am a fucking goddamn whale apparently all of my heft isn't enough to fucking move a goddamn fucking car two inches. I hate that my fucking back hurts from trying and I hate that my foot and hands hurt from when I then started beating up my goddamn fucking piece of shit car that won't move out of its spot. I especially LOATHE the stupid asshat motherfucker driving by that laughed at me while I was trying to move my stupid piece of shit car out of it's spot. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, buttcheese! I hope you get a pox on your ballsack for the holidays, you un-chivalrous piece of moldy smegma! I brandish my fist at you!!

Winter Parking Olympics Photo courtesy of Big Brother, the best photojournalism correspondent a blogging girl could ever have.

The Best Gifts Don't Cost a Thing.

Just ask Katie Holmes, who got to spend her 30th birthday blissfully Tom Cruise-free. Does it look to anyone else like Tom Cruise has been sucking the life force out of her to preserve his tiny body? "MUST EAT BRAAAAAAINS!!"

That's One Way to Prevent Bullies...I suppose

Here's a story from Yahoo News to warm your heart for the holidays:

A US bakery has refused to decorate a three-year-old's birthday cake with his name - Adolf Hitler Campbell.

The trouble, the New Jersey shop said, was that it was "inappropriate" to put such a name on the cake.
But the little boy's father, Heath Campbell, said it was unfair of ShopRite supermarket to turn down his request.
Heath Campbell said he named his son after Adolf Hitler because he liked the name and because "no one else in the world would have that name".

Referring to the baker's decision, he said: "They need to accept a name. A name's a name.
"The kid isn't going to grow up and do what Hitler did."
But the problem does not stop there.
The shop has also refused to make a cake for Mr Campbell's second child, who turns two next February.
Her name is JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell.
Heath and Deborah Campbell's third child will probably not get a cake from that shop either.
The eight-month-old baby has been named Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell, apparently a reference to one of the Nazi's most monstrous leaders, SS head Heinrich Himmler.
For the time being, the matter has been settled - the Campbells had their cake made by Wal-Mart.

Charming! Nothing like using your innocent children to further your own hateful agenda.

Does It Qualify for Lasik?

There is a limit to the love you can extend a pet. Does that limit include contact lenses?

The Daily Mail reports:

"Most contact lens wearers have had trouble putting them in their eyes at some point - so the idea of putting them on a cat might seem ridiculous.
But that is exactly what the owners of Ernest - a 15-year-old black and white cat - have found themselves doing.
And from these pictures the elderly moggie looks like he has plenty to purr about after the lens have transformed him from a squinting cat unable to see where he was going."

I have trouble getting a cat to maintain eye contact for 10 seconds- how do you even get a contact in it's eye??

Sidenote: BEST BARBIE EVER... and this post is dedicated to Also Beth, who once dressed as Tippi Hedron while eating fried chicken- because she knows no fear.

Go buy one!

The Man Is Everywhere... including your pants.

As much as I love campaign clothing, how on earth did these pass me by this political season?? New York Daily News reported these Andrew Christian designs in JUNE for heaven's sake! I'm ashamed that I missed these, and I will try to remain abreast of any new pundit wear in the future.

As for the recent Illinois political climate, I am choosing to remain mute, though I will say I that I find it interesting that people seem more taken aback at the blue language of the tapes than the fact the governor (and his wife) were trying to sell a political position.

It's rather like being more upset that there's a bloodstain on the new carpet than the fact that your husband was just murdered.

Rhino Safety Procedures

I saw this on Geekologie, and felt the need to post it for all my non-Geekologie readers. On one hand, this falls into the scary category of masks, clowns and mascots, on the other I can't stop laughing at it. Those crazy zoologists! (You thought I was going to make an Asian joke, didn't you? Admit it.)

It's important to be prepared for a rhino attack at all times, but I can't help thinking that the beast in question would be slightly more fleet of foot. I definitely think we wouldn't have time to raise the volleyball nets.

Don't Sweat the Petty Things... Don't Pet the Sweaty Things: The Ballad of Bikram Yoga

ZOMG last night was the worst night ever. I tried Bikram Yoga, or Hot Yoga, for the very first time in my life, and I am now thoroughly convinced that the practice was invented by the Devil.

Entering the work space is an experience. Imagine every well-groomed, dissatisfied trust-fundian DeadHead you've ever met in one room encased in designer sportswear and you pretty much have the experience. This is not to say that your classmates aren't kind. On the contrary- Bikram followers are full of love. It was a very huggy crowd. Everyone was very present, man. Present and nearly nude!! Short shorts and sports bras were quite the fashion... for everyone except me. Tank top and yoga pants, my friends! This girl doesn't shed for strangers unless plied with liquor. George, my fellow first-timer, said he felt like we had unwittingly signed up for some sort of sex party.

Entering the workout room is like walking into someone's mouth- except that mouth is full of other sweaty people. The picture above is accurate- there were like 40 people in this room. One hundred ten degrees, 50% humidity... what was I thinking?? I hate the heat, I hate exercising, and this is far too much bodily fluid to be splashed with from people I'm not sleeping with, that's for sure. I have never sweated so much in my life... and that was before I laid my mat down.

I was holding my own for a good 30 minutes of the 90 minute session... then the room started to swimming. Rather than pass out in front of all these yogis, I left to sit outside- big mistake. The rapid change in temperature from 110 degrees to 70 was a little too much... get ready for it- I TOTALLY PUKED, YOU GUYS!!!

Super love it. So after puking all over the floor of the bathroom at the yoga place, I did what any veteran puker does, I high-tailed it out of there. Shortly before I did, I had a conversation with one of the receptionist/yogis, Willow? Wheatgrass? Something herbal, anyway. She was very sweet. She explained that the heat is what most first-timers have the toughest times with, and that this was my body's way of telling me it needs this, and encouraged me to re-enter the room when I was ready, I would feel such calm if I did! Some salesgirl.

Luckily for me, Haybale left, so my pukey pants and I were able to flee with some semblance of dignity. Stumbling dizzily to my car, I did feel a sense of something- peace, quasi-dehydrated drunkenness, who knows... but I did feel good. Until I found a ticket on my car. GRRRR! So now thirty minutes of literal hell on earth has cost me $80.

I also have a bruise on my ass from falling down the sheet of ice that were the sidewalks last night while walking Daisy... I had to roll over to the grass because I kept slipping when I tried to get up. Ah, my glamorous life.

So I've been considering it- feeling stupid for ever thinking my Scottish constitution could handle the heat, I am facing eating the $30 for the month trial and realizing the end of my dreams of being a shapely yogini (and possibly facing the end of my hopes to travel to India- do they have air conditioning there?), or I try getting back on the horse once more. Grassy Knoll told me that the first time is the hardest, and that now I've been through it, I wouldn't notice it the next time. Do I believe her? Do I risk puking again? It's a general rule I have to avoid things that make me throw up at all costs. Well- that's a lie. I do still drink, after all. Here's the crazy part- the competitive, masochistic cheap-ass in me is almost considering going back to the class...I paid $30 and I couldn't finish one class? BALLS!

Hottt Yoga

Every time I try a new type of exercise, I become convinced that I will awake the next morning suddenly transformed into a size 6, with long flowing locks and perfect skin. It becomes perfectly logical to me that through one hour of the latest exercise craze, I will become Jessica Alba's twin overnight. (Influenced by negative media stereotypes? Moi? NEVER.)

In keeping with that hope, I'm trying Bikram Yoga tonight for the first time ever. Bikram Yoga, for those who don't know, is yoga done in a room at 105 degrees Fahrenheit and 40% humidity. So basically I'm going to try to pretend that I'm doing yoga in Florida.

Considering I hate Florida, weather that gets over 80 degrees, and, well, exercising, we'll see how this goes. All I have to say is if some dude tries to do this to me, I'm outta there faster than he can snap on that headband in the morning.

Review to come tomorrow.

Crap-pops and STD's

AHH! My dog... not exactly a lady on her best of days... has become 100 times grosser since the cold snap. I can't believe that I am discussing this on here, but I need group therapy. Daisy has started eating other dogs' poop! I don't know if they are a nice refreshing snack, a 'poopsicle' if you will, or if she feels she's just not getting enough sustenance at home, but this, if for no other reason, is a valid enough cause to pick up your dog crap every single time.

10 to 1 some of Daisy's recent tasty treats are from that annoying bitch that walks her dog off-lead every day, and yet darts to her dog and pulls it into the nearest alley when she spies Daisy and I walking from a block away, then proceeds to give me the stink eye the entire time I'm passing by her. Then again I just don't like her, so I'll pin anything on that one.

Anyway, I need a diversion. Lucky for me, the world has provided Amy Winehouse. Hooray!! The Sun has been reporting on her quite a bit in the last couple of days. Apparently, on Thursday, Methtaculous, who's been hospitalized for the last 10 days, received a farewell visit from her husband, who's headed back to prison after failing out of rehab. Apparently the couple wanted to give the hospital's disease control department a run for it's money and had some mad hospital bed sex. I shudder to think of these two bonybirds going at it.

Now today it's reported that Amy broke out of the hospital last night to "record some new music". BWAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA!!! Anyone remember the last time Amy Winehouse entered a recording studio? I do. It was October... no music was recorded, but the devil did give Amy drugs.

Do I have a Post-It On My Forehead?

My weight is a battle I am ever waging. I have a vision that the day my thighs drop the saddlebags and the jiggling of my upper arms no longer causes the butterfly effect, I will magically meet any one of my imaginary boyfriends (Lee Pace, I'm looking at you tonight), and he will fall in love with me instantly, from across a crowded room. Naturally, as we're walking towards each other, eyes alight with finding our soul mate in each other, a giant, many-tentacled alien will destroy the planet. Such is my luck.

Wait, where was I? Oh right... I'm fat. Anyway, I've been hanging with the peeps at Jenny Craig lately, and have been losing some weight. Yay! The downside, people have eyeballs. When people notice things, they love to talk about the things they notice. Somehow, in the Great American Lexicon of Poor Manners, I missed the chapter that a change in your appearance becomes an open invitation to random passersby to dissect your personal style.

I am completely flabbergasted by the nerve of my co-workers- indeed, some people with whom I have NEVER spoken- to come up to me and discuss not only my weight, but my hair (color, cut, whether I wear it up or down), my makeup (my particular favorite was being called "dewy, but too heavy on the eyemakeup"), whether I look better with glasses or contacts, the clothes that I wear, the collection of shoes under my desk, what I eat ("is that Jenny approved?" Who knows? Keep working on those curly fries). It's like working on a noticeable flaw gives people carte-blanche to point out everything that is wrong with you. Settle down people, I'm rehabbing the kitchen, not rebuilding the house.

Throughout these overweening conversations, I inexplicably find myself dumbstruck, smiling and trying to explain my fashion choices to my meddling turkey of a conversant. Why of course I DO look better with my hair down. You're right, I should go and buy hairdye tonight! Better yet, I'll do it at lunch!

It's only after these overfamiliar exchanges have taken place and the intrusive peck has walked away from my desk that I feel the sting of the back-handed insult buried in there.

It brings me to ask, if this is you with a filter, what are you really thinking? However, I often wonder whether or not people really do have a filter when it comes to situations like this. People genuinely think they are being helpful, and tact doesn't come into play when giving unsolicited advice. People blurt out whatever alights on the gentle breezes of their minds.

For all my self-righteous indignation, I'm no exception. I am an overly-opinionated bossy boots with enough knowledge to talk about anything, and abounding gall to fake what I don't know. So where does this verbal diarrhea come from? Why do we feel compelled to say whatever is on our minds about how others live their peaceable existences, without any regard for what is likely a carefully thought out personal choice?

Simple- we always think we're right. It is human nature to judge others by our own pushy, self-assertive life code. It is inconceivable to think that others live by an equally effective, though disparate set of choices/values/plans. This is the delicate eggshell-thin construct of our own EGO. We are constantly checking the mental checklist of our life (choices, actions, experiences) against those of other people. Are we normal? Are we appropriate? Are we right?

Deep down, I know that most people don't have vicious intentions when scrutinizing every aspect of my being. For most, it is a message of solidarity, their way of showing that they are supportive of my lame attempts at self-improvement. I just wish that I could be going through rehab or something less noticeable... maybe then Joyce would keep her hands to herself and not pull the top of my shirt up: "You're a pretty girl. You don't need to rely on your tits. Cover those up."

Mmmmm... Pie...

I won't give a full review of last night's Pushing Daisies today, seeing as how BFF hasn't watched it yet, and I don't want to give anything away. Plus, she's probably the only one of my readers that actually watches the show. Philistines. (Just kidding!!! But it is a REALLY good show and you're totally missing out.) Suffice it to say, "Comfort Food" was probably one of my favorite episodes to date. Muffin Buffalo cameoed from Wonderfalls! Deep fried Colonel Likkin! Naughty jokes concerning finger likkin donut holes!

I am delighted about the "food = love" concept of Pushing Daisies. Food is often a substitute for sex between Chuck and Ned, but the theme of unrequited love and the need for, well, comfort food was back and stronger than ever in this episode as Olive and Ned compete for the Best In Belly prize at the Comfort Food Competition. This show has layers, people, like the delicate flaky crust of the PieMaker's speciality.

Anyway, enough gabbing about PD. On to mocking celebrities!!! It seems Pete from Fall Out Boy was destined to be a theme this week... first I give him a shout out regarding his name cameo on One Tree Hill (though JAX did point out that he did have a few appearances on the show), and now he's in the news dishing about the fact that his lady love Ashlee Simpson is a vapid whore that he'd have left in his tiny-man dust cloud if he hadn't knocked her up.


Details reports:

"And then there's the ultimate brand extension, the one guaranteed to propel Wentz into a whole new sphere of exposure: Bronx Mowgli Wentz, the son he and his wife, Ashlee Simpson, welcomed into the world on November 20. When Wentz found out Simpson was pregnant, he was in Chile with Fall Out Boy, preparing to play a show in nearby Antarctica. "I was like, 'Oh my God, this might be the worst possible time to have this conversation,'" he says. Perhaps to make sure the news had sunk in, Simpson promptly e-mailed a snapshot of the pregnancy test. (Us Weekly, eat your heart out). "I was definitely scared," Wentz says, "just thinking, This is something that's going to exist for the rest of your life and you can't f*%k it up."
Wentz allows that the pregnancy was unplanned. 'It was a happy accident,' he says. 'But I think that certain things happen for a reason in your life, and maybe it was time to put the wild child in a cage.'"

Then just yesterday, while riding downstairs in my elevator at work, I saw a quote from him regarding being on the red carpet with NoseJob McGee:

"It's like I'm like her purse."

Wow- that's love. Soul mates, indeed. Of course, he is a Wilmette-bred New Trier boy... this sort of resigned WASP acceptance of a loveless marriage "for the kids" fits his upbringing to a T.

I Feel Cheated!

Gossip Girl, I'm disappointed in your epic FAIL of a stunt cast!! Last night had Nastia Luikin's big guest spot premiere... and it was literally 12 seconds of air time!! She just walked by Chuck Bass... her only line was a smile and to say "uh huh" at the Snowflake Charity Ball. I expected more from you, GG. I expected her to die in some tragic accident involving Blair in a drunken rage, pushing her off a balcony, or at the VERY least be one of the many Mona Lisa smiling ladies exiting Chuck's room in the morning. But NOOOO... you just have her walk by the camera. LAME.

You should have taken a page from One Tree Hill's book. They stunt casted people's NAMES. Remember when they kept throwing Pete from Fall Out Boy's name into the script? I don't even think he was ever on the SHOW and they managed to do a better job than you. They didn't even use his full name- they just kept calling him Pete from Fall Out Boy!!

Incidentally... Snowflake Charity Ball as the Page Six event of the season for high school seniors?? Hardly! It looked like 40 bored extras badly dancing in a sound stage. Your barwork is usually so much better than this tripe. Where are the hangers on? The velvet ropes? The entrance scenes, showing the un-invited rabble?

I also am perplexed by the "cruel prank" that Jenny pulled on Vanessa (by the way, J's eyeliner is starting to lighten up... back from rebel territory, after all?). Surely your writers could have come up with something better than Vanessa being backlit in a dress with *GASP* no lining! Come on- Britney Spears shows more vag than that while waiting in line at the Starbucks for crying out loud!

I'm feeling underwhelmed, GG. I didn't fight for dual tuner Tivo only to have you get all sweet and moral on me here. Let's do better next week. It DOES look like there's a funeral, and the hint that Chuck may be involved in his father's death, so you're showing some promise... let's not disappoint, ok?

Schizo Showdown!

It looks like Amy Winehouse may soon have a fight on her hands to retain the title "High Priestess of Crazytown".

Britney Spears' new documentary aired last night, and despite the sycophantic laughter of the vultures that surround her, it's clear that her behavior is becoming erratic once more. Wow, that sounded so professional of me. Here's what I meant to say: you can tell she's bought a ticket on the Looney Express and will soon be lip-synching Womanizer nekkid at Whiskey A Go Go, slathered in Big Mac sauce.

The Daily Mail reports:

In a scene filmed as she was making her video for comeback single 'Womanizer', Britney told friends: 'I'm going to write the man of my dreams on my arm.
'I'm going to get married next year and have babies. Watch!'
She later told how when she falls in love she 'can't get enough' and 'gives my all' to her man.

The pop princess said: 'That would be heaven for me, to have my kids on an island and a man and no-one could get to us.
'That's my thing. When I really love somebody I really love somebody. I give my all.
'I can't get enough. I need to be around them all the time.

'It's just the best feeling in the world when they give me that feeling.'
Britney teased she will eventually write a tell-all autobiography, saying: 'I will have a good book one day, a good mysterious book.'
She insisted she has no regrets - and told how she is avoiding the 'threatening situations' that have caused her such turmoil, declaring: 'I go through life like a Karate Kid.'
But the 'Toxic' singer broke down in tears as she lamented her 'lonely' life, despite apparently putting her public meltdown behind her.
She told how she feels too controlled and said: 'You can't really go there in a complete state of happiness because you're scared it's going to be taken away.'So it's better just not to feel anything at all and to have hope to feel the other way....
'When I tell people the way I feel they hear me, but they're really not listening.
'They hear what they want to hear. They don't really listen to what I'm telling them.
She started to sob as she added: 'It's bad. I'm sad.'

I, for one, am rooting for Amy Winehouse when the Barmy Battle of 2009 (I love alliteration!!) breaks out...mostly because Britney's got too many people that actually DO want to make sure she stays on her meds.

My November to Remember

phew!! I am exhausted. This November has been the social season I never thought I'd have in my life. Two weddings, three plays and operas, getting stood up by Pseudograndma, Twilight/BFF extravaganza, Thanksgiving and two birthdays, all crammed into four little weeks. To top it all off, I am, yet again, sick as a dog and can't hear a bloody thing... stupid head cold. My neighbors probably hate me, because I am listening to my TV at top volume.

SPEAKING of which, yes, I did get cable this weekend. Is it hypocritical of me, after railing against it for so long, to be mildly disappointed that I didn't really get more channels? I was starting to become excited by the idea that I would have BBC America and Cartoon Network. However the only channels I seemed to have picked up with my new "cheap as it can get" cable package are MSNBC and TBS. I was more than a little disappointed to realize that I have a TV lineup that now includes cyclical showings of Tim Allen in The Santa Clause and Jungle 2 Jungle.

Oh well. I spent all of yesterday catching up on my Tivoed network shows from the last week, and it took most of the day, so I suppose that I have enough to go on. Plus, joy of joys... my new Tivo records two shows at the same time! Gossip Girl and Chuck, there is equality among you!

Only four more episodes of Pushing Daisies to be had, before I have a glaring hole in my heart where a Bryan Fuller show should be. After watching last week's episode, I've become really down-hearted and frustrated with ABC for pulling the show without giving it any promotional effort whatsoever. There hasn't been an ad for a Pushing Daisies show on ABC since the season premiered in October. I'm gobsmacked that ABC is so ready to give up on a show that garnered 12 Emmy nominations in it's abbreviated first season (especially to revive a dead, seven year old show from another network!), so forgive me while I jump on my soapbox.

It's a rare show that doesn't become formulaic and lazy, and Pushing Daisies continues to surprise me with each episode. While we usually know the "killah-killah" from the beginning of the episode, the writers of the show continue to delight me with how they manage to bump people off, and the slowly unfolding mystery of Ned and Chuck's fathers and their relationship with Dwight Dixon has me wondering. The show's simple, goofy, deliciously naughty moments delight me ("stakeouts are only fun if there are enough binoculars for everyone", the comment about Emerson Cod's tight balls... of yarn, Ned's complete oblivion to key parties), and the subtle jokes abound, and there are always a few that I find myself laughing about 10 minutes after they've aired-such as the brief(and entirely non-verbal) moment where the Pie Maker realizes just what the dead millionaire meant by "trophy room".

There's a part of me that doesn't want to finish watching the show, knowing that I will only be incredibly disappointed by an unsatisfactory ending to the several character arcs that have begun to bloom on the show. Naturally there's a much larger part of me that wants to smack that unloyal, nasty part of myself about the face, and I know that not only will I loyally finish out the season, I'll most likely be buying the DVD when it comes out.

Oh well. Screw originality on TV. When looking for something new to take Pushing Daisies place in my own personal TV lineup, I can only hope that we'll get a new procedural crime drama soon. I sure could use another one... I'm by no means satisfied with just CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: New York, Law and Order, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Criminal Minds, NCIS, Without a Trace, Cold Case, The Mentalist, The Unit, Eleventh Hour, Life On Mars, Numbers, Bones, Fringe, My Own Worst Enemy.

An Open Letter to the Fashion Industry

Dear Couture Designers:

I am perplexed and a little frightened by your ability to overlook your own appearance while creating some of the most beautiful clothes in the world. I find it hard to take your advice on how I should dress when you show up at premieres and fashion week looking like an Oompa Loompa (Valentino), or Janice from the Muppets (Donatella Versace, I'm talking to you here.)

Betsey Johnson, I love your pre-teen sense of whimsy, but at 66 years old, please, please cover up your sun damage!

Karl Lagerfeld... I don't know what to tell you about this. Even Madonna has left the gloves at home.

Let's all take a moment to look at Tom Ford... and please remember, while drama can be fun, please leave it on the runway.

Sincerely,

Birv- a devoted and disturbed product whore.

I Leave For a Few Days...

And Amy Winehouse's marriage falls apart as she lands back in the hospital. Sheesh! I can't take even three days off! The Daily Mail, my source for all that's holy in Winehouseia, reports:

"Troubled singer Amy Winehouse was admitted to a London hospital on Sunday after suffering a reaction to her medication.
The 25-year-old's health problems meant she was absent at her husband Blake Fielder-Civil's court appearance yesterday.
Her absence at court and failure to visit him in rehab since he was released from prison three weeks ago has further fuelled reports their marriage is close to breaking point."

News of the World, which makes The Daily Mail look like The New Yorker, has even better stories, a reported exclusive with Amy:

Drug-tortured star Amy dramatically confessed: “It’s over. There’s no way back for us now. It was never going to last. We were only together for SEX.
“I fancied him like mad, like no one else I’ve ever known. But it’s not enough, is it?”
Amy stunned pals with her bitter acceptance that the 17-month marriage will end in divorce.
And she shocked them by revealing astonishing secrets of their wild sex life including LESBIAN ROMPS and sordid THREESOMES.

I don't know about you folks, but I LOVE when news ARTICLES capitalize RANDOM words. Well, these words aren't so random, I suppose. But it sure does add to the legitimacy of the article, doesn't it? Hit the link to read more of the NOTW article... it's awesome.

Young At Heart... and the Movie Theater

That's right, everyone. Here's the unveiling of the Twilight shirts. Mine is the one on the right, BFF's is the one on the left. I'm sure you'll agree we looked supercute, and I am proud to say we received many an appreciative nod from the 13 year old girls in the theater.

Let me set the scene for you- BFF and me, 80 teenage girls and four brave parents that drove their pre-teen girls. BFF and I were clearly the oldest people in the audience without any kids. I desperately wanted to sit next to Becky, a lovely girl we encountered in the snack line. Sadly, her pal Mindi called the seat.

The movie is terrible. Terribly AWESOME, that is!!! The movie is FAR superior to the book (not incredibly difficult to achieve), though there are enough subtle nods to the book in the film that will make the most devout "Twihard" squeal, including a cameo from author Stephenie Meyers (here's your fruit plate... STEPHENIE). In order to try and bring in a more diverse audience (not happening), director Catherine Hardwicke added a mystery storyline and more action scenes to the film than originally present in the book, which does wonders for streamlining the plot.

My review of the film itself is probably irrelevant-I'm sure most of you won't see it in the theater. I can understand not wanting to fight through hordes of hormonal teenagers swooning over Edward Cullen (and swoon-worthy he is). I am betting that you won't even cop to putting it on your Netflix list, though you totally should. It's ok. I know some of us have an image to uphold.

I know you'll secretly watch Twilight, doors locked on that one wet, sleety winter night when you know no one in the world would know you chose a teen vampire movie. I also know you're going to want to talk to someone about it, because it is embarrassingly the most super-cool. Just know, gentle reader, when that day comes, Birv is here.

Details about the trip and my devastation over the loss of Pushing Daisies to come.

Senior Citizen Hip Hop

You know I love senior citizens. I especially love old folks with a sense of humor, and this is the best thing ever. I can't even comment on how much I love this choir.

Pushing Daisies is back on!!! Huzzah!

It's days like today that I wish I could be wrapped up in a cocoon made of sweatpant material with Daisy, a lot of chocolate and Cheetos, and every single Pushing Daisies episode ever recorded. I probably don't need to elucidate on why I feel that way.

Alas, while I may not have a cocoon made of sweatpants, I WAS able to snuggle Daisy and watch a new episode of Pushing Daisies last night. 'Oh, Oh, Oh It's Magic', indeed!!!! Continuing to make subtle nods to great movies, last night's episode was a shout out to The Prestige, though instead of death by water tank, we've got death by 'Cementia'. Last night's was a doozy, not only forcing the Pie Maker to accept that his brothers' neediness mirrors his own, but also shedding some light on the mysterious disappearance of their father in the first place. Could Dwight Dixon, the subtly menacing charmer filled with other people's secrets, be at fault? What does he know about the dads of Coeur de Coeurs?

Sidenote- do we know Ned's last name?

Favorite lines:

Dwight Dixon: "Snorts and giggles are the cinnamon and raisins in my oatmeal."

Emerson Cod: "Oh my. Where did I put that rat's ass I could give??"

There were a lot in there, and since I was busy putting a little bling on my newly minted Twilight shirt last night, I was sorely remiss in writing all of them down. SPEAKING of Twilight, tomorrow is tomorrow!! I can't wait. I can't wait to see BFF, I am embarrassingly pumped for the movie, I am ready to be a full-on 13 year old girl. You know my review will be coming.

Screw the Soup Kitchens, I'm Eating Good Off Craig's List Tonight!

Honest to god, I love free CraigsList. This is the real picture that this person put into the post.


Hamburger Helper - Bacon cheese burger pasta (Flossmoor, IL)
Reply to: mailto:sale-925937785@craigslist.org?subject=Hamburger%20Helper%20-%20Bacon%20cheese%20burger%20pasta%20(Flossmoor,%20IL) [?]Date: 2008-11-19, 3:06PM CST
I made a whole skillet of this Hamburger Helper thinking my brother and his friends were coming over and they went to one of the friends homes instead. I don't want to throw this out, but don't care for the bacon in it. I figure in these times someone might want a meal today. We can meet at a safe place to make the exchange and you'd have to bring a big bout. I wouldn't risk trying to poison anyone and list it publically on Craigslist, so please no stupid jokes. This post is for someone who may need a little extra to feed their family today. I will throw out tomorrow.

Location: Flossmoor, IL
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interestsPostingID: 925937785

Well aren't you Mother Teresa, feeding the hungry with the bacon-y goodness of The Helper? I love this poster's sanctimonious plea for "no jokes".

Thanks to George, who claims that Hamburger Helper is no help at all.

Mascot Update

I have officially found the scariest mascot ever. This looks like some sort of horrible Mark Ryden creature come to life to eat my spleen from my still living body.

If any of you are judging the kind of horrible parents that would let their kid get close to this thing, remind yourself of this... "If I were the parents of this little girl, I would offer her as a happy meal/sacrifice to this monster while peeling bananas in the opposite direction too."

Robert Pattinson Misinterprets the Less Than Subtle Difference Between Dirty-Hot and Dirty

We all know how my heart is pitter-pattering over the release of Twilight on Friday. I'm not lying when I say how excited I am to be bedazzling a shirt, though I am sad to be crafting on my own (dammit, BFF, why must you live so far away!!). I will also admit to a mildly embarrassing attraction to 22 year old lead Robert Pattinson, who's broodishly stoned looks first introduced the Hannah Montana set to testosterone as Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

I really need to stop reading interviews.

The Daily News reports:

"But it's Hugh Grant, not Dean, he most frequently calls to mind. So much about the two upper-class Brits is the same: wide-set eyes, schoolboy baffledness, a bumble-and-mumble manner - even an equally floppy thatch of hair, which Pattinson said he hasn't washed for six weeks."

Six weeks. Six weeks??? Something tells me it isn't hair gel creating that "just rolled out of bed" look in the picture above. It also draws more attention to the flop sweat going on in this picture. Tiger Beat is NOT amused.

Victoria's Secret Models Actually ARE Aliens

Where the F(#K is this lady's belly button?! This is Karolina Kurkova, a model supposedly from the Czech Republic, if by the Czech Republic they mean Star System Beta 9. Apparently they photoshop in a belly button on her Victoria's Secret spreads. There's no question this woman is stunningly beautiful, but what the hell?

I can think of only two explanations:

a) plastic surgery has tummy-tucked her belly button into oblivion.

b) she's an alien that is infiltrating the human race through photo-media, hypnotizing men-folk into a subordinate slave race. Clearly, this is the more likely scenario.