Marathon Madness

Have you noticed that anything that now happens during the month of March has to be described as "madness?"

"Sears' March blow-out sale! Everything must go! It's MADNESS!"

Perhaps that is why Atlanta holds one of its marathons during the month of March, because to run 26.2 miles in a row, without the fate of a city hanging in the balance of you completing, or failing, in your mission, seems to be a decision of "utter madness" to me.

Apparently that view isn't shared by everyone, since I was forced to adjust my driving route (of 3 miles)for getting to and from the park, where the marathon happened to be staged. Yes, there I was, stuck in traffic, trying to negotiate the closed-off streets and red-lights with a bunch of pedestrians/runners who would have better served the city if they'd just gotten into their cars and driven around the town ("hey, gas is cheap again- use it or lose it!"), like I was, instead of hogging up the streets and sidewalks with their Nike, Adidas, and New Balance outfits, running for the "health" of it. Their "health inducing traffic jams" did little for the blood pressure and patience of anyone not participating in their little endeavor-so selfish and inconsiderate of them! "Ooh, look at our exclusive clique of runners going soo much faster than you on the streets today." Well at least I could listen to my music in the car and not be inhaling pollen! We'll see who wheezes last!

It was quite a cold day, for late March, in the A-town (clearly even Mother Nature was doing her part to try and stop the madness, by way of extreme temperatures!), and I was really expecting to see a lot more Uggs and bling being worn by the runners than I actually witnessed. I thought my city was more cutting-edge than just the usual spandex and running-shoe crowd I witnessed. Bummer. Maybe next year? At least consider wearing jeans shorts and crocs!

I'd consider running a marathon, but then I'd rethink it pretty quickly. I'm afraid I'd be stuck next to Zola Budd and she'd trip me near the finish, or Katie Holmes would kick my ass, running in a pair of Easy Spirits and a Nicole Miller ensemble- bitch!

I'll stick to creating traffic the good old-fashion way, in my car!

Friday Frivolity

So, every once in a while I get a song stuck in my head and I can't get it out for the love of Rock Me Amadeus! If you were thinking Kylie's, "Can't get you out of my Head", you were oh so...

"La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la"

...close.


So, to salute all songs that can just linger like a bad hangover...here's a great video I stumbled across to help you rattle and hum the day away.

Happy Friday!

Komodo Anne Coulter Attacks Fisherman

Komodo dragons, Anne Coulter, one of the world's heaviest bitchiest Republican lizards, can grow a forked-tongue up to 3 meters (10 feet) in length and have a toxic bite that they she uses to kill prey such as buffalo, democrats and young children, returning to feast when the animal succumbs to the poison.

Despite their (her) ungainly appearance, the carnivorous reptile(s) can run as fast as a dog Laura Ingraham in short bursts, jump up on their (her) hind legs, and kill animals with a blows of (from) their powerful tails, tales, and talons.

Attacks on (Republican) humans are rare, but Monday's incident is the latest in a series in which the monster lizards (readers choice, either Anne or Laura or both) -- which have forked tongues and fearsome claws --have killed or injured people.

Last month a park ranger Meghan McCain survived after a Komodo dragon Anne Coulter climbed the ladder into his hut and tried to savaged his hand and foot. In 2007 an eight-year-old boy Matt Lauer almost died after being mauled.

In June last year, a group of divers reporters who were stranded on an island in the national park her radio show -- the dragons' Anne's only natural habitat -- had to fend off several attacks from the reptiles before they were rescued.

Park rangers also tell the cautionary tale of a Swiss tourist Liberal who vanished leaving nothing but a pair of spectacles and a camera after an encounter with the dragons Anne several years ago.

An endangered species, Komodo Anne is believed to number less than 4,000 in the wild years old. Access to their habitat is restricted, but tourists can get permits to see them in the wild on FoxNews or within the National (Republican) Park.

Fear Factor

Dick Cheney has the audacity to tell Americans they are not safe under the Obama Administration. WTF does he know about creating safety? Does Feb. 11th, 2006, ring a bell, a-hole? Yeah, probably not because there has been so much subterfuge over the incident that happened around that date. Well, here's a reminder, it's "about the date" that you shot your hunting partner in the face. Um, about being safe? Really? I'm curious how Cheney defines "safe?" Apparently he's not factoring in friends you almost kill.

"hello? anybody here? ohmigod there's something coming at me in a horrifically bright blaze-orange vest, SHOOT IT! Uh, Harry? I thought you were a quail- sorry."

Let's talk about public safety under the Bush Administration. "American Idol" and reality TV boomed, how much more harm can we inflict on a nation? Isn't that enough? Lady Gaga came out of the Bush Administration as did Fountains of Wayne. Let the evidence speak for itself. I think I have made my case.

Ok, so under Obama there are a few casualties: Rihanna isn't as safe, but that's not his fault. Skiing accidents have harmed more than Obama has. True, the Ocotmom has emerged, but her pregnancy started in the Bush Administration and we are counting inception!

Truthfully, it's way to early to judge Obama, so shouldn't Cheney just shut his yap for a bit?

Yes, he who shoots his dear friends ought to just roll away back under a rock and play Cat's Cradle with Sarah Palin and clan.

Are they really that lucky?

I'm not so sure I'd want the luck of the Irish.

First there's the whole potato famine thing that nearly wiped out Ireland, then there's the "alcoholic/vomiting explosively into the street" imagery/stereotype that pretty much gets attached to anyone who drinks beer in the country (it doesn't happen to every one...but, Frank McCourt wasn't doing anyone any favors when he wrote about it in "Angela's Ashes") and then there's a bunch of other stuff that just doesn't seem so lucky: IRA bombings, lots of rain, having to kiss a stone, Guinness Stout and I'm sure the lord of that dance is clogging around somewhere in the moors, not letting anyone nap! It almost reminds me of being a rabbit and wondering how on earth could losing one's foot be seen as lucky? Guess 'tis in the shining (Irish) eyes of the beholder.

FOUR WORDS:
Lucky Charms
Shamrock Shakes

These two items alone could almost convert me, almost. Fortunately, one I can pick up at the market any day of the week, so converting for Lucky Charms, although magically delicious, would be highly dramatic and symbolic at best, but not much more. Shamrock Shakes, on the other hand...well, they are as elusive as a Leprechaun's pot of gold! Where the hell did all the Shamrock Shakes go? Did a jealous Scot snap up the recipe and place it in Brigadoon? What gives with McDonald's making them so hard to find? That thick minty green shake is such a yummy treat, why did they make them go away? Why? Why? Why? Making Shamrock Shakes impossible to locate isn't lucky for anyone!

ubiquitous

Apparently, Facebook is all the rage. (FYI- "The Hills", RIP)

Take a moment to compose yourself- it be true! Wipe the smirks off of your face, I have known about it for quite awhile now, but, unlike the new 90210, this actually did gather steam and become something. It's just when my peeps and co-workers are discussing it, Facebook is quickly becoming the motorcycle careening about 2/3rd of the way across the shark tank, heading towards the crash landing.

2/3rd of the population are on fb and now more people are using facebook email to converse than regular email, NFW!! It is almost impossible to avoid a FB-based discussion these days....crazy I tell you!

So my question, what's next? Will the mainstream flock to Twitter and tweet all day?
Or is the use similar enough that "the sequel" won't equal the original? Damn You Valley of the Dolls "Matrix Reloaded" and Cheryl Ladd!

Ok, back to your status updates, and you know what I mean...

...and Danity Kane?

Wow West Virginia!
The world is going through some of the most challenging circumstances most people have ever lived through- okay, there have been some trying time like wondering who shot JR, understanding the pet rock phenom, having to listen to Taste of Honey, learning to disco and working through the emotions after learning about the cancelling of "Saved by the Bell," but currently the financial market and world economy is kind of a big deal.

So, given what is going on right now, leave it to a West Virginian congressman to decide that NOW is the best time launch (what is most-likely a subversive pissed-off Bratz-owner attack) to discuss the merits of Barbie- for real! Just because the girls there aren't pretty doesn't mean you have to take away beautification objects!

Now I don't mean Barbi Benton (where have those Hee-Haw days gone?) or the twins, I mean the one and only, beach house in Malibu, Barbie doll. This guy, Jeff Eldridge, believes that she is a bad role model and should be banned, in all of WV! Outlaw the bitch doll! Make her illegal to own in the state.

Three simple thoughts on this:
Guns, Tobacco, and Walmart.

As long as those are legal in West Virginia, Barbie ain't the biggest problem facing young women growing up in West Virginia; quite frankly, growing up in West Virginia is the problem.

Guns- pretty obvious there the imminent threat of death or maiming
Tobacco- horrid for the health and development of anybody
Walmart- sells lots of stuff that can ruin a young girl: make-up, Danity Kane Cd's, marriage licenses and leotards to name a few.

West Virginia, leave the broad alone, she's turning 50 this week and who wouldn't want to look that good at 50?

Leeeaaavvveee Baarrbbiiee Alllloonnneee!!!

Why not leave Barbie alone and go for real change...move away.

Snow-topped memories

The snow crashed down on Atlanta yesterday, and it lasted about as long as the solo careers of the first two chicks from Destiny's Child. No, not Michelle and Kim- they are WAY more successful.

This made me think of Robert Frost and his "Road Not Taken" poem. No, there is no snow in his poem, just the two paths going in separate directions, and, I am pretty sure, there aren't any busted-down ex-girl group singers wandering along that proverbial road of Robert Frost's, since "the leaves were unstirred", but still I wonder, "what's up with LeToya and Farrah these days?" What road, apparently a hell of a lot less Beyonce traveled, did they end up wandering down? Has either of them been part of "Dancing with the Stars" or "Celebrity Apprentice"? Are they really the "Survivors" that the CD wanted us all to believe? Just where are they?

Maybe they are selling hair extensions on HSN, old Dereon couture at flea markets or mixing it up as back-up dancer on the PussyCat Dolls videos. Naw, I doubt Nicole would let them on the set, "they got to go".

HHmmm. I think I have given them more "thought time" than most.

I guess the snowfall just made me nostalgic.

Next.

The things you do for love

I have an idea.

I want you to withhold enjoying some of your favortite things.
Whether they be,

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings

I am asking you to deny yourself these desired things.

Okay, maybe not receiving brown paper packages for a few days, or cooking out of stainless steel over copper kettles, wouldn't bust your chops, so those don't count.

I want you to deny what you really love, to prove your love.
Not for a day, or a week, or a month, but for 39, no, round it to 40 days.

Angry yet? Cranky and hateful for missing the morning java for 3 fortnights?
Do your co-workers wish for you to take PTO days to "chill out?" Stll out there chasing pavement?

Does every waking moment make you sing, "I hate this part right here, I just can't take these tears?"

GOOD!

Now I have you where I want you. Let's just call this feeling "love".

Now go indulge yourself. Thanks for proving your love.

Why must one have to suffer for love?

Couldn't a simple, "he went to Jarrods" and "I love you" do?
I'm just saying...

Put a lid on her

I need a Beyonce-cation. I am full full full of the "Single Lady" trying to put a ring on every damn TV awards show, dressed horribly in some "House of Dereon" creation that will become an instant hand-me-down to poor old Solange, or worse yet, in a barely there baton-twirling unitard outfit that exposes more than Dateline does on "To Catch a Predator." There's your predator Dateline! Sasha Fierce is eating all the opportunities for other, dare I say, "more talented, under acknowledged" singers out there. She's like the Heid and Spencer of the awards show circuit!

Sure we've seen this happen a couple of times now in B.'s life, the latest with Michelle and Kelly being moved off the stage so the Diva could go solo, but lately the tempo of her stiletto heels gyrating on an awards' stage has quickened to the speed of a "Halo" remix. Couldn't an actual Oscar winner have performed, like, um, say....Jennifer Hudson? Annie Lennox? Three6Mafia even? How about a throw back to the original Dreamgirl, Diana R.? Who wouldn't have gone GaGa for the Lady to sing with Hugh and Zac?

Beyonce just feels like an easy cop out; somewhat like her dress, "here, let's salute the Von Trapp's and make a dress out of the curtains." I can understand the logic, somewhat, "Press" does equate to, well, "Press" these days. Some producer somewhere was saying, "Oh, let's just put B. out there, in another tacky outfit, that'll keep people talking till we can get JLo back on the circuit."

And thus another Beyonce performance was hatched. Where's that attention whore Madonna when you really need her?

Is Gary Hart racist?

Monkey references + anything = racist.

I always hated new math.

IMHO, something does not compute in that equation, BUT...according to the Rev. Sharpton and others, any educated person would see the obvious and blatant racial overtures expressed when a monkey is used as an image; the monkey is a thinly veiled reference to black Americans.

Uh-oh! I don't see that, implicitly or explicitly, with every use of a simian image. Now I feel embarrassed, as I thought I was (my degree says so...) an educated person.

Mr. Holder just expressed that Americans are cowards and afraid to discuss race here in the U.S.... Yeah? Hello? Are you missing the cartoon debate? Why do you think it is a little unnerving to dip a toe into race issues when the proverbial race card can be pulled at any minute by someone who interprets a situation in a certain way, and if you don't see it the same way, you become ignorant or racist?

A whole community is attempting to sue a 17-year old girl for offending them with a photo that they felt was expressly done to harm them, claiming (she) "acted in conscious disregard for the rights of her Asian Pacific Islander fans". I thought she was just being Miley. She's got a tough fan club!

This race issue is...hhhmmm, how could one d-e-l-i-c-a-t-e-l-y say, the 500 pound gorilla in the room , the white elephant , CRAP! How do you say it when you just want to say it without offending anyone?

Was George Michael racist when he sang about the "monkey on his back?"
Are gymnasts who play on monkey bars supporting racism?
Is "Planet of the Apes" racist?
Was "BJ and the Bear" secretly supporting slavery?

Perhaps we should just pick on horses for awhile.

No Sap Here!

As symbolic and timely as celebrating MLK Day was to the celebrating the inauguration of Barack Obama was in January, I noticed a similar serendipitous situation with Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day being back to back. This coupling is better than Lucy and Ethel, chocolate and peanut butter (back when it wasn't such a killer) or Kelly Clarkson and Max Martin- and that is really saying something(...saying something- bop bop shoo be do-wah)!

The irony of a bad luck day paired with the day of cupids, chocolate and roses just feels right, kind of like how the friends who set up Rihanna and Chris Brown used to feel. You've got bad luck and love, back-2-back, the inspiration for 95% of poems and music!

For many, they are both days of dread.

First there is this inane fear of 13. Deal with it peeps. Always going to appear after 12 and right before 14...like clockwork my friends.

So you get through Triskaidekaphobia and neither Jason nor his mother have offed you

**so far, so good**,

but then bang...it's that other crappy day...

The whole awkwardness of others receiving flowers or cards while your desk sits bare ("I do not need tokens of affections to show others that my partner loves me" chants through your head)makes for a clock-watching, office-door closed kind of day. "Happy Valentines Day!" salutations attack from all sides; break rooms, hall ways, restroom stalls be damned- these words ooze through the walls and grab at you, choke you, make you want to retch. What if you are single, or not happy? Can you just punch that person in the throat to shut them up? Is not "all fair in love and war?"

If you love, must you dote? Can't you keep your true emotions bundled up and hidden on the inside, like a man? Nothing bad ever happens with bottled up emotions, it's when you share them you get in trouble, just ask Christian Bale! So keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings, it's for the best. Refuse to let Hallmark make a mint off of you because of your heartstrings- fight the good fight!

But, if you must flaunt it- beware! Flaunting automatically opens the door for future abuse when you get in an argument/ break-up. We, the non-flaunters, but definitely gloaters, are prepared and waiting to ask how sad you'll be with no cards come next Valentine's Day, or remind you of how happy you both once seemed, "where did it go wrong? You both really seemed to like one another. Gosh this must hurt!"

Yeah, when you least want to hear about it(like most of us on Valentine's Day) we will bring it up **innocently**, of course. Watch me play my poker face.

A word from our sponsor

Spokespeople are dropping like flies these days- role models are so unreliable!

Michael Phelps dumped by Wheaties. Hey there Kellogg's, don't you know stoners need food, too? Wake up Kellogg's, your corn flakes are the quintessential net result, or perfect answer, to the symbiotic relationship between stoners and the dreaded munchies! Why fight it, embrace (inhale, if you must- "puff puff pass the pipe") it! If you wanted any more proof how good your cereal is, why not leverage the image of a stoner who is damn fast! Sure, Nancy Reagan may not like the message, but who ever knew of a stoner who could find their way off of a couch in less than a minute, better yet break world swimming records? You just know Gatorade is itching for publicity like this!

Maybe Kellogg's could fill that spot on their sponsorship roster with A-Rod. Yes, jumping on the A-rod bandwagon becomes cliche, especially since Madonna has already been there, and Torre is dishing on him, but "Wheaties" could spin the negative publicity into a new recipe for success, "Wheaties, part of a complete champions breakfast regiment- steroids, marijuana and attorney's fees not included!"

Although the lyrics claim that the flavor of gum is to last "Forever", the relationship between Chris Brown and Wrigley's went stale as quickly as a piece of gum spit out onto the side of the road after a domestic dispute. WTF?! Beating and biting on Rihanna, really? Talk about Disturbia! Fleeing the scene on foot and taking the car keys, leaving Rihanna stuck on the side of the road- classy; where did Chris Brown learn those moves? Apparently the option to shut up and drive wasn't viable.

How to avoid the disappointment of spokesperson who fail us- don't get your hopes up to begin with!

Or, even easier, leave spokemodeling up to the professionals, actors and models (A&M); they won't let you down. No one's shocked by Kate Moss doing coke or Alec Baldwin going off on his daughter- erratic behavior by A&M are part of their intrigue. And, when they do go crazy, get busted or get caught in less than flattering circumstances it's usually going to end up being a publicity win-win for the product and the star, not a blemish! Paris going to jail sells more than Barkley getting busted for DUI anyday.

Open Letters Week: taxing issues

Dear IRS,

Please explain why you are so damn confusing.

I'd like to go all Etta James on you and tell ya how I really feel, but I think doing that to the government might create legal issues or FBI visits, so I will speak softly.

Why is it so hard to file taxes? You remind me of sudoku. Just keep trying to stick numbers into different boxes until a magical sequence is derived and viola, "money disappears from my bank account, it's like magic; crappy bad magic!"


I don't like sudoku.

Why can't we find a way to make doing taxes as pleasant as, say, picking the next American Idol? Sure, we may have to deal with some crazy bikini-clad freaks and cranky officials, but in the end we'd have much more representation in the taxation process. Isn't that what we fought for? Why is there a limit on making taxes EZ? Couldn't you work something out with Staples to create the "easy tax button"?

Given the complexity of the forms and the penalties for making a mistake (thank you much, Mr Daschle) I opt to contribute to the economic stimulus package by hiring an accountant to do my taxes. How refreshing, paying someone to help me pay the government! At least I know my nomination would be safe!

Open Letters Week: caught in the Rush hour

Dear Rush,

There is a party that needs your leadership, but it is not the Republican's.
You, my dear pill-popping fellow, should properly anoint yourself the leader of the Pussycat Dolls and their Las Vegas party scene. Take your old-fashion politics of disinformation and spite and refocus your energy (and Viagra) on leg lifts, splits, and learning to sing back-up. OK, that last one is a joke, considering none of the "other 'cats" do any singing other than Nicole. But why not aim your pipes where it could do some good, or be drown out in a chorus of "na na na na". Maybe you and Cheney could duet?

You, Mr. Limp-baugh, have the knack (but not the Sharona) of singing like a canary when things don't go your way. How quick you are to cheer the "failure" of the new president and put yourself front and center as the new Right's voice. Let's just see what "Annie Oakley of Alaska" has to say about that! She could probably kick your ass and then skin you, right after she does the same to Ashley Judd! My best hope would be to call it a "draw" and you both are gone, but...well, one can dream.

I love your notion of splitting any stimulus plan between political camps- kind of like how you split your Viagra prescriptions? And how did that work for you at airport security? Oh, that was mean-spirited . Funny how you never asked the Republican president to split policies with the Democrats when HE was in office, so why now...oh, yeah, sore loser.

But hey, it's a free country isn't? So you can carry on with your blather and brimstone, it seems like the AM airwaves are a bastion for your type, but please don't believe your hype, look what hype did for "Snakes on a Plane".

TTFN!

ps... please photoshop better, you are beginning to resemble Richard Hatch

Open Letters Week...

(If you haven't read this humorous letter...here ya go, from Ricky Gervais)


Dear Mr President,

Firstly, congratulations on your historic win. I have never been so behind a candidate for what must be considered the boss of the world.

You seem to be a man of grace and integrity, who would never shirk responsibility in any way.

I'll get to the point.

As I'm sure you are aware, one of your flock has strayed. A Miss Paris Hilton, who is, I believe, a resident of Beverley Hills, is in England doing a reality game show for ITV2 called Paris Hilton's British Best Friend. Fine. I have no problem with that. I don't have to watch. But now it has come to my attention that she has bought a house in North London a few miles from me, and is out and about ingratiating herself with the Great British public.

Mr President. We are not stupid. This is clearly a retaliatory strike for Posh Spice moving to LA. I know it, and you know it, so let's cut the "it's a free country" nonsense and come to some agreement.

I propose an exchange.

This is how it would work. We call them both and tell them that we've found a giant "paparazzi nest", in New York say. (half way home for both of them already)

At first they may be confused that they'd never heard of such a thing before, but the thought of that many photographers in one place will be irresistible.

Once we get them there, while they are having their photos taken (we will have hire a few guys with cameras to make it look good) we will swap their limos around. It's fool proof.

This is a covert operation of which Mr Gordon Brown knows nothing. (I've got him working on finding a synthetic fur for The Queen's guards' bearskin hats.)

Have your people call my people. They may have to call a few times as my people are useless to be honest.

Thank you,

Ricky Gervais

Where have all the sequins gone?

Imagine my perplexed state of shock, awe, and disbelief, and then the paralyzing anxiety that settled-in when nary a single sequin, rhinestone or bauble could be found when I was attempting to recreate Aretha's crown this weekend!

Never one to flaunt it in public circles, but the milliner that I am was relying heavily on recreating that "bow-toxed" top in the talent competition of the pageant- my mad hatter skilz were to be my crowning glory (every single pun definitely intended)! With out those jewels, how could I compete? My hopes in winning were like a pack of cigarettes under J-Lo's booty, crushed!

Just deal with it!

And so I did! Bouncing back from this early disappointment, or as it shall always be referred to amongst close friends, "the sequins incident '09," I quickly attempted to move to my back-up talent...spelling (and not the Tori kind)!

Yet suddenly I was incapable of putting into alphabetical order, and then spelling correctly, all 50 United States! What the hell? Amber Atkins had just done it with a flourish and I couldn't even place "A-L-A-S-K-A" before "A-R-I-Z-O-N-A!"

***then I woke up***

Folks, let this be a warning to you all. In lieu of Netflixs and football, don't settle for a weekend of beauty pageants and figure skating championships...the resulting dreams could be disastrous!

A sobering dose of Full House!

Drowsy on all things Obama, I feel like the last one at the Thanksgiving dinner table, still nibbling away at the casseroles and pies long after everyone else has begun to seek temporary refuge, fighting with siblings and cousins, for the right to nestle amongst the couch cushions and pillows, for a short siesta, pet hair be damned!

Yup, I'm the one in "The Meaning of Life- The Autumn Years" attempting to find room in my belly for that one last ever-so-slight wafer thin mint, only my plate runneth over with inaugural coverage.

Thank god ("ok, maybe Heath doesn't have the exact same appreciation"), for the Olsen twins and Bob Saget and the wonderfully underrated comedy, "Full House"- Oops, the underrated funny show was "Arrested Development."

But back to the "healing" powers of "Full House".

"Full House" helped defeat the evil clutches of inertia (does Einstein know about this?), a warm and cozy TV room and the Inauguration coverage that I felt so inclined to watch...and watch...and watch. Somewhere along the way I might have nodded off, no disrespect meant, and in my temporary slumber I managed to (subconsciously perhaps?) change the channel to "Full House." Well, if having to watch Bob Saget doesn't inspire you to get away from the TV set as quickly as possible, maybe you are numb? Immobilized? In a cast? French?

You know, now that I think about it, Whirlpool could create refrigerators that when opened have mini-chips in them that tell Bob Saget jokes, there's a weight loss plan impervious to failure!

So, kicking and screaming, I must tip my hat to "Full House" for helping get me up and away from the TV (...and back to the computer).

*slighty disgusting video that captures my saturation of the inauguration and my feeling towards "Full House"

Gone Baby Gone...

Phew. Survived that one.
Okay, now that the housekeeping has begun, let's get to cleaning up this joint!

If You Seek Amy

Millions of people begin the new years with resolutions:

"Hey, maybe Ill dye my hair,
Maybe I'll move somewhere,
Maybe I'll get a car,
Maybe I'll drive so far
They'll all lose track,
Me, I'll bounce right back,
Maybe I'll sleep real late,
Maybe I'll lose some weight,
Maybe I'll clear my junk,
Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine" (thanks Dolly!)

Maybe* I'll leave Amy Winehouse in 2008.

*past tense (I had every intention to leave her ill-enough alone, but she has proven to be as addictive as Oxycontin to Rush L.)

Twitching and itching and DT's be damned, I had made it ALL THE WAY to the Ides of January, with nary a tale of Winehouse to be told... Until I she broke down. Hang on tramps and thieves, I am going through an Amy relapse worthy of Jeff Conway in "Celebrity Rehab"!

Two days ago, Miss Winehouse, in the middle of her vacation in the Caribbean, chose to chat with journalists, blathering on about her new found sobriety (well, she still drinks, but no drugs), healthy lifestyle and new beau.

Fabulous! Wonderful! She almost sounds articulate and believable! I'm rooting for her!...

AND THEN...a day later, The Press breaks the story (and pictures to back it), "for she (Amy) has been spotted crawling up to holidaymakers and grabbing their drinks after fed-up resort staff refused to serve her." Like a cat pacing outside a fish store hoping to steal scraps, or pigeons huddling near a crazy-lady with bread crumbs to dole out, Amy Winehouse is lurking and crawling around the outsides of bars, trying to steal the drinks of patrons not watching their glasses! How high school!

REALLY AMY???!!!

But, given where she has been, perhaps it's an improvement!

Cue the band, here's a salute to Miss Winehouse (with some help from Tracy Byrd)...


"She grabbed me by the arm said come on let's go
She dipped down spun around and doe-see-doed
She rocked back on her heels dropped down to her knees
Crawled across the floor then she jumped back on her feet
She wiggled and she giggled beat all you ever saw
Said this is how you do the Amy Winehouse crawl

She said we got a hundred gallons of sweet red wine
Stolen from the biggest tourists glasses she could find
Help yourself to some, don't obey the law
If you drink, don't pay, do the Amy Winehouse crawl!"