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!"

LOST in emotions!

Ooh baby I'm LOST in emotions!

I’m so excited I might need to wear adult diapers!

“It’s been seven hours and fifteen days, since you took the island away from me…” No, it has been a hell of a lot longer!

LOST is almost found again! After like, over 5 years of being off the air, LOST is coming back next week and, like the good partner I am, I am not asking any questions about where he’s been, “...it’s alright, baby comes back, and I don’t really care where he’s been!” But I do care about where Ben is, and when he is!

Rumor has it that the first couple episodes are slamming and help set us up for quite the trip for the rest of the season.

I can’t wait. Tonight ABC is running the final two ep’s from last year as a prep course for next week’s main course!

Lick it up Heather!

LOST

The Bathroom Monitor

Reports claim that up to 2 million more jobs may be lost in the US in 2009; I can only hope Elizabeth Hasselbeck's, Sarah Palin's and Heidi and Spencer's (if he had one!) jobs are among them!

I kid.

(No, I don't.)

I do have an "occupation," (and I use that term as lightly as I use describing Amy Winehouse's current condition as, "all cleaned up and sober,") in mind that I'd nominate for elimination: the attendant at the bathrooms in clubs. Those people bother me something (Sasha) fierce! Even in prison the restrooms aren't guarded (from what I have seen depicted in movies...). Seriously, who wants this job? Peeping Toms or peeps who enjoy working mere feet away from fecal matter (trying hard...not...to...judge...)?

"Quit watching me go pee!"
"No, I don't want any candy ("bought in the restroom- icky! What's that hair on my tootsie roll?")!"
"If I can pee all by myself, I'm gonna guess I can turn on the water all by myself too, Thank you very much!"
"I can get my own paper towels!"

"Oh, you want a tip?"

Here's a tip, get out of the bathroom! Don't hoard and hover over the paper towels, or glare when I don't use your "services!" It makes me want to go all Norma Rae on you; swiping the paper towels from your clutches and throwing the stack of (guarded) towels into the air and showering ("make it rain baby") the room and patrons with Brawny wipes, tip and guilt-free!

The Lady is a Tramp

Hmmm...
Perhaps I need to be more specific?

The Pussycat Dolls? na na na na
MaDonna?
Britney?
X-tina?
Taylor Swift? (gracious! did I call her out or what?)

All are quite good guesses, but the queen of the heap, top of the pops, tranny mess numero uno is no other than, The Lady GaGa, or shall I say, since all we hear is...Radio GaGa?

Yep! Like a thief in the night, stealing from the "House of Knowles", Miss GaGa has taken over the #1 song in America, (RuPaul bless each and every drag-queen!) from the "Leotarded One"- apparently America has voted, and all the single ladies opted to put a ring on "Just Dance".

Yes that infectious little ditty is all over everything, approximately a year after it was released, but who is keeping track, beside Madonna and X-tina, who must be crying into their penniless coffers, wondering how "Just Dance" did what theirs songs couldn't (ancient Chinese secret, huh?).

But given the smorg-ass-borg of singles Solange's sister is still serving up ("Diva", "Halo", "If I were...", "Single Ladies"), you can believe it won't be long before Beyonce has herself back at the head of the buffet line...

wo oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh oh

Who ya gonna call, Love Hewitt?

Make no mistake, the loss of a child is a horrible thing (the failure to report one missing for 10 years is a whole other post!), but the unseemly task of parents having to defend the child's death must be tantamount to re-living both Bush presidency's, back-to-back, or worse, paying full price to watch "7 Pounds!"

Given the circus ("all eyes on me, in the center of the ring, just like a...") that the Travolta's have found themselves in the middle of, ever since John joined Scientology ever since their son, Jett's, untimely death, and the secrecy that shrouds the beliefs that the family subscribes to, it's no surprise that other members of Scientology are speaking out and defending the Travolta's, and the church.

Can't you just imagine the inner circle of the Scientologists when the Batphone started ringing...

"...crisis at the highest level; death of a member, what do we do?"

L. Ron (bitch, you know he's alive, that the huge secret! L. Ron did what Disney only dreamed of and then he hogged the recipe!) starts to scroll through the membership Rolodex to see who should be deployed...

"Cruise? No, still in recovery mode"
"Kristie Alley? Too fat for real PR"
"Will Smith? Not publicly a member"
"Presley?" um....well, OK, send out a message from Elvis. What, they don't know yet? Okay then, make it Lisa Marie"

John to L. Ron, "...you chose Lisa Marie? even over Dharma to support us publicly? Wow, this isn't going to gain any sympathy. She married Michael, who sees her as credible? Oh, she has a new album to push next month...oh, OK."
"Can we at least schedule an interview with John Edwards to talk to Jett to prove we didn't do anything wrong?"

Celebrity Fit Test

Every now and then, when I mix amongst the common people ("have to wait in line for that damn Starbucks' concoction"), and opt to hear the plebeians shouting questions at me, (I mean really, do they understand who they are shouting at?) I like to embrace and bestow my altruistic nature upon them, and so I will answer them, "Quit the F@#$! shouting at me!"

No, really, I don't quite say that, my smile says that, and then my publicist cuts me off before I utter a single swear word.

My favorite question is always, how do you know if you are, or are not, a celebrity?

Well, if you have to ask, why not ask that to Kathy Griffin, bitch!

So, for the good of mankind and VH-1 viewers everywhere, and you know who you 8 are, I felt it was incumbent for me to set the world straight with a simple Celebrity Fit test. These simple question will help you identify what your status is:

Celebrity Fit Test:
1. Have you had a pregnancy that resulted in multiple births? Aaron Spelling shines down on pretty people with double the children
2. Is there a scent created/named for you? please don't wear it!
3. Do you talk to people who yell at you with cameras and bright lights in your face? (If TMZ taught me anything, when I watched it, is that real celebs don't answer unless they are drunk or high)
4. Have you been declared dead but just been really drunk?
5. Do friends have to remind you of last weekend before you read about it on the newsstand?
6. Have you guest starred on "30 Rock" or SNL this season?
7. Have you ever been on VH-1?


Answer key:

Answering "YES" to questions 1, 2 and 6 only means you are a B-list celeb (like an A-lister would take this test- their publicist would for them!)
Answering "YES" to any other questions means you may simply be from "The Hills" or are a stalker/drunk or past child star grasping again for glory days and a paycheck from someone besides Applebees and GEICO.

Undeck the Halls

That's right folks, it's time to strip bare the holiday cheer, go back to work and start praying for the winning lotto numbers because credit card bills will be here quicker than another shitty Adam Sandler movie can arrive into the theatre.

It is, after all, already January 5th, high time them lazy folks, and you know who you are, to take down all that is Christmas: ornaments, trees, angels, and lights- they all got to go! Technically, they have a day or two to go, seeing how the "12 days" plays out till Epiphany- well here's an Epiphany from my heart to yours: take that shit down!

Okay, maybe I really only mean this to the one or two tacky displays that make the local neighborhood streets look like an additional runway for the local airport, but for the love of half-inflated 8 feet snowmen, dirtier than a lost shoe at a Green Day mosh pit, let go of the season! Put up an old Farrah Fawcett poster instead if you want to salute an Angel!

Oh, and if my family is reading this (and only one does), Hello- like you can't order things online to get them here in time for the holidays? Just because YOU had more snow than Alaska this year doesn't mean UPS Santa can't deliver on time to the South.

Sweet Little Lies

"tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies, tell me lies..."

There is no Santa! I have fought long and hard to believe, but I am throwing in the towel on the mythology of Father Christmas this year!

Once again my few wishes were unanswered (screw you Garth Brooks!)!

All I asked for were four simple gifts:

1. Patience to deal with all these stupid holiday shoppers
2. ESP
3. A high tolerance for alcohol and drunk friends
4. A vodka tonic with a lime

Yep. Only one showed up and that was a day late. And trust me, Santa didn't pour the puppy I was handed! That's what bartender friends are for!

Since I did not get ESP, all my "late" gifts to friends are comprised of 2 liter Diet Cokes, McDonald's gift certificates, Burger King cologne and BBQ cornnuts. It's the thought that counts, right?

Exactly!

A critical note: had the vodka tonic showed up earlier in the week, and then I was granted gift number three, gifts one and two would have easily fallen into line...but no Virgina, there was no VT until the day after Christmas!

Ode of the 2008 Seattle Sports fan

Yes it absolutely sucked to be a Seattle Sports fan and this clip helps put the year in perspective- painfully.

"I DON'T!!!"

"I don't!I don't!I don't!I don't!I don't!I don't!I don't!I don't!"


It may not matter what my rational, logical and sober mind thinks because I wouldn't be caught dead contemplating marriage vows, in an LA courthouse no less (Proposition 8 be damned), to Spencer Pratt (Hell-to-the-no to a bromance!) , but it apparently does matter to Heidi Blaire Montag.

I do think she heard me, even though in my mind there was must have been a simultaneous cacophony of screams aimed at TV's across North America as "Speidi" stumbled through their vows...almost, chanting, "I don't!"

Make no mistake, just because the Wolfman Spencer didn't go through with the vows doesn't make him decent- he's still a douche! That was all done just to get more air time.

Question: does Heidi own a TV and ever watch this damn show to see what Spencer does to everyone around her? Apparently not.

I do say, "well done!" to MTV for helping me keep off any holiday pounds that might have be created by eating all those damn holiday cookies and candy by playing that Montag-Pratt montage, with Jessica Simpson's, "I wanna love you forever" (gag) on "the after-hills". Whitney may be moving to "The City," but that little video took me straight to Puke City!

WWJT? (What Would Jared Throw?)

Perhaps the end of the world will be ushered in with a whimper instead of bang...
take that Keanu and "The Day the Earth Stood Still" fans (not like there were too many of you out there this weekend buying up tickets at your local Cinema Paradiso)!

Ever since the Cold War and Kennedy, atomic and nuclear weapons have been the instruments of mass destruction that constantly threaten the survival of man on Earth. Correct, there are occasional cases of very stupid people doing ridiculously dumb things that have hastened their way into the next realm, like getting a lap dance from Anna Nicole Smith during her heavier weight days or a priest who aimed to fly, bundled in balloons, but forgot to consider how to land, but by and large, most people's fears lie in wars being raged with deadly weapons and force.

So imagine ("and you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one") how calming it is to see that feuds are now being scaled back (perhaps a positive result of the economic down turn?) and waged with weapons of no-destruction: sandwiches and shoes.

In the past week there have been two separate assaults in Florida where the culprit was a subway sandwich and one highly publicized incident in Iraq where a certain world leader had shoes thrown at him.

I don't preach violence, but if one had to throw something at another, how much more peaceful of a protest can you wish for when the offending weapon is a tuna fish sandwich or a hush puppy (Naomi and Russell, you taking notes on this?)? Of course, it may not have the impact you'd like if you really were aiming to do some damage beyond mayo and mustard stains.

Death Be Not Proud

Ask not, oh mighty "Historical South", for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for Thee!

The "New South" is rising faster than you can say, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!" Heck, Obama and a Democratic Senator both almost won in Georgia- if that doesn't cause the Mason-Dixon line some serious shrinkage, I don't know what will (besides more cold rainy weather)!

And in its wake crumbles the pillars of the "Old South".

Sweeping changes are coming: the glory days of the South, the "Dukes of Hazzard" lifestyle and clothing, Rebel flags waving across the state capitol building, UGA being ranked preseason #1 in college football, "English" spoken in a native-sounding tongue with a mouth full of marbles and the slight straining melody of "dueling banjos" faintly heard as background noise are about as good as gone as Dale Earnhardt Sr., bless his heart and NASCAR winnings!

Hip-Hop, high-rises, Donald Trump and clean porches are paving the way to the New South. Yes, clean porches I said!

Down yonder a ways from Atlanta, a tranquil little town known as Albany, a city that claims a share to the "Home of Ray Charles" fame, recently passed a law that makes it illegal to keep couches on your porch. Well "Jimmy cracked corn and I don't care 'cause my master went away" what is happening here? How un-Southern and insidious of a law is that? Why doesn't someone just burn down Atlanta, again, if they want to change the ways of the South?

Why not make moonshine sweet tea, "the table wine of the South" illegal and serve up latte's instead? A hound dog, a porch and a couch are staples of the South! Add a truck, gun rack, a shotgun wedding and Trisha Yearwood and you've got a hit country single!

Will they try to take away our "Billy Beer" next?

I say to the South, "gather ye rosebuds magnolias while ye may; old time is still a-flying; and the same flower city that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying!"

Hang on to your Lazee Boyz, sofas and BRQ-O-Loungers, Albany! Don't ditch the couch for modern trappings and pride; hold fast to those eye sore sofas!

You gotta fight, for your right, to blight!

The Curious Case of "Maverick"

Where have all the Mavericks gone? Two months ago there was a maverick on every street corner and newspaper headline; I couldn't string two sentences together without the pleasant sensation of "ma-ma-maverick" rolling over my tongue and between my lips, to then waif gingerly through the atmosphere until it reached the sweet lobes of an other's ears. A simple little shutter, a nervous giggle, upon reception of the word, let both the sender and recipient know, we both had been touched by a Maverick!

"Maverick" was to October 2008 what "Pet Rocks" were to a generation in the 70's. So where'd it go? There's been more transparency in how the governor planned to fill the Illinois Senate seat than visibility of the Maverick lately!

Come out, come out, where ever you are!

Now, nary can I find one to save my Maverick-less life! I couldn't even get a sip off of my drink, playing the "Maverick drinking game" last weekend; I ending up being the designated driver! Just two months ago, I was seeing sweet Jesus in the base of a lovely cool-watered porcelain toilet by 9PM when the game was played (that image of Jesus is currently for sale on ebay)!

Maverick, Maverick, wherefore art though Maverick?

I have attempted to fill the void with repeated viewings of "Maverick", the Jodie Foster version, but that shoe don't fit! "Top Gun" leaves me cold as Iceman, and I just don't care for Mark Cuban's version of the word, so I have let Dallas basketball play on without my eyeballs. In the illustrious words of Bonnie Tyler, "I'm holding out for a hero Maverick."

Perhaps if I am a good boy, Santa will fill my stocking with, "Tales of Beedle the Bard", a good moisturizer, "Annie Lennox's" Greatest Hits CD, and a Maverick.

George Lucas brought back the Jedi's, I want a return of the Mack Maverick!

Grammy's can you hear me?

Finally someone in Grammy land is listening!

Sorry lambs, no Grammy nods this year for Mariah "touch my body" Carey!
I couldn't be happier, and neither could Duffy, Adele, Leona, Sarah, Pink, or....Katy? Whats up with the cherry chapstick sneaking in and kissing the recording academy?

Every year about this time, I channel Terry McMillan, breath held until all the Grammy nominations are announced, and then I exhale; usually it's a sigh of disappointment, acknowledging that my favorite musicians have been overlooked for overwrought artists with huge publicity machines, but this year I am almost okay with the whole slate of nominees- almost.

A "no mention" for Mariah is almost as good as a nod for Annie Lennox- almost(and yes, to all you haters, 2 well placed nods to Madge makes me smile!).
While really enjoying many of the female nominations in pop, I do regret when one of my all-time favorite voices, Ms. Lennox, who is eligible to be nominated this year, is overlooked by someone who kissed a girl. Really? Perhaps this will give hope to Katie Holmes come Oscar nominations time or Heidi Montag Emmy time? No really, I kid!

I'm holding out for Tia Carrere ("Wayne's World, party on, Cassandra is so hot!") to kick ass and clean up in the Best Hawaiian Music Album!

I am NOT...Sasha Fierce

I'm Britney, bitch!

Yippee and welcome back Britter's!
It's official, today is the relaunch of Britney Spears, V3.0.

At the tender age of 27, (Happy B-day!), we have had the rare, and often times unwanted, intrusion of her personal struggles dumped into our TV viewing laps! During the span of a single year we've watched the warbling songbird go from sweet and sassy to cuckoo for cocoa nuts to dijonaisse, and become an auntie to boot!

No longer is she not a girl, not yet a woman...she's an institute!

Today is the international "Re-Love Britney Day"; catch her singing on Good Morning America, wish her a happy birthday by buying her new CD, "Circus", or donate an hour and a half of your busy schedule to really get to understanding her by viewing, "Britney- For the Record (sales)".

Share the love and help re-establish this emotional roller coaster onto the stability highway! Get on down with her on the "freeway of loving her...one more time!"


Admit it, you want to (oops)...do it again!