Thursday Morning with my Boys

Is it nap time yet? I'm totally spent, and the fourth hour of Today with Kathie Lee and Hoda hasn't even started. Somebody save me!

Steve: [calling from work, duh] Where do you buy a Neti Pot?
Me: At the pharmacy or grocery store. You'll find it in the cold/allergy relief section.
Steve: How much do they cost?
Me: Umm...can't remember really. Not too much.
Steve: Like, $8? $10?
Me: That sounds about right.

[Steve repeats all of this to somebody. That person presumably leaves to buy a Neti Pot]

Steve: How's it going with Little Poot?
Me: Argh, I'm exhausted! He's not having it today. He's sobbing crying unless I'm singing, dancing, juggling, tossing him up in the air, tickling him. [Robinson begins to sob loudly] I'm about to throw a parade in his honor. Maybe that will make him happy.
Steve: Wha--
Me: [singing loudly to a crying Robinson and bouncing him on my lap to the beat] I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine, I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh, oh oh oh, Do what you want but you're never gonna break me, Sticks and stones are never gonna shake me, oh, oh oh oh
Steve: Uh--
Me: [Rob is laughing hysterically] TAKE ME AWAY! A SECRET PLACE! A SWEET ESCAPE! TAKE ME AWAY! [breathless, to Steve] You wanna come take a shift?
Steve: NoI'mGoodHaveAGoodDayLoveYou [hangs up]





If you're wondering how I went from contemplating staging a one-woman production of Hello, Dolly! in my living room to entertain my fussy baby, to blogging about it five minutes later, it's because I tried giving him a change of scenery and carried him to our computer room and set him down on the floor. He's happily making shadow puppets and blowing spit bubbles and yelling just to hear the sound of his voice. That is all. Good day to you.

I Wanna Hold 'em Like They Do in Texas Please | Lady Gaga in Concert

Monday night, Lady Gaga played in Dallas and my friend Robin and I went for a much-deserved Moms' Night Out. After sushi at Kenichi, we headed over to the American Airlines Center to take our seats for the show. As you may recall, Lady Gaga tickets were Steve's birthday gift to me way back in October. I had a blast, but am still so tired (we stayed up way past our bedtimes), that I'm still trying to catch up.

I learned two things while at this show: her fans are enthusiastic, and holding your hand up in the air like a "monster claw" for Lady Gaga is the equivalent of holding up "three fingers" at a Nascar race.

Steve: That's weird.

There were basically two types of concert-goers: Gaga's "Little Monsters", folks who went all-out dressing up for the show. We're talking wigs, wild makeup, leotards with fishnets...well, see for yourself:

The other type of concert-goer was the curious combination of parents with young children. "This is no place for children", I remarked matter-of-factly as Robin pointed out an jubilant pair of little girls running up the escalator to the upper level seats. I understand why a little girl wants to see Lady Gaga. I understand why a loving parent might think taking their little girl to a Lady Gaga concert is a fun idea. I just hope that in all the excitement of the show, that the little girls at the concert were too overwhelmed by their surroundings to pick up on all the explicit language being screamed from the stage by their idol. Otherwise, there is going to be an inappropriate scene on the playground the next day when those little girls scream, "Dance, you motherf*ckers, dance!" to their classmates while re-enacting the concert.

At one point, she lifts up the hood of that car and begins playing a keyboard that's inside.

The concert went as I expected. How amazing are the sets for this show? She sang all of her hits, and she sang them LIVE. It was obvious there was no lip-synching, and she made a point of exclaiming that she will never let her Little Monsters pay money to watch her lip-synch. She used more colorful language, of course, making a thinly-veiled jab at Britney Spears. Nothing you'd want your little girl to repeat.

Lady Gaga is really very talented and has a beautiful singing voice. Sometimes that gets lost in all of the "performance", but for a few songs, she sat at the piano and sang while she played. The girl has a set of pipes. She reminded me of Adele and Fiona Apple. If Adele and Fiona Apple were crossed with some hybrid of Elton John and Ozzy Osbourne.

She played a stripped down version of her latest hit, "Born This Way". It sounded better than the original version, which she sang during the encore. I might get clawed in the face by a Little Monster for saying so, but "Born This Way" is my least favorite of all her singles. Michael K from Dlisted probably said it best when he described "Born This Way" as a bad Xerox copy of Madonna's "Express Yourself". I just find the lyrics so overly simplistic and lacking any poetic quality or nuance, it sounds like something that a very earnest class of middle schoolers would have written and submitted as part of an "It Gets Better" songwriting competition.

Now we've reached the point in the concert where we discuss social activism and charitable causes. She champions the cause of gay rights, and she makes a donation to fund homeless shelters for LGBT youth in the cities she visits while on tour. She chose a lucky audience member (who she selected by calling them from her cell phone while on stage) and she made that lucky Little Monster the "Ambassador" for that donation, and also invited him to have a drink with her after the show. She has the phone conversation with him while she's on stage, and he's in his seat with a camera and a spotlight on him. It was really very adorable, because the guy was the cutest little twink, whose wig and makeup appeared to be a nod to KISS. When Lady Gaga complimented him on his look, and said that it reminded her of KISS, he nervously replied that it was his "KISS meets Black Swan moment". It was so endearing.

Then...as the rocking out reaches a fever pitch, and everybody's all amped up as she just finished performing "Show Me Your Teeth"...

...she goes off on a tangent about bullying and being different and...being "Born This Way". It's important to her to make this statement, but she makes her point, rephrases her point, repeats her point some more, rambles on for several minutes, to the point where the concert lost all momentum. After ten minutes of patiently listening, I lean over and whisper to Robin, "Seriously, we just need to hear 'Paparazzi' and 'Poker Face', and then the show's over."

It really was a great show, and Robin and I had a blast. We walked across the street to the W Hotel bar, where we chatted a while longer until the lights came up. Then, we drove our sleepy-yet fabulous-Little Monster butts home.

Blogger's Note: This also fulfills Item #28 on my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days

Concert Attire

During my high school and college years, I attended dozens of concerts. I've always loved listening to live music. Since college, I'm lucky if I see a concert once every two years. Tonight, I'm going to see Lady Gaga.  I'm getting excited, and am once again facing the age-old question: What am I going to wear?

When attending a Lady Gaga concert, attention must be paid to one's wardrobe. Her fans are very creative and theatrical. I certainly don't want to show up dressed like Meg Griffin. While considering the possibilities, it reminded me how much I've always loved getting dressed up to go to concerts--and then I remembered one concert in particular. Of course I'm going to tell you about it, but first: a little background information:

To appreciate this story, I need to introduce you to my 10th grade biology teacher. She was considered a beast by many. A former Army soldier, she was hardened by her years in the military and her time spent overseas fighting in the first Gulf War. She never, ever smiled, and on the first day of school let us know that she already hated us. In case there was any doubt. Sitting among my classmates, many of whom were mumbling the word "bitch" under their breath, a fire lit inside me. I have a strange need to please authority figures. Earning an "A" in her class, along with gaining her respect and acceptance would be my primary goal this semester. By Christmas, Mrs. H. was gonna like me. She would be my Everest.

I accomplished my mission. She loved me.

Over a year later, I'm going to a concert with my best friend. Let's say it's the Matchbox 20 concert. They're playing at the Amphitheater, and so we park a few streets away and are making our way through the Applebee's parking lot towards the main entrance. I know, that sounds sketchy, but trust me when I tell you that "through the Applebee's parking lot" is a totally valid point of entry. I'm dressed to the nine's for the occasion: an Express black cropped tube top (with the optional spaghetti straps), low-rise hip hugger Mudd jeans, and Candie's platform sandals. Not to be outdone, my bestie was in a halter top and mini skirt. So there we were, bonafide jail bait, struttin' that ass through the Applebee's parking lot. I bet you can't guess who is also in the Applebee's parking lot at that exact moment, taking her daughter to dinner: Mrs. H. What a pleasant surprise!

"Samantha?" Mrs. H. asks with a puzzled expression. She's never seen me decked out in my finery.

"Hi, Mrs. H!", I wave with enthusiasm. I am so happy to see her!

"Samantha! Does your mother know you're wearing that outfit?"

"Oh, Mrs. H," waving my hand dismissively, "my mother bought me this outfit!"

Mrs. H. gasped and hurriedly ushered her daughter inside the restaurant, as if she were trying to shield her pre-teen from my exposed midriff. I had completely misread her look of horror as one of mock-horror. I always do that. My It's A Wonderful Life Violet Bick, "Oh this old thing? Well I only wear it when I don't care how I look!" moment just blew up in my face.

Excuse me, but I was a good girl and an honor roll student, and if my mama let me out of the house in that outfit, I don't think anybody else should have an opinion about it. Seventeen-year-old Samantha had a 25-inch waist and was celebrating the moment.

After that, Mrs. H. didn't like me. Between classes, she would stand in the hallway and monitor the students as they changed classes, and was always questioning my mini skirt or plunging neckline. She even took issue with my "conservative" clothes! I never thought my clothes were inappropriate, but my interpretation of the dress code was like the proverbial tree in the forest: "If I'm showing a lot of leg, but the boys still don't notice me, is it a dress code violation?"  I had to re-route my path from chemistry to algebra, taking two unnecessary flights of stairs while wearing five inch platform heels, just to avoid being hassled. It was great for my calves, but I always arrived to Algebra class late (and feeling winded).

All that being said, I still don't know what I'm wearing to Lady Gaga, but it will be considerably more subdued than my past outfit choices.

My Christmas Playlist

Ok, so I told you my world is like a Christmas village, filled with holiday cheer. Pre-Robinson Samantha would make a list of the worst Christmas songs, but since I'm all joyful and whatnot, I'm making a list of my favorite Christmas songs. Sorry to disappoint.

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, Brenda Lee

This is a quintessential holiday tune. Can you imagine the "party" scene in Home Alone with a different song?

Jingle Bell Rock, Bobby Helms

I love the Hall and Oates version almost as much. They definitely make a great video, but I love this song because it's just so happy.

Baby it's Cold Outside, Dean Martin

This song is a classic, but in the wrong hands it can play as really campy (I'm looking at you, Jessica Simpson). Dean just makes it cool. He also sings "Silver Bells" better than just about anybody out there.

The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late), The Chipmunks

Steve doesn't care for this one, but I'm a fan because it brings out the kid in all of us.

All I Want for Christmas is You, Mariah Carey

Most of the Christmas songs we all know and love have been around for generations, so it's no small feat for an artist to break through and bring us a Christmas anthem the way Mariah did in 1994. I dare you to listen to this song without smiling. It's even better watching her perform it now. She's all pregnant and happy!

White Christmas, Bing Crosby

Favorite version of my favorite Christmas song, from my favorite Christmas movie!

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, Burl Ives

Here's a beloved Christmas crooner. Wasn't he the voice in Christmas claymation classics Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Love.

O Little Town of Bethlehem, Jewel

Jewel is truly one of a kind. This is an absolutely gorgeous version of one of my favorite religious Christmas songs. The entire album is fantastic. Also worth a listen: "O Holy Night" and "Ave Maria".

Christmas at Ground Zero, Weird Al Yankovic

This one's for Jarred. We loved when Vh1 aired this video at Christmas time (we loved when Vh1 aired Christmas videos period. Hell, I'd settle for any videos at this point. Except for that Kesha girl.) It's from the early 90's and is a delightful little diddy about celebrating Christmas during nuclear war. The video features old footage from Cold War propaganda films and the song includes lyrics like "I'll duck and cover with my yuletide lover underneath the mistletoe". My brother and I were sick, twisted little kids I guess.
Please Come Home for Christmas, Aaron Neville

Have you experienced the velvet embrace of Aaron Neville's voice? This is like the Christmas song version of a Nora Ephron romantic comedy.
[sidenote: I do a delightful Aaron Neville impression. It sounds sorta like Aaron Neville impersonating Cher impersonating Aaron Neville.]

Auld Lang Syne, Susan Boyle 

Here's another holiday classic that people love to eff up. It's hard to find a truly beautiful version, but Susan's angelic voice is perfect for this song

Meet Nelson and Eddy

I'm a little late in posting, but you may have heard: The Greatest Singah in Zee World's wolfpack increased by two last week. I think it took Celine Dion two or three days to come up with names for the twin boys. I was surprised that a woman who has famously struggled for fifteen years in order to have three children didn't have names picked out before they arrived. I guess you don't want to jinx it, or you want to meet the babies before assigning names...but you'd think she'd have--I dunno--a mental list or something. Hell, I could kick it Gosselin-style and give birth to a whole litter of children today and have them all named by lunchtime.

So, drumroll...she named her sons Nelson and Eddy. I know, I was expecting something more French Canadian sounding. Or maybe names of the Von Trapp children. Something like that. Eddy was named after a music producer who has played an important role in Celine and Rene Angelil's lives. Nelson was named after Nelson Mandela. You know Gwyneth Paltrow is pissed she didn't think of that first. Celine reportedly said that she only met Mr. Mandela for a few minutes, but that it had a profound effect on her.  That's all nice and lovely, and I'm happy for her. Those names are nice enough. But those names together...they conjure up images of an R&B duo, a UPN sitcom, a flaxen-hair pair of brothers singing sugary pop music:

Nelson

That totally reminded me that I had Charles and Eddie's "Would I Lie To You?" cassette single. Come to think of it, I had a lot of cassette singles back in those days. Tween Samantha was practical like that. You kind of had to be, because for every Celine and Mariah, you had a dozen like Des'ree, Martin Page ("In the House of Stone and Light"--yes, I went there) Crystal Waters, Crash Test Dummies...

Steve: Umm, I wouldn't tell people you had a Crash Test Dummies tape...

Me: I most certainly will tell people that, because I bet under their old beds at their mama's houses is a dusty old Ini Kamoze cassette.

Steve: Who?

Me: Exactly.

Yeah, I'm talking about Ini Kamoze and "Here Comes the Hotstepper" --"excuse me Mr. Officer...still love you like thaaat!" Actually, I had the entire Pret a Porter soundtrack (which sucked). Hence the need for cassette singles. Maybe you had Soul Asylum or Tony Rich Project or Deep Blue Something. Ideally, you just keep a blank tape in your boom box with the radio on, and mash "play" whenever a song by Duran Duran or Expose' plays (bonus if you can get the entire song without any of the DJ's jibber jabber). Best. Mix Tape. Evah.

Willow Smith is the new Bindi Irwin

I believe that like Bindi Irwin, Willow Smith is being exploited. Willow Smith is the new, R&B Bindi Irwin, except instead of being thrust into the limelight at a tender age by an overzealous, khaki-clad Crocodile Hunter's widow and rapping about the jungle, Willow is being thrust into the limelight at a tender age by an overzealous, cable TV actress and singing about hair whipping.

A little refresher, in case you've forgotten the horror that was "Trouble in the Jungle":

Sidenote: I wonder if any of these back-up dancers have gotten their big break as a result of this?

Do you know who would quickly disagree with me that Willow is being exploited? Jay-Z, who told Ryan Seacrest:

“She has a child's innocence but she has a clear vision of who she is and who she wants to be. I can only imagine that's how Mike [Michael Jackson] was as a young kid. When you have that sort of talent, there is no such thing as too young.”

Yeah, evoking the memory of the famously troubled (and famously dead) icon is a great way to argue your point. [eye roll] Plus, I think I can safely say that Willow Smith is no Michael Jackson. And that's not a bad thing.

Can a nine-year-old child (she only turned ten last week) be precocious? Distinctive? Yes, and yes. It's just...I don't know, the avant-garde designer clothes, the Pepe Le Pew hairstyle. I'm sure Willow likes the way she looks, but do I believe she came up with this on her own? No. And that's not an insult to Willow, I just don't think a girl her age could cultivate an image like this. Willow is a precious girl, but she seems more like an ordinary child who is being used like a pawn. Seeing parents sell their children's childhoods for fame and fortune is nothing new, but the Smiths don't need the money. So why do it? It seems to me, the person who might be behind all this, the person who most benefits from Willow's slingshot to stardom, is Jada Pinkett-Smith. I mean, Jada has gotten more publicity and attention in the last month thanks to Willow than she has ever gotten. Or so it seems. 
Before I solidified my opinion on this matter, I watched Willow perform her hit, "Whip My Hair" on Ellen DeGeneres:

Ok, so Willow is light years ahead of Bindi in the performance department, but that just means Willow is more conducive to being exploited in this manner. Full disclosure: I really don't like the song, and was underwhelmed by this over hyped spectacle, but I can tell Willow did her best, and I would venture to say that she is a better stage performer than the average ten-year-old. I decided to watch her interview with Ellen to see how they interact. It would take a very sophisticated and savvy person to cultivate the persona and image that little Willow has carved out for herself, and I was curious to see if she conveyed this savvy in an interview. Is she is a puppet on a string like Bindi Irwin, or is she is a child prodigy like Dakota Fanning? You be the judge:

Well, she's certainly precocious. Obnoxious is probably a better word, but she's Will and Jada's kid, so it's to be expected. For as talkative as she was, she was so scattered and inarticulate, and seemingly unable to answer simple questions. She had difficulty expressing why she likes to sing and she had difficulty explaining the meaning of her new hit song (not that it means very much). I just wasn't left with the impression that she's the mastermind behind this burgeoning music career and tween fashionista persona that she's crafting. I'm not trying to criticize Willow, I'm criticizing her handlers who are making money by pushing her out into the spotlight. Right now Willow is having fun, but that's because nothing bad has happened yet. Pushing a child into early stardom rarely ends well.
 

As a point of reference, here is seven-year-old Dakota Fanning accepting her Critic's Choice Award. She's young, but as she thanks God, her agents and her fellow nominees, I am not left with the feeling that she's completely being groomed and coached. I get that feeling with Willow. 

 

Final thought: that little girl is way to pretty to have all that hair in her face.

Of Course She Ordered Sprinkles...

Oh. My. Gosh, y'all! I feel so lucky to live in a time where every detail of Taylor Swift's life is painstakingly reported, because it entertains me to no end. How much are we loving her budding romance with Jake Gyllenhaal? I just Googled Jake's name to make sure I spelled it correctly. I totally had it spelled right all on my own, and I kinda hate myself for it. I need a hobby.

So, it was widely reported that Jake and Taylor--will we soon have to call them by a cute nickname, like "Jaylor"?--err. So, it was widely reported that Jake and Taylor went on a whimsical date to the apple orchard. To pick apples. Yes, people--apples! Did Jake later use those apples to whip up a batch of his homemade apple crisp (his personal recipe), or did they use them to garnish appletinis (virgin for her), or did they drop them in a bucket of water and bob for them? I need to know what became of these damn apples.

The latest "Jaylor" sighting takes place in a Santa Barbara ice cream parlor. Jake reportedly ordered Swiss chocolate chip, and Taylor chose yogurt--with SPRINKLES! [insert jazz hands]. While in the ice cream parlor, Taylor alledgedly flirted like a ten year old:

"Taylor laughed at everything Jake said," a witness tells the new Us Weekly. "At one point, she measured herself against Jake on her tiptoes." (An observer adds that Gyllenhaal "held her hand.")

Holding hands already? Has he even given her his class ring and asked her to go steady yet? I'm expecting their next date to take place in a drive-in or a skating rink. Please let it be a skating rink.

What I love about Taylor is that she doesn't try to be hip or cool or modern, and she has always been seemingly unconcerned with coming across as clingy with her love interests. She is completely oblivious to the idea of playing hard-to-get. I can tell from her songs and listening to her talk in interviews that she has a very narrow and specific definition of what romance is. It's like her family moved into a fallout shelter during the Cold War, only to emerge 40+ years later and try to assimilate with contemporary society, and Taylor's only understanding of romance and dating comes from watching reruns of 1950s sitcoms. Basically, Taylor is Brendan Fraser's character in Blast from the Past.

I know it sounds like I'm making fun of Taylor Swift (I would never), I actually find it endearing. In a culture and industry where it's considered a rite of passage to strip down to a glittery flesh colored bra top and roll around on stage...

...or dance on a stripper pole affixed to an ice cream cart wearing something that fell off the Rock of Love Bus...

I think it's great that Taylor just wants someone to eat sprinkles with her.

photo via New York Daily News

Teardrops on my Remote Control

First, a disclaimer, so that I don't get bombarded with hate mail from people calling me "Kanye":

I heart Taylor Swift. She's smart, she's classy, she's talented. I have many of her songs downloaded from iTunes. I'm listening to "Picture to Burn" as I type. [full disclosure: I'm totally dancing in my chair.] I love her, from her crisp, cascading curls, to her artfully lined, piercing eyes, to her sequined mini dresses that reveal her spindly legs, which are anchored securely in a well-worn pair of boots. I think we all love seeing the world through her romantic (if a little naive) and optimistic lens. She's a vision, an icon, and if I said one mean thing about her, it would only be because I'm jealous. Then I would never be welcome to sit at the cool kids table, because if America is one big high school, Taylor is the most popular girl in school. I would NEVER say that she's "overrated" or that her voice isn't nearly as impressive when heard live as compared to her recordings. I simply wouldn't say it. 

Ok?

I recognize that the process of producing music must be lengthy. I'm sure each of Taylor's three albums were in the works for months or years before being released. I mean, Britney Spears can stumble into the studio on a Tuesday (frappuccino in hand), belch the alphabet, and her hit single "3" is released on iTunes in time for the weekend (thank you, auto-tune!), but the singer/songwriter's process takes more time from start to finish--one could assume. How else can you explain why an almost 21-year-old Taylor is still singing from the point of view of a high schooler dealing with puppy love, angst, and high school politics?

Taylor: "Oh, if you loved 'Teardrops on My Guitar', you're in luck! I totally have like, fifty more songs I wrote that same week! We could like, record them all for my next five albums!"

While we're at it, what the hell does she have against cheerleaders? I guess the ones at her school were a bunch of bitches and she hasn't forgotten. She sure showed them! Another thing about her angsty (spell check says "no" to "angsty") high school ballads--she didn't even have to stay in high school for the full four years like the rest of us. She got to leave early and go be a country music sensation, and she still has enough material to sing a hundred songs about the pitfalls of high school life. I have to say, I'm growing a little weary of it all. It's like, I keep getting older, and Taylor stays the same age.

Now she has a new album to promote. For me, this means that every time I turn on the TV, I am treated to a "sneak peek" of her "newest" single, along with an "exclusive" interview from Taylor herself, giving us the "real" story behind the song. [Sigh]. I realize that Taylor's unique in that she writes her own stuff, but it seems to me that more attention is paid to Taylor's songwriting process than that of any other artist. Why can't we just let her sing?

What confuses me most about the media's yearning for Taylor to decode her songs, is that Taylor's songs are all straightforward narratives. I mean, if she is in love with a boy named Drew, she writes a song...about a boy named Drew...who she is in love with. He doesn't know it though, because he's dating--you guessed it--a cheerleader! That bitch. The cheerleader, not Taylor. Never Taylor. Taylor Swift is not exactly Eddie Vedder, her songs aren't so steeped in mystery and metaphor that any reasonable 10-year-old couldn't unravel the meaning behind her songs and determine which song is about a Jonas brother and which is about John Mayer, and which is about that bitch cheerleader from high school who was mean to her. I'm not sitting with my ear pressed to the speakers and asking aloud "What does it all mean?" As much as I may care--and believe me, I do--I don't really require further explanation.

I've previewed her new album on iTunes, and every song is beautiful and catchy. I detect the suggestion of a high school setting in a few of the songs, and a few adolescent overtones, but nothing too overtly teeny bopper this time. I think the record label needs to pump the breaks and let this beautiful album speak for itself. I think her albums would sell millions without over-promotion and cramming it down our throats, but I'm not the one in charge here.

So tell me, Taylor, which song is about Miley?!

I Guess This Makes Me a "Little Monster"

So, Steve arrived home from work last night (my birthday night) during Dancing with the Stars. I hadn't seen him since 5:00 am, when he left to work at a golf tournament. He came bearing bar b que, cake, champagne, and a card--all for me!

I went to the kitchen to open my card, so I could use a steak knife as a makeshift letter opener. Something told me I was going to want to save this card. I was sure it would have some sort of cartoon on the front of a red headed lady, and inside would be a heartfelt note from him about how he falls more and more in love with me each year, and he's so stoked to be celebrating my birthday for the 11th time since we met, and that I'm a terrific mom and I just get better with age. I don't want to put words into his mouth, but this card was gonna be epic, I had no doubt.

The card features a hologram of Miley Cyrus, and when you tilt the card, she becomes Hannah Montana. Inside, the note read,

Miley and I hope you have a great time @ Lady Gaga this March

xoxo,

Steve

Yay! So, Amy and I are going to see Lady Gaga in March! I consider myself a fan of Lady Gaga's music, but not so much of Lady Gaga's persona. I'd love to see her in a flirty frock. She doesn't have to dress like Butcher Shop Barbie on my account--

She calls her fans "Little Monsters" and even has a tattoo dedicated to them. I'd consider myself a fan, but I don't know if I'm hardcore enough to be a Little Monster. The way she talks about her Little Monsters, they're mostly social outcasts who face oppression and discrimination and who she feels the need to advocate for. I'm just an ordinary woman from middle America who jams out on my iPod to the five songs I downloaded from iTunes. Regardless, I'm pretty fired up about the concert because she's gonna put on a great show.

Thanks, Stevie! xoxo

We're Getting Old

Saturday Night Live premiered this past Saturday, and all it did was remind me that I'm getting old.

Exhibit A:
Location: Our bed
Time: approximately 11:00 pm

Katy Perry is performing

Steve: Katy Perry is hot.
Me: Yeah. She is.
Steve: You don't like her, do you?
Me: Nuh no, I like her. I bought her first album. But...do you think she's just...a little bit obnoxious?
Steve: All hot girls are a little bit obnoxious.
Me: They are? I didn't know that. Hmm...she seems a little gimicky to me.
Steve: I'm just glad to see a pop star who isn't blonde. I like brunettes.
Me: She dyes her hair...oh my gosh.
Steve: What is it?
Me: She's singing "California Gurls". This is "the song of the summer", that like, broke iTunes records, that all the kids are listening to. I've never heard it before, have you?
Steve: Ugh. We are getting old.

Exhibit B:
Time: approximately 11:15

After taking our nightly medication and pain reliever for various aches and pains, we fall asleep.

Exhibit C:
Time: Right now

I had to Google "California Gurls" to verify the spelling of the song title.

In conclusion: I'm not hip, I'm not down, I don't have the 411, I'm not diggin' what the kids are listening to. I'm such a square. [sigh.]

All The Pregnant Ladies

I love me some parodies, and this one is good. It's a sassy redheaded pregnant chick (I guess I'm not the only one) re-creating Beyonce's "Single Ladies" while 38 weeks pregnant. I'm impressed with her vocals and her moves, her clever re-writing of the lyrics, and her ability to fit into a leotard. I would not be up for the task at this point.



Thanks, Jennye!

This is Why Steve Doesn't Blog

Steve: Did you blog today?
Me: No. I don't have anything to blog about.
Steve: Sure you do! I can think of lots of things for you to blog about.
Me: Really? That's great, let's hear it!
Steve: Well, you could blog about how people in Dallas are douche bags, and you could make a list of your top ten hip hop songs.
Me: Wow. Well, I agree that a lot of douche bags live in Dallas, but I don't really have enough material to expand on that topic for an entire post. And my top ten hip hop songs?
Steve: Yeah, you could be like 'Steve and I were watching the 100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs on VH1, and this is my top ten list.'
Me: Why would anybody care what my ten favorite hip hop songs are? Plus, my list would shock people. I used to listen to stuff like Kilo's "Love in Ya Mouth" and Eazy-E's "Gimme That Nut".
Steve: [incredulously] Umm, you are the least promiscuous girl I know. You say those are your favorite hip hop songs, and it's just not gonna hold water with people who actually know you [popping a Pringle in his mouth].
Me: Also, I'm extremely white.
Steve: That too.

Confession time: As a teen, I was a complete goody-goody priss who happened to enjoy listening to explicit rap music in the privacy of my own car. I'm a paradox dipped in an enigma. And I know nothing about old school hip hop. Steve is seven years older than me, so when we were watching the VH1 countdown and a NWA or Public Enemy song would be featured, Steve would ask, "Do you remember that song?" And I'd be like "No. Didn't you just hear the man say that song came out in 1991? I was not listening to NWA in 1991. I was nine. I was rollerskating in my cul-de-sac listening to Amy Grant." Steve laughed and said, "Don't tell anybody what you just told me!" Whatever. Heart in Motion was a great album.

So...although I lack all credibility and qualification to craft such a list, here is my completely personal, not at all comprehensive list of the top ten hip hop songs of all time, in no particular order. I had trouble narrowing it down to ten, but as I was compiling the list, I discovered that some of my favorite hip hop songs are actually classified as dance or R&B, further proving that I don't know what I'm talking about.

10. Tootsie Roll: 69 Boyz
What this jam lacks in sophistication it makes up for in universal recognition. You can walk up to any American born between 1974 and 1984 and utter the words "cotton candy, sweet and low, let me see that tootsie roll" and your command will be obeyed. For that reason, I think this song deserves acknowledging.

9. Gangsta's Paradise: Coolio
I did own the Dangerous Minds soundtrack, and this song is a classic. Also worth noting: Weird Al Yankovic's fantastic parody, "Amish Paradise". Even better? Seeing how much "Amish Paradise" pissed off Coolio.

8. Ice Ice Baby: Vanilla Ice
All the cool kids on the playground knew the words to this song.

7. Roses: OutKast
I feel my list would be incomplete without something from the boys of OutKast. I could have easily chosen from about a half dozen favorites, but there's only one OutKast song that inspired the name for my car, and that is "Roses". My 2004 silver Jeep Grand Cherokee is named "Caroline", because all the boys would say she's mighty fine, but you need a golden calculator to divide...the monthly payments. Note: Jarred named my car. It's bad luck to name your own car. Write that down. Incidentally, it's the summer of 2010, and I'm just three payments away from owning Caroline outright. Whoop whoop!

6. Gimme That Nut: Eazy-E
Owning this CD garnered lots of street cred for me because Eazy-E is a legend and an icon. I didn't know who Eazy-E was, or who NWA was, but I knew this was a great album.

5. Love in Ya Mouth: Kilo
This song is horribly raunchy, and I owned the CD. I don't know what to say. My friend Tyler and I liked to listen to it when driving around in her car. The lyrics would make a stripper blush, and we had absolutely no business singing along.

4. Tha Crossroads: Bone Thugs-N-Harmony

This ode to fallen homeboys from the streets struck a chord with this teenage white girl from the suburbs. The Thugs rapid flow lyrics were more than I could keep up with, so I didn't understand most of what they were saying, but we could all join in on "I miss my Uncle Charles y'all". Again, the references to Eazy-E in the song and video were completely lost on me. Steve finds my hip hop ignorance disgraceful. Did I mention that Steve grew up in the projects? This apparently makes him a hip hop aficionado. He thinks I really missed out by being raised in a predominately white, upper middle class community because I lack street cred and I never dined on government cheese. Nor was I aware that something called "government cheese" exists. How do I respond to that? I don't know.

3. Back That Azz Up: Juvenile
I owned this CD too, and I played this song constantly. What, what, what, what drop it like it's hot!

2. Shoop: Salt-N-Pepa
They don't make songs like this anymore (I'm looking at you, Ke$ha) "You're packed and you're stacked 'specially in the back/Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that" Lyrical geniuses, yes?

1. My Name Is: Eminem

This guy changed hip hop, y'all. But I don't have to tell you that.

Quote of the Day

Teresa: We bought my stepson a car for his birthday, we joked he would dance on the hood like that music video. Do you even get that reference?

Jarred: Yeah, talkin about Tawny Kitaen dancing on the hood of a Jaguar cause she was dating David Coverdale at the time.

Teresa: No, the Whitesnake video.

Jarred: Nevermind.

...just another day at the office for my brother.

Who Wants to Tell Her?

I was flipping through the latest issue of Us Weekly and saw a picture of Whitney Port, with a caption quoting her as saying that manicures and pedicures are her "guilty pleasures". Somebody needs to tell her that that isn't what a guilty pleasure is. If it is, then so is having your oil changed and going to the dentist.

No, a mani-pedi can be viewed as an indulgence.  If you have crappy nail beds and an inability to polish your nails without getting it all over yourself, it can also be part of your routine maintenance. It is not a guilty pleasure. A guilty pleasure is something you hesitate to admit enjoying because you risk embarrassment and ridicule. It is often something you do when by yourself in the privacy of your home or car. Or, if you're Jessica Simpson, it's something you do publicly and discuss in a nationally televised interview.

Examples? I'll go first:

1. I have an unhealthy devotion to ABBA. I like to sing their songs in my car. Loudly. Also, I went through a phase where I watched Muriel's Wedding thrice weekly, and I cannot stop myself from watching Mamma Mia despite knowing it's horrible.

2. If Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead comes on HBO, I have to watch.

3. I enjoy watching marathons of Snapped on the Oxygen channel. Steve: "I'm so pleased you enjoy watching a TV show about women who kill their men."

4. If I'm flipping through the channels and find a stand-up comedian, I'm watching. Until Steve finds me and makes me change the channel because "this isn't funny."

5. For every dozen cookies I bake, I eat at least one cookie's worth of dough.

6. I love old game shows from the 80s, especially Press Your Luck.

No whammies!

Ok, your turn. It's ok, you're among friends in the Trust Tree. We don't have secrets and we don't judge in the Trust Tree.

Rihanna Looks Amazing

And by "amazing", I mean "like a jackass". Rihanna showed up at some festival in Madrid looking like the spawn of Red Fraggle and Simple Jack dressed up as Madonna from her Blonde Ambition Tour. Her "I'm easy, breezy, beautiful" facial expression in this picture just is a slap in the face to women everywhere who have to put forth effort to be pretty. I can't imagine going to see my friend/stylist Adam and requesting a cherry kool-aid bowl cut, him actually agreeing to do it, and then going out to meet my girl friends and being all "Don't I look fabulous?" I guess she did it for attention. It worked. Would we be talking about her weekend in Spain otherwise? Not unless Chris Brown had shown up.

Rihanna, I hereby request that you return to "Pon de Replay" Rihanna:

I feel better already. While I'm at it, I'd like to also request "Dirrty" Christina Aguilera and "I'm a Slave 4 U" Britney Spears. It would be nice to have all the pop stars realigned in the way I loved them best.

That is SO 2003, Miley

Miley Cyrus and her "Can't Be Tamed" bird-tramp act has gone international. While performing on Britain's Got Talent, she and her chipmunk teeth raped the face of one of her dancers. Escandalo! Seriously, I didn't think that the ice cream truck stripper pole routine could be topped. I was wrong. I. Was. Wrong.

Miley is really just an inferior, non-animated version of Brittany from The Chipettes, so I'm not surprised that this is the best she could do. I'm just surprised that her handlers didn't tell her that the faux lesbian kiss has been done, and been done better, and that she shouldn't try to recapture it. She wouldn't try to remake Gone with the Wind would she? No she wouldn't. Wait, yes she would.



See for yourself. Listener discretion advised (mute this business). Fast forward to the 1:05 mark if you haven't got time for the pain.

Avenue Q: The Post-Gary Coleman Edition

What a difference a week makes. Since March, Steve and I have had a date with our friends, David and Ashley, to see Avenue Q, the Broadway musical that Ashley described to us as "Sesame Street for adults". The touring production of Avenue Q is in Dallas for two weeks. Ashley had originally suggested we see it last week, but I had some sort of conflict on that day. Something about a baby. So we settled on tonight. Big difference? Normally, no, but in the wake of Gary Coleman's untimely death, changes have been made to the original Avenue Q. You see, there is a character named "Gary Coleman" and a few jokes at ol' Gary's expense. I suppose Gary was a good sport about it all when he was alive, but now that he's in Heaven, Avenue Q creator Jeff Marx will be changing some lines that now seem "inappropriate".  You're already bored with this, but I find it notable that something as arbitrary as the date I chose to see this musical dictates which version of the musical I will be seeing. I kind of wish I was seeing the original. Such is life.

My source for this post is Perez Hilton. He's my Tom Brokaw.

I love this photo of Gary. It captures the way I feel most of the time.

I really hope that Steve likes Avenue Q. I try to bring culture and the arts to our relationship, with mixed outcomes. The first musical I dragged invited him to was Rent when it came to the BJCC in 2001. We left after the first act because Steve just couldn't take it. Looking back, that was a highly misguided choice on my part. Rent is not starter-musical for a southern man. Oklahoma would have been more well-received.

American Idol Finale Commentary

In 50 years, when I'm 78, my boobs are 20 and my face is 39, I'll be sitting on my front porch with grand babies on my lap, and I'll tell them that ol' Sammy remembers exactly where she was the day Simon Cowell bid farewell to American Idol. They will listen in wonder as I tell them that, prior to 2002, when people heard the name "Simon", it conjured up images of a Saturday Night Live character played by Mike Myers:

"Moy name is Simon, and I like to do draw-rings!"

Here's how the 9th Season finale went down, through my eyes:

- I didn't watch last season, so tell me: Kris Allen isn't big on enunciating? I needed subtitles for his performance. Cute kid, though.

- I have no reason to feel this way, but something about Siobhan Magnus feels awkward. I used to feel the same way when watching Smashing Pumpkins videos during the 90s. And something about Aaron Kelly makes me want to give him a juice box. Their song takes a turn for the worse, as I begin hearing music that makes me think of some dated Bee Gees song. I thought, "What, are Barry and Robin Gibb gonna show up next?" And then there they were. I must be psychic. Or was it Maurice? Whichever one is still living. I only recognize Robin Gibb because I recently saw his photo on a gossip site that reported he acted like a horse's arse at Heathrow Airport. I know nothing beyond that headline because, well, I was born during the Reagan administration and therefore have no interest in Bee Gees: Behind the Music.

- This season's chunk of chocolate thunder, Michael Lynche, performed a duet with Michael McDonald. I'm slow on the uptake, so I'm just now figuring out that they're gonna sing hits and then be joined on stage by the hitmaker. I thought Michael McDonald songs were just for my silver fox, Taylor Hicks? Michael McDonald looks like Colonel Sanders after ordering the Kenny Rogers Cosmetic Surgery Special. I'm mesmerized.

- Next up was Dane Cook, who took the time to set some of Simon's greatest insults to music. I can tell by their faces that Ellen and Simon both very much hate Dane's performance. Also, is Dane's undersized shirt a nod to Simon's notoriously tight tops? Then, all the Idol rejects came on stage like a reunion for VH1 and E! reality show has-beens. Some guy who looked like Bobby Trendy got a hold of a microphone and started babbling about how he was more interesting than Simon...something like that. I don't care enough to even rewind my DVR. Cut abruptly to commercial.

- Christina Aguilera, do you need a moment to chew it over with Twix? I feel like she couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to sing, so she took a page from the Kris Allen and Nick Jonas School of Music and just decided to gargle all the words to her latest song. Christina is the hotness, and she knows that no matter what she does, we're all gonna sit on the edge of our seats, nodding and smiling like my Vietnamese nail technician when she tries to make small talk with me. Neither of us can understand a word the other is saying, but we live together in perfect harmony.

- Casey James, what's you secret for lustrous, bouncing curls?

- Did tonight's music selection come from WMJJ Magic 96's playlist? I began having flashbacks to my time spent in the orthodontist's chair having my braces tightened, listening to Hall & Oates.

- Daryl Hall was having some Peter Brady moments on stage. Hitting those notes was a strugglefest. He should have borrowed Justin Bieber. The Biebs hasn't gone through puberty yet. What am I saying? American Idol is live, and it's past Justin's bedtime. Duh.

- How do you not love Crystal Bowersox's dad? Evening wear by Harley Davidson is classic.

- Crystal takes the stage to perform Alanis Morissette's "Ironic". Ironically, I am a fan of Alanis, but not of this song. Because nothing she describes in the song is in fact ironic. They're just things that suck. But I guess "Doesn't That Suck" or "Ain't that a Bitch" isn't gonna shoot up the charts on Casey's Top 40. It's my heartfelt wish that Crystal had chosen "You Oughta Know" instead. Then, as if Santa Claus himself heard me, Christmas came early and Alanis and Crystal performed together, "You Oughta Know."

- Carrie, Carrie, Carrie. You're everything I wish I could be, and nothing that I am. Tip of the hat to you.

- American Idol's sponsor, Ford, gifted Crystal and Lee with a Ford...Fiesta? A Ford freakin' Fiesta? You should have given them Mustangs. Or, better yet, a Bronco. That would have been my choice.

- Bret Michaels is the new Betty White. As Americans, we have a tendency not to appreciate our celebrities of yesteryear until they float off to the big tour bus/wicker furnished lanai in the sky. Now we're just beginning to recognize these living legends and reward them with a renaissance. We're all so thrilled and relieved that Bret cheated death (once? twice? three times?) that we've taken him back from the free clinic gutter tramps he's been carousing with for the past few years and made him America's sweetheart. Weren't we all delighted to see him?

- Paula's here! Please be lucid, please be lucid, ahhh...it was awkward. Like Steve Buscemi's best man speech in The Wedding Singer. What, you haven't seen this crown jewel of Adam Sandler's filmography? (says me). Here ya go. You're welcome.

Sample line: "Why can't you be more like your brother? Harold would never beat up his landlord!"

 - The tribute to Simon continues with a performance by past Idols and Finalists. Afterwards, Paula guides Simon up to the stage. I've seen Hey, Paula, and let me tell you it's a real roll reversal, Paula helping someone else walk in a straight line. I'm impressed. I really hoped she would sing "Rush Rush" or at the very least, "Promise of a New Day". I am denied.

- Kelly Clarkson's hair looks fantastic.

- Where is David Cook?

- I'm watching Janet, "Miss Jackson" if you're nasty (which I am). Seeing her without her long, luxurious mane of hair is as confusing and upsetting as my 1987 visit to The Magic Kingdom, where I hugged Minnie Mouse and discovered that inside her big, yellow Minnie shoe was a small, brown human shoe. As I sat in a restaurant crying, my dad attempted to console me. Rubbing my back, he softly asked me, "You didn't really think she was a giant cartoon mouse, did you? You know she's an actor playing a character, right?" I've loved Miss Jackson since Rhythm Nation, and all these years I've given no thought to her weave. And now that weave is gone and so is a little bit of her mystique.

- Let's cut to the results. Like a coin tossed in the air, I call it: Crystal Bowersox

- And the new American Idol is: Lee DeWyze!

- Lee DeWyze sweetly makes the biggest understatement of his life: "I am so happy right now." I melt like butter.

I think the American Idol host and judges should have made a pact like the cast of Friends. They're all in it together until the end. I don't like them departing one at a time. Will we really tune in next season without Simon?