Sick and Busy...

...But I will hopefully be back in full swing soon. Let's just say December 2006 is already a strange, hectic, overwhelming, stressfull learning experience. Ugh.

So...Much...Green...

Obviously, I'm re-working a few things here. I like to give my blog a new look every once in a while, and when Blogger introduced their new Beta mode, I made a few drastic changes. Unfortunately, unlike many of my blogging friends who seemed to have made the transition smoothly, I seemed to have lost a few things along the way.

So bear with me, enjoy the fresh, crisp, herbacious new look, play around with the labels I'm slowly adding to all my posts and hopefully I'll get the kinks worked out soon!

(Update: Things are looking better as of 12/4, but I had to completely re-enter my links list. Please don't take it personally if I missed your link because I had no time to remember every single link I used to have. So, if you were a link on my roll, or would like to be, please email me - donb80@gmail.com - and remind me. Thanks!)

The Top 10 List of Top 10 Lists

It's that time of year again when editors need to fill space and people need to be told what to buy lest they actually think on their own. Thus, we have not only have The New York Times' Top 10 Books of the Year, but also their Top 100 Notable Books of the Year list which, now that I think about it, is a strangely vague title. Are they notable because they're good or just because they got the biggest PR, media and critical attention? Well, Nicole Ritchie's "novel" never made the list, so their credibility is intact for now, no matter how boring and obvious the list may be.

A more interesting list, however, is The Atlantic's 100 Most Influential Americans of All Time. This title is decidedly not vague, but it is a little unambitious. I mean, geez, only 100? "Of All Time"? Slackers.

The list is full of predictable (which I don't use to imply they're undeserved) choices: Abraham Lincoln (#1), George Washington (2), Thomas Jefferson (3) and Martin Luther King Jr. (8). What's interesting is reading about how the ten historians chosen to vote by The Atlantic made their decisions...

No celebrities! What? Are they all living in some stuffy, TV-less, elbow-patched-jacket vacuum? Historian Walter McDougall "eliminated celebrities altogether on the grounds that their influence is shallow, ephemeral, and replaceable." David M. Kennedy said entertainment is "highly evanescent" and that most entertainers "leave no lasting legacy." How colorless and asexual are their sad little worlds.

Of course, there is Elvis Presley (66) and Louis Armstrong (79), but, I mean, come on. Interestingly, Walt Whitman is ranked 22nd. Haven't they heard? Poetry is so 60's! A-duh hickey, too-cool-for-school (or should I say, too-cool-because-of-school?) historians. Since poetry is such a floundering, uninfluential medium today, how could Mr. Body Electric rank so high? (Please note: the last 39 words are totally sarcastic. Poetry isn't floundering. It's dead. Dead as a rotting carcass on top of a dried skeleton on top of Richard Grieco's career.)

So allow me, at the risk of making those so-called "historians" jealous, to make some of my own suggestions for this sorely lacking list:

3) John Travolta. Bear with me here. OK, in Grease he was this totally studly, good-looking, popular guy who could also sing and dance and wear fitted t-shirts all while appearing 100% heterosexual. So, thanks to him, a whole generation of women could believe that the studly, good-looking, popular guys who could also sing and dance and wear fitted t-shirts who went to their high school were actually straight, and those guys could actually convince themselves and others that they were all about chasin' the cooter. Thus, with one jut of Travolta's slithery hips, a whole generational high school survival system was solidified: millions of guys can avoid getting beat up and get to have prom dates and millions of girls can convince themselves that it's normal for really sensitive boyfriends to bake banana bread for their girlfriends. God bless this American tradition. God bless John Travolta.

2) The Sumerians. Because my .5 seconds of online research taught me that the Sumerians inadvertently invented beer 6,000 years ago (although it doesn't say specifically where they were when this happened, it's safe to assume it was either Vegas or the University of Wisconsin-Madison). Anyone who invented this sweet nectar must have been the celebrities of their time (even if we're talking about an entire culture). Sure, they may not be "American" (what does that even really mean anymore, anyway?) but because of them, ugly people get to have sex, frat boys accelerate the Darwinian process by killing 90% of their brain cells within two months of their freshman year and I get through life every day. (Please note: that last part was totally sarcastic. I also use pot. And Starbucks.)

1) Phil Donahue. Not because he introduced whiny, self-absorbed validation-seeking as self-help. Not because he taught us that the best way to communicate is through confrontation and televised humiliation. And not because he was a totally intellectual stud muffin paving the way for the Matt Lauers and Stone Phillipses (remember Stone Phillips? No? Neither do I) of the world. No, Donahue is influential because without him there would be no Oprah, and without Oprah there would be no Tyra Banks. 'Nuff said.

Yeah, so suck it, Thomas Edison. Eat you heart out, Walt Disney. And it's more like the "Wrong Brothers," Wright Brothers.

But, of course, these are just suggestions. The Atlantic's list is still kind of pretty good. I guess.

Kiwi, Tab and Turkey

In February I shared a poem and a video to celebrate Valentine's Day. Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is coming up, but I can't exactly reach through the screen and give you all a plate of steaming mashed potatoes with turkey and cranberry sauce. So I thought I'd do the next best thing and share two videos...that have nothing to do with Thanksgiving whatsoever.

Unless, of course, your Thanksgiving feast is enjoyed with a tall, frosty glass of ice-cold Tab. And if it is, then maybe you also enjoy Thanksgiving wearing leg warmers and torn-up sweatshirts hanging off one shoulder, but that's not the point. The point is, Tab is awesome. And so is this commercial for Tab from the late 60's/early 70's (I'm estimating). I was directed to its brilliance via Elizabeth Crane's awesome blog, and I urge each and every one one of you to watch it. Description cannot do it justice, but the lyrics allude to its dizzy hilarity: "When you can't be with him, be in his mind. Be a mind-sticker." Yes, I'm serious. Tab was all about appealing to the ladies: "Being in good shape - shape with Tab. Keeping your shape in shape has its rewards." All being said in a creepy/sexy male voiceover as a husband comes home to his foxy, Tab-chugging wife.

Watch it below or check it out here.



Um, yeah. Totally makes me want to drink Tab. Or trip on acid. Or both.

The second video is completely different. By way of Popwatch, this is a master thesis from film student Dony Permedi entitled "Kiwi!" It's about a bird who can't fly who goes to great lengths for one last grande attempt. It's cute, funny, sad, complicated and - ultimately - heartbreaking. It's also three minutes long, so break away from your work and spreadsheets and emails to watch it at least once. But you'll probably want to watch it more than once.

Check it out below or watch it here.



So what do these have to do with Thanksgiving? Um, let's see...one is reminder for an underappreciated, overlooked beverage to take its rightful place next to your spiced apple cider, and the other is about being thankful for the things you have rather than dragging yourself down about the things you don't.

Maybe that's a stretch.

OK, it's totally a stretch.

But my brain is already so distracted by the inevitable pleasure overload of pumpkin pie that I can't think straight. So enjoy!

To Watch or Not to Watch, There Is No Question

How much do I love Slings & Arrows? Or, better put, is there a better show on TV than Slings & Arrows? I’m going to say no, and not just because I don’t actually have cable and therefore have limited access to the bounty that is network television. (Sorry, Battlestar Gallactica, it was never meant to be.)

(Warning: spoilers ahead)

Slings & Arrows, a Canadian comedy currently in its third season on the Sundance Channel, follows the action behind the scenes of the fictional New Burbage Shakespearean Festival (New York magazine called it "Shakespeare in Love meets Topsy-Turvy). Artistic director Oliver Welles (Stephen Ouimette), once the director of critically acclaimed, provocative theater, is staging a gorgeous yet lazy production of Midsummer’s Night Dream. While he’s making sure the fake goats bleat on cue, temperamental star Ellen (Martha Burns) interrupts rehearsals to discuss problematic blocking and general manager Richard (co-writer Mark McKinney) disrupts everything to make sure Oliver is meeting every need of the corporate sponsors. The pressures of running the festival, with its media coverage and long, lustrous history, drive Oliver to drink so much that he fatally stumbles in front of an oncoming truck the very same night the show opens.

Enter Geoffrey Tenant (Paul Gross, writer, director and actor in TV's Due South, Brian in the first Tales of the City miniseries and Burns' real-life husband). Passionate, histrionic, a little loony and strangely sexy, this extremely anti-corporate actor/director is failing to keep his own Shakespeare theater company afloat when the New Burbage calls on him to temporarily replace Oliver. New Burbage is where Geoffrey famously triumphed seven years prior as Hamlet opposite Ellen’s Ophelia, yet also where he then suffered a nervous breakdown only three performances into the production.

After begrudgingly accepting the offer, Paul meets the crew: neurotic assistant Anna (Susan Coyne), devious board member yet ironically named Holly Day (Jennifer Irwin), kooky actress Claire (Sabrina Grdevich) and her fresh-faced understudy Kate (a pre-Mean Girls Rachel McAdams), among others.

Like Shakespear in Love, the more you know about Shakespeare, the more you'll get out of the show. But I'm not a big Shakespeare expert and there's still a lot to enjoy. Geoffrey and Ellen's relationship is much deeper than just being co-actors, and their romantic history is further complicated by their director and shoulder to cry on, Oliver. Since the love of her life abandoned her on the stage, Ellen enjoys the company of local young boytoys, whether a bartender or delivery guy. How refreshing it is to have a non-ingenue leading lady enjoy her sexuality without flaunting or apologizing for it. Oh, and since Oliver can't be with them in person anymore, he decides to haunt Geoffrey, causing him to yell "Shut! UP!" during a conversation or televised interview.

Meanwhile, Kate is striking sparks with the Burbage's new Hamlet, Hollywood action star Jack Crew (Luke Kirby). I haven't seen a single Rachel McAdams movie yet, but she is so adorable here I just want to put her in my pocket and buy her lots of ponies. No wonder people call her the next Julia Roberts, however unprophetic that may be.

Also, Holly begins a kinky power dynamic with weak, "spindly" Richard, cruelly manipulating things so he can become the new chairman of the board of directors. Even though he might be the one ascending in power, slimy Holly clearly calls all the shots both in and out of the bedroom. In fact, Holly is so disgustly evil, with her perky smirks, affirmation tapes ("You are the center of the universe. You are God."), and disdain for anything and anyone in the way of her ambitions, you pretty much love to hate her. All of which is why Irwin is such a good actress.

This doesn't even scratch the surface of the large cast, which also includes an actor-hating stagehand and the two Irish actors who behave as less cranky versions of Statler and Waldorf. The show obviously has a large budget which I guess is possible with short, six-episode seasons.

The great thing about Slings & Arrows is that whethor or not you love Shakespeare or even theater itself, you can't help but be moved by the actors' and directors' love for what they do. They're not just crazy and high-strung just because they're artists, they're crazy and high-strung because they believe in the power Hamlet can wield over an audience. Their desperation is born not just out of vanity (note the "just") but because they sincerely want their screwy theater company to succeed! They live for the that thrilling, fleeting moment when the actors on stage forget they're on stage and just live it. Even if the show contaminates their personal lives or they have no budget for costumes or sets or the critics belittle them, these people clearly have no choice. They must do what they're doing. The hilarious side-effects are our benefit.

Boo.

"Spine-tingling!" "Toe-curling!" "Keeps you on the edge of your seat!"

Apparently, watching a scary movie, as opposed to any other genre, is a very physical spectator sport. In the spirit of Halloween and with only a few more months left in the year, I just wanted to take a step back and look at some of 2006’s scary movie offerings, which is actually a fairly solid sampling of what scary movies have to offer, from atmospheric thrillers to straight-up slashers. (Note: because I haven’t yet seen Saw II, I just figured I wouldn’t understand anything in Saw III, so I haven’t seen that yet. The Saw storylines can get pretty intricate. Like Tolstoy.) In order from worst to best:

4) Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning - If you’ve already seen one of the Texas Chainsaw movies, then you know exactly what to expect when you hear they made a prequel. The movie does not offer one surprise or original idea. The filmmakers were so transparently lazy it’s almost insulting. Grainy footage! Hand-held cameras! Crazy hillbillies! Doesn’t it just feel creepy? Not quite. Oh, and memo to horror filmmakers: gore does not equal scary.

3) Final Destination 3 - Horror movies often walk a fine line between scary and funny, often by going so over the top that we're laughing at the filmmakers' audacious perversity than at the characters' misfortune. But FD3 has it all backwards. No film has made me feel older, and less funny, than the third (final?) installment in this trilogy. As Death once again comes up with creative ways to kill of a batch of teenagers (since they defied Death, he/she/it/whatever won’t stop until its mission is accomplished), I couldn’t help but feel that the filmmakers were just soulless assholes. While many horror/slasher movies could use the originality shown in FD3’s death sequences (#4, are you listening?), the writers barely take the time to think of even one personality trait per character, such as valley girl, jock, goth couple, etc. Then the filmmakers take such uninhibited, sadistic glee in dispatching them (let’s watch these bimbos fry in a tanning bed for five minutes!) that any fun is offset by the self-conscious expectation that we’re supposed to laugh and cheer along. Ugh. I know, I know. Just hand me my walker now.

2) Hostel - This movie is what we would call “progress.” The director, Eli Roth, obviously knows his shit. He knows what’s been done before and is obviously trying to tweak old stereotypes and expectations. Yes, it’s too self-aware for its own good and also relies too much on gore. But, refreshingly, it at least tries to aim higher than just sliced Achilles heels and gouged eyes. It’s suspenseful, well-paced and even fun. There is something hollow at its core, which I think is because there's no single, memorable villain in the movie. It's just Paxton (Jay Hernandez) and his buddies against a bunch of sadistic, generic Europeans. Still, it will be interesting to see what Roth does next, besides Hostel 2. And the gang of murderous kids bribed by candy? Awesome.

1) The Descent – Easily the best scary movie of 2006 (except for Little Man). This British import starring six unknown actresses may not have had the marketing hype of, say, The Grudge 2, but it surely deserved it. Six women decide to explore underground caves…and that’s as much as I’ll tell you. Yes, the symbolism of lithe young ladies trying to fit through really tight tunnels is rife for parody. But the film is so confident in its premise that it doesn’t even bother to introduce the creepy-crawly creatures that attack them until halfway through (okay, so I just told you a little more). Employing claustrophobia, smart editing, psychological mind games, complicated group dynamics and some serious ass-kicking female characters (rare indeed in Hollywood horror movies, see #4-2 above), The Descent stands out among the rest. My only problem is that the decision to trim the truly creepy, ambiguous ending from the British run for the American’s easy, lazy, cheap final scare. (For more about The Descent, its influences, references and the deal behind that truly creepy poster, click here.)

So what do these movies say about the modern state of horror movies? Sequels and prequels usually suck and there’s more crap than good ones. But you could say that about movies in general, right? Every other genre has its so-bad-its-good gems, but scary movies are consistently either genuinely great or hilariously God-awful. To paraphrase a quote, when they're good, they're great, when they're bad, they're even better. It's fun to dig through the losers even as you search for the one that truly tingles your spine.

Filthy and Gorgeous

Ladies and gentlemen, break out the sequins and adjust your disco balls, because the Scissor Sisters are back.

Exploding onto the UK charts two years ago with their self-titled debut full of catchy glam-pop, the Sisters found middling success here in the States, where the airwaves are dominated by rigidly masculine rock and hip-hop. This, of course, was exactly why they were such a welcome distraction from the generic, marginally talented acts showcased on TV and radio. Scissor Sisters was packed with intelligent, hilarious, dirty anthems that transcended the narrow, if slightly accurate, defintion of "disco."

Which is why, at first, I was slightly disappointed with Ta-Dah, their second CD. The songs didn’t seem to pop the way they had on SS’ debut. On that album, the aural assault of opener “Laura” segued into the fizzy guitars of “Take Your Momma Out” which floated into the spacey falsettos of the Led Zeppelin cover, “Comfortably Numb.” On Ta-Dah, the contrasts might not always be as sharp, but repeated listening reveals lyrics that are at turns hilarious and haunting and musical influences ranging from barbershop quartets to cheesy rock musicals.

They embody a rebellious, pan-sexual decadance, with a wit so often spiked with arsenic. "I Can't Decide" is a perky confession of murderous intentions that are only resisted because Jake Shears, the band's lead singer and co-writer, is convinced he'll be killed in retaliation if he fails. On "Intermission," Shears sounds like he should be doing soft-shoe with a hat and cane while blithely tossing off lines like "Happy yesterday to all/We were born to die." (The CD cover should have tipped me off to the madcap darkness inside. It recalls imagery from both ends of 80’s horror: the exalted classic The Shining [think of the elevator scene] and the cheesy, low-budget April Fool’s Day.)

Don't get me wrong - the Sisters still like to party. It's hard to deny the ecstatic power once Shears' voice soars halfway through the chorus of "Lights," and "Kiss You Off" may simply be one of the most fun songs ever about kicking out an inadequate lover using an extended cosmetic metaphor. If you learn the brilliant lyrics to the rollicking chorus, you'll definitely win karoake night.

The party theme continues behind the scenes as well, with Elton John co-writing and playing piano on two songs and none other than Miss Cristal Conners herself, Gina Gershon, playing harp on "I Can't Decide" (that was a very weird sentence to write).

But I also can't emphasize enough the intelligent, thoughtful craft behind their more introspective songs. Like how the rambling, meandering verse on "Might Tell You Tonight" recreates a giddy, nervous, stream-of-conscious confession of love. "The Other Side" is a prayer from one dying lover to another ("I'll count our blessings as I/wait for you, on the other side") and the pauses in the verse echo real-life silences in hospital rooms.

I feel somewhat guilty enjoying the fruits of Shears and Co.’s misery, but when it produces such lyrics as “If lies were cats you’d be a litter,” how could I not? In fact, in only twelve songs amounting to forty-five minutes, the sonic champagne of Ta-Dah proves that the Scissor Sisters may be one of the best, most consistent bands at constructing perfect pop songs.

Trim the Sentence About the Female Orgasm and I'll Get an "R"

You know how, once you're old enough, you stop paying attention to movie ratings? If it's a family film, you know it's G or PG. If it's a somewhat mild [teen/romantic/misc.] comedy, then it's a PG-13. Anything else is R, and the rare occassion of an NC-17 usually means a lot of sex. In fact, unless you have kids, the only time the ratings mean anything to you is when you want to avoid a G or PG or even a PG-13, to avoid anything too schmaltzy and wholesome (i.e. boring and predictable).

Well, what about the people who decide on those ratings to begin with? Who are they? How do they make their decisions? This Film is Not Yet Rated only finds out the answers for the first two questions, not the third. Directed by Kirby Dick, this documentary is meant to expose mainstream audiences to the hypocritical, unaccountable mess that is the Motion Picture Association of America.

To do this, Dick interviews directors who have had problems with the MPAA. Kimberly Pierce, the director of Boys Don't Cry, had to trim a scene that focused on one of her female characters experiencing an orgasm. She didn't have to cut the scene entirely, but for the film to go from an NC-17 to an R, she had shave a few seconds off. Director John Waters has also, unsurprisingly, had problems getting some of his material pass the MPAA with anything under an NC-17. Matt Stone, one of the writers of Team America: World Police, explains how they intentionally filmed much more of their puppet sex scene than they planned to use just so they could dupe the MPAA into believing they trimmed NC-17 material for an R rating. And it worked.

Why all this effort to avoid an NC-17 rating anyway? Because many newspapers won't carry ads for NC-17/unrated movies (it's not required to even get a rating in the first place), many movie theaters won't show them, and Blockbuster and Wal-Mart won't carry those movies, which accounts for a large percent of the video market. Basically, a film cannot be NC-17/unrated if it wants distribution, marketing and, ultimately, an audience.

It's during this educational portion of the doc that we learn about the MPAA's double standards. Violence is much more tolerable than sex, straight sex is better than "abnormal" (read: gay) sex, and major studios get away with more than indie films. Want to discuss these biases with an actual rater? Good luck. All the members of the MPAA ratings board are kept anonymous so that they don't have to explain their decisions and so that people don't "pressure" them. Seriously.

Who do they think they are? Why are these raters treated like children who must be protected from the big, bad public (ironically, the very public they claim to be protecting with their ratings)? Every single other person has to be accountable for their decisions on their job (well, I can think of one guy who isn't, but we won't go there). Every single other person has to deal with "pressure" if they make a decision that other people might not agree with. Are these raters so fragile that they can't assert their opinion at a dinner party or, even better, assert that they don't care to discuss their decisions at all? How difficult is that? It's called coping, people. Better yet, it's call adulthood.

Of course, if a filmmaker disagrees with a rating, they can appeal. This is done behind closed doors, with an anonymous appeal panel, and the filmmaker is absolutely not allowed to reference other, similar films to put his own in context. Dick manages to talk to two former members of the appeals board, one anonymous, one not. They both explain that there are two religious figures on the appeals board (two priests of different denominations) (and, oh yeah, um, what?), but the anonymous one claims that these religious guys vote, while the identified one claims they don't - can you say "plant"?

Dick also spends time with the plucky private detective Becky Altringer to hunt down the members of the MPAA. They are successful in finding the identities of almost every member of the ratings and the appeals board. Unsurprisingly, their statistics contradict the MPAA's publicized profile of a typical rater. Instead of having children between the ages of 3 and 19, most of their children are in their 20's and 30's (all the are heterosexual parents). Instead of only serving for at maximum nine years, most have been on the board much longer. Although Dick discloses all their identities, it's not exactly clear what to do with this information. Quickly write it down and harass the raters? Write Dick an email congratulating him? I think Dick expexts the audience to share the exhilerating, David-vs.-Goliath pride he revels in, but that "stick it to the man" rush doesn't last long.

Though flawed in its allotment of information, the film provokes much anger against an entity that coddles its members while infantilizing the American public. Fittingly, this film actually is not rated. Dick originally received an NC-17 rating due to using examples from NC-17 films (even the film's posters shown here have been banned in some areas). So, after unsucessfully appealing, he decided to go without a rating at all. That's his choice as an artist, of course - it's not as if the MPAA wants to censor anyone - but that also means it will be very hard to see this film in the theaters. That's not actually a big loss, as it doesn't benefit from the big screen. Since the film is produced by IFC and in this Netflix age, you should be able to find it soon.

And when you do, don't pay any attention to the (lack of a) rating.

What Do I Call Her If I'm Not Nasty?

(Blogger's note: This post was chosen by Blogcritics as an Editor's Pick of the Week, 10/4-10/10. Assistant Music Editor A.L. Harper said: "Janet Jackson still talks to my naughty side and Don Baiocchi knows it. His review of Jackson's latest album, 20 Y.O., convinced me to buy the album and I love it!" I can feel the power coursing through my critic-veins as we speak. Thanks, A.L.!)

It was twenty years ago that Janet Jackson broke out onto the pop and R&B charts with Control, a defiant independence anthem that paved the way for the culture warrior she embodied in 1989's Rhythm Nation 1814. Those two blockbuster albums barely hinted at the nymph beneath the armor, and soon their angular, industrial beats were replaced by a softer, warmer sound on 1993's janet. Emerging like a gym-toned Venus on the cover of Rolling Stone, Janet announced that, at 27, the shy pop star of "Let's Wait Awhile" had found her G-spot.

It's been a bumpy road since that hit-machine triumvirate for Ms. Jackson, with sales declining even before the infamous wardrobe malfunction. Each successive album has had at least one great single ("Together Again," "All for You," "I Want You"), but after 2004's disappointing, sex-drenched Damita Jo, Janet (and her record label) seem eager to remind people why she's still around.

Which leads to 20 Y.O., her ninth album. The title is a reference to both how old she feels (with a body to match) and to her breakthrough in 1986. The album is at odds with itself, trying to reclaim the dance hits of the 80's and 90's without losing the liquid R&B of her more recent albums, all while trying to create a modern sound to attract new fans without alienating long-term fanatics. Whew. That's a lot of pressure to put on eleven songs.

And Janet is responding to that pressure by having nothing but fun. No angst, no anger, no nasty boys or son-of-a-guns to piss her off, which is strange, since Control was all about asserting herself. "I want to keep it light, I don't want to be serious. I want to have fun," she says in the opening spoken interlude. OK, fine, that sounds good, but then how is this a throwback to...oh, nevermind. The first half of 20 Y.O. is a five-song suite that blatantly tries to put Janet back in the dance clubs where she belongs. The album lead-off and second single, "So Excited," isn't the flawless dancefloor anthem fans were hoping for in the tradition of "If" or "Miss You Much." On any other Janet album, it would be a good 3rd or 4th single, but the breathy vocals and monotone chorus are way too laid back to create any urgent excitement promised by the title.

The one-two punch of "Get It Out Me" and "Do It 2 Me" are where the album really takes off, and either song would have made a much better lead single to announce that Janet's back, she's having fun and she's ready to dance. Her whispery coo is just one of two or three vocal personas that Janet pulls out on the former in a three-minute kitchen-sink anthem praising the mysterious skills of her lover, and while it may be trying too hard, I'd rather see Janet work her ass off to please her audience than coast on her charms.

The second half downshifts into "break it down" mode, with gauzy ballads and mid-tempo "Escapade" throwbacks that are much better than those descriptions would imply. This is where this album accomplishes what it set out to do. "With U" (aren't her U's and 2's so endearingly dorky at this point?) is a stripped-down ballad that recalls the forgotten beauty of 1990's "Come Back to Me" with a modern sound that Mariah should be jealous of. "Daybreak" and "Enjoy" are smooth, sweet trifles, complete with carnival charms, sing-along melodies and even a children's chorus in the latter.

The last two songs continue Janet's tradition of baby-making music. From "Let's Wait Awhile" to "Someday Is Tonight" to "Anytime, Anyplace" to "Rope Burn," Janet's sexual evolution has been a thoughtful, fascinating one, especially compared to the one-dimensional skankocity of many poptarts these days. Unfortunately, Damita Jo's "Warmth" and "Moist" were basically audio porn that brought Janet to a completely unsexy dead-end. Luckily, someone must have told her that less is more. "Take Care" and "Love 2 Love" are carefully crafted and reward repeat listenings. Especially "Love 2 Love," with Janet's jazzy vocals, pelvis-thumping bass bumps and second-verse beat break that add up to one of the most original sexy songs in the pop landscape right now. Cut it by a minute for a radio edit, throw it on commercial radio around 1am, and couples will be pulling over to see how far back their car seats decline.

The album isn't without its faults. The spoken interludes, a trademark of Janet albums, distract from what Janet's accomplishing now by insistingly (and ineffectively) reminding us of what she's done in the past, all while being the exact same interludes we've heard from her before (rain, inside jokes with her dancers, sexy phone calls, etc.). And while Janet doesn't have a powerhouse voice by any means, she still full-out sang on past hits like "Love Will Never Do (Without You)" and "All for You." The airy whisper that she now employs by default (such as on the entire Damita Jo album) is just plain annoying and detracts from her songs. Luckily, she doesn't indulge such laziness as much this time around.

Unfortunately, the marketing of this album makes no sense. It's a desperate combination of "I made a great album twenty years ago!" and "I want to be a stripper!" For the woman who made 1997's The Velvet Rope, a smart, dark, challenging album that no other contemporary pop star would dare to make even if they were could, this current direction is a little disappointing. Especially since it doesn't have all that much to do with the album, which is a celebration of a confident woman happily in love. And to kick off a comeback with the mediocre "Call On Me," a duet where she actually makes Nelly sing, is just plain wrong. Since she's basically banned on MTV after the Super Bowl incident (since, you know, MTV has such strict standards on how much skin its stars should expose), Janet needed something much stronger to break her way back into mainstream media besides a US Weekly cover touting her recent wait loss. "Call On Me" wasn't the way to do that, and "So Excited" didn't pick up the slack.

Marketing aside, Janet's crack production team of Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis are joined by her producer boyfriend Jermaine Dupri (who also helped orchestrate Mariah's comeback with The Emancipation of Mimi), and all are on their game here...for the most part. Certain details like the tinny hand claps in "Call On Me" are bizarre missteps, but most of their sonic creations, like the slinky electro-funk of "This Body," ensure that Janet is doing something different from her younger contemporaries and doing it well.

For all of its bump 'n grind aspirations, 20 Y.O. never fully merges the contradicting needs of Janet's smooth R&B and sharp dance-floor pop. Whether it pleases her legion of diehard fans while convincing the younger set who don't even remember Control to buy her album remains to be seen. The point is, Janet sounds as self-assured, sexy and relaxed as ever. While there may be no signature single like "Rhythm Nation" or "That's the Way Love Goes," this album has multiple singles ready to climb their way onto radio and up the charts. We'll see if a forty-year-old pop star (supposedly) free of neurosis can achieve what her assertive twenty-year-old self did two decades ago.

1 Y.O. (Or, 26 Is The New 1)

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another. -James Matthew Barrie, Sr.

It was one year ago that I first hit "publish," as if getting published were somehow as simple as clicking a button. But, here I am, one year later, one year older and one year smarter (well, 2 out of 3 ain't bad). I always set out to blog for at least one year - little did I know exactly how this blog would affect my life. My blog and I have had ups and downs, fights and reconciliations, cocktails and a little nookie (hey, iBooks are sexy), and it's helped me meet some new friends from around the city and the country. My blog has seen me through two different jobs and was the cause of losing one (but we won't go into that here).

So what was I doing one year ago? Well, I was unemployed (unconnected to blog-related job loss) and many potential writing jobs needed blogging experience. This caught me by surprise as I didn't think blogging skills were really taken that seriously in the job market (I'm still not convinced they really are, but knowing HTML code can look good on a résumé, I guess). So I started what I thought would be a website comprising only my most polished, future-employer-impressing writing samples.

The first three posts from exactly one year ago reflect this cautiously optimistic attitude, but unfortunately the first two aren't worth your time. The only one I care to link to is my review of Martha Stewart's talk show, which had just debuted at that time. I still consider it one my finest pieces (oh, Slate, why, oh why, must you reject me?).

But now? Would I show this to a potential employer? Hmmm...maybe. I'd be a little hesitant with recent titles like this, but overall there's really nothing here to be ashamed by. However, that just not the point anymore. Now I do this for myself, not to impress some stranger (and I have a very fine job now anyway, thank you very much).

So, I really can't say where this is going in the future. I know I haven't been posting very much lately, but I'm trying to install an RSS feed so people know when to check in...or maybe I already have installed it. I can't quite tell. If any computer-savvy readers want to help me out with that, shoot me an email. I have a Feedburner link and everything, I just don't know what to do with it.

Anyway, expect some upgrades in the future (really, what do those yellow flowers up by the title have to do with anything other than looking pretty?) as this blog moves into it's own 2.0 version. Or is that 2 Y.O. version? (That's the last Janet reference, I promise.)

But no matter what happens, thanks to everyone who reads me with any regularity, or who has dropped by even once, who has left a positive a comment, or any comment at all. The point is...

Thanks!

Please Pack Your Breasts and Leave

Wow. A Bravo reality show is actually getting rid of its robotic, flat-voiced hostess in favor of someone with actual television experience.

No, it's not Heidi Klum, who has actually gotten more comfortable killing the dreams of amateur fashion designers on the addictive Project Runway (it helps that she's, you know, one of the producers).

Instead, it's little Katie Lee Joel, Billy Joel's 12-I-mean-25-year-old host of the first season of Top Chef, a reality show from PR's producers about chefs battling to be...well, I guess the title is fairly Snakes On a Plane-esque in its self-explanation.

Maybe "robotic" is a tad harsh. Let's just go with "telegenically-challenged." But while Katie Lee apparently does have some background in food (Bravo never really explained what they meant when they described her as a "food writer" - I just assumed she knew how to write a grocery list), she couldn't, um, talk about food very comfortably. In fact, she couldn't do anything comfortably in front of the cameras, always dropping anchor-like duds of non-wisdom while judges Tom Colicchio and Gail Simmons could actually chew and think at the same time.

Instead, Bravo has made a ridiculously great decision in hiring Padma Lakshmi. A drop-dead gorgeous Indian woman (she makes Catherine Zeta-Jones look like butt) who has cooking and television experience (she hosted a much-missed show on the Food Network), Lakshi has been out of the public eye for quite some time. Oh, she also happens to be married to Salman Rushdie.

Top Chef is still seriously flawed. Unlike PR, where all you have to do is look at the final designs to judge them, on TC you can only look at the food the contestants prepare, and while presentation counts, you still have no idea how good the food actually is until the judges tell you. And the prizes aren't all that thrilling. I think they get a stove and, like, a magazine article or something.

But with Padma to guide us with her seductively intellectual presence (who will hopefully have a better signature send-off then "pack your knives and leave"), TC's second season could be approaching PR's crack-like addiction.

Also check out: Hooray for Jay.
And: Obsessing Over Food I Never Eat, with Giada de Laurentiis.

Brother, Can You Spare a Comment?

For this week's Roundtable, Prego at Rustbelt Rambling is having a crisis of conscience over panhandlers. There's always the "How do you know it's not Jesus?" theory that really rubs in the guilt. But, even worse, what if you actually know one of them? What if one of your former friends is now, years later, stopping you on the street for a couple of bucks?

Any advice would be appreciated, as I pass someone with a "Need a bus ticket" or "God will love you if you help me" signs every day in good ol' Chi-town. Stop on by and help out Prego, too, while you're at it. Instead of donating change, how about a round of drinks for the Roundtable?

Telescopic Boogaloo

I have been seriously deprived of good new music this year. Not a lot has really grabbed a hold of me and demanded "Buy me now!! You must have me!!" So I've taken some chances, one being Nelly Furtado's third CD, which is fine but doesn't measure up to her first two CD's. Same with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's third CD. (Maybe there should be a "junior joke" in addition to "sophomore slump"? Discuss.) And then, of course, there's Gnarls Barkley, who are basically unavoidable at this point.

But then I saw the video for a song called "Black Horse & the Cherry Tree" on VH1 (I know, I can't believe they actually played a music video, either) with a black-maned, cherry-lipped songstress rocking out on her guitar.

I immediately thought, "Is this 1997? Is Lilith Fair coming back?" I mean, the last time VH1 introduced us to a solo female artist was Anna Nalick standing around a fake apartment for her catchy, breathy "Breathe (2 A.M.)" So to see a female rock-folk singer playing her own guitar (something lacking from the singers VH1 and MTV usually highlight) just seemed so...retro. I was slightly skeptical, but this bluesy ditty was just too toe-tapping, bass-thumping-in-your-pelvis rocking to ignore. Besides, the singer looked like she'd kick my ass if I did.

A few days later, sitting in my office, a song came on the radio with a hook that would make even the butchest lumberjack want to skip in the rain. I figured the song was titled "Suddenly I See" as that phrase is repeated throughout the chorus, but I didn't catch who the artist was.

Later that week, the same thing: catchy song on the radio, raspy lilt to the female vocalist, this time a thoughtful ballad that I later learned was titled "Other Side of the World."

It wasn't until a week after all of this that I learned they were all by a singer-songwriter named KT Tunstall. Then it wasn't until even later that I learned my sister had her CD, Eye to the Telescope, and loved it. And, oh yeah, my brother, too. And, according to Billboard, about half a million other people as well (the CD was certified gold). I'm obviously behind the times.

But I did finally pick up Eye to the Telescope and understand why KT is catching on. The Scottish musician writes songs that are reflective, melodic, aggressive and melancholy, sometimes all in one song. More impressive, however, is how consistent she is. My cynical expectations for CD's these days is that they are bound to include some filler. Not KT. I could pick any song and enjoy it just as much as any of her others.

There's a reason why "Black Horse & the Cherry Tree" was such a break-out hit in multiple countries while "Suddenly I See" was included in The Devil Wears Prada and both are distinctively KT's. It's not pandering to the masses by trying to include the token rock joint next to the token adult-contemporary feel-good ditty. According to her website, Tunstall's musical influences include David Bowie, Billie Fitzgerald, James Brown, Lou Reed, Johnny Cash and PJ Harvey. She's a self-taught guitarist and singer who's filling a void. Melissa Etheridge's crazy-awesome performance at the 2002 Grammys was a highlight in what has become an adult-contemporary career. Courtney Love has finally high-dived into the deep end of the crazy pool. Sarah McLachlan, Jewel, Fiona Apple and even Tori Amos all seem to have already peaked. While KT may look like Meredith Brooks, I'm confident she's more than a one-hit wonder (three songs on the radio already prove that).

Yes, it may not be fair to lump all these female musicians together, but guess what? That's what happens to any artist. There just quite frankly aren't that many mainstream female rockers right now. After having seen Tunstall's live act on HBO On Demand where she created her own multi-layered band out of just her voice, guitar and recording device at her feet, I'm certain she's the real deal.

And I'm music deprived no longer.

The Biggest Illusion in The Illusionist

Edward Norton, star of the underwhelming The Illusionist, is one of the best actors of his generation and usually his presence alone guarantees a solid, and often spectacular, film. Movies such as Primal Fear and Rounders were fine but potentially forgettable elevated by his tight, sometimes scary, sometimes charming performances. His off-screen conflicts with collaborators over scripts might allude to a challenging, type-A personality, but on screen Norton is almost always a guaranteed winner. Cast him as a Eisenheim, a magician of unbelievable power, opposite Paul Giamatti as the Chief Inspector trying to take him down in turn-of-the-century Vienna, and how can you lose?

Fifteen years after their childhood romance, working-class Eisenheim and Princess Sophie (Jessica Biel) are reunited when he brings his magic show to Vienna, incurring the wrath of Sophie's intended, the jealous Court Prince (Rufus Sewell, having slimy fun despite a laughable moustache that's about to fall off any second). The Prince employs his right-hand man, Uhl (Giamatti), to expose and take down Eisenheim despite his increasing popularity, and a pissing contest emerges between the illusionist and the prince, with each having their own advantages (magic and intelligence vs. power and resources).

Not only were the sporadic accents frustrating (including Norton's), but apparently the filmmakers thought the character of Eisenheim didn't need anything else other than Edward Norton performing really cool magic tricks/illusions/whatever to be interesting. Not to mention that he, the title character around which this is all is supposed to be revolving, disappears for quite some time in the third act. Biel doesn't have much to do, so her performance ends up a stunning triumph of dinner-plate cheekbones and studied posture. Giamatti fares a little better, balancing his child-like awe of Eisenheim while pursuing his duties to bring him down, but even he can't overcome an awful ending with loopholes that even the most amateur filmgoer could drive a horse and carriage through.

The blurry-edged, sepia-tinted cinematography is gorgeous. The score by Philip Glass, while derivative of his work in The Hours and others, is tensely beautiful when it isn't distracting and purposeless (which is more than half the time). But slow pacing and lack of character development give The Illusionist its most impressive magic trick: somehow an Edward Norton movie is boring.

When Dust Bunnies Attack

You know how you think your place is relatively clean and then you start packing things up to move and you realize you've been secretly growing an entire universe made out of dust under your bed? Yeah, that's what I'm doing. Packing and cleaning to move. Which is why I've been kind of MIA lately. That and a dead internet connection, which doesn't help.

But, I will try to be posting soon, as I've lately seen Little Miss Sunshine, The Descent and Idlewild, plus I have to spread the love of KT Tunstall, whose CD Eye to the Telescope is on permanent rotation at home.

In the meantime, head over to Sereena's Metaphor Voodoo for this week's roundtable discussing the perfect song. So pitch in your two cents, unless your two cents consist of the words "Milli Vanilli," in which case you have no sense at all (get it? Cents and sense? Ha...ha. Oh my...the dust. It's the dust talking, I swear...)

Roundtable: Don't Piss Off the Advice Columnists

Dan Savage is mad as hell. And he's not going to give advice anymore. At least, not to straight people. Or straight people with marriage on their radar.

Ever since the New York Supreme Court denied gay couples the right to marry because straight people need it more (that sounds horribly reductive, but that really is the gist of their argument), Dan has been firing on all cylinders. First, there was his op-ed piece in the New York Times (sorry, you might have to pay to read it, but you can read an excerpt here) where he explained that the courts' ridiculous arguments against same-sex marriage (which I explained and picked apart here) are getting weaker, which is a good sign that they may disintegrate altogether in the near future.

But now his passion and frustration are influencing his day job as a nationally syndicated sex advice columnist. Not that he's been particularly hesitant to include his political views in his column, but now he's giving the total brush-off to those considering marriage or already married.

To a woman who wrote in about her wonderful, studly, well-endowed boyfriend who doesn't want her to use her beloved sex toys once they get married, Dan wrote:

"I just can't be bothered today, BAB [Blushing Anonymous Bride]. You see, state supreme courts in New York and Washington handed down blatantly bigoted rulings against gay marriage in July and I'm kind of pissed at the fact that you get to marry your big-dicked boyfriend but I can't marry mine."

Ouch. And then, to a married man who was given a "free pass" by his wife to indulge his kinks and wants suggestions on how to set up a gay one-night stand, Dan offered this:

"No ideas, MAK [Middle-Aged Kinkster]. No advice, no guidance, no pointers. You know why I got nothin' for you, MAK? Because if we gay guys aren't allowed to be married—to each other—then you married straight guys aren't allowed to be gay. Not even once, not even if you're just going to put it in a little, not even with the wife's permission."

And finally, the same week an 18-year-old girl wrote about being impregnated by her 18-year-old boyfriend, who not only doesn't want to get married (!), he doesn't even want to have sex with her anymore (!!) - which is unsurprising to anyone over the age of 18 - even though he still says he loves her (!!!).

Dan's response?

"Doesn't your boyfriend read the papers, PAD [Pregnant and Deprived]? According to the State of New York's highest court, the institution of marriage exists expressly to entice the likes of him—that is, irresponsible straight boys—into marrying the likes of you—that is, irresponsible straight girls. Since heterosexual relationships are 'often casual or temporary,' and since 'unstable relationships between people of the opposite sex present a greater danger that children will be born into or grow up in unstable homes,' the court found that the state can deny same-sex couples—with kids, without kids, whatever—the right to marry. Marriage is set aside exclusively for folks like you!

And you mean to tell me that your boyfriend doesn't want to marry you? What a fucking ingrate! I'm not sure what you can do about it, PAD, but perhaps those justices in New York can help you out. Maybe one of the justices can hold the shotgun while another officiates?"

Now, I loves me some advice columnists. I read Dear Prudence at Slate, Since You Asked over at Salon and try to keep up with the Chicago Tribune's not one but two daily columnists. Obviously their personal views are going to influence their responses, whether they're consciously aware of it or not (although they really should be self-aware enough to know it).

And I think Dan had a point. I mean, how much do help do straight people need with marriage? Aren't there like three dozen wedding/relationship magazines, four hundred books, the previous generation's hard-earned wisdom to turn to and, you know, the state and federal governments to help out?

But seriously, did he go too far? With one of the most widely-read columns in the country, plus editing Seattle's alternative The Stranger and the author of books such as The Kid and The Commitment, Dan is very influential to both straights and gays. This week he admits to getting flack from readers who want him to do his job - give advice. So he's back helping out with kinky fetishes and STD prevention. He made his point but now he's back doing what he does best.

What would happen if all the advice columnists turned on their readers? Or went on strike? Where would all the confused, directionless advice seekers turn to? How would we best know how to sign a "thank you" letter? Who would set boundaries for how to properly walk your dog? Who would start a movement to spread santorum without an advice columnist to help us? There'd be riots on the streets, I tell you. Sheer chaos.

Across the Universe

Stephen wants to know where you've been, what you did there, and if you would go back. So, considering we can't really fly anywhere right now without a lot of complications, we might as well revel in where we have travelled why we wait for things to clear up.

So grab a martini and a mini-packet of peanuts and head on over to Serenade in Green...

Like an After-School Special, With Liquor

Instead of describing what happens when I cook every single recipe in Giada de Laurentiis' Everyday Italian, I figured I would break it down into larger sections and inform you of some of the lessons I've learned along the way.

As a quick update, since I last blogged about my cooking experiences, I've made White Bean Dip with Baked Pita Chips, Sun-Dried Tomato and Chickpea Dip, Italian Egg Sandwiches, Nutella Sandwiches, Roasted Aspargus Wrapped in Prosciutto, Sweet Red Pepper Crostini, Simple Bolognese Sauce, Turkey Meatballs in Tomato Sauce, Brown Butter Sauce over ravioli, Seared Rib-Eye Steak with Arugula-Roasted Pepper Salad, Pork Milanese, Milanese Sandwiches, Chicken Spezzatino, Peas and Prosciutto, Broccoli and Green Beans, Smashed Parmesan Potatoes, Marinated Strawberries over Pound Cake, Affogato, Panna Cotta with Honey and Toasted Pound Cake with Mascarpone and Amaretto.

So far, that brings my total to 47 out 125 recipes. Not even halfway yet. Yeah. I know. But anyway, here's some things I've learned along the way so far:

1) Nutella is crack in a jar. Or an orgasm in a jar. Or sex in a jar. Whichever classy metaphor you prefer, Nutella should be its own food group. I don't care if you don't like chocolate (although if you don't, you're not really human, but I'm not here to judge) or hazelnuts. This gooey Italian treat is SO good smeared or drizzled over fruit, ice cream, waffles or just plain toast (with butter or peanut butter, too? Okay, then, if you insist) that you shouldn't go another day without it. Right out of the jar or nuked in the microwave to make it easier to spread, Nutella is so addictive you could pour it over a shoe and you'd swear Pumas were the tastiest sneakers ever.

But it's not just Nutella. Thanks to Giada, I now can't imagine my cabinets without amaretto (an almond liqueur that's great brushed over pound cake, mixed into jam, poured over ice cream, or just on the rocks), instant espresso (to be added to brownies or panna cotta or mixed with hot water and poured over ice cream to make Affogato) or capers (salty little green berries that add a lot of flavor to salads and pasta). My kitchen and my grocery store are now a lot more interesting.

2) I like peas! Okay, this may be the least significant personal discovery one could ever make. It's basically on par with "I like reading letters that form words!" or "My feet help me move!" But, the point is, I'm not only stocking my pantry with interesting new items, I'm extending my palate to foods and flavors I had previously avoided. Peas aren't bitter and mushy as I believed growing up, they're bright and firm (it helps if you add prosciutto and garlic, like Giada).

Also, while I still think spiciness can overshadow actual flavors in a dish, I now appreciate a little heat in my pasta sauces, vegetables and meats. So not only do I own a jar of red pepper flakes, I actually use them. It's good to get out of your comfort zones in many ways, and what you cook at home is one way to do that. (Although I still haven't made Eggplant Rollatini yet. Eggplant: ew.)

3) Cheese and potatoes are overrated. No, not really. Cheese and potatoes, are, in fact, pretty awesome, especially together. But sometimes the obvious winners don't live up to expectations and uninspiring recipes can yield surprise hits.

Smashed Parmesan Potatoes are just quartered red-skinned potatoes boiled, drained and then literally smashed with a fork while adding Parmesan cheese and olive oil. Cheesy potatoes - how could I lose? Well, maybe I didn't season them enough (Giada doesn't specify the salt and pepper amounts, which is strange because she usually does), but this assumed slam-dunk was bland and boring, even with freshly grated Parmesan and good quality oil.

Conversely, Toasted Pound Cake with Mascarpone and Amaretto, a recipe where you sandwich mascarpone cream between slices of toasted pound cake and then smear it with apricot preserves mixed with amaretto, was one of my favorites so far. When I looked at the recipe, it seemed fine but nothing special. Pound cake (eh) with some mascarpone (always good) with some jelly (eh) and liqueur (yum) and topped with sliced almonds (eh). That's 3 out of 5 "eh"'s...not a good sign. But when you put it together, the heat from the toasted cake slices gently melts the cream and the jelly mixture, which in turn ooze into each other and become a creamy, boozy, gooey mess (the Foodtv.com photo here doesn't do it justice). I was in heaven.

So I have 78 recipes to go before March. That doesn't sound too bad. And who knows? Maybe by the end of this whole thing I'll like eggplant, mushrooms (which I go back and forth on) and white wine, all of which appear more than once in Giada's book and all of which I'm not particularly keen on. We can save those for another lesson...

Butter: The 5th Food Group

Sereena X at Metaphor Voodoo doesn't approve of the government's new food pyramids. They try to customize it for each individual by their age, gender and exercise routines, so there's no one official pyramid anymore. While I can get behind the concept, when I entered my information, I think the website told me to eat 5 servings of twigs and Dr. Pepper every day, so I'm not sure how accurate it is.

So Sereena X is asking us to suggest what foods are left out of the pyramid altogether. So far, we've got chocolate, baked potatoes, Tostino's pizza rolls, prosciutto (my choice!), sushi, habanero hot sauce, and Scotch. What else are we missing?

Grab a martini (ah, there we go, that's the food group we're missing: cocktails) and head over to Metaphor Voodoo to add your own ideas.

Time to Hire a Personal Airbrusher

Jessica Herman, a writer at CenterStageChicago.com, interviewed me last week for her ongoing gig profiling local bloggers. Not only did she find out about the dirt underneath my bed, my love of brunches (do you think Angel Food Bakery will give me a free homemade Twinkie for mentioning them?) and my love of Project Runway, she was able to do something I've been avoiding for ten months...

She posted a picture of me. And a semi-decent one at that.

So you might as well take a look around CenterStageChicago while you're there, and check out Jessica's interviews with other bloggers, especially the uncommonly good Megan Stielstra, who introduced me to the concept of non-water-based ice. Who knew?

Wisconsin, Suckas

Since I started this blog, I went to Hawaii



and then Seattle



and now...



Wisconsin.

A quick descent from tropical paradise and crunchy-granola urban cool to midwestern cheese-and-hunting cultural void? Nay, I tell you. From Door County's fresh cherries to hiking in Devil's Lake, Wisconsin is our oft-overlooked northern neighbor, much as Canada is to the U.S, or as Alaska is to...Canada. Or something.

So I'll be gone for the weekend, but in the meantime, be sure to head over tomorrow to Atul's blog, Things I've Noticed, for this week's Roundtable discussion.

If you're bored without me, as you undoubtedly will be, you can always check out Slate's daily photography exhibit, with themes ranging from Tokyo to Fashion Week to motherhood.

And if you haven't been checking it out every day, you have to head over to Married to the Sea, the sister site to the equally funny Toothpaste for Dinner. They take an old illustration and add their own random, irreverant twist, such as this pre-email parallel:



Or this...um...cherub...spreading his love of fruit:



Hopefully I'll be out of my cheese coma sometime after Sunday to get back to my Chicago life of nightclubs, photo shoots and power lunches with Donald Trump and Charlie Trotter (which actually translates to Friends reruns, packed CTA trains and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches eaten at my desk while perusing Janet Jackson fan forums).

Enjoy!

Laughs and Tears, Courtesy of the New York Times

I'm pretty sure this doesn't really fall under any of the categories I usually talk about, and I'm also jumping on the bandwagon a little late, but last week I read about recent developments in the same-sex marriage debate and found a lot of it interesting.

So two weeks ago the New York Supreme Court ruled that a legislative ban on same-sex marriages does not violate the state constitution. The judges offered two arguments. One being the "role model" angle, stating that children are best raised by a man and a woman. The second is what is now referred to as the "reckless procreation" rule.

Kenji Yoshino, in an excellent op-ed piece for the New York Times, first uses actual evidence (imagine that!) to deflate the "role model" argument and then goes on to explain the "reckless procreation" approach.

But the New York court also put forth another argument, sometimes called the “reckless procreation” rationale. “Heterosexual intercourse,” the plurality opinion stated, “has a natural tendency to lead to the birth of children; homosexual intercourse does not.” Gays become parents, the opinion said, in a variety of ways, including adoption and artificial insemination, “but they do not become parents as a result of accident or impulse.”

Consequently, “the Legislature could find that unstable relationships between people of the opposite sex present a greater danger that children will be born into or grow up in unstable homes than is the case with same-sex couples.”

To shore up those rickety heterosexual arrangements, “the Legislature could rationally offer the benefits of marriage to opposite-sex couples only.” Lest we miss the inversion of stereotypes about gay relationships here, the opinion lamented that straight relationships are “all too often casual or temporary.”

First, as Dan Savage pointed out in an earlier New York Times piece, what does having children have anything to do with whether or not gay couples can marry? There are plenty of straight couples who get married without the intention or ability to have kids. Having children is not required for a marriage license.

Second, isn't this ruling insulting to both gays and straights? I picture the NY Supreme court as this condescending teacher patting the heads of all the straight-A gay students, saying "Gays, since you're all so devoted to your kids anyway, you don't need our help, right?" And then turning to the straights wearing dunce caps in the corner, snapping "Straights, you're too stupid to figure this out on your own. At least get married so you can do something right for your kids, because you obviously can't be trusted to do anything right on your own."

Third, does this mean that straight couples that go to the same lengths as gay couples to have children - adoption, artificial insemination - will also be unable to marry? You know, since they're obviously just as committed as gay parents to providing a stable environment for children and therefore don't need the stabilizing effects of marriage? Will they be deprived of a marriage license?

I love how apparently gay couples have become such beacons of parenting in the eyes of these judges (actually, to judges in Indiana, New York City and New York state), to the point where their abilities are so above and beyond that of straight parents they apparently don't need any governmental support at all. Well, isn't that flattering? Gosh, I guess a legislative bitch-slap doesn't sting as much when it's preceded by a hug.

And, oh yeah, if straight couples do need all that help, then fine. But, again, why do we need to deprive gay couples of the right to marry for straight couples to benefit from it? Wouldn't straight couples supposedly benefit from marriage even if gay couples could also marry?

The funny part? Where straight relationships are described as "all too often casual or temporary." Translation: "breeders, you're all a bunch of whores." (Which is true. You all are.)

The best part of the column is the fact that it appeared in the paper the same time as a piece about the hot new gay vacation spots, reminding us, yet again, that everyone can accept a friendly gay when he's contributing to their economy but God forbid he actually want to partake in the same economic benefits to which he's contributing.

Oh, well. I guess I shouldn't complain too much (but I probably will, anyway), since the House Republicans still can't pass a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. Ha ha. Losers. The Republicans on the state level, on the other hand, are a little more succesful. Curse you, Tennessee, Nebraska and Georgia!

You should read about the House debate anyway. It's actually a funny break between all the Lebanon tragedies. Some highlights:

The Democrats accused Republicans of raising the issue even as they ignored what the Democrats said were more pressing problems, including the war in Iraq, an expanding conflict in the Middle East, high gasoline prices and North Korean missile tests.

Another Georgia Republican, Representative Phil Gingrey, said support for traditional marriage “is perhaps the best message we can give to the Middle East and all the trouble they’re having over there right now.”

Yeah, that really is the best message. Forget peace or gender equality or religious tolerance. It's a good thing they see our government denying its citizens civil rights at the exact same time we're trying to convince them that their governments are oppressive and intolerant and should emulate ours. Oh, thanks for the laughs, Rep. Gingrey.

But the best part is the so-logical-it-almost-hurts-that-some-people-don't-get-it quotes at the end:

“How does the existence of same-sex marriage discourage or retard heterosexual marriage?” asked Representative Barney Frank, Democrat of Massachusetts, who is gay, calling it “the most illogical argument I’ve ever heard.”

Mr. Frank and others on the Massachusetts delegation said the state’s social fabric had not unraveled in the two years since its highest court recognized a right to same-sex marriage, a decision that set off a nationwide battle against it.

“It’s had no effect on my marriage,” said Representative Jim McGovern, Democrat of Massachusetts, “except we get invited to more weddings.”

Amen.

All right, I'm done ranting. I'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming of trivial updates on Jessica Simpson's latest turd of a single and why Nutella is crack in a jar.

If I Had a Million Dollars...

I'd by a lifetime supply of Nutella.

After taxes, of course.

And then, maybe I'd give a little to RW, our Roundtable godfather, who's wondering just how much money is enough to be comfortable. $1 million? $10 million? Let's just round it up to a nice even $100 million, shall we?

How much would be enough for you? Drop a ten at the bar for your martini and join us at the Roundtable...

An Update on the Someone I'd Rather Not Mention and Our National I.Q.

I know, I know, I've already given her way too much attention as it is. My blogger's self-respect is plummeting down to zero as I type this, but I just thought I should update everyone about this.

Even though I recently stated that "Americans are getting more and more stupid," Americans are currently proving me wrong. In fact, maybe in three weeks, our collective I.Q. has actually ascended to a best-ever 45(-ish)! Because right now, Paris Hilton's first single, "Stars Are Blind," has fallen on Billboard's Top 100 chart from No. 18 (the third-highest debut of the year - ick) down to No. 30. And I've barely heard it on the radio at all. I seriously thought I wouldn't be able to escape her this summer. That's right, people are actually becoming less interested in the song. Now it seems the only person who keeps talking about her is me! Oh, the irony!

What's that I detect? Our nation's collective level of taste actually rising? Maybe there's something going on. After all, Johnny Depp is No. 1 at the box office, Johnny Cash in has the No. 1 album, and Project Runway is back on the air.

Soon, we'll be living in a land where Lauren Graham wins Emmys and Janet Jackson actually makes a decent album again; where Joseph Arthur actually receives at least half the airplay that James Blunt got and Jonathan Franzen writes another novel.

...sigh...

Well, a boy can dream, can't he?

Seventeen Years Old and Still One of the Best

Whenever I'm in an airport, I always think of that beautifully played scene in When Harry Met Sally when the two not-yet-lovebirds reunite in the airport years after taking the most awkward road trip in cinema history together. Harry trades places with the guy next to Sally, explains that he's getting married, they catch up and reminisce some, and then as they are both walking through the concourse she reminds him that he once stated that men and women can never really be friends. He agrees that he was wrong and in the course of the conversation they wrap up the greatest two-part cinematic dialogue about the can-men-and-women-be-friends debate.



Normally, when people think of that movie, they think of the scene in the diner and, yeah, that's pretty good, too.



But this week's roundtable is all about airports. Move over Parisian cafes, S.K. at Incurable Insomniac thinks aiports are the best place for people watching. That is, if you don't have your head buried in a newspaper, book, portable DVD player or video iPod. Most people I know don't really like airports at all, but either way, drop on by and offer your favorite airport or airport-related story. Or just keep saying the word "airport" like I do. Airport airport airport....

I'm So Excited...And I Just Can't Hide It...

Wednesday, July 12th, people!



But in case you can't wait that long until the Season 3 premiere of Project Runway, here are a few stories to hold you over:

The Boston Herald has an interview with host Heidi Klum on what to expect for the new season. I love when she says, "Our show is not about grinding up worms and eating them or seeing how long they can last doing some crazy stunt." Boo-ya! Take that, Fear Factor! Also, did you know Heidi hosts the German version of America's Next Top Model?

The L.A. Times has a "Life after PR" article, including a "Where are They Now?" slide show that features strangely innacurate facts about the show but is interesting nonetheless.

Over at MSNBC, Andy Denhart, who writes for reality blurred, wonders if Bravo is pushing too much of a good thing by giving us a new season so quickly after season 2 ended.

On the blog front, for all the latest PR news, there's the exhaustive Blogging Project Runway, which takes their love of the show and spreads it to every nook and cranny of this country. If you're looking for something a little more subversive, then head over to FourFour every week for Rich's hilarious, un-equalled re-caps. You can see what I mean by pouring through his Season 2 archives here. And, if you're so inclined, you can check out my own article about the show here.

Finally, the Chicago Tribune has a great, dishy interview with PR mentor Tim Gunn. It's kind of long but worth the time. He's so professional on the show - who knew he could be such a gossip queen? Not only does he trash Season 2 champ Chloe's winning collection, he had this to say about Season 2 runner-up and fan favorite Dan: "My darling little Dan has become a terrible diva. And it’s really unattractive. … He’s been offered several jobs. He’s turned down everything. They’re not good enough for him.” Ouch. Of course, by passing up Michael Kors' job offer, Dan has time for his own blog.

Hopefully, this can satisfy any PR fix you might have until the new season begins. Make it work!

Oy Ve: Emmy Edition

The Emmy nominations were announced. Where to begin? So the Emmys decided to change their voting process this year in what has now become known as the "Lauren Graham Rule," where, supposedly, fringe shows like Gilmore Girls and Everybody Hates Chris would get their deserved nominations next to old stand-bys like West Wing.

So did it work? Well...kind of. Not exactly. A little bit, just not in the right ways. Sort of, if "sort of" means "not so much."

Surprises did abound, as last year's winners for Best Drama and Best Comedy (Lost and Desperate Housewives, respectively) got almost completely shut out. Many a cancelled show snuck in (Arrested Development, Six Feet Under, The Comeback), as did many lame-ass shows still on the air (Two and a Half Men, anyone?). Get ready to scratch your heads and pop your eyes in bewilderment:

- Kevin James in The King of Queens and Charlie Sheen from TaaHM in the Best Comedic Actor category but no Jason Lee from My Name is Earl or Jason Bateman from Arrested Development? Charlie Sheen's character is named Charlie Harper...he's so bad that he's not even trusted to learn a different name. What does that tell you? At least Steve Carrell is in there.

- The Best Comedic Actress category might be one of the worst line-ups in recent history. Sure, there's Lisa Kudrow, but Debra Messing? She's always been the weak link of Will & Grace (sometimes due to receiving the weakest writing, but still...) and this past season was definitely not one of her best. Julia Louis-Dreyfus? Stockard Channing? Okay, so they're definitely surprises, which I guess is what the Emmys are going for this year, but I'm just not buying that either of these two talented actresses deserve to be here. (More on who should be later...)

- Like I was saying...hooray for Lisa Kudrow fighting her way into the Best Comedic Actress category for her one-season, cancelled HBO show The Comeback! Her Valerie Cherish was an awesome parody of Hollywood actresses: tacky, vain, clueless, shallow-disguised-as-deep, etc. You can bet I'd be at one of her Chocolate Fountain parties, savoring every drop of chocolate AND brittle neuroses. Too bad the show itself was...eh.

- Other surprisingly good choices: Peter Krause and Frances Conroy for Six Feet Under (but I'm still upset that Michael C. Hall and Lauren Ambrose were not only overlooked this year, but neither of them have ever won. Ridiculous, I tell you!), Denis Leary for Rescue Me, Jean Smart as the First Lady on 24, Elizabeth Perkins on Weeds, and Project Runway nominated in the Best Reality Competition category.

- Talk about desperate housewives. You can bet they'll be clawing over each other and chomping through season three's scenery like it is zero-calorie Cinnabuns to make sure they make the cut next year. I'm glad the over-praised Teri Hatcher is finally absent (again, I like her, but a Golden Globe and a SAG?) and, I don't care how hot she is, Eva Longoria doesn't deserve to be there in the first place. But Marcia Cross has been overlooked since her days on Melrose Place (Emmy worthy, I kid you not), and it's a shame to see her ignored yet again when she rose above season two's overall mediocrity. And how can Felicity Huffman go from last year's Best Comedic Actress to not even worthy of a nomination? And if all four ladies are absent, how could they not have found room to nominate the wonderfully disheveled Mary-Louise Parker on Weeds or Tichina Arnold, the hilarious mother on Everybody Hates Chris?

- While their respective shows were both nominated, it's interesting that Stephen Colbert was nominated for Outstanding Individual Performance In A Variety Or Music Program but Jon Stewart wasn't. Although, in his defense, Colbert's is much more of a performance than Stewart's. I'm just saying...it's interesting...

- How can House be nominated but not its lead actor, Hugh Laurie? How can Scrubs potentially be the best comedy of the year and yet receive no other major nominations at all, not even for the writing? How can Edie Falco on The Sopranos be overlooked when she is simply one of the best dramatic actresses on television right now? I'm a Geena Davis fan, but no way did she deserve to make it in over Falco.

- Oh, and that "Lauren Graham Rule"? Yeah, she didn't maket the cut. Gilmore Girls didn't at all, actually. In fact, most shows from the WB and UPN were pretty much overlooked. So much for that new voting system.

Oh. Wait a minute. What's that? What's that on page 20 of the PDF list of nominees? Is that...? Why, yes, I think it is...

- Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List is nominated for Best Reality Show! Oh, forget any negative thing I ever said about this year's Emmy voters. They're geniuses, I tell you. Mensa members, all of them. God bless 'em.