oh, my fuck.

So I'm sitting here at the Lyric (www.lyrictheatrela.com), minding my own business and reading the Onion (which we can get for the low-low price of free.99 here in California) when I read the following passage in a review of Tearing Down the Wall of Sound: The Rise and Fall of Phil Spector - which, could we think of a more obvious title? but anyway - when I read the following passage. Read it and tell me why I'm having an aenurysm. First with the right answer gets a prize*.

Spector's hatred of a pop world that had passed him by lies an almost pathological desire for love that, to paraphrase a singer strongly influenced by Spector's melodramatic "little symphonies for the kids," could easily have turned murderous.

I'm adding on to this entry because I don't have enough to say to justify starting a whole new one...

I went to a work meeting of Kyle's (with the theatre, not Whole Foods) today and it was fucking boring. The last year of my life has really hammered home that I've been very alone recently. All the people I hang out with are friends of Kyle's. They're nice and everything, but they're people that would take his side if we ever had a major argument or problem. Not to mention the fact that if I get close with any of them, I'd feel weird going out with one of them without Kyle because that would be like stealing a friend, wouldn't it? I mean...wouldn't it? Fucking interpersonal relationships. We should do away with them altogether.

*Not really, since I'm giving you the answer in my tabs section. Nice try though!

An International Sign for Peace

Guess who failed at navigating the LA Public Transit System?

That's right...it was me!

I've ridden the bus about a billion times all over the world (Seattle, New York, Paris, London), but I've always been a little bit nervous when I go by myself. I have bad navigational skills. Like, really bad. Today I embroiled myself in yet another plot of intrigue as I failed yet again to determine the difference between North and East. *sigh*
Anyway, I was flustered and angry at being groped all day (I was a single female with her legs exposed - job interview gear) when I boarded the bus for home. A young man approached me. "Are you lost?" Obviously, he had heard me ask the driver if our bus went South. I answered in the negative, and turned away from him, holding onto my purse and the railing with death grips. Again, he addressed me. "Are you going to Pico?" He asked me. I shook my head. We locked gazes, and a meaningful pause ensued. My eyes said, "Don't touch me." His said, "Aahhhh, I understand the problem."
His fingers brushed my shoulder, and he said, "You have very beautiful shoes."

Have you ever seen seen that scene from Syriana when the plot is coming all unraveled and George Clooney's character is racing through the desert to warn a prince of his impending assassination? You know the part where he's speeding towards the motorcade in a car, and he's waving a white shirt (for lack of a flag) from the window, in an international sign for peace?

It was kind of like that.

Back on the Horsie! or: Paris the Heiress Tastes Sweet Freedom

I'm watching the news right now, and we know what that means.

It means I'm watching coverage of the Paris Hilton circus. Apparently she got out last night, after having served a sentence that was "much longer than average for similar offenses by others". Apparently she was let go early all those days ago because she was "suicidal". I have to say, I'm softening a bit on my Spoiled Brats Are Really Ridiculous and Outrageous (SBARRO) stance ("Spoiled Brats" including but not limited to Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and their ilk, and also any participant in MTV's Sweet Sixteen programming); yeah, she was out of hand, and I'm not taking back my pre-jail Paris rants, but I plan to be a little less, um, tempestuous when it comes to her post-jail behavior. As I said before, I want to see her act like a damn grown up. I think she wants to; I think she can.

New Developments

I just set up a banner for the Suicide Girls here on Fairly Alarmed. I'm doing it now as opposed to when I first found out about the site (years ago) because a.) I only recently figured out the HTML to do so, and b.) because I'm old enough now to represent without feeling kinda skeevy about it.
Ever since I saw the Suicide Girls site, I've admired what they're doing. Even though the girls on the site do still fulfill some of the traditional ideals of beauty we're all railing against nowadays - the ribs showing, the slim waists, a lack of stretch marks - I like 'em. They're pierced and slightly crazy looking. They remind me of people I know (as do absolutely none of the following: Cindy Crawford, Britney Spears, Kate Moss and their cohorts).

Oh, and they're gorgeous. That's something I can get behind.

The Ultimate Bad-Guy-Wins Movie

Shem and I have been arguing about the ultimate bad-guy-wins movie. I say The Omen, he says Arlington Road. Both good entries, I'll admit it. I think mine is better because, um, THE ANTICHRIST? Shem thinks that my entry is disqualified because, um, it's the Antichrist. How could he not win? And I see his point. But I tend to think that The Omen is scarier because the ending means that the Antichrist is alive and lurking, lurking.

In other news, movies.
I'm VERY excited about the new John Cusack movies. One is called Martian Child, and the other is 1408. You've probably seen previews for the latter. They both feature John as a father, and that's very weird to me. I mean, daddy.

I'm sorry I did that.

I saw Knocked Up recently, and it's fucking awesome. Have I already covered this? It's about sex, and it's about growing the fuck up, finally. People say it's misogynistic, but I don't think it is. It's a calling-out of all the silly man-children of American Culture. It shouted, like, directly to my soul, because my nights nowadays are spent watching Kyle and his friends play Ultimate Alliance on the Wii, discussing how the characters interact IRL, meaning - of course - on paper, in comic books. Sure, they're funny ("So was it awkward changing your name from Cat Stevens to Usef Islam? Seeya, Scorsese on coke!"), but...
but...
but...
but...
but...

Come On.

They're like little kids (see: an entry I posted a couple days ago titled Shem Says). And not sweet, see-the-wonder-shining-in-their-eyes, doesn't-it-take-you-back kids, either. They're like little kids that have sex. All the immaturity, none of the innocence. I feel like those things should come in hand, like Great Power and Great Responsibility. If you get to have sex, you have to lose the Legos.
Sounds like a fair exchange to me. Maybe I'm just too demanding,
Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold.

Summer, Summer

Summer starts in twelve hours. Officially, I mean. This means that I need to start taking pictures, since I completely missed spring while I was in Houston. Ugh.

a dream to call my own, a thrill to press my cheek to...

I spent my early adolescence swearing that I'd never turn into one of those girls.

They wore ribbons in their hair, they wore Tiffany&Co, they dated boys with shaggy hair...and were very adept at using their eyes and cell phones as weapons of the most deadly variety; they went straight for your soul. I promised myself and anyone with whom the topic arose - I would never be one. I knew I was safe in this promise because my feet were too big, my hair too dark, my heart too earnest. I couldn't be one if I actually tried. My biggest gripe was that they liked shopping. At the time, my favourite way to pass the time was reading Ayn Rand, and I looked down on those who derived pleasure from looking and handling mere objects. I was a lover of ideas.

I was punk, dude. I wore non-regulation undershirts under my private school uniform, for god's sake. Looking back on it, I was obviously not very punk. The most punk think about me was the pyramid belt I ordered online and had delivered to my parents' house. My only saving grace was that I refused to enter Hot Topic on principle. But this isn't the point at all. The point is that my shoes were Chuck Taylors, and my hair dye was Panic of the Manic variety. I, in a word, represented.

People who know me are laughing at this point in the entry, and I'm okay with that.

I don't necessarily know if I can count this as "growing as a person", but I've definitely done some changing over the years. I care less about my image, which is growing, and I acknowledge and give in to my more basic needs a lot more often (I'm morbidly obsessive about my corporeal being - might as well enjoy it), which is a type of growing, I guess...

Ah, fuck it. I've changed.

I Like Shoes.

I mean, not only do I like shoes, I care about them. I notice and comment on their form, their adherence to current fashion. And I think I'm okay with that...I mean, when I saw this picture, I moaned.



I MOANED, okay? It was a small moan, but there's no hope left. Granted, that is an exquisite example, but...I like to wear makeup, I wear pretty dresses, and I fully care about shoes. Shoes, as in, omigod, let's get some.

I'm kind of embarassed. I would say that I'm selling out, that I can see it happening - I mean, first I fall in love and now this? But I can see now that I never really bought in, in the first place. I couldn't bring myself to cut my hair short, to have to work for a living. I fell short of all the obvious benchmarks of being punk, much less the ones that actually mean anything. And now that I've made this transformation, I'm more punk now than I ever was, riding the bus, practically living off the (Hollywood)land...you will never be exactly what you want to be, you'll never have exactly what you desire...

Unless it's that super-sweet pair of

Overheard in New York

The two of you who frequented itsfunny know that I am a big, big fan of Overheard in New York, and that I would quote it all the time when I had nothing better to say but was intent on screwing around on the internet anyway. With that revelation, I bring you...

BEST OF RECENT OVERHEARD IN NEW YORK!

I'm Supposed to Put This in My College Fund

Young Boy #1: Today is the day your mother birthed you and you only got five dollars?
Young Boy #2: We got troubles.


Smart Stays with You, Sweetie

Mother: You're so pretty.
Four-year-old daughter, stomping: Don't call me pretty! I need to be smart and pretty!
Mother: Okay, you're smart.
Four-year-old daughter, crying: Nooo! Mom! Don't just say 'smart.' Say 'smart and pretty.' It needs to be both! I can't just be smart! Smart and pretty, together!

(editor's note: unfortunately, Kyle's beginning to outsmart my maneuvers like this.)


Post Office: Oh, That's Not Good!

UPS guy driving by: Hi, FedEx!
FedEx guy, smiling and waving: Hi!


Talking about Labor Law Is Right Up There with Diaper Play

Hot Asian chick: Oh, I feel so sexually frustrated right now!
Dude: Oh my god, I can totally help you out with that! You could even call me Mark!
Hot Asian chick: And could we talk about labor law afterwards?
Dude: Anything!
Hot Asian chick: Don't embarrass yourself, Chad.

Welcome to June 17th

I'm reading this New York Magazine column/article called Greener Postures, which weighs the pros and cons of supposedly energy-reducing inventions. My (least/)favourite inventions so far are the washable sanitary pads and the recycled coffin. The former is...so gross I won't discuss it. Another option is a kind of cup that you somehow put up in your hoo-ha to catch the you-know-exactly-what so you can rinse it out in the sink and re-insert it...or something. All I know is Fuck That. The recycled coffin is surprisingly neat; it's actually a pod, which I adore. And it's made out of 100% recycled newsprint (read: papier mache), which you can have covered with gold leaf or handmade paper. Or you could be buried in a shroud. Or YOU COULD JUST BE CREMATED if you're that worried.

In other news, you may or may not remember/care that I had my first day at work at the magazine on Friday. It was...well, everything I expected it to be. I don't know yet if this is going to be an incredible experience or something I'll suffer through with extreme prejudice...all I know so far is that my boss is a Paris Hilton sympathizer. That's right, she uses Paris's name in conjunction with the phrase "poor thing," and said of her treatment recently, "it's just evil what they've done to her. Pure evil. I mean, who doesn't drive drunk? It's not like she hit anyone with her car...I bet her psyche will never recover from what's happening to her. She might get a disease later because of the stress she's suffering now."
Upon rethinking that last quote, I'm leaning towards "extreme prejudice." And not because of the person she's supporting. Really (though I will go on record as thinking that this is the one media circus that Paris has ever deserved). It's because she uses the words 'evil' and 'psyche' in serious conversation, believes that disease is caused by being stressed out, and thinks that driving drunk (because "everyone does it") is okay. Sure, I've driven drunk before, but I know that consequences of doing so include, um, ACCIDENTALLY KILLING SOMEONE and/or getting caught and going to jail. So if one or both of those things happen to me, I will know that I deserved it for getting behind the wheel in the first place. I won't scream "it's NOT RIGHT", because it will be. Which is why I've stopped binge drinking; because I do stupid things, like drive when I shouldn't, when I do, and I don't want that shit on my conscience anymore. Paris has said that she's "not that girl anymore" after having gone to jail, that she "hasn't looked in a mirror once since she got [there]", and I really want to believe that. I want to see a changed woman come out of that jail; someone who has a little respect for others and for herself. And I think she can do it. I am a humanist, after all.

Movies I've Seen Recently, and my thoughts on them:
- The Fountain - prohibitively obtuse.
- Ghost Rider - shallow, and easy to watch.
- Blood Diamond - excellent in every way; possibly better than The Departed, which was only Quite Good, and definitely not its director's best effort to date (but I won't commit to definitely better, because Scorsese finally, FINALLY got his due and I won't be the one to suggest taking it away).

I've been in LA for about 2 weeks, and already I am starting to categorize Actor Types. More on that later, when I've more organized my thoughts.

Shem Says

"PRIYA, DID YOU PLAY WITH MY NINJA TURTLES?! They're not where I left them..."

Celebrities Ahoy!

I saw my first celebrity the other day. It was really anticlimactic.

Melanie Griffith in the subway. There, are you happy? She was with a gaggle of kids under 10 years old in blue polos. She looked like a pretty lady of a certain age, which is surprising, given how terrible she always looks on film. Her lips didn't look all distended or anything.

Slowly I Return

So, it's been a couple of days since I last wrote...I've just been hanging out at Shem's apartment.

I'm kind of embarassed about how long it's taking Kyle and me to find our own place in the city, but apparently this is par for the course when one of a certain tax bracket moves into the city; all his or her friends offer up their floors, cars, and low-budget meal options. Shem is letting us stay with him because when he first moved to the city, he slept on someone's floor for a long time. And yesterday, a pair of Kyle's friends from college (Dave and Mandy, who are now married to each other) took us out to a kind of expensive meal. Kyle and I were too drunk and full to do much about it other than protest weakly, but they said that when they came to LA, they didn't pay for a meal out for like five months, and that it made them feel good to pass it along. I know exactly what they mean.

In other news, I'm finally going to start my work at the magazine tomorrow. I'm going to be interning (don't know what that means) and doing product reviews. All of this excites me. However, it will be an unpaid gig for a time, which means that I'm *SIGH* applying for yet another position in retail soon. Shem has a friend who manages the new BCBG store on Melrose, which I hope leads to something concrete because it apparently pays well. Mama needs a new iPod.

Today I saw Knocked Up, which is just as awesome as I wanted it to be. The 40-year-old Virgin had a brain all along, Knocked Up had courage. After the movie, Kyle and I had a funnel cake, which was absolutely DELICIOUS. Kyle had never had one before, can you believe that? Jesus...living on an island has its downsides.

Anyway, it's 11 now and I have to get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow (

Welcome to my 30th Post.

Time has passed. I made 29 posts. I think my blog has been alive for about half a month and it's ready to have a "does this mean I have to give up my xbox?" crisis. Because my blog is a dude.

Anyway, I opened this window because I finally got it together and watched that Dick in a Box skit from SNL, and it was fucking hilarious. Justin Timberlake...I never thought I'd say this, but...you rule, okay? You rule.

Siiiiiiiiighhhhhh.

MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE.

Kyle texted me from work to tell me that he saw Seth Rogen.

I hate him. I hate him! I will probably kill him later.

And when I told Shem how mad I was, he said, "do you want to meet him?"

Me: "who?"

Shem: "Seth Rogen, do you want to meet him?"

Me: "um...yes?"

Shem: "I'll call you next time he shows up at The UCB."

And this is why I moved to LA. So I could get mad at everyone I know.

Hey! Nevermind!

First of all, I have a burning question to ask about self-cleaning ovens. How do they work? Do they just burn the crap that's caked on the bottom of the oven from your last cooking disaster? And what's wrong with using that oven-cleaner spray on self-cleaning ovens? Okay, maybe that was several not-so-burning questions.

More importantly, Kyle and I took the bus down to Hollywood Blvd. again and ate lunch in a Mexican restaurant. He was impressed by my approving lingo when I had my burrito: "this ain't none of that fake pico shit." I was talking about the pico de gallo, and referring to pico de gallo as "pico" (which I picked up from Robert, by the way) is what naturally happens when you grow up eating authentic Mexican food. So we ate at the Mexican restaurant and looked at all the sex shops and the stars in the ground. Then I took the bus back to Shem's apartment all by myself! Speaking of Shem, he's Kyle's friend/distant cousin from the island where they both grew up, but I think I should include a cast list or something so readers that aren't me know who everyone is.

The only shows on TV right now is Star Trek, BattleStar Gallactica and an informercial for a home-improvement tool. But actually, this home-improvement tool is actually 6 professional power tools in one! It has a sander, a de-grouting thing, a carpet-cutter thing, and...and...I'm not even sure what the rest of these things do. But it's very compelling TV. I've been watching for about half an hour now...I mean, I'm convinced.

Paris Hilton Officially Branded as a Crazy

So I'm watching ABC news right now...and they're talking about Paris Hilton's jail stay. We don't yet know how much longer she needs to stay, but we do know that since she was remanded back yesterday, she has not eaten or slept. This brings up how poorly equipped LA's county jails are to deal with the MENTALLY ILL.

Paris. Mentally Ill.

There, WE ALL said it!

Anyway, I'm actually very pleased with how miserable Paris is acting now that jail is a reality since...um...that's the point of jail? Or maybe jail is meant to be a reward for your sins and Paris is just acting like a fucking spoiled brat as usual. Actually, let's go with the Spoiled Brat stance no matter what, okay? Cool.

An Old Harpsichord That Nobody Plays

Last night I saw Morrissey in concert at the Hollywood Bowl.

Oh my fuck.

We took a bus from Koreatown down to Hollywood Boulevard and ate some very delicious sushi and teriyaki in a little hole in the wall restaurant. I've been missing sushi since Kyle and I moved away from Seattle in March. The old Japanese man working there had converted a bunch of slick WELCOME TO DISTURBIA print ads into WELCOME signs, which cracked me up...there was also a blue index card with writing that said, "postcard you Need? Free I get for You." I'm not a xenophobe or anything; poorly written English is something I find endearing in people that really can't be expected to know better, like people for whom it's a second language, and 3 year olds. I read a pretty unsatisfying Savage Love column in the LA Weekly when we were there. It was one of those ones where the person asks a really long question with four or five sub-questions, and Dan Savage replies, "Yes." Then we caught a second bus down to the Hollywood Bowl. We got lumped together with a bunch of other concert-goers and eventually had to cross a busy street with no crosswalk. So we all bolted across pretty heavy traffic as a pack, and during our jaunt, I said, "you can tell we're Moz fans, 'cause we all want to die." Which made Kyle, and absolutely nobody else in our group of about 10 people, laugh. Ah, the Moz Posse. Largely without a sense of humor. Unless the jokes involve how alone you are, and aren't really jokes, but pointed commentary on how inept we all - as humans - are at peaceful and truly loving socialization.

When we got to the Bowl, we climbed approximately forty billion stairs and found our seats finally. Kyle and I had nosebleed seats (made sense: we paid $50 a ticket). Our position was adventageous in that I didn't have to pay too much attention to his opening act, Kristeen Young. I originally thought she had a good voice and some interesting technique, but she used them so frequently and in every one of her songs that I eventually got bored and started fixating on the fact that her dress was apparently made of balloons and duct tape; I did ike her hair, though. Then I decided that she was actually systematically raping my aural passages for 45 minutes with her yowling and pinching notes like a gothic cat in heat. I was also annoyed by the fact that the video feed on two of the screens were about two bars off - Christine would sing two or three lines, and then the picture of her would mouth those same lines a few seconds later. Meanwhile she'd continued, so the image on the screen was one of ghostly ventriloquism or voice-throwing.

Then Kristeen Young wrapped it up and old movies began to play. Kyle enjoyed this part of the show the most, because old "whaddaya say, fellas? let's go make it with some dames!" stuff makes him laugh. I was on the edge of my seat because I knew it meant Morrissey was around and getting set up.

And then...

Out came the band, dressed in shirtsleeves, black vests and ties.
And out came Moz, In a white suit jacket, white pants, and black shirt looking exactly like he should. He shouted "HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD!" (with which I agreed completely), and opened with The Queen is Dead.

Given that this moment was one I'd been anticipating for about four years, it didn't surprise me that, though I knew the songs, I couldn't sing. I just sat there, slack-jawed and blinded by the lights, which were alsome.* The bad part about being so far away from the stage was that the crowd around us wasn't as stoked as I hoped they'd be, given that the only account I've ever read of a Morrissey show was of one that took place during the heyday of The Smiths and their melodrama (in How Soon is Never? by Marc Spitz). Which is why I was sitting at all.

Kyle made the point that Moz has made it to the third stage of his career - the performer's voice has given out, and he's a little older now, maybe he doesn't want to tour anymore, got a smug attitude, and a fantastic wardrobe. What does he do? He goes to Vegas and becomes a lounge singer. Morrissey may not have sounded absolutely pitch-perfect last night, but he was on his album. And I think that's a common problem for people. Of course you suck when you're sweating on stage and four million pairs of eyes are shining in the dark at you. Elton John, however, can go to Vegas and end it all where Celene Dion left off. Who are we kidding? It's where he should have started.

I can't put into words how good I felt about the show. So many people managed to jump on stage and rush Morrissey (about one per song), and I always clapped for them, even if it's kind of stupid. So wait, you paid like $300 to get to the front of the pit, and then jumped onstage so you could be sent to holding for the rest of the show and god knows what else after? Sounds like a...viable...plan...??

Anyway, I have to comment on the huge Hispanic population at the show. We all know that Morrissey is inexplicably HUGE in Mexico. I want answers. What is it about sad bastard music (as Barry from High Fidelity would put it) that speaks to young, urban Mexican youth? I have no idea where to start, but I did hear someone shout "MORRISSEY, YOU FUCKING MEXICAN, I LOVE YOU!" and I think that's awesome, so keep it up, Mexican young people. You're as entitled to cutting yourself in your room and screaming at your parents as much as the rest of us are, and it makes more sense somehow rather than us WASPs - or in my case, lasped Hindustanis posing as WASPs - doing it.

Morrissey ended with How Soon is Now? which is what finally brought me to my feet. Incredible. It's SO GOOD live. Fuck!

So, what else?

Oh, yes...the encore...

He played Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want, which was...there are no words. I was planning on doing an article on this show for LA's The Place, but I see now that it will be totally impossible to emotionally extricate myself from what happened last night. Also impossible will be the requirement to refer to myself as "we", as in "we at LA's the Place went to the Morrissey show last night and it was awesome", because I find that to be ridiculous.

things i'd forgotten about boys

1. How gross it is to live with boys. SUBPOINT: pooties.
2. How much boys love boobs.
3. How much boys love video games.
4. Cigarettes are gross.
5. Chips Ahoy cookies are awesome.
6. In Wii Zelda, I named my horse BANANAX!!!!!
7. Face lotion.
8.
9.
10.

back, back, back again

So I got my permanent crown on Tuesday and flew back into LA last night. I'm mad that I had to be gone so long that it actually feels weird to be around my boyfriend, but I'm SO FUCKING GLAD to be back amongst the free and living.

Immediately upon my waking up and turning on the TV this morning, I was accosted by yet more Paris Hilton Prison Drama. Apparently she left prison this morning and attempted to live under house arrest without the consent of a judge...because of "undisclosed medical reasons", which I'm pretty sure refers to Paris being a Skank. Um? That condition was "disclosed" long ago. Go back to prison and shut the fuck up for a month. Aw, close-up of Paris crying like a baby in the back of a Patrol Car, which elicits absolutely no sympathy from me. Sorry, You're 26. WELCOME TO CONSEQUENCES. I wish people would pull together a little fucking humility and/or dignity.

Update: The judge remanded Paris back to jail and she started screaming in the courtroom!

Here's even a quote from the news! “It’s not right!” shouted Hilton, who violated her probation in a reckless driving case. “Mom!” she cried out to her mother.

Bahahahaa. Not FIVE MINUTES after I typed that sentence about humility and or dignity, Paris breaks down crying and sobs for her mama.
Only in LA would this be continuously Breaking News, and these are my people. I love it.

I changed the channel just in time to see the late, great Mr. Rogers singing while he feeds his fish, "I like to take care of you, yes I do...yes I do." This show always brings tears to my eyes; he's so sweet. His mom made him those sweaters.

Oh, and then an ad for some Hostage Negotiator Drama starring Ron Livingston, as though we could accept him as anything other than that sweet and lovable goofball from Office Space and Sex and the City.

Dear Ron Livingston,

You are never going to be a smoldering sex symbol. You just don't have the jawline for it! Nor the speaking cadence. Sorry.

Love anyway,
-Priya

And now some shouting Republicans. I love TV. On to more important things...

Tonight I see Morrissey in concert. This means that 50% of my Mission To See The Smiths will have been completed (last year I saw Andy Rourke - the bassist - at one of his DJ gigs at the Mink in Houston)...I can't believe I'm using periods for these sentences. I should be using fourteen exclamation points, but I'm trying to play it cool. And failing. Completely. OMG, Morrissey. OMG.

I have to tell you something. Are you ready? Okay, here it comes.

MORRISSEY.

That is all.

The MTV Movie Awards

No, I'm not going to do a play-by-play. I'm watching it on mtv.com; they have each segment split up by one of two ads: the Sand-Chug orbit commercial, and the "bad to the bone" Blue-Ray DVD Release of Ghost Rider. Did everyone watching at home have to watch that shit? But I will go ahead and make comments as I watch this two hours behind everyone else.

God Dammit, Sarah Silverman. I thought I had a girl-crush on you before, but I didn't. I had what was only a minor affliction compared to what I feel now. YOU ARE FUCKING HOT. Seriously, you're making me mad. You're supposed to be the "cute" pne, the one that always gets to be the "friend" of the guy you really like! Like all us normal funny girls! WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?! Seriously, what now?

Bruce Willis...HAWAIIAN SHIRT?!

I also loved SBC's going onstage and saying, "hellooo...HELLOOO!!!...I'm English!" which is exactly what someone would say if they weren't English but had just caught themselves doing a really bad accent.

Cameron Diaz is acting like she just finished 10th grade. Someone please unleash that hairy fat man on her. We get it: Mike Myers. Awesome.

(Am I going to be one of those snarky bloggers like Perez Hilton?! I think I might...In case you misread that, my emotion in that last sentence was horrible realization.)

Mike Myers's speech was so great. Respectful, hilarious, professional...oh, and Mike? You still dance like a star.

What the hell is up with iced-out dog tags? I think they're gauche. Yes, Sam Jackson, I'm talking to you. Did you ever serve in the military? No? Oh...my mistake. So that makes you about as cool as Spencer, that evil guy from The Hills. He has one too. His dad bought it for him. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? YOU WANT TO BE LIKE EVIL SPENCER?!

Oh, Bruce Willis is back! I LOVE YOU!! Nice Suit. You look hot. I want to spread you like cheese over a cracker, if I'm not putting too fine a point on it. Or I could be the cheese. I'm not sure yet.

Amy Winehouse - I've been purposefully avoiding her because it bugs me when artists get overblown and overhyped *ahem, pete wentz*, but she's actually very good. She'd be even better, though, if she didn't look like the skinnier Olson twin, and if she didn't look so damn underwhelmed. POOR AMY, I FORGOT, YOU'RE FUCKING FAMOUS! WHAT A TERRIBLE LIFE!!!!! THEY TRIED TO MAKE YOU GO TO REHAB!? WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THAT SHIT!?

This is what happens when I try to emote with people for whom I feel no sympathy.

Oh no, MTV totally shat the bed. The footage ends with Amy's performance...is that it? No big sign off? What? Oh, well, I'll have to check with Kyle, because HE WAS THERE.

There are no words to describe the injustice I feel. He doesn't even CARE! And yesterday he saw Chris Pontius. Apparently Kyle wanted to help him, but he was wrapped up with helping a lady who wanted someone to peel her shrimp for her, which cracks me up whenever I think of it. And then Chris gave Kyle a very pointed "I would totally buy a steak if someone would help me!" look. And then Kyle gave what he hoped was a "This lady wants me to fucking peel her shrimp, first off, and second, I don't know how to interrupt her and say that the seafood counter is over there" look.

I saw Mr. Brooks the other night with my dad, it was good.

Oh wait, MTV's back on the game, the rest of the show is up now. Whichever intern did that needs to be given a stern talking-to.

Eva Mendez: "OMIGOD, I loooove Jew sperm! It's so cute!"

PRICELESS.

Something I have to bring up about watching the awards via MTV.com is that they announce IN THE TITLE OF THE SEGMENT who wins the shiny popcorn. JOHNNY DEPP WINS BEST PERFORMANCE. By the way, Johnny Depp...looks like he just put conditioner in his hair and then drove to the movie awards in a convertible with the . I'd still do him. Or at least I'd make out with him while rifling through my mental dictionary to decide which combination of words I'd use to describe his hideously overpowering odor and the way he moaned "ahoy".

Sarah...could you say the word "hairspray" some more? Once more? Oh good. Thanks!

Nonthreatening virginal heartthrob type standing next to Amanda Bynes? Skinny Tie? I like it. Despite myself.

Yay Pirates!

Wait, no Matt Damon? WTF?! Just kidding, but that was kind of a lame send-off. No big confetti blow-out? What? Oh well, I'll ask Kyle about it since HE WAS THERE.

I fucking hate him.

updation nation

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Readership,

If you take offense at the utter lack of thought that went into my writing the title to this post, I apologize. I must warn you, however, that there will be a lot of posts in our future together that will begin this way, or in a way that is similar. I am sorry. I hope it does not affect our relationship too much, that you will find a way to forgive me.

Love,
-Priya

In other news, I am riding the roflcopter after reading this website. I was directed to it by the inimitable Dooce, and so I am passing on the wealth to you.

Worst Family Feud Answers

Question: Name a reason why a woman might not want to kiss her boyfriend.
#1 Answer: Bad breath
Worst Answers: She doesn't love him that much

Today I watched Deja Vu, that Denzel Washington vehicle that came out recently. It was, ahem, well, I hate movie science, and I hate it when screenwriters use words like "metaphysical" and "magnetic fields" to try and make the watcher blindly believe what's happening. I would personally rather that they not insult me, and just say, "we don't know HOW it happened, it's just this way! AMAZING!"
I love Jurassic Park, which is probably one of the biggest examples of fundamentally spotty movie science, um, EVER, but that's different, because if you think about it, frog DNA could actually be used to fill in the blanks of dino DNA and - well, I won't go into it. I guess Jurassic Park only made me make extraordinary leaps of faith once or twice, like with the dinosaurs spontaneously switching gender, whereas Deja Vu made me do it every five minutes.

...And I WAS SIX when Jurassic Park came out. I didn't need a whole lot of convincing.

I also watched Pretty in Pink all the way through for the first time. I usually only watch at the parts where the Smiths pop up - there are two times that I know of, can you find 'em? - but this time I actually paid attention to plot themes and all that. And what I have to say is, OH GAG, BLAINE. Though I did like that he cried when he had to lie to her about how he asked someone else to the prom. THE PROM!

And now, I'm going to find out what I can do about my user name here on blogger. I hate it. It was a default choice and I don't know why I did it, and if I'm going to be spending all my time here from now on (as it seems I will be), I should get something I can stand to look at without shuddering. Okay.

working out the kinks

So I had just barely started to get a handle on putting pictures in my last blog before I decided to quit it...so now I have to start all over again. I wonder if I'm smart enough for this shit.

If it works, I bring you...DIESELSWEETIES!!!!!!!!!