(in the meantime)

take in some late-night wars with me (the Coco kind, not the inner battles of nocturnal nature versus 9-5s)?

twi-hardly

Just in case you needed any further confirmation that Twilight's a waste of your time at dusk, dawn, whatever...

NORTON SHORES, Mich. (WZZM) - A teenager watching the vampire movie "The Twlight Saga: New Moon" at a Norton Shores theater was bitten on the neck by another movie-goer. Erin Westrate says the 30 or 40-year-old man sitting in front of her at the 5:00pm showing of New Moon on Friday. She says he was acting creepy from the movies' opening scene.
"Every so often if I said something or my friend said something he would
lean back and make a sexual comment that was very unnecessary and not needed,"
says Erin. Once the movie was over she tried to leave the theater but the line
to leave was slow. Erin then says he grabbed her by the back of the hair and
pulled her down and bit her on the neck. The bite did not break the girl's skin.
http://www.wzzm13.com/news/news_story.aspx?storyid=116041&catid=14

Maybe my thoughts are a tad sadistic, but after relentless media and general conversation saturation, sometimes, obssessives - you get just as much reality as you deserve.

unnecessary news: news that's totally unessential, but perfect for those awkward parties and first dates

DegrasRiRi?

Oh Canada, get ready, because you just might make the spotlight on Perez for the next fifteen minutes.

Apparently Chris Brown's ex-pillow-cushion has been canoodling with a Canadian who plays someone with a visible physical impairment. Via People via Eye, may I present to you: Rihanna and Jimmy Brooks Aubrey Graham.

"The two of them were stealing kisses here and there the whole night," says the source. 

The singer's group danced until midnight, when the new pair left together. "They were very cute. Both of them were in really good spirits..."

This marks the first time Canadians and the Carribean have been associated since Cool Runnings. Next week: Chris Brown releases old photos of Rihanna making fun of people in wheelchairs.

Let's All Hate Coldplay (but please, please don't)

Just like that pussy kid who always turned the other cheek, Gwyneth Paltrow's bleary-eyed activist husband renags: "SUE ME MORE!!!". Via Twitter via Pitchfork via Coldplay's website via NME (next project: link trees?):

"Some people are suing us at the moment, and although it was initially a bit depressing, now it's become really inspiring. You think, 'Right, if everyone's trying to take away our best song, then we'd better write 25 better ones.' And so just at the point where I was thinking about getting fat and becoming complacent, I've been finding more inspiration. Now we've got more to prove than ever before."

So that's it. Coldplay sorta rips off someone's stuff, which is legit (all music takes its "inspiration" from something else, it's just a matter of making sure it's an expansive idea instead of some obvious carbon copy). Someone else gets pissed because Coldplay will always be more succesful at ripping off their shit (and probably because their girlfriend gets all sappy about that bloke Chris Martin) than they ever were at making it in the first place. That someone sues Coldplay. Chris Martin and those other three guys miraculously don't have the ability to get angry, instead, they turn it into some wonderfully charming observation about the colours of stars. Coldplay makes eight billion dollars. Your girlfriend leaves you for a singer-songwriter who plays open mic nights and probably has a shitty construction job but is full of emotion and other effeminate qualities. "Someone" out there is now broke, single, and worst of all, p3wned by Chris Martin.

The Globe and Mail Online Gets a Makeover

They make a video. Nobody cares, except for whiny commenters who express their complaints, because everybody knows that change is bad.

Why I shouldn't be in broadcast.

If you like BJs,

then you should read this.

(Make)Over it.

Hottie or nottie?

Truth is, none of these women exist. Not online, not in the real world. They are our (or white America's) standards of good looks, the difference between the babe-alicious and the "I wouldn't touch her with a 10-foot poles".

Each of these pictures is a composite of about 30 photos from a certain ranking range at HotorNot.com, making up the ho-hum "6", or the hoOOoo baby "10". Gentlemen, you now have a gauge to base your shallow appearance-based judgments for any hun that walks her hot (or not) buns past. And, according to PSY124, you're more likely to help the "7" than the "6" if she trips and falls. Why? Even babies know it, and show it―they prefer pretty faces from the moment their squinty little eyes slide open―good-looking people get further in life (at least, according to social psych―don't quote―or kill me).

But what is this good-looking anyways? The difference between the "9.0-9.5"ers and the top of the heap is merely make-up, or more likely, some conniving chicks white-washing clean their blemishes with the not-so-secret brightness/contrast tool. Photoshop is a beautiful thing. How else do you think Brit Brit made her comeback so fresh-faced? Further, may I stress: EYELINER. Lots of it, and only in midnight shades. Lip plumper. Or, as it appears, that icy-purplish shade known as acceptable only in select seventh-grade myspace circles, yet seen as offensive and utterly embarassing anywhere else.

While I've considered it in the (distant) past, I've never allowed myself entry onto the vicious world that is hotornot.com. And in retrospect, I'm glad. Cause even if I'd earn the unattainable perfect 1-0,  I wouldn't―I couldn't be satisfied. The miss perfect ten of hotornot is a photoshopped, Maybellined falsehood. Maybe its subconscious jealousy speaking, but imo, the only way to find girls who actually look like this on the net is by visiting your favorite friendly porn site.

where I belong.

Some way, somehow,

No matter how much work I've done, regardless of how much homework I have left to do... on Monday nights, the point at which I realize I can work no longer always seems to align perfectly with the buffering of a certain gossip reel...

NYmag awards the highest number of points -- 25 -- last night for Derroda's personal ringtone "I'm a Slave 4 U" for whenever Eleanor summons.

My own tally?

I'm a slave to Gossip Girl. Plus 25 for owning my Monday-nightlife, JRN 312, 0.

and a warm welcome goes to...

guess who's joined the blogosphere??

the bitch is back.

lilo, hohan, red-headed slut (yes, like the shot), whatever name you assign to the bitch, she's out there.... and blogging on gay rights (and a mysterious "special someone"). Feel free to become commenter no. 3207... no, wait, 3212...

... but you're freaking me out.

The next city, I love you film stars an all-star roster of players and directors similar to the last (which I did, in fact, love). This time, I'm hoping for little quirks to make big moments, to make the flick―from the predictable New York accents in delis to unexpected encounters in front of brownstones, and perhaps a little love on the soundtrack from James Murphy. 'Cause right now, it's a little unsettling to hear the trailer's theme sung by a Canadian.

jagerbombs, anyone?

Accoring to the Star, this is douchebag.

According to a certain communist's favorite blog, this is douchebag.

As for me... this is douchebag.

Now, compadres, I must ask you to act as intellectuals. Redefine Webster's. In an age where the term is entirely relevant, and widely-used, but rarely, if ever defined, I ask: what, loyal readers, does being a douchebag mean to you?

Feel free to point fingers.

are YOU ready?

It all started out with pink.

The rebellious, fashionistos at high school, rockin' the pink tee (likely to be paired with a fake-vintage-logo trucker hat, a la Ashton Kutcher). Guys were finally comfortable with their sexuality, and not afraid to step out in a nice rose shade.

A few years ago, American Apparel extended the classic v-neck shape to the men's department. At first, it was a v, now it's a vee... the deep v. I saw a vee so deep last week (at Sneaky Dee's, mind you) that I was worried the wearer's chest hair was soon to transform into treasure trail. And apparently it won't be a cut above for the coming season―men's vee's are here to stay. Chest hair, beware.

T-shirts are one thing. A basic shape shared by both sexes for years, a standard cut, a standard material. You can't really go wrong with Fruit of the Loom. But for every fall-back staple in fashion, there's an equal and opposite unfortunate piece, that gives me an utterly unimpressed reaction.

Men in skirts. What happened to men at work? It's like Boyz II Girls meets Backstreet Babes. What's next, men in floral, floaty dresses? Call me a traditionalist, but if a 'man' ever shows up on a date wearing an outfit more effeminate than I, I'll bid my farewell and boot it to the nearest Amish community... even if I'm running in heels.

another one bites the dust

Hayden P. or LiLo? You decide.

Ugh, and she was so loveable in Remember the Titans.... yet another hopeful child star, ruined.

... whooo's next?!

I Wish I Had Met the Walrus

I've been yearning to watch the full-length version of this animated short since it came out last fall. Finally, a heads-up on YouTube gave note of the hippie shrine, online, in it's entirety.
God bless John Lennon. (and Josh Raskin)