A Nice Thought

Dammit, Donna!

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Disco lady Donna Summer is gone today. Remember how huge she was in the '70s and early '80s? When I was in college I bought a cassette tape of her greatest hits and wore that sucker out. She was only 63. Let's take a trip back in time, shall we?

The Voice: Questions

... But I'm sure they got it from NBC.

1) Why do the judges insist on making their best singers team up? Sure, it leads to great performances like last week's Jessie Campbell vs. Anthony Evans, but then they end up having to get rid of one of their best singers. I say, pair your best up with the only O.K. voices so you get to weed them out and make your team even stronger. Duh.

2) Why is Adam Levine dressing like someone's deranged great-grandpa? Is he trying to convince us that he's not a smug bastard?

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3) Why does Blake only choose the singers who are mentored by his wife, Miranda Lambert? Last week he chose RaeLynn (the singer he actually said reminded him of a young version of his wife) even though she did not come through during her battle song at all. He chose Miranda's coachee this week as well. Is this really the precedent you want to set, Blake? Because your team will end up suffering and you will not win!

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4) Is anyone else having trouble listening to Christina in her current outfit of choice? I try, but then I get distracted by alternating eye-fulls of boobie-liciousness and that insane UFO fascinator she's rockin'. She has got to change next week!



5) When will Cee Lo announce that he and Purrfect the Cat are actually married and have two litters of bald kittens? I suppose this interview may have to stand as proof enough.

A Nice Thought

Amen, sister! Though, I must say, it seems easier to revel in your imperfection when people can look at some version of you and your life where no imperfection appears to exist.

Does that make sense to everyone, or just me?

Dammit Davy!

I grew up watching The Monkees. That might sound odd for a 37 year old to say, but by the time I was a tween, the '60s were back and Nickelodeon was playing The Monkees in hour-long blocks twice a day.

What's most disturbing about this for me is that Davy Jones was only 66. My mom is 61. It is not time for people my mom's age who were previously healthy to start suddenly dropping dead. That scares the shit out of me. Just...Dammit!

Me And Al Sharpton? We Are Done!

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Not that we were ever super-tight, but Sharpton said some ridiculous shit when he gave Tyler Perry an award from his National Action Network last week. What did he say? Al Sharpton said that Black people who diss Tyler Perry films are "proper Negroes."

What kind of idiocy is this? There's no Black Handbook, that lists appropriate likes, dislikes and opinions for African Americans. And you know what, Al? If there were, it would be WRONG.

We are just as free as White folks, Latinos, Koreans, Native Americans, and everyone else to dislike Tyler Perry movies if we want to. The idea that True Blackness = Loving Tyler Perry Movies is out-of-this-world foolish. I am a 100% positive that ALL Mexicans don't love Eva Longoria and that ALL Caucasians don't love Leonardo DiCaprio.

Life doesn't work like that, regardless of race or creed, and someone Sharpton's age should certainly know that. Will the asininity among Black people never cease?!

Music Monday: VMA Edition

Thanks guys. There's just never enough tongue in celebrity photos.

Did anyone watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night? I gave up my award show fascination about 10 years ago, but I still enjoy a brief recap of fashion and faux pas, don't you? Well, here we go!

What folks wear is always the best part. Some people inevitably look good no matter what, but some of our celebs are so desperate to stand out/not-be-forgotten that they'll put on any damn thing and leave the house. Observe...







I mean, what in the crispy fried hell, people?! A mask, Nicki? A head cube, Katy? A...whatever the hell, whoever the hell you are? It's a little bit pitiful how everyone has been so intent on out crazying Gaga for the past couple of years. (Kind of like how everyone wanted to out freaky-couture Rhianna a few years back, but no one ever managed it.) And yet, without this ridiculous motivation, we wouldn't be witness to sights like this, would we?

They all need to just stop, and give Gaga the Crazy Crown. Why? Because this is how that heifer showed up last night:



See? And now no one else can show up dressed like a dude 'cause it'll be obvious they don't have an original fashion thought in their heads. (Not that fashion originality should matter much. Can you sing? That's really all that should count. Alas, the world doesn't quite work that way all the time.) Gaga decided to go all Satchmo Fierce on our asses and debuted her male alter ego Joe Calderone. Apparently she stayed in character for the entire show. Awesome.

In other news? That's right, Bey is gestating:



All VMA pics, zimbio.com.

Now, on to more important music stuff. Last week a music legend you may not have heard of died: Nick Ashford. With his wife, Valerie Simpson, he wrote several hits for artists like Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Gladys Knight & The Pips, Chaka Khan and the duo of Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell.

They also recorded as Ashford & Simpson. Don't tell me you've never heard this one:

Music Monday: Wow, We're A Mess Over Here

Man, Philly was worth it, but that vacation definitely wrecked us! The photo above is proof of that. What you're looking at, my friends, is a baking soda anti-itch mask on the chesticle area of yours truly. Now, I was expecting to get a heat rash in Philly. HUBS and I did tons of walking, and since I sweat like a robber on a chain gang the minute the temperature goes above 75 even when I'm standing still, I was prepared for some part of my face or neck to break the fuck out.

However, I was not prepared for the itchy, red, bumpy, irritated-by-the-slightest-bit-of-clothing patches that invaded my neck, ears, chest, face and now arms. I've been battling this rash, which, by the by, looks like a serious infectious disease, since the Thursday we were in Philly. That's almost two the fuck weeks, internet!

For that time I've been covered in extra strength hydrocortisone, cold milk compresses, calamine, the blissfully new clear calamine and, as you've seen, baking soda packs. For a brief moment this Saturday it looked like I was rounding the corner; my ears were cleared up and my neck and chest infestations had dried to less itchy but still physically unappealing dark, scaly patches. But by that night I noticed a new infection on other parts of my neck and chest, and now my arms and a bit of face are screwed.

I write to you now covered in Caladryl Clear and having made a dermatologist appointment for tomorrow morning. I hope I don't have scabies or a parasite or something really horrible and odd like that.

Also messed up in our neck of the woods? HUBS. He started getting sick the same day my rash appeared in Philly and, after his own brief period of feeling better, has taken another turn this weekend. He had to take three and a half days off work last week! And now his voice is so hoarse that he sounds like Darth Vader. Poor HUBSY.

So, I want to know, is this what you do Philly? Lure vacationers in with all your history and awesome food and murals, let them spend all their monies and tire themselves out and them make them sick just in time to go home? Is it, Philly?! IS THIS HOW YOU HAVE FUN, PHILLY?!?! SHAME ON YOU!!!

In other news, Marc and J. Lo! Say it ain't so!

?!?!?!

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Oh, what the HELL?!

Just...sigh...

Recent Indignities

A young, pageant-winning Lady O. Photo from here.

Do you guys do Oprah? Did you catch the two day lovegasm with all the famous people in the stadium filled with fans? I'm not sure I liked it.

And, it's not that I don't like Oprah. I lurves me some Oprah. It's also not the fact that she had all the famous people come out and say how amazing she is; shit, she is amazing! I think it's just that, even if she really is friends with most of those glitterati and they really do capital-L-love love her, I couldn't tell it from many of them by watching those shows.

Now, I know the producers wanted things to go smoothly and be interesting, and for them not to all say the same damn stuff, but, for the most part, none of their words seemed to really come from the heart. They all read from the teleprompter and it didn't even (mostly) sound like their own words/feelings. Mostly? It all felt a bit canned. Oh well, today's last episode was preempted due to new tornadic activity, but I'll be up at 3 a.m. to watch the finale when it airs. We'll see if that hits an emotional touchstone for me.



Speedos? Really self-assured in our flabby old age, aren't we? Photo here.

In other news, this Ah-nold screwing-the-help stuff is killing me. How dare he! Right? And, how dare she! I mean, dammit, now I'll never be able to watch Terminator, Total Recall or Running Man without being slapped (figuratively, ahem) in the face by his errant Austrian adultering penis! Damn you, Ah-nold! Damn you for ruining some classic sci-fi! (And, you know, your family.)