A Round-Up.

WTF, ladies. Mascara I get. But Latisse is friggin' creepy.

At the hotel I was staying at for the wedding I attended in Atlanta this weekend, the preliminary rounds of the Mrs. Georgia-America Pageant were taking place. Look again: the Mrs. Georgia-America Pageant. Yeah, you are so jealous. (And don't ask me why the URL points you to Mrs. Minnesota-America. Pageants are beyond me.)

I want velcro sneakers to come back in full force. I'm going to get some for myself anyway, but I imagine it'll be somewhat tiring to have to defend my unnatural love for Crocs AND velcro sneakers.

I like this article from the Times.

George Wyner and Jeffrey Tambor are the same person. Discuss.

Man-Crushes Are In.

I take it back. I'm relieved that Kris won AI. After Adam's ridiculously awesome Rollingstone cover story, I totally see how much of a star Adam is. I get it; he's got the goods. Had he won AI, you can bet that the media would have treated Kris as an ersatz Diana Degarmo. And that's saying something.

But by having Kris win (and by Kris and Adam being super snuggily friends), the media either seem obligated to have Kris along whenever they interview Adam, or--dare I dream--actually can't wait to hear Kris's reactions to Adam. And thereby they learn that Kris is actually pretty cool himself. Given that Wimbledon is going on right now (where my boy R-Fed is poised to go all kick-awesome on the world again), I'm reminded how tennis commentators often credit Andre Agassi and Rafa Nadal for making Pete Sampras and Roger Federer the stars that they are. I'm not saying that Kris is in any way music's equivalent of Pete or Roger, but in terms of their personalities as media catnip? Yeah, the comparison is apt. But Pete and Roger became media darlings in no small part to their counterparts--their nemesiseseseseses-cum-bros--whose flashiness were as much a part of their game as their skill.

And just when I thought that cuteness couldn't get any cuter. Cuteness went to cute school, and got a higher degree in being cute:



I'm sort of really proud of Arkansas right now. Yeah, I know. I'm a dork.

Roswell.

I'm in Roswell, Georgia for a wedding, and couple things have occurred to me so far on this trip. I'd like to share those thoughts with you now.

1. While I was mildly surprised (but not really) to find a Dunkin Donuts down here, I was pleasantly surprised to find that they still called a medium coffee a "regular" coffee.

2. US Postal Service trucks driving at full speed are funny.

3. The further south you go, the less likely drivers are to use their turn signals.

4. The Chevy Aveo has neither power locks, nor power windows. Yes, you can still ask for Grey Poupon the proper way in this car.

5. Three-lane commercial throughways are friggin' nuts.

Celebrities.

Adam called it. Michael Jackson died today. It's just terrible that one of my first thoughts when I heard this was "what part of him is still alive?" Yeah, I'm going to hell.

In completely unrelated news, one of my favorite movies of all time, Go, was on TV tonight, and it occurred to me -- holy carp, Scott Wolf is 41 years old.

So, Uh, You Can Dance?

It's a little odd, I guess, that I'm so obsessed with American Idol, but am left a little cold by So You Think You Can Dance. Yeah, I watch it on and off, but I'm not a junkie. I think it's because the fundamental mission is just different. Where AI can (although it doesn't always) find the singer who just never got a break, I feel like the dance world is just a little bit smaller. And it's a world where skill alone can in fact raise someone to the top. SYTYCD isn't about exposing a specific singer to the world, it's about introducing dance itself to the world.

Right now, I really like the Olde Ballerina. Ballet dancers by rule peak at an early age, which is too bad, because the maturity of life can almost never be part of those performances. But now, OB is totes rockin' the comp. I also like Kayla. There's something about her that's pretty magnetic. And, um, Janine, Saleisha called, she wants her yucky hairdo back. At least Saleisha didn't have a choice.

For the boys, I really like the Brotherless Brother, who's weirdly not as thin as I think dancers generally are. I also have my eye on Jason. He's got charazma. He's the exact opposite of the munchkin Brandon, who looks like he's technically the best, but just is a dud on screen.

Local News Is Where It's At.

Thanks to the bachelor update (which is only the best recap of The Bachelor and/or The Bachelorette on the interwebs), I found this blog, which pointed me to this Youtube video.



Sure, you're busy, but I insist that you watch it. Right. Now.

Look, I'm Not Very Bright.

I don't know if it's the summer heat, or if it's just that I don't really care once my birthday passes.  But I have a terribly hard time remember which month number June, July, and August are.  (It helps that one of my brother's birthdays is in September, so I know that's 9.)  Seriously, when I have to convert "July" to a number when dating something, I pause, panic, and then guess.  I'm not always correct.

 

And I was an applied math major.

Oh, Man, I Really Need Something Else to Blog About. And Soon.

Happy 24th Birthday.

This IS Politics.

Oh, California. Really?

Don't Judge Me.

Kris Allen
c/o 19 Entertainment
8560 West Sunset Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90069

WHAT???

Now that I know that the towels are just not wearable unless it's a Wearable Towel, my mind is just blown by the CGI/Hollywood magic trickery of this commercial:



WITCHES!!! EVILSSS!!!!!

Marketing 101.

I was reading an article at boston.com about hangover cures (no special reason -- seriously), and it said that menudo is a traditional remedy in Mexico. It's a soup made with tripe, which is intestinal lining of a cow.

You'd think Ricky Martin's managers would have been a bit more fastidious with the groups they throw him into.