DECISIONS

Last night, I was at the gym. This was because of my terrible weight problem, you see. Anyway. I was on the elliptical machine, and while I'm hopping up and down on that damn thing, I love to watch CNN. Doing so makes me feel informed, and it helps alleviate the "Wait, do I really sell theatre tickets for a living?!" feeling of uselessness. Well, last night was an especially rich and moving night on CNN, given yesterday's tragic assassination of political pioneer Benazir Bhutto. Hilldog was on. Obama was on. Everybody was on. So tuning into good ol' Larry King would have been a great thing to do.

But, OK, I found, on TBS, the most amazing episode of Special Victims Unit ever. It centered around three generations of drug-addled, self-deluded women, one of whom had killed a baby fifteen years earlier. They were played by Oscar-winner Estelle Parsons, Oscar-winner Mary Steenburgen, and the most underrated American actress of the last twenty years, Martha Plimpton. (Sidebar: Amy Ryan is winning a crapload of critics prizes for her fun, sky-high performance in Gone Baby Gone, but no one can honestly tell me that la Plimpton wouldn't have been 900 times better in that same role. I'm just saying...)

So I was torn between watching something informative and relevent to current world situations, or watching three of my favorite actresses duke it out with Hargitay and my future husband. And what did I choose? Like you don't know- I can't help myself. I'm an Actressexual.

So what do we think? Am I a pathetic, trivial TV addict? Is it people like me who lead to the world going down the shitter? Leave your eviscerations in the comments.

Plimpton '08,
KEVIN.
(Note- Click my name to see who ended up having killed the baby!)

"And on the tree all the ornaments go/Tinsel will cover where the branches don't grow"- Aimee Mann

Did everyone have a nice Christmas? I did. I hope you all did, too. It was a great chance to sit at home, hang out with my family, and eat champagne sorbet. No, really. I'm serious. My aunt made champagne sorbet. It was COLOSSAL. I ate so much of it that I got kind of trashed. In my defense, though, it's scarily delicious. By the time I'd consumed my bodyweight in it, there was, like, an inch of melted 'pagne on my plate. I felt so fucking classy.

Let's see. What else happened? Last night, I saw There Will Be Blood, which is the best movie of the year. (Leigh and I are toying with doing our own Top Ten lists this year- Thoughts? I know I did one last year, but it's funner if we both do it, right?) It's absolutely insane and gorgeous and maddening and powerful and ambitious and... Yeah. Go see it. It's baffling. It can drink my milkshake anytime.

Next order of business: Does anyone know how late the Associated on Greene and Clinton is open? I need lettuce and cheese.

Many of you may know my dear friend Kate Jacobs, who recently moved to Philadelphia with her gentleman companion to live the sweet life. Well, she has a blog, and you should read it, as it's insightful and awesome.

I famously love The Gossip, and I famously loathe George Michael. So the idea of The Gossip covering a George Michael songs sounds like it should be just kind of neutral, right? Well, no. One awesome and one hideous made a fucking great. Behold:


I miss Project Runway. When's it back with new episodes? If you know, leave comments.

Joan Kors,
KEVIN xoxo

Kevin on SWEENEY TODD.

I ended up liking Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd. Really, I did. It surprised me by sidestepping some mistakes that I really thought were inevitable (though it does make some really strange, unnecessary errors- "A Little Priest" most glaringly). Sasha Baron Cohen is an indispensable genius. What really surprised me, though, is that Johnny Depp and Helluva Bottom Carter have ZERO chemistry. I mean, aren't they friends in real life? They seem so uncomfty with the idea of looking at each other.

Bottom Line: No one is ever allowed to say a bad word about Dreamgirls ever again. It's superior in every way (both the original shows and the movies), and its principal cast can, ya know, sing.

Three stars. Now take that stupid skunk stripe away from me.

TEAM LACHEY!

In a stunning upset, Nick Lachey's choir beat out odds-on favorite team LaBelle to win Clash of The Choirs. (as an added bonus, this also means that I beat Kevin) Excellent! I'll have you all know that Nick was crying on national television. Awww. What's really important though is that you watch the following clip, in which Tracey Morgan is trotted out to announce the winner. (You can skip the first two minutes if you like) It's alllll about the delivery, in which he announced "The winner is....this team right here! Team Latch-hee!" Good Times.

CLASH OF THE CHOIRS!

Few reality television ventures have intrigued me as much as this one. The premise: five music "superstars" form choirs from their hometowns. America votes. The winning choir takes home $250,000 for a local charity. What's that you say? you missed it? No problemo:
Up first was Team Lachey /Cincinnati. Home of WKRP.
The song: Natascha Bedingfield's Unwritten. Lame choice, my Miller Lite loving friend. I mean really? Disappointing.
The verdict: Color me underwhelmed. They do get bonus points for the use of Jazz hands and some half-decent choreography. Prop member: None. Way to cast on talent, Nick.
Kicking it up a notch was Team Roland/Houston. Texas. Gross. But....
The song: George Michael's Freedom Yes Yes Yes. Correct. Way to step out of Beyonce's shadow with the BEST song selection of the evening.
The verdict: Looking good, I have to say. Prop Members: Katrina Survivors AND a father and daughter who are watching their mother/wife go through chemo. "they sing for her"
Looking very gargoyle-like was the leader of Team Bolton/New Haven.
The song: Bon Jovi's Livin' on a prayer. This song would have been a close second...except
The verdict:Mr. soft-rock king: This is clash of the choirs not clash of the soloists. And yours wasn't even that good. I think the country dude said it best when he said "My mom would kill me if I didn't say something nice about Micheal Bolton". Moving on to... Team Shelton/Oklahoma City. Oy.
The song: Tom Cochrane's Life is a Highway. I truly hate when rock gets country-fied.
The verdict: Well, I think it was a tell-tale sign when Mr. Shelton admitted in rehearsals that he "doesn't read music." He then chose to play guitar rather than direct the choir. Curious. Prop members: 2, count em' two, members of the military, performing in uniform.
Last, but most certainly not least of the evening was Team LaBelle/Philadelphia
The song: He's got the world in his hands OK, clearly Team LaBelle is going the more traditional route...
The verdict: Well, we know where the talent in this room is. Fine. I give up. You win. For now...
-L

Blurry, quite blurry.

Those are the only words I have to describe the past week. Here are some things on my mind:

• There is a new Celine Dion song. This is bad; but what's worse is that it is playing on Z100. Is Celine cool with the kids these days? Is that possible? I smell Pay-o-la, someone get Spitzer on the horn.
  
• My car got Keyed yesterday. Bah Humbug.
• I hope you all saw Juno because it truly lived up to all the hype. Not even the bolognese sauce at Maria Pia could keep my mother from singing its praises
• While we're on the subject of good things, you should all dvr Tin Man the next time it airs- all six hours of it (No, really- go set it up.)
• We all survived what was, I think, the most insane/merriest Ho-Ho-Ho down that has ever been or ever will be. Whew.
  
• Sometime ago, friends gathered to decorate my first Christmas tree in Brooklyn.
• Please enjoy it's yuletide cheer:

I am 26 years old, and this woman nearly twice my age puts me to shame.

In my haste, I totally forgot to post yesterday (December 3rd), regarding the 47th birthday of America's greatest-ever film actress, Julianne Moore. She's yet to win that elusive Oscar, but she's won the heart of this movie-loving sissy.




I didn't even buy her a cake or nothin'.

Love,
KEVIN.

Long Island is not just shopping centers...

A Photo Essay via Camera Phone
taken in Northville, NY on the Long Island Sound

The most amazing and insane thing ever to be on television.

There will never be another frothing-at-the-mouth lunatic like Marie Osmond.



I mean... Jesus Christ.

Bergeron,
KEVIN.

Catching Up with Kevin.

Hey all- Happy Thanksgiving Week! Who's ready for some heaping ladlefuls of taters and Tofurkey? I AM! Yay!

I love the fall.

Last night, was the 1 year anniversary of DISCO TEA, the greatest weekly gay disco bash in Manhattan. I was there. So was Rollerina. It was amazing.

But I really need to tell you about what happened on Friday night, as it's one of my great New York drinking tales. I went out for boozities with JOE. We met Roommate and Roommate's Friend for a hot second down in the East Village-y, Nolita-esque nook of town. We went into this gross, ugly gray box of a bar (god knows why), and I marched directly to the bar to order drinks. As I approached the bar, I moved a stool to get closer. In doing so, I set the stool down on the foot of this older cougar-type lady wearing a fur coat. (In a film, she would be played by the baby of Cheri Oteri and Jackie Stallone.)

[Ed. note- At this juncture, before we get into some James Frey territory, it's probably best to note that Kevin was VERY drunk while this was happening, and that the memory of it appears as in a beautiful, soft-focus dream.]

KEVIN: Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am.
COUGAR: "Ma'am"? Who're you calling ma'am? I'm not old! Call me ma'am again, and I'll kill ya!
ROOMMATE: Not if I kill him first.
COUGAR: Ha! I like you guys. Is this your girlfriend, Rude Boy?
KEVIN: Oh, no. She's just my roommate.
COUGAR: Aaah, that's too bad. I was about to offer you my A#1 sex tip.

Kevin's eyes light up like a pinball machine.

KEVIN: Oh, by all means... Do continue.
COUGAR: Lean in closer, it's a secret. I have just one word for you...

[Ed. note- I shit you not. My hand to God.]

COUGAR: ... Mice.
KEVIN: Mice?!
COUGAR: Mice.
KEVIN: Like... Do you mean, like, Richard Gere-with-a-gerbal-in-his-ass shit? Are you talking insertion?

[Ed. note- Any time that I get to ask if someone is "talking insertion," it's a good conversation.]

COUGAR: Hey, I didn't say it. You use your own imagination there, kiddo. Let your mind wander...

And that's where our encounter with Magical/Disgusting Cougar ends, as I literally spun on my heels, screamed "JOE! OH MY GOD!" and ran.

So yeah. That happened. Mice.

On behalf of Leigh and myself, we wish all of our beloved, amazing readers the happiest of Thanksgivings and the most successful of Black Fridays.

Mice,
KEVIN.
xoxo

Ode to The Peppermint Mocha

It's that time of year again. I almost forgot how much I loved them. Almost. All it took was one sip; and I was instantly angry that there isn't a Starbucks in Clinton Hill. I know, I know this sounds crazy. Who wants a big ugly chain amongst the brownstones? I do. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a Sunday Morning stroll to Tillies as much as the next girl, (where they make a more than adequate Mocha, might I add) but It's not the same. It doesn't come in a cheerful red cup. It doesn't have peppermint sprinkles. It is also not apart of my daily routine anymore, and I wish it was. In the DC Starbucks at Third and Penn, I rarely needed to order my drink, it would magically appear in my hand. (as it was generally consumed at least once, if not twice a day.) The ten block trek from my apartment to work was suddenly something to look forward to. I would not have made it out of graduate school alive if not for this drink. It was a motivator; a reason to keep typing. And now it is gone from my world. Say what you will about Starbucks, but a Grande Skim Double Peppermint Mocha (Light Whip) is a warm, caffeinated hug. I miss you, old friend.

"So, I design clothes out of my flower shop"...

The moment we've all been waiting for has arrived. A new season of Project Runway is finally underway.
OF NOTE:
There was a Santino Saturn commercial.
There is the new Bluefly.com accessory wall. I heart bluefly SO BADLY. (They have provided me with some lovely discount designer duds including a Cynthia Rowley wrap skirt that could stop traffic and my beloved Michael Kors puffy coat) Patronize them.
Nina Garcia is SO fierce. Did you watch her gaze? She's like Medusa.
Kevin & I have already picked our favorite:
CHRIS.
The man wears leopard, weighs 300 pounds and is a DELIGHT.
Onto the clothes:

I liked this. I did not like that the person who produced it chooses to call herself "Sweet P"...


This is what Strong Island had to offer. (Shape up, Missy!)



Everyone was all about this dress. I get it, the construction blah blah blah- I can't get past the "I bought this Burberry trench in Chinatown" fabric choice.



This week's Wendy Pepper Award for "How in the hell has no one said Auf Wiedersehen to you yet?!?" goes to...Elisa



Finally; my pick of the week, the aforementioned Chris. It's purple, it's pretty and you; my lazy friend, made it with leftovers:

Q: Oh, Kevin. When will you stop with your damn left-leaning blog posts?

A: When hell freezes over.

So tomorrow is the kick off for the new season of Project Runway, and after I see it, I expect I'll be able to speak about precious little else. Before the new PR monopolizes all of my remaining brain cells, I did want to share an observation or two about the current IATSE Local One stagehand strike. My father is a union member, as is my uncle and as was my late grandfather, and while I would sooner stab my eye out that demonstrate my total lack of upper body strength eight times a week for years on end, I am very proud of my family's blue collar theatrical dynasty.

Anyway, in lieu of getting preachy, please enjoy the following parade of correct opinions:


Solidarity,
KEVIN.

I can almost see the Loreal Paris Makeup Room in my mind's eye...

It's really more about Bill's costume choice than anything else...

Days To Myself

Hey, champs- So I haven't been to work since Halloween (You'll find one photo from Halloween below, with no explanation... just take it for what it is). No, I didn't get fired- not yet, anyway. I'd taken days off to accompany Roommate on a trip to Middle America, but she ended up taking a heartfelt journey of self-discovery all by herself, which is totally fine with me. I've just been hanging out, spending some time on Long Island, spending some time working on some writing projects, seeing some great theatre, and eating really good pizza with Leigh. So it's been heavenly, actually. Since work has been so busy, it was nice to just spend some time collecting myself. After all, we all need to be comforted now and again.

But get this, though. Since I've been spending a lot of time out and about in my neighborhood in the middle of workdays, I've noticed something: Fort Greene is a literal hotbed of eccentric old men. And I don't mean, like, bums or vagrants of a degenerate nature. There are, like, old retired gentlemen of leisure who spend their days sitting on stoops, drinking coffee, yelling nonsensical things at passersby. It's really the least-threatening thing ever, and in fact it's really charming. I think I might like to become one of these older gentlemen. (Except they have no teeth, and I'd like to skip that part.) But they're so cool! I considered joining them on the benches outside the Chinese laundry to, I imagine, discuss the urgent matters of the day.

This is an acheiveable, sane goal, right? I can't tell anymore. Nobody should let me stay in an apartment by myself for five straight days. I get all up in my own head.

Here's the promised photo:
Insane, isn't it? I love trannies.

XOXO,
Kevin.

"I realize that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet, I was unforgivably rude, and wearing a reindeer jumper"

Jen and I spent Fri evening awash in sentimentality, reminiscing about all things Muhlenberg; from the day we became friends at a Guster concert to ball in the Poconos and everything in between. I can't explain exactly why, but for some reason Bridget Jones has become a sort of collegiate touchstone for the 'berg girls and I. Missing your college friends? I'm sure a movie which takes place in London will help. The mere appearance of Colin Firth suddenly stirs up warm fuzzy memories of Pennsylvania winters and frat parties all rolled into one. If one of us was having boy trouble, or a bad day or it was too cold to trek to O'Malleys, we'd inevitably end up en masse in someones room or apt, sipping Sutter Home White Zinfandel and watching Hugh Grant write naughty emails- and it made everything better; if only for an hour and a half. Years later, even though most of us are miles from Allentown, it's nice to know it still has the same effect.

UGH.

#@%* , is it really November?
Kids, I'm really sorry- el blog was truly a beast of burden last month. I'm battling the world's strongest bronchitis and Kevin is uber busy. But the blog marches on. Here, enjoy this Kid Nation article from Our friends at New York Magazine: (thanks Kate)

Overnights

11/ 1/07

2:25 PM

‘Kid Nation’: The Drinking Game

Courtesy of CBS

CBS must have realized that all the Nielsen families were out trick-or-treating, because last night they chose to air the most boring episode of Kid Nation so far (and to reveal the completely anticlimactic "face burning" incident — it was Divad and she lived). The highlight had to be Sophia making fake vomit in a large pot and throwing ten buffalo nickels in the bottom to see if the other kids were desperate enough to stick their hands in to fish the money out. In a perfect metaphor for reality TV, they were. Also, Divad made campaign signs for the gold star, but lost out to newly seen home-schooled kid Nathan, who told his mother he could use the money for "college, boarding school, candy!"

We're halfway through the series, and it's time for a Kid Nation drinking game. If you don't drink, drink root beer out of shot glasses. That might be a good idea anyway, because this is going to get anyone good and drunk. Feel free to add your own ideas in the comments.

Take a drink every time:

Taylor says "Deal with it!"

A kid mentions George W. Bush in a positive light.

Someone uses a word that is above an eighth-grade vocabulary level.

Someone cries.

Anyone mentions the gold star. Or that it's worth its weight in gold — literally.

A dramatic confrontation or disaster is resolved in two minutes.

Sophia sounds like someone you could actually hang out with now. (Two drinks if Sophia mentions "stupid people" in general.)

You see a kid who has yet to speak on the show. (Two drinks if that kid speaks.)

A kid who has been prominent on the show is not shown at all or barely shown (à la Taylor last night).

You see Lauren's lip scab.

Or Greg's chin scab.

Or Guylan with purple wine-drinker's lips.

A kid mentions his or her family.

One of these words or phrases is used: Upper Class, Merchant Class, Cooking Class, Laborer, Class, Blue, Red, Green or Yellow, Latrine, Pioneer/s.

Olivia says something bitchy.

A kid drinks bleach (God, we hope they show this soon).

Zach cheers.

Jared says something weird and strange and awesome. (Two drinks if it's while wearing a pimp costume like last night.)

Greg bullies.

Taylor screams.

Alex is shown being adorable.

Anyone hugs anyone else.

And take three drinks if a kid leaves.

Next week: The kids have a talent show. Blah blah blah OMG GREG WILL BE WEARING A DRESS:

I know I haven't blogged in forever...

... but I've been busy watching Samantha Who? I trust you'll forgive me.

Anyway, I hope everyone is enjoying fall. In the comments, please leave either the best "Oscar season" movie you've seen since Labor Day, or the best new TV show that you're hoping gets picked up.

You're all gorgeus, gorgeous people.

Jean Smart for President,
KEVIN.

Some Like it Hot.

The woman who was one half of one of the best scenes ever captured on film has died, and I think that's worth noting. Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster rolling around in the surf. Incredible. I'm sure you've all seen the scene, but really, netflix the whole film. I remember watching it in high school film class and thinking it was the most romantic thing I had ever seen. In fact there have even been homages to it on this very blog. I also have a connection to Deborah Kerr because at the ripe old age of 14, my theatre counselor thought it wise for me to prepare her monologue from "Tea and Sympathy" ( in which I was portraying a teacher's wife carrying on a torrid affair with her husband's possibly gay underaged student.) If you're thinking "Leigh, that is bizarre" Then I say to you, look what the Iconis brothers hath wrought . Anyway, I can still recite parts of the monologue.
Thank you Deborah Kerr; beaches will never be the same.

Ohmigod, Ohmigod You Guys....

I have found something that I am never erasing from my dvr. First the first time in years, MTV actually aired something I was looking forward to: Legally Blonde The Musical. I've posted here before about how much the gayrab and I enjoyed the show when we saw it this summer, but I really forgot how great it is. I'm sorry Ben Brantley; but you are cranky, cranky man. I love this show so much. and now, thanks to MTV, it's available whenever I want. If you live in New York, go see the show (TV can not substitute for live theatre after all) but if you don't, record the next time it airs- this one's a keeper. Not convinced? I give you the lyrics to "There! Right There!"
(You read-I'm going to go watch the finale of the first act again.) :
There! Right There!
Elle:
Look at that tan, that tinted skin.
Look at the killer shape he's in.
Look at that slightly stubly chin.
Oh Please he's gay, totally gay.
Calahan:
I'm not about to celebrate.
Every trait could indicate the totally straight expotriate.
This guy's not gay, I say not gay.
All:
That is the elephant in the room.
Well is it relevant to assume
that a man who wears perfume
is automatically matically fay?
Emmett:
But look at his quoft and crispy locks.
Elle:
Look at his silk translucent socks.
Calahan:
There's the eternal paradox.
Look what we're seeing.
Elle:
What are we seeing?
Calahan:
Is he gay?
Elle:
Of course he's gay.
Calahan:
Or European?
All:
ohhhhhh.
Gay or European?
It's hard to guarantee
Is he gay or european?
Warner:
Well, hey don't look at me.
Vivian:
You see they bring their boys up different in those charming foreign ports.
They play peculiar sports.
All:
In shiny shirts and tiny shorts.
Gay or foreign fella?
The answer could take weeks.
They will say things like "ciao bella"
while they kiss you on both cheeks.
Elle:
Oh please.
All:
Gay or European?
So many shades of gray.
Warner:
Depending on the time of day, the French go either way.
All:
Is he gay or European?
Eden:
There! Right There!
Look at that condescending smirk.
Seen it on every guy at work.
That is a metro-hetro jerk.
That guy's not gay, I say no way.
All:
That is the elephant in the room.
Well is it relevant to presume
that a hottie in that costume
Elle:
Is automatically-radically
Calahan:
ironically-cronically
Vivian:
scurtinly-curtainly
Warner:
genetically-netically
All:
GAY!
OFFICIALLY GAY!
OFFICIALLY GAY GAY GAY GAY
DAMMIT
Gay or European?
Calahan:
So stylish and relaxed.
All:
Is he gay or European?
Calahan:
I think his chest is waxed.
Vivian:
But they bring their boys up different there.
It's culturally diverse.
It's not a fashion curse.
All:
If he wears a kilt or bears a purse.
Gay or just exotic?
I still can't crack the code.
Brooke:
Yet his accent is hypnotic
but his shoes are pointy toed.
All:
Huh.
Gay or European?
So many shades of gray.
Judge:
But if he turns out straight I'm free at 8 on saturday.
All:
Is he gay or European?
Gay or european?

My AC is on right now. In October.

Ahh, Columbus Day.
A weekend for picking apples and pumpkins. A weekend for watching the leaves change color.
Or; you know; a weekend to go to Jones Beach. Lifeguards were on duty, the concessions were open. It felt more like July. It also made me feel really bad about about owning an SUV and ever using an aerosol can... but I digress. Aside from having a beach date w/Kate (complete with random homecoming parades and Happy Ending Sundaes) there were many other events going on this weekend. I had the pleasure of attending the grand opening gala for Coquette. If you are in NY, I highly recommend that you trek to Garden City and check out this amazing clothing boutique owned by my friend Lisa. I already want to buy half the store. She has immaculate taste. I really wish I had digital pictures of my prom, because if you all could see the dress she made (out of a shower curtain) you'd be jumping on the LIRR at this very moment. Go Buy Things.
Yesterday the residents of 720 Fulton St and I attended a screening of Margot at the Wedding at the New York Film Festival. The last time I was at a proper film festival was the Berlinale in 2002, so I was quite excited. The film was good, the celebrities were plentiful (Willam Dafoe, Pheobe Cates) but the truly strange part was sitting ten feet away from Nicole Kidman. It is disarming to be that close to someone so famous and her hair model/country crooner of a husband. She really is that skinny by the way...

"I'm a world class neonatal surgeon and I'm here to stay!"

So, I just watched the premiere episode of Private Practice. Yawn. It was as bad as I expected it to be. What a waste of a good character. Hopefully Dr. Montgomery will be transferring back to Seattle Grace by mid season replacement time...however, it did get me thinking.
Do you think that Audra McDonald and Taye Diggs (who play divorced doctors) just like, hang out on the set and sing show tunes for everyone? "OK guys, More selections from Sunset Boulevard after the Table Read!" That might be kind of fun. They should put that on instead.

BUH!!

Music of the Night

There are concerts. And then there are great concerts. And then there are concerts that remind you that old music can be great. Look at how Elton plays that Piano! How the hell can Mick Jagger still move like that? Concerts that make the musicians involved feel timeless because their songs are still so relevant. Last night's family outing to see Genesis was ...
not one of those occasions.
Oh dear god. Some things really should just stop as the Millennium passes them by. For example: Tab. Or Palazzo pants. Or Phil Collins.
First they come on 40 minutes late. Then they start with these 14 minute long soft-rock synth heavy interludes. And my dad is all about this stuff, so I am singing along and trying to enjoy it. Mommie Dearest is already restless 15 minutes in. And then Phil Collins literally started telling ghost stories (complete with background graphics left over from the Invisible Touch Tour '84) and making scary faces with a flashlight, as though we were all sitting 'round a campfire.
Never have a I run so fast towards Penn Station in all my life. EEEEEP.
In other music news, has anyone heard the Pink song "Dear Mr. President"?
Note the lyrics:
Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me.
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?

Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?

Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh

How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?

OH. NO.

I am SO sick right now, but I pulled myself out of a DayQuil induced-haze to post this:
On behalf of myself, The Katie McBakery, and every social event the Wilkinson-Manganaro household has ever produced,...If America bans Cupcakes, this blog is moving to Canada.

The OC 2: Welcome to Lenox Hill, Bitch!!

by Guest Blogger "Roommate.", formerly of Popzilla fame.

I had zero interest in watching the premiere of "Gossip Girl", the show about privileged teenagers on the upper east side. Snore. Why would I want to watch that? This is the same reason I don't watch The Hills - I don't care, and girls like that are boring. If I wanted to watch a bunch of rich bitches be annoying, I'd go to martini bar on a Saturday. But I don't roll like that. Plus, at least the short-lived "Bedford Diaries" had added camp provided by a convoluted plot involving sex diaries. But what did this have? Shots of the Met? I've been there. And I don't give a shit.

Somehow, Kevin and our friend Leah convinced me to watch. Josh Schwartz (creator of the OC) is one of GG's executive producers. I was a huge OC fan (until the bitter, boring end) so I decided to watch.

And it turns out the plot is just as convoluted as the most unintentionally campy nighttime soaps! It's about a blog called gossip girl, written by a mysterious but omnipresent voice (Kristin Bell, slumming it) which narrates the episode. I guess the whole blog angle is what's got the critics all hot in the biscuit for this show. It's about the internet! It's so cutting edge! Everyone reads blogs! (You're even reading one now, get it?)

But in the end, GG is a total snoozefest. When a character bemoans "don't you ever feel like everything is already planned out for you?" you want to scream (and I did) at the screen, "YOU STOLE THAT FROM AN EPISODE OF SWAN'S CROSSING WHICH PROBABLY STOLE IT FROM SAL MINEO! GET SOME FUCKING NEW MATERIAL!"

Speaking of getting new material, Josh Schwartz hasn't. The cast of characters in GG are essentially rip-offs of characters from the OC, except you don't have a Ben McKenzie character punching everyone and being a good actor (seriously, I stand by that). Instead you have:

BLAKE LIVELY as Serena van der Woodsen (yes that's really her name) - the poor little rich girl who's trying to curb her wicked ways.


-AKA-

Mischa Barton as Marissa Cooper - the poor little rich girl who's trying to curb her wicked ways.


PENN BADGLEY (note: dreamy!) as Dan Humphrey - the oft-ignored geek (who's not so secretly hot) that has a crush on the popular girl.



-AKA-

Adam Brody as Seth Cohen - the oft-ignored geek (who's not so secretly hot) that has a crush on the popular girl.


LEIGHTON MEESLER as Blair Waldorf (salad?) - the popular girl who's a bitch, maybe just because she's a brunette.


-AKA-

Rachel Bilson as Summer Roberts - the popular girl who's a bitch, maybe just because she's a brunette.


ED WESTWICK as Chuck Bass - the ticking time bomb / would-be date rapist.


-AKA-

Taylor Handley as (the short-lived) Oliver Trask - the ticking time bomb / would-be date rapist.


Yup, I've seen this all before. And it's boring. It's as if Josh Schwartz just said "hey, let's just put the OC on the UES. That's all i got. Where's my check?"

It should be noted that the only somewhat original idea he presents in this episode is the concept of trading sexual favors for a grilled cheese sandwich cooked with truffle oil. I guess that's a new one.

But there is no social conflict as on the OC - no Ryan Atwood from Chino to rile things up. All we've got is the near constant threat of rape from this so-called "Chuck" and everyone taking out their blackberries every time Blake Lively enters a room. (Note: Blake Lively, at 20, is playing a high school student while the rest of her traveling pants sisters have either on-screen graduated from Yale or are helping to run Mode Magazine. I'm just saying).

Sure, it is hilarious that the whole plot hinges on the misguided concept that teenagers, as stupid as they are, would log onto a blog just to follow the life of Blake Lively, but come on. Where was I. Now there's more under-aged drinking going on? I'm sorry - I just dozed off.

I thought we might be getting close to something when "Nate" was about to confess to "Blair" why he felt apprehensive about having sex with her. I thought CLEARLY it would be because he was the gayest teenager on TV this side of Zac Efron. But no - the real secret is because he had exhibitionist sex with her best friend! Omg! Brb....wtf? IMHO (zzzz.......)

I think I'm going to sit this one out. As novel a concept of watching the OC do repertory theater in Gossip Girl might be, I'd rather just watch the original on syndication somewhere. It is on syndication right? If not, get Soap Net on the horn.

"I got the Conch"

William Golding, where art thou?
As Co-blogger mentions below; we sat down last night to drink some Sauvignon Blanc and watch Kid Nation. We found ourselves repeatedly wanting to yell at the television...and then we had to remind ourselves: these are children.
Was it entertaining? Of course. Are we watching every week? You betcha.
Here's the thing. Even though this is everywhere, I just want to mention the fact that 40 sets of parents signed their kids up for this little social experiment. 80 people thought, "Sending children to the desert, with no beds or bathrooms or running water and forcing them to attempt manual labor for a summer? Fantastic Idea!- Let's sign them up!" While I would like to think that all of these children must be the products of socially inept homeschooling parents and/or hippie leftovers; its not true.
And just in case you're thinking "Now Leigh, maybe giving children a chance to fix the world is a good idea" please note some highlights from the Parental Consent Waiver:

• Parents agreed not sue CBS if their child was injured, contracted and STD, or died
• CBS was given total power over the Child's medical care (including decisions about surgery)
• Child has no right to privacy, unless in the bathroom

I mean, really?

OK, now I can get off my soapbox....
I'm totally rooting for Taylor (the mini-beauty queen from Georgia) and her yellow team of cooks.
At the end of the day, the question is:
DOES THIS:


EQUAL = THIS?

probably not.
As per usual... New York Magazine may have put it best...

THERE WILL BE BLOOD

I was trying to come up with a punchier title for a blog post about the premiere of Kid Nation, the new CBS reality that drops 40 kids, ages 8-15, in the New Mexico desert and asks them to revive an abandoned frontier town, but I think this kind of says it all: There Will Be Blood. Because no matter whether or not you think this show violates child labor laws (as some critics, and at least one litigious parent are saying), there is literally no way for this show to end without injury and death. The cloud of menace hangs over Kid Nation from episode one. Hello, they're KIDS! And they're UNSUPERVISED! CBS should seriously be ashamed of themselves and, indeed, prosecuted along with any parent that would allow their child to participate in something so ill-conceived and dangerous as this.

That's what my rational mind thinks of Kid Nation, anyway.

But... I mean... Ugh. OK, I really do think that this show is going to break America of the reality TV craze. I mean, it has to, right? The draw of reality shows is for people to sit on their couches and look down at the losers on TV, right? (Lord knows that's how I watched Kara on Project Runway, bless that mess.) But it's really hard to do that when they're, like... they're KIDS. They're LITTLE. When I saw that some of the kids were being branded as the town "scottlaws," I wanted to scream and punch the TV. They're KIDS.

Ultimately, I think that CBS really needs the threat of the kids being injured to keep people watching, becaue a reality show where you can't mock the participants kind of just isn't any fun.

(UPDATE: Roommate watched the show after I did, and she said of one of the kids, "Ugh, I hate him." So... Maybe my whole 'you can't hate the kids' theory is bullscat.)

XOXO Kevin.

PS- Just to be clear, no matter what, Leigh and I have a date every Wednesday to sit on her couch for popcorn, Sauvignon Blanc, and candy corn, and watch Kid Nation. Just to be clear.

Kevin & Leigh: Arbiters of the Cultural Zeitgest...

Leigh and I are simple people. Well, not "simple" in, like, that we're touched or something. But, you know- We're just folks. We're not writers for British music magazines and we're not Perez Hilton (thank you JESUS), so we rarely get to break news about music that's new, exciting, and very "what everyone will be talking about in 10 months." But now we are.

Check out the MySpace for The Big Galoots- The best fucking band in New York right now.

Listen to their songs. Let them seep into your mind. When they play, go see them live. And say that you read about them on Kevin & Leigh's blog. We want to become so powerful that we can get into shows for free. Or at least Big Galoots shows. As they are awesome.

Kingmakers,
KWM + LAS

EMMY FASHON RECAP!

The greatest TV show ever. CONGRATS.

So Leigh and I watched the 59th Annual Emmy Awards last night, chez moi. As always, the Emmys were boring, poorly-produced, and truly off-putting to watch. And Ryan Seacrest is- and I'm sorry to say this- too gay to be sat through. My eyes have glitterburns. He's disgusting. But yeah- As much as I want to just totally shun the Emmys, there are gowns. And Leigh and I are honor-bound to watch and critique anything with gowns on it. We're gownaholics, and if that's wrong, we ain't never gonna be right!

So check it. Y'all know the drill.




I'm told that this woman was on Grey's Anatomy and that she's somehow getting a spin-off. I can't imagine that's a good idea, as I have no idea who she is. But I'll tell her that if she's going to headline a major medical drama, she's going to need to invest in a bra sometime. The hair is good, though. Great, even. The tits, though... Mid-season replacement quality at best.


This is some Barry Manilow shit right here. He writes the songs that make the whole world FUCKYOUGIVEMICHAELIMPERIOLIHISEMMYBACK. No really, though. Can y'all see that his tie has rhinestones on it? Maniac.


Let's not waste any time. WORST. Worst, worst, worst. Why this hair? Why? She looks like a Snork! And are those drape pulls on her neck? Someone euthanize this poor soul.


Zzzzzz. What? Uh? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry. What was I saying? Oh, right. I was looking at Debra Messing's dressed when I dozed off. I must have- ..... Zzzzzzzzz.


So some people actually liked this... whatever color it is. I just think she looks a drag queen dressed up as caution tape for Halloween. (Sidebar: I don't get the bracelet. And I always get bracelets.)


Dumb earrings. Dumb face. Dumb lady. (I think she's actually saying, "Duuurrr! Look what I put on!")


Yes, yes, yes! Love, love, love! Jaime Pressley, you are THE SHIT. Congrats on your well-deserved win and for looking So. Fucking. Hot. I'm in love. I'm fawning. Just... LOVE.


This was going to be my picked for Worst Dressed, but Roommate pointed out that she is indeed, very young, and maybe she just doesn't know any better. Or maybe she's trying to defuse that whole cheerleader fetish thing. I mean, if anything's going to stop middle age men around the country from wanting to give her "a pearl necklace" (ugh, gross) it's this creamsicle circus tent.

So Leigh and I are torn on this. I think it's spellbinding, actually. I mean, it actually slaps Fashion in the face with a white glove and challenges it to pistols at dawn. She's wearing a train of feathers. I mean, I'm sorry but at the end of the day, she's wearing a train of feathers. So... Case closed, as far as I'm concerned- A+. Leigh, though, can't seem to forgive V. Williams for her poodle-ish Golden Globes hair.



One of these women looks 70 and the other is Helen Mirren. Seriously, Oh (who I totally enjoy) looks wretched, but La Mirren looks as stunning and fuckable as always. Plus, she had the best speech of the night. Home run in violet. (Which was going to be the title of my memoirs.)


Your speech may have been censored Sally "God Damn" Field, but you looked adorable- just downright lovely- in this eggplant-y number. Also, you were in Steel Magnolias, so we genuflect at the very sight of you.


Aaaaaaaahhhh. THERE SHE IS. Look at her. Tina Fey, writer/producer/star of 30 Rock is our pick for Best Dressed, because nobody that geniusly hilarious should also be able to turn up the hot like that. Look at her! Damn. Icon. And she looks like she wants to hit Patricia Heaton! Bonus points! Stab her with the statue lady's wings, Liz Lemon!

Until next year, TV fans! (When we'll be toasting the Emmy success of Damages! Bwa ha ha!)
KEVIN (et Leigh)

Classy. Just Plain Classy.

The UPS man just arrived at my door. (Always a delight) He handed over a giant box from Crate & Barrel containing a housewarming gift from one A. Laura Collier(almost) Esq.
What, you might ask, did said box contain?
A Huge assortment of fancy booze glasses; that's what!
No more drinking bubbly out of plastic glasses at my apartment.
What a lucky girl I am to have such a classy friend.
(Don't they look charming next to my antique springer spaniel salt and pepper shakers?)

'tis the season...

Mcgrath and I strolled into Duane Reed on Tuesday night to pick up some movie snacks. I had almost forgotten about it. It hadn't crossed my mind in so many months. And yet, there is was, in a giant display smack in the middle of the store:
It's Candy Corn time

Crisp air, leaves changing colors, the end of humidity and the return of my all time favorite empty calorie snack.
let's hear it for for Fall!

How Sweet It Is...

Hey bitch, it's Britney.

Kidding. It's Kevin. Hey. Sorry it's been a while. I've been too excited that my co-blogger is now officially a fellow Brooklynite to even think about posting. I mean, it's basically the coolest shit to ever happen. Leigh's new pad is boss! And it's *ahem* very, VERY clean. So congrats, Leigh! I'll be calling you plenty to borrow a cup of sugar. And by sugar, I mean gin. And by gin, I mean sex.

Also, a great good friend of this blog, our chum Nick, is now a neighbor as well! It's just like... When it rains it pours, you know? And it is pouring white people in Brooklyn. And it makes me so happy!! I have now have dear, beloved friends as neighbors for all occasions.

I envision the following with Leigh: Bagels. Cocktails. Picking out wicker baskets, filling them with tiny gourds and decorating windowsills with said gourds.

I envision the following with Nick: Scoping cute Brooklyn boys. Cocktails. Power walking up and down Washington Avenue, arms pumping, pushing baby carriages.

God, I fucking love Brooklyn. And the weather's getting chilly! Soon, it'll be time for falling leaves, gorgeous colors, good Oscar-y movies, Christmas, and the onset of (gulp) 2008. That last part might be a little scary.

So yeah. Life is good. It's great to have all of our chickens in the coop, and... Yeah. In related news, who's planning on seeing Jodie Foster's "I want my dog back" snuff film this weekend? Bitch already has my $11.50.

XOXO Kevin.

Weekend Update

The blog is finally coming to you from my new apartment! I am so excited to be (somewhat) settled into my new home. My Co-blogger and company are coming over to paint tomorrow; and then I can actually, you know, hang things on walls and whatnot. Then there will be pictures, I promise. Anyway, here's some stuff I've been waxing poetic about of late:
1-Why in the hell do cars no longer come with real spare tires? How is a fake tire that I can only drive 50 miles on at turtle-like speeds supposed to be helpful? Argh.
2- I may or may not have DVRed the Justin Timberlake HBO special on Monday. Go ahead, judge me.
3-Moving into a third floor apartment is hell. My legs are still nonfunctional. Feel free to send letters to this address forever, because I'm never moving again.
4-I've just discovered that digital cable means I can have NY1 and karaoke on demand. My poor neighbors. (For those of you outside of the New York metropolitan area: New York one is a fascinating local channel; which I watch every morning while Pat Kiernan literally reads the newspaper to me. It's so comforting when I'm half asleep and wondering why there isn't a latte in my hand)
5-I live next door to a giant German Shepard named Butch. Obviously, this pleases me to no end. Also today I found a restaurant that exclusively serves Fried Turkey.
I know I'm gonna like it here...

Turn the Radio Up to that Sweet Sound...

As I was making 3 round trips to Brooklyn today, the unthinkable happened: the CD player in my car jammed and my ipod ran out of power. This forced me to do something I don't often do. I had to listen to the radio. Labor Day weekend is not really an ideal to be driving, so I got to hear quite a lot. For some reason or another, I was listening to Z100.
Observations:
1.Is anyone out there besides Rhianna making songs? You wouldn't know it by the playlist
2.Wait- is Fall Out Boy a gay band?
Lyrics:
One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories
even though they weren't so great
He tastes like you only sweeter
I can't be the only one to see that...
3.And finally- there is a new Britney song. She does a lot of moaning. She's good at that. Honestly, if someone this far gone can make a comeback maybe there's hope for Lindsay after all. But I digress...
Mostly I was angered that this is what America listens to. While I was humming my fiftieth chorus of "'ella 'ella hey hey" A sudden wave of Nostalgia hit. I could picture my twelve year old self dancing around my bedroom; deciding what Gap shirt to wear with my Gap jeans, Gap socks and Bass Bucs-hoping that Ace of Base would come on before I had to leave for school. (Sidebar: even though it is the worst music ever made, I still have an affinity for early 90s dance music. So much so that while driving across the country with Kevin and The Gayrab; Joe would yell "Leigh Somerville!" every time a 90s song came on-in an attempt to show his displeasure. This Pavlovian reaction comes from when Joe, Gayrab and I drove Canada in my car for 10 hours with a largely early 90s CD selection- and Joe trapped in the backseat.) Anyway, this sentimental haze made me decide that all music has its purpose-even that of Z100.
+ = '93.
-L
PS-If you can place the title of this post, (or better yet sing it) and you can cook, and you like french fries a lot-there's a good chance I'll marry you.I'm just putting that out there.