A couple nights ago, I heard Stevie B's "Because I Love You (The Postman Song)" and remembered wearing out my cassingle in high school. I don't think the ballad, embedded below, is as good as I thought it was. (I also don't think I ever knew that he had a dance track called "Party Your Body," embedded after the jump.)
So what ballads have you second-guessed in recent years? (If your jury was hung, name the tune and I'm sure someone will give you a verdict.) I just did a sound-check on Babyface's "When Can I See You," the song I listened to on repeat for eight hours the night I wrote a college history paper titled "Medieval and Renaissance European Women (and the Men Who Loved Them)" — A-! — and I deem it worthy.
August 5 is National Underwear Day. It's true, y'all. I already unknowingly celebrated this morning by fast-forwarding through last night's Queer as Folk Logo repeat to see Brian (Gale Harold) attend an Underwear Party. Yay me.
You can celebrate by naming the TV or movie scene you think of first. Just keep it PG. (Notice the restraint that I showed by not linking to the QAF scene. From episode 302. Wink.) Because I know where some of you are headed, I've embedded David Cook's Guitar Hero commercial below.
Does the image of the first time you saw a friend dance stick in your mind like it does mine?
Last week, Slezak and I ended up at a karaoke bar and, skipping details on the number of cocktails he we consumed (because our bosses could be reading this), I'll get right to the part where a stranger stood up to sing Harry Belafonte's"Jump in the Line." Before long, Slezak was up off his stool and shaking it better than Shakira. It was amazing. Then, he started dropping it like it's hot (YES!, his signature move, apparently). It was the most awesome, unexpected sight I'd witnessed in five years. (In 2003, my cool friend Karen stood up from our table at a lame hotel bar, and I thought for sure she was leaving because a half-assed conga line had just broken out. No, she was joining it. Turns out, she loves conga lines.)
Anyway, I got to witness Slezak "dropping it" again last night at a small private-room karaoke birthday party I threw myself. He and EW's Adam Markovitz teamed for an impromptu yet jaw-dropping performance of Kylie Minogue's "Slow," which they only agreed to let me mention if I promised to embed the video for the song — excuse me, "underappreciated masterpiece" — below. Now I understand why Adam was lying on a table...
Have a good story about the first time you saw a friend (or coworker) dance? Share it!
Yesterday, when I was unpacking a box in my apartment (note: I've been there two years), I discovered:
1) A photo of myself wearing a Britney Spears T-shirt. I'm guessing I bought it when I saw her in Vegas in Nov. 2001. (Escapism, anyone?) Apparently, I wore it to a friend's bowling birthday party, under a hoodie that I unzipped just enough to show Britney's face peaking out.
2) A "Thanks for last night!" autograph from Tom Cavanaugh. Now I remember why I love him: I'd gone to an Ed panel at the Museum of Television and Radio in April 2001, and asked him to sign the program sheet. He signed "Thanks for last night! Lorenzo Lamas." Funny.
3) A Diamond Girl mug. Technically, this wasn't in the box so much as it was in my sink. But that shows you how often I do dishes. Every time I find the mug — bought at a Neil Diamond (pictured) concert in 2001 — I'm reminded of that Ani DiFranco song "Little Plastic Castle": "They say goldfish have no memory/ I guess their lives are much like mine/ And the little plastic castle is a surprise every time."
If we're talking about something that I own and wouldn't want to have to pay to replace, it would be my 20-disc Kids in the Hall Megaset. If we're speaking of things that are priceless, I would say my now-abandoned collection of "Thanks for last night!" autographs, some of which decorate my office door. (Note to impressionable young EW staffers and all aspiring journalists: I did not obtain any of these autographs while conducting an interview. I am a professional.)
I've mentioned my collection before on PopWatch. It started 10 years ago, when I was at a book signing for Jon Stewart's Naked Pictures of Famous People.
We were given Post-its to write our names on, so he'd be able to spell
them correctly. I heard him ask the person in front of me what he
should sign in his book, so I wrote "To Mandi, Thanks for Last Night!"
on my Post-it, and when it was my turn to hand my copy to Stewart, I told him
I'd made it easy for him. He wrote it, added "Va Va Va Voom!," and we
were both happy. Two days later, I went to a signing for Steve Martin's
Pure Drivel, and asked him to sign "Thanks for last night!" He
looked at me, in silence, then finally said, "Just don't hold me to it
in court." A collection was born.
Other autographs include: • Stephen Colbert — A 30th birthday present from a colleague three years ago. • Trey Parker and Matt Stone — A present for being a friend's maid of honor four years ago. • Anthony Stewart Head (that's him, dressed as Frank-N-Furter) — I got that one myself, at a Buffy fan convention, five years ago. • Jimmy Fallon — He and his sister both signed a copy of their 2003 book I Hate This Place: A Pessimist's Guide to Life. Twisted, but funny! • Ryan Seacrest — A present from a colleague, from the early days of Idol. • Dave Coulier — A present from a colleague, just because he was friends with Coulier's publicist. • Justin Timberlake — This was back in, like, 2000, maybe. He signed it "Thanx 4 last night!" — how cute was he? — and told the colleague who got it for me not to let it fall into the wrong hands. • Coolio and Smash Mouth lead singer Steve Harwell: I put them together because they were dining, separately, at a restaurant in D.C. years ago, when a friend had them each sign a cloth napkin (that I have framed in my office). Coolio wrote, "Thanx 4 last night & yesterday & the day B4. It was good!" Harwell added, "You bend like no other!" • John Wesley Harding — He signed "Thanks for last night... when you
let me play 'Little Musgrave'" because I'd had the friend who met him
ask him if he really wanted to play that song at every live show or if
he just did it because there was always someone in the crowd yelling
for it. • Rudy Boesch — I accompanied a friend to the former Survivor contestant's book signing (The Book of Rudy: The Wit and Wisdom of Rudy Boesch) in 2001. He kept repeating it: "Thanks for last night?" "Yes." "Thanks for last night?" "Yes." But he did it. • Dave Karpen — A former colleague, also obsessed with Paradise Hotel, got it for me when she ran into him doing a signing at Sephora five years ago.
Earlier this week, I was talking with a colleague about Kevin Costner. (Because, why wouldn't I be?) Like me, he's pro-Kevin, and was making the point that from 1987 to 1992, Costner had an amazing run, with at least one megahit each year. Then, he started talking about the Oscar love those films received. He referenced Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves' nomination for Best Picture. Best Picture?! Please, the only nomination that movie got was for Best Song. (Though Alan Rickman should've been recognized for his unexpectedly twisted portrayal of the Sheriff of Nottingham. His performance was a precursor to Johnny Depp's Keith Richards-inspired take on Captain Jack Sparrow, if you ask me. At least Rickman took home the BAFTA for supporting actor.)
When I finished laughing at this colleague, who'd been so adamant about the film's nomination, I told him I'd be blogging our exchange — which is when he asked not to be named. Help him feel better. When were you completely and utterly wrong about a pop-culture factoid?
The trailer for High School Musical 3: Senior Year hit the web today, and dear lord if I didn't squeal like a little girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. Or maybe just like a Jonas brother. I'll tell you exactly the moment the hairs on my arm stood on end: when gorgeous Gabriella stood up in the stands inside the Wildcats gym, time stopping and spotlight illuminating her white dress to megawatt angelic radiance, and sang to her sweetie Troy, anime manboy incarnate (he so could have been Speed Racer), working so very, very hard on the basketball court -- and he sang back!
TROY: "Right now I can hardly breath!" GABRIELLA: "I know you can do it just know that I believe!" TROY: "And that's all I really need!" GABRIELLA: "Then come on!" TROY: "Make me strong! It's time to turn it up, GAME ON!" (Actual lyrics. Dead serious)
I'm telling you: it's gonna be the tweenybopper Harry Potter 7! A whole cultural phenomenon comes to a glorious, hyperpoppy climax on Oct 24. I am weeping! I am hysterical! I AM SO IN THE FRONT OF THIS LINE WHEN IT COMES OUT, and it can't get here soon enough. What time is it? How about right frakking NOW, dammit! GAME ON!
Will you be at the front of the line, PopWatchers? Or hiding under the bleachers? Let us know!
Add me to the list of people raving about American Teen, the documentary that follows five students through their senior year of high school in conservative Warsaw, Indiana (watch the trailer below). It hits select theaters July 25, and when it comes to your town, you'll want to see it. Cameras follow princess Megan (a very, very mean girl, who claims to have matured since filming); sweet geek Jake (who needs some help with the ladies -- "we both suck at life" isn't a good pickup line); jock Colin (who has the pressure of scoring a basketball scholarship if he's going to afford college); heartthrob Mitch (the Blane of this real-life homage to John Hughes films); and rebel Hannah (pictured, center, the Andie-like outcast/artist with a fragile heart, who just wants to get out that town and make movies).
I definitely related most to Hannah: At a screening last week, I found myself wanting to scream, "Just hold on! We all think you're the coolest!" (A fact confirmed when the room applauded after reading her where-are-they-now graphic at the end of the film.) I left thinking that most EW readers would love her. Which got me wondering if we were all a bit like her in high school... I wasn't a "rebel"; I was an "in between." I was a cheerleader, but chubby, and never invited to the post-football game cabin parties that I only found out about years later. I was also in band, chorus, and National Honor Society, which meant I got along with most people, but never had a date (unless you count my gay best friend Mark, who came home from art school to take me to my senior prom). Like Hannah, I knew by the start of my senior year that I didn't belong in my town, and that made those last 12 months there excruciating. Just a few of the moments I wish had been filmed during my senior year: (1) Me getting annoyed with my AP History classmates for laughing at Kenny G when he played Bill Clinton's inauguration. Why is everyone so close-minded?, I fumed. Silently, thank god. (2) The time I told my mother that I could "figure my life out" if I just stayed home from school that day. (I actually believed it. She let me. Of course, I still haven't.) (3) When a reporter from the local newspaper interviewed me and my best friend Susi at graduation because he thought it was cute that we finished first and second in our class. He asked her how she felt about graduating, and she answered, "I'm happy to get out of this s--- hole. You can print that." (Strange, he didn't.)
My friends like to say that I'm fickle, and the only time I have to agree with them is when I try to recall a password for something. My passwords tend to revolve around the people that I'm into at the moment they need to be created. So I somehow have to remember that when I joined this one site, I was fond of NASCAR driver Casey Mears (pictured, right) and that he was still driving the #41 car (mears41), and that when I joined another, I was seriously psyched that Sylvester Stallone (pictured, left) was filming a fourthRambo (Stallone04). Of course, I don't remember the passwords, which means I'm constantly resetting them. Thus, a vicious cycle is born. A random selection of other retirees: Parker97 (for South Park cocreator Trey Parker), Colbert01 (for Stephen Colbert), Seeley08 (for David Boreanaz's character on Bones), and, um, Daniel18 (for Daniel Radcliffe).
I have something to confess: I am a woman who can't stop playing on her (pink!) Nintendo DS Lite. I know, I know, there are many female video gamers out there, but my obsession has gone so far that for the last week or so, I've been going to sleep later and later — just to stay up and play. (Is it any coincidence I can feel a cold coming on...just in time for the long weekend?)
The culprit: Nintendo's new Crosswords DS game, which also comes with wordsearch and anagram challenges (the latter is perhaps the most addictive, thanks to the rush of satisfaction you get every time you solve one). Of course, I've been starting out on the easy levels on all three games, since writing on the touch screen takes a little getting used to (or at least that's the excuse I'm going with), but I'm sure by this time next week I'll be tackling the higher levels.
So tell me, Pop Watchers, am I alone in my addiction? Which DS games are keeping you up at night? And what other games should I check out? (Yes, that final question is a little scary, but at least I've copped to having a problem, right?)
My PopWatch compadre Gary Susman recently sent me a video of Joe Cocker singing "With a Little Help From My Friends" at Woodstock, back in 1969. (I'll take this moment to 'fess that I had no idea that Cocker was still alive -- according to IMDB, he played a bum, a pimp, and a "mad hippie" in last year's Across the Universe. I smell a tasteless PopWatch item in the making: Stars you thought were dead, but no, just fallen off the radar. ANYWAY.) While I've tried to decipher Cocker's lyrics for years, this video (watch it below) offers up helpful subtitles, with even more helpful illustrations of said lyrics. Of course, it doesn't help matters that the lyrics are totally WRONG, and quite hysterically so, but I think I prefer "Whoa, I let the river out / and I don't know why" as opposed to... whatever he actually sang.
This got me thinking: What song lyrics have you repeatedly misheard? Have you ever embarrassed yourself in front of friends? (Check out KissThisGuy.com for inspiration.) I'll go first. When I was growing up, it seemed like my local radio station had Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" on every 15 minutes. And I'd dutifully sing along every time I heard it, even though I thought the lyrics were awfully morbid: "Out on the road today / I saw a dead head sticking on a Cadillac..." Ick! (Henley was actually singing "I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac," but this was some years before I knew what a "Deadhead" was. My parents were that good.)
Have you ever put yourself through TV detox? And if so, what changes did you make after you completed your self-prescribed program? Here's why I'm asking...
Last week, I went on a road trip with my mother. (I dodged the Love Guru bullet because, it turns out, she hearts The Rock even more than she does Justin Timberlake.) I met her in PA, and we drove first to Lake George, New York, then on to Burlington, Vermont, singing along to The Very Best of Randy Travis most of the way. For the first time in years, I didn't touch a computer for seven days. Not once. More impressively, for me, I limited my TV time to one show per day, with only two minor exceptions: the morning that I flipped back and forth between a Law & Order: Criminal Intent rerun and The Blue Lagoon (Eames was being held captive and the sex scene was approaching), and the night that I introduced my mother to Queer as Folk after we'd already enjoyed Nashville Star (I recommend any B&B that has a good enough cable package to include Logo).
Sure, I'm a little sad that without my usual TV routine to guide me I had no idea what day of the week it was (and tuned in for Swingtown on what I thought was Thursday but was actually Friday). And maybe had I been online or watching more television, I would've been reminded that Wipeout and I Survived a Japanese Game Show were premiering (though which one would I have chosen?!). But I do feel amazingly refreshed having spent more time staring at the Green Mountains, pictured, and a book (Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series) than at a 26" screen.
So now comes the tough part: Do I make more time for nature and (gulp) reading this summer, or do I go back to my regularly scheduled life? At the very least, I'm turning off my Gale Harold and David Boreanaz Google News Alerts. (Returning home to an inbox full of those does put things into perspective, doesn't it?)
(Marc Bernardin replies: I deny any and all allegations that the liquid streaming from my face was composed of tears. It was just a really spicy soda that I was drinking. That, combined with a freak atmospheric effect caused by over-humidifying air conditioning, resulted in the moisture upon my cheeks.)
A&E was playing Silence of the Lambs yesterday, and since I happened to be flipping through at the exact moment Buffalo Bill launched into his "it rubs the lotion on its skin" shtick (blurg!), I ended up glued to my TV set for a good 30 minutes. (If a movie can still scare you after 10+ viewings, you know it's good stuff, and certainly beats the heck out of an afternoon of household chores.)
Anyhow, during the commercial break, the network ran an ad for its reality series Gene Simmons Family Jewels, which prompted this conversation between my husband and me.
Husband: Wait, this show is about the guy from Kiss?
Me: Yeah. Who did you think was the star?
Husband: I always thought it was about that curly-haired exercise guy with the short shorts!
Me: [Laughing.] Richard Simmons?
Husband: Um, yeah. Him. Doesn't he have a reality show?
Me: No, he doesn't. But I'm totally blogging about this conversation tomorrow.
Husband: [Warily.] Of course you are.
Which brings me to my question: What's your biggest pop-culture mix-up in recent memory? I know, I know…revealing my spouse's embarrassment isn't the same as admitting my own, but then you wouldn't be looking at that wacky side-by-side of the two screamingly different Simmons guys, now would you?
Passionate people can be demanding, as we established when we confessed our pop-culture relationship deal breakers. But I do believe that we are also, at least occasionally, capable of extraordinary acts of kindness.
For instance, last night, at the end of a phone conversation with my mother, she said there was something that she wanted my opinion on...
"What do you know about that new Justin Timberlake movie?" she asked.
Instantly, I panicked, because I'm going to be vacationing with my mother next week after that film opens. "The Love Guru?" I answered. "I know I haven't laughed at any of the trailers."
Silence.
"You want to see it, don't you?" I said, with a huff not heard since she told me that we wouldn't be waiting around for the second Air Supply show at DelGrosso's Amusement Park following the rain-out of the first.
"I've never seen Justin Timberlake in a movie. [That's him, pictured, in The Love Guru.] I'd like to see him act."
I must really love my mother — or have had too much wine to drink at dinner — because I said I'd see The Damn Love Guru.
What entertainment-related sacrifices have you made in the name of love (or friendship)?
In my ongoing mission to examine all the ways that our love of pop culture makes imprints on our lives — and to populate PopWatch on a slow news day — I'm issuing a spot inspection of your computer desktop. What image have you selected to stare at when you don't have six windows open? (For me, that's approximately 30 seconds a day, so Gale Harold, tiled, should not be at all freaked out by this.)
I made an exciting discovery Saturday night, when I accidentally set a bottle down on top of the TV remote that I've had FOR TWO YEARS — I have Picture in Picture.
Now, of course, I want to know who (else) uses PIP, when, and how often. I think I'll only invoke it when I'm watching one movie in its entirety, but need to see one scene of another. (Pictured, for example, is the moment that I pressed Swap so that I could enjoy the end of Rudy, while Die Hard moved, briefly, to the small box.) I suppose I could also see PIP coming in handy during the Summer Olympics, when I'll want to keep an eye out for gymnastics, diving, and synchronized swimming coverage while not sitting through wrestling. You?
Call it blog fatigue (Slezak will be back from vacation on Monday!), but yes, I'm actually writing this post. I always wanted to include this question, What's your keychain?, in those Pop Culture Personality Tests I used to do for EW's Spotlight section. I mean, we all have keychains, and I think you can tell something about a person from his or hers: Is it practical — a little flashlight, a pocketknife? Or fun — a silver etching of former Penn State linebacker Paul Posluszny? (My mother had it made for me a few years ago, in the Nittany Mall, as a Christmas present. I liked to watch him smack the crap out of people. See the 2005 clip below.)
I'm teetering on Taylor Swift overload (she'll co-host TRL June 16 through June 19) but I'll admit that I'm pysched for her MTV special, Once Upon a Prom, premiering June 21 at 3 p.m ET. The 18-year-old country singer missed her own prom, so she's going on the arm of one lucky senior at Hillcrest High in Tuscaloosa, AL. The hour-long special will follow Swift as she selects her stag (from among 40 dateless teens), finds her dress, and experiences all the awkward and awesome moments generally associated with the night. Throughout the day on June 21, she'll be on MTV introducing segments covering over-the-top prom fashions and shocking moments. (Celebs and viewers alike will also dish on their wild nights.)
Let's open up the Confessional in the meantime, and share our prom songs. If I'm remembering correctly, 10,000 Maniacs' "These are Days" was the theme for my senior prom in 1993, which would've been cool had someone bothered to tell the DJ so he could've brought it. Boo.
All right. Despite the fact that I'm not sure you people earned this, I shan't go back on the promise I made after humiliating my friend Lindsay Robertson last week. Here, in all its glory, is my tragic and depressing audition tape for Survivor: The Australian Outback. I was 100 percent serious about this.
Allow me to set the scene: The year is 2000. In the dead heat of a Queens summer, a 25-year-old girl sits alone in her basement apartment, located within spitting distance of the Triborough Bridge. Despite the blazing sunlight off the Grand Central Parkway's access roads, it is dark in there, and sad. When not at home, the girl usually spends her days teaching theater at NYU or driving vans full of sets and props around the Lower East Side, but on this sweltering afternoon, she has borrowed her boss's video camera and spent at least an hour talking into it at random, looking for a way out. Her video editing skills are spotty at best. But she has a dream. And on this day, she didn't yet know that her dream was already dead.
... canceled movie plans Saturday night because there was nothing that I needed to see badly enough that I would go down into a New York City subway tunnel, wait for a train, and sweat. Instead, I stayed home and Hulu'd seven episodes of Vanished, the "Smoking" (below) and "Rat Funeral" episodes of NewsRadio, and the pilot of Remington Steele.
It's safe to say that my crush on Queer as Folk's Gale Harold is on. I clicked through four of QAF's five seasons on YouTube over the weekend. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I phoned my friend Sheila and told her that I needed an intervention: I couldn't stop watching, and that was a problem considering I actually had to read and review a book. She suggested I turn the viewing of episodes into a reward. Like read a 100 pages, watch an episode. That sounded so sane... but so beyond my level of will power. I am a binge viewer. If you give me access to 22 episodes of a show that I like, I will watch 10 of them in one sitting. Having them at my fingertips feels decadent, like they were created just to entertain me. And that's a high that lasts right up until the moment that I realize I only have one season of the show left to watch, and that maybe, after all I invested, I won't like the ending.
So, are you a binge viewer like me? (If so, tell me about your longest binge.) Are you a reward viewer like Sheila? (If so, tell me how you do it.) Or, are you a complete mystery like my friend Robb, who says he's never watched TV on DVD because the idea of having 22 episodes waiting for him is too overwhelming? ("I can't commit.")
It just occurred to me that on Saturday night, I'll be seeing Duran Duran in concert for the fifthtime. I never set out to be a Durannie, butI'm thinking this might make me one. I can thank my friend Sheila, who's seen the band more than 20 times over the years (including a few TV tapings which, if included, actually brings my total to six), and always orders two tickets. She remembers the date of her first Duran Duran show — June 22, 1987 — because she still has the stub: "I was 14. I went with two girlfriends. My friend Tai's mom waited in the car in the parking lot, and when we got back, she said, 'Okay, bra check!' and made us all show a strap so she knew we didn't throw 'em onstage."
What act have you seen most often in concert? My friend Robb has enjoyed the Go-Gos 25 times, while I've somehow managed to catch the band Flickerstick, winner of arguably the best reality show ever, VH1's Bands on the Run, nine times.
I watched the new film, Twisted: A Balloonamentary, last night, and was almost literally blown away by the bizarre creations and fascinating people behind "twisting" — the art of contorting balloons into a dizzying array of shapes and symbols. (The film is playing in selected cities this weekend and is already available on DVD. Watch the trailer here.) Though the first design most aspiring twisters attempt is the humble dog (requires one balloon), in this surprisingly engaging documentary, advanced balloon artists create, among many other things, a enormous flying octopus, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, multiple Jesuses, several extremely well-endowed men (in so-called "adult" twisting), a Trojan Horse, 100-foot soccer players in a field of waving green balloon grass, two full-body balloon dresses (once of which was worn by a avid twister to her wedding), and a beautiful geisha made of tiny balloon twists so perfect they look like beads (pictured). The heart-warming nature of the film was conveyed via a theme of redemption-via-twist (one man finds God in the art of making Jesus balloon sculptures, complete with balloon nails and fake blood). Such is the movie's tagline: "Once you can make a balloon dog, you can do anything!" And the super-helpful press kit I received even included two balloons and dog-making instructions for practice at home.
NB: I did not achieve redemption. I did not even make a balloon dog. I barely made it through the film. I did not do anything but quake, down two beers, and beg a friend to come over and watch the film with me. Why? Because I have "globophobia" — a fear of balloons. I have a pretty mild case compared to some people it seems. But after a few minor freakouts, I realized that these people are pros; the chances of an accident slim. But amateur twisters, or — shudder — young children and babies playing with helium-filled latex. That's a no-go zone for me.
To that end: Are you afraid of balloons too? (If so, let's start a support group!) If not, what fears or phobias do you have that are triggered by shows or movies (fear of heights, explosions, blood, claustrophobia, awkward "you're busted!" encounters) that make you cringe, change the channel, or maybe leave the room while your cruel, unphobic friends laugh at you? Let's have it!
Have you ever stumbled across a letter or email that you wrote when you were younger -- or worse, had the person you sent it to stumble across it -- and laughed your ass off? My friend Sheila just found a letter that our friend Tamara wrote her in the summer of 1994, when we were in college. My three favorite excerpts:
- "I got my old internship but for no money. The experience however is important.... I talked to Robb last week, and he is working three jobs. Listening to him, I feel guilty for having time at night to watch television. Did you watch The Joan and Melissa RiversStory? Oh what talent!! Why do the good movies come on when we are not at school."
- "[An older gentleman who worked at the student newspaper] is dead. Unbelievable. Speaking of dead — Did you hear of the rumor circulating through Hollywood? Supposedly, Mark-Paul Gosselaar [pictured] is dead. Who is he? Zack on Saved by the Bell. Never fear, he is not really dead.* So we can all breathe a little easier."
- "We must paint Philadelphia red sometime. I want a real cheesesteak!! I really like this pen. Well, I will write soon. I am on my way to San Francisco. Maybe I will run into the Real Word III cast. Who knows?"
I was just reading an Associated Press article, "'Cougars 4 Cook' sign was our first clue," and three things struck me: (1) Some women are embracing the term cougar. Why? (2) Our own Michael Slezak is quoted in the discussion of American Idol winner David Cook's (pictured) unexpected sex appeal: "Getting that side-part during Dolly Parton week was possibly his best strategic move of the season, even more so than his rearrangement of 'Always Be My Baby.'" (3) I am apparently the only woman over 30 who doesn't want a bite of Cookie. Linda Sharp, a 42-year-old blogger, voted 473 times for Cook Tuesday night. "The biggest thing: He's legal, and that goes a long way," Sharp said. "He's 25. That's old enough that we can
openly ogle him, and we can drool over him, and it doesn't make us feel
like we could be his mother." She went on to explain how her courtship with Cook climaxed in that admittedly tasty underwearGuitar Hero commercial: "We're the ones that salivated so heavily over Tom Cruise
in Risky Business that he really slid to superstardom on a trail of
our spittle... So to see David Cook — who we're firmly in
love with — put into those two things... I mean, it was just a gift.
It was a present."
Have you ever been watching TV, had a serious emotional breakdown over a plot twist, and blamed it on the fact that you were "sleep-deprived?" This just in: You are not full of s---.
Let me take you back seven days: Alynda Wheat sent me her rough cut of the Bones season finale so that Abby West and I could watch it together in the office. Even though I'd had approximately five hours of sleep on each of the three previous nights, we decided to stay late anyway and have our screening... in Dave Karger's office. (He has a love seat, and is so nice that he won't mind if/when he reads this.) Fifty seconds in, when Sweets said, "It's Agent Booth's funeral, Dr. Brennan," Abby had to press pausebecause I told her to. A minute later, when Caroline started delivering her graveside eulogy, I slid off the love seat onto my knees, turned my back to the television, hugged the seat cushion, looked up at Abby, and said something to the effect of, "What?... Wait. What?... What?" It wasn't that I thought Booth (David Boreanaz) could actually be dead. (And no one should've, which is why I didn't use a spoiler alert.) It was that my mind was too mushy to process anything unexpected and remotely upsetting. Right?
Right! I just Googled sleep-deprivation and emotional, and the first link was this: "Sleep-deprivation causes an emotional brain 'disconnect."' It says, "Without sleep, the emotional centers of the brain dramatically overreact to negative experiences, reveals a new brain imaging study.... The reason for that hyperactive emotional response in sleep-deprived people stems from a shutdown of the prefrontal lobe — a region that normally keeps emotions under control."
That makes perfect sense. So now, while I Google which of my lobes insisted that Abby rewind Booth's bathtub scene (embedded below, because I can't let go of that beer helmet issue I have), share what TV moments you've overreacted to due to sleep-deprivation. I know I was pooped when I phoned a friend after that Miranda-chokes-home-alone episode of Sex and the City and left an urgent message saying I would tap out a code if I ever needed her to call an ambulance but couldn't speak. A tuckered Slezak admits that he was "emotionally wobbly" throughout Wednesday's American Idol finale. Your turn.
After reading the comments on my post mourning CBS' cancellation of Moonlight (pictured), in which some viewers vow to boycott the network, and those on Abby West's Bones season finale preview and postmortem, in which a handful of fans threaten to abandon the Fox drama after its rushed resolution to the Gormogon case, I'm wondering how often people actually follow through on such promises.
So, tell me: Have you ever boycotted an entire network? Or gone cold turkey on a show because you felt it did you wrong? And how long did you hold out? I'm fascinated.
What's your latest YouTube obsession? Thanks to the Mamma Mia! trailer, and the fact that I saw the Broadway show for the first time recently, I'm all about ABBA videos at the moment.
My favorite clip (because this one of "Honey Honey" is not embeddable) could be "Take a Chance on Me." Every moment is awesomely bad.
I'll go first. In Vegas, Diaz begins to warm to Kutcher when she sees him coaching little league. To quote one of my favorite Margaret Cho bits... stick it in.
It's been nearly 48 hours since I last touched the dead grass of the Empire Polo Fields in Indio, PopWatchers, but after two consecutive weekends of music festival goodness, I'm having a hard time letting go. Specifically, I can't get over the pained reactions from several of you Pink Floyd fans to my dismissal of Roger Waters' set at Coachella. It seems you come out in force to defend your rock gods: My friend and picnic-table companion Maura faced the same rage after her post over on Idolator, and even Willman's informed, articulate critique here led to howling.
So I got to thinking: Surely I'm not the only one who can't make it all the way through the pretentious muddle of Dark Side of the Moon (pictured), thought "Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2" was barely listenable even before classic rock stations beat it to death with the over-programming stick, and never once spent any time staring at a blacklight poster while playing "Mother" on repeat and crying a little because it's just so deep, man. Of course, from an objective standpoint, I can recognize the talent/craft involved; I can even occasionally tolerate "Wish You Were Here" — although nine out of ten times I mistake it for "I Wish It Would Rain Down." And yes, I understand the Pink Floyd influence on several of the groups I legitimately enjoy today. But do I have to actively like and/or be exposed to Pink Floyd in order to have this understanding? Ugh. Please. No.
Your turn, PopWatchers: What seminal band (or solo artist) can you not stand? Now's the time to get it off your chest. And hey, you can be anonymous, so one ever need know you secretly harbor a passionate hatred for the Beatles and everything those demented Liverpudlians* stood for! Let it out!
Ever since I wrote a PopWatch post about the Three's Company episode that I still can't discuss without getting misty -- and 998 comments followed naming the TV moments that made others cry -- I've respected the power television has over my body. It's really a beautiful thing, the way good or "good" TV can move us physically.
Take Paulagate. Our Idol expert Michael Slezak said he immediately pressed pauseon his remote after Paula Abdul critiqued a song that Jason Castro hadn't actually sung yet. Time had to literally stop while he processed what he'd just seen. (I, myself, opted to hit mute, as I tend to do when anyone on a reality show says something mortifying and my instinct for self-preservation kicks in. As I've mentioned before, I practically wear out my remote during the first episode of any Bachelor season, when the ladies attempt to make "memorable" first impressions by singing or reciting an original poem.)
What visceral responses has TV provoked in you, and in what moments? In addition to the standard talking back to the television when a plot line doesn't go my way (oh, don't even pretend like you've never yelled a belligerent, "No!"), I've also been known to:
-- burst out inaspontaneous, two-second fit of rapid applause when a scene is so emotionally satisfying that it makes me
appreciate the television medium as a whole. (I did that yesterday, in fact, while watching the final moments of this Sunday's Brothers & Sisters. You won't want to miss it, that's all I'm saying.) -- forget to breathe when my mind apparently can't allow anything to distract it from watching how a scene plays out. (That's rare, but the best Buffy and Angel episodes still have their way with me.) -- force myself not to close my eyes or look away when a crucial moment of a sporting event is about to unfold live. Why? Because I'm making a deal with God that IF I experience this excruciating tension head-on, my suffering will help earn the team or individual I'm rooting for the win. (I believe this is in direct response to my mother, who gets so nervous that she has to leave the room.)
Okay, pile it on: I'm a crummy parent. My kids oughta be taken away from me. Yada, yada, yada. I heard it all last year when I wrote about the Gossip Girl paperbacks I found spilling out of my daughter's backpack. I didn't like the books — in fact, they appall me — but I figured she was reading them for the same reasons all of us read dirty books at that age: We learned from them. And yet the absolute amorality of these tales of prep school privilege gave me pause — the rich girls blithely spent money, shoplifted, had sex, did drugs, and viciously torpedoed other girls, all without any comeuppance. (Where, for God's sake, were the parents?)
So is the TV show any worse? Well, for one thing, the sex, though certainly plentiful, isn't as graphic — or so I thought, until I saw ads for the new season. (See page 19 of EW's April 18 issue for an example.) But the very existence of the TV show reinforces the franchise in kids' minds. The show makes the books stronger, and vice versa. I know my informal poll doesn't count for anything, but I certainly see more of the books around than I used to. And how about the fashion? This is high school? These are adolescent girls? Not in my town, and certainly not at my daughters' school. Where we live, girls aren't allowed to dress like they're employees of a strip club. (Pictured: Leighton Meester as Blair.)
I know what you're going to say: Don't let them watch it. But we're looking at colleges already, and that makes them old enough — and mature enough — to make their own decisions. The most I can do, as a parent, is talk to my kids about the show (and the books), and express my problems with Serena, Blair, and crew. And you know what? Since their surly adolescent phase is over, my daughters are willing to have that discussion with me. We've dissected the show twice already, and I'm sure we'll do it again. If the show had been around when I was 17, I probably would've watched it, too. As it was, I had to make do with copies of The Other Side of Midnight and The Happy Hooker.
Have you ever met a star that someone close to you just loves? And if so, did you find yourself asking that celebrity to do something for him or her?
Here's why I'm asking: In honor of Moonlight returning with the first of four new episodes on April 25 (CBS, 9 p.m. ET/PT), I suggested that I do one of my PopWatch Duels with Alex O'Loughlin, who plays Mick, and Jason Dohring, who plays Josef. (Look for it later this week.) When my colleague Michael Slezak found out that O'Loughlin and Dohring would be in town April 20 for New York Comic Con, he decided that I would be doing interviews for that Duel in person. (Apparently, When you have an opportunity to be in the same room with Alex O'Loughlin, you take it is the second rule of journalism. Right after, When you have a picture of a water-skiing squirrel, you run it. That one I read in Time Out New York once, and I vehemently concur.) So, yesterday, at the end of my chat with O'Loughlin, I asked him to pose for a photo — with a sign that I made for the occasion. (He, by the way, did so willingly. And told me to tell Slezak he said, "Hi.")
Your turn: How have you whored yourself out for a friend or loved one? (Please keep it clean.)
After the jump, some serious and STEAMY Moonlightspoilers.
Last night, I saw a screening of the feel-good Sundance hit Son of Rambow (in theaters May 2). It's about two young British boys — one a misunderstood, movie-loving bully; one a member of a religious sect that shuns entertainment (!) — who set out to make a sequel to First Blood. It's set in the '80s, so you get a great soundtrack (my favorite Cure song, "Close to Me," plays over the end credits). And since it's really about the powerful imaginations and friendships we're capable of as children, you will also get weepy — and nostalgic.
According to Rambow's production notes, writer-director Garth Jennings actually did shoot Rambo-inspired action-adventures with his friends after seeing a pirated video copy of First Blood when he was young. "Our stories, stunts, and special effects were outrageous in both ambition and stupidity," he admits, "but we thought our films were fantastic."
Did you ever commandeer the family camcorder and shoot your own productions? I only did it once, in high school, when my friend Mark wanted to film a solo recreation of the "Like a Prayer" number from Madonna's Blond Ambition Tour. I remember walking into the bathroom, with the camera on, and saying "Oh...My...God," when I first saw him in his stuffed bra (underneath the black choir robe he'd borrowed from his church), putting on makeup and a somewhat sad, half-finished wig he'd made out of a rag mop. But the show had to go on... because my parents weren't gonna be gone all night. We dimmed the lights in the family room, lit a few candles, positioned our friends Amy and Susi as adoring audience members, and I pressed record. Mark was amazing, right up until minute six, when he got dizzy doing those spins, stumbled around the room, and fell to the floor. I'm amazed that my laughter didn't ruin the shot. I'd been standing on the couch, so I got a great angle. I wonder who has that tape now...
Ever since Annie Barrett posted an open letter to her ultimatum-giving DVR/life partner a year ago, I've been living in fear that my DVR would one day develop a mind of its own. On April 7, it happened. It was set to record the return of Samantha Who?, which I was particularly psyched for because it appeared to be a Barry Watson-heavy episode. My recorded shows list said the episode was waiting for me, but when I tried to play it, all I got was a dark screen. Hell no. After a few more failed attempts (it turns out that screaming calmly pleading "plaaay," as you select play from the beginning doesn't help), I gave up and just wanted the listing gone. My DVR/life partner wouldn't let me delete it. It was as though it wanted it to sit there in the queue — like some severed head skewered on a stake in the middle of a medieval town square as a warning — to remind me that it could, in fact, crush me whenever it wanted to. And I realize I got lucky this time: It wasn't a show that I write a TV Watch for. It wasn't a series premiere or a season finale. It wasn't an episode that couldn't be viewed on the network's website. But the next time, it could be. (Shudder.)
So, because we're all about the group therapy on PopWatch, I think it's time we all share our most painful DVR mishaps. I've got a friend in L.A. whose DVR just decided not to tape America's Next Top Model for the third week in a row. She's not amused. My coworker Gretchen Hansen says her DVR fought back recently, also around the time of a scheduled Top Model recording — could the machines be working together? — by "blinking like it was picking up signals from outside our solar system. Then it started playing the toe pick scene from the movie The Cutting Edge, and THEN it died." ("Wait, you have The Cutting Edge on your DVR, Gretchen?" "It's on my DVR twice. Why? Don't ask me. Ask my DVR.")
Okay, so while I've written some Confessional-style items recently, none of them have felt like they would mortify a normal person (e.g. someone actually capable of feeling shame over anything entertainment-related), which explains why I've been holding at Vol. 50 for a while now. However, when it took two rounds of a cocktail called the Sugar Dong* for me to confess the following to a few coworkers Monday night, I realized that I had my next installment.
Have you ever found yourself hoping to see an "S" in the TV rating that flashes at the start of an episode? (Be honest.)
I'm still DVR-ing those morning Angel repeats on TNT, which, up until the birth of Connor, are essentially first-run to me. Because I know that Connor is the product of Darla and Angel (Julie Benz and David Boreanaz, pictured) gettin' it on, I've been dying for eagerly awaiting the airing of that particular scene. I refused to look up when it would happen in any episode guide because I wanted to experience the storyline organically, enjoy the slow build... But cut to Wolfram & Hart resurrecting Darla right when my schedule became too busy for me to watch the Angel repeats on the same day that they aired (and cue my need for liquid courage): For roughly two weeks, I clicked on the freshly-recorded episodes every morning and fast-forwarded until I saw the TV rating. If there was an "S" among Angel's standard TV-14-DLV, I'd keep fast-forwarding until I saw whether it was the one where Angel and Darla make a baby. (After those episodes in which she teased Angel in his dreams, I grew seriously frustrated — to the point that when my friend Eva and I would IM each other to log our daily complaints with life, I was throwing in "Still no sex on Angel.") Finally, on April 11, it happened. And it was worth the wait.
Your turn. When did you hope for an "S"? (Just keep it as clean as I did.)
So last night, I'm talking with my friend Tamara about what film we should see this weekend, and she begins the negotiations with, "Would you see a Holocaust movie?" She meant, "Can we see The Counterfeiters?", but she didn't lead with the title because to her, it doesn't actually matter. She will watch any movie having to do the Holocaust: "If Paris Hilton was in a Holocaust movie, I'd see it." That is an actual quote.
After a brief discussion about how wrong it is that she found Ralph Fiennes attractive in Schindler's List (pictured) — I couldn't technically judgeher, having found Sean Penn inexplicably hot in Dead Man Walking — we realized that this is the flip-side to the 50 Actors We'd Watch in Anything. There are films we'll each see, regardless of who stars in them, because we're fascinated by a particular subject or are a sucker for a certain genre. So, what's your weakness? I can be talked into sitting through any romantic comedy — if the plot involves a city girl slowing her life down, returning to her hometown, or inheriting the children of a relative.
Also, should you want to confess that time that you found an actor or actress attractive in a role that you shouldn't have, feel free. You're among friends.
I mentioned earlier this week that I've already seen Keanu Reeves' latest, Street Kings (featuring Jay Mohr, Reeves, and Forest Whitaker, pictured). But I just clicked through our 24-film-deep role call gallery for the guy, and was shocked to realize that I've seen all but three of the movies. (More interesting than what those are, is what they're not: The Replacements, Sweet November, and The Lake House.) The point is, I never set out to be an expert on Keanu Reeves, but apparently, I kinda am. Have you experienced that? If so, with whom?
So last night, I decided to watch When Harry Met Sally... because it'd been too long since I'd seen the Mr. Zero scene. (Billy Crystal and Bruno Kirby doing the wave while discussing Harry's divorce is cinematic perfection, is it not?) When I got to the part of the film where Sally (Meg Ryan) freaks out because her ex-boyfriend is getting married, I had the surreal experience of realizing that I am now the same age as Sally.
Sally: And I'm gonna be 40. Harry: When? Sally: Someday. Harry: In eight years. Sally: But it's there. It's just sitting there like this big dead end. And it's not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73. Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick 'em up.
I don't want this to be a pity-the-single-girl post, but as I find myself suddenly aware of what it means to be single in your early 30s (and deciding exactly how wrong it'd be for me to ask my sister, a divorce lawyer, to keep an eye out for a male client who has a civil relationship with his ex and a child who plays tee ball), I think it's a good time to ask which films and TV shows give singletons hope and which ones give us panic attacks. I'll admit that this is the first season that I've watched The Bachelor and felt a ping of fear: Are things that bad out there that women will sharpen their claws anytime a decent prospect appears?
For the past two weeks, I've been looking for a new place to live which, after seeing a depressing string of tiny, smelly, outrageously expensive studios, has been about as much fun as doing time in a Soviet gulag (or so I imagine). For some reason I can't fathom, whenever I go to that place of complete and utter despair, I think of Holly Hunter (who turned 50 on Thursday, happy birthday Holly!). To be specific, I think of the insecure, controlling Holly as TV producer Jane Craig in the1987 filmBroadcast News who, every once and a while, turns off her phone and sobs really, really hard for a couple of minutes. In the film it's kind of funny, because her neuroses are part of what makes her character so endearing, but for some reason those are the scenes that always come to me when I've just had enough.
How about you, PopWatchers? Do you have a particular TV or movie scene that you revisit when you're feeling really low? Or feeling really great?
When was it? In an iPod world, do people still dial radio station request lines and Delilah?
The last time I phoned a radio station was circa 1992. I was supposed to be studying in my college dorm room, only I couldn't concentrate because someone had stolen my Culture Club CD. (For real.) I needed to hear "I'll Tumble 4 Ya" (below), badly enough that I called in. I could tell the DJ didn't want to play the song — I guess it's not the Culture Club hit most people want to hear? — until he found out my name was Mandi. "Like the Barry Manilow song?" he asked. "Actually, I was named after that song," I answered. And then I told him the story. Mom was watching The Tonight Show, pregnant with me, when Barry was a guest and sang "Mandy." She loved the song, but thought it'd be easier for me to learn how to write an 'i' instead of a 'y.' (Don't you have a 'y" in your last name, Mandi, you ask? Yes, but my mother, then a school teacher, knew I'd learn to write my first name first and wanted to spare me the frustration of a 'y' for as long as possible.) Bottom line: I heard "I'll Tumble 4 Ya" that night.
When was the last time you called a radio station? And what's your best story? How far did you go to hear a song?
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My friends like to say that I'm fickle, and the only time I have to agree with them is when I try to recall a password for something. My passwords tend to revolve around the people that I'm into at the moment they need to be created. So I somehow have to remember that when I joined this one site, I was fond of NASCAR driver Casey Mears (pictured, right) and that he was still driving the #41 car (mears41), and that when I joined another, I was seriously psyched that Sylvester Stallone (pictured, left) was filming a fourth Rambo (Stallone04). Of course, I don't remember the passwords, which means I'm constantly resetting them. Thus, a vicious cycle is born. A random selection of other retirees: Parker97 (for South Park cocreator Trey Parker), Colbert01 (for Stephen Colbert), Seeley08 (for David Boreanaz's character on Bones), and, um, Daniel18 (
I have something to confess: I am a woman who can't stop playing on her (pink!) Nintendo DS Lite. I know, I know, there are many female video gamers out there, but my obsession has gone so far that for the last week or so, I've been going to sleep later and later — just to stay up and play. (Is it any coincidence I can feel a cold coming on...just in time for the long weekend?)
Have you ever put yourself through TV detox? And if so, what changes did you make after you completed your self-prescribed program? Here's why I'm asking...
Marc Bernardin did.
A&E was playing Silence of the Lambs yesterday, and since I happened to be flipping through at the exact moment Buffalo Bill launched into his "
Passionate people can be demanding, as we established when we confessed 
In my ongoing mission to examine all the ways that our love of pop culture makes imprints on our lives — and to populate PopWatch on a slow news day — I'm issuing a spot inspection of your computer desktop. What image have you selected to stare at when you don't have six windows open? (For me, that's approximately 30 seconds a day, so Gale Harold, tiled, should not be at all freaked out by this.)
I made an exciting discovery Saturday night, when I accidentally set a bottle down on top of the TV remote that I've had FOR TWO YEARS — I have Picture in Picture.
I'm teetering on Taylor Swift overload (she'll co-host TRL June 16 through June 19) but I'll admit that I'm pysched for her MTV special, Once Upon a Prom, premiering June 21 at 3 p.m ET. The 18-year-old country singer missed her own prom, so she's going on the arm of one lucky senior at Hillcrest High in Tuscaloosa, AL. The hour-long special will follow Swift as she selects her stag (from among 40 dateless teens), finds her dress, and experiences all the awkward and awesome moments generally associated with the night. Throughout the day on June 21, she'll be on MTV introducing segments covering over-the-top prom fashions and shocking moments. (Celebs and viewers alike will also dish on their wild nights.) 
It's safe to say that 
It just occurred to me that on Saturday night, I'll be seeing Duran Duran in concert for the fifth time. I never set out to be a Durannie, but I'm thinking this might make me one. I can thank my friend Sheila, who's seen the band more than 20 times over the years (including a few TV tapings which, if included, actually brings my total to six), and always orders two tickets. She remembers the date of her first Duran Duran show — June 22, 1987 — because she still has the stub: "I was 14. I went with two girlfriends. My friend Tai's mom waited in the car in the parking lot, and when we got back, she said, 'Okay, bra check!' and made us all show a strap so she knew we didn't throw 'em onstage." 
I watched the new film, Twisted: A Balloonamentary, last night, and was almost literally blown away by the bizarre creations and fascinating people behind "twisting" — the art of contorting balloons into a dizzying array of shapes and symbols. (The film is playing in selected cities this weekend and is already available on DVD. Watch the trailer 
Have you ever stumbled across a letter or email that you wrote when you were younger -- or worse, had the person you sent it to stumble across it -- and laughed your ass off? My friend Sheila just found a letter that our friend Tamara wrote her in the summer of 1994, when we were in college. My three favorite excerpts:
I was just reading an Associated Press article, 
After reading the comments on 
The romantic comedy has been taking a beating on EW.com recently: You've got 
It's been nearly 48 hours since I last touched the dead grass of the Empire Polo Fields in Indio, PopWatchers, but after two consecutive weekends of music festival goodness, I'm having a hard time letting go. Specifically, I can't get over the pained reactions from several of you Pink Floyd fans to 
Ever since I wrote a PopWatch post about the Three's Company episode that I still can't discuss without getting misty -- and 
Here it is: My teenagers watch 
Have you ever met a star that someone close to you just loves? And if so, did you find yourself asking that celebrity to do something for him or her?
Last night, I saw a screening of the feel-good Sundance hit 
Okay, so while I've written some 
So last night, I'm talking with my friend Tamara about what film we should see this weekend, and she begins the negotiations with, "Would you see a Holocaust movie?" She meant, "Can we see 
I mentioned 
So last night, I decided to watch When Harry Met Sally... because it'd been too long since I'd seen 
For the past two weeks, I've been looking for a new place to live which, after seeing a depressing string of tiny, smelly, outrageously expensive studios, has been about as much fun as doing time in a Soviet gulag (or so I imagine). For some reason I can't fathom, whenever I go to that place of complete and utter despair, I think of Holly Hunter (who 
cineparanoia