I like getting the Led out as much as the next guy, but...

Appropriate or inappropriate: using "When the Levee Breaks" as your lead-in to a news story about Hurricane Katrina. I really did hear this, last night, on a "legitimate" news/talk radio station in Cleveland.

Discuss.

Are you kidding me?

Martha Stewart has revealed the much-buzzed-about catchphrase for her upcoming Apprentice edition:

"You just don't fit in."

This is terribly anti-climactic. After all the speculation and teasing, you'd think the real thing would be a little more exciting than "You just don't fit in." Fit in with whom? Billionaire ex-con homemaking divas who want only to focus on their salads? Dutiful Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia staff who toil day in and day out to bring you a downloadable, printable Stain Chart? Sam Waksal?

I shouldn't be so hard on M. Diddy. I really do like her, probably more than I should, and will continue to consume what she has to offer. But for someone who makes Ukranian Easter Bread and Stuffed Marrow Bones, I expected more.

Today in Ty Taylor

Unlikely:

"DAPHNA - Still thinking about your red silk panties."

(From the newest post on Ty's "Rocker Blog," wherein he sends shouts-out to those dearly departed rockers who, in reality, sucked.)

Meanwhile, MiG scores some points for proper perspective, loses others for abbreviating "Bohemian Rhapsody" as if it was a Puerto Rican from the Bronx and -- most heinously -- choosing "Live and Let Die" because he is a James Bond fan, not a Wings fan:

"It hurt me so much to let Bo Rhap go and I am still reeling from the blow. I hope it is not misunderstood why I am not doing Bo Rhap - it is not an act of selflessness, or weakness of character. In fact, this is the hardest decision I have had to make since being here. I have decided instead to perform 'Live and Let Die' by Paul McCartney and Linda McCartney. Being a huge James Bond fan, I can't wait to do it - in a way it is very Bo Rhap-esque in style and form. I am glad I have left Bo Rhap in good hands. Suzie will take care of it beautifully. It still hurts me to hear it, but I am getting over it - there are starving people in Africa. BOOM. Over it."

Spam, and not the good, processed meaty kind

I know that the three of you who read this blog are going to be crushed, but I must severely restrict the ability to leave comments on this here forum. This is because I am tired of being told about real estate bargains in San Diego, and I am far too anal just to let the spam pile up in the comments area.

Although I strive for a dialogue with others like me (who don't have much to do and care a lot about reality television), it looks like I must settle for a monologue. So from now on, I will talk at you -- not with you -- regarding Ty Taylor.

[Insert sad little emoticon here.]

On another note, I find it strange that the spell check on blogger.com does not include "blog" in its dictionary. I mean, what is that?

I have many more examples of cowardly drinking

I would like to discuss the concept of drinking valiantly, which is a phrase I have been using in recent days to describe those times when you are out with big drinkers or perhaps big drinkers you haven't seen in awhile, and you yourself are not a big drinker, but you want to appear as though you can keep up, but you don't want to be sloppy and messy and hurling everywhere the next day. Valiant drinking is not something you can necessarily control; like so much else, it is up to the fates. (And maybe the specifics of what you're drinking, how much you ate that day, etc. I don't know; it is a mystery.)

Two examples of drinking valiantly come to mind:

1. Last week, some friends took me out after work to celebrate my upcoming nuptials. There were several vodka tonics, then a martini, then a shot of tequila, then several Budweisers. I didn't feel a thing the next morning, except immature pride in my ability to hold my liquor.
   
   
2. In 2004 when I was visiting Australia for a friend's wedding, we went out after the festivities to a couple of bars in Penrith and the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. I had not seen these friends in 13 years, and I wanted to prove I could "party." So I drank enough gin and tonics to fell a mule and, regardless, was rarin' to go to the airport the next morning. My feral, record-label working, hard-drinking, not-ever-sleeping friend was duly impressed. I didn't want to tell him it was a fluke, that I am usually wasted and slurring after two martinis.

To be clear, drinking valiantly is not pacing yourself and being "smart" about it. It is being a jackass about it, making poor decisions, drinking beer before liquor, etc. -- and still feeling fine the next day.

Because you wanted to know.

Today in Ty Taylor

Nothing says "rock star" or "INXS" quite like your brief-clad self standing atop a chair like a graceful swan about to take flight:


I can't remember how many times I saw publicity shots of Michael Hutchence that looked just like this. I mean, uncanny.

Avis makes sincere, successful attempt

The Avis car rental company's slogan is "We try harder." Indeed, I posit that they try so hard they actually succeed.

Trying to rent a car for my upcoming honeymoon. We need to pick it up in Melbourne, and drop it off in Adelaide. A one-way, international rental. Finding a company that will let you do this is like uncovering the Holy Grail. Except it is unlikely that the four-door compact we are renting contains the blood of Christ in the person of his daughter with Mary Magdalene.

Anyway. After checking all the big guys to no avail -- Hertz, Thrifty, Budget -- I tried Avis. And they allow it! They are all, rent the car wherever you want, drop it off wherever you want! Knock yourself out, one-way driver! So, Avis gets an unsolicited testimonial on my blog, which only two people read, but still.

Ol' man Ayesa

You know how sometimes you think people are really attractive, but then you see photos where they look horrid, and then you wonder if it's you or if it's them -- or if you should stick only to taking them to the back booth at Monk's when you go out on dates?

For some reason, the otherwise handsome MiG (left) aged rapidly and horribly in the instant this shutter was open:


Props to J.D. for lovingly gazing into his eyes anyway.

Today in Ty Taylor

Here's the thing. Ty is trying so hard to cultivate this nice-guy image, but really he's quite bitchy and entitled:

1. He stated this week that he thought there were some others who should end up in the bottom three, just to see what it's like. I'll have to remember the excruciating pain of the bottom three the next time I'm contemplating war and famine, just so I can maintain the proper perspective. It could be so much worse! I could be in the bottom three!
   
   
2. Why does he assume that his performance of "Proud Mary" merited the week's encore? "Proud Mary" is a fantastic, soulful song that is exciting and fun to sing. It's not, like, a big challenge. There is a woman at karaoke night in my local bar who sings "Proud Mary" each week. I daresay her version is even better than Ty's. Perhaps this is because she doesn't have a mohawk, nor does she bristle in a queen-like manner at the suggestion that she is too theatrical.
   
   
3. Then there was Ty's insistence that he shouldn't face elimination this week because he "put on a show" when he performed "Proud Mary." This "show" of which he speaks seems to refer to using Jordis, Deanna and Suzie as his back-up singers. In which case credit should go to them for dutifully singing Ty's back-up "arrangement" (which was so groundbreaking! "Rolling / rolling / rolling on the river ... do do do do / do do do do").
   
   
4. Finally, the Atlas of the Rock Star mansion, Ty thinks he carried the whole cast on his shirtless lats because this week he (a) rehearsed his own song, (b) co-wrote, arranged and rehearsed Deanna's "original" composition and (c) arranged the back-up vocals for "Proud Mary." If Ty wasn't around to steamroll -- I'm sorry, inspire -- everyone's efforts, the rest of the singers would probably just sit aimlessly by the pool pondering how sometimes we're not being human, but we're all human beings.

So my schadenfreude this week was two-fold: Ty was in the bottom three, and so was Deanna, who sang Ty's crappy song about truth. So much for his Herculean efforts to produce every ounce of the performance episode this week. Went over like a lead balloon. Or, a Led Balloon. Rock on, people.

I hope he doesn't decide to blow up INXS during a pep rally

After last night's performance episode of the INXS show, I found myself swerving over to the J.D. camp. As weasely and potentially unstable as he is, there is something very magnetic about him, which, at the end of the day, is all I require from my rock stars. Plus -- although I'm not sure I agree with everyone's placing "Cold As Ice" in the same league as such classics as "Dream On" -- I really do like me some Foreigner if the mood is right. And it was. J.D. sorta makes me want to do illegal, illicit things.

Then it occurred to me on the drive into work this morning that, subliminally, I might be attributing some of J.D.'s edge to the fact that he shares his name with Christian Slater's character in Heathers. According to canoe.ca (the finest news source north of the border), J.D. Fortune went by Jason Fortune and Jason Dean in Toronto, before joining the Rock Star cast. I have no idea what his name really is, but up until now I thought Christian Slater was the hottest Jason Dean. I guess there's some competition now.

And as for MiG, sorry, sweetness. You still look mighty fine and are very, very gentlemanly, but that "Do or Die" song you wrote was kind of boring. I still think you will win, ultimately, but last night I got a little worried that you were venturing into cheesy Ty territory.

The BRAK Commission

The Pentagon's Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC) Commission is meeting this week to decide which U.S. military bases and operations will be moved or closed, which could mean that the Defense Finance and Accounting Services offices in Cleveland will be out of business.

In related news, Thundercleese and Zorak are convening to determine whether Ramstein Air Base should be expanded to include personnel from other bases in England and Italy.

Today in Ty Taylor

Is it me, or does it look like the right side of Ty's torso, ass and leg have been Photoshopped away?


OK. In the interest of not pretending like Ty is the only ridiculous thing happening on the INXS show, I also include this photo of MiG (my favorite). He could stand to just wear a shirt, already:

See, aren't I fair and evenhanded in my criticism?

Seriously?

Bobby McFerrin is taking time off for the first time in 15 years. Really, no time off in more than a decade? I find this hard to believe; I cannot recall the last time I heard anything at all about Bobby McFerrin.

Still, I suppose he is, by default, the workhorse of the a capella, vocal-sound-effect-laden pop genre. So I guess he's earned it. What concerns me is how I'll get through the next year knowing that he isn't out on the road somewhere, humming the bass line to "Don't Worry, Be Happy" to eager Cocktail fans.

I am full of glee (and perhaps ghee, which I undoubtedly clarified from butter that I made from milk from my own cows that live on my Bedford estate)

I'm not sure what to say. Reports are, Martha Stewart's catchphrase for her upcoming Apprentice television program will be, "Your ass is grass." Obviously, this is a joke -- but the mere fact that the joke originated with Martha herself is enough to make me love her all over again. As if I ever stopped.

Today in Ty Taylor

I don't want to spend any days in Ty Taylor, but I just can't help it.

(There are those who might wonder, if I dislike him so much, why do I persist? Maybe I am jealous of his mohawk, or I feel insecure/inadequate because I can't stick out my tongue as well as he can. Or, I just can't stop staring at his supremely overconfident trainwreck of an attitude. Anyway, the obsession continues.)

From The Montclair Times: "Taylor considers Hutchence an irreplaceable legend. He said, 'For me, I’ve always felt a deep connection with him … with his spirituality, sexuality, worldliness and how he’s very connected to his art. I’d be honored to be the person carrying the torch for him.'" Um, which torch, Ty? 'Cause, you know, join the club. (I mean, if he was still alive. Not trying to be fetishistic here.)

The smoky eye = an appropriate look for the office

I am getting married in less than two weeks, and my 3 1/2-year-old nephew is the ring bearer. When I saw him on Saturday, after my makeup consultation at the salon, he was frightened of me because I was wearing dark eyeliner. (I rarely wear heavy eye makeup.)

Since the sight of my evening smoky eye sent him running and screaming -- and I don't want him to be terrified of the bride as he walks down the aisle -- I now embark on a two-week plan of daily heavy makeup to help him get used to me. My black-rimmed eyes are gonna look great in office lighting.

There is no reason for this post...

...but it's Obi-Wan-errific.

What's that stench? Oh, it's Broadway

Very relieved to learn that I am not the only one who could stand a little less Ty:

cheese - pure cheese

All of these people telling you how great you are the same people who love Celine Dion, who think that the show is like any other reality show, who probably never heard an INXS song in their life before this competition, let alone went to a concert.

If they knew anything about INXS' music, or rock for that matter - they would be saying what a cheeseball you are - and how your performances reek of broadway. Your style is completely put on and I see absolutely no passion in the songs you sing - otherwise you wouldn't have ruined Maggie May, No Woman No Cry and Everlong like you did.

Bow out, join a theatre troop and get a part in Cats - that is where you're gonna succeed - not in INXS mate!

Makes me yearn for my callously-discarded back issues of Sassy

My subscription to Jane expired sometime last year, and I didn't renew simply because I was receiving an excessive number of magazines in the mail each month. I just couldn't keep up with all of them, even if some titles didn't involve much actual reading (Lucky).

Now comes the news that Jane Pratt is leaving Jane. It sounds like things had gotten ugly for her, and while I haven't read the magazine in a while I have to admit that I like the idea of the old Sassy staffers still being out there (at Lucky, ELLEgirl, but thankfully not Teen People because that Lori Majewski has got to go with her terrible wardrobe and jewelry). It's comforting to imagine that they're still influencing young women to be interesting and interested, even if Jane was the only publication overtly carrying that torch (there's no "Cute Band Alert" in Lucky, sadly). But now....

I am almost certain that Jane will cease being Jane without Jane.

When I dream of you, you're not wearing this haircut

Chris Murphy of the rock combo Sloan has gotten himself one hell of a dorky haircut:


Why, Murph? The unwashed, scraggly look -- while unhygienic -- really worked for you and your preening, scissor-kicking, microphone-licking ways. Now you look like you work at Borders.

Although knowing you, the dorky thing is rather appropriate, as you are quite geeky. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Update: By request, here is a contextual "before" photo:


It was mulletous, yes, but it worked much better.

Because you've always wanted to know

I have.

Now, if someone could kindly explain Athena Onassis' ennui. Thanks.

Yes, I think about them

Saw the Waco Brothers' full-frontal onslaught last night. They continue to reign, even when Tracey-less. The show took place outdoors in the broad daylight -- jarring for a band so suited to dank, sweaty, beer-drenched spaces. Magically, the more I drank, the less I noticed the awkward sunlight.

If I had my way, they would still be performing, and I would still be standing there with a wide-mouth plastic bottle of MGD. I will gather their Cash/Clash detritus for as long as they're willing to scatter it. I've got the time.

(This photo is not from last night, as it was taken indoors and includes Tracey, second from top. I present it merely as an illustration of the aforementioned full-frontal rock onslaught. What you can't see is drunk Marc Durante on pedal steel, undoubtedly bracing himself against the wall for extra upright support.)

It's "INXS," not "INMODERATION"

"Rocker" Suzie says, regarding her close relationship with swaddled-in-tight-leather, plaid-panted Ty: "I'm really glad that Ty ended up picking me for his team because I feel like we work well together. After all we've already written two songs for our band 'Tuzie & Sy,' and there's another one in the works."

Ugh. Why are these people so in love with each other? I want to see some ugliness, some extreme emotion. I want to see Jordis shave off Ty's mohawk in his sleep, a la Derrick and Landon on the Inferno II. Alternatively, if Jessica could find time to stop pitying herself and instead focus her energy on, I don't know, de-skirting Brooke Burke, that would be satisfying as well. J.D. is pretty decent at being an asshole, but he's only one person, people!

Update: Just came across a vaguely scandalous thought from Ty: "I'm going to swing it MTV Unplugged style the idea of sitting on stools with the house band and simply singing from my heart brings love to my soul and a lift in my pants." That is, if you consider a lift in someone's pants to be scandalous. Which I don't, but I'm sure it's dirtier than anything in Tuzie & Sy's oeuvre of six-part harmonies that teach preschoolers about traffic safety.

I'm not the only one

From The Onion:

Dog Befriends Roomba

And I'm sure I'm their favorite human

Exciting news regarding my two favorite household devices that "know" me and do things for me on their own -- like vacuum my floors and record episodes of Seconds from Disaster:

1. iRobot, the genius makers of the Roomba robotic vacuum, are introducing Scooba, the floor-washing robot, in November. It preps, washes, scrubs and dries! If you are at all skeptical, honestly, such disbelief would cease if you saw Roomba at work. Scooba must be just as awesome.
   
   
2. I received an e-mail from TiVo, wishing me a happy anniversary. Apparently it has been one whole year since I became a registered member of the TiVo Rewards program. And they remembered! Just like they always remember to record any program that includes the words "Star Wars" in its title or description. TiVo, more thoughtful than most men.

Ever feel embarrassed for people on TV?

"Stop Go."

I'm telling you, that Ty is a bad influence. A bad, cheesy influence. He should be trying to join Up With People, not INXS.

Update: Ty describes "Stop Go" as a "kick-ass Stones kind of tune." What?

Frivolous use of lush farmland = a moisture farmer's dream

Should you find yourself in Evansville, IN, between September 6 and October 31, be sure to check out the bitchin' Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader corn maze at Goebel Farms:

Looks like finding your way from Vader's breathing apparatus to the scar over Anakin's right eye could be a tricky and entertaining endeavor. Bonus points if you can complete the maze using only three singed nubs and a mechanical hand.

(Thanks to my brother-in-law for the tip, although he claims he is not very interested in Star Wars.)

Technically, Nicole is larger than a teacup Chihuahua, so I guess it makes sense

Like an unfeeling automaton, Paris Hilton has traded in her teacup Chihuahua, Tinkerbell, for a smaller one named Bambi. A "pal" says, "[Paris] only likes them when they're very small, and Tinkerbell got too big."

Which is ironic, because as soon as Nicole Richie got very small, Paris dumped her.

I kind of wish I was from Newark, too

Then I could share in the love with Whitney and this cheery shirtless fellow:


Being Bobby Brown. It brings people together. Like Hands Across America, only with significant gastrointestinal issues.

A very self-indulgent post

In a little less than a month my fiance and I will be in Tasmania, enjoying our honeymoon. Here is a beautiful satellite image of Australia's smallest state:

Really, I don't have the clap, I swear

Today my fiance and I went to the County Probate Court to get our marriage license. It was pretty much what I expected -- filling out paperwork, paying a fee, waiting, noticing other couples doing the same thing, giving the mullouch to the skinny brides of said couples -- with one exception. Before we received the license itself, we had to raise our right hands and swear to the Probate Court lady that we were there of our own volition, we were not intoxicated, we were not first cousins, etc. Fine, pretty standard stuff. But then we had to swear that we did not have syphilis.

I struggled to keep a straight face, but nonetheless we completed the oath. On the way back to the car we discussed, why syphilis, specifically? Syphilis seems a disease of the past, more a problem for Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. Why no swearing that we didn't have some other, more "contemporary" disease?

According to the Centers for Disease Control, there were 32,871 new syphilis cases in 2002. To compare, the CDC estimates that about 40,000 people become infected with HIV each year. Now, to be fair, those numbers aren't that far apart. However, the number of new chlamydia cases in 2002 was 834,555; gonorrhea, 351,852. That's a lot of people riding tractors.

I demand equal time for all STDs. At the very least, it would have made for a way more entertaining afternoon if I had been made to stand there, right hand in the air, and swear that I didn't have chlamydia.

I read the "Rocker Blogs" so you don't have to

And trust me, you don't want to.

Ty: "Last week I cried a river, and this week I road [sic] that river of tears into a sea of happiness and triumph. It made me feel like a superstar when INXS and Dave jumped to their feet after my version of 'No Woman, No Cry.' It was so surreal to have them give me a love fest....I'm loving this experience. It is exposing me to myself like I hoped it would." I am just thankful he is not exposing himself to anybody else.

Brandon: "Rock music truly is the most powerful thing in the world. When it sinks its fangs into me, I feel possessed. Everything planned on stage gets thrown completely out the window. I can't f*%^ing contain the monster! Rock on!" Actually, the viewing public and INXS have contained the monster, for now at least -- until Brandon shows up somewhere else with his lady hips, Black Crowes covers and Don't Come Around Here No More hats.

Jordis: "UHHHH! Um … Well, here's the deal. Don't feel like writing my blog. I drank too much and am nauseous (six shots of Jagermeister Marty and I had). Sorry." I feel you, Jordis. Jager gets in the way of my blogging as well.

J.D.: "The passion that rolls behind this vision is beautiful." And sometimes, art and music are so beautiful and painful that it's too much for me to bear. Like a plastic grocery bag, floating to wherever the wind takes it.

Here we go again

The Atlas V launch vehicle carrying the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter lifts off the launch pad at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station. The orbiter will circle Mars for at least four years, and tell us all about Mars' weather, climate and geology.

I quote NASA commentator George Diller: "Surveying for the deepest insights into the mysterious evolution of Mars!"

Certainly this is the biggest news of the day?

Another lead photo on cnn.com, showing the snacks of marauding Tennessee fugitives Jennifer and George Hyatte within the larger context of their room at the America's Best Value Inn:


But, where is the remote? The little single-serving packets of coffee? Tiny bar of soap?

Honestly, this is the lead photo on cnn.com

Caption: "This food was left behind in the room where officials say Jennifer and George Hyatte stayed."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go listen to "From a Distance"

My sister has recently theorized why I am so obsessed with the Space Shuttle. Her points are compelling ones: (1) from space, the Earth isn't so large and unwieldy; remote places really don't seem that remote; (2) the space program represents the future of human exploration, and humans will never stop looking around for new things in new places.

I agree with her. The idea that we're not that far away from the most remote places and peoples in the world does engender a sense of "togetherness," for lack of a better word, among this planet's cranky and territorial inhabitants. It fools me into thinking, just for a second, that maybe we are truly all the same. The fact that you can't see (much) evidence of human civilization from that high up is intriguing as well. It's a clear reminder that this planet will be what it is, while we crawl around on it unseen and anonymous.

As for exploration, our desire to push beyond what we know will continue to motivate us to innovate and sacrifice and take risks, as it should. And while the world at the bottom of the deepest oceans is as unknown as outer space, we need to learn what's out there at least to attempt to fulfill our desire to know our place within it all. A larger context makes our existence feel less random.

Anyway. I am obsessed with the Space Shuttle, in the end, because it teaches me that the Earth is at once very large and very, very small. It is simultaneously enormous and miniscule, and I can't get my head around that. I like to think about it.

Now, since this post is very philosophical, I shall bring it all back down to the lowest common denominator by presenting this photo of a pregnant Britney Spears:

Tasty rock nuggets

A moment, please, to reflect on the beauty of the Police's Outlandos d'Amour. It's one of those albums where you don't have to skip over any tracks. Brilliance, one song after another.
There are several other albums worth mentioning that are great, start to finish -- no superfluous effort, no wasted time on throw-away tracks. These are the Rachael Ray 30-Minute Meals of rock and roll:

1. The Cars, The Cars
2. Purple Rain, Prince and the Revolution
3. Lola versus Powerman and the Money-Go-Round, Part One, The Kinks
4. Listen Like Thieves, INXS
5. 1984, Van Halen
6. Diesel and Dust, Midnight Oil
7. Between the Bridges, Sloan
8. No. 4 Record, You Am I
9. Cowboy in Flames, The Waco Brothers
10. Too Far To Care, Old 97's
11. Make Up the Breakdown, Hot Hot Heat
12. London Calling, The Clash
13. Abbey Road, The Beatles

(This list is in no way exhaustive. In addition, I am not equating these albums artistically or in terms of historical importance or influence. Merely that I listen to all of them straight through, all the time.)

Hold on. The Rachael Ray metaphor may not work. It implies that the end result, while streamlined and judiciously produced, may sacrifice quality. I will not allow a Prince song to be compared to "POP-sta Pasta Bar with Three Sauces." If I must pursue a Food Network analogy, perhaps a better one might be Alton Brown. Yes, these albums are the Good Eats of rock and roll. Focused and well-crafted, with an emphasis on process, high-quality ingredients and equipment and delicious results.

Shuttling the Shuttle

Honestly, I am trying to shut up about the space program. But how can I when NASA insists on doing totally fascinating things like transporting the Shuttle back to Florida in the coolest way possible?



By the way, NASA attaches the Shuttle to the modified 747 using a structure called the Shuttle Mate-Demate Device. Told you space was hot.

Bitter tears

OK. After this week's performance edition of Rock Star: INXS, I was all excited about MiG -- of course -- as well as Marty, whose acoustic version of The Killers' "Mr. Brightside" was surprisingly exciting. As I suspected, I was somewhat dismayed at Ty's performance, "No Woman No Cry." I want to like him; his voice is good (especially on this song) and I can even, sometimes, get behind the whole emotional thing. But watching him, I feel like I'm in the theater watching "Rent," and he's eulogizing his dearly departed Angel. Which is phenomenal if I'm watching "Rent." But I'm not. I'm looking for a new singer for the champion rock band of my youth. Different thing.

Anyway, today my blessed TiVo also recorded a 1991 episode of Saturday Night Live, featuring musical guests INXS. I watched it as soon as I finished Rock Star. Upsetting. Just when I was energized about the band's potential with one of these competitors, I was starkly reminded of what we lost when Michael Hutchence died. Sorry, kids -- MiG and Marty and maybe even J.D., you guys might be great in your own right, in your own context. But replacing Michael? Dear, leonine Michael? Not so sure. As much as everyone says Rock Star is not about replacing Michael, it is actually about replacing Michael. And as happy as I am to see INXS on TV regularly, tonight I got a little upset with my own Mark Burnett-induced glee.

Oh, the reality angst. How will I sleep tonight?

To my peeps in Montclair, NJ

From Ty's incredibly maudlin "Rocker Blog" at rockstar.msn.com:

I feel like my performance of "Kick" was the best experience I’ve had since I’ve been here. In the time between my "Everlong" performance and my "Kick" performance I felt like my wings had been clipped. The second my name was called for the bottom three I felt my wings growing again while singing "Kick" I felt like I could fly again. I dove off the stage at the end to remind myself that I am an eagle and also to let my people and fans know that I’m heading to the sun again...Re-Born.

Don't get me wrong, "Kick" is a good song. A great addition to the second side of Kick. However, "sometimes you kick / sometimes you get kicked" is not the most inspirational lyric ever. It does not move me to grow wings and fly into the sun for my people.

Plus, what's with Ty's not knowing any songs off Shabooh Shoobah? And then writing off said embarrassing shortcoming by stating that he is here "for the future of INXS, not the past?" Sadly, Ty, people don't care so much for the future of INXS. They want the past.

Closure

Welcome home, Discovery. That was pretty awesome. Mostly because of facts like this:

Discovery's path to Edwards began with the spacecraft firing its engines over the Indian Ocean to slow it enough to re-enter Earth's atmosphere over the Pacific.

Run down your case for me again

It has come to my attention that the Today Sponge has won re-approval for marketing from the FDA. Allendale Pharmaceuticals has begun U.S. production to build inventory for the very strong demand, ushering in a whole new era of promiscuity for Elaine Benes.

And Nikki Sixx is the Rex Harrison

Motley Crue’s Nikki Sixx tells People magazine, "They’re the Liz Taylor and Richard Burton of our era" -- an apparently sincere reference to Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee.

Not at all overstated.

Another sleepless night with no galactic payoff

Discovery's landing was pushed back a day. Which is all well and good and safe and whatnot, but this thing really needs just to get back on the ground already so that I can have an uninterrupted night's sleep. Because it is all about me, not about mitigating the risks of space flight or exploring the boundaries of human ingenuity.

The Shuttle is scheduled to land at 5:07 a.m. Tuesday morning, but the sun doesn't rise in Cape Canaveral until 6:49 a.m. So, again, what exactly do I think I'm going to see? Although I suppose that if it gets waved off to one of the later landing opportunities tomorrow, there could be some satisfaction in seeing it alight.

What all of this really makes me wonder is, how do the characters and ships in the Star Wars movies manage effortlessly to negotiate atmospheric change and temperature extremes? Obi-Wan doesn't have to wear a big flight suit when he lands at Utapau; he just cruises in wearing his modest Jedi garb. And I don't recall any dainty and delicate thermal tiles on the Millennium Falcon. The Corellians must have known something we don't.

Can't get enough of the outer space

Discovery lands in about four hours; setting the alarm as I write (sure to be more interesting than the undocking).

God speed a safe return to Earth.

Do they serve Chinese food at the Boar's Nest?

My fiance just named his car "The General Tso."

Overhyping the undocking

I am not entirely sure what I was expecting, but the undocking of Discovery from the International Space Station in the middle of the night last night was significantly less exciting than I'd hoped. Perhaps this is what I get for being such a dork.

So after all of the hype -- and by "hype," I mean the docile NASA commentator's sporadic comments and the fiction in my own head that imagined the undocking as an Industrial Light and Magic spectacle -- the Shuttle just kind of floated away. I am sure the astronauts and the NASA folk on the ground were elated with the maneuver, but me, I just rolled over and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, this forum may have unintentionally turned into some sort of space blog, a splog if you will.

Kind of hot

I am waiting for Discovery to undock from the International Space Station, which apparently will take place in a few hours. The astronauts have already closed the hatch between the ISS and the Shuttle, after moving from one to the other through a "mating interface." Space is very sexy. Hence Leia's slave girl metal bikini.

The NASA channel is calming, much like those TV stations that broadcast images of crackling fireplaces on Christmas Eve. Except those fireplaces are rarely hurtling 'round the Earth.

When people stop being polite, and start examining subtext

Ah, the Real World is coming to Key West. Certainly this season's plotlines will include articulate discussions of Ernest Hemingway's Key West years, including a vicious argument between roommates over the author's notorious misogyny. And one cast member, declaring himself "too punk rock" to analyze Hemingway's masculine archetype, will leave the show.

If only.

Finally, an outlet for my nonsense

Unbelievably, I am blogging. I am very close to being embarrassed by this.

On this here web log one will find such inconsequential -- yet fascinating, to be sure -- musings as:

(1) MiG on Rockstar: INXS is a buff, Asian version of Rhett Miller. Well, not exactly; MiG is not a delicious and heartbreaking Texan songwriter and Rhett Miller does not capitalize the second "T" in his first name. I mean in the cheekbones. Those cheekbones! I could look at those for awhile. Here's hoping he wins. Here's also hoping someone other than me cares about INXS (not likely).

(2) I am sure there is a very good reason, but why is it that we send a rocket into space that is capable of traveling 17,500 miles per hour and must return to Earth through a vicious field of superheated gas, yet is covered in a material that is compared to an egg shell? (Really. Some fellow on Good Morning America told Diane Sawyer that the Shuttle's tiles are like egg shells.) Not that I dislike the space program. I watch the NASA channel in my spare time. But still, baffling.

(3) Snuppy the cloned doggie is so cute. It's the name that does it. What this teaches me is that if you want to clone, give your creations adorable, embarrassing names and people will be all thrilled by your God-playing ways.

So, this blog is a good place to come if you want to read a stranger's thoughts on "alternative country," Pinoy singers who participate in reality television, space-age technology and materials, cloning, or puppy dogs. You know you've been waiting for just such a destination.

And with that, I embark on this bloggy phase of my life. I hope the waters are calm and the pirates are flamboyant, like Johnny Depp or perhaps Keith Richards.