I almost drowned in a sea of skinny jeans

Last night's concert of The Cab/Plain White T's/Dashboard Confessional/Panic! At The Disco, although fun, was yet another thing on my list of life events that make me feel old. It has been over seven years since my first Dashboard Confessional show (shocking, I know), and within those 84 months or so, the clientele of such concerts has evolved -- and I don't necessarily think for the better.

Firstly, there was all too much bang at the show. And by bang, I mean hair. More specifically, hair across the eyes. While I love a side part as much as any other twentysomething girl, this craze is getting out of hand. I saw men, women, children, teens of all ages sporting a look that oddly resembles Cousin Itt from The Adams Family. How can one person see the concert stage when layers of bangs and mountains of eyeliner block their vision? I can't grasp the concept.
Another concept that it unimaginable to grasp? Skinny jeans. Like really skinny jeans. Jeans that look like spandex. Unless you're Lindsay Lohan, this trend is best kept to the fashion magazines and runways. No, not even rock stars can pull it off. My eyes are scarred after last night's image of The Cab's lead singer. No no, no no. In the words of the beloved Blair Waldorf, 'tights are not a substitute for pants.' Amen.

Now, my adherance to the complete ridiculousness of these trends doesn't necessarily make me old. But, it's the fact that every other person (sans myself and my friend, L), was wearing such clothing/makeup/hairstyle. Some even rocked wristbands -- which I hadn't worn since I was 8 and had tennis practice. Am I completely behind on the times? Did I stick out like a sore thumb at the show last night, sitting in my Paper Denim & Cloth jeans & sweater? I would be so inclined to say yes.

As a sidenote, in case you were wondering. The concert report card is as follows:

The Cab: Thumbs Down
Plain White T's: Thumbs Up
Dashboard Confessional: Thumbs Up
Panic! At The Disco: Thumbs Up (surprisingly!)


"Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. "

Last night, while forking through racks and piles of costumes, accessories and clothing with my friend K at the Garment District in Cambridge, I came to fully realize how skanky halloween is as a holiday. In true Mean Girls quotage (see title), all I could find are costumes that show a lot of leg, a lot of boob, and require a lot of makeup. I decided to take my friends' idea of going as "jailbait," since I look like I'm twelve anyway. Fishnet knee-highs, black micromini skirt, tied up oxford shirt, cross necklace, fake lollipop and stuffed animal later, and I look like I belong on my street corner (if you all know what I mean). While I'm more than happy to say that I think I can pull off such a costume, it disheartens me that this is what halloween is for young women. It's either you dress like this and 'be cool' or you wear this and look kind of dumb (no offense gwen, i love you, just not as an egg). This isn't really my idea of empowerment or feminism. Instead, halloween is just another night for guys to gawk like puppy dogs, only this time it's somehow excused. Hmm.


On the interweb...

"Double standard for Sarah Palin only proves how much she's succeeded"...umm, really NY Daily News? Whatever you think of Palin, you can always give her a $ 150,000 makeover yourself! Despite what her mama drops on clothes at Neimans and Saks, Piper Palin totes around a fake Louis Vuitton. Shame shame little P!

What is it with all the 'new & improved' versions of all our fav. childhood memories? Spice Girls, NKOTB, 90210 and now...Melrose Place 2.0? (Wait, does this mean our fav. SATC ladies are going to be in their 60s when we see them in about 10-15 years?...the 'REAL' Golden Girls?!)

"Why anyone would willingly spend time with people who hate her is beyond us." Us too NY Mag, us too...but then, how would ANYTHING worth filming happen on the Hills?

Back from being MIA

Dear readers. Life's been crazy and I'm uninspired. Expect a Halloween costume post tomorrow and a concert review on Thursday. While you wait for my words of wisdom, enjoy your weekly Gossip Girl roundup from the Daily Intel.


If I Knew Then What I Know Now... Preachings of a Twenty-Something: Version 2.0

There's something about music that ties me to every major events/season/moment/feeling, of my life. Two nights ago, I realized that one of my childhood best friends and I have tickets to a Dashboard Confessional show in Lowell, MA next week. In preparation, I promptly opened iTunes, and clicked on the 'Dusk & Summer' album -- by far, my favorite of Dashboard/Chris Carrabba's work. I've lost count of how many times I've seen them since my days as a freshman in high school. I'm well into double digits, and every time I see them, I love it. The concerts go on like a sing-along, and Chris is not too bad on the eyes.

While listening the other night, however, I realized that I had stopped listening to them for a good year and a half. Completely stopped. Like cold turkey quitting - which we know I'm incapable of for any other vice in my life. And then, in this weird, nostalgic instant, I got brought back to two summers ago -- and remembered why I stopped listening to them. I remembered bus rides out to Amherst. Hot, sticky summer Saturday afternoons, walking downtown with my then-boyfriend. Ice cream outings at Bart's in downtown Amherst, MA. I remembered feeling the happiest that I had in a very, very long time, and thinking, 'This is it. This is my life. This is what I want my life to be. With these people and these places and these things.' This album is the soundtrack to that summer, and to those feelings. Although happy, it hits me that I'll never feel exactly like that again. I'll never have those moments again.

Maybe I'm having a bit of another quarter-life crisis that P wrote about a few weeks ago in a blog post. Maybe it's me having too little to do when I'm not slaving away in my corporate America office world. But I find myself rethinking my life -- and not in the way that I'm questioning past hairstyles and fashion choices (but for the record, I take full, guilty ownership of the short haircut of 2006). I think that I'll never again be able to relive the summer that I reminise about. If I knew everything that would happen after that summer, I wonder if I would have ever let myself be that happy in the first place. I guess everything looks as clear as a Swarovski crystal in hindsight, but it's all so much more complex than that. Regardless, I'll never have those conversations with the same people -- if any conversations at all. I think it's the finality of never that irks me. Never scares me more than forever (although I'm flat-out not a woman of extremes). I will never again live at home with my parents. Never be a little girl playing on the swing set, wearing a pink dress, my hair in pigtails and patent leather mary-janes. I'll never again go to senior prom, or be on a varsity sport team. I'll never again swipe my student id at my favorite cafe on campus at UMass, never again go to a fraternity party (although that's probably for the better). Never again see a new millenium be brought in on January 1st. Never again graduate from college. Never. Never. Never.

Is this what my dad told me when he said that things change after college? That things start to look different and feel different because you miss things that you never thought you would? Maybe this blog (and a post that started out being about Dashboard Confessional and oh-so-dreamy Chris Carrabba) isn't the proper soapbox for me to shout on, but oh well. This is growing up, and it feels weird and awkward and kind of sad. I want to be careless, irrational, and happy for the moment, in the moment. Life all of a sudden isn't about songs that make me want to daydream about my future ('Stolen' by Dashboard, for the record, if any of you all wanted to know my secret spacing out and thinking song). Now, life is planning my future -- living my future. And I feel unfulfilled and cheated by my past. It swept by without warning me that it was going to feel too fast. Can someone just give me one day as a five-year old again? I want to go back to schoolyard crushes, Play-Doh, and hoping for the day when my parents would let me wear nail polish and a boy would kiss me. Life was so simple then, and now it's filled with rent, voting, jobs, responsabilities, debt and drama. What the hell happened to me and the world in 18 years since my 5 year old days? Being 5 doesn't seem like that long ago, does it?

Masala girl!

Posh Spice Victoria Beckham is Vogue India's latest cover girl and she is pictured wearing a traditonal Indian sari!! More updates when I get the Nov. issue!

Me and Madonna. We're tight.

Throughout the past week, or rather, this afternoon, it's come to my attention that me and Madonna aren't so different from each other at all. Yes, she was (technically still is) married to Guy Richie, and has a bunch of kids, and more money in her big toe than I do in my savings account, but I digress. I mean in the world of relationships, I can feel Madonna's pain -- and see some of the issues that she might be encountering in the near future.

I just stumbled across this on the Daily Intel. Tsk tsk. Mistake number one, letting your rebound move close to you -- physically. emotionally. environmentally. Whatever. It's all bad. First a fun fling with a baseball superstar (or an ex that you still think about, or some guy that a friend sets
you up with) starts off fun. You sneak around to each others' places. Get discreet dinners together. You deny it all until you both wind up single , then next thing you know the crazy one in the relationship goes ahead and starts moving in closer to you. Madonna, watch out, first he's all secretive and it's fun. Then he moves into your neighborhood, but you know what that means? Your place is his place. You'll find his toothbrush in your bathroom. Boxers on your bedroom floor. It's like G.W. invading the Middle East. And like W, do you have a bailout plan? Negative. The last thing you need is the guy that you've had fun with and a flingy to do with to be your next husband. Watch out.

Also, as the newsflash states, our material girl has been keeping tabs on Guy Richie. You know what, let's not lie. We all do. Welcome to the land of breakups. The disgruntled party always wants to get even with the one who was "emotionally retarded" (Madonna's words, not mine). For Madonna, her spying involves something that looks like a government effort. For us normal, every day kind, this involves using mutual friends, Facebook stalking, hacking into ones phone (you think I'm joking, but talk to my friend S -- she's been a victim of such spying!). Oh Madonna, we know it all hurts right now, and you probably can't look at your son since he's the spitting image of your soon to be ex (all the reason why I shouldn't have kids before I've settled down with the one). But letting go is the first step to moving on. I allow my friends to have a month or two of obsessive spying, then it's time to wave the white flag. You don't really want to know what's going on there anyway -- the last thing I want to know is how high my ex's number has gotten since we split (which is really the only information you get). No thank you. Ew. Pick yourself up, move on, and burn all sentimental photos (including those you can find on Google).

It's true. Madonna is just a normal person going through a breakup. I feel your pain. If you need to get martinis to talk it all out, give me a call.



Brit-Brit headed for the slammer? But if she does, she won't be able to do her first performance!

It's Tuesday morning - we know what roundup needs to be read.

What's hot or not in our economy's state of despair.

No big deal Madonna, we all keep tabs on our exes... I mean, no one else does this. Shame on you!

The Hills or The City? It's the classic East Coast vs. West Coast tug of war.

Heidiwood discontinued
. My prayers have been answered.


'We wanted a white Christmas, so it was a good thing that Mom's husband was a raging cokehead'

I missed Gossip Girl so during my time away, and rightly so, looked forward to last night's episode. Overall, sadly enough, it was a miss. The only moment that my jaw hit the ground, was when S said the titled line. Even then, it wasn't such an oh-my-gosh moment (to be honest, the story that my friend was telling me was -- more on that later). Yawnfest, I feel as though my Monday night was wasted. I need some drama in my life, CW writers, take note. Maybe next week?

Now, with the boring episode of Gossip Girl in my background, one of my best friends shared an appalling/sadly hilarious story of a date that she had while I was in New Orleans. After a bad breakup, she decided to use the internet to find the potential love of her life (or at least of the week, maybe month, or maybe dinner). After pouring over profiles, we found one that seemed to fit -- handsomely gorgeous - his photo looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie advertisement -- and that, is a very very very good thing. It's a shame then, that upon five minutes of meeting her, he said she was stupid for dating her ex-boyfriend for various reasons, and said the f-word, many many times (and no, not the f-word that, although four letters and cannot be said on television, I say and find acceptable. i mean the f-word that's even worse). It goes without saying that his behavior continued to decline throughout the date, as he proved himself to be a classist, elitist, ignorant idiot. Second date. I don't think so.

Which all leads me to my rant. Who do some of these men think they are? What happened to trying to impress a woman on a first date? This man's idea of impressing included a flashy car and expensive steakhouse dinner, when, I think impressing holds more along the lines of holding car doors open, enlightening conversation, a good joke here and there that has PG-13 language. I dont understand how men were raised to think that impressing means anything otherwise. Nothing in our society (I think) says that the way to a woman's heart is through foul language and flat-out rudeness. Am I wrong? Are men being told otherwise? How did this happen? My head hurts from trying to wrap my head around it all. I can honestly say that if this is how men in America are, more and moreso, I have no hope. Bring on the single life, because singledom is, for sure, better than a bigot.



Dear readers, I'm sorry for my absence (yet again). I was on a business trip in New Orleans -- no laptop, no internet, no time to blog. I know, sad stuff - but have no fear, I'm back (and so is the celebrity gossip).

Before I move onto getting to the matters of the day in the celebreality world that we live in, consider this a public service announcement from yours truly.

The picture, taken above by a co-worker for a conference I work for, was taken this past Saturday morning in the 9th ward of New Orleans -- for those who don't watch their CNN (shame on you), this would be the less affluent, most affected area by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Yes. I did write 2005. Does anyone else see the debris on the rooftop? That's from the water that washed debris onto the rooftop. In 2005. Are you catching my drift here? The city, although fun and beautiful and crazy downtown (hello Bourbon Street!), is still reeling from the destruction of three years ago. Is anyone (aside from Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt) doing anything about this? Is our government? I think you all know the answer to that.

Just a reminder that there is more to this life than celebrities, gossip, fashion and sports (although that is what this blog focuses on). I think I speak for P and myself when I tell you all, dear readers, to get up and do something productive. Help out your community, get involved, and don't turn a blind eye to the reality of the world. Make us, and yourselves, proud.



It's been too long. Hope you were catching up with your news. You weren't? Well, here you go.

Frown face. Don't talk to me today. And no Boston Globe, this doesn't help.

Who's going to write those worst-dressed lists now???

We never got cool speakers like this at UMass.

Hearst is like the Grinch this year.

My favorite college professor once told me that advertising is everywhere. The New York Transit Authority agrees.

In case you've been living under a rock, the material girl is on the market again.

Think the economy sucks (because it does)? Here's how to survive.

Another NYMag skanky sex diary. I can't even come up with clever titles for them anymore.

I seriously need to see this movie. asap.

Facebook just got a little bit scarier.

If someone makes/sends me these for my birthday (Dec. 24th everyone!) I will love you forever.
Are you afraid of turning into your parents? Yes.

Avoid those email mistakes!



Happy Wednesday! Here's some fuel to fill your gossip tank.


Hell has frozen over.

Yale does not heart Gossip Girl.

I'd so rather learn about the science of gossip than biology. High schools, take note.

The Hills = Republican? Gossip Girl = Democrat? How?

Reason #1 and Reason #2 why I should maybe hope to have only boys.

I always knew that there was something about the birth control patch that's totally sketch. Granted, depending on who gets elected, maybe I'll have to settle for any birth control I can get my paws on.

First Ace of Base in yesterday's newsflash. Now, 90s fashion is making it's comeback.


Could have been a good idea in Theory?

I got bit by the shopping bug yesterday afternoon. After cruising Saks, Mango and Neimans on my lunch hour and finding nothing that completely satisfied me, I thought some bargain hunting might do the trick. I stopped off at the Marshalls and Filenes Basement on Boylston Street in Boston. Although I found a few good buys for my work and casual wardrobe (a brown Vince tank for $8! a Red Sox sweatshirt for my brothers upcoming 19th birthday for $25! pink Vineyard Vines pants for $29! a wrap dress by Toast for $20!), I was moreso appalled by some of the heinous designs by some of my favorite designers.

Case in point. Theory. I love Theory. To me, it might be one of the most young professional, twenty-something, about to enter the job market appropriate brands that is available. To anyone who is trying to "mature" their wardrobe, I push them towards the Theory racks at Neimans or any major department store. I find steals (because really, what twenty-something who enters the job force can afford a $350 blazer by Theory when you can find it at Filenes Basement for $30?) at discount stores and wear them to pieces. I have blazers, skirts, tops -- oh and their stretchy tank tops? They're amazing. However, some of the pieces that I found on the racks yesterday hurt my heart -- maybe a little less because, I do understand, they're at Marshalls or wherever, but still, that means at one time, not too long ago (some of it as recently as this past summer, or still sold for full price online, because I remember seeing it then and saying 'ew'), they were on the racks of a Neimans, Saks, Bloomies. I tried on one purple blouse that looked like a Hefty bag that Barney threw up after a night of drinking. One dress looked like it belonged to a woman on the Mayflower (and not in that quasi-cute Blair Waldorf pilgrim bow way). One pair of pants looked like it was made out of my mothers' windbreaker, circa 1982. Ick. Ew. Gag.

It really does make me think, 'What were they thinking?' We all have questionable fashion moments - for me it was when I cut my hair short and went through a flowy skirt phase (but didn't we all?). I wore graphic tees and ripped jeans as an Abercrombie & Fitch employee, but still looked cute (I think?). My efforts don't go unnoticed, but I can't say the same for some of the designers I find while shopping on a Tuesday night. Please fashion world, hear my plea. Lose the bright fabrics, I don't want to look like Big Bird. Give me a top that makes me look like I have some sort of shape - don't just cut two squares and think I'm good to go. And please, please, please do something about these matronly collars. It's 2008 for crying out loud, I'm not looking to look like I just rolled onto Plymouth Rock for Thanksgiving.



Oh readers, it's been awhile. I'm back from vacay and in the office. Here are some links to satisfy you during your lunch hour.

It's Tuesday, and you know what this means. All hail the Daily Intel! Need another GG recap? Thank you Gawker!

No honestly, where do they find these people?

The economic situation hits privileged teenagers hard too -- welcome to real life kids. I heard that the Abercrombie I used to work at is hiring...

So either they're incredibly on, or really off? Can someone please clear this up?

I saw the sign in 1994, and will again in 2009.

YouTube doesn't heart Britney.

Another teen mag bites the dust.

Did you miss The Hills last night? That so means you missed Audrinas kind of sort of nip-slip!

You say I'm crazy, I got your crazy

I cannot lie. I have been waiting for this comeback for years. Since before the shaved head incident, and the disaster-ridden interview with Matt Lauer on Dateline NBC. I have been waiting for Brit-Brit to get her act together, get her hair looking good, and be the pop princess I idolized throughout my middle and high school years. Thank god, it seems like she's back (and I knock on wood as I say this).

Over the past few days, temporarily freed from the everyday tasks of my job, I found the new video for Womanizer on YouTube. I missed the premiere which was, oddly enough, on 20/20 the other night, but figured it's for the better since YouTube gives the extended, "uncensored" video. A few observations I have...

1.) P and I both agree that the video is Toxic version 2.0. Even the guy in the video (the womanizer, I assume), looks to be the same actor. Maybe the only way to truly get back into the swing of Brit's hayday is to actually go back in time. If the video seems oddly remincient of 2003 or so, then so can our memories -- to a time before Kevin Federline, babies, acting like white trash -- you get the jist.

2.) Also with the look of the video, Britney's look has somehow reverted back to 2003. How she can somehow look as good as she did four years ago, I do not know. The hair. The makeup. The body (has anyone else seen those sauna scenes?!). I can't even work off 5 freakin' pounds. Some people have all the luck.

3.) Britney with a black haired bob < href="http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1596736/20081009/spears_britney.jhtml">this in late November. An exclusive documentary? Britney finally talking about everything? Finally, the television special I've been waiting for. Let's hope she bashes her mother's tell-all book (I know I would).


Staged Reality?

Now now, I'm not insulting anyone's intelligence. We're all aware of certain "reality" shows that aren't so much reality. When it comes to The Hills, I don't mind. But there is a crop of reality shows on MTV that I watch on these days off that I have, and, well, I'm confused as to how I could even possibly see these shows as real. I mention my most laughable, unrealistic, favorites here.

Parental Control. I would like to see any set of parents willing to sit down with a heinous boyfriend that they despise. I would like to see any boyfriend that's a total jackass (that's believeable) that's willing to sit down and watch me date, kiss (and probably do other stuff) with two other guys (not so believeable). I'd also like to see a slew of teenagers who all, somehow, break the news of choosing one of three partners in the exact same scripted fashion. Yes, complete with even the same dramatic sigh before saying the last eliminated name. Oh boy. What coincedence. Even it's participants admit it's staged. Whatever happened to NDA's???

The Ex-Factor. I will not lie. I am completely and totally sucked into this show. I dont know how anyone watching it can actually believe that these two couples ever thought that this was an actual 'resort' they were going to, or that we're supposed to believe that this ever-smiling woman that always brings bad news ("So, your partners are going pole dancing today as an afternoon activity!") is an actual resort worker. I also don't know how we are to believe that this resort never has anyone else around, actually has dinners set up on cheap patio furniture in the middle of an infinity pool, or actually somehow has such survillance for this spying on the ex'es. Regardless, the idea of this is absolutely killer. What would I do if I was with my ex for a weekend (and didn't think I was being spied on)? What would my boyfriend do with his ex? What would I do with the guy I'd be in the room with if I just saw my boyfriend cheat on me with his ex? Yeah -- I think the reality might be better than MTV's staged setup on this one. But wait, if this is staged - then was Temptation Island staged? I feel as though my entire television past as a child was all a sham. It's like realizing that the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny all don't exist. Who else brings me my Mini Eggs every Easter Sunday?!

Finally, the show I can't figure out if it's real or not. The new Dr. Drew hosted, Sex With Mom & Dad. I can't imagine: 1.) being on this show, 2.) telling the story of my sex life to my parents, 3.) my parents EVER reacting this calmly to such news -- we all can think of how my old-fashioned, conservative parents took the news when they found out I was having sex. Period. All of a sudden, these parents aren't about to strangle their kids when they find out that they have a million and one partners? Had sex in the back of their Jetta? Has an admitted 'hatred towards women?' How about the girl who is 19, is having sex with her boyfriend (no biggie) but has not used protection. First, is this girl stupid? Even the worst public school sex education show at least a condom? Doesn't it? Even Sarah Palin now endorses contraception -- although, she might not be the best expert of talking to your kids about sex...

Maybe the parents of today's teenagers have a much more relaxed mindset than my sixty-something year old parents, but I would not even want to think of my daddy's reaction if I had to play the 'What turns you on?' game with them on national television (as it is I got nervous talking about making out in elevators knowing P's mom reads the blog! [Sorry for any offense, by the way!]). No thank you, no. Although, I do give this show some major props for, staged or not, promoting such conversations within families. It can do some (or rather, most,) families some good, and might make talking about sex a bit more productive than it has been in the past. I know that I sure hope for more openness when it comes to my hypothetical children and I.


Preachings of a 20-something...

On my way to work today, I saw an older man in a flashy red sports car. I always thought the whole buying a little red sports car during a mid-life crisis was one of those myths…you know, the kind that well-meaning aunts tell you, like when they warn you of the dangers of swallowing fruit-pits: “You don’t want a little tree growing in your belly, now do you?” (that one had me scared for years I tell you)
It got me thinking though, what exactly IS a mid-life crisis?
Sociologist Daniel Shek, in a 1996 study, defined (no, I am not making this up) a mid-life crisis as the desire to "reappraise previous life structures with an eye to making revisions while there is still time."…In that way, it is not momentary madness but rather, a moment of sudden clarity. The moment you realize…time is running out. I don't know about you, but that seems pretty scary to me.
Having just gone through a mini-crisis in my life (a quarter life crisis?) I have had some experience. As fresh graduates (can I still use that term 9 months later?) we often linger in a stage of constant indecision and ambivalence. After spending 4 (or 4 and 1/2) solid years at school doing everything with the main aim of graduating, I found myself at a thoroughly unclimatic and undramatic culmination to school-life. "That's it?' I wondered, tehtering on the cusp of entering the so-called "real world."
Maybe I had missed out on my epiphany, I thought. I still hadn't quite figured out "what to do with my life," so how could I be graduating already?

I moved back home and spent a few months living happily 'lost in transition,' the transition between full-time college student and full-time working woman.
It was good for the first few months...my most arduous task involved my movement out of bed and onto the couch. I loved it - catching up on months of trashy daytime television, having good food readily prepared (and not having to worry how it got there), clean clothes (and no need to do laundry myself)...I was surprisingly complacent living in limbo.
"Just waiting for my life to begin," I would laughing tell friends who would check in about my future job (and generally, life) prospects.
And therein lay my biggest problem - my crisis waiting to happen.
This is it guys, your life. You can't just sit around waiting for shit to happen - you have to make it happen. Sorry to go all Oprah on you. But this is my Miranda moment - I've seen the light and feel the need to spread the gospel. The way I see it, you can continue being passive about the things that are happening to you or you can just make the decisions you need to make and really start living your life.

Didn't Your Mom Teach You Better Than To Curse In Public?

I take a short, time out, from my days off from work (and supposedly away from the ever-needed technological needs from my life), to state something that oddly bothers me as I continue to age. Tonight, I saw courtside at the preseason opening game for the Boston Celtics. Behind me, sat a father (although could be grandfather), a child of about 14 and a child of about 7. All guys. The would-be fourteen year old, for the three hours that I sat there for, continued to use each four letter word that my mother still -- to this day -- tells her almost twenty-three year old to not use. Such four letter words, that although I use them, I do not type out here, in any other column I write, or say around younger, seven-year-old family members.

Now, I don't know if it's the maternal kick in my nudging through again or what, but I wanted to scold this kid so badly. I have the seven-year-old behind me screaming about twinkies (don't even get me started here - but am I that obvious??) and then a fourteen-year-old saying f-bombs right and left. I went to watch Paul Pierce. Not this. The father/grandfather/Santa Claus lookalike? Did not say anything. Do anything. No scolding. No nothing. Appalling.

Maybe my focus should be on all of the college aged students at tonight's game, being drunken fools, and also shouting the f-bomb, but it's not. I have low expectations for college-aged men (for good reason, I think). I cannot possibly think of a locale where my mom (or father) would see it as appropriate for me, circa age 14, to be dropping such vulgar language.

I wish I had a bar of soup with me in my Kate Spade bag tonight.

On the interweb...

Would you like a side of chauvinism with that?

What kind of saree would a female gangsta wear? And now you know!

Are you a meat-eating vegetarian? This makes me think of Charlotte.

In a (hopefully true) new book, the author reveals what it was like to be a (fake) young male writer

Desis for Obama! I want a t-shirt!

Healthy debates on religion/politics are always welcome...such as this looking at facebook and Islam. But guess what is not okay...this!

Questionable Fashion Choices By The Boston Community

Yesterday, in light of the brisk fall weather, I channeled my inner Blair Waldorf into my outfit for work. Juicy Couture gold ballet flats. Black leggings. Deep purple knee length pleated skirt (satin! by The Limited!). Sleeveless Tahari black top and a black blazer. I threw a thick purple headband through my newly dyed jet black hair, grabbed my Coach suede gallery tote and left to make a Red Line subway to work. I am not two steps out of my front door when I see a construction worker, staring at me (and my Blair Waldorf outfit) -- and it wasn't a glance. It was a stare, as I walked, his head moved. Throughout my half a hour commute, I found that these stares came frequent and often. From men and women. Women looked at me almost in disgust. I was, and still am, kind of shocked by this.

Shocked, but unsurprising, maybe. After reading this article in Boston Magazine, I severely question the fashion choices that the Boston-area women (and men) are making. Case in point. This morning on the Green Line, I saw a girl no taller than I (I graze 5'0"), hop on the train in full emo gear. Pencil leg jeans - in black. Converse All Stars. Black jacket that looks like a five-year-old bought it. But the kicker of the outfit choice was the headband that she wore around her head. Kind of like a halo. It looked like the head decorations babies wear, because they have no hair to hold back an actual headband. No one (except for me) batted an eye at this girl as she stood on the T - complete with glistening silver headware. I've seen women wear those Asian slide on mesh slippers (you know what I'm talking about, right?) all over the city. Their cheap beads fall off as they walk -- at least they'll know their way home if they get lost. I've seen women wearing jeans that expose thongs of women too old to be wearing such undergarments. And yet. I get looks for my nice work appropriate outfit.

Call me an elitist, but I want to start yelling, 'MY SHIRT IS BY REBECCA BEESON' or 'THESE ARE LAST SEASON, CANNOT FIND AGAIN FLATS.' I've never been so amazed at the lack of fashion knowledge in a city before. The last time I felt as though I had to dress down was in college, where even then, girls could respect the meaning of Juicy Couture sweats. This city might be a historic one, but I think a small dose of New York wouldn't hurt in the couture department.


Now before I head out of town for the rest of the week (sorry lovely readers, but P's gonna have to be the source for writing for much of the next few days), I'll leave you with these few gems of stories.

Now, if they can only make this work for cell phones and text messages. I'm all set. Bring on another round!

Were you watching the Red Sox last night too? Here's what you missed on The Hills.

Wanna be a journalist? You know you want to be just like me and P.

It's true. This show taught me all I needed to ever know.

Yet another recession-friendly food that I've always liked to eat. What can I say, I'm a cheap date.

Missed SNL? Here you go, all hail Tina Fey.


Mean Girls

Girl on girl crimes.

I stumbled across this a few days ago during my daily ritual of checking out websites for my early morning news fix. In short, it is a rambling monologue on "Why some women hate Sarah Palin."
Sure, I am no fan of Ms. Palin but this article just made me mad and reminded me of all the mean girls I've encountered in my life (not that many, thankfully!)

The writer lists three main reasons for why women hate Ms. Palin, and they are:

- She's too pretty
- She's too confident
- She could embarass us

Do I really need to say anything? The ridiculousness of the fact that she might be hated (as a politician) for being too pretty or too confident is simply beyond me.

"...never to discount the ability of women to open a robust, committed, well-thought-out vat of hatred for another girl."

"Women are weapons-grade haters. Hillary Clinton knows it. Palin knows it too. When women get their hate on, they don't just dislike, or find disfavor with, or sort of not really appreciate. They loathe — deeply, richly, sustainingly."

Now, I am not really sure who appointed this writer to be the rep. for all of womankind but her statements do not encapsulate my own personal reasons for my 'intense dislike' of Ms. Palin as a VP candidate. I am not a fan of her politics (surprise, surprise), and she is sorely mistaken if she believes she has foreign policy experience because she can "see Russia from Alaska!"
She was picked in a sexist attempt to appeal to women voters but guess what, if the race to the White House was anything like the Apprentice, she would have been FIRED!
This is one of those articles written simply in the hopes of making a splash...and it does (making headlines on cnn.com and yahoo.com)...but more in the way that one ungracefully belly-flops into the pool of serious news analysis.

Clinch. Enough said.

I scream, You Scream (and so does Jonathan Papelbon)

I just found this linked off of the Boston Magazine's daily blog. To keep this post on the fast track to the point, please read this ever important passage.

"How does the closer feel about the idea of pitching on Monday?
'Question mark…I’m going to come to the field (Monday) to find out. We’ll see,' said Papelbon, who then asked reporters whether he had chocolate ice cream on his face."

To set the frantic tone of the importance of the initial question. The Sox were up in the series against the Angels 2-0. Best of 5 series. They could have swept it last night, but instead, lost 5-4 in 12 innings. The Sox only beat the Angels once all season long, but maintained some sort of ridiculous string of post-season wins against them. After winning two on the road, they lost at Fenway, made me get not enough sleep, and caused all of Boston to give a melodious groan at 1am last night. Lowell is hurt like an old man, and you know he's not playing tonight. Papelbon threw for two innings again last night, putting him in the 'question mark' status.

The Sox need to pull through tonight, because otherwise, it's game 5, back on the road. We don't want to risk having to win another away game, against a team that kicked our butt for the better part of the season. I dont want to have to stay up for another West Coast game (hello 10pm start time). Please, don't put me through this kind of emotional turmoil.

However, what is on Papelbon's mind? Not the fact that we're a win away from going onto the ALCS. Not tonight. But his chocolate ice cream? Part of it is lovable -- he's just like that college guy you probably had a crush on. Kind of goofy. Good at sports. Nice blonde hair and -- well -- we know of Papelbon's best asset. But seriously though, what was he doing eating ice cream? It was well near 35 degrees outside when the game finally ended last night. Wasn't he cold? Is ice cream what he uses to ease his broken soul after an extra inning loss? Why would he ask reporters if he had it on his face - this is a clear cry for a need for a girlfriend to answer these questions for him, and not the WEEI reporters.

Oh well, I guess. As long as he saves me a bite. I'm partical to sprinkles.


Are we hypocritical prudes?

This past weekend, I was graced with the presence of a quasi-sick boyfriend and a Degrassi: The Next Generation on MTV. Now, I've never quite got into Degrassi - the N was always too high up in the cable channels and I always found something else to watch before flipping to channel 246 or whatever it is. Regardless, on a lazy Sunday morning, I figured I'd give it a shot.

To my surprise, I found in the first 10 minutes of the first episode that I watched -- the girl that plays Annie in 90210, drug use, nudie photos (of a minor!) posted online, internet cyberstalking, sex, a high school dropout boyfriend that just got released from jail, drinking tequila at a birthday party -- oh and whoever "Mascot Boy" is -- he got shanked while trying to open his car door (at the tequila filled birthday party) and died.

All of these storylines sound oddly (or not so oddly) as inticing, and oh so scandalous as its' American teenage drama cousins, Gossip Girl or 90210. Only Degrassi shows everyday high schoolers (who don't live in hotels, attend private school or drive around in limos), struggling with these issues that mainstream America cries scandal over. It shows real kids with real issues - and that is probably why it lasts 7+ seasons. It's probably why Degrassi isn't a show, it's a freakin' franchise -- multiple tv series, books, internet specials. On it's Wikipedia page, I see little to no discussion of parent complaint - which leads me to think of every teenage show that family groups here in the US cry foul on. Dawson's Creek. Felicity. Gossip Girl. For the love of bejezzus, why are Americans on such high and mighty moral ground when it comes to teen shows? Why boohoo over sex in high schools and not see the connection to advertising campaigns like this that go without blame?

Is it Canada's European influence that causes the approval (or at least, understanding) of such teenage shows? Are issues openly discussed via dinnertable discussions with Mom and Dad? Do they walk by Abercrombie and Fitch billboards of mens' sock-stuffed crotches and have the same reaction as us? Moreso, how is it alright for us in the US to have this out of sight, out of mind thought with all of these issues? Just because parents complain about Serena Van Der Woodsen drinking a Belevedere vodka martini on an awkward double date with her ex doesn't mean that doesn't happen, or cease it from happening. Somehow I think the Canadians might be right about something other than universal health care.



It's Friday! Start your weekend with a little bit of online gossip reading.
Just in case you missed the VP debate last night, here's a roundup. Oh and Palin's wink.

"Ms. Palin tried to contradict him, but the most memorable part of her answer was that she got the general’s name wrong."

Apparently recessions are only for poor people? Long live $1900 antlers.

As we all do, Rachel Zoe.

Can these tips really ward off the sniffles? Another reason for me to bribe backrubs out of my boyfriend.

You know I'll be one of these parents one day.

My sixth grade English teacher would be throwing a fit over this.

Gee, because this really sets me more at ease about Palin.

Well, duh.



I recently found this on my favorite local, Boston-based blog, and it got me starting to think. Everyone overshares now. Maybe not to the extent of the crazy guy who posted his own death announcement, but look at our Facebook accounts. Email addresses. Cell phone numbers. Favorite colors, books, relationship statuses. Everyone knows I love to talk and have some hefty opinions on issues that many in my parents' generation consider "private matters," (cue my mother's hushed tone of voice). Abortion, contraception, preference of cell phone providers.

(Sidenote: midnight blue, Confessions of a Shopaholic, in a relationship [happily], pro-choice, I'm on it and T-Mobile -- for the record.)

My mother never shares such information for fear of insulting someone else. Or being judged. She plays nice and acts nice, even if she agrees to disagree. Also for the record, she never actually agrees to disagree, she'll still think you're an idiot, and just not say so. I on the other hand, will say so. This generation of young adults are a bit spunkier than that of the 1950s and 60s.

But it's just not about being opinionated, now is it? It's about sharing it all online, on the internet, for everyone and anyone to see or read. Social networking sites. Blogs. MySpace. Flickr accoutns. It's a bit ironic posting of all things, a blog post (that will be filtered through to my own Facebook account so my friends, friendimies, co-workers, and people I downright don't like [why are we Facebook friends anyway?!] can read it) on this topic. The huge case in point that glares out in my mind is the current trend of online PostSecret sharing. There are entire blogging communities where people simply share their secrets -- and there's intense stuff. Stuff I'd need some serious Zoloft just to read in one sitting. Molestation secrets. Rape secrets. Pregnancy secrets. Cheating secrets. This isn't lofty, 'I like so and so and we slept together,' stuff but some heavy information just floating around in the world of the internet. Do these secret writers know that some bored girl at work in Boston is reading their secrets? And hotlinking their secrets to a blog? Do they even care? And why is it so acceptable for everyone to anonymously post all this (sometimes horrific) stuff that they've done? And moreso, is it okay that anything that's written is totally okay if it's untraceable to the everyday person and has no known person behind it?

Maybe my mom was on the right track of keeping stuff to herself.


On the interweb...

In these troubled times, NYT thinks it would do us all good to think like a college student

These shoes weren't made for walkin'

Orientalism at New York Fashion Week

Politics of fashion: The hijab (headscarf)

It's a dog's life

Could this be the worst Bollywood film ever? This reviewer seems to think so!

The Most Wonderful Time Of Year

No, not Christmas. Not fall clothing season. Not the impending long Columbus Day weekend. No, no, when you're a girl born and bred in the Boston area (especially as of late), the best time of year happens in early October. Soxtober, to be exact. Red Sox playoff season is here, and it starts tonight. 10pm (EST) vs. the Angels. The roster is set and I am giddier than a little girl on Christmas Eve.

Forget the fact that it's a Wednesday night, and that my alarm will go off at the ungodly hour of 6:45am tomorrow for work. Forget that I am bound to have a few too many Coronas at Cask'n Flagon tonight. And forget the fact that half of those beers will probably be spilled on my new, green, Varitek t-shirt. It's the playoffs, and I finally get to be in Boston for all of it. My Dad would be appalled if I go about the next few weeks any other way. Dad (and Mom, but definitely Dad) raised me to be a Red Sox fan. Yankees are evil, Fenway Park is sacred and the Red Sox are the only team worth being frenzied over.

There are baby photos of me, being held by my Dad, on the not-so-great night of the 1986 World Series (let's not mention what happened that night). I sat -- or more like slouched -- in Dad's lap, hardly 10 months old, in a Boston Red Sox onesie.

Another photo, cerca 4 years old, next to my brother Ryan in a high chair. He wears a baby sized Boston Red Sox cap. I wear a new Red Sox jacket -- I remember wanting that jacket so badly. It looked like one that the players wore, and I knew that made it cool. I lived in it, and wore it to shreads. Until the white and red threads of the Red Sox logo started stringing apart. I cried my eyes out.

In 2004, the Red Sox won the World Series during my first few weeks at UMass. I threw on my pink Red Sox hat, and ran out the door of my dorm to go celebrate with some other 17,000 college undergraduates. My mom thought of my grammie-- afterall, it was her that stayed a fan for her entire life and never saw them win. For Mom, the Red Sox mean something far more than parades and trophies and curses and overpriced tickets.

I flirted with boys in college who started conversation after seeing my baseball made Red Sox bracelet (I wore them way before they were popular, cheap, and at every tourist shop in Fanueil Hall). I went on dates to watch games, wished there were classes I could take on just Boston culture and the Sox, and cut classes last fall to see the celebratory parade. I still don't date men that wear Yankees hats (sorry boys, it's an automatic dealbreaker), and my boyfriend is fairly assured that in the rare occasion that I see Jacoby Ellsbury out anywhere, I'm allowed and obligated to have a hot, steamy tryst.

It's October 1st, and we are once again in post-season games. Excuse me while I try not to smile too much behind my desk at work. Is it 10pm yet?



Being halfway through the week feels oh so good. Also so good? More news to fill my mind.

TABLOID COVER WEDNESDAY. WOOHOO. My favorite day of the week.

For those who missed it and weren't there with me, shame on you.

See! I'm not the only one eating only mac & cheese lately!

Sigh. Maybe one day my name will be on this list. Hey, a girl can dream.

This country is so effed up.

Wow, Palin, you must have so much spare time in your igloo to read all magazines and newspapers, huh? Clearly all that intellectual reading made you believe that you could actually be a conservative feminist. Oh dear.

Spencer. Sucks. Newsflash in case you missed The Hills!

See, one night without cable and I miss shows like this.

Oneeee more Gossip Girl roundup for the week.


Comcast Is My Best Backstabbing Friend

I would put up a roundup of Tuesday night television (90210, in particular), but right at 8:01pm last night, my Comcast (and that of all my neighbors) decided to die. Not a single channel came in. No On Demand selection. Nothing. Just a black screen in my living room and snow-like static (think, a la The Ring) in my bedroom. It was the worst thing to have happened to me since... well, I can't quite remember. That went down, my internet went down. Comcast, you are my biggest nightmare ever since I moved in two months ago.

That being said, prior to the cable blackout (which makes me think of Brit-Brit's album, Blackout, only that album was fantastic, and this was the pits of an experience) I was enjoying my HBO On Demand selection -- I could only take so much dinnertime news about the spiraling downward sprial of my nations' economy before I needed a break (or CNN was going to induce a panic attack in me as I started to wonder how I would ever keep on affording Tory Burch bags, pretty dresses -- oh right, and food like my beloved mac & cheese -- and, oh right, that pesky thing called rent).

Now I took an advertising/media class back during my sophomore year of college. As the professor criticized mainstream media, he stated that the only television with any validity, meaning and substance (as far as shows go) are those that he's seen on HBO. I'd like to include Showtime in this selection now as well (hello, has no one else seen Californication? It's great, although the first time I saw it, I was sitting with my possible mother-in-law and it was just, uh, awkward.) as well. Anyway, HBO recently put the first season of Six Feet Under up for my viewing pleasure. Now, also during the timeframe of my media class, my then-boyfriend and I became quickly obsessed with Six Feet Under. Our relationship lasted as long as we could make our way through four seasons on DVD (spread out, have no fear, I can hold onto a man for longer than a few weeks, thank you very much). I never did get to the fifth (and final) season after the tumultuous breakup. Now, hopefully HBO can give me the fifth season via my handy On Demand button, but until then, I'll settle for the early episodes. I forgot how cute Nate Fisher is, how much Brenda is like me, and how hilarious Ruth Fisher is. There goes my weeknights that I have free.

No Comment?

It is no secret that M. and I spend the better half of our time online scouring countless blogs, web zines, mags & newspapers online etc. We are constantly sending each other links on topics we find interesting and then breaking them down (sometimes not-so-intelligently...but there is only so far you can intellectualize The Hills & GG)

Our blog is basically an offshoot of our tendencies to over-think and over-analyze pop culture (and the world around us)...which is why we would really value your comments.

It may not come as a surprise that we are our own blog's biggest fans but we also know we have loyal readers (you know who you are, even if you read us simply because you are our best friend or ahem our mother). A lot of the blog so far reads as a conversation between M. and I, and while that will continue, dear reader, it would certainly be nice to get YOUR thoughts/opinions/comments to make our little contribution to the blogosphere even more meaningful.

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