The basic definition of a stereotype is “an oversimplified conception: an oversimplified standardized image of a person or group.” We all know stereotyping is BAD. Not all Asians are smart, not all Native Americans are violent alcoholics and not all Mexicans airbrush Jesus on their El Caminos. On the other hand, most every Irish person I know does like to drink, so go figure.
For the purposes of this post, it is important to point out that NOT ALL ITALIANS ARE GUIDOS, ok? But unlike most negative stereotypes where people generally try to disprove the image, there is a subculture of Italian-Americans who embrace the image of the Guido, believe its a great thing and really don’t seem to care about what anyone else thinks about it.
On MTV’s new phenomenon “Jersey Shore”, they take a bunch of Guidos and Guidettes and put them on display for all the world to judge as superficial morons. While we are all aware of their existence (at least in NY/NJ),  we rarely would ever get the chance to judge them so closely without getting a pinky ring to the face.  It’s almost like watching a dangerous group of rare sharks you could never get close to in reality but always heard about.  There has been a lot of hoopla about this show encouraging a “negative” Italian stereotype. I think MTV is definitely exploiting this group of people and their behavior/looks/cultural interests (jaegermeister and self tanner, I believe) as a joke. Yet I dont believe that anyone of the people on this show views themselves as a bad example of an Italian person, though.  I am from New Jersey and I can tell you that the Guidos take themselves very, very seriously. Within their closed community, they truly believe they look amazing, sound cool and are very cutting edge. They spend a lot of time on personal health and maintenance and like to dance and have fun. What is negative about that? MTV created a bullshit environment with Italian flags and Cadillac symbols painted everywhere that screams Italian idiots live there, not just run of the mill douchebags.

Put it to you this way: If MTV had a show called “Murray Hill” and showed a bunch of Jewish college graduates living in the Rivergate with big stars of David painted on the walls and dreidels spinning from the ceiling, with the girls wearing Jimmy Choo sandals while fighting over which Essie nail polish color is the best I would be offended by the show’s portayal of my people, not because it isn’t true to a certain degree.

PS. I never lived in the Rivergate, so eff off.

Um, please don’t make that show, MTV… although I would totally watch it.

We all know by now my feelings about Billy Corgan. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard this little shit nugget of information which just put me on suicide watch: Jessica Simpson and Billy Corgan may possibly be an item. In a relationship. Having sex.
You know, I don’t really understand Billy’s taste in women. Everytime I think he’s gone and done it with one stupid hag or another  he completely goes in an opposite, yet equally unattractive direction. (except for Helena Christensen, which I totally supported-if we can’t be together, he should at least be with a glamorous supermodel that is waaaaaay out of my league).

I can almost understand Courtney Love- she was probably a great source of drugs, and her antics most likely kept him laughing for days. I can MAYBE even wrap my head around Tila Tequila- who else will toss your salad and invite other girls along for the ride?

But Jessica?? A faded C-list 90’s pop star who slept with both Nick Lachey AND Bam Margera, which is basically equivalent to mixing white zinfandel and 100 proof Everclear??? I dont know what these two even TALK about!!!! Here’s a topic: How about the fact that you both were minimally popular for different reasons and are both totally and utterly uninteresting by today’s standards and the only thing about either one of you that is remotely REMOTELY interesting is that you are possibly touching genitals. So there!!!

Sorry Billy for being so harsh. Consider this an intervention. 

Stop. You had me at “Dr. Drew”. 
Obviously, Celebrity Sex Rehab on Vh1 is like a dream come true for me: Tears, fighting, people going to group therapy in their robes, dirty secrets, strictly enforced bans on masturbation…I mean, does it get any better??? *
I am under the impression that the term “sex addict” is relatively new. Back in the day we used to call people perverts and nymphos, but apparently that was just ignorant. These people have uncontrollable sexual urges and it’s a sickness that needs to be cured. Leave it to some Z-level celebrities you have never heard of unless you have been dumpster diving in the porn discount bin at your local video store to blow the lid off this hidden epidemic.  Obviously VH1 is using the term “celebrity” loosely, because I really have never heard of one of the people on this show–but it doesn’t make it less awesome watching one of them try to convince their friends to smuggle in their vibrator on visiting day. Sure, it would be a lot cooler if it was someone like Winona Ryder or Lindsay Lohan (two people I can totally picture there), but  I’ll take what I can get. Thankfully there is no one too old or disgusting on this show, which just proves that if you are young and generally un-ugly, people will not be revolted by your promiscuity and pervy face. Bring Gary Busey into the mix and it’s a whole other creepy story.
Don’t get me wrong. There are sad and horrible reasons why some of these people are in this predicament in the first place. I just don’t see why it’s necessary to publicly broadcast this kind of personal information for gossip hounds and TV retards (such as myself) to use it for entertainment. If you want to make a difference then go to a high school and talk about it, not basic cable at 10 pm after “Rock of Love”. If you want me to eat old Halloween candy and become mesmorized by your acne scars and count how many cigarettes you smoke while painting your emotions on a T-shirt, then please CARRY ON!!!

*The answer is YES, “Jersey Shore” is starting on MTV on Thursday! Holy Shit, this week is gonna be AWESOME!!!.

Apparently the best thing since sliced meatloaf with a heaping side of mashed potatoes is “The Biggest Loser”, an inspirational television program that shows how a group of overweight Americans shed the 300 pounds they gained over the last 20 years by working out 15 hours a day while living in a hermetically sealed ranch with relentless trainers and professionally made organic food.
I’m all for a show with a positive message. Not really, but it sure passes the time while I wait for a new episode of “The Hills” to start. Quite frankly, I have a problem with the entire message of the show if we’re being honest here. First of all, since when is exposing one’s pancake size nipples really necessary in order to promote health and healing? Can’t people get weighed in behind a curtain or something? Or wear skin tight unitards , maybe with advertising on it? 

Another reason I think the show sucks is that it is completely unrealistic to expect average folks to do these extreme exercises in everyday life. I have yet to see the person climbing up an escalator the wrong way with 40 pound sand bags attached to their belts or pulling boulders through the dessert with a defibrillator stashed nearby. Although sometimes this old Asian guy in my neighborhood runs through the streets without shoes on. He’s like a local hero.
Finally (and most importantly) the contestants are WAY too emotional. Look, I know that it’s really trying to withdraw from sugar and not be able to comfort yourself with a few enchiladas and a box of wine when you’re feeling blue, but everyone is crying all the time for no good reason whatsoever. Whenever it’s time to send someone home, every single person gets hysterical. You would think they were shipping a person off to Treblinka instead of back home to face their fully stocked refrigerators and TGIFriday’s coupon book based on these reactions. The person just goes home! At least they can take solace in the fact that the better part of America won’t see their floppy boobies anymore. Really— how do you go back to work after doing THAT? If I was a contestant’s coworker, I would constantly be all like “I’m really proud of Donald, but I never had any idea how big his tits really were!” Sorry, I’m an asshole.
I commend these people for exposing themselves inside and out for the sake of improving their lives, as well as letting NBC exploit their pain and suffering to promote the benefits of 24 hour gym facilities and Jillian Michaels’ workout videos .  If they can do it, then so can you! Just keep your shirts on, por favor!

For me the biggest shocker of the past week is not that Mackenzie Phillips willingly had sex with her own father, but that she actually gets laid. And consequently fucked a famous person, who just happened to be her father.
Not only that, but she “allegedly” also had sex with Mick Jagger in the late 70’s after a drug induced tuna fish sandwich making episode (I’m not joking). Initial thoughts: What could be more disgusting than screwing an 88 lb acne scarred Shelly Duvall lookalike with tuna breath? I keep telling myself that Mick must have mistaken her for Ronnie Wood. This scenario makes sense at least.
Back to the incest. Drugs can obviously drive a man to do wrong, wrong, very wrong things. If the claims are true, then Papa John Phillips was a terribly messed up individual. I mean, if he was going to try to screw around with any of his kids, why not Chynna, the pretty one?

Drugs really DO fuck with your senses, people.

I admit, Mackenzie has a pretty intriguing story to tell. I personally find the genre of “1970’s B list TV actress with a history of drug abuse and sexual confusion compounded by a raging jealousy of Valerie Bertinelli” compelling. I will probably read every article on subject. Entertainment Tonight has already blown the dust off of every Bonnie Franklin interview from 1981, and even showed an excruciating segment of Eddie Van Halen and Valerie celebrating their 1st wedding anniversary while wearing matching head bands.
The truth is this-Mackenzie Phillips wrote a memoir no one would read outside of her AA sponsor and maybe Schneider from “One Day at a Time.” Revealing a major scandal involving a dead guy who can’t defend himself (or concur) is a genius maneuver in becoming relevant again. You gotta appreciate the spirit of a washed up fame whore. Someone who is not afraid to air dirty laundry at any expense, possibly make up some shit, maybe even ruin your family’s life (and in this case, your father’s musical legacy)in order to get some face time. So what if everyone thinks you are an immoral perverted skank deviant sicko? You got on Oprah!!

Everyone get ready, because tonight the CW gives the world another reason to get blue balls over a teen vampire in its new series “The Vampire Diaries.” I’m sure there are hordes of 35 year old women right now rushing the Asti Spumanti section of their local liquor store in anticipation for the big event. (Hey ladies! I find that a nice Monkey Bay does the trick..its on sale at the local wine store and I just bought 3 bottles myse-) ehem.

Of course I am going to watch. Of course I read all 4 Twilight books and have a sad crush on Robert Pattison and sometimes wish I could buy a Tiger Beat magazine and tear out his centerfold and put it over my bed. I thought I was better than that, but I’m not. Totally no.

But the big question for me remains: What is the deal with the teenage vampire/ high school storyline? I comprendo that being a perpetually beautiful and virile 18 year old is ideal. YET. If I was an eternal teenager do you think I would waste my time going to Chemistry class or listening to a bunch of children plan a prom????? Hell to the NO! Sure, I would want to give it a whirl for like 2 weeks. Of course everyone would think I was a narc, being new and weird and all (everytime a kid came to my high school mid year, they were immediately considered a narc and needed to be avoided at all costs, I digress). I would shake things up a little, torture some snobs, flirt with some jocks, sit at the Korean Power table and not be afraid. But once I get a homework assignment or someone wanted me to “pay attention”,  I would be on a midnight train to NYC where I would become a fixture on the rave scene and prey on suburbanites doing drugs in the bathroom stalls of dance clubs. I’d be rich and live in the loft from “Big” and be a fashion and music muse and have a disturbing relationship with Billy Idol.

I dont know why all my fantasies take place in 1992.

ps. This cast blows and gives no noticable palpiations or tingles. Ian Somerhalder’s crosseyedness is going to drive me crazy and whoever casted the main dude needs to be fired. Can they quickly swap in Taylor Kitsch or something???

I guess I don’t have to tell you that I choked on my diet coke this morning when I read that “Heathers” was going to be made into a—-wait for it—- TV show!! Anyone over the age of 25 can punch the person sitting next to them now.
Obviously Hollywood has been trying to rehash and “modernize” some 80’s and early 90’s classics. These movies do not translate into modern teenage American society, sorry. Remakes like “Footloose” seem ridiculous now, but for some reason made total sense 25 years ago.(Sorry Chase Crawford, you are too pretty and borderline gay to pull off angsty dance-aholic  Ren McCormack. It’ll just look like a total coming out of the closet movie. Who is slated to play the rhythm impaired Chris Penn sidekick? One of those fat Zack and Codys? Ninja, PLEASE!!) You just can’t mess with the classics. YOU JUST CAN’T!!!!
This brings me to “Heathers”, the crown jewel of late 80’s teenage social politics movie. Basically, it’s about Veronica, a girl trying to fit in with a bunch of shoulder padded, shallow bitches who rule the school. Enter JD, (prime Christian Slater and my imaginary boyfriend for about 7 weeks in 1988) a badass lunatic who thinks killing the popular crowd is the best revenge. Soon they realize that in death these kids become even more loved and popular then they were in life (see: Michael Jackson). This is where I start to confuse this movie with “Pump Up the Volume.” Sorry.
Needless to say, I think that “Heathers” which spoofed bullying and suicide and blowing up your teenage enemies doesn’t exactly work in today’s climate when kids ACTUALLY do this kind of thing. When it originally came out, it was funny because it was a fantasy~a black comedy that made fun of teenagers’ insecurities and pent up anger. Something tells me the modern version will include lots of texting, MySpace harassment, Facebook hacking and possibly a CSI Miami storyline. Personally, I am against the whole idea. I don’t need another excuse to give Shannen Doherty a job (I anticipate her making an appearance as a guidance counselor) or to see some twink portray Christian Slater, probably the cutest deviant of my generation. I have an idea: if you want to make over an 80’s movie, how about Tootsie? Everyone loves a drag queen these days!!!
 

Hearing the news of John Hughes’ death last week put another nail in the proverbial coffin of my youth. First the King of Pop, now the King of the 80’s teen flick. Someone PLEASE put a red alert on Sebastian Bach, Bill Cosby, Sylvester Stallone, every Taylor from Duran Duran and Limahl from Kajagoogoo. I just can’t take another blow.

While all the Hughes movies were in heavy rotation this week, it occurred to me that no one ever seemed to give much consideration as to what happened to these characters AFTER the last, momentous, tear jerking, happily ever after kiss.

Sixteen Candles:

The legendary ending of this movie scarred me for life, giving me hope that a boy like Jake Ryan even existed, moreover that he would be leaning against his red Porsche waiting outside to see ME. So fine. Jake abandons his shallow, hot girlfriend for Molly Ringwald. They sit on a dining room table and kiss over a birthday cake. Then what?
What probably happens is that Samantha’s insecurities, annoying friends, glaring inexperience and eye rolling exasperation drive Jake crazy within the first week of hanging out. He quickly realizes that her size AA cotton blend Fruit of the Loom bra somehow doesn’t really match up with what he is used to and decides to go back to Carolyn. Its like he was tired of eating steak and just wanted to nibble a PB & J sandwich just to realize that it wasn’t as good as he remembered. Sorry, Molly. Redheads and hot guys never really work out.

Weird Science:

This movie ends with the two geeks totally confident, unnerded and dating the high school hotties. What happens after is that Lisa meets Steven Segall and gains 80 pounds, the hot girls wake up and realize that they just slept with Sophomore geeks and take scalding hot showers and immediately transfer to Jewish Day school. Gary and Wyatt are much more popular than they were, but fall from grace after another computer experiment they attempt goes awry when they accidentally create Bobby Trendy.
Chet dies during boot camp for first Gulf War.

Pretty in Pink:

Again, this ends with poor Molly Ringwald being kissed by rich BLANE and we are supposed to believe they live happily ever after? What happens after this is quite simple: Blane realizes he is gay, moves to East Hampton where he starts a Seersucker empire and haberdashery. Steff gets killed by his cocaine dealer/sometimes girlfriend named “Green Eyes” who claimed to be Pablo Escobar’s first cousin on her mom’s side. Andie’s deadbeat dad accidentally invents the Snuggie as he walked around his house wearing his comforter as a robe and they become crazy rich and move to Beverly Hills where Andie makes jewelry out of Snapple caps and sells them to Kitson. I’m still not sure about Duckie. I think he goes to New York and becomes a day shift janitor at The Limelight.

Any takes on Ferris Bueller? Some Kind of Wonderful? Breakfast Club???? Please advise.

ps. I had this jacket in 1983. 3rd grade was a really groundbreaking fashion year for me.

Obviously Michael Jackson’s death has been the big news this summer, narrowly edging out pandamonium in Iran and Demi Lovato being revealed as a cutter. The biggest shocker for me about his death was that the autopsy report said poor Michael was bald. BALD, JERRY. BALD. That must have been really effin’ scary to run into him in the middle of the night. Without his hair or nose on he must have looked like the Crypt Keeper. ZOINKS!

The upshot is that he was also listed as 5′10″ and a lean, mean 112lbs. I mean, where does a girl sign up for that? Note to self: Turn into a self medicating black guy STAT.

It’s been a few weeks since Michael Jackson died, and predictably Michael mania is everywhere. My local CVS is selling Michael Jackson CD’s at the register, right night to the Chapstix and eyeglass screwdrivers. Oh, America! I think the real reason people are so affected by his death is that we all feel a little bad for treating him so poorly, even if he had it coming. He never got a chance to vindicate himself, make a comeback, turn chocolatey again.   Regardless of where the truth lies about him and his shady past and unusual demeanor, it was really easy (and therefore enjoyable) to treat him like a soulless freak. The weirder he looked, the easier it was to consider him inhuman, unfeeling and possibly evil. I strongly believe that since its been confirmed  he was addicted to anesthesia for the past 20 years, its possible all his scandalous ”sleepovers” merely consisted of Michael laying in a quasi-coma next to a bunch of kids who were eating candy apples and playing Sega Genesis. Plus, if he’s guilty than so are the kids’ parents. No one lets their 10 year old son have a “playdate” with a 45 year old man. I mean, really.

The good news about his death is that his record sales are up, more people are moonwalking again, Tito and Jermaine are back on the scene, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross’s flat line careers just saw a little blip and Michael Jackson went from inhuman weirdo to misunderstood, tortured soul and loving dad.

What does Michael’s death teach us? Dont take your loved ones for granted. Always keep your i-pod full of classic American music. IV’s are not for home usage. Have an iron clad will. Tell your family to wear coordinating outfits to your funeral to express their solidarity even though most of them haven’t spoken to each other since 1987. And most importantly, do not, DO NOT die on the same day as a more impressive person. Sorry, Farrah and the other person I can’t remember. So sorry.

When I went to college there were special dorms and special floors for all different kinds of folks. For instance, we had a “clean living” floor somewhere for people who just said “NO” and really actually meant it. I never knew anyone who actually lived there, so perhaps it was a myth altogether. I mean, it is hard to believe that, how you say- this “clean” living arrangement actually existed. If it’s true, then I guess I lived in the dorm unofficially meant as “The Graffix Trophy Case/Quaalude headquarters Hall of Fame.” Good times.
There also was a dorm that had coed bathrooms which seriously is the most frightening thing I could EVER imagine. My personal hell is having to drop a deuce in front of mixed company. Seriously, I’m getting constipated just thinking about it, quite frankly. With that said, I’m equally mortified to learn that some schools actually allow coed DORM rooms, with The University of Chicago being the latest to fall victim to this horrendous abomination. This is obviously a retarded social experiment and only bad, bad, very bad things can come of it. Watch and learn:
Scenario 1:
This is where said male and female are initially attracted to each other. They start off flirty, coy and stay up all night talking. Soon (within 2 days) they push the old twins together and put on the reliable Enigma CD (work with me here, I’m projecting) and do the deed which measures a respectable 4.5 on the Regret Richter scale. Before you know it (2nd week of school), people are dropping hang over farts, leaving period underwear on the floor, caught jerking off to a picture of Taylor Swift and generally degenerating into a sour married couple. College experience officially ruined.
Scenario 2:
This is where one decent person gets stuck with a total loser, douchebag, rapist or pig. No fragile female freshman needs a trenchcoat mafia virgin watching them undress, or have fat drunken meatheads go through her underwear drawer. What about the normal guy who gets to live with a crazy PMS girl? Or unrequited love chick who wont leave the room when you bring back a ho and stalks you and talks to your mom on the phone for hours and hacks into your facebook account and posts crude status updates like “Pete Smith is eating his own shit crumbs.” VERY. DANGEROUS.

So, as you see, nothing good can come from young men and women living together as roommates in a college environment. People need to feel free to not do homework, rip bong hits, get undressed, beg for money on the phone with their parents, cry, puke in a yaffa block with their own kind.