*******LOST. Here be spoilers. Now onward to my incoherent thoughts about the finale to my favorite show thus far in my 29 years of existence.*********

I forgive you, LOST. I forgive you for kinda copping out and having a shmaltzy (yet moving) end to a show that was dark and brooding for so long.

I forgive you for leaving so many loose threads and storylines over six seasons. I even forgive you for not having Mr. Eko back…when he was one of my favorite badasses. I know the actor wanted to be written off the show because he hated the climate of Hawaii, but c’mon.

Alright. Not a perfect ending, but any stretch of the dial. Smokey’s death? Kinda lame. Great, Kate. You finally did something useful. SHANNON AND SAYID? Say, what? You have to be kidding me. What about Nadia? Are we to believe that Sayid signed his pact with Smokey to get back with SHANNON? I totally missed that and am glad of it. Yuck.  I wish that we could have seen when/how all the Church of the Sideways souls died, ala “Six Feet Under”. That would have been dope. Instead, we only know when the characters died who died before Jack saved the island…so, Charlie, the Kwons, Locke, Shannon, Boone, Sayid, Christian, Libby etc. And can we talk about how Aaron the baby was in the Church of the Sideways souls, but no Kwon baby? Say, what, now?

Apropos of nothing, is it sad I wanted Smokey to slit Rose’s throat at their cabin? I wanted to be horrified and reminded how evil MIB (Man in Black, obv) is. He killed Zoe like it ain’t no thang (great performance from the actress who played Debbie in “Singles.”), why not Rose and/or Bernard? Vincent could have attacked him!

I am still drained from last night’s finale. I cried my eyes out. I cried during the 2 hour recap. I cried at all of the reunions in Sideways world/purgatory; I cried when Ben was forgiven by Locke. I LOVED that Sawyer and Juliet got their memories from the island back at a vending machine and I bawled some more. I used to HATE Juliet, but her heroic death detonating the a-bomb, made me feel for her. Kate delivering Claire’s baby? With Charlie there? UMMMMM, devastating. Sun and Jin back together? Delightful. VINCENT THE FUCKING DOG coming to Jack’s death in the bamboo and giving him comfort and company so he didn’t pass alone?! FUGGGEDAHBOUTIT.

I know that the finale posed more questions than it answered. But that’s true LOST fashion. I know that the themes of Christianity permeated the episode; Jack’s daddy issues, getting stabbed in his side by Smokey like Christ’s wounds in the crucifixion, the self sacrifice, the idea of forgiving those who trespassed against us (or strangling Locke in cold blood in a fit of jealousy), and the promise that our heaven is comprised of those we loved and lost—I’m a good catholic girl, at heart. I can’t help being moved by it. Thanks, Carlton Cuse, super Catholic extraordinaire.

I guess I was satisfied. The show opens with Jack’s eye open in a bamboo field and ended with it closing. (Apparently, this image was told to Matthew Fox in Season 1 as the closing scene of LOST, no matter what happened in between.) That’s pretty clever, guys. But what a gentle, sweet and kind ending to a show of such “lost” souls—at the risk of being controversial, this emotional ending gave us time to speculate for years to come.

I apologize to have been missing in action, dear Popserious readers.  With Spring comes major allergies and I have been hacking up a lung for the past fortnight. (”I have the black lung, pop.”)

That being said, I have come to appreciate a great new show on HBO called “Treme”…from the same amazing creative team of “The Wire.” (”The Wire” deserves its own post in all its gritty glory, but I need an eight ball to do that one justice. So maybe, later.)

“Treme” takes place in a working class neighborhood of New Orleans, months after Katrina raped NOLA in ‘05. The show is full of music, sadness, culture and humor.

Loads of famous musicians have been populating the episodes thus far, including Elvis Costello, Dr. John, and a bunch of famous Treme Brass musicians/New Orleans legends I am too uncultured to know by name.

The cast is great, too. Just a few to highlight:

Bunk from “The Wire” is a horny trombone player named Antoine Batiste and he’s banging strippers and getting in fights with the fuzz, his ex and his swarthy baby’s mama.

Steve Zahn, who will always be PFLAG-tastic, plays a pothead/musician/love interest for the local chef and is generally hilarious and charming. I have loved Mr. Zahn’s work in “Reality Bites” and “Saving Silverman.” Anything that showcases his funny and geeky sex appeal gets my vote.

Kim Dickens of “Deadwood” and supporting cast of “Lost” fame is a stressed chef trying to make ends meet and she keeps banging loser Steve Zahn, because who wouldn’t bang Steve Zahn?

John Goodman is character Creighton Bernette and alarmingly corpulent; screaming eff bombs on YouTube for aid from Dubbya and married to the neighborhood, pro-bono lawyer. I was really glad to see in National Enquirer that he recently lost 150 or so pounds since filming the first season, as watching “Treme,” you’re seeing John tip the scales at 4 hundo. I like him too much for him to be THAT unhealthy. That’s “Precious” territory. (Did everyone see Gabby on SNL? SHE WAS SWEATING FROM THE EXERTION OF TALKING.)

I can’t do justice to how good the acting is, how badass the music, and how much each episode makes you want to be in New Orleans—eating the food, drinking the hurricaines, and experiencing the people. It sounds corny and trite, but I love that town. It’s one of the last truly, unique places left in this country and what the show gives you is a glimpse at how vital and special that is…and how we need to preserve it.

I really hope this show will boost tourism and I hope you all get down to Louisiana, soon for a weekend of debauchery and Huge Ass Beers on Bourbon Street.

If you get to bang a hot street musician from Amsterdam with a suspected smack/crack or some other bad habit, that’s just a bonus.

Laissez le bon temps roulez.

“New York City?! Get a rope.” (Remember that salsa commercial? CLASSIC.)

I am a “The Real Housewives of New York City” junkie…it doesn’t pack the same caliber of punch as Housewives of NJ, of course, but that’s like comparing “Keeping up with the Kardashians” and “Jersey Shore.” It just isn’t a fair fight for trash tv viewage. Period. (”Prostitution HO-AH!” Game over.) Jerz starts back up on the 3rd of May and that bitch is getting dvr’d like it’s LOST. In fact, as LOST ends in May, it will help fill the aching void.

The show is such a grand trainwreck— it’s like the cast is all the women who would steal your cab outside of Henri Bendel with their token gay at their side…

Let’s do a breakdown of the cast:

Bethenny Frankel

Bethenny is the mouth of the crew with the best oneliners and the darkest undereye shadows since Marc Antony.

She started the show as the lonely single with a famous horsetrack dad and a wall street boyfriend who looked about as comfortable in front of the camera as Warren Beatty in “Truth or Dare.”
(True story, I went to Hooters once in Columbus Circle and Season 1 Jason was there with a bunch of dudes eating chicken wings. What a sighting!)

Bethenny has a skinny girl margarita franchise and writes self-help books teaching us all how to be skinny: essentially, don’t eat! Who knew? She’s engaged and preggers by another/different mook named Jason. I can’t wait for the seasons to come with her breastfeeding and hot pink lipstick.

She’s sparring with Jill over telling her to get a hobby and abandoning her amidst her new found success; she’s outing recently divorced Countess LuAnn and letting us know she’s a big old cheating whore….I love her.
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Jill Zarin

Jill is my second favorite housewife with her fabric empire and straight edge snark; Jill don’t drink anything but Diet Coke. She has the overbearing Mama who doles out advice like Dear Abby and the scary botox forehead with drawn on eyebrows…the daughter with arthritis, hubby BOBBY with the comb over and shades and the cancer scare—yummy television, Mrs. Zarin. I like you.

I love how offended she gets by everything and that she wears huge gaudy jewels that would rip my earlobes. I am slightly disappointed that she’s in LuAnn’s camp this season, but that’s because Bethenny left the nest and she’s grasping at straws.
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LuAnn, aka, The Countess de Lesseps

What a phony. LuAnn (as Bethenny calls her “ya dumb drag queen”) makes my skin crawl. Her Count husband left her recently for an Ethiopian Princess and she’s relocated to the Hamptons.

She used to model and was on the cover or Playgirl in the 80s. She is in major age denial and I miss the episodes where she slums it on the Lower East Side with her niece with her Peter Pan haircut and fuck me boots and acts like she’s in Williamsburg, when she’s still at a club where it’s 15 bucks for a cocktail.

She’s written a book that is endlessly mocked where she teaches everyone class because she’s a Countess (by MARRIAGE, LuAnn….your name is LuAnn, you’re supposed to be a hairdresser with a name like that!) and she talks down to everyone about everything. I can’t stand her and hope she starts banging her pool boy, to fit the image I have of her.
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Ramona Singer

Ramona…crazy eyed, crass, wacky Ramona. Ramona is maybe the most fun and cringeworthy cast member. She dances like a Mom at a wedding and knocks back the white wine like her life depends on it. She’s never wearing any clothes, compares herself to a young Cameron Diaz, and is married to a dude named Mario who makes cheap knockoff jewelry that she sells on HSN.

She cries at the drop of a hat, abruptly walks out of staged social events, and drops 4k on shoes to the dismay of her ashamed daughter. This season promises a fashion show where she models (the footage with the crazy eyes is FRIGHTENING) and she offends everyone at every gathering.

I kinda want to find out she’s addicted to uppers and her HSN jewelry line is manufactured by children in Guatemala. Fingers crossed!
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Kelly Bensimon

Oh, man, the newest housewife is a wack job. She keeps getting arrested for assaulting her boyfriends and has two kids from her famous former husband named “Sea” and “Thaddeus.” She posed for Playboy, she hangs out with Russell Simmons and was a creative director at Elle.

Another former model, she’s a stunner, but she has dead, crazy eyes and perfect, predator type teeth with a manly strong jaw. The episode where she goes off on Bethenny at Brass Monkey is one of me favs. Kelly lashes out at Miss Frankel for mocking her holier than thou attitude by calling her Madonna, and this makes Kelly shit blood, apparently.

Kelly gets along with Bethenny this season and is sparring with Ramona after she asks how many times she’s had her breasts done at a party at Sak’s. I hope she smacks someone on camera and gets in trouble with the fuzz AGAIN.

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Alex McCord

Last but not least, Alex “I have teeth like Christopher Walken in “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” McCord. She’s a married to a questionably straight Australian dude named Simon. They have pretentious French names for their two sons (Francois?! Really?) who act like animals.

She’s really odd and admits to things most people would find embarassing: she met Simon online looking for a one night stand…hmmmm. She almost never shows up anywhere on the show without her husband, even though everyone eventually abuses him about his clothes, his drinking, his outfits, you name it.

Next to Bethenny, she seems to be the most genuine…as she genuinely cares about stupid crap like making the fashion pages and her weird family in Cobble Hill. She seems to call people out on the show though, and I totally respect that. She seems to suffer the least fools, and I think she is pretty genuinely herself…even if she happens to be a bit, shall we say, eccentric and free spirited. She’s married to a potentially closet case hotel manager, but that’s ok.  I can’t even keep a chia pet, alive. Who am I to judge that rich, smart girl we all knew growing up who was into anal?

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I love watching the drama. It’s truly mindless television. Tune in Thursdays on Bravo at 10…and if you’re behind this season, just tune in around 5pm onward on a Thursday as they usually show the whole season back to back. Enjoy the trash!

****Warning: here be LOST spoilers and rambling. Read at your own risk.****
 
“I want them to help themselves, to know the difference between right and wrong without me having to tell them. It’s all meaningless if I have to force them to do anything. Why should I have to step in?”-Jacob, God?

Oh, LOST.

I kinda love/hate LOST more than any other show of my 29 years. It drives me nuts; all it does it answer questions with more questions. You get a big reveal that is sometimes 6 seasons in the making, and all it does is pose more questions.

Who’s Jacob? He may be God. Oh, and he’s dead now. Ben killed him. But Hurley sees dead people, so Jacob shows up sometimes and intercedes when there are imminent death purges.

What’s the smoke monster? Oh, he may be the devil. But he’s also now possessing Locke’s body (also dead, also killed by Ben). And he’s a bad ass muthafucka.

Do any of our lead characters get off the island? Yeah, but they’re fucked and inevitably have to all come back or EVERYONE IS GOING TO DIE.

I could go on for days…

That being said, the sixth and final season of LOST is stepping up and finally answering questions that are blowing all LOST fans’ minds.

The head writers are starting to really address theories of what the island actually is. Last night’s baller, a-game episode “Ab Aeterno” really toyed with the theory many fans have had for 6 years…the island is hell/purgatory/death. Ab Aeterno is Latin for “from eternity”. The phrase is used to mean “since the beginning” or “for long ages”. We got to find out what the eff The Black Rock is doing there, how the statue became a big foot, and why Richard (Ricardus) lives forever (or at least from 1830ish-present day) and is having a major crisis of faith, etc.

That being said, I love the show because it’s compelling television. It has great acting (Terry O’Quinn, Michael Emerson and Nestor Carbonell, especially) sweeping music, and clever plot twists. It’s the best water cooler show EVAH. Everyone has a theory and everyone who has seen the show through to the final season has invested so many hours of life to trying to sort out, “what does it all mean?” No one knows. But we’ll all talk about it, A LOT.

I have a very short bucket list for what I’m ready to see in the last 8 episodes before the 2 hour finale in May. Help a sista out. 

Dear LOST writers,
Please kill Kate and Claire. They’re annoying. Please reunite Sun and Jin and not have one or both of them die, in the process. Please DO NOT make me have to see Shannon, Libby, Nikki, Paolo, Charlotte, or Ana Lucia ever again. BRING BACK MR. EKO. Explain if Christian Shepard has been smokey the smoke monster, all along. Have Hurley be the Candidate who wins. Let Ben kill Widmore.  Loads more episodes with intense Matthew Fox man-crying.

Kthxbye.

We’ve all been there.

Unemployed.

Shy of 30. (Barely, but hey, it’s THERE.)

You start having bizzare anxiety dreams where all the men in your past
relationships loom up and are married with children and shacked up
with Kelly Ripa.

I recently got the sweet ax, and I’ve decided to work out a game plan
of things to do in this lame duck period before I land another desk
job. I don’t want to wind up bearded and in a flannel, like Mr. Mom.

1. Plan a sick vacation

Dude, you have to plan a vacation and have something fun on the
horizon before you OD on Bravo programming.  NYT recently had an
article about planning a vacay—and how, essentially, the planning is
generally far more enjoyable and happy boosting than the actual trip.
I just booked a filth trip with my two besties from college at an all
inclusive in Cancun. I hope to get pregnant, sun stroke, and a
tapeworm. A girl can dream.

2. Get in shape

Being on your own schedule is the perfect opportunity to tone our
slackening waists and get rid of our Aunt Miriam arms. I haven’t had
children yet, but you can’t tell. All this fat cat corporate culture
has made me doughy and complacent. Like Oliver Platt. I can hit the
gym at non-scary times like 11am, with the other Upper East Side
Mommies and retirees in perfect comfort.

3. Catch up on your reading

I recently received a kindle for Christmas and let me tell ya, being
able to purchase anything in the public domain for a dollar or gratis
(Dickens, Austen, Joyce, Shakespeare, etc.) is better than having a
library card. I can finally get the books under my belt on my bucket
list. Like Desmond on “Lost” with “Our Mutual Friend.”

4. Catch up with friends, for real

Living in NYC, you have dozens of friends you never see because you’re
not compatible, borough wise. Take that well deserved trek to Hoboken!
White Plains! Brooklyn! It will cost $4, you can have heart to hearts
over a bottle of yellowtail and watch Idol. What’s not to like? I’m
going to be rested and with free time. Time to mend some fences and
ask about people’s relationships, families, and sudoku victories.

5. Hone a hobby or give back

Free time means time for self improvement. I have been saying for
years, when I have a free moment, I will write more or learn an
instrument—volunteer somewhere and give back in some feel good way.
There are loads of things to do; charity work, knitting classes,
Bikram, maybe get into religion and make a priest drop his bible in
the confessional? (Not likely.)

If all else fails, I will have loads of mindless television and
Netflix to keep me sane—plus, I can cash in on tons of pity bar tabs
with friends I’ve given tea and sympathy to, in similar epochs of
their employment lulls.

Or, back to Mr. Mom scenario. The Young and the Restless addicition,
ironing grilled cheese, pubey beards, and flannel sporting: no shame.

I apologize for the long hiatus, friends. The last couple weeks have been a shit storm;  Kevin Smith-like in nature.

In late July, I found out I was being transferred to London by my job.

By early August, I was here, fresh off the plane like an eager American rube ready to find the first single man with decent teeth, foreskin, good hygiene and a manor home. I moved from my beloved Astoria apartment of four years in just two weeks—said adieu to many dear friends, and parted with most of my crap; which consisted off way too many clothes, books, movies, and differing types of tea.

I found a charming flat in the posh end of Notting Hill; easily the nicest place I’ve ever lived and by far the most expensive.

I went to Paris on the Eurostar with my Mom, am pretty sure I caught a bad strain of swineflu on said train, suffered trashy night clubs in Shoreditch with American friends on Holiday, made some bad decisions, ate fantastic curry.

August was a good month. Scary, but full of promise. As promising as moonlight in a martini. (Moonstruck quote I can’t take credit for. Thanks, John Patrick Shanley.)

Work issues complicated things and back stateside was this Bridget McJones for five weeks of melancholy and resentment.

Only good things that came from the five weeks of limbo was catching a dear friend’s play and a dear friend’s nuptials back in New Amsterdam. Everything else from mid September to mid October can go into the internal file of “bad weeks/bad behavior/drunk in parents’ basement yelling about socialism.”

All that kvetching off my chest, I got back to Blighty last week and wanted to share some observations as an ex-pat that have been surprising to me.

1. Americans living and working in London are EVERYWHERE.

Maybe it’s my neighborhood, but everywhere I go I hear accents like mine and it’s comforting and disconcerting at the same time. Like eating mushrooms and have your dog speak to you.

It also brings to mind the old WWII saying the Brits had for us Yanks:

“Oversexed, overpaid, and over here.”

2. London cab drivers are the best cab drivers in the world.

Firstly, they know how to get anywhere. Which is impressive in a city where locals get lost on the confusing, narrow, medieval streets. Apparently, they have to pass some psychotic street/directions test which is like taking the LSAT to become certified to drive a PT Cruiser, all day.

Secondly, they’re extremely friendly and English is their first language. Call me a xenophobe, and believe me, I’ve been called worst, but it’s refreshing to get into a cab fall down drunk and have an intelligent, polite conversation about Obama or Gordon Brown or the cabbie’s last trip to Florida with the missus.

3. British TV is really limited

Almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, these are the shows you can find on UK basic TV.

a) Cooking shows

b) House flipping shows, home improvement, antiques roadshow et al

c) documentaries

d) wacky reality TV

On the five free channels I get in my flat, I can consistently watch a cooking show, a house selling/improving/bargain basement finding show with annoyingly perky presenters and equally dour real folk, a documentary on being obese in Sheffield, addicted to smack and about to bear a third child at the age of 20, or Scary Spice moving to the midlands with a poor family trying to help them get off the dole and become functioning members of society.

With the exception of CSI: Miami (Where’s Joel McHale, when you need him?), Murder, She Wrote (IT’S ON EFFING EVERYDAY)Friends repeats (kill me), Ugly Betty (euthanize me), True Blood Season 1 (a haven from the storm), or The Simpsons (always safe), I get very little variety aside from the occasional movie. This past week included Cutthroat Island, Superman II, The Rugrats Movie, and Blade II. And that Matthew Broderick movie from the 80’s with the monkeys.

I may have to break down and get cable soon.

4. The London Underground smells like pee and gives you black boogers

You get spoiled in NYC with air conditioned trains, only going down or up one level, and consistent service unless you live in Brooklyn.

In London, while they have a much more organized, easy-to-transfer anywhere system, the trains are constantly not running. And you go into the bowels of the earth (hence the black bogeys) and most trains are stuffy and smell like pee. I blame the pee smell not on bums, but on unwashed genitals.

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That being said, it’s great to be back. I love cinemas where people don’t talk, free museums, easy and affordable access to the rest of Europe and mild autumn/winter weather where it doesn’t get much colder than 50 degrees fahrenheit, ever.

I hope there is still time to meet my very own Mr. Darcy and start talking with a fake British accent, like Madonna.

Cheers!

PS. Discussed this with a fellow ex-pat last weekend…no Americans here speak with a British accent. Idioms change, but not pronunciations. You can take the girl out of Northeast Ohio, but you can’t take the Ohio out of the girl. Shame on you, Madge!

Tuesday, July 14th was a momentous day for comedy fans around the dome…”The State” was finally released on DVD.

Like most tweens in the early 90’s, I was addicted to MTV. And MTV was only beginning its moral decline during that epoch…so there was still hipness and street cred to be had by watching “The Real World” or “Unplugged” or “Just Say Julie.” Or heaven forbid, young readers, the top 20 countdown which showed 20 music videos (nearly) back to back. Who didn’t love Yo! Mtv Raps or Buzz Bin?!

“The State” was a bizarre, dada-like comedy sketch comedy show with 11 actors,; 10 dudes, 1 chick. (Fact: Castmember David Wain went to my high school and he used to come visit our Theatre classes and give us tips about the biz they call show biz.)

They had annoying recurring characters that stuck with you— that at 13 were HILARIOUS.

Like,  Doug (played by Michael Showalter, later of “Stella” and “Wet Hot American Summer”) who played a parody of an isolated teen. “Whatever, Dad! I’m outta heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!”There was Louie, who dipped his balls in everything: “I’m going to dip my balls in it!”

I’ve been reconnoitering the early 90’s and watching the show off and on over the past few days.  I forgot how good combat boots look with colored tights and mini skirts! I forgot how much I like seeing little dudes dress in drag! I forgot how kick ass Ugly Kid Joe songs are!

If nothing else, you can recognize most of this troop in their later, more successful work like “I love the…” series on VH1 and “Reno! 911.”  Less successful spin offs include the lame “Viva Variety” and “Stella.” And one must not forget the brilliant, underrated film “Wet Hot American Summer.”  One of my favorite lines to dump someone?

Paul Rudd in WHAS: “You taste like burger. I don’t like you anymore.”

Hie thee hence to thine Netflix queue! Hit up your local Blockbuster! Oodles of giggles await thee.

If you’re anything like me, you’re a bit of an anglophile and a tad geeky.

I was that quiet girl in English class swooning over “Pride and Prejudice” and “Wuthering Heights” and I would recite Monty Python skits from their extensive record collection (yeah, what?!) with boys who suffered from virulent acne and a love of cheese fries.

I ain’t ashamed. It was 1997. Things were different back then.

You know what else I’m not ashamed of? My IMAX tickets to “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince”, tonight.

I’m kinda hoping that there are freaks dressed as dementors or wearing round, black glasses.  Maybe some quidditch brooms, if I’m lucky. I hope people clap when Harry and Ginny make out and I hope people cry when some fucking epic deaths happen.

Also, the  dude who plays Draco Malfoy? Looks and acts just like my old roommate. Lucky me, huh?

That being said, the Harry Potter series is successful because it appeals to dorks and cool kids, alike. You can read for Rowling’s witty word play, for the love stories, the plot twists, or the magic element…you can read just to have a point of view on the culutral phenomena (it’s why I read Dan Brown’s drivel…I can’t make fun of it if I didn’t suffer through all of the dumbed down nonsense), or you can read so you have something to talk about with your Mom.

There’s a huge hole in my pop culture heart because this series is finito. Good thing there are two more movies to wait in line for (the last book, “The Deathly Hallows” is being broken into 2 parts as there is much ground to cover).

I’ll be 30 by the time this shit is finished and I will be crying next to some dude with acne scars who can recite “The Dead Parrot” sketch, VERBATIM.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for Hollywood Forever Cemetery’s (and Forest Lawn Cemetery’s) intake.

Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Steve McNair, The King of Pop, that infomercial guy with the beard, and Karl Malden are all pining for the fjords.

Michael’s passing was a kick to my proverbial gonads…so I’m not going to talk about it. For me the grief is still too near.

So, knowing I will see most of you in hell (I will be at the bar talking to drunk sorority girls about their favorite Celine Dion songs and lip gloss), I’ve decided to make a list of dead celebrity substitutes for the fallen soldiers above…maybe Hades will make a trade? I’m not bothering with Karl Malden. He was in his 90’s. Not gone too soon. Big up yourself, Mr. Malden!

1. Paul Shaffer for Ed McMahon

Let’s be real here…Paul Shaffer is just irritating. The shiny jackets, the retarded sunglasses, and the keyboard! Yawn. his only contribution to the world is his turn as Artie Fufkin in “This is Spinal Tap.” He peaked in 1982!

2. Kate Jackson for Farrah Fawcett

Let’s face it: Kate Jackson was always the ugly Angel and she has been hitting the Franzia a little too hard since the Reagan administration. See her turn on The Today Show back in May for reference. Ryan O’Neal wouldn’t be going off the deep end for Kate! 40-something males won’t have have a “first wank” memorial for old KJ!

3. Dennis Rodman for Steve McNair

My only rationale here is Dennis Rodman is insane and a has been. We wouldn’t be cutting him down in his prime…he’s not banging Madonna or Carmen Electra, anymore. No more showing up in public in drag or scintilating Stern interviews. He’s lucky to snag a Hooters waitress with a small spare tire and a hyperactive child in daycare. He is reduced to confusing turns on “The Celebrity Apprentice” for relevance. The horror, the horror.

4. Liza Minelli for Michael Jackson

A good friend of mine went to see “Liza’s At The Palace” just so he could see her before she overdoses. She’s a bit of a spazzoid and her pipes and stems ain’t what they used to be. She married the biggest homo since Spencer Pratt and she was one of MJ’s best friends… I’m sure she’d be delighted to switch places with “the most fascinating man she ever met.” (Point of contention, her turn as Lucille on “Arrested Development” was INCENDIARY and BRILLIANT.)

5. George Forman for Billy Mays

C’mon. This is a no brainer. He named all of his sons George and made millions endorsing a grill that makes all steaks taste like farts. Where’s George’s “Just for Men” blue black beard and denim shirt?

Alright, I leave you now to relax with your thoughts. I know I’m going to hell…this is just how I process trauma.

Boardwalk Hall. Atlantic City. June 13th, 2009. The air was ripe with the smell of the ocean, cheesesteaks and axe body spray.

Girls combed their hair in their rearview mirrors and the boys tried to look so hard. (Sorry, it’s Jersey. The Boss has to be mentioned.)

Accompanied by two fellow pop culture enthusiasts from Brooklyn clad in skinny jeans, we sojourned to Atlantic City to pay hommage to one of the most incestuous, celebrated and screwed up bands in music history.

Fleetwood Mac. (Get out your coke spoons!)

Fleetwood Mac’s abridged drama:

1)The British keyboard player (Christine McVie) was married to the bassist (John McVie) and starts banging the sound guy. Rumored to have banged lead guitarist/singer (Lindsey Buckingham) a few times, as well.

2)The wicca piece of ass with a sheep-like wobble (Stevie Nicks) starts banging Don Henley from The Eagles, the tour manager and then the drummer (Mick Fleetwood), much to the chagrin of the lead guitarist and singer (Lindsey Buckingham) who she hitherto was banging since High School.

Years of infidelity, death threats, drug problems, alcohol addiction, shawls and guy-liner ensued.

They’ve still got the right stuff.

They sounded pretty great— minus the hurdle of losing Christine McVie, masculine keyboard player, to a transgender op. (Just kidding, Davey! I love Christine McVie! She’s retired from the band as of now…) Fleetwood Mac also conveniently relies on three back-up singers to help them hit the high notes they can no longer reach due to massively effed up nasal passages eroded by massive freebasing.

One of the highlights of the evening was Stevie singing her solo hit, “Stand back.” Replete with the signature twirl from the music video. It was hilarious being in South Jerz with thousands of 45-50ish aged people losing their shit when this was performed like they were back in Wildwood in 1983.

I felt honored to share this slice of time with all the men and women who fucked in a busted trans am to the 8-track of Rumours.

Don’t judge me.