I really tried to do my best and watch American Idol this season and give you my awesomely insightful commentary. But I am now here to tell you that I can no longer subject myself to this hideous task. The contestants SUCK shitballs. The songs each week pierce my brain like a knitting needle that just keeps KNITTING AND KNITTING AND KNITTING AND KNITTING. Who selects the song lists? Why do these people choose the worst songs ever made in modern history? Couldnt they do “Gay Club” week and all sing songs by Erasure and  Yaz? How about “Seattle Grunge” week? I wouldnt mind hearing a little Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins once in a while. I just may be interested to see all 760 lbs of Michael Lynche sing something off the Singles soundtrack.

We get it already . Crystal is going to win. She’s like 120 gigalight years ahead of the other performers. She’s so good (comparatively speaking), I almost will forgive her for looking like Peppermint Patty’s runaway sister. I think everyone should cut their losses and call it a day- or get that Taiwanese fat kid with the Whitney Houston voice to make an appearance. Hell, I’d even get Blind Scott from last year back, at least it was fun to watch him do the dance moves.

In case you are wondering, my breaking point happened while watching Siobhan Magnus perform, and I started to think that her mouth looked like a veeg that was 100% dilated and fully effaced. And I said to myself, ” You’re a sick person. Your mind should never go places like that, not even after a few drinks.” Then I started to REALLY hallucinate and had a vision of–get this– Mary J Blige wearing a blond lampshade wig singing “Stairway to Heaven” with Travis Barker on drums and Randy Jackson on bass!!!!!!! I was fucking tripping, I tell you! Then Ken Seeley AND Jeff Vanvonderen came to my house and told me that American Idol is a horrible drug and no good can come from watching it, and listening to bad singing is just courting disaster. They offered me help- some clinic in Delray I think- where I will detox out my ears and brain with some chanting, meditation and group therapy. We will be encouraged to talk about happier musical times, like the time I saw the Chili Peppers at Roseland in ‘94 or when I sat next to Lou Reed at Falai and I felt like I was in the presence of greatness. I also felt he looked alot like my Grandma Ruth.

I’ll be in touch from the clinic. Maybe Dr. Drew will visit me there!

American Idol really served up the Snore burger with a side of vomit  last night when they went ahead and proved just how lame the remaining contestants are by making them perform Elvis fucking Presley, the gold standard of American music. In case you missed it, Elvis was the first whitey in this country to perform what is now known as rock n’ roll and basically changed music as we know it with his voice, charisma and gorgeous face. You may also know him as the fat dude who invented the fried peanut butter and bacon sandwich (pure genius) and the unfortunate soul who died while dropping a deuce. ANYWAY. These people are no Elvis Presleys. NONONONO.
Adam Lambert was the guest mentor, which was awkward. Don’t get me wrong, I love Adam’s eyeliner and tight pants but it was a little Uncle Rico of him to show up. You don’t need to go back to your high school and tell all the freshmen how cool you are. We get it, Adam.
Honestly, I wish we could choose what these people sing, instead of the songbooks of dated, iconic musicians. Thoughts:

Crystalmeth: I missed her performance!! I’m sorry I was too busy making an English muffin and lost track of time. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make her sing “Signs” by Tesla.
Andrew Garcia: Dios Mio. I wanted to kill myself, honestly. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing “Informer” by Snow.
Mike Lynche: “Siobhan said I should sing “In the Ghetto”. WHAAAT? Really, Siobhan? That is so fucking racist! I bet her great grandfather really was a General in the Wermacht. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing “My Girl Likes To Party All the Time” by Eddie Murphy. Because its awesome.
Lee Dewyze:  Hmm. Above average. Yet he bores me and reminds me of someone who would live next door to you in your dorm. Someone who would go in with you to order meatball subs at 3 am and someone you can have a full conversation with in your towel on the way to the bathroom. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing “Rooster” by Alice in Chains.
Siobhan Magnus: Uchhhh. A) She looked like an adult guest at my 1987 Bat Mitzvah with that hair and outfit. COME ON!  B) Her mouth is disturbingly large. She should enter a hotdog mouth stuffing contest. I bet she can fit about 33 hot dogs in her mouth at once. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make her sing “Destination Unknown” by Missing Persons, mostly because she will probably wind up a crazy cat lady in New Hampshire with a ton of tattoos and 4 fans who still remember her. Sorry, Dale Bozzio.
Katie Stevens: No comment, Steve’s dad. But IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make her sing “Talk Dirty to Me” by Poison. It just makes sense somehow.
Aaron Kelly: Oh dear. He sang so hard last night I think he pushed his first pube out with all that effort. I am sure his vagina looks more mature now. IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing “Livin la Vida Loca”. Personal reasons.
Tim Urban: Tim’s version of “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You” was reminiscent of a Jason Castro “Hallelujah” where the guy finally nails it with his cute smile and delicate falsetto and 12 million females swoon and completely forget how terrible he really is. Women will give it up for a sweet sweet love song. However, IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing “Rio” by Duran Duran.
Casey James: Blahblahblahbah.  IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would make him sing anything by Kansas, Boston, America or the guys who sing “Slow Ride”. Blah.
 

Somehow I got suckered into doing the American Idol commentating this year, which is weird because I haven’t focused on a season since Richard Hatch won the million dollars in the finale a bunch of years ago. Anyhoo, with Meg relocating back to the states and Erdahl doing her thesis on Justin Bieber, (and btw, where are you Danielle?) I decided to give it a go.
The music of Lennon and McCartney. Whoa. That’s like super duper hard core shit. That’s like aural gold. That’s just “look but don’t touch” music.  But people never learn..they always touch it and hold it and mangle it and choke it and leave it dead on the side of the stage. Not that I care about the Beatles, mind you. God help the American Idols if they ever have Motley Crue night. Seriously, I’ll go ballistic.
Everyone was meh, except Crystalmeth who will DEFINITELY have her didgeradoo rendition of “Come Together” on her first album and DEFINITELY be playing it at Lilith Fair next spring (Watch out Paula Cole).
I don’t have any particular criticisms of the night, mostly because I was watching LOST and flipping back and forth during commercials, but all I know is this: Aaron Kelly is 98% gay, Casey James needs to stop frosting his hair and wearing it like Reese Witherspoon and Siobhan Magnus looks EXACTLY like Jerri Blank.
That is all for now.

Scientific name: Jillzarin Magnayenta Miserpod
Sex: Female
Natural Habitat: Manhattan’s Upper East Side/ East End of Long Island
Observations:
The Jillzarin is a rare creature with unusual survival skills. The Jillzarin by nature is a nondescript animal with no significant physical attributes. With the help of external factors at its disposal, such as the ability to camouflage into its surroundings and similar female species of its kind, this unique creature manages to survive and thrive in an otherwise hostile environment.
What the Jillzarin lacks in physical strength or beauty is made of for with its sharp wit and calculating mind. It will surround itself with creatures who are less durable, resilient or prosperous in order to project a dominant, and thereby more powerful persona. The Jillzarin Magnayenta Miserpod is often found socializing exclusively with creatures that are injured, struggling or alone. This tactic is an inherent, inborn survival skill that is essential for the Jillzarin’s continued existence in the perilous environment of the Upper Middle(or Lower Upper) class of the island of Manhattan.
When the Jillzarin feels threatened, its only natural defense mechanism is to turn against members of its own pack, using its high shrill voice to warn off oncoming danger and keep potential threats at bay. The Jillzarin has no instinctual loyalty or protective inclinations towards members of its pack unless it will indirectly serve its own best interests. Therefore, pack members and social relations are maintained for self preservation and self promotional purposes only.
It is hard to determine how the Jillzarin developed, however it is believed that after becoming a part of a successful pack and moving into a safe haven that protects it from imminent social death, it has grown into a stronger species with a more heightened sense of power and self worth. Scientists are currently researching the possible DNA modification that may have transformed the Jillzarin creature into a dangerous and formidable species.

Its no secret that Bowersox is gonna take this contest- its obvious at this point and everyone knows it. I can already picture her album aptly named”Crystal Clear” with picture of her laying in a daisy field or something. But what of the others? What shall become of them?????

Aaron Kelly:

Aaron has a lot of growing up to do, but he looks like he could parlay his singing career into Christian music. Because he is adorable and asexual and generally boring. All things Christian people pretend to like.

Big Mike Lynche:

He is kinda good, but annoying and saccharine. Dont cry for Big Mike, though. He will make his Broadway debut in the musical adaptation of “The Blind Side.”

Siobhan Magnus:

This one is easy. Siobhan will be on a Greyhound to NYC faster than you can say Taylor Momsen and end up being a fixture on the hipster scene, going to places like Bowery Electric and guest DJ’ing here and there while working at American Apparel. She will date my friend Lawrence for several months until she reveals that her great-grandfather was a General in the Wermacht or when she accidentally erases his ipod. Whichever comes first.

Katie Stevens:

God Forbid I should say anything negative about Katie, based on the hater mail we received last week. Katie will end up at Yale, play Golda in the Drama department’s rendition of “Fiddler on the Roof” and think she’s hot shit because everyone in her dorm is talking about the celebrity sighting they keep having in the cafeteria. She soon finds out Dakota Fanning lives down the hall.

Lee Dewyze:

I have high hopes for Lee. Such as doing a duet with Nickelback, opening up for Lighthouse or replacing the lead singer of the Gin Blossoms on their tour of county fairs and BBQ contests this summer. He may also date Jessica Simpson.

Casey James:

Casey is the kind of cute that appeals to a large demographic. I will say all 5-85 year old women agree that Casey is just the cutest EVER. He will most likely become the break out star who isnt the winner (Adam Lambert, Clay Aiken) and be the lead in Rock of Ages once Constantine Maroulis has had enough. Which may be never.

Andrew Garcia:

Andrew’s one shining moment in his life will always be singing Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up” during Hollywood week. It will never get better. The only time we will ever see him again is when he shows up on L.A. Ink to get some commemorative tattoo of a family member (or the words “straight up”–that would be cool) and having Kat Von D pretend to give a shit about his life story.

Tim Urban:

Tim sucks. SO BAD IT HURTS. However, he will get a Country record deal because he has an Abercrombie body and an apple pie face. He will win an award in about 2 years and date Selena Gomez or iCarly. He will be in J-14 magazine. He will be Huge.

That’s all folks. Mark my words. By the way, Jin and Sun’s daughter is the chosen one to take over the island for Jacob. The name Kwon written on the cave wall is for her- not them, considering she is the result of the only viable pregnancy on the island. Mark my words.

This season’s contestants on American Idol are probably the most lackluster turds EVER. Like, I don’t even remember what they sang and it’s still on as I write this.
As for Miley Cyrus as the celebrity “mentor” this week, she’s a sweet girl and all, but I wouldn’t take any advice or from her unless it was on how to barbeque a possum on a car engine or how to hide some Oxycontin in a Bonne Bell lip gloss tin. Yeah, so no thanks with the vocal coaching.
Back to the contestants. Only mildly talented with minimal appeal, they remind me of an average 10th grade chemistry class. They say there are 11 people left, but here are the only ones I can even remember seeing:
Siobhan Magnus.

Jeezus. Alls I can say about Siobhan is she looks like what would happen if Anna Paquin made a baby with Temple Grandin in a Claire’s Boutique. So, in other words she’s the quasi retard that gets mainstreamed into your homeroom and buys double thick Kotex maxi pads in the gym locker room. You know the one.

Katie Stevens

I’m thinking Katie Stevens probably has no real friends in real life except for her mother, piano teacher and the Alzheimer’s Ward at her grandmother’s nursing home. I bet the nursing staff puts on the old boob tube for the geezers and they all have a very special night cheering Katie on right before the patients start complaining about Boss Tweed and that their ’37 Packard needs an oil change. PS. Her hot pink suspenders from Tuesday night were terrifying.
Casey James

Casey reminds me of Randall “Pink” Floyd from “Dazed and Confused”. Maybe it’s the circa 1978 wardrobe. Maybe it’s the twangy Southern accent. Maybe it’s that I can picture him smoking weed on the 50 yard line of his high school football field and using his angel face to coerce half drunk girls to give him hand jobs. I could have been one of those girls, except that he sang “Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News and for that he needs to have his bong and 8 track taken away. Like immediately.
Crystalmeth Bowersox

Everyone loves a dreadlocked white girl with a Jim Beam soaked voice. Everyone except me. Come on! Be honest..If you saw Crystalmeth on the street, chances are she would be accompanied by a mangy dog wearing a bandana and trying to cop some change for clove cigarettes and you would pretend you didn’t even see her. True, she is by far the best singer on the show, but an AMERICAN Idol? I don’t think so. Asheville’s #1 Super Duper Crooner, maybe. But American Idol???
I know.. there are apparently a bunch of other kids on this show- a twink, a big black guy, a pretty white girl, a pretty white boy, a guy who will be in a 3 Doors Down cover band in 6 months, a Filipino (?) kid who apparently stole Moe Green’s glasses and an invisible person everyone keeps talking about named Paige. Basically a bunch of duds. Human gutterballs. Does anyone even care who wins this thing? Its just one other person I have to cringe to when the girls in my office put on Lite FM.
 

So thanks to Erdahl, who is like the Steven Hawking of our site (meaning smart,  not paralyzed) we got a Twitter account and we want all you loyal fans to follow us. There, our contributors will be posting deep thoughts, HIGHlarious links and informative brain farts all day long. So, what are you waiting for?? Go to Twitter.com/Popserious.

Namaste.

 I don’t discriminate when it comes to TV, but TV Land is basically the shackled mutant brother of the broadcasting world aka “Sloth”. Naturally, I had to start watching it when the riveting and perplexing new show “First Love, Second Chance” began– which may be a new all time low, even for me.
The premise of the show is pretty simple. You take two people who were once in love like 20 or so years ago, most likely as teenagers, and you reconnect them as adults to see if the chemistry is still there. The audience is here to see if they make a go of it again. Personally, I think they should change the name to “Adult Sex with Your High School Ex”. That has a nice ring to it.
For me this raises serious philosophical questions. Such as: Who are we really? Are we really the older people we physically represent or are we the 17 year old we emotionally feel we are? Can a first love actually re-manifest itself in the current world without Peter Frampton records, curfews, disapproving friends and 3 minute boners? I ask you, people. Could you RE-love your first love after decades apart despite the few extra pounds, the nagging ex wife, the 14 kids you have between you and the humdrum life of sleeping with someone legally and legitimately? It kind of sounds like what I picture hell to be like. Kind of exactly.

The episode I saw was about Star and Garry, two people who fell in love when she was a beautiful 17 year old California girl and he was an Australian exchange student who came to live at her house. Basically they had to pretend they were just friends around the family, but snuck little moments where they rubbed tanning lotion on each other and kissed on her roof. One day her mom caught them innocently wrestling and sent the bastard packing. They haven’t spoken in 30 years.

UMMMM. First of all, what parent allows an AUSTRALIAN surfer dude to live with them and their DAUGHTER? That is a recipe for a soft core porn disaster right there. Everyone knows that a young woman cannot resist the accent of an Australian guy unless he is Yahoo Serious. Jesus, people!! Get  a clue.

Anyway, Star and Garry reconnect and it seems like the spark of 1978 is still there. He is a bachelor and sleeps in manjamas, and she is a twice divorced mother of 5, yes 5, who lives with a man she used to date, but now just splits the rent with. Cuz you know, the economy. Seeing each other brings back all the old feelings, some insecurities and causes them both to revert a little bit back to a juvenile mindframe. They meet each other’s friends and families, confront the issues why they broke up in the first place (her mother verbally threatened him and kicked him out on the street in the middle of the night following wrestlemania 11) and then he proposed. She said yes. I felt weird.

After making him watch the commercial for this show, my husband declared that he is my first love because I met him when I was 19 and we have been together ever since (and thats QUITE a long time). I told him that I loved exactly 3 ½ people* before I met him and he was like, “but that was high school that doesn’t count.” And then I’m like “I really believed at the time I loved 3 ½ people before you, so thats all that matters.” Who cares if I was 15 and it lasted 3 months and most of our dates took place in the Best Burger parking lot or the Palladium?” Then he told me to be quiet, LOST was about to start. I really do love that man.

*3 ½ people means that 3 were actual boyfriends, and the ½ was someone I had an unhealthy crush on that just ended in tears for me and blue balls for him.

I can’t even begin to tell you how upset I am that Cory Haim died today. I mean, yeah it was obvious it was going to happen sooner or later and of course he was on my Celebrity Death Watch list for the last 3 years (narrowly edging out Horschak from “Welcome Back Kotter ), but if any Corey should have left this planet, it really should have been Corey Feldman. Anyone who shows up to nightclubs WITH Michael Jackson DRESSED as Michael Jackson really doesn’t deserve to live a long life. There, I said it and I know you feel the same way too.
Corey Haim was a pretty good actor for his generation. He embodied everything that a 13 year old girl would want in a guy: adorable, funny, mischievous but not dangerous and he seemed like a fun kid who would pick you up if you called him stranded at the mall (plus, he did not sexually assault a drunken Heather Graham in “License to Drive” and he could have. Hell, he should have). Almost as importantly, he revolutionized the acid washed jeans pinch rolled over white high tops look, and his hairdo inspired a style craze among young men all across the land which I refer to as “the New Haim on the Block Hair” (please see my husband’s prom pictures from 1990).
Sadly, Haim soon found out there was no place in Hollywood for an impish and endearing manboy with a minor lisp and a humongous appetite for meth. Although he was a natural talent, (Hello?? I personally think he deserved an Academy award for his role in “Lucas”), he couldn’t make a comeback despite his skills and desire to be relevant again. When he resurfaced on “The Two Coreys” a couple of years ago, he seemed a little worse for wear. While he did drive a Hummer, (which is clearly a symbol of American financial success) he seemed to spend all his time smoking cigarettes and sending unrequited love letters to industry magazines via his overweight Chola assistant. To make matters worse, the poor Haimster had to endure the relentless, smug assfaces that is the Feldman family, which consisted of Corey Feldman acting like Candy Finnegan on Intervention and Suzy Feldman trying not to have her implants explode at the mere sight of him.

PS. Am I dreaming or was Willis from Different Strokes brought in to conduct an intervention?
I will just go on record to let you all know that once upon a time I kinda loved Corey Haim. His picture was up in my room. He lived right on the wall next to Jim Morrison, Axl Rose, Christian Slater, River Phoenix, a caricature of myself playing tennis made at someone’s bar mitzvah and a Greenpeace sticker I pretended to care about.
Corey, you were always my favorite Corey. RIP

HIYA!! Erdahl’s recent post inspired me to write again. Up until now, I just had angry internal dialogues about humanity but didn’t have the patience to write it down. But now I will. So happy 2010 to you, dear readers!

You may be wondering what I have been up to. Hmm…well, I bought a dog and returned it and then tried to buy it back a few days later and then returned it while she was ringing me up a second time (yes, a pet store dog! Fuck off!).  I am currently reading Slash’s autobiography which is pretty long for someone who was basically flatlined for the last twenty years. It’s truly amazing how much he can apparently recount even though he was completely obliterated most of the time. I can’t remember what I said or did after 2 ½ glasses of Monkey Bay—which is why I am an awesome person to go out with. I also recently saw “Avatar” in 3D and got a little misty for my computer animation days (I actually worked at a animation “studio” for a few months and was the only non member of the Trenchcoat Mafia on staff. It got weird).
Anyhoo… let’s not forget my favorite thing- television. There are some great shows out there, but my heart is with “Teen Mom” and “Hoarders” two completely different but equally fantastic shows about destitute people (mostly from classy Southeast America, or as I like to call it “Talla-classy))with no prospects and PA-lenty of problems. It’s AWESOME.

“Hoarders” is about people who obsessively collect stuff. Loads of stuff. And they cannot stop collecting stuff until their whole house is filled with birthday cards from 1976, cat hair, boxes of unopened dollar store items, their dead mom’s porcelain ballerina collection and most likely, feces. Hoarding is a mental illness, and its not funny. But it IS entertaining, and I’m not above watching the madness. On “Hoarders” the sad subject not only requires emotional guidance from a therapist, but an organizational team and a very understanding and patient junk man. When all  forces unite, they can try to coax the hoarder to let go of some of their stuff in order to avoid losing their homes and families. Most of the show portrays just how difficult these Hoarders can be. They get extremely stressed and won’t let you throw a damn thing away without them rifling through the garbage. Then they start crying about saving a moldy Frisbee and the junk man has to just stand there thinking he’s not getting paid enough to rationalize with a toothless mental case who sleeps in a pile of soda cans and used paper towel. Time after time, the Hoarder has a few energized minutes where they can let go of some soiled clothes from the Nixon administration, and then completely freak out over a particular item and then spend the rest of the show sitting on their porch smoking menthol cigarettes while everyone tries to talk sense into them. It always ends with the Hoarder not really doing anything and still living in a shit hole, but a slightly more organized shithole where at least they can find the Connect-4 and not step on a dead cat they got in 1983 aptly named “Belinda Carlise”.
Speaking of hoarding, I have about $400 worth of wee wee pads and dog supplies that I haven’t used on my twice returned dog. So if anyone wants them, let me know! Otherwise I’ll hold on to them in case I have another weak moment at the Pet Planet.