grievance: coffee cups in the media

I do understand how strange a title this is for a grievance and that it's not altogether clear what the hell I mean by this.  Every time you see someone with a cup of coffee, or tea, or what-have-you, depicted in the media... ANY television show, movie, etc., anything which is scripted, for some reason, they don't think to actually put some kind of fluid into the cup.

This may seem like a silly grievance but it really, really bothers me.  And it's just SO ubiquitous that I'm enraged pretty much every time I watch TV or see a movie.  The reason it just boggles my mind so violently is: SO much time is spent on filming shit.  And there are props PEOPLE.  And a lot of time, I'm sure, it's difficult to get exactly the precise prop which is desired.  So to have it all fucked up over the non-putting of fluid into a coffee cup or mug is just so egregiously offensive.

The reason is because a cup filled with coffee moves on a different trajectory than one which is empty.  Try it yourself.  I'm sure you'll see.  So, people go into coffee shops and buy coffee and then whisk about with this "full," brand new cup of coffee.  And even drink from it.  I'm fine with the non-drinkage.  It's not spatially upsetting.

How do movies like Avatar exist with such precision and detail and then eff it up because they didn't put any water into the damned cup?  Pisses me off royally.  This one especially since I find Anne Hathaway so damned irritating:

Who holds coffee like that?  Not this broad:

-moon

grievance: the series finale of the l word *spoiler alert*

Look at this crapola. "i killed jenny."

I'm furious. Absolutely furious. I just spent, what, 6 years of my life watching a show, following plotlines, seeing characters DIE... and then this?! Really, Executive Producer/Creator Ilene Chaiken? Seriously?

Okay... so for those of you who don't know, The L Word was the show which essentially took Queer As Folk's place in terms of being edgy and breaking down walls which previously existed for same-sex relationships being portrayed on television. I watched it live from the very first episode (it's premiere directly followed some big season or series finale, I think). And I thought it was incredibly well done and interesting and entertaining. And I think it did do what it intended to. Because after a while, it seemed really mundane. Which is apparently why it ended. Because it wasn't edgy enough anymore. And for that, I'm really happy, actually. I like gay people. More than most straight people. Topic for another blog.

Anyhow, they set up, from the very beginning of this last season, that one of the main characters, Jenny Schecter, portrayed by the lovely and talented Mia Kirshner, ends up dying. And the first episode is in real-time, during which the police are "investigating" what seems to be her "murder." And the entire last season is spent leading up to those events. Which is incredibly thrilling and exciting. At times, however, it did become annoying. Because up until about mid-way through last season, Jenny Schecter was a pretty loveable character. She had moved to L.A. with her boyfriend and been "seduced" by this woman (whom I don't think is altogether that hot but is supposed to be this sex pot of sorts) and gets in touch with her true sexuality, dumps the boyfriend and then goes through a mess of heartbreaks and emotional problems. The entire last season is her systematically pissing all of the other main characters off, each saying some variation of "I'm gonna kill Jenny Schecter" after the events have transpired.

And every single time, you have this moment, as a viewer, where you think "oh God. Could this have been any more staged? It's almost laughable." But you continue on.

So the series finale comes. And everyone's all raged up. Everyone is ready to "kill Jenny Schecter." And they're all at a party which she's essentially put together as a sort of send-off for main characters Bette (Jennifer Beals) and Tina (Laurel Holloman). And they keep setting characters up to be alone with her. And the other character does something sheisty, like Kit (Pam Grier) closing the drapes, etc. etc., blah blah blah. And the whole time, I'm sitting there rolling my eyes, making bets with my roommate on who's gonna do it. And every 45 seconds, we change our minds. Because they're trying to make it as suspensful as they possibly can.

And then... they leave it entirely open-ended. Like, you could guess. But you could guess SEVERAL different options. And I'm simply NOT DOWN WITH THAT. You might as well have just not ended it. Not even done this season. It's not cute. It's not kitschy. It's not innovative. It's a really creepy thing to do to your audience who has been loyal for so many years.

Go to hell, L Word.

-moon

grievance: the city

The Hills' spin-off The City is just a complete and utter waste of time.
The Hills and its spin-off The City are just complete and utter wastes of time.

With that said, The Hills at least had some entertainment value and actually kept me tuning in each week.
With that said, The Hills placed a spell on me and I kept watching it despite the fact that every single episode made me dumber and dumber.

The main distinction between the two shows, besides the obvious locale change, is that the primary show wasn't OFFENSIVE. The City's Olivia Palermo actually makes me want to move away from New York City and pretend I never went to private school on the Upper West Side. And it's actually making Whitney (formerly the most likeable and normal, unjaded character of The Hills) look like a fucktard for listening to her spout her elitist garbage.

Paraphrased Transcript of a Scene From Last Week's Episode:
Whitney: I think we should really go now (to The Cutting Room) to see Jay's (her boyfriend) show.
Olivia: No. I need to try on the same exact Diane Von Furstenberg blazer as I have on in ALL black, because I'm such an spoiled brat I think that the only way I can go to a "rock show" is by wearing all black.
Whitney's Nondescript, Inconsequential Friend Whose Name I Don't Remember... Probably Because She's Brunette: Umm... you don't have to wear all black to go to a rock show.
Olivia: Whatever. I love my life. Let's drink champagne and make fun of other people. So does this exact same blazer in black look exactly the same as the white one but more rock? I wouldn't want to offend all of your stupid, low-life hipster friends and boyfriend, Whitney.
Whitney: Yeah... it's classic. But can we go now? Seriously. The show is already starting and we're nowhere near it.
Olivia: Oh PLEASE. Can't we take like 45 more minutes to look through my glorious closet? It's not like they're going to start the show without us. They'll stall 'til we get there.
Whitney: Umm... is this your disgusting cousin's sock lying around?

All I'm saying is that this show sucks. Whitney... girl... why'd you turn into a crapbag?

-moon

grievance: bamboozle edition

Maybe I should subsume Orion's shit that sucks: nightclub clusterfuck sxsw edition, Stars' raging out at... the coachella edition and this into "A Shitty Rageout Grievance: Outdoor Concert Festivals," n'est-ce pas? Seriously... when has anyone enjoyed him/herself at one of these? I'd have to say never.

Historically speaking, Bamboozle blows. Its predecessor, Skate and Surf, also... blew.

Viz... Skate and Surf 2003:

(Yeah... that's me IN a merch box, trying to hide/sleep due to severe unhappiness. Also... I do understand that black hair does not look good on me. Ohhhhhh to be 18 again.)

Skate and Surf 2004:

(The middle finger = always a telling sign that one is having fun. Also a telling sign? Stars eating pull-and-peel Twizzlers AT a show.)

Bamboozle 2005:

(In short: what a miserable-looking group of people.)

Bamboozle 2006/2007:

(Absent picture. Why? Because I didn't go. After those three years... no thanks.)

Okay... so this year, my friend asked me if I would "sell merch" for a band with whom she is friends, thinking she would be in L.A. So I agreed. Why not? I'd spent two years away from this abomination. Plus... my favorite band since I was 14 years old, Jimmy Eat World, was playing.

WORST.

EXPERIENCE.

OF MY LIFE.

The way the "merch" was set up was under this tent against the periphery of the concert "dwelling" (if you will). The weather: freezing, raining.

"Merch" check-in spot was a vast distance from the actual booth, so I had to wait alone, in the freezing rain for about an hour trying to get a freakin' golf cart to bring my shit over to the place I'd be spending the next 9 hours shivering. Not to mention, this began at 9:00 A.M., after having bartended until 5:30 A.M. the night before.

Back to my whole periphery-based merch. The day was cold... I was wearing the following:

1. A tube top;

2. A wool turtle-neck;

3. A cardigan;

4. A blazer;

5. A jacket with a hood.

Still.

Freezing.

As the day warmed up, the only thing which did NOT warm up was the "merch" area, because the wind was coming from behind us and we (my dumb ass and the other "merch"-purveyors) were the "things" blocking the wind from the rest of the concert area. So I realized that there was legitimately a 7 degree difference between the merch area and 3 steps forward from it. I spent the day shivering with a hood on, stapled to this table, starving, exhausted and cranky.

And then I had to watch Sebastian Bach's flabby armpit fat flap around as he relived his glory-days.

I did however get to redeem this atrocious work by getting to see Jimmy Eat World from backstage. And I did get a picture with the lead singer, Jim, which essentially made me pee my pants. But of course as soon as J.E.W. started playing, it started raining. So my picture with Jim looks like a picture of Jim and a swollen, pissed off, wet rat:

Don't even get me started on Warped Tour...

-moon

grievance: television-advertised cd compilations

I was just watching True Life: I'm Addicted to OxyContin (why do people insist on pronouncing this drug "Oxy Cotton"?) and a commercial came on which depressed me even more than the episode. It was for a CD compilation (early-90s style) called "BuzzCuts." I'm not really sure why it's called BuzzCuts. I think it's supposed to be some kind of clever pun, but I can't quite make the leap from music to hair.

It claimed to be a compilation of the "biggest and best alternative rock hits"... "OF ALL TIME." So I'd like to share with you the songs (and my bitchy commentary on such) considered to be the best... of ALL TIME. Because I can't quite understand how someone allowed this to go to press:

Disc 1
"Kryptonite," by Three Doors Down: how can a song be considered one of the best of all time when the lead singer is that annoying? Especially when they had a single which directly followed this ("Loser") which absolutely ruled. This song just blows. Wasn't there like a dude dressed as Superman in the video? Tackity tack tacky.

"Fat Lip," by Sum 41: I love when bands rip off Green Day. (Rolls eyes.)

"I Miss You," by Blink 182: I may be biased by the fact that this is the worst live band I've ever seen. I saw them at Irving Plaza and then again unwillingly at Claus Fest a couple of years ago and had to hide in the bathroom with my fingers in my ears. With that said, pretty stellar studio band. But "of all time"? Really?

"Blurry," by Puddle of Mudd: the gratuitous "d" vexed me so much that this had no chance.

"I'd Do Anything," by Simple Plan: not only is the lead singer Pierre the whiniest bitch ever, but he's also a huge asshole. Annnnnnnnd... this song says NOTHING.

"Celebrity Skin," by Hole: this is a real rock song. It's shirking in embarrassment to be on this compilation. I think they needed it for some street cred and edginess points.

"Sour Girl," by Stone Temple Pilots: my favorite thing about this is how the video clip looked ridiculously awful next to the other songs, quality-wise. If Scott Weiland were sober enough, I think he'd be pretty embarrassed that this is on here too... hmmm... same goes for Courtney Love.

"Running Away," by Hoobastank: how can you put an Incubus-rip off band on here and not Incubus?

"Hanging Around," Counting Crows: what?!

"Lakini's Juice," by Live: how do you not put something from "Throwing Copper" on here?!

"Hanging By A Moment," by Lifehouse: this band just confuses me. They're the predecessors to Nickelback in their ability to make all of their songs sound exactly, drearily the same.

"The Way," by Fastball: "alternative"??? Great tune, though.

"What It Is To Burn," by Finch: you're telling me anyone else in the WORLD knows this song but me? Ugh. Now I hate it.

"The Chemicals Between Us," by Bush: I don't even know this song. Probably because despite his hotness, Gavin Rossdale hasn't put out anything mildly resembling influence since... well... hmmm... "Machine Head" was decent.

"Smooth Criminal," by Alien Ant Farm: a band I absolutely adore, and also a band whose drummer peed on my foot in a hotel room in Texas. But c'mon! A Michael Jackson cover gets on the list for best of all time?

Disc 2
"Higher," by Creed: Oh. My. God. I'm gagging.

"Meant to Live," by Switchfoot: apparently "alternative" means "pop" now.

"Butterfly," by Crazytown: I love that a song by a castmember of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew is a one-hit wonder considered to be one of the best "of all time." (I can't get past the superlativity [yeah... that's not a word] of "of all time. Like, at all.)

"Hemorrhage (In My Hands)," by Fuel: I like this song. But the lyrics kind of scare the shit out of me.

"My Own Worst Enemy," by Lit: oh c'mon! You can't put the song with the video of a giant Pamela Anderson and a tiny band playing on her ass? That's way more rock 'n' roll. Also: from what I remember, this guy has some pretty intense sideburns. Kudos, sideburn man.

"I Will Buy You A New Life," by Everclear: another band whose songs all sound EXACTLY the same. But hey... unlike Nickelback, the one song is pretty good.

"Amber," by 311: oh lord. I love 311. And I love "Amber." But how typical.

"Somewhere Out There," by Our Lady Peace: good-band-does-rock-ballad-silliness. Blah!

"I Hate Everything About You," by Three Days Grace: ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. Ew.

... ew!

"Inside Out," Eve 6: was this commercial from 1999? I'm confused. Eve 6 is awesome, but... are we in a time-warp?

"Send the Pain Below," by Chevelle: see "I Hate Everything About You," by Three Days Grace. (Fine... just one more: "ew!")

"Wherever You Will Go," by The Calling: he's very blonde.

"Fly," by Sugar Ray: dude hosts Access Hollywood or one of those absurdist gossip shows. How "alternative" is that.

In summation, this CD sucks beyond measure. And I have no idea why anyone would buy this. Especially since anyone who is watching MTV2 at 1:00 Ante Meridiem probably downloaded all of these songs on Napster on dial-up at age 14.

... pshh. I know I did. (Hides from the hypocrisy.)

-moon

raging out at... the coachella edition

Before I begin my usual rant on the finer points of suckage, I will first concede that Coachella is amazing. People are friendly; they just invite you to crash in their giant mansions upon meeting you. There are so many amazing and really strange things to see (and I'm not even talking about the bands). There's great music and tasty snacks. What's not to love? Well, you can always count on your old pal stars to find something to be pissed about. Or truth be told, some things.

1) The Impossibility of Finding Anyone
I haven't seen my friend Chris in over a year. He's back on the east coast and we seem to keep missing each other every time I'm back. We spent an entire weekend just a few hundred yards from each other and still couldn't manage to hook up. And it actually took nearly a full 24 hours for me to find my friend Erica who* I was STAYING with. Although I did get the consolation prize of the century with a David Hasselhoff sighting.

2) Shoddy Cell Phone Service
I am absolutely one of those people that is useless as a human when I'm without a cell phone. Seeing the evil "X" or no bars on my phone makes me want to spit venom especially when I am trying to meet up with someone, a la point numero uno. But the cell phone service at Coachella has an even more annoying factor to it. All weekend, my phone lied to me and told me I had full coverage but somehow just couldn't send or receive texts without some absurd multi-hour delay.

3) Pass "Situations" and Rude Security Guards
Much like Orion hates security guards who wield power just because they can, I too have a vendetta against evil, power-hungry security. Can someone explain to me why my sidestage pass that would allow me to actually go onstage would not let me into the VIP tent where approximately 2,500 people were allowed? Yeah, I can't either. According to the good folks at Coachella, I had permission to go backup dance during Prince's set, but could not share in the VIP beer? Height of rudeness.

4) Annoying Security Gripe Part Deux
They like to make you walk certain paths where there is all sorts of human pileup. Why? I don't know. Allowing people to use the whole road instead of a fenced in dustbowl would probably create less congestion. But what do I know?

5) VIP Parking
In an attempt to not come off as elitist, preferred parking is hard to come by unless you are actually handicapped. My lovely and wonderful Amanda took care of special parking for me. However, this special parking was actually farther away than the general public parking. I saw press people carrying 25 pound cameras and crazy amounts of equipment the half mile to the venue. I appreciate the idea of being able to park close when you are physically incapable of walking far (although if you are incapable of walking that far to the venue, you honestly probably shouldn't be at Coachella where everything is a solid quarter mile away from everything else in the first place) and I do understand that maybe I am a spoiled brat about being able to park where I want, but these press people were seriously fucked. So much for being VIP.

6) My Pink Hair
Okay, this is perhaps not a Coachella problem, but it certainly came to light in the drug-friendly environment that Coachella has come to be. My hair is currently a shockingly bright shade of pink and this somehow apparently screams to crazies that I am a drug dealer. For the record... I do NOT have ecstasy on me nor can I sell you some meth. And honestly wouldn't any drug dealer at a festival like that try to carry themselves with a little more discretion and maybe not have glow-in-the-dark hair? Just a thought.

7) Prince
He is overrated and garbage.

Sorry, Coachella, for making you the subject of my rageout. I truly had a lovely time and fully appreciate the tan you provided me! Until next year...

-stars

*whom

raging out at... ryan gosling

"I mean, God bless The Notebook," Gosling says. "It introduced me to one of the great loves of my life. But people do Rachel and me a disservice by assuming we were anything like the people in that movie. Rachel and my love story is a hell of a lot more romantic than that."

Where does one get in line for that?? And who knew it got better than The Notebook?

I'll be sharpening my razors if anyone needs me.

-stars

raging out at... john mayer

Okay, so yes, living in Hollywood, you're bound to have a celebrity neighbor or two. And living anywhere, you're bound to run into your neighbors fairly often. But sometimes, it goes above and beyond the call of neighborly duty and becomes borderline stalker creepy. Welcome to the case of The Gingers Vs. John Mayer. Leave us alone or give us a heads up that we are getting together for the 12th time this week. Two redheads in the foreground of every stalkerazzi picture of John Mayer? Probably us because he haunts our grounds. And we have had enough. Or not nearly enough.

It started for this Ginger years ago when I was a phone operator at a New York radio station. I was 19 years old and passed out asleep at 5 AM on a desk waiting for my shift to start. I could feel a body hovering over me. I fought to stay asleep until this gigantic body began strumming his guitar in an obvious attempt to annoy the piss out of me (or maybe he was warming up for a performance on the country's biggest pop station, but this blog is about me so shut your mouth.) Strike one, John. Don't bother me at 5 AM.

Fast forward to a few years later. I'm working at Mayer's label. Fine, he was there before me but still. My boss at the label sought out my number and called me. John's homebase was New York so without fail, there was a bi-weekly elevator encounter, including one time where the lights went out and we were stuck for about 45 seconds. (Did I pray to be trapped there forever? Mind your business, I will not answer such questions.) Strike 2, John. (Yeah fine, strike 1 Stars for that. But I'm still winning according to golf rules.)

So not too long after leaving that job, I moved out to California. Guess who else decided to change time zones? Out here on the left coast is where things began to get absurd. I managed to avoid Mayer for nearly a year until shortly after the boy I was dating decided he was over it. So in faux celebration, 2 of my girlfriends and I decided to hit up a hotel bar which is no more than 1200 feet from my apartment.

We went in and ordered a round of drinks and I noticed a familiar looking man. I went up to him and tried to place how it was that I knew him. Turns out he was a member of Mayer's band and was in town with John to perform a special holiday show. Of course he was. And here's where it becomes excessive.

JJ invites us to the show and we of course agree. Mayer's stalkerish tendencies aside, he puts on a great show and I love all free things anyway. The next night we decide to hit up Chateau Marmont. Guess who rolls in? Shocking. My body remains a wonderland all over Los Angeles County. Next day we hit up the premiere of Walk Hard, which despite living in LA for a year is the first movie premiere I bother attending. Guess who's on the red carpet promoting his surprise cameo in the film? Yeah, my old buddy J Mizzle. Of course he was. Where else would he be? And is my invisible assistant tipping off the Mayer camp to my every move? Because honestly, I have friends and family I see far less than I see John. I'm actually hard-pressed to think of friends, family, or boyfriends I see more frequently than John. I'm coming up blank.

So as we know, I headed home to New York for the holidays. I hit up a restaurant in Gramercy for dinner with an old boyfriend. We enjoy a nice meal and a few laughs and exit the premises as John is entering. Is there a coast I where I can live in peace? No, Stars, there's only 2 and they're both tainted.

This morning was the final straw, however. Last week, I had a "date" (my god, I hate that word) and went over to Ginger's house to get myself together. A friend of ours decided she would be my angel and straightened my hair for me. This morning I get an IM from Ginger that reads, "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME. CHECK TMZ RIGHT THIS SECOND." I log in and there's my hair straightening friend smiling up at me, sitting at Katsuya with John. Now he has not only infiltrated both my homes, my Christmas vacation, all the bars I love, but my circle of friends too?

That's enough, John Mayer.

-stars

raging out at... my top 10

Today is a special day when so many things have created a swelling rage within me that I can not stick to one topic. I must instead introduce my first annual (or however frequently, or infrequently, I feel like doing it) Top 10 Rage list.

In no particular order...

10) My Roommate's Piece of Trash DVD Player
I will readily admit that I am absolutely the kind of girl that reads the novel before the movie comes out so I can snidely look like a pompous ass walking out of the theater saying, "can you even believe they left out the 3rd word in the 4th paragraph on page 26? The whole movie couldn't have possibly made any sense to anyone who didn't read the book." Now this attitude (and it is a stretch, but bear with me) is why I'm pissed off at the DVD player. Dexter, from what I hear, is this brilliant amazing show that I haven't seen. I've had the DVDs laying around and I, of course, have not yet unwrapped them and bothered to watch the show. Of course all it takes is for me to hear that it's coming to CBS and I immediately raced to watch. How could I bitch and moan about how much better the cable version is if I had not seen it? So clearly to keep my grandiose sense of entitlement, I attempt to watch the DVDs today and the DVD player tells me the disc is incompatible. Living with my roommate for a year, I have yet to put a disc in there that does actually work. So now I'm watching dexter on my laptop while the stupid DVD player screen mocks me in the background. I will be going out in the morning to purchase a cinnamon raisin bagel to see if that might be compatible for it. Or at least cross my fingers that DVD players are capable of being choked.

9) Lying Contact Lens Manufacturers
Yes, I know I shouldn't sleep in my contact lenses. And yes, I do it anyway. Almost every night. But I did have the good sense to order the extra oxygen, let-your-eyes-breathe contacts which are supposed to be "okay" to sleep in. Are they? No, they are not. Can I find my glasses? Nope, I certainly cannot. Am I going blind and might this blog be the last thing I ever see? Well now there's one question that gets a yes. Don't offer me extra fake oxygen. It's rude.

8) Javier Bardem
I legitimately can't sleep most nights or go into a convenience store to buy cigarettes anymore as I spend the entire time in a panic waiting for Javier Bardem to come in and airwhip me to death. I'm scared enough of the eye doctor's airpuff. If I ever see Javier Bardem anywhere near me, I will drop dead of a heart attack long before he can get near me with that deadly canister. Frick, now I'm thinking about him again. My roommate will be mad if she comes home and once again can't get in the door because I've created my traditional Bardem Barricade.

7) Lost
Okay (and I'm sure Orion is going to correct me... which reminds me, stay tuned next week for a special orion/stars west coast edition), but Lost is quite possibly the best show of its genre on network television. I would maybe allow Pushing Daisies in a ring against Lost, but any show where the lead actor is a pie-maker is somewhat genre-less. (I will categorize TV based on bakery treats as often as I want and based on the one time I have ever done this [just now], it has proven to be a remarkably efficient and precise classification method.)
But here is my big problem with Lost. And no, it is not how they always quickly and thoroughly answer all my questions within minutes of them being posed, or how it isn't frustrating at all that they do something absurd and never again approach the topic. Actually I've changed my mind. Those are my big problems with Lost. But even more pressing and tragic than that problem is that the costume designer keeps putting a shirt on Sawyer. I believe it's a Biblical reference - that you do not hide your light under a barrel - so the costume designers are pretty much telling God to shove it by shirting the ever majestic Sawyer. That's just not cool.

6) My Supermarket Discount Card
The supermarket discount cards belong to a conglomerate that is also home to such things as socks in the dryer and every Bic lighter I've ever owned. They are objects which are fleeting in my life. They come and bring me joy for a short time and then are just as quickly lost, though not forgotten. There was a period of perhaps 6 or 7 trips in a row to Ralph's when I signed up for a new card because the old one was in the Great Abyss. And my phone number also magically never works.
So I finally have given up and have picked up the habit of punching in my old gentleman friend's phone number. (At least "Pinehog" is good for something). So thanks for the discount, "Pinehog," and you can send me a small gourmet cheese platter for all the points I've wracked up for you in the Ralph's Wine Club. (Come on, who thought I was shopping for a well balanced meal?)

5) Brittny Gastineau
That girl can suck whichever of my butt cheeks is her preferred. A few nights ago, I was walking into a bathroom stall at some Grammy party (God, living in LA is awful) and Brittny Gastineau literally enters the stall with me and yells "Is Paris in here?" Now I've had about a gigaloot of champagne (and yes I did make up that word but it truly is how much champagne I had) and have no idea who this chick is and even if I did, we certainly aren't cool like that for her to join me in a tiny bathroom stall. So the remainder of the conversation goes something like this:

Stars: I have no idea who Paris is.
Brittny: You've got to be fucking kidding me. Where is Paris?
Stars: I'm not sure if you're aware of how tiny this stall is, but the chance of Paris being in here is pretty marginal.
Brittny: You fucking bitch. Tell her I need her.

Okay, what? I'm making it a life rule that D-list celebrities are never welcome in any bathroom stall I'm in. Ever. I have to debate where A-, B-, and C-listers fall on my stall privilege rule. I will get back to you.

4) T-Mobile Sidekicks
I don't have to justify this to anyone who has ever owned a shitkick. Mine is basically being held together by dental floss and a prayer right now. It never works and yet I remain just immature enough to not want to switch to a BlackBerry.

3) My Landlord
My lease is up in less than a month and par for my course, I'm moving, so they're renting out the apartment. With zero forewarning, my landlord barges in with 2 girls to check out the apartment. I was actually head half down in a beer on one couch with a half naked singer/songwriter on the other couch, his head in some Tostitos. We did not need witnesses to that hungover moment. Nor can I imagine it's great for his career to have a spotting of that nature.

2) Tylenol P.M.
I'm a notorious insomniac and I used to be able to trust in my old friends Simply Sleep or Tylenol P.M. in a pinch. Apparently those things are now as effective as a Flintstones gummy vitamin. It's laughable - the non-existent purpose they serve. I don't even get drowsy. I think it may actually have the adverse effect. The next time I go to run one of my half marathons I'm going to pop a Tylenol P.M. I will be sure to finish in record time.

And the top of the Rageout List, the gold medal of suckage prize goes to...

1) CNN.com
Of course I followed the presidential primaries, obsessively checking each number as they came in. And I was delighted with the turnout and pretty much rooting CNN on as their winner projections were coming in quicker than any of the other news channels. But when you click for the more detailed state-by-state delegate breakdown, it informs you in big purple letters which of the candidates no longer have a snowman's chance in hell of winning. Obviously there's quite a few down-and-out candidates who are basically being mocked in lavender by CNN.com for having no votes. But somehow Mike Gravel, winner of maybe not even his own vote, has a big fat zero next to his name, but has escaped the Lilac Mockery. I will be creating "congrats on the goose egg, Gravel" in an array of purple hues to show I think he showed as terrible of a showing as all the other candidates... sans, of course, my beloved Hillary.

-stars

raging out at... drunken camera work

Wouldn't this have been a much better video if the Camera Ginger hadn't had 90 drinks of assorted varieties?


-stars

shit that sucks - mainstream indie films

Zach Braff invented the Shins, and possibly also the mainstream indie flick. This is why I hate Zach Braff - that and the fact that Scrubs isn't really funny, and he hasn't really done anything else. Ever.

I just got home from seeing Juno; you may know it as the "sleeper hit of the season." Everyone's talking about how edgy it is - meanwhile I felt like I was watching a made-for-Lifetime movie on a big screen. Just because she's sixteen and pregnant doesn't mean that it's gonna be controversial, and just because she's like a live action version of Daria Morgendorfer doesn't mean it's gonna be edgy - see also Little Miss Sunshine.

But what pissed me off more was how everyone in the theater felt uber-cool going to see this art house film, which starred Jennifer Garner. The multiplex in Union Square is not the Angelica, and if you are seeing a movie there, realize that you're not in on some awesome secret.

Lastly - the soundtrack. Just because you have an indie rock soundtrack doesn't mean you have a real indie gem. Sonic Youth, the Kinks and Cat Power weren't just uncovered by your music supervisor. Face it - you just want chicks in legwarmers who just got off work at American Apparel to talk about how brilliant the soundtrack was. Face it - it wasn't.

Glad I got that off my chest. Feel free to use the comments section to list other overrated mainstream indie films.

-orion's belt buckle

raging out at... people who take away messages seriously

Obviously with the infiltration of IMs, texts, and e-mails in our daily lives, communication has gotten a little muddled and there are all new sorts of life etiquette rules to be learned. I've gotten into more all-out wars with people I love (read: "the idiot men I date") than I can even recount because of someone taking the cyber-written word the wrong way. But today I learned that cyberspace has figured out a new way to make my already handicapped relationships eligible for the Special Dating Olympics... the away message.

I've been laid up feeling pretty sick the last week or so (and don't worry, there's a rage on my unnecessary need to have an appendix in my body coming) and I've had away messages up more than usual as I've been more unavailable than my norm. So in putting these things up, 9 times out of 10, they're bitching about something or in direct correlation to something a friend and I had recently been laughing about. Now if I were to write "Doing crossword puzzles with Dick Cheney" as my current status, a normal logical person could probably ascertain that I am not, in fact, engaging in word games with our jackoff Vice President. However, if you live in Hollywood and have a slight history of the occasional non nun-like behavior, well then let the rage and accusations fly.

So I'd like to clear up a few things.
1) Almost backing over Shia LeBeouf with my car and having to have him guide me out of a parking spot so he can remove himself from the deathtrap I nearly put him in does NOT mean he was inside me at any point during the day. He did not offer his services. I would have accepted.
2) If you know me well enough to be obsessively checking my away messages, you should know my behavior well enough to know when I'm being tongue-in-cheek.
3) Again knowing me that well, you should know (and by you, I'd like that to again read: "the idiot men I date") that sometimes I write these things to make you angry. It isn't rational or acceptable but this is what I do.

So the point here is this: don't take what I say to be serious. It most likely isn't. And please know if ever I do have Shia inside me, I will take out a full page in the New York Times to announce it. News of that nature is worthy of something more grand than my away message.

-stars

raging out at... people who may or may not be dead

It can't be explained as to why, but nothing (and by nothing, I mean most things) enrages me more than not knowing if someone is dead or not. I hate that I have to sit there, wasted at a bar, and google things such as "Betty White dead." Nearly all of my drunken googles are for either song lyrics or finding out if someone is, in fact, dead.

And to be honest, I am mostly pissed at myself for this one. Someone will pass a remark about someone such as Abe Vigoda and then someone else will ALWAYS chime in with, "Aren't they dead?" I immediately become devastated and start in on the "Dead Inquisition." As my slow Sidekick loads up "Abe Vigoda dead," I attack the party who felt Abe was dead. "When did he die? Are you sure? What happened? How come I think I saw him in that new Macy's commercial? Oh, that was Usher. Whatever. I don't think he's dead. You're wrong. You're dead. Why would you say a thing like that about Abe Vigoda if you weren't sure??"

Now if the allegedly dead celebrity meant that much to me that I would attack a friend, shouldn't I have been up on whether or not they were dead in the first place? And why in the hell does everyone think everyone is dead anyway? 9 times out of 10, the person in question isn't dead.

Don't tell me someone's dead and crush my spirit unless you are sure.

-stars

grievance: "hips don't lie" by shakira

I really need to get this off my chest in a bigger way than complaining to my coworkers when it comes on the mixes at work...

The new Shakira song... "Hips Don't Lie" or whatever... is by far the worst song that has ever been released, recorded, written, danced to or hummed in the history of all music. I actually like Shakira ("Estoy Aquí" is a great song) however... this song makes very evil feelings inside of me come out and makes me capable of possibly killing small children. Just writing this blog, I am angrier than I've been in months. Death to the songwriting team behind Shakira.

Addendum: My friend Mike combated my hatred for this song by claiming it was a "pop song" and that "Wyclef wrote it; it's awesome." To this I must respond that I am not talking about the beat, because it is an awesome beat, and was an awesome beat for a rap song in the mid-90s when it was one. However, it is inappropriate fodder for a Colombian pop star to sing over with a melody that is so completely incongruous with the beat that it might as well be in a different key. Thank you.

-moon