It Jus Got Buck in Her

I may not be "ghetto" so to speak, but my love for bubble jackets and moves on the dance floor prove otherwise. To be clear, I wouldn't consider myself ghetto, but instead I would say I am street enough to distinguish the truly buck from those who be frontin'. Now, would I say that the So You Think You Can Dance stage is a place that gets real hood? Hmm...well... Sure it crumps. Sure it emotionally hip-hops. Sure it features Lil C as an "educated" voice on the topic of dance. But is SYTYCD in itself ghetto? Surely NOT.

Which is why my reaction to the season 6 finale is still tasting a bit sour as I continue to chew on it. And yes, I'm aware I've had weeks to get over Jacob losing to Russel but it still doesn't sit right in my stomach. Accepting that Russel mindfucked the audience with his amateur sweet boy routine is like putting my GERD-ridden digestive system on the hot tamale train. I ALWAYS loved Russel--but more for his quiet humility rather than his killer moves. Once Kat announced he won and we were left with a shirtless fake-cripple, all my love for Russel was... well... "crumped."

"You mah boy! Gettup hea! Dis guy has been wit me since the beginning!" Yeah... no thanks, Russel. Save it for your next television appearance on I Love New York. If I could have any positive reaction to his obscene one, it would be Jacob's "I am way too gay to be present for this" hand gesture. Apparently winning the title is also miraculous, in that it can heal the lame and make them crump. Big fat faker. What happened to the knee, crybaby? Also, was I the only person under the impression that Russel was an untrained dancer? Apparently he's been dancing in classes since the age of 3 to keep him off dem streets.

Oh well. Jacob, if you can read this... I think you're incredible. And not winning the show is probably for the best. The best dancers really never win after all... sigh...

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Attack of the Snagleteeth, Badly Dressed, and Old

Throughout my years of maturity, I've found that I've been able to grow a taste for many things I originally found detesting: mayonnaise, brussel sprouts, tomatoes, furry boots, hair extensions, DFMOs, liquor... just to name a few. And yet over the years, I've never been able to mature to the point where I could find a liking for one thing in particular: the uglies.

You heard me right; I'm referring to those poor souls who were "beaten with the ugly stick," or "fell from the ugly tree," or have the face of an undecipherable animal. Now, I'm sorry if I've offended any of you unfortunate looking folk. Though, if you're a friend of mine I would venture to say you're not an ugly (my heart does not befriend uglies).

My need to vent at the expense of the uglies stems from NBC and its idea of a Glee-substitute (like something of the sort could ever exist), The Sing Off. My roommate and I have been curled up on the couch this week with dinner and a bottle of wine, both of us expecting something beautiful! And exciting! And beautifully exciting! What were we left with? Mediocrity and an inner mantra of "womp. womp. womp."

Now, in the show's defense, sure--glee clubs in real life are not ordinarily made up of beautiful Broadway stars, cool jocks and cheerleader types. However, to subject America to snagleteeth, ugly sweaters, sequin overload, and old ladies is an absolute cruelty! Yeah I know... it's not a beauty competition; but to be perfectly frank, they can't sing all that well either. In fact, since the show's premiere, I've been able to count 4 single people solo-worthy for national television: From "Voices of Lee," the girl who sang "No One" and the guy who sang "Freedom," from "The SoCals" the girl who sang "Already Gone," and from "Nota" (my personal fave) the guy who sings all the time.

Other than that, we are left with "The Beezelbubs" who, though charming, have collectively together seen one pair of breasts their whole lives (I mean, I have to assume that one of them were breastfed) and "Maxx Factor," a female barber shop quartet from Baltimore who are all far past the prime of life. Sadly enough, "Noteworthy" was kicked off last night despite an applaudable rendition of one of my guilty pleasures, Wilson Phillips' "Hold On." But, there's only enough ugly for one stage! Thank GOD for Nick Lachey and Nicole Scherzinger or The Sing Off might be mistaken for a TV remake of The Goonies.

An Ode to the 4 Time Golden Globe Nominated: GLEE!

You can give me Idol. You can give me The Sing Off. But you will never take my Glee.

-William Wallace



Three things I pray: To see Glee more clearly. To love Glee more dearly. To follow Glee more nearly. Day by day by day.

-Gaylord Foker



And fare Glee well, my only Love, and fare Glee well a while! And I will come again, my Love, though it were ten thousand mile.

-Robert Burns



How do I love Glee. Let me count the ways.

-Elizabeth Barret Browning



One, Two, Glee... Finn and Quinn and Artie. Gettin down with 3P. Everybody loves Glee.

-Brit Brit



And YOU and YOU and YOU... you're gonna love GLEE!

-Amber Riley



A much deserved conGLEEtulations to the perfectly adoreable and hilarious cast of Glee for their 4 Golden Globe nominations in their freshman season!



-Jane Lynch: Best Supporting Actress in a series, miniseries, or TV movie.

-Lea Michelle: Best Actress in a comedy

-Matthew Morrison: Best Actor in a comedy

-Glee: Best comedy!



While I do hope that Glee cleans up shop at the globeys... I'm especially crossing my fingers that the TV gods bestow their best luck on Jane Lynch. Ever since I heard the words: "You think THAT'S hard? Try living with hepatitis--now THAT'S hard," I knew she was destined for countless statuettes.



And though I will be limitlessly sadder on Wednesday's until April, it brings a little song to my heart knowing that I will be able to catch the Gleeks on my second favorite silver screen venue... the red carpet. Oh yeah... I'll be making sure Santa brings me Season 1 Part 1 on DVD for Christmas. Yayyy Santa!

America, Why Have You Forsaken Me?

I have a new found appreciation for the term "hump day." As it so happens, I've recently equated my television viewing cycle to an orgasm. A long, long, O which climaxes on Wednesday with Glee. Now may I say thank god for Glee; Without it, I would have gotten some serious blue balls with the results of Wednesday's SYTYCD elimination show. Thanks a lot, America... you cock-blocks, you.

The So You Think You Can Dance viewers have made a mistake of catastrophic proportions. Yes, it's true... Ryan, the walking spray tan, will be competing in the show's finale this week over everyone's favorite B-boy, Legacy. Ryan's pathetic tearful performance on Tuesday night may have won the ignorant over, but not I. I know better; the "tears" in question were actually excess tanner streaking down his cheeks. That shit stings! I'd cry too.

Yes... after mambo-ing his shiny shirts away, Ryan begged America to vote his wifey, Ashleigh, into the finals despite the fact that she did not even dance last week. Now don't get me wrong, I'm as big of an Ashleigh fan as they come; But just because the teenyboppers think it would be cute for the finale to be couples night we will let that man-booger bump Legacy out of the competition?! Ugh... so unfair.

As a tribute to the eye-candy wonder that is Legacy, I will vow to remain shirtless all day. Sure, this will prove to be awkward in the workplace but I see no better way to support the man, the myth, the Legacy.

...eek it's cold in here.

Editors Note: My BFF just sent me an e-card. I have revised this post's picture to showcase it. Thanks, KDoggy.

Nassau County... Enchanted Forest of my Youth

Dear Gossip Girl,

Thank you for turning Nassau County into the mystical, fantastical story book paradise I always hoped it would be. A place where the streets are lined with white wooden fences and the trees are as plentiful as the Garden of Eden. A place where silver wolves roam free in the moonlight, frolicking through the mist to the sweet songs of nightingales. A place so quiet and uninhabited that you could crash a car on a major street, crawl out unharmed, move the passenger to the drivers seat and hitch a ride with a getaway car. A place so far removed from the business of Manhattan it would require Nate Archibald to sigh and say "how long until we get to Nassau County?"

Well guess what Nate, by the time you spit the words out, you were probably already there. In truth, Nassau County is a whole lot less storybook and a whole lot more... well... "howyadoin." Yes, as a native Nassau Countian, I have the authority to paint the picture of what might have really happened when Serena drove half an hour from the city to join Tripp in the act of home wrecking:

First she'd drown in the sounds of techno before being surrounded by a sea of blow outs. Then they'll force her to wear acrylic nails, dye her hair black, rock too much gold jewelry and wear some variation of Ed Hardy. Then she and Trip would make it a night out at Glo where they can meet Jwow (Yes, the Jersey Shore star is actually from my home town. Yeah... we're ecstatic about it). From there they'll dance the night away on a cocaine high that would make even Serena chant "Jagerbombs." Then she'll probably also hallucinate about Bart Bass as creepily as Chuck did (Um... THAT was weird). From there, she'll pass out, and the ambulance would come and NOT take her to Nassau Grace hospital (because... well... it doesn't exist). Eek... but traffic would be so heinous it won't make it to the hospital on time. Sorry, Serena... you dead.

Ok... wow! I've gotten a little out of hand here. While the gross misrepresentation of my silly little home made me a wee bit upset, there was some heart wrenching moments that even made this Long Island bitch shed a tear. Example A: The Chuck-to-Blair forehead smooch (Gets me every time). Example B: A sleeping Natey-poo at Serena's bedside. Every girl deserves a pet.

Mr. Shu Finally Grows a Pair

It wasn't such a great day for Mr. Schuster on Wednesday. First homeboy has to fork over a check to by an ad in the school's own yearbook so that the Gleeks can get a measly photo op. Then he's forced to step down as Glee club director because the kids went diva rogue on his ass. Then he finds out that his sociopathic wife has been lying about her pregnancy for months (which of course means that the poor guy hasn't gotten laid in quite a while). Then he's forced to sleep on a discount mattress that you KNOW put knots in his back (woof... they were like 3 inches thick!).

Does it suck? Sure it does. But you can't argue that red-in-the-face isn't a hot color for Mr. Shu. To be honest, I was never able to shake the theater-queen vibes that he sends out there until I saw him rip off the Mrs.' fat suit. People argue it was a little intense; well in that case, slap my ass and call me Richard because I LOVE intensity. It's pretty much my favorite thing... you know... besides marching and sancerre. Seeing Mr. Shu get mad was like watching Mr. Rogers pull a Whitney Houston (Please click here). I've always been a fan of sweater vests and passion--now put your hands together.

The real victim here is not Mr. Shu. No, it's Quinn. Poor girl is doing the bravest thing a woman her age can do and with no help of her dingo parents or Terri-ble Schuster. Thank God she has Finn--but I can't say for how long... He made bedroom eyes at me at the Glee luncheon. Yes. That's right.

Well folks, when the clock strikes midnight my mourning process will begin. Yes, tomorrow marks the day of the Glee fall finale. We'll then be forced to wait until April to get our weekly dose of gleefulness. I blame FOX for my seasonal depression.

Ooh Watcha Say

Ooh Watcha Say... Serena's low cut dress really accentuated her adultering whoreness. Though, it was really really pretty.

Ooh Watcha Say... I'm still confused as to why we are supposed to believe that Vanessa if half black. Is she adopted? Oh, and V, please quit it with all of these "new face" comments; Dan's probably just constipated.

Ooh Watcha Say... I'd really like to see how Jonathon can strike war against queen Jenny of the underworld. How does he plan on doing it exactly? Borrowing Adam Lambert's stylist and makeup artist to disquise himself as Jenny in order to sabotage her?

Ooh Watcha Say... I was pretty convinced that Lilly's big secret was that she was in rehab, but I pray to the gossip gods that it's something a bit more scandalous. I just hope that poor Rufus grows finally grows a set. That man is far too sexy to be walked over in Louboutins.

Ooh Watcha Say... Aww Natey-poo. You've been blinded by the blonde. I'm sorry that your love token is side-talking home wrecker. It's a good thing you have Chuck Bass as a BFF. And you get to live with him. And you get to see him in his underwear. And you get to smell his clothes. No wait... sorry... that's just my late night fantasies talking.

Ooh Watcha Say... is it just me? Or is this song catchy?

Blame it on the Al-a-a-al-co-hol

Blame it on the vodka blame it on the henne... blame it on the club soda? Who are you trying to fool, chief? Last time I pulled that act I was in high school, swiggin' stolen 20-year-old vodka from my parent's liquor cabinet straight out of a Poland Spring bottle while going to third base under the boardwalk. In answer to your question it was Grey Goose and yes... that makes it classier.

Grey's Anatomy is on a brief hiatus which I personally find ironic seeing as the current central storyline involves the chief taking a hiatus from sobriety. The bad news? The chief is off the wagon. The good news? At least there's a reason behind him being mind-blowingly manstrual lately. The best news? He's got booves. Sure, I'll explain...

Booves, or booze-induced dance moves, usually occur at the point right before you throw up. In most cases, true booves come out right before the drink that ends the night. You may be thinking to yourself, "I have great booves." Wrong. No one has great booves. In fact, you would never know whether or not you do as you are likely to be black out when they occur. Traditional booves involve lots of swaying, nodding, and slow-motion twirling. If you're fancy (like the chief) your arms rise eye level because, let's face it, that's as far as your body will allow them to go when holding a beverage. Classic booves may also involve a tumble and/or wipe out. Wake up with a mystery bruise? Must have been a boove.

As I consider myself an authority on booves (a. because I made up the term and b. because I'm a dancing drunken fiend) I can say with certainty that dance booves also have the chance of turning into bedroom booves. Yes, again booze-induced moves. Waking up next to a tall dark and handsome may be the only indication that you had some great booves.

**Editors note: At the time this post was posted, I was unaware that the term "booves" was already in existence. Yes, according to Urban Dictionary, "booves" is the plural form of "boof," an unshaven pubic area. Weirdly enough I find this awesome. It stays.