Just Like That, Eh?

I've always held a soft spot in my heart for JJ Abrams. No, it's not because he gave me Desmond, but because he's never compromised America's intelligence. In fact, in a number of interviews, LOST writers have said that one of the aims of the show was to never doubt the viewer's problem solving intellect. Welp... that is until now.

(The following is a dramatization... but it might as well have been lines straight out of the show):

Hurley: "You're stuck here because of what you did, aren't you?"

Michael: "Yes"

Hurley: "And there's more like you--And you guys are the whispers?"

Michael: "Yup"

Jack: "So you were my Dad?"

Flocke: "Yep"

Oh hey, thanks for the heads up, guys. I mean, in the final episode are we to expect that the island's purpose is spelled out in Q&A form, all black and white and dumbed down for America? According to last week's issue of Wired, at the end of its season, LOST viewers will either say "Wow, that was cool" or "Wow, fuck those guys."

My guess is that my reaction will be a bit different. For me, every time a show that I'm so full-heartedly invested in draws its curtains, I go into mourning. It's true... when Friends ended I cried for a straight 48 hours. Boy Meets World? I couldn't eat for a week. Then when ABC cancelled Dirty Sexy Money and Samantha Who, I tried to bomb Disney World. Well not really... only in my mind.

But after the tears subside, I suspect that my reaction will be 98% angry and 2% unimpressed. Why you ask? Because a reveal the magnitude of what this show deserves is pretty much impossible. Unless Sawyer physically walks out of the screen shirtless, sits next to me on my living room couch and explains to me in detail all the secrets of the island, nothing would do it justice.

There's only a few new episodes left, people... better start mentally preparing yourselves now. How am I doing it? Well I try to search for answers in all of my surroundings. For example, right now I'm sitting in Starbucks, creepily staring at my venti cup. Have you ever noticed that the Starbucks logo draws striking similarities to the Dharma Initiative symbol? And the barista! That bitch has got some serious tude... I bet she's been claimed by the dark side!

Ok, now I'm starting to lose it and there's not even a new episode on tonight! Someone pray for me...

Of Course It's a Baldwin

Well folks, the climatic reveal of the century was unleashed last night on to the sort-of-suspecting Gossip Girl audience. That's right, we've seen the face of William van der Woodsen and, oh my stars, it's JACK DONAGHY! Shit... no... it's one of those other, less-special Baldwins.

Yes, it appears that in the role of his lifetime, Alec's biddy brother, Billy, has been casted as Serena's daddio (Flem, thanks for your lesson in thug which informed me that "baby daddy" was not the correct term to use here). While I much prefer him as the tranny-loving senator, Patrick Darling, in Dirty Sexy Money (a small violin plays whenever I think about how much I miss that show), this new role suits him well. You see, Billy has learned a lot of things from his older brother: the dramatic pause, the signature Baldwin eyebrow lift, and more importantly, how to be a mentally abusive father. Wow, I smell an Emmy nomination already.

So this is what we know: Serena gets her golden-blonde locks from her mom and her side-talking, stroke face from her dad. Way to solve that issue, casting directors. My one concern is poor Eric; I mean, what will he think when he realizes that his dad was the mailman? Because lord knows it’s sure-as-hell not Billy-boy. With a face that angelic, it’s more likely that Eric’s birth father is Carter Baizen than William van der Woodsen..

And speaking of baby daddies, Rufus (who is beginning to look more and more like man friend to me—I know, I’m one lucky sonofabitch) better step up his game. First of all, grow a set, make a fist, and give van der Woodsen a knuckle sandwich already! Geeze… it’s not like you have anything better to do. You don’t work, you no longer make music, and by the looks of Jenny, you’re not keeping your fathering skills up to par either.

Ooo, Jenny… that girl has got a one-way ticket to Chlamydia and she’s not even fastening her seat belt. Slow down, girl, before Serena sabotages your social standing to the likes of Nelly Yuki (whatever happened to her anyway?). And so help me god if Jenny starts to hook it with Chuck. He may be bad again, but bad is always good in my book.

Looks like that's all for now, Upper East Siders. In honor of this momentous occasion, let's honor Billy Baldwin by reflecting on his actual best role to date. Interestingly enough, it also stars Gossip Girl herself. What are the chances?!

Victory Over the Tween

Post-adolescents rejoice! Finally, the quest in reclaiming our dignity over our younger counterparts has left us victorious! Take that, Demi Lovato.

Alright, let me start from the beginning...

In my more recent years, the ill-will I've harbored towards those of the pre-teen variety has snowballed to a mass of epic proportions. Some might say that this increase in resentment is directly reflective to the increase in cellulite appearing in my more-than-ever dumpy ass. Whatever the case may be, I've made it my personal vendetta to strike war against the recently pubescent, those smug little twits with their super-sonic metabolisms, new perky boobs, and parent's money.

Think that's harsh? I sure don't. Because of them, I've been forced to listen to Tim "Teflon" Urban on American Idol WEEKS past his welcome. Well America, I'm happy to report that last week was the last. That's right; prince puberty has left the building--Victory is ours at last!

Now, in their defense, tweens don't always have it wrong. Take the Twilight saga for example; That Taylor Lautner gives me more lady tickles than any legal-aged man candy. And High School Musical? Hell, it's Glee on the big screen--what's not to love? But use your youthful sexual charges to keep Tim Herb-an in the running over talent like Didi and Katie? Tisk, tisk little ones... Tisk tisk. And while we're on the subject, enough with this Beiber fever nonsense. Mushroom cuts were so 1996.

Well, it was truly a great group effort, banding together as one saggy unit to give justice and votes to the deserving 20-somethings. So give yourselves a pat on the back and wear your thigh dimples as a symbol of triumph. Sure they may have their whole lives before them, the world at their fingertips, and the ability to eat a big mac without growing another chin, but YOU, dear friends, have your pick of remaining idol contenders. And well... that's really all that matters after all.

*Editors Note: It's come to my attention that my arch nemesis website, votefortheworst.com, a site that tries to get people to vote for the worst idol contestant every week, has selected a new target. Now that Tim Urban has finally been booted, Sioban Magnus has been selected as the new "worst."

I Blame The Coyote...

If you haven't been living under a rock, or if you genuinely care about my well being, you'll know that a few weeks ago, a coyote went loose on the streets of NYC. Ever since then, things in these parts have gotten a little funky. Exhibit A: my refrigerator has taken on an unpleasant odor reminiscent of the time my mom forgot she had groceries in the trunk and took a couple trips to the beach. We have no idea what the source of this odor is, but somehow I feel as though I should blame the coyote. Exhibit B: On a recent trip to Baltimore, my friends and I became possessed by ghosts of college years passed. Again, I blame the coyote.

Now Chuck and Blaire are over?! Well it appears there's only one thing to do... Blame the coyote. What other freaky force of nature could pull apart such perfect love? Well, you know, besides prostituting out your girlfriend to your creepy uncle.

In Chucks defense, I have to believe he had some sort of secret back-up-plan that was never revealed. No? Is that the naïve 16-year-old in me that still believes "it's not you, it's me" talking? Gripes. Fooled again by the blinding powers of love.

So here I sit, with a smelly fridge, embarrassed from last weekend without even the thought of Chuck and Blaire to keep me warm. It could be worse, I could be Jenny, actually convinced that my rats nest and whore games will win me Nate Archibald. Silly, Jenny... Don't you know that a well conditioned mane always wins the man?

But back to the subject at hand: WHY GOD, WHY DID THEY HAVE TO BREAK UP?! My personal investment in this relationship is really starting to take a toll on me. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't shower. Hey... Do you think that weird smell could be me?

Dolphins are Just Gay Sharks

One hundred and twenty five days, twenty eight minutes, and :14 seconds. That's how long I've waited to re-release my inner gleek into the wild abyss of my living room. And how did I celebrate? With a solo, pantless dance party, a hummus bowl on my lap, and song in my heart. It's a fact... you can't really enjoy yourself with pants on. Um, so moving on...

While every second of Tuesday's Glee return made me as giddy as a toy store owner with Peter Pan syndrome, my biggest smiles were the result of the true, shining star of this spectacular program... Brittany. Yes, Brittany--The magical creature who believes that the square root of 4 is rainbows, forgets her middle name, and believes that dolphins are just gay sharks. Oh bless her little blonde heart.

I'm pretty convinced that my deep love for Brittany stems from my own fond memories of high school cheerleading. Yes, yes... I too once dawned the iconic uniform that conveyed the most timeless and impactful message to so many girls... "Stop Eating." Ah--the glory days. Listening to Brittany instantly transports me back to that time so many years ago; a time where I would surround myself with girls who thought that they couldn't pee with a tampon in or that the ocean was salty because of whale semen (uhh... sorry, Liz). Yes, these girls are real.

On Fox's Official Brittany Glee wiki (not that I know that exists or anything...), Brittany is labeled as a "stereotypical blonde cheerleader." Now, as the former pom-star that I am, I take offense to this; Brittany is not just the stereotypical blonde cheerleader... she's the pretty much the gold standard that all cheerleaders should aspire to whether blonde OR brunette (ha... like red headed cheerleaders are allowed). Let's take a moment to reflect upon her shining tidbits of wisdom.

Sunshine Makes Me Do Weird Things

It's a vicious cycle, that twisted mind scrabble they call "the weather." First, it sets you smack in the butthole of a snowpacolypse for the better part of the year, leading to only three things: pasty skin, boredom munching, and a plethora of extra hours devoted to prime time television. Then, as fast as it took for Ricky Martin to come out of the closet... Sunshine. A whole motherload of sunshine to be exact. What does that mean for a lushy television blogger like myself? Well, a lot less blogging and a lot more drunkery.

So it would appear that we have a few things to catch up on... Blaire and Chuck, LOST's whispers, Glee's return, or the fact that Tim Urban is still on American Idol just to name a few. But for now, I'll begin with last Thursday night; The scene was boisterous, I was about four glasses of pinot deep (shocker), and I was telling Mike Tyson that I would rather go head-to-head with him than a pigeon. Think that's a weird thing to say to The Champ? You wouldn't if you knew that Mike Tyson has a show coming out on Animal Planet about racing pigeons. No, that's not a joke.

If you know me at all, you know that birds are no joking matter in my book. Sometimes I have dreams about going to the top of the Empire State building and taking out all those suckers machete style ...Then I wake up happy. It's true--there are very few things on this earth more repulsive and terrifying than a bird. Bacon for one thing, strapless bras for another. I mean, why can't Mike's show be about tigers... or face tattoos... or biting peoples' ears off? Anything but pigeons. I would rather have my ear bitten off while fighting a tiger and getting a face tattoo than watch :30 seconds of this show. There you have it folks... the end of my love for television as I know it.

After that, I decided it would be a good idea to drink some more wine and then have a conversation with Cash Cab's Ben Bailey. I told him that because of his show, I only allow myself to share cabs with my smart friends... all 3 of them. He then let me in on a world-shattering secret: he doesn't pick up pedestrians hailing a cab. On the contrary, the production staff finds people in restaurants and bars (perfect) and stage the whole shabang. I felt cheated and weirdly relieved, but mostly just concerned that a man that tall drives around in a teeny cab all day. Good thing it's an SUV.

But Mike and Ben weren't the only new friends I made that night. I also had the pleasure of talking DWTS with Kate Gosselin (and of course by pleasure I mean mind-numbing pain). I told her it was so happy to meet her (lie). She asked if I was voting. I said "yes" (lie). She asked if I was voting for her. I said, "yes" (lie). Then I finally did what I've been wanting to do since the show's premiere... bring vengeance to Tony Dovolani. I said "Actually, I'm just a really big fan of Tony's." She said "That's sweet" (lie).

You'll be happy to learn that TLC is doing the unthinkable and giving Kate her own show this season, Twist of Kate...

... I'll take the pigeons...

Baby Mama Drama

The reason why I love Gossip Girl is because it proves no matter how privileged you are, no matter if you live on the Upper East Side or Harlem, and no matter what your age, race, or sex may be, we're all just livin' in a Kanye song.

And no one proved that better last week than "Elizabeth" ... IF that's even her real name. Poor Chuck... I mean, "his baby mama's car crib is bigger than his." Well, sure. That would happen to anyone who was blind-sighted by their own flesh-and-blood to hand over the rights to their 5 star hotel. You know... everyday kind of problems. Lovesick or not, Elizabeth is no more than a gold-digging whore.

Good thing the help is around to keep shit under control. Dorota, GG's newest baby mama, has been stepping up her game recently. She even helped Blaire pull off the impossible: find friends to fill a room. Granted, the duo filled the room with a couple dozen call girls, but hey! Just proves my point--Ahh, the business of high-class prostitution.

Speaking of baby mamas, kudos to the writing staff for giving Blaire this line: "Where Bristol Palin shops?!" Well that'll certainly put shopping in perspective. If Bristol is buying Eleanor Waldorf at a glorified Macy's, that means I'll probably never get my hands on it until it hits Loehmann's two seasons later. Call me crazy, but I would venture to guess that Sarah Palin's daughter isn't exactly living paycheck to paycheck. Silly, Blaire.

And then, we've got Jenny... "Drug Dealin' Just to Get By." Didn't your father ever tell you not to be friends with models? Tisk tisk tisk.

Now, on to matters of the heart... or in my opinion... the vomit-inducing. You guessed it, Vanessa and Dan. These two need to get their love locked down. Better yet, I'd like to see them both locked down... in a cell... far away from NYC... where we don't have to see the awkward smooching ever again. And here's another thing; unless you're 100% homosexual, there's no way you want you GF dressing up like old Hollywood. See, that requires putting more clothes on than taking them off-- and that's nothing more than wasting material.

Genie, I Want That

Growing up as a chubby, hairy, Italian girl, my only wish was that one day I could step into a magical pool and wherever the water touched my skin, I would never grow hair there ever again. I used to imagine that when the genie granted my wish, I would strategically step into the pool with my hair up in a bun, and then stick my face in the water up to my eyebrows. That way I would never have to shave my legs, bikini, arms, armpits, or wax my lip ever again.

Then one day, someone much smarter than me asked "Why don't you just make things a lot easier for this Genie and wish your hair away." It was just that simple.

Now, it may seem like a stretch, but my grown-up desire for an iPad is a lot like that wish. I would now like to ask my Genie for a magical, portable devise that would act as a computer, a television, an iPod, a book, a newpaper, and a magazine all-in-one. And then, when I wanted to utilize all the functions, I would merely have to touch a screen to harness the infinite power. Magical.

...then sometime during this dream, Steve Jobs showed up (looking very much like the blue Genie from Aladdin) and said, "Laura, just wish for an iPad... moron."

Needless to say, I'm right there with you, Phil Dunphy. Claire is off her ass if she thinks the iPad is a bunch of "doohickey." You enjoy that magical portal which serves as "a movie theater, a library, and a music store all rolled into one awesome pad."

As it always does, ModFam had me peeing my pants last week, but it also had me lusting over the iPad with the childlike fixation of an 80's baby with a cabbage patch doll. In one of the final scenes, Claire brings out the iPad with an animated image of a birthday cake adorned with lit candles. Then, on cue, Phil was able to blow out the candles. That's right... BLOW OUT THE CANDLES... the ANIMATED, COMPUTERIZED CANDLES. My God.

Just so you can get a little taste of what I've been salivating over since Wednesday, just check out the below.

Well That Sucks...

Ever have that nauseous anxiety that happens when you're trying so desperately to get somewhere and things just keep getting in the way? Yeah... It blows. Now, imagine that you're Jin, the place you're trying to get to is Pumptown, and you can't find your wife to get there because you're both on two opposite sides of the universe's most effed-up island.

But then it gets worse; it would appear that you not only have geography working against you, but also fate. Wednesday's episode was another one of those lessons on how "you can't change your destiny" blah blah blah. Well I for one think that's a buttload of boohockey. How can Jin and Sun not be meant to be together? I mean, did you SEE the chemistry during that sexytime scene? (That was certainly long overdue). And then... BANG! Down goes Sun. Poor lost lovers--that's a mean case of blue balls.

Interestingly enough, all my favorite LOST men presented themselves in the best possible light last episode: Jin shirtless, Sayid wet, and Desmond drunk... Well sort of? Regardless, thank God Desmond's back. Oh how I've missed my Scottie hottie. Speaking of which, can we discuss the irony of Desmond being "the package?" Yeaaahhhh he is--the whole package. Hell, I'd unwrap that sexy piece of man candy on my doorstep any day of the week.