Mrs. Brown, you've got a lovely daughter

In the first picture is Peter Noone, of Herman's Hermits fame. Below him you will find Matt Damon, otherwise known as The Most Aryan Man In The WORLD. Coincidence? Or is this part of a far more sinister plot on behalf of Mr. Noone to clone himself and infiltrate the Affleck camp and learn the innermost workings of Bennifer 2.0? Only time will tell.

I can tell you this much; I ought to be a casting director, and I should also write a sweepingly dramatic biopic in the vein of A Beautiful Mind about the rise and fall of the 52nd most influential pop group of the 1960's (the ranking system is all mine-they outranked The Troggs because at least their stupid name doesn't sound like a tool you fix plumbing with, but fell behind Strawberry Alarm Clock because without them I would be unaware of the delicious combination that is incense and peppermints).

I can't see such a movie NOT being a major Oscar contender-they were lyrical geniuses, their work echoing the sentiments of a nation in turmoil. In this groundbreaking single, the Hermits detail a tyrannical political system gone awry:

"I'm Henry The Eighth, I am!

Henry The Eighth I am, I am!

I got married to the widow next door

She's been married seven times before

And every one was an Henry (Henry)

She wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam (no Sam)

I'm her eighth old man, I'm Henry

Henry The Eighth I am!"

A delight. Where else would be learn the little-known historical fact that Henry VIII was so-called not because he was the 8th in his lineage, but because he was the 8th husband of a woman who only married men of that name?! Note to all the skeptics: these guys were British, people. They are scientifically proven to be better than us at all things historical. Legally, we can't question them on anything to pertaining to the monarchy, classical music, or Wham. I think it's in the Magna Carta.

Or how about this epic ballad of love, loss, and redemption:

"Mrs. Brown, you've got a lovely daughter

Girls as sharp as her are somethin' rare

But it's sad, she doesn't love me now

She's made it clear enough it ain't no good to pine"

Simply stunning. Their use of painfully descriptive words to detail the anguish involved is breathtaking (note: "sad", 3rd line). The speaker is absolutely devastated; this eloquent word-smith, whose use of English tells us that he is above par in terms of intelligence ("somethin'", "ain't no good"), had finally managed to find one of those rare, sharp women, and now he's lost her. The social conscience of the song-writer is apparent as well; while Simon & Garfunkel detailed a morally reprehensible illicit affair with a girl's mother in "Mrs. Robinson", Herman's Hermits remind us that we are meant to use mothers to get to their daughters, not the other way around.

I regretfully must end this post now, but I leave you with my favorite excerpt from the works of this musical power-house, from the classic "Dandy":

"Dandy, Dandy

Chattin' up the ladies

Ticklin' their fancy

Pourin' out your charms

To meet your own demands

And you turn it off at will

Huh-oh, they long for

Dandy, Dandy

Knockin' on the back door

Climbin' through the window

Hubby's gone away

And while the cat's away

The mice are gonna play

Uh-hmm, you low-down

Dandy, Dandy, Dandy"

Bob Dylan who?

Satan's Soft Drink

Alright, it’s time to come clean; who’s the jackass who came up with the new Dr. Pepper “Berries & Cream”? I want to know right now what kind of person thought those flavors would gel together, and why said person has a job developing new products to ingest as he clearly either has no tongue or his taste buds are playing a dirty, dirty trick on him. I still can not accept Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke on a moral level; if we allow two flavors such as vanilla and cherry to cohabitate, what’s next? And do we really want to expose our children to such despicable debauchery? It’s just not natural. But now I am expected to drink a sick concoction of berries and cream and the crazy, unidentifiable flavor of Dr. Pepper?! THE TIME HAS COME TO TAKE A STAND.

Ok, here’s the thing though. My biggest issue is not this bastardized melee of completely non-cohesive flavors, but rather their horrific tagline:

“Get lost in the flavor. Get berried in cream.”

What. The. Mother. Hell.

sjejencidsiwkql;sdodjejiqwio

Oh, sorry, my brain just exploded from the stupid.

First of all...ok, I don't even know what the first of it all is as it is all equally bad. Ok, ok, I got it! First of all: ignoring the clever* word-play, who wants to get lost and buried in anything? This makes me think of an avalanche which makes me think of Alaska which makes me think of "Alive" which makes me think of cannibalism. So drinking this "beverage"= eating your buddy's arm.

But if you are going to be buried in something, should it be something as thick as cream?! You won't be able to breathe, people. Think about it. Not too hard though, you don't want to get a panic attack thinking about suffocating in a giant vat of cream.

"Oh, if only I didn't take that wrong turn! I can't believe I got lost in the flavor AGAIN!" you'll think to yourself as you sink further into the lactic abyss.




*completely non-clever

Team Grier!

Any readers of this blog working in law enforcement? I need you to run some plates for me (note: I’ve wanted to ask someone to “run some plates” for YEARS. I also want to say “book ‘em, Dan-o” and rough up some hooligans):

22A-9996 -IN 0406 PA
Make: Dodge
Model: Van

The owner of this vehicle inadvertently dropped their parking ticket under my windshield wiper at the main library and then got into their Dodge van (parked at expired meter #22) and they are probably just PANICKING trying to get this ticket back (I fully expect to see posters around that read “LOST TICKET” with a picture of a smiling child hugging her beloved parking ticket any day now).

Look, I’m not trying to locate this person for vengeance. I merely think it is my civic duty to blow the whistle and get this bastard the hell out of the proverbial gene pool (he can hang out at the picnic tables for awhile, or maybe the roped off diving board area, just nowhere that his DNA can taint our human race). Did he think that I would return to my car and a.) seriously believe that I had a ticket from a meter that had run out 4 minutes earlier (although those parking enforcers are Satan’s minions-they are everywhere and pretty much the bane of my existence) and b.) that I wouldn’t even look at the ticket and just pay it? And if I didn’t look at it (during which I would notice that it doesn’t say “Ford” under make, or “decrepit piece of crap” under style-KIDDING, kidding, Big Red please just make it back to Virginia, baby, I’ll buy you a car wash), how would I know how much to pay? DOES HE THINK I AM IN THE HABIT OF SENDING BLANK CHECKS TO PARKING SERVICES?

So I want to find out the name and address of this winner so that I can personally return his ticket to him. And possibly slash the tires on his Dodge van. And MAYBE there will be some light slapping involved.



On an unrelated note, how psyched is Tallulah Belle Moore/Willis right now you guys? T.B., Rumor, Scout, and Bob Geldof’s daughters, Tiger Lily and Fifi LeTrixieCrap or whatever her name is should just throw a huge party in honor of the Paltrow-Martins and the Holmes/Psycruises, and Shields/No Name Husband Because She Wears The Calvins In The Family. Do you think that Tiger Lily Geldof ever thought she’d be able to go into a room where her name wasn’t the biggest cruel parental joke in history? I love this. And how is Moses looking the most normal out of all this?!?! Somewhere in rock and roll heaven, Frank Zappa’s smiling and saying “See, Dweezil? I told you and Moon Unit that the day would come when your names wouldn’t be the batshit-craziest ones in the phone book.”

I really think this is awesome. I can’t wait until celebrities run out of ridiculous words/non-names and just start doling out Prince-esque symbols to their kids (Like “§ Spears”, or “Ω Aniston”). As someone who grew up cursing her parents for giving her the most popular girl’s name of 1983, sentencing her to a life of having to use her last initial to distinguish herself from the 40 other Jennifers in every classroom she ever stepped foot in, I can appreciate a little creativity.

But Tom Cruise, you just named your kid “Suri”, having your P.R. person (this has replaced Naomi Campbell’s maid as the job in Hollywood most likely to literally kill you, by the way) explain it away as meaning something in Hebrew (debatable, but whatev) or Persian. TWO CULTURES THAT NEITHER YOU NOR YOUR SPAWN NOR YOUR SPAWN’S INCUBATOR ARE ACTUALLY MEMBERS OF. You are a delight, Tommy. Don’t go changing.

Or how about Shield’s kid, Grier? I want to mock this, but I don’t think it’s wise, seeing as how in 20ish years when Grier and Suri stage an epic good vs. evil battle for control of the world, I’m going to be Team Grier 100% (seriously, this is some freaky, sci-fi shizz you guys. Born on the same day, in the same hospital, to enemy parents? Christians, let me know if this is part of your book because I feel like it must be-mine’s got too much of the “don’t eat this” and “don’t lie down with that” kind of stuff that we really don’t get into the good Apocalyptic specifics). Ooooh, I wonder what team Moses will be on, cause I’m siding with him. You know, just in case there’s a large body of water and angry Egyptians involved.

Have you accepted this blog entry into your life?

Today I was walking to class and I saw the most ridiculous thing ever. Right outside of Ballentine (where the grad students have been protesting) there were two guys in suits sitting by a sign that said "ASK THE MORMON MISSIONARIES A QUESTION".

Could you be more lazy, please? Look, that's not how this works; I don't bring my wayward, sinning soul to YOU, you come to ME. What happened to the good old days when they went out and rode the C bus and pounded the pavement, looking for those sinners? They need to go to the people. I mean, we all know how I feel about proselytizing (if you need to advertise your religion...all I'm saying), but I get that part of Christianity is needing to "spread the word" and blah blah blah and I am secure enough in my beliefs not to be swayed by some guy on the bus who wants to give me a free bible (but bring hats or t-shirts and maybe we'll talk). But you need to put in the effort.

I can't believe that they don't understand that they annoy (and offend-sorry, it comes off as CRAZY arrogant regardless of your intent) people and that no one is going to actively seek them out; that's like the telemarketers setting up a kiosk in the mall and expecting people to stop by and express their dissatisfaction with their current long distance carrier. Ain't gonna happen. Oh, and for the record, I'm not picking on the Mormons, and i have friends who are Mormon and haven't told me (at least not to my face) that I'm on the highway to hell-this goes for everyone else out there P.R.ing it up for the Lord. ESPECIALLY the Jehovah's Witnesses who come to my house and ring a doorbell that's mere inches away from a mezuzah and see that my dad wears a yarmulke and STILL try to do their little song and dance. Dude...he already has the accessories. You're too late.

All she wants to do is DANCE ( and make romance, but dancing is really the focus here)

I just watched "West Side Story" for the first time in years. I seriously don't remember it being this horrifically lame. I also don't remember Natalie Wood's faux-Rican accent as being Russian. Had she ever met a Puerto-Rican person in her life? Did she know they don't come from Eastern-Europe? I just have to wonder. Also, I think it is SO cute how Joan of Arcadia, aka, Amber Tamblyn has followed in her daddy's footsteps, taking on the Angsty White Teen roles (he plays the lead Jet, in case you couldn't tell from the creepy cheek-bones).

Now I'm not an expert on gang wars or anything (I know, I had to dispel any rumors floating around out there), but I am fairly certain that if these people were to wander into modern day Los Angeles, the Jets would be killed within 15, 20 seconds tops. And I don't mean by gangs, I mean by drivers. The whole dancing/snapping in the street thing just wouldn't fly. But seriously, the Crips and Bloods would probably pool their weapons together to get rid of the Jets. The Sharks MIGHT fair a bit better; their clothes and hair are MUCH cooler. Plus it would be harder to get to them; they spend most of their time dancing on roof tops.

I kind of wish that I lived in a musical, if only for the fact that I've always felt I needed my own theme song. Plus sometimes you just need to dance it out. My new favorite thing is to listen to my iPod while grocery shopping (which I HATE, by the way; the idea that I must purchase AND prepare my own meals is just LUDICROUS. Who thought of that brilliant plan? Clearly the same jackass who decided that people should work in exchange for money). Guys, trust me, it is SO MUCH FUN. Because it's kind of like you're in a movie. I even have a specific playlist for it (NOTE: the songs MUST be upbeat-no one wants to be doing that weirdo fruit molestation thing to check if the melon is ripe while "Tears in Heaven" is blasting), a playlist which MUST include "Mambo #5" (I don't know why, but it is the single greatest song to listen to while grocery shopping, it's something scientific that I can't get into right now). You MUST be cautious though. Two things to keep in mind:
1. Enjoy the music, but remember that you are still in public, a public that might happen to be located in a conservative Midwestern state where your singing along to Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog" might not be too appreciated. In my defense, there are some song lyrics that require you to literally scream them. Like the song "The Hippy Hippy Shake"-you are legally obligated to yell the first line-"FOR GOODNESS SAKE! I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE!". I can't explain it, but I can't NOT do it. So at least I was singing "Hair of the Dog" softly. Granted, it's a little disconcerting for someone to melodically declare "now you're messin with a/a son of a biiiiitch", regardless of the decibel.
2. In keeping with number 1, please keep in mind that listening to an upbeat catchy tune might alter your usual gait (the highly feared "Saturday Night Fever" Syndrome). Do keep in mind that no one else can hear your music. So the guy buying eggs is going to wonder why you are trying to seduce him with an especially provocative walk down the dairy aisle ( for the same reasons, I urge you not to include the Bangles' classic "Walk Like An Egyptian"-why even tempt yourself?)

Go now! Try it out for yourself! And while you're there, please get me some vegetarian sushi and green tea! Because I am out and really want some right now! Thanks friend!

(This me, visually representing for you how sad I will be if you don't go get that sushi. )

(This is me, happy again because I convinced my Gigantic Chin of Destruction to go buy said sushi for me. Seriously, look at that thing. My rollerderby name will be "Jaws O' Life".)

(This is Mick. He has nothing to with anything. Except I suggest you include "Honky Tonk Women" and "Get Off My Cloud" on your Grocery Mix)

If you build it (and include voting spheres and crazy people)...they will come

Remember that lame, totally offensive and mortifyingly unfunny movie "As Good As It Gets"? The one that teaches us that OCD so debilitating that you can barely leave your apartment is HILARIOUS? And also you deserve an anxiety disorder if you're grumpy? I hated it (could you tell? Were you waiting for me to say "...but none of that matters because the predictable plot was a real charmer"?). Besides the aforementioned, what I disliked the most was the romantic relationship between Helen Hunt and Jack Nicholson. Were we really supposed to believe that they could be a couple? Please. No, I'm not talking about the age difference here. I'm talking about Helen Hunt ( or "A Poor Man's Jodie Foster, But Only If He Is So Poor That He Can't Afford Bridget Fonda" as I like to call her). Her forehead is INSANE, people. Plus she's whiny and her bangs look stupid and she over-acts to the point where she seems almost violent and she named her baby Makalaikalikila'lainika'lika or something like that because she like visited Hawaii ONCE. Jack Nicholson may be pushing 96, but in no way is Helen Hunt as good as it gets when it comes to his dating options.

So the point of all that was not to bash the movie or A.P.M.J.F.B.O.I.H.I.S.P.T.H.C.A.B.F. Remember the hilarious scene that was possibly supposed to be moving when Greg Kinnear is so inspired by the "beauty" of Helen Hunt that he breathlessly declares "I have to paint you!" and all of a sudden he is cured of all his injuries and his faith is restored, all because he gazed upon The Magical Forehead (it's kind of like the Shroud of Turin)? WELL I myself had a moment of divine inspiration the other day all thanks to FOX broadcasting and what I have determined, after much scientific and analytical research, was the single greatest television event since the moon landing.

Who watched "Unan1mous", you guys?

WAS IT NOT AMAZING?! OH MY GOD, my life was CHANGED. Amazing. AMAZING.

If you missed it, I will tell you all you need to know:
1. Contestants are locked underground in a bunker-type dwelling
2. They have to unanimously (although if it has to be unanimous, then why the "1" in the cutesy spelling of the title? it should be "UnanALLNOTONEimous". Clever!) decide who among them to give 1.5 million dollars to, and if anyone leaves then the money is cut in half.
3. They have voting SPHERES, you guys. Spheres. Jeff Probst is sitting on an island with a piece of notebook paper and construction paper taped around a magic marker to make it look "savage-ey" and like an authentic island magic marker, and these guys have magical voting spheres with dials and OH MY GOD IT IS SO GOOD I HOPE YOU WATCHED IT BECAUSE I NEED TO TALK IT OUT.
4. It is basically the greatest televised event since the moon landing. Seriously.

The show is intense to an INSANE degree-like you really believe that they will literally be stuck underground until they all vote unanimously. Like they could be stuck underground for 45 YEARS or MAYBE EVEN LONGER. Plus they have this ridiculous blue overhead lighting-it makes everyone nervous and ugly. FANTASTIC.

Now, if I were on this show, I would appeal to any kind of reasonable thinking and explain to my fellow contestants that there is no rational way to decide who is more deserving and we would just draw straws, a winner would be chosen, and the show would be over in 3 minutes and FOX would hate me but whatever, at least I wouldn't have to live in an underground bunker with lights that would make me look ugly. But since reality tv contestants are cast exclusively from a race of people known as Americans With Below Average Intelligence But A Highly And Falsely Elevated Sense Of Self (AWBAIBAHAFESOS's, and they are still waiting for their little bubble in the SAT personal info section), it was not to be (incidentally, we really need the AWBAIBAHFESOS's to join our alliance on the ground in Iraq, as more and more military folks speak up about the bad situation there; these fine human specimens won't understand that it's virtually un-winable, PLUS they will exude an arrogant self-confidence about their ability to be victorious. Plus, I think we all know that if we aren't willing to spit in the face of our enemies and fight for the love of washed-up rappers, then the terrorists have WON*.)

As if the show couldn't get any better, at the end of the last episode, they divulged the 347th twist in only 20 minutes- all the contestants have some kind of shameful "secret". But they are worded so weirdly that you really have no clue what the secret means- like one of the guys "spent time in a mental health facility" or something. Which could either mean that the guy felt a little down and needed some prozac...or he is going to kill you as you sleep in your little bunker and blame it on the 12th of his 42 different personalities. You don't know, and THERE IS THE FUN OF IT.

The show is on Wednesdays, and since everyone is secretly watching "American Idol" by themselves, too ashamed to admit it, just watch "Unan1mous", PLEASE. Just do it. It will change your life. I have even thought up a slogan for it: "Unan1mous: No one knows for sure that it doesn't cure cancer!"


*"Then the terrorists have won" is a registered trademark of the Bush administration. It's also the pending title of an in-production reality show that pits a team of Americans against Al Qaeda's finest- the Americans will be sent out into their daily lives, but if they unknowingly say or do anything on a list of 2192139839821391823182937198312897 things, a bell will ring signaling that their seemingly innocuous action has caused the victory of the terrorists, and therefore the inherent downfall of the USA and sweet, sweet freedom. Scientists are working day and night to resurrect Senator Joseph McCarthy to act as host, although Seacrest is hardly a bad second choice.

Guess Who's Back...

HEY FRIENDS REMEMBER ME!

Listen, I have not been able to update as I have been extremely busy spring-breaking. You didn't really expect me to take my laptop to Cancun did you? Exactly.

Of course that would have been awkward seeing as how I spent my vacation in Burke. It would have really pissed me off to have had to take my laptop to Cancun, leave it there for a week of beer bonging and sexual relations with gross frat boys, and then have to go pick it up again. Plus I could forsee an absolute disaster if there were any wet t-shirts left near the power cord.

This is going to possibly push you all over the edge, but I don't have time for one of my trademark Witty, Brilliant, and Sexy Blog Entries right now. I invite you to visit the archives for some Classic Jenn. You can re-live the time when I complained about classes. Or when I complained about my car. Or the president. Or Indiana. Or my health. If you want a challenge, you can try to find an entry where I mention the Beatles. But that might be tough. I suggest you try to find an entry with one or more numbers in the date.

DON'T BE TOO SAD because I will be back soon with my theory that Simon Cowell is a prophet, and my thoughts about how we should round up all the freshmen and keep them in a warehouse far away from me.

Why I Love Bob Dylan

Because his brain matter creates things like this:

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-AmericanWar had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fightingI never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.


And his genetic matter creates things like this:














GOD. I know, right?

I bet that if anyone who knew me in 8th grade is reading this right now, they just can not believe that 8 years later they still have to put up with me talking about this man. To them I say: please see above. Even if you are a heterosexual male, you have to admit that he is so, so pretty. Also, while I was searching for pictures, I came across this

issue of "Details" which I totally bought at CVS and who's cover hung on the wall above my bed in my room in high-school. Uh, and ps what happened to all those musicians!?? Remember Maxwell?! Just looking at this is making me angry at Jewel. Whatever, this was very not the point of this post. The point was to show my appreciation for a scrawny Jewish boy from the midwest named Robert Zimmerman. And his killer genes.

Oh, yeah, the music's not bad either.

More fun than a barrel full of ...oh God I'm going to be sick

So when I say “man…today was one of those days”, you should know by now that my rough/weird days are about a bajilliothousand rougher and/or, but probably and, weirder than the average human’s rough/weird days.

Hold on one sec-I hope the ridiculously loud woman with the horrifying bleach job is enjoying reading this blog entry over my shoulder as I type it in the computer lab. I can see you reading as I type these very words. Ha, goodbye, go yell in another designated quiet area please.

Ok, back to business.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006:

- Woke up late at precisely 8:43 after 2 hours of sleep. I can feel my eyeballs getting ready to strike as I head to the bathroom (i.e. where the Dreaded Hard Contact Lenses live. Now, right here as I am writing this sentence is when I come to the realization that there’s no cute little saying for green eyes. If you have blue eyes you can call them “baby-blues” and not repeat the word eyeballs again. Or if you have dark eyes you can pun it out, something like “wow, those plastic torture devices sure make my brown eyes blue” which would be so very clever and witty and, I’m going to come right out and say it, charming. What do I say about my eyes? This hardly seems fair, it’s not even like they’re hazel, the bastard child of the iris color spectrum. Sorry, it’s true. You’re either brown or green; pick a side, Switzerland. Ok before I get hate mail from a bunch of murky-eyed people, just know that this is coming from a place of extreme frustration. Today has not been good. Just blink back those tears and know that I love you-besides, I know my eyes always look even greener when they’re bloodshot from crying, so I just did you a favor. You’re welcome!).


-Switch on TV (the one in my bedroom is literally always tuned to CNN. Seriously, I don’t even know where the remote is, there’s no use for it. I know when I wake up it’s Miles and Soledad, when I get home from class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Wolf is signing off and Lou “The Bush Administration Is Going To Literally Give Me A Heart-Attack If I Don’t Calm Down And Move To A Secluded Beach Away From Wire-Taps And Arab-Owned Ports And Not-So-Sharp-Shootin’ VP’s As Soon As Physically Possible” Dobbs is coming on to raise his blood-pressure just a little bit more.). The CNN morning show is live from New Orleans. Within exactly 8 minutes of waking up I am seeing Soledad O’Brien ALONE with only a camera man on Bourbon Street, being accosted by people who are still out from the night before, never, EVER a good thing, and who are still drunk and have absolutely zero interest in the, and I swear to God this is fact, strands of green Mardi Gras beads with big white plastic disks that say “CNN” on them, that Soledad is trying to hand out. Lady, these people need two things right now: a place to throw up and a damn FEMA trailer. They don’t want your effing beads. But apparently they DO also want to show their asses on national television, which is what one winner does as he practically pushes Soledad over as he clamors to get in front of her to PULL HIS PANTS DOWN, which he succeeds in doing as Soledad just stares open-mouthed, clutching her precious “CNNecklaces”-patent pending, witness that this is mine, ya’ll. And for some reason which I’m still unclear about, the camera guy doesn’t. Change. Shots. He just lingers on this image of Soledad O’Brien on screen with a drunk man’s nether-region. Perhaps this camera man knew how much Americans like to view the ass of a stranger before their morning coffee. Or maybe he’s aware of some kind of FCC code that grants immunity from decency standards if your city is practically wiped off the face of the earth and you get no help from the government and there are dead people floating in the streets, but everyone forgets about you for months until a holiday rolls around where Snoop Dogg can show up and video-tape women exposing themselves for plastic jewelry that we were all given as kids to play dress-up with and we didn’t need to exchange our dignity for them. But who’s to say.
I had to shut off this broadcast for the record books and dash out to class just as Miles O’Brien said, referring to a man who had left Louisiana after Katrina but returned for the Zulu parade that he had attended every year since it began, “Wow, that’s really wonderful; he lost his house, but he still has the same spot to watch the parade that he’s had for years. That’s terrific.”


-Realized I might be the only ethical person in my media ethics class. It looks like in ten years my classmates will all be rich and successful and soul-less, and I’LL be the one shivering on the street corner with a Welfare check. But I’ll have my ethics and morals to keep me warm, so…I think we know who wins.


-Watched a video on small-pox AGAIN. Started scratching forearms violently AGAIN. Cursed myself for taking a class entitled “Plagues, Viruses, and Diseases” after I’d given up the good anti-anxiety meds. AGAIN.


-Had what had to have been one of the top five worst experiences of my life in my Bio-anthropology class. We had to watch 20 minutes of raw footage taken by primatologists and do a lab about it. What was the video of? Oh, you know, chimpanzees…..HUNTING, KILLING, AND EATING MONKEYS.
OH MY GOD I AM SERIOUS DID YOU KNOW THEY DID THIS?! AND IF SO WHY DIDN’T ANYONE WARN ME??! Oh GOD, I am still shook up about it, I am reliving it right now. It was seriously the worst thing I have ever witnessed-when they are hunting there’s this terrible, sickening screaming sound coming from the monkeys and this violent chase through the trees. And once they caught them…well, I won’t tell you how they killed them , because I know I’m traumatized by it, and I wouldn’t want to inflict any of this anguish on you, my friends. Except to say that they grip the monkey’s neck and suffocate it by putting the monkey’s entire head into their mouth, so the body is thrashing about until it finally just dangles there lifeless as the chimp descends the tree. Or sometimes they just, you know, start eating it alive. I don’t even feel bad about telling you that; I had to view it and I will never be the same again. For real. I don’t quote Mr. Henley as often as I should, but this truly was “the end, this is the end of the innocence”. And while we’re on the subject of prolific song lyrics, I always thought “Loser” by Beck was just crazy gibberish, until the first line popped into my head as I watched this massacre: “In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey.” GOD, Beck, I so get it. NOW I understand. If there are chimpanzees around…YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE A MONKEY YOU GUYS. Plus it was shot on a hand-held camera that was shaking and kept getting dropped like crazy. “Blair Witch Primate”. THE WORST THING EVER.




I’m off to my last class right now, and I am HOPING the weirdness of this day stops now, because really, I’ve paid my dues. We’re doing Dylan in Rock History. Thank the sweet, sweet Lord. Awww, “My Sweet Lord”…George Harrison…Beatles class. Every blog entry comes right back to the Beatles, even if it began with monkeys being eaten and Soledad O’Brien sharing airwaves with a guy’s ass.

Something wicked this way comes...

Ok, so, there have been rumblings about this for a couple of months, but I laughed it off. Then the rumblings got louder and today as I stumbled into good old Ernie Pyle Hall at 9 am with my eyes barely open I saw official confirmation in the form of a neon yellow paper tacked up on the message board, and my day immediately took a turn for the horrific.

BECAUSE:

Ann Coulter is coming to IU.

I'll repeat:
ANN COULTER.
COMING TO IU.

Union Board, what are you trying to do here? This can only end badly. The idea that my tuition money is ending up anywhere near this wench makes me want to die a billion deaths. I don't know a single CONSERVATIVE/REPUBLICAN person who takes her seriously, and right-wingers are not really THAT prominent on this campus, surprising when you consider that we are in the heartland here (oh, clearly the crazy "reverend" who stands outside of Ballentine, identifying the "fornicators" and yelling at female students that he wants to, and this is a direct quote, "impregnate you with the 'rod of God'" is just a delightful little reminder of how cute the religious right is). Look, normally I respect my friends who have different political views, even the super conservative ones; I think in some cases it's possible to put aside political viewpoints and just be friends. HOWEVER, if you like/agree with ANYTHING that this walking advert for White Trash Gone Wild has to say? Kindly click the "x" on the top right corner of the screen and never speak to me again. Anyone who agrees that women shouldn't be allowed to vote and we should kill all the Muslims, and that it's hilarious to perpetuate this disturbing, irresponsible, and dangerous split between the Republicans and Democrats in this country (and it benefits no one-when your elected officials are too busy cutting down the other side to actually pass any legislature that could aid your community and country, no one wins, people- and Coulter thinks it's great) is someone I don't want on my planet, let alone in my life.

Look, I don't know why in the hell we don't take Ann Coulter seriously (all images courtesy of her OFFICIAL website, by the way. Not shocking, as all serious political activists often post pictures of themselves wearing BLACK LEATHER MINIDRESSES) . She has a lot to offer us as a country, besides split ends, a face that only a mother could love (unfortunate for Ann, as she was clearly the spawn of Satan and some crap he found on the bottom of his hoof and decided to copulate with), opinions about different races and religions that would make a KKK member feel hesitant, and views about women so antiquated that in order to find textual evidence for her hate-mongering she has to go so far back that her footnotes reference cave paintings (not surprising, as I often feel the urge to club her over the head and drag her by her hair someplace).

In preparation for what I'm sure will be a successful visit to Bloomington, Indiana, which was recently named one of the most gay-friendly cities in the US, by the way (and, as I think we all know, if there's one thing gay people love, it's those caring, right-wing sweethearts who care so much about the well being of homosexuals that they are kind enough to let them know that they are all going to hell, but while they're here on earth, their relationships don't count, but enjoy the free AIDS that God has provided in exchange for their sins), please join me in recounting some of Coulter's greatest hits (when I put out the CD, I'll include the extended "My Looks, Which Were Typical And Boring At Best, Are Fading, But My Hateful, Ignorant Rhetoric Is Forever" Disco Mix, so don't worry). The following are actual quotes from America's Sweetheart-my commentary, aka The Voice Of Reason, Which Is Crazy Because Compared To Pretty Much Everyone Else I Am Hardly Reasonable, is provided in italics:

"The Republican Party emerged from the Whigs when the Whigs waffled on slavery. (They were "pro-choice" on slavery.) The Republican Party was founded expressly as the anti-slavery party, which to a great extent remains their position today. " (I'll bet every 4th grader can tell you that the Republican Party of Lincoln's time is not the same one of today. It's nice to know that, according to The Beast, most Republicans oppose OWNING OTHER PEOPLE AS PROPERTY, at least, you know, TO A GREAT EXTENT. Shut up, Beast.)

"Or, as I believe our motto should be after 9/11: Jihad monkey talks tough; jihad monkey takes the consequences. Sorry, I realize that's offensive. How about "camel jockey"? What? Now what'd I say? Boy, you tent merchants sure are touchy. Grow up, would you?" (Racial slurs: ruining all arguments that morons have been attempting to make since 1647)

"God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, 'Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It's yours.'" (Somewhere, God's busy compiling one hell of a libel suit. Tsk, tsk Annie. Don't misquote the almighty. That's straight up J100 stuff.)

To a disabled Vietnam vet: "People like you caused us to lose that war." (Can't argue with this one-all historians agree that the reason we had trouble in Vietnam was because of those sneaky 18 year old boys who infiltrated the army, lived in the jungle, and got their legs blown off. To really stick it to the US. Shut up, Beast.)

"I think [women] should be armed but should not [be allowed to] vote. No, they all have to give up their vote, not just, you know, the lady clapping and me. The problem with women voting -- and your Communists will back me up on this -- is that, you know, women have no capacity to understand how money is earned. They have a lot of ideas on how to spend it. And when they take these polls, it's always more money on education, more money on child care, more money on day care." Hehehehe, what a little darling. It's so true! IF ONLY women and men were BOTH equipped with brains, because, while I do enjoy the empty space in my skull where I can keep my lipstick and back issues of Cosmo, it would be great to know how to, say, balance a budget (teach me George Bush, teach me!) or what those funny faces and numbers on that green paper means. Education IS stupid! Not only should we not spend any more money on it, but it shouldn't be provided to anyone with two X chromosomes! And I don't understand why those damn women folk are always talking about child care. Clearly that's just a woman's issue and doesn't belong in politics. Or at the office-you'd think that the whole not paying women as much as me for doing the same job thing would give them the hint.

"Soon feminists took up the issue of girl-firemen, demanding to know what possible arguments there were, pray tell, for women not to be firemen. (A short list: their inability to pick up the hose, their tendency to cry and panic when confronted with dangerous situations, the effect on families whose homes are on fire when they open the door and see the female equivalent of Michael Dukakis in a tank.) " (Wait...does she know she's a woman? I'm not sure...I guess I'm just confused by this. Somehow I doubt that a woman would choose to become a fire-fighter if FIRES had a tendency to make her cry and panic, but ok. Judging from her wording, I think she rejects the idea because trying to figure out what to call them hurts her simple woman brain. Girl-fireman? Lady policeman? What to do, it's so CONFUSING.)

"Anorexics never have boyfriends. ... That's one way to know you don't have anorexia, if you have a boyfriend." FINALLY, a reason to not have an eating disorder-if you do boys won't like you! Physical suffering and eventual death just wasn't good enough to get the millions of women dealing with this to be cured. The thought of being dateless on a Saturday night? Problem solved! Also, you know what other group of women don't have boyfriends? Hateful, evil bitches.

"I have to say I'm all for public flogging. One type of criminal that a public humiliation might work particularly well with are the juvenile delinquents, a lot of whom consider it a badge of honor to be sent to juvenile detention. And it might not be such a cool thing in the 'hood to be flogged publicly." This one is fun. At first you think she means "flogging" in a figurative sense. But not our Annie! She wants children to be publicly beaten. Ah, that's why she's our national treasure!

"My only regret with Timothy McVeigh is he did not go to the New York Times Building." Really? I guess my only regret is that HE BOMBED OKLAHOMA CITY. But, whatev, different strokes.

"We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity. We weren't punctilious about locating and punishing only Hitler and his top officers. We carpet-bombed German cities; we killed civilians. That's war. And this is war." Because Christianity has always been known as a peace-loving religion, as opposed to Islam. I don't even have the energy to fight it out. All I'll says is blah blah blah Crusades blah blah blah Spanish Inquisition blah blah blah it's always nice to condone killing civilians blah blah blah.

"Press passes can't be that hard to come by if the White House allows that old Arab Helen Thomas to sit within yards of the President." It's just offensive that His Holy Honor The President has to be in the same room as minorities at all. Can you blame him for taking so long to get to New Orleans?

Americans don't want to make Islamic fanatics love us. We want to make them die. There's nothing like horrendous physical pain to quell anger. Japanese Kamikazes pilots hated us once, too. A couple of well-aimed nuclear weapons got their attention. Now they are gentle little lambs." I have ALWAYS been an advocate for using nuclear weapons to get children to behave, so clearly I see her point here. I also think that germ warfare is our best bet in dealing with road rage. Make all those angry drivers gentle little lambs. Gentle little lambs with smallpox.

"Kwanzaa itself is a lunatic blend of schmaltzy '60s rhetoric, black racism and Marxism. Indeed, the seven 'principles'of Kwanzaa praise collectivism in every possible arena of life – economics, work, personality, even litter removal." I'm confused about how Kwanzaa has ANY kind of effect on her, a white, Catholic woman.

So, I don't know what else to say, other than the fact that she just plain sucks. I'm not sure whether I should go see her spew her bile all over the IU Auditorium. On one hand, I'd love to see her ripped apart. On another, I can get PLENTY of her idiocy from the comfort of my own home. I'll leave you with one final gem:

"I love to engage in repartee with people stupider than I am." Oh, I hate to pick apart grammar, but there is just a blaring mistake in this sentence; you're missing the "would", sweetie. They way it is right now suggests that people that are "stupider" than you are currently exist. And that's just not the case.

Apparently, I was the one who wasn't Y2K compatible.

I broke my computer. The hard drive just plain DIED; one minute everything was totally copasetic and I left it in my room. Came back and it had some crazy ass message on the screen. Long story short, some guy named Andrew from hp who kind of sounded Indian until he said my name, and then he was a total Frenchman (“Jean-ee-fair”) and who seemed totally inappropriate when he was telling me to keep pressing the F8 key over and over again as I was re-booting (“keep doing it, keep doing it, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”) is sending me a replacement hard drive. THAT I HAVE TO INSTALL BY MYSELF. I don’t even own a screwdriver- I have to literally go purchase one for this arduous task.

So I’m losing everything on my hard drive. All of this drama went down at around 11 pm, as I was gearing up to study for the TWO SCIENCE EXAMS THAT I HAD TODAY and lasted until about 2 am. Oh yeah, I was TOTALLY prepared for my tests. So at 2 am I decide to take a shower and wash my hair. Because when life gets way too hard, you should always deep-condition, that’s what I like to say. So as I am exfoliating my face a little too violently, I start thinking about what I will lose. And basically, all of my pictures from august until now are history. Everything that I wrote is gone (stuff for my literary journalism class got sent out to the entire class, so I have copies in e-mails at least. And my music? Gone. But, oh, don’t worry! I said to myself. You bought that program that gets the music off your iPod and onto the computer! All is not lost! And then I remembered that the last time I updated my iPod, I got tired of picking and choosing which of the 2899 songs on my computer to put on the iPod that only holds appx. 1075, so I JUST PUT ON THE PLAYLIST WITH MY MUSIC FOR MY ROCK HISTORY CLASS AND ONE OTHER PLAYLIST WITH ABOUT 20 OTHER SONGS. Everything else is gone.

But I still didn’t completely lose it because I figured that at least I had the music I really loved and needed to listen to for class. At least I have The Beatles! Except… I TOTALLY DON’T. I have about 4 songs. Out of hundreds. Oh, but not to worry! I have the CD’s here, right? Right?!?!?!

NO. NO I DO NOT. I HAVE THE WHITE ALBUM PRAISE GOD AND SOME OTHERS BUT NO REVOLVER!! No Sgt. Pepper, you guys. No George Harrison solo albums. All of these I brilliantly left home in an attempt to “pack lightly” when I came back from break (yet I packed 4 different jackets. WHAT AM I DOING IN LIFE.) because I figured they were on my computer and iPod so everything is cool. I want to just cry a million tears. I can’t go for more than 2 days without listening to “And Your Bird Can Sing” or “Doctor Robert”. I am physically incapable.

I don’t know what to do with this. Besides the glaringly obvious fact that there isn’t a chance in hell that I will be able to assemble a hard drive once it does get here, how am I expected to live without my laptop for over a week? I AM ALL ALONE HERE TO BEGIN WITH, AT LEAST BEFORE I HAD THE INTERNET TO KEEP ME COMPANY. No 4 am instant messages (with pictures! To show FEELINGS!) with Dan. Where am I supposed to look when I need to diagnose a disease? I have a huge project due on Anderson Cooper on Tuesday. I will have to spend my weekend at the Union using one of their computers because I am like a little orphan, with no technology of my own.

This might literally be the worst thing ever to happen to human beings.


DISCLAIMER: I keep trying to re-read this to see if I even formulated complete sentences, but I totally can't, as I am distracted by both the fact that I got a whopping 1.5 hours of sleep last night, AND by the fact that the rain has caused my hair to completely morph textures-it pretty much looks I have a perm right now, not kidding, tis BAD NEWS, AND the fact that I can't believe that I actually remembered Koch's postulates regarding vaccination/the 4 diseases caused by herpes/anything really for my Plagues and Viruses test this morning. AND I'm confused by the guy sitting across from me in the computer lab who looks and is dressed exactly like the guy from "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" how gets Jennifer Jason Leigh pregnant-you know, the one who scalps the tickets? So don't judge me based on this entry, please. In fact, don't judge me at all-think about how I apparently have the power to break electronic devices using just my MIND.

19th Nervous Breakdown....oh, who I am kidding, more like 112th

Ok, let's talk hair.

I've got issues with my hair, to say the very least. But as I'm not one to say the least, ever, I'll elaborate. Basically, I have the worst hair in life. It's super thick. It's not curly, it's not straight, it's not even really wavy. It's kind of situated on this whole different plane of follicular existance, created solely as part of some weird science experiment to see how long I can hold out before beating myself to death my blow-dryer out of sheer frustration. The hair near my face is very curly, like ringlets almost. Then we have the back top region, which is basically straight. Not to be outdone, the underside of my hair closest to the nape of my neck is completely wavy. It's totally unnatural.

Because of my condition, until I was, oh, let's say 12, only half of my hair would be combed. I would get about two inches away from my shoulders and the brush would just stop, thus symbolizing it had reached the point in my hair when the thickness miraculously seemed to double and just flair out, creating an insane amount of knots that could not be detangled without first putting me under general anesthesia. I'm not kidding, those cheap plastic combs would go into my hair and never make it out alive (I like to call it the "Hot Zone"). Pretty much the only time that I had knot free, semi-straight, smooth hair as a child was when my father was given the daunting task of blow-drying it for me (everyone say "awwww").

That's right, on many an occasion my dad would come home from a busy day at The Big High-Powered Law Firm and was forced to style his 8 year old daughter's hair (my mother did her part, believe me, but sometimes she just lacked the sheer upper-body strength needed to battle the 'do. Add that to the fact that by the time I was 10, I was blowing past her in terms of height, making it nearly impossible for her to get enough leverage.) Anyway, my dad had three younger sisters and he now has three daughters, so he is not a stranger to the ways of the scrunchie, friends. I'd even go so far as to say his styling of the classic "half-up, half-down" fashion would rival any father in the neighborhood's, nay, the county. So my father would grip the blow-dryer in one hand, the paddle brush in the other, and begin to style my hair in this rather violent pulling motion (I can understand it though; he was willing to only go so far, there was no sectioning of the hair or curling it around the brush like the hair-stylists do. Partly because the texture and sheer volume prevented it. And partly because you can only emasculate someone so much before you do permanent damage to their psyche) and I would have to dig my nails into the bathroom counter so i was not propelled into the air by the force of the brush. And I would skip off happily, my hair straight (although it looked like I had experienced some kind of wind-tunnel action) until I woke up the next morning, after a force so powerful as my pillow had somehow undone all of the previous night's efforts. And I'd skip off to the bus stop with a rat's nest on my head, leaving behind my father, sliently crying while trying to gather together briefs and documents without the use of his hands, stuck in a perpetual claw-like state and wrapped around the handle of a broken brush. It was a sad time.

Things only got worse in the 6th grade, when I got the UNBELIEVABLY ill-conceived bobbed haircut. Now, if your hair is thick and unruly when it is long and has the force of gravity helping to weigh it down as much as physically possible (i.e., not really at all), then reason stands to imply that your hair will be even more ridiulous when you get a haircut described as "bouncy", but I don't think I ever really took that into account. I also never realized that if you have a heart-shaped face, getting a style that's sole purpose is pretty much to make your chin look even longer and your cheekbones set even wider MIGHT not be the best idea. It was a terrible look.

So in 7th grade I started getting my hair done at the same place that my mom goes to, and besides some misses (such as the infamous Two Blonde Streaks Framing My Face While The Rest Of My Hair Remains Dark Incident of '96, or the Big Bad Bang Affair of this past summer), my hair has been relatively ok. Oh, don't get me wrong, I still break paddle brushes with an impressive frequency, and I have to get my hair thinned out with those weirdo scissor/razor thingies to keep the craziness in check, but no major issues. Until I ran into a problem recently.

Ok, I know that not everyone in Indiana has a mullet and there are many people who get their hair done in Bloomington and it is perfectly normal and no big deal. I am not one of them. I have managed to keep my hair untouched by Hoosier scissors for four long years, buying gels and mousses and hair ties in desperate attempts to just make it to a school vacation before finally getting a trim at home. But remember the aforementioned horrific bang disaster? The fallout of this wretched decision resulted in this stupid uneven looking crap growing out from my head. Add that to the fact that the longest layer of my hair was almost to the small of my back and I knew it was bite the bullet time; I decided I had to just get my haircut in B-town.

But where to go? The answer was simple. Where do you go to get the latest fashions (from four years ago)? Why, the College Mall, of course! For those of you not in the know, this fine venue of high-class commerce houses such classy stores as The Crystal Parrot, Spencer Gifts, Smith's Sport 'N Shoe (no time for the "and", no time!), and Nailtique, to name a few. So I picked one of the THREE hairplaces that they have in this tiny one-level mall, bought a fruit slushee from Auntie Anne's, poured some tequila into it, took a swig, and sat in the chair.

And you know what? It was not terrible at all! And I don't have a mullet! And it cost only 28 dollars, which is like a fourth of what I pay at the other place! And it does not look bad, which isn't really shocking considering I only needed a trim and the front layers angled but STILL! (Below you will find me looking very, very happy that my hair is a little bit less ugly.

I won't even pretend to know how I just ended up cutting my arm off in this picture when I attempted to resize it.)

Which brings me to a whole different point and the whole reason behind the title of this post- we started the Stones in rock history the other day (yeah, I had to deal with the breakup of the Beatles AGAIN but it's ok, we've moved past it.) But because this is the longest entry in life and I will dedicated an entire post to them at a later time (lucky you!!!), I will leave you with just one thought:

If I think this is one of the most beautiful people in the land

does it make me a lesbian? I'm feeling a little confused here. I mean we all know he's a man, but still. He is so pretty.

With fabulous hair.

I really just have no clue where Torino is, to be honest

Look, I don't care about the Olympics, and if you say that you do I kind of think you are lying a little bit. I mean, it's not like ancient times when sending our atheletes to a foreign country was a monumental sea voyage of 67 months or anything. This is a global society, we go to and from different countries constantly with great ease. And what's the point of it all? National pride? Congrats, Joe Athelete, you are bringing back a gold medal in skating very quickly on ice INDOORS. Brava. Bring back Osama's head in a ziploc bag. THEN we'll talk.


Also, I think that I have pinpointed the source of all of our nation's problems:

"Because good times and good food start with 'o'"

-A commercial for the restaurant O'Charley's that I saw today (and recoiled in horror from)

I get what they are trying to say here. But in this country we are too busy making sure that our children aren't being left behind that there is just no time to teach them figurative language, so they are just going to be very confused by this.

There's a joke to be made here about housekeeping and beatles and exterminating, but I'm too tired to pun it out.

I think we can all agree that one of the most annoying things that teachers/professors can say (besides "no, my powerpoint slides will NOT be available on OnCourse" or the words "attendance" and "policy" strung together) is "first we have to do some housekeeping" because a.) "housekeeping" makes me think of wives from the 50's who were so frail and irresponsible and incapable that all they could be trusted with was keeping a house in one place when it was really in no danger of moving and 2.) regardless of the hours I spend there, crying and sleeping, the School of Journalism is not my house.


(Oh man, you see the Ringo pictures, you know what's coming!!)
But "housekeeping" is just what we have to take care of today in this entry, and it is all Beatles-related things that I would like to write about but failed to do previously for whatever reason. And please, give me some credit here; the number of "ohmigod George Harrison is so CUTE" posts have decreased vastly in the past month, so just DEAL. And look, I try to give you the interesting Beatles facts and knowledge-well, not really interesting so much as seedy and sordid. Because I know my audience, and I know their level of sophistication (except for Erica-the fact that she reads this is basically a fluke of nature and certainly not indicative of everyone else who peruses this page). Also, don't despair; we move on to the Stones on Tuesday in my rock history class, so sordid/scandalous tales will not be hard to come by.

Here we go, random Beatles facts that you should know:
1. Well, I am psychic. I will go into this further in another post, but this IS still Beatles related. During winter break I was driving around with my brother and that poor kid was listening to me recount facts for the 329322989 hour (I broke him down-he is now the only kid in the 6th grade who LOVES the White Album or who can tell you who sings "All Together Now" or who knows about the Maharishi so my job is done) when "Norwegian Wood" came on. I told him how this was the first use of a sitar in pop music, and how yeah, that sounds kind of random and not that important but you seriously can't have psychedelia in the 60's without the Indian influence that George Harrison pretty much single-handedly started by deciding to play the sitar on that song. And, plus, I told him, some other famous songs used the sitar because of it. And then, because I am PSYCHIC, out of the 1135 songs that are stored on my iPod which was on SHUFFLE....the Rolling Stones "Paint it Black" came on and as you can see in this clip which I have provided as evidence, Brian Jones ain't playing a banjo, ya'll. Is that weird?!?! God was telling me to continue to teach the world my Beatle knowledge. I am a prophet now. Moses had a burning bush...I have a blue iPod mini.

2. Maybe no one will care, but this BLEW MY MIND when my professor talked about this in class (I think I put this stuff in an away message, maybe, but LUCKILY FOR YOU I am writing it here so you can cut it out and paste it on your fridge. You're welcome!). Everyone my age remembers Oasis- I totally had "What's The Story (Morning Glory)?" and DJ's played "Champagne Supernova" at bar-mitzvah's. I thought they were cool until they kind of self-imploded by the sheer amount of ego (at least in the US, they still talk about them and their ass-ish behavior in Britain, but then again, the UK is awfully close to Germany, where they worship David Hasselhoff, so let's not let them dictate the canon of pop culture, ok?). ANYWAY (where would I be without that word? Count how many times I use it, it's SHOCKING) two of their biggest songs are about the Beatles!
The Gallagher brothers had kind of a love/hate relationship with The Beatles; everyone compared them to them, which is kind of blasphemous but whatever, and they thought they were better or more relevant (see: previous reference to ego and ass-ishness). They still had respect for them as a band, even though they were reluctant to admit it.
I can NOT believe that I never knew "Don't Look Back In Anger" was about John Lennon; you don't need to be a music scholar to hear that the song starts with the same piano intro that "Imagine" does (but perhaps I was too busy at the time trying to figure out how to dance with 12 year old boys who were a foot shorter than me to "Champagne Supernova", but that's a whole different issue). Here are some lyrics:

So I'll start the revolution from my bed ("Revolution" was the first Beatles protest song, and the bed refers to John and Yoko's famous bed-ins for peace)
Cos you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside the summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

So Sally (disputed, but a lot of people think it's a reference to "Long Tall Sally", one of the Beatles most successful cover songs) can wait, she knows its too late as we're walking on by
Her soul slides away, but don't look back in anger
I hear you say

Take me to the place where you go
Where nobody knows if it's night or day
Please don't put your life in the hands
Of a Rock n Roll band (John talked out a lot about how people shouldn't interpret his lyrics as speaking to them, or put him as a singer on a pedestal, and how the Beatles shouldn't have been blamed for their influence on the drug culture)
Who'll throw it all away

The song "Wonderwall" is a reference to George, who the members of Oasis infamously threatened to fight along with Paul to prove that they were a better band..or something, I'm kind of lost on that logic (ok, I'm not defending them anymore, they were kind of jackasses). This one is more obscure, but it's basically talking about how maybe George had the "answers" ("maybe/you're gonna be the one that saves me") instead of John, because of his spirituality and everything. When they wrote this song in the mid 90's, George was thought of to be this grumpy, old recluse who was still really desperate to lose the whole "Beatles" title and everything that went with it. So it's not the nicest song, but you can kind of see that they still had respect for him:

Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now

Backbeat (movie about The Beatles about their days playing in Hamburg, Germany) the word was on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels
The way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk along are winding ("The Long And Winding Road" was one of the last Beatles songs recorded)
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
I don't know how

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me ?
And after all
You're my wonderwall ("Wonderwall of Sound" was an album that George made right after the "Sgt. Pepper" period, the first non-Beatles record made by a member of the Beatles)

And now to make things even CRAZIER Ringo's son is their new drummer. So I'm fairly certain they won't be trying to beat up Sir Paul in the near future.

3. I keep mentioning to people that I am now really into George's solo music and everyone says the same thing: "Oh, I don't know any of his songs". And then I say "yes you do" and they say "no, no I don't" and I sigh and say YES you do. And then I have to sing "I've Got My Mind Set On You" and then I have to remind them of the music video where he is sitting in the living room and all of the objects around him (you can see a different version of the video and hear the song here) come to life and everyone says "that was HIM!?" and I say "yes, that was one of his last big commercial hits and it's from the eary 90's" and now all of you at home can consider yourselves educated.

And another George related fact; his 27-ish year old son, Dhani, is basically his twin and it is freeeeeeaky.
See, George:

Dhani:

George and Dhani:
There's a distinct possibility that I will have to find and marry him. When that happens, I will have to delete this blog, so enjoy it while you can. I could not risk him finding out that I married him simply to justify posting pictures of his cute dad on a blog. Lord knows how many relationships get ruined that way....

Look..I know people

Well, things in my life have become very, very hectic lately, as I have recently become very, very famous. Some of you haters have been saying things like "JENN you ARE NOT FAMOUS. Your uncle is in a movie, NOT YOU" to which I just smile smugly and shake my head condescendingly because you little people have no idea what it is like to be a celebrity. Really, it is hard being a public figure; I thought that I could finally have some peace and anonymity here in Bloomington, but it was not to be. While I have not actually seen the paparazzi who I am positive have been following me, I know they are there and just very, very good at hiding (they're professionals, guys). And I normally refuse autographs, but professors have simply been INSISTING all week that I sign my name for them (weirdly enough they all have me autographing these scrap pieces of paper with the IU Honor Code on it- I think it might be a paper shortage or something). So since everyone wants a piece of me, I have decided to answer a few questions for the fans.

QUESTION: Wait, Jenn...what the hell are you talking about.
ME: Well, clearly you don't keep up with the news, and are therefore an irresponsible American. I'll humor you, BUT JUST THIS ONCE. So, my uncle is in a movie! It is entitled "Glory Road", and he plays a basketball announcer! And he has lines! And he was in the trailer! And they played the clip of him doing the play-by-play the other day on the Today Show! And I almost stabbed myself with my toothbrush as I ran out of the bathroom because I heard my uncle's voice! But I will not hold him responsible for that injury!

QUESTION: Well, tell us some more about this alleged "uncle"...and also is this like the time that you claimed Sir Anthony Hopkins was your 2nd cousin?
ME: Ok, it has neither been confirmed nor denied that Sir Tony is related to me. I repeat..he has not ever denied it, so take from that what you will. To answer the other less RUDE part of your question his name is Dave Cohen, and he is my mom's older brother and some of you MIGHT remember him from my Bat-Mitzvah or other functions (you'd know him because he is the only member of my family with a World Series ring. Although I'm sure I have some great aunts who favor large jewelry, but that's neither here nor there.) He is a sportscaster, he used to work for the Yankees and other sports teams which I would name here if not for my personal creed of not providing evidence for people so they can know how ignorant I am of certain subjects (let them gather that information on their own). He does a lot of voice-overs and commercials and modeling in print ads (there is nothing weirder than having the TV on and all of a sudden hearing a family member's voice. Well, I suppose seeing a family member on America's Most Wanted is MUCH weirder, and not nearly as nice. So let's count our blessings). And you can read about him here and ponder just how much genetics royally screwed me over in terms of vocal abilities.

QUESTION: So what is the most exciting thing about all of this?
ME: Since I am of the opinion that you are only successful in life once you have an entry at IMDB, I am going to say that seeing his page there is the most exciting thing.

QUESTION: Wait, what about all of the important people who are stil amazing but aren't on IMDB!??! Like Mother Teresa!!?? Or JFK!?!? Plus your parents are successful, don't they matter?
ME: No. They don't count at all. In fact I had forgotten about all those people until you mentioned this. You're no one until I can do a cross-reference search for you and Brian Austin Green.


PS: Mother Teresa can be found here.