The One with My xoJane Post

Those of you who have known me for a long time know that my legit career aspiration was to work for the now-defunct Jane magazine.  I can actually credit my mom for how I discovered Jane magazine. . .she'd read an article in the newspaper about different types of girls, and how the more traditional girls read Cosmopolitan, but the more off-beat, quirky girls read Jane.  "Have you ever read Jane?" Mom asked.  I hadn't, but I immediately got a subscription, sight unseen.  Us quirky girls, you know, have got to stick together.

And then I fell in love.

The first thing I ever had published in a magazine was a little blurb in the beginning of the magazine.  They'd asked a question. . .something about money going toward sports in schools.  I can't even remember.  But I'd e-mailed in my response and they published it.

They also had these columns called It Happened To Me that paid somewhere between $50 and $100 to people to just tell stories about. . .crazy or weird or strange things that had happened to them.  My plan was, I was going to write one of those, Editor-In-Chief Jane Pratt was going to fall madly in love with my writing style and offer me a job as soon as I graduated college.  It was my plan.

Then Jane Pratt left Jane magazine and Brandon Holley took her place.  At some point, and I can't even remember why, I'd e-mailed the magazine, and Brandon Holley herself e-mailed me back.  Brandon was no Jane Pratt, but oh my God, the editor of the magazine of my dream job had e-mailed me back.

Then, in the summer of 2007, I was a newly-minted college graduate, working a temp job at a pharmaceutical company, waiting for my Big Break, when my friend Ashley e-mailed me with the news.  She was a graphics major in the journalism school at UNC, so she was on these journalism-related listservs. 

"Just saw that Jane magazine is folding," she said.  ":("

And just like that, Ashley ruined all my hopes and dreams and aspirations.

(Just kidding.  I'm just shooting the messanger.)

So I did some Yahoo!ing (you know, before Google was a way of life), and although it was very cloak-and-dagger and very mysterious, it was true: My beloved Jane, the goal of my life, was going under.

Admittedly, the quality had taken a drastic, drastic downturn in the previous few years.  I'd even let my subscription lapse for a while after Jane Pratt left.  But. . .it was Jane.

Fast forward some years, and Jane Pratt has started a new online venture, xoJane.com.  It had a rough start, I think, but then it caught on.  There are lots of different voices on the site (Personally, I'm madly in love with Emily and Daisy, even though the latter has caused some. . .uproars.)  There are some really bitchy voices within the commentors, but there are also some very lovely people.

And they still have It Happened To Me.

I think you know where this is going.

I wrote this.

It was terrifying and exciting and awesome.  So far, the comments have been supportive.

And I like to think it's my one step closer to having Jane Pratt discover me*.






*It should be noted that I applied for a job with xoJane, but I never heard anything from them.  It's just as well:  I'm not sure how D would have felt about moving to Manhattan.

The One With My First Flamer

I woke up this morning to a guy (I'm assuming) painting the outside of the front window to our apartment building. That window happens to lead into the bedroom, so whenever they're doing work out there, I can hear it first thing.

They actually replaced all the (rotting) wood around the window a couple months ago, and left it looking all cracked and awful, so it was nice to see hear that they were finally fixing it. I looked toward the window and saw the silhouette of a man holding a paintbrush, so I'm hoping that's what was going on.

That wasn't the weird thing, though. He had a little radio out there, and I'm not 100% on what he was listening to, but it sounded like fairies. You know, the windchimes and tiny bells sound of a fairy flying. Search as I might, I couldn't find anything on YouTube that sounded like this music. It was very relaxing, very zen, and a little weird.

The only thing weirder is what happened a few minutes later, when it sounded like the workers outside started having a Mexican fiesta/rumble. You know the stereotypical "eye-yi-yi-yi!" shouts that you hear sometimes? THEY WERE DOING THAT! And it sounded like they were dancing around.

I just don't know.

So the actual point of today's entry is that I got my first flamer, and I'm oddly excited about it. (Note: I mean 'flamer' in the 'causing trouble on the Internet' sort of way. Not the homosexual way. I'm well versed in the gays, thanks.)

If you will recall my entry on the day I discovered that I had proof that Justin Bieber is Satan, I had a very convincing argument. And the people who responded seemed to understand exactly what I was saying.

One person who posted a comment, very cleverly named "Anonymous," disagreed. I'd like to explain that I don't mind detracting opinions, and if you write a comment disagreeing with something I've said, I'll still post it. I do, however, have a problem with anonymous comments. If you have an opinion, you need to stand behind your opinion. The Internet makes it ENTIRELY too easy to be a coward. So that's why, instead of putting the comment through, I put it here instead.

Yesterday, at 4:03 PM, Anonymous said: Shut the hell up guys!!!!!!!!!! Theres nothing wrong with that Kid Hes nice and very sweet hes trying to live him dream is there anything wrong with that i think not!!! STUPIDD!!!! dont Judge him you dont even know him Hoee!! You guys are all just jealous of him be nice!!!!!!

I could do what I did to an ex-boyfriend of mine's really nasty note and correct all the punctuation and grammatical errors with red ink and return it, but I won't do that. Instead, I'll focus on the fact that we (the non-Biebites) are being told that we don't know him, so we can't have an opinion.

For one, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that whomever wrote this haunting missive also doesn't know The Bieb. That she (I'm assuming it's a she) doesn't KNOW that he's nice and very sweet. And while I'll GIVE her the fact that he's living his dream and that no, there's nothing in the world wrong with that, I WOULD argue that I'm (we're) not judging him, per se. Judging someone and thinking someone is a talentless monkey are two different things.

While I do admit to liking that one song, the rest of his stuff, in my ALWAYS humble opinion, is crap. My opinion. Not judging. Just my personal taste.

My next to last comment is that I have NEVER understood why, when people don't like someone, or think they look like a lesbian and sound like a 12-year-old girl, people say they're jealous. Am I jealous that he's a world-famous singer? No. I don't want to be a world-famous singer. Am I jealous that he has the love and adoration of a million 12-year-old girls AND their 40-year-old mothers? No. That's super creepy. I'm not jealous of him, even a little. I do not like him. Period. Anything I've ever heard about him annoys me.

It's like Matthew McCaughnahay or HOWEVER YOU SPELL IT. I don't like him because he comes across as smug and douchey and completely untalented. Does this mean I'm jealous? No. He's just not someone I would want to be around.

And finally, I don't think ever in my life has someone, in all seriousness, called me a hoe.

Actually, in all fairness, she called me a HOEE. I'm ASSUMING she meant a ho. So rather than a farm implement, I think this is what she was trying to convey:

That's not right either?

Oh, I get it. I'm someone who has sex with lots and lots of men because I don't (with the exception of one song) like the "musical" "stylings" of BeelzeBieb. Gotcha. I'll let D know. It'll make him sad.

So there it is. My first Anonymous hate mail. (Or, hate comment). It was kind of awesome. Thanks, Anonymous.

And everyone else, take heed of Ms. Anonymous' words: be nice!!!!!!

Also, watch this, because it will make your collective ovaries explode (even for you men):

Baby's First Audition from alex on Vimeo.

The One Where I Can Prove Justin Bieber is Satan

So, you guys love me, right? And you would never, ever judge me for a small indiscretion? Or even a large indiscretion?

I have a confession to make.

I mentioned in my last post that my brother gave me an iTunes gift card for Christmas. This? Was exciting. I haven't had any new music on my iPod in. . .maybe years. Since 2008, probably. I had 2,638 songs on it prior to the gift card, so it's not like I was hurting for stuff to listen to, but I wanted some of the newer stuff.

Now. . .I have artists that I love, that I like, that I tolerate, that I dislike, that I hate, and artists that I dislike, but for some reason, whose music is so damn catchy I can't help but like it.

Examples of this last category include but are not limited to Ke$ha and Eminem.

And. . .I'm going to make the confession, you guys, and I hope and pray you don't think any less of me, and if you do, I'll send you some baked goods to convince you that I'm not, in fact, a terrible person going to some circle of Hell.

I need to clarify this because there is, in fact, a difference between liking an artist and liking their music. Karen (who often helps me justify bad decisions lapses in judgement), when I told her of my indiscretion, said, "No, it's cool. There's a BIG DIFFERENCE between liking an artist and liking an artist's music." She also pointed out the fact that Justin Bieber likely had NOTHING to do with the actual composition of the song in question (which I'm getting to). . .other people did that for him. He just took his lesbian haircut and sang it.

So thank you, Karen. You've made me feel better about the horrible thing I've done.

And that horrible thing was to download Justin Bieber's first single.

Hear me out.

It's catchy. It's really, really catchy. And yeah, it's dumb, and yeah, Justin Bieber needs to be slapped, but it's got Ludicrous in the middle rapping "She woke me up daily/don't need no Staaah-buuuucks!" And that sort of makes it awesome. And, if it's any consolation, I can't even stand to listen to any of his other songs. I switch them off when they come on the radio. This is the only one that doesn't make me feel vomitous and stabby.

So I downloaded it. I downloaded it, and I've been listening to it on the car on my way to work. This, of course, compounds my fear of driving in that I'm afraid that something horrible will happen, and I'll have a wreck, and I'll be mangled by the side of the road with Justin Bieber blasting out of my stereo.

ANYway, this is all beside the point. the point is, I had a $25 gift card, and I'd bought a couple of songs already at this point. When I bought the Justin Bieber song, and I wish I had taken a screenshot of this, but once that transaction happened, I had $16.66 left on the card.

$16.66.

So basically all I'm saying is that Justin Bieber is Satan. Or, at the very least, the Antichrist.

Don't judge me.

So what about you? What's your guilty pleasure entertainment?

The One With 5 Things I Do Not Understand

1. Why anyone gives two flips what Kathy Griffin says. (Maybe I should change this to "Why Kathy Griffin is famous in the first place.")

2. Why, the day after Elizabeth Edwards dies, on Yahoo!'s "Trending Now" sidebar, "Cancer treatment" is currently number 7, but "Ashlee Simpson" is number 1. Apparently, Ashlee is either A) "urging her sister, Jessica, to start a family" or B) "planning to have another baby to get some attention."

This woman (who I, actually, personally, didn't have a hugely high opinion of, but it always sucks a big one when someone can't beat cancer) who is known for being a successful lawyer, a successful advocate, a not-so-successful politician's wife, and the writer of two widely read books, dies after a long, grueling battle with cancer, and the number one trending topic on this site is the Simpson sisters and their respective uteruses. (Uterri?)

3. Why shows like "Wonderfalls" are yanked after one season, but shows like "Two and a Half Men," which has its moments but is generally sophomoric humor, soldier on.

4. Why people think I believe them when they tell me either that they're going to pay their fines next time they're in the library, or how they're 100% certain they returned that book that's been missing since 2006.

5. Why Christmas is almost here, and I have no money to buy anyone anything. (This one, I may actually be able to answer. It's got something to do with working only one part-time job. A job I love, by the way, but still only a part-time one.)

The One With My List of 5

I'd like to say, first of all, HELLO! to my two newest followers.

(Not followers as in, they do everything I say without question, but followers as in, people following my blog.)

(Also, how awesome would that be? To have followers. Like Jesus does.)

(Not that I'm comparing myself to Jesus.)

(Even though that would be awesome, too.)

Every time I get new followers (and you can ask D. This actually happens.) I'm all, "They LIKE ME! The INTERNET LIKES ME!" And then I usually feel like making out with someone, and D's RIGHT THERE, so I'm all, "Let's make out!" and D's all, "Thank you, Internet!"

Or something like that.

Anyway.

Have you seen the episode of Friends with the List of 5? 5 celebrities you'd be allowed to sleep with, given the opportunity, no questions asked? D and I have. . .oddly frequent conversations about the List of 5.

Now, in the interest of full-disclosure, since I do have a penchant for the ladies, I actually get a List of 10 -- 5 dudes and 5 dudettes. I had to fight for this, but in the end, D saw my point. Sometimes he still insists he should also get 10, but for now, he gets his 5. But in the interest of keeping things hetero, I'm just talking about my List of 5 Dudes.

D knows most of these, so it's not at all awkward that I know he'll read this.

I should also note that. . .really and truly, I have no desire to ACTUALLY sleep with any of these people. Because I think that would be awkward. But those are the rules of the game.

Also. . .I have a friend that, toward the beginning of her relationship with her husband, said, "I'm so in love with (the guy) that I don't even LOOK at other guys anymore."

I did not say this at the time, but I'll say it now: That's crap. You never stop LOOKING. You stop acting upon things when you're with someone you want to be with, but just because you've found love (or whatever), that doesn't mean that you completely cease to notice that other people exist. You might even develop a harmless crush on someone. Doesn't mean you love your person any less. It just means you are human. So none of my 5 mean anything about the state of my relationship with D. It just means that there are some very, very pretty men out there in Hollywoodland, and I notice that they are pretty.

The top 2 are people who are always on my list. The rest rotate sometimes. That kind of defeats the purpose of a list, but WHATEVER.

So without more rambling further ado, Sarah's List of 5 (This week):

1. Billie Joe Armstrong

via Google Images

This guy here? Has been my boyfriend since roughly 2001. He's all dark haired, eye-linered, punk rock hotness. This is one of two guys that, when D sees them on TV, he goes, "Oh. There's your boyfriend." Yeah, he's obnoxiously political, but I feel like, as long as he doesn't talk? I'm good to go.

I also (kind of ironically) love that he and his wife have been together as long as they have. And also that one of their kids has the middle name "Danger." Homeboy can LITERALLY say, "Yeah, Danger is my middle name." Awesome.

2. Alec Baldwin

via Google Images

Yes, I realize this is an older picture, but it makes more sense, I think, if you start there. Alec Baldwin has something weirdly appealing about him, although I think a lot of it comes from his character on "30 Rock," which I LOVE. He's older man hot, and I'm into that. Obviously.

I said something about A.Bal to my father a while back, and I think he completely misses the point of the List of 5.

Me: I kind of love Alec Baldwin.

Dad: His politics are ridiculous. I hate him.

Me: I don't really care about his politics. I like his work.

Dad: He was a jerk to his daughter.

Me: I'm not looking to marry the guy or have any of his children so he can treat them badly as well! I'm talking about him being a good-looking guy. Also, he's a good actor.

Dad: Well, he's a jerk.

Me: You don't have to be a nice person to do your job. I've known a lot of jerk doctors, but they still do what needs to be done.

Dad: I hate Alec Baldwin.

So there's that. Point of that being, I guess, I should never invite A.Bal over to Dad's for dinner.

And speaking of hot older men:

3. Richard Gere

via Google Images

This guy's just got it going on. He's sensitive! He's snarky! He's a mother-effing SILVER FOX! (Did you SEE him in "Chicago"?) I love this guy. Incidentally, you know how when some people make certain faces, or look at you a certain way, they look like someone famous? D sometimes looks like Richard Gere. I'm just sayin'.

4. Nathan Fillion

via Google Images

This guy is adorable. He's never not cute, in anything he's ever been in. In the show "Castle"? Adorable. In "Desperate Housewives"? Adorable. In "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog"? Adorable AND funny. This guy's a win-win-win. He was added to my list around the time "Waitress" came out. Love this guy.

And finally. . .

5. Carrot Top

via Google Images

5. Carrot Top Demitri Martin

via Google Images

Demitri Martin, actually, is the third person that D consistently refers to as My Boyfriend, and I can't believe I almost forgot him. This guy? Is hysterical. Freaking hysterical. The kind of comedy that it takes you 2 seconds to realize why what he said is funny, but when you do, you laugh your ass off. Smart comedy.

Plus, um, he's hot. Like. . .super hot. Funny and hot. Nice.

So there's my 5, 3 of which remain consistent. So you guys tell me: who would YOUR 5 be?

The One Where Oprah May or May Not Be Satan

First of all, my posting was featured on Mushroom Printing today! Yay!

I'd mentioned a while back that I was reading the Kitty Kelley biography of Oprah. I finished it last week, and, I have to say, I'm not the least bit surprised at what I read.

I have never liked Oprah. Ever. She had, basically, trashy TV, and then she tried to go all new-agey and "I'll help you help yourself" and while telling people they needed to be healthy, her own personal weight ballooned up and down, effectively making her a hypocrite. Plus, she puts HERSELF on the cover of all of her magazines. I know other people do that, too (Hello, Rachael Ray! Hi, Martha Stewart!), but Martha doesn't do it always, and Rachael is. . .Rachael.

Nothing about Oprah seems sincere, and yeah, she gives money to people and charities, but she also makes sure everyone KNOWS she's giving money to people and charities. She's all, "I know how you FEEL," when talking to poor/downtrodden/whatever people, but y'all? Oprah has not been poor in about 50 years, and she is most certainly NOT downtrodden. She always pulls the race card, but no one's going to say "Boo!" to Oprah.

The book, while not particularly well-written, was interesting and plenty salacious. Obviously, the things written in it are not un-true, because you know if they had been, Kitty Kelley would be sued for everything she's worth and the book would have been yanked off of bookshelves.

So the conclusion that I can come to is that Oprah is just as nasty as I always thought she was.

Then there's the point of this. Oprah's Book Club.

I'm one of those people that, when something I like gets really popular, I'm like, "Dude. . .no." Because what happens then is that people think you like it because of other people liking it, and not because you discovered it first.

I've read a couple of the books on Oprah's list, either not knowing they were on her list, or before they were on her list. Most of them were pretty good. (Except for "Eat, Pray, Love," but that is another post in and of itself.)

I got an e-mail from the library today with the heading "Somebody peeked in the Oprah box!" (which. . .FYI. . .THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!) It was a link to an AP article about how the Associated Press had bought a copy of the book with the "Oprah's (effin') Book Club" sticker on it, so people already knew what the book was, even though it wasn't "announced" until today (Friday.)

The e-mail was talking about how many more copies of the book we'd need, etc.

Then a second e-mail came, talking (complaining) about how, logistically, it's always a nightmare when Oprah announces her books.

I went to the hold system at 2:27 p.m. to see how many holds had been put on the book. There were 330. Right now, at 3:42, there are 347. It'll break 400 by the end of the day, I promise.

This bugs me. Why are people such sheep? Why do so many people worship at the Church of Oprah? What makes her any more special than anyone else?

It bugs me because she KNOWS she has this effect. It bugs me because I don't understand why.

I, for one, will not be reading this book. Mainly because it sounds dumb to me. But also because Oprah recommended "Eat, Pray, Love" and we all know how THAT turned out.

All I'm really saying is that anyone with THAT MUCH mind control over THAT MANY people? Has to be evil.

EDIT: It's 3:46. There are now 350 holds.

The One Where I Win Again

So, y'all remember when I won candles, right? I won them from Say Anything and was all kinds of excited, because I usually don't win things?

I have a new story for you.

I was sitting at work yesterday when my cell phone rang with the local area code. Usually, I don't pick it up if I don't recognize the number, but I decided, for whatever reason, to answer it.

"Hello?" I say, wittily.

"Hi," says a guy. "Is this Sarah?"

(What I should have said, in retrospect, is, "No! THIS is!" and laughed maniacally. Sadly, I didn't think of that until later. Also, he may or may not have hung up if I did that.)

"It is," I say.

"This is Brody from G105. Do you have plans for tomorrow night?"

(This is. . .surreal, to say the least. I don't know what Brody looks like (I linked to the site, but can not see it from this computer because it's in Category: Music.), but I have listened to him for years, and he has the most awesome radio voice. I may or may not have a Voice Crush on the guy. But you know how radio goes. He probably looks like this.)

"Why?" I ask. "Are you asking me out?"

(Um, yes. I actually said this.)

Brody laughs. "No, no," he says, "But do you have plans for tomorrow night?"

It's at this point that a little thought in the back of my mind begins to form, but I'm thinking, surely not.

I DO actually have plans, as I'm supposed to go see my shrink, but I say, "No. No, I don't."

Brody says, "Well, then, you and three friends are going to see the Maroon 5 show, and meeting the band backstage!"

SON. OF. A. BITCH.

I'd entered a contest for these tickets a couple of weeks ago, and I'd said to D. . .Friday, I think? That "oh, yeah, we'll be going to that concert."

And we are.

What makes it. . .kind of awesome is that I was a last-minute entry. The contest ended a day or two after I'd entered.

Also, when I entered, I didn't realize it was also for backstage passes. I thought it was just for tickets. But now, since there ARE backstage passes involved, there will probably be freaking SWEET seats.

So once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I told Brody I loved him* and that he'd just made my life.**

As such, tonight, I will be taking D, Katie, and Katie's college roommate, Katherine, to see Maroon 5. And to meet the band. Who, by the way? I effing love. They are in my Top 3, and their first album, Songs About Jane, was the soundtrack to my college experience, expecially freshman year.

I am a little sad that the venue won't let us being "professional" cameras, as D IS a professional, but whatever. I'm MEETING THE BAND.

It's still a little surreal. Of course, there will be full updates later.

*Not true.

**True.

The One Where I Talk About the Weekend and I Win Something

First! I've mentioned that I follow about 6,094,864 blogs. Along with that comes me sometimes entering giveaways. (A lot of the giveaways are for things I would never need, like. . .a bra for nursing, or a year's supply of baby wipes. I do not enter those.)

For all the 'contests' I've entered, I've never won anything. . .until today!

At the Say Anything blog, I entered a contest for candles. . .and I won! Granted, there were only 16 entries, so the odds were pretty good, but what was funny to me was that there were several ways to win (you got an entry for following her on Twitter, following the blog, etc.), and some people entered 4 or 5 times. But my one little entry won, and I'm wicked excited!

So the weekend was great.

Friday night, I took D to the Lincoln Theatre to see his girlfriend, Ingrid Michaelson. The show was sold out, and the opening act was this guy named Matt Morris, who I'd never heard of until that evening, but who is apparently a pretty Big Deal. His album was produced by Justin Timberlake's record label, he was on the Mickey Mouse Club, his father was a country music singer, etc. He was AWESOME. Ended up buying his album, and D got him to sign both poster and and CD for me.

The best part, I think, was when this girl in the crowd yelled out, "Matt! Will you marry me?" and he laughed and held up his left hand (which had a ring on it) and said, "Sorry, sweetheart. But if you want to come out to the lobby after the show, we can talk! And I'll give you a hug!" Then he was like, "A marriage proposal. . .that is SO rock and roll!"

When we spoke to him afterward, he was so nice and so down to Earth. I hope everyone and their mother buys his album.

Then Ingrid came on. Her show was great. Really, really great. The crowd was into it, she was into it. . .she did a cover of Britney Spears' "Toxic". . .all was good in the world.

After the show, however, when we hung around to meet her, she only seemed interested in the fans that were all, "OMG, Ing. I totes luv ur music! We should be BFF!" D told her that I'd given him the tickets as a gift, because he likes her so much, and she was all, "OK, whatever. GIRLS WITH GIFTS! Come to me!" And was talking about during the show how people give her stuff all the time, and she throws it out. I was like. . .really?

I was not pleased with that at all. She was actually a real bitch. Puts on a great show, but needs some lessons in Social Graces. Maybe Matt Morris can teach her some.

Saturday, we hit the Farmer's Market. With a car. (Just kidding.) Bought some peaches and some ridiculously hot cheese D likes and that I will not get near. Then we went to get some coffee and were looking over this publication that prints a "Best of" list every year. D's been really wanting some chicken wings for the last little while, so we went to the place that was voted Best in the Triangle. The place was awesome. Really, really awesome. And I tried a strawberry beer that I feel like I could sit around and drink for days.

Then we walked for a while, checking out all the people bar-hopping. We hopped no bars.

Sunday, I worked at the library, then we went for pizza and more walking, around a lake this time. And that's the story of my awesome weekend. What did you guys do over the weekend?

The One Where Backstreet's Back (ALRIGHT!)

In the late 90's/early 00's (Is that right? Is that how you shorten the early part of the 21st century?), I was a teenager. I turned 13 in 1997 and remained in the throes of teenagerdom until I turned 20 in 2004. That period of time, obviously, was the Age of the Boy Band, and, badass as I may have (or may not have?) been, I was not immune.

I was actually an *NSync girl, as I may or may not have mentioned previously. Like. . .obsessed. Ridiculous obsessed. I was absolutely going to marry Lance Bass (Um. . .after I get my sex change?), and I knew every song on every album. Even the lame ones. There were several lame ones. And! I was taking piano lessons at the time, and had a songbook for their first two albums. (I never got terribly good at any of the songs, but I can still play the intro to "I Want You Back.")

Then, of course, there were the Backstreet Boys, who were older than *NSync and who did more ballads and the like. I liked them, but would fight to the death anyone who insisted they were better than my boys.

I saw *NSync in concert in. . .2000, I think. I still have the concert T-shirt and I wear it when I go running sometimes. (Yes. . .I exercise occasionally. Sometimes.) It was epic.

All of this to say, I have never lost my Boy Band Love. Call it lame, call it stupid, call it whatever you want. I wasn't listening to Nirvana or Eminem or Limp Bizkit (what the EFF kind of name is that? Honestly.). . .I was listening to the boy bands. I still do. I have the *NSync Greatest Hits CD in my car.

Point of ALL this being, a few weeks ago, I put on Twitter something to the effect of "Hey! Backstreet Boys are coming here in a couple weeks!" I don't remember exactly what I said, but my friend Ashley (with whom I was in middle school during the Boy Band Days and who was all about some *NSync as well. JC was her Syncer of choice, if you're wondering.), looked up ticket prices and texted me saying, basically, "Um, this is a thing that needs to happen."

So last night, we went to the show. It was. . .exactly what you would expect it to be. Epic. And awesome.

It was held in the new amphitheatre downtown, which was, as amphitheatres are, outside. They were calling for rain, but the sky had looked good all day. I got a ridiculously overpriced beer, just because I could.

When the show started, they had an opening act, which I don't think was actually the opening act they advertised on the tickets. It was these four African-American kids (I say kids because they looked to be between 13 and 16) who danced really well and who sang (?) through a synthesizer. They were entertaining enough, I guess, but they only lasted about half an hour, which meant another half-hour wait before BSB came on stage.

When they finally started, it was. . .kind of awesome. The kid of one of them came on stage (he was about 3 or 4, I'd say) and was all like, "Are you guys ready for the Backstreet Boys?)" (Screaming.) "Are you ready for Howie? AJ? Nick? . . .My daddy?" So much screaming, and I could hear the ovaries of 85% of the women in attendance exploding from the cute.

So they started, and it was awesome. The first song was "Everybody (Backetreet's Back)", which I totally called. Everyone was singing and dancing and having a generally awesome nostalgic time. BSB was a little more. . .subdued than I might have expected, but they're also getting older. Not that they're old (despite AJ's receding [sp?] hairline), but oldER. Only one of the songs would I consider lame (I think it was called "PDA." It was. . .well, it was pretty lame.) But they did all the hits, all the songs everyone would know. . .it was awesome.

It did, incidentally, start raining about an hour in, but the only person who seemed to mind was this greasy Hispanic dude in front of us who was pissed that his white leather shoes (which he was wearing with an all-black ensemble) were getting wet. Bought a T-shirt for an obscene amount of money, and was able to be, for at least 2 hours, firmly ensconsed in my adolescent years.

Awesome.

The One Where No One Has Talent Anymore

D and I have had this conversation before, about how sad it is that in order to be famous in America, you don't actually have to have an ounce of talent. Today, Karen and I were also discussing it, thanks to an eBay link she sent me, coming from a person formerly featured on MTV's "16 and Pregnant." She's selling her prom dress and at. . .press time? The bidding was up to $5,600.00.

What I've deduced, is that, to be "famous" and a "celebrity," you need to be willing to get on TV and show that you truly have no shame. None.

TV used to be entertaining because it was funny, not because you got to see what people are willing to do for fame. Back in the day (you know, until the late 90's, early 2000's), there was legit comedy on TV. You did have things like The Real World, but in its early stages, it was interesting. It was interaction between people who probably wouldn't have ever been in the same house with each other otherwise. Now, it's all about casting people who will most definitely have conflict with each other. The virgin and the man whore. The gun-toting, homophobic, hog-wrangling Southerner and the drag queen from Los Angeles. The white supremacist and the former Black Panther. Me and Matthew McConaughey.

Then there was season 1 through 3 or so of America's Next Top Model. Season 1 (which, yes, I own on DVD) was legitimately about these girls who thought they had a shot at worldwide fame as a supermodel. This was before Tyra Banks turned her own show into a giant joke. The producers of this one also use the same tactics with casting.

"Hey, Kevin," one bigwig will say to the other, "it's time to get it down to the final 20."

"OK, Lou," says Kevin. "We have here many attractive people. . .and also an 'interesting-looking' lesbian and a 'plus-sized' model who says she slaps lesbians for a living."

"Those last two sound real swell," says Lou. "Make sure they're in."

It has nothing to do with anything except making sure there is some kind of conflict, and that contestants have seen previous seasons so they know how to play the game.

And then that brings me to 16 and Pregnant. My question is, when did it become AWESOME to be pregnant in high school? I mean, I know stuff happens. (Not to me, obviously. I wasn't cool enough to be having sex in high school.) But it does happen. Accidents and all that. But didn't it used to be that it was. . .a bad thing? Like, vaguely shameful?

Maybe I'm all old-fashioned and I just don't get Kids These Days. But while I'm not necessarily of the "Wait until you get married to have sex or you are going to Hell," line of thinking, I DO think that maybe possibly high school isn't the best time to be doing something like that that could result in a PERSON, especially if you're not going to be careful about it.

All I'm saying is that I don't think it's fair that this chick not only got paid to be in 16 and Pregnant, and that getting knocked up is why she's pseudo-famous, but that now she's selling her maternity prom dress (three words that SHOULD NOT GO TOGETHER) for probably about $5,500 more than she paid for it, just because she was on TV with her pregnancy.

And don't even get me started on Justin Bieber. He's an entire other post for an entire other day.

My roundabout point is that I don't feel like people (I'm looking at YOU, Heidi Montag) should be famous for being famous. I'd like to get back to the days of actual talent being on TV, rather than just self-deserving douchebags. (Hi, Spencer Pratt.)