Consequences

A blogging friend: Do you guys ever worry that someone you've blogged about will get back to you about it?

MeiMei: You mean, like how in 10 years, Seren will be dating Bryan Singer?

[Imagine unpublishable discussion here about why an openly gay director might be dating a snarky female blogger who's said nothing nice about him since The Usual Suspects. Let's just say we came up with a theory as to why this might be plausible.]

Seren: And then he'll ask me to go to the Oscars, and I'll go out and I'll buy a fabulous dress and get my hair done, and I'll be on his arm as we walk up the red carpet, and at the door, he turns to me and says, "So, who's the whore now?"

Because we can't mention Harold without Kumar

While Harold went bowling in NYC last weekend, Kumar is doing what seems to be the requisite stereotypical role that most actors of color do at least once in their careers. So, yes, I am knocking Seren's boyfriend most current acting choice, but you know I'll shut up when 24 premieres and enjoy the hotness that is Kal Penn on my television screen.

Wonder Years become the Birthing Years

As a follow-up to this post, Fred Savage is now a daddy

You may now begin the voice-overs!

Refreshingly Normal

In the 90's, when Kurt Cobain killed himself, my friend Corinne sketched a picture of him, pinned it on the wall above her bed and rocked herself back and forth, moaning, "If I could ask one question, it would be why. Why, Kurt, why?!" My thoughts went to Courtney Love and Frances Bean, wondering how they would deal with such a loss. Well, Courtney soon lost my sympathy and tried my patience with her oh-so-classy antics, but Frances Bean still had my condolences. After all these years, though, it's good to know she's okay , maybe even well adjusted. Probably a lot better than those Stewart girls. :) If I had to place a wager, my guess is that being raised by her grandparents had a lot to do with Frances' outlook. Thank god for small miracles.

Catch and release

We here are M&C, Inc., have adopted a certain policy that I thought I'd mention just briefly. You may have noticed that we are not CNN. Nor are we Defamer. (I'm kind of glad we're not Perez Hilton, because he's getting some bad press lately, perhaps rightly so.) We at M&C, Inc., expect that we're not your only virtual source for gossip and attitude. We figure that you, our readership, are probably (at least some of you) surfing as much as we are. So, our policy on the big stories is kind of an Opposites Day catch-and-release, by which I mean: If the story's too big, throw it back.

Like, the whole thing with Mel Gibson? Seriously -- that's been covered. (MSNBC has an entire section of their Celebrity news devoted to it.) What do I have to add, other than "Shut up, Mel. No, seriously, shut up." Which -- consider my disgust added, in spades and in triplicate.

And then there's the latest national passtime: Spot Suri Cruise. Which I know that I should be engaging in whole-heartedly -- except doesn't it just feel like we're still being manipulated into giving Tom the one thing he thrives on? Our attention. (Since all other human appetites are denied him.) Staring in horror at the TomBot and his bride hasn't helped anything; it just makes him preen. So, let's just stop, shall we? Let's shun, at this point.

Admittedly, I will be shifting celebrities to my Spoooooky List one by one as they swear oaths that the child exists and shower her with contractually-obligated superlatives (Jada and Penelope, I'm looking at you), but that's just updating my celebrity rolodex really. That's just looking ahead to the time when Hollywood and all of humanity must square off on opposites sides of the Kodak Theatre as Suri and Grier catfight over our collective souls. That's just good planning.

In the meantime, I'm going to recommend we all look away. At least until such time as there are actually photos of the baby. Come on!

This week's reasons why basic cable just isn't sufficient

Reason #1. Laura Kightlinger co-writes and stars in new comedy on IFC.

Since I won't actually be viewing the show (due to Reason #1 why basic cable is sufficient: it is free with my apartment), the best part of this article is the part where somebody finally says something about the fact that Laura and Jack Black broke up (apparently, amicably, which is not exactly how I felt about it).

All those stories about him getting married and having a baby -- nobody bothered to mention what happened to his long-term relationship with Laura, which as far as I was concerned represented at least 25% of his awesomeness. (50% was based on the final scene of High Fidelity alone. 20%, his other roles. And, I'm just going to say it, 5% was based on Shallow Hal; if you haven't seen it, don't judge.) So, now, I can sleep nights and not worry about her, because she's dating a Groundling. That's all I needed to know, people. Was it too much to ask?

A little snippet from the article, for your enjoyment:

She grew up in Jamestown, N.Y., on food stamps, the child of a single mother who sent flowers to herself on special occasions. She recalls being the sort of kid predisposed to making wisecracks that spurred the other kids to say, “You’re weird!”

But at Emerson College she found kindred spirits in a comedy troupe called This is Pathetic.

Then, after graduation and a quandary over what should happen next, she chose standup as her profession. “It seemed like the most frightening, self-abusive thing I could do.”

Go, Laura!

Reason #2: Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou to chat on Sundance Channel's Iconoclasts series.

Repeat: Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou? Sells itself.

An Open Letter to Mat Kearney

Hi, Mat,

I saw you perform recently. I hadn't heard your music prior to that evening, and the concert was free, so I didn't have any expectations. Admittedly, Pari and I had misidentified your guitarist as the lead singer of your act based on his retro-Western shirt and his truly stylish instrument, versus your trucker cap (yes) and white polo shirt (what?). He looked like a star, and you -- not so much. But my main concern here is not really about the strong words you should be having with your stylist.

What concerns me is what happened when you started -- let's call it performing.

Seren: He's not.

Pari: Not what?

Seren: He's not. He is. He's white man rapping.

And you were. And you did. You proceeded to rap through pretty much every song in the set -- except for the choruses, where you sang (and I say this unreservedly) beautifully.

White man rapping. I don't mean Eminem rapping. Eminem just raps. White man rapping is something else. White man rapping to an acceptable level is, like, Shawn Mullins going temporarily spoken word on "Rockabye." (He endangers his project with the whispering, though, it must be admitted.) White man rapping to an unacceptable level is William Shatner on "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man."

The concert experience was like riding with a student driver: my enthusiasm would start and stop and start and stop, depending on the frequency with which you would sing. ("Nothing Left to Lose," for example, all singing -- love. Or as Pari said it: "There's a reason that one's on the radio.")

Start. Stop. Start stop start. Stop. For more than an hour. I was a little bit seasick, to be frank. (And then the reason we were there came on stage and made it all better.)

The next weekend, I happened upon your new CD at a sharp discount at a used CD store. I thought, Okay, I liked that one song. And the choruses. Five bucks.

And here's the thing: I cannot stop listening to your CD.

Against my will. Against the advice of friends. Against my better sense and all my aesthetics and artistic integrity. In my mind, when I listen, somehow I sort out the parts that I hate (see: white man rapping, above) from the parts that I love (choruses, whole songs where you knock my socks off with the quality of your voice). But I want to love the whole, not just the parts.

So I ask: Why? Why the white man rapping, which you clearly believe is rap rapping?

To start with, you're from Eugene, OR. I'm from Utah, originally, but I live in Oaktown now, so I know the difference. And Eugene -- not really a ghetto. There's a river and a university and it's really clean and really white and -- maybe I'm sheltered, but I'm not so familiar with the rap community in Eugene.

Secondly, geographical considerations aside, you are bad at it, whatever you consider "it." In this case, white man rapping. You are not good. You rhyme "heart" with "heart." And also, heads up? You cannot "impart" a "heart." Just saying.

And as bad as the rapping is on the CD -- dude, you are so much worse live. I speak from slightly nauseated experience.

Is it because you've been listening to too much Fort Minor? Because I have. And you sound nothing like them. (I know this critique is anachronistic -- your album predating theirs, but still.) And also, having two different voices, one singing, one rapping, seems to make more sense to my ears. You singing and you rapping? It's like, Get over it. You're no Billy Corrigan, and it's not like his penchant for playing every instrument made him very popular either. And also? The rapping. You are not good.

The singing? Yes, you are good. The singing? Yes, more, please. The rapping? No.

(I'm going to carefully put to the side the issue that your undersophisticated rhyming is meant to glorify Jesus. I'm not going to touch that. Except just a little: Really? You'd take a bullet for Jesus? And now I'm going to hell.)

I'm not a musician. I am not a music critic. I'm just a music listener, and I don't always have the most urbane and justifiable of musical tastes. Why should you take advice from me? It doesn't hurt that I'm not alone in this dismay over your rapping. But the real difference between me and the critic from Rolling Stone -- I'm still listening to your music.

So, please. For my sake, just sing.

Gilmore Girl gossip

Amy Sherman-Pallindino jumps to Fox with a new show!

Lauren Graham defends Dave Rosenthal when a reporter asks him about his obsession with Heidi Klum!

TV Guide gets a sneak peak at the season opener script and proclaims it good, keeping in tone with what we have grown to love--the fast-paced, quirkiness of GG.

You can read all about it here as Michael Ausiello blogs about the press junket.

This website haunts me

Not so much mean and catty as it is the scintillating discovery of other people's dirty laundry, yet this website has such an honest, almost earnest, confessional tone that borders on reverence. It's like going to group confession if there was ever such a thing.

Basically, this website haunts me. I'm addicted to it.

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