i see you.

the reminder chair.

once upon a time, this little thing sat in the corner of G-Sonny's bedroom. surprisingly, i was the only person who wanted it when it came time to unload her apartment, which was filled with 50 years worth of memories and life. it might just be the best thing i've situated in my house since the day i had my sofa and cuddler delivered. (if you don't know what a cuddler is, or don't own one, stop reading now, grab your car keys, and RUN to your nearest furniture store and bring one home. it will change your life.)

it has taken on the name "the reminder chair" because more often than not it serves a purpose of reminding me of things i need to do. like if i put a bill that needs to be mailed on top of it, i will actually mail it instead of burying it amongst piles of paperwork and waiting until i get a new bill with a late fee attached. not unlike how my college roommate used to have to leave our bills lying neatly on top of the tv so that we would actually pay them. sort of like that.

anyway, i love it and i think it looks much better in my house than it does in the Salvation Army warehouse.

bandana vs. balding.

Poinson frontman Brett Michaels -- who most people know really only as the guyliner rocker trying to find love on tv (not the least bit unoriginal) and most recently among the cast of apprentices sitting in Donald Trump's boardroom (which i can promise you is not only not Donald's real boardroom but probably a set which was constructed inside the confines of a tv studio, sorry to disappoint) -- is never ever seen without one of his many bandanas. which kind of look like hipped up hospital bandages. like the kind one would wrap around their head after taking a nasty face plant on concrete.

of course i couldn't just leave this issue alone, and had to commit myself to a full blown unnecessary time wasting google search to get to the bottom of such a head wrap. like is he bald? does he have dandriff which no amount of head-n-shoulders can cure? did he really face plant once upon a time and is now hiding a massive scar which he thinks might frighten small children?

in an interview publicized by the Washington Post, Brett gives the most anticlimactic answer of all time:

Nothing to hide; it has just become my thing over the years.

so i guess by "your thing" you mean insane amounts of sweat and itching, not to mention what must be a horrific smell, much like that of a broken arm that has been sitting inside a plaster cast for 8 weeks.

to each his own . . .

coincidence. or not.

stressed is desserts spelled backwards.

face-ing off.

every time i log into facebook, which is really maybe once or twice a day (thanks, in part to facebook mobile, which is rad if you have an iPhone. or maybe rad on any mobile device. i dunno. i just have an iPhone), i notice that the same 15 or so people are always online. like, do they do ANYthing else all day long? every day?

these are the same people who upload 47 pictures of Christmas morning by 1:30pm on Christmas afternoon.

maybe now that spring is here and summer is coming soon, these peeps will find something else to do. like walk outside.

baby mamas beware.

baby slings appear to be the hip way of carting little tots around these days. i don't have any kiddos, so to say this is a preferred method of transportation is not something i can claim. but i do see lots of wall street and hippie moms alike walking about town with their small cargo in such slings. it seems to be the trend.

however, quite sadly, certain baby slings (such as the Infatino SlingRider) are under fire and recall as they have been associated with, and allegedly the cause of, several cases of baby deaths. as has been reported here by CNN.

In a statement issued by the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission,

The sling's fabric can press against an infant's nose and mouth, blocking the baby's breathing and rapidly suffocating a baby within a minute or two.

that's about how long it takes for baby mama to walk from her mini van to the front entrance of the grocery store.

oh, but if it makes you feel any better,

Infantino issued a recall Wednesday of two baby slings, the "SlingRider" and the "Wendy Bellissimo," offering customers replacement slings.

yeah, cuz i'm so sure that's what these grieving parents really want. a new sling. because maybe once they're done burying their child, they will want to strap their next baby in their brand new "replacement sling."

seriously??

dont' buy this:

take it elsewhere.

if you belong to any social networking site (like our dear friend facebook), then certainly your day has been inundated with political rants about health care this and health care that. and while i certainly can appreciate, and often enjoy, a good debate here and there, most times i just don't want to hear it. freedom of speech is a tremendous freedom. one that we absolutely take for granted because we are lucky enough to live in a country where it is a fundamental right.

however . . .

it can also bear great annoyance.

just as it has today. just as it has on the dawn of every major political crossroad. just as it has, oddly, on the eve of high stakes sporting events and even weirdly irrelevant celebrity occurrances which we somehow feel directly effect our day-to-day lives.

in any case, there seems to be a need for an over abundance of aggressive o.p.i.n.i.o.n.

while it can be great fun to pick apart trash tv shows or what so-and-so wore disastrously to some awards show or how such-and-such is a disgrace to professional sports because he or she fumbled the ball, there is a sincere irritation that sets in when your networking peeps make it a day's mission to berate you with doomsday-esque thoughts and beliefs about how our country is and should be functioning.

let's leave the hard stuff for washington.

flip flops.

is there anything better than putting on your favorite havaianas for the first time all year and walking through grass? is there??

it's a nice reminder that bare feet will soon be the norm.

hello, spring.

we have missed you.

killing time.

i never wanted a nine.to.five. job.

still don't.

but the trade off is this:

it's 1:51am and i'm killing time. i just got home from an evening out and now must kill some time. could be sleeping. but i'm killing time. killing time while my partner (in business, not in life) travels home from a meeting, does a bunch of math in his head, and with the help of trusty excel, and contemplates figures that he will later recruit my help with.

now if you remember me commenting a bit back on whether or not this whole hollywood game is a bunch of glitz and glamour -- to which i rhetorically answered, it.is.absolutely.not. -- then you will likely agree with me as i reitorate that point right now.

while i don't have the obligation of walking in an office door at 9:00am every monday and walking out at 5:00pm every friday, i do get the pleasure of placing matchsticks in my eye sockets at almost 2:00am on a saturday morning waiting for someone to call me asking me to pour myself over spreadsheets and business plans while all my nine-to-fivers are either knee-walking at the bar or, even more appealing, deeply sleeping.

it is either aging me or keeping me young. and i haven't decided which. but one way or the other, it is always keeping me on my toes. absolutely nothing about this line of work is predictable. so if you are the type who needs everything in specific order and laid out in a tightly wound life plan, then this is not the journey you should travel.

however, if you like last minute late night calls that may not end until the sun comes up - or if you fancy calls telling you to get on a plane for St. Louis in the morning and, oh-by-the-way, to pack a bag for 7 weeks, when you thought you were just going to walk downstairs, make some toast, sit on your couch, and catch up on your DVR recordings, then CALL ME. i can always use a good assistant.

(by the way . . . it's now 2:43am. done killing time. now must go work. enjoy your bar, or your sleep, or whatever it is you are doing that i wish i was doing but am not.)

flatiron.

your photo of the day.

it's like my own version of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.



(this is how i entertain myself during 17-hour long music video shoots. in the pouring rain. try standing in the rain for 17 straight hours and you will be amazed what kind of photo ops you are likely to come across. i might have even created a story line about birds eating buildings at this time. might have...)

math is for the birds.

no one ever told me that producing a movie would require me to understand things like this:



probably shoulda paid more attention in high school.

my bestie needs a hug.

Kate Winslet is one of my very best friends. if you ask her about it, she may tell you she has no idea who i am, but she would be lying. we are, in fact, the best of friends.

or at least that's how i would like it to be.

it was announced today that she has separated from hubby Sam Mendes, whom she's been wed to for seven years plus one kiddo.

a sad day for Hollywood, as they seemed to be the kind of pair that would stand the test of Tinseltown time.

ohhh Katie. hugs all around.

tic toc.

if i can hear my neighbor's grandfather clock strike midnight, then certainly he can too. and so can his daughter. and so can his mother. and so can his girlfriend who sometimes stays there, sometimes not.

grandfather clocks defeat all laws of rationalization, as far as i'm concerned.

while i can appreciate their craftsmanship, what i would not appreciate, if i had one sitting in my own livingroom, is being woken up every hour on the hour. and even worse, every fifteen minutes throughout the entire night -- every night -- if i happened to own one of the models that strikes some chime at the quarter hour, half hour, three-quarter hour, and hour.

that's some serious bags under my eyes that no treatment of witch hazel and Preparation H can treat.

let's also acknowledge the fact that besides screaming at you 1-4 times per hour, granddaddy clocks are also kinda creepy. like haunted house creepy.

tao bella.

i tend to avoid some of this city's fancy places-to-be-seen establishments because, quite honestly, i'm usually turned off by the constant need that so many people have to patron overpriced, egotistical spots just because they are famous. or just because Carrie Bradshaw sipped martinis there.

in the case of Tao, i sing a different tune. and i get it now.

despite the fact that we were seated a full hour after our reservation time -- which is totally annoying -- i have to say that this place lives up to the hype. the food rocks, the atmosphere is fun, the crowd is not entirely consumed by wannabees, and it won't cost you your entire week's pay to order what you want. in fact, you will likely have leftovers, which really means it's buy one meal get one meal free. and i'm down with that.

and if you're lucky enough not to be in any particular hurry and don't mind pregaming before your meal while they make you wait an hour past your reservation, then you can also score a free round of drinks for yor entire party. in which case, i recommend ordering the 20-dollar glass of bubbly. or some obnoxiously overpriced fruity cocktail. just.cause.you.can.

sump pump party.

mother nature a'int playing around these days. as was the case again this weekend. the nastiest of nor'easters blew into town friday and totally overstayed its welcome. i say very delicately that i escaped the wrath of this storm almost entirely compared to the 187,000 people in the area who are still without power, not to be restored until at least tuesday.

that's a whole lotta milk that's gonna go bad.

at 11:45PM last night, i suited up in clothes i didn't care about and raced to my friend's house which was flooding rapidly.

at 5:00am, i returned home.

by candlelight, we spent these joyful hours chasing water. literally. it was coming up through the sump pump faster than we could bail it out. once the beer was gone and once we had hit the punchy point of delirium, we realized there wasn't much left to do except baracade the pumps with mexican blankets and hope for the best.

now here is something i don't understand -- sump pumps run off electricity. lights go out, sump pump stops pumping, flooding begins. is there no better system for this? unless of course you are informed upon installation that battery backup is 300% necessary, which i unfortunately don't think is the case for the majority. electricity failure is not exactly a flukey thing. i mean at some point during the year, we'll all be sitting by candlelight trying to figure out how long we have until the steaks in the freezer have expired. so in theory, we should STILL be bucket-brigading over there.

water is really the enemy sometimes.

but headlamps are genius.

holy flashback.

you know that moment when you smell a scent you either haven't smelled in a while or maybe reminds you of something very specific? like the smell of your parent's house, which never changes and you almost forget it until you go home for a visit and it's like BAM! HELLLOOOOOO!!!!

well. i had an old familiar scent, which i clearly hadn't been in the same room with in a while, come and whack me across the head yesterday and i can't stop carrying it around in my hand sniffing it. while grocery shopping (which i hate more than anything on earth), i walked past the candle aisle and since i have major A.D.D. for things colorful and scented, of course i had to stand there for longer than necessary and ponder how long it would take to burn the mason jar candles out just so i could be left with the mason jar. which i have a sincere fondness for.

i felt like Michael J. Fox for a minute. one sniff and i went racing back to 2001 and into my manhattan apartment at 230 W. 79th Street. at the time, i never realized that i was surrounded morning noon and night by the smell of eucalyptus, but oh-holy-hi-nice-to-meet-you i know it now! one sniff of this "odor eliminating & air freshening soy candle" and i could tell you exactly what i was wearing, what song was playing on the radio station, what i'd had for lunch.

so i bought every last one they had. and at $free.99, it didn't set me back much. but now i can't put the damn thing down because all i want to do is smell it. i can't even bring myself to light it. i just want to sniff the cold dry wax. weird. okay enough about all that.

but you can't tell me you don't know what i'm talking ahout.

p.s. i can't find a photo of the eucalyptus flavor, but you might want to go browse your local selection because who knows...your memory might just be wrapped up in wax, glass, and cardboard too.

oh, tiffany.

so once upon a time (as in 2.5 years ago), i was given a pair of Tiffany champagne flutes.

wrapped up perfectly in that blue box with the adorning white ribbon, they have sat. and sat. and sat . . . and sat.

afraid to open the box and actually make use of such a gift, i think i was intimidated by these fine pieces of stemware. like "oh, i should wait to pull these out for when i have a fancy dinner party" . . . or . . . "i'll use those the next time an anniversay or special holiday comes around" . . .

well, people. i opened the box.

really, it was like ripping off a band-aid. because just as soon as i had oh so carefully taken the flutes out of their delicate foam packaging and rinsed them ever so gingerly in mild soap and water, did i realze:

IT'S A CHAMPAGNE FLUTE!

it a'int a liver or a heart or any other precious organ that i am rushing to the nearest hospital for transplant! it's glass! albeit very beautiful, nevermind expensive, glass. IT'S JUST GLASS! and no, i will NOT use them on nights when i feel like dancing on the coffee table, but i WILL USE THEM nonetheless.

why is that blue box so intimidating?!

new york city housewives.

if any of you were deciding whether or not to tune into the "Real Housewives of New York City" because you were wondering if, in fact, this shiz is really real...

it is.

every microsecond of it.

and i know this because i had the most sincere pleasure of working with these women last season.

let me break it down for you in its simplest form.

hyperemotional, neurotic, spoiled, over pampered, egotistical, smart-yet-stupid, modified trainwreck, plastic, implanted, bored-out-of-their-minds!!!!!!!!!!

they fight like teenagers because on an emotional level, they still are. and to give credit where credit is due, some of them are actually bright individuals. and some of them, even nice. but on any given day, it's just DRAMA. and that's why it makes for such a great show. and that's why Bravo TV is smart enough to continue renewing their lease on these women. but COME.ON.

having said all that . . . i'm gonna go watch it.

oh yeah, and Ramona has had absolutely no plastic surgery. nope, none. she was actually born with eyes as big as silver dollars. and up close, she really doesn't scare me at all. only once did i have to go crawl under a blanket after looking at her.

shag.

the best thing ever just happened.

while flipping through the channels during commercial break #3 of this evening's guilty pleasure, i saw that Shag (the movie) was in its final 10 minutes. gasping for air, i quickly scanned "upcoming times" and found that in a matter of 26 minutes, it's happening again.

full.body.chills.

what can be said about this fine piece of cinema except that i love it and had forgotten just how much until i saw "Pudge" strutting across the dance floor with her love-interest partner who looks WAY younger than i remember him being. like pedophile young. maybe because the last time i saw this, i was probably 15.

phoebe cates. bridget fonda. annabeth gish. that super hot dude that phoebe cates scored on the boat.

it makes me want to go to the beach. it makes me want to LIVE at the beach. it makes me wish i knew how to shag. it makes me think i need to learn how to shag. it makes me want to throw a reckless party at my parent's summer home (if they had a summer home). it makes me want to wear a confederate flag bikini and not think there's anything wrong with that. it makes me want to sit 3 inches from the tv and watch every.single.second.of.it.

which is what i'm about to do. well, after my 11:45pm conference call. yes, i said PM.

gone too soon.

two people who would have done us all a favor by stickin' around a little longer are Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith.

both American singer-songwriters with a catalogue of music far more relevant and soulful than most i've ever heard. two young men whose lives ended far too soon. two men whose hearts wore heavy weights. and two young men who would have undoubtedly continued to make an impact had their lives not been cut so short.



Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah" (originally written and released by Leonard Cohen) is quite possibly one of my favorite songs of all time. it has been covered by the masses, which really stradles a thin line between annoying and understandable. who wouldn't want to sing it? it's both heartbreaking and beautiful in its own right. do yourself a solid and listen to it. i'm sure it's on iTunes.



and Elliott Smith. well, i can't really pick a favorite one, but maybe "Waltz 2" from his album "XO"

anyway, i just wanted to point out that i like these lads. and i wish they were still here.

say it a'int so.

WARNING: CONFESSION OF RIDICULOUS QUANTITIES TO FOLLOW

i'm gonna give you the nutshell version because elaborating on this truth i am about to disclose is far too embarrassing and shameful.

on the way home from my friend's house earlier tonight, my partner-in-crime and i made a devastating wrong turn. not once. no no no. once was not enough. we made it twice.

our friends live seven minutes from my house. it's one straight shot from point A to point B. i can almost drive the route blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.

for some unforsaken reason, at 10:30pm i should add, this oh so very simple route was crowded with roadblocks we somehow found impossible to avoid. i'm blaming it on the black hole which we will refer to as "late night" (or late night for a tuesday, anyway). blaming it on that and a severe blockage in the common sense area of our brains.

wrong turn #1: into Burger King
wrong turn #2: into McDonald's

see? i told you there was no need to elaborate.

cap your caps.

if you've read more than one of my posts, you have likely noticed that i write like i talk. which means i may find it necessary and appropriate to capitalize an entire word or maybe even an entire sentence here or there to emphasize a certain point. as we speak, the tone in our voice will fluctuate to accommodate the message we are trying to convey.

such as:

i had a really great day . . . versus . . . i had a REALLY great day.

see the difference?

however, some people have taken this liberty to an extreme and i've really just about had enough of it.

when did it become trendy to send emails and texts in all caps?

are you yelling at me?!?!?!

when i get an email in all caps, i don't see the email. i see this:



God invented the "delete" button for a reason. don't be one of those reasons.

oscar necessities.

any good pre-show includes champagne. actually, and good pre-anything includes champagne. and last night was no exception. bubbles makes things way happier, way more elegant, and way more fun.



in my house, the oscars are just another excuse to make a bet and try not to lose your shirt. last year, i watched the awards show while laying on the hardwood floor strapped to a CPM machine (a modern day torture device) so it was quite a treat to sit upright like a normal person and enjoy my champagne (which later tunred to pinot noir, as the photograph indicates) while watching sequins and ruffles dance across my tv screen.

well, i lost. by one award. the stakes are always the same: dinner at the most expensive hibachi restaurant one can find. i don't even really want to talk about it. i'm too busy transferring money from my savings account in preparation for such an event. and this is the 2nd year in a row i have had to stomach such a fully-bellied affair. bring on the sake.

it's sandy's year.

it's oscar weekend, people. i have such mixed emotions about this star-studded red carpet weekend every year for all the same reasons. on one hand, i think it's great to honor those in my industry who have worked harder than you'll ever know to create something that will likely only entertain us for about 112 minutes. on the other hand, i want to tremble and cringe and roll around on the floor at the thought that we actually put a prize on such an art form. because, after all, films are pieces of art.

okay, truth be told, some films just aren't. like the disgraceful excuse for a movie that i saw this past sunday, which i will absolutely not even give the time nor day here.

but the good ones are art. and how do you place a ribbon of excellence on art? just as one person may love "Starry Night" while the other one adores the "Mona Lisa." it's a matter of taste. and i don't recall the last time we had a sequined adorned festival held to determine who wins between van Gogh and da Vinci.

regardless, it's happenening. as it does every year. and in a matter of a day or so, those ribbons (or actually, little statues that most recipients tuck away in their sock drawers) will be handed out. just as i felt so ridiculously strong about Forest Witaker's win for The Last King of Scotland (and let's not forget...he was up against my boy Ryan Gosling for a role in a film that i actually poured my heart and tears into), i am rooting -- WHOLE HEARTEDLY -- for Sandra Bullock.

i don't care if they skip through every portion of the night and speed right to her acceptance speech, THIS girl deserves it. her performance was nothing short of captivating. it was honest and pure and dignified and beautiful and heartbreaking and i want to kiss her on the lips for it.

and for kicks, let's bring this all full circle. Sandra Bullock dated Ryan Gosling a few years before i worked with him on Half Nelson, for which he received an Oscar nomination in the same year that Forest Whitaker was nominated (and won) for The Last King of Scotland. and Ryan just worked on a film with a bunch of friends of mine (a film that will surely receive a tremendous amount of praise once it's released) in which he co-starred with Michelle Williams, whose baby-daddy Heath Ledger won an posthumous Oscar last year for The Dark Knight. and Heath Ledger (God rest his sweet soul) died in an apartment located 2 blocks away from the office i worked in while filming a tv show which sent me to Los Angeles on a trip that had me coincidentally walking, daily, past the offices of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences. and in that office sit all the big suits of Hollywood who are deciding upon Sandra Bullock's fate, to be determined on Sunday night.

so there you have it. take that, Kevin Bacon.

need explanation.

someone please explain this to me. and i mean PLEASE!! when did it become necessary to provide the general public with family-friendly restrooms? i mean, do both mom and dad need to take little bobby, jr. in to take a leak?

if so, then this hand-holding bunch really has more issues than i am willing to speculate about here.

and please don't overlook the fact that the graphic artist put the kid in overalls.

taboo to you.

so NatGeo -- or National Geographic, as not-quite-as-hip folks call it -- has this show called Taboo that pretty much rocks. it explores, for those of you who weren't tipped off by the title of the show, culturally taboo topics. in very typical NatGeo fashion. which i love.

body modifications is one of those topics. and of most specific interest to me is the oh so very taboo art of neck stretching.

now here is something that looks like fun.

according to trusty wikipedia:

The custom of wearing neck rings is related to an ideal of beauty: an elongated neck.

while we opt for fishnets and red lipstick, the fine women of a few African and Asian cultures prefer wrapping bands of metal around their necks, thus

twisting the collar bone and eventually the upper ribs at an angle 45 degrees lower than what is natural, causing the illusion of an elongated neck.

much like that of a giraffe.

and while you may oohhhh and ahhhh and the sight of shiny gold, i can assure you that the naked neck of these two gals is not necessarily a sight for sore eyes.

now before you bash me for my lacking appreciation of cultures outside of mine own, i must state that i fully support women and men around the world for their "taboo" practices and cultural expressions which i may or may not completely understand. (by the way, NatGeo called it taboo. i did not)

my only point is that if the sole purpose of this neck stretching phenomenon is to create an "ideal of beauty," someone might want to let these chicks know that fishnets and red lipstick can have a similar effect. and cause a significantly less amount of discomfort.

nevermind disfiguration.

switch play.

with regards to the change in appearance in bloggity blog world, i can only say that i hit a wall going about 90 mph with the last template and began to loathe everything about it. so. here's whatcha get. it may not stick. i may hate this one just as much. but i had to make a change and i had to do it now.

do this and you will thank me.

1. get a tea kettle
2. fill half way or two-thirds full of water
3. add a cinnamon stick or two
4. add 7-10 cloves
5. throw in an orange peel if you feel like it
6. turn your burner on low heat
7. enjoy the new aroma that fills your house
8. periodically check to make sure all the water hasn't evaporated from the kettle, leaving a nice burning effect in the bottom of said kettle
9. fill with more water and continue
10. thank me

post script: don't use your Le Creuset kettle. use an el cheapo one that you don't care about, because you will inevitably fail instruction #8 at some point. it's okay when you do, but you will never get rid of the charred ingredients in the bottom of your kettle. (and don't worry, when this happens, it does NOT mean that your house is on fire, even though it might smell like it.)

a little fyi.

in case you were wondering if this hollywood shiz is a bunch of glitz and glamour.

it's not.

it's a big pain in my butt on a good day. and on a really good day, it's just hard.

sometimes i want to set fire to the whole darn thing and go do something simple, like pick up trash. anyway, someone already beat me to the setting of the fire thing.



(by the way, i actually love what i do. just not on this particularly awesome day.)

photo of the day.

this might be a new thing. photos of the day.

and here is today's:



i ran across this on my phone today and it was like the impending spring heavens opened up and there was a total ahhhhhhhhhhhh moment.

not because of the beer. it was because of the idea of warm days at the lake/beach/pool/bay/gulf/backyard/deck/citystreet/patio/roofofyourcar/
roofofyourhouse/anywherethatiswarm with a cold beverage in hand.

nevermind the fact that this may or may not have been taken from the inside of a moving automobile. simply embrace the fact that spring and summer are on the horizon.

and also ignore the fact that it is supposed to start snowing here again in t-minus 21 minutes.

dear jake.

did you somehow miss the fact that your bride-to-be poses topless in burberry scarves??

just checking.

have fun!

really, Jay? REALLY?!

congratulations, Jay Leno, you have yet one.more.reason. to hang your head in shame. don't even try and tell me that your over-inflated ego had nothing to do with the demise of Conan's stint as The Tonight Show host. i a'int buyin' it. you are sort of like Brett Favre, and i have major issues with Brett Favre. you already retired. buh-bye. it's not Conan's fault that your "variety show" sucked as everyone predicted it would. but you know what, this is absolutely not what this post is about.

alright, so we have all re-embraced you in your comeback. (although, i will still watch Letterman over you any day of the week. but it has always been that way.) but don't you think you owe it to your viewers, those who are trying to stand by your post network meltdown, to give 'em something good?

THE CAST OF JERSEY SHORE?????? R-E-A-L-L-Y ? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ? ! ? !

okay, I get it. the show was wildly successful and somewhat of a phenomenon for a "music television" network that airs absolutely nothing to do with music.

i have already admitted that i watched it.

every.single.episode.sometimes.twice.

but you're a little late to the party and even if you weren't, THIS is how you choose to make your comeback?? Jay, you have interviewed EVERYONE. you could have probably booked the Pope himself and yet you sat there and actually decided on this trainwreck collection of idiots to launch the next phase of your career?

And to add insult to injury, you book Sarah Palin to join them? Is this some kind of a joke?

and to think ... my mom actually wants to be your best friend. true story. i think she needs to find herself a new celebrity best friend. like anne hathaway. or meryl streep. someone who won't let her down.

and dear Time Magazine: I call BS on this one.