Madonna’s fall, E’s Fashion Police is out of style, Ryan Phillippe’s abs make a comeback, and do you hate me because I think Kid Rock is lame?

A crack about Madonna breaking her hip is just too obvious, I am more worried that she may have fractured the tiny souls she’s consumed over the years to look this good at 56. Those souls live in her body and Madonna thrives off of their sweat, tears and blood. Don’t worry though, Kabbalah heals all.

Is it an insult to smell of weed and patchouli at 18? That was my ode to life scent.

Guiliana irks me as she fuels the fire for strangers to urge her to eat a cheeseburger. I try to keep my thoughts on people’s weight to myself because, well, have you seen me lately? However, for G, as her E News’ family of horrors call her, she made her health personal by chronicling her infertility and her fight with breast cancer. Her insights were touching, but G’s insistence that her career necessitates that she be rail thin is bogus, she demands that on herself. I don’t pretend to understand, kleptomania and an eating disorder are probably the only two dangerous behaviors I did not

Do not take fashion advice from these idiots.

dabble with in my troubled youth, but G looks frighteningly frail. Regardless, Fashion Police should end and G needs to take a few weeks off, regroup, get back to her “journalistic roots” and rejoice in the absence of Kelly Osbourne.

Kelly, my favorite, most annoying violet-haired, uneducated

Remember when Kelly O. was young, untalented and always looked ridiculous?

celebrity spawn. Let’s all celebrate that she jumped from the sinking ship that is E Fashion Police, but spun it to appear that she was offended by G’s ruthless comments about Zendaya. Kelly O. is not as dumb as I thought, she’s got some of Sharon’s rotten blood flowing in her veins: she knew that without Joan Rivers, this show is useless and she got out before it got really bad.

I don’t know if he can act, but his abs can.

ABC’s Secrets and Lies is worth the watch. Ryan Phillippe is the star and his glorious abs have a costarring role. I never knew how much I missed Ryan until I watched a few minutes of this show. How I longed for his strong jaw, shifty eyes, off-key delivery and yes, his abs. Juliet Lewis strips herself of her usual quirkiness and plays a detective, the best in her field, of course. It’s entertaining and there’s some kind of murder mystery wrapped around Phillippe’s defined biceps.

Kid Rock’s getting stale.

People are like, ‘Beyoncé’s hot. Got a nice fucking ass.’ I’m like, ‘Cool, I like skinny white chicks with big tits.’ Doesn’t really fucking do much for me.”

An excerpt from Kid Rock’s insipid interview in Rolling Stone.

If you want a hearty laugh of the “oh, where’s the humanity?”

Kid Rock: American Bad Ass

variety, pick up the latest issue of Rolling Stone and read the Kid Rock article. No, I’m not whining about his love of hunting, I’m no PETA card-holder, but just read it to witness Kid Rock’s coolness thin like his scraggly hair. I don’t hate Kid Rock, he’s stayed relevant for years and he hasn’t changed his redneck ways, but I have a problem with his created existence. Kid Rock is from Romeo, Michigan. His father owned several car dealerships and the family lived on a six-acre orchard where they would ride horses and pick apples. Sounds ideal, right? Sounds drastically different than his “American bad-ass” persona. Yes, rednecks can hail from affluent backgrounds, but that is not what Kid Rock professes to be. He wants you to read about his simple life, shooting wildlife in his double wide. Bore.

Harrison Ford for President?

Harrison Ford is landing a plane at the age of 72 and I need to swallow a fistful of anti-anxiety meds to get on a plane? Damn, this man is a true American bad-ass, can he show Kid Rock how it’s done? In true Beverly Hills fashion, after Harrison Ford landed his plane, he was assisted by a spine surgeon who just so happened to be golfing in the area Ford crashed. Only in L.A.

More Prince every day and in every way.

Hello Prince.

In my mind, Prince was on the basketball team that I cheered for in high school, but then I remember that my high school was 99.4 free of funk.

The Oscar for Longest Oscar Telecast Goes to….

I missed “Downton Abbey” for this?

The Oscars, I powered through every second of dreaded overtime, I winced at each Neil Patrick Harris joke that bombed and when in doubt, I looked to Oprah to guide me on how to react. Hosting the Oscars is a thankless job and I give Doogie Howser M.D. a “B ” for effort, but I prefer a host that goes full-throttle with the celebrity insults. I want to watch Adam Levine squirm in his Armani, I want to see Gwynnie break out in hives. Here are a few observations:

Is Oprah laughing? Can I laugh?

Oprah Winfrey: the country’s moral compass & fairy godmother? Why must the camera capture every one of Queen O’s animated observations? Can we only applaud after Oprah deems a joke worthy of her well-manicured hands making noise?

Travolta’s Best Role: Lecherous Neighbor

ScarJo will take 30 showers to wash this off.

John’s Scientology-drenched creepiness gets ickier with every sighting. First, he manhandles Scar Jo on the red carpet and then he caresses Idina Menzel’s face like it is a fresh toupee. Travolta, get into an auditing session quickly, you’ve got some demons to expel.

Terrence, did Courtney Love give you some of the good stuff?

Terrence Howard, what are you on, and how can I get some? I am enjoying every second of his starring role in Empire, and I think that Courtney Love’s guest appearance may come with some added benefits. T. Howard, keep doing what you are doing, you were the most entertaining presenter up there.

Dakota Johnson: Her mother’s, like, so annoying.

And, the award for the most spoiled, boring celebrity spawn goes to…Dakota Johnson. Her interview on E’s wrecking ball of a red carpet show was cringe-worthy. I suspect that Melanie slipped Dakota a Quaalude just to be able to spend time with her. These two have less chemistry than Dakota and Jamie Dornan in “Fifty Shades of Grey”.

Dakota, don’t bite the hand that gave you your career. Next!

Don Johnson has more charisma in his ear hair than his daughter has in her body. Dakota, your soon-to-be canceled television drama series is waiting for you, give it a few years, but we’ll see you there.

Wake Me When the Music Ends: The musical performances ran the gamut, from boring (Tim McGraw) to insipid (“Everything is Awesome” fiasco).

Oh, “Into the Woods” wan’t THAT bad.

Much like Brad Pitt, I am obviously missing a sensitivity chip because while I thought the J. Legend and Common performance was good, we just saw the same damned thing at the Grammys. However, watching Chris Pine cry was worth it. Chris, I know that you haven’t had a bonafide hit in a while, but don’t cry about it lovely.

Allow Elliott Smith to Show Them How It’s Done: I long for an Oscar-worthy performance like Elliott Smith’s showstopper in 1998. Elliott, clad in a white, borrowed Prada suit, gave a surreal, haunting version of “Miss Misery” from Good Will Hunting. Sandwiched between Trisha Yearwood and Celine Dion, he was magic. Celien Dion went on to win the Oscar, but Elliott won a legion of new fans and he talked about how kind Celine Dion was to him throughout the Oscar week.

This was pretty amazing.

It was not all bad.

Lady Gaga can really sing, Julianne Moore is a gem, Patricia Arquette’s rousing speech for women’s equality was great, and I love her rebellious stance on the whole shindig. Yeah, she needed a brush, but she’s an Arquette, and they are the connoisseurs of cookoo cool and cognac . Keira

I’m guilty, I didn’t know Lady Gaga could sing so beautifully.

Knightley is donning the best maternity clothes of all time and Anna Kendrick is a fresh breath of air.

Praise Oprah, there were no reality stars there! Minus the horrid E Red Carpet Inferno of Stupidity, I did not spy a Kardashian trollop there, not even soulless supermodel Kendall. I want to thank the Academy for their decency.

Till next awards show. XO

You go Patricia Arquette, messy hair and all!

Father John Misty:A New Love & Scarlett Johansson: Stop Singing

Father John Misty, My New Love

I don’t care how insipid your stage name is, you’ve got me.

My current fascination is Father John Misty, a.k,a. Joshua Tillman, the former drummer for Fleet of Foxes. He sings and writes beautiful folk rock with a political slant and a wicked sense of humor. I saw this performance on David Letterman and was transfixed by the enormity of his voice and the poetry of his words. The song, “Bored in the U.S.A.” is from his newest album “I Love You, Honeybear”- I especially enjoy the laugh track in the song, he’s a pretentious whiner and he’s in on the joke, he’s navigating the whole thing.

I recently got lost in a k-hole of his totally watchable music videos, they’re filled with blood, sex, violence, prostitutes and debauchery.This gem, “Hollywood Forever Cemetery” stars bleakly beautiful Aubrey Plaza of Parks and Recreation.

If Scarlett Johansson becomes a pop star, slap me. Hard.

Scarlett and Jack Antonoff, high school loves.

ScarJo, cease the music-making. There was the embarrassing Tom Waits tribute album, an ill-conceived collaboration with Pete Yorn and now this, the Singles, a super-pop, all-girl band fronted by Johansson. If this is good, then I’m dead.

Scarlett, I know that

Jack Antonoff and current love, Lena Dunham

you attended the Professional Children’s School in Manhattan, a selective private school in Manhattan where you dated Lena Dunham’s beau Jack Antonoff of Fun. and the Bleachers. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.

I get it, your extreme beauty forces everyone in your presence into “yes men.” “Yes, Scarlett, you can be a pop star.” NO! You should know the unfair ways of this weary world, but maybe you were filming Home Alone 3 during this important life lesson, so let me break it down for you: One cannot succeed at everything, one really cannot have it all. You’re exquisite looking, talented, cool, seemingly intelligent and just bounced back to your miraculous shape after giving birth months ago- you cannot be a pop star, also.

Don’t get it? Let’s use me as an example. I’m funny, popular, fashionable, and well-read with a good husband and healthy children so obviously I have to be overweight, under employed and have an unsightly underarm perspiration problem. That’s the way the cronut crumbles, didn’t you learn that at your posh preparatory school?

Please, stop making this music and I’ll go back to loving you.

XO, a maniac.

Grammys: Beck’s brilliance shines,Kayne West is dumb, Madonna delivers something, Gwen Stefani should keep to the silly stuff.

I kept myself awake to write this stupid blog.

The Grammys were dull and filled with ballads, but I watched it all, every off-key note, every exposed side boob and each time Sam Smith recited a totally uninspiring acceptance speech. Yawn.

Kayne, let me introduce you to a true visionary, Mr. Beck Hansen.

But who cares? Beck won three Grammys and if there’s anything you need to know about me, it’s that I love Beck in an unnatural way. I love Beck the way I should love my family. So, now I have a new enemy: Mr. Kayne West Kardashian. By now, we all know that Kayne, in his bare chested glory, swaggered on stage while Beck was accepting his well-deserved Grammy in protest of Beyonce not winning. What a clown. Mr. West Kardashian, you’re needed in the lobby, Kris Jenner needs her colonic and your dad-in-law Brucey needs to be reminded where his soul and testacles are located.

The Grammy Goods

Miranda Lambert What a surprise, I never knew that Miranda Lambert was a rocker. She was the first good performance of the evening. Lambert commandeered the stage and was the only rebel that had to be bleeped for swearing.

Sia with Kristen Wig and Maddie Ziegler. What can’t Kristen

I’ve got nothing but love for this.

Wig do? She’s hysterical, a fine actress and a captivating modern dancer. “Chandelier” was the most enthralling performance of the evening, and my most-loved song of the year. How kind of Sia to write a song documenting my early 20s.

Annie Lennox & Hozier Annie Lennox was the strongest vocal performance of the night. The woman can sing and she and Hozier made a dynamic duo.

Beck Speaks Beck won three Grammys, including the aforementioned Kayne-infected Album of the Year triumph. Beck spoke and I listened to every word he

Beck is fond of redheads. Marissa Ribissi, Beck’s wife since 2004.

uttered. He kissed his wife, Marissa Ribisi of “Dazed & Confused” fame and Giovanni Ribissi’s twin sister, and thanked his children. Beck went on to harmonize with Chris Martin for a beautiful performance of “Heart Is a Drum”.

This is what we do in lil’ Rhody.

John Mayer & Ed Sheeran Who cares about this performance if not for the fact that Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift are pals as all we Rhode Islanders know by seeing the pictures of Ed hanging with T. Swizzle in our sweet little state. John Mayer broke TayTay’s young heart and continues to bash her in the media while dating her nemesis Katy Perry. Got all that? Hmm, where was that camera crew to get Taylor’s reaction to this collaboration?

I’m attracted to redheads and pretentious men. Really, I am.

John Mayer reminds me of most the boys I went to college with that wouldn’t date me for all the Brooks Brothers clothing in the world. He resembles most Connecticut bred assholes I’ve ever met: good looking, well-dressed, from a solid background and completely obnoxious.

Madonna Madonna was never famous for her pipes and voices

It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad.

don’t get stronger with age, but she’s Madonna, and she’s freaking 56 years old. I don’t know how much puppy blood she’s consumed to look this good, but keep doing what you’re doing Madge.

The Boringly Bad

Ariana Grande, pure mediocrity at it’s prettiest. Is Ariana the new rich man’s X-tina Aguilera?

Katy Perry I do not care if this was a powerful anthem about domestic abuse, it was a sonic Ambien. The performance reminded me of my childhood dance recital skits- overly emotional, too much makeup and a lot of accolades for nothing. Katy, your crowning moment from the Super Bowl was short-lived and you’ve been placed back on my Queen of Drivel list.

They must see the same dermatologist.

Nicole Kidman & Keith Urban Are they morphing into one another? Just an observation.

Meghan Trainor mentioned her Nashville roots. I’m confused because she is from Nantucket, MA, just about as far from Nashville as possible. Maybe she meant that she and Brian Williams both saved Nashville from a zombie apocalypse brought on by her nasally voice. That makes sense.

Gwen Stefani & Adam Levine The worst performance of the night must be given to my usual love Gwen Stefani. She warbled her way through some soul-sucking ballad with Adam Levine. Ouch. I am fond of Stefani, but let’s stick to the silly stuff and keep the power ballads to, well, anyone else. After this debacle, I don’t think she should be judging anyone’s voice on “The Voice”. Don’t believe me? Take a listen.

Mary J. Blige Once Mary J. Blige and all her self righteousness takes the stage, that’s the sign it’s time for the show to slowly peter out. I’m Sam Smithed out and his pairing with Mary J. Blige sounded great, but once again, what a bore.

Back to Kayne, one last time.

I just know that the Grammys, if they want real artists to keep coming back, they need to stop playing with us,” Kim Kardashian’s better half blabbered. “We ain’t gonna play with them no more. And Beck needs to respect artistry and he should’ve given his award to Beyonce.”

Kayne, you really are a joke and the punchline is that you don’t know it, and that makes the universal joke just so much funnier.

I stalk rock stars. Part 1.

I stalk rock stars. It used be a large part of my life. My plan was to befriend them, party with them and maybe become a groupie, but damn my Catholic upbringing, it always gets in the way of the real bad stuff. When I was young and hot, I’d jump onstage during rock shows, lurk post-show at hotels to catch a glimpse and deliver cookies to the creepy men that guarded the backstage door. I was a detective; I’d locate the lead singer’s number and call him at ridiculous times. I was cunning. I attribute all this rock star lust and silliness to my poor grades in high school, but I was a great success.

Tanya Donelly

Tanya, remember me following you to Ocean Coffee Roasters in 1994? I'm back! — Tanya, remember me following you to Ocean Coffee Roasters in 1994? I’m back!

Just last week I met one of my idols, Tanya Donelly of Belly, Throwing Muses and Breeders fame, and an incredible solo artist. In the mid-90s I spent valuable time pestering my professor, Donelly’s step-father, for information on Tanya. I would bombard him with an assortment of intrusive questions about his rock-n-roll family and show up at Belly shows pleading with him to get me backstage. He was a kind man, but he put an end to it with one statement: “Shouldn’t you spend more time completing your papers than you do learning about my daughter’s life?” I got the picture and a C+ in his class.

Last thirsty Thursday, I saw Tanya play at The Salvation Cafe in Newport for an intimate acoustic show that also included the consistently great Brothers Kendall. The set list included little bits of brilliance like “Not Too Soon” and “Dusted”. Special guests Gail Greenwood and Dave Narcizo added to the nostalgia. I saw Belly in 1993, 1994 and 1995 and I felt just as young watching Tanya Donelly last week.

Courtney, I’ll start smoking cigarettes again for you.

Meeting Courtney Love was the highlight of my life. Yes, I’ve had a bunch of kids and been married once or twice, but meeting Courtney Love was the most euphoric experience of my life. Giving birth was a highlight, but it was bloody and scary and filled with IVs and defecation. Too much? Always.

I am not an overly ambitious person, but when given the slight chance of meeting Courtney, I seized the day, I was unstoppable. I weaseled my way past hundreds of people and managed to be the first photo- op of the evening. Courtney was at an art exhibit showcasing her own artwork and I was ready to take her with me for the rest of our lives. Love was gracious and warm, I told her that she’s “my world” and then she and I discussed how similarly we were dressed. Messed up minds do think alike.

At the end of the evening, I yelled over to Courtney and her large entourage, “Courtney, we’re on our way to a rock show, come with us, drinks on me!” She shook her head with a smirking, disapproving look. Pure bliss.

Loudon Wainwright III, we shall meet again.

Families that Love Loudon Stay Together

My brother started this one. He’s been to see Loudon Wainwright III more times than I’ve shampooed my hair. It’s been going on for decades, but my fanatic involvement has been for a little over a decade. Within that time, I’ve seen Loudon in New York City, Memphis, Boston, Fall River, the Berkshires and maybe even a few I don’t remember. At times, there’s copious amounts of alcohol swirled into these evenings.

Loudon’s performance pecks at my heart little by little each time, his voice resonates and I’m suddenly surrounded by memories, good and bad. It’s a beautiful, emotional and at times uncomfortable few hours. Loudon is a writer, a poet, an actor, a name dropper, a folk-music patriarch and a dynamic showman.

I’ve met him a few times now. My brother, sister and I have been to dinner with Loudon and those nights have been some of the happiest moments of my life. Most Irish Americans have a picture of JFK in their homes, but we all have a picture of Loudon Wainwright III.

To be continued.

Gwyneth Paltrow’s vaginal steam, the new James Franco, I think I get football & Katy Perry now.

Could this be the biggest box-office bomb of the year? Oh Johnny.

Gwyneth Paltrow’s recent endorsement of vaginal steaming sounds as appealing as stomaching thirty seconds of Mordecai. Who is still giving Johnny Depp movie roles? It’s hard for him to continue playing the rebel when he resembles the patriarch of a small Midwestern taxidermy cult. Paltrow’s hysterically out-of-touch lifestyle website, Goop, explains vaginal steaming:

“You sit on what is essentially a mini-throne, and a combination of infrared and mugwort [plant] steam cleanses your uterus.It is an energetic release — not just a steam douche — that balances female hormone levels. If you’re in LA, you have to do it.”

Sounds frightening, but not as frightening as Johnny Depp’s movie selections.

The marriage will last two kids, three more bombs, one Oscar nomination and one affected accent.

The marriage will last two kids, three more bombs, one Oscar nomination and both their affected accents.

I know that Johnny Depp has it in him to star in another watchable movie, but he’s obviously in the midst of a mid-life crisis. Let’s check out possible warning signs:

Super attractive, formerly bisexual fiancee 23 years younger than him.
Penchant for dressing out of one’s age bracket, which for Johnny appears to be a
Johnny, I’ve had nights like this.

104-year old lunatic with a love for baubles.
A drunk, babbling turn as an awards show presenter at the recent Hollywood Film Awards. His best performance in a decade!

P.S. Johnny, we know you’re from Florida and Madonna is from Michigan. It’s okay, you can let go of the affected accent. We loved you when you were trashing hotel rooms and dating starlets (still doing the starlet thing). Johnny, we want you back. Think superhero movie villian.

Hello Shiloh Fernandez

Shiloh Fernandez, I like your squint.

I watch VH1’s Top 20 Video countdown every weekend strictly for research purposes. While recently pretending to loathe Selena Gomez’s auto-tuned-to-near-perfection single “Heart Wants What it Wants”, I was instantly smitten with the man that plays her Bieber in the video. Move over James and Dave Franco, I’ve found a new squinty-eyed bad boy. Agents, can you give this man all the roles you’re still giving Depp?

I May Enjoy football & Katy Perry

I watched the Super Bowl, like, really, watched the Super Bowl and I found it fascinating. Who Knew? There’s drama, fights, rivalries and celebrity sightings. It’s better than The Housewives of Beverly Hills! Tom Brady takes off his helmet for the world to watch him think, stress, wince and jump up and down with joy. The Super Bowl was like the best reality show of all time with actual talent. I was hooked.

Katy did not disappoint. Did I really admit that?

My shock continues, I can’t believe I’m writing this: Katy Perry was good. She delivered. She provided fun, recognizable pop music to the masses and was unpredictable with her surprise guest of Missy Elliott. Yeah, it was painful to watch Katy Perry, in her bedazzled glory, try to show off her newly found street cred up there with Elliott, but Missy Elliott is welcome any time and as I looked around my home, I saw everyone watching every moment.

Lenny Kravitz, the baby-daddy of arena rock, was another wise move. Lenny’s popularity is multifaceted due to his performance in The Hunger Games. I do not dig Katy, but I have got to give it to her, she entertained me for the whole twelve minutes.

The Official Rulebook on Children’s Party Decorum

Let Buffy eat the cake.

Hosting a child’s birthday party is stupidly stressful and I move to get back to my modest roots and reinstate the McDonald’s birthday parties of 1981. Goody bags? Here’s your Happy Meal. Games? Run yourselves ragged on that poorly constructed plastic labyrinth of fun: The Mcy D’z playground.

Where the rulebook? Every time I deliver my kid to Buffy’s Birthday Extravaganza, I just want the escape, I crave to hear those heavenly words, “feel free to drop him off and come back to 2pm.” But even then, I have to worry about the menacing dog or the delinquent older brother with the really bad skin who appears to be planning his own natural disaster. So, here’s the Official Rulebook on Children’s Parties:

To Drink or not to Drink? Even worse are the parties that are merely a means for the adults to booze. I’ve been known to take the bait and knock a few back with Buffy’s great aunt, but it never feels right, does it? Trying to swallow warm chardonnay while listening to some stranger complain about the public school department is right up there with hearing about dental work. Please, just stop.

Tie down that bouncy house.

Hosts and hostesses, stop urging parents to grab a drink when you’ve provided one bottle of white wine that’s been fermenting for an hour. I do not want to arm wrestle the grandma for a glass. And, really, I’m going to need eight screwdrivers to null the sound of the bouncy house mayhem.

It’s not that hard, really.

The Lost Art of RSVPs is Mortifying: Buffy’s mom & dad, we all know HOW busy you are, mostly because it’s the only conversation we ever have, “I’m so busy I forgot and spoon-fed Buffy gluten!!”, but here’s refresher: RSVP is a request for a response from the invited person. It is derived from the French phrase Répondez s’il vous plaît, literally “Reply if you please” or “Reply please”. So, if I am going to invite your bundle of joy to my little shindig the least you can do is call, text, email or throw something at me to let me know if Buffy is gracing us with his adorable presence. The same can be stated for adult parties (yes, I still throw some of those, too). Just do it, you’ll feel so much better.

Even Allison eats the cake. Sexy.

Let Them Eat Cake. Really, just let Buffy eat the damned cake. Nobody wants to listen to the insipid negotiation over having a slice of cake. Please, just let Buffy eat the cake, and the ice cream and the potato chips. It’s a party.

Watching the Detective. How did you get your house so thoroughly clean? We’re all engaging in some investigative research while attending these parties. I’m spending every moment wondering how people clean their house so well, but other questions I’m pondering include how often the parents get it on, if they have a housekeeper, how much the parents love/loathe each other and I’m also scouring the joint for pictures from their youth. Just beware, we’re all doing it.

Cheers to the kid that recently greeted me at his elaborate front door with the greeting, “we’re rich, and we have tennis courts!” Yes, Buffy, you are rich and you do indeed have tennis courts. Unfortunately, your home birthday party was still a terrible bore, your parents appear to tolerate each other’s presence and your aunt is a lush. Happy Birthday to you!

Book Review: Susannah Cahalan’s Brain on Fire

Not an easy read, but a good read. It will soon be a movie starring Dakota Fanning,

Susannah Cahalan’s Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness is an addictive book that tells the story of Cahalan’s nightmarish medical mystery that attacked her brain and struck her with madness for weeks before being properly diagnosed as a rare autoimmune disorder. Cahalan, a New York Post journalist, was 24 years old at the time she began suffering from seizures that soon resulted in violent, paranoid and erratic outbursts. She was a driven, articulate, interesting and beautiful daughter, girlfriend and writer that woke up to find herself hospitalized for a month, surrounded by the best doctors in the world stumped by what was happening to her brain. Cahalan chronicles her insanity and her loved ones struggles to find out what depleted their intelligent Susannah into a catatonic, sometimes manic patient left without words and barely able to walk.

At first, there’s just darkness and silence.

“Are my eyes open? Hello?”

I can’t tell if I’m moving my mouth or if there’s even anyone to ask. It’s too dark to see. I blink once, twice, three times. There is a dull foreboding in the pit of my stomach. That, I recognize. My thoughts translate only slowly into language, as if emerging from a pot of molasses. Word by word the questions come: Where am I? Why does my scalp itch? Where is everyone? Then the world around me comes gradually into view, beginning as a pinhole, its diameter steadily expanding. Objects emerge from the murk and sharpen into focus.

I know immediately that I need to get out of here.

FROM THE PREFACE OF BRAIN ON FIRE

Cahalan lives to tell her story and her sheer strength as a journalist is evident as she investigates each doctor, every false diagnosis and reviews taped footage of her hospital stay. She interviews family members, nurses and doctors while providing a thorough understanding of the brain and its intricacies. There is not an ounce of vanity in Brain on Fire, Cahalan opens her life and her brain for all to see.

Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler

Buy this book for your oldest pal.

Nickolas Butler’s smooth debut novel Shotgun Lovesongs is a poignant love story penned for the collective hometown we forget how much we love and miss. A mismatched group of music-loving Midwestern friends find themselves fleeing from, returning to, or being unable to leave their modest yet respectable Wisconsin upbringing. They adore each other and their hometown with a destructive and loyal fervor. The close-knit crew produces one wildly successful rock star, a defected rodeo cowboy and a few seemingly happily married couples. Beth, the sturdy, intelligent center of the group is loved by all and unaware of her influence on the men she’s known for as long as she’s known anything.

The book goes down like a smooth shot of whiskey bought for you by your long lost high school pal. Why do young adults run from the comforts of home just to be an unknown in a strange land? Is one’s first love the only real love? Are all relationships merely replacements for what once was? Butler tackles the sticky parts of growing up in a small town, failing and succeeding while one’s own little slice of Americana judges and applauds.

The Golden Globes, Cameron Diaz lands a Madden, did Sia just save Shia Labeouf’s career?

Another month, another awards’ program to stomach.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were their usual breath of hot foul air breathed in the faces of Hollywood elite. Special thank you to both for publicly flogging Bill Cosby, he deserves every lash. Who is encouraging Cosby to continue with his ill-advised comedy tour? It’s so gross. I digress, onto the Globes. While I don’t criticize the fashion much because my own style blends Cyndi Lauper circa 1988 with grandmother chic couture, I can certainly pick on a few attendees.

Let’s try some red lips, feathers and purple. It’s time Jen.

Jen Aniston, if you applied some red lipstick and donned a big purple dress, I think we’d all forget about that silly Brad Pitt thing. You have not changed a highlighted hair on your head during your long career and the media can’t forget about your past because you don’t change. Please, consider something drastic.

Kate Hudson, you effervescent flower child with the visible clavicle, can you alter your California girl look? We are so proud of you for resisting the urge to have hit up Goldie for some C cups when you were a teenager, but must we be reminded at every award show? Please, I beg you for a high necked gown.

I wanted to cry too.

Chrissy Teigen and I looked alike for a brief second; she cried with joy over her husband John Legend winning Best Original Song from Selma while I cried because Lorde was robbed of the title. Yellow Flicker Beat is such a better song.

Prince, you can do no wrong. The 60 seconds that you graced the Globes with your presence were the best moments of the show. More prince in everything.

The Week in La La Land

I want to be happy for perpetual cool unmarried girl Cameron Diaz finding matrimonial bliss with a Madden brother, but I

These tattoos may not age well.

The Madden Bros., they’re marrying well.

notice his odd shape, and how uninspiring his tattoos appear and I start to feel bad for her. Much like my first wedding, I know that the hip kids were taking bets on how long the union would last. My bet? Four years.

How did these Madden brothers, of marginal talent, marry Hollywood royalty? Does Lionel Ritchie have to pass the peas to the Madden brother twins while trying to figure out which one is married to his daughter?

This is five minutes of pure, deeply uncomfortable joy. I enjoy this Sia song as interpreted by Shia Labeouf and Maddy from Dance Moms. I love that the video is bothering so many people and that it’s disturbing to watch.

2014: A Not Bad Year

2014: A year of nothing much?

365 days filled with Kardashian filth, Meghan Trainor’s increasingly annoying voice, Chris Pratt’s hotness, ebola and a flurry of hacking scandals.

2014 Loves

Donna Tartt’s latest novel will capture you for days.

FKA Twigs, currently better known as Robert Pattinson’s girl, is a fresh face in music.

1. Movies were good, “Gone Girl” “Guardians of the Galaxy” and “Boyhood” were highly entertaining. Cool books include Donna Tartt’s “The Goldflinch” and Meg Wolitzer’s “The Interestings” and “Belzhar”. New music by Lana Del Rey, Jack White and FKA Twigs were stellar standouts.

2. Lana Del Rey is exactly what I crave from a rock star; she’s troubled, intelligent and beautiful with addictive tendencies and questionable taste in men. Del Rey’s sexiness and darkness make up for all the stupid things she keeps saying in interviews and for her lack of credibility. I do love a Connecticut girl gone bad. Her macabre album Ultraviolence is hauntingly cool and her videos are luscious.

3. Jay Z. and Solange: Hate in the Elevator This was the must see silent movie of the year. It cements my belief that Beyonce is not human, she’s actually a robotic alien that Jay Z. created when he was slinging crack as a teenager. She never did give birth to Blue Ivy, Blue Ivy is actually a robotic alien that eats money and platinum for nourishment.The silent movie of the year.

4. Jack White is the coolest man in the world. It’s unhealthy how much I dig him. I don’t know that I can ever forgive myself for missing his Newport Folk Festival performance this year. Lazaretto does not disappoint.

5. Who was Lena Dunham first? Her or me? I think I could have been Lena Dunham, but better. I watch “Girls”, speed read through her ridiculous friggin memoir “Not That kind of Girl” and smash my modest upbringing, “I’m Lena Dunham without the NYC pedigree and famous folks!”

She’s stealing my shtick.

Sour grapes? Maybe. I love to hate Lena Dunham, hate to love her. I’m repulsed and turned on by her constant state of undress. I cringe at and envy her homely designer clothes. I appreciate her rocker beau’s band The Bleachers. She’s so complicated, a lot like someone else I know.

6. Nick Jonas: Goodbye purity ring, hello abs.

Nick Jonas, you can put your shirt on now. We get it.

I always knew that Nick Jonas was the hottest Jonas Brother, even when he was the 12 year old kid breaking Miley Cyrus’ heart. Nick Jonas, welcome to the perverted world of every middle aged woman that took their kids to see Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience and could sense your pre-pubescent attractiveness lurking under your fedora. Did I mention that I am fond of this song?

7. Shovels & Rope is a terrific new band, this husband and wife duo are a gritty mix of whiskey, talent and love. Bruno Mars’ Uptown Funk” may be the best song of the year, and he was the best part of both the Super Bowl and Saturday Night Live. NBC’s Parenthood is just about as good as a television drama can be.

The Lowest of the Lows

1. Bill Cosby is a predator and anyone that is defending him is on my shit list. Whoopie, I am talking to you. His first public display of poor decision making was firing my first bad girl love Lisa Bonet in 1991 for “creative differences”. The girl was merely exercising her artistic freedom.

Fun times.

2. Gwynnie and Chris Martin “consciously uncoupled” or started to loathe each other after a bland ten years together and filed for divorced, as we mortals call it. This breakup will remain friendly until they start fighting over the juicer machine, tan cashmere sweaters and yoga mats. Yawn. Martin almost redeemed his own mediocrity by dating Jennifer Lawrence while the rest of the world just gazed at Jennifer’s nude photos. Didn’t last long, but good try Chris.

Kardashian broke the internet and her face.

3. What do I despise about the Kardashians? I hate their deep voices void of infliction or words over three syllables long, I cringe at their dead valley girl jargon. I detest their dark, shiny and glossy hair screaming for a different style, I abhor their hairy babies with stupid names. I’m disgusted by their mascara application habits and shared taste in bohemian wear and I especially cannot tolerate that I once thought Kanye West was the real deal.

Andy,stick to scouting for Housewives trash.

4. Andy Cohen, you need an image consultant. 2014 thrust you on the edge of awful. I actually sat down and read this “book” you just published “A Deep Look at a Shallow Year”. Andy, I am worried. I thought you went to BU? I thought you were smart. After reading this book I was reminded of my journal as an 8^th grader. But, you are a 46 year old man. Your first novel was a fun read, but this is a waste of time. Do I have to read 24 pages to get to two stories that include you partying with Madonna? Your Housewives franchise should partner with America’s Most Wanted. Tacky.

5. Roger Goodell, most of Sony and my local Starbucks barista should be fired.

During my misspent youth I was fired for getting my nose pierced, wearing a Ministry t-shirt to work, habitual lateness and for throwing up in a cafe bathroom during 4th of July weekend in a tourist town, but these executive-level assholes just can’t get fired.

Isn’t there another person that can do a better job for over $40 million?

I make a sport out of not watching football, but this season has been difficult to ignore.No amount of Tom Brady closeups can get rid of the taste of domestic assault, child abuse and rapes that Goodell is not handling properly. Roger Goodell made $44.2 million in 2013. Why is he still employed at the NFL? He is a public relations disaster.And those public service announcements that are now being played ad nauseam are terrible. Stop. Yes, I know nothing about football but I do know a thing or two about being fired. Let him go!

I give Amy Pascal another 7 months at Sony.

Amy Pascal and the gang at Sony are guilty of not having a clue. Don’t we all know to be careful when composing corporate emails? How can this group of professional ass kissers still be employed after biting the hands that feed them? The stars that they are paid to worship.

Yeah and my local Starbucks barista is a mess. I can’t believe that I give him money to screw up my coffee order every week.

I will pay you to stop Grande’s career. Her brother may stay, but she’s got to go.

6. Ariana Grande is as wretched a human being as she is a pop star. Reports surfaced that she berates staff, insists on being cradled like a baby after performances and only allows photographers to frame the left side of her face. What can I do to stop her meteoric rise? Can I pay someone with my soul to produce audio of her saying racist words? Can we drum up a child abuse story? Anything, just put an end to the Ariana.

Lice, homemaking and me.

I found something that made me want to stay home and clean: lice.

Lice invaded my world and my mind.

Yes, lice, I can’t even type the word without mauling my scalp with my fingernails. Lice invaded my home and stayed for a few itchy days. I have never cleaned, washed and embraced homemaking before seeing a louse in my son’s hair. It was both disgusting and amazing. How, where, why? I was energized every time I located a nit or a bug. The joy I had with every removal was pure and unbridled.

I scoured the internet for each and every at-home remedy. I washed my hair with Listerine, slathered coconut oil all over my scalp and sprayed a blend or rosemary and tea tree oil all over my house.

Come to momma, you little louse.

I bagged clothes, toys and bedding and exiled them all to the backyard giddy with excitement over the lice being frozen to death. I whispered in my son’s ear in a sing-song voice “we’re going to kill those bugs in your head, don’t you worry”.

I lost my mind.

I had to end the week with enough vodka to silence the bugs I thought were in my hair and the ones that invaded my mind.

	Amy Simmons on Aunt Claire and the Irish…
	kajee75 on Distractions Soothe the Doom:…
	Kim on Losing My Religion and Birthin…
	Casey Gee on I Caused the Pandemic by Being…
	kajee75 on I Caused the Pandemic by Being…

kathleenlala

Musings on pop culture and trivialities.

Madonna’s fall, E’s Fashion Police is out of style, Ryan Phillippe’s abs make a comeback, and do you hate me because I think Kid Rock is lame?

The Oscar for Longest Oscar Telecast Goes to….

Father John Misty:A New Love & Scarlett Johansson: Stop Singing

Grammys: Beck’s brilliance shines,Kayne West is dumb, Madonna delivers something, Gwen Stefani should keep to the silly stuff.

I stalk rock stars. Part 1.

Gwyneth Paltrow’s vaginal steam, the new James Franco, I think I get football & Katy Perry now.

The Official Rulebook on Children’s Party Decorum

Book Review: Susannah Cahalan’s Brain on Fire

Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler

The Golden Globes, Cameron Diaz lands a Madden, did Sia just save Shia Labeouf’s career?

2014: A Not Bad Year

Lice, homemaking and me.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: