Who have you had your fill of?

E! Online has a poll asking which celebs should endure through 2009. Of course I took it, and my choices seemed to reflect the majority, with two exceptions:

1. I'm tired of Britney already. I'm glad the pieces of her life seem to be falling into place, and I hope she stays healthy and happy. But step outta the spotlight, girl!

2. Suri Cruise. She's cute as hell, but do we really need to know when she and her mom go to Toys 'R' Us? Or that she had her bangs trimmed? Even as much as I detest Brad and Angelina, their kids seem ... well, to be as normal as one could expect from flea-infested parents.

Here's more about people I want to see less of:

-- Paris Hilton. She's ugly as hell, and even more shallow.

-- Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag. Who the fresh hell ARE these people? And why the fresh hell are they famous? Get them out of my magazines and off of my Internet and let them rot away like the stupid nobodies they are.

-- Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo. Who cares?

-- Tom Brady and what's-her-face. See above. Except I would like to see Brady publicly flogged for running out on his child. Now THAT I would pay good money to read!

-- Brad and Angelina. And Jennifer Aniston's name with theirs. How long has it been since they divorced? Let it go, people.

-- Amy Winehouse. My toilet backing up makes a more joyful noise. And does she remind anyone else of an ugly, nasty version of Janice from Friends? I don't care if she's flunking rehab. I don't care if her husband was arrested again ... and again. I. Don't. Care. Got it?

-- Madonna. I was tired of that cone-wearing trollop back in the '80s, even before "Like a Virgin." I've often wondered why she made it big and Cyndi Lauper didn't, especially since I think Cyndi could stretch $10 farther at a rummage sale. Shoot, I'd give Heidi Montag a break if she could bargain hunt. Maybe.

-- Tom Cruise. Would somebody give him some vitamins, already?!?

-- Anybody whose surname is "Lohan." I'm looking at you, Michael and Dina.

-- Pregnant celebs. It's as if the rest of us don't reproduce. (Jennifer Garner is one of the exceptions.) And enough of the magazine covers of people like Christina Aguilera and their newborn spawn. And speaking of Christina ...

-- Cutesy, puke-ass nicknames. Really, is it all that difficult to type a few more letters? Enough already with Xtina. LiLo, Speidi and RPattz. (The nickname on the latter, not the guy. One can never have too much Rob Pattinson.)

I'm sure I'll think of more as the year progresses ... and I'm sure I'll bore you to tears with them.

Happy 2009!

Doesn't it seem like yesterday that everyone was bracing for the Y2K "disaster" that never came?

And here we are -- another New Year in its infancy. I'm not one for resolutions, but you're reading one of them. I resolve to get out my feelings more this year. They're disjointed, with no connection whatsoever, but here they are.

By this time next year I'll be the mother of an official driver-license-holding teenager, on her way to spreading her wings for independence. I've devoted so much of my being to this child that I'm not sure I'm ready for the empty nest.

She's beautiful, brilliant and sensitive -- exactly what this world needs for its future. Can I let her go? I don't know. She needs to be let go, and I hope and pray I'm not so selfish I can't let that happen. I love her fiercely. She's my life's joy.

I'm recovering from some funky stomach malady, so the first nibble of the day wasn't black-eyed peas and greens. I hope the New Year's gods can forgive this indiscretion and bless me with luck. It would be nice to win the lottery, but you have to play to win. If I can't swoop up on Powerball winnings, I hope I can at least keep my head above water this year.

My little dog isn't getting any younger. He's had eye and back problems this year. I wish him an easy, healthy year as we grow older together.

It's my fervent prayer that the economy pull out of this dismal slump. Uppermost in my mind, of course, is the fate of newspapers. So many good people have devoted their lives to the truth with very few monetary rewards. Please, for their sake -- for my sake, even -- don't let newspapers die. We're not perfect, but we're out there trying our damnedest to give the public an unbiased look at the events coloring their world. The same cannot be said of so many bloggers and citizen journalists, many of whom color themselves as objective but reveal their bent. Kind of like Faux News with a keyboard.

(And yes, I do realize I'm using a blog as my podium. I, however, make no claim to be a journalist here. This is where I blow off steam -- it's subjective, and I have no plans to change that.)

I have high hopes for our new POTUS. Barack Obama is no messiah, but he gives me optimism. New ideas are needed. The status quo is not working. I now count down the days to the end of the error -- a man neither elected by the people nor for the people.

Reading about the possibility of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner having a New Year's baby makes me smile. It's irrelevant to my daily life, but I think they're absolutely darling. So many times I've latched my hopes onto a Hollywood couple -- Brad and Jennifer, Reese and Ryan -- only to see it end in divorce. (I still haven't forgiven Brad for cheating with Angelina Whorlie.) I have faith in the Afflecks. They seem ... almost normal.

Why was Friends the last great sitcom? I love The Office, but there is still a void left by the six people who gathered in my living room every Thursday to make me laugh .. and cry. Though I've always loved Friends, I still mourn for the pre-Monica Chandler and the Joey who was dumb and lovable, not brain dead.

Of course, Jim Halpert does help ease the pain somewhat ... (Is he gorgeous or what?!?)

And speaking of guys who make you drool, I'd gladly be Rob Pattinson's cougar. Long or short hair, bald ... I don't care. Just in case anyone out there knows him and wants to pass the word ...

Happy New Year, everyone! Both of you.

Speechless

I swear, I thought he was already dead.

PARIS - Marcel Marceau, the master of mime who transformed silence into
poetry with lithe gestures and pliant facial expressions that spoke to
generations of young and old, has died. He was 84.

Dudes, c'mon ...

... it's Pamela Anderson you're fighting over. I mean, seriously, ewwwwww.

Forget the tramp and move on.

Tommy Lee, Kid Rock brawl at VMAs

From one single mom to another ...

You go, girl!

Britney Spears has struck some nerves. And I like it.

Usually, she gets on my last nerve, too. I miss the cute Brit who made videos in pigtails and had us wondering if she had breast-augmentation surgery at 17. Her appearance on SNL was classic!

Believe me, I'm the first to jump on the bandwagon bashing Ms. Spears. Her parenting skills -- what does it say about you when the world is rooting for KFed to get custody? The head shaving (dumb) ... the umbrella wielding (stupid) ... the extensions (are you kidding me?).

However, I won't deny her name has drawing power. So in a marketing move that should be surprising to nobody, they signed her to open this year's VMAs.

I didn't see it. I don't want to, and not just because it's The Slutty Ms. B. I despise those shows, period. I saw her with the snake wrapped around her years ago, and who could forget the Madonna kiss? (Anyone remember she also kissed Christina Aguilera? That seems to be forgotten in the telling.)

All those clips were shown ad nauseum on the news the next day. I'm sure if I bothered to switch on the TV right now, I'd find footage of the black-sparkly-bra-and-panty-clad Ms. B prancing around on stage.

What brings me to her defense, however, are two of her detractors, via E! News:

"I can’t believe she would perform. She hasn’t had a hit record in years," a slighted-sounding Kanye West, whose eagerly anticipated Graduation drops Tuesday, said Saturday night at a Rolling Stone party. "Maybe my money's not right. Maybe my skin's not right."

Memo to Mr. West: Maybe your name's not Britney Spears! While I might -- and that's a big might -- turn on the TV to check out Brit, I wouldn't walk across the street to see you in person. For free. And it's not the color of your skin OR your money. I think you're an asshole. Period.

While I have heard of Brit, the first time I ever heard of you was when you made an ass of yourself during that benefit for Katrina. It's too bad the only way you can earn name recognition is by spewing controversy.

Then there's his opening statement. The Beatles haven't had a hit record in years, either. When you're an icon, it doesn't matter. When you're a nobody, you gotta grab headlines any way you can.

And now it's time for the second detractor:

The Foo Fighters' Dave Grohl wasn't exactly waiting with bated breath, either.
"You know those things that you put batteries in and they just vacuum the floor without anyone touching them? That’s what I think of Britney Spears," said the rocker, whose band held court at the cleverly named Hotel Party #3,562, where they performed their new tune, "The Pretender ...

I'm not an advocate of censoring, but the Foo Fighters' stand on AIDS prompted me to ban their music and videos from my house. At least Brit's not spewing falsehoods that could cost her fans their lives. Go fuck yourself.

So keep singing, Ms. B. But ease up on the partying and put your kids in child-restraint seats in the car. And, for God's sake, put on some clothes! You can afford it.

Another weekend with Harry

After spending last weekend learning about Harry Potter's fate, The Girl and I stepped out yesterday to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

We were not alone. Apparently, a number of East Tennesseans cloistered themselves last weekend with Deathly Hallows before checking out Harry on the Big Screen.

The Girl and I had both heard reviews among our friends about how disappointed they were. I'm glad to report that our experience was the extreme opposite. Order of the Phoenix is probably my least favorite book of the series, but the movie, I was delighted to note, probably is the most true to the book. In that regard, I think Phoenix is probably my favorite movie.

Notable differences:

-- Hermione introduces our boys to Luna Lovegood. In the book, it's Ginny who has that honor. (Anyone ever notice that Hermione gets these little gimmes in the movies?)

-- Mad-Eye Moody incurs the wrath of Tonks by referring to her as "Nymphadora." Lupin uttered her hated given name in the book. Lupin's absence at 4 Privet Drive is also conspicuous.

-- No mention of the kinship between Tonks, Sirius, the Malfoys and Bellatrix was given.

-- In the scene following Arthur Weasley's attack, Dumbledore sends the portraits in his office to their respective places with no mention of who they are or why. (Phineas Black was dispatched to the Order's HQ, while another former headmaster whose name escapes me was sent to St. Mungo's.)

-- No St. Mungo's. I was chomping at the bit to see the inside of that place.

-- Kreacher is afforded a couple of cameos. In the book, Kreacher's role is pivotal.

-- The Swamp. The Weasley twins created it upon their departure from Hogwarts, and the professors let it stand for ages. Flitwick, when he does get around to removing it, retains a corner of it in honor of Fred and George. In the movie, our favorite twins go out with a bang sans swamp. I was much disappointed.

-- Cho Chang is the snitch. (No, not *that* snitch.) I dislike Cho, but she didn't rat out Dumbledore's Army. That dishonor was left to her friend. And speaking of which, I would have LOVED to have seen Hermione's spell of carving SNITCH into the forehead of the one who squealed. The bewitching of the Dumbledore's Army list -- and the coins -- were among Hermione's most clever actions in the series.

-- Weasley is our King. NOT. You're still going to have to sing that ditty in your head, because there is no Quidditch in Phoenix.

-- Where are the prefects? They're Ron and Hermione in the book but nonexistent in the movie.

OK, so there are differences. But I still liked Phoenix. Some pluses:

-- Luna Lovegood. I had my doubts when I saw the actress tapped for this role, but she carried off Luna perfectly. Kudos!

-- Daniel Radcliffe. His acting in the past has fallen short, but Phoenix is his shining moment. He's not going to win the Oscar, but the improvement in his craft is marked.

-- Michael Gambon. His Dumbledore gets better and better. I wonder if Richard Harris could have pulled off the fight in the ministry as well. Kudos to a Dumbledore who kicks ass!

-- Alan Rickman. Nobody, but nobody, could be a better Snape. The man is gold. My only minus is that he is sorely underused. More Snape, please!

-- Helena Bonham Carter. Wow. Bellatrix is pure evil, and Carter leaves no doubt of that.

-- Gwamp. Love him. And Robbie Coltrane as Hagrid is always a delight.

--Umbridge. Bitchiness at its finest. My only disappointment is the actress portraying her is too pretty. A bitch, yes. But toadlike? Hardly.

Damn ...

Not that I expected it, but ... damn.

Orlando Bloom Says He Won't Get Naked Onstage

On the other hand, anyone have a cardigan I can borrow?

John Krasinski: I'm Looking for the 'Girl in a Cardigan'

Potpourri

John Mark Karr has been arrested for battery, apparently stemming from an argument with his girlfriend.

Girlfriend? HELLO?!?

How desperate are you for a man if you think hooking up with this deviant is a good idea? I can hear it now ... "I know he confessed to brutally killing a little girl in Colorado, and he married two teenagers -- one of them 13 -- and he's been arrested for possession of child pornography, and he's been known to have a weird penchant for young girls ... but Daddy, I LOVE HIM!"

Ewwwwwwwww ... I think I need a shower now.

***

I don't give a damn how much John Edwards pays for a haircut, and I don't know why anyone else does.

The man is stinking rich! If he wants to spends $1,250 or more for a coiffure, go for it. It's not like he's taking food out of the mouths of starving babes. And, hey, it beats the hell out of spending more money than either Edwards or I will see in our lifetimes on a war with a country that has nonexistent weapons of mass destruction. Note: The latter is funded with taxpayer money, while Edwards' high-dollar haircuts are not.

It's not how I'd spend my money, but, hey, it's not my money. And he does have good hair. It's better than Rudy or Fred's. Hell, it's better than Hillary's -- and I like Hillary.

***

Congrats to Eva Longoria and Tony Parker. Now go away.

You got married yesterday. So what? Lots of other folks did, too. You're no Charles and Diana -- or Charles and Camilla, for that matter.

Remember, Charles and Diana had "the wedding of the century" and later divorced. My money's on the same fate for you.

***

Does anybody really care that Clay Aiken got into a tussle with a woman on an airplane?

***

Anyone who hears me speak knows I have a Mouth from the South. If you haven't heard me, think Clay Aiken or John Edwards. We have very similar dialects.

Not only does my Mouth from the South carry that lilt, it also, at no warning, will refer to you as "honey," "sweetie" or "dear." In the South, that's as involuntary as breathing. The staff at work from time to time have all been one of the above. Heck, I even STILL call The Ex "honey."

I bet Jan Hicks does and did, too. Unfortunately, the former assistant district attorney was censured by the Board of Professional Responsibility for referring to a judge as "honey."

I'm unfamiliar with Hicks both personally and by reputation, but I sympathize with her. I know such terms of endearment could be perceived badly in a courtroom setting. But come on! This isn't "Law and Order." It's the South -- it's Tennessee.

And honey, it's just the way we talk.

Welcome to the club!

The newest members of the I'm Famous But My Baby Has a Normal Name Club are ...


Drumroll, please.


Kevin James and Julia Roberts!


James, whom I loved on "King of Queens" and am looking forward to seeing with My Adam in "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry," named his wee Flag Day arrival Shea Joelle.

And Roberts' babe, born on My Sir Paul's 65th birthday, is known as Henry Daniel.

(Adam and Sir Paul, it may be noted, are both members of the club. Adam's daughter is Sadie Madison. Sir Paul is, of course, the father of designer Stella McCartney. His other children are Mary, James and Beatrice. He is also the adopted dad of Heather, Linda McCartney's daughter from a previous marriage.)

Congrats to the new parents! And welcome to the club!

I'm not alone

My mother's death left me with more questions than answers.

Bipolar disorder, the mental illness that prompted my mother to take her life, is genetic. Could it be that I'll be afflicted with it somewhere down the road. What about my beautiful daughter? Could this horrible disease affect her thoughts and addle her peaceful existence?

Could I, by calling my mother earlier that day, have prevented it?

Is there some way I can talk to her? I just want to hear from her one more time.

I found out a week or so ago that someone else is having the same kind of thoughts.

Anyone who watched "The Young and The Restless" in the 1980s is familiar with Thom Bierdz. The name may not be familiar, but his role as Phillip Chancellor III has been pivotal since the early days of the soap.

(This is the part where I admit that I was an unabashed fan. I thought he was just about the most handsome thing I'd ever seen walk across the TV screen.)

That's why I immediately recognized his name when I came across it while doing some online research last Sunday. I always wondered whatever happened to the guy whose smoldering good looks lit up my TV screen daily and whose demise has me carrying a grudge against "The Young and the Restless" almost 20 years later.

What happened was an almost indescribable horror.

After Thom's character was written off in 1989, it looked like he was headed for a career to match Tom Cruise's. His fast track to stardom was stopped weeks later, however, when his baby brother bludgeoned their mother to death with a baseball bat. And some years later, his other brother committed suicide.

Thom reveals all those feelings and his search inside himself in Forgiving Troy: The Art-o-biography of Thom Bierdz. I found excerpts of the book on his Web site, and I was mesmerized.

He had the same feelings I do. In reading those few pages, I found someone who looked into my soul.

That feeling was even more validated when I received the book in the mail today. Now an acclaimed artist, Thom uses some of his paintings to illustrate the feelings he describes in words. It's a heart-wrenching, soul-searching read, and one I highly recommend.

For me, it's therapeutic. By reading about Thom's trials and tribulations, I'm discovering myself -- and my mother.

Thanks, Thom.

Can't believe I did that

I spent the better part of yesterday evening surfing the Internet looking for Paris Hilton footage.

I know! It's bad! I'm dying of shame here.

I despise Paris Hilton. I disliked her even before she decided she was above the law and too privileged to read her own mail. That haughty "I'm-so-rich-my-feces-doesn't-stink" look always makes me want to slap her, if for nothing else because she'd be disgusted because a middle-class peon touched her. I'd have disinfectant handy, of course -- for me.

The fact that she went kicking and screaming back to jail made my day. (OK, it was a high -- finding my favorite slacks in my size after searching in three cities made my day.)

However, that might have even been replaced had I been able to see Paris screaming, Mooooom! It's not right!

I guess I'll have to live with the descriptions because apparently there were no cameras in the courtroom.

I applaud Judge Michael Sauer in sending her skanky ass back to the slammer. Sheriff Lee Baca should be ashamed of himself.

It was 40 years ago today ...

(In the U.S. that is) That the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, the album Rolling Stone refers to as the best of all time. Ever. Period. Who am I to argue with one of the industry's most respected periodicals?

The album was released a day earlier in Britain. (On my parents' anniversary, but that's neither here nor there -- although they and the Beatles ultimately met the same fate ...)

Choosing a favorite song is like asking a mother to choose her favorite child. (I never have a problem with the latter, however.) I love Ringo's nasal twang in "With a Little Help from My Friends." "A Day in the Life" ... a mixture of Lennon and McCartney in one song. "When I'm 64" holds a dear place. Cute, catchy and hey, who other than Heather Mills wouldn't love Paul now that he's 64 -- almost 65?!? Plus, it's in The World According to Garp, a movie based on one of my favorite novels.

Check out "Sgt. Pepper: A to Z," and listen to some of the tunes while you're there.

Happy birthday, Sgt. Pepper!

Does anyone ...

Even know who's on "American Idol" now that Sanjaya is gone? Does anyone care?

And, as far as that other farce, "Dancing with the Stars," I say, "Go, Joey FatOne!"

Another "atta girl"

Sheryl Crow has adopted a baby.

The little boy, born two weeks ago, is named Wyatt Steven. She and Kim Fields are giving the odd names a run for their money. Way to go, girls!

Maybe Apple, Audio Science and Fifi Trixibelle are one their way out. One could only hope.

* * *
The Tennessean Web site today reported the top girls' and boys' names in the state over the past year. Top girls' names include Madison, Emma and Emily, while the boys lead with William, Jacob and Joshua. (What? No Michael?!?)

Here's the boys' names, by rank and the number of 2006-birthed Tennessee babies with those names:
1. William, 693
2. Jacob, 615
3. Joshua, 538
4. Ethan, 521
5. James, 510
6. Christopher, 449
7. Michael, 419
8. Noah, 412
9. Elijah, 405
10. Andrew, 401
11. John, 398
12. Jackson, 394
13. Matthew, 390
14. Caleb, 383
15. Landon, 367
16. Tyler, 362
17. Samuel, 340
18. Austin, 331
19. (Tie) David and Logan, 328
21. Joseph, 319
22. Christian, 316
23. Hunter, 310
24. Jonathan, 293
25. Alexander, 275
26. Daniel, 275
27. Hayden, 267
28. Nathan, 261
29. Nicholas, 260
30. Robert, 257
31. Mason, 254
32. (Tie) Benjamin and Brandon, 252
34. Gavin, 251
35. Dylan, 250
36. Thomas, 245
37. Cameron, 244
38. Zachary, 239
39. (Tie) Isaiah and Ryan, 236
41. Charles, 232
42. Jordan, 229
43. Anthony, 228
44. Brayden, 219
45. Aiden, 213
46. Gabriel, 212
47. Isaac, 204
48. Evan, 203
49. Luke, 198
50. Jeremiah, 193
51. Jayden, 188
52. Justin, 185
53. Bryson, 1805
4. Lucas, 177
55. Connor, 173
56. Kevin, 167
57. Aidan, 163
58. Jason, 162
59. Caden, 159
60. Carson, 153
61. Jack, 145
62. Aaron, 141
63. (Tie) Preston, Seth and Wyatt, 138
66. Braden, 137
67. (Tie) Carter, Timothy and Nathaniel, 135
70. Tristan, 130
71. Owen, 129
72. Riley, 126
73. (Tie) Blake and Jose, 124
75. (Tie) Eric and Peyton, 122
77. Kaden, 121
78. Eli, 120
79. Alex, 118
80. Chase, 115
81. (Tie) Dalton and Kaleb, 114
83. Adam, 113
84. Brian, 112
85. (Tie) Ashton, Devin and Sean, 111
88. Cooper, 106
89. Jesse, 104
90. Colton, 103
91. Ian, 102
92. Steven, 101
93. Jaden, 98
94. Garrett, 97
95. (Tie) Carlos and Cody, 96
97. (Tie) Juan and Patrick, 95
99. (Tie) Malachi and Parker, 93

And, on the distaff side:
1. Madison, 561
2. Emma, 527
3. Emily, 476
4. Hannah, 464
5. Abigail, 454
6. Olivia, 324
7. Sarah, 319
8. Chloe, 313
9. Alexis, 296
10. (Tie) Anna and Ava, 295
12. Isabella, 295
13. Addison, 283
14. Elizabeth, 281
15. Savannah, 250
16. Alyssa, 242
17. Brianna, 241
18. Ella, 229
19. Taylor, 216
20. Lillian, 206
21. Ashley, 189
22. Lauren, 184
23. Kaylee, 182
24. Morgan, 177
25. Jasmine, 176
26. Makayla, 174
27. Brooklyn, 167
28. (Tie) Hailey and Sophia, 166
30. Gracie, 165
31. Destiny, 164
32. Haley, 163
33. Mary, 162
34. (Tie) Katelyn and Lily, 157
36. Natalie, 155
37. (Tie) Samantha and Sydney, 152
39. Kaitlyn, 151
40. Kayla, 150
41. Grace, 143
42. Caroline, 134
43. Autumn, 132
44. (Tie) Allison and Rachel, 123
46. Katherine, 120
47. Trinity, 119
48. Mackenzie, 118
49. (Tie) Nevaeh and Shelby, 118
51. Riley, 117
52. Kennedy, 113
53. Zoe, 112
54. Victoria, 111
55. (Tie) Avery and Mia, 108
57. (Tie) Amelia and Kylie, 105
59. Megan, 104
60. Jada, 103
61. (Tie) Gabrielle and Madeline, 102
63. Katie, 101
64. Sara, 100
65. Jessica, 99
66. Bailey, 98
67. Maria, 97
68. Molly, 95
69. Mariah, 92
70. Aubrey, 91
71. (Tie) Audrey and Jayla, 90
73. Faith, 88
74. (Tie) Jennifer and Julia, 87
76. Breanna, 86
77. Leah, 85
78. (Tie) Aaliyah, Jenna, Jordan and Kimberly, 84
82. (Tie) McKenzie and Skylar, 82
84. Brooke, 81
85. (Tie) Kendall and Reagan, 80
87. Claire, 78
88. (Tie) Ashlyn and Rebecca, 76
90. (Tie) Layla and Madelyn, 74
92. Lilly, 73
93. Allie, 72
94. (Tie) Kathryn and Kelsey, 71
96. (Tie) Alexandria, Summer and Zoey, 70
99. (Tie) Alexandra, Angel and Lydia, 69

Anyone else notice there's not a Shiloh, Apple or Suri in the bunch? (Of course, The Girl's name isn't there, either, but that's beside the point. It's them we're talking about now.)

Am I the only one?

Am I the only one in the free world who has NO interest in seeing Spider-Man 3?

It just holds no allure for me. Maybe if they had cast Mark Ruffalo as Spidey ...

Nah. I doubt that would even draw me.

It's not Tobey McGuire. (OK, it is partly Kirsten Dunst.) I'm just not into the superheroes movies. I've never seen any of the Batman movies.

(My brother, then about 7, confided once while watching reruns of the old "Batman" series that the real Batman is Michael Keaton. I beg to differ. Michael Keaton is Mr. Mom. The real Batman is, and always will be, Adam West. What's sad is even Adam West thinks he's the real Batman. But I digress.)

Many, many years ago a girlfriend and I, miffed at our boyfriends, went to see Superman 2. I have to say it was pretty good -- but only because every time Christopher Reeve kicked somebody's ass, we cheered in victory because we had named the villains for our boyfriends.

Maybe I should give Spidey a chance ... the ex and his mother would make good villains.

Go, Spidey, go! Open that can of whoop-ass!

Kudos to Tootie!

Kim Fields, aka Tootie from "Facts of Life," is a new mama. And she bucked the Hollywood trend of giving offspring weirdo names that assure them a place in psychotherapy.

The new addition's name is Sebastian Alexander Morgan. Way to go!

***
I didn't mention it earlier, but another young lady worthy of an "atta girl" this week is Alexa Ray Joel, daughter of singer Billy Joel and his supermodel ex-wife, Christie Brinkley.

Alexa Ray took a powerhouse dipshit to task for his biting words. And she did so in an intelligent way. Wonder how many times Perez had to go to Dictionary.com to look up the big words?

THAT'S the kind of young lady whose face we need to see plastered all over the place. What a refreshing change from Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan.

Smells like Kurt's spirit

Courtney Love says she's going to sell Kurt Cobain's things.

"My daughter doesn't need to inherit a giant ... bag full of flannel ... shirts," says Love, former frontwoman of the rock band Hole. "A sweater, a guitar and the lyrics to '(Smells Like) Teen Spirit' -- that's what my daughter gets. And the rest of it we'll just ... sell." (Insert the f-bomb where the ellipses are.)

I missed the whole Nirvana craze, but I'm living it now. My 14-year-old has decided that Kurt's da bomb, and I have yet to break it to her that his widow is selling off his belongings.

I must admit, my first thought was How could she? Then, I paused.

I thought back to going through my mother's things. The dolls she loved ... the angels she collected. Without Mom, they were just stuff. The love my mother had for them -- that's what made them special.

I have found myself decluttering after spending a year sorting through Mom's receipts, photos, Bibles and the like. In the back of my mind, I keep telling myself that I'm doing it for The Girl -- so she won't face such a daunting task of "Should I keep this? Or should I let it go?"

I imagine things are the same for Courtney. Of course there are things she'll keep. But without Kurt, most of his belongings have lost their magic.

Break out the tags and Sharpies, Courtney. We're having a sale!

Insert shriek here

There's a new Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix trailer. And it's looooooong.

Am I happy? You betcha. :)

Sophomoric potpourri

... because we need a little levity after a sad week.

***
Here's my advice to Ireland Baldwin:

The next time your daddy calls you, tell him this:

I'm rubber; you're glue
What you say bounces off me and sticks to you.

I say this because that insipid phone call Alec Baldwin made to his daughter conjures up descriptives for him that he used for his 11-year-old daughter.

Namely pig, idiot, ass.

I never liked Baldwin, but he's officially off my list. He joins Tom Cruise, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in the Hall of Shame; i.e., works banned from my house because they're complete idiots.

Dammit. I really like "30 Rock."

***
So Larry Birkhead has evoked the masses by accepting cash from OK! magazine for an article and photos of him and daughter Dannielynn.

My take? Good for him!

Raising kids is damned expensive. So are legal fees to fight grandmother-cum-sow Virgie Arthur for custody of his child.

And, not to diss Larry's profession, but when have you ever seen his name in a photo credit?

My fervent wish is for Larry to be able to raise Dannielynn away from the bright lights of Hollywood and the vultures circling for a piece of what she could inherit from her mother, Anna Nicole Smith.

I still kind of feel sorry for Howard, though. He's kind of grown on me. You know, like a pet rat. You're disgusted at first, then it sort of starts to look cute.

***
Mary Winkler did it, but she's off with a manslaughter charge and could face no more time incarcerated.

I've always believed there was more to the Winkler story, and I still do. I believe she was abused, and that he was a difficult man to live with.

I also believe, contrary to what others are posting, that she could have fired the gun without meaning to. I know nothing about guns, nor do I want to. I wouldn't know how to load one, or how to check if it was. Consequently, I also wouldn't know if the safety was on or even where the safety is.

I've only held a gun maybe twice. (C'mon, this is The South -- most men, including my daddy, grandpa and the one I used to live with, pack heat.) It only seems natural, in my opinion only, to rest your finger near the trigger while you hold it.

As for the phone cord being yanked out? Isn't it possible that he yanked it out to keep her from calling for help?

I wish Mary Winkler godspeed and a way to deal with the rest of her life. Good luck.

You'll shoot your eye out, kid

I don't know if I can ever forgive Robert Clark for forcing Rhinestone on the world.

The only redeeming value to it was that it starred that other East Tennessee gal, Dolly Parton. I remember watching it at the drive-in and thinking, "What the hell does Sly Stallone think he's doing up there? He can't sing. Heck, he can't really act!"

Pitiful, it was.

I can forgive Clark that one transgression. The man directed "Porky's," after all. Sophomoric though it was, it gave me more than one giggle as I watched it in my youth.

(Why do I all of a sudden want to call a bar and ask for Mike Hunt, a la Bart Simpson? I can hear Moe asking, "Mike Hunt? Is Mike Hunt here? I have a call for Mike Hunt." I'll be damned if I didn't laugh outloud while typing that. See? "Porky's" was good for something.)

But Clark's masterpiece was the holiday classic, "A Christmas Story." Little Ralphie and his Red Ryder are as much a part of Christmas as Santa Claus. I can't even pick my favorite part of that movie ...

• The Chinese waiters singing "Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra."
• "Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuddgeeeeeee ..."
• "It's a major award!"
• "You broke it on purpose!"
• "It was (gasp!) soap poisoning."
• The Bumpuses' dogs (all 17 of 'em) sneaking into the house to scarf down the turkey while Darren McGavin hunches behind his newspaper.
• Mrs. Schwartz, though we never see her, screaming, "What!?! What!?!" and pulverizing her son because she thinks he taught Ralphie to use the F-bomb.
• And, of course, "You'll shoot your eye out!"

In this house (and many across America) the 24-hour broadcast of "A Christmas Story" is a holiday tradition. I feel my mood shift to blue when I watch the credits roll for the last time, because it means, essentially, that Christmas is over.

Robert Clark, that brilliant mastermind whose direction brought Ralphie to life, was killed with his son today on an LA highway. http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/04/obit.clark.ap/index.html?eref=rss_showbiz.

The father and son lost their lives in a head-on collision with a drunk driver who, of course, sustained minor injuries. Such a sad and senseless end to a man whose leaves a holiday legacy that gives so many a reason to smile.

Thanks for the laughs, Bob. We'll try hard not to shoot our eyes out.