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.

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'

She's full of excrement

No way in hell would I sign that joke Angelina Whorlie's attorney is passing off as a media contract to interview his client and her concubine, Brad's the Pitts. Furthermore, any editor and/or publisher should be fired and shamed out of the profession if they affix their names to such a document.

Shame on you, Whorlie! This is even a low step for you, you brother-kissing, blood-vial-wearing, husband-stealing, calling-your-baby-a-blob piece of shit.

And people wonder why I won't give you or your films the time of day. Stop the bullshit, and go tend to your flock. They need a mother.

And stop collecting them. Stamps are for collecting, children are not. You, my dear, are no Mia Farrow. You'll never see the day when you're good enough to scrub Mia Farrow's toilet.

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!