Psst. Hi there.

Just to let you all know, I have relocated my witty banter on pop culture minutiae. My lyric quizzes are there, as are daily rants on all things music, TV, and fashion.

http://www.megasizzle.com

Find us on Facebook and Twitter as well.

If I need to blog about personal things, I will return to LJ. Until then, I hope to catch you at the new homestead.

Cheers,
OW

Potpourri today, from the beginning of the rock era until now (aka, five years after the end of the rock era).

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What's in name? That's the theme this week. Every song title includes a name (male or female). Meanwhile, I'm already dreading the Chicago winter.
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Good morning, all. Happy Friday - potpourri this week.
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Sorry about last week's lack of a quiz – I found myself in Ontario lacking a wireless connection. But today you get two quizzes in one! My darling, younger-man of a husband is turning 30! So the quiz gets 30 songs, all of which are among his favorites.
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Who doesn't like talking about themselves? No one. These artists took it to a new level, however, becoming self-referential in their own songs. Go, Vanilla, Go!
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Potpourri with an old-school twist. All songs are from 1980-1989.
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Mr. Whirled is out of town for work so it is time to waste time with a Scattegories meme from sheeva7 and others.


WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Beth
4 LETTER WORD: Brat
BOY NAME: Brody
GIRL NAME: Beatrice
OCCUPATION: Barrister
A COLOUR: Burgundy
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: Broach
BEVERAGE: Bacardi (like it's my birthday)
FOOD: Beignets
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM: Bactine
PLACE: Bermuda
REASON FOR BEING LATE: Bus was late
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: Bloody hell! (No, I don't really shout this. But I'd like to.)

Artist alphabet time again, folks. Every artist this week (band name or solo-artist surname) begins with an "O." Happy Friday, all!
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... do I insist on watching the Saw movies? Grinding my teeth through number four right now. Donnie Wahlberg, what are you DOING?


Oh - and because I gave up on the IMAX dream, we saw Dark Knight yesterday. Yay! Fun to see the shots of Chicago, for sure. And Heath will be missed. We've lost quite a talent.

For real? Dark Knight tickets for JULY 28 are sold out. Ten days after this thing opens, friends.

Potpourri. Happy Friday. Stupid American League.
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For the last week or so, Mr. Whirled and I have been looking at apartments, and it's been a trickier experience than one would think. Naturally, housing's on the brain. Every song title today includes the word "house," "apartment," etc. Wish us luck on our continued quest! And happy weekend.
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Quiz number 350. Oy vey.

Hooray for the flag of the free. May it wave as our standard forever. Happy 4th, State-ers!

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I woke up this morning thinking, "did last night really happen?," and then I saw the tangible evidence. A Vanilla Ice autograph. But that's not even the most hilarious part about the evening.

Let's back up.

Mr. Whirled and I went with A.K. and her husband to see Rob Van Winkle himself. The venue? An alley next to a dive bar. Said bar was charging $5 for the pleasure. The scene was PACKED, however, and Sir Vanilla did an energetic 55-minute show. Seemed in good spirits. The rage and self-loathing and attempts at death metal out the window. I couldn't help but laugh when he first took the stage, appearing in a cloud of dry ice, surrounded by inflatable Halloween decorations (it's June).

Notes:
1. The music wasn't even that BAD. Of course, he sang some "new" rap songs, and they were certainly more listenable than most 50 Cent records.
2. He shot his "Ice Ice Baby" wad early, doing it mid-way through the abbreviated show. But he did an absolutely straight, no bullsh*t, version. He is finally embracing his legacy.
3. He had a schtick of dumping water bottles out into the crowd every 3 minutes or so and then tossing the bottles. This happened about 30 times until, evidently, his supply ran out.
4. Multiple times, he yelled for girls to "show their t*ts." How 90s!
5. By the last 15 minutes, A.K., Mr. Whirled, and I had bum rushed to the front of the stage. Meanwhile, on stage, several girls had been pulled up to stripper dance, guys were rolling a joint clear as day on stage (off which Vanilla was partaking - check TMZ later for this, I'll bet), and Vanilla was sharing a bottle of Jaggarmeister with whomever in the crowd was dumb enough to put their lips to the bottle.

So ... the autograph. I'd worn this tee shirt , which tvnewseditor sent me for Christmas. By the end of the show, the four of us had decided I had to get it signed. A.K. and I jumped up on stage to try to get into backstage "V.I.P." No dice. We ended up standing to the side of the V.I.P. section, arguing with bouncers, and basically giving up until, lo and behold, Vanilla emerges, Sharpie in hand. I somehow muscle my way to him, and he graciously signed my shirt. For, like ... 30 seconds. It took him forever because he signed something illegible, drew a bunch of crap, and was also apparently stoned. Should I have been talking to him? Asking if he was sad to hear of Tammy Faye Baker's passing? I just stood there, dumbfounded. And now I'm a proud owner of a Vanilla Ice tee shirt WITH a Vanilla Ice autograph. Of course my camera is broken so I can't share a picture of the autograph. But trust me, it will be in a tee-shirt frame one day.

Oh - and the hilarious part of the evening I mentioned? Due to some strangeness in a world in which Trishelle is the first lady, Johnny "Fairplay" Dalton, of Survivor and Danny-Bonaduce-fighting notoriety, was among Vanilla's entourage. He also emerged from the "V.I.P." (ahem) tent, and no one was paying the skinny motherf*cker any mind, so I yelled "Johnny!" and stuck out my hand to shake it. He reciprocated, and then, no lie, did the "PSYCHE!," hand-smoothing-one's'-hair-behind-one's-ear, leaving attempted hand-shaker hanging and humiliated. I was George McFlyed by Johnny f*cking Fairplay. At which point everyone in the crowd watching laughed, I swatted him on the shoulder and yelled "TYPICAL," and he flipped me the bird. Now, I realize his whole persona is one of a horrible, shameless asshole, but for God's sake. If I had bigger boobs this would not have happened.

My ears are ringing, but my spirit is not broken.

For the several weeks, I've been trying to cut down on (or completely stop) my intake of meat, particularly beef and pork. Oddly enough, it's been pretty easy and the only thing I find myself craving is Big Macs. Whaaat?

Anyway, there are plenty of veggie-friendly folks in the music business. All of these artists (or the front-persons of these groups) are vegetarians or vegans. All this data is from Wikipedia, so, you know, grain of gelatin-free salt.
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Potpourri. Nothing newer than 2004. Happy first days of summer!
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Since moving to Chicago, Mr. Whirled and I have been seeking out better grocery options. There's a produce market we go to every week - very fresh, very affordable. Trips to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's are more frequent. And yet, this healthy eating hasn't been reflected on the scale. But I digress.

Today we stumbled upon a fresh butcher shop/meat market. I haven't been eating mammals for several weeks, but I thought we could get some fresh chicken and fish. True enough, jumbo shrimp, $4.95 a pound. Boneless chicken breasts for $1.79 a pound. Whole catfish and halibut and ground turkey - oh my!

Now, this was an old school, few-frills butcher shop. For every bit of ground meat, there was a bin of chicken feet or beef tongue. Or hooves. I realize everything can be a delicacy if cooked the right way, and many cultures like to use every part of an animal, unlike us wasteful Americans who don't even do drumsticks so much anymore.

But then, lo and behold, something that struck terror into my heart. Almost enough to make me adopt a vegan lifestyle. Pig heads. Ohhhhhh ... pig heads. I'm talking, straight from a Pink Floyd show, snout and ears and eye sockets, swine heads. How can I go back for the cheap fowl and fish when I know Babe will be staring me down?

Lord.

Finally saw S&tC. It made me miss my long-distance girlfriends, that's for sure. And I didn't realize how much I'd missed Carrie, Char, Miranda, and Sam. And Anthony. Also? Chris Noth has trimmed up. Maybe it's the running around after perps on Criminal Intent. Or maybe a deceased pig head ruined his appetite for several months.

Mere weeks after I invest in a BlackBerry, Apple announces a bigger, brighter, and cheaper iPhone. Figures. Either way, in tribute to Steve Jobs and his little company that could, all of today's songs have been featured in a commercial for the iPod or other Apple product.
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So, yes, yes, yes, the New Kids on the Block are reuniting, and no fewer than five persons to whom I haven't spoken in a decade have contacted me with said info. Because when many folks from high school or college think "New Kids," they think "Beth." Sigh. It's a rough legacy.

First of all, unless tickets fairly literally fall into my lap, I won't be going. I spent too many hundreds of dollars between 1989 and 1991 on magazines, tickets, tees, and really REALLY bad music to justify $100 now on what will certainly be even worse. Donnie D. is like FORTY now, y'all. Can he pull off "Cover Girl," when he could barely squawk it out as a 22-year old? You're my ev-er-y-THI-ING. (As Nic points out (and I agree), arguably the worst key change in popular music.)

Second of all, there's this, from the indubitably awesome Best Week Ever blog. I think I had eight of these on my walls in high school. I'm so sorry, Mom and Dad. And all my friends and classmates that ever had to see my room.