Archive for the ‘the importance of celebrities’ Category

I Heart a Good Meal



Soooo, I was in DC over the long weekend, and I JUST HAVE to tell you about this great place we ate at in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.

But, first.

Remember this guy?


If you were/are a Top Chef fan, then you are well-acquainted with Spike.

Hi, Spike.

Spike is the creator/owner of Good Stuff Eatery, a burger joint with a bit of a gourmet twist.


Let’s be real here: Spike drove me nuts during the show. But, you see, the thing is that I LOVE famous people so I was on-board with the suggestion of Good Stuff Eatery for lunch.

I was expecting Spike’s nummy little creations, but didn’t think HE’D actually be there.

He was.

I made SURE that I was in his line of vision at least once.

He’s, like, a mini-celeb, but I still swooned in adoration. Famous People in Real Life are number 4 on my list of Top Five Favorite Things in the Universe.

1. Ice Cream

2. Boyfriend

3. Dog

4. Famous People in Real Life

5. Sleep

Anyway, SOMEBODY (Cough, #2, Cough) wouldn’t let me snap an inconspicuous picture because said someone didn’t want to be EMBARRASSED.

So selfish.

Famous Person aside, the food was just as tasty as one would imagine it to be whilst watching Top Chef. I lunched on a Farmhouse Bacon Cheeseburger, had a french fry party with the Village fries dipped in mango, chipotle, old bay, and Sriracha mayos one-at-a-time and…

devoured a TOASTED MARSHMALLOW milkshake.

It was so good that it makes me want to talk in that LOL Catspeak business that is rampant on all the blogs today.


There. Done.

Anyway, it was a gratifying meal and a charming little weekend.


The End.

PS: They also serve an Obama burger.



Case Study: Chicken or the Egg?


In this post, I will attempt to answer an age-old question:

Must one be a hottie to make it in this world?

Thank God someone is tackling this complex and relevant issue.


So, it’s African American Month and, at my school, pictures of successful individuals are plastered-and-glowing along the walls of the school.

Last Friday, as I scurried past a picture of Martin Luther King, Jr., I couldn’t help but take pause by the thought that he was actually quite a handsome man.

I also passed an enormous black-n-white of Malcom X:



I don’t know if that’s blasphemy or whatever, but these two seriously must have been the Brad Pitts of the late ’50s/early ’60s. I’d join that movement, ifyaknowwhatImean.

So, why don’t we ever hear of them referred to a such?

Oh yeah. That’s because they were also revolutionary leaders who changed the world. Silly me.

From Wikipedia:

“To his admirers, [Malcom X] was a courageous advocate for the rights of African Americans, a man who indicted white America in the harshest terms for its crimes against black Americans. He was also universally considered to be one fine-lookin’ male.”

Juuust kidding.

(Though if we all band together, we could TOTALLY get that in there. It’s historically accurate, right?)

But. I must wonder, did one characteristic encourage the other?

Let’s begin our case study. The following pictures are of men who, according to sources such as TIME’s “100 Most Influential People,” are considered “successful.” A serious question for you, readers, is this: Hot or Not?


Billy Clinton

Freshman Senator Aaron Schock

Aaron Schock: Youngest Member of the House

Bill Gates

Bill Gates

The Prez

The Prez

Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs

Now, I wouldn’t call all of these men hotties, but they are also far from grotesque. Are they successful because they are attractive? Or attractive because they are successful? Or have I just been in a long-distance relationship too long?


Maybe next time we’ll take a look at men who have suffered great demise and ask a question that is, perhaps, more difficult. Is there a connection between the mug and the downfall?

Michael Phelps Burst My Olympians-as-Symbols-of-Purity Bubble


So, we’ve all read the news about our country’s precious waterbaby, Michael Phelps, being busted smoking the gange. If you couldn’t quite get a visual, allow me:

And chex out that WATCH. Gorge.

And chex out that WATCH. Gorge.

My first reaction? Good for him! I’m sure he needs a little relaxation in his life.

If I remember ANYTHING from my days of following Michelle Kwan and hoping to fulfill my (mother’s) dream of being an Olympic athlete, I remember this:

That shit is time-consuming.

(The being an athlete, not the obsessively tracking Michelle Kwan and her latest competition results. Though the hours I spent watching the ice princess on TV during my youth may or may not have also been a questionable use of my time.)

Shut up.

And – seriously – she did want me to become a figure skater. I recall watching Michelle Kwan at a medal ceremony during the Olympics, while listening to my mother bitterly comment, “That could have been you.”

Really, Mom? I know you had high expectations for me, but…really?

Anyway, the more I think about this Puff-the-Magic-Dragon situation we have on our hands, the more perturbed I feel. Not because I don’t think he deserves a good time just as much as the next guy, but because it reinforces the notion that there’s this secret, slimshady universe athletes exist in.

They pretend to be all clean-cut on the outside, but REALLY, they are freaks. Maybe even super freaks?

You know of what I am referring.

The incredible amount of sex that goes on during the Olympics.

Between the athletes.

I know.

And, apparently, the swimmers are the worst. I read that the swimming events are typically scheduled at the beginning of the Games because the aquatic folk are just…er…rarin’ to go.

Folks. When I found out about this during the Games last summer, I was SHOCKED. Flabbergasted.

Did you know that during the Sydney Games in 2000, the athletes collectively drained the area of all available contraception? So, the next time around, the planners decided that one cannot fight the moonlight and distributed 130,000 free condoms to the “active” Athens athletes. That’s roughly 13 condoms per athlete!


So…you mean THAT’S what Michelle Kwan was doing in between triple axels and Russian splits at the Winter Games?

(Or maybe she did the Russian splits in between the Russian splits, ifyaknowwhatImean.)

Now how do you feel about my failure to pursue a career as a professional figure skater, Ma?

I digress.

Am I the only one living under the safe shelter of ignorance when it comes to this?

To think of it – still – is just a bit too much.

I’ve Had Homework



correcting papers, organizing spelling bee, and trying out my new set of Yoga Booty Ballet dvds (which, by the way, you aren’t allowed to laugh at me for)


There are no signs of this “reality” letting up, so allow me to offer a sensational montage of The 10 Most Ignorant Things said on Bad Girls Club to keep you company. Enjoy.

Page Six’s Reporting is SO Meticulous!


In chronicling a fight between girlfriends Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson, the report states that the two stormed off into an alley. And I quote:

Our spy said, “It was a really gross alley. There was a bum eating a sandwich watching the whole thing.

How much do I LOVE the tabloids?

A gigantic, enormous amount.

P.S. Do you think the “bum eating a sandwich” was really the spy? I do.

Imagine the potential guest list at their imaginary wedding! Hooks it up!


There are some things that just classically belong together.

peanut butter and jelly

wine and cheese

The Notebook and a box of tissues

Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte

Ross and Rachel

Pussycat Dolls and Chippendales Dancers

So, I was talking to one of my best friends on the phone last week. She lives in Vegas and her ACTUAL¬† job is dancing in the Pussycat Dolls show (Las Vegas PCDs are different from recording artist PCDs) at PURE nightclub. So, in a nutshell, she gets paid more than I do to go into work at 9 pm, put on some surprisingly-tasteful burlesque outfits, dance two shows (10:30 pm and 11:30 pm) and then she’s done for the night. All in a day’s work.

Most nights, she’ll stay in the club after the show, wander up to the VIP area, sip on a drink from the complimentary bottle service, and befriend whichever disgustingly rich or fabulously famous people happen to be partying behind the white curtains at the same time.¬† Perhaps she’ll get paid overtime to sing “Happy Birthday” to said celebrities who have just magically increased their wealth by simply choosing to celebrate their birthdays at that particular locale. Occasionally, her arm, half of her face, or sometimes her whole entire body will end up appearing in one of those US Weekly “Famous People Partying” collages. In fact, she was pictured partying with Lindsay Lohan right after she got out of rehab. You know – the night she was photographed with one of those fancy anklets that are all the rage in Hollywood right now.

In short, her life is pretty awesome.

And imagine the benefits of VISITING a friend like this. It really IS that wonderfully ridiculous! Not at ALL like the real world. Which is why I can only handle it once a year, 4 nights at a time.

Anyway, on the phone last week, she told me that she started dating someone new.

“He’s younger than me,” she tells me.

“Mmmhmmm,” I reply.

“He’s a vegan and doesn’t drink or smoke,” she continues.

“Right,” I say.

“And he’s a Chippendales dancer,” she finishes.

“PERFECT!” I gush.

Because it just makes sense. Don’t you love it when the planets align and something as logical as this happens?

America, I am disappointed in you.


We need to talk and you might want to sit down.

I just don’t feel ready for this.


Britney is back.

Britney is back? It’s okay to have to say it aloud to believe it.

Umm. Are you sure we aren’t rushing into this? It’s like one minute I’m secretly relishing in her collapse and the next minute she’s plastered all over credible sites like with headlines as completely stupefying as “Get Britney Spears’ Look” and “Britney Spears’ Children Help Her Believe in God.” Umm, didn’t she just lock herself in a bathroom with one of them and have to be pulled out on a stretcher, like, a second ago? I log out of my Hotmail and she’s there. I dutifully read my Perez and she’s there. She was even on the HUFFINGTON POST. Which is sort of a news site. Can’t we go back to the good ol’ days when she was the dysfunctional gift that kept on giving?

Listen. It isn’t that I’m a hater. I practically GREW UP with Britney. I remember getting out of school early one day to go “watch the girls’ volleyball team at state” and instead sneaking over a friend’s house to watch TV. (It was seriously the only bad thing I ever did and it was the school’s fault for believing it anyway.) Britney’s new video, “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” was on the MTV and there she was, clad in her plaid mini and pigtails. Leaning over so the boys could react. Sexualizing school girls without hesitation. Why would I hate on THAT? She is an irreplaceable part of my youth. And you JUST KNOW I have 34 songs on my iPod that she had at least something to do with.

Britney, I’m just worried about you. The American media is shamelessly reinflating your ego prematurely. Can’t you see it’s all about us? Nine months ago you were all maniacal and shaving your head. Now, you’re performing at German music awards. Too much, too fast.

I’m only looking out for you, girl.

Sharing of affectionate Britney Spears’ memories strongly encouraged.