The Pot and The Kettle

In hopes that the next 12-months of Paradise Follies doesn't totally suck, the Kettle and me think it imperative to offer the 2006 Miss Paradise, Cee'mour Cox, a few words of advice:

1) Keep Victoria Stiles as far away from Asbury Park as you can.

2) Invite Cherry Pie to guest host once a month.

3) Don't get full of yourself. Ok, its arguably an honor to be Paradise's queen for a year. But you aren't Madonna. You aren't Cher. You aren't even the girl who got kicked off on American Idol in round one. You are a drag queen in New Jersey. Have fun with who you are Cee!

4) You don't have a 12-inch dick, so don't act like you do and don't constantly tell everyone that you do.

5) Stay away from props (i.e., sandwiches, dildos and scooters).

6) Stop asking where all the alcoholics are. Its annoying.

7) Don't take people's clothes off (unless they are REALLY hot).

8) The tiny floor you dance on is not a grand stage. This isn't Broadway. You aren't Mel Brooks in "To be or not to be." People can walk in front of you to go to the bar and get a drink. Don't chastise people when they do.

9) Girl, close that mouth when you dance!

The fix was in, and Cee'mour Cox was crowned Miss Paradise 2006. I told the Kettle months ago that it didn't matter who the other "finalists" were, that when all was said and done this "competition" was fixed and Cee'Mour would be crowned the winner.

If you care, Cee'Mour Cox is on MySpace and has her own blog too.

A silver lining (likely the only one) to this cloud is that we probably will see less of the now de-throned Victoria Stiles, the worst Miss Paradise ever and one of the worst queens to drag herself across that Asbury Park stage. In any event, Friday nights at Paradise will likely suck for another year.

This past week, an overwhelming sense of Blah became too strong and took me down. Tragic, I know. But I got a sick day out of it, so that was a little hidden treat. There was a time when I honestly enjoyed being sick; I thought it was such a nice little vacation from everything and anything. Part of me still thinks like that. This time was relatively painless, although there were some moments of extra-achiness, and it did actually hurt to move. I went to the doctor, and it was pretty much confirmed... I had caught a bug. At least it is better than my frequent ailment, death. In the past, I have been known to catch death pretty much every winter. It isn't fun. And allow me to reveal something more personal than I normally would care to in such a public arena, but I am not a fun patient. Not that I whine and complain and get needy. God, no. Just the opposite. I pretty much hate it if anyone asks me how I am feeling or if I need anything. Which can cause problems.

Anyway, being sick did allow me to catch up on some movies I have been wanting to see or needed to see, due to Netflix conditions. Here they are, in the order of viewing:

1. Barefoot in the Park. Jane Fonda is spunky fun, Robert Redford is the perfect deadpan man, and Mildred Natwick as Fonda's homely mother steals the show in this Neil Simon romp. There is an abrupt ending, thus an A-.

2. A Cry in the Dark (aka The Dingo Ate My BABY!) Granted my only desire to see this movie is due to the Seinfeld episode and wonderful Elaine's yelling at a moronic party-guest, but I was sucked in by the plight of these two Aussie parents. It was both tragic and triumphant. Final Grade: B (the middle bored me, but I was only paying half attention)

3. Breaking Away. I have no idea how this nameless movie made it my Netflix queue, but it was wonderful and quirky fun. A geeky teenager likes to pretend he is Italian and wins tons of bike races. His friends are Dennis Quaid, Daniel Stern, and the Kelly, the bad-ass, home-run hitting, motorcycle riding, outfielder from The Bad News Bears. His mother was played by Barbara Barrie, who was nominated for an Oscar for it and later went on to play Aunt Margo in the painfully shortlived Double Trouble. Apparently this movie won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, which is a bit much. It pretty much is a really good after school special. A-

4. Red Dawn. This movie is hilariously bad. Patrick Swayze leads Charlie Sheen, Lea Thompson, C. Thomas Howell, and Jennifer Grey (with the greatest suicide ever) against the Russians and the Cubans in WWIII. When I recreate Mystery Science Theater 3000, I am starting here. Good trivia: this was the first PG-13 movie. As a movie: D-; as an experience: A.

5. The Commitments. Was really expecting to like this one more. C

6. Hotel Rwanda. Don Cheadle thoroughly outperformed Jamie Foxx in every conceivable area. It is a tradedy Jamie Foxx won an Oscar for Ray. This blog is too long, so A

7. The Aviator. Leonardo DiCaprio thoroughly outperformed Jamie Foxx in every conceivable area. It is a tragedy Jamie Foxx won an Oscar for Ray. Actually, this was a really really good, fun movie. I was not expecting to like it at all. There is a lot more I would say, but I am bored with this blog by now - A!

(I am getting in Oscar mode!)

The Pot says: I have to disagree with you about (1) Barefoot in the Park (Hanoi Jane Fonda, as an actress, leaves a lot to be desired); (2) Red Dawn, the movie was a C and should not be watched post-Cold War; and (3) The Aviator, while I admit it was good, it was longer than necessary and I didn't really think Leonardo's performance was oscar-worthy.

Just when I thought the Winter Olympics (TORINO!) would go by with nary a yawn, and a few hot speedskaters (I mean, have you seen those bodysuits? WOW!)... anyway, just when I was hoping they would be over and done with, I allowed myself to get sucked in. It really wasn't my fault. Every news broadcast in the country is promoting the hell out of people falling. Just this second, somewhere in Torino, someone fell. Trust me. It might only have been Uncle Angelo again, drunk on vino, but regular people and atheletes (or competitors, if you like) are falling like a ton of bronze medals. Unfortunately, it only makes the news if you smash your jaw into a floor of ice, but oh well.

So anyway, I have always been a sucker for a good, painful fall. And the brave faces people put on when they know the whole world has seen it, and reacted with either laughter or a shriek of "Oh No!" Oft clumsy myself, these ice dancers are really putting me to shame. I encourage any and all to tune in.

Still, that is not the reason for this blog. An added perk, yes. And let's not beat around the bush anymore. It is damn funny to see people fall, especially when the whole world is watching and a lot is riding on it. After all, if you are an American and you don't win the gold, you might as well just stay in Italy, because clearly you suck. I am mildly horrified, however, that the news is exploiting the fun of an Olympic fall as a draw to watch. They are really none too subtle about this. Anyway, it drew me in, and here is what I found. Scroll through some of those gems, and riddle me this. Is there really any difference between The Olympic Games, A Wild Night of Binge Drinking, or Good Old Porn?

a) Look at the costumes. Seriously... only in the Olympics... only if you're so drunk you're lucky your clothes are still on... and only in porn, if you're so UNlucky and your clothes are still on.
b) Hey! Let's contort our bodies into freaky poses just to out-perform the competetion! This is a good idea if you are in the Olympics, wasted, or in porn.
c)Let's have a contest to see how far we can toss this tiny little woman in the air and hope she lands on this sheet of ice on the tiny blades we strapped to her feet. No, that sounds horrible! Oh wait. Olympics... post-keg stand... maybe a Scandinavian porn, but hell yeah!
d)Let's barely disguise our latent, raging homosexuality. A good venue to showcase this might be in the Olympics, when you are totally shit-canned, or filming a porn.

I rest my case.

Michael Jackson has an outstanding loan balance of $270 million. Yeah, $270 million. What the f**k has this man spent $270 million on?

They are both ridiculous.

Mr. Britney Spears Ready for Backlash: (from Fox News)

Kevin Federline is ready for a backlash over his brand-new role as white-boy rapper.

"'He hates his children, he treats his wife like dirt, he gets high all day,'" he said, quoting his critics. "If I was that bad, you think anyone, let alone Britney, would put up with it?"

He has released his single "PopoZao" on his Web site. It got 2 million hits in eight days, he said, which proves there's interest.

He plans to release his debut album by this spring, but without featuring his wife on the album, said Federline, 27.

"We have collaborated," he said. "But I'm not going to put the songs on this album because it's like, 'Respect me first; then I'll show you what I've done with my wife.'"

Hey, Kevin, how bout we don't respect either of you. I'm willing to bet the only person in the Federline household with less talent than Britney is Kevin.

Not to be outdone, though, an almost as talentless Nick Lachey is seeking spousal support (a/k/a alimony) from his estranged wife, Jessica Simpson. Nick also wants Jessica's jewelry. Read more here, including the somewhat unbelievable fact that Jessica made ab out $30 million last year.

The Reign of Horror that was Friday nights 2005 at P-dice is over! Victoria Stiles' year as Miss Paradise is finally over and, boy, was it a tough year. In the spirit of un-PC analogies, I feel as if I am sprinting out of a concentration camp and into a brand new world. A world where Victoria Stiles has been expelled. Of course, we have no idea who the new Miss Paradise is, and it just might be someone equally horrendous. But that is no matter. The bitch-enemy of my drag queen horror is my friend.

Here's what the Pot and I will not miss:
1. Where are my alcoholics?
2. Her "dance" moves which merely mimicked self-gratification or fellatio.
3. References to her 12" penis. Allegedly.
4. You don't walk in front of the stage. Actually, it's a bar and people walk around.
5. Did you douche?

Gross. And like a Jennifer Lopez movie, Enough.

I cannot speak for the Pot, but here is what I, personally, will miss: the silence. The silence in the room when she made a joke, finished an act, implicitly begged for applause...

Skwire writes: I concur 100% with the kettle, but i post the following picture to show how truly HOrendous Ms. Styles really is:

Although I strive to agree with my good friend Paulybones, I just can't concur with his opinion that a flat tire is "one of the most powerless feelings ever." Slashed or punctured, hacked or pierced, a flat tire just doesn't equate to rape (sorry, I don't see any similarities, not one) or the "cruel world" of starving children in Sally Struther's third world country of the month.

If you did in fact feel powerless, Paul, we should enable and embolden you to, well, take back the night. A few suggestions on how to do so can be found here and here.

Now as for who may have slashed your tire, might I suggest that the police visit a certain mother who was a little angry over her daughter's B+?

How bout we talk about getting flat tires? It can be problematic. Very. In fact, it is one of the most powerless feelings ever. And to think, Ford Rangers were supposed to be butch, quasi invincible. But no, the rear driver's side tire took a good slashing. That's right, the garage man said it looked like the tire had been slashed. The cut in the tire was so perfect, it couldn't have been an ordinary puncture.

So to summarize:
1. I have annoyed someone enough that said person resorted to slashing my tire to vent his or her anger. On the bright side, it is almost like something out of The Outsiders. That's right, Sodapop.
2. The slasher had all the power and I had none. I know from Lifetime that when a woman gets raped she feels powerless. Well... Not that I am equating my misfortune to sexual assault, but there may be more similarities than meet the eye. The world was just awfully big and cruel at that moment.
3. Did we know that patching a tire is remarkably similar to taking a piece of chewing gum and just sticking it over the hole? I kid you not.
4. Pray for me.

So February 14 certainly has snuck up on us. God bless blizzards for taking our minds off the truly important! Nevertheless, 2006 will be the year of being a smidge less cynical. Baby steps, just a smidge. And although today has seemed to pass without anything to thoroughly annoy or depress, I have stumbled upon some signs evoking that deliciously sinful world of cynicism. Like Satan in the Garden of Eden, temptation is a tricky business. Especially something as tempting as hating Valentine's Day. Still, indifference is the spirit of the day, and dare I say, a whimsical nonchalant-ness is on the rise. So here are some tidbits on V-Day, ranked in ascending order from that nasty cynicism - which was so '05, and '04, and '03... - to sheer whimsy. Interestingly, I just looked up the word whimsy in my computer's dictionary. Its second defintion is: an idea that has no immediately obvious reason to exist. What a ponderous parallel to V-Day. Let's start there with our most cynical thought. And isn't it great that is the worst sentiment of the day?

Next:
There was this little bit in the news. I suppose it is odd that such a sarcastic spirit is becoming so prevalent. A tradionalist at heart, I would hate for all holidays to get so tainted. But might I say, I am a little happy about deflating the day just a bit.

Following:
Why this is news, we may never know. But so sad for Japanese women. Would it kill the Japanese men to give a little sugar? Jeez. (Notice how I am now rooting for Valentinish feelings?)

Moving along:
Let's bring on some happy! One sure-fire way is with a little drinking. This drink sounds a little suspiscious, possibly too Bibi-pink, but it does claim to work for "year-round seduction." Does that sound creepy, in a Cinemax kind of way?

Subsequently:
The above picture of sweet old thing, Lucille Bluth. Before my old desktop computer crashed, when I was an up and coming t-shirt designer, I masterfully put that picture together with this thought: Happy Valentine's Day, and if that isn't your thing, just get drunk and dance! Aww.

Lastly:
Tomorrow the year gets exponenentially better. With a long, sunshine-filled 7 months of Easter bunnies, St. Patrick's day, and getting tan to look forward to before the gloom of back to school and birthdays.

So, nothing has been mentioned about the snow in the past couple minutes, right? Yes, it snowed. A lot. Yes, we were all aware of it, and yes, we were probably even glued to our tv's wondering, how much has accumulated? what does this mean? when will my life return to normal? and other such nonsense.

Meanwhile the news is only interviewing any random idiot on the street who inevitably says, "I went to the store to stock up on supplies and all we can do is sit and wait for it to end and try to stay warm. I just hope spring will get here soon."

And then a concerned weatherman sympathetically replies, "I think we all hope for that! Good luck today. Be careful. There you have it..."

In case you weren't aware, 2006 is The Year of the Cocktail. No, really. Which seems pretty ingenious, and quite frankly, isn't it way overdue???? I have a feeling I will be waiting a while for it to be the year of the Lite Beer. Still, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I can hear a horrendous Jersey Shore drag queen squawking, "Where are my alcoholics?"

Anyway, I guess I will try to embrace the spirits of the year. I once was told it was high time I stopped drinking beer and graduated to a more sophisticated, mature liqueur. If nothing else, I have something to strive for. Salut.

Ok, I was hoping it wouldn't be so soon in my blog life to out myself as a freak Arrested Development fan, but the two hour season/series finale is a mere 73 hours away. Time is wasting to plan the ultimate AD party. I have thrown together some helpful hints (aka strict guidelines) to follow when you plan your Arrested Development party. Believe it or not, I am not a licensed party planner....

Attire

Come dressed as your favorite Bluth: orange prison jump suits, blue men, Mrs. Featherbotton, a red “slut” tank top, Buster gear, army, leather daddy, Uncle Sam, or just smooth like Gob.

The Menu

Hot Ham Water
Assorted Appetizers...with club sauce
Mayoneggs
The Ike and Tina Tuna
Frozen Bananas

Prizes will be awarded for...
1. Creating the best Lindsay-esque cause
2. The best imitation of a Gob "final countdown" dance
3. Recreating a buster panic attack
4. If you can stay in Michael’s character and ridicule other party guests with utmost sarcasm and dead-pannery
5. Figuring out what to do with Maeby
6. Getting over your need for cutoffs, and bounding down the stairs naked
7. Saying "bob loblaw law blog" ten times fast
8. Singing a fun rendition of "Tymocil!"
9. Doing a George Michael Jedi fight against yourself. Bonus points if you win!
10. Frighteningly winking like Lucille

Activities...
1. Get drunk and diss your mom.
2. Make fake eulogies for your dad.
3. Make a bird, or a yacht, disappear.
4. Jerky Boys prank calls.
5. Make the Mexican maid feel uncomfortable.
6. Better yet, road-trip to Mexico.
7. Crash a high school dance.
8. View an incestuous French film.
9. Do bad auditions for commercials.
10. Exacerbate one's vertigo.
11. Take your daughter to work.
12. Karaoke “Afternoon Delight”
13. Mommy, what will I look like?
14. Banner-making!

Every half hour: random chicken dances
Party favor: whistles
Trivia contests: winner gets the Kitty.

you're black!