Twilight with the Kochers

This is what I want for Christmas

and I'm not even kidding. No... seriously.

Netflix is finding more and more ways to make me laugh.

Member reviews for The Help:

I have put Here on Earth in the mail...

Beautiful.

No Thanks.

No I will not. I will just trust you. And probably send you a hand-written thank you card now that I don't have to die a little inside every three hours.

Brandon and I were discussing this and I said it was because most people already have smart phones, and they check them 40 times an hour, so being notified multiple times for the same LAZER TAG PARTY FOR SHANIELA'S 23RD!!!!!! is redundant. AND REDUNDANT DOES NOT FLY IN THE ZUCKERBERG HOUSE, Y'ALL.

You are more than welcome for the pitchy Beyonce cover. And I picked this version because Adrien Brody's in it. Just.. because he's perfect in every way.

In honor of my first solo gig tomorrow...

I'll remind you why I started playing music: to throw myself desperately at men.

Just kidding. I don't do that anymore.

Children are dying... probably.

Also what's with the black girl? She makes one comment about science around 2:00, and then gets one "please" at the end... maybe she was busy. Or not funny. Maybe both.

From "The Wayward Bus"

So I made a promise to myself to read every Steinbeck book before the summer was out. All my fall-loving friends on facebook, my desire for pumpkins, and my sunroof are telling me time is running out. But I found this little morsel the other night and really wanted to share:

"Look, kid," she said. "You'll just have to believe this until you find it out for yourself-- everybody's a tramp some time or another. Everybody. And the worst tramps of all are the ones that call it something else."

Sometimes I think the way Steinbeck writes women can be very indicative of the era in which he penned his books. They're treated as little girls, or coveted frail objects, or as something to work to attain and worship but never to fully respect.

But then there are times he surprises me and reminds me of how much deep-bellied truth there is in each of his books.

Please

stop letting the world know via your facebook status how acutely aware you are of the temperature outside.

I am still in love with you, Dave Grohl.

Please don't forget about me. I was never the stalker/groupie type, as evidenced by my refusal to "hang out later somewhere" with Gavin Degraw.

But Dave Grohl, I would lovingly rest between you and the kick for a chance to listen to you bang on snares/ sing about banging me. Maybe.

Either way, you're a certified silver fox in training and so unequivocally badass. I don't care if you think I'm a child. If you do, take me trick or treating. I like costumes.

Oh Google you are SO CUTE.

Happy Birthday, Mendel! I appreciate all you mid 19th century church-funded and therefore financially stable and hobby-obsessed scientists/artists/philosophers/writers/creators...

Without you, we wouldn't have so much beauty and knowledge to interpret and build upon. Thanks for being bored with sitting around thinkin' 'bout Jesus.

We appreciate it.

Fuck you, Netflix.

In case you were wondering, Netflix has 2,180 full time employees. So that probably explains why 1,114 people "like" this.

Bees?

Things I Don't Want to Talk About

There are so many situations in which I feel horribly obligated to engage in unwelcome conversation that sometimes I daydream about living in a 1940s bomb shelter.

These situations are unavoidable but include trips to the hair salon, run-ins with old friends, family gatherings, meetings with your significant others' co-workers and loose acquaintances. Everyone's just trying to make light, polite conversation. We're all just trying to grease the gears between our respective lives and move forward without burning bridges or creating masked hostility. When really... all most of us want to say is, "Gee, you look like you've gained weight; are you depressed?" or "Gee, you look like you've lost a lot of weight; are you depressed?"

Or maybe it's just me, analyzing social interactions more than enjoying them. Counting how often you say "excuse me", "please", and desperately hoping to catch a glimpse at what kind of tip you left the waitress. I'm a judger, baby. And a fighter.

Everybody hones their skills in small talk. And everybody walks away hating themselves for it. How's your family doing? Do they still hate your brother for being gay because they're a close-minded bunch of rednecks? That's nice. Your mother's meatballs are delicious. Did she cry into her wine glass while making them because your father is cheating on her? Is your sister still failing out of college because she's finally got a solid coke dealer? Good to hear. I love the farmer's market, too!!!!!!

I guess i should get to this list, then:

1. I don't want to talk about what's playing on Broadway. Yes, I went to college for Musical Theatre. But guess what? I live in St. Louis. It's actually not a very close drive into the city, and I will probably be busy the night of Tony's, thanks. Not that I would have RSVP'd to your raucous night of Boone's Farm binge drinking and flip cup with people approaching their thirties.

2. St. Louis. How do you like St. Louis? Is St. Louis treating you well? How long will you be in St. Louis? Let me just answer all your questions. St. Louis is not horrible but not great and we will be leaving as soon as Brandon gets his PhD. No, not to be closer to my family. Or his. Or anyone in particular. Just to be somewhere else and enjoy a new set of people and perspectives.

3. My job. This is one's always a doozy. Yep, I moved to St. Louis to be with Brandon. Now we're married, we're happy. We are content with our place in society and have a tentative life plan. Because tentative is the way to go when life can't be planned in detail. I teach pole part-time. I sing part-time. I freelance. I exist within an unstructured artistic environment with support and love from those who matter. And if you want to judge me, be my guest. But while you're seething because it seems as if life just ISN'T fair for you, don't get too dependent on that M&M's stash in your desk. Because then you'll get fat and REALLY bitter.

4. Casey Anthony. Yep. She killed her kid. But if you think that its an "atrocity" that she is now "free", you are a deluded, uneducated, dimwit. Because that girl will spend the rest of her life imprisoned in a world where everyone around her has convicted her of something the media not only created, but fed. The real tragedy is how many Americans fell victim to yet another piece of news that's not nearly as important as just about anything else available in terms of news. Sure, one child died. But do you know how many die every day from not having clean water? But you're right. Those kids don't matter. They aren't white. And there aren't photos of them posing with Winnie the Pooh blankets.

5. Your problems. Don't lie; you don't want to talk about mine either... unless they're juicy. So keep it concise. I respond better to concise. Unless we're going to get drunk and talk about your problems. In that case, I would love to hear about how you think your boyfriend might be cheating. If I'm drunk that could actually be pretty fun.

6. Your dog. Your dog loves you whether you forget to feed it or not. It loves you if you kick it. It loves you if you make it watch Two and a Half Men with you. Your dog has no self-respect. And I do not want to hear about what it did. Unless it pooped in your bed or humped your toddler nephew until he toppled over because both of those are hilarious.

7. Your mom. Call Kanye. He likes to talk about his mom, too. You guys can chill out and share a pizza and a couple beers. But don't count on him picking up the tab; I hear he's kind of a dick.

8. The weather. Yes. I know. This is such a standby. Why destroy such a standby?!! Whatever will I talk to my grandmother about once she laments about New York's new gay marriage bill? (She does not live in New York.) The weather has always been a back-up. But let's strive. Let's strive for something more than small talk and the weather.

Let's aim higher. Higher than Casey Anthony. Higher than summer plans and Youtube videos. Let's dig a little deeper into each other and not worry so much about finding something we might not like. Let's read more so we have more to talk about. Let's think more so we have more to defend. Let's listen more so we have more to weigh against our own opinions.

I want to talk about things I'm learning about and things I'm challenged by. I want to hear about your process, not your progress. I want to discuss fear and love because that's all there is.

Bucket Lists

My bucket list actually includes getting the hell OUT of St. Louis, but thank you Facebook.

Everyone has a bucket list. Most people don't write theirs down because its terrifying to think someone might find it and read it out loud. Much like your Google search history. What if at funerals, they didn't sign hymns and say prayers but just read an entire month's worth of your Google searches aloud for everyone to hear? Wouldn't that be fun? Definitely- unless it was your Google history.

Anyway, bucket lists are helpful to some people. They can help sketch out long term goals, time frames for these goals, and they rarely ever include references to other people. In short, bucket lists are one way to remind you that you'll die alone. So better get crackin' on that to do list. And better empty your cache.

Recently I watched that terrible Bucket List movie. I cried at the end because I am capable of female emotion, but I spent the majority of the film wondering why these things are so common for people on their bucket lists:

1. Skydiving: Okay, jumping out of a plane. I get it: what big balls you have. Now try riding the Metrolink at 3am or having lunch at that sketchy hole in the wall sushi place out by the mall. I am not scared of making one swift move that could plummet me to my death. I am afraid of making hundreds of small moves that could land me in the middle of white mediocrity with my kids screeching and spilling Kool Aid everywhere and my husband yelling Jeopardy answers at the TV. And never making it a question. Part of the challenge is making it a question.

2. Getting a Tattoo: Again, so very scary. Except this time it only gets scary eight months out when you're perusing the internet and find this terrifying article on Hepatitis and you're certain you've acquired it. Also, when you're 40, your kids are going to be really confused about their heritage if you have to explain your clover, your cross, your star, your chinese symbols, the date of your last period and your butterfly holding a sparkler.

3. Drive a Fast Car: Enjoy it while you can. And please stay off my street. And don't tell too many people about your car thing. They might get the wrong idea and not want to have sex with you, which leads me to...

4. Have Sex With a Whole Bunch of People: Gross. Just get a cat if you're that lonely. And don't do inappropriate things with the cat. That's not what I meant. I just meant cuddle it and tell it your secrets.

5. Travel the World: Okay now this one I like. Unless you're traveling with one backpack and a whole bunch of body odor. Then no. I like to travel. I also like my things. My things include my soap, shampoo, conditioner, razor, lotion, face lotion, jewelry, clothes, shoes, books, musical instruments, iphone, various charging devices, notebooks, bees, ham sandwiches, Newsweek subscription, martini shaker, candles, pillows, blankets, towels, scarves, laundry baskets, pampered chef ice cream scoop, dishwasher, and cats. The cats are of utmost importance. (See #4.) So no, I'm not willing to travel the world in 86 chapters. I will travel in small increments in the span of my life. Some people call these small increments "vacations." And I plan to live in a half dozen more places before I die. But no. I like all my shit. I am American.

Also, my personal bucket list is a secret and will remain so until my death when it will be read aloud in a very depressing memorial service. (Because clearly I did not get to all that stuff. "But she tried.. oh how she tried.") And that will be that.

But just a little teaser...my bucket list includes teaching a dog to read.

Children like their mothers because they're comforting.

Adults like their mothers because they appreciate how honest they can be:

Don't worry Osama,

It didn't work out very well for MC Hammer either.

The only April Fool's Day jokes I'm interested in

are Google's.

Watching Gymnasts Dance

NEVER EVER GETS LESS FUNNY.

"My favorite part was when the monkey rode the pig backwards"

Also, why is no one in this video at all fazed by this amazing feat of nature? They just amble along in their crocs, not at all worried about the consequences this unlikely friendship may have. You would think they hadn't seen The Fox and the Hound. Speaking of that movie, I am still unsure whether that owl was male or female.

New Rule:

I'll only post videos of comedians making fun of famous people when they die. Sentimental about death ain't my thing, y'all. RIP Elizabeth. Have fun being weird as shit in Heaven with Michael Jackson.

That's right I said it: Michael Jackson is in Heaven.

Shut up; I don't even believe in Heaven.

But MJ definitely made the cut. He's in Heaven. Hangin' out with dead kids.

from "East of Eden"...

Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.

And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.

-John Steinbeck

...time for an iPhone

"Say a command." -my Blackberry

"Bitch, make me a sandwich!" -Brandon

Dave Grohl: spittin' truth/holding my heart

What the hell are you talking about.

Now that she's becoming less and less relevant, it's getting a little desperate. Next she'll be claiming that the education system doesn't need any further reform because all our global competition was destroyed in a recent natural disaster.

"NPR, National Endowment for the Arts, National Endowment for the Humanities, all those kind of frivolous things that the government shouldn't be in the business of funding with tax dollars-- those should all be on the chopping block as we talk about the $14-trillion debt that we're going to hand to our kids and grandkids. Yes, those are the type of things that for more than one reason need to be cut."

-Sarah Palin

Today's Groupon

came one day and one hilarious hot dog reference too late...

My favorite youtube comment on the original:

"whatever happened to taking the bus?"

this is how i party (and party yeah)

Hot Dogs

Backstory: Brandon proposed his thesis today. To celebrate, we went to his favorite hot dog place. We were displaying mild PDA while waiting for the owner to take our order.

Hot Dog Place Owner: Heyyy now! I'm back here slingin' hot dogs. I'll be up there in just a second.

Me: I'm up here slingin' hot dogs, too.

Hot Dog Place Owner (shaking head): ughhh family business ughhhhhh...

In Heaven, Annette Bening wins the Oscar.

TAKE ME AWAYYYYYYYYYYYY.

from "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin:

"The trouble is," sighed the Doctor, grasping her meaning intuitively, "that youth is given up to illusions. It seems to be a provision of Nature; a decoy to secure mothers for the race. And Nature takes no account of moral consequences, of arbitrary conditions which we create, and which we feel obliged to maintain at any cost."

"Yes," she said. "The years that are gone seem like dreams- if one might go on sleeping and dreaming- but to wake up and find- oh! well! perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life."

Jon Rolston. Being Hilarious.

Everyone hates Valentine's Day.

Everyone. Admit it. It's the AT&T of holidays. The people who are happily and comfortably in love typically have nothing to prove, and are content to eat frozen pizza and watch DVR on Valentine's Day. These people (though they'll probably buy cards and a little extra booze) do not buy into the hype. They understand and abhor the materialism associated with this day. Even worse than the materialism, they understand that it's a day for embellishing one's love. Making up for shitty behavior and for being a terrible partner the other 364 days a year.

If balloons and ugly stuffed bears are enough to help you forgive your man for cheating on you/forgetting your birthday/insulting your mother to her face... then you should probably just have a nice quiet evening alone. In your garage. With the car running.

All the pathetic posers make themselves known on Valentine's Day: proposing, sending flowers to obscure locations, buying expensive dinners and highly advertised God-awful pieces of jewelry. For the record, there is nothing romantic about the simple pleasure of making other people jealous. Unless you're embracing that good old American dream; then everything is about making other people jealous. Good work.

While everyone is supposed to be celebrating their love, most people are stressed out and feel the pressure of the holiday. While out to eat, men hem and haw over buying a second drink since they've already spent a small fortune... and who knows if the broad plans on putting out anyway? And the women stress over the same issue. It's not "I'm really enjoying this pesto and your company". It's "I'm fat and now I'm going to have to make up for it later by ______"

I'm all for bartering, but think about it: how do prostitutes get paid? Good old fashioned dollars.. or crack, if that was going to be purchased with the dollars anyway. So why in hell do men expect women to put out because they bought them pink carnations and a singing card? If you did that to a sex worker, you'd get maced. Just sayin'. Now I know typical romantic relationships are not based on the principle of sex for money. HAHA. Okay. Right. But successful romantic relationships are about sharing, not one-upping. They're about being vulnerable and telling the truth. They're about laughing at stupid inside jokes and making sacrifices for the future well-being of the bond, not for the immediate satisfaction of Olive Garden breadsticks.

If you love someone, don't buy them an expensive box of chocolates they'll have to dig through to avoid the coconut ones. Wait until the day after Valentine's Day, fill your cart to your little heart's desire with clearance candy, and share it year round.

I'm a Superman.

Tonight, someone asked me a simple question, an obvious independent social experiment:

"Superman or Batman?"

Being Jessi, naturally I responded accordingly:

"Are you asking which I prefer, which I relate to easier, or... what exactly?"

"No, no. Don't think about it too much. Just answer. Select a superhero."

"Okay. Superman."

He held up his phone to show that he had typed in a message before I had responded: Superman. He had guessed my response.

I asked him to explain this riddle, and what implications it had for me as a superhero-picker. He told me that every time he meets someone new, he guesses which one they are more likely to pick. For women in particular, it has a lot to do with whether or not they are drawn to bad boys, or men with a dark side. (I am not, nor have I ever been one of these girls, but I do see this behavior occur in a hilarious percentage of women and am therefore lacking in sympathy when one of fourteen terrible things happens to them later.)

Before he explained the simplicity of the question and that his social experiment was a personal obsession, he asked me why I chose Superman. I didn't have to think hard about it. Superman was born Superman; Clark Kent, a regular human, is just Superman's alter ego. A huge part of Superman's story involves him being a baby and that is absolutely adorable. Superman loves Lois Lane, a career woman (!) who isn't blond, has journalistic prowess, and gives no fucks. Superman is cute and mysterious without being arrogant. Superman is fantastic.

Batman talks in a weird ass voice and has a bestie named Robin (also in tights). This is not a contest.

Bill agrees with me, moments before he dies from the five point palm exploding heart technique (you're welcome if you speak Spanish):

The Academy let me down.

I should have known better.

Known better than to get excited, crossing Oscar-nominated films off my 'SEEN IT!' list just because they were Oscar-nominated. I mean, have you seen Avatar? Have you seen Pocahontas? Have you seen Fern Gully? Right.

I was a ballerina. I loved Black Swan. Great movie. I even saw The Kids are All Right; Annette Bening should win. I stalk you using my the facebook (Justin Timberlake has not come over to suggest I drop the 'the' yet... so I'm still waiting); The Social Network was phenomenal. Despite my lack of affection for Helena, The King's Speech made my week. My dad has guns and watching Jeff Bridges do just about anything proves that men are capable of being inherently likable. I had to see what all this The Fighter chit chat was all about.

Big mistake. I knew I hated boxing movies, so why did I assume this one would be any different? Christian Bale is nominated for an Oscar for his performance, but I can only assume it's because his intense portrayal of the wildcard crackhead brother threw everyone else off during production. All the Americans who took a break from Glenn Beck to run out to the cinema to see this movie won't be pleased, but I wasn't floored by his performance. I assumed since it was based on a true story, there should be just that: a story. I kept waiting for a plot twist: he kills the girlfriend in a fit of jealous rage, he's diagnosed with HIV, he hosts a smackdown in prison...even a Million Dollar Baby ending would have been better than the predictable nonsense that ensued.

And sure, everybody acted their little tracksuits off. Marky Mark stared defeated into the distance wearing strategically placed butterfly bandages. Melissa Leo led the army of "skank"-haters with the power of a thousand Teen Mom grandmas. Christian Bale was scary as usual, though still not nearly as scary as Kevin Bacon. Even in Footloose. Unfortunately, the best risk-taking in The Fighter came from Amy Adams and her willingness to gain and display an ample, pasty beer belly.

What, may I ask, is everyone smoking? This movie was horrible. The Town was better than this, and not just because the trashy people were less disturbingly trashy. The Town had a plot. It had characters that you rooted for and didn't root for. The Town had nun masks and the potion-maker from Romeo and Juliet. AS A BAD GUY!

This cinematic experience was far from my favorite and even my fellow moviegoers were letting me down. For example, if you decide to go see a movie called The Fighter, that doesn't mean that you yourself need to smell like a fighter. I swear the man in front of me had just changed his own oil while eating handfuls of garlic before deciding to finally go and see that fightin' movie on 7:30 on a Wednesday. Come on, people. Let's show a little self respect. And stop clapping at movies. You aren't watching American Pie for the first time at age 13, and you aren't Mel Gibson at the screening of your own movie about Jesus.

I normally don't participate in this sort of Oscar prediction spat/self-indulgent behavior (ha!), but if Toy Story 3 doesn't win, I'm moving to Sweden. Preferably to star in a spin-off TV show as Lisbeth Salander. I will need to learn Swedish.

Amen, girl.

Although I share their disdain for Aeropostale,

whatever happened to a good old fashioned slumber party...

Making ants on a log, watching contraband R-rated scary movies, playing with each others' hair and falling asleep giggling about boys???

(Warning: this video not exactly appropriate for work or for viewing even by its creators. This is due to the fact that they are about 10 years old and should be learning cursive and using paper mache instead of harassing and/or bullying unnamed persons who apparently can't afford the affluent lifestyle they themselves portray.)

Let me introduce my new boyfriend...

Shamus Elliott. Musician and lover extraordinaire.

His name is Seven.

Today I drove out to the middle of Missouri to have our new car serviced at the dealership. While there, I waited for about 2 hours for the brakes to be inspected and the transmission fluid flushed. I sat quietly in the customer waiting area reading the last book in the "Girl with the.." series and trying desperately to ignore Dr. Oz talking about the consistency of a human pancreas.

About five minutes in, a girl about my age and her toddler son entered the room. He was carrying two balloons, stomping, grinning...and screeching.

Screaming. I could no longer hear Dr. Oz talking about pancreatic links to diabetes if I wanted to.

The girl was completely unfazed. She sat down on the tacky leather couch and pulled out her phone. Little Monster scrambled into the adjacent showroom where he continued yelling at the top of his lungs. Let me also say that this child was not yelling words. At least not any from the english language. His mother never looked up. Moments later, a salesman led the wailing boy back to his mother (sans one balloon). When she saw that other humans had taken notice of her outstanding parenting skills, she simply grabbed the child by the arm, plopped him down on the couch next to her and went back to texting. There was no "thank you." No "please behave." Nothing spoken to her child or anyone else.

He sat semi-quietly, fingering his balloon string and alternating between attempting to strangle himself with it and shoving it fist first into his mouth. Still no words. Just humming, blubbing, glopping.

I began to think, paranoid, that perhaps this child was an deliberate experiment in lack of communication and socialization. The salesman wandered back into the room, making light conversation with the girl.

"How old is he?"

"He'll be two in May."

"Does he talk?"

"Not really."

"...He'll get it."

"Yeah."

"What's his name?"

"Seven"

"What made you want to name him Seven?"

"Oh, there's a bunch of symbolism in the number. Biblically and stuff. And he's the seventh grandchild."

"Well, all right."

He walked out and screecher went back to his screeching. I did not read any more of my book. Instead, I spent the remainder of my wait time talking to Seven. Using words. Like balloon. His mom didn't seem to mind. Her apathy further enraged me.

If you make the decision to have a child, raise your child. Don't let your parents raise your child just because they are willing to help you and feel bad for you and love you. Don't leave your child with them every weekend while you go out and get your party fix because you feel you're missing out on something. Teach them everything you know. Words, letters, numbers, colors, manners (in the hopes that you also possess some).

Do not ignore your children. Do not let the television raise your child; it won't turn out well. Help them develop, mentally and physically. This means not feeding them McDonald's three times a week because it's easy. This also means removing the words "baby fat" from your vocabulary and introducing them to the outdoors, sports and sweat.

I don't have any children; I'm not ready. I'm just basing my unsolicited advice on the young parents and children I've come into contact with, and it pains me to know that these children will no doubt have trouble expressing themselves in adulthood. If they can't speak or create or express while in their freedom of their youth, they'll never have the courage or resources to do it when they're older.

If you make the decision to have a child, devote yourself to him or her. Stop thinking about yourself and your hair and your nails and your jeans. Buy your kid health insurance. And please don't name him something that will make it absolutely effortless to gain relative popularity for being a shitty rapper.

Ok sure

Whatever happened to self control?

I was a pop star worshipper. I still find Brit Brit insults hard to take. But REALLY, girls??? REALLY??

God forbid something happen to my girl Sara.

It wouldn't be pretty.

Sorry Sara. Still love you the best.

St. Louis: A breeding ground for important people

It's no secret that I think St. Louis is a shithole. This year it was rated the most dangerous city in America, for good reason. My car has been broken into twice, I hear gunshots bi-weekly, and I regularly see beggars on all four corners at major intersections. St. Louis is a disgrace: a poverty-stricken, severely racially polarized city with very little to offer the rest of the country. Except for Nelly's fantastic music. Recently, I was talking to a friend about buying the domain stlouissucks.com and posting photos, stories, videos and anecdotes relevant to St. Louis's general suck factor. I could also write small biographies for any of these semi-important and/or useless people from this terror of a city:

Akon, hiphop & r&b singer-songwriter

Daniel Boone, explorer, hunter, soldier, businessman

Every last Busch, beermakers, tycoons, girlfriend murderers

Cedric the Entertainer, comedian/actor

Sheryl Crow, singer-songwriter and musician, still got Clapton by the balls

Shandi Finnessey, host, Miss USA 2004

Jon Hamm, actor, surprisingly the worst host of SNL to date

Kevin Kline, actor

Charles Lindbergh, pilot, adventurer, soldier, author, not the greatest babysitter

Michael McDonald, singer

Taylor Momsen, actress, attention whore

Nelly, rapper, singer and actor

Lance Robertson, musician and host of "Yo Gabba Gabba!" (as DJ Lance Rock)

Kimora Lee Simmons, former model, mogul, gold digger

Tina Turner, singer

I could only find a handful of people who actually did anything worthwhile. These included Maya Angelou, Kate Chopin, Tennessee Williams, T.S. Eliot and Jenna Fischer. Yes, Jenna Fischer. I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF THIS CITY.

My Katy Perry Tribute

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag,

Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?
Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin
Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?

Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing
Do you know that there's still a chance for you?
'Cause there's a spark in you

You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine
Just own the night like the Fourth of July

'Cause baby, you're a firework
Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby, you're a firework
Come on, let your colors burst
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

You don't have to feel like a waste of space
You're original, cannot be replaced
If you only knew what the future holds
After a hurricane, comes a rainbow

Maybe the reason why all the doors are closed
So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road
Like a lightning bolt, your heart will glow
And when it's time you know

You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine
Just own the night like the Fourth of July

'Cause baby, you're a firework
Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby, you're a firework
Come on, let your colors burst
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
It's always been inside of you, you, you
And now it's time to let it through

'Cause baby, you're a firework
Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby, you're a firework
Come on, let your colors burst
Make 'em go "ah, ah, ah!"
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon