Tell me what signs you see

While cruising YouTube for laughs with my one-year-old nephew, I came across this Sesame Street gem. Dare to try to resist the charms of smooth as silk Chris Brown and squeaky Elmo singing about neighborhood signs. Brought to you by the letters R and B.

Warm yourself by the Friendly Fire

I've just discovered last year's Friendly Fire album by Sean Lennon. It first entered my consciousness when a coworker was playing it over his computer speakers. "What is that?" I had to know. You've probably guessed by now that it was Sean.

I wasn't too thrilled with Sean's first album. His voice was too squeaky and wobbly for me. But this time around, he sounds safely post-pubescent in the vocal category. And he's obviously matured in his sound, as well. He's older, wiser and audibly relaxed.

It's just a lovely pop album from start to finish. Mellow, sweet, soft and pretty. The lyrics are trite at times, but the undeniable charm here is in the soothing vibe that will wrap around you like a fuzzy cashmere blanket on a misty winter day. Ahhh.

Pop culture ranting (a.k.a. "My Three Cents")

Cent #1: Check out the January 2007 cover of Marie Claire magazine. Somehow, Christina Aguilera even manages to make pregnancy look g-damn filthy. "Wanna watch my water break, big boy?" Good grief on a pogo stick.

Cent #2: I was looking forward to seeing Juno when I first saw the trailer on TV a month or so ago. It seemed to promise a witty and irreverent film repast. Right up my alley, as it were. But evidently Fox Searchlight Pictures is really putting all its fertilized eggs in one basket with this baby, since it feels like the airwaves are all Juno ads, all the time. Even though the commercial cuts mix it up with different lines in different spots, it's nothing less than a full frontal bombardment of self-conscious cleverness.

I swear, last night I must've clocked my 100th encounter with the TV ad. I'm beginning to actively hate Juno and all it represents. I feel like I've been pummeled black and blue by quirky—and I can usually go eight rounds with eccentric and walk out of the ring a champ.

How annoyed am I? Let's just say "this year's Napolean Dynamite" box office take will be $11.50 short of what it could've been. I'm gonna go make myself a g-damn quesa-dillah instead.

Cent #3: What is UP with SJP's raccoon-esque eye make-up in the new commercial for her "Covet" perfume? She looks like a veteran carney who has stayed too long at the fair crossed with a Bellevue escapee. Her painfully forced flirting in the back of the cop car is cringe-worthy. And this girl could out-flirt a Parisian prostitute in her SATC prime. Ingenue? More like Inge-old. Honey, I'm 42, so I can say this with hard-earned authority. Act your age, not your Manolo Blahnik size.

So that's my three cents. And I feel better for having tossed them into your fountain.

You make think I sound bitter, but I bet David Spade would find me highly employable.

Inside out, boy, you turn me...

A woman never forgets the day she first sees her rectum. Oh, sure, it's not the type of thing she'll reminisce about fondly with her mother on the sun porch over lemonade and ginger cookies. But, still, it is a memorable moment.

Today was my day to give a fine "how do you do" to my poop chute and I have to say it was pretty in pink versus the dark and craggy caverns I've always imagined my digestive system to be comprised of.

A symptom had made me worry something might be amiss in the great down under, but the doc assured me that all's well that ends well as he and I admired the sig camera's display of my undercarriage on a discreetly sized TV screen by the exam table. I'm relieved the deed is done and so glad I did it for peace of mind. Now I just wish I'd ask him to burn me a DVD of my posterior performance.

Katie Couric is gonna bust a button when she hears.

Them thar Hills

Have you seen MTV's The Hills? It's a confusing experience to watch a reality show like this, because the editing and production values are so silky, the storylines feel so scripted and the music so cleverly punctuates the action. It's as if a Gen Y drama along the lines of The O.C. hooked up for a tawdry night with Real World. (Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the executive producer's actual pitch line.)

I resisted being pulled in by the show's glossy undertow until recently, but now I'm actually enjoying spoofs of it (click embedded video above, produced by Judd Apatow), as well as reading hilarious blog recaps over at JustinBobby.com and catching up on old episodes online at MTV.com.

There is something simultaneously irritating and entertaining about The Hills. The people are so pretty, pampered and purposeless, I want to tie them to a Pilates machine and toss them into the Malibu surf. Yet their superficial stupor is strangely soothing. Listening to their inane conversations is like slipping into a spa bath with FrouFrou on the stereo and honeysuckle-scented Diptyque candles burning all about.

It's so L.A. to say it, but I do have a personal connection to the show. My friend K-girl's band The By and By had a song featured on this episode of The Hills. If you click that last link, you'll get a good feeling for the strange spell the show casts and get to hear my friend's song "Undertow" in the scene transition at the end of the clip. And after viewing the clip, I gotta say: Could Trumpette-lookalike Whitney be any more fake? And doesn't Lauren look like a 21st century Marcia Brady? I know, riiiight?

Cute kid alert

My friend L-girl just shared a funny story about her precocious little six-year-old, K-boy. Here’s how L-girl tells the tale:

My son was scratching his bottom and I told him to go wash his hands. He said, "Why?" and I said, "Because I think they smell like poop, or is that just my imagination?"

And he turned from washing his hands, incredulously looking me in the eyes, he asked, "You can smell your imagination?!"

Someone, please, make it work again.

I've been a rabid Project Runway fan since Season 2 (the hands-down best season, in my opinion, thanks to the Santino/Nick/Andrae triumvirate), but Season 4 is a real snore. I'm trying to figure out if the format is just getting time-worn (less clever challenges, repetitive critiques from the judges) or if this season's designers are just not "good TV."

Luckily, I just discovered Santino Rice's hilarious Elle show recap blog and have new hope that entertainment is still to be found in the series (especially comforting since the brilliant FourFour has gone into semi-retirement when it comes to his spot-on ProjRun recaps).

Some thoughts on episode 3:

- Grimacing Steven has to go! His Tim Gunn impressions are ludicrously bad.
- Victorya is a raving bitch on wheels. More like, Dicktorya.
- No surprise that guest judge Donna Karan liked Sweet P’s dress since it screamed DKNY.
- Michael Kors is really dropping the ball when it comes to his formerly funny, catty descriptors. "Mother of the bride" needs to be put back on the rack, oh signature-T-shirt-under-a-suit-jacket man.
- How can any season's designers hope to top the singularly witty and delightfully dramatic Santino, who has rechristened this season aptly: "Project Rami."