Animated Life Lessons

I was watching Beauty and the Beast today. Yeah, the Disney one. Yeah, I own it. Yeah, fuck you too -- it's the best animated movie ever made, due in no small part to the fact that Jerry Orbach plays a talking candle. Can we move on, please?

Okay, good. Because even though I've seen this movie at least a dozen times, I never really picked up on its hidden meanings until today. On the surface, it seems to have a very Jane Austen-era female empowerment agenda: follow your heart, don't be afraid to be different, always listen to teakettles that sound like Angela Lansbury, etc. But strip away all the facades and Oscar-winning music, and you're left with a message of hardcore pragmatism that's so archaic, it could almost be postmodern.

Here's the story in a nutshell, in case it's been a while. Belle is an extraordinarily hot girl, but her book smarts and independent thinking make her an outcast in a village mainly concerned with drinking and producing loaves of bread. Gaston, the town's alpha male, pursues her relentlessly despite her pariah status: either because she's just that beautiful, or because his tendency to dance with other sweaty guys at the tavern has left him with a serious need for a beard. One day, Belle's father gets lost in the forest and wanders into a castle where he's taken prisoner by the Beast. When Belle finds him there, she successfully barters with the Beast to take her dad's place in the cell. Little does Beast know that Belle worked under the table for the architectural firm that designed the castle and has the full set of blueprints tattooed on--wait, never mind. Anyway, after spending enough time with all the talking furniture and gourmet meals (which, by the way, we never see where the ingredients come from, but I'm guessing there must be one hell of a Whole Foods nearby), Belle develops a pretty strong case of Stockholm syndrome and decides she loves the Beast enough to put up with a lifetime of lint-brushing the bed every night and pleading with her insurance carrier to cover veterinarian visits. This, of course, lifts the spell on the Beast and turns him into the strapping Harlequin-romance pinup he used to be. Oh, and somewhere in there, Gaston leads an army to storm the Beast's castle and bring back Belle but only gets himself killed for his troubles. And voila, happily ever after.

So let's get right into it. As in most romances, Belle's spectrum of available men is limited to two. One is conventionally attractive but shallower than a puddle; the other is deep, mysterious and brooding but has, in the most politically correct terms possible, a "unique" look. Since Belle is a smart girl looking to buck society's restrictive mores, she goes with the latter. End of story, right? Worthy of a touching, Cameron Crowe-esque end credits song? Not so much. Because what did Belle really choose? First of all, while she may not have been impressed by all of Gaston's rippling muscles and general over-the-top masculinity, she turned him down in favor of the one guy even more virile than him (and the one guy who could kick his ass in a fight). Where's the misunderstood bespectacled genius character in all this? I don't know, but I'm guessing he would have had about as much of a shot with Belle as the Detective Lenny Briscoe candle.

Then there's the issue of wealth. Even though Belle's vocal repertoire doesn't include "Buffalo Stance," we're led to believe that no money man could win her love. Gaston seems to be all kinds of rich, or at least well-off enough to spring for an elaborate wedding ceremony before he's even sure he's getting married, but even those kinds of resources don't clear the bar in the eyes of our heroine. She needs an actual goddamn prince with a beautiful castle full of the kind of high-tech gadgetry that most girls pretend to sneer at but secretly think is awesome. Plus, the Beast has that enchanted carriage that runs without a horse, whereas Gaston just has a regular old buggy. In other words, Belle goes for the guy with the bigger house and the cooler ride.

And to get back to the whole uber-masculinity thing, let's not forget that while Gaston gets painted as a grade-A asshole for trying his damnedest to force Belle into marriage, the Beast actually holds her prisoner for the better part of a year. Does anyone really think this bodes well for a future long-term relationship? Because in my experience this story does have a three-word ending, but it's not "happily ever after"; it's "Symbionese Liberation Army."

Great songs, though. I mean, who doesn't love "Be Our Guest"?

I Hate Jury Duty. I like The Like. I Miss Kyle.

After two of the most excruciating days of jury duty, jury selection and subsequent dismissal (more on that later), I was due for a much needed break. And what better way to relax than to go see a loud sweaty show that leaves your contacts dry, your throat sore and your clothes reeking of cigarettes?!! Exactly.

So my sister and I went to the El Rey last night to see The Like, whose debut album “Are You Thinking What I’m Thinking?” has been on perpetual repeat for the past week at work, at home and in my car.

The audience was pretty mixed. To give you an example, we spotted Clea DuVall and friends (cool, right?), but then realized we were standing right next to Amaya from The Real World Hawaii. Uh, yeah.

Anyway, the two opening bands Simon Dawes and Mellowdrone were pretty good. I enjoyed Mellowdrone better though. And since I’m not really in a position to criticize music (except for teeny boppers, ex-teeny boppers, and “artists” that are played on KissFM and Star 98.7 a minimum of 15 times a day), I’ll just leave it at that. However, we at Pop Whore aren’t exactly known for shying away from our opinions, so I will say that I was bumped into by at least three members of Simon Dawes without so much as an “excuse me.” But bygones.

Then The Like. For being so young, they have an awesome sound and are pretty damn tight as far as live shows go. Also, their drummer, Tennessee, fucking rocks.

Their songs “So I’ll Sit Here Waiting” and “Under the Paving Stones” are fetching homages to The Pixies' “Where Is My Mind” and The Clash’s “London Calling” respectively. And honestly, how can you not love that? I’m still completely crushing on “Bridge To Nowhere” and “June Gloom.”

To sum up: A great album, a great show, a great night.

If you don’t know me; meaning I haven’t already given you a copy of their album, or if you haven’t checked them out, I strongly recommend. Do as I say, slaves.

But it didn’t end there...after maturely deciding to skip the after-party, I came home a little past midnight only to find out from Nick via e-mail (without spoiler warning mind you) that Kyle was booted from America’s Next Top Model. What the fuck, Tyra?!

Sorry, Kyle. But hey, you’re still totally grape-worthy in my book.

Episode 15: The UrthCast

Literature, the spin-off podcast, a Jewish Cameron Diaz, and at least one joke at the expense of someone on crutches. What else would you expect from the latest installment of Pop Whore? Exactly.

Download Episode 15: The UrthCast right here.

Then use the comment link below to tell us all how you were the one kid in high school who no one really "got."

Yay to iTunes, even though we also hate it

OK, so for whatever reason, we haven't been able to get Pop Whore to show up in the iTunes poodcast directory. Either they rejected us or there was some technical glitch, but one of the ways Apple saves money is by not having any actual technical support people that you can call or email, so basically we have no idea what happened.

But ANYWAY, the good news is that our brilliant spin-off podcast, Girl on Girl Cooking, was not rejected/screwed-up and has made it into the iTunes podcast directory under, appropriately, Food. Check it out!

One out of two ain't bad.

So this is what the inside of a courtroom looks like

Eti has jury duty today. Let's all hope that she can do her time and get out of there so she can come back and blog some more. I'm guessing she's sitting there right now just waiting to grab her keyboard and let loose a stream of sarcasm about one or more of her fellow jury waiting room occupants.

Until then, you can read about my jury experience earlier this year, or wait patiently for me to upload the latest podcast which we recorded on Sunday. I will be putting that up tonight, either before or after Madeline Albright appears on Gilmore Girls.

Here's a cool band.

Semi-Live Blogging: This Past Friday Edition

Hello children! Miss us? Yeah, we did too!

Nick and I podcasted this weekend and we should have that up for you pretty soon. In the meantime you have several options:

a.) Go to Girl On Girl Cooking and listen to two cutely hot girls discuss food and make sexually subversive comments

b.) Read our semi-live blogging from Friday.

c.) Do both.

Okay, good choice! Onwards through the fog...

8:10: Nick pops up via IM window. [Yeah, I'm always butting in like that.] I say hey and tell him how I’m working on a spreadsheet. I can’t spell either, but it’s Friday and I don’t care. Nick skips the regular chit-chat and goes straight to business with a ever so transitional “we have to finish that post.” We discuss.

8:14: Of course, sidetracking is never too far off...

Eti: Was there a new OC/Reunion last night?
Nick: Nope.
Eti: Ok, cool.
Nick: The universe is waiting for us to catch up.
Eti: I accidentally saw who got fired on Apprentice.
Nick: Fuck.
Eti: Yeah, oh well.
Nick: Don't tell me.
Eti But it's okay. I don't like anyone anyway. I'm freaking tired.

8:40: With that, the conversation diverts to our preferences with regard to pillow thickness. No, that’s not a euphemism, you dirty-minded bitches. We agree that we both like a certain thickness, and—seriously, SHUT UP!

8:45: Since (real) pillows are not the most interesting topic of conversation, we expostulate what movie we should go see this weekend. Nick and I are in agreement on “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.” Being huge fans of Shane Black’s box-office flop but superbly awesome “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” we decide that it will be a goldmine of future in-jokes and one-liners.

9:00: I go off on a rant about how much I hate Kenneth Turan of the LA Times and how he trashed “Fight Club” and hates all the good movies and raves about the shitty ones. Nick tells me that the Village Voice reviews suck even harder. [Seriously, they do. Do you need to use French New Wave terminology when you're discussing a Julia Roberts movie?] Whatever, the L.A. Times sucks donkey ass anyway. We then agree that it sucks that more people can’t be like us. But you know, that’s life.

8:45: And we’re back to the Julie Powell post. We discuss the conclusion and linkage.

9:00: Aaaaaand.....scene!

9:20: Nick posts. However, both of us having contributed to it, the first paragraph looks like Nick is discussing himself in the third person. Awesome. [Nick only does that when he's trying to sound important. Did it work?]

9:22: I’m now attempting to read the Village Voice review of “Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang” and I tell Nick about seeing a hilarious ad for a porn site that uses 3 Gummi Bears in a compromising position. Suffice to say that I find it hot and strangely appetizing.

9:38: Conversation shifts to America’s Next Top Model. We’re on par for the usual stuff. Promos for next week’s episodes, who’s leaving the show, who’s stupid, grapes, etc... Then to Veronica Mars, but only briefly. We know someone is leaving the show mid-season, but who will it be? Hmmmm...

9:50: I send Nick an article about Ken trying to get Barbie back. I add that Barbie looks disgustingly like every girl on Laguna Beach. Ken, on the other hand, has been looking gay since the seventies. Nick is in total agreement.

9:51: It is brought to our attention that searching Blogger for “Pop Whore” doesn’t turn out any results for our site. “WTF?” is the mutual response.

10:00: Of course, I then send Nick a picture of Halle Berry’s six toes. Because just when I thought I couldn’t dislike her any more, the universe finds a way to facilitate my disgust.

10:14: I tell Nick that I’m in need of some coffee. Nick thinks drinking his coffee black with nothing in it means he’s tough shit, and he’s taken to calling any coffee that I drink WAMC (White-Ass Milky Coffee). [Actually, I’m pretty sure Eti made up that phrase herself. Because she’s totally aware of how shameful it is.] Whatever. I politely ask him if he’s going to get some coffee too. Nick, however, already has his coffee! Bastard. He’s broken the mid-morning IM coffee break routine. The plot thickens.

10:25: My boss calls in. I am away for almost an hour. Nick hides under his desk and rocks back and forth while I’m gone [don't forget to mention the thumbsucking].

11:18: I’m back. Nick tells me that when he changed the template on our page, he put in the logo and got rid of the text, “so therefore, the actual words "pop whore" don't really appear in the title.” Nick then cleverly adds keywords to the “alternate text” so that search engines can better help guide lost souls to our brilliance.

11:35: Nick tries in vain to explain his coffee faux pas, but I’ve heard enough. Coffee anecdotes resume.

12:18: We then get serious and discuss life, work and career goals. Quite the rarity, but it has been known to happen. Of course, discussions like this always seem to offshoot us towards Nick Hornby. We proceed to discuss “High Fidelity” and how Rob is telling people that it’s not what you are like that matters, but rather what you like. We’re in agreement that it sets up a good base.

12:47: Nick goes to lunch. I eat at my desk.

1:12: I finish lunch. I am bored. I must entertain myself.

1:13: Hmmm. Time for some e-mails and a Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi. That’s the stuff.

1:55: Nick’s back.

2:03: I tell Nick all about the past hour. Specifically, about how the new Swiss Army knives come with a built in one gig thumb drive. Well, of course, you’re now paying $160.00 for a pocket knife. Wow! What a useful gadget perfectly suited for camping AND business trips, especially when you go through airport security ["Aw, man...all my good porn was on that knife!"].

2:25: Nick has to schlep some interviewee girl to the UCLA campus. Schlep, Nick, schlep.

2:27: I’m alone again and left to my own devices. The day begins to die down.

3:01: Nick’s back from his schlep.

3:06: Nick and I discuss stupidity. There’s really nothing more I can say about that without sounding stupid [too late...snaps!], so I’ll just leave it at that.

3:38: Nick tells me about a knife skills class he’s going to next Saturday and do I wish to partake in the dangerous sharp-itude? Let’s see. Didn’t Nick just pass up The Like concert on Wednesday? Why yes he did! Enough said. [Ouch, dude. I told you I was going to be busy trying to meet girls.

3:39: No worries, I will find a worthy replacement.

4:09: Not too much to report. My, how the day has died down.

4:11: My boss calls in again. The craziness is resurrected and I am instructed to write a threatening letter.

4:27: I proceed to fax twenty five copies of said letter to its intended recipients. Man, I’ve always wanted to do that. Awesome!

4:39: The madness continues. Why must people call me to annoy me on a Friday evening? Don’t people have better things to do?

5:07: I’m still at work. Nick goes home.

5:17: I’m still at work with no one to talk to and work to do.

5:31: I’m still at work.

5:37: I pack up and take off. What an anti-climactic ending.

Julie & Julia & Martha & SHUT UP!

So we at Pop Whore know these girls, who really everyone should know, because seriously, never a dull moment. Don't worry kids, you'll get to know them soon enough. Anyway, we've done our best to corrupt them pop culture-wise, and they've returned the favor by exposing us to all kinds of crazy food and cooking and celebrity cheeses. They even have their own podcast now, recorded on Saturday, which Nick will put up when he gets off his ass. It's called Girl on Girl Cooking, and I know you're already thinking "I'm so there" based on the title, but seriously, you'll get at least as many creative food ideas from it as you do dirty thoughts. One half of the duo has been following Julie Powell of Julie and Julia : 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen fame since her pre-book blogging days. Yeah, we didn't know her either up until two weeks ago.

Imagine our delight when Julie crossed over into Martha (yes, that Martha) territory a few days ago. I'm not sure why Julie agreed to go on Martha's new show or why her publicist thought it would be a good idea, but the results were pretty disastrous in a Martha is an evil whore who will eat your children sort of way. Hate to say I told you so. Anyway, the following is an exact transcript of the proceedings. Or at least as best as we recollect it.

Martha: Hi, Julie, and welcome to my show.

Julie: Thanks.

Martha: And just so we're clear, by "my show," I mean in the sense of, not your show.

Julie: Okay. Got it. Glad to be here.

Martha: Because if you had a show, not only would it probably suck, but I'd kill you in the ratings, and I mean kill you in the sense of rip out your internal organs and make a lovely souffle with them.

Julie: Understood. Can I talk about my book?

(Martha spews fire)

Martha: I suppose.

Julie: So I did this little project where I spent an entire year cooking every single recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, beginning with--

Martha: Done it.

Julie: I'm sorry?

Martha: What you said. The cooking everything in the book thing. I did that ages ago. Did I think it was worth writing a book about? No. I was too busy developing an empire, becoming one of the richest people in the world, and so forth. But seriously, I think it's really great that you wrote a little book about it. I'm sure you'll make, well, easily a few hundred grand off it. And you probably got to fly first-class. How nice for you. Please, continue.

Julie: Okay, I've been backstage for the last 45 minutes making the preparations for this beef dish as a way of demonstrating one of the more challenging recipes in the book.

(Martha's eyes roll back and her head spins violently)

Martha: I could see how you'd be challenged by that. I bet a lot of things about you are "challenged." If you catch my drift.

Julie: Anyway, you can see how I've chopped the onions pretty coarsely--

Martha: Because I meant "challenged" in a short bus way.

Julie: Fine. Got it. The oven's already preheated to--

Martha: Incidentally, my urge to vomit explosively at the mere sight of your attempt to cook is growing exponentially. Just so you're aware. Like, there could be chunks and stuff.

Julie: Carrots and onions are really a staple of French cooking, and what they do in this dish is add a seasoning kind of like--

Martha: I'm sorry. I just puked a little in my mouth. Then I swallowed it. I'm really doing my best to keep it in check, but you've got to understand that this is MY KITCHEN you're sullying with your dirty Brooklyn housewife hands. I think this would be a really good time to show a clip of me with Julia Child, to remind our viewers that I've met the woman and you never will, on account of her being dead and all. Plus I need to puke a lot more. Let's roll that clip.

(cue old clip of Martha talking to Julia)

Julia Child: Martha, it's an honor being on your show. I've learned so much from you.

Martha: Oh, you're sweet. I wish I could say the same, but let's face it: you were hot shit back in the 50's when most women barely knew how to bake a potato, but these days you're just another pretentious bimbo with fancy collanders and a subscription to Gourmet. You've got your own table at Spago? Newsflash, grandma: SO DOES EVERYBODY ELSE.

Julia: Your kitchen is just lovely.

(end clip)

Martha: And we're back.

Julie: So when I was making this dish for my husband the other night--

(Martha bites the head off a baby kitten)

Martha: I think we're out of time. How unfortunate. Let's have you back on again sometime. By which I mean, when hell freezes over and the skies rain blood. Now let's get to the part where you're as far out of my kitchen as possible and I'm hosing the whole place down with gasoline, tossing in a lit match (artisanal, of course -- I never use the commercial brands), and moving to an entirely new facility where I never, ever let in ditzy little bridge-and-tunnel bitches who think following a few recipes makes you the supreme fucking author-chef hyphenate.

Julie: Uhhhhhh, thanks.

* * *

Julie, we feel your pain. We haven't been able to get a word in edgewise with Martha in the past five years. On the plus side, we can use TiVo to pause her face on bizarre expressions. We'll show you one sometime. Until then, good job kind of trashing her on your blog.

Kelly Clarkson Buffy House

Hey Kel! What’s up? So, like, you know, last week, I was up totally early because I had to go to this place called work where I do stuff all day. So I like turned on the TV to keep me company and there you were, looking all blonde and singing your new sad ballad “Because of You.”

And I like really thought my eyes were kind of blurry because it was like six in the morning and stuff, but I thought I saw you standing outside Buffy’s old house in your video. But I totally wasn’t sure. So I was like, hmmmm, you know!

So guess what I did? I totally Googled you! Because I was like, if I can Google "Rory Gilmore Sex Boat" I can try “Kelly Clarkson Buffy House!" And guess what, Kel? Nothing, yo! Dude, I was totally bummed! I mean, I like had to jump on MTV.com to watch your video again.

And you’re SO using the exterior of Buffy’s house! Oh Kel, I’m so glad we’re having these talks and being BFF again. Okay, I have to go. TTYL! By the way, how awesome is Laguna Beach this year?!! Okay, for real, BFN!

Episode 14: The OverdueCast

At last, we're back with the debauched blend of pop culture and sarcasm that you know and love. This time we're joined by Rossanna and Paula, who also recorded the first (real) episode of their brand-new podcast, Girl on Girl Cooking. More on that later. For now...

Download Pop Whore Episode 14: The OverdueCast right here.

And use the comment link below to tell us how much you missed us. If you didn't, I hope you're a good liar.

Guest stars, part the deux

Alias has been turning in a fine season thus far, so says I, even if Jennifer Garner's very-pregnant-ness is a harsh reminder of the fact that she's married to someone other than me. Interestingly, the cast this year is growing even faster than that of the Garfleck family (who I hope decide on a baby name that is at least (a) pronouncable and (b) not the name of a fruit, superhero, or fruity superhero).

Joining the team within the first couple episodes was Balthazar Getty, a guy whose name totally makes him sound bald and Australian, but is actually as blandly American as you can get. I knew him mainly from the most recent Project Greenlight, which chronicled the nightmarish filming of a nightmarish film called Feast; he barely distinguished himself, but that's probably a good thing on a show that tends to give the most airtime to the biggest assholes and complainers on the set. He's playing a dull-yet-macho agent, the kind of guy who doesn't "play by the rules" or "walk the line" or "act all that well," but...

...who really cares? Alias has always been about watching a hot babe kick ass, and if said hot babe is too far into her knocked-up-ness to properly execute her superfly ninja moves, then clearly we're going to need reinforcements. Enter Rachel Nichols, former star of The Inside. You may have heard us mention this show once or twice or 286 times on the podcast. It was awesome. It was scary, it was funny, it was intelligent, and it was on Fox, so needless to say, it was canceled. After playing a hot young agent on that show, Rachel has moved on to play a grizzled old popcorn vendor on Alias. Except not so grizzled, and not so much with the popcorn, and... oh, hell, she's just playing a hot young agent again. But what's wrong with that? Nothing, of course. She looks pretty much the same as she did on The Inside, which is to say, really, really good. I think she'll do fine, at least for the time being. It'll kind of suck if she actually has to take on the lead role, as has been rumored might happen after this season, not just because it's not really Alias without Sydney, but also because I somehow doubt that she can do as many of her stunts as Jennifer "I'm A Black Belt, Ask Me How" Garner.

Wait, there's more! Not content to limit their canceled-show-raiding to just one hot babe, the producers of Alias have also roped in Amy Acker, apparently unemployed since the WB closed the doors on Angel in 2004. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, she played Fred, one of those characters who always treaded the thin line between cute and annoying and ended up on the wrong side of it at least a few times every season. Then they killed her off and replaced her with an immortal demon who used her body as a shell, which was absolutely not the weirdest plotline they ever tried on that show. Anyway, her introduction to Alias this week was fairly typical for this show, pretty-girl-wise: first she snuck into a chemical weapons facility in black Middle Eastern garb and committed multiple homicides; then later on, she was shown as a giggling technician in the same office as our girl Rachel. That's "office" without the capital O, meaning it's not an uncomfortable British sitcom but rather the headquarters of a super-evil criminal organization posing as a branch of the CIA. Amy seems to know that the place is evil, and happily goes along with it, but Rachel didn't know until just now, so their amiable co-worker relationship is destined to turn into mortal enemy-ness. Which, let's face it, is much hotter.

We Post, You Decide

Okay, the Jewish Girl is back and in a very playful mood. So the new game today is aptly entitled: Kim Stolz or Gerber Baby?

You decide.

4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42 seasons of love

You guys! With Eti busy atoning today, we can talk about Lost! But we have to be really quiet, because she's not that far away and she might hear us.

Anyway, last night wasn't quite as bursting with plot as last week's installment, but we were thrown some crucial pieces of information nonetheless. For example, Hurley used to work at a fast-food chicken place before he won the lottery! No, wait, we already knew that. What we didn't know was that he used to work with D.J. Qualls at a fast-food chicken place. D.J. Qualls, people! Admit it, after being blown away by his nuanced work in The New Guy and Road Trip, you were on the edge of your seat waiting to see where he'd land next. If you were expecting "buddy comedy," you were right; if you were expecting "buddy comedy serving as an entertaining but relatively pointless B-story on Lost," you were even more right.

There were other notable guest stars, too. Starla, the cute record store clerk whom Hurley finally gets up the nerve to ask out, was played by none other than Marguerite Moreau, last seen being fought over by Seth and Zach during the second season of The O.C. No doubt, the fictional paycut she took by going from comic book executive chick to an indie music store chick was superseded by the real-life pay raise gained by moving up the network foodchain from Fox to ABC. Later in the episode we were also rewarded with the appearance of TV character actor Sam Anderson, veteran of dozens of shows but known to me mainly for (a) playing evil lawyer Holland Manners on Angel (in both dead and un-dead forms) and (b) playing the doctor who delivered Phoebe's triplets on Friends and was obsessed with Fonzie.

Other stuff happened too, but I'm sure there are other places to read about it. One question, though: if Hurley is really going to dynamite all the food, shouldn't he at least eat a lot of it first, since the explosion will erase all the evidence anyway? Those Apollo bars look mighty tasty. I'm just saying.

Reminder

Eti can't blog until next sundown because she's being a good Jew and following the Yom Kippur rules of not eating, drinking, or editing Pop Whore for one day's time.

Yes, I too wondered how specific the Tora is about that last one. But Eti knows her scripture, and she says that the word "bloggeth" actually appears throughout.

Who knew. Well, being the non-religious half of Pop Whore, I will do my best to tide you all over until that Jewish chick comes back.

The Podcast That Was and Then Wasn't

Okay, so we lied. Sort of.

Technically, we did podcast last night; but then again, technically, water is just hydrogen and air. Make sense? No? Of course not. But that's about the level our brains were functioning on.

I thought podcasting was like riding a bike, but being out of practice for a week and a half clearly proved us wrong. In all fairness, though, it was doomed from the beginning.

We were tired and ran into some microphone difficulties before we even started. By the time we were ready, I just couldn't get it up and was totally bitchy. Nick wasn't feeling it either. We were doing our best to make sarcastic remarks about Martha Stewart, but what we were really saying to each other was "...um, I have a... headache?"

Suffice to say there were a few instances where we questioned if we should just stop, but we dragged it out and tread verbal water for another forty-five minutes before finally putting ourselves out of our misery, only to realize that the laptop died about 16 minutes into the podcast.

It was the podcast equivalent of an out-of-focus homemade sex tape, which I'm sure some sleazy guy will find a copy somewhere and try to make millions off it to humiliate us once we hit our target goal of underground-celebrity-cult-status.

After a few oh-fucks, we took it as a sign from the gods of good conversation that this dreadful monstrosity/lame excuse for a podcast should never be heard or spoken of again.

So we're going to seek some therapy and try it again over the weekend. In the meantime, we'll post more during the week, because posting is Viagra for our collective sense of sarcastic self-worth.

Maybe a drink or ten won’t hurt either.

Hypey McHype

I see many things in the Pop Whore crystal ball... underperforming movies being pulled from the theaters by 10PM on opening night, the CSI franchise running out of locations to the point where they greenlight CSI: A Different Part of Las Vegas, and of course, the 35th season of The Surreal Life, featuring the Spears/Federline and Cruise/Holmes spawn, Frances Bean Cobain, Dakota Fanning's little brother Albert, and at least one strung-out Hanson kid.

But in the shorter term, I see Eti and I returning to the fold for another spectacular podcast. We know it's been a while, and we're just as impatient as you are, so expect us to pack even more insanity than usual into our 60-something minute chunk of auditory brilliance.

Have Not, TiVo Not

In case it hasn’t been made clear enough, we at Pop Whore hold TiVo in very high regard. I’m talking a hardcore RESPEITO level worthy of so much more than the reverence of a wannabe model scorned by another’s fingers in her low carb brownies.

But all jesting in Oklahoman accents and faux bulimia aside, those of you euphonious enough to sit through our tantalizing podcasts know that I verbally go down on TiVo every time it comes up over the course of conversation. Hey, if that’s not reason enough to tune in, or live, for that matter, I don’t know what is. But I digress.

Accordingly, those of you who know this also know that, for reasons somewhat beyond my control, on August 31, 2005 (known herein as “Black Wednesday”), I was forced to give up TiVo. Not surprisingly, a few days later, I woke up in a cold sweat at four in the morning, screaming “Take the baby! Take my little TiVo!”

However saddened by this loss, I have been able to achieve a new plateau of understanding regarding its intricate brilliance.

I suppose the intricate brilliance I speak of, being that a lack of TiVo in its purest form forces you to weed out the shows you choose to watch, is much more beneficial to the media conglomerates than conducive to day-to-day time suckage. But I still feel the need to give credit where credit is due.

To wit, not having TiVo has cut down my TV plickupping ratio by roughly 33.33%. (And before you ask, yes, that’s an exact figure. I had the captive imps in my basement crunching numbers all night.) Nevertheless, this margin of spare time left in the wake of viewing cutbacks has presented me with more questions than answers. Notably:

Did I really need to watch every episode of “The Real World” this shitty season? How much bigger can the eightieth “killer storm” episode of “ER” really be? Will the “Lost” crashtaways every get off the island? Does Alex M. have bad below the waist hygiene? Do I need to sit through another sporadic episode of “Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares” on the BBC America? (Okay, don’t answer that last one. I know, I miss his hotness too.)

And these questions inevitably lead to more questions...

Does having TiVo force you to watch crap that you normally wouldn’t make it a point to watch? Is this what will come to be known as my moment of clarity? Is that to say that when I do get TiVo again, I won’t season pass these circumferential shows? Will I relapse? Where do I fit in? How many grains of sand are there in the world?

But no matter how hard I tried to make them stop, the questions persisted. In the end, I was left with nothing but the one certainty that the hand that rocks the TiVo is the hand that rules the world.

Say Goodnight, Martha

Imagine: You're NBC, once the undisputed king of broadcasting, but now struggling to even partially compete with the other two networks who used to be nothing more than the butt of office party jokes. You figured that Apprentice: Martha Stewart would be a surefire hit, but so far, its subpar ratings have threatened to turn it into more of a shot in your own foot. So what do you do? Well, you take that gun, spin the barrel, point it at your temple, and hope for the best. Unfortunately, at least from a Pop Whore perspective, that chamber was loaded.

Yes, as of this week, Apprentice: Martha Stewart will be switching its Wednesday timeslot from 8 PM to 9 PM. The stated reason: to avoid competing with America's Next Top Model. Yeah, you read that right: NBC is on the run from UPN. (In other news, American Airlines has vacated their space at LAX due to fierce competition from a guy with a Winnebago.)

Anyway, how do you spell doom for a show? That's right: "TiVo conflict." The dual recording capability of the official Pop Whore Tivo kept Martha's show safe at 8 PM, but at 9:00 she'll be running into the brick wall combo of Veronica Mars and Lost. Let's check in with Donald to see what her chances are:



How about you, Tyra? Care to weigh in?



Yep, thought so. Sorry, Martha. But you know we wouldn't let you go without a note, so click here to see it.