Bianca, you're the balm.

Since I apparently have nothing better to do with my life than torture myself with experiments that could save me literally tens of dollars a year, today, I, Bianca Erin-Dempsey, have decided to embark on a quest. A mission, if you will. Starting this afternoon, I will not use any sort of lip balm for two weeks. This will mean eschewing the copious tubes of ChapStick and Vaseline currently scattered throughout my bags, car and apartment for easy access. This potentially foolhardy endeavor was incited by the comments following this blog entry, by Television without Pity founder Wing Chun, which paralleled my valid complaints about the latest TSA ban on liquids.

I guess the thought of going without my requisite 2 bottles of water on the plane wasn't traumatizing enough for me. Now I'm choosing to experience the epidermal pangs of dehydration when I'm not even airborne. See, when life hands me lemons, I don't make lemonade. I squeeze the lemons in my eye, or more appropriately, on my broken, chapped lips, inflicting physical pain upon myself to accompany the mental and spiritual anguish of having my civil liberties stripped away from me one by one. What's next? No humans on planes: they're 70% water.

It's been less than an hour, and my lips already hurt.

You're Standing on My Neck

Why is Daria not out on DVD yet? Yes, there are a few choice selections available, including "Daria - Is It Fall Yet?" and "Daria - Is It College Yet?." But those will not satisfy me. I want the complete series available on disc form, all five seasons. Is that too much to ask from a network who already has such classics as Punk'd, Jackass and Wild 'N Out available for purchase? Seriously.

Touched by My Last Action Baby-Sitter. 2.

Whatever happened to Austin O'Brien, i.e. one of my many adolescent crushes? According to IMDb, last year he starred in A Christmas Too Many, and supposedly he is currently "in production" on Defining Moments. I loved him in My Girl 2, also know as "the one without Macaulay Culkin." He was the best part of Last Action Hero, and clearly the most adorable guy in The Baby-Sitters Club. And in 1996, I seriously squealed and danced around my living room when I discovered he would be on my tv every week on the Touched by an Angel spinoff, Promised Land.

My entertainment enjoyment hasn't been the same since Austin went into relative obscurity in 1998. Sure, I kept busy with my other crushes on celebrity contemporaries, including Thomas Ian Nicholas, Jonathan Jackson, the members of both Backstreet Boys and *N Sync, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Heath Ledger, David Krumholtz, Ben Foster, Ryan Gosling, Joshua Jackson...clearly the list goes on.

Maybe Spinner from Degrassi: The New Generation is the new coming of Austin O'Brien. Admittedly, Spinner, whose real name I can't be bothered to look up, isn't quite as cute as Austin. But hey, at least Spin's on a hit show. And Austin is, um...doing something, somewhere? Isn't he?

Crazy Left-Wing Liberals Stinking up our Country with their American Values

I like when other people clearly state what I am thinking. That way, I can post a link to their insightful prose, instead of coming up with coherent sentences on my own. Simply put, I'm a lazy bum. Enjoy:

"...Mr. Bush? While the terror cells were comprised of Islamic extremists, other Muslims were the ones who saved the world from a terrorist strike that could have been the worst since 9/11. Moderate British Muslims, Mr. Bush, who - thank the Lord for favors - are currently being addressed in their country by John Reid and not you."

"...in the immediate coverage of an apparently foiled terrorist plot and a resulting "Red" alert on the fear-o-meter, Giuliani and the RNC are now reduced to sending chain letters to people that obliquely threaten them with terrorist attacks if they don't donate to the Republican Party. Any reporter out there want to give Giuliani a ring and ask him what the hell he was thinking?"

"...each and every time the Bush Administration plays the ‘terror’ card, even if people don’t believe it, they buy it because it’s “better to be safe than sorry.”
Bush says the foiled plot in Britain is a ‘stark reminder’ for people to be afraid, stay-the-course and do what they’re told."

Well put, fellow bloggers. Like I'm really comparing myself to the blogging elite at Daily Kos and My Left Wing. I can barely crank out one post per day, and I have a fan base of maybe two.

No, Bianca. Stop putting yourself down. You'll get there. You're an amateur now, but some day, you'll be posting your random thoughts in the big leagues. Maybe I'll even have a sponsor. Ooh, exciting!

In the meantime, I will continue to question authority, as opposed to blindly following the demands of an administration who wants American citizens to believe that invading and occupying an unarmed nation, demolishing that nation's infrastructure, and slaughtering over 100,000 of said nation's citizens was the best way to show the rest of the world that terrorism is wrong.

Turn that Frown upside down.

First they came after my shoes. Then they came for my baggage locks. Now they have come for my bottled water. The people running TSA are shaking down suspicious looking babies for their bottles of breastmilk, but these airline officials are still NOT checking almost "all of the cargo in the nation's aviation system" because "inspecting all cargo would slow down the system and cost billions of dollars." Hey Bush administration. How about you stop the illegal occupation of Iraq for ONE WEEK and use that extra $3 BILLION to hire a few people to look inside those big boxes criss-crossing our nation by plane every day? No? Still going to pat down and cavity search millions of innocent American passengers while you "elected" (ha!) officials fly hassle free on private jets? Okay. That's cool with me.

So what made my day okay? A little thing called schadenfreude. Today during lunch, one of my favorite coworkers and I were engaged in a heated debate over the efficacy of the above TSA policies. Before our tête-à-tête could turn to fisticuffs, the two of us were soon distracted by the television program playing in front of us, TLC's latest guilty pleasure, 10 Years Younger. The conversation then devolved into determining whether the haggard-looking woman being made over before our eyes got her much-younger-looking husband to marry her because she had a lot of money. I suggested that maybe the hot guy saw past her outward appearance, and loved her for the person inside. Whereas, my coworker suggested that they got married in Vegas the day before she had to be on television. True love, or famewhoring goldigger? Po-ta-to, po-tah-to.

My level of highbrow discussion did not increase in quality as time went on. In fact, my work day concluded with my introducing yet another of my coworkers to the infamously delicious site, Go Fug Yourself. Being a Fug virgin, she was quickly laughing out loud at the fashion don'ts of various celebrities. I tell you, having the power to make someone else guffaw at the sight of Tara Reid's cockeyed, mishapen "sandbags" really made my day.

Musings from a Black Woman

That's So Racist

In a recent edition of The Hollywood Reporter, the weekly industry trade magazine did a special feature on Raven-Symone' called "Anatomy of a Hit." It was a lovely puff piece, chronicling Raven's rise to fame, from her first appearance as 3-year-old Olivia on The Cosby Show, to her brand name status as an actor and producer on her eponymous Disney television series, That's So Raven, not to mention her music career, and her own extensive Raven product line.

So what's that problem? Well, THR's Denise Abbott reports, "the role that made Raven a star almost didn't come to be." Why not? According to Disney Channel worldwide president of entertainment Gary Marsh, "Raven came in to read for the sidekick role--the confident, rambunctious, take-no-prisoners" (read "sassy") "best friend," which she played in the pilot. Apparently after the pilot was tested, Marsh decided that, "Raven needed to be the star. So [they] rewrote the lead character, transposing the energy and comedic sensibility of the sidekick to the lead." This switcheroo raises two questions for me. One, what kind of lame lead character did these people have written down before Raven came to read for them? Two, if the people at Disney had highly recognizable and obviously experienced child actor Raven-Symone right in front of them, why was she reading for the role of the sidekick? Unless Disney was courting an Olsen twin, or praying Hilary Duff would come back them, Raven should have clearly been reading for the lead role.

This is the same situation that popped into my head when I was watching Teachers, that hot mess NBC decided to throw on as a midseason replacement earlier this spring. First of all, the show was terrible. Awful. Bad. Second, the most recognizable person on the show was Kenny/Buddd, aka Deon Richmond, conincidentally also from The Cosby Show. The next familiar face was Sarah Shahi, best known as Carmen from The L Word. And who was the star of this piece of crap? None other than Justin Bartha. (Who?) He was in Failure to Launch? National Treasure? Gigli? No, not Ben Affleck. He played the functionally retarded guy. Yep. That's him. That's the generic young white guy NBC chose to bless this steaming bowl of poo with his vanilla presence and mediocre delivery. God forbid the show was centered a young black man or a female teacher of questionable ethnicity. That just wouldn't play in Nebraska.

Initially, I did have the same questions about Psych, which stars James Roday (Who?) whose biggest credits are The Dukes of Hazzard and Miss Match, while Dule' Hill, fresh off an amazing seven-year run on The West Wing, gets to play his sidekick. Like Dule' couldn't carry his own show. Well, I made it through the first episode of Psych, and it was pretty good. So I'll let that one slide. For now.

This leads me to part of the Raven-Symone' article that irritated the crap of me. Further into Anatomy of a Hit, THR's Kimberly Nordyke asks the aforemention Gary Marsh, "How does the show perform on Disney Channels internationally?" He responds, "At first, there was some trepidation about how a show with an African-American lead would translate, but it's proven in many territories to be the top-rated show (on the channel)." Let me translate that for you. What Marsh really means is, "We thought people overseas were as racist as we are. But I guess those foreigners do care about black people. Who knew?" Marsh goes on to say, "We do try to tell universally appealing and relatable stories that kids and teens can connect with--whether white, black, Chinese, Indian. The show is working remarkably well around the world." Well, Gary, if your focus is really on telling "universally appealing and relatable stories," why don't you have more shows on your network than appeal and relate to black, Chinese or Indian people? It's tough enough to find more than two black people on the screen at a time on the Disney Channel. But I'd be hard pressed to find one person of Chinese or Indian descent ever featured on the network in a lead role. In Marsh's mind, and in the minds of many people who run the television industry, having non-white leads in your show is always cause for "trepidation." Yet, I doubt Marsh had any worries about pushing The Suite Life of Zack and Cody in China, even though little blond-haired boys aren't exactly the norm in the People's Republic.

This is not the first time I have heard this explanation for keeping black people and other non-white people, and women in general out of lead roles on American television shows and in American movies. The argument goes something like, "Since such-and-such show failed, no one will watch a show with a predominantly black/Latino/Asian/female cast." Since the cancellation of All-American Girl in 1994, I have yet to see a show about Asian people anywhere on my tv. The consensus being, "that Asian show that was on 12 years ago failed. It's because it was too Asian." Maybe if Henry Cho could ever get a sitcom, with the help of his Blue Collar Tour friends, we could see another funny Asian person on network tv. Though I doubt it.

Could you imagine that logic being purported any time a new show with an all-white cast (and their token black friend) failed? "I guess NBC pulled Four Kings off the air 'cause no one wants to see a group of young white guys on network tv. Head Cases, Kitchen Confidential, Just Legal, and Arrested Development got cancelled, too. Let's never put a show on with white men on the air ever again."

When I rule the world, I plan to change all of that. How, you might ask? I'm still figuring that out. When I come up with a solution, I'll let you know.

I have an opinion.

No, I'm not Maya Angelou. But I am also a black woman with something to say.

From time to time, there are things I notice which provoke thoughts from me specifically because of my color and/or my gender. This is why I have started this series of postings entitled, "Musings from a Black Woman." Don't expect one every day or every week or at some other regular interval. My musings will come whenever I decide to pull one out of my butt. I will talk about black people, about women, or about whatever. I could call it "Musings from a (Potential) Breeder," because that's accurate, too; I am a heterosexual, even though I'm not an active one. I'm really trying, though. "Musings from an American" sounds lame, and is probably already taken. "Musings from a St. Thomian" has a certain ring to it as well.

I remember why I chose it now. I wanted a title that sounded like I was speaking for black people everywhere, American or otherwise, because we're all alike. I love how certain outspoken celebrities and wannabes of African descent (supposedly anyway) state that "black people do this" or "black people don't like that." How would they know? I never got a phone call asking my opinion. Other people who aren't black make similar asinine assertions, but the statements coming from people who are black are given more respect.

So. I have decided that from now on, I will be speaking for all black people, and all women, everywhere at anytime. I know black people, I know women, and goodness knows I am well acquainted with many a black woman (Mummy for one; Grammy for two). Therefore, whatever I say about any of these groups should be taken as fact and never questioned in the least.

First Musing from a Black Woman: That's So Racist, a short commentary on one of the many instances of bigotry in marketing American television domestically and internationally. Coming soon to a computer screen near you.

License to F!@k.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Ms. Bianca Erin-Dempsey.

April 6, 2006:

My epiphany. After driving home, listening to Janeane
Garofalo preach the Word tonight on her Air America
show, The Majority Report, I started thinking. She was
talking about why so many Republicans and so-called
"conservatives" want to take away the rights of
Americans, in particular, the reproductive rights of
women. She has said on past shows that if men could
have babies, reproductive rights would not even be an
issue. There would be no movement to legislate a
person's sovereignty over their own body.

So I thought to myself about the men who just don't
get it. The men who glibly say, "killing babies is
wrong," yet have no problem hunting or fishing or not
paying child support. The men who have never
considered what would happen if the American
government started legislating THEIR genitalia.

Then I came up with the perfect solution. Any man who
wants to have vaginal intercourse with a woman must
get a license. It's not the eggs that are the problem;
it's the sperm. I walk around with my eggs every day,
and I don't get pregnant. You can't spontaneously
conceive an embryo. Viable sperm have to enter the
fallopian tubes, and...well, you know how a baby is
made. If Bill Frist and Rick Santorum and other
"conservatives" can attempt to prevent me and other
American women from accessing proper health care, why
shouldn't I try to get to the root of the problem:
sperm? It's not like unwanted pregnancies are caused
by helpless women tripping and falling into puddles of
sperm. They are caused by men who are obviously
incapable of safely using their penises. Therefore,
those men who want access to the vajajay (the
technical term) should have to go through a DMV-like
process to acquire a license to...make sweet love by
the fire. There would be an application process, tests
administered, suitable protection (i.e. condoms)
required, mandatory insurance (because accidents
happen), and enforceable penalties for "unsafe
drivers."

With my proposed policy, I bet the number of both
unwanted pregnancies and subsequent abortions would
decrease significantly. If nothing else, it's a better
plan than abstinence. What genius came up with that
idea? "People...er, um...don't have sex." Brilliant.
It's working out so well, too. Except not really. The
major result of abstinence programs is a significant
increase of teenagers engaging in anal and oral sex,
to somehow protect their virginity. Hooray for
abstinence.

Let's Talk about Sex

Sexual lyrics prompt teens to have sex.

I know when I was nine and I was listening to Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You up", and Salt 'N Pepa's "Push It," I immediately found the cutest boy in a 100-foot radius and demanded that he had sex with me.

Oh, wait. I wasn't a "teen" at nine years old? Oops. Well then...

I know when I was 13 and I was listening to Janet Jackson's "If," Janet Jackson's "Throb," Janet Jackson's "Any Time, Any Place," pretty much anything suggestive in the Janet Jackson oeuvre, I immediately wanted to get my groove thing on with the greasy, adolescent males that populated my 8th grade class.

I know when I was 17 and I was listening to Limp Bizkit then-frontman Fred Durst screech "I did it all for the nookie," I immediately knew that I too wanted to do it all for the nookie. Yes indeed, I, a young woman starting her first year at university, hoped I could emulate the sexual prowess of that bald, sweaty, tattooed, corpulent college dropout--whose career highlights later included telling the world that he banged both Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears, along with remaining completely oblivious to the irony in The Who's classic, "My Generation."

Considering the amount of sexual material I have listened to, read or watched during my years on this planet, according to AP Medical Writer Lindsey Tanner's obviously well-researched article, I should be engaged in an orgy right now.

Leave your baby at home.

If you are a parent bringing your fussy 2-year-old into a PG-13 movie, maybe Child Services shouldn't let you be a parent anymore.

I was supposed to be having a fun outing with two of my closest friends watching Talledega Nights. Instead it turned into my constantly turning around and shushing the rambunctious toddler behind me who kept kicking the back of my seat and making car noises at inappropriate parts of the movie. I had thought it was bad enough that other parents had brought their 5- through 10-year-olds with them in the theater. This was not a children's movie. Unless the producers include Disney, Pixar, or whatever company assaulted the public with Madagascar, don't bring your kids! What part of the previews said, "bring your tiny offspring to this film?" The scene where Will Ferrell humps his wife on the dining room table, or the shot of him stabbing himself in the leg? Are those the type of images a parent wants their pre-teens to emulate? Because you know the dumber kids will.

I have loved children all my life, and I have worked with them enthusiastically for years. I even grew up in the capital of Bringing Your Infant to R-rated Movies, i.e. St. Thomas. I truly have sat through showings of American Pie, Phone Booth, and The Matrix Reloaded, a few rows away from women who brought babies with them that looked fresh from the oven, if you catch my drift. However, by some miracle, these babies did not annoy me at all. Yet this weekend in Los Angeles, I was ready to throw down with the highly vocal little boy behind me, and his mother, too. It would not have been pretty.

I really need to get I Hate Other People's Kids. Because sometimes...I do.

Losers should have a mating call

...so I can run in the opposite direction.


From the Mixed-Up Files of Ms. Bianca Erin-Dempsey.

January 16, 2005:


I got stood up last night.

I was supposed to have a first date with yet another guy I met online, and he just didn't show up. What a jerk. Why bother going through the trouble of setting up a date if you don't want to go through with it? How lame.

The good thing is that a year ago, I would have been devastated, and blamed myself for not picking up on clues, or for not being pretty enough for someone to follow through on a date with. Now after two months of actually dating experience, I don't blame myself at all. I have just grown even more distrustful of guys. Especially the ones that say looks don't matter, and then spend their time chasing after hot, dumb girls who treat them like crap. These particular have now topped my list of People I Hate. (My list isn't that long either, because I usually like most everyone I come in contact with, unless they are mean to me.)

I know I sound bitter. I'm not saying all guys act like this. I'm just frustrated that I have to go through all this nonsense to find one compatible male person to hang out with on a regular basis.

Why is this so hard? I'm a nice girl. It's not fair that despite my caring nature, my kindness towards, and my healthy choices, I don't get to experience love, because I wasn't born with the right size and shape and color and hair type to attract American men my age.

14.

No, that is not the age when I gave it up. What kind of expression is "give it up" anyway? What would I be giving up, my hymen? I probably lost that during my years of horseback riding and ballet. And who did I know in 9th grade worthy of giving "it" up to? There weren't any eligible candidates in my class, I know that much. Chances are, you'd have to double the number 14 to represent when I will lose my virginity. Like my virginity is comparable to my car keys or a left sock. I'll just "lose" it. Now wherever did it go to? I'll have to ask my neighbors, "Have you seen my virginity? I had it last night, but I haven't seen it at all this morning."

I got way off track there. Concentrate, Bianca. 14. It was the size I was destined to be for my entire life. I have hovered around size 14 since I was in middle school. Sometimes lower at 12 or 13, sometimes higher approaching a 16, but always comfortable at 14. There was the period of time which I like to call The Year I Made Myself Crazy, when I cut my portion sizes in half, drank liters of water in hopes to quell my hunger pangs, and essentially exercised twice a day, six days a week for a year. I got down to a marginal size 10. Yeah, that didn't last long. After I somehow graduated from college and could no longer exercise like a triathlete to maintain chubby, I returned to my normal size.

I am currently going through my recurring period of insulation, where all my clothes are fitting me differently. I have my special items that I wear when these times arrive. I secretly call them my "Fatty McButterPants" clothes. I know that's not a nice name: that's why it's a secret.

People often reference Marilyn Monroe as an American icon who would supposedly be considered obese by today's standards. I prefer to mention Lucy Ricardo, the character, not the actual Lucille Ball. On the third episode of I Love Lucy called "The Diet," our heroine tries to lose enough weight so she can fit into a size 12 costume and be a dancer in Ricky's show. The concept of a woman on tv trying to lose enough weight so she can fit into a SIZE 12 was so insane to me the first time I saw it I laughed out loud solely at that concept. 38 years later, Clair Huxtable went on her own quest, with help of manic trainer Debbie Allen, to fit into a size 8 dress in six days.

Really, what is my point? Well, regardless of the fact that it would have been nearly impossible for Lucy to lose that much heft in whatever short period of time it was, plus the fact that a size 12 in Lucy's 1951 would have been a size 8 in Clair's 1988, none of the women in either of the shows were the pre-pubescent stick figures currently being jammed down our collective throats. Even the younger, thinner women Lucy was competing with during the dancer audition weren't that young, or that thin. They all had some significant meat on their bones, just a little less meat that Lucy had.

Back to me. Some day I will accept my body for what it is. For now, I'm just trying to deal.

"Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear."

I am so excited. Two separate people have officially read and commented on my blog. That is so cool. For those lurkers who may be reading, but not being vocal on it, that's cool, too! Thanks for visiting. Come again soon. (Dirty!)

How are you all finding my blog? Meaning, what brought you here? That sentence could also mean, "what do you think of my blog?". But I mostly meant the former. Who knows where these people are coming from? No, really. Who knows? If you do know, don't bogart the info. I only know "Steve the Penguin" is here because I created it.

Patriot or Lethal Weapon?

What can I, Bianca, add to the Mel Gibson debate? I hope he gets the help he needs, both for his drinking problem and for his hatred of people who are different than him, including Jews and Women. I mean, really. "Sugar tits"? Is that ever appropriate when talking to a member of the LAPD? The anti-semitic remarks are getting tons of play all over the media. Apparently, Mel's sexist comments are no need for concern. It's comforting to know misogyny is always in vogue in this country.

Poor APA.

I am still snickering at last night's Entourage. Not at the whole episode. At one great Ari ejaculation in particular: "Who the f!@k invited APA?" I burst out laughing. I had to rewind it, and watch Jeremy Piven deliver that line again. Apparently Gersh and Paradigm didn't even rate a courtesy call.

In addition, I still love LLOYD!!! Who else can take a stapler on the bum like he can?

"Miller-Gold." It's not just a beer anymore.

Christmas in July

I have decided to get my parents a group therapy session for Christmas this year. Goodness knows they need it. To make sure they actually go to the session, I will be attending it with them when I go home for Holiday Break. One, my presence will actually make it a group, instead of just Mummy and Grammy. Two, I might have to drive them there under duress, as I doubt they would go willingly. Neither of them would ever go voluntarily (Mummy) or quietly (Grammy). They aren't actively opposed to the concept of therapy, like it's heresy or blasphemy or some other assault on their Christian beliefs. They just don't see the purpose of sitting in a room telling a stranger their family problems. And let me tell you, they have a whole heap of problems. But they never talk about them out loud. God forbid they have an actual conversation about the issues that come with sharing a house with your elderly mother, or your retiring daughter. No, keep it bottled up inside, then have crazy outbursts at inopportune times (i.e. my Kente graduation ceremony).

The logistics of this will be sticky. Mainly because I don't know of any therapists either here in LA or in St. Thomas. Good ones aren't easy to find, like servants. It's hard enough getting a referral for a doctor or dentist that you end up liking. But how are you supposed to ask your friends and colleagues, "Do you know a good shrink?" It would be more embarassing for them than for me. Besides the fact that going to therapy in LA is like getting your nails done or your bikini line waxed: it's simply good grooming...for the mind. Although, I don't do either of the above things for various reasons, including that I heard an urban legend about a woman going to a nail salon and getting herpes on her hands from the infected equipment. Ew. She couldn't touch her children again, or anyone else, without gloves. So sad.

Anyway. Mummy, Grammy, shrink. I will need to research psychologists/psychiatrists in St. Thomas, then see if I can get an appointment one of them in December, along with a festive gift certificate to celebrate the holiday season. I will also have to do this without any of Mummy or Grammy's associates alerting them to my Ambush-My-Parents-into-Group-Therapy plan. It sounds bad when you write it out like that. They need it, we need it, and I know they aren't going to be thrilled about the idea. However, as I'm sure both Mummy and Grammy have both said in reference to me during my upbringing, they will thank me for it later.

Mystery writer seeks short, round, male companion.

As I watch possibly my fifth episode of Murder, She Wrote, today, I realize that Patton Oswalt is totally a young Seth Hazlitt. If I were Jessica Fletcher, I'd love to have Patton around, letting himself into my house every day to eat my food, and helping me solve crimes in the murderous little town of Cabot Cove, Maine. Besides the obvious physical similarities, Seth and Patton both seem like such kind gentlemen. I wouldn't mind sharing a large piece of pie with either of them.

Things on my mind today.

I would link to news articles or websites, but really. Be a better person than I am, and take the initiative to look them up yourselves. Google has been a verb for years now. Do it.

• The ongoing occupation of Iraq. More US troops are being sent to the country. Many troops who are already there are being sent to Baghdad, as the death toll has remained steady at 100 people per day every day for the past five months. Additionally, almost any troops who previously had been promised to come home this year are now having their tours of duty extended indefinitely. Mission Accomplished indeed.
  
• Israel vs. Hezbollah, and all of the unfortunate people caught in between.
• My new blog! It's so awesome.
• Gaming for girls. Why can't ladies get any love from the video game industry? I don't remember where I read this, or who said it, but, every guy who is willing and able a video platform already has. The industry has exhausted the male market, so only females--over 51% of the US population--are left. I wish more entertainment marketing people would listen to me. I have good ideas. :(
• ICM buys BWCS. According to a Defamer rumor, the subsequent layoffs ALLEGEDLY occured via email. Klassy.
• Why Moms are Weird. Apparently pamie's new book follows the travails of some chica named Benny. What happened to Anna K? I liked her. Harumph.
• It's terribly hot outside, yet quite chilly indeed at my desk. If only I could transfer some of this excess conditioned-air to the people literally dying of heat stroke in hundreds in California. Then I can send my uneaten food to the starving people in China. And in Africa. And down the street.
• When is Can't Get a Date coming back to VH1? I love that show. How many episodes of My Fair Brady must they thrust in my face till I get my dateless brethren back on my tv screen?
• 30 Days is back. Better than ever? Well, I liked the first episode of the season: Immigration; but I will save my overall judgment for later.

Dear Lance Bass,

Your Big Gay Announcement will never make me forget the following:

• Your (unintentionally) comedic masterpiece On the Line, a movie that you not only starred in, but also executive produced, in which you and infamous Joey "525,600 minutes!" Fatone chased Emanuelle "Snow Day" Chriqui around some random city.
• Your failed attempt to become an astronaut--excuse me, cosmonaut. What, NASA wasn't good enough for you, you had to go into space with some Russians?
• Your perpetually frosted blonde hair, which has varied in length and shades of yellow over the past 10 years.
• Your makeout scene with Beverley "Saw II" Mitchell on 7th Heaven.
• Your highly publicized "just friends"hip with Danielle "Topanga" Fishel, when Boy Meets World and *NSync were both cool.

Your fan, until you start eating babies for attention,

Bianca Erin-Dempsey

P.S. Joey, don't think I forgot My Big Fat Greek Life. This Odd Couple sitcom remake better be good; you and Lance are both on notice.

First Post Ever

So much to say, so little time.

This is my first post on my very own blog. I am so proud of me! Hooray, Bianca. You have finally entered the golden age of self-righteous internet postings.

Soon I will share my thoughts on the GAYness of Lance Bass, as if we didn't already know he liked the menfolk in a very special way. I thought that was confirmed when he appeared on Kathy Griffin's show with the rest of her gays.

Whoever is reading my blog at the moment, I have no idea why. Do you like penguins, or is your name Steve? Either way, welcome, and thanks for reading.