What Goes Around Comes All The Way Back Around and Then Chops Off Your Hair

Alright, might as well start with what everyone else is talking about these days. That's right, the return of vinyl to the record stores.

Seriously, the fall of Britney Spears from the throne of "America's Princess" to the bean-bag chair of "K-Fed's (Very) Sloppy Seconds" is at once shocking, totally expected, disappointing, and oddly satisfying. I won't even go into the details because, honestly, everyone knows them. But yikes, the girl went all G.I. Jane and shaved her friggin' head. A few weeks ago I read somewhere that she was looking to restart her career. Well my dear, you saw what the bald look did for Sinead O'Connor. Although, to be fair, she did invent AIM-speak with her hit "Nothing Compares 2 U," obliterating the spelling skills of teenagers across the world. So hey, you've got that going for you, kiddo.

According to this story, Britney has rented out an entire wing of the rehab facility she's staying at (for the next few hours, at least). That isn't rehab, that's vacation. That's not even vacation, that's like buying your own private island. Except it's different. I dunno. I thought part of the rehabilitation process was getting to know others in similar situations, and learning how to cope and avoid future problems, not going up to a room and watching Oprah and Ellen all day. When I used to go up to my room and watch TV all day, if I told my mom I was "rehabbing" and couldn't do the dishes, I'd have to rehab a frying pan out of my rectum.

Despite all of this, despite the total train wreck she's become...part of me roots for her. Like when they run a story about her, and there's a semi-recent photo where she doesn't look half-bad, I say, "See, she's getting better. It was that idiot dancer's fault." I long for the days when Britney, Christina, Jessica, and Mandy could promise to have a four-way jello wrestling match and it would be something we would all want to see. I actually would still like to see this. Am I the only one? I can't be the only one. I'm probably the only one. So, Brit, when your hair grows back and you get those tattoos lasered off...come find me. We'll do lunch.

Somewhere, Justin Timberlake is smiling. Mostly because he's banging Scarlett Johansson. Right now.

This is a Blog, But You Better Not Call It a Blog

So I've been thinking about doing this (again) for awhile. Recently I've been told it would be a good decision, that it would be "fun for all." Well, alright. Twist my arm. Apparently my unique writing style (at least, I like to think it's unique) makes things enjoyable to read. Couple that with a passionate rage about...everything...and there could be a few laughs to be had. There could also be a few unintended reader suicides. Make sure you keep sharp/explosive/gunlike objects as far away as possible when you read.

So here it is, a blog, my blog...but you sure as hell better not call it a blog.

See, I hate the word...it isn't even a word, but whatever...I hate the word "blog." It's just so...I don't know...lazy? Childish? Stupid? I don't even know. Say it out loud. Blog. Say it with different inflections. Blog. BLOG. Blog? Blog! BLOG!!! Like, seriously, it sounds more like you should say "I got blogged in the head by that rock" than "I'm gonna go post to my blog about how this music makes me want to cut myself." I look down on people who talk about their blog much the same way that I do people who talk about their Myspace pages (I am the last bastion of under-30 Myspace-lessness...this is likely not true, but I like to think it is, and you and your statistics will never convince me otherwise). I already have one crippling social-networking website addiction (thanks, Facebook a-holes), I don't need another. Or a blog for that matter.

So this is not a blog. This is a...a...um...a "personal forum for topical discussion/ranting/musing." Yes, that's it. Go publish your blogs. I will write my PFTDRM. And then update my Facebook page.