Excuses, excuses

Another dearth of blogging, another excuse: I was sick. Again. From the same thing, as a matter of fact. And I'm not the only one who's had a recurrence of this stomach bug that's going around. So watch out, Mike. You may think it's over -- but it's not. (Kind of like Return of the King.)

And again, while I was gone we've suffered a celebrity death. Last time it was Anna Nicole Smith. This time, it's the last lingering shred of Britney Spears' sanity.


Speaking of Anna Nicole -- those of you who have compared her to Marilyn Monroe: STOP IT. Just fucking stop. It's wrong, insanely, incredibly wrong. Being a blonde with big boobs who appeared in Playboy doesn't make you the next Marilyn. Nor does having a train wreck of a personal life. I tell you what: I'll give even a molecule of credence to this suggestion if you can show me Anna Nicole's Some Like It Hot. Or Seven Year Itch. Or Bus Stop, or Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.... Or anything in which Anna Nicole was not horrifically, painfully bad, the object of pity more than desire or appeal. And don't say The Hudsucker Proxy; it's the exception to the rule (assuming you even think it was a good movie, which I do but many do not), and it's not like she had much to do in it. My assessment of Anna Nicole remains (warning: very mean-spirited): at least she established the proper exit strategy for insanely wealthy and famous but completely worthless people. Paris Hilton, take note.

Coming up soon: my full list of Oscar picks, followed by my traditional liveblogging of the pre-show and main event on Sunday. Here's how excited I am about the Oscars this year: I didn't even realize they were this week until I saw the cover of TV Guide at the supermarket last night. That's okay: I will replace any lacking enthusiasm, as usual, with beer. Lots and lots of beer.