THE ROCK REPORT

The heady days of summer are winding down. And with them the dreaded summer TV shows. Summer TV is Dead! Long live Summer TV! Entourage may be done, but Rockstar Supernova is alive and kicking! For a couple more weeks anyway.

That's right readers, you've begged, you've pleaded, you've given me ideas I can use as my own... So now, with a mere 5 rockers left, I present you with: The Rock Report.

WAIT!!

Before I go there, I gotta know: is anybody under 50 watching Celebrity Duets? Aside from me? What?! It's summer TV. It's cheesy TV. It's face-lift central. And it's completely hilarious. In a B/C-list kinda way. Marie Osmond's a judge! And she told someone he was too white! Little Richard's a judge tooo! And he told someone she was so good that, and I quote, "My big toe just went through my boot". And Cheech is on it. And Kenny Loggins will be appearing. What more do you need?

OK back to the rockers. Look, for better or worse, it's no Idol. But I'm completely addicted. Confession: I didn't tune into last year's INXS version. I wanted to, swear! But my Man banned all reality shows from our summer schedule and I complied. Meanwhile, he secretly tuned in and loved it. So this year, after much cajolling from my fellow TV hounds 'n whores, I jumped on the bandwagon. And I'm in in in!

And now that Art School Confidential is no longer a dark horse; now that he's taken his faux-tense stare and gone back to NY with a less-than-gracious "see you on the charts" as his parting words; now that all that and the lame-ass, ain't no-Roger-Daltry-mic-swinging has finally stopped; now,at last, we can concentrate on the final five.

Generous thanks must go out to my gal who has been a source of all things Supernova since the show began. Hucking me to watch, berating me for missing last year's, and providing me with ammo, lingo, and astute opinions.

Let's start with Magni, the white Will Smith. What? You don't see it? Look again. Strange cross-cultural refs aside, here's what you need to know about Magni: he's the solid guy. The nice guy. The family man. Sure, he's good. But he's a bit of a bore, no? And can the boys in the band mold him into their own little walking, talking puppet?

....like Toby? Evs from Oz is a total keener. And, from the looks of it, relies on his mimicry to get by. And yet...the dudes LOVE him? Why why why? The laddish lout makes a big song and dance about being the go-to-party-card. Is this a good thing? Or will it blow up in his face?

...Like Dilana's cockyness? Personally, I see little difference betwen this very dirty girl (literally, dirty. Somebody wash her.) and those little trolls that go on top of pencils. The ones with the neon pink hair... That's Dilana. A talent, to be sure. But such a screamer! So unappealing. And may I steal a certain someone's twist on T.Lee's words? 'Cuz I'm going to: Dilana, I don't wanna!

...Storm's another story altogether. I think I have a bit of a straight girl crush on her. OK, I know I do. She's got the pipes, she's got the looks, she's got the moves. And she's so so so not right for them. But I love her. So she should live and be well and make it 'til the end. Even tho' I know she won't.

...Unlike Lukas! Yep, our local boy is really the bomb. Talk about stage presence. The boy can blow (not that way dirtbags) and he's pretty incredible. But after watching him with the band last night, I gotta say, I think he's too good for them. I do! So I kinda hope he's there til the end so we can watch him strut his stuff, but that he doesn't win, if for no other reason than this: he can do better.

I know, I know, they're the big shot rockstars. Whatever. He's a kid. Untapped. Rarin' to go. And the Supernova Sound...is it just me, or is that the worst part of the elimination show? With a hey hey hey and a ho ho ho? Umm, yeah ok guys, reeeeeally scary intense rock there. Whatev.

It's not too late to hop on board and tune in. Really, if you haven't already, you should. Not just to see Tommy Lee being an ass. Not just to hear Jason Newstead pay forward his own therapy sessions. Not just to realize that Gilby Clark, whoever the hell he is, looks like Val Kilmer and that, with some strategic scrubbing, he might be kind of attractive. And not just to see for yourself if I'm right in saying that Dave Navarro looks like Prince. No, you should tune in because Rockstar Supernova, well, rocks.

And it's on thrice weekly.

Yep, Mondays at the Manse. Tuesdays they perform. And Wednesday's child goes home.

Look, the fall lineup is still a few more weeks away, so why the hell not?

ALMIGHTY STENCH

"Gee your hair smells terrific".

Remember that? Betcha haven't heard it in a while, huh? Not the ad, the sentiment. Know why? Cuz we're stinkers. That's right: Stinkers. Yep, like it or not, that's what we've become. A civilization of stink bombs.

From cloying creams to sickening spritzes, we all reek. And not of B.O. Nope, the smelly days of yesteryear, where a somewhat high pit could make or break you, are long gone....Replaced by a slew of pharmaceuticals designed to cover up anything remotely natural and replace it with fruity not-so-freshness.

Look, don't get me wrong, I'm all for fragrant, erm, enhancements. I slather on the deodorant and enjoy a squirt of perfume as much as the next gal. In fact, I'm a product whore! But it's the actual scents - or should I say flavours - that put me off.

Get this - I went to buy shampoo the other day. Hardly brain surgery. But finding one that doesn't smell like honey-coconut-butter with a hint of cherry? Nearly impossible. I popped open practically every bottle in the shop, hoping against hope of finding something, well, nice. No luck. Only Finesse deserves kudos, stinkin' it old school clean.

What happened to the blue and green smells? Y'know what I mean - the fresh ones? Hop into your local and it's all red, yellow and orange stenches. In other words, candy, fruit and puke. Even white smell is gone, replaced by vanilla. Gross.

And don't think you'll score with a high-end bottle of bubbles either. Not only does it not make one lick o' difference in how your hair turns out (or so my salon savvy spies tell me), but you'll spent upwards of fifteen bones for a bottle of cucumber-melon-sage. Yep... Food.

In some places, they take their fragrant issues quite seriously. My stinky Bikram yoga classes used to have a sign saying no perfumes of any kind, from deodorant to fabric softener. I of course ignored that one. 100 degrees sans deod? Uh, think not. And a towel without fabric softener is like, well, a towel without fabric softener. Sandpaper. At least Bounce has the whole outdoor fresh scent going for it.

The deodorants are as tricky as the shampoos - one day you buy something called Optimism and it smells like, well, deodorant. And when you go back for more it's called Courage and smells like peaches. That they could ban.

In some cities they don't let you out in public if you're too smelly. Manufactured, chemical smelly, that is. I swear! I think it's Halifax. If you're too whiffy, you're off the bus. I kind of get it. Especially in the morning rush hour. I mean, puh-lease, something like Angel or Giorgio or a handful of uber-musk aftershaves are most pungent in the AM - AND they last all day too. No rest for the wicked. The wicked stench.

So please, somebody stop the madness. Stop the Paris' and Jessica's of our overexposed world from putting out....anymore candy coated lotions and potions. Cities and smog and ozone oh my! Can't we at least smell so fresh and so clean clean while we're here? Maybe, dear readers, you could tell two friends, who'll tell two friends, who'll tell two friends...and so on... and so on... and so on....

MR. IRRITABILITY

A friend of mine just sent me a link to an article about Johnny Drama.

You DON'T know who that is?! Helloooo? He's only the best thing to happen to Entourage since Entourage became the best thing to happen to summer tv since Nip/Tuck!

Got that? Yeah, I know Entourage has been around a couple of seasons. I remember watching a couple of episodes back in the day when I was working. When it wasn't out on Canadian TV yet. And when I had to pretend it wasn't nearly as good as our beloved show. It was (and is) way better. But that was then. This is now - the year Entourage went from passing interest, to PVR-worthy, to must-see PVR-TV. In part on its own merit, but also because it didn't have a lot of competition in the summer viewing competition. Rockstar Supernova being the exception. LOVE IT. OBSESSED.

But more on that another time.

So the gist of this article my friend so kindly passed my way is basically how Johnny Drama is the bomb, how that type of character is the best American tv has to offer, etc. But in referencing pathetic losers like JD and his Seinfeldian predecessors, Mr. Rosenbaum neglected to acknowledge another, as he puts it, "Icon of Irritability". Any thoughts? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? (and does everyone know the guy who played the principle in Ferris passed on this year? A little off topic, but a worthy FYI)

But let me repeat the question: anyone know of another key TV portrait of irritability?

No?

He's one of my all-time fave characters, on one of my all-time fave (and sadly cancelled) shows of recent years....Ladies and Gents, put your hands together for...

GOB.

AKA George Bluth II. AKA Will Arnett.

But to me, he will always be Gob. That spelling! (For those of you not-in-the-know it's pronounced like the biblical Job, which in turn is not prounounced like the work sitch I don't have but rather, "Jobe") Who's cheesier-in-a-good-way? Who's so stupid-he's-genius? Who is that hilarious in the realm of irritable characters? Mr. Drama is amusing, but COME ON - he doesn't hold a candle to Gob, R.I.P.

Let's have another moment of pause before we snap back to today, to Entourage. To the article. To the fact that Johnny Drama merits his own space. 'Cuz it's true, as fab as Agent Ari is, as clever as his comebacks may be, the genies who write the show seem to rely on him more than they should. Yeah, he makes us laugh out loud, but he doesn't bring a smile to the face the same way that Johnny D. does. And E. doesn't. And Turtle definitely does not. And Vince? Hell, he brings an entirely different type of smile to this girl's face. Let's just say he's on That List, along with Hugh J.

Maybe we all love Johnny Drama because he's the loser we laugh at AND with. And because he's the one we thank our lucky stars we are not. Whatever and whoever he is, catch him while you can...only two eps left 'til fall line up. Woo hoo!!!

For those interested, here's the link to the article that inspired it all:
http://www.observer.com/20060821/20060821_Ron_Rosenbaum_pageone_ronrosenbaum.asp

SUMMER BOX OFFICE

What's with the film industry?

Come summertime, while they're busy taking holidays or making Christmas-time release masterpieces, we're stuck with a slew of shlock. Aside from some family fun flicks, it seems all that's out there are duds, suitable only for the dreaded demo: boys 8-18. Boys with a penchant for no-brainers. Boys with silly, gross-out toilet humour sensibilities. As for the rest if us, it's like it or lump it. For the most part.

Like everybody else, I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean. Unlike everybody else, I went kicking and screaming. We all know Johnny Depp is hot. But Johnny Depp mincing about in drag? More like luke warm. Yeah, he's funny. Yeah, he's still watchable, eyeliner and all. And yeah, he does a mean Keef Richards. But I still didn't want to go. The charms and derring do of 'Lando Bloom were no match for the enormous pain in the butt that is Keira Knightly. Yeah, she's gorgeous (open-mouthed smiles aside). Yeah, she's British and yeah, she - or her agent - has good tast when choosing roles. But she's the next Winona. And is that a good thing? You tell me. Alas, I went and we watched and yo ho ho and swashbucklers forever. It was a summer flick. And that means ish.

Want another example? The Brothers Wilson. What were they thinking, doing such lame-ass pics? More importantly, what was I thinking? I fell into the it's-a-chick-flick-but-how-bad-can-it-be trap. The one that gets you every time - 'cuz they're always THAT bad. I confess, I saw both My Super Ex-GF AND You, Me and Dud-pree. And to make matters worse, I went for the back-to-back double header! I snuck into the second flick, so at least I didn't have to pay. But karma has a way of paying you back: the freebie, like it's paid-for counterpart, blew. Sure the Wilson boys are hot. And their ladies were hot. And after all the gushy interviews I wanted to look for signs of chemistry between Ms. Hudson and O. Wilson. (there was none with Matty D. Not a drop...in interviews or on film) And now that Katie is newly single, who wants to bet she goes for the gold? Or the - ahem - butterscotch? Crow or Stallion: who would you choose?

But I digress.

Kiddie flicks and stoooopid boy humour aside, there are a small handful of pics worth leaving the patio for. But the only one I've actually seen is Scoop. Y'know, the not-so-new Woody Allen flick? Finally saw it yesterday. A matinee. What a truly fine bit of afternoon delight it was. Re-ow!

In two words: Hugh Jackman.

Hugh Jackman.

Hugh Jackman.

Hugh?! Who knew?! Beneath the board-treading Wolverine lies something truly divine: Hugh Jackman. My gal pal and I were breathless at the sight of him. And who wouldn't be? Charm? Check. Passable Anglaisy accent? Check. Clothes that look magnificent on and off his crazy cut chiseled bod? Check check check. The man is the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Plus, he's sex on a stick. He turned us into drooling, slobbery fools. He turned us into lovesick teens. He turned us into....BOYS!

The movie was good, don't get me wrong. It was delightful and de-lovely. Not the most complicated of flicks, but so what? Totally worth seeing. Even aside from ever-so-hot Hugh. Woody was less pervy lech and more funny fatherly. Grandfatherly, but who's counting? Throw in some Scarlett for the boys and everybody's happy. It's sharp and funny and set in London. Add it up and it's well-worth the price of admission.

And have I mentioned Hugh Jackman? Apparently, the more mature ladies have known about the Jackman charms for years. Not me. I didn't get it. Not at the Tony's, not on stage, not in that cheesy Meg Ryan flick, and certainly not with all the facial hair.

But girls, it's all about Hugh. That's the real scoop.

HOME SWEET HOME

I'm ba-a-a-a-a-ck. Yep, after 10 days of enduring - I mean, enjoying - a vacation up at the family cottage I'm home....And now I'm ready for a real holiday.

I remember the day we left, getting ready to pack up the car... My Man looked at me adoringly and asked, "Are you excited?"

I stared dumbly back.

He continued. "For our vacation?"

I stared some more.

"Vaycay my ass!!!" I yelled.

OK, I didn't really. Didn't even come close. But I thought it. And added many expletives to that thought. And then I gazed back and replied, "Can't wait, lover".

Don't get me wrong, a good time was had by all. It was a special time. A precious time. A time of bonding. And, in many ways, a time of bondage. For me anyway. Y'see, when I think summer vacation, I think fun in the sun. And sure, we had that. Lots of it. But I also think relaxation. The only exertion being one of choice. Y'know, like an activity. Hike, bike, swim (or, in my case, sleep, eat, hang). It's easy math: Summer + Holiday = lazy days. But throw the family into that equation and what do you get? Work.

Work work, work....doesn't anybody, ahem, lounge anymore?

The answer is a whopping no. As an unemployed mother, being on a family vacation at the family cottage is basically exactly like being at home. Only there's no daycare, no programs, no nanny. Just the whole gang, the parents of the gang, and the friends and relatives and neighbours of the gang. All rip roarin' ready for a damn fine time.

That said, I've got it good. I know many a fool who plans every detail and then...SURPRISE! Their parents, their parents' friends, their parents' friends' kids and all manner of hangers on descend upon them. In our case, we chose the revolving door method. In with one group, out with another, and so on. So while it was kind exhausting with lots of mouths to feed, we made 'em all sing for their supper. They came. They cooked. They cleaned. We were all comrades, slaving - I mean, caring - for each other's kiddies as if they were our own. Hell, if we weren't having a vacation, no one else was either.

In retrospect, it was great. I'm recovered now. And it's easier said with the rose-coloured specs and all that. But maybe that's the design for life when it comes to the vacance en famille. In the old days I'd go on vacation and come back refreshed but also a little depressed. Now, I've returned from time away with the brood and couldn't be happier to be home...In my own space... Where I can plan a real holiday...

CROCS CROCS AND MORE CROCS

I've never been so popular. Never. Who knew a post about Crocs could cause such an uproar? Arouse such passions? Pull so many opinionated folks out of the woodwork? Not I.

Fair readers, you only get to see the comments the brave and the brazen post on the blogsite. But trust me, I've had other emails and calls too. There's a war going on and the folks are up in arms. But not about the Middle East. About Crocs.

So here's what we know: they start in kids' size 8/9 in Canada, but you can find falsies that are smaller - now that's not something you hear too often, is it?! There are knock offs on just about every corner and, rumour has it they even have Croc kiosks at airports popular with holidaymakers. Like, er, Boston. We also know it ain't the shoe that's stinky. Sorry kids, but my sources have found that it's not the wear, it's the wearer!

So yeah, every kid and their father seem to have Crocs. A friend of mine who swore she'd never succumb to peer pressure did just that - and her whole family's Crocified. One of my candy mags even had a pic of my Man's man Jack wearing them. Navy ones. The caption? "This trend must end". I guess Mr. Nicholson is where fashion trends go to die. Tho' it doesn't seem so.

As y'all know I had trouble tracking them down. (And thanks to everyone with their tips, spottings and sightings. How ridiculous is this? For shoes? Hideous shoes?) When I finally tracked down a couple of pairs of honest-to-goodness eyesores I was shocked. Talk about a feeding frenzy! And it was all about the butchy navy Crocs. Everyone was after them. I snagged a couple of pairs - for boys big and small - and proudly made my way home. Triumphant.

My Man wears his - but is very selfconscious about it. Not only because they're the summer Ugg, but because duh, they're the summer ugly. He's no trendoid so he was a little tense. Until we went walking and it rained and they were so comfortable - wet AND dry blah blah blah. But my boy - he ain't convinced. Like his mama, he knows the good from the bad and the ugly. And he refuses to put them on his feet. Not even 3 years old and already a shoe snob. That's my baby!!

Ladies, please, trust me. Ditch the Crocs unless you're gardening. DO try them at home - but not in public. If your teenage daughters want them, by all means, encourage it. Hell, buy 'em two pairs. They're so unsexy, they're prophylactic. Again, let's remind ourselves: they're cute and comfy and useful. FOR CHILDREN. AND MEN. No woman really wants a purely "useful" shoe. It's like getting cleaning gear for Mother's Day. And who the hell wants THAT?!