This one's for Missy.

Even I'm not sure I believe this one. (He had me until Katie Holmes.)

Bitch, please!

So apparently Courtney "I allow strangers to suck my teat" Love is releasing a memoir. Now I would not be Alisha "I just ate fifteen onion rings" McKinney I didn't cop to being a scootch interested in Courtney's (undoubtedly insane) ramblings.

Dear Diary,

Today I let a guy suck on my titty outside Wendy's! All he wanted was some Chicken McNuggets and he got my titty! ROCK 'N ROLL, MAN! ROCK 'N ROLL!

Ciao for now!
Courtney

But no. Instead we get this:

"Exactly one month ago today was the last time I made love with my husband. I cooked him dinner. We spent four hours in the playroom with Frances. We saw Schindler's List. It made us frightened for life and we saw the value of life. Our convictions we defined until 4 a.m. and we fell asleep in each other's arms and woke up that way in the morning."

Excuse me for a moment while I complete my eye roll.

I mean, please. PLEASE. They played with Frances for four hours? They "made love"? THEY WATCHED SCHLINDLER'S LIST?! If that's code for "nodded off from massive amounts of heroin" then fine, but in the meantime mama ain't buying it.

Watched Schlindler's list. Bitch, please.

Shiloh, huh?

Okay, so I know you've all been dying to see what I've got comin' now that Bragelina has had their bebe. The lions! The tigers! The name! Oh my! My response?

Meh.

Can't get excited about it, no matter how hard I try. As a full-fledged gossip whore (I prefer "gossipista") it's practically my job to muster some kind of something for this major, major event. But all I keep thinking is "Poor Gwen Stefani..." Having your baby on the same day at TomKat was bad enough for Brooke but having it on the same day as the Luke and Laura of the silver screen - man! Her publicist is going to have to work triple time to get any kind of mileage out of Gavin Rossdale's second-rate spawn. (Although I can tell you right now who I'd rather have as a mom.) And I must confess, I don't hate the name. Well, I don't hate the first name. (The middle name is ridiculous but no more so than "Jolie" and that seemed to work out pretty well.) I can think of worse monikers to be saddled with. "Pilot Inspektor" comes to mind, not to mention "Fifi Trixibelle". Don't get me started on little "Jermajesty"... (Only a Jackson, folks. Only a Jackson.)

Marginally Disappointing Celebrity Encounters: Vol. 1

As some of you may know, I've been harboring a certain lower-level crush on a certain Mr. Sweeney Todd ever since I saw the show a few weeks ago. We did the usual stuff that people do with their imaginary boyfriends: traveled to Paris to romp in bubbling fountains, fielded constant interview requests from US Weekly... He'd often compliment my singing voice and I, in turn, would do the same.

Today I was wandering the Upper West Side listening to my sugarface sassafras croon sweet Sondheim-isms into my ear when - wait - could it be? Sunshine glinted off his shiny pate. He sauntered slowly towards me, his eyes saying everything and nothing, all at the same time. Those eyes. That chin. He was... he was...

He was wearing a yellow t-shirt and red sweats.

I had to end it, right then and there. It wasn't easy. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt (The gym! He's clearly going to the gym!) but Rule #1 in the I.B.A.Q.T* (Imaginary Boyfriend All-encompassing Quintessential Textbook) "Sweatpants send a message to the world that you've just given up". Yes, Seinfeld said it first but truthiness knows no bounds!

I admit it, he wept (but only a little and in a gorgeous baritone). It's never easy to break up with someone you imaginarily love, but I know it's for the best.

Still, Paris just won't be the same without him.



*Say it out loud. It's marginally funnier that way.

That's Dan behind the camera

Until I have time to give a real entry, I leave you with this. I'm pretty sure Matt could grow something like this, given the inclination.

Were you raised in a barn?

I've been working my keister off so there's been no time for sweet blogging. Today is no exception but I wanted to leave you with this little gem.

Here's why I hate rich people. I was passing a tray of mini roast beef sandwiches (excuse me, "Roast beef with carmelized onions and honey dijon on chive buttermilk biscuits") at a certain upscale auction house. This suit sauntered up, grabbed a sandwich, took a bite, said "Too rare" and PUT IT BACK ON MY TRAY.

Oh yes he did.

Farewell, sweet friend.

I had my first cup of caffeine in over two weeks yesterday - a sweet little cuppa mid-afternoon. It was glorious. I talked a mile a minute and wrote really funny stuff and generally enjoyed the hell out of it. Until bedtime. And 2 am. And 3 am. And 4 am. I had the jitters, the shakes, the - oh lordy - the farts. You'da thought I'd done ten yards of coke off Robin Williams' ass the way my body reacted. One cup of tea. I do not take pride in this. "Look how sensive and gentle my little body is! Just like the Princess and the Pea; which is so appropriate because I'm part Hawiian royalty!" No, my body is a pussy! A wimpy little whiner that's bested by a Frappuccino! Dude, it sucks.

Decaf... aw, man.

Now girls, you're both pretty.

So apparently Axl Rose and Tommy Cruise - no, wait - Tommy Lee - no, wait - Tommy HILFIGER got into a little bitchfest at some bar the other night. Axl moved Tommy's girlfriend's drink and all hell - the high pitched, overly Botoxed version - broke loose.

First off, who knew Tommy Hilfiger had a girlfriend? And more specifically, who knew Tommy Hilfiger was straight? I watched Rich Girls. Daddy was as flaming as Lindsay Lohan's firecrotch.

Second, Tommy Hilfiger punched Axl Rose? That's like Tiny Tim punching Hulk Hogan! A puffy, cornrowed version of Hulk Hogan. Come to think of it, Hulk Hogan is a puffy, cornrowed version of Hulk Hogan these days...

Regardless, I would've given a shiny fifty cent piece to see that girlfight in action. Why do I miss all the good stuff?

Er, WHA---?!

You know how people say that actors are never satisfied because they can never reach that plateau where they can finally feel like they've made it? Well my friends, I received this email last night and the awesomeness of it cannot be described. Believe it or not (I'm not sure I do), someone out there actually wants my autograph. For reals. Which is... which is... truth be told, a little odd.

"Hi Alisha, I enjoyed your column in the 5/18/06 Topeka CJ. I wondered if I could ask you to send my son an autographed photo of yourself. He is also a graduate of Topeka West (class of '05, now a freshman at Washburn). He was active in theatre and got the award for excellence in stagecraft when he graduated. He has a small, but good, collection of autographed photos of actors and actresses (including Kristen Chenoweth and Chita Rivera!). I'm sure he would be surprised and pleased if your photo arrived in the mail. His name is ____, and our address is _____. If there is a cost (e.g., postage), please let me know and I will gladly reimburse you. Meanwhile, good luck with your acting career! Thanks very much. Karen _____ ( ____'s mom.)"

My first thought was that his had to be a joke. It's got to be a joke, right? Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but come on! This poor kid's going to laugh his balls off when it shows up in his mailbox. Chita Rivera, Kristin Chenowith - and me. My ego is well documented but even I can't bring myself to send out autographed headshots with a straight face.

I seriously have no idea how to respond to this.

And Perfessor, if this is your doing, I know where you live.

Give me mountains of that powdery white stuff

Okay, you know that whole thing about getting off sugar? My high-and-mighty reign of superiority over all my sugar-loving minions? Yeah, scrap that. I'm back on the sauce, baby. BACK ON THE SAUCE. I gained 3 pounds by not eating sugar and as we all know, my ego can't have that. So I'm back at Weight Watchers, back eating my beloved York Peppermint Patties (how I missed you!) but still off caffeine. That shit was hard to kick.

Thank God I never tried smack, that's all I have to say.

The kids are all right.

There are many reasons why I love my husband. He's charming, smart, as well as a fine fixer of things, but a few nights ago he went above and beyond. We're talking going-the-extra-mile-and-then-some beyond. Capital B-E-Y-O-N-D beyond.

He went to the ballet.

We got free tickets from Billy's mom and for some crazy reason, Matt actually wanted to go. I tried to talk him out of it (maybe he thought the men in tights would fly?) but he wouldn't budge. He got his fancy coat on, slicked back his hair and sat through minutes - MINUTES! - of dance. (It turned out to be a really short program.) Still - he went!

I have never loved him more.

I babysat Billy last night. He spent the evening explaining the fundamentals of teleportation to me. A sampling (and yes, I quote):

"It annihilates all matter between two spaces, which is the basis for warp drives. I read about it in Popular Science."

Good times.

Dun-dun!

For those of you in the T-town area, my latest opus is in today's Pop Culture section. For those of you who aren't, read all about it here. (Frankly I don't think it's one of my better ones. The muse, she somtimes fails me.)

Got 'stache?

As part of the Gunderman's birthday blow out, he, me, and his darling missus decided to do something a little different. Something a little unusual. Something a bit... hirstute. That's right, we went to the New York City Beard and Mustache Competition! Which was just as awesome as it sounds! (Actually it wasn't quite as awesome as it sounds, mostly due to my inability to tolerate excessively hot, crowded places and the stench of beer and vomit. But it was still pretty good.)

There were waxy little curlique 'staches. There were beards that overfloweth. There was also a large number of pirates and Civil War reinactors, but surprisingly few hippies. I wish they'd announced the judging criteria because some of my favorites were robbed, but the whole thing had a flying-by-the-seat-of-our-pants sort of vibe so I guess I should be glad they even had judges. I had to leave before Mr. Facial Hair NY was crowned (dammit!) but I bet it was good.

One! Two! Three!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN!

May your 'stache grow thick and full.

He's especially cute when he cleans the cat box.

Did I mention that my husband quit his job? Oh yeah. As that one guy said, "I'm sick of this fucking, crap ass job and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" He's going to take some time off to finish up his novel(s) - or so he says. (Frankly, I suspect he's going to use the time to get to Level 60 on Worlds of Warcraft.)

I have great plans for his soon-to-be-somewhat free time. They involve much foot rubbing of his lady and schlepping of groceries. Much Swiffering of the floors and preparing of delicious-yet-cost-effective dinners. I think that having a House Husband will be grand. Of course I will not call him my "House Husband" to his face because that's not very nice. Instead I will dub him H.H. and tell him it stands for "Horny Hero". Perhaps I'll make him a cape. A cape he can dust with.

C is for cookie!

Sorry no postings - me mama's in town and I'm busy gallavanting and screwing up my diet and buying stuff. By the way, if you're in the New York area be sure to see Sweeney Todd. It's very good and very fun and employs the very delicious...ly talented Michael Cerveris. After that, head to the Brooklyn Museum to see the William Wegman exhibit. He didn't just do dog stuff - although the dog stuff is awfully fantastic and probably my favorite part.

Off to eat more cookies! Mom doesn't leave until tomorrow night and until then, I'm on vacation!

So many tasteless jokes, so little time.

So there's the cannibal in Germany, right? He puts an ad out - something along the lines of "Seeking somebody to eat". Turns out, he gets a response. Apparently there's someone out there in the world who actually wants to be eaten. (Not just euphemistically.) So they get together, have a few drinks (I'm assuming. Lord knows I'd need one) then cannibal cuts off the dude's penis, fries it up, and they both eat it. Then cannibal kills dude, freezes dude's parts, and before you can say "Holy Weinerschnitzel!" he gets himself arrested for manslaughter.

Cannibal had his retrial recently and was convicted of murder. Here's my question: Is it murder if the victim agreed to it? Maybe the victim only agreed to have his penis eaten, who knows. Regardless, isn't it amazing that two such like-minded people could find each other? The internet is an amazing thing.

I want my own museum.

I worked a VIP dinner last night at a famous auction house. They threw this bash for their very top buyers in an attempt to get them jazzed about these... sculptures? I guess they were sculptures. They looked more like plain ol' cabinets to me - granted, stratospherically priced plain ol' cabinets. I'm sure they were incredibly difficult to make or have some huge artful meaning or something ("He was the first artist to use the space inside the art as part of the art!") because, like all things pretentious, they were going for buttloads of money. One older gentleman asked me which one I was planning on bidding. Luckily I stopped myself before cliche-ing something along the lines of "I could do that!" Because, let's be frank, I couldn't do that. IKEA, however, sure could.

A supermodel was there. (I'm not saying who she was... Was she once married to Axl Rose? Maybe. But again, not saying.) She's now married to somewhat less attractive but no doubt enormously well endowed (financially, at least) art collector. Rumor has it, their collection rivals a museum. She looked good, even though she was wearing a very unforgiving skirt. It was full-length black leather (clearly no friend to PETA; she also ate the veal) and skin tight. You know a skirt is too damn tight when a supermodel wears it and you think "If she'd just lose 3 pounds..." And yes, she cleaned her plate - although she did disappear during dessert. I have my thoughts on that, but I'll keep them to myself.

I loves the grape.

I broke my foot. Okay, not really. Well, maybe. I hurt it something good. I dropped a full bottle of wine on it tonight and smashed the holy hell out of it. (Don't worry, the wine was fine.) I now have a bottle shaped goose egg where my foot bones used to be. Not that my feet were ever pretty but now - yi.

I broke my ankle once. It was at Gunderman's New Year's Eve bash. I remember twirling... some steps... I think maybe booze was involved... I do know that Baldy plopped down on my lap and started bouncing while cackling "It's not BROKEN!"

Liar.

So let's see - I broke my ankle in college while shitfaced and busted my foot by dropping a bottle of wine on it. I think there's a sign in here somewhere but it's far too cryptic for me to understand.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

My friend Jay sent me this as a kind reminder to slow down, smell the roses, have lunch with friends... Because you never know when a big chunk of ice is going to fall from the sky and take you out.

Ali's ipod

Since I'm trying valiantly to stay awake until my husband gets home from game night, I've spent the evening scouring the celebrity playlists on itunes. What did I learn from this monumental time waster?

- Celebrities love to out-obscure each other. (I'm talking to you, Kiefer.)
- Mandy Moore needs to step away from the emoticons.
- I'm slightly in love with Sondre Lerche.
- The cast from The Office has a playlist. Aside from the girl who takes it really seriously, it's pretty great.
- Kathy Griffin is my hero for admitting her love of NSYNC.

And what about Alisha's list? Funny you should ask...

- "Funny Little Feeling" (Rock 'n Roll Soldiers)
No, it's not because they were just featured on MTV's True Life: I Got My Big Break. I've loved this song for months. MONTHS, dammit! Sometimes I pretend that I'm a 60's go-go dancer shimmying along to it while I'm on the treadmill. I might occasionally get so into it I trip. But only a little.

- "Once In A Lifetime" (Talking Heads)
I can't listen to this song without picturing the big white suit. God, that was a great suit.

- "Four Seasons In One Day" (Crowded House)
Neil Finn has one of the best voices out there. Turning me on Crowded House is one of the only things I can thank my ex for. It was worth dating him just for that. Well, almost.

- "Extraordinary Machine" (Fiona Apple)
I really get into Fiona. Even when she was crazy and came out with that 1,200 word cd title and did a whole lot of coke and dated David Blaine. Girl can write a good song.

- "Refugee" (Melissa Etheridge)
I was riding in a car in St. Louis the first time I heard this and almost had to tell beloved family members to zip it so I could listen. That would've gone over well.

- "Dance Me To The End Of Love" (Madeleine Peyroux)
I am in a French cafe, smoking skinny cigarettes while bathed in blue light...

- "Another One Bites The Dust" (Queen)
I first heard this song while sitting in the cafetorium at McCarter Elementary, watching a group of 6th grade boys at the annual talent show. They wore towels and fell down a lot. And just like this song, it was awesome.

- "Shake That" (Eminem)
Yeah, this one... Okay, sometimes I pretend that I'm a rapper? And male? And sometimes I just gotta sing about bitches and weed. Word.

- "Feel Good, Inc. (Gorillaz)
Try not to dance to this. (mmm shaka-laka mmm. mmm-mmm.)

- "Coolsville" (Rickie Lee Jones)
My mom had this album when I was a kid and I used to stare at it, trying to imagine being as cool as Rickie. I still want to be as cool as Rickie. Why didn't my mom name me Rickie?

- "Everyone's Rooting For You" (Sondre Lerche)
I like to imagine that Sondre follows me around, singing about how inspirational I am. Man, that would be spectacular. Can anybody arrange that?

Please note, not a single emoticon was killed in the making of this list.

Best thing I heard all day

There was a panhandler on the subway today. Nothing unusual about that. Usually I pretend to be very interested in my magazine horoscope and hold my breath but today... Well, I'll just let him speak for himself.

"Can anybody help me out tonight? I'm trying to get money so I can get myself a chicken snack, which consists of chicken, fried potatoes and a drink. If you can spare a dollar, five dollars, or even twenty dollars, it'd really help me with my chicken snack."

How can you not help a brother get a chicken snack?

This might be better than Colbert.

I'm so in love with this post, I want to frigging marry it.

http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/2006/04/fugging_impossi.html

Ha-HA!

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, OOH! Because I don't read the news or watch the news or know anything newsish, I rely on people like Dan to fill me in on stuff like this: Apparently Stephen Colbert gave this speech (in character, from the Colbert Report) at some Press Corps dinner thing and damn if he didn't do this with Dubya RIGHT THERE! A few of my favorite moments:

COLBERT: "I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq."

"Most of all, I believe in this president. Now, I know there are some polls out there saying this man has a 32% approval rating. But guys like us, we don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a well-known liberal bias."

"I stand by this man. I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound -- with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world. "

"Everybody asks for personnel changes. So the White House has personnel changes. Then you write, "Oh, they're just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic." First of all, that is a terrible metaphor. This administration is not sinking. This administration is soaring. If anything, they are rearranging the deck chairs on the Hindenburg!"

"Jesse Jackson is here, the Reverend. Haven't heard from the Reverend in a little while. I had him on the show. Very interesting and challenging interview. You can ask him anything, but he's going to say what he wants, at the pace that he wants. It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that metaphor, by the way, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is."

"By the way, Senator McCain, it's so wonderful to see you coming back into the Republican fold. I have a summer house in South Carolina; look me up when you go to speak at Bob Jones University. So glad you've seen the light, sir."

And yes, Bush was pissed. P-I-S-S-E-D. Which is about sixteen different kinds of perfect, if you ask me.

Must go to the gym!

So I'm torn about a couple of things today. First off, MI 3: To See or Not To See. I like a good popcorn flick as much as the next guy, plus I think J.J. Abrams is great and Tom - as nutso as he is - can be a damn fine actor. I just don't feel comfortable knowing that a portion of my ticket sale is going to Scientology. Tom's the Executive Producer so he's gonna pocket a ton of cash for this and I don't want to encourage the crazy. (But I bet the stunts are awesome...)

Second, Target. I love Target. Love it. But I don't love that their pharmacist refused to fill some woman's morning after pill prescription due to the pharmacist's religious beliefs. I don't love that Target didn't fire that person and I especially don't love that actually sided with him/her. (They released some statement saying that the woman should have just gone to another Target, but since the morning after pill is only affective for 48 hours after the oops, every hour counts.)

Pro-life, Pro-choice, whatever. The woman had a prescription from her doctor. The pharmacist's job is to fill it. Case closed. There was a great article in this month's Bust magazine about it that got me all riled up. So knowing all this, why do I still want to shop there? I stopped eating fast food, why can't I resist the siren song of affordable contact lens solution? (It's the Thomas O'Brian collection, isn't it? Damn that shit is good...)

I've moved to decaf coffee. Herbal tea is poo.

Shilling for M-Al

All of you in the T-town area, keep your eyes peeled for my latest story in the Cap-Journal. They don't tend to tell me when I'm being published so I rely on your hawk-eyed... hawk eyes to keep me informed.

As for those outside of Shawnee County, keep your eyes peeled for my Cascade commercial. My father was vacationing in Florida and saw a 26-year-old me hawking dish soap on the tee-vee. Which is interesting, seeing as how it hasn't run for five years - which means that somebody's trying to run my spot without paying me. The commercial stars Kerry Kenny (from Reno 9-1-1) as a chef who lives with two lovable roommates (ahem), one of whom has a curly red ponytail. I spin around on a dolly while trying to open a pot and drop stuff, for the most part. If you see it please let me know; mama wants to get paid. (Feel free to pass this on to any Floridian aquaintances.)

My work here is done.

Shilling for KPol

It's me again. Your friendly neighborhood art whore.This your monthly reminder to visit the fastest-growing art website in my apartment. The one that has a big new crop of drawings up (and a few photographs). And many more that will be up in the next week or so.

I will be showing my drawings at the Subterranean Books upstairs gallery from August 25th to September 25th in St. Louis. If you're are in the area, I hope you'll be able to stop by and have a look. I'm not sure on all the details yet, but hopefully there will be an opening of some kind. As always, I'll keep you updated.I hope everyone's doing well. Drop me a line if you get a chance. Thanks.Kristopherp.s. I finally got my promotional postcards made up and I'm in love with them. And, yes. I may marry them. If anyone wants one - or would like to pass a couple around to make yourself more attractive and probably taller - send me your address and I'll mail one out.

http://www.kpollyart.blogspot.com/

Who names their kid "Peabo"?

Mental jukebox this morning, compliments of Peabo Bryson:

"So I'll be YOOOUUURRR friend.
And I'll be YOOOOUUUURRR lover.
'Cause I know I our hearts we agree
We don't have to be one... or the OTTTHHHHERRR."

Get it out get it out get it out!

Went and saw Inside Man last night. Damn good flick. And Clive Owen is full of hotness.

So Brit-Brit is preggers again. My God, had she even healed? (Wait, C-section.) They must hump like jackrabbits to get knocked up again that fast. I don't understand what she sees in that cornrowed wannabe - aside from a shared affection for Cheetos and pot. And I can't believe nobody is scandalized by the Richie Sambora/Denise Richards/Heather Locklear triangle. You'd think Iran was enriching uranium or something.