A few people have asked me if I am going to the You-Know-Whats. (N00bs: that's how we refer to a certain awards show around here. Otherwise I get a tic. That whole brouhaha was amazing, but it also scared the crap out of Your Fragile Narrator.)

I won't be at the actual show-- they don't do the "returning winner" schtick with writers-- so no legendary presenter swag bag for DC. Quel horreur! I needed a mink oven mitt.

I might go to the big party on Sunday, though. You know I'm gonna crash a few group photos like "LOOK, KATE WINSLET AND I ARE FRIENDS! I'M RELEVANT! LOOK AT ME!" Or I'm in the background doing high kicks like Kathie Lee on a Carnival cruise. I actually have a hilarious picture of me and Shirley MacLaine where you can tell I just sort of mashed myself into the frame.

Last year, my friends and I discovered that if you're physically clutching an Osc_r, you (and all your dirtbag pals) can get into any party that night. So we were like, "Next year, let's bring it out again and see if it works." How tragically hilarious would that be? Ma'am, may I check the year on that statuette? 2008? I'm sorry this is expired. Suck a few dicks and come back next year.

(KID-DING)

I'm definitely watching the show, though. As an Academy member*, I'm not sure I'm allowed to say who I'm rooting for, but I certainly have my darlings. Too bad Katy Perry's not performing on this telecast. I can just see them lowering her onto the stage in a giant papier mache Cecil B. DeMille head.

*This phrase-- casually dropped with annoying frequency-- has become my personal version of "As a retired model..."

Shocking?

I seem to have lost the knack to blog about anything other than writing, producing, pimping, ho-ing, etc. I don't even review weird new snacks anymore (luckily, the Onion AV Club has that beat covered.) It's always all about the proverbial grind (with Eric Nies!) Work. Survival. Balls to the motherfucking wall. No time to rhapsodize on the Butterfinger Buzz or the fried olives at my neighborhood restaurant, each one as miraculous and briny as a pilgrim's tear.

Well-- Enuff Z'nuff, I say.

Here are some things I'm enjoying lately:

-American Idol (Norman Gentle!)
-Acorn squash
-Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street
-The truly incredible Technicolor Dreamcoat-esque cape that Diva Zappa knitted for me
The Inglorious Basterds trailer...so much Eli!
-Thinking about next season of the show
-Actually GOING to the movies, abundant Academy screeners notwithstanding.
-Planning my visit to Coney Island this summer.
-Music by the immeasurably, disgustingly talented John Carpenter.

Things I'm not enjoying:

-People getting shitcanned left and right
-The fact that I feel like a three-toed sloth and can't motivate myself to exercise.
-Independently of that, If I were to moon you right now, it would actually look like the moon. All pocked and shit. I started getting cellulite when I was 9; how is that even possible?
-No matter how many emails I respond to in a day, I always miss a few.

Aaaaand that's all for now. Self-centered listifying; it's like 2003 all over again!

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for watching us!

First of all, cheers to the Juno musical team and Mr. Reitman for the Grammy win last night! That's some pimp hardware right there. That's some righteous bling. That's some sick Goldie Hawn. Okay, now I'm just making shit up.

I remember when Jason first started floating ideas for soundtrack material, I thought, Well, that's not what I had in mind, but...

I also suspected Jason was cracked when he asked me to write a new final scene in which Juno and Bleeker inexplicably sing to each other. That's not gonna make any sense! I thought.

Now the soundtrack has a Grammy, the Moldy Peaches are deservedly world famous, tweens have been turned on to Buddy Holly's minor works, and "Anyone Else But You" pops up in the wildest places.

The moral of this story? Listen to Jason.

What else? I missed the "big" Grammy telecast last night, unfortunately. It probably fucked with our numbers anyway (she rasped, puffing on a cigar while flipping through the trades). Still, I would have liked to have seen Katy Perry come out of the banana. SPECTACLE! KEEP IT ALIVE!

I start shooting BH-Niner today, but the episode won't air for a while. Put yr DVRs back on "simmer." (I mean, if you actually want to watch me play myself, which I've technically been doing for several years now.)

My episode may or may not feature TORI'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN!

The awesome wardrobe ladies even made me a special dress for the show. Like, they measured my quivering underpants-clad body and then they went and made a dress. I'm astonished by this feat. I didn't even have a custom dress for the You-Know-Whats. 90210 FTW!

All right, I gotta run. I've decided that my character would shower. My character would probably also down a few shots of Grey Goose prior to call time. I'm so Method.

Tomorrow is a very special day.

(Advance apologies to those of you who are rightfully offended/repulsed by Rock of Love Pus.)

Beverly fucked up, no question about it. However, I don't understand why Bret (of all people) was affronted by Beverly's "Judas kiss"-- yet he had no issue with Ashley screaming "BETCH!" while hurling shit at Beverly's head. Which behavior would you find more alarming in a potential mate? I would much rather deal with an sloppy puppydog drunk like Beverly than a rancid frightwig like Ashley. Besides, Beverly knows the words to Bret's new material, which is a rare quality in a young lady.

I already miss Marcia. She's probably the first RoL contestant to ever point out the absurdity of the show on camera. "Some of dees girls love you, but I cannot love you because I do not know you." PREACH! And Bret's all like "Wha? There's actually a chick here who isn't totally sweatin' my closure piece?"

A couple of you alerted me to this cool vid of a guy rearranging Tara's face in the New York subways. I am more than happy to provide this dude with "art supplies" (though I doubt Showtime would share that sentiment.)



I think he created a very poignant portrait of Buck. Revealing, in fact.

Sorry about the boring blog action lately. I'm kind of tapped in terms of easily digestible anecdotes. I'm also way behind on work. On the timewasting front, me and Mason are visiting the Nike factory today. Mason is an obsessive sneaker whore collector, so this is akin to Augustus Gloop being released in the Chocolate Room. I expect to find him drowning in a vat of liquified sole-rubber while Mister Nike lectures us about greed.

I met Randy Jackson last night and he was SO NICE. Like, sincerely nice, not just standard issue "celebrity civil." After the show, I was hungry and walked to Hooters on Hollywood Boulevard. I'm just crazy about this particular Hooters. There's something extra tragic about it. For instance, there's a "Diamond Hooter Girl" whiteboard near the kitchen-- one of those corporate morale boosters, I assume-- and nary a single entry has been writ upon it. What, does no one sparkle sufficiently?

Our waitress last night looked like Selena Gomez, which is so wrong.

I don't know if anyone else is actually watching Rock of Love Bus, but I'm on Team Beverly. Let me break it down: First of all, she's into motocross. Bret's into motocross, as evidenced by the late-era Poison single "Ride the Wind." Secondly, she's a parent (like Bret) but doesn't exploit that fact constantly (unlike Rodeo from Season 1.) As for looks, Beverly's steez is "exotic" enough to keep Bret interested, but she's not a busted prefab hooker-bot like some of the other contestants. Beverly is the clear choice. (Actually I'll be happy as long as Bret doesn't pick that girl who prefaces every statement with "I'M A RETIRED MODEL, SO...")

P.S. I'm on Jimmy Kimmel tonight. I talked to a producer this morning and he wanted me to let you guys know. However, chances are I will not be waltzing with any prop comics. Unless Gallagher drops in or something. I dunno.

1. Thank you for watching on Sunday! Wowza.

2. I'm going to be on Chelsea Lately tonight. I've already taped it, so I can tell you in advance that I slow dance with Carrot Top over the end credits. I'm not joking.

In the meantime, amuse yourselves with this photo of me with a Flo Henderson blowout, trying to look like a "Serious Producer" at TCA.



"I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT, SIR."