I just finished watching The Family Man aka Suburbia: A Love Story. Maybe I'm just emotionally closed off, but I kept play-gagging during the mushy parts, and not even for comedic effect, because I was alone. Sad, sad, sad.

A word to the wise: Do-it-yourself highlights will not make you look like the girl on the box, unless the box girl's hair is on fire.

Time to go watch Justin Timberlake on SNL.

Hmm

I found a dead fly in my peanut butter. Should I eat the peanut butter anyway?

Questions

Does anyone actually use Friendster for anything other than stalking? No, seriously, has anyone ever actually made a friend off of Friendster? Personally, I'd be WAYYY too intimidated to try and befriend someone three degrees away from myself just because their profile sounded cool. In fact, the cooler their profile sounds, the less likely I am to try and befriend them. Not that I've ever really tried to befriend anyone because they sounded cool, or for any other reason for that matter. Except for Christine.

By the way, if you're reading this and know enough about Friendster to answer these questions, that means you're most likely not my Friendster friend. What the fuck, man? You think you can just read my weblog obligation-free? Show yourself! I HAVE ONLY TEN FRIENDS ON FRIENDSTER AND IT'S EMBARRASSING!!!

Also, everyone go read the new issue of The Saturnine Detractor and check out my pHaT cOpY-eDiTiNg sKiLLZ.

Sporadic updates for awhile, because SBC Amerifuck cut off my phone line even though I DID pay my bill, despite my sister's contentions to the contrary (shut up Kirsten! How embarrassing!).

A story. Yesterday, my Art of Narrative Nonfiction class took a field trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art. Afterwards, we were supposed to eat at this tapas place, but our professor didn't want to walk eight blocks so we decided to go to a place called NoMi inside some hotel instead. Because I'm immature, the name NoMi reminded me of Nomi Malone from the movie Showgirls, so I had a little private joke with myself that we were eating in Nomi Malone from the movie Showgirls. Okay, I guess you had to be there.

So, NoMi was the nicest restaurant I've ever eaten in, which was great, because all ten of us students were wearing ripped up jeans and sweatshirts and carrying huge backpacks. When I returned to our table from the "powder room," the waiter pulled out my chair for me and I was so taken aback that I tripped over the frays at the bottom of my $12 Ragstock jeans and almost fell backwards.

I couldn't understand half the Frenchified menu, but I got a summerfield lamb thing that cost THIRTY-SIX DOLLARS!!! And the entire entree--lamb, sliced eggplant thing, potato thing--was like six inches in diameter. And they put it on this huge plate as if to rub it in your face that you're paying an entire week's salary for a molecule of food. Also, at nice restaurants, there's a guy whose entire job is to just stand there with a bottle of sparkling water and fill your glass up as soon as you've taken two sips. And the waiter read the menu to us, which was kind of annoying, but at least it helped with my pronunciation when I was ordering.

The bill came out to over $600. The University's paying. I don't feel very guilty. We're already getting bent over tuition-wise, so I figure they owe me dinner at a fancy restaurant at least once in my college career. Although I'd honestly prefer $5 baked potato skins at Clark's over that lamb business. Mmmm.....baked potato skins at Clark's.

Plea

Does anyone out there who's going to be around during winter break want to take care of a sweet, intelligent, fluffy little monster named Apollo for pay or a non-sexual favor?

Commie Children's Movies

Based on all the stuff we've read for my Mass Media & Society class, I expected to find kids movies subtly indoctrinating young minds with capitalist propaganda. So far, in my painstaking and grueling research, I've found the exact opposite. Especially Mary Poppins. That movie's pinker than Michael Moore after a twenty minute jog!

!!!

Jonathan Brandis died!!!

I don't know where they are...

I was listening to the Cat Power song "Names," which is beautiful and terribly melancholy. It got me thinking about people I knew briefly as a child. I wonder what happened to them.

Julia
A girl in Ms. Stack's fifth grade class who sat across from me at the table in the corner of the room. She had wan blond hair and skin so pale it had a translucent blue cast, and she always wore frilly dresses to school. She never did her homework, and her desk was a mess, and she'd sit there pawing relentlessly at her nose all day. Once, she had a birthday party, and invited everyone in both fifth grade classes. No one came. Her mom was a chaperone on the class trip to Sacramento, and she seemed nice enough, but she wore pink sweatpants.

In the fifth grade yearbook, there was a "Remember When?" page, written, of course, by the cool girls. Julia got two mentions. The first was, "Remember when Julia threw up in front of the whole class?" The second was, "Remember when Julia did her homework?" Also, she shared one superlative with a kid named Jason A. : "Most Likely to Be Working At McDonald's in Ten Years."

Once I cornered Julia and demanded an explanation for her bizarre behavior. "Why do you wear dresses all the time?! Why don't you ever do your homework?!" and she started to sob, and tried to explain that her mom told her to always wear pretty dresses, and if she wore pretty dresses all the time, everyone would like her, and so forth. I've been paying psychological penances on that moment for ten years now.

Susan
Julia's one friend. Susan was ugly, with a warped face, snaggleteeth, and a huge snarl in her hair. Her family was poor, and she lived in a small apartment with her mother and siblings. I don't know why, but no one was as cruel to Susan as they were to Julia.

A memory that still haunts me: It was lunchtime in fourth grade, and we were all looking forward to going on a field trip that afternoon--probably to the San Buenaventura Mission or something. We had to bring two dollars or we couldn't go. I was sitting at the lunch table with my friends, when Susan came and sat down, carrying a white cardboard container with that gross squishy cafeteria pizza. She was crying. We asked her what was wrong, and she said her mother had forgotten to give her the two dollars. Then, choking on sobs, she tried to eat her pizza with a fork.

I saw Susan at the Pacific View mall years later, with her boyfriend. She was goth. She REEKED. But she was no longer ugly, and she'd finally gotten that damn snarl out of her hair.

(She did get to go on the field trip after all)

Nikki
She was one of the cool girls, and she was talkative, COMPLETELY tactless, and skeleton-skinny. Really good at tetherball. We went to a carnival in the Wal-Mart parking lot together, and she persuaded me to ride the Zipper even though I was feeling severely nauseated from riding the Gravitron. Then I puked all over her. Served the bitch right.

She was so mean. The total queen of shit-talkers. The only time I ever came close to shoplifting was with her, when our "friend" (will be qualified later) Laura's dad dropped Nikki, Laura, Kirsten and me off at the Golf n Stuff arcade one rainy day, and I stuck my hand up that stupid machine where the you direct the metal claw to pick up a toy, and grabbed a Hulk Hogan doll. I think Laura's brother still has that doll. Little does he know how we sodomized it.

As for Laura, I call her our "friend" because Nikki tormented her and I went along with it. Laura, Kirsten and I once spent the night at Nikki's house and Nikki informed Laura, in front of Nikki's entire family, that she hadn't wanted Laura to come, and the only reason she'd invited her was because she wanted to invite Kirsten and Kirsten was already hanging out with Laura, and she didn't like her at all, and she was annoying, and so on. Laura actually ended up being the only elementary-school classmate that I stayed friends through high school.

Tiffany
Tiffany had every possible preteen affliction: obesity, acne, learning disability, whiny voice, beautiful older sister. Plus, in sixth grade, she cut her hair really short and when she'd ask questions to unsuspecting guest speakers, they'd always call her, "you, the boy in the purple shirt!" But she was a really sweet girl, and very resilient, and considering the cruelty of middle-school students she really wasn't teased very much. I would be lying, though, if I said that most people--including myself--regarded her as a social equal.

I ran against her for vice president of my junior high. She said she'd only stay for eighth grade if she won. I won. I haven't seen her since.

She was the first of my friends to get French kissed. I asked her what it was like, and she said, "It really is kind of like tonsil hockey."

Ashley
Ashley was my best friend in second grade. She had blond hair and a droopy eye. She loved wolves and the name Terry. She, my sister and I all shared a boyfriend named Todd. We grew apart after third grade, but my sister remained friends with her until sixth grade. Last I heard, she'd gone goth and had just broken off her engagement to a guy named Roach. That was about four or five years ago.

The Carnies
A nickname we gave to the group of white trash kids in our high school, most of whom lived in crumbling houses with sofas in their front yards, and who were in special education, and who took turns dating each other. They were like the one constant target of our high-class smart-kid derision. I've been obsessed with the carnies ever since my freshman year in high school, when I overheard a tiny, freckled girl wearing a baggy Mickey Mouse shirt and tapered pink sweatpants cussing out some absent fellow carnie to her friends. She looked about eleven but her mouth was on obscenity overdrive. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, as if her mouth had a little fuck-creating assembly line that pushed a finished product off her tongue every two seconds.

There were two carnies, Dean and Bonnie, boyfriend and girlfriend, who we called "The Carnie King and Queen." Dean was in special ed and he liked to research serial killers on the internet, but Bonnie was in honors and looked like she might be going somewhere other than Wal-Mart. They broke up, thank god.

I could write about this all day.

Disclaimer: I know there are probably some tone issues with this post that reflect my ambivalent feelings about these people and the way I acted (or didn't act) as a child. I don't mean to portray them as curiosities, or bugs in jars, but it's hard to carry someone around in your head for years and not somewhat objectify them and reduce them to a short series of moments. For what it's worth, one of the reasons I started isolating myself from people in junior high was because I could no longer bear the bitchiness of the cool kids. But then again, I kept to myself partly because I didn't want to hang out with the uncool kids, either. So I'm no saint, but I am very, very remorseful.

Various Shoutouts

1. I Am An E-Mail Asshole
I just realized how backed up I am with e-mails from both long-lost and near-lost friends. So, if you're reading this, and you fit into either of the above two categories, know that I'm just an e-mail asshole and still have every intention of responding.

2. Just One!
I have O N E S O N G ! ! ! left to download on my emusic account before I cancel. Do you indie rockers out there have any suggestions? Nothing by The Decemberists, Cat Power, Peaches, Tom Waits, or Belle & Sebastian, because I already have my fill of those.

3. Bike Withdrawal
If anyone out there has a spare mountain bike front wheel that they'd be willing to sell to me and/or accept a non-sexual favor for, please name your price and we'll, you know, talk.

4. Ack! Almost forgot
Thank you so much to Mia, Koo Jay, and Tom for your advice a few days ago about my bleak mood. Forcing myself to get out of the house is probably my biggest problem, but, hey, it's 57 degrees outside today! Maybe I'll go for a walk.

And I'd be much more inclined to exercise if my bike had a front wheel. :-)

Humility Party of 1, Your Table Is Ready

I left my clothes at the laundromat overnight because I had a very important 9 PM appointment on campus, which consisted of being paid $15 to play video games for an hour. Something about testing the effect of sleep on memory consolidation. I love pop psychology.

I didn't remember about my clothes until one-thirty today. I went up to the old guy who manages the laundromat and sits in a chair in the back of the room smoking a cigar all day, and I told him I'd left my laundry in the dryer overnight. "Yes, you did!" he said in this soft voice. "Why'd you go and do that?"

I tried to give a stuttery, bullshit explanation as he led me over to a big black trash bag that he'd stuffed my clothes into. "Next time, someone's gonna steal them, and you're gonna have to buy all new ones!" he said and then gave me this soft little laugh and told me that next time, I should just call him and he'd put them in a bag for me to make sure no one took them. I was totally charmed, and I felt really guilty.

Then I dragged the trash bag to the front of the store and started rifling through it for my sweatshirt, when I realized that he had Folded. All. My. Towels.

I felt like a total shit.

Sweet

My Mass Media & Society professor thinks my proposal to excavate the underlying moral precepts in children's movies is "really interesting" and she "can't wait to read the finished product." This is better than when I did my Writing Description final project on romance novel sex scenes!

Not So Good

Last night my cat started drooling uncontrollably all over the floor, which freaked both of us out--I would have swaddled him in blankets and taken him to an emergency animal hospital if it hadn't stopped. Anyone know what could have caused that?

Lately I've been feeling completely devoid of all motivation and personality, like a cardboard cutout of myself. This quarter has been pretty hard on me, and not even for many specific reasons that I can pinpoint. It's like I just can't trust myself to be stable and function normally for extended periods of time.

I just got an e-mail from my concentration chair about my Fundamentals question ("what is the nature of free will?"), and I think it's an excellent summary of my life philosophy:

"Thomas Aquinas points to men's inability to know the consciences of their fellows as the source of an innate shortcoming in human law: namely, that laws can forbid only actions, not intentions. Knowledge of our hearts can only belong to an all-knowing God. I am not myself religious, but I accept Aquinas' point on this matter. Perfect justice demands things only God can do; in simply human terms, we're stuck with woefully imperfect justice."

Intentions versus actions. And I suspect, sometimes, that all people genuinely have good intentions. I know I do, although my actions don't always bear them out.

For this philosophy in literary form, read Crime & Punishment, which I'm writing my junior paper on.

And don't be so hard on people. We're all trying.

I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THAT DJ BOYWONDER FOUND MY WEBLOG AND LINKED TO IT ON HIS LIVEJOURNAL

But I can't look at the post where he linked to me because I have to have a fucking livejournal myself! C'mon dude, you know how the game works! At least leave a comment!

Oh god

How is "non sequitur" supposed to be pronounced?

Who Was Watching?!?!

Read the comment someone posted under a picture of me in the Maroon fotolog to find out the REAL reason why I became the features editor.

Tuna fish sandwich? How rude!

Hair Again

Does having a mohawk count if you get in done in a salon, or only if you do it at home? I think it only counts if you do it at home. Definitely not if you get it done in a hipster salon. Maybe if you get it done in a really high-class salon, because that would be pretty badass.

Hair Part 2

Another success story: Burcu tried to give herself bangs, which resulted in slanted hair, which resulted in a botched attempt at layers, which resulted in a mullet. So we salvaged it--I thought my haircut was drastic, but she went from her waist to her chin--and she looks great. She's Louise Brooks's doppelganger.

Burcu Cut My Hair Off

Fact: Grey weather causes obsessive compulsions to flare up. Less sunlight means lower serotonin, and lower serotonin causes you to obsessively engage in repetitive behavior. This is why I tweeze my eyebrows down to squiggly ant-lines every December, and why Burcu picks at her scabs until her knees are covered in pink patches of scar tissue.

Fact: Grey weather increases impulsive behavior, because lower serotonin means less impulse control. This is why I buy weird things every winter like funky furry coats that I wear once and then shoot embarrassed glances at for the rest of the year.

So, all this means that I was seized by the unrestrainable impulse to cut my hair off, and Burcu was seized by the uncontrollable compulsion to...cut my hair off. She promised she'd do a good job, even though she'd never cut anyone's hair before, even though her scissors were very dull, and even though the session took place in the very professional setting of my apartment with a garbage bag on the floor and me sitting in my only chair with a shitload of conditioner in my hair. She would do a good job, she promised, because her mom is a hairdresser and she's seen her cut hair a zillion times. Plus, she has seasonal obsessive compulsive disorder, which meant that it would either turn out *perfect*, or i'd end up bald. Whichever came first.

Yeah, it was great. I sat down in the chair and she got out the scissors and started cutting, and she was like, "Your hair is so ridiculously thick," and i was like, "Uhh...don't hairdressers usually pin most of the hair up and cut it section by section?" and she was all, "Oh, yeah. Oops. Got a pin?" And I got freaked out and said, just do a couple of inches, STRAIGHT ACROSS, nothing fancy. And she was like, okay.

And then she cut and cut and cut for about an hour, and hair fell down all around me, and a lock landed in my open palm--it was very poetic--AND IT WAS FIVE INCHES LONG!!! But because I'm a wuss, I didn't say anything. I just let her mangle my hair, my beloved hair, which has been at least four inches below my shoulders since I was eight years old. I just asked, "Are you almost done?" and she answered, "I'm just getting the layers in the back perfect." AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!

She finished, looked me over, and paused. Then she said, "Oh my God...
.
.
.
...it looks fantastic."

I went to the mirror. She was right. My fucking hair looks fucking fantastic. It's short, just above my shoulders, and it's layered all over. But it's shaggy and flippy and adorable. It's the best haircut I've ever gotten in my life, and it was done by a friend with no haircutting experience and a dull pair of scissors, who is now my personal appearance executive.

I told her I'd pimp her out on my weblog. Here's an advertisement. Tell your friends!!

PRESENTING: BURCU YAVUZ, HAIRSTYLIST TO THE STARS!!!
RIGHT HERE IN HYDE PARK, FOR YOUR HAIRCUTTING NEEDS!!! $25 OBO.
***BECAUSE IF SHE CAN MAKE DANIELLE LOOK GOOD, JUST THINK WHAT SHE CAN DO FOR YOU!!!***

Tired

This week has been shittier than Satan. But the good news is, I went to Target and bought superman underwear. It's hard to feel overwhelmed and beaten down by the world when you're wearing superman underwear.

Don't Tell Mrs. Pecht!

A theory from Sting, the medical genius: "I think cancer - I'm not an expert or a doctor - but I think cancer is the result of undigested dreams and forcing yourself to do something that is not distinctively for you."

Undigested dreams?

The Monkees Are Taking Over The Asylum

Sometimes a title pops into your head and you just have to use it.

I'm getting depressed again. It's like there's a black weight in my head. I say it so matter-of-factly now. I don't know what to do; I feel like I've tried everything. I'm estranged from myself and from the world, and I'm breaking commitments and skipping class and being flaky and hurting people.

It's so frustrating to want so badly to be something you just can't be, but it's also so tempting to just hide all day...

I really like Britney Spears's new album.

"Toxic" is a great song.

I'm sorry.

Listen to the whole thing here.
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(I'm not actually sorry)

Translation Is Fun and Funny!

My sister went onto a babelfish-like website and ran some phrases through an assembly line of translations. She said, "It's just like telephone! Blog about it!" I think she secretly wants her own blog. Anyway, here are the best ones:

"All I want for christmas is my favorite twin, Danielle."
english to dutch to french to spanish to french to english:
"Everything I want since the Noël my favorite binocular, Danielle is."

"Please tell me where the bathroom is! I'm going to wet my pants, how embarassing!"
From english to russian and back again:
"If you please say to me where bathroom! 4 to ides it moistened my drawers as konfuzyashch!"

"You are a whore and your face looks like a pile of dog shit."
From english to russian and back again:
"You budete whore and your side regards heap shit of the dog."

My last blog post:

"It's 31 degrees outside, and the fucking slumlords still haven't turned on the heat. I can only entertain a fun fantasy of living a hard-knock life for so long."
english to russian and back again:
"31 degree outside, and fucking slumlords still not povorachivali is further to heat. I can it only entertained the fantasy of fun it lived worked -.stucah by life for so by length. "

"Time to go film some more XXX rat bondage porn"
english, russian, english:
"Priuroch'te so that it would go the film some more porn servitude of the rat OF THE XXX."

Things

It's 31 degrees outside, and the fucking slumlords still haven't turned on the heat. I can only entertain a fun fantasy of living a hard-knock life for so long. Even my stingy-ass parents would have turned the heat on by now!!

Time to go film some more XXX rat bondage porn.

The Red Light Special

I just finished running a mate choice test with black-and-white rats. You take two males, put them in little harnesses, and attach each to a squared-off section in a giant, rectangular wood cage on the floor. Then you put a horny female in, and turn on the VCR. Romance ensues as she scampers back and forth between her eager suitors. The entire ritual is as follows: they sniff each other, they sniff each other's genitals, the female tries to run away but the male corners her and leaps on top of her, the male jumps off a second later, and then they start licking themselves.

I always get the song "Red Light Special" by TLC stuck in my head when doing this, because, since rats are nocturnal and can't be exposed to white light during the daytime, we actually do turn on red lights during recording. I was going to sing "I'll give you the red light special allll through the night" to my supervisor when we were harnessing the males but thought better of it after she didn't laugh at my little "rats" joke. Here was the joke:

Me: This one got out of his harness again! Rats! ....NO PUN INTENDED, HA HA HA
Supervisor: (stony silence)

I suppose after working with rats for five years and STILL being a year away from my doctorate, I'd be humorless, too. But she did laugh when I saw a jar full of green liquid and floating white furry things in it and asked if they were pickled rats. Apparently they were....pickled rat tumors.

SORRY! SORRY! FLOWERS KITTENS BUNNIES SUNNY DAYS THE BEACH PICNICS FROLICKING THROUGH FRESHLY CUT GRASS!!!!!

!!!

I just got told the following:

"You were quite possibly the most aloof person I'd ever met."

Sheesh! Not exactly surprising but...huh.

(hope you don't mind, teller)

More Crazy Internet Hijinks

Okay, I gotta be vague about this to avoid incriminating guilty parties, but this is a great story, so listen up.

So, I have this friend. We'll call her Q. No, she is not me. She's liked this guy for two years. We'll call him Guy. This crush has been latent most of the time, with the occasional flareup, but recently it's exploded, as crushes tend to do. Egged on by her friend Danielle--who we'll call "I" or "me," depending on the syntax (sorry, couldn't help myself)--Q E-MAILED HIM AND ASKED HIM OUT!!!

There are complications, however, because Guy probably doesn't remember Q. So, what do you do when you receive a random e-mail from someone whom you don't remember at all? That's right--YOU GOOGLE HER!!!

Realizing this, we decided to google Q to see what kind of impression of her the internet would spew out. Unfortunately, a bunch of embarrassing stuff arose. Like a dumb comment she made to a reporter at age 17 ("For us, science is fun!"). After that, I made a secret decision to post a glowing description of Q on my weblog, with as many identifying details as possible, so that if Guy ever decided to google her, he'd come across something that accurately conveyed how wonderful she is. So, I wrote up a testimonial and posted it, feeling pretty pleased with myself. The concluding paragraph read as follows:

And so, if anyone that [Q] has recently e-mailed happens to come across this page, for any reason, I would like to assure them that "[Q]," who attends "
[Q's college]," and graduated from "[Q's high school]," is an all-around fantastic human being, who would could be a best friend, girlfriend, and sex kitten all in one.

Then I showed it to Q.

Her reaction: "TAKE IT DOWN TAKE IT DOWN TAKE IT DOWN!" She was totally embarrassed.

I took it down, hence the "FILLER" post from two days ago.

AND THEN YESTERDAY, MY SITEMETER SHOWED THAT SOMEONE (I.E. GUY) FOUND THIS PAGE BY SEARCHING FOR THE TERMS "[Q]" and "[Q's college]"!!!!!

Oh man!! I totally scooped Guy! If only that post had been up--the look on his face would have been priceless!!

Guy, if you ever return to this page and read this, please don't judge Q by her friend Danielle, who gets wayyy too excited about this sort of thing. And I mean every good thing I say about Q. SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?? SAY YES!! (and if you do i promise not to post about it if you don't want me to)

Hubbard's Cupboard is a really stupid name for a weblog.

I'm so skittishly private. I'm typing this in the computer lab at the Institute for Mind & Biology, and everytime somebody walks by, I minimize the window. They probably think this is like my porn story stash. And it doesn't even make sense, because I'll be sending this out for the world to read anyway. There's just something very personal about the writing process, as opposed to the finished product. I have neck prickles just thinking about someone reading over my shoulder. Ack! Ack!

I was thinking about my general misanthropy a couple of days ago, and reached these conclusions:
As a mass, I like people. In other words, I like the idea of people, or "the human race."
In smaller groups, like at parties, I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE. I want to kick them all in the eye.
One on one, I like people again, although my guard is usually up and I'm uncomfortable. Also, I like groups in which I know all the members well.

There are only about three or four people outside my family who I feel completely comfortable with. On good days, I can fake being outgoing and friendly and talkative to strangers or acquaintances, but that usually only works when I know I won't have to deal with them on a regular basis. It's so hard for me to make friends, and I'm not proactive about it at all. I was an invalid in high school until two marvelous girls, Le'l and Nik, dragged me into the social sphere--and, hell, if it weren't for the Maroon, I probably wouldn't interact with anybody other than my cat and my two ex-roommates, who I became friends with only because we lived together.

I've tried to excavate pop-psychological reasons for this, and there are obvious ones, like I'm overly sensitive and afraid that people won't like me, but I think that may just be moving it one step back. Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that this is a characteristic of mine that I think about often, especially lately because I love and appreciate my close friends more than they can imagine, and it's devastating when I lose one, and makes me even more reluctant to let people in. But I've filled my yearly quota of soul-baring with this post, so now I'll just head home and curl up and read some Augustine.

FILLER

MUST....RESIST....

CAN'T...

AGGGGGGH! NOT ONLY I AM NOT BOTHERED BY THE FAME OF POP STARS INCLUDING BRITNEY SPEARS, XTINA, JESSICA SIMPSON, BEYONCE, JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE, ALL BOY BANDS, NICK LACHEY, AND SO FORTH, I DISLIKE SEEING THEM MOCKED IN THE MEDIA AND SEEING THEIR ALBUMS FLOP. IN FACT, I WISH THEM TRUE HAPPINESS AND EVERY POSSIBLE SUCCESS BECAUSE I THINK UNDER THE RIGHT CIRCUMSTANCES THEY WOULD BE VERY NICE PEOPLE!

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!