It's been a tough week with the news of Anna Nicole, false snow reports, a deadline, and conferences at school. But opening my In box to see the cover for book two, On the Loose, was definitely a little ray of sunshine.

I like how on this cover you can tell the book isn't totally serious. Unless you think chickens are serious business. And you're entitled to that.

I also like the car wreck on there. It's like a page ripped from my teen years (minus the strutting poultry and the studly boy waiting on the side).

BUT I don't know what's up with the girl's rash on her hand. I did a google search for "rashes" but couldn't identify it. I sent the model some pamphlets anyway. Forewarned is forearmed.

Actually, I think it's just a discoloration having to do with the resolution of the picture.

Okay, I really don't, but if the cover model is reading this blog, then she's gonna be all like, "WHY are you discussing my rash on the Internet? You have hurt my feelings, and I shall never buy your book." But that's okay. Because obviously she needs to spend her money on some ointment or something. But Cover Model, it's okay. Bad rashes happen to good people. At least that's what my friends Leslie, Laura, Kim, Heather, and Holly say.

In the meantime, I am tracking the Anna Nicole story. I almost need a spreadsheet to do so. I need flow charts. There are so many twists and turns. Did you know Howard was never paid by Anna for his legal work and his PARENTS have supported him since the mid nineties? Did you know the day after she died, her Bahama mansion (which is hers and yet it isn't) was broken into and all her stuff was stolen? Videos of the baby (Don't worry, Howard Stern. Entertainment Tonight and the Insider both have duplicate copies. Remember?), "important legal documents," and TONS of other things were taken. WHERE was the security system?

You know what Howard needs? Security cats. Seriously. Works for me.

Look how sneaky that cat is up on there on my armoire. Okay, well, say what you want, but has anyone ever stolen MY "important legal documents?" No. Has anyone ever stolen pictures of ME dressed just like Marilyn Monroe? No. Has anyone ever taken pictures I've drawn of myself and hung in various rooms of the house and called "art?" No. So Howard--Security cats. They may LOOK like they're asleep, but it's alllll part of their plan.

Did you watch the Super Bowl? I'm not really about football (I'm more of a men's syncronized swimming fan myself), but Sunday night was AWESOME. For me, it was not so much about a team--but about one man. You all know who I'm talking about. It was a total victory for this guy. He had waited nearly an eternity to be back on top. All eyes were on him. And those of us watching at home were right there with him.

Peyton Manning? Who's that?
No, I mean this guy:











Prince, of course. Duh.

But first, check out that skinny girl's skinny legs. What the heck? And then what exactly is going on with Prince's mouth in that pic? I dunno either. Anyway, Prince ROCKED the Super Bowl. WHERE has this guy been? I have missed him SO much. We used to have such good times together. Back in the late eighties. And the guy has STILL got it. Seriously, BEST Super Bowl half time show ever. And yes, he didn't exactly match. And the only wardrobe malfunction was that weird thing on his head in the beginning, but he was still fabulous.


There are plenty of other things I miss from the 80s. I miss Aqua Net before I knew what a fire hazard it was. Or when Spam was bad because it was made from a hideous combination of animal parts, and NOT because it meant you had to delete a bunch of emails.

Mostly I think I miss the music from the 80s. Remember "Walk the Dinosaur?" Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom. Boom boom acka-lacka boom boom ... Open the door, get on the floor. Everybody walk the dinosaur ... No, I have no idea what that means, but did we care? Nope. Did the lyrics come with an NC-17 rating? Nope. Did they insult every wife, daughter, or mother on the planet? No.

What about Bon Jovi? LOVED them. And they've stayed together all these years. In a time when a successful Hollywood marriage is anything lasting beyond three months, that is an amazing accomplishment.

And then there're songs like "Paradise City" by GNR. Now, I still don't know where Paradise City is, and illegal things probably go on there, but that song has NEVER grown old. ( Unlike GNR lead singer, Axl Rose, who despite his "best" attempts, HAS grown old. Seriously, what happened, dude? Somebody call Dr. 90210.)













Or "Walk Like an Egyptian." Why? Why would I want to do that? And how do we know they walked with their hands and arms all bent? Can we really trust hieroglyphics? It's the Ancient equivalent to grafitti. Do you trust what's written on the bathroom walls? I should hope not. Do you think every name scrawled on there really IS a guaranteed good time? BUT STILL..."Walk Like an Egyptian" was a fun song with absolutely no meaning.

Today's music just does not compare. Just look at their band names: Creed, Stained, Snow Patrol. What is that? No, no, the Eighties were about band names that didn't make any sense. Like Flock of Seagulls. Or Kajagoogoo. Bananrama.

You know what happens to bands that pick real names? They have a few hits and then go on to be played on the easy listening channel, that's what. Two words for you, class of '07: Air Supply.

Well, I must go. I hear Purple Rain calling.