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Okay, so I was chillin’ on the couch mindin’ my own per usual when this new ad for AT&T’s GoPhone came on. I instantly recognized Meat Loaf in the role of overbearing dad who may or may not buy his son a GoPhone, and I admit I was equally tickled and nauseated by his use of “Paradise By the Dashboard Light” in the ad. (“Get me a phone, Dad!” “Let me sleep on it!” “No, I want the phone, dad!” “Let me sleep on it!” You get the general idea.)

Now Mr. Loaf milking his most popular song ever is no shocker, but what did catch Miss Pop Rocks off guard was the strange familiarity of his television wife, who makes a quick appearance as she walks in carrying groceries and makes some comment about “no surprise bills.” I had to watch the ad multiple times before it hit me…

His wife is Mall Queen Tiffany. Like, 80s Pop Icon Watch Me I’m-Covering-Tommy-James-&-The-Shondells Tiffany.

Weird.

MEMO
TO: Ms. Leibovitz
FROM: Vanity Fair Editors

Loved your Miley Cyrus shots and they’re certainly getting us a lot of press! Esp. loved the ones that included Billy Ray. Don’t worry about controversy surrounding these current pics. It’s great for business plus it’s sure to die down as soon as Mariah Carery confirms or denies her marriage to Nick Cannon.

Wanted to take a minute to pass on possible ideas for future shots with a young Hollywood theme. Let us know your thoughts.

So Denise Richards is getting her own reality show on E! titled “It’s Complicated.”

Why is this so?

Why is Denise Richards getting her own show? Because she slept with her friend Heather Locklear’s ex-husband Richie Sambora? Because she was married to Charlie Sheen?

Because she had guest spots on “Saved by the Bell”?

Because she made out with Neve Campbell in “Wild Things”?

Because she was in “Scary Movie 3”?

In some not-shocking-but-wonderfully-true news this past week, we learned that Miss Payless Shoes (Star Jones Reynolds) is about to knock off that second last name with her pending divorce from Al Reynolds.

Somewhere, Barbara Walters is allowing herself to giggle with glee and Joy Behar is cackling as she rubs her hands together with satisfaction.

Despite her past protests that all was well between her and her man, the truth came out this week when Jones acknowledged that she’d filed for the big D. She also released the following statement: “Several years ago I made an error in judgment by inviting the media into the most intimate area of my life. A month ago I filed for divorce. The dissolution of a marriage is a difficult time in anyone’s life that requires privacy with one’s thoughts. I have committed myself to handling this situation with dignity and grace and look forward to emerging from this period as a stronger and wiser woman.”

Ha Ha, Star Jones is getting a divorce, nyah nyah nyah.

All right, so everyone was all in a tizzy last week when it was discovered that some American graduate student was able to get himself out of an Egyptian jail by alerting his friends through Twitter, a social-networking site that allows people to send short messages to each other.

I wish they’d let that kid rot there instead.

Why?

Because in my opinion he was guilty of the crime of self-absorption via Twitter.

Do you know what “Dopestick pimpin’ on the one-trick pony” means? I sure as Hell don’t either, but I like the sound of it.

Where do these lovely words come from? From a little tune called “My Medicine,” performed by country music’s latest addition, Snoop Dogg.

Yes, Snoop Dogg. The man known for “Gin and Juice” has recently made inroads into the country music world, a universe whiter than Elmer’s Glue. (And that kind of includes Charley “Kiss an Angel Good Morning” Pride, I think.) In addition to presenting at the Country Music Awards, he’s recorded the infectious “My Medicine” and has appeared on Larry King going on about how much he loved Johnny Cash and country music. (“Country musicians go through the same thing that rappers go through. You know what I’m saying? We express what we’re feeling over melodies.”)

Okay, first up, pop culture writer and all-around genius Chuck Klosterman has already written quite eloquently about the 1989 Patrick Swayze movie “Road House,” but forgive me, I’ve got to get my turn.

Because I love “Road House,” damn it.

At first, as I started watching it on cable each time it turned up, I thought perhaps I was simply appreciating it on an ironic level. And I suppose it’s still true that there remains that college hipster inside of me who is watching “Road House” simply to laugh at the gratuitous sex scenes and violence and over-the-top dialogue (“I used to fuck guys like you in prison!”) plus our dearly beloved Patrick Swayze doing Tai Chi.

But this past week, I put “Road House” on my Netflix queue, and last night while Mr. Pop Rocks was out of town, I ordered a pizza, drank some beer, and sat back and watched this film with a huge smile on my face, going so far as to pause and rewind and watch my favorite scenes over and over.

Which is to say, I watched it in earnest.

Okay, so I totally hesitate to write this post because I fear it is a sign that I’ve turned into everything I hated as a teenager, meaning, a totally out of it adult who is trying desperately to understand what the kids are into these days and then, once she thinks she understands it, shakes her head in dismay and says something like, “Back in my day blah blah blah.”

But could some teenage girl tell me what the Hell is up with “Gossip Girl”?

I mean, I know “Gossip Girl” is a book series for teenage girls, and it follows a clique of mostly wealthy Manhattan teens as they have explicit sex all over the place, including a dressing room at Bergdorf’s. And now it’s a television show (back with new episodes tonight on CW). And the television show is running Internet ads with OMFG superimposed over a still image of some teen couple in the throes of hawt hawt sex.

Like some kind of nefarious street drug, Wikipedia courses through this addict’s veins, sucking up productive time and turning it into Wikipedia Crack time.

You know what I mean. You meander over to Wikipedia to innocently look up some information about, say, the woman who wrote the novel “Bridge to Terabithia,” and three hours later you’re reading the biography of Miami Dolphins quarterback Dan Marino (honestly) and it’s 2 o’clock in the damn morning and you’ve got dried drool on your chin. It’s those silly little links that suck you in, especially if you’re an overly inquisitive person and a lover of all things trivial such as Miss Pop Rocks. Wikipedia knows you can’t resist reading and clicking and reading and clicking and reading and clicking and cluttering your brain with even more useless knowledge.

So, in an attempt to slow down this problem, I’ve forced myself to write down some of my latest Wikipedia search chains to document my idiocy and time wasted. They are all 100 percent for real.

A1A?

BEACHFRONT AVENUE!!!

Just makin’ sure you’re paying attention.

Are you surprised Vanilla Ice was arrested for domestic battery for pushing his wife? No, not even a little? Yeah, me neither.

Vanilla Ice. The fact that this man continues to garner headlines befuddles me as much as it (oddly enough) comforts me. It’s like good ol’ Vanilla has been following me throughout my youth and adulthood, a sort of constant like Christmas and taxes and that moment when you realize you’ve run out of milk.

So what the hell’s up with this supposedly new version of The Best Show Ever In The History Of Television (no, not “Barney Miller,” Mr. Pop Rocks). Of course I’m talking about “Beverly Hills, 90210.” And I have very strong opinions regarding the alleged remake that has all of Hollywood a buzzing (or at least me a buzzing).

I remember in high school how my dad used to tell me how gullible and stupid I was for watching “90210,” and I suppose I probably was, but what the Hell. It got me through my own teen years by allowing me to envision myself living a fantastical high school life full of raves, yellow Mustangs, and parents so cluelessly permissive they should have been reported to CPS. Later, in college, the show helped me hone my ironically judgmental hipster sense of humor as I went from actually wanting to do Dylan McKay to mocking the scene where he sobbed over his dead wife. (I know, I’m evil.) And finally, I remember sobbing over the final episode as a young twenty-something in my own Chicago apartment, drinking beer as I watched the now twenty-something Donna and David get hitched.

So you can see, having grown up with the characters, how strangely parental I feel toward the show.

I’ve gotten some very nice feedback from readers, friends and acquaintances on Wednesday’s MPR post regarding the greatest movie of all time, “The Outsiders.”

But I’ve also gotten reprimanded.

And deservedly so.

Because as I was going through the cast o’ hotties, I somehow forgot to mention the hottiest hottie of all.

There is a certain piece of American cinema that, in my opinion, rivals the importance of "Citizen Kane" and "Manhattan" in the canon of groundbreaking films, and that piece of cinema is "The Outsiders." If you doubt me, ask any even slightly heterosexual woman of a certain age where she was the first time she heard the phrase "Let’s do it for Johnny." I guarantee you squeals will follow.

Can you believe that last month we celebrated 25 years since its release? It’s enough to make a girl feel positively ancient.

My friend Joan and I rented the movie based on S.E. Hinton’s life-changing novel of the same name when we were in the sixth grade, just a few years after it appeared in movie theaters. When the high school girl at the checkout saw our selection, she gave us her high school girl approval with a slight nod.

Excuse me, but I must know immediately if Beyonce and Jay-Z are married.

Do you hear me, Beyonce and Jay-Z? It will be difficult, no, make that impossible, for me to conduct my life as usual without knowing definitely if you are indeed married.

I know you supposedly filed for a marriage license, and I know that a white tent was spotted on the roof of Jay-Z’s apartment building this past weekend, and I know that Gwyneth Paltrow was celebrity spotted. But that is not enough.

I cannot go on with my work week unless you tell me if you are married.

Don’t understand the 14-year-old daughter / niece / cousin in your life who shops at Hot Topic and won’t get that dyed black hair out of her face? Not enough to tell her you were punk rock too, once? Try sharing some of these poems with her…instant connection, Miss Pop Rocks guarantees it.

Breakfast in the Kitchen
The toaster gleams like the knife
That cuts the soul of myself
I watch the burning coils sear through the
Bread of my heart
How could you betray me?
How could you leave me and never return?
Damn you, toaster
Where is my toast?