So 2007 and I are totally breaking up but we are so hip that I don't even mind if 2007 hits on my friends

(Tara Reid was nice enough to send me a picture of her ringing in 2008 taken with her future camera. Pledge this, indeed!)

Peace out, 2007. You kind of sucked but not as bad as your evil twin, 2006. I'm glad that asshole is dead.

My top 4 sports memories of 2007:

1. Watching the Mavs get eliminated in the first round of the playoffs by the Golden State Warriors and wondering why God could cure sick kids who will probably just grow up to vote straight-ticket Republican but couldn't cut the Mavs a break.

2. Reading this interview with Jeremy Shockey and suddenly craving Pancho's and a Miller High Life. No, I will never be able to defend or justify my Jeremy Shockey crush but as Dr. John (per Patton Oswalt) once said, "Some days an alligator is driving a car and some days you're wearing a hat made out of meat." Ok?

3. Little Known Sports Fact: Dirk Nowitzki and Steve Nash used to spoon and eat pistachio gelato while watching Dumb and Dumber when they were both Mavs. Nash still pines for those days.

4. Jerry Jones securing Tony Romo's ability to buy $67.5 million worth of Jager bombs and morning-after cab fare.


My Top 5 Movies of 2007:

1. The King of Kong
2. No Country for Old Men
3. 3:10 to Yuma
4. Superbad
5. Anything that wasn't Juno

My Top 3 Ill-Advised Travel Destinations of 2007:

1. London, England. Last time I was there, the Pope died. This time that little girl got kidnapped. I will not be returning to London any time soon. Next time I feel like paying $8 for a beer I will just go to a sporting event. Ta.

2. Norman, Oklahoma. If you live in Norman, you just aren't trying hard enough. You are lazier than me which is saying a whole lot.

3. Austin, Texas. I have a new rule. I will only go to Austin if someone is paying me to go there. You keep Austin weird, I am going over here to wash my clothes with something other than Dr. Bronner's. If you are unlucky enough to have a job that requires you to attend SXSW in 2008 like I do, remember one thing: as my friend Teyah once said, "Austin is one of those towns where you should always wear two pairs of underwear the whole time you are there."

Top 20 Artists I Didn't Care About of 2007:

1. Lilly Allen
2. Jens Lenkman
3. Radiohead
4. Mika
5. Fiest
6. Artic Monkeys
7. Iron and Wine
8. Blonde Redhead
9. The Liars
10. Deerhoof
11. Bright Eyes
12. M.I.A. (also the winner of "Amanda's Least Favorite Musical Artist of the Past Five Years" award by a landslide)
13. Okkervil River
14. Peter, Bjorn, and John
15. !!!
16. The White Stripes
17. Scissor Sisters
18. The Shins
19. Interpol
20. Justice

Top 3 Cars I Desperately Want of 2007:

1. 1957 Black Ford Thunderbird with Continental kit

2. 1973 White Corvette 350CI V8 with red interior

3. 1983 Mercedes Diesel 300D



And with that, I will now take a nap under my desk for an hour while Tina Yothers acts as my lookout/body double. Auld Lame Syne.

If you were thinking about seeing the indie film Juno and/or joining Facebook

Might I suggest that you instead pay three syphilis-ridden prostitutes to whip you with rusty razor wire while playing Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music on repeat in the background? Trust me, it will be a lot more enjoyable.

I am in no way qualified to offer movie critiques but just like any chimp that has had a three hour internet training course, I will offer my thoughts on the cinematic innards trail that is Juno.

Let's start with the Kimya Dawson soundtrack. That's right, she's the less listenable half of the Moldy Peaches. I can handle one song. Maybe. The entire movie? Nope, no thanks.

But the dialog of the entire movie leaves me begging for more Kimya Dawson to drown out the verbal diarrhea of hip indie culture hipster references. It's like Pitchfork became a person and then wrote a screenplay. STOP TALKING ABOUT SONIC YOUTH. PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THE MELVINS. PLEASE DON'T MENTION IGGY AND THE STOOGES ANYMORE. PLEASE LEAVE DARIO ARGENTO OUT OF THIS.

I like those things. I don't need to be hit in the face with them. And speaking of being hit in the face with them, that's what this movie is. It's Facebook: The Movie! I refuse to use Facebook because I don't want to be poked, super poked, made to answer trivia questions, be given a dancing avatar of my favorite cast member from Ghostbusters or be reminded that today is Canadian Penny Collectors Day! Juno's kind of the same way. Hey, you like jokes about fuddy duddy parents who wear sweater vests and collect pictures of dogs? I got you some good stuff over here. What about the sheer hilarity of the image of a pasty legged gawky teenage boy in running shorts? Does that make you laugh? Well, buckle up Edda Mae because you're gonna get a dozen chances to giggle. Does someone talking on a novelty phone that is maybe shaped like some type of food or any other wacky object send you into convulsions of laughter? Better take your meds before the movie starts then. Are you still 15 and get really excited when people mention the name of a band that you like that you genuinely believe are obscure and speak to your teenage soul? Better see this movie before you realize that lots of other people know about that band too.

Movies work mostly because the audience sympathizes or roots for the central character if even in a minor way. Even No Country For Old Men somehow makes you dig a maniacal killer if only for his hairstyle and choice of footwear. But no character in recent memory has annoyed me as much as the title character in Juno. She's so spunky, anti-authoritarian and intelligent that she can use such big words and have such widely varying interests. However, all it takes for her to run screaming from an abortion clinic is the vague thought that her fetus may have fingernails. I know the word "abortion" must not be spoken nor dealt with in movies and to Juno's credit, it's the hippest pro-life film I have seen in ages! I sure do hope American Apparel makes onesies.

All in all, this movie was slightly better when it was called Ghost World and didn't involve teen pregnancy. I still love Michael Cera all the same though.

A letter to an old school chum...

(Blonde Ambition available in a super special direct-to-DVD release this month!)

Now, I know that it's hackish and cheap to say that Jessica Simpson "cursed" the Cowboys yesterday. I know that every media outlet has already make enough cracks about the fact that Jessica Simpson was at the Cowboys-Eagles game. But I don't care. It's one dead horse I could beat all day.

Dear Jessica Simpson,


Hey there! Gee, it seems like so long since we went to school together. Man, remember how you used to talk incessantly about your Christian pop album during theater and choir practice? Crazy days, good times.

So Jess, I see that you are dating Tony Romo now. That's pretty cool. You guys seem like a match made in Abercrombie Outlet store heaven. Some people are saying that you should not be at the Cowboys games. Now, I think that's silly. What they may not know is that you were actually at the Green Bay game two weeks ago when you watched Tones triumph over his childhood idol. The Michelob Ultras must have tasted that much better in the hot tub that night! If I was dating the starting quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys, I would totally go to the games. I've never been lucky enough to go to a Cowboys game in person. At Mavs games they drop Chili's coupons so I totally understand how fun going to professional sporting events can be.

Now, I would hope that you are intelligent enough to understand that as a celebrity you will attract the attention of both media and fans. In which case, it would behoove you (and your beau and his team) to conduct yourself with at least a modicum of decorum. And I don't mean that in a "Stand By Your Man"/a woman's place is in the home/barefoot and pregnant sort of way. I mean that you should UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES display your pink #9 jersey by repeatedly standing up and shimming and convulsing with your mouth agape like you are waiting for the Adderal to kick in before trying to earn a set of beads. Because by doing so, you give everyone an easy target.

I guess once you realized that Tones was playing like the third string quarterback/aspiring semi-pro golfer that he started as, you decided to go sit in a box. Good move. It indicates that you are at least as wise as American Idol alum Carrie Underwood who retreated from the sidelines to the boxes this time last year to watch Tones choke against the Eagles. In the box, you joined the ranks of other box-occupiers such as Avery Johnson who was bending Jerry Jones ear with advice. Now, let's rule out that Avery was giving Jerry any advice about success in sports. Unless Jerry wants to know how to psych out an entire city with teases of greatness followed by catastrophic collapses, I am going to assume you guys were talking about your favorite Papa John's toppings. I go with Canadian Bacon, onions and green peppers myself.

So in conclusion, I guess I just expected slightly more class out of you. I mean here you are, JESSICA SIMPSON! That's right, the Jessica Simpson who is not only the spokesperson for her own line of hair weaves and extensions BUT ALSO a line of vanilla and cotton candy flavored edible body mousse. The Jessica Simpson whose movie career peaked in the role of Daisy Duke! The Jessica Simpson that couldn't comprehend basic things such as brand names of common canned food items! I guess being friends with Eva "Hey Ya'll, I totally gotz my Sidekick done in Swarovski crystals that are Spurs colors and that spell out Tony's number and I will prove it by holding it up prominently when the camera cuts to me at Spurs games!" Longoria probably doesn't help.

Well, it's about time for my morning trip to the vending machine for a Diet Coke. I hope this letter finds you well and that in the future at any Cowboys games you attend, you will sit the fuck down and not dress or act like a sports-crazed tranny who just gobbled up a bottle of Phen-Fen.

LYLAS!
Amanda