better late than never...

About three years ago, my mom bought a new car. Like many new cars, this one was equiped with On-Star -- you know, that service where you can push a button on your car and an operator can hop on an help you with directions, emergency assitance, or even place a call on your behalf? Well, I experienced that last option one day with an exchange that went something like this:

[Phone Rings]

Me: Hello?
Mom: Hi Warren.
Me: Oh, hey mom.
Mom: Guess where i'm calling from?
Me: Um...
Mom: I'm calling from my car!
Me: Oh, that's cool mom...
Mom: Warren, I'm calling from the car!
Me: Yeah, that's great mom...
Mom: Yeah, I can talk to you from my car now, that's where I'm calling you.
Me: So you're driving somewhere?
Mom: No I'm in the garage. Just wanted to see if I can call you from the car! Ok. Bye.
Me: Um... bye.

[Click... Dial tone]

Why do I share this story with you? Because my parents and technology are an interesting combo. It's not a bad thing. In fact, I find it quite endearing. But still, it's always a fun time when my parents try to adopt any "futuristic" new technology. Don't believe me? Check out this email that was sitting in my Inbox tonight:

Date: Sun, 30 Jan 2005 18:39:47 -0800 (PST)
From: "James Wan" <--------@yahoo.com>
Subject: to son

You know that Wendy teach me to set up a new E-Mail .
So please sent back an E-Mail to me that I can a chance to open it.
O K wish you have a good dinner and good nite

from Dad

Wow, just wait until my Dad discovers CDs, cable TV, and TiVo! I can't wait...

a poetry moment... vol. 2

Here's the next batch of nonsensical poems I wrote at age 15 or 16. These will appear in the next issue of Recess, so think of it as a super sneak preview. A quick preface -- even at this young age I was amazingly mature, conquering topics such as supply-side economics, relationships and infidelity, and religion.

Without further ado...

Milk And Ham

Mounds of turkey
Mounds of beef
Where's the ham?
Says the lady
Go to HELL
Says the butcher

Ode to Patrick's New Chick (The Guitar Girl)

Her name is Cindy
But Patrick's chick's name is Kathy
What's going on here?
I thought Pat was gay

Soggy Pelvis

When Satan gets hungry
I bet he reaches
For a Snickers
Cuz those things
Really satisfy you

a poetry moment...

The following post originally appeared in the fantastic online zine, Recess, which you should definitely go read at http://www.recesstime.net.

When I was in high school, I found myself being inspired by two things - my English teacher and Saturday Night Live's Jack Handy. You see my English teacher, Ms. Allison, was big on self-expression, and along those lines, she inspired us to create a student-run journal, not unlike our beloved Recess.

As a recurring feature, I was to publish three nonsensical poems per issue, a la Jack Handy's Deep Thoughts, which used to be all the rage back in the day when Saturday Night Live was actually funny. I'm talking Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer, Church Lady, Wayne's World, Lothar of the Hill People, Dennis Miller doing Weekend Update back in the day here.

Alas, our student-run journal lasted only one issue, and thus left many of my brilliant musings undiscovered... until now. Like Geraldo delving into the depths to uncover the mysteries of Al Capone's vault, I cleaned out a couple of old boxes this weekend, and unlike Geraldo, actually found something in them - these old, unpublished high school poems.

So here goes. Three poems per issue, just like I promised way back in the day. In my own defense, I wrote these things over 10 years ago, so keep that in mind. Ok Ms. Allison... this one's for you!

Four Plus Six

Suicide Is Never the Answer
Ten Is the Answer

Sunset at Dawn

The mist rises from the ocean
As a breeze rolls by
Shaking the trees above
Making my genitals cold

Lincoln Logs

It's common knowledge that
If you pick up a penny
Heads up
You will have good luck
Not many people realize, however
If you pick up a penny
Tails up
A dog gets constipation

tv review: unscripted - hbo, sundays, 10pm

The premise: A fake show about real actors and actresses playing fake versions of their real selves. Got it? Yeah, I'm going to need to explain a bit. HBO's new series, Unscripted takes us into the lives of struggling actors and actresses trying to make it big in Hollywood. We get to follow the lives of three real-life actors -- Krista Allen, Bryan Greenberg, and Jennifer Hall -- as they attend the same acting classes, go on auditions, get callbacks, get rejected, and basically live their less than glamorous Hollywood lives all in front of the cameras.

The interesting twist? This isn't a documentary. We aren't watching these actors living their lives per se, we are watching George Clooney and Steven Soderbergh's rendition of their lives. You see, Unscripted is actually scripted. Yes, you heard me right. I know it's a bit illogical, like saying Home Improvement dominated Seinfeld in the ratings for a couple years, but that's how it goes sometimes.

The show itself is quite uneven. I remember watching Krista Allen on Emmy-caliber shows suchs as Days of Our Lives and Baywatch Hawaii. I remember thinking the following -- wow, this girl is pretty hot. Can't act worth a crap, but still... I'm tuning in for the next show. In Unscripted, I find myself thinking, wow, she's a little older, a little less hot, but some things remain constant. She still can't act. But this time she's playing herself. I'm not sure what that says about her skills, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it's not anything good. Every scene with Krista Allen grinds the show to a halt. She's not particularly endearing, funny, or insightful, so it is increasingly difficult to root for her to succeed.

Allen's co-stars are much more intriguing. Jennifer Hall has her ups and downs, but her ups really highlight the different facets of Hall as a person and as a performer. Hall is a quirky mess -- an actress who actually has the talent to succeed, but lacks confidence in her talent, and is awkward in her approach to success. The show also plays up the fact that Hall is not afforded the opportunities given to someone like Krista Allen, who gets chances to succeed based on her looks alone. Hall is a Hollywood novice, but befriends Allen in acting class, who ends up becoming not only a friend, but a mentor of sorts. Allen teaches her how to dress sexy and play up her flirty side in order to get certain roles. As she becomes more savvy by the episode, the show seems to be setting up the novice to surpass her mentor. It would be an interesting twist, if only it wasn't so overly predictible.

The one character who shines in this show is Bryan Greenberg. Greenberg does a good job of letting you feel his pain in each and every awkward situation he finds himself in. From the time he gets caught doctoring his resume with roles he never played to the moment where he is kicked out of Hank Azaria's house for invoking his ex-wife, Helen Hunt's name during a poker game, one cringes with agony at every mis-step. Because of this, we always feel that we're actually watching Greenberg's life. A good quality for a show that is supposed to be "unscripted."

Overall, not as fun to watch as other HBO originals like Entourage. Interesting if you're an aspiring actor, but likely boring if you're not really into seeing the scene behind the Hollywood scene. On the Salinger Scale (a Party of Five being the highest rating), I am holding a table for only 2.5 Salingers for Unscripted.

blowing out the candles...

Here's a list of some other people who were born on January 19th, and what these people's lives say about me:

• Robert Palmer, pop singer -- I'm simply irresistible.


• Dolly Parton, country singer, actress -- If I continue to work 9 to 5, I will be well endowed for the future.


• Jodie Sweetin, Stephanie on TV sitcom Full House -- I will be long forgotten and spit on by children and adults alike.


• Desi Arnaz Jr., singer (if you can call it that), actor (if you can call it that) -- I will take Marcia Brady to the prom.


• Edgar Allen Poe, author -- I shall quoteth the Raven, in this case Baltimore Raven, Ray Lewis. Ok here goes... "Nevermore bitch! Not in this house!"


• Shawn Wayans, actor, DJ SW-1 -- I will ride my more entertaining family members to a life of undeserved riches.


• Ottis "O.J." Anderson, NFL running back -- I will murder two people, run away in a Bronco, and then play golf and hang out, all the while pretending to look for the real killer. Oh... wrong O.J. My bad.

My special "birthday" horoscope says:

Happy Birthday: You have everything under control, but that doesn't mean you won't stretch yourself to the limit this year. You can make it much easier on yourself by controlling how much you spend and how much you promise others. Keep things on a small scale and you will end up with a lot more. This is a great year for you as long as you are thrifty, cautious and very precise in your dealings. -- Birthday Baby: You are dedicated and will always make sure that everyone around you is taken care of. You are a loyal friend, and you have strong convictions. You will never back down from anything or anyone.

Which is dead-on... unless this one seems a bit more accurate:

There is no point feeling guilty about the things you have already done. There is even less point feeling guilty about the things you have not done. The first day of the rest of your life starts here and now, so draw a line under the past and think only of the future. According to your birthday chart, you have many great things to look forward to.

Or perhaps this is what my future holds...

TODAY'S BIRTHDAY (January 19). This year, you find out you are loved by many. All you have to do is create opportunities for people to show you. Letting down your guard helps! You're showered in gifts through the winter, but in the spring, you're more concerned about giving and teaching others. Investments pay handsomely in April. Love signs are Cancer and Pisces. Your lucky numbers are: 10, 43, 29, 21 and 14.

Eh, they're all loads of crap anyhow.

tv review: dance 360, upn, every weekday

I realize that my last post references a show that you may or may not be aware of. If you're not, you are really missing out on one of the most strangely entertaining shows on television. Dance 360 is a show that has a very simple premise -- be the last man standing in a hip-hop dance-off.

Hosted by Kel Mitchell (formerly of Nickelodeon's "All That" and "Keenan and Kel") Fredro Starr (formerly of the rap group Onyx), and DJ K-Sly (formerly of, um... well not everyone has something interesting to put in these parenthetical asides), Dance 360 unites some of the finest b-boys, hip hop dancers and booty shakers in all the land, and pits them against each other in three rounds of fleet-footed showdowns.

The show begins with the hosts choosing six kids from an audience of about a hundred, who then get a couple seconds to show off some of their best moves. After each have had the chance to dance and size each other up, the beat drops, and one person is chosen to shake their thang solo. After they bust a move, they are instructed by the audience to "tag your man! tag your man! tag your man!" which means that they get to point at someone who they will do battle with on the dance floor. This chosen competitor also gets to dance solo for about 15 seconds before the crowd begins to chant "head to head! head to head! head to head!" At this point, they've both been served, and let's face it. It's on. The two dance against each other, whipping the crowd into a frenzy before finally crowning a first-round winner via the audience's cheers. This continues until three competitors are chosen for Round 2.

Round 2 is something like a hip-hop stump the band, where members of the audience get to show off a move that the competitors must then mimic. This could range from a complicated acrobatic spin to an out of control booty shake -- the choice is up to the audience member's whim and fancy. The competitors are then judged on how closely they master the move, and the top two move on to Round 3.

Round 3 is basically Round 1, Barry Bonds style -- ie. crazy juiced up on steroids. The two remaining competitors each get a solo performance before one last "head to head!" showdown where the last man standing wins the grand prize. And what are the riches that these kids are competing for? Cars? Furs? Jewels? Well, close. 360 bucks. Yes. That's right. $360, or just about 1/2,500,000th of what Jeopardy kingpin Ken Jennings made on his TV game show. But in the end, it ain't about the money, it's about the glory. The glory of what? I'm not really sure to be honest. In the end, who cares, so long as I get my daily dose of "tag your man! head to head!" craziness.

On the Salinger Scale (where a Party of Five is the highest rating), Dance 360 gets a table for four during the first couple viewings, then as the novelty wears off, settles in at about 3 Salingers.

nfl dance 360

from my sister, wendy, via email:

I think TO and randy moss should go on dance 360....and the winner will win....$360.

my response:

I like that idea. And then they can pull Ray Lewis out of the audience for the dance like me part in the middle. Head to head! Head to head! Head to head!

the golden age of music

The other day I found myself flipping around on my car radio, which is rare since I usually listen to a CD or my iPod when cruising the streets. As I made my way across some of my hip hop and rap station presets, I suddenly realized something. Somehow I got old. Damn old.

My honest reaction to some of these tunes -- holy crap, what IS this stuff? Just a mix of noise and nonsense. Where are the good old days when we had songs that meant something? Kids today will never really understand the quality of music that we grew up with. I'm talking about the classics. The REAL music.

Songs like "Rump Shaker" by Wrekx-N-Effect, "I Wanna Sex You Up" by Color Me Badd, "Booti Call" by Blackstreet... the list goes on and on. I challenge a teenager from today's generation to give me a song that can top say, "Rico Suave" by the immortal Gerardo. Go ahead. I'll wait right here.

Ok let me stop you before you waste any more of your limited mental energy. You just can't do it, youngster. It's not your fault. You didn't grow up in the golden age of music. I did. It's unfair, but sometimes life's just that way. Maybe one day you'll have your very own anthem that defines your generation, like Bobby Brown's "Ain't Nobody Humpin' Around" defined mine. It's an outside chance, by hey, miracles happen. Look at the Red Sox.

It's not over yet, you just need a little hope and a little faith. I wish you much luck, my friend. Much luck.

update: minnesota vs. green bay

vs.

My prediction:

Minnesota - 21
Green Bay - 24

"Minnesota (-6) to cover vs. Green Bay... The Vikings still have Culpepper to Moss, and it'll keep them in the game... Brett Farve will look human, but do just enough to lead his team to a win. Green Bay by a foot. Ryan Longwell's foot. 24-21."

Actual score:

Minnesota - 31
Green Bay - 17

Playoff predictions versus the spread:
3-1

Game notes:

Minnesota definitely covered, as they crushed the Pack like a beer can on a frat guy's forehead. As I predicted, Brett Farve looked human. I just didn't know it would be a 74 year old human. Farve threw interception after interception after interception, doing his best Jason White in a bowl game impression.

The Vikings on the other hand looked as polished as Martha Stewart's Thanksgiving silverware. Well, pre-prison Martha, anyhow. The running game was hot and cold, but who needs a running game when you have Daunte Culpepper throwing the long bomb, and the Vikings WRs running them down for TDs. Randy Moss grabbed one of Culpepper's tosses, and then pretended to drop his pants and moon the Lambeau crowd. Pretty tasteless, but then again, Moss was never one for manners. See what happens when they send Martha off to the joint? Moss is adrift without Ms. Stewart keeping his moral compass in check.

At the end of the game came one of the most telling notes of how much the Vikings players value Mike Tice. To celebrate their playoff victory, a couple players looked immensely giddy as the picked up the Gatorade jug, ran across the sideline, and dumped the contents all over... defensive coordinator Ted Cotrell? Hmmm... last I checked the head coach usually got the ceremonial sugar shower. Oh well. At least Mike stayed warm while he got to watch his players celebrate with Cotrell. That's fun too, right?

update: denver vs. indianapolis

vs.

My prediction:

Denver - 14
Indianapolis - 38

"Nonetheless, the Broncos will be embarrassed so badly by the Colts, they'll feel as unwanted in Denver as Kobe Bryant at a Nuggets game. Colts, 38-14."

Actual score:

Denver - 24
Indianapolis - 49

Playoff predictions versus the spread:
2-1

Game notes:

Peyton Manning lived up to his newly minted title as the single season touchdown king. In just one half of football, Manning threw for over 300 yards, passed for 3 TDs, and ran in one more just for good measure. Again, I repeat this is in the FIRST HALF of the game. The halftime score -- 35-3. Can you say blowout? I knew that you could.

This game was so one-sided, I'm honestly not really sure what happened in the second half of the game. I assume Jake Plummer woke up from his coma for a couple minutes or something to score some meaningless TDs. Let's face it, who really cares. Indy put down the smackdown, and believe me, I smelled what the Colts were cooking.

In the end, none of this means anything unless the Colts keep winning. We've all seen this episode before -- Peyton destroyed the Broncos last year too, only to turn into a human interception machine in Foxboro. If they can't break the Patriots curse, it really doesn't matter how many TDs Peyton throws. He'll just be remembered as that guy who chokes when the pressure is really turned up high. Not a strong legacy to hold onto.

update: new york vs. san diego

vs.

My prediction:

New York - 21
San Diego - 38

"The Jets won't be big pimpin' up in NYC this week. Chargers by 17, 38-21."

Actual score:

New York - 20
San Diego - 17

Playoff predictions versus the spread:
1-1

Game notes:

Well, I was way off the mark on this one. I figured, hey it's San Diego -- blue skies, sunshine, and 75 degree weather all year round. And then the rains came. Receivers were slipping on routes, balls were slipping out of hands, and my dreams of a shootout went out the window.

After taking the early lead, the Chargers found themselves playing catch up for nearly the entire game. Trailing 17 to 10, the Chargers mounted a strong drive capped off by a pass to Antonio Gates for a TD. Game tied, and off to overtime. I think the success of Antonio Gates really proves one point -- any NBA power forward or center with an ounce of athleticism and speed could dominate in the NFL. Gates has nearly zero ability to run a pattern, but yet managed to pull down six receptions for 89 yards sheerly by using his big body to box out the defender and leap up to make receptions. Can you imagine just throwing Shaq out there? He could be triple teamed, but just have him run out 5 yards, turn around, and throw it up high. It would be like putting a 900 pound man in at goalie in a hockey game. Simply unbeatable.

Anyhow, the game went into OT, and the Chargers had a great chance to win it all and keep their Cinderella story alive. They were driving easily through the Jets D, picking up first downs like Bobby Brown picks up DUIs. Then inexplicably as the Chargers get up around the 30, Marty Schottenheimer decided, eh, who needs another first down. So after driving down the field at will, the Chargers turned into my dad driving on the freeway -- conservative and predicatble. This wasn't even at a chipshot FG distance, mind you. They were holding onto the ball to attempt a 40 yard FG, in the rain, on a slipery field -- hardly a slam dunk. Two rushes up the middle by LaDanian Tomlinson left the team with 3rd and 10. Then perhaps the worst play call of the day -- yet another run, but this time to the right of the field, meaning that the field goal attempt would need to hook to the left in order for the ball to go through. Well, it's not hard to predict what happens next. Nate Kaeding boots the ball dead straight, but of course since the ball is spotted on the far right hashmark, the ball sails wide right. The Jets take over, drive down the field, game over.

The game was actually really fun to watch, especially the part where Jets coach Herman Edwards tore his RB coach a new asshole in the 3rd quarter in full view of the TV cameras. I swear I thought Edwards was going to toss a cup of beer at his assistant coach's head, and then proceed to brawl in the stands. It was that intense. But cooler heads prevailed, the Jets won, and the lesson is reinforced that I should not be wagering on football games.

update: st louis vs. seattle

vs.

My prediction:

St. Louis - 28
Seattle - 21

"In the words of St. Louis native Nelly, this spells an andale, andale, mommy e-i-e-i... uh ohhhhh for the Seahawks. Rams by a TD, 28-21."

Actual score:

St. Louis - 27
Seattle - 20

Playoff predictions versus the spread:

1-0

Game notes:

The skills of the Seattle WRs, or complete lack thereof, determined this game. It was like watching my mom try to catch a football in the backyard -- not pretty. If they could learn to catch a football, this team might be destined for Super Bowl greatness. Ok, you're right, too big of an overstatement. If they could learn to catch a football, this team might be destined for NFC second round greatness (hmm... that doesn't have quite the same ring to it, but then again, honesty never does).

It is pretty telling that they spent a ton of cash re-signing one WR that can't catch (Darrell Jackson), and insist on sticking with a high first-rounder with the exact same problem (Koren Robinson). Sometimes you don't deserve to win if you can't learn from your mistakes.

In the end though, even with these shortcomings, the Rams only won because of a terrible illegal contact call by the refs. Marcus Trufant was called for an interference penalty on the Rams' final drive, which set up the go-ahead TD. Marcus' big mistake? None. Just good coverage and a blind referee nearby. Oh well.

In the end I still blame Shaun Alexander. Never a good thing to bad mouth your team after a must-win game that you actually won, all for the sake of an individual record that really doesn't mean anything. The football gods like that kind of stuff about as much as Ice Cube liked the latest Billy Ray Cyrus album. Enjoy the rest of the winter off, Shaun. You deserve it.

nfl playoff pick'em

Welcome to the playoffs, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the underdogs to step up their games and the favorites to defend their home turf. As they say in my hood, "It's on, yo." Ok, they don't say that in my hood. They usually say, "Man, this place is so boring, what the hell should we do for fun?" But I digress. On to the picks...

St Louis (+4) over Seattle – Upset pick of the week

St. Louis will not only cover, they will beat Seattle outright to advance into the second round of the playoffs. Why? While it is an undisputed fact that Mike Martz is a whiny little biyatch, Shaun Alexander went above and beyond last week with his crazy outburst. Despite the Seahawks entering the playoffs with home field advantage, Alexander chose to whine about how he didn't get enough carries to win the individual rushing title this season. That makes him a punk ass trick in my book and a bigger team poison than Martz. In the words of St. Louis native Nelly, this spells an andale, andale, mommy e-i-e-i... uh ohhhhh for the Seahawks. Rams by a TD, 28-21.

San Diego (-7) over New York

Remember the days of Natrone Means and Stan Humphries proudly guiding the Chargers into the Super Bowl? And then remember them promptly getting obliterated by the 49ers, 55-10? Well that won't happen in this game. LaDanian Tomlinson is what Natrone Means wishes he could be, while Drew Brees is simply playing out of his gourd. The Jets won't be big pimpin' up in NYC this week. Chargers by 17, 38-21.

Indianapolis (-10) over Denver

Peyton Manning, you be all that and a bag of chips, my friend. Shattering the single season TD record might have seemed easy, but trust me, shattering the Denver Broncos will be even easier. Oddly, I expect this game will be won by Edgerrin James' feet, rather than Peyton's arm. Nonetheless, the Broncos will be embarrassed so badly by the Colts, they'll feel as unwanted in Denver as Kobe Bryant at a Nuggets game. Colts, 38-14.

Minnesota (-6) to cover vs. Green Bay

Mike Tice can't coach his way out of a cardboard box. It's ok. The Vikings still have Culpepper to Moss, and it'll keep them in the game. They've kept their two meetings with the Pack this season to within a field goal in both games. Will they win it? No way. Didn't you read that that first sentence? They blew both of those Green Bay games, and I don't expect that to change in this game either. Brett Farve will look human, but do just enough to lead his team to a win. Green Bay by a foot. Ryan Longwell's foot. 24-21.

Note -- I do not advocate gambling by any means. But hey, if you're into that sort of thing, more power to you.

home sweet home

It's the week between Christmas and New Year's Day, and you do the natural thing -- you head home for the holidays. Amongst the familiar surroundings of the home you grew up in, you start to feel comfortable as you settle back into your old routine. If the house was shrouded in a veil of pitch black darkness, you'd know your way around without so much as a stumble. You're in your element. And then you realize something about the house you grew up in. There is some weird ass shit in this house.

You really don't notice these things when you're growing up, but if you take the time to look, it's quite apparent. It starts with the Leroy Something or Other Saskatchewan Rough Riders CFL football card on the refrigerator next to the Princess Diana magnet. Then you notice the picture of your sister (at age 5, carrying a bag of plastic forks) taped to the inside of the kitchen cupboard. And as you see the large collection of every shoe any member of your family has ever worn, lined up neatly in the garage, even though there is no chance in hell they'll ever be worn again, only one thought comes to mind. Why the fuck is this stuff here?

You look towards the Quentin Richardson poster (which was given free to you when you attended a Clipper game years ago, which you promptly threw away in the trash can in your room, but then somehow magically reappeared taped to the outside of the makeshift wooden shed that your dad built to hold all the garden tools) for answers, but are met with the silence that can only come from the half torn, weather worn smile from the soon to be husband of R&B singer Brandy. Perhaps you think to consult the dusty "Happy New Year! 2000" headband that is proudly displayed on the fireplace mantle, but you think better of it. It suddenly dawns on you. There is no real answer for any of this. It's just home. Your home. You sit down in the chair, underneath the lamp that looks like a big hairdryer in a low budget barber shop, and you smile. Sometimes crazy ass shit makes sense in the fact that it makes absolutely no sense at all. You know better than to question it by now.

usc+ou+blowout+ashlee+booing = the orange bowl!

Wow. That was a BLOWOUT. I was going to say it was a blowout with a capital B, but on second thought, it deserved caps across the board. Who'd have thunk it? It was supposed to be the best college football matchup ever. USC and Oklahoma were supposed to be dead even on paper. Heisman winning quarterback? Check and check. Heisman caliber running back? Check and check. Big time defesive lineman named Cody? Check and check. I mean, how much more even can you get? And then the whistle blew, the game was played, and OU was punked worse than Ashton Kutcher on Wilmer Valderamma.

I know I'm supposed to hate everything SC, being a UCLA alum and all, but I had to root for my Pac-10 compatriots in this game. This was doubly true since I knew Jason White would be cementing his status as the absolute worst big game college QB in history, leading OU to become the Buffalo Bills of the college world. Yet despite all this, OU's performance will not go down as the worst part of Tuesday's game. No, my friends. That honor belongs to a certain songstress by the name of Ashlee Simpson.

Hot off the heels of her lip syncing scandal on SNL, Ashlee was hell bent on making sure she sang live the next time she appeared on TV, and there was no doubt that her performance was... well, live. Off-key, scratchy throated and completely out of sync with her music, Ashlee was worse than a Jason White off-balance pass into quadruple coverage for an interception (and by the way, I'm no Heisman winning QB, but if I'm falling backwards, and I see a sea of red jerseys downfield with a tiny dot of white in the middle, I'm probably NOT going to throw it there... that's just my inexperience talking though, I guess). I don't even think my description does Ashlee's performace justice. Imagine the sound a cat might make as someone was pulling his legs out one by one. Now imagine the sound of 80's hair band Warrant accompanying said cat with an ear splitting rock/pop beat. Got that sound in your head? Congratulations, you've just enjoyed a tune by the best-selling artist known as Ashlee Simpson.

The best part was when the song ended, and the stadium showered Ashlee with more boos than a showing of Gigli. The camera actually panned out to show the whole stadium booing the poor girl for a good 20 seconds. And the ABC cameras never broke away from it. Harsh. Then again, she's famous for no reason other than the fact that her sister can actually sing, is hot, is dumb as a brick, and has big gigantic breasts, so I don't feel too sorry for her. I'd be booed for a couple million and my own MTV reality show too if I had the chance.

So to sum up -- big blowout, USC is undisputed #1 in the nation, OU sucks balls, Jason White is a choke artist, and most importantly, despite being booed by a nation of college football fans, Ashlee Simpson is still richer than you and I will ever be. Combined. Ah, the Orange Bowl... ain't it grand?