this is a test

from dashblog

I see this thing every morning, every evening on my commute. Perhaps I should let the image speak for itself, and let you wonder why anyone would want to lay claim to this title. I missed the huge media blitz for Ms. Sanchez-Bernat's coronation, but apparently someone took an interest. Does a person with that that much blush really represent New York's subway system? Can I, an average MTA patron, relate to her bridge-and-tunnel charm and chiffon stylings? At least she has some career plans.

Bulk-Rate Maury Discount

On Moyisha's 3rd appearance with her 4th and 5th contestants, the
results made her collapse. But now she's realized the truth. It must
be Tommy. It has to be Tommy. [See Moyisha’s previous exploits in Maury Logs: Non Sequitur]

For "reasons beyond control," which means prison, Tommy couldn't make it. He sent his mother and sister with a taped message.
"They both know I bought her," he said. "She a whore, a slut, a prostitute, and she do people for money." She’s a prostitute AND she has sex for money, huh?

Moyisha was unfazed by Tommy's cruel words, and sister Becky's disgust could be seen from backstage. "Bitch stop shaking your head I was at yo house in yo bed, sleepin wit him." Moyisha screamed at the screen.

Moyisha just gets better and better on this show show. I hope I don't miss her next one.

----------------

Donell did Carlotta in the restroom of a fast food truckstop after she
served him his chick'n strips.
But after 11 months, Donell said Donell Jr's daddy could have been the
fryer, the manager, even another customer. He just don't know no more.
"This ain't Burger King you can't have it yo way," he said.
Boy did Maury give him a whopper.

------------

Connie cheated on Todd with Kevin, but things didn't work out with him, so she went back to Todd. Then she cheated again and is now back with Kevin.

Todd says 16-month-old Zander is not his, but he claims him on his taxes.

Connie says she hopes Kevin is the father, but when Todd comes out she says he knows it's his.

It is his, but Todd just throws his hands up.
Kevin says "don't worry you deadbeat, I'll take care of him,"
but Todd refuses to give up his tax writeoff.

------------

On her first appearance on the show, Simone's boyfriend Kevin left her
when he found out 2-year-old Louis wasn't his. Neither of them were that surprised, since she had cheated on him "about 200 times."

So, Simone had to start with someone, and that someone was Terrone.
Terrone hadn't seen the last episode, because he actually hoped and
prayed that he was the father. Simone paraded onto the set and went straight for the irrefutable jugular that is perceived facial resemblances between male adults and chubby, amorphous infant flesh.
"My son has his nose, Murray! Look closa Murray, look closa!"
She then nearly jumped off the stage to attack a heckler,
belching, "You came here to see ME! Worry about ya issues! Worry about ya issues!"

Something in Maury snapped. He grabbed her arm and sternly reminded her that finding the father of her child was more important than verbally abusing a heckler. "I'm sorry Murray, I'm sorry," she said. And jumped up and did it again.

Terrone wasn't the father.
Poor, poor Maury.

“If I didn’t have money, it would suck.” Words to live by.

Another Super Sweet 16, and another potential barrage of underage drinking violations. I’m convinced that MTV wants me to hate these kids. This isn’t aspirational programming. If these kids are actually representative of the 16-yr-old party-planning demographic, I’m gonna have to shoot myself. And, it looks like this show has earned its keep: the producers have gone all out with the most recent episode of My Super Sweet 16, flying all the way down to sunny Roswell to do a location shoot.

Why Roswell? This town holds the distinct honor of being the original home of Natalie, a girl so stunningly arrogant that she claims her coming out gala must induce jealousy in all her friends, or else it won’t be worth anything at all. This is enough to make you forget what used to make Roswell great – you know, that whole alien crash site thing and the accompanying crap-ass cardboard and twine Visitors museum situated next to the burnt out tattoo parlor.

Natalie totally starts out on the right foot with me. To make sure no one copies her dress, she ships off to shop in friggin Vegas. “Paris Hilton shops here” she explains. And then, “I’m gonna be way hotter than Paris…That’s hot, tee hee.“ I’m not sure she should be using Paris as her high-water mark, but public statements like that do fit into MTV’s normalization plans…

As I watched the various components of Natalie’s gala coalesce, there was one element that really stuck in my consciousness. Natalie is absolutely ashamed of her old life in Roswell. She lives in California now, and there is no way anyone is going to associate her with that backwater farm town (I didn’t know it was a town full of farmers. As I recall, Roswell barely has room for all the obese alcoholics). But, instead of being happy enough not to live there, and in fact, live better and easier than any girl I’ve ever known, she has to fly up two kids from her old high school so that they can bear witness to her supposed “awesomitude” and then dutifully report back to Roswell HQ about how fucking cool she has become.

Right before the big day, the Roswell Expeditionary Force makes landfall, in the form of charmingly gay friend Will and Natalie’s skinnier, prettier friend Sara.



Natalie immediately sets in to torturing the pair, taking them through the list of items that they need to be jealous of. Natalie’s house is “totally like in the O.C.” and her father’s car is “totally an appropriate phallic extension of inadequate manhood.”

We watch poor Sara getting her hair done for the party whilst enduring mistreatment by Natalie’s friend, Angel. Actually, MTV never really ties Angel to Natalie in any formalized way. She just appears to taunt Sara about her Target-bought earings, never to be seen again. I thought we only named hunky vampires Angel, and then only to aid in establishing yet another fun gay subculture.

I feel compelled to come to Sara's defense in this matter. If Target is for poor people, what is that Sharper Image bag doing on Natalie’s kitchen table? I bought a life-size Predator replica there once, but the last time I visited South Street Seaport, Sharper Image’s stock and trade was air fresheners and L.E.D.-lit nose-hair trimmers. Sounds like Natalie’s got a secret…

Party time. Things look pretty good, actually. Nice tunes, nice lighting, No one else bought a dress in Las Vegas. I’m tempted to declare the whole thing a success. Not by Natalie’s standards, though. This wasn’t just a coming out party, this wasn’t even meant to be the mother of all coming out parties. Natalie’s plan was to invite a bunch of people and then feed off of their jealousy. In that regard, Natalie, you’ve lost miserably. Check this out: No one is jealous, since barely anyone at the party knows you. Zing!

My fave quote: “She bought me as a friend.”
Me too, random crappy-dress-wearing tipsy chick. Me too.

Braying for the Masses

I’ve been checking in on little Ashlee. She is so excited to be getting ready for her first 1hr live performance. Wonderful. I guess once you have more material, perhaps five years from now, you’ll be able to go on longer. I mean, the Cure only ever does a three-hour set.

Dinner AND a Movie, and a gangbang and a paternity test

Eric, 17, left lifetime love Wendy, also 17, after he heard Wendy had
slept with 5 guys in one day.
"She knows what good of a guy I am," Eric said. "I have money and a future." [Rare things on Maury][Maury’s constituency]
Wendy threw her teddy bear at him.
Ho-bag or not, little Victoria was Eric's baby.
"I hope you've got a good lawyer," he said. "I hope you do for your poor ass."

...................


Stephana's high school sweetheart Tracy left her and his 2 month-old
son Tracy the 3rd, because he suspected her of cheating.
In his own words, "She just wants it to be mine cause I used to **** her real good and she used to love that,"
They argued so much about whether they ever dated, the paternity results had to
be aired the next day…Stephana wailed like a harpooned whale.

If Loving The O.C. Is Wrong, Then I Don’t Want To Be Right

Don’t get too excited. This diatribe on The O.C. is not going to bash all the characters and make fun of how unrealistic and predictable the hot teen drama is. Read the tabloids if you’re a hater and want your fill of criticism—this blog’s not for you. I can’t in good faith, categorize the show as trainwreck television. I love The O.C., through and through. I am not afraid to admit that I bought The O.C. Season One DVD box set and savored each episode, again, back to back, in only six days.

There are 27 episodes.

There are seven discs.

Each episode is one hour long.

You do the math.

I am also not afraid to confess that I passed up going out on several occasions to stay home with my beloved friends from Harbor High in Orange County. Sandy and Kirsten Cohen were there, too. Conniving next-door neighbor/trophy wife, Julie Cooper and her 90-something year-old husband, Caleb Nichol made many special guest appearances in my living room those six days, as well. And hands down, they were some of the best six days of 2004.

So now that I’ve professed my undying love for the show, (as well as my own patheticness) I do have one problem with The O.C. that I need to work through. It’s more of a personal dilemma, probably one that is not very widespread. But it’s significant enough, that it’s beginning to interfere with my viewing pleasure. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

For those who watch the show, surely you know Sandy Cohen, (played by bushy-browed Peter Gallagher) the court appointed Public Defender who’s a little witty, a little wild and the ‘cool dad.’ Sandy brings fun and laughter into the show. And, into my life.

But there is something - - something so wrong and so out of place about his character. It’s so creepy and eerie that almost EVERY time I watch a scene with Sandy Cohen, those four words pop into my head...

“FUCK ME YOUR MAJESTY!”

And the train starts-a-rolling. It’s like a bad dream. That dreadful scene in American Beauty completely takes over my thoughts and sullies scenes from my favorite t.v. show.

Some younger fans that watch The O.C. might not have seen their beloved Sandy Cohen’s previous role in American Beauty. Or, they may just choose to block out Peter Gallagher’s former character, “Real Estate King” Buddy Kane.

“The King” was the Dr. Evil to Sandy Cohen’s Austin Powers. The King played with handguns for sport. He had adulterous affairs with colleagues. He uttered the clichéd words that Sandy Cohen would only dare to say: “To be successful one must portray an image of success at all times.”

And like clockwork.

Every Thursday.

Sometime between 8pm – 9pm, EST.

The collision begins.

“YOU LIKE GETTING NAILED BY THE KING?”

“HUH, DO YOU?

As if the torture of daily life isn’t painful enough.

I just can’t take Sandy Cohen’s character seriously. All I see is “Sandy” accosting Annette Benning and screaming dirrty obscenities. (And yes, they’re so bad they’re spelled the Nelly/Christina Aguillera way). On the really bad nights when the imagination runs wild, Sandy Cohen’s image slowly transforms into the back of Annette Benning’s ankles bouncing up and down in the air. And whatever words Sandy really mutters morphs into “The King’s” dirty pillow talk. It’s a serious derailment.

Perhaps the new VH1 show, “I Married…” will help me get over this Sandy Cohen/Real Estate King issue of mine. I could hardly contain my excitement when I found out that VH1 is producing what might possibly be the most dreadful show on television. I thought they hit rock bottom when they documented Motely Crue frontman, Vince Neil’s “makeover” complete with $25k of plastic surgery, red hair dye and Neil crying real tears. It was so horrible that I watched it twice.

But if that wasn’t enough, the intimate details of life with heavy metal “gods” Sammy Hagar and Sebastian Bach, come straight from their lovely wives on this new show. My day got even better when I found out (the artist formerly known as) M.C. Hammer and Uncle Kracker’s wives are on the roster for future episodes! These trainwrecks should take my mind off The King. I am awaiting them with bated breath. More to come...

Bring it on, Hart!

MTV knows how to throw a curveball. I figured Ava’s star turn on My Super Sweet 16 would have produced a string of slutty, pampered, slightly chunked-out girls for the rest of the season. Instead, we’re introduced to Hart, a young man planning his “coming out” with the help of his dad. All this from the network that thinks Ryan Cabrera is the second coming of Pavorati and Sting combined.

Hart’s main concern at the onset of this episode is that a Sweet 16 is too girly. One might ask why, with this reservation, the young man submitted to planning a party out and having the whole thing filmed by the unsympathetic eye of MTV. Also, Hart, I gotta level with you. For a guy so concerned with the homoerotic suggestions inherent to the confluence of the words “Sweet” and “16,” you sure are acting like a little girl.

Some highlights of the Hart experience include: Hart and dad drive to New York to pick out some dancers. A 16-yr-old minor picking out dancers. I think this is going to be a recurring theme on Sweet 16. Dad gives lessons on how to spot fake breasts, though I can’t imagine how that is going to benefit Hart, considering the direction I think he’s headed. Hart freaks out when he discovers that only five people RSVP’d to his suare (sic) but solves the crisis by whoring out his stepmother’s boutique for use by a panoply of increasingly roomy bottle blondes.

Since Hart’s father is an ass, the two decide they need to “Cool Down in Hot Miami” since the tension of all this planning is just going to kill someone if they don’t. Dad’s bright idea: lets fly down to South Beach where you [Hart] can reaffirm your masculinity while chowing down on caviar in my private jet. I always go for caviar on a long flight, by the way, so I totally know where these guys are coming from. Does Hart ever go to school?

The big day arrives. Hart’s party “sucks, feels like shit.” He walks out on his five guests (I guess the boutique trick didn’t work), cell phone in hand, bur trouble must be in young Hart’s future when the producers roll out the slow-mo Scared Straight camera angle. No, strike that. More like that Straight Up video.



I have a few questions for this episode.

-Where did they find women in South Beach?

-What shithole part of town did Hart find his dancers in? A friend of mine suggested Jersey.

-Was there liquor at the party? If not, how the hell does one get sick off of Red Bull?

-AND, the collar? Hart, you’re an idiot, not a metrosecual. Fold down your damn Polo collar already.

-What is with the random glitter effect that gets superimposed everywhere? It’s on butts, on rims, on friggin clouds. There must be some relationship that ties all these objects together. Someone, please fill me in.