I search the Web for K-Fed quotes so you don't have to. You're welcome.

I usually reserve my judgment until I hear something, but just by looking at the guy, reading past interviews, and reading this story, I can honestly say we're lucky to be alive right now.

What other generation has such a pop icon as K-Fed? Who else will our children look up to, if not the skinny, white trash hip-hop artist? I know I'm already reconsidering the names I've had picked out all my life for my unborn children; "K-Fed" just has so much more street cred.

Among the gems of the interview, and others:
1. "My album is sure to set the dance floors across the world on fire!"

2. "I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. My name is Kevin Federline. I'm 6 feet tall, have brown hair and brown eyes. I enjoy horseback riding, long walks on the beach and the wind whipping through my hair." (Seriously, it's from his Web site.) Because if I were a pop-star wannabe, I'd want my Web site to sound like a fifth grader wrote it. No offense to any fifth graders.

3. ""I could go on forever about my love for this girl. ... She's (expletive) proud of me. I could be sitting at home doing nothing. I could be playing (expletive) video games." What??! (Really, it's from this article.)

4. "I've been in the closet with it for a while. I don't know, guess I would have to say I'm the rookie of the year." (From this.)

I'm sure there's more, but I can't stand it anymore.

Huh. I guess I live here now.

My cousin stopped in Oshkosh tonight.

No, really. He's from Ohio, too; he's a year older than I am, and when we were younger we used to take family vacations with each other's family. One year it was Chicago. One it was North Carolina. One it was the Ohio State Fair. When we were really young, I used to chase him and be chased around the basement of my grandma and grandpa's house.

Then, we grew up, and went to different high schools, etc. And now he's living in Chicago. He had work to do in Appleton and Berlin, so he was spending the night in Oshkosh tonight.

Dave and I went with the safe route (because we're lame, I guess): We took him to The Bar for 25-cent wings. If we were in college, we also would've celebrated with some drinks and some karaoke (OK, no karaoke); but we're old and boring now. It was a Wednesday. I have to work the next day. So does he. We sat there and talked and it was awesome and strange seeing someone from back home sitting across from me at MY bar.

But then it was over, and I went home, and he went to his hotel. I got in my car with the Wisconsin license plates and drove all the way home without thinking about how I get home. I thought about work and blogged, and watched my one channel with Dave and listened to the dryer running and am about to go to bed early. I'm really aware of my Wisconsin status at the moment. Like, this is my life. Whoa.

And all I have to show for all this deep thinking is heartburn. Dang.

(Photo: thepostcard.com.)

Yippy dog update

Fluffy's back.

Only its name isn't Fluffy. It's Charlie. We unlocked our door tonight, and we heard the yipping, and "Shhhhhhh, Charlie! Shhhh!"

Only Charlie doesn't shhhh. Charlie yips more.

Now, when we open our door, we know to hate Charlie. When we close our door, it's Charlie who's yipping. When we make any noise whatsoever too close to our door, it's Charlie who notices. Charlie. Charlie.

At least they didn't ruin it by naming it our dog's name; I'm glad it's Charlie. Not unlike the kid in school you hated and thus can't name any child or dog with the same name, Charlie would've ruined my life if his name were Mr. Big. Just sayin'. I called it. No yippie dog is going to ruin that for me.

Not that we have a dog. But someday.

"It just sounded like a good idea"

This is nuts. I don't know what people are thinking, but this isn't a good idea.

See, this kid wandered around Wal-Mart for 41 hours for a sort of class project. An elective class project. Wal-Mart's not really excited about it, but New Line Cinema's talking movie deals. Penguin Books is talking deals.

For what? He wandered around the chain store for 41 hours. He played video games, ate at Subway, watched DVDs. I did the same thing in high school. OK, not for 41 hours. But. Anyhow.

In the late '90s in small-town Ohio, Wal-Mart was the only store open past 8 p.m. on the weekends, so it's where we bought everything; we were those annoying teenagers buying 96 rolls of toilet paper and giggling. But that was high school. This kid did this on his college spring break.

Makes me feel better about the majority of my lame spring breaks when I was in college.

I aaaam an innocent maaaaan. And a big nerd.

Because both of you are dying to know what exciting finds I ... uh, found at the antiques store, here it is (drumroll, please):

Billy Joel's "An Innocent Man."

"But, didn't you already have that?"

Yes. Yes my friends. I have it on cassette, on CD and now, as of yesterday, on vinyl. I am so cool now, apparently.

See, when I was a kid, my dad would dub vinyl onto cassettes for me to listen to; one of the first he dubbed for me was "An Innocent Man." The year he got me a CD player for Christmas, that was the first CD I got. Because I was poor and 11, I had no disposable cash, so "Innocent Man" and I had some quality time together for a while, until I bought more CDs.

Needless to say, Billy's was the only CD I actually kept from that ill-advised bout of CD purchasing. So when I found it in the bin yesterday with a bunch of other "classics" -- Dolly Parton, Luther Vandross, etc. -- I had to rescue it. "Beauty and the Beast" guy? I think Billy keeps better company than that. And now he does. With Bright Eyes and Elliott Smith. On our shelf.

Dolly Parton. I'm so sure.

"But what will I wear??!"

When we were younger (last week), supper with friends consisted of going out to eat at some restaurant like Applebee's or something just as predictable.

Last night, it meant going over to a friend's house with a bottle of wine and eating REAL FOOD.

It should be noted, I ate my vegetables. I ate many helpings of potatoes. And I ate pork. And I drank real wine. So many surprises in four sentences; I can hardly stand it.

It was very grown-up of us, and very cool of them to invite us over to their house and cook and make awesome dessert and not even make us clean up. Whoa. Whoa. It being our first real dinner party, I had envisioned something like Charlie's party in "High Fidelity." Like, they'd be wearing really artsy clothes and obscure music would be playing.

(I should confess, I compare a lot of my life to "High Fidelity." I'm waiting for the moment I have to go pick Dave up from lying in some muddy flowerbed in the rain in a suit.)

I stressed out about the dinner all day (it practically ruined my antique-shopping mood -- almost): about what I would wear, and what I'd do if they made fish (I'd die, that's what I'd do). Being adult enough to go to a dinner party doesn't mean you're old enough to stop worrying about what you're going to wear. I tried on 286 outfits in my head. I don't even own that many clothes.

But, really, they dressed like normal people and we played some Justin Timberlake (not ashamed, I'll say it again, we listened to some Justin Timberlake), and the food was really good. No fish.

What bored me when I was 19 now made me feel very ... adult. I just went to a dinner party. And stayed out too late. And, ergo, completely missed Steven's big iPod DJing (iJing, if you will) debut. I feel badly about that. But, alas. It was Sunday. It's hard to get me out of the house on Sundays.

Baby steps. Baby steps.

Facebook's creepy.

Facebook's supposed to be this place where you meet friends, and add friends, and post comments and photos ... But in all actuality, it's kinda lame.

I mean, Facebook only lets you look at profiles of people who went to your school. It has one static look to all the profiles, and you can't like, blog or anything on it. However, while logged into it today, I found this trends tracker thing. It's kind of creepy.

There's a top 10 list: Your school is on one side, and the national average of Facebook users is on the other. The top 10 catagories are split up into movies, books, interests, clubs, organizations, etc. I guess you're supposed to see how cool your school is compared to everyone else.

Then, you can compare the biggest "movers" at your school. Down five points this week is "My Name is Earl." Up two points: "Beer pong." Down three points: "The Breakfast Club." Up 14 points: "Kroger." Kroger. The grocery store chain. A grocery store chain just jumped 14 points under the "clubs and organizations" catagory at the University of Toledo. Unless there's a Kroger club I'm not aware of. I have been living out of state for what? Six months.

It's creepy because you list what you like and don't like on your profile, and it magically collects all that data. I can think of weirder things. But the real weird thing is that I care -- I just spent 10 minutes reading through it all.

This is the best Saturday ever.

(Kroger: Up 14 points this week at the University of Toledo. Woo hoo!)

An embarrassing story - with a happy ending.

I have an embarrassing confession.

Instead of going out last night, I stayed home to watch "Law & Order." (And to sleep, but that's secondary.)

Right now, I'm watching "Law & Order." Season four. Three DVDs.

And you know what? I have it all down. It's all the same. I mean, I don't know the stories and I don't know whodunit. But man. They have one sound clip of a telephone ringing. Every time they open a door into the police station, it rings. Every time the DA's office door opens, it rings. When they stand in the police station, it keeps ringing. When they're outside on the street, there's a canned car horn noise. There's the sound of cars passing behind them, even when there's no cars driving by.

When they question witnesses, as soon as they're done, the witnesses have somewhere to go. "I have to go to the dentist." "I have to get dinner ready." "I have to go to work." If I were being questioned in a homicide case, I'd stand there like an idiot, until they told me go.

And Jill Hennessey, aka Jordan on "Crossing Jordan," looks really, really bad with a short bob cut.

That's it. I'm turning it off. No more. I'm through. No more!

Welcome to your new home, Fluffy.

When we moved in, we had a very loud, very unhappy couple across the hall who fought all the time, whose baby cried all the time, and who slammed doors at all hours. I'm not completely convinced they ever slept.

They moved on to other housing. Fortunately.

They moved out, what? Around Thanksgiving? Christmas? Since then, it's been nice and quiet.

Until this morning.

I'm not entirely sure who lives there now. I mean, there have been people going in an out all morning like clowns in a Volkswagon; a really skinny, really tall guy, a guy with a big beard. Three women. And one. Very. Yippy. Dog.

I love dogs. I love little dogs. I love medium-sized dogs. I like big dogs from a distance.

But little tiny yippy dogs and I are not friends. I'm hoping it's Mom's dog. And I hope Mom doesn't live there. Oh, my. I went down to get the mail, and I heard it. Everywhere. It was upstairs. It was downstairs. It was in the elevator. It was in the hall. I've seen it only through the peep hole, when I thought the dog was barking right outside my door. It was. Then it disappeared for a little bit. Now it's back. You think the dog would get tired, take a nap. Get a sore throat. Stop barking. Please.

Ha, ha. And you guys have cable.

There must be one very rich, very odd person out there.

VH1 is doing this benefit programming thing, and all the money goes to help people affected by Hurricane Katrina. Pay $25, get one video request. Well, some smart ... guy decided to donate an hour's worth of money to play versions of "99 Luftballons," or "99 Red Balloons." Oh, my. Check it out here.

At least it's for a cause, I guess.

So I was thinking, what song could I listen to for an hour? Or, better yet, what song would I play, if I were so rich as to have an hour's worth of songs to pick from? Um, let's see ... 60 minutes in an hour, divided by three minutes per song ... (insert Erin opening her desktop calendar) = 20 songs (Am I doing this right?), minus like, eight for those songs that go over three minutes.

OK. I have 12 songs. It's harder than you think, because, unlike "99 Red Balloons" guy, I would be thinking about the millions of people who would be sitting there thinking "God, who picked THESE songs?" This is a lot of pressure. You want to appear cool, but not too cool. Not a music snob. Oh, my.

It should be noted that I don't know if videos actually exist, as I haven't seen VH1 or MTV or anything in a decade and a half.

1. "Second Wind," by Billy Joel, because it's hilarious. There's this guy who wants to jump off the bridge, and Billy's all there on the edge like some angel in a trench coat, showing him all the people who would miss him. Very "It's a Wonderful Life." Very funny. I know this one exists, because I have it on DVD. Ha. I am embarrassed.

2. Frou Frou's "Let Go." More commonly known as "the song that's in the background when Natalie Portman and Zach Braff are hugging in the airport at the end of 'Garden State.'" Makes me tear up everytime.

3. "Take on Me," by someone in the '80s. I don't like this song and will turn it anytime it's on the radio, but when I was a kid, I remember thinking "WHOA, how did they do that?" when I saw the characters like, walk through a mirror and turn into chalk-esque drawings on VH1. Very '80s.

4 and 5. I'd waste two votes on "Since U Been Gone," by Kelly Clarkson, to be played consecutively, just to annoy Dave.

6. Something by The Strokes, because I love them and the only video I've seen of theirs is a grainy one from some girl's Myspace page. Very grainy. Very "buffering, please wait."

7. "I Believe In Sympathy," by Bright Eyes. Conor Oberst would hate every second of it, because it'd be on mainstream media ... but I would still love it.

8. "Helena," by My Chemical Romance. I know it's sooo last year. I know they're no longer edgy, but are kinda poppy. But I have the money, and I control the hour on VH1. So there.

9. to 12., I play four other Billy Joel songs, just to round out the hour. And because I've made it through my iTunes and don't feel like going back through the list. Unless anyone has suggestions.

(Photo: Still from "Second Wind" by Billy Joel.)

"I'm glad I didn't die before I met you."

Getting married is hard to do.

I mean, there's the whole finding a person. Then the whole waiting around until the person stops dragging his feet. Then the whole nervous "Will he ask me?" moments, and the drunken, quasi-deep conversations about what you, you know man, want out of life. Then the will-he-or-won't-he phase. I'm not saying those were my experiences. Ha. Just an observation.

And my best friend decided this would be a good idea. Yeah -- my friend since I was 11, my college roommate. Gettin' married. Oh yeah.

And this adds a whole new dimension to my life. OK, not really. But it is exciting to have someone else to talk about the merits of ivory versus off white versus white. The "we want to be different" touches that inevitably, because of cost and laziness, turn into the "everyone else is doin' it" moments.

And I mean that in a good way. I need someone else to tell me we can't always get our way. Or, just let me complain about it, and then we laugh and move on.

I mean, I'm going to have to accept the fact that Dave doesn't want to dance to "First Day of My Life."* And she'll have to accept that he's a teacher and, sigh ... that means she should probably get married in the summer. The hot, sweaty, muggy, miserable Ohio summers. Ha. I mean, the beautiful summer light. Glass half full.

(*Read: Dave will learn to love it. How can you not love that song? "This is the first day of my life ... I'm glad I didn't die before I met you." Nothing says romance like mentioning death. Wait a minute ...)

(Photo: Ring by Tiffany's. I mean, her fiance is a teacher; I'm sure it's from Tiffany's.)

Channel 13, no longer the news channel, but the TOMKAT channel! More at 5!

A friend told me that there were rumors going around Toledo and the 'Net that Toledo's favorite couple, TomKat, is currently in the Toledo Hospital giving birth. Well, technically, I guess Katie'd be giving birth, but ...

Why they'd go to Toledo is beyond me (well, besides that she's from Toledo). Although I bet she won't be waiting in the lobby for three hours like I did that one time ...

Anyhow.

Let it be known I loathe the name TomKat, almost as much as I hate how far back I roll my eyes when I see that Channel 13, not a bad or sleazy news channel (Toledo has worse), has a whole section on its site devoted to Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes news. What happened to the news channel? Oh, wait. That is news. Newertainment.

But WHO KNEW? Did you know Tom and Katie are getting married July 4th? Did you know that's one day after his 44th birthday? Did you? Don't you feel more complete, like a better person for having read that? I know I do.

By George, look at the time

I'm gonna admit something on here that I don't like to do: When The Simpsons first came on the air, the only thing I remember about it is my elementary school principal made the Kentucky and Cincinnati Enquirers because he outlawed any Simpsons stuff: shirts, folders, notebooks, backpacks, lunchboxes, etc., because Bart said "Eat my shorts."

So, I had my second-ever* (yes, ever) moment of "oh, my God, look at the time" moment today when I read The Simpsons were getting renewed for its 18th and 19th seasons. I don't remember many other times when I've actually could sense myself getting old -- but 18th and 19th seasons?! That's almost 20 years. (I am s-m-r-t.)

Ah, it seems like only yesterday when a balding man with big ears and huge teeth stood in front of the school and said "No Simpsons stuff," in his "I'm a princi-PAL" shirt, complete with a caricature of himself on it. That shirt scarred me more than The Simpsons ever would.

*The first was when I woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, and realized I have a 401(k). Whoa. SCA-ry.

(Photo: From Fox.)

iPods are the best invention of all time

I love my iPod more than I love a lot of things. So much music goodness in such a tiny package. What's not to love? Well ... I don't love the white buds because they hurt my ears, and I don't like that I bought a fourth generation iPod right before the color screen/video iPods came out ... but you're not that interested in that.

Apparently, the cool kids have gotten their members together to decide iPod-DJing is the new ... gulp ... jam band. If you don't know how I feel about jam bands, you don't even know me at all. So, will I be going/participating in iPod DJing in any way?

Gulp again. Yes. And you're all invited. Cranky Pat's. Sunday. 9:30 p.m. At least half of the four main Weekend staffers will be there. Two of us. Ooh. Celebrities. (Ha. Ha, ha. HA. I am so funny.)

I can see this going swimmingly. But I can also see some jerk take over the whole show like the guy at Tom's Garage last week who was playing the country music/reggae/rap songs (I mean that one song had all those genres in it, not that he played all three -- see? Isn't that horrible? If you want to know what it sounded like, pound your head on your desk a few times, have a friend hit something metal and make bass sounds with your mouth through a harmonica. Awesome).

Let's hope for swimmingly.

But see, once you get so many genres, tastes and people all together, that little bundle of musical joy can quickly become an instrument of torture. I have a wide variety of tastes in music, but I draw the line at country/reggae/rap.

(Photo: From Apple.)

An interactive newspaper

This is the coolest thing I've ever seen (today, online). Is this how newspapers will look in 10 years? I don't know, but it's fun to play with.

Lucky for me, I speak Dutch; unlucky for you I don't really feel like translating the whole thing. But it's a PR-ish newspaper that has all these interactive links; one front page, many links -- to photos, the Sudoku puzzle, and more stories. It says it's the beginning of an undertaking. A concept.

Wow, I haven't spoken Dutch in seven years. Wow.

(Thanks to Journerdism for the link.)

Another reason to live

Nick Lachey, who the Fox Valley voted sucks/lame a few weeks ago, is about to make our lives a lot more bearable.

And, of course, that's because he's about to give us a reason to make fun of him. Again. That's right. Everyone's favorite Cincinnatian is about to star -- gulp -- in a sitcom. Oh, god.

Wait, it gets worse. I mean, better.

He's going to play a bachelor.

It's called "He Said/She Said."

It's going to be on the network CW, the new WB/UPN combo.

Sometimes, it's awesome not to have cable. This time, though, it's actually a bad thing. I want to watch this trainwreck of awkward performances. Please, please. Let me be rich, just this once, man.

Trying to be cool again

It's Monday, which means ... tomorrow's Tuesday, very good, class. And Tuesdays are ... new music days, correct. But, the Internet is awesome, so the man can't hold us down, man. We'll listen when we want. Yeah.

Speaking of "yeah," check out the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' new album. The only problem is you can't skip through songs (unless this is just a Safari/Macintosh quirk), so there's no listening to the CD in its entirety, because I have no patience. From what I heard, it's OK. Bet it'd sound even better if I could skip through songs halfway through if I wanted to. Jerks. It's out at the end of April.

You can also listen to The Flaming Lips' "At War with the Mystics," which always reminds me of hearing a 1970s radio playing while someone else is talking while some people are clapping and going "woo hooa." But in a good way. It's out April 4.

(Photo: The Flaming Lips, from the band's Myspace page.)

Please don't tell anyone how nerdy this post is

I love old stuff. Make that just stuff. I like stuff.

I love the way a musty basement smells, especially when it has a room full of stuff that people have tossed aside over the last 50 years "to go through later." I get excited about yard sales. My ears perk up when I hear about people cleaning out their attics. I also feel slighted because no one I know actually has an attic full of stuff.

And, because of this, I go antique shopping. A lot. Or, at least a lot for someone in her 20s.

Where else (besides flea markets, I suppose) can you find one big mega-store of old, dirty, smelly, "sold as is" items? That's right. Nowhere.

Antique shops are better than any regular store, because you can find stuff you didn't even know you needed until you see it. Old cameras that don't work. Dishes so ugly they're cool. Funky furniture. It's like shopping at an Urban Outfitters, with more choices, more worn-and-torn items, and fewer models whose hipbones jut out above their bikini bottoms.

Ergo, antique shopping can be great for the pocketbook and the self-esteem. Not to mention it's just fun, and antique shops are something that I seek out everywhere we move. Michigan was horrible, but I'll give it this: it's got some sweet shops in Hillsdale.

And now, Oshkosh, we've started on yours. Appleton and Fond du Lac are next.

Not that everything is cheap. It's not. But, I suppose you should always have something to pine over, or search for in other antique shops. We usually shop for cameras and glasses -- I got a sweet Apollo 11 glass for $1 (which, according to my stepdad, is how much you bought them for in the '60s with any tank of gas at your local gas station); we have about 15 old cameras, and I'm currently seeking this fairly common glass rooster thing, in a particular shade of green. I'm not kidding.

But there are two things I cannot pass up: postcards (because I collect them), and photos (because a lot of times, there are funny messages written on the back). Why, in any other time, I would pay 25 to 50 cents for old postcards or photos, I'm not sure. But it's awesome when you're antique shopping.

And this weekend, we found gold: a postcard from our alma mater, the University of Toledo, circa 1930 to 1945 (it's a Tichnor Bros. card, and the ones that I found that look similar to it are from the '30s to '45) -- yeah, in Oshkosh. We also found a candid photo from the early 1900s -- a man playing a guitar and a woman and two girls watching him. It's totally unlike the posed shots. Sweet.

We are nerds.

"And you really shouldn't stack 'em, because it gets really pressured ..."

Welcome to the 20th century. I'll be your guide, Erin.

The first stop is our living room, where you'll notice an unusual object we like to call "the record player."

We got a record player -- well, really it was Dave's parents', and now it's ours, but it works now for the first time since I've known Dave. It's out of the closet. It's been repaired. It's currently spinning Elliott Smith's self-titled album. Like that? Spinning. Gotta know the lingo, man.

If I thought Dave was a snob before ... Ha.

Well, OK, but I am enjoying it, too, to be fair. Bright Eyes, your EP is now mine, in all its vinyl-smelling glory. The only problem is we have to listen to them on my astronaut-sized headphones because we don't have speakers. But all in good time, my friends. All in good time.

I also wrote a column about its effect on me, a 20something who loves her iPod, so look for it at The Northwestern's Web site next Sunday. I'll also link to it (on your left, the link to my latest Sunday column).

But, um, Dad? If you're reading, you've got that whole box of vinyl ... just gettin' dusty.

So I was wrong

I admit it, I didn't think I'd like Verona Grove; their sound is kind of pop-y punk, they really do remind me of everything I listened to in 2003 on my mixed cassette tape (Erin's Good Stuff, Vol. XII); But I have to admit -- they really do rock live.

And they're not ugly. At all.

I'm not a snob about music as much as Dave, but I do get picky when it comes to live shows, and cover songs. But they didn't have to try hard to sound like Green Day or Weezer, because the guys in Verona Grove can really sing. Ergo, good show boys. You proved me wrong.

AND ... speaking of covers, Tim Schweiger of The Obsoletes (HA, you thought I was going to say Blueheels -- ha, I got you good) did a cover of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" with Rebecca Krafft of ... the band I said I wasn't going to mention, and it was magical. (I use the word "magical" half facetiously, because I wanted to say rocked," but I used that word already too many times.)

(Photo: by Krista)

College ... sigh.

Remember college? I remember college. When I was in college, I had the best Thursdays and Fridays ever. I didn't have to work, I didn't have to go to class, I didn't have to babysit. I could sleep 'til 1 p.m. on Thursdays and then go out that night, and waste all day Friday. Sigh. Those were the days.

Well, I was feeling a little nostalgic, so last night we went to The Bar for some chicken wings, and then to Appleton's Tom's Garage. "The band plays at 10," Dave told me. Cool. I can go, get home like at midnight or 12:30. Not too bad.

But when he said 10, he meant 12. Two mediocre bands went first, and then came The Blueheels, which was awesome, as you probably gathered by my mentioning them all the time (sorry, they're my current favorites). Got home at 1:45, but it was so worth it. Even when I wanted to die instead of waking up this morning because my ears were ringing and I was tired, it was still worth it. EVEN when ... OK, you get it.

So basically, I felt today like I used to feel after staying up all night at a sleepover. Only I really lost like, three hours of sleep, which must mean I'm way more into this work-day schedule than my rock-star self wants to be. And by rock star, I mean ... not a rock star.

SPEAKING of old and music: last night, during the mediocre bands, some old guy* was out on the dance floor in his cooool '80s jean jacket with matching pants, dancing like he was at Woodstock. More power to you, guy, but at least keep a beat. I'd tell you more, but ...

That reminds me of a little time in college when I wrote a column about Flash, a Toledo legend. She danced like every song was straight outta Miami, circa 1991. She came alone to bars and danced like it was her job, and she was horrible. I decided it'd be cool to write 500 words about her -- ha, ha, wouldn't that be cool? Only I forgot she'd actually read it, most likely.

And then a friend of mine said "I know her," and showed the column to her. And then she hated me, and added daggers to her dance routines. I couldn't ever go to those bars again.

Ergo, you can make up your own old man dancing story. I learned my lesson.

Ah, college.

(*Ok, by "old" I mean he wasn't in his forties anymore, which isn't old per se, but it is old to be out 'til 1 a.m. dancing like that on a school night.)

I like my hair.

Could I do this, get my hair cut off?

No. I had a hard enough time with the hair cut I got a few weeks ago. I'm just now able to put my bangs behind my ears with no help of bobby pins or barettes.

But for a $1 million? OK, if you put it that way. Natalie Portman is famous, so I bet she can get a bunch of wigs for free, so that wouldn't be too bad. But Natalie, you're young, you're kind of a big deal. That was a brave move. Hair is a girl thing. It's something some girls can't let go of. Me, I personally am A.) afraid my head's shaped funny, and I'd never know until it was too late, B.) too much of a girl to actually get a pixie cut.

(Confession: Sometimes, late at night, I lay awake and get scared that the only hairstyle I'll have when I'm 65 will be a pixie-like cut, and I cry a little bit.)

About a month ago, "Fear Factor" had an episode where girls had to have their heads shaved to move on to the next round. Of the three girls, two refused. Are you kidding?! $1 million will buy a sweet wig.

I'm not one of those girls who'd eat anything for $20. Nope. I am one of those girls who would shave her head for $1 million.

Tease your hair, ladies, and get your MC Hammer pants out of the closet, guys, because the '80s are back (in the news)

It's like the '80s are back, alive and well, and living inside This is life. And, here I am, breaking the relationship news you would have craved had these people actually stayed famous, and not strayed to do Disney soundtracks. But you still care, because Phil Collins, back in the day, was actually OK. You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen.

Then Disney called, and he lost all coolness points.

What I'm getting at: Phil Collins is separating from his wife.

I'll allow you a few moments to compose yourselves. ("God! The whole sanctity of marriage is shattered, life is meaningless -- and you're no son, you're no son of miiiiiiine."

Scratch that last part.

(Photo: Reuters)

That is a sweet house. I'll take it.

We're pretending we're looking for a house, and we're pretending I'm not a journalist and he's not a record-store employee. We're multi-millionaires with no jobs. It's a rough life, but it's gotta be someone's daydream.

This is the house we found. I don't think it's too much to ask. I mean, in like ... uh, eight years we'll have enough to make the downpayment.*

(*I don't really know about that math.)

But, seriously, who needs a house that big? Secondly, can I move in? I'm pretty sure no one would even notice me for a few months. Holy cow.

My formal apology

I'd like to apologize to everyone who got "When a Man Loves a Woman" stuck in their heads after they read my blog yesterday. While it wasn't my intention ... wait. It sort of was.

America's sweethearts

Good news: America's favorite couple is engaged. I wonder what the deal-sealer was; I'm guessing it was the time, love and tenderness. They dated in the '90s and just recently got back together, according to my latest conversation with Nicolette Sheridan. We usually call each other a few times a week.

You see, folks, when a man (desperately) loves a woman, (fill in favorite Michael Bolton lyric here).

I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find an address for you to send congratulations cards to. I'm sorry. I guess you'll just have to go through their press people just like everyone else.

Norwegian heaven.

This lady thought she was in heaven: her tap "water" was actually beer.

(Photo: How I picture Norway, all the time, from web.ukonline.co.uk.)

Dear Pharmacy, Please stop being the worst place in the world. Thanks, Erin

I had the pleasure of waiting in the pharmacy's busy prescription pick-up center today for about an hour. No kidding. I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do. It's not like I don't enjoy sitting there, watching people cough up lungs and wipe dirty noses on their sleeves. Who doesn't like a little bit of that? I know I sure do.

But the best part of all -- no, not the crying kid; nope, not the old lady who yelled at the pharmacist to "hurry the (expletive) up already" -- I'm talking about the music.

The stupid music.

No wonder people are cranky. No wonder people are short and snippy and mean. No wonder everyone there looked like they wanted to hurt someone. My god, that was harsher than any pill they could have behind that counter.

We -- myself and about a dozen other people over the course of the 50 minutes -- were subjected to THE WORST '70s and '80s slow, sappy love songs. I'm talking "Wind Beneath My Wings." I can handle some '80s. I love classics like "In Your Eyes," because of John Cusak in "Say Anything." I like a bit of Hall & Oates. I like some "Breakfast Club" favorites. I appreciate a good "Total Eclipse of the Heart," because I believe that, when forced, that song makes the perfect karaoke song (with a few drinks and at least 17 friends).

However, I have a low tolerance for bad songs and mean people, so this pretty much cemented my bad Rx experience.

So, I'm writing a letter. Only I'm pretty lazy when it comes to writing letters that no one will read, so I won't mail it. As a matter of fact, I'll just put it here on my blog for you to read.

Dear Big Box Pharmacy Chain,

I realize that you feel it is you duty to make me feel better. I appreciate that. So in order for you and I to continue down this path, we're going to have to make some changes. I won't blog about you, if you promise to change your music. I've listed some suggestions for you to consider:

1. Play some Billy Joel. When he played "Keeping the Faith" in a courtroom, he made people dance. I'm sure it'd have the same effect. Blind men would see, the weak could walk. It'd be a miracle.

2. Play nothing. I'm cool with no music over bad music, hands down.

3. Tune into a radio station instead of a looping CD. That'd be sweet, because you could give me something to look forward to while I wait: "Ooh, maybe THIS will be the last song before a commercial break."

4. Cut my waiting time by 99 percent. I want to be in and out. That way, I have a fair shot of getting out before the "flllyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, fly higgggghhhher than the sky, so high I almost touched the sky, thaaaaaaank you," part of the song, thus saving me hours of torment and agony.

Sincerely,
Erin

That show will fail because I like ketchup. (What??)

I don't know about this, guys. My idea of fun doesn't include Simon Cowell yelling at people who are trying to be inventors. Inventors scare me more than people who can't sing. I'm going to put my money on this show not being a hit. Of course, odds are I'll be wrong.

Why do I think this show will be a bad idea? Because these invention shows don't actually pick good inventions.

Case in point: A few years ago, there was a similar show on some lame (read: favorite) network, such as A&E or the Discovery Channel, that tried the same thing. Inventors tried to sell their stuff in hopes of getting a deal with some company such as Wal-Mart, or at least scoring a hot minute on late-night TV during an infomercial.

One invention was a hit, in my book. You know how when you're driving in the car and eating french fries, and you squeeze the ketchup down the side of the fry box? It gets all warm and weird. So this guy invented this thing that pulls off from the side of the fry box; a sort of pocket to put ketchup in. AND HE DIDN'T EVEN WIN.

I mean, come on. The story says someone has built a RACETRACK FOR COCKROACHES. Why, someone tell me, does the world need this? Why?

(Photo: Ode to ketchup. This is the exact pump Dave and I have. I'm not even joking.)

Here comes Peter Cottontail, lumbering down the Bunny Trail, hippity hoppity, someone give this guy a carrot

For the love of all things holy, that is a giant rabbit.

And don't get any ideas, guys, because Guiness Book of World Records is no longer accepting entries for "world's biggest animal." Apparently people were making their animals binge. Dang. That is a big bunny. That's like the size of an animal you'd get at the fair from boyfriend when you were 16, as he tried to show off by knocking over cans with an oversized baseball. Only that bunny'd be fake. Of course.

Dang. That thing is big.

New local band to fall in love with

Our friends have about come and gone. About, because we're waiting to go eat our good-bye breakfast. But, as predicted, the weekend went too quickly. Yesterday, they asked to do what we normally do on the weekend. We thought that they'd be bored by the naps and the watching of the Woody Allen movies, so we faked it and went shopping, and then on a tour of Oshkosh.

Ten minutes later (kidding), we went to Cranky Pat's again, and saw Tim Schweiger of your favorite band and mine, The Blueheels, do a solo show. It was no Blueheels, but it was great anyhow. By the way, they're playing March 30 at the King Club in Madison, where my favorite Toledo band, Rediscover, played a few weeks ago. But I'm so sure it's on a Thursday. Boo-urns. Anyhow.

Then came Appleton's The Wandering Sons -- which was awesome. Awesome. They've got a folky, bluesy sound; something I've not really ... um, enjoyed in a lot of bands. But it was awesome. Did I say that yet? They're playing at Tom's Garage in Appleton March 23. Will I be there? I'm 71 percent sure I will be. Yessss.

It's up there very high but not as high maybe as dirigibles or zeppelins or lightbulbs.

A few years ago, I found this site after I couldn't get the Quiznos Subs song out of my head (the one that sounds like it's sung by two hamsters or something, if hamsters could sing). I forgot it existed, until I came across this story in Weekend (meaning, I put it in Weekend, because that's what I do).

I remembered it existed, and since then, have been watching this, which I command you all to go watch right now: "We Like the Moon." It's pointless. It's fun. It's catchy. And it loops without you knowing it, so if you're not careful, you'll be watching the 1 minute song like, 14 times.

Oh, no! Not Neverland!

My blogs keep getting more sad by the minute.

They're closing the ranch. Neverland Ranch.

Let's all take a moment and think about what this means. Think of all the homeless animals. The unemployed people (who weren't getting paid anything, anyhow, apparently). Think of the Fun-o-Meter in California. It just dropped three whole points. Whoa.

Good thing I live in Wisconsin. I don't think I could handle living in a state whose source of fun and fleeting childhood moments were just gone, just like that.

Sad story in Mulletland.

You don't even know how messed up this is.

Let me explain. See, Toledo's East Side is kind of like ... um ... the place where mullets grow freely, cars rest on blocks in alleys, and the summer of 1987 will always be referred to as "the best thing that ever happened to (insert name, place, music genre, etc.)". If you lived there (or dated someone who lived there), you hate it when you're there, and you love it at the same time. It's a badge of pride, you get to wear on your sleeve and for the rest of your life say "hey, I know what life's like -- I'm from the East Side."

If you're from the true East Side, you know it, and you're proud of it. If you're from the Oregon-ish area of the East Side, you get to say "Yeah, I'm from the East Side," and yet you went to Cardinal Stritch. You don't belong with the mullets, and you know it. But, congrats. You are from the east side of the river. You get to make jokes that are in no way ironic about the East Side.

But I digress. If you were too lazy to click on the link, here's what's up: this 17-year-old girl and her 17-year-old loverboy stabbed her brother and were going to kill her family to live in her family's East Side home. Her boyfriend had lived in her closet anyhow, so ... I don't know why anyone had to die. But, it's the East Side, and we don't ask too many questions.

Because that's what love is. Actually, true love is Toledo. Sigh, Toledo.

We Are The Overexcited Fans

Because I get small thrills out of small deals (ha), my heart did a little jump when I was searching for someone on Purevolume, and I didn't find them. Something to be happy about? No, but on the "Page not found" page, we found We Are The Fury's ginormous ad.

Yeah. I'm a loser. But if you're not totally convinced they're cool, believe me.

(Photo: We Are The Fury, by Tim Harmon.)

Weekend of good stuff.

This week's flying, which is a good thing for many reasons:

A.) Who likes weekdays more than weekends? No one, unless their name is "Nerd."

B.) Round two of Friend-a-rama is this weekend.

C.) The The Blueheels are playing Friday in Oshkosh, if their Web site is to be believed.

D.) Um. It's almost Friday. Pay day. Boo ya, Grandma. Boy, I haven't used that phrase since high school. That felt good. Boo ya, Grandma.

Awesome.

The friends who came up last weekend are the life-long friends (insert mushy music): my cousin who I know more like a sister, and my best friend since sixth grade. This weekend? The college friends. It's like my life in fast forward. Next week, I'll have visitors from my first "real" job after college. Oh, wait. That's every weekend. Right.

But we're back to the original problem: What to do, what to do. Last weekend, we went shopping for bridesmaids' dresses. We then went shopping for clothes. Then went shopping for pizza. I had fun. But you know that nervous feeling you feel as a first-time host when there are lulls in the conversation and you all sit there, staring at each other? No? Oh. Must be me. Ij ust wanna be exciting. ...

I mean, um. I am. Shooot.

(Photo: me and one of my college friends -- woo hoo)

Barbie hits the stage, Erin's dreams go crashing to the floor

Waaaaa --- MOM! I wanted to be Barbie! What does this girl have that I don't?

Looks, height, acting talent. OK, OK, I get it.

But come on, this girl's face looks eerily similar to the plastic counterpart she's playing. Everywhere else, not so much. She actually has a waist. Ha. Yet, far from fat.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Barbie, but only because she had hair I could actually work with, and her clothes were way cooler. Now, at 20-something, I'm over it. So I can't say I'd be all that excited if I were going to be playing Barbie on stage. (Read: I am sooo jealous.) If this journalism thing doesn't work out, I am so headed to Barbieland.

(Photo: AP, Erin Elizabeth Coors gets a peek at her wardrobe, designed by costume designer Gregg Barnes.)

Count up all the good stuff, WHOA

One of the perks of being engaged to a record store clerk is A.) hearing about stuff before everyone else, and B.) getting stuff before everyone else.

Before you can say "promo copy," Dave had a promo copy of "Bring it Back" Mates of State's newest CD, out March 21. Yesss. Best day of my life, because his mom taught him to share.

And, because you're all dying to know what everyone's favorite married couple/organ-and-drums duo is up to, it's makin' beautiful music. And, they even had their daughter, Magnolia, sing on one of the tracks. Ha, ha. (Which, coincidentally, is one of my favorite Mates of State songs: "Ha, Ha.")

And, for those of you who know of Mates of State and loathe them for their sugary-saturated songs, this one at least has lyrics that are a tad darker. Kind of. Quit being a hater. It's good stuff. Check out what it does to normal men.

It's that good.

Fired so fast your head will spin.

So what's the deal with Ivanka Trump? What does she know about being an apprentice? I have a hard time believing that someone whose name pops up on "famousbabes.com" second in a Google search knows anything about important business decisions.

But, hey. I could be wrong.

But I doubt it. Yeah, on tonight's episode of "The Apprentice", she asked questions about product brand and leadership skills. But come on. It's TV.

And what's it like to be Ivanka Trump? I'm pretty sure it's got to be fabulous. Think of the perks: the money, the built-in fame, the walk-on roles in "The Apprentice."

So what would it be like if I got to be an assistant to my dad? Ha. I don't think it'd work out. He's no Trump.

1. Erin goes to work with Randy Niese, who shall always be referred to as Randy Niese, not The Randy or even Randy. Just Randy Niese.

2. He also does not have bad hair. More like few hairs.

3. We go Robbins Sports Surfaces, which is our version of the Trump towers. We go into the conference room, this tiny little room with a coffee maker and a motivational chart that uses words such as "excell," "perserverence" and other $5 words that remind us all of the posters with pictures of eagles flying over mountains from our high school guidance counselor's office. The room smells vaguely of stale coffee and burnt Lean Cuisine meals.

4. No TV show. No viewers. No one cares.

Basically, it wouldn't work. I feel cheated. Why can't my dad be famous and rich and have his own TV show?

Married to the Sea

If you're easily offended, please don't go to this Web site, Married to the Sea, from the same lovely man who brought us Toothpaste for Dinner and his wife, who brought us Natalie Dee.

If getting offended isn't your thing, check it out. Don't get it? Come on, it's hilarious. It's supposed to be stupid. That's their schtick.

Spell "how did you come up with that story"

Apparently, the year after I got out on purpose (my word was acreage, and my spelling it wrong led not only to me not going on to the district spelling bee, but also to the name of this blog), they stopped having Putnam County spelling bees.

But that didn't stop The (Toledo) Blade from running a story today about the Putnam County Spelling Bee (the musical), and my former hometown's association to the Broadway show.

OK, so the majority of the story is about how there is no spelling bee, and the county in the play is actually not our Putnam County, but ... um. It's neat. The principal of my hometown elementary school's even quoted in there as saying he stole the trophy for the 1998-99 bee. Mainly because there was no bee at which to award a trophy.

I got stuff done. Yessss.

I just complained about not getting anything done for our Oct. 14 wedding.

But I complained prematurely. I got stuff done this weekend.

Yes. Bridesmaids dresses. Two of my bridesmaids from Ohio and my Wisconsin representative and I went shopping Saturday, and I'm quite proud of us. It was just like when I found my wedding dress -- easy and painless. Only went to one store. Tried on separates. Picked the skirt. Picked the top. Within less than an hour, we were done. Easy as pie.

Voila. There it is. I swear the top/skirt combo looks a lot cooler than it does on the Web site I dragged this photo from. The pieces go together better than they do in the photo. There's no scandalous stomachs showing or anything like it looks like in the photo, and the colors match in real life.

Perfecto. My junior bridesmaid's dress is similar: the top is slightly different and it isn't on the Web site. But it's basically the same. You get the idea.

That's done. Whew.

Erin turns the big 1-0-0

This is a big moment.

This is blog number 100.

When I was in school, we did a "100" day: 100 buttons, 100 noodles, 100 crayons. Etc.

In the blogosphere, 100 means ... um. Nothing, I guess. Did that stop me from making 100 cupcakes, making a necklace out of watercolor-painted noodles and of putting 100 beans in a jar? Um. Yeah, that and my lack of the materials needed to do those things.

But I'll take this opportunity to celebrate, anyhow. Here is my top 100 list of things I like:

Kidding. But, happy 100 blogs, This is Life. I hope we enjoy many more blogs together.

Angry-white-boy dance music is back. Or is it?

Today in Erin-finds-out-about-music news: Head Automatica has a new song out, from "Popaganda!" which I'm assuming is their new album. They're in the studio now putting it together. Layin' some tracks, is that what the kids are calling it?

You supposedly can preview it on the Purevolume site, but it's not streaming, and I'm getting annoyed. The album's due out by May or June.

Unfortunately, I love Head Automatica for their angry-white-boy dance music vibe, and they're turning it down a few notches, apparently. I wanted another album with 12 "Beating Heart Baby"s on it. They're going for a "Northern soul" vibe, whatever that means. "It's as white-boy soul as you can get," Daryl said to MTV. Eek. No, boys, come back! Come make me dance!

Unfortunately No. 2, Daryl Palumbo's also going back in the studio with his other band, Glassjaw, a group that knows how to get me in a bad mood quickly. Blah. Glassjaw's new album is due in 2007. Please don't tell Dave. He'll buy it out of spite.

(Photo: Dave took it in Toledo at Headliners in 2004.)

All I want for tax season is a lot of money back. A lot. Please.

Look at that couple. Doing their taxes, all pensive and concerned. Crunching numbers (without a calculator). He's scratching his chin, they're worrying about how they can get claim the pool as a work-related expense.

That's pretty much the scene in this apartment, minus the pool, me standing over Dave's shoulder and that blue plaid shirt.

Dave's trying to save us some money by doing my taxes. His were more complicated than mine, since they included three states'; ergo, it was a tad expensive. My return is only comprised of two states. Lucky me. So easy as pie, right?

Well. To a tax collector, maybe. He sounds like a number-crunching nerd: it's a 1040-A, box 7, form 23-J, $3.50 from UT, a 747 and a A98134-C. Ugh. Boring.

He's on the phone with his parents, trying to sort it out -- "No! What page are you on??" I'm a little frightened.

I'm trying to tell him telepathically that I'm going to go to jail if he messes up, but I think that'd just be a joke to him. So. I wonder if they'll let me update my blog from prison?

Say it, "Louder Now"

And, yet another reason to live, Taking Back Sunday has a new album coming out April 25.

The band's last two albums, "Tell All Your Friends" and "Where You Want to Be," totally made up my spring and summer of 2004, when I discovered the band. That, and I only had a tape deck in my car at the time, and it was the only tape I had. ... So their two CDs I dubbed* there were the only songs I ever heard, whether I liked it or not. (*"Dubbed" means "to copy onto a cassette."**)

(**"Cassette" is like a CD, only rectangular.)

When "Where You Want to Be" came out, Dave and I had just started going out, and we and his friends got the promo copy (working in a record store will get you two things: no money and free or ridiculously cheap promo CDs) and drove around Toledo all night, singing. But with his drunken friend hung out the car window, screaming the lyrics and the windows down, and it was dark and hot and, oh, Toledo. Sigh. Summer. Good music. Friends. Although, rereading those last few lines, it sounds more pathetic and slightly more emotastic than it actually was.

I'm sure we'll be celebrating "Louder Now" in a slightly different way. Cough. We are two years older. Cough. Um. Anyhow.

Check out their page (or buy the track on iTunes) to hear "MakeDamnSure", from the new album. Talk about emo-ish -- oh, wait, they say "post-hardcore" now. Right. Anyhow, "I just wanna bring you down so badly .... I'll make damn sure you'll never leave me, you won't ever get too far from me." That sounds stalkerish and I'm pretty sure you could win a restraining order if you were ever told that by someone, but when they sing it, it's so cool.

I can't wait. April.

Fish sticks are gross

Today's the first day of Lent. Ergo, today is the day I start feeling sick when I think about Lent, Fridays and fish sticks.

I know hate is a strong word. But I hate fish. Especially fish sticks. Forever engrained into my memory is the taste and smell of the Friday nights at my mom's house during Lent. Fish. Blah. You'd think she didn't know about macaroni being meat-free.

Actually, we ate that, too. With tuna.

But that's neither here nor there.

I want to know, as a woman who grew up thinking Lent meant giving up stuff your really, really like for 40 long, miserable days, why someone who isn't Catholic would give up meat on Fridays or swear off some other form of goodness for the rest in the best interest of your soul for 40 days.

What's the point if you're not Catholic? I'm not talking from an uber-religious standpoint; I don't mean "Why would you take something so sacred and blah blah blah."

I mean, why would you give something up for Lent if you didn't have to? Why not just give it up, period? Why "for Lent"? Is it because Catholics show a lot of strength and resilience and had great bodies because we gave up candy or meat for Lent? Um. Must not be the same Catholics I'm looking at. No offense, Catholics Erin knows. Or self. No offense, self.

In case you were wondering, I'm giving up fish sticks. For good.

Pearl Jam's back

Hey, 1990s. Your band's back. Pearl Jam.

I may get hate mail and unfriendly stares from people, but I am indifferent to this news. Sure, they're a good band, blah, blah, blah, Seattle, grunge rock, 1990s, flannel, curly hair. I get it.

I do hope the album doesn't suck, just because Dave won't stop crying if it does. Either that, or he'll never admit it, and stick the CD on the window sill and never listen to it, but never sell it back out of pride.

Ha.

(Confession: I am the same way with "Cold Spring Harbor," Billy Joel's album that was recorded on the wrong speed, so Billy sounds like a Chipmunk. I will never let go of that CD, though I won't ever listen to it again.)

(Photo: lasegunda.com.)

A bridesmaid's dress in the rough. H. O. T.

Man, day two of plans. First the honeymoon. Now, their dresses.

Saturday, I'll be taking half of my bridesmaids to go bridesmaids' dress shopping. Woo hoo. Since I already got my wedding dress, this shouldn't be that bad. I can see some problems. Mainly, it's at 10 a.m. Holy Toledo. That was a dumb idea. But hey, you don't find dresses like this one without doing some digging. HOT. I can only hope they're as excited about it as I am. Woo hoo.