This gentleman brought to you by Us magazine and Photoshop

Who is that man, you ask. Before you call him handsome or dashing, let me ruin the moment for you and tell you it's Britney's K-Fed, everyone's favorite ... uh, rookie of the year. He's in Us, and boy is he charming or what?!

"It's completely unfair when a child is brought into this world an now he's already looked at like a prince. My kids are going to have to learn what a real job is, what life is. You don't have it easy with me. Period....My kids are going to work at Taco Bell, dammit," he says. Yeah, dammit.

Word, K-Fed. Word to your mother.

You know what you're like..?

Waterfest, week two, was last night, and it was awesome. OK, so the cover band went from "Lady Marmalade" to "Sweet Home Alabama" to "I Will Survive," and then over to Bon Jovi's "Livin' On a Prayer." So the lead singer was the stereotypical cover band guy: the sunglasses, the bare (waxed) chest, the muscles, the Superman tattoo on his shoulder. ... I mean, it was hot. (Or not.)

And so the second band, a Canadian country-ish band was just OK (not bad, though, not bad).

But the Gin Blossoms. Oh, man. I suddenly was back in Mrs. Kohls' classroom, learning how to add fractions. Oh, the memories.

There's something about listening to a band and enjoying it because they're nice people, and you know because you talked to one of them on the phone (and they're all just like him, I'm certain), and you know the words and you dance a bit (but not too much), and you people-watch.

Too bad I won't be doing that next week.

If there are any die-hard BoDeans fans, please do not read on. I don't want hate mail just because I'm about to say something slightly unpleasant about Sammy Llanas. I know he's from Waukesha. I know it's like, unamerican (or unwisconsin -ian/ -onian/ -itean) to dislike the band.

And for all of you not from Wisconsin who are also not "Party of Five" fans, and are haters of all things pop, you're scratching your head. The BoDeans sing exactly two songs you'd know off-hand (after you Google it really quickly and read over their discography): "Closer to Free." "Outside Looking In."


That's it. And, man. Talk about a horrible interview. Hor-ri-ble.

"What's your band's story?" (A question we've asked all the bands, and they've answered it with funny or factual responses.)
"We don't have a story." Silence. Crickets chirp. I cough, stare at the computer screen, waiting for him to go on. A tumbleweed blows by.

I'd go on, but I don't want to waste all three of my good quotes on this blog when I'm going to make a story out of it. You know what you're like, BoDeans?

School in the summertime.

Say it with me: It's Thursday

It's Thursday: I have you all trained by now to know that means it's time for another round of Weekend.

And, as promised, The Gin Blossoms interview. Rock on.

'The Graduate' author says: "It's not fair to say she threw us out. There was just a difference of opinion on the nudism."

I can't even believe this.

OK, I can see there being a sequel to "The Graduate." If it were 1965.

We all WERE left hangin' ... But I know I don't lose sleep over it. It probably won't be any good, and I'd be most interested if Simon & Garfunkel were going to do the soundtrack to this one, too (probably not). But this guy, the author of the novel "The Graduate," is just plain weird.

He's glad he didn't get any money for the movie. He's glad he was poor. He lived in a VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER (I don't know if the river part is true, but I am laughing at the Chris Farley image in my head, and the guy did say he lived in a van).

I also struggle with this part: It's not coming out 'til June 2007. GREAT. Now what am I supposed to read this summer?!

These are my embarrassing but true Gin Blossom confessions

I just wanted everyone to know: The Gin Blossoms are coming. Repeat, Gin Blossoms are coming, tomorrow night. Erin will be there. Good times will be had. Flashbacks to fifth grade will be enjoyed by no one, experienced by all who are my age.

True Gin Blossoms story No. 1:
I like the band. I'm sorry. I cannot tell a lie.

True story No. 2:
You know those two-song cassette tapes, sold for 99 cents back in the day? Well, I was staying for a few days with my older, hipper cousin back in '93 or '94, and she had one of the Gin Blossoms' singles. I'd never heard it, but because I wanted to be just like her, I dubbed the song onto a tape from the top 8 at 8. Years later, her tape would turn up on a garage sale, and I'd wonder who'd pay 50 cents for a song they could dub from KISS FM. Now, I feel kind of bad about being that nerdy.

True story No. 3:
I've had "Follow You Down" in my head since late April.

True story No. 4:
When I interviewed Scott Johnson from the Gin Blossoms, he was uber nice. Uber is German for "very." That is also true.

True story No. 5:
Wednesday, I will post the whole interview online. But until then, you can be content to find out more here.

True story No. 6:
I was going to use "Last to Know" or "'Til I Hear It From You" in the title of this blog post, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Marriage is a special kind of union ...

When people want to get married in some religions, they have to take a marriage class. Yes, someone tells us how to be married. Wait, let me use the pamphlet's lingo: "tools" needed to "create a successful union."

I could crack jokes about "successful unionizing," but I won't. Instead, I'll just say holy cow, speaking of successful unions, this couple's been together 78 years. Seventy-eight. That's like, 70 years, plus eight. I can't even fathom it. Most people don't live to 78.

I only hope that our marriage class is going to give us those tools.

We go on Saturday, from 8:30 a.m. (when I am my best, let me tell you) to 4:30 p.m. (when I will be starving to death).

You can expect a full report here when we get back, probably complete with more photos like this blog classic, from the book "Teen Guide to Married Life," from which I posted back in February. Scroll to the bottom. There you go.

This blog autographed by David Lee Roth

Jump, jump, man.

Sigh.

When I was like, young enough to think that my life would be complete if my mom would juuuust let me stay up 'til 10, and Fun Dip was the highlight of my summer days, I remember watching the ridiculous video for "Jump" on VH1. And I didn't like it then.

But, because I realize that one cannot live on Billy Joel alone, I feel it is my duty to send you all to this link. David Lee Roth is coming to Waterfest at the Leach Amphitheater here.

Can you even handle it?

I can. But hey, I'm just the Fun Dip fan, what do I know? I am the geek who's excited about going to see the Gin Blossoms Thursday.

Hamster update

Oh, and no angry hamster ruined my life.

Not yet, anyhow. The sign is also gone. My luck, the building manager took it down because it was enciting panic. Or, it's been found. But I'm not that lucky.

I'll let you know if I wake up with rabid hamster bites on my arms or something. Stay tuned.

I'm baaaaaack

That's right. After a weekend full of (deep breath) long drives, time changes, 95-degree days, graduation parties, a meeting with the wedding decorator, picking out tuxedos for our wedding, shopping with Mom, shopping with my friend, hanging out with my family around the bonfire, sleeping in too late, chasing my parents' dog around the yard, going "awww" over the kittens in the barn, going on a bike ride, going to the bar, washing my car, getting thrown up on by a baby, going to the Dairy Whip, eating cheesy potatoes, getting sick of my CDs, driving the wrong way into a parade, getting cut off by some jerk in Indiana, narrowly escaping with my life, being bored to tears all the way to Wisconsin, and dragging myself back to work today ... inhale ... I am back.

And I'm tired.

And, I had all these exciting stories to tell you, and I was thinking of how I was going to phrase them in a blog, but then I just went ahead and gave away all the major points above, thus leaving my "exciting stories" seeming like, well, boring ones. But, there you have it. My holiday, where the streets have no names. Just letters. And numbers. And sometimes letters and numbers.

He's a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad hamster

I know we already said our tearful goodbyes, but this is one I couldn't resist blogging about. It's 7:30 a.m., so you know it's good.

We went to eat wings last night, got home at 1:15 a.m., planning on just going to bed, so tired, have to wake up early, etc. And what's attached to the door that leads to the floor our apartment's on?

A note. An 11-by-7 inch piece of nightmare, taped to the door.

"A fury [sic] brown hamster may have escaped from my apartment. If you find him, please see Apt #."

May have? What is that?? Did it, or didn't it? It has a cage, doesn't it? Is it in it? No? OK, then it's gone. Thank you, now that there is certainty, I can go on freaking out.


And why is it so furious? Is that why it left? Were you not changing his sawdust stuff often enough? That would make me furious. Any why did it "escape"? What are you doing in there, holding it hostage? It "escaped"?

For all we know, the fury brown hamster is on a warpath of destruction. Or, of crawling through my hair while I was asleep. I wasn't down with that, so I had Dave walk around with a flashlight, checking under the bed, under the chair, under the couch, behind the bookshelves, in the laundry basket, in the closet, in the bathroom.

Did we find the fury hamster? No. Not yet anyhow. But I'm getting the bleep outta Oshkosh if there's a hamster on the loose.

Well, I suppose it's better than a snake. I would have moved out, took all my belongings and hopped town, never to return, had it been "my fury brown snake may have escaped."

'Corporation sign with signs' ... deep, man.

Weird story: I was leaving work tonight, and THERE WERE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. It was like some concert was going on at the Leach Amphitheater or something. Sweet tomatoes, I practically hit an old man wearing dark clothes who was jaywalking. It was crazy; he had the deer/headlight thing going on, I screamed "Good god." But, as I didn't hit him, my story pretty much ends here.

I am pretty much all packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door ... Dave's mom's the one coming in on the jetplane, though. And, as I will be out of this time zone and living one hour ahead of you suckers (which means I will experience life an hour earlier, and be a wiser person; and when I come back, I'll un-age, leaving me with visibly firmer skin ...), I won't be blogging so much. Or at all. But you never know. I have done crazier things. Insert "Living On the Edge." Just the chorus, please.

For all you stalkers out there, or bored link-clickers, I will be vacationing here. I don't know if I knew they had a Web site, but ... dang, there it is. I've posted the world famous photo called "Corporation Sign With Signs."

I have to drive a while tomorrow, and I am so tired I could die, which is my new favorite phrase, apparently, and yet I'm NOT going to bed early. No, you heard it here first: Erin will be moody until 9 a.m. because of this. Then she will quickly switch into grumpy. Actually, that's not true. But I am going out tonight -- 25-cent wings, loud, oddly compiled music; heck yes. Hanging out with the fiance, who may never be the same after this weekend alone with his mother. Kidding.

And, because exactly two have asked: No, I didn't clean. She told me not to. You're supposed to do it anyhow, I know. But I just ... didn't.

Weekend can't come too soon

It's Thursday, so if you've been paying attention, you know what that means: Weekend. This week, ours is a preview of all the big Oshkosh summer music events. Turned out pretty nice, if I may say so myself.

And if you're a Little River Band (or want to know who the heck they are, and why I'm asking), then you should check out this story. (P.S. They are the band who's playing at the first Waterfest, tonight.)