Rip Taylor Delivered My Baby

Hey Superstars! Just took Kid Lulu to school, and thought I'd check in before I head back to the hospital to be with the Forever Fiancee and Maybe Maya. All my girls are doing great -- in fact, the newest Daly is hoovering so much food, she's gonna head home a Butterball Beauty.

Thanks to everyone for the well-wishing and such. I read your messages to the FF over the phone, and she got a kick out of them. I saw one msg especially inquired about my delivery-room skillz. Well, I'm not squeamish, so I kinda get into all the horrifically life-affirming delivery action. And I usually like to entertain the FF with an assortment of nervous-dad buffoonery. But this time, someone beat me to it.

You see, we had Rip Taylor for an anesthesiologist. This guy was a nightmare of bad zingers and constant chatter. Really, it was brutal. I'm surprised my daughter didn't come out covered in confetti. "Gimme that camera, Dad! Oops, dropped it! Just kidding, just kidding! Hey you know when my wife would always get pregnant? Scuba lessons! HA! Get it? Scuba lessons! SCUBA LESSONS!"

I still don't get that. Does anybody get that? What the hell do scuba lessons have to do with anything?

Anyway, just for fun, just to keep you sharp, here's a speed-round playlist. See how many you can come up with in, say, one minute. Ready? Okay, here we go:

THE BABY PLAYLIST

"Baby, What a Big Surprise" -- Chicago
"Baby I'm-a Want You" -- Bread
"Baby Baby" -- Amy Grant
"Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing" -- Chris Isaak
"Can't Get Enough of You Baby" -- Frankie Valli
"Baby Makin' Hips" -- Fantasia
"Baby, Now That I've Found You" -- Alison Krauss
"Baby Got Back" -- Sir Mix-a-Lot
"Baby Come to Me" -- James Ingram

Idol chatter: Welcome to Florida

Hey, Pop-Lifers! It's Steve Spears again -- your Stuck in the 80s addict here to wear Sean's enormous cap for tonight's live American Idol chat.

I've got high hopes for tonight's audition in Miami. Not because I expect our judges to uncover any talent in Florida. I just know that the Sunshine State is full of the strangest creatures on the planet -- human and otherwise. And I cringe awaiting the various regional accent twangs that Idol is about to unleash on the civilized world.

It's showtime, so let's see what horror awaits us tonight.

PREDICTABLE OPENING: Let's see. We're in Miami. What other show was based here? Oh yeah! Miami Vice. So let's open Idol with the Vice theme song. And then play some Miami Sound Machine! No one will see that coming!

AND FIRST UP: Shannon McGough. She handles meat. And she can belch! Really LOUD. I'm so in love. But then the singing starts, and we realize how she shreds the meat -- with her voice. "I've never had a person say I sing badly before," she says. "This is like crazy to me."

FIRST TAMPA BAY CONTESTANT: Suzanne Toon (photo top right) from Clearwater is a local, tonight's first single mom and our first sob story. I'd bet my overtime check that she makes it through -- OK, double that now that she's crying during the interview. ... Wait for it ... THREE YES VOTES. I'm thinking Top 10 finish too.

HAS-BEEN ALERT: Robbie Carrico was once in a boy band? Was it .38 Special? Welcome to Hollywood, Facial-Hair Boy! Have a golden ticket and some Silly String.

LATIN LOVER: Ghaleb Emachah (photo left) is going to break some hearts. Not because of his singing. But if Venezuela has a porn business, this guy is going to be the king of it. Looks like he'll get his start in Hollywood. (Simon says what we're all thinking: Test the contents of Paula's cup.)

YES TO JACKSONVILLE?: As someone who lived in Jacksonville for four years, let me say this: You NEVER say yes to Jacksonville! Corliss Smith and Brittany Wescott both pass the audition. God help Los Angeles.

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN: All the females are breezing through in Miami. And now that they show the guys waiting in line outdoors, I see why. Is there a World of Warcraft convention in town?

TONIGHT'S BIG GAFF: So far, I'm going with ... Holding auditions in Miami.

TAMPA! OH GOD NO: Richard Valles is our second local. Looks good. His singing? Let's hope he has some decongestant back home. The crushed look on his face was seriously painful.

SHE'S GOT LEGS: And she knows how to use them. Julie Dubela was a top 20 finisher in "America's Juniors." You all remember that show, don't you? She's 16 going on 36, which makes me feel a little bad for the "she's got legs" comment. But all she needs is a pole and she's a top 3 finalist for America's Top Erotic Dancers. "Precocious? What's that mean?"

ONE LAST DISASTER: Tonight's final contestant. Brandon Black, this is Fox, not MTV. Which means it's OK to be shameless and pathetic, but at least be funny. I think I wore his same outfit for my junior prom (but with a pink cumberbun). And he seems to be wearing the same Johnny Bench pendant that John Candy wears in "Brewster's Millions." Way to go old school.

Is anyone surprised that the Miami auditions turned out this way? Only 17 people got through. I'm telling you: Florida should become a separate, independent country. Governed by some retired gameshow host. All hail, Prime Minister Bob Barker.

She's gonna be somebody's baby

Times pop music critic Sean Daly is a proud new father of a baby daughter.

Sean just called to say his family's new addition was born today at 7:29 a.m. and weighs 7 pounds, 8 ounces. She's 20 inches long. The baby and mother are doing great.

And who wins the sweepstakes for the name? It's a push! There still is no official name, Sean says! Although, people in the delivery room were calling her "Maya Rose."

But here's the best part: It turns out Baby Maya is going to be an '80s baby. Sean says that as he was carrying the newborn to the nursery, Journey's "Faithfully" was playing nice and loud. Then came "Jump" by Van Halen. Then "Mysterious Ways" by U2 and finally .... "Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood.

Sean sang along to each tune, thus ensuring his new daughter is just as much stuck in the '80s as her old man.

Idol chatter: Please, no more wookies

Hey gang -- Steve Spears here, your Stuck in the 80s guru.

With Times pop music critic Sean Daly on family leave, I'm the point man for this week's American Idol blogging duties.

I'm here now and queued up to Fox. God help me, I just realized tonight's show is from OMAHA, NEBRASKA!?! Are you serious?

And Paula Abdul is late? Big surprise. I was late to work the day after the Lightning won the Stanley Cup -- probably for the same reason.

FIRST IMPRESSION: Chris Bernheisel, or Applicant No. 1, looks like a video game character. And he's crying!! My vote is ready long before he sings a note.

FIRST HOTTIE: Rachel Wicker, the arm-wrestling vixen. Put her in the final four. Because I want an outside chance at letting her wrestle with me too. She gets to Hollywood by the HIGHLY UNLIKELY 2-1 vote, with Simon saying no. I'm shocked. SHOCKED. Seriously though. Final four. I'm so there.

A SECOND WRESTLER?: Only in Nebraska. Sarah Whitacker (photo above right) scares the living crap out of me. Simon is so right when he says, "This is like the soundtrack to this whole town." Amen, Simon.

GAFF OF THE SHOW: "I can't wait to get to Hollywood and to prove Simon wrong that I am America's Next Top Model."

TODAY'S SOB STORY: Angelica Puente. Oh, I don't get along with my dad, so I moved out. Boo-hoo. This is what makes for tragedy in the Great Plains? No wonder they keep voting Republican.

I WANNA ROCK: David Cook is the most normal, adjusted person ever to appear on this show. I want to swill some beer with him -- and tell him to wash the red hair dye out.

SO THAT MEANS A FREAK IS NEXT: And that'd be Johnny Escamilla (photo left), who also gives Paula the hiccups. He gives the rest of us acid reflux. Nobody should ever sing Otis Day and the Knights for an audition. Unless it's for a wedding reception.

... PAULA?: What's up with laying across the table suddenly? Either you're about to puke or Randy's going to spank you. Either way, I don't want to see it. Well, maybe if he's gonna spank you.

FINAL CONTESTANT: Leo Marlowe gets the honor of being last, which is usually good luck. He's got that "High School Musical" meets "Can't Stop The Music" vibe about him. And of course, it worked.

That's enough for tonight. Omaha produces 19 golden tickets for Hollywood. Must be all the corn-fed beef. Go figure. See you all Wednesday night for our next installment. The location: Miami. And you thought tonight was weird.

[Photos from Fox]

Hey gang -- Steve Spears here, your Stuck in the 80s guru.

With Times pop music critic Sean Daly on family leave, I'm the point man for this week's American Idol blogging duties.

I'm here now and queued up to Fox. God help me, I just realized tonight's show is from OMAHA, NEBRASKA!?! Are you serious?

And Paula Abdul is late? Big surprise. I was late to work the day after the Lightning won the Stanley Cup -- probably for the same reason.

FIRST IMPRESSION: Chris Bernheisel, or Applicant No. 1, looks like a video game character. And he's crying!! My vote is ready long before he sings a note.

FIRST HOTTIE: Rachel Wicker, the arm-wrestling vixen. Put her in the final four. Because I want an outside chance at letting her wrestle with me too. She gets to Hollywood by the HIGHLY UNLIKELY 2-1 vote, with Simon saying no. I'm shocked. SHOCKED. Seriously though. Final four. I'm so there.

A SECOND WRESTLER?: Only in Nebraska. Sarah Whitacker (photo above right) scares the living crap out of me. Simon is so right when he says, "This is like the soundtrack to this whole town." Amen, Simon.

GAFF OF THE SHOW: "I can't wait to get to Hollywood and to prove Simon wrong that I am America's Next Top Model."

TODAY'S SOB STORY: Angelica Puente. Oh, I don't get along with my dad, so I moved out. Boo-hoo. This is what makes for tragedy in the Great Plains? No wonder they keep voting Republican.

I WANNA ROCK: David Cook is the most normal, adjusted person ever to appear on this show. I want to swill some beer with him -- and tell him to wash the red hair dye out.

SO THAT MEANS A FREAK IS NEXT: And that'd be Johnny Escamilla (photo left), who also gives Paula the hiccups. He gives the rest of us acid reflux. Nobody should ever sing Otis Day and the Knights for an audition. Unless it's for a wedding reception.

... PAULA?: What's up with laying across the table suddenly? Either you're about to puke or Randy's going to spank you. Either way, I don't want to see it. Well, maybe if he's gonna spank you.

FINAL CONTESTANT: Leo Marlowe gets the honor of being last, which is usually good luck. He's got that "High School Musical" meets "Can't Stop The Music" vibe about him. And of course, it worked.

That's enough for tonight. Omaha produces 19 golden tickets for Hollywood. Must be all the corn-fed beef. Go figure. See you all Wednesday night for our next installment. The location: Miami. And you thought tonight was weird.

[Photos from Fox]

New Gnarls Barkley?

This may or may not be the new Gnarls Barkley song.

In fact, the less I say about this, the better.

But whatever it is, it's totally awesome, with that Swinging '60s beat and Cee-Lo's hair-on-fire soul.

The followup album to GB's 2006 hit St. Elsewhere is scheduled for spring (after being scheduled for last Christmas).

But I've said enough. Enjoy. Or not. In fact, forget I ever told you about this.

48 Hrs

That's all that's left between me and cute, cuddly baby hell breaking loose times two. Yep, on Wednesday, Kid Lulu gets her new sis. Jeez, what if it's actually just a really shy boy? He'll have a pink bedroom but a totally badass name: Dash Daly! (Please, FF?)

Anyway, this is my last day at work for a coupla weeks. I have to hammer out a Phil Ramone profile today and then skedaddle, possibly to Mexico to create a new life for myself. However, I fully intend to keep blogging, including a no-doubt freakout tomorrow. (ThisiscrazyThisiscrazyThisiscrazy.) Indeed, my sanity depends on hearing from Marissa at least 37 times a day. Plus to enhance your reading pleasure, special guest Steve Spears will be entertaining you as well, hosting the American Idol chats Tues and Wed.

Oh, and if you're wondering: STILL NO BABY NAME!!!

The "I Voted" Playlist

After you vote on Tuesday, there’s an extremely good chance that, upon exiting the polling place, an 85-year-old woman will hand you an "I Voted" sticker.

You will no doubt smile politely at Madge and thumb this sticker onto your lapel. As Election Day goes on, you will receive an assortment of nods, winks and smirks from the equally bestickered. A few of these nodders and winkers will mean well. A few of these smirkers truly believe in freedom.

But most of them are Evil Sticker People. And I despise the Evil Sticker People.

Here’s the deal: I’m a proud voter. I firmly believe my vote counts. I cry at Patton.

But let it be known that I only wear the “I Voted” sticker out of self-preservation. I’ve been burned too many times, too many elections not to wear it. Surely you’ve been suckered into one of the Evil Sticker People’s nefarious interrogations:

“Did you vote today?”
“Yes, I voted.”
“No, you didn’t. Where’s your sticker?”
“Are you kidding me? I voted Democrat in Feather Sound. Do you know how risky that is? I almost got stabbed by a stay-at-home mom.”
“Then where’s your sticker?”
“I left it in the car.”
“You’re a big fat liar! You should be ashamed! People like you have no right complaining about our country if you don’t vote! Communist! Communist!”

I used to work with an Evil Sticker Person who, on election day, would comb the newsroom searching for the unstickered. If you weren’t wearing the “I Voted” sticker — or couldn’t produce dry-clean-only remnants of stickerlike adhesive on your button-down shirt — this guy would pounce. It didn’t matter if you voted or not. No sticker, no mercy. He cared more about the sticker than who actually won the election. He was a bully, and “I Voted” was his badge.

The sticker was originally meant to encourage civic pride, to show nonvoters that there was this faboo experience they were missing. But now the sticker is merely an instrument of intimidation. It reminds me of the final scene in 1978’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers, when creepy podperson Donald Sutherland unleashes an unholy moan at the last human. Ol’ Don might as well have been asking, “Where’s your sticker, dude?”

So the following musical playlist is dedicated to all of you who voted today — or, at the very least, to those of you who stood up to tyranny, to bullies, to the Evil Sticker People. Let freedom reign, peeps. Let freedom reign.

The Vote or Else Playlist
1. Think for Yourself, the Beatles
2. Get Up Stand Up, Bob Marley and the Wailers
3. Freedom of Choice, Devo
4. Don’t Tread on Me, Metallica
5. American Idiot, Green Day
6. Political World, Bob Dylan
7. If I Was President, Wyclef Jean
8. Fight the Power, Public Enemy
9. A Change Is Gonna Come, Sam Cooke
10. America the Beautiful, Ray Charles

Sean and Lulu's Vinyl-Spinning Spectacular

Hey kids, just got back from a sweet lunch break. I holed up in the holy confines of Bananas Music, one of the largest record stores in the U.S. They have more than 3 million vinyl albums, tapes, CDs spread out in two warehouses. If you live in FLA and you've never been to Bananas, you're missing a true St. Pete institution.

(This is also where I shot my new columnist pix for the paper. I think the ad campaign starts Sunday. Expect the newspaper industry -- and Slim Fast sales -- to have a massive turnaround as a result.)

Anyway, Bananas owner Doug Allen is selling tons of vinyl overstock, in fine condition no less, for only 25 CENTS apiece. So I bought a bunch of records, many of them for strictly nostalgic purposes. Not exactly collector's items, but good times nonetheless. I promised Kid Lulu we'd dance around in my office tonight, so here's what I picked up for the big father-daughter party:

Sister Sledge -- We Are Family (which includes the 8:06 epic version of We Are Family. If dancing around to that doesn't tire Lulu out, nothing will.)
The Outfield -- Play Deep
Randy Newman -- Little Criminals
Randy Newman -- Born Again
Bruce Hornsby and the Range -- The Way It Is (If you've ever heard my "Mama, No!" Norway story, you should know that this, believe it or not, was the soundtrack of that summer. Weird, huh?)
Night Ranger -- 7 Wishes
Men at Work -- Cargo (Overkill and It's a Mistake. Colin Hay is a genius.)
Genesis -- Genesis
Genesis -- Abacab
Julian Lennon -- Valotte (I just interviewed Phil Ramone, who produced this. He had some interesting things to say about the making of it, so I picked it up.)
Bryan Adams -- Cuts Like a Knife
Asia -- Alpha
Phil Collins -- No Jacket Required (I probably listened to this album more than any other in the '80s.)
John Waite -- No Brakes (Yep, finally found it on vinyl.)

Randy and Paula's New Song!!!

At the risk of posting too much "Idol" crap, here's the new song by Randy Jackson and Paula Abdul, Dance Like There's No Tomorrow. It sounds like G-rated Timbaland, which I imagine is the point. It also sounds like '80s-born fluff from Nu Shooz. Anyway, I don't hate it as much as I should.

PODCAST TIME! Novelty Songs of the '80s

On the latest episode of Stuck in the '80s -- CLICK HERE TO LISTEN -- special guest Stephanie Hayes confirms that ALL WOMEN HATE THE THREE STOOGES. Alas, we don't really flesh out this anti-Stooge-ism. But I imagine it has to do with the fact that neither Larry, Moe nor Curly (nor Shemp or Curly-Joe for that matter) is even remotely attractive. Also, doing a Three Stooges impression is on par with Monty Python line-readings in terms of sexual attractiveness. In other words, Three Stooges fans aren't exactly babe magnets.

But alas, the latest podcast is not about the Stooges -- although you will hear a snippet of The Curly Shuffle, which is not nearly as entertaining as I remembered. Stephanie, Steve Spears and I run through the novelty songs of the '80s. (Pac-Man Fever, anyone?) In a controversial maneuver, we've saved the entire "Weird Al" catalogue for another show. Steve also refused to grandfather in "Fish Heads" (1979), which is just inexcusable, but hey, he signs the checks. So if you still wanna check us out, you can enjoy the rollicking good times here or download us on iTunes.

Enjoy the show, and nyuk-nyuk-nyuk responsibly!!!

The Sweaty Playlist

So yesterday, Stuck in the '80s guru Steve Spears and I were on TV together. It was a segment on the writers strike for ABC Action News. We were funny, we were loud, we were persuasive in our buffoonery. But more than that, WE WERE REALLY, REALLY SWEATY. Let's be honest: Steve and I aren't the smallest of men. But I've done a good bit of TV, and these were by far the hottest set lights that have ever scorched my baby fat. It was brutal.

Halfway through the bit, I just started laughing, 'cause we looked very much like Meat Loaf after a fiery rendition of Paradise by the Dashboard Light. (Or at least John Candy playing raquetball in Splash.) (Or Albert Brooks in Broadcast News.) When the camera was on me, Spears managed a subtle wipe of his brow. But I basically finished up looking like a sea creature who has recently emerged from the surf.

Anyway, the show, news anchor Brendan McLaughlin's Flashpoint, runs Sunday mornings at 11 a.m. If there's a link, I'll try to post.

In the meantime, here's THE SWEATY PLAYLIST:

10.) Gonna Make You Sweat -- C+C Music Factory
9.) A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall -- Bob Dylan
8.) Hot in Herre -- Nelly
7.) Get It Wet -- Twista
6.) Burnt Biscuits -- Booker T. & the MGs
5.) Doing the Sponge -- Spongebob Squarepants
4.) Drop It Like It's Hot -- Snoop Dogg
3.) Heat of the Moment -- Asia
2.) City of Blinding Lights -- U2
1.) I Melt With You -- Nouvelle Vague

"One Week in L.A. It'll All Change..."

Idol Night #4: Charleston, S.C.

That abstinence girl was so bone-chilling freaky, so truly awful, I'm going to urge my daughters to join a biker gang at age 14.

-- "Master Yoda, take you to Simon he will." Randy Stark + Crystal Ortiz = 3-state killing spree

-- For the first time this season, Paula looked a little..."off."

-- Love those Lampkins. Love 'em. Big, loud, proud. Ow!

-- She flies C-17s. She has stunning eyes. She's a fine singer. So why didn't Air Force Lyndsey make it to Hollywood? Because "Black Velvet" is the KISS OF DEATH! That song blows almost as bad as Spandau Ballet's "True."

-- And yes, if you're wondering, that whole baby thing at the end totally freaked me out. After all, this time next week...

Taylor Swift's "Our Song"

Because she's helpless to my silver-tongued conniving, the prodigiously dynamite Stephanie Hayes has agreed to review Saturday's Taylor Swift show in Tampa. Of course, I asked her to help me BEFORE I saw the "Our Song" video, which I find to be a whimsical romp to Naughtyville. This is what I get for weaseling out of my job. Have fun, Steph!

"American Idol" Loves Single Dads, Too!

"Childhood. Don't you miss it? Not a care in the world, man."

PERRIE CATALDO!!! If the single dad/former badass with the cutest kid since Kid Lulu doesn't make the top 12, I'll be shocked. Seriously, producers didn't hit us with THAT just to cut this dude loose in a few weeks. Learn the name: Perrie Cataldo.

In related news from the auditions in San Diego...

-- About once a day, I feel a great urge to tell someone: "I don't think you're as good as you think you are." That's why we love Simon so much.

-- Are those security guards bucking for their own show? Seriously, they've had more screen time this season than the last six put together.

-- That sister act was cute. Did you see Simon openly checking out the chick on his lap? Yet another reason to love Simon. (Note to Spears: We need to start having open auditions for "Stuck in the '80s.")

-- What's with the creepy fingernail motif this season? If I hadn't consumed an entire bottle of Blackstone Cab for dinner, Alberto would have really freaked me out.

-- When I see the picture of Jordin Sparks behind the contestants, it takes me a few seconds to remember who she is. Discuss.

Alanis Morissette Swears Like a Sailor

Had a great chat with Alanis Morissette last night. In all my years interviewing musicians, NO ONE -- not Mellencamp, not Brian Johnson, not Slash -- has been able to string together profanity like the 33-year-old pop star. At one point, we were basically just trading the f-bomb back and forth. I was smitten.

Alanis, who plays the St. Pete Times Forum this Saturday, also looooves tequila, and says introducing alcohol into her life has made her a better, more balanced person. All of this leads me to wonder what in the hell Ryan Reynolds was thinking...

Anyway, here's a rough draft of my Alanis profile, the final version of which runs in the paper Saturday. I had about an hour to be brilliant (or not), so be gentle...

Alanis Morissette is looking forward to her next panic attack. This nasty shard of self-doubt will arrive this spring, on the eve of the release of her new album, Flavors of Entanglement, yet another brutally revealing look into the heart, soul and messed-up lovelife of the pop poet.

"The night before my albums are released, I always wake up in the middle of the night seized with horror," says the 33-year-old calling from Los Angeles. She’ll worry that she's said too much. She’ll freak out that a former paramour is going to go ballistic.

"But then I eventually go back to sleep, and I’m fine in the morning. Every time I've [panicked], nothing’s happened. The sky didn’t fall. It’s been fine."

And no, she says, none of those former paramours have ever called to complain.

In Sean's Mailbox: Anxiety, Similac, Etc.

Hey kids, I'm sitting at my desk, in a lonely newsroom, waiting for a call from Alanis Morissette. Just wanted to say that the FF and I were truly touched by the outpouring of baby names and related congrats. I'm even getting private emails from folks with more suggestions. As for any firm decisions, well...

Anyway, I'm pretty sure hobo encampments are more tidy than my workspace. So before Alanis and I connect on a cosmic level, I should probably open a few of the 478 CD packages landsliding to my feet, including Funplex by the B-52s, which is reliably like Beach Blanket Bingo on Mars. Great sound to it (maybe a little fuzzier, rockier than before), but I'll talk more about that later.

For now, here's a list of notable new stuff...

The B-52s -- Funplex
Edie Brickell & Harper Simon -- The Heavy Circles

Shelby Lynne -- Just a Little Lovin' (This CLIP isn't from Shelby's new album. But it's one of my fave songs ever. Shelby Lynne's Your Lies. Enjoy.)

Kathleen Edwards -- Asking for Flowers
Paul Potts -- One Chance
Hot Chip -- Made in the Dark
Kate Walsh -- Tim's House
k.d. lang -- Watershed
Maceo Parker -- Roots & Grooves

Ledisi -- Lost & Found (WATCH THIS CLIP -- Ledisi is going up against Amy Winehouse and Taylor Swift for Best New Artist at the Feb. 10 Grammys Awards. Kind of like Anita Baker with a better band.)

Questions for Phil Ramone?

Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks. Billy Joel's The Stranger. Ray Charles' Genius Loves Company. Paul Simon's The Rhythm of the Saints. Music legend Phil Ramone produced all of those albums. He's like Zelig (or at least Forrest Gump) in the way he's been involved with pop-cultural history. Heck, Ramone even worked the sound during Marilyn Monroe's "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" moment. Can you imagine?

Anyway, I'm interviewing Ramone in anticipation of the Feb. 10 Grammy Awards (he's won 14 of those suckers).

So...who has QUESTIONS FOR PHIL RAMONE?

LIVE REVIEW: George Strait

TAMPA - Safe, solid, as stable as a sunrise: That's George Strait, the country stalwart who's had just as many birthdays -- 55 -- as No. 1 hits. So if you came to the St. Pete Times Forum Saturday expecting a wild 'n' woolly hootenanny, you were in the wrong joint, cowpoke.

Instead, ol' George, as traditional as the clean, crisp hat on his head, set 'em up and knocked 'em down - not a lot of chit-chat, not many how's-your-mamas, just two blissful hours of purebred country and boogieable honky-tonk (including opening dustup "Honk If You Honky Tonk").

The saloon-festooned crowd of 18,233 expected nothing less (and nothing more) from their hero, singing along to every tear-in-your-beer beauty, every Bob Wills-inspired old-school swinger.

What's Your Name, Little Girl?

A few months ago, I asked you guys for rock 'n' roll girl names. In this very SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT from the Forever Fiancee, you're about to find out why. Take it away, honey...

Hey Pop Lifers!

Sean, Kid Lulu and I are gearing up for a big life-changing event and we wanted to share it with you guys...

On January 30, we are going to welcome a new addition to the Daly clan: another baby girl who will hopefully inherit Sean’s long, hairless legs, thick, curly mane -- and my utter distaste for Funyuns!

We’re very excited and anxious to meet our new kiddo, but there’s ONE BIG PROBLEM. SD and I cannot seem to agree on a name.  Actually, it goes much deeper than that. I HATE just about every name Sean has suggested. His choices either solidify our daughter’s future career as a pole dancer (Tiki, Trixie, Dixie) or condemn her to a lifetime of "growing into" her name (Gertie, Sadie, Pearl).

This has been going on for months, and quite frankly the constant bickering and eye-rolling is starting to get to me. Our latest argument is over Maya (Sean) or Mia (me).

So what we need is an epiphany, we need a sign from God -- we need your help, people!  Give us your thoughts and maybe we will choose one of your suggested monikers for Baby Girl Daly. Remember that she arrives in 12 days. That means we have exactly 288 hours to come up with a name. Or 17,280 minutes. Or 1,036,800 seconds. But who’s counting??

So to my progeny, who may or may not have a name by the time she's born, I dedicate the She Who Shall Remain Nameless Playlist:

1) What's Your Name, Lynyrd Skynyrd
2) A Horse With No Name, America
3) The Name Of The Game, ABBA
4) Your Name Here, A.F.I.
5) My Name Is…, Eminem
6) Know My Name, Blake Lewis
7) I Don’t Even Know Your Name, Alan Jackson
8) Hallowed Be My Name, Alice Cooper
9) I Call Your Name, The Beatles
10) You Don’t Know My Name, Alicia Keys

"Mr. Daly Be Tripping!"

Just received this rather brilliant letter from a seventh-grade class at John Hopkins Middle School in St. Petersburg. The students had a few pointed things to say about my Soulja Boy review (which you can read here). Point taken, gang. Point taken.

Dear Mr. Daly,

We were very interested to read your concert review of Chris Brown, Soulja Boy and Bow Wow.

Our Journalism teacher Mr. Mabe had us read it to see what a professional concert review is like. Plus he knew those performers are all very popular with our age group.

But we soon ran into a problem. We could not understand what you were talking about. As one student noted, when it comes to vocabulary, "Mr. Daly be tripping."

Still, Mr. Mabe was able to use it as a lesson for us. We went through the story and found the dictionary definition of all the words we didn't know and then Mr. Mabe would give us an example of how it is used. And it only took us two 80-minute classes to look them all up!!

Here are the words we had trouble with, along with their definition:

fodder = raw material
fanatics = fans
sate= satisfy
jones = addiction
snippets = small parts
cohesion = sticking together
currency = money
bevy = collection
critiquing = analyzing or criticizing
rickety = unstable
grit = crunchy bits
mudslide = landslide of mud
swagger = jaunty walk or strut (Mr. Mabe said some guy named Mick Jagger invented that one.
emblematic = representing
bust = failure
lanky = skinny or raw-boned
tutorial = something that teaches you how to do something
raunchy = dirty or nasty
throngs = a large number of people (some kids giggled when Mr. Mabe said it because they thought he said "thongs.")
ubiquitous = everywhere
strains = part of music (but we only figured that out after looking at 33 other possible definitions.)
venue = a place
unison = all together, as one
foster = promote
conjured = bring or summon
engaging = interacting
banter = talking, chit-chat
dubbed = named or called
loose-limbed = flexible

We also never heard of Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. Some of the kids sort of knew the names but we had no idea why. So Mr. Mabe put on a preview of the movie "Singing in the Rain," and we all sang along.

So anyway, what's with all the big words, dude?

7th Grade Research Class
John Hopkins Middle School

SD's 10 Favorite Box Sets

Hey kids, a few days ago I waxed poetic about the beauty of the box set. On Friday, that story, plus three dynamite essays about what we're missing in iPod Nation, hits newsstands. In celebration of this most excellent package, I've been asked to list my fave box sets. So last night, Kid Lulu, who looooves dismantling those suckers, and her Old Man went into my CD-strewn office and played some tunes.

Here's a few of my (and Lulu's) faves...

10. The Legend: Johnny Cash (Columbia)
9. Warner Bros.: 75 Years of Film Music (Warner Bros.)
8. The Brit Box: UK Indie, Shoegaze and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium (Rhino)
7. El Cancionera Mas y Mas: Los Lobos (Warner Bros.)
6. Jersey Beat: The Music of Frankie Valli & the 4 Seasons (Rhino)
5. Rockin' Bones: 1950s Punk & Rockabilly (Rhino)
4. The Music of Disney: A Legacy in Song (Walt Disney)
3. Can You Dig It? The '70s Soul Experience (Rhino)
2. Ray Charles Pure Genius: The Complete Atlantic Recordings (1952-1959) (Atlantic)
1. Biograph: Bob Dylan (Columbia)

"American Idol" Loves Hot Moms!

It's only Idol Night #2, but I'm already sensing a major trend: If you have a kid, a sobby backstory and a good bod, you're going to Hollywood. Which means I should probably pack my bags.

-- Did you spot a winner? Zpia Easley might have shot. Bad teeth, weird look, killer ink. BONUS QUESTION: Has there ever been an Idolist with so many tattoos? I like her.

-- That American Roller Coaster Enthusiast was a hoot. His parting shot about Simon was unintentionally hilarious: "He goes down on just about everyone."

-- I almost barfed at the Fingernail Dude. "That's not great," deadpanned my boy Seacrest. It was even more dismaying when it turned out the cutically challenged weirdo could actually sing.

-- Worst Pat Benatar impression ever: "You're a real BIG cookie..."!!! Ten to 1 says her "male model" husband leaves her for his "stylist."

-- Colton Swan needs to deal with those eyebrows -- or buy a better brand of shoe polish.

-- How come there's always a hunky bumpkin who's NEVER been on a plane before?

And a final thought: My favorite part of the auditions is when a horrific no-talent is voted no, no, no -- but still desperately breaks into song one more time, as if THIS time the magic will really happen. And maybe it willl, buddy, maybe it will.

The Patriots Playlist

At this point in the NFL season, rooting against the New England Patriots would be like rooting against immortality, against Paul Bunyan, against your Pottery Barn order arriving undamaged.

Seriously, if you want your $39 rustic bread boards showing up beat to hell, go on and root for the San Diego Chargers this Sunday. The rest of us know better.

The Patriots are two games from being perfect. Perfect. If they beat the Chargers and then go on to win the Super Bowl, they will finish 19-0. They will be unbroken. Nineteen has never been done.

And yet, despite this achievement of cosmic proportions, despite this possible schism in the space-time continuum, there’s a great groundswell of hatred for the Pats.

Sure, Bill Belichick is a behooded troll. He also tried to bite plays from the New York Jets. But all that's immaterial. The Patriots’ unmistakable leader is Tom Brady, one of the truest guys in the history of guydom, a folk hero in blue and silver. Do you realize how good Brady is at his job? He makes George Clooney look like Don Knotts. He rides a blue ox to and from work. Heck, I’d be worried if my fiancee didn’t lust after Brady.

Plus the Patriots are to football as Rocky movies are to boxing, as Xbox is to baseball. They win with style, they win with drama — heck, they win using the Statue of Liberty play! How could you not watch?

But alas, this isn’t about sports.

We live in an imperfect world. Everything is broken, now more than ever. Disappointment looms over us like fat clouds of gray. The guy who cleans your carpets leaves spots. The girl who bags your groceries breaks the eggs. Your new glider chair for the baby’s room comes out of the box chipped and stained. Can’t anything go right anymore? Can’t we just have one perfect thing in our lives?

Yes. Yes, we can.

The Patriots could be perfect. Imagine that. And you could be rooting for a team that delivers on every single promise. So if the Patriots can win 19 straight, if they can attain the unattainable, if they can break the stubborn seal on cosmic bliss, then what next? What does that mean for the rest of us?

As you ponder that, here’s a playlist to celebrate America’s team. Don’t be afraid to turn it up.

The Patriots Playlist
1. Against All Odds, Phil Collins
2. Weekend in New England, Barry Manilow
3. Lonely at the Top, Randy Newman
4. One Hit (to the Body), the Rolling Stones
5. Some Guys Have All the Luck, Rod Stewart
6. Rough Boys, Pete Townshend
7. Touchdown, T.I.
8. Another One Bites the Dust, Queen
9. The Winner Takes It All, ABBA
10. Nineteen, Paul Hardcastle

And So It Begins...

Be honest: Who else felt that curious blend of nausea and excitement when they heard the wangy "American Idol" theme after seven long months away? Why, I felt just like a kid on Christmas morning -- who finds Simon Cowell and his man-booby T-shirt under the tree.

Anyway...here are a few white-hot talking points for the opening night of Season 7. Make sure all your comments count, 'cause we only have the next 20 weeks to talk about this stuff:

-- What's up with Randy Jackson's lamb chops? Dude, if you were playing third base for the 1975 Reds, that would be one thing. But really now, shave those suckers off.

-- I'm not sure if she'll make the Top 24, but I liked Melanie Nyema, Taylor Hicks' backsup singer. She reminded me of Alicia Keys' not-as-pretty sister, the one I would date when Alicia laughed in my face when I asked her out for prom. Melanie would feel bad for me...and totally fall into my seductive trap.

--Oh, c'mon, like you didn't squirt a few for Temptress and her mom?

-- When Simon compared glittery ruffian Alexis Cohen to Willem Dafoe, truer words have never been uttered.

-- You're gonna see Kristy Lee Cook in the Top 24...and then probably in Playboy.

-- "Obviously I'm a big Star Wars fan. DUH!"

Questions for Alanis Morissette?

I've just been offered an interview with Alanis Morissette, who's playing the St. Pete Times Forum on Jan. 26.

I have a feeling Alanis and I aren't going to get along -- she's deep, spiritual, considerate. I'm, well, not. But who knows? Strange bedfellows and all that.

Anyway, here's your chance: Questions for Alanis Morissette?

What Would You Change About "Idol"?

With equal amounts of self-hate, sarcasm and sheer fanaticism, we officially kick off our American Idol coverage. Huzzah! In today's newspaper, showbiz goddess Sharon Fink and I propose changes for Season 7 of the world's most dangerous show. For instance...

If producers really want to help contestants prepare for celebrity, hook 'em up with mentors who can offer truly relevant advice. Like Jessica Sierra. Tampa's own Idol spinout would be a splendid mentor for kids about to embark on a life of soul-crushing disappointment: She can teach them how to charm police, how to properly light a room at Econo Lodge, how to destroy your looks and still land on the front page. We also recommend legally challengedIdol fave Corey Clark, Partridge Family lame-o Danny Bonaduce and that chick from The O.C. who just got bagged for DUI.

And this bit o' guidance...

We're big fans of the old Dean Martin Show. And nothing was cooler than Dino cracking open the hooch and having a cocktail on his prime-time variety show. Frazzled judge Paula Abdul says she rarely touches the stuff. But maybe she should start hitting it harder - at least that would explain her loopy behavior. Lose those plastic Coke cups and let Abdul peel the seal on a fifth of Jim Beam (and those pills she pops for her chronic pain) in front of 30-million viewers. Cheers, America!

So now that we've had our say, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE ABOUT AMERICAN IDOL?

(Nuking the entire city of Hollywood is a totally reasonable answer.)

REVIEW: Soulja Boy, Chris Brown

TAMPA - This wasn't a concert. No, this was a sixth-grader's iTunes playlist. This was a slick series of cell phone ringtones. This was video fodder for YouTube fanatics who sate their musical jones through snippets and sound bites.

Who needs substance and cohesion when style, flash and one-and-done accessibility is the currency of the mall, the schoolyard, the dance floor? At the St. Pete Times Forum on Monday, a who's-who of young hip-hop acts, chart-toppers all, unloaded a bevy of disposable hits, occasional flashes of talent and a whole heap of 'tude to a pumped-up crowd of 8,793.

Critiquing this one as a regular gig was missing the point. (Although having a youth-oriented show run until midnight on a school night was lousy form. I feel you, mom and dad. I really do.) This was a grab bag, a variety show. To make a tour like this profitable, you have to stuff the lineup with as many names as possible. So if you didn't like one hit, another was on its way soon enough.

[Times photo: Brian Cassella]

Ode to the Box Set

Hey kids, here's an essay I'm working on for a package about the downside of iPod Nation. What are we losing in a world of 1's and 0's? Here, I wax on about the venerable box set...

In the clean, clutter-free wonderland of iPod Nation — where we strive to fit our entire record collection in the pocket of our Levis — there is no greater grotesquerie than the box set.

Why, the very notion of this bloated salute to excess — epic liner notes, myriad CDs, assorted propaganda stuffed into a look-at-me! container taking up more precious shelf space than a burial urn — goes against every streamlined principle of the digital age.

And I love it.

The iPod, some models no bigger than a stick of Juicy Fruit, cleanly delivers an insta-blip of your preferred flavor whenever you want it. That’s why "physical" sales are plummeting — and digital sales are booming. You do not have to stop living life to be fed by your iPod. It’s small, immediate, popular — a beloved Pez dispenser of 1's and 0's.

On the other, clunkier, what-do-we-do-with-this hand: The box set, especially when made by those music geeks at Rhino Records, brings life to a screeching halt. It demands that you get on the floor, tear it to pieces, explore its guts, dig around to get the hits you crave. The box set is bulky, complicated, a mess to clean up — a blue crab of Black Sabbath B-sides and rarities.

But much like that big girl on Grey’s Anatomy, the box set can also be beautiful, sexy, chunky-but-decidedly-funky. I own box sets that are bound in black leather corsets (The Goth Box) and are designed to look like old record players (Ray Charles Pure Genius: The Complete Atlantic Recordings). Let it be known that my four-year-old would rather play with these than her Barbies. I’ve never been more proud.

Sure, you can buy box sets in digital form, but without the packaging, without the bulk, without the ego, what’s the point?

The greatest, gaudiest perk to land on my desk last year was The Brit Box, Rhino’s four-disc, 78-song monolithic salute to U.K. indie music "of the last millennium." Rhino designed this sucker to look like the red phone booths of London, the kind you might see in Piccadilly Square. If that weren’t overt enough, The Brit Box also lights up and blinks. It is obnoxious? Sure.

And I love it.

Any George Strait Fans Out There?

George Strait is like a beer and a hot dog at a baseball game. Or PBJ on Wonder Bread (crusts cut off, of course). There is nothing spectacular about the behatted star. There is nothing surprising about him, either. And yet, the 55-year-old is safe, comforting, absolutely necessary. In other words, George Strait is awesome in his predictability, the very definition of money in the bank.

With that chiseled grin, crisp baritone and arsenal of know-’em-by-heart country hits — Amarillo by Morning, All My Ex’s Live in Texas, I Cross My Heart — Strait and his Ace in the Hole Gang line ’em up and knock ’em down. Simple as that. He is dependable, he is trustworthy — he is straight as an arrow. And he’s one of the biggest musical stars on the planet. Hot dog and a beer, anyone?

George Strait, with Little Big Town and Sarah Johns, performs Saturday, January 19 at 7:30 p.m. St. Pete Times Forum, Tampa. $54.50-$64.50. (813) 301-2500.

PODCAST TIME! Night Ranger's Jack Blades

This is a hot one, superstars. In anticipation of his Jan. 29 show at Clearwater's Ruth Eckerd Hall, Night Ranger frontman Jack Blades joined Steve Spears and yours truly for a Stuck in the '80s podcast like never before. HEAR Blades serenade the boys with all your fave hits. HEAR Blades spin yarns about rocking in Damn Yankees with the Motor City Madman. HEAR Blades and Daly trade Seinfeldian schtick on such mundane topics as payphones and bottled water (wait a minute -- what?). All of this is yours for free by clicking the link on the right or downloading Stuck in the '80s on iTunes. Trust me, hilarity ensues -- as does a very special performance of this song, my very fave from Night Ranger (which Spears TOTALLY poached from me, but, if you listen to the show, you'll realize is mine all mine...

The BODIES Playlist

The bodies — yep, those bodies — are back.

Still offering a visceral glimpse of our mortal coil. Still posed as if a game of soccer just broke out in the coroner’s office. Black lungs, halved hearts, cautionary corpse tales and aortic derring-do. All intended to "change the way people see themselves."

Well, maybe.

Now at Sarasota’s G.WIZ science museum for a limited time, "Bodies Revealed" is from the same folks who brought us the "Bodies" exhibit that buzzed into Tampa in 2005 (and played at other museums the world over). Real live dead people? Surely you remember that brouhaha.

After months of headlines and controversy, I finally took my family — including my then-2-year-old daughter — to MOSI to see the marvels of polymer preservation and the potential death grip of too many McGriddles.

Upon witnessing the first flayed specimen — the throngs were so solemn, so respectful, nary a snicker was snorted — I fully expected to have a life-altering experience. Without revealing my arsenal of sins, let’s just say I could have used the wake-up call. And it was all there, too, a revolutionary study in the beauty and breaking points of God’s gift.

But two seconds in, my wee daughter, her very-much-alive legs pumping, made a beeline for a leg bone, and all bets were off.

"GET HER! SHE’S HEADED FOR THE SOCCER GUY!" Room after room, the chase was on: "THE LUNGS! THE LUNGS!"

It was all fairly frustrating at the time, mainly because I paid approximately $377 for everyone to get in to the exhibit and maybe — maybe — I was able to enjoy a shin and three-quarters of a shriveled liver.

Instead, I played fetch among the dead, chasing my kid, her squirmy, giggly form lurching this way and that. That’s what I remember from the "Bodies" exhibit. Not the miracles of modern science. Not the devastating effects of a pack of Marlboro Reds. Just how fast my daughter could go, go, go.

A clueless parent? Maybe. But hey, when it comes to life lessons, I’ll take what I can get.

Anyway, if you head down to Sarasota to revisit those "Bodies," feel free to use the following musical playlist as your alternate museum audio guide. Just try not to sing too loud.

The Bodies Playlist
1. Underneath It All, No Doubt
2. Your Body Is a Wonderland, John Mayer
3. The Happy Organ, Dave "Baby" Cortez
4. Bad to the Bone, George Thorogood
5. I’ve Got You Under My Skin, Frank Sinatra
6. Inside Out, Phil Collins
7. I’m Looking Through You, the Beatles
8. Piece of My Heart, Janis Joplin
9. All of Me, Louis Armstrong
10. Be Good to Yourself, Journey

My New Crush: Kate Nash

A la buddy Lily Allen, this 20-year-old Brit sass isn’t afraid to use street-smart slang and barfly language to dissect lousy relationships with dumb boys. This one's called "Foundations." My fave line: “You said I must eat so many lemons / ’Cause I am so bittah / I said I’d rather be with your friends, mate / Cause they are much fittah.” I'm totally in love.

REVIEW: Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, the Editors

ST. PETERSBURG — Go figure: The best and bawdiest in British rock these days is actually swaggering out of...San Diego?

On a bloody brilliant triple bill at Jannus Landing Wednesday, three hip, cocksure bands gave a tutorial in the myriad shades of UK cool — even though only one actually resides across the pond.

Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, the Editors. If you haven’t heard of these guys — and they’re all very much guys, albeit different shades of skirt-chasing dude — you soon will. They draw inspiration from their Anglo elders (Bowie, Morrissey, Jagger), but cater to modern demands of style and salesmanship.

The best of the lot (if not the cleanest, tightest) were the openers, SoCal’s Louis XIV, whose swarthy come-ons and below-the-belt boasts repel as many fans as seduce them. (These guys should never play earlier than midnight; at Jannus, their royal rumble commenced at an awkward 7:50 p.m.) Their schtick is pretending to be ’70s-stuck British glam idols. But let it be known that they’re far too smart to let a gimmick get in the way of greatness.

Led by singer Jason Hill, who goes about his snug-trousered work like a rogue who can’t wait to steal your girlfriend, Louis mixed Stonesian blues (the immoral high of Guilt by Association) with Queenly beauty (the download-this Air Traffic Control). They also had not one, but two violinists onstage, so that tells you something, too.

Whether You Like It or Not...

American Idol starts next Tuesday.

And although I will continue to post a wonderland of musical madness and self-referential playlists, I will also be taking over a hulking portion of the Idol coverage here at your St. Pete Times.

I intend to cover the show irreverently but comprehensively, as both a chronicler of popular culture and a large man in his boxer shorts eating Chunky Monkey and chortling at Simon Cowell's man-bazooms.

In other words, I'll make it worth your while, baby.

So as you gaze at the vocal talents of Antonella Barba, let's start the Idol 2008 campaign by asking this question...

HOW MANY OF YOU PLAN TO WATCH (all of, part of, none of) SEASON 7 OF AMERICAN IDOL?

Radiohead Is Coming to Tampa

I don't know when. I don't know where. But Radiohead just issued a press release announcing the cities for its North American tour.

And Tampa is on it.

Other stops will include Atlanta, Boston, Charlotte, Chicago, Cleveland, Dallas, Houston, Indianapolis, Los Angeles, Miami, Montreal, New York, Philadelphia, San Diego, San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Seattle, St Louis, Toronto, Vancouver and Washington DC.

I'll let you know as soon as they give me more info.

UPDATE! The SD Photo Shoot!

So basically, for the marketing dept.'s big new ad campaign, featuring critics and columnists in various artsy shots, we're going to re-create this picture -- albeit with a bigger bikini and less body hair.

Actually, it's gonna be pretty cool. We're gonna shoot me in the middle of a crowd at....THE SOULJA BOY CONCERT!!! (Yeah, you know the dance moves.) Whole crowd will be looking one way, I'll be looking the other -- with a sexy, smoldering look on my face, pen and notebook gripped in my magic hand.

Or maybe something else will come up. Who knows? It should be a hoot. That said. I should probably fast for the next few days, 'cause the holidays have left me fat as a zeppelin. Seriously, I need a mumu. And unless you're Mama Cass, there's nothing rock 'n' roll about a mumu.

It's Officially Royal Week (All Hail the King)

Happy Birthday, Elvis Presley. January 8, 1935.

Join Me In a Royal Rumble?

Hey Cool Kids! This Wednesday, I'll be at Jannus Landing in downtown St. Pete at a killer triple bill: Louis XIV (San Diego glam-rock revivalists), Hot Hot Heat (jaunty Canadian indies) and the Editors (dour British postpunkers). I'm more into the first two, but the Editors have the buzz of a great live band, so we'll see.

Anyway, if you want a taste of each before making a commitment (although really now, you get to spend quality time with me -- doesn't that count for something?), here are a few tasty links:

For Hot Hot Heat, click here.

For the Editors, click here.

And for Louis XIV, watch this right here...

Miranda Lambert Gets You Drunk

This post is basically just an excuse to run a hot picture of country spitfire Miranda Lambert. And provide a link to my interview with her. And seduce the young lass into my inescapable web of love.

According to the Associated Press, Lambert's family -- from lil' ol Lindale, Texas -- is marketing a series of wines based on Miranda's song titles.

From their private wine label, aka Red 55 Winery, the Lamberts will provide such delicious blends as "Gunpowder & Lead Merlot" and "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Sweet Wine." (No, seriously.)

There is also a wine called "Electric Pink," named after one of her guitars. Methinks these wines will come in the screw-top variety, although I can't be certain about that.

What's on the Queen's iPod?

Here's a cool, highly suspect story from a British tabloid.

Apparently the Queen of England has been bogarting Prince William's Wii. She likes video bowling best. A real gadget freak, the 81-year-old royal also rocks a BlackBerry, a fancy cell phone...and yes, an iPod.

So c'mon, let's play. A silly little game to help delay any real work.

What's on the Queen of England's iPod?

Probably not the Sex Pistols...

UPDATE! The 4-Hour Party Mix (Aftermath)

So after Friday night fears that the epic 4-Hour Party Mix (check it out here) was peaking too early -- Gwen Stefani's Wind It Up in the 11th spot? What in God's name was I thinking??? -- the crowd and the noise and the music and the beer, wine, etc. eventually merged into one glorious groove. It was a helluva sendoff for a good friend.

By the time Rihanna's SOS led into Groove Armada's I See You Baby -- both of which followed the Honeydrippers Rockin' at Midnight and Christina Aguilera's Candyman -- I finally started to relax. I'm glad I didn't go more mellow on the mix -- however, I shoulda packed more boogie-able stuff in hour four. There was a killer vibe to the shindig, and the peeps wanted to move. Who knew Soulja Boy would be such a cheeky hit?

Oh, and lemme just say this about the party stars at the St. Petersburg Times:

This is one nutty newspaper.

HELP WANTED: The SD Photo Shoot

Okay, so the PR department at the St. Petersburg Times is launching a new ad campaign for columnists and critics. The idea is artsy outside-the-box pix. For my ad, one idea was to re-create an iconic album image. Sure, it's been done, but it might be cool.

I was also thinking of getting the FF and Lulu involved, a shot that blends home and work. But the FF wasn't keen on the readers who hate my guts knowing what our kid looks like. Good point.

So I come to you, gang. I'm DESPERATE for ideas. Here's the deal. For every 10 withering jokes at my expense, I'd appreciate one badass idea. Tee off on me, but then come up with a cool image. There's a record warehouse in town with some 30 million albums, and I could probably stage a shot there. But if you dream up something better, I'll gladly go with that.

The weirder, wilder the better. Push the envelope, baby!!!