The Mother's Day Playlist

A few years ago, I took an awful cruise, on a dented SpaghettiOs can of a ship, with my family. This included my mother, the Diplomat.

Now, the Diplomat has more friends than anyone I know, a tribute to her pathological ability to treat everyone like a friend. A smile, a joke, a hug: My 66-year-old mom doles ’em out like free donuts. She wants everybody to have a good time on her watch, especially on horrific cruises.

It was brutal, too. Luggage was lost, the food was salmonellic, everyone was on edge. So the Diplomat got the idea that in order to galvanize the masses, her only child, her 30-something son, her darling Seany Boy, should enter every ridiculous contest and mortifying event on the lido deck. You know, fire up the troops, make the best of a bad situation. First up, she decided, the 3-on-3 water basketball tournament.

"Come on, Mom. No way. Can’t I just sit here and read?"

"Read? On a cruise?! Get in that pool and play basketball!"

I was teamed up with a little chubby kid who couldn’t swim and a little skinny kid who was approximately 2-foot-6. The pool, unfortunately, was 6-feet deep.

In the first round, my pathetic squad drew a team of German brothers — triplets, no less — each of whom was the thickness of Lou Ferrigno. They were tall, blonde, built. They swam like Mark Spitz on Red Bull.

We were torpedoed from the start. Within seconds, the skinny kid was drowning, the fat one was clinging for his life, and Gigantor & Co. were draining three-pointers and launching themselves off my love handles for glorious Teutonic dunks. Total nightmare.

But a funny thing happened on the road to full-blown emasculation. The crowd, and my family, once so sad, so miserable, finally started to have fun. And who was leading the Germanic Cheerleading Team, who was charming the Ferrigno Triplets’ proud parents?

Yep, the Diplomat.

"Mom, what are you doing?!" I screamed, spitting out a chokeful of water. "You’re supposed to be rooting for me! I’m your son!"

"But they’re so beautiful!" the Diplomat cheered. "Yay! Go! Go!"

So as my thighs were burning from treading water, as I contemplated barfing up the pina colada I unwisely gulped as a pregame motivator, the worst cruise in the world became merely cruddy.

The Diplomat, a proud smile on her face, had done it once again.

• • •

A few months ago, the Diplomat called to say she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I flew up to Baltimore for the operation. I’ll never forget standing in the waiting room and phoning her epic list of friends — some close, some misfits she picked up along the way — to let them know she was fine. If there had been a German mother of triplets on there, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

I’m pleased to say that, after radiation treatment, my mother is now doing great, spoiling her two granddaughters with moneybagged fervor. So here’s a bouquet of songs for my mom, and all moms, as their special day approaches. The Diplomat isn’t always easy. But I wouldn’t be half the water basketball player without her.

The Mother’s Day Playlist
1. You and Me Against the World, Helen Reddy
2. Baby Mine, Alison Krauss
3. Mama Tried, Merle Haggard
4. The Kids Are Alright, the Who
5. Hey Mama, Kanye West
6. Thank You Mom, Good Charlotte
7. That’s Alright Mama, Elvis Presley
8. Stacy’s Mom, Fountains of Wayne
9. Oh Mother, Christina Aguilera
10. Thank You for Being a Friend, Andrew Gold

The Opening Day Playlist

Tuesday is Opening Day at Tropicana Field, and you know what that means: Anything is possible.

Opening Day is about rebirth, about fresh starts, about big fat fun wishes. It’s the genie bottle of sports metaphors. That great newspaperman Thomas Boswell even waxed poetic about it: Why Time Begins on Opening Day.

So when your Tampa Bay Rays take the turf tomorrow night against the Seattle Mariners, it’s entirely reasonable, and entirely mandatory, to assume that, come October, Carl Crawford & Co. will be playing in the World Series. (They crushed the Yanks for the pennant, natch.)

And after winning the World Series in seven games, thanks to a walk-off homer by American League MVP B.J. Upton, your Tampa Bay Rays will receive a ticker tape parade down Central Avenue, which even folks in Tampa will brave the bridge to attend.

And as a result of the Rays’ mind-blowing victory, newspaper sales will skyrocket as everyone in Florida, in the Southern states, in the country, will clamor for Rays stories and pictures and zany Joe Maddon quotes to hang on their Frigidaires.

And this rabid excitement for our ragtag World Champs will also commence a hellzapoppin’ downtown boom — and an uptown splash, and a midtown renaissance, and a Feather Sound huzzah. There might be a recession elsewhere in the U.S. of A., but not here, not in St. Pete, not in Rays Nation, baby!

And yes, the Rays’ triumph will ultimately lead to a new waterfront stadium, which everyone will agree was the greatest idea in the history of great ideas. And they will call it Al Lang Field, of course, because it’s never too late to correct past wrongs.

And in the posh confines of this bejeweled downtown stadium, where the championship banner hangs in straightaway center, there will be a watering hole called Ferg’s Too, a cozier version of the loyal sports pub that once lubed losing streaks next door to the Trop.

And while drinking at Ferg’s Too in the new waterfront stadium in the revitalized downtown in recession-free St. Petersburg, you — yes, you — will meet your future spouse, who just happens to be wearing the same Scott Kazmir jersey as you. You will talk and laugh and flirt. And when you stroll out of the ballpark together, you will discover, after the goodnight kiss, that your future spouse is heir to the Mack Truck fortune.

The next day, you will quit your job at Arby’s.

You and Mack will have lots of children (one named Ferg) and grandchildren (one named Ray). You’re a happy millionaire now, and you live in a mansion, and you drive one of those red Magnum P.I. Ferraris you’ve always wanted, and you have Rays season tickets on the third-base line, and you spend every anniversary drinking and flirting in Ferg’s Too.

And you will continue to live in St. Petersburg, home of the World Champion Tampa Bay Rays, because really now, why would you leave?

This place is paradise.

And to think, it all started on Opening Day 2008.

Play ball.

• • •

Whether you’re at the Trop tonight, or merely by the radio in spirit, here’s a few ’tween-inning songs to stoke those hardball fantasies — including a special seventh inning-rendition of Take Me Out to the Ballgame, celebrating  its 100th anniversary this year.

The Opening Day Playlist
1. Batter Up, Nelly
2. Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball?, Count Basie Orchestra
3. Slide It In, Whitesnake
4. Catch Me Now I’m Falling, the Kinks
5. Wild Thing, the Troggs
6. Mrs. Robinson, Simon & Garfunkel
7. Take Me Out to the Ballgame, Liberace
8. Centerfield, John Fogerty
9. Catfish, Bob Dylan
10. So Long Baby Goodbye, the Blasters

The Most Notorious Country Songs

We're all about country music at the ol' SPT Saloon this weekend.

There's a feature by yours truly: "Southern Comfort: The music industry is sliding. The economy is in the dumps. Sounds like the perfect time for a country song."

There's a killer Country Quiz concocted by none other than that hot urban cowboy Steve Spears (CLICK HERE TO PLAY). Let us know your score. I made a bonehead mistake, but still managed a 13.

There's a great mini-movie of backstage antics with Dierks Bentley and his fans at a recent Tampa show (CLICK HERE TO WATCH THAT).

And to top it all off, here's a playlist of THE MOST NOTORIOUS COUNTRY SONGS. Not just the bawdiest and bad-assiest, but enevelope-pushers and shaggy old faves, too. These songs have kick and swagger to 'em. And the list isn't done, of course. So crack open a tallboy and fire off some of your faves, too.

HELP WANTED: The Baseball Playlist

I've been asked by my editors to concoct a baseball playlist for the April 8 home opener of your Tampa Bay Rays. There aren't a ton of obvious hardball hits: John Fogerty's Centerfield, Don Henley's Boys of Summer and, er, that other one. But that's all part of the fun here at Pop Life. Think outside the playlist, stretch the limits of your mind, nuzzle your bare toes in the Astroturf of imagination...

Ah, yes, that's it, here they come now...

Catch Me Now I'm Falling -- the Kinks
Hit That -- Offspring
Babe -- Styx
Slide It In -- Whitesnake
Willie and the Hand Jive -- Johnny Otis

I'll jukebox 'em up for your listening pleasure when I have the full list. For now, keep the baseball bunch coming, while I make the first beer and hot-dog run. Who wants mustard?

PLAYLIST REVISITED: The Crying Playlist

Last month I ran a highly controversial playlist about crying. To recap: At any given time, at least two people in my four-strong household, which now includes a beautiful, bouncy six-week-old daughter, can be heard sobbing. (You can read that HERE.) Although certain folks did not "get" this playlist at all, high-falutin' IMEEM technology has allowed me to take that item and soup it up as a cool jukebox. So now everyone will like it! Okay, maybe not. Nevertheless, I'm gonna revisit playlists from the past and juke 'em up. I'll also tweak the original lists to accomodate reader suggestions. Enjoy!

   

The Leprechaun List

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

The Pop Life Playlist has finally entered the 21st century, as the good folks at IMEEM.com have allowed me to post fancy jukeboxes right here on the blog. (I'm telling you, this Internet thingie just might catch on.) Just click on the track, crack open a cold green one on this March 17 and start jigging like Darby O'Gill.

Special thanks to the Pop Life loyalists, whose keen ear for Irish ditties and thirsty palate for suds of all colors helped create today's list. By all means, keep suggesting songs...and keep reaching for that pot o' gold.

The Raging Rays Playlist

In the end, it was the crack of a bone, not the crack of a bat, that changed misfortune to fortune for the woeful Tampa Bay Rays. In the blink of an eye — or however long it takes one dude to demolish another — our bad-news basebull bunch took its first cleated step on the road to redemption.

And they did it with violence.

I think I’m in love.

As you might have heard, there was a bit of a dustup at ol’ Legends Field last Saturday, when the mighty New York Yankees played spring training host to our pushovers of summer. In a late-inning brouhaha at the plate, Rays second baseman Elliot Johnson (who?) plowed into catcher Francisco Cervelli (huh?), fracturing the NY backstop’s right wrist.

Yanks skipper Joe Girardi, a former catcher himself, took issue with the “uncalled for” play, saying spring training is no place for harmful acts: “I don’t understand it. I’ve always known that you don’t do it.”

Rays manager Joe Maddon defended that collision (and a previous one earlier in the week) with a refreshing blast of Eastwoodian grit. “If we have a chance, and we have to hit a catcher, we should. And if they have a chance to take out one of our catchers, they should. That’s the way the game’s played."

Some people say spring training games are meaningless. Not this one, folks.

When the teams played again on Wednesday, not much happened . . . except for a hit batter (Rays prospect Evan Longoria), five ejections and a benches-clearing standoff! (The above photo, from the Times' James Borchuck, is from yesterday's scuffle.)

NY and TB players, coaches and fans are going after one another with unprecedented vitriol. People are totally losing their cool. They are whiners; we are losers. They’re prima donnas; we’re thugs. They buy championships; we have a fish tank in centerfield.

Heck, now I want to buy season tickets and brass knuckles.

If you’re a Rays fan, you gotta love this. Rivalries are one thing, but blood feuds are when thing’s really get interesting. Maddon’s club doesn’t need better players; it needs a tougher aura. If we have to be thugs before we’re winners, fine; at least we’re not straight-up tomato cans anymore.

Someone’s threatened by us? Excellent.

In fact, if I’m Joe Maddon, one of these days I might have loose-cannon Jonny Gomes march over to third and smash a pie in Alex Rodriguez’s face. Yeah, a real gooey pie. During the national anthem.

Now some of you parents might think this is a horrible lesson for your children. But let me ask you this: When you go to Tropicana Field, and there are more fans for the enemy than the Rays, and hometown pride is stuck in the sour pit of your stomach, what does that teach the boys and girls of the Tampa Bay area? That we’re all chumps? Exactly. So go on, Jonny Gomes. Make it a cherry pie. And here’s a musical playlist to crank when the next brouhaha busts out:

The Pi Playlist (Do It for the Kids)

A delightful coworker, responsible for enriching student minds and belittling mine, wants to teach America's youth about pi, everyone's favorite mathematical constant. And because my colleague is so gosh-darn clever, she wants to do this next Friday, on 3/14 (natch). She recently loomed over me with her wee beady eyes and spiky hair until I agreed to provide a playlist for this exercise.

Care to play along? C'mon, do it for the kids...

The Pi Playlist

1. Pi, Kate Bush
2. The Math, Hilary Duff
3. Three Is a Magic Number, Blind Melon
4. Neverending Math Equation, Modest Mouse
5. American Pie, Don McLean
6. Whipped Cream, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass
7. Don’t Lose My Number, Phil Collins
8. The 3 R’s, Jack Johnson
9. Why Do I Keep Counting?, the Killers
10. 3.14, Cowboy Bebop

What's on Bruce's iPod?

Great piece in USA Today about the contents of Springsteen's iPod. You can actually scroll through the goodies: a lotta Dylan, Woody Guthrie, Neko Case, Link Wray. Lotta alt-country, folk, gospel, early rock. As for surprises, it's cool to see Nas on there. And Evan Dando must be feeling good about himself this morning.

Anway, here's the link.  Compare your iPod to the Boss's. My "A"s start off with 35 AC/DC songs. Bruce starts off with Alan Vega and Amos Milburn.   

The Barry Bonds Playlist

So there's chatter that the Tampa Bay Rays might make a run at Barry Bonds. Never mind his Al Capone status with the feds. Never mind his surly demeanor with the press and notorious ability to alienate teammates. Never mind that his 40-plus age and deteriorating physical condition make him an almost-certain waste of millions of dollars. Never mind that the Rays just exorcised clubhouse cancers Delmon Young and Elijah Dukes.

The lure of having the Home Run King in a Rays uni might be too much to pass up. And you know what? There's a great part of me that looooves controversy and chaos and the idea of Bonds crushing baseballs into the ray tank at the Trop. Yeah, yeah, I'd ultimately say no to Bonds (probably...maybe...I think). The Rays have a sweet, streamlined team with young, hopeful stars. But dang, Barry Bonds in Rays colors? That could be one crazeee summer.

Anyway, here's TWO playlists, depending how you feel on the matter...

The Bring On Barry! Playlist
1. Going, Going, Gone -- Bob Dylan
2. Big Shot -- Billy Joel
3. Barry Bonds -- Kanye West
4. Ain't No Other Man -- Christina Aguilera
5. All Summer Long -- Kid Rock
6. The Winner Takes It All -- ABBA

The Boo Barry Playlist
1. The Needle and the Damage Done -- Neil Young
2. Big Head -- the Exies
3. The Drugs Don't Work -- the Verve
4. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap -- AC/DC
5. Bad Reputation -- Joan Jett
6. Hate To Say I Told You So -- the Hives

The Crying Playlist

There are no lonely teardrops in my house. Not anymore. At any given time these days, at least two of my loved ones can be heard crying simultaneously. The other day, we actually scored the trifecta, as my fiancee, our four-year-old daughter and our newborn girl were all wailing at once.

To be honest, there was a perverse sitcom thrill to the blub-athon. I was bombarded with three distinct cries, each one trying to out-volume the other: the fiancee’s I-need-sleep General Hospital drama flop, the pre-K kid’s fat-teared I Love Lucy spout and the four-week-old’s grouchy Gremlins protest.

All of that in 5.1 Surround Sob. Awesome sound quality. Eat your heart out, THX.

I eventually got a little frustrated, but not at my trio of bawling blue-eyed gals. I wanted to squirt a few, too. I wanted in on the caterwauling. I was seriously contemplating a hammer to the groin just so I could shed a few with the Kleenex Connection.

Now don’t get me wrong about all of this: The Daly brood, now four-strong and mighty, has never been happier. Everyone is healthy and pretty. And the tear brigade is often followed by a boisterous parade of chuckles.

But hoo boy, is there a lot  of emotion running wild in that joint. As the only dude in a house full of magnificent, mercurial women, I knew the crying game would come eventually — I just didn’t know it would come so soon. And yes, I’m fully aware that I’m the cause of some of this crying. Although at least I have the courtesy to swallow my emotions until they fester into some horrible malady later in life. I’m considerate like that.

But let me say this: As I sat there, sipping my Sam Adams, listening to the commotion, I had to smile. Sure, my head felt like a holding place for Paul Bunyan’s axe. But there was also a curious moment of clarity, especially for an only child always curious about bigger, louder households: Now this is a family.

So in celebration of my weepy, wonderful loved ones, here’s a musical playlist to crank a little louder when things get wet:

1. Tears -- John Waite
2. You Left the Water Running -- Otis Redding
3. Stop Your Sobbing -- the Pretenders
4. 96 Tears -- ? and the Mysterians
5. Crying -- Roy Orbison
6. Cry -- Godley & Creme
7. There's a Tear in My Beer -- Hank Williams
8. Before the Next Teardrop Falls -- Freddy Fender
9. Lonely Teardrops -- Jackie Wilson
10. Tears on My Pillow -- Little Anthony & the Imperials

The Valentine's Day Playlist (Pre-K Edition)

I hated Valentine's Day as a grade-schooler. I was a poofy-haired, Toughskins-wearing nervous pup to begin with. But the anguish of wondering if I'd score any Scooby-Doo cards in the shoddy construction-paper heart hanging from my desk was almost too much too bear. I usually fared okay, not a ton of cards, but not a barren wasteland of prepubescent shame, either. Still, the payoff wasn't even close to eclipsing the night-before panic attacks. It was brutal.

So it was with great heart palpatations that the Forever Fiancee and I bought our 4-year-old daughter, Kid Lulu, her first batch of Valentine's Day cards. Stars Wars for the boys, Bratz for the girls. She'll be handing them out at school today, and we'll make sure that everyone in her class gets one. At her age, I imagine that's the deal anyway.

But alas, it's just a matter of time before Lu starts dealing with the stress of selective Valentine's Day cards. When does that start? Third grade? Fourth grade? That's gonna be tough on her. She's already showing signs of being like her old man. Some days, my daughter will come home and, like a beaten-down used-car salesman, tell me about her day: "It wasn't a good one, Dad," she'll say with a sigh, slowly shaking her head. "I had a fight with Olivia." Sing it, sister. I hear you loud and clear.

So here's a playlist to send Kid Lulu out into the world of Valentine's Day with a positive boost. Don't sweat it, kiddo. You'll always get a card from me.

1.) Have a Heart -- Bonnie Raitt
2.) Why Can't We Be Friends -- War
3.) Turn of a Friendly Card -- Alan Parsons Project
4.) Happy Valentine's Day -- OutKast
5.) Baby Be Mine -- Michael Jackson
6.) Puppy Love -- Donny Osmond
7.) The Kids Are Alright -- the Who
8.) I Want Candy -- Bow Wow Wow
9.) Secret Admirer -- Pitbull
10.) My Funny Valentine -- Ella Fitzgerald

Tom Petty's "The Giants Suck!" Playlist

By the time Tom Petty plugs in for the Super Bowl halftime on Sunday, your New England Patriots will be up by at least two touches on the New York Giants. By the time the final gun fires, Tom Brady and Randy Moss will have torched those secondaryless blue goons for at least 5 TDs. 41-17 NE.

So in a celebratory game of high-concept blogging, here's a New York-mocking playlist using only Tom Petty songs...

10.) "Breakdown"
9.) "You're Gonna Get It"
8.) "Zero From Outer Space" (for Plaxico)
7.) "Won't Last Long"
6.) "About to Give Out"
5.) "I Don't Wanna Fight"
4.) "Free Fallin'"
3.) "Yer So Bad"
2.) "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around"
1.) "Dogs on the Run"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

HERE IT IS! The 4-Hour Party Mix! 65 Tracks!

After a sleepless night of mixing and mashing, dancing and prancing, weeping and cackling maniacally, I've finally come up with SD's 4-Hour Party Mix, which will be on full display in downtown St. Pete tomorrow night. The vibe I was going for was cool but celebratory, potentially danceable but not so obnoxious that you can talk or crunch crudites over it.

And if Beach Blanket Bingo happens to break out (pictured -- btw, is Frankie trying to smuggle a cactus in his trunks?), so be it.

I might garnish the list with a few Disney songs (a private nod to my good friend and editor who's being feted farewell); maybe a couple more harmless Hannah Montana tracks for her kids, who are also my very good pals. And I'm a little worried about a few trouble spots, a few omissions (where's Otis Redding, Booker T, anything from the '80s?). But it should hold together.

So here you go. Click on the magic link below and have at it... 

Hangover Songs

The walk of shame, the broken-egg brain, the clammy paranoia that you said or did (or kissed) something last night that will forever alter the course of humanity -- or at least get you fired. Ah yes, the karmic hangover, the morning-after blues. We've all been there. In fact, you could say I'm there right now, sweaters on my teeth, gnomes dancing inside my skull.

So I ask you...WHAT SONGS DO YOU PLAY TO HELP PATCH UP THE WOUNDS? TO GET YOU FOCUSED ON THE PATH TO REDEMPTION?

I'm obsessed with this topic. In fact, I'm pretty sure I blogged about it before. But it's so good, I'm doing it again. I'll tell you right now, the greatest hangover song ever is The Playboy Mansion by U2. There's just something about it's resigned, lethargic pace, its gently cruel ironies brushing up against its fantastic possibilites. If you're feeling like death after a night of box wine, that song is a salve.

Here are a few of my sonic remedies (yes, Rhinestone Cowboy included. Seriously, you should try it sometime). Feel free to share your own Hangover Songs...

Que Sera Sera -- Sly & the Family Stone
Hands on the Wheel -- Willie Nelson
Ride On -- AC/DC
We Haven't Turned Around -- Gomez
Killing the Blues -- Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Fugitive Motel -- Elbow
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk -- Rufus Wainwright
A Wedding in Cherokee County -- Randy Newman
Rhinestone Cowboy -- Glen Campbell
You Don't Know Me -- Ray Charles

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....

The Happy New Year's Playlist!!!

I stopped looking forward to drunken, vomitious revelry on Dec. 31 approximately 4 years, 20 days ago. Which is not to say I won't raise a pint or six this evening. I'll just do it while watching The Jungle Book with the FF and Kid Lulu, my 4-year-and-20-days-old daughter.

As I've hyped recently, my big night is this Friday. I wish I could blog on the go, as I traverse Tampa Bay, searching for adult beverages and related bad habits. Those would be cool blog entries, especially the one at 2:15 a.m. when I beg Marissa for bail money.

Anyway, here's a gaggle of tunes for tonight, New Year's Eve songs that work thematically and besottedly. Have a good one, boys and girls!

10.) Rockin' at Midnight-- the Honeydrippers
9.) Party Up (Up in Here) -- DMX
8.) New Year's Day -- U2
7.) The Final Countdown -- Europe
6.) Through the Years -- Kenny Rogers
5.) Happy -- the Rolling Stones
4.) Eve of Destruction -- Barry McGuire
3.) The New Year -- Death Cab for Cutie
2.) Living After Midnight -- Judas Priest
1.) Happy New Year -- ABBA

Up "All Night" With the Marleys

How hot is this? Damian Marley and Stephen Marley's "All Night." I musta listened to this thrusty slice of goodness 10 times today. It was hiding on my iPod, waiting for just the right moment to reveal itself. So good, so toasty. I'm gonna use this sucker to anchor my Friday party playlist.

My advice to you is to just let it play. Just let it fuse itself to your hips. From Damian's 2005 album "Welcome to Jamrock." You can thank me later...

Best Soft Hits From the '70s

Would you look at that hot 1979 action! The Captain looks like he has something stern in mind for Tennille, doesn't he? Dude looks angry, focused, mustachioed. She looks pretty heated up as well, probably because he's not wearing that stupid hat.

If you're wondering why we're talking Captain & Tennille today, it's because the Grammy Awards are celebrating their 50th anniversary this year (Feb. 10, 2008 to be exact). And they just released a 7-CD series highlighting such Grammy winners as the above couple.

The Recording Academy is the very organization that ignored Jimi Hendrix and embraced Milli Vanilli. So yes, the Grammys are remarkably, infamously uncool. However, in an ironic twist, that uncoolness gave them a sublime eye for soft, cheesy hits of the '70s. This includes Janis Ian's At Seventeen, the Bee Gees How Deep Is Your Love and the Doobie Brother's What a Fool Believes -- all on one magical CD!

I'm an unabashed fan of cheesy '70s goodness. Okay, maybe not that unabashed. When I croon along to, say, 10cc's I'm Not in Love, I usually have the car windows rolled up. And yet, here I am today, admitting as much in front of God, Bassnote and everyone.

This stuff is like a drug for me. I love it! So off the top of my pretty little head, here are Sean's 10 Fave Soft Hits From the '70s:

10.) The Things We Do for Love -- 10cc
9.) Dance With Me -- Orleans
8.) It Don't Matter to Me -- Bread
7.) Here You Come Again -- Dolly Parton
6.) At Seventeen -- Janis Ian (SOB ALONG)
5.) Time Passages -- Al Stewart
4.) Lonely Boy -- Andrew Gold (LISTEN)
3.) I Just Want to Be Your Everything -- Andy Gibb
2.) I'm Not in Love -- 10cc
1.) Love Will Keep Us Together -- Captain & Tennille (WATCH IN HORROR)

Mother Knows Best

This marks the 5th day of my mother's visit to Florida. I love her dearly, of course. And Kid Lulu is crazy about her grandma, who in turn dutifully spoils Lu as if she's a royal princess. My mom had a tricky year, but she's a tough cookie and is now lookin' and feelin' good. I'm immensely proud of the unsinkable M. Daly.

That said -- ahem -- THIS IS THE 5TH DAY OF MY MOTHER'S VISIT TO FLORIDA. All of you folks hosting moms for the holidays, this playlist is for you...

Mother -- John Lennon
Mama Said Knock You Out -- LL Cool J
Mama Tried -- Merle Haggard
Hey Mama -- Kanye West
Mother and Child Reunion -- Paul Simon
Mother Nature's Son -- the Beatles
Mother, Father -- Journey
Mother's Little Helper -- the Rolling Stones
Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys -- Willie Nelson
Parents Just Don't Understand -- DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince

Vancouver Man Boards Crazy Train

THIS JUST IN! On Christmas Eve, a Vancouver, Wash., man claiming to be Ozzy Osbourne was arrested after barging into a convenience store and waving a gun around. You can see the video HERE.

To the dude's credit, he kinda looks like Ozzy. Plus he lives in Vancouver, Wash. I wouldn't mind defending this guy in court. After a lonely day of drinking, with no one to spend a cold Christmas with, it's understandable that this lunatic would look in the mirror and see the Blizzard of Ozz. It was his only defense.

He should sue God for $1.3 million. While he's at it, he should also slap a suit on the folks at MD 20/20 just for good measure.

A friend once described me as a morphing of Tom Hanks and John Candy. I didn't mind that. Hell, I love Splash. That said, Volunteers sucks.

Because this blog is wandering aimlessly, let's finish with the FIVE BEST OZZY SOLO TUNES...
5. Over the Mountain
4. I Don't Know
3. Bark at the Moon
2. Crazy Train
1. Flying High Again

Yule Log Madness (The Playlist!!!)

Keep it together, Daly. Don’t let the log win. Just hang in there...

When you stare into a yule log, the yule log stares back at you. Especially when said log is crackling maniacally on a Sony 46-inch high-def TV squatting majestically in your living room.

Tampa Bay's Bay News 9 is once again televising four consecutive hours of its notably dormant yule log on Christmas Eve. From 8 to midnight, this made-for-TV timber will be prime time entertainment for thousands of people who will watch it and watch it and watch it burn...and then be carted off to padded rooms.

I recently tuned in to this seemingly benign piece of wood on Bright House Network’s free “on demand” channel. (Indeed, you can watch the yule log whenever you want on Ch. 340.) In fact, I gawked for one straight hour. Just stared right into it.

For me, the madness descended almost immediately.

The initial scene is of a posh suburban fireplace. Very nice, very Westchase. There are a Christmas tree and presents on the left. Five stockings hang from the mantel. Bing Crosby croons in the background. And of course there's that ominous log ablaze in the hearth. You are instantly seduced by its mighty power — especially if you have an enormous TV that your fiancee hates.

You’re watching...you’re watching...you’re getting lightheaded...you’re drooling a little...and then your mind starts to go:

Wait a minute, you think. Where is everybody? Why is there a roaring fire in a million-dollar home and no one’s around? And why isn’t there a screen in front of the fireplace? Could these people be more careless? What if they have a cat? What if kitty gets curious? Stay away from the light, Whiskers!

I wonder what’s in those presents. I bet it’s something naughty, something from Frederick’s of Hollywood. C’mon, let’s look! We won’t get caught. It’s just us and Whiskers. The cat won’t rat!

I feel like a burglar. It feels a little wrong. Like I’m an intruder, a thief, a criminal. I wouldn’t be able to handle jail. I’m soft, cute, chubby. I’ve seen Caged Heat. They’d eat me alive in the pokey.

That's when the yule-log scene shifts to a closeup of the fire, which is now roaring like an outtake from The Towering Inferno. The Christmas music has become intense; it’s that fiendish, crescendoing Carol of the Bells, which always reminds me of The Exorcist. The yule log is playing serious mind games now.

Look at those sparks! Duck and cover, Whiskers, duck and cover! The log is raging like a Roman candle. I know what’s going on here. It’s angry! It’s furious! The log knows its time is up! Hahahaha! You’ll never win yule log! I AM THE LOG KING!

And just like that, the hour is up.

I’m not sure what happened during my psychic staring contest with the yule log. But I quickly wrote down a musical playlist to chronicle the events. When you visit the log, you best have the following songs handy, just to be on the safe side.

So Merry Christmas, everybody...and respect the log!

The Yule Log Playlist
1. The Christmas Song, Mel Torme
2. Big Log, Robert Plant
3. Rockin' the Suburbs, Ben Folds
4. Blaze It, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
5. Disco Inferno, the Trammps
6. Tubular Bells, Mike Oldfield
7. Losing It, Rush
8. Where Is My Mind, the Pixies
9. Go Insane, Lindsey Buckingham
10. Changing Channels, Jimmy Buffett

Call Me Stoltzfus (The Beard Playlist)

So when I was up north last week, I tried to grow a beard. Actually, "tried" isn't the right word. I forgot to bring a razor, and I was too cheap to buy one at CVS. So I just didn't shave.

Wow, it looked really bad. As many of you know, the Daly men are unable to generate body hair in several strategic places. (No, not that place. We're painfully normal there.) Our legs and arms are porpoiselike in their smoothness; sure, we're easy targets, but we're also fabulous swimmers.

Anyway, last week, I had one half of a mustache that was kinda growing -- but the other half, well, it failed to get the memo. I could only muster a smattering of random hair on my Baby Huey cheeks. And yet, under my chin it grew rather wolfishly. Unfortunately, this curious pattern both (1) accentuated my myriad chins and (2) made me look Amish. And with all due respect, a fat Amish farmer is not the look I was going for.

Anyway, if you don't mind, I'd now like to mourn my since-shaved beard with a few appropriate tunes...

Why Did You Grow a Beard -- They Might Be Giants
Pencil Thin Mustache -- Jimmy Buffett
Smell My Beard -- Frank Zappa
Peachfuzz -- KMD
Burma Shave -- Tom Waits
Smooth Operator -- Sade
Let It Grow -- Eric Clapton
Cocksoldiers and Their Postwar Stubble -- Guided by Voices
Dizzy's Goatee -- Joe Strummer
Ode to Chin -- Switchfoot
Razor -- Foo Fighters
Rough Boy -- ZZ Top

Dedicate a Song to Jamie Lynn Spears

I really don't care about Jamie Lynn Spears. But she's 16. She's preggers. And she's Britney's sister. So people are talking about her today, and lord knows I'm needy for attention.

So have at it. Here's a few tender dedications to get us started...

Stupid Girl -- Garbage
Respect Yourself -- Staples Singers
Knocked Up -- Kings of Leon
Baby, What a Big Surprise -- Chicago
All in the Family -- Korn

A Very Daly Christmas

Last week, a colleague asked if I would make his girlfriend a Christmas mix. He's Jewish, she's not -- the man needed some help. I'm a freak for Christmas music and have an epic number of albums that are only good for 25 days a year. So of course I said yes.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a ton of time to make the mix, so I threw a bunch of stuff together and hoped it worked. In retrospect, I give it a B. No Darlene Love -- an omission that would get you shot in the North Pole. And the abundance of Guaraldi slows the pace in spots. But there's some good stuff on there.

(By the way, I had a hot picture of the Hawaiian Tropics girls in strategically placed wreaths to go with this post. But out of respect for my female readers -- and my beloved Forever Fiancee -- here's a picture of Yoda in awkward Santa gear instead.)

Anyway, here's the playlist for A Very Daly Christmas...(plus for the ladies, a CLIP from the Star Wars Holiday Special)

1. Santa Claus Is Back In Town -- Elvis Presley
2. Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer -- Chris Isaak
3. Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) --  Death Cab For Cutie (WATCH a homemade video)
4. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? -- Rufus Wainwright
5. Merry Christmas Baby -- Otis Redding
6. O Tannenbaum -- Vince Guaraldi
7. Sleigh Ride -- Los Straitjackets
8. Frosty The Snowman -- The Ronettes
9. Run Rudolph Run -- Chuck Berry
10. Linus And Lucy -- Vince Guaraldi
11. Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town -- Bruce Springsteen
12. The Christmas Song -- The Raveonettes
13. The Christmas Song (Merry Christmas To You) -- Nat King Cole (WATCH)
14. Carol of the Bells -- The Bird And The Bee
15. Blue Christmas -- Elvis Presley
16. Christmastime Is Here (Instrumental) -- Vince Guaraldi
17. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas -- Chris Isaak
18. Christmas Is Coming -- Vince Guaraldi
19. Spotlight On Christmas -- Rufus Wainwright
20. Skating -- Vince Guaraldi
21. Jingle Bell Rock -- The Ventures
22. The Man With All The Toys -- The Beach Boys
23. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus -- John Mellencamp
24. Christmastime Is Here (Vocal) -- Vince Guaraldi
25. Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) -- U2 (WATCH)

Doing the Bull Dance (Feelin' the Flow)

So...I'm helpless in a vintage barber chair being threatened with my own belt by a bethonged blond bartender with severe anger issues.

Where did it all go wrong? I'll tell you...

Much like the amateur zookeeper who releases exotic amphibians into the Everglades under the cover of night -- thus disrupting and polluting a glorious ecosystem -- I absent-mindedly got my best friends in the swell city of Harrisburg, Pa., addicted to Red Bull & vodka, the official cracklike concoction of Tampa Bay.

"I feel so awake!" said my friends Becks -- weary father of two, dog-tired power lawyer -- as he double-fisted tumblers of that dastardly drink. Before we knew it, five hours of dreaded Red led us to a Coyote Ugly-esque joint where all hell broke loose. Thongs, belts, barber chairs -- X-rated acrimony, I tell you.

Anyway, the less said the better. But I would like to issue a blanket apology to all those folks in Capital City who were offended by our actions -- including the downright surly whipped-cream girl with the ill-fitting bra. Please accept the following playlist as a token of our deep regret:

Herewith, THE RED BULL PLAYLIST:

All Fired Up -- Pat Benatar
Power to the People -- John Lennon
Bull in the Heather -- Sonic Youth
Hyperactive -- Thomas Dolby
Energy Drink -- Ugly Duckling
I Saw Red -- Warrant
Pump It Up -- Elvis Costello
Jump Around -- House of Pain
Freakin' Out -- Graham Coxon
Bounce -- Timbaland
BONUS CUT: Thong Song -- Sisqo

Ooooh... shiny!

Siiiigh.

A pot of silver glitter leftover from Halloween burst in my makeup bag. It's all over EVERYTHING. Powder, shadow, eyelash curler. It reached the deepest corner of the Bag of Shadows, wherein lies the unfortunate fuchsia "Dessert by Jessica Simpson" lipstick, the purchase of which weighs heavy on my soul.

I didn't know the severity of the Bay of Glitter Invasion until I started putting on products this morning. And anyone who has ever had a run-in with glitter knows the pain involved in removal. It's like Easter grass. I'll be finding it for years. So, although it's Saturday afternoon and I look hobo-fabulous, if you catch my face in the right light, I am Dee Snider.

Instead of pointing and laughing, help me out with a glitter playlist.

Glitter - Motley Crue
Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac
Glamour and Glitz - A Tribe Called Quest
Shimmer - System Of A Down
All That Glitters - Le Tigre
Sparkle - Phish
Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star - Merle Haggard
Glitter Girl - Kidney Thieves
Glow Worm - Mills Brothers
Imma Shine - YoungBloodZ

Shaft is a bad mother...

Isaac Hayes is the best part of my day.

You see, isaachayes.net mysteriously sends me e-mail updates at work.  I assume this is related to my last name also being “Hayes,” because I have never actually visited said website.

I could remove myself, but I’ve come to enjoy these peeks into the life of everyone’s favorite singer of, um, Shaftandsomeotherstuff. My heart skips when “Isaac Hayes News” sails into my inbox! (And that’s not a dirty euphemism).

Fun Facts: When Issac played at Harrah’s in Kansas City, he “sounded best during the old-school testifying of I Stand Accused.”  Also, Chef was honored at VH1’s recent Movie’s Rock thingamadohickey, where LL Cool J sang the theme from Shaft.

Did you know these things? I did. Because we’re super close now, me and Isaac.  Here’s a Sean Daly style playlist for Issac and Steph's hot e-mail showmance.

Digital Getdown - *Nsync
E-mail My Heart - Britney Spears
Send Me An E-mail - J-Shin ft. T-Pain
Take a Message  - Remy Shand
The Update - Beastie Boys
Write Me A Letter - Aerosmith
Ayo Technology - 50 Cent and Justin Timberlake
I Love My Computer - Bad Religion
It's All About The Pentiums - Weird Al
Raw Update - Technotronic

Got more?

The Monopoly Playlist

Imagine how low the divorce rate would plumme