Warner Bros. is going to be sued by Batman.

Calling all men! Hurry, we need your sperm!

McCain hip and cool on The Tonight Show.

Paula Abdul now has no more fans.

Fashion trends are always improving. Winter ‘08 is no different.

Does Lindsay Lohan really like Obama? Or is that just a front?

Clutches are to die for. The new Bond Girl has risked her life for sexiness.

Warner Bros. is going to be sued by Batman.

Cosmo has the scoop on noteworthy sex trends.

Gmail is rocking my world, again.

Obama in the name of love.

There are some albums everyone should have in their collection. If you’re a fan of popular music, or at least good music in general, Weezer’s first self-titled album, now affectionately titled The Blue album, is one of those. In ten simple ditties written about things as simple as surfing and hangin’ out in the garage and as harrowing and complex as alcoholism. Weezer crashed the grunge music party and found a home in popular culture.

Since their debut on the scene in 1994, reviews of Weezer’s subsequent albums have paled in comparison. Fans, myself included, have stood by the band as Pinkerton, The Green Album, Maladroit and Make Believe saw occasional commercial success with pop-like singles but nothing lasting.

But we held out. We found and embraced the good stuff (Pinkerton’s been in my heavy rotation since high school) where snooty reviewers and the general public saw weak pet projects. And now, for Weezer and music fans alike, the long wait may be over. Read More »

There’s usually some sort of bustle on the floor in my dorm on Monday nights. My roommate’s focus is Top Chef, while my friend Allison used to be utterly devoted to Prison Break (she dropped it in favor of Pushing Daisies, which should be back soon!). Heroes used to be playing in at least three rooms on our meager 9-room floor. But my girlfriend and I, from 9 until about 11 (sometimes 11:05 or even 11:10), are otherwise occupied. All year ‘round. What on earth could we be watching that doesn’t end the season at some point?

Wrestling. Monday Night Raw, specifically.

I used to watch wrestling and play the games with my cousin. I didn’t really get into it a whole lot; I though everyone looked kind of weird, aside from that Shawn Michaels dude. Okay, he was kind of weird too, but not like Hulk Hogan weird. I liked The Rock, too; he made me laugh. But I didn’t watch anything regularly. I only watched it with my cousin when I was over at his house and it was on, or he wanted to show me a VHS (throwback!) or something similar. My mom HATED wrestling and wouldn’t let me watch it at home, even if I wanted to.

I dropped out of the WWE (then WWF, but changed because the real WWF threw a hissy fit. I still think it’s be great to throw the Rock and a panda in a steel cage match together) for a pretty long time once I stopped hanging with my cousin. It wasn’t until I came to college that the girl who was then just my good friend somehow managed to get me to watch Raw. Read More »

Every girl who is a fan of a band has her favorite guy. It’s a fact. Even if she likes the band 95% because of their music, I can guarantee you that she at least likes the band 5% for the boy on stage who she’s got a crush on.

I was spoon-fed Nirvana and multiple other Seattle bands from my older brother during my preteen years. I was just learning what it was to be attracted to a boy then and Kurt Cobain was the first object of my displaced infatuation. His mystique to me was an amalgam of talent, drug use, insanity, humility, and…oh yeah…the fact that he was dead. I focused so much of my hormonal energy on Kurt Cobain that I never looked behind the drum set to scope out that long haired drummer who kind of looked like a horse. Dave Grohl, as far as I was concerned, was just Kurt’s drummer. And I wasn’t the only person who saw it in this stupidly ridiculous way.

Over the years, I’ve grown older and beyond my stage of having crushes on deceased boys. As I’ve become more in tune with the world of music with each day, it’s been hard not to notice something about the former Nirvana member: He never quits. When I found out he was playing with one of my favorite bands, Queens of The Stone Age, a few years back, my interest was aroused. It seems as though between the Foo Fighters, his own metal throwback band Probot, and countless other projects…the man just never stops.

So while perusing the biography section at the library a couple weeks ago, I had to give the Dave Grohl biography a bit of a double take. Sealed together with a black and white cover that gracefully stretches his married and not-so-horse-like-anymore face across it, the book simply called out to me to take a peek. Not only was it an easy read, but I now officially have a new crush. Read More »

I think it’s the eyeliner. And the bandana. That tattooed biker androgyny with a catalogue of hair band ballads and liquid sex. Those not-too-tight but not-too-loose perfectly faded bootcut jeans and vintage t-shirts, the flowing hair oh, and that bandana. And the eyeliner. Definitely the eyeliner.

I can’t help it. I’m a lesbian in love with Bret Michaels.

I don’t care that he’s 45, or from Pennsylvania, the most un-glam, un-hard, un-rocking state. Or that he has two kids. Or that he likes the Steelers. When I look at Bret, clouds turn to rainbows and puppies and bunnies frolic across my bedroom floor. And when I watch Rock of Love, I could care less about the 25 girls—all I see is Bret.

Alright. I know I sound like every other obsessive fan girl. In fact, I haven’t been this obsessed with a celebrity since Hanson back in 7th grade. I mean, there must be a good reason for it. Maybe it’s the country thing. I grew up in a small town, I had a horse, I played in the dirt and built BMX jumps and didn’t have cable until high school. My mom taught me young the value of a man in a good pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson. Maybe that’s it. Bret’s like home to me. Minus the septic tank. Read More »

Everybody likes sex.

Unless it’s sex you’re not involved in, coming from the bed on the other side of the room. At 3 A.M. When you’ve got a test in 5 hours.

One of the most annoying (and sometimes, horrifying) aspects of going to college is the roommate not-so-silence sex fest. It happens to almost everyone; you don’t know your roommate that well, she brings someone back to the room, you pretend you’re asleep, and the newly formed partnership proceeds to take full advantage of the condoms from the bathroom condom basket.

For a first time sex-fest listener, it can be a scarring occurrence. You want to speak up, but you also don’t, you want desperately to fall asleep, but it’s impossible due to the loud noises coming from across the room.

Here are some tips to keep you from waking up in the middle of the night in horror.

#1 Start Talking Early – You’re in college now. You’re mature. You know what sex is. Once you find out a little bit about the person you’re sharing a room with, asking them about their “sleeping arrangements” is no big deal. Subtly try to find out if they enjoy having someone else in their bed at all times, or if they prefer to snuggle up to a teddy bear at night. Offering up what you’re comfortable with before they do (“You know, I’m totally fine with hook-ups in this room. Just let me know when you might be swinging by and I’ll give you some privacy”) allows you to clear the air and show your new roomie that you’re open and easy to talk to. Read More »

If you’re anything like me, you own one air conditioner that’s only strong enough to cool a tiny pocket of air, and you’re afraid to turn it on anyway because of that pesky electricity bill.

So basically, you’re spending these summer days dripping in sweat. And not that pretty, girlish glisten. Sweat. Sticking to your clothes, running down your back, mattering your hair down until you feel as attractive and energetic as a cat that’s been hosed with dirty water.

What’s a girl stuck in the middle of summer without AC to do? She improvises.

#1 Make a Towel-sicle: If you’re certain it’s going to be 90 degrees with a 100% chance of stuffiness tonight, wet a small washcloth or towel and put it in freezer for up to an hour. When you’re ready to go to bed, take that baby out and use it to cool yourself for a few blissful minutes. The one downside to this endeavor is the obvious melting issue, but hey, a little wetness never hurt anyone.

#2 Freeze your Head: Much like the towel-sicle, all this improvisation needs is a cloth bandana and a freezer. Moisten the bandana and stick it in the freezer up to an hour before going outside. Sure, you can buy something made specifically for this purpose, but most of them make you look like a giant tool. Read More »