That's my backyard. The one to the left of the pool. The pool I hear squeals of pure joy emanating from as I daydream in my kitchen. The pool I dream was mine...

The Eighties music nostalgia tour de force is ebb and flow for me. Should I, could I and do I need to? It changes all the time.

I saw The Police. That was worth it. I count that o so high on the list of best ever.

Do I need to see a 10-piece orchestra-enhanced performance of Echo and The Bunnymen's Ocean Rain at Radio City Music Hall? Not sure. If 'Lips Like Sugar' was on the roster, then maaaaybe. "The Killing Moon" though. With orchestra. That's tough. It might be gorgeous.

Should I see the reunion of Vince Clark and Alison Moyet as Yaz at the Beacon Theater. Probably not. "Only You" was my wedding song, but so? Not compelling enough.

I said yes to Peter Murphy at the Blender Theater on June 27. I heard he was doing his Bauhaus stuff, but I am a fan of his solo albums. He's like David Bowie. Doesn't matter how old he is, he's still interesting with a freaky voice I need to hear live once.

And, OK, OK, I saw Duran Duran in Central Park last Friday. It wasn't The Police by any stretch, but it was good fun. From many feet away, Simon LeBon was still semi-hot. He can still dance and sing. But the closer I got to the stage, no matter how slick his suits were cut, he was a bit heavier than I remember. He looks a bit like a British, older Jason Bateman. O Simon. You got Hungry Like The Wolf and it shows. Drat. They did a killer "Ordinary World" and their new Justin Timberlake-produced music is good, solid dance music.

I did make several, furtive glances around Rumsey Playfield for the time machine door to, let's say, Madison Square Garden, 1988. I may have done that a few times. I searched once at The Police show when someone near our seats said they saw The English Beat and The Police tour in '81. Awww, maaan! The English Beat! Damn. I was wasting time in first grade learning to spell! What the eff!

You can never go home. I know that. Glad I went, but it's definitely the old girlfriend/boyfriend feeling of "I'm sleeping w/you again?! Why? How drunk am I? Oh, but you still like to do THAT. Okaaaay." Thank goodness for Jackie White, Interpol and The Flaming Lips. They make me feel clean.

I got a flatscreen TV.... I got a flatscreen TV.... It is saaaa-weeet.

Gorging on DVDs lately. I missed these three films in the theater. All are worth seeing without taking phone calls or checking email in between.

MEDIA CONSUMPTION REPORT:

Before The Devil Knows You're Dead - Director Sidney Lumet is eighty-four. I repeat, eighty-four. I hope I can do ANYTHING when I am eighty-four. His Ethan Hawke-Philip Seymour Hoffman heist gone wrong film is one of the best films I saw from last year. It's one of those "slow-boils" where you might be bored a bit. I wondered why Marisa Tomei is naked in every film she's in lately. You thought hmmm, interesting that Ethan Hawke is playing the dipshit younger brother, and Hoffman gets to be the slickster. I waited. I watched. Then, my head got ripped off with how much and how fast the third act unfolds. Then it was over, and I wasn't sure if what I saw was what I really saw. I was sitting on the my couch, blinking. Now, THAT'S a film. Loved it.

The Darjeeling Limited - I had almost given up on Wes Andersen. He redeems himself here. Beautiful, odd, touching, another just-right Rolling Stones and Kinks song in the soundtrack, perfect. It hits all the Wes Andersen notes that make it Wes Andersen-y, but doesn't leave you in a vacuum of its own cleverness. Best fashion statement - Adrien Brody in his father's Robert Evans-esque glasses. He's got skinny legs, but he's... a hottie.

Margot at the Wedding - A raw and honest portrait of family members being nurturing and ugly to each other. Somehow, weddings, birthday parties and graduations always seem to bring out the best in us, no? There is no lilting score or big, fabulous entrances. Honest, uncomfortable and terrific. If you are lucky enough to be from a family that doesn't feast on each other's flesh on occasion, you will turn this film off wondering what monsters Noah Baumbach models them after. If you have some knowledge of such rituals, you will probably recognize them and laugh.

CHICAGO:

Spent four days in Chicago. Cool town. Dunno where "it's like a smaller NYC" or "like Brooklyn" comes from. It is its own thing. Plus, no where is like NYC. That's not a snotty thing. Nothing is Paris, London or Jerusalem either.

The geography reminded me more of the Los Angeles, Santa Monica set-up with major office buildings but yet so close to the water, you can fall into the beach. Sure, NY has mini-beaches but they are not close or that nice, and nothing like Lake Michigan. LM looks pretty spectacular from the Sears Tower, and up close.

The neighborhood lay-outs reminded me more of Portland, OR or San Francisco. The block-by-block, whirlwind set-up in NYC is much more whimsical. One block could be Sesame Street brownstones, the next is industrial, the next classy stores, the next just tourists and Olive Garden. Chicago seemed more rigid in each section. Who lives there and what you can expect was more specific. But all fun. They love to party there. Big, tall, corn-fed Mid-Western gals and guys with good teeth. Smiling.

Super eats. Had a blue-cheese encrusted filet at Gibson's steakhouse that nearly melted my brain. Italian beef sandwiches. Hot dogs. Bratwurst. Fat Tire beer (yah, I know it's from CO, but hard to get in NYC). Pastries from Bittersweet Patisserie in Lake View. Classic cocktails at The Violet Hour. Chocolate mint tea at Argo Tea.

Discovered Lululemon activewear. Trendy yoga-inspired workout stuff from Vancouver that is a billion dollars, but it's so pretty, you fork over the cash. I swore it wasn't in NYC, but it is in the two neighborhoods I am in least. The Upper East and Upper West Side. I wish it wasn't here. I see myself cracking out and buying a hundred-and-fifty dollar gym bag I don't need to match my tanks soon. Save me.

Oh, and didn't know Hugh Hefner was from Chicago. Interesting.

MEDIA CONSUMPTION REPORT:

The high-fiving and hugging on Top Chef: Chicago has got to stop. I appreciate they like each other. Every dish does not deserve a grope. Stop.

The Boondocks. I haven't rolled this hard laughing off my couch in a long time. If anyone else watches this Adult Swim cartoon, please email me about it. I got it on DVD so I can hear all the curses.

The story about Miley Cyrus being "embarassed" about her Vanity Fair photos. A photo where she is topless, holding a sheet over herself and smoldering a bit for the camera. You can see her back. Bullllshit. She is not embarassed. Disney is embarassed, or someone affiliated w/her camp, is embarassed that Miley, her green bra and her back are being associated w/Annie Leibovitz, a high-profile, 58-year-old lesbian artist who doesn't represent traditional "American" values. They are protecting their investment from the conservative parents and the money they will spend.

P.S. Disney will continue to smoke and mirror this girl as she dates and gets older. She has to remain a virgin. She's 15. If she's not sexing it up yet, the clock is ticking. Good Luck, Disney.

I adore Legos.

That, plus being the proud owner of a Media Studies M.A. (with the student loan numbers to match!!), and these iconic photographs made me squawk, "OH SNAP!!!" from behind my PC.

Obsessive-compulsive artists? Love 'em! This guy should hang out w/Walter Murch and get beers!

Thursday Night

Once upon a time a girl named Brigita wasn't feeling that great. Perhaps tired. Perhaps something else. Somehow, as her place of business was closing for the day, she found herself accepting an invite to a going-away party w/co-workers. Her little, blue gym bag went with her to the bar. It quickly became irrelevant next to the onion rings and wine.

Hours later, she was walking to the train to go home, and somehow was convinced to go to another bar to sing karaoke and drink beer.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

O boy, o boy, o boy.

Warmer weather... doot doot dooo...

Sunshine... doot doot doo..

People! Spring in the NYC. Spring, spring, o springity spring has arrived.

Get your party pants on!


TALES FROM THE JONES KITCHEN:

My hands want to know why I am such a klutz.

I have burned and cut myself too many times to count in the past few weeks. I have yelled "MOTHER F*CK" on two of those occasions because burns are, well, special.

You can't learn to cook if you ain't cooking on the regular. So, I have been trying new stuff to branch out.

I have thrown out two whole dishes that both could have passed for a steaming pile of B.O. One was a sad, sad chili that I should have never believed the recipe to say it was "quick." Chili isn't quick. The other was this rank Thai soup that I almost couldn't even flush down the toilet because I was half-reasoning that even toilets have the capacity to get insulted.

I did make a rockin' almond rice pudding. A decent Korean pork tenderloin. A gets-better-each-time bolognese sauce. But yowza, when it's bad, it's so very bad. It's a mini-death, and I need to get out of the kitchen to mourn.

MEDIA CONSUMPTION REPORT:

Got the new Raconteurs album, Consolers of the Lonely. I know, I know, it is hard for me to say a single bad word about my boyfriend, Jack White, and this is no exception. I like the White Stripes better, but this still works just fine. It's pop-ier music, so that's cool. Someone guard Jack White and his brain. Get someone separate to guard his fingers so he can write music and play one of the five thousand instruments he has mastered since birth. I need him in my life.

Was roped into seeing Duran Duran in Central Park on May 30, and I am glad. I don't think I would have just up and grabbed these tixs, but SummerStage is fun. It's Central Park. And I was pissing and moaning last summer about how expensive The Police tixs, and I wasn't going godammit, greedy bastards, and bitch bitch bitch, and then I got a tix for my birthday. And I went. And it was one of the best times I have ever had. I enjoyed it all, but that Synchronicity II moment was one of my all-time, can't believe I could enjoy my life this much in at least ten years. It doesn't mean Simon LeBon can do that for Summer '08, but put enough pre-party in me, and I could be screaming "The Reflex is a lonely child, just waiting by the park..." w/thousands of other people. Downside: There is no Stewart Copeland at this event. I have hopes that they do a beautiful version of "Save A Prayer."

Saw Michael Clayton and Across The Universe. I liked Michael Clayton. It just didn't knock me out. It was a grittier Erin Brockovich without the push-up bras. Across the Universe irritated me. I love me some musicals. But between Sweeney Todd, and this clunker, maybe I am not so keen anymore. I am seeing Patti LuPone in Gypsy on Broadway this weekend. That'll Litmus test me.

NEW LOCATIONS:

I leave for the maiden voyage to Chicago in two weeks. Never been. Ready to rip it up.

My office moves down to SoHo in a month. Yeeeee-freaking-haw. Can't wait to work downtown.

PARTING THOUGHT:

I don't need further proof that almost every aspect of big corporations, non-profits, our government, etc. are corrupt and have screwed the American people for their own gain. Everyone just get your asses into the voting booths.

Hiya. Back from the dead. It's been a minute or two.

This sounds ridiculous, but I have been fighting sickness on-and-off for over a month due to... my hair. Yeah, I said it. My hair. I hair-model for Bumble & Bumble, and they love to chop me up. It's still cold in NYC, and I have been forgetting that I have not much covering my neck. I leave the gym w/damp hair, and voila... head issues. A cold. A sore throat. No matter if I cover my head w/a hoodie. It just sneaks under the hood, and attacks. Not horrible, but irritating enough.

Let's see what needs to be covered.

ELIOT SPITZER: It's been emblazoned all over national news, but the Eliot Spitzer story is particularly relevant in New York. My take? The man was set up. He was behaving out of control, to a point where he was not being helpful to even his political allies. Nothing much was getting done, and people felt more humiliated than usual. He was just the Head Prick in Charge, screaming like a lunatic. Prior, he had pissed off many people when he was prosecuting in NY, including big-money on Wall Street and anyone connected w/the Gambino crime family. Someone saw an opening. People were bought off, or promised favors further down the line. End of story. There is no way that there isn't a list of names behind Spitzer w/this escort agency. And where are those names? Why is he the only one? Because he ceased to be productive, and was just that asshole screaming in Albany. And again, no way that "no one knew" what he was doing. He's been in the public eye for double-digit years, and he was the, uh, Governor of New York State. Someone knew. They just shut their mouth like most corrupt shit that takes place in the world. His number was just called. My prediction: He will be back. It might take a few years. But he still is worth millions, and even if he is a prick, he is a smart prick, and will figure out how to turn this around. One condition, he does not fall into a crippling depression or substance abuse because he can't believe he isn't Head Prick anymore. If he can't cope w/that, he's a cautionary tale.

As far as the hooker(s)? What else is new. Men who are powerful like to have some ass on the side? You don't say. Men who aren't powerful like to have some ass on the side? You're kidding? Men just like any ass they can get? Shocking. Drugs and sex, sex and drugs. They go on every day, every where. Shouldn't we just regulate and tax them both?

I have no opinion on Silda Spitzer. That is her business. Her marriage. Her kids. Her life. You never know what goes on in someone's marriage. You get up there in front of your friends and family, and make promises for the rest of your life, aka marriage vows, and sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you planned. It didn't for my parents.

MEDIA CONSUMPTION REPORT: I'll give you some stuff to do. Magazines love to make "lists." Here's a mini-one.

1. See the under-rated We Own The Night w/Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg. I expected very little, and it was quite good. I am not Mrs. Action Movie, but the car chase in the rain and other action sequences were ones that made me "Ooooooh MAN!" from the couch. So that's a good sign. Oh, and Eva Mendes seemed totally loaded the whole movie. I know she just got out of rehab, but here you can see it in her face why she might have went. That booze bloat in the eyes.

2. Rewatch Wes Andersen's Rushmore. All of it, but especially for Bill Murray.

3. See Alan Parker's Fame. I have mentioned this film before. It contains excellent, late '70s New York City footage. When Times Square was still porn-y and scary. If you can't see yourself getting into the film, at least watch the Audition section in the beginning. Tight editing and captures the highs and lows of putting yourself out there to be judged on artistic merits.