Happy Birthday, Michael Vartan!

So, does this make it the first Unofficial Pocket Vaughn/Poche de Michaux/Michael Vartan Day? 'Cause I don't see any lengli Photoshop Goodness (TM) around here. I mean, hell, even Bateman got a border and some stars, no?


It appears okay with Michael. Hey, we're okay if you're okay. So long as you continue giving us beautific profile shots.

And so long as you stay just French enough to not be a sissy la-la. Hell, we may even forgive you for Monster In-Law. (I can just imagine how awkward that first conversation with J.Lo must have been... did you have some sort of ex-lovers pissing contest?)


Apparently, someone fights "On the 6" Style when discussing failed past relationships. She will cut you. And she will cut you deep.

Anyway, happy birthday, Mr. Vartan. Here's hoping for a successful post-Alias film and television career, not to mention your personal endorsement for Pocket Vaughn items, hopefully available for retail sometime before Christmas 2010.


I can't come up with a caption for this. Must... lie... down... Anyone see a bed nearby?

Read More...

Summary only...

A beautiful and wonderful thing.

I'm just going to post a picture today. Now, I have to warn you, some of you gentle readers may get emotional upon seeing this image, but fret not. Don't cry. It is moving, but it is wonderful, and we're all going to get through it.

Jim, you in particular, should sit down and have a Kleenex handy, okay? Here goes:


Sheer joy knows no bounds!

Read More...

Summary only...

Okay, so I've been horrible.

I mean, look. I've not touched B. World for two full weeks. I could give excuses, but comparatively speaking, mine are not as good as others'. I couldn't come up with good reasons, like teaching the masses by way of Nicollette Sheridan, or getting married (so, sorry, dear cousins, but your almost annual bloodlust for taffeta and similar atrocities must yet go unsatisfied).

Sure, a lot of my time has been occupied with surviving work on a daily basis, spending time with people I care about, and Gator football (the latter two mesh quite nicely, I've learned). But I haven't been saving orphans from fires, or helping little old ladies across the street (unless stopping in the middle of a green light because one of them decides it's as good a time as any to cross the street to hold off any and all vehicles traveling at 55 mph from hurtling the oldsters into the void counts). Oh, hell. I'm already tired.

Next up: I may finish a coherent thought. Stay tuned!

Read More...

Summary only...

OMG, Bateman!

There are many things to thank lengli for, not the least of which is this:

The Third Annual Unofficial Jason Bateman Day!

I've never participated in one of these (knowingly, anyway) before, so I'm quite excited. Nothing beats a Bateman! Well, maybe except for live-action Pocket Vaughn.

Hey, lengli, does Michaux de Poche have his own unofficial day? Because it' s definitely something to consider.

Nothing else can beat a Bateman. That is, except two of them!

"What would we do, baby, without a couple of silver spoons?" Oh, wait.

What about... a Bateman with a friendship bracelet and snazzy jacket, with Fozzie motherfuckin' Bear?!?

"How... do they... do it?"

I am clearly on sensory overload, here. I need to lie down.

Anyway, go vote tomorrow, and celeBateman! (I know, I know... that was horrible. Whatever. You'll get over it.)

Read More...

Summary only...

"But where is this all leading? We'll never know."

Yeah, I'm thinking of doing the lyrical blog title thing again. Humor me.

I have to share something really quick before I feast on a dinner of potato chips and onion dip something random from the fridge.

There are many reasons my brother, the Sideshow, is the bomb, not the least of which is his ability to suck down large portions of food at an impressive rate, then bitch about how he doesn't feel that good an hour or so later. But right now, I am briefly going to talk about one reason in particular.

I was on my second break of the workday this afternoon, when I decided to pop in on said broseph in his office. We chit-chatted for a few moments while I worked up a plan of how to tell him about my minty-fresh new boyfriend (still feels strange typing/saying/thinking that word, but in a good way). Eventually, after he showed me the pictures of young Alex dressing up as a Reaver for Halloween (that kid kicks my ass!), the following occurred:

Me: Yeah, I need to tell you something.
He: What?
Me: Well, uh, I have a boyfriend.
He: Yeah? Who?
Me: My friend Ben.
He: Really? (holds out his fist for me to bump with my fist, which I do). Cool.

I exhaled.

Then we continued to pore over the pictures he was loading onto his website.

It's just a testament to how awesome my bro is. Given my history of being quite overprotective of him, and being quite vocal in my opinions of the women he has dated, I was unsure whether I should brace myself for similar treatment.

Luckily, there isn't anything about Ben that warrants that treatment (I am quite confident that he is exponentially more sane than some of the chestnuts Sideshow used to bring by for the family to meet, which, whew. Relief!) My bro didn't jump on my ass about anything; he just gave me what is his Sideshow equivalent of a celebratory hug, then gave me some advice on how to break the news to the folks.

Which, strangely enough, was exactly what I needed.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go brush up on the list of Hoff Rules.

Read More...

Summary only...