hi soda

Streaming Gwen Stefani solo album, Love, Angel, Music, Baby. Fireworky, but too many cooks in the kitchen. “Bubble Pop Electric” is theeeeeee weirdo-’50s jam. Gwen drops R. Kelly-worthy sexaphor at the crux of the bridge, when she sings “take me to a… drive in movie/drive into me.” Not sure how the chorus, “bubble pop electric,” correlates to giving it all up in the backseat, but maybe she’s just trumping R’s shit? Andre “A-yo” Benjamin sounds hot like the Fonz riding a mini-Casio, which is who he will be in about six weeks anyway. OCD logistical question: if he’s riding a motorcycle, how can they get it on in the cah?
Question 2: Why is the Bernard Sumner/Peter Hook-track, “Real Thing” –despite unmistakably sounding like Bernard Sumner/Peter Hook–despite cribbing the structure (and some of the notes) from Lauper’s “Time AFter Time” and “Temptation,” the greatest song New Order ever wrote–still kinda unremarkable? Answer: Gwennie is singing the melodic equivalent of a Kleenex in my pocket.
More on this after further investigation.
If any NYers know where a lady can get her eyebrows reliably waxed in the BK, do not be afraid to share.
Current exact location of Mike Jones and Paul Wall RIGHT NOW: Crunky’s cubical. I imagine they are drinking champagne/sizzurp cocktails and talking politics on rolly chairs, glamournt style.
C’nP’s Dolce & Gabbana hook-up, alerts us of the sample sale this weekend at the D&G store in Soho. This would mean absolutely nothing to me, except he advises it’s like Carnivale for trannies clocking sugar-daddies’ credit-cards, and everyone should go for the experience.
I am boycotting because they sell $10,000 denim jackets lined with THE FUR OF HAMSTERS, which I think is extravagantly cruel. Our hook-up tried one on and says, “It’s the softest touch you’ll ever feel.” You think, papi.