Music, magic and make peace

Tuesday night was one of just that- music, magic and peace, all rolled into an organic joint of love.

No I was not getting high listening to my iPod while watching Criss Angel. I was seeing singer Jason Mraz and magician Justin Kredible in concert.

These two handsomely wholesome boys ventured out on a tour together with some other clean cut cuties earlier this year. Bushwalla and The Makepeace Brothers joined Mr. A-Z and JKreds on this journey to spread the love across North America.

The lights faded and the black lights glowed. All we could see was the signature glowing white hair of Everclear lead singer Art Alexakis. For those of you drawing a 1990's alt.-grunge band blank, these guys sang "Father of Mine", "Buy You a Garden" and "Wonderful". Talk about a concert bonus feature, these guys weren't even on the bill. This group of middle aged rockers may have looked old on the outside but the second their picks hit the strings, they looked like teens jamming in a garage.

Following that painfully long break at concerts between sets, the magic finally happened. The in-Kredible man gave my bf and I a wink then proceeded to make tables float in mid-air, 3ft canes appear from nothing and then he swallowed a balloon animal whole. Following Justin's latex late night snack, three young brothers in matching organic T's and khakis played some mood music for the next trick. These dewy-eyed dudes by the last name Makepeace (no joke) each carried one instrument- a ukulele, a bass and a harnessed wooden box.

Their trip down hippie lane ended with a tambourine jam by the concert headliner himself and then the audience, approaching the three hour mark of standing, was introduced to Buswalla. After a quick juggling session and a promise to "Funk your brains out", the original gangster from Cleveland stripped off his brown polyester 70's swag to reveal a one piece yellow spandex bodysuit. At this point, the whole tour is on stage singing, dancing and feeling the love.

Finally Mraz got his chance to go solo. Magically appearing from inside of an empty tent, he grabbed his guitar and the audience fell into hush. "The Remedy" morphed into "Wonderwall" and melodies transformed into short philosophical mentoring. Leave here and make peace with everyone. At the first strum of "I'm Yours", the whole audience in near perfect unison grabbed their phones and speed dialed someone they loved so Jason could croon the love song via long distance call.

Next came about four encores one from Jason, a couple with everyone including Justin and a final farewell from the curbside prophet. At this point, the numbness in the lower half of my body was subdued by the soothing soulful sounds and peceful good bye.

I've been to my fair share of concerts and this by far was the best ticket I've ever purchased. Six hours later, no feeling left from the torso down and a $15 JKred shirt, I left a happy girl with a few hundred other fans feeling the same.

Magic + Peace + Music = concert bliss.

I CAN wait to see you again...

Dearly blog love-ed, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to the reputation of peppy-rocker royalty.

In a time when America's youth needed a fashion forward female to look up to, she was there in bedazzled jeans and matching sequin jacket.

When we all needed a good dual-personality teen rock icon, she threw on a hideous-banged platinum blond wig between songs at her insanely sold out to the point where people faked cancer to get in-concerts.

And when young Hollywood was defined by Sweet 16 Birthday parties posing as baby showers and playpen-play boy shoots, she was there merely sharing a twizzler by mouth in a non-sexual manner with a friend in a cell phone pic.

Until that tragic day when our world came crashing down on us.

Destiny Hope "Miley Ray" Cyrus' dignity was taken at far too young an age. At the age when most adolescent girls are looking forward to cell phones and licenses, Miley was sucked into the unavoidable pit of lost female idols.

On April 14, 2008- a trio of photographs was leaked of Miley in less than appropriate clothing, or underwear for that matter.

Flashing her still not quite yet developed chest wearing what can only be assumed as a green training bra, you could see the last strands of hope fraying from the lace trim. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop their Miley-ites. In a separate shoot, the 15 year old daughter of the most famous mullet known to Hollywood was laying in a seductive position with no brightly colored fun top on but instead a black big-girl bra. In these two candid’s, the photographer is unknown as is the identity or age of the guy Miley is sprawled over.

What could she have become? There were so many opportunities left in this pop tart's $18.3 million a year career. She will still sell out stadiums, she will still have total control of every radio station and teen channel but it will never be the same. This is a blemish that not even a Pro-active campaign can erase.

When Miley dropped "Destiny Hope" from her name, it was an all too frightening foreshadowing. Too soon after, all hope dropped of this harlot being the last chance at a respected tween role model.

Her reputation now rests peacefully next to those memories of Vanessa Hudgens, Jamie-Lynn Spears and Ashley Tisdale.

We only have future generations to look forward to now--maybe Jamie's baby will bring a light to the end of this un-clothed, un-inhibited tunnel heading our youth to a skanky train wreck.

A little less "Sixteen Candles", a little more "have my baby"

Touch up you guy-liner, adjust your way-too skinny bulgetastic chick jeans and rejoice emo kids everywhere! Well at least try to crack a smile- your famous brethren are reproducing!

It's really your average fall out boy meets girl story. Boy steals girl’s pants. Girl gets nose job. They procreate.

Pete Wentz, the only guy we care about from Fall Out Boy, and Ashlee Simpson, umm, Jessica's less endowed sister are making it official. The lip-syncing tartlet and the pretty in black bassist have been linked for over 2 years now being spotted at hot spots locking lips and batting their mascara-ed lashes for the photogs.

In almost every interview, Pete brags about his cross dressing tendencies and how it’s so convenient dating a girl the same size as him. I mean, I won't lie, I've swapped t-shirts with my bf here and there but pants...no friggen way.

Anyway, last week, in typical Hollywood fast lane fashion, the semi-pop rock stars announced plans for a rather shotgun wedding (confirming rumors about a certain ring on a certain finger.) It was all "we wanted our fans to know first!" followed by a polite fuck off, we want our privacy.

Just as the wedding bells started chiming, pitter patters of Chuck-clad baby feet came from the not so distant future. Sources close to the punk-couture pair (you know, those sources that always fuck over celebs to dish for cash) say that we can expect a mini-Wentzson sometime this year.

Woah woah little Simpson sister, are we forgetting the family values set forth by Jessica the chaste? She was de-virginized on national television (in between idiotic explosions from the mouth) after an elaborate white wedding to long time boy band beau Nick Lachey. Ashlee herself has never come out promising premarital purity but it was understandably assumed. She has recently stated however that she is extremely offended that people think she's preggers which is usually code for I'm fa shiz up the spout.

Only obsessive baby bump monitoring will tell if the lady and gent of pop rockdom will be needing Patrick Stump to babysit or Jess to change diapers.

I'm a bitch, but I'm a lover...

Show of hands: Who here has ever said something negative about someone you know, or don't for that matter, behind their back?

That's what I thought.

Whether it was a "Good God her Crocs look stupid with that hideous blouse!" Or even a "Did you hear who Maggie totally blew at last night's anything-goes-but-clothes party??" Shit happens and then it becomes public fodder for anyone around.

It's human nature my friends so get over it.

In a never ending loop of shit talking amongst, every one I know, all I can think is how hypocritical can we all be? People bitch and moan about people bitching and moaning. Even I am complaining about people complaining. It's a vicious cycle that has no end in sight and I personally have come to terms with it. We all should.

How do you think US Weekly, Cosmo or The Enquirer sell so many copies? "Who wore it better?" articles splatter Paris Hilton in a tiny spandex-sequinced dress next to Bette Midler in the same, less than flattering ensemble. Who the fuck do you think wore it better? And that's the point! We love to hate on each other.

Lindsay Lohan looked like a complete crack whore at Dulce last night.
Britney has lost all hope and should pack up her beer belly and move on.
Zac Efron looks like a woman in those skinny jeans, flip flops and lip gloss.

These are all very enticing conversation topics that we crave to dish on. These titillating gossipy tidbits are not just reserved for the Hollywood elite but also apply to your fame-free friends. We need to let out our aggressions about people in a stab-in-the-back-with-a-butter-knife sort of way. A little "I fucking hate that skank!" now and then saves us all from ugly confrontations with the less than classy females that we deep down love. It may sound unhealthy, but is bottling up small instances of "you're so annoying" or "God I hate how retarded you are sometimes"? Only to let it out at a less than opportune time in a much more explosive, foaming at the mouth kind of way? I think not.

Everyone is fair game in this world of bitch-ery. I'm going to talk about you and your flaws and you will inevitably talk about mine. You get smashed and sleep with strangers and I spend way too much time with my bf and whine a lot. Potato, potato (you get what I mean).

Maybe I'm just insensitive to people's feeling and blah blah blah...or maybe I am just realistic. I don't feel like fighting the unavoidable and I am sick as fuck of listening to everyone's holier than thou bullshit. The only way we can play nice, is to not be once in a while. Otherwise, we would all be a ticking time bomb of angry one liners that should have been released to a friend over drinks at the first spark.