Baby Remember My Name

I'm still reeling from my close encounter with Harvey Keitel from last week. Now, I realize maybe this is like, no big deal to you. But frankly, I felt all Courtney Cox in that Dancing in the Dark video, plucked from the crowds and thrust into the spotlight.

Ok, maybe not a spotlight. One of those pocket sized flashlight type thingys (I digress but, even for a Bruce worshipper like me, that has to go down in history as the worst video ever, no?).

How does one follow such a thing up? For me, it was sweet talkin' my way onto the red carpet to go heel to heel with the one and only SJP. That's MS. Carrie Bradshaw herself, out and about to prove her marriage is intact support her hubby's film, and I found myself on the red carpet once again. And while I did indeed ace out a veteran NYC reporter for my 10 seconds with Sarah Jessica, it was all so anti-climatic. What, no invite to shoe shop? And what about her hubby? I thought for sure we'd jump onto the media riser and start singing "Twist and Shout" together, but...nada. And then to find out the next day that she held back baby news from me?

Well, that just kinda hurts.

And so it's back to regularly scheduled blogging.

Which means it's time to bitch about Lost (3 weeks of eps backed up on the DVR and slogging thru all the "Is it now? Is it before? Who's the latest Darma dude?" crap - do I really care anymore?), time to decide if I'll follow Brothers and Sisters to season 4 (did they really dump Balthazar Getty for screwing around with Sienna Miller?), and I'm even holding out hope that Grey's will pull off a nice, juicy brain tumor-wedding cliffhanger fiesta that will hearken back to the days when this show was heart patient-Denny good, not hallucination-Denny bad.

It's good to be back. Finale season lies ahead, so buckle up.

It's time for a different sort of magic carpet ride.