Studio Hive

omg!

I'm contributing some entertainment stories to Yahoo's "omg!" website this week.  It's all centered around the kind of People/US Weekly stories I've never covered before, and it's a great opportunity for me to stretch out from football. Just to get you started, here's the first post, on British singing sensation Danyl Johnosn.

Funeral Food (as in, Food That Will Put You In The Ground)

Slow Sweet Cornbread

A recent string of curiously spaced deaths in the family (getting the call that your uncle's died at your aunt's funeral = TOP SCORE) has driven me to whipping up the dishes I'd be making for the hordes had I been able to get back home.

This is our sweet cornbread. It's dead simple to make and will ensure your life is short but delicious. There are only five ingredients, two of which involve the word "butter". Strap in.

Things You Will Need:

Two disappointments from the City of Angels:

1. Despite the URL and name of this blog, it does not appear that Rob Cohen has had his brains yanked out through his nostrils.

2. Panaderias don't sell pandas.

TraveLOLogue

or In Which We Almost Don't Make It Home In The First Place:

If I can pile on the Apple love-scrum just one more time: Among the MBP's most appealing qualities is battery life. I love Southwest and will never fly anything else if I can help it, but their cheap seats don't come with power jacks. My laptop played movies the entire flight with juice to spare.

I hate hate HATE flying, but this was the most entertaining afternoon I've ever passed at 36,000 feet. The flight was about a third full (NEVER EVER HAPPENS), and I shared a row with this totally fierce tranny queen who had sprained her knee in a fashion show the night before and spent the entire flight Bedazzling her brace and gave me candy (not a euphemism). And even for Southwest, the flight attendants were a riot ("Please read along in your safety cards while my former wife and current boyfriend demonstrate our evacuation procedures").

Then I landed in Nashville after dark, which is of course where the trouble started:

a belated valentine to a very significant other.

With apologies to Pamie:

I spend more time with you
alone each day
than with any man I've ever known.
The minutes stretch to hours
the hours to days
and still you never change.
Hard.
Unyielding.
Stripey.
Now hurry up, dammit, I'm missing LOST.
I'm yours forever, I-10. (Literally.)