Rolling Stone Rocks

A while ago, Rolling Stone moved from the big-sized magazine that I grew up with to a regular format. It's slimmer as well as smaller. It made me sad.

But today, because I forgot my book (again) and spent 1 hour on the bike, I needed reading material. And there, lying on the coffee table in the lobby of my gym was the new Rolling Stone with -- blah -- Britney on the cover.

It was the usual stuff. I skipped the cover article on Britney, because really I don't care about how much pressure she's under or that her parents keep her under lock and key so she doesn't fall into the deep end of the pool. But what made me keep pedaling was their review of what was hot in 2008.

When I was a teenager, my room was COVERED in advertisements, Rolling Stone pictures, Articles from RS, Spin, and Details. I grew up loving words and images and I plastered the things in every space I could. When my walls were full, I taped things to my desk drawers, my headboard, everywhere. The pictures are actually awesome. It was a room of collage. And I guess it was some kind of teenage angst art therapy for all the thoughts bouncing around in my head. (Now in those circles it's actually called Life Mapping -- who knew? -- but if you haven't done that before but are interested in spending 4 hours alone in a room with about five other people collaging a map of your interests while eating healthy snacks let me know... I know someone local and can probably hook you up.)

Anyway, if you want to know all 35 categories, you'll have to read the article. Warning: Most of them are only going to be funny to a certain group of people others will find the language and topics offensive.

For your enjoyment are sections of the ones that made me laugh out loud:

Michael Cera
 — "If the Volkswagen Jetta was a human being, it would be Michael Cera: smart, cute, reliable and yet a little too impressed with itself. Sometimes, you just want a Camaro — a Camaro that drunk-dials Ellen Page and hates the Moldy Peaches."

Robert Pattison — "But, Edward-mania will be hard to forget. Says Pattinson, 'A mother recently gave me her baby and asked, 'Can you please bite his head'?"

Winona Ryder — "Meanwhile Ryder, after a brief detour through shoplifting ignominy, is sticking to the future. She'll be in J.J. Abrams' Star Trek prequel, playing Spock's mom. Shit, we're old."

Beta Alpha Dogs — Remember how alpha dogs kicked you in the balls just for a laugh? George W. Bush was one, right after 9/11. So was Tom Cruise, before he went nuts. Now it's all about beta macho: being a tough pushover. Brett Favre is beta macho — no alpha would have sobbed his way to the Jets. Madonna loves beta machos: Alex Rodriguez, Guy Ritchie. Nicolas Sarkozy is beta macho. So are Todd Palin and Tim McGraw. We're not sure about Obama yet — but Rahm Emanuel will cock-punch anyone who thinks he is.

Green Efforts/Recycling — "When your teacher told you, "Reduce, reuse, recycle," he or she probably wasn't talking about butt plugs. But retailer Dreamscapes has launched one of the country's first sex-toy-recycling programs. "I know our industry is taboo, but we want to save the environment too," says CEO David Kowalsky. The way it works: Box your toy ("Clean it first") and mail it to Dreamscapes, who'll ship out the components. Your toy may be reincarnated as a tire retread or playground mulch (Mommy!) — and Dreamscapes will send you a $10 coupon for your next purchase (vibratorshopping .com)."

Mickey Rourke — "The more Rourke talks, the more agitated he becomes. On cue, his manager arrives with a white pill and one of his pet Chihuahuas, Taco Bell, to soothe him. Rourke swallows the medication. 'I have panic attacks when I talk about this stuff,' he says. At his lowest, he says he was sitting in a closet with his favorite dog, Beau Jack, 'doing some crazy shit, but I saw a look in Beau Jack's eyes, and I put the shit down. That dog saved my life. There's still a little man inside me with an ax — but I keep that little fucker quiet'."

I find really funny is that apparently Mickey Rourke, Rogers and I have the same kind of disturbing people in our head. Mickey's is a little guy with an ax, mine screams at me and smacks me around until my self-esteem is in the toilet, Rogers has a woman in an apron with a rolling pin that looks like a cross between her mother and Donna Reed wagging her finger and telling her how perfect things could be if she was only a better "good girl."

Now I'm wondering what anti-anxiety drug the white pill was and I'm pretty sure my cat Luke wouldn't mind if I changed his name to Beau Jack and referred to him as a chihuahua. Hey, whatever works to stay positive, right?