Exit lights, enter night.

Take my hand. Off to Never, never land.

Or La-la land, in this case. Never knew James Hetfield had it in him to be frickin' preppie.

Another part of my childhood now ruined.

He was high, right?

'Cause I'm just not sure I can come up with any other explanation.

(And you know, I'm really kind of wondering what Oasis thought of the rendition).

Is it wrong...

...that when I read that the Duggars are going to have another frickin' baby, #18 at that, all I can think of is that early scene in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life? You know, the whole Miracle of Birth segment?

[Inside the house. A pregnant woman is at the sink. With a cry, a new-born baby, complete with umbilical cord, drops from between her legs onto the floor.]

Mother: Get that would you, Deirdre...

Girl: All right, Mum.

[The girl takes the baby. Mum carries on.]

Ariana Huffington is kind of hot, now that I think about it.

In response to People's Beautiful People list, Mollygood has come out with its own list of Beautiful Women.

It's kind of rad. Because, the Mollygood editors are right. Each year, that Beautiful People list just puts more and more young, cut up girls on those pages. And it got me thinking more about what I think is beautiful.

NEE's Top 10 Beautiful Women List, in no particular order:

1. Padma Lakshmi
   
2. Sophia Loren
3. Drew Barrymore
4. Gina Torres
5. Darryl Hannah
6. Isabella Rossellini
7. Michelle Trachtenberg
8. Debra Winger
9. Elizabeth Gilbert
10. Ellen Page
    

What are your picks?

Putting the drugs before the tragedy.

As I'm sure you know, Heath Ledger died. And you probably know this because it's a top headline. Which, with everything else going on in the world, should not be. And worse, that headline leads to an ongoing, frequently updated story full of shoddy reporting, speculation and all around bullshit.

For the record, I liked Ledger's work. I thought he was great in both "Monster's Ball," and "Brokeback Mountain." And when I heard stories about him skipping around Brooklyn with his young daughter, I found myself crushing a little.

But instead of focusing on his work and the tragedy that a little girl woke up today to learn her father was gone, everyone is focusing on three things. Naked. Drugs. Mary Kate Olsen's apartment.

I don't know if Ledger died of a drug overdose. And it may turn out that he did. But why is the AP obsessed that he was found naked? He was in his bedroom, for God's sake. If I was found in my bedroom, I'm sure the press would have a field day commenting on my stretched out bra, Cookie Monster jammies and furry mules.

And the apartment? They got that bit dead wrong. His apartment was not owned by Mary Kate or Ashley either. And what if it was? How, exactly, would it matter? If landlords are famous, are they automatically complicit in crimes now?

And as for the drugs, well, having a bottle of sleeping pills by the bed, where, shocker, you may want them if you are suffering from insomnia, apparently means you are on your way to a bad end.

It just makes me sad. Not just for the loss of Ledger but for the direction that professional journalism is heading.

Rest in peace, Heath.

Good for her.

Jennifer Love Hewitt wrote a blog post about all of the attention a few unattractive photos of her butt received on the internet this past week.

I really liked that she attacked it head on. But I wish that she hadn't said she was a size 2. Not to be snarky, but I have a hard time believing it. And as such, it makes it seem that she's as much a part of the machine -- that deluded, masochistic one -- that makes girls feel bad about their bodies.

Another thing to take up with my therapist.

Did you hear? Sesame Street episodes that aired back in the 1970's may not be suitable for today's pre-school child.

You know, because Alistair Cookie's penchant for eating pipes may make us want to smoke (or eat pipes, too!). Oscar may be too depressing. And any merchandising possibilities without Elmo just weren't worth the bother.

We actually bought both Volumes 1 and 2 for Munchkin. And I gotta tell you -- he loves it. He likes to count along with the Count. He digs the Ladybug Picnic and seeing Bert ice skate. He sings the songs. And God forbid, it is helping him to learn his letters, numbers, shapes and colors.

I'll let you know if I notice any lasting damage.

Mean, mean, mean.

Okay, so I get the comments about her looking lazy, disinterested, even a little stoned. But fat? Sporting a beer belly? Out of shape? I don't even wish this woman well and I think those sort of comments were below the belt. She's had two kids recently, people! Give her a break.

I mean, there was so much more wrong with her performance. Why are people so fixated on the fact that she no longer has the same body she had at 17?

Gotta love it.

Thanks to prophet for sending this my way -- my beloved "Dick in a Box" has been nominated for an Emmy! I can't believe I missed it.

See, now I know why the multitudes can just break into this song randomly. It's an award winner!

But to change the name? What's wrong with "Dick in a Box?" And what would they suggest instead?

Cock in a box?
Schlong in a box?
Schmeckle in a box?

Hrm. They just don't have quite the same ring.

What is your favorite substition for DiaB?

What is sexy, anyway?

You know, I usually love the "What Would Tyler Durden Do" blog. It's rude. It's irreverent. And it's funny.

But a recent post about Maggie Gyllenhaal's Agent Provacateur ads got me good and pissed off.

Umm, what does it say about society when someone thinks that Maggie Gyllenhaal is not only unattractive but "disgusting?" I think that she has a captivating face. And no, she ain't some dumb blonde Barbie look-a-like but she definitely has that something.

And hell, anyone who has seen "Secretary" knows that she's damn sexy. Seeing these ads, taken so shortly after she had a kid, remind me just how sexy she is.

So bloggers at WWTDD, keep at what you know. Crazy Britney. Jessica Alba's ass. Lindsay's rehab antics. Don't try to venture into beauty ideals. You'll just look stupid.

Please tell me he was punking the writer.

In September's Harper's Bazaar, Ashton Kutcher lets the ladies know how to dress a man.

"Make sure the look isn't too matchy-matchy. ... Your best bet is to match the man gear to that great new Balenciaga bag that you're planning to carry. If your bag works with your outfit, so will he."

When I first read the CNN article highlighting these great "tips," I thought, "Holy crap, this guy is dumber that Michael Kelso!"

But if he pronounced Balenciaga correctly, maybe the joke is on us.

My girl crush.

Okay, so I'm loving Mandy Moore's cover of "Umbrella." But honestly, I think she could sing anything and I'd be swaying and holding up a lighter. She is just so damn likable.

I hope he gets a little work done before filming.

Chris Noth to return as Mr. Big.

Don't get me wrong. It's great that Noth is going to be in the big screen version of Sex and the City. No one else could be Mr. Big.

But since his stint, he's let his hair go gray and his belly go wide and he needs to tighten things up a little so we don't protest (too much) when Carrie puts up with all of his bullshit.

(And as an aside, if they do end up doing the Carrie/Big wedding in this movie, please don't let it be the big cheesy ending for the film. Please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease).

Better than I thought it would be.

How many things in life can you honestly say are worth the wait? That actually manage to compare to the anticipation?

The new Harry Potter actually is. It's well done, true to the first six books and leaves a satisfying ending to Harry's story.

But now that the wait is over, the book is purchased and read, I am sort of bereft at the idea that there will be no more. Harry's story has come to an end, my first real voyage into a pop culture phenomenon is finished, and I wonder what will come next. I'm guessing it will be something that Munchkin brings to my life (Wiggles? Barney? Dora and Diego? God help me).

But in some ways, as long as the craze delivers, I can't wait.

Patience.

I am not a patient woman. If you even suggested that I were capable of patience to anyone who knows me well, they might just keel over with laughter. And so, now that July 21 is nearly upon us, my mantra has been:

I will not download the leaked Harry Potter pages. I will not download the leaked Harry Potter pages. I will not download the leaked Harry Potter pages. I will not download the leaked Harry Potter pages. I will NOT.

But it is so, so tempting.

Crow's feet are sexy.

Jezebel has another one of these great morphs of a real photo and the photoshopped final cover.

I gotta say, I think Faith looks better with the crow's feet. Makes me realize that she laughs a lot. But the back fat? Well, as my friend J. told me last night, that just makes me feel good.

Oh no, they didn't.

But yes, they did.

Introducing the new "Par-Ass Hilton" butt plug. You, too, can buy your own little piece of Paris memorabilia at CelebrityButtPlugs.com (how wrong is it that there is even a business in making butt blugs from celebrity faces? Who thinks of this? And then who has the balls to actually write it up as a business plan?).

I remember thinking during the Paris prison coverage that she should crawl up someone's butt and disappear. But I wasn't being literal. Sadly, someone else had a similar thought and decided to make it a reality.

Seriously, you can't buy publicity like this.

(Side note: I need someone to get married so I can bring this to the bachelorette party).

I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want...

And it is not a Spice Girls reunion.

Don't get me wrong. I liked the Spice Girls. I know all the words to "Wannabe." I have successfully explained that there are two Mel's in the group. I still have "Spice Up Your Life" on my iPod running playlist. I saw the goddamn movie in the theater.

But the Spice Girls had their time and place. And that is long gone. Trying to capture it again is just a useless money-grubbing grab in the dark.

Maybe if I direct my thoughts enough, the Secret will go away.

"The Secret" is in the news again. No, not because those people in Darfur have finally realized its their negative thinking that has been causing all those atrocities and plan to turn it all around with a big hug-in this week. Though, wouldn't that be grand?

First, the AP has a piece about how the philosophy behind "The Secret" is nothing new -- tomes about the power of positive thinking have been around for centuries. Of course, so was the belief that demons caused mental illness and that you could rid a person of fever by simply draining copious quantities of their own blood. But that's neither here nor there, you know, because the Secret works!

But also -- finally! -- there is an accompanying piece criticizing Rhonda Byrne's book. You know, because the truth is that the Secret is bullshit. And potentially damaging bullshit at that.

While ''The Secret'' has become a pop culture phenomenon, it also has drawn critics who are not quiet about labeling the movement a fad, embarrassingly materialistic or the latest example of an American propensity of wanting something for nothing.

Some medical professionals suggest it could even lead to a blame-the-victim mentality and actually be dangerous to those suffering from serious illness or mental disorders.

Honestly, I don't know why people are so turned on by this book. Certainly, there is some truth to positive thinking in the idea that if you believe in yourself, and you work hard (ah, the catch!), you can achieve greatness. But this whole "law of attraction" thing just makes no sense to me. And I suppose it doesn't help that everyone I know who is really into this book seriously believes that they can sit on their butt all day and still achieve wealth and power, provided they are "seeing" all those riches coming their way.

But what also really interests me about this book is that so many successful people are supporting it. I mean, Oprah devoted two shows to this book. And I find that amazing because Oprah didn't get to where she is by sitting around visualizing a media empire. She worked her patootie off. I would think she'd be somewhat offended by The Secret's something-for-nothing philosophy. But instead, she's stumping for it, too.

I wish someone could explain this to me. I really do. Because as far as I can see, this is just a brilliant marketing ploy to part people with $15 (or more if you want the accompanying DVD) of their hard earned dollars for information that will ultimately hold them back from their dreams. But don't mind me. I'm probably just thinking too many fat thoughts today.

Jeans for the large post-baby ass.

So I'm not really a fashionista. And the day I started working from home pretty much cinched the idea that you'll find me in (a) my Cookie Monster sweatpants or (b) some comfy jeans on any given day. I'm just generally kind of low key and appreciate the Old Navy/Gap kind of stuff. I like to find a shirt that fits well and then buy it in three colors. What can I say? I'm a simple (lazy) girl.

But I do like reading about fashion. And though most of that involves reading blogs and pop culture sites that make fun of what celebrities are wearing, I also like to see the reviews of clothing lines. Especially in the NY Times. They like to get all poetical on feathers and sequins. It tickles me.

So this week, I was reading a Q&A with Sarah Jessica Parker about her new line, Bitten. I had to read it, because, you know, I wanted to see if the designers had incorporated those ugly fabric flowers that SJP's character on Sex and the City always seemed to have tacked on to her dresses. This is critical information.

But in the Q&A, SJP touches on the fact that she's getting some criticism for deciding to provide clothes from sizes 0-22. You know, for repping a line that actually makes clothes for women who don't have an eating disorder or scary genetic advantage. Like the majority of women in America. Who, funnily enough, do wear clothes.

"What can people say to me—“how dare you want to make clothes for women who are size 16?” There’s no argument. Either you like it or you don’t."

What a frighteningly risky business plan! Inexpensive clothes for people of all shapes and sizes? Who does this woman think she is, putting a celebrity name to jeans, hoodies and tees that will not only fit my large post-baby ass but my budget? The nerve of some people!

It's funny, I get all indignant when I see the photos from the runway shows and wonder how some of these super-skinny women can even walk without their bones crumbling to dust. And I die a little bit inside when I read about some supermodel and realize that she's nearly a foot taller than me and yet somehow 30 lbs. lighter. So I have to say, kudos to you, SJP. I don't know where I can find a Steve and Barry's store (I keep thinking of it as Ben & Jerry's in my head) but if and when I do, I'm going to buy a couple of items.

I've got your back, girl. Until I find a shirt with one of those fugly flowers, that is. Because we bigger girls got enough going on without having to justify one of those crazy, flappy accessories.