Yeah, it's Friday and I don't usually write on Friday, but I feel guilty about all the time off lately and so here we are. I spent most of this morning trying to figure out ways to ftp past this massive firewall here at work so I can finally send entries from here when I need to. I haven't really tried this before but I know I've never been able to figure out work-arounds for a POP3 account here and some streaming song sites don't work and real player hates my firewall and I'm ready to give up. So email me if you think you have the answer. I'm using that free Ipswitch FTP program. I use it from home fine. Not so much here. But I could use a different one. All I have is a proxy address and a port and proxy type - which I used successfully as a work-around for Napster, but that's all I've been able to crack. I'm sick of using hotmail. I want to be able to easily access my server email. I'm Corky, when it comes to this stuff. Someone help.

So I was going to do all this stuff today but got sidetracked with the Napster again. What a cruel wench she is. Got a bunch of Steely Dan stuff because I like Donald Fagen's voice and find the band's sound to be pleasantly cheesy. And then because Pamie had been complaining about having no good songs with her name, I searched for a few, and came up with three of the worst songs ever written. I'm not kidding. One is a dead serious hippie song with a sitar talking "colorful swirls and jade flying into infinity" and shit like that, by a band called Ultimate Broccoli. It's really bad. It's like a Spinal Tap joke, but it's not a joke. The second song is this dancehall dub thing that makes your ears bleed with its badness. The third is a bubblegum song by Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders, and it goes like this, "When Laurel and Hardy were shown at the flicks. With bright red lollies on splintery sticks. Pigtails and ribbons and crushes on Miss. Secret discussions about our first kiss. Oh, Pamela. Pamela...". Oh it's really really bad. There is a fourth by Toto, which I have to say kinda rules.

I also wished I had better songs for my name. They're all kinda lame. Sara has a couple good ones. I just found a Dylan song named Sara that's pretty cool. Jamie by Weezer is a great song. So is Suzanne. That would suck to be Kim, because of that Eminem screaming song. I also like Dear Prudence a lot, but I don't know anyone actually named that. What other women have songs? Let me think... Chelsea. Kate. Susanna. Rosanna. Roxanne. Jude. Gloria. Eleanor. Felicia. Roberta. Alice. Allison. Sue. Rhonda. Sally. Veronica. Donna. Yoko. Molly. Michelle. Loreli. Laura. Caroline. Georga. Marlena. Maggie. Lola. Hey, I just found a website of women's song titles. Damn there's a lot, but it's crazy incomplete. Oh, there's a song called, "Pamela Throws a Party" by Joe Reisman in 1957. There you go.

Hey, speaking of songs. If you have Napster and are not hip to a song called, "Every Girl's My Girlfriend," I recommend you download it and give it a listen, like, now. You'll be happy you did.

Come Monday there should be a new adjunct feature to this page. If we hit our deadline, that is. I'll add something about it Sunday. It should be very cool.

Now, enjoy your weekend and go read my latest Road Rules recap. And sign up for the RR mailing list while you're there, bitches.

The Anna Nicole Smith Happy Song Corner

 
 
My Maseratti does one-eighty-five. I lost my license, now I don't drive. I have a limo, ride in the back. I lock the doors in case I'm attacked. I'm making records, my fans they can't wait. They write me letters, tell me I'm great. So I got me an office, gold records on the wall. Just leave a message, maybe I'll call. Lucky I'm sane after all I've been through. I can't complain but sometimes I still do. Life's been good to me so far. I go to parties sometimes until four. It's hard to leave when you can't find the door. It's tough to handle this fortune and fame. Everybody's so different, I haven't changed. They say I'm lazy but it takes all my time. I keep on goin' guess I'll never know why. Life's been good to me so far... speaking of which. I have an office too. I do. I do. I have pictures of allllll my Guess print ads and the new ones I'm doing for Calvin Kling. Klein? Klein, yeah. I am doing his new campaign. It's all going to be all me. Just me and my Calvin's. Ha. It is. And that guy's going to photograph it. That black guy who everyone loves so much. That guy. I'm doing it as soon as they get all the regotiations worked out. My people, y'all, they always fight for me to get as much money as I'm worth, which right now with my International presence and... that word for people knowin' you... damn... anyway, my fee is up to like... one million a shoot. It is. It is. It's my "quote", you know, so if the ad doesn't happen and y'all never see them, it's only because- that black guy! What's his name? Not Martin Lawrence, is it? Is he the funny guy? Yeah. Not him... he don't shoot cameras. Silly. Ha. Hey, y'all seen my son? I love that lil' fucker. Y'all, the other night I had a tequila party over at my place, and some dickhead told me that they saw my son... doin' things to the valet guy out front in the bushes. I know. I know! I punched the guy right in the mouth. I did. I did. Callin' my son a gay. I know my son, I can't believe- Is it Sam Donaldson? Is that the colored guy? That's not right. Damn! I hate when I can't... hey, anyone seen my son? I swear that little gay, I mean, lil' fucker is going to drive me to drink. Ha. Shut up, you. Hey y'all, somebody c'mere and kiss me.
 
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