Friday Night Lights: This Time Around, No More Tears

That's always been the challenge, ever since Michael Fredo first announced it just a few years back (Tommy Jeans version). But Emerz complains that his tear ducts sting now after repeated viewings of last Friday's throwdown. I said it's not the first time it has burned when he secreted fluids. Just the first time for his face. No, says Emerz, my deviated septum got pretty irritated whenever my nose ran.

And scene.

Maybe if this was a show about croquet, Emerz could get somewhere. Thursday Afternoon Daiquiris. Coming this summer.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4pA_GJDSuk

Stringing Them Along

All the ladies of The Office are after Stringer Bell. "Well, of course," says Emerz. "Angela wants to go black, and thanks to Darryl, Kelly can never go back."

The End of an Era

We're in the den, listening to Emerz' "Pokerface" remix, "Butterface." Emerz loves Lady Gaga, loves all things Sacred Heart. He's over Dwight babes, for the record. Toni's last text message said he would "never eat lunch in this town again." I thought that was pretty good. Maybe he should reconsider?

"I'm over it," he says. "She got a UTI, like, every week."

One can never tell with Emerz. The truth is embedded deep within him, and good luck trying to read his butterface.

I dig a little deeper. I don't trust people who move on so quickly. Emerz is like Beyonce: To the left, to the left. Except who knows when there will be someone new? Moveon.org was like founded by Emerz.

"I mean, I have a Brazzers account," he says.

I always thought Emerz and Toni were like Garrity and Riggins. Turned out they were more like Tyra and Cash. I guess what you need to look for, hope for, pray for, is something more like the Taylors. Just something that makes you cry for all its beautiful simplicity.

It's supposedly easy, if you ever find it.

Stringer Bell, Silver Bells

Stringer Bell will begin a six-episode story arc on The Office next week as a new no-nonsense corporate Dunder-Minflinite who clashes with Michael Gary Scott. Where's Emerz, you ask? Sniffin' some dude's thong? Probably.

The Bells are really killing it: Kristen Bell, Stringer Bell, Byrdie Bell, Catherine Bell, Alexander Graham Bell, Silver Bells, Silver Bells...

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=101780271

Emerz' Dangerous Thoughts

"What's that movie with Michelle Pheiffer and all the black kids?" It's on the tip of my tongue. "Necessary Roughness," says Emerz. "But what's that movie with Mekhi Phifer and all the white kids?"

Baby It's Cold Outside

Waking up to room service trays banging against the door frame. Toni likes to order food over the phone and watch it shrink in the air-conditioning. There's a tropical storm warning screaming and streaming at the bottom of the screen. Me and Emerz are like, no kidding. We've taken to betting on Toni's next mood swing. I got five on manic, Emerz is going with his gut and saying depressive. No matter who wins, we all lose. Laying on the bed with her robe split open, I take a look at what I used to be so jealous of, and feel nothing but a pang of pity, drowning in irritation. "There's something to be said for a little mystery, babe," says Emerz, who has already solved the riddle.

Meanwhile at Club Med...

The baby's hungry and the money's all gone. The folks at home don't want to talk on the phone. We sent a long letter, get back a postcard. Times are hard. (Image courtesy of Dolph.)

Love In The Lost City of Atlantis

We're in the elevator on the way down to the pool. Emerz is readjusting the drawstring of his Vilebrequin Salamander trunks. Toni is upset that we are all sharing a room. Trouble in paradise. Literally. "What's he even doing here?" she asks in a stage whisper.

"Blog fodder," says Emerz.

"Bog flodder," says Toni.

The weather is here, I wish we were beautiful.

You know me and Emerz, always finding cities and parties we were told never existed. This pool is no exception. Toni finds a frenemy from Dwight. I'm suddenly hungry for Jell-o. "Virgin pina colada," says Emerz to a cabana boy. "I really can't stress virgin enough."

If you like pina coladas... Well, let's see. Forecast calls for oppressively sunny skies, no one's making love at midnight unless one of us orders a cot, Toni's heavy into yoga and the last half of her brain seems to have crawled inside a bottle of Xanax. For the flight, she says, clearing a nostril.

I get nice and lobstery and head back upstairs, buy the full porn-pass (can't afford not to), but soon I'm roaming the channels. There's the old, familiar back-and-forth: porn, Love Actually, porn. Lather, rinse, repeat. Cable's been taken over by romantic comedies, supposedly as fluffy as the pillows on our bed. But they still pose a threat. That hidden stinger of romcoms--copious and lengthy bouts of infidelity on behalf of the woman who is not sure that what she thought she wanted all along is really what she actually wants. It just sort of happened, she says. I tried to tell you, she says. Didn't you notice my declining interest in the flower arrangements for the wedding we've been planning? My growing ambivalence over the decorating scheme for the house you bought me?

Well, you know me and Emerz. The completely acceptable, hoodwinked alternative.