A few peeps have asked if I’m going to recap Top Model this season on DR. I’m going to try to, but I’m writing a different recap on Wed. nights and I suddenly have this “job” that I have to go to the next morning as well. It’s strange. I will definitely write about it here and there, especially when Ty-Ty goes off the deep end. (That last sentence was basically me promising to write about the show every week…. whoops.)

I did write a photo gallery of the cycle 7 girls on EW.com that just went up this morning.

Ladytron concerts tonight and tomorrow! I wish I could freeze-wrap all the approaching delight in foil and them store them as little pleasure pellets in the bag of bite size Reese’s in my desk.

I wish the CVS stores in NYC were as awesome as the ones in Chicago:

And the price is right!

CVS is okay, but I’ll always be true to Walgreen’s, the drugstore that used to dominate the midwest before CVS invaded. I like their scripted font, it’s what I always wanted my cursive to look like, until I gave it up in 5th grade after still being unable to draw a capital S that didn’t look like a treble clef, which apparently I considered to be more important, and it was.

Note that I also just compared writing cursive to drawing.

Okay, so check out the interior of a different CVS store in Long Beach, Indiana. (”I don’t know where she finds these barneys!”)

What?!

Instead of the lists at the top of each aisle, there were hundreds of neon bubble signs poking out from random places on the shelves, SCREAMING where shoppers could find the most embarrassing products in the store. It’s hard enough for men and women to coexist in the “feminine products” aisle without these giant grasshopper signs to help the awkwardness along. I particularly enjoy the distinction between “pantiliners” and just “liners.” Is there one? I can’t believe I’m even discussing it!!!

Just kidding. Maybe that’s a silly attitude, and CVS is pioneering a whole new way of approaching the tampon/diaper/anti-diarrheal aisle dilemma. Maybe these terms should be out there in the open in order to promote acceptance and love across the universe.

Huh.

Yes! Extreme Makeover: Home Edition is back. As you may know, I record this sometimes because I love it when the downtrodden homeowners make me cry, usually by crying themselves. I’m fully aware of how embarrassing it is that I watch this show. I don’t care.

Anyway, check out what I noticed last night:

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While preparing to jump out of a loading dock into the waiting, cupped hands of the high school football team in North Pole, Alaska, Ty’s ass crack was so nasty, so gaping, so egregious that ABC decided to blur it out. Viewers were saved from the horror!

But the high school football team was not. Watch out suckas, Ty is comin’ ATCHA! Look at them, arms outstretched, yearning for the tiniest brush of bare Ty cheek.

“North Pole, Alaska! Are you ready to GRAB! MY! ASS!”

Plus: Aunt Jackie is on Desperate Housewives! I am so back on the train. But only if they’ll let her be funny in the future. So far, no good.

I liked Brothers & Sisters, but had anyone else gotten strangely attached to the adorable dad before the hour was up? What a bummer.

I NEED TO GET A LIFE.

Gulliver’s Travels or Bergdorf Blondes… tough call.

This is why you should NOT shop for books at Virgin Megastore.

Last night I tuned into Prison Break to see what all the fuss was about, even though I knew already (Wentworth Miller). But here are some photos I took of my TV screen — yeah, I’m totally back to that again — of a character not played by Wentworth Miller tearing into a bag of Cheetos with his teeth and then having a snack:

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Check out this fun photo gallery of EW.com’s TV Crushes. Mine was Nate Fisher (Peter Krause) from Six Feet Under, which anyone who knows me already knows because Peter is the only famous person besides the Beatles I’ve ever hung up on a wall.

You know what really grinds my gears? Commuters.

I’m really big on catching killer digital photos (which are apparently more important than my life) while driving on major highways in Illinois.

I love how, in addition to legitimately cool flavors like Moose Tracks and Turtle Tracks, they threw in Vanilla and Butter Pecan. Ha, I scoffed. Vanilla? Yeah right! The term “really cool flavor” must have lost its sacredness!

But no, think about it. Vanilla ice cream is delicious. Visualize yourself taking a bite. Good, now let it sit there on your tongue. Don’t corrupt it. Just let the trickle-down effect kick in. You’re in heaven. Look, there’s some wireless Internet.

I favor Haagen Dazs and Dairy Queen’s vanillas, but Dean might be okay too. The truck art is a really smart ad. People might not order straight-up vanilla at an ice cream shop because their friends would think they were boring. But vanilla is the perfect flavor to buy for at home, where you can be as boring as you want.

Still, ix-nay on the Butter Pecan.

BREAKING NEWS: I’m recapping Dancing with the Stars this fall. Tune in!

Gotta run, but since images speak louder than words and it’ll also make this post seem longer, here’s a photo I took of a piece of CPK Thai Chicken Pizza tentatively shaped like Texas.

(I have no emotional bond to Texas. CPK…different story.)

It’s about time we discussed a very important part of Summer Eating: Appies.

That’s appetizers in Barrett-speak. It’s a synonym of rushies, because people apparently eat them in a rush. I don’t. I prefer to savor.

Below is a typical August appies array in New Buffalo, MI:

It’s nothing special. Just chips and dip. Many food snobs might refuse to call such simple fare “appetizers.” I think that’s lame. If something comes before the main meal, it goes on the table, and people get a serious kick out of eating it, it’s an appie. No question.

On the surface, everything seems fine about the spread above. Four kinds of chip and three dips — what could be better? No problem! Everyone’s happy. When facing off against twelve possible chip/dip combos, people generally tend to choose a favorite pairing and stick with it, which I think is bogus. If Dee Barrett bothered to put out seven separate troughs, I’m going to lap up the scraps from all of them.

But then there’s a problem: You lose yourself in one conversation or three bloody marys, and suddenly you stick a sweet potato Terra Chip into chili con queso and then pummel the two of those into your mouth, which was conveniently just hanging wide open.

WRONG!

DR’s advice: prepare a site map of the appies array in your head:

Neon green is a match! Pomegranate red means stop. Most of these you can determine based on common sense, but if you need to sample, by all means, do it. After all, you deserve the biggest portion of each bowl simply by being the wonderful you, phenomenally.

(File under “Things I Tell Myself in Michigan”)

Guess who’s back? Me.

Over the last month, I’ve taken loads of unnecessary photos in the midwest (Michigan and Chicago). Most were of food. A lot were of Chicken McNuggets. With a car to myself, I could have gone anywhere and purchased rare, impressive, and photogenic meals, but instead I ended up lining up nuggets and White Castle burgers in what I’d almost venture to call “artistic” settings.

Sack of Ten

Discussion questions:

1. Why only ten?

2. Artistic?

3. If we can’t actually see Slider 8, can we be sure it exists?

4. Sliders 5, 7, and 10 are upside down. Is this significant? Was it intentional? Why or why not?

5. What, ultimately, is Annie trying to say in this piece? Is the photo about burgers, or is it about longing? Construct an expository paragraph containing the word “gurgle” that explains your choice.

After nearly a decade of ambivalence and/or not caring about White Castle, I’ve finally decided I’m in love with it. There are no exceptions. You couldn’t throw anything on that menu at me that I wouldn’t catch in my mouth and enjoy, including the new Hidden Valley Chicken Rings (right, on my All Reheated, All The Time conveyor belt, with a tiny bit of Pizza Hut Stuffed Crust pie pokin’ its way into the frame… with a bite out of it… I’m so gross). Whitey’s also carries Tobasco Chicken Rings, which I’m guessing just means thousands of tiny red flakes instead of green.

The Chicken Rings should strike any normal person as nasty. Me, I’m impressed. Shaping disgusting chicken innards into small circles, then deep frying and caking them in ten times more artificial flavoring than would ever be called for. Admit it: It’s a wonderful idea!

(Remember when Tobias cries out “It’s a wonderful restaurant!” at Burger King on Arrested Development? That’s in my top ten.)

I’m a firm believer that once you find the perfect consistency for a certain food, you’ve got to make sure that, if possible, you get to eat it in that exact state every time. Case in point: I discovered that baking the Sliders at 450 degrees for about five minutes — even if they’re already fresh from the restaurant, “fresh” and “restaurant” being understandably shaky terms in this case — produces my favorite Slider consistency. The bun, which is so bulbous and shiny and expertly shaped, like an infant’s head, looks and tastes better when it’s charred a bit, at least on the top. That way, you get some crunch at the very beginning of the bite and then once you’re through the “shell” (similar to the candy coating of an M&M) you get to chew the rest of the still-soft inner bun. Mmmm.

Beware of the tongue-singeing cheese! It’ll getcha. But it’s worth it, because later you’ll be doing something else, think “why does my tongue kill?” and remember, fondly, “Ahhh, White Castle.” And you’ll probably be on the toilet.

All of the above is to say that even though I’m back in Brooklyn, when I don’t know what to write about in the next couple of weeks, I’m just going to do throwbacks to my long-ass vacation. They’ll come out of nowhere, like cool weather and the new Pepperidge Farm Rainbow Goldfish. Watch out!