If Elvis Costello Grew Up In Brooklyn, Wore Ratty Jeans And Was Still An Awesome Punky Dork

Song: We Got The Beat
Original Artist: The Go-Go's
Cover Artist: Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
No Way We're Gonna Miss Our First Chance To See Ted Leo In Concert: Heck no. (How much do we love free music festivals in the summer in New York!?)

Yankees Bullpen '70s Porn Star Can't Wear His Chain, Loses His Shit

Song: Pulling Mussels (From The Shell)
Original Artist: Squeeze
Cover Artist: Snow Patrol
Always One Step Behind: Great. Just when we finally get the whole Snow Patrol thing, everyone has moved on to The Fever. (No scar tissue here!)

Dear Elton John: America Voted. Fantasia Won. Your Royalty Must Not Have Speed-Dialers

Song: Disillusion
Original Artist: Badly Drawn Boy
Cover Artist: Fantasia Barrino
Imagine Princess of Michael Kent being forced to sing: The American Idol Winner's trademark song, a cover of Billie Holiday's Summertime.

If Phish Never Did This Cover, They Should During Their Final Show (via former Phish chronicler via current Lindsay Lohan's funbags chronicler)

Song: I've Seen All Good People
Original Artist: Yes
Cover Artist: Phish
Imagine Trey Anastasio singing to grateful fans as they dance for the last time: I've seen all good people turn their heads each day so satisfied I'm on my way.

Billy Beane Loses Round One To His God

Song: The Luckiest
Original Artist: Ben Folds
Cover Artist: Willie Nelson
Imagine Willie Nelson singing: What if I had been born fifty years before you, in a house on the street where you lived.

Even Rocco's Mama Is Down With The Drugged-Up Post-Punk Music

Song: My Oh My
Original Artist: David Gray
Cover Artist: The Killers
Imagine The Killers, noise cranked up, singing: My oh my you know it just don't stop. It's in my mind I wanna tear it up.

Curbed For Her Pleasure

Song: Synchronicity 2
Original Artist: The Police
Cover Artist: Phish
Where to shout out this request while shrooming head off: Coney Beach, June 17th

Adding Gone Til' November Acoustic Sound: Too Taboo For You?

Song: Crying Game
Original Artist: Boy George
Cover Artist: Duet w/ Wyclef Jean & Bob Dylan
Imagine Wyclef Jean singing in a Haitian accent: Someday soon I'm gonna tell the moon about the crying game.
Then Dylan growling wistfully: First there are kisses, then there are sighs
And then, before you know where you are you're sayin' goodbye.

Selected From Our Top Ten

Song: From Hank to Hendrix
Original Artist: Neil Young
Cover Artist: David Bowie
Imagine Bowie singing: From Marilyn to Madonna, I always loved your smile. Now we're headed for the big divorce, California-style.

A Cat Fight Between Foxy Jess, The Real Janelle, and Refill Jen Would Be Much Hotter

Song: Maneater
Original Artist: Hall & Oates
Cover Artist: The Donnas
We Can Relate To That: The woman is wild, a she-cat tamed by the purr of a Jaguar

Plug In The Distorted Over-Driven Guitar Amps. Coke It Up. Lose Your Head

Song: Love Song
Original Artist: The Cure
Cover Artist: The Strokes
Imagine Julian Casablanca crooning-and-sneering: Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am fun again.

Before Sofia Coppola Has Air Do It

Song: Wichita Lineman
Original Artist: Glen Campbell
Cover Artist: Zero 7
We Can Relate To That: I know I need a small vacation.

Summer of '04: More Reckless Than Ever

Song: Run To You
Original Artist: Bryan Adams
Cover Artist: Sheryl Crow
Imagine Sheryl Crow singing: It wouldn't hurt her if she didn't know.

DeGarmo: A Carb-loading Tracy Flick?

Song: My Own Prison
Original Artist: Creed
Cover Artist: Fiona Apple
Imagine Fiona Singing: I should have been dead on a Sunday morning.

The Slow Sing-a-Long At The End Would Suddenly Be Soulful

Song: Patience
Original Artist: Guns N' Roses
Cover Artist: Al Green

You Can Keep The Dime

Song: Operator
Original Artist: Jim Croce
Cover Artist: The Shins

Blubox Reports From The High Seas

Aboard the Hu Hviss, we spend our days reclining in a lawn chair, gazing contently at seagulls circling overhead. Before we go below deck to get another Anchor Steam and make ourselves a lobster roll sandwich that would make the sous chefs at Punch and Judy weep with jealousy, we introduce our mission to give birth to a child, name her after a fruit, and then... hang on, that's the other project. The one we present to you now is called The Blubox Covers That Should Exist But Don't.

We know what you're thinking. Actually, no we don't. So where were we? Oh, yeah, getting a worm for our fishing line. Or was it finding some chips to go with our lobster roll? No, wait, introducing my new mission. God, we are excited about this contribution to the world's community. Let's get this party started.

Song: A Question Of Lust
Original Artist: Depeche Mode
Cover Artist: Sinead O' Connor

Blubox Summer Hiatus

Seth Cohen isn't the only one with access to a boat.

Blubox Knows It's A Beautiful Day In New York City When...

... the American flags over The Plaza flap gently in the warm spring sky, we don't work for Glenda "No Relation To George" Bailey, Jorge Posada declares himself King of The Golden Showers (Yo, Jeets, could you give me a hand over here?), London's devil-trash drive another of its flaxen-haired society girl/bikini-waxed scribes back into our city's waiting arms (like they have so many), Rickey is back (Rickey says that Rickey will be returning to the Newark club scene with a vengeance), a blonde zaftig girl in oversized sunglasses passes us on 5th Avenue wearing a T-shirt that says Don't Feed The Models, somebody's ace pitcher looked solid while somebody else's stunk it up, Romber makes it to the final four, our national pastime hands contract back to the devil unsigned, we wake up this morning -- and with considerable help from After Bathing at Baxter's -- get through the back end of a multiple-pints-of-Stella-night at the Scratcher and emerge, resplendent, from the ashes of our own overly-complicated mind.

The Final Days Of George Huff

We read about a mother who made a deal with her son that he can watch American Idol if he first completes his spelling homework. We also have an unspoken arrangement at Blubox, where the man of the household can watch his American Idol and OC (even if it means suffering accusations of having a crush on Marissa), but can’t watch playoff basketball, eat in the bed, or mention anything to do with blogging.

Two nights ago, after a day of work in the scary big people world, we are reclining on the couch, watching television.

As usual, we are voicing our opinions at the screen while the Blubox Intern moves about the apartment, attending to matters in a different universe than our own.

We point out to no one in particular that if Simon was correct that Diana Degarmo’s outfit was a zero last week, then her satin gut-defining number this week dips into negative digits.

Grinning man-child George Huff performs next; Blubox Intern, glancing at the screen for a second, comments that he reminds her of this guy.

We point out that Huff was an alternate, who made it to the round of 32 only after someone else dropped out. The Blubox Intern asks who dropped out. Not knowing the answer to her irrelevant question frustrates us; we have this sudden urge to investigate the matter on the internet but we know how the Blubox Intern feels about “us going on the internet all the time, which we are clearly addicted to”.

Next is Latoya “Jackson If You're Nasty” London . We explain to the Blubox Intern, who is half-listening as she travels to the kitchen for a Diet Peach Snapple, that London would make a fine Broadway musical performer, but a lousy American Idol. A few minutes later, Simon makes the same point.

We flash the Blubox Intern a look that she is accustom to seeing during each weekly broadcast, the expression that says “we should be a judge” and “who knows what the hell they are talking about -- us".

Jasmine Trias, no longer wearing the flower in her shiny black hair, performs next. We worry she is slipping into tacky Asian Hillary Duff territory. We miss our sweet, young Hawaiian orchid. This is the first observation of the night we keep to ourselves.

Blubox Intern blurts out, “I think she will win.” Her opinion is not based on thoughtful analysis; quite to the contrary, it’s just a random opinion thrown out there like a war ribbon over a fence.

We are about to quickly discount her adorably naive opinion, but then we start wondering if her rushed proclamation could be some form of fluke genius, the kind that only the world’s innocents possess.

Just then Fantasia Barrino appears on stage and does a commendably daring-for-American-Idol big band version of A Crazy Little Thing Called Love. That’s a Queen song, we tell Blubox Intern. From the look on her face it’s clear we have failed to impress her with this precious tidbit of pop culture knowledge.

For her second song, Fantasia sings a diva ballad. “She has one thing that the others don’t have,” we tell Blubox Intern. “Personality.”

“Jennifer Hudson, now that girl had personality,” we tell the Blubox Intern. “She had it going on. Even Elton John said so.”

“Why isn’t she still there?” asks the Blubox Intern.

“Because the average person watching the show thinks Clay Aiken is a talent and the Olive Garden is a treat.”

Unless, of course, you buy the Chicago Black Out Theory. We don’t bring up this second possible reason, fearing that our obscure kernel of insight might scare the Blubox Intern more than it will amaze her.

“The best contestant left in the competition is Fantasia,” we say out loud, as we watch Seacrest wrap up the show. “It’s obvious that she’s on another level then the rest of the finalist. If she doesn’t win, it will be ridiculous.”

Blubox Intern looks over at us. “All you do is comment,” she says. “If you think this person should win, why don’t you vote?”

We realize she is serious. Thus, we are stumped how to respond. We could explain to her that such an act would raise our dork level above an acceptable level. “Make a difference,” she says.

Clearly, it’s hitting her in this moment that the person sitting beside her, eating a sugar-free Popsicle in his boxers, is nothing but a strongly opinionated coward afraid to take a stand. The unthinkable has happened: the Blubox Intern has made us feel shameful for not voting on American Idol.

It is clear what we have to do. We dial 1-866-IDOLS-05 for the first time in our lives. We can’t get through. Well, we tried.

“You’re not going to keep trying?”

Okay, looks like we are.

An hour later, on our third try, we get through and log in our vote. “You’re just going to vote once?” says the Blubox Intern. “You can vote as many times a you want, you know.”

We tell her that we are aware of this fact. But that we have faith enough people will be smart enough to vote for Fantasia.

Obviously, we don’t believe this.

The voters have proven by dumping Jennifer Hudson that they would make horrible A&R reps, and if the Pinball Wizard is right, then they are also slightly racist or slightly weightist or slightly Bartmanist. Furthermore, the imbecile parents of these ignorant clown children will probably vote for George Bush and our country will continue rocketing headlong into the dumpster.

But we lie and tell the Blubox Intern that we have faith in our fellow cellphone-clad citizens to make the right choice because we don’t want to crush her flower of optimism with our jaded worldview.

We also lie so we don’t have to call again, unnecessarily risking costly additions to our cellphone bill.

Seriously Hung Over

Bloggers can be strangely competitive with other bloggers, but we can assure you that no one is more strangely competitive than us, even though only a miniscule clique, street scholars of higher meaning and Lindsay Lohan, are the least bit interested in the results of any conceivable contest.

Okay, fine, no one, not even the biggest bottomfeeding losers of the niche media world, gives a shit if we live or die.

No matter. Our reason for living today is the same: move Blubox above our very, very casual acquaintances The Real Janelle and TMFTML in the Google rankings for the word "hung over".

We know it will be difficult to achieve our dream considering how hung over we are, but we're sure with your help we can reach the Google Rankings For Hung Over summit. Or at least climb near the top (knocking off hungover.net could prove difficult). But you're sadly mistaken if you think being hung over will stop us from giving it all we've got.

Joni Mitchell Joins Joan Baez On Upcoming All-Female Fear Factor

Bob Dylan? A guest judge on American Idol? That's the story, morning glory.

How do we feel about Dylan, the most important singer of our lifetime, sandwiched between Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell?

One thing is for sure, we’re not going to get duped by Mr. Dylan into expressing outrage. We will not cry out "hypocrite" or "sell out". Oh, no. That would be playing into the old trickster’s liver-spotted hand.

Accusing Dylan of profaning his own ideals would cause the aging troubadour to glare blithely, satisifed in knowing that finger-pointers like ourselves have, in fact, missed the point entirely. Yet again.

So what is his point? We're not sure. Then how do we know that his decision to be a judge on AI and appear in a Victoria’s Secret commercial is not just capricious self-betrayal?

Because it's friggin’ Bob Dylan. And because it's Bob Dylan, we're confident ten years from now, we'll appreciate the genius of his actions.

Maybe his statement is this: we are in an age of pop culture addiction. Like any other addict, we raise the risk to capture a better high. The perversion needs to be heightened; what starts off with light spanking easily ends up in full latex, a few snorts in the East Village becomes a bag in Chelsea, and Ricki Lake's wild makeovers turn into The Swan.

We need to increase the abnormality if we want to intensify the thrill. What used to take three seasons on Melrose Place, takes one on the O.C.. The stories about Jessica Simpson will get more sordid, the scenarios she finds herself in more grotesque; if they don't, she’ll fall to the wayside quicker than you can say Nelly Furtado.

Or maybe Dylan's saying that the fight against commercialism has become irrelevant. If you’re anxious about Neil Young ending up in a John Deere commercial, you're losing sleep for the wrong reasons. There are bigger and better battles to be fought, greater evils that deserve our attention.

Or maybe he’s not only saying that the battle lines must be drawn elsewhere, but that drawing the line has become a joke; the idea of an idealistic side vs. an evil corrupting side is a myth, made transparent by simply looking at the photos from Abu Ghurayb prison.

Bob Dylan on American Idol: is that more absurd than America's foreign policy? It’s a million times less offensive. We actually can't wait to see Dylan working out Desolation Row on the piano with an Idol Finalist. (What can we say, you don't need to ask the Blubox Intern to know who's a strange and fragile junkie.)

Rumsfeld. Out.

And We Chose An Earnest Quote From John Lennon

In her high school yearbook, NYU pot princess Julia Diaco chose a quote from gangsta rapper Tupac Shakur: "Run wild, but be smart."

Blubox Pitch Of The Week

Title: Mean Cabbies

Plot: A cute self-taught driver, 16, from Africa moves to New York City and gets a job as a taxi driver. Right off the bat, she's dealing with the teen angst of cliques, backstabbing, boy crushes and oh yeah... having a gun pointed to the back of her head.

Things get particularly rough for our heroine when the city enacts a fare hike, inciting already-dangerously-close-to-the-edge riders to mercilessly harangue her and sigh dramatically. But she soon gets revenge on her cruel customers, pumping funky body odor into the back seat and, even when it's clear she can, not making the light.

American Soldiers in Iraq Aren't The Only Ones Making Sacrifices

"I hadn't eaten dairy or white bread in three years, and I was like 'I have to'"

Gwenyth Paltrow, discussing the drastic changes she's made for the sake of her unborn child, W Magazine, June