Welcome to the Island: Chris Isaak

Many of you all may have been wondering where Roadtripper and I have been. Reality went and swallowed us whole for a while. But we are back, I even have the nagging cough to prove it. And to thank you for nagging us to continue with the island, I bring you Chris Isaak!



How can you not be turned on by this man? That Elvis, Rockabilly style, Billy Idol sneer, voice even Roy Orbison would be jealous of. Yowza! And as Roadtripper and I went to a concert of his, got his autograph, and saw him up close and personal we can tell you, he is even better looking in person. That arm and little bit of face on the left hand side of the pic? Totally Chris Isaak!



I think I am off to take a cold shower. Damn!

Welcome to the Island: Elvis Presley

As per usual, I had an entirely different musician picked out to join the island. But I thought, why not go back to the beginning and why not celebrate my current Memphis status. Using the previously laid out rules, Elvis on the island (at least when I see him, Maggie may differ) will be in his young, Hound dog, yet to sell out to Hollywood stage. I mean come on, those lips, that hair, those eyes, the way he can move those hips!

Even a Beatles fanatic such as myself can appreciate such a fine specimen; it helped moving to Memphis of course. I will just have to keep him away from the peanut butter and banana sandwiches, but I am sure I can think of something to keep him occupied. :)

Welcome To The Island: Henry Rollins

We need a little musical talent on The Island so I am going to bring in the punk rocker that has made me swoon for years. I have the biggest school girl crush on Henry Rollins. He would hate the gushing accolades that I am about to unleash. Very un-punk, I know. But sometimes a girl can't help it... I love this man! I loved him during his Black Flag and Rollins Band days. I went ape shit when the video for "Liar" came out. Something about that cop uniform... and don't get me started on the Superman costume.



Nowadays, I think I love him just a little more with his evolution in to spoken word performances and his show on IFC (seriously... check the show out sometime... you will thank me.) You would think that aging tattooed punk rockers would look silly and irrelevant after awhile but Henry Rollins rocks the tats, muscles, grey hair and razor sharp wit with aplomb. Welcome to The Island, you tattooed silver fox!

Welcome To The Island: Early 90s TV Hunks

Everything old is new again. 90210: The Reboot is about to premiere (Complete with Brenda. Oh yeah... The Bitch is back!) We have seen the return of pegged jeans and crimped hair. New Kids on the Block released their first single since 1994 with an album and tour to follow this autumn. Since early 90s retro is enjoying its minute in the spotlight, I decided to induct some familiar faces from the past on to the island.

Rosie's pick: Brian Austin Green. Yep... little David Silver is all grown up these days.

One condition: NO MORE RAPPING!

My choice, you ask? None other than everyone's favorite guitar-playing uncle who lived in a room with pink bunny wallpaper. Yes, I speak of John Stamos aka Uncle Jesse.

A mullet can't even mar this perfection

But this... yummy!

John Stamos is one of those guys who just gets better looking each year. Sure, he likes to get drunk and babble incoherently on Australian talk shows but who doesn't? He is so hot; he almost makes the Beach Boys look cool when he tours with him... and that is no easy feat.

You are still holding it down well, Uncle Jesse. Rebecca-whatever-the-hell-her-name-is is a moron for dumping you for that fat kid from Stand By Me. You are welcome to the island any day!

I Just Choked On Bubble Gum

I have tried my very best to avoid this new wave of teeny-bopper pop. I flip the channel every time Hannah-Miley-Destiny-I-have-too-many-names-to-keep-track-of-Montana-Cyrus graces the screen. Her hyper Tennessee-tinged voice drives me bonkers; and all I see are these giant teeth. Oh yeah... and I am still holding a grudge against her father. My junior high's physical education program had a required block of instruction on dancing. Picture me at age 12 forced to do the Achy-Breaky Heart for 45 minutes straight. Picture me at age 30 still seething about it.

Screw you, Cyrus! I still have scars.

The only thing I knew about the Jonas Brothers was that one of them was linked to that demon spawn from the previous paragraph. Then came their Target commercial. I adore Target. There is a 40% chance when you call me that I will tell you, "yeah... I am Target right now... just stopped by to get a few things." Why did my beloved Target need these little shaggy-haired moppets? I will take my Isaac Mizrahi shift dress and Michael Graves toilet bowl scrubber without a side of reworked Beatles' songs sang by prepubescent boys.

Seriously... they make Hanson sound like Barry White!

I was bored at work so I decided to educate myself on these little rat bastards. 5 minute lesson learned: the Cyrus chick and the Jonas brothers are all evangelical types who wear promise rings for God and pledge to save their virginity until marriage.

Uggghhh. No wonder they all annoy me. Cheeseball pop is one thing; sanctimonious preachings regurgitated from their parents is another. Virginity is such a private issue, especially for teenagers. I hate it when people pledge it publicly to a higher being or (the creepiest of all) to their fathers. Couldn't you just keep that to yourself? Besides... didn't we already see how the pop star who publicly vows to stay a virgin ends up?

And this is only Exhibit A

What happened to pop music? My generation had the New Kids on the Block; and yes I was a certified Blockhead. The kind that plastered my room with ripped out magazine pictures from Bop and Tiger Beat. The kind who pinned those giant buttons of my fave New Kid (Jon, with Donnie as a close second) on my acid-washed denim purse. The New Kids were your classic cheesy pop fare... but there was at least a small acknowledgment to sex. Nothing overt because they were dealing with pre-teens. Just the occasional wink or pelvic thrust to sate a poor girl's raging hormones. But they didn't feel the need to broadcast the details of their sex (or lack of) lives. Neither did Debbie Gibson. Or (reaching back to my mom's generation) David Cassidy. So shut up about your precious virginity, pop stars. We all know that you are going to lose it to some groupie backstage after sucking down a fifth of Jack Daniels chased by an 8-ball anyways.

What do you think they really meant by "Hangin' Tough"?