A little bit country or a little bit rock 'n' roll?
Which one was Marie Osmond, in her vaguely incestuous TV relationship with brother Donny?
Unfortunately, time, alcohol consumption and blows to the head have done their best to eviscerate that specific memory from the gooey grey matter contained in the pumpkin we call a dome.
But, just as luckily, a group of individuals created the Internet (and a group of conservatives continuously repeat the lie Al Gore claimed to have done so) and with one handy search of "Osmond little bit country" we have the answer supplied to us by, presumably, a group of Mormons with corns or the gout or some affliction that keeps them from ambling up your walk come Saturday morning.
Marie was country. Donny was rock 'n' roll.
Why is this even an issue?
Well, it was just over a week ago (the Tivo was backed up because of World Cup matches and reruns of those dreamy Supernatural boys -- OK?) Britney Spears sat in front of the world, flashing her pudding thighs, veiny bosoms and Southern dimness and proclaimed "we're country."
That was Ms. Spears' explanation to the sexily glib, softball hurling Matt Lauer as to why she thought fit to lap-cradle her baby boy while hurtling down a stretch of highway paved with the blood of coked-up Hollywood agents and drunken bit-part actors leaving their late shift at TGI Fridays.
"We're country."
Weak, but, as ridiculous bordering on pathologically bumpkin as that sounds, at least it's an explanation.
Spears, eye globules and gum-smacks, did a spectacular job of attempting to explain the depths she's plumbing (not, thankfully, her plumbing depths), by winging out some of the most delightfully insane statements, such as: She almost sack-dropped her tot because of cobblestones in Ye Ol' New York; homewrecking is fine, because many of Hollywood's favourite actresses have done it; K-Fed is working the front gate of the mansion offering valet parking to whatever news crew shows up to interrogate his meal ticket; and Spears, like every other housewife, enjoys shopping, cooking and cleaning the two or three rooms in her palatial estate her team of undocumented maids can't quite get around to in their 18-hour break-free days.
Nuts, but explanations.
In fact, one week later and pretty much everything's been explained. Well, almost everything.
Many sleeps and many hastily arranged and poorly attended interventions later, there remains one question from the primetime Britney tell-all.
It's not "Seriously?" or "No, really -- seriously?" or even "Was that her nipple?" -- in fact, it's not even anything you could direct at the puffy pop tartlet.
Rather, it's the most disturbing and inexplicable part of the mental patient barndance and that's -- "Where were Matt Lauer's socks?"
Dude did a high-profile interview in front of millions wearing loafers with no socks and no explanation was asked for or offered?
She's a little bit country, Matt, which explains possibly anything you want to throw her way.
But you -- you glib health-professional apologist -- couldn't even muster an "I'm a little bit rock 'n' roll." Then again, even Donny wore socks. Purple mind you, but socks nonetheless.
QUICK HITS:
All 12 seconds of my MuchMusic Video Awards viewing featured Hedley pretending they mattered... Has David Lee Roth's career fallen so far he's now relegated to performing bluegrass covers of Van Halen songs on tribute records? Yes, he's just a gigolo, but even mantramps should have some standards.
Looking for a good concert rumour? OK, the possibilities are probably slim, but a couple of weeks ago a fall date for Eric Clapton was being thrown around. Nothing specific, mind you, but an October date had been talked about.
