Rose's Cantina

What a sad day for Monkee shines everywhere. Davy Jones, what a sweet little monkey, all sugar and spice and all things nice. If Mike was the soul of the band, Mickey was the funny bone and Peter was the hair, Davy was the heart. He was every little girl's dream date. That's because when we were 11, he was our height. Who could resist the accent? And the twinkle in his tiny right eye. Davey was our Paul Anka. Our Nick Jonas. Our Justin Bieber. I will visit Davy in my dreams today. I will always be a Daydream Believer on the Last Train to Clarksville. Thanks Davy.

I was noodling around the Net looking for famous people who were born on Leap Day. My husband Scott isn't famous, not famous at all, so I wanted him to be in good company thinking guys like Steve Jobs or Einstein might have been hatched on February 29th. Alas, Leap Day seems to be for losers, thugs, faux celebs and rappas. I submit for your consideration. Jerry, from Parks and Recreation, a guy who can't get any respect, not even from the shoeshine boy. Dennis Farina, famous for playing mobsters and coppers. And once laying Helen Hunt in a mini-series. Antonio Sabato. No further explanation needed. Ja Rule. Whoever that is. At least Larry David was born on my birthday.

During Heart and Stroke Month, I got sucked in by all those Death Can Wait commercials and joined the Heart and Stroke Foundation's Healthy Weight Action Plan website. The site promised all manner of things. You could monitor your progress on high blood pressure by recording your data, partake in heart healthy meal plans and weight loss programs. The site even had a feature which allowed a person to get emails when they had doctor appointments. Cool, I thought. I gave up on this stupid website after three days. Everytime I recorded my blood pressure, bells and whistles went off, exclamation marks everywhere. Call you doctor. Go to the emergency room, stat. Dudes. I know my blood pressure is high. I just went to the doc to get medication. I don't need you to scare the shit out of me everytime I record my pressure. I had two doctors appointment, both of which I would have missed because I never got notification from the website. Also, the site kept flipping me...

I had an epiphany today. Was that, the beautiful Melissa McCarthy, in Bridesmaids? Or was it master chef and Gwynneth Pal Chef Mario Battali? Separated at birth.

Scott turns 14 tomorrow. He doesn't look a day over 45. He's pretty big for his age, standing six foot two and he can drink any 16 year old under the table. And he has a lot of experience in other areas we won't get into. Scott was born on Leap Day, induced by a chain smoking, hard living family doctor who wanted to get away for a golfing vacay a few days early. He was born in the deep chill of St. Boniface, Manitoba to Margaret and Warner Troyer, the second son of, oh, thousands. It's always delighted Scott that he had a special birthday, one that only comes around every four years, so I'm feeling the need to plan something special for the occasion. Sure on Friday, there'll be much beer drinking, oh yes there will, when we gather at Liam McGuire's with some friendly faces. But tomorrow, we must plan something unique, in line with his official status as 14-year-old. Here's what I'm thinking. 9 a.m. Breakfast at McDonald's, something...

Maybe it was the wine, but I had a good time watching the Oscars last night. Not because of the show, which pretty much blew as usual. I found it entertaining because of what E! put in its disclaimer. We're live, so anything can happen. Viewer discretion is advised. Better to be live than dead. The night got off to a good start when Sasha Baron Cohen dressed in character to promote his film, The Dictator , stumbled and dumped an urn of ashes on Ryan Seacrest. The ashes were supposed to be North Korean's Kim Jong -- not the remnants of the last five winners of American Idol . Or Dick Clark for that matter. Then we got to watch Jennifer Lopez accidentally slip a nip. It wasn't much of a slip, as far as I could see but it created quite a buzz on Twitter. I mean the dress didn't leave much to the imagination to begin with. But guys like Michael Douglas need something to live for, right? And the cherry on top was when that that old hasbeen Sean Young got ...

I don't know about you, but I'm already sick of the Oscars. Brad and Angie. George and the girl wrestler. All those stupid movies about Paris. Silent. Black and white. Who the hell cares? Scott and I watched The Tree of Life last night and I found it ridiculous. It was like tuning into a period piece only to be interrupted by the Discovery Channel. And it's been nominated for about a gazillion awards! Just so Brad and Sean Penn could get paid handsomely for what amounts to a couple of lame cameos. Sheesh. I am looking forward to Billy Crystal. Hopefully, he can save this barfest. The whole preoccupation with George Clooney and Brad Pitt puzzles me. Sure, they're okay looking, but they would make any movie made in 3D look 2D, they are so non-dimensional. Some people call these nuanced performances. I say these two guys phone in their performances. The Artist is about to win Best Picture yet it hasn't been able to translate into ticket sales. ...