So the Spice Girls have announced that they’re going on a reunion tour. Reactions have been mixed, and that’s unfortunate. Even if you hate manufactured pop, there are many reasons to love the Spice Girls. Here are just a few:

• They’re better role models than whoever kids look up to now. None of them ever flashed their spicy parts at the paparazzi when exiting a vehicle. They’ve never been to rehab or been caught driving drunk. (In all fairness to Paris Hilton, I don’t think Victoria Beckham has ever been caught driving herself somewhere, period.)

• The Spice Girls name stands for quality. I bought a Spice Girls watch at Claire’s in 1998, and it keeps ticking no matter what I do. I spot it every once in a while when rummaging through old boxes, and I always notice that the second hand it still moving. It’s kind of spooky—like that scene in Child’s Play when the mother realizes Chuckie is talking without batteries. As an added plus, I’ve heard that the 100-thread count Spice Girls bedding collection was shown in tests to be extremely flame retardant.

• If you’re looking to meet gay guys who were between the ages of 14 and 18 in 1997, you’ll know where to find them on the night of the concert.

Many people don’t realize that the Spice Girls released an album in 2000 shortly after Geri’s departure. At the time, I was “studying” in Europe, where (not surprisingly) the album was quite popular. I really loved the first single, “Holler,” but none of my American friends have ever heard of it. I found a thoroughly pixilated version on YouTube for those of you who didn’t catch it several years ago when it was all the rage in several Eastern-European countries.

The choreography really takes me back to a simpler time. Keep an eye out for repeated use of the classic side-booty slap and a lot of pointing at the camera. I’m also intrigued by the scene where the girls don pseudo-futuristic visors and compete to conjure the sexiest dancing hologram man.

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I have a lot of hang-ups that prevent me from feeling content in any job. For example, I have completely unrealistic expectations of how long it should take me to make my first million, and I blame HGTV. Every time I tune in, some mildly retarded, chubby straight guy is making $100,000 a week by following these simple steps:

Step 1: Purchase architecturally bland home in need of repairs.
Step 2: Promote open house before establishing realistic timeline for repairs.
Step 3: Predict financial ruin upon discovery that home is infested with termites or feral cats or heroin-abusing, pre-teen orphans.
Step 4: Combat infestation with several coats of Killz primer and beige travertine tile.
Step 5: Stage home with glass-top tables and fake ferns.
Step 6: Make $100,000.

The post-9/11 real estate boom couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. I was a bit too young and too poor to buy a fixer-upper of my own, but I was old enough to realize that a golden opportunity was passing me by. It fostered a sense of regret that hasn’t mixed well with my ADHD and that “I’m-so-special” feeling that all nerdy kids have. No matter how much I save or how quickly I climb the ladder at my latest job, I can’t help thinking, “There’s gotta be a better way.”

At the same time, a nagging voice in the back of my head says, “You know what would really prove to the world that you’re way more unique than everyone else? Teaching South African kids with HIV to design websites…or training inner-city teenage mothers to be part of a debate team that wins some important competition with a really big trophy.” Then I daydream about who would play me in the made-for-TV-movie version of my life. Then I remind myself that people whose selfless lives are turned into movies aren’t supposed to fantasize about it. It’s supposed to be all about the children or the spotted owls or the rainforests or whatever. You’re supposed to accept your award statuettes with a humble grin that says, “This? For me? Why, the joy of helping others has always been reward enough. Really, you’re too kind.”

Perhaps you, dear reader, can help me sort out some of my own career confusion by weighing in on this question:

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Apparently I picked a bad time to go on vacation and take a short break from blogging. As I was leaving Chicago on the 20th, my friend Megan gave my site a plug on her professional blog over at HOW. (For you non-designers, HOW magazine is a big name in the graphic-design community. I was a fan long before I met Megan, I swear.) As a result, I’ve had lots of new visitors (91 and counting). It was almost as exhilarating as that time I was elected prom king, but this time it wasn’t a joke and no one threw pig’s blood on me!

My short trip down south was a blast. Friday, I visited some old friends who work at a hospital in the town where I went to grad school. Whenever I’m there, I always get the most wonderful ideas for baby names by taking a peek in the nursery. (If I ever have twins, I’m definitely planning to solicit advice from the classy lady who gave birth to Yamajesty and Yahighness a few years back.) This year, my favorite name was definitely A’miracle. Up until now, I thought punctuation marks were reserved for singers like P!nk, India.Arie, and Des’ree. Now that punctuated names are going mainstream, I’m beginning to feel left out. I’ve always thought my name could use a pound sign or an asterisk in there somewhere, but I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off. Now I’m considering an entirely punctuation-based spelling of my name just to stay ahead of the curve.

As much as I love a creatively punctuated name, I couldn’t help but worry that darling little A’miracle might have trouble bubbling in her name when taking the SAT. I thought about voicing my concern to A’miracle’s mother, but she was too busy talking on her Boost Mobile phone and licking Flaming-Hot-Cheetos dust off her newly airbrushed and bedazzled nails. In the end, I decided there was no need for worry. Mom’s multitasking skills will surely rub off and take her daughter straight to the top.

When it comes to sunless tanning, I’ve tried it all. I’ve tried Banana Boat lotions and Coppertone sprays. I’ve tried the Neutrogena foam with a gentle hint of color that “shows where it goes” to prevent streaks. I’ve applied it with my own two hands, I’ve traumatized family and friends by forcing them to apply it, and I’ve even tried putting it on with sponge brushes from Home Depot.

A few years ago, my roommate bought me a gift certificate for an airbrush tan—partly because he knew I was too cheap to pay for the service and partly because he was sick of helping me pick blobs of lotion out of my arm hair. The prospect of having someone spray me with a “micro-bead mist” sounded glamorous, so I went to the salon with high hopes. When I arrived, a pudgy, 40-something redhead named Cynthia met me at the door and showed me to my room. Once inside, I stripped down to my underwear, assumed a Vitruvian-Man pose, and prepared to enjoy the sunless tanning secret of the stars.

I won’t say that Cynthia was unprofessional, but I’m quite sure she would have smoked and possibly eaten a meatball sub while applying my tan if it wasn’t prohibited by the county inspector. The end result wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t any better than what I could have done at home for a lot less. This summer, I’ve decided to try a few of the gradual tanning lotions that promise a “subtle, sun-kissed glow.” I’m not big on subtlety, but I should probably accept that there are limits to what sunless tanner can do for me and embrace a more restrained approach. People get suspicious when I leave work on Sunday a shade whiter than mayonnaise and return on Monday somewhere between a sweet-potato-pie orange and a chicken-nuggety brown.

So far, I’ve tried Jergens Natrual Glow for face, which is great. It provides a noticeable (but not unnatural) touch of color. I’ve also been using Neutrogena’s Summer Glow for my arms, which doesn’t stink quite as much as past Neutrogena tanning products I’ve tried. I’ve convinced my significant other to try L’Oreal’s Sublime Glow line, which got great reviews in Consumer Reports. (Yes, I know your grandmother reads that magazine and I don’t care.) He hasn’t seen much difference so far, so I think the lightest shade is too faint. I was also disappointed that the L’Oreal body lotion has “light diffusers,” which are basically tiny pieces of glitter. Unless you’re the kind of queer who likes to keep a tube of cotton-candy-flavored Lip Smackers in your purse at all times, you’ll probably find the sparkly side effects of Sublime Glow to be a negative.

Be sure to leave a comment with any tanning-related wisdom and weigh in on the survey!

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I think we can all agree that 9/11 never would have happened if The Golden Girls was still on the air. The show was a critical stabilizing force in global politics. It reminded us that despite differences in age, race, and religion, we’re much more alike than we are different. That’s why I believe now, more than ever, the world needs to see liberated, mature women thrown into amusing and/or stressful situations that are often resolved through the consumption of cheesecake.

I’ve analyzed The Golden Girls’ complex dramatic structure thoroughly, and I believe I’ve uncovered a formula that I can leverage to recreate its success:

(women > 65 + sexual innuendo – visible physical intimacy) / high jinks = world peace

While a revival of The Golden Girls formula might decrease terrorist activity, it’s going to take something more to heal thousands of years of religious conflict in the Middle East. To meet this goal, we need a show that combines the best parts of The Golden Girls with another series that has fostered cross-cultural understanding. I’m talking, of course, about Star Trek.

Sadly, those warmongers in Hollywood don’t give a damn about international relations. So, I’ve decided to write the pilot myself. Here’s a sneak peek for your consideration:

Show Title: Alpha Females

Concept: In the year 2182, humans make contact with a matriarchal alien race from the Alpha Centauri solar system. A series of diplomatic blunders with Earth’s male leaders quickly creates tension between the two worlds, and an alien invasion seems imminent. As a last-ditch effort to avoid a war, the United Nations appoints a team of prominent women to run the first Earth embassy on the alien planet.

Cast: Judi Dench plays ambassador Eliza Manchester, a tough-as-nails negotiator who enjoys a nip of gin with her afternoon tea. Eliza is a loose cannon who knows how to take a punch, and that’s precisely why the alien women haven’t killed her—yet.

Meryl Streep plays intelligence operative Natasha Deprova, a Russian linguist and master of disguise. Natasha’s feminine wiles prove a valuable asset until she finds herself seduced by the alien leader of the men’s liberation movement.

Cher plays culture liaison Jacqueline Moore, Earth’s most beloved singer/actress and high-profile humanitarian. Jacqueline strives to establish mutual understanding and respect between the two worlds through the universal language of music and frequent costume changes.

Maggie Smith plays science officer Hilda Rawlings, a brilliant but socially inept physicist. Although Hilda has conducted groundbreaking research on black holes and cold fusion, she has yet to decode nature’s most perplexing phenomenon, true love.

Vintage Booze Ads are Officially Lame

Let’s face it: nothing says, “I went to Europe once in high school,” like a Chat Noir poster over a beige, micro-suede couch. And as much as I used to love those old Orangina ads, nowadays they just make any room look like a Quizno’s. I’m finally ready to pay up for wall art with a bit more sophistication than my local Bed Bath and Beyond can offer, so I’ve been scouring etsy.com for cool, original paintings. If you’re not familiar with the site, Etsy is a storefront where artists and crafty folk can sell their handmade goods. Because most of Etsy’s artists are undiscovered, you can often find original paintings for around 100 to 200 bucks.

I’ve narrowed down my recent favorites and placed them in the survey below. Check them out and vote for your favorite to help me make up my mind, or leave me a comment with some alternative suggestions. But please—no vintage booze ads or anything else you might find in a sorority house.

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If you haven’t seen Children of Men, allow me to summarize the plot in a nutshell: the whole world is infertile and really pissed off about it. At first, I was on board with the premise that a sudden lack of babies would lead to a major economic depression, which would lead to increased poverty, crime, and general social unrest. But the longer I watched, the more I kept wondering why children were being treated like some kind of calming force that keeps jaded grown-ups from stabbing each other over the last home-suicide kit at Walgreens.

Single Mothers Get Great Government Benefits in Children of Men

Case in point: there’s a scene in the movie in which Clive Owen is exploring an abandoned elementary school, and I kept thinking, “Why hasn’t someone converted this place into pilates studio?” Apparently, as babies became more rare, so did the queer real-estate flippers with an eye for a perfect re-zoned, mixed-use rehab project. I know, I know—a world without children is no laughing matter. Children are full of wonder and innocence and when you have one your whole way of seeing the world changes. They help you figure out what’s really important and fill you with joy. In short, kids are a lot like Prozac, but more expensive and harder to flush down the toilet when you’re not happy with how they make you feel.

If you liked 28 Days Later and V for Vendetta, you’ll enjoy watching British people respond irrationally to a crisis in Children of Men. However, the movie is incredibly depressing and I think it could have benefited from a brief look at the pros of a childless society. Sci-fi movies love to shock us with wacky futuristic newspaper headlines anyway, so why not mix it up by adding these uplifting ones:

• Child Molesters Lose Will to Live
• Disneyworld Converted to World’s Largest Plushy Sex Park
• White House Bans Use of Phrase “Won’t Someone Please Think of the Children?”
• Ice-Cream Truck Drivers’ Union Signs Partnership with Starbucks