So I might have read Twilight.

Okay, I couldn't put it down and I'm not exactly sure why because the writing is atrocious. I could find excuses -- I was sick last weekend, I regretted having prematurely scoffed at Harry Potter -- but something about this book is appealing even when it shouldn't be.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm listening to it on my computer and not, say, in a car, that makes it feel less than real. After all, we've been here before: (alleged) tracks from the mythic, Sasquatch-like Chinese Democracy leaked last year, and we downloaded them, tentatively, straining to hear some sort of genetic connection to the Guns N' Roses we all remember and romanticize.

Ever since Freelance Hellraiser got the Internet's nutz in a twist with 2001's "A Stroke of Genius" -- a seamless mash-up of the Strokes' "Hard to Explain" and Christina Aguilera's "Genie in a Bottle" -- the ultimate, 21st Century tribute to the It rock band of the year has been an endless barrage of (mostly) unauthorized mash-ups, remixes, covers, and alternate ve

In anticipation of this week's episode of Gossip Girl, I spent a few minutes surfing its music channel on YouTube, where the featured songs of each episode are posted along with a short description of the various scenes (e.g. "Chuck and Nate lounge in grass").

Dear Mr. Wahlberg:

This weekend I watched Feist’s "1234" video at least 15 times.

Oliver Stone’s W is like a greatest hits album: You’re primed to respond to it because you’ve heard it all before, and mostly loved it. But, like a greatest hits album, there are no surprises. Which is the biggest surprise about Stone's latest political diatribe.

1. Still touring in support of New Wave, the best album of 2007, the Gainesville-based punks showed no signs of tiring, playing as if this were the first gig in their hometown after a six-year absence.

As I enter my mid-20s, weekends marked off for weddings become more and more frequent. In the past two weeks, I've traveled to Vermont and Memphis to see my cousin and brother (respectively) tie the knot. And at least four friends of mine attended other weddings over these same two weekends.

UPDATE: Read part two of "I Started a Joke (or Careful: MGMT at Play)" here.

Following their mega-successful debut double shot of 1994’s Definitely Maybe and 1995’s (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, Oasis were poised to rule the rock game. But 1997’s underwhelming Be Here Now put an end to that.

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist is likable for a few reasons. Michael Cera as a droll boy-child in a hoodie isn't tired just yet, and the conceit -- two self-styled misfits trundling around Manhattan's Lower East Side (and Brooklyn!) in a beater looking for a secret show by their favorite band -- is totally cuter than, say, an unplanned pregnancy.

The entire world is in the grips of an economic meltdown so horrific that, in the unlikely event any of us can afford enough gin to want to procreate, our children will be lucky to wear burlap sacks and eat wood chips.

My friend Emily and I went to see Fleet Foxes play at New York’s Webster Hall on Sunday night. After procuring two Bud Lights (because we’re classy), I came up with a fun drinking game: Every time we saw a guy with a bushy beard, we’d take a gulp; for a bearded guy in buffalo-check flannel, two gulps.

I’m still nursing a hangover.

Back in 1997 I hit the retro-rock live-gig trifecta, catching three longtime personal favorites -- Cheap Trick (all original members), Kiss (all original members in original makeup), and the Sex Pistols (all original members who probably could've used some makeup) -- all within one week.

Weird Trend Alert: Is it just me, or is it wildly unlikely that there are suddenly all these guy bands with the word "Girls" as part of their name? So who are these "Girls"? And where do they get off playing this devious gender trick? We investigate:

Four years after hanging an “out to lunch” sign on their front door, jam band godheads Phish have announced that they're reuniting for a series of shows at the Hampton Coliseum in Virginia next March, with further touring also in the works.

1. No one was shouting “Eli, my man!” or “It’s Eli, he LOVES us!” (don’t get it?

1. I once read a news story about a biker-dude lottery winner who lived at home with his mom on Long Island and admitted to enjoying a "sponge shot"—after wiping down the bar at the end of the night, his favorite bartender would squeeze the funky liquid into a glass for our hero to down.

1. "Wow, what's with all those people onstage?" my companion asked as we stopped by the MySpace stage where a dirtbag choir was working hard (and in unison) to keep the butt-rock flame alive.