No offense to Lady Gaga, but this is so much better than the original verison of the video.

There has been the tiniest bit of hype and hoopla surrounding the upcoming release of Lady Gaga’s new album, Born This Way. So far she’s released four singles from it (including my current obsession, “Hair”). Personally, I’ve enjoyed all the new music. Even with accusations of a Madonna “Express Yourself” rip-off (and I do not take such accusations lightly) I found a lot to love in each of the songs. The criticism leveled at her and this new batch of music doesn’t make much sense. (I honestly like what I’ve heard so far much better than anything on her first album.)

Many of the complaints seem to be condemning Gaga for sounding like, gasp, Lady Gaga. Are there similarities to some previous songs? Sure, but echoes of former glory can still be pretty glorious in their own right, so I won’t fault her for that. Plus, I think these songs are more than just re-writes. Given the way she just performed “The Edge of Glory” with only her own piano accompaniment, the song structure and melody can more than hold up on its own, as has proven true with her acapella version of “Born This Way” that recently closed the HBO Broadcast of her “Monster Ball” tour.

If anything, it’s probably a case of music not living up to the hype – and with the hype at such a high, it’s an impossible goal. However, I think that’s a pretty cool thing too – I can’t remember the last time an album’s release received such an extraordinary build-up, and for that I’m thankful. It’s a pleasant reminder of the days when one artist could bring people together – either to agree or disagree – and a throwback to a time when a pop music moment could rock the collective world. She’s got about two more decades to go (and that continued relevance and sustenance is what’s going to be the biggest challenge), but the Lady has had an auspicious start if and when a certain Queen decides to bow out.

There ain’t no reason you and me should be alone tonight,
Yeah baby, Tonight, yeah baby…
I’ve got a reason that you’re who should take me home tonight (tonight)

I need a man that makes it right when it’s so wrong,
Tonight, yeah baby ~ Tonight, yeah baby
Right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight…

A song for Spring should have the innocent, hopeful longing of love in it – and the same fluttering excitement of pedaling as fast as you can on your bike and whooshing down a hill on the cusp of night.

Or sitting in the passenger seat as your new boyfriend guns it to 90 and the sunroof is wide open, blowing wind and stars and fairy dust around as you reach a timid, fearless hand out the window to feel the world go by.

It’s hard to feel the rush,
To brush the dangerous
I’m gonna run right to, to the edge with you
Where we can both fall over in love…

I’m on The Edge of Glory,
and I’m hanging on a moment of truth,
Out on The Edge of Glory,
and I’m hanging on a moment with you…

A midnight in Spring, the middle of Copley Square deserted, and you rollerblading with your headphones on, black coat billowing out behind you, and picking up speed until it feels like you’re flying, and Trinity Church rises and falls before you as the Hancock Tower mirrors your ascent into the night.

Another shot, before we kiss the other side tonight,
Yeah baby, Tonight, yeah baby,
I’m on the edge of something final we call life tonight
Alright, alright…
Put on your shades ’cause I’ll be dancing in the flames
Tonight, yeah baby ~ Tonight, yeah baby…

Certain songs propel you along your way, jump-starting a new way of life, opening up another door. They drive you to your next destination, even if you didn’t think you had one, and they create the memories that mark your life. It’s
that moment when your hero reaches out his or her hand and pulls you along for the ride. They beckon with a reassuring smile, and for that one minute you feel like you can conquer the world.

It’s hard to feel the rush,
To brush the dangerous
I’m gonna run right to, to the edge with you
Where we can both fall over in love…

I’m on The Edge of Glory,
and I’m hanging on a moment of truth,
Out on The Edge of Glory,
and I’m hanging on a moment with you…

1. Rafinha Bastos
2. Chad Ochocinco
3. Conan O’Brien
4. Stephen Fry
5. Ryan Seacrest
6. Snoop Dogg
7. Barack Obama
8. Rainn Wilson
9. Kim Kardashian
10. Luciano Huck

Never one to be easily influenced, I’ve only heard of six of the ten people here, and with the possible exception of our President, I admire far fewer. Senor Bastos is apparently a comedian in Brazil. Mr. Ochocinco was a sports player who was on Dancing With the Stars (DWTS if you’re on Twitter). Mr. O’Brien is… well, you get the idea. Sports, television, comedians… not my scene. President Obama and British thespian Stephen Fry are the only ones who really register on my radar, which is admittedly no longer mainstream.

Once upon the 90’s I had my finger smack-dab on the pulse of the zeitgeist. These days I don’t think I’m on the same planet. In fact, it was, and remains, a chore to get myself to post many Tweets. Isn’t that what FaceBook is for anyway? But if you want to increase my influence, Follow Me Here. Of course, simply following doesn’t necessarily translate to gaining influence – Lady Gaga has the most followers of them all (at last count 7,941,444) yet she’s not even in the Top Ten Most Influential. Which leads to the greater question here: is it better to be followed, or influential? In other words, who would you rather be: Lady Gaga or Rafinha Bastos? (I think you know my answer.)

As proof that there is an equal bare-ass policy for men and women here, I offer you a photo of Lady Gaga’s naked butt. The Lady reportedly tweeted this pic in anticipation of her single ‘Born This Way’, now due out on February 11th. I don’t remember such excitement about a single in quite a long time, and I don’t think we’ll see it again until Madonna decides to get her own fine ass in the studio and starts making some music, please God.

So, for our lesbian friends and our straight male reader (who only visits this site when he has to – Hi Skip!) please enjoy this rare moment of brief female nudity.

This is Lady Gaga at this year’s MTV Video Music Awards. Sadly, the Alexander McQueen gown she is wearing was the only thing worth watching. The Lady was the only bit of glamour at the event, even if she didn’t perform. The much-hyped battle between Taylor Swift and Kanye West fizzled in the form of their two sad songs… zzzzz….

As I sat watching Chelsea Handler awkwardly handle hosting duties, I recalled how I used to anxiously await the Fall arrival of the VMAs. It was the only thing that made returning to school bearable. The excitement of the real rock-stars and their over-the-top bad behavior (not Britney and the other Mouseketeers), the wacky fashion choices (not the waxed Jersey Shore trash), and the surreal presenter pairings that MTV brilliantly (and sometimes dismally) orchestrated.

All of that edgy excitement was missing this year (though to be fair, the VMAs are usually hit-and-miss, with more off-years of late than on). What happened to the days of Madonna rolling around on the stage of Radio City Music Hall, writhing in a wedding dress hiked up just far enough to give a peek of her underwear, and singing “Like A Virgin” in ‘84? Where was the naughty dress-lifting and daring decolletage of Madonna’s Marie Antoinette finery for “Vogue” in ‘90? And what became of the unexpectedly jaw-dropping girl-on-girl-on-girl Britney/Madonna/Christina kiss in ‘04?

Alas, the common denominator was nowhere to be seen this year, so Lady Gaga had to shoulder the Madonna mantle, even if she didn’t perform. Her three outfits (and eight wins) were almost enough to keep me mildly interested, but I still had to switch to ‘Mad Men’ before the show was over.

That meant missing the main shot of the day – Gaga in a meat dress receiving one of her moon men from Cher (straight out of 1990, having turned back time through sheer iron will, countless operations, and God knows how many wardrobe tricks to keep everything in place).

No matter, I wouldn’t trade the tortured ruminations of Don Draper for the vapid VMAs – at least not until Ms. Ciccone makes her next triumphant return.

This is my friend Skip, looking unrecognizably professional, who apparently wants to be known as AJ when it comes to the follicularly-challenged ramblings of his new blog, the catchily-titled Hair and Back Again – A Hair Loss and Regrowth Blog – My Journey of Hair Loss… and Redemption. He is one of my favorite people in the world. Mostly it’s because his wife is even more favored, and he benefits from proximity, but he’s got some winning attributes of his own.

It’s no secret that I don’t have many straight male friends, so the ones I do have I hold near and dear. It takes an especially confident straight guy to accept the wacky-tacky gayness of my life. Skip’s one of the rare men who likes Lady Gaga and Wicked as much as he enjoys golfing and the Red Sox, and that’s the kind of guy I admire. He manages to mix the long-lost art of chivalry with a modern-day take on acceptance and equality, treating everyone with dignity and respect, defending the honor of his friends and loved ones (even if it means a few ridiculous fight scenes). I’ve seen him escort ladies to the restroom just to be polite, and read a few FaceBook posts where he unabashedly extols the virtues of his wife and daughter.

There are but a few select people in this world whom I would trust when the chips are down. When I think about those friends in my life, I sometimes wonder which ones I would want on my side if I was cornered by goons in a back alley or threatened by the police (fashion or otherwise). Skip is one of those friends.

He’s also been instrumental in the behind-the-scenes set-up and functioning of this website. A jack of many trades, and master of a few, he’s my go-to guy for many computer issues, as well as iPhone advice, and the latest technological advances.

His new blog deals with the drama of going bald, and the preventative steps he’s taken to stop the hair-drop, and while a balding blog is the last thing I would normally want to read, he’s actually made it compelling enough to drop by on a daily basis. Of course there’s a lot of product talk (he does work for the company after all), but it’s surprisingly readable, and there are unexpected moments of wit and humor that shine through the most mind-numbingly dull passages on scalp exploration. You can visit it here to join him on the journey to a well-thatched roof.

“I told you she didn’t have a dick.”

But she certainly has some balls. It’s too soon to say whether Lady Gaga is truly going to take over the mantle of Madonna (the Queen has yet to abdicate the throne), but if her latest video for Telephone is any indication, there’s no one else who comes close. (I must say, it’s impressive how Beyonce holds her own here, rocking the bangs and stepping to the edgiest les-vibe video she’s done.)

It’s been a long time since a video made me smile, and I was beginning to think it might never happen again. This was a nice surprise. It’s a reminder of how a great video can elevate a song to new heights.

The influences here are too numerous to catch in one or two viewings – I found inspiration from Kill Bill, Natural Born Killers, photog David LaChapelle, Madonna’s OG American Life video (and her dreadful Who’s That Girl movie) as well as Thelma and Louise – all of which I loved.

I think it may be the snippets of dialogue that tickled me the most. Where else can you find a choice line like, “Once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger.”?

And my personal favorite: “I knew you’d take all my honey, you selfish muthafucker.”

Who knew Honey-B had such a potty mouth on her?

I’ve been given the honor of being one of the fashion reviewers for the Grammys on Kristi Gustafson’s On the Edge blog. (I love how she linked to my engagement announcement too!)

This is going to be so much more fun than competing in the Best Dressed Man of the Capital Region contest a few years ago, as this time I get to do the judging.

I’ve often told the story of how I lost out on being voted Best Dressed in High School because I refused to kow-tow to grunge. (The winner, Sean Moron – not his real name, but close enough – wore ripped flannel shirts every day in the year of Pearl Jam and Nirvana.) It was a popularity contest back then, and I’ve never been that popular, but it still stung. (Most of my classmates were as clueless as Nomi when it came to Versace.)

This time around it’s the rich and famous musicians that are getting critiqued, and with the likes of Lady Gaga and Adam Lambert roaming free, it’s going to be a fun, and hopefully bumpy, night.