The Words "Pete Doherty" and "Hottest" Should Never Appear in the Same Sentence

Hm, when exactly was it that Christmas turned from a cherished childhood tradition into an extended military campaign? I think, for me, it was when the husband and I bought a house. Then someone in my family said something along the lines of "Why don't we have Christmas at YOUR house?" And I, underestimating the daunting task ahead, said, "Sure." So this turned into me at the last possible minute (because despite the approaching holidays they still expect one to work full-time) cleaning the whole house from top to bottom, decorating, buying and wrapping gifts, baking multiple types of cookies (as I have been the designated family baker for years now as well), picking up my mother from Indiana, taking her to church, and then putting my mom and husband in charge of dinner because by the time people actually arrive to celebrate the holiday I am on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion and/or a migraine. And everyone has SO much fun that Christmas at my house becomes another family tradition, and I have to go through this every year now.

(Conversely, New Year's transforms from watching Dick Clark on TV with your parents, drinking sparkling grape juice and going straight to bed at 12:01 into something considerably more interesting in adulthood. So there's that compensation at least.)

So that's why things have been quiet on the Maise front over here at PP. But I just had to post when I saw that the readers of NME have voted on "The 20 Hottest Men in Rock." (Quotation marks both to signify the title of an article and for ironic purposes.)

Of course, a certain someone we know is TOTALLY FUCKING ROBBED, and it is one of the great injustices on the internet, but I think these NME readers must be of a certain age and must be into a certain genre of music. You know, the kind where the guy threatens to steal your jeans. (barf)

So I'll comment on several of their choices:

I guess if I had to be stranded on a desert island with any of their picks, I'd go with the Kaiser Chiefs' Ricky Wilson, but only because he has certain Gabriel Miller-esque qualities that make my heart go all pitter-patter:



But in general, as noted on Jezebel, pretty much all of their choices look exactly like this guy:



(Alex Turner, Arctic Monkeys)

I mean, it's not that I don't like skinny, pale English guys...Damon Albarn, YUM...but I think I'm just too much of a child of the '90s to embrace these anemic, anorexic hipster indie/emo types. I mean, most of them just look either too hungry or snobby to want to go to bed with a girl.

Now this guy on the other hand actually has actual qualities of sexiness, although I'm not too familiar with Muse, other than the singles I've heard on the radio, which are okay:



(Matt Bellamy)

As does this guy:



(Jared Followill, Kings of Leon)

Meanwhile, I don't think it's possible for them to provide a worse picture of Jack White of the White Stripes and Raconteurs:



And THIS is just fucking inexplicable:



Who the fuck wants to fuck sweaty, scabby old Pete Doherty? Okay, NME readers, you guys have fun recreating the withdrawal scene from "Trainspotting" with Pete. You can lovingingly caress his collapsed veins and open sores. Then, maybe when he passes out, you can steal his wallet or something. I mean, to each his/her own, but goddamn.

You can see all of NME's skin-and-bones, melanin-deprived picks here.

Happy holidays!