All I'm saying is...

Have you seen this photo up on the sports blogs yet? (Not that I read or even skim or nod sternly with glazed over eyes and pretend to take in any information from sports blogs...oh! except for this one, of course.)

As one of my editors noted on Facebook today, it is, in fact, an amazing shot on both counts. Perhaps, as one of the writers over at Shine's brother blogs (that just sounds strange) penned, the best golf shot of all time.

I'm just here to remind you that Tiger has proved himself to be pretty good at aiming his balls in all sorts of directions. On both counts. And I'd say it's very likely that this isn't his first time (ummm) eyeing the camera.

So there's that.  Greatness? Could well be. More of the same from Tiger? I think so.

Also simultaneously filed under "greatness" and "more of the same," here are a few little posts I wrote on the comeback (or forward...whatever) kid.

Out of the Woods: Is it a relief Elin and Tiger's divorce is final? (This is the compassionate one in which I welcome her into my heaving divorcee bosom.)

What's next for Elin Nordegren and Tiger Woods? (This is the juicy one in which I get accused of being a feminist radical domestic violence proponent by the crazehhhs.)

[Mark Pain of the Daily Mail took that killer pic. And a golf ball to the face.]

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I'm gonna marry that boy one day

Jimmy Fallon, who once set my heart a-flutter as the adorably goofy second-half to the equally butterfly-inducing Tina Fey, has sadly fallen out of graces for me since hosting his own show. I don't watch much late-night TV (unless it is terrible, shameful Real Housewives kind of stuff I can...you know...work to) but every time I've flipped on Jimmy, it's been in the middle of some awkward, un-funny monologue.

But today, he's redeemed himself. At least just enough to stand up at the altar when I finally say yes to my mama-ginary love interest Justin Timberlake.

It's no secret that JT is the fuel that keeps many a mama blogger on fire. I'm just saying that when the words "COME TO MAMA" are finally said aloud to him one day soon, I am pretty sure it is going to be me he does a little booty shake and slide toward.

Prepare yourselves for the disappointment.

Why am I bringing this all up now? Because JT paired up with Jimmy to do a rap medley that even the New York Times took note of today. It began and ended with "Rapper's Delight" and was 4:39 of deliciousness.

Watch it. As sad as you might be that JT's out finding the biggest non-blood diamond he can fit on my petite little finger, this will make you so happy.

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OMG. MIA.

It's been too long since I've been dancing.

Not the kind I do to shift gears in the car on the way to kindergarten drop-off on crabby mornings. Not the kind of stand still and slightly swing a hip at a wedding. Not the relieve-my-DMode-days to an audience of all the not-goth clothes in my closet.

I needed to be sweaty. To gladly leave the heels behind to jump around and wave my hands in the air and let my hips be free. I needed to tear it up. Just enough.

So I promised myself that, as this year comes to a close, I will buy tickets to shows I want to see. I decided I'd buy two tickets at a time, with the good intention and hopefulness of finding a friend who wants to not-talk over the throb of the music for a couple of hours now that we have the luxury of a well-earned wristband to buy ten-dollar Miller Lites.

That began with Lollapalooza, which was not such a success after all. And it moved on to MIA, who played tonight at The Vic, one of those great, vintage venues that's just big enough for a medium-sized crowd of people to push up to the stage all at once and still leave a clear path to the ladies room.

I went with another Jessica, and there, in our cute boots and skinny jeans, we were wedged in among the fetal-aged hipsters all rubbing up on one another and old, balding guys standing strangely alone. The show was high-energy and non-stop and probably should have lasted longer than it did. But MIA, one of my very favorites, was right there. So close that her words were barely audible and the floor bounced as the crowd rushed forward to sing into her mic.

She was incredible, masterfully beckoning the audience toward her and then backing away. And good Lord, she smoked a bowl on stage, which is ballsy even for The Vic. She wore neon pink Spandex leggings and short shorts and one of her own over-sized concert tees. Her hair was everywhere.

I'm nowhere near hardcore. But that part of me that needs the release of thunderous music in a a small enclosed space with a bit of room to shake everything I got? She was out tonight.

Somewhere in the weird culmination of smoke and giant plastic glasses and metallic headbands, I am pretty sure The Jessicas tore it up. For real.

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