If you're one of those people who still resist the tractor-beam allure of Ryan Seacrest, we strongly encourage you to just relax and submit. We'll admit there was a time when we didn't really get it, either. Who was this peroxided munchkin, and why was he being beamed into our subconscious eleven times a week by the shadowy forces of the karoake-industrial complex? But once we let his stardust coat us like a really expensive hair-product, life became so much easier, happier, Seacrestier. His effortlessly upbeat and lightly compassionate air, his ability to identify ladies' shoes not just by ...

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