For your reading pleasure, and for those of you who missed it, I'll recap the events of the MTV VMAs in 5 words or less. Spoilers abound below.
Oh, and if you want to catch the action, I'm sure it'll only be on 240 times this weekend while you're trapped in your house with Ernesto.
* Winner for Pathetic Use of the Entourage on the Red Carpet: P Diddy's Silence
* Justin Timberlake's show opening performance: Bringing Sexy back
* Jack Black's opening sequence: Included the word "erection"
* Vanessa Manillo's dress: Tight bunchy busty fugly mermaid
* Vanessa Manillo: Kind of orange
* Blackeyed Peas beating "Golddigger" for Best Hip Hop Video: Fergie's humps ain't that great
* Shakira's performance: We get it. You bellydance.
* Ludacris & Pharrell's performance: Gold lame gone wrong
* Addendum to the Ludacris & Pharrell performance: The Pussycat Dolls are men
* Jessica Simpson: As dumb as ever
* Okay Go: Revolutionizing the treadmill - live
* The guys of Jackass: Still jackasses
* Paris Hilton's attire said: Attacked by angry ballerina
* Pink's acceptance speech: A Fiona Apple Throwback
* John Norris: Apparent victim of Sun-In
* Beyonce's alarming performance of "Ring the Alarm": Ultimate pop-and-lock sequence
* T.I.: Who the heck is T.I.??
* Jared Leto: Not Jordan Catalano anymore
* All-American Rejects: Moving along to the bar
* Jack White: Talented but needs a shower
* Presenter Rhianna's dress: Presenting boobs on a shelf
* Panic! at the Disco: Happening Mad Hatters Hot Performance
* Best New Artist, Avenged Sevenfold: "Thank you, God...whichever one."
* Great cameo by Spederline: Oops, I Lost Sean P.
* Kanye West's Video Vanguard Award: The word is "STY-le", not "stal"
* Video Vanguard Presentation: Ernesto is in the house!
* Sarah Silverman's Paris-Hilton-is-fat speech: BRILLIANT
* Christina Aguilera: Plastic hair, hot red dress
* Best Rock Video goes to AFI: And beats "Dani California"???
* Jackass boys, Part II: Always shirtless or naked
* Viewer's Choice Fallout Boy: Yes, he's wearing a cape
* Me at 11:06: I was promised The Killers!!
* Al Gore: Rockin' the Clinton tactic
* Jennifer Lopez: Braless, ta-tas bouncing
* Panic! at the Disco, Video of the Year: Men without hats, strange hair
* Axl Rose's corn rows: Sweet fancy Moses
* The Killers: Hurrah! Finally!
Noteworthy and more than 5 words:
* Justin Timberlake to Jack Black: "Look, Jack. I've maximixed your storage space and added little hook for your keys."
* Al Gore: "I wasn't going to be here tonight, but then MTV explained to me that Justin Timberlake is bringing sexy back. So."
* Justin on Jennifer Lopez: "Why's she wearing a skull cap? That's what I want to know."
* Jack Black on "Six", the mic interceptor when video of the year was announced: "Ooh, I think Six is the new Soy-Bomb!"
Biggest upsets? Madonna & Red Hot Chili Peppers - shut out! Christina Aguilera - shut out! Kanye West - shut out! Times I felt old and out of touch? At least once every fifteen minutes. Longest. Post. Ever. Thanks for tuning in. Look out, Suchin Pak. I'll have your job next year.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
For your reading pleasure, and for those of you who missed it, I'll recap the events of the MTV VMAs in 5 words or less. Spoilers abound below.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Time is running out! On Tuesday, the sex of Sprout will be revealed. Incidentally, my brother Justin will be finding out on his 30th birthday whether he's getting a son or a daughter. I'm not really pulling for one or the other -- I'm just looking forward to spoiling the little rugrat rotten!
The voting is now open: boy or girl? Results revealed on Tuesday!
I know you've heard a lot of this lately, but I'd like to make my own request. First of all, please don't listen to Tom, who's begging you to be a Category 4. I know you're but a tropical storm right now, and I'd like to ask you to stay that way or to disintegrate all together. Not only do I not want to be trapped in my house watching the endless rain and worrying about my brand new car flooding (emphasis on BRAND NEW), but Kim Shable is coming. And frankly, I've had a really, really (emphasis on REALLY) crappy week. And I've been looking forward to Kim Shable coming for weeks. We have a date with my back porch and a six pack. We have to get to Krispy Kreme when it's HOT & FRESH. Not to mention that she hasn't even seen She's the Man yet. Do you want to deny her that opportunity? So if you could sacrifice your delusions of grandeur and just GO AWAY, that would be great. Thanks so much.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Today, because of The Client, my job was...
The kind of day that you want to go in the bathroom and cry. But then you know The Client will have won. And so while you're sitting at your desk, trying to fend off the bad feelings, you start to wonder...is The Client right? Am I just a talentless hack that doesn't know what I'm doing? But you make it through the day. And you eat potato chips for dinner.
Today I read Pen's and Kim's posts about worrying. Since Pen's starting a club, I figure I should probably join in. As I read through their various worries, I realized that I worry about these kinds of things every day, all day. So much so, that sometimes I let it keep me from doing the very things I need to do so that I can stop worrying about them. And sometimes I worry about things that could be solved one of those things that I just have an aversion to...like phone calls, visits to "meet with someone", trips to official places(like the DMV or the bank or the post office), anything that requires an estimates or paperwork.
Worries are like those cat hair tumbleweeds - ever present, collecting in the corners, and ready to emerge just when I think I've got them under control. All this talk about worry made me think of the way that it sometimes can be darkly funny. Like Edward Gorey and his Gashlycrumb Tinies, here for your dark amusement. And, Pen, I'll try to be a better Worry Club member than Book Club member. Just something else to worry about...
Monday, August 28, 2006
Last night before going to bed, I had it all planned. Throw all the things I needed for work into a tote to enable me to carry the rotting trash downstairs in one trip. I made it down two flights before one of my shoes or feet or the steps faltered. In one of those slow-motion moments, I dropped my keys, possibly the trash and landed hard on my butt/lower back with a loud "OOF!" I think I might've knocked the breath out of myself. And landed badly on my hip or leg. Anyway. The point is that I felt old and clumsy, had a little bit of that foul smelling garbage juice on me and I may crush and juice about 20 ibuprofen. Ouch.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
I know I'm about 10 years late with this, but I just wanted to say thanks for Mr. Darcy. Thank you for your fine casting, your willingness to go out on a limb with that wet shirt scene and in particular that look of adoration on Mr. Darcy's face when Elizabeth is playing the piano forte. Thanks for the "Please allow me to express how ardently I love and admire you" line. And for the tall hat, the tight knee breeches and the startched cravats. Thank you for making a nearly-six-hour-movie that I will still stay up til 2:30 AM to watch. Really, I owe you one.
P.S. I'd like to thank the English in general for the gift of Hessian boots. Hot.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
It's almost 7:30...here are the things I've thought about today:
1) Taking a walk (but not taking one)
2) The gay man at the office came out yesterday - and admitted that he doesn't love my haircut. I'm officially growing it out.
3) How long it will take my hair to grow back out
4) Going to the grocery store (but not going)
5) Sadness over the plate I knocked to the floor off the couch arm and broke into several sadly irreparable pieces
6)How everything in my house that is edible seems to be stale
7) Having seen two drunk college students almost have sex on Front Street last night between the post office and a lunch-only cafe called Betty B's
8) Amusement at Kudzu's new habit of laying on the window sill and sleeping with his face smashed up against the pain or the frame
9) How wonderful it is, sometimes, to have not talked to anyone all day
10) Going to the library to get a book on tape to listen to while cleaning (and not doing either)
11) My hair looks best on Saturdays when no one is going to see it
12) That if I put all the things back in the corner where the ceiling leaked, someone will show up to spackle, paint and sand the ceiling - all over my stuff
13) Why the new Killers album isn't coming out until October
14) How to lose 12 pounds before I have to wear a bridesmaid dress without really trying (or giving up chips, cookies and ice cream)
15) Why I can find time to blog, make my way through 96 episdoes of S&TC, eat, drink, sleep, work, and make a gigantic mess of my apartment, but I can't find time to read a book
16) That I kind of missed taking the new car for a drive today while I was busy staying in
17) Sometimes Kudzu knows just when to come and get in my lap
18) Where to get to dinner from (refrigerator not included)
19) Whether or not I should start the 6-hour Pride & Prejudice, which I suddenly have a yen to do
20) The list of things I should be doing is growing longer the longer I sit on this couch and blog
Thursday, August 24, 2006
My mother will admit that she didn't have it to give. And my father is obviously devoid of it. The Housekeeping Gene. There are those among us who think they don't have it either - but they do. They either are closet housekeepers or they have half of one, maybe an allele or two. But me? I don't have a trace of it. Not even a smidge. I wish I did. I wish reading a book or taking a course or my monthly dose of Real Simple would make me a better housekeeper. But I have some seemingly incurable habits and shortcomings:
* I hate washing dishes. And I have no dishwasher. For Scarlett, tomorrow was another day. For me, tomorrow is supposedly the day I'll do dishes - but don't.
* My most glaring character flaw is an inability to hang up my clothes after work. They end up in a big pile on the end of the ironing board. So that it is impossible to actually use the ironing board for it's proper function.
* Instead of putting things in their proper places, I put them in piles. "This mail goes to the trash. This pile is bills to pay." "This stack of tshirts goes in the armoire." "This bag from WalMart is all stuff to go under the bathroom cabinet." My house is littered with things that belong other places than where they are.
* I have a long-haired cat whose dander is a nightmare. It collects and tumbleweeds across the room. It shows up on my clothes, my furniture, and often my dinner.
* My father cleaned a blockage from the hose on my vacuum cleaner when he was here in July. It was the first time the stupid thing had worked in more than three years.
* Despite the infrequency with which I cook (because it dirties dishes), I manage to keep the refrigerator well-stocked with an assortment of unidentifiable inedibles.
* I have dry cleaning that I've missed a season wearing because I haven't made it to the dry cleaners.
I could go on and on. The things that need to be dusted. Scrubbed. Trashed. Bleached. The all-around unneatness of me. I'm Martha Stewart's worst nightmare. Other than having to wear one of those ankle bracelets again.
Dear Celebrity Gossip Queens:
You are truly one of the highlights of my day. I know this is a very sad confession, but it's true. Every day, I come home and turn to my laptop for my daily dose of celebrity oopses and uh-ohs and no-nos and brilliance. And that is why I must say enough already with the Matthew McConaughey/Lance Armstrong/Jake Gyllenhal workout coverage. This is not newsy, juicy, or even interesting. And frankly, Matthew's looking a little skeevy these days (i.e. NOT SEXY). I really cannot figure out what all the fuss is over.
So please. Let's turn our attention to the impending birth of the Federspawn or disparaging Tara Reid's latest dreadful fashion choice. I can't take any more cycling/rowing/running/surfing photos. That's why I watch Celebrity Fit Club 4. Duh.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I love Project Runway. But tonight's show perplexed me on several levels:
1) How baffled all the designers were by having to size and sew something for a less-than-perfect body. Designers, in case you haven't opened up your eyes lately and looked around, most of us do not look like Heidi Klum. And the reason so many people are dressed in horrendous, ill-fitting outfits is because you are determined to design only for 5' 11", starving, flat-chested women.
2) How everyone kept talking about the "plus-sized" women in such a horrible way...talking about how they looked bigger, less attractive. Acting like it was the hardest thing in the world to make clothes that flatter such women. Fashion is obviously not a place for fat-hearted.
3) Why everyone sided with Angela's mom? I kind of thought she was horrible. Not that Jeffrey is such a sweet peach, but honestly, I didn't understand why she had such a temper tantrum. He was trying to do something that kind of played to what she wanted, but I think what she wanted most was attention. I guess the apple doesn't fall from the tree.
4) Why Vincent beat Uli. His dress was okay, but frankly not that inspired. I thought Kayne's mom looked so pretty in that paisley print. And I just love Uli.
Poor Robert. I kind of loved him even though........I'm sorry. I fell asleep for a second. Even though his designs bored me to tears. Adieu, Robert!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Paramount Pictures just announced that they are slashing funding to Tom Cruise's production company. Once one of their most lucrative deals, they sited Cruise's off-screen behavior as the reason for their decision.
So...does this mean that TomKat is real? Because this announcement definitely goes against the idea that this is a massive PR stunt. Bad news is good news only goes so far until the publicity machine turns against you. And threatens to bankrupt you, leaving you with nothing to support your fake baby and sham fiance.
Monday, August 21, 2006
I couldn't help checking out my favorite yard-art infested property on Hwy. 74 today. And while I thought the polar bear on the ice flow was the show-stopper of yard art, that was before I saw the unicorn suspended on wires and flying around the edge of the pond. I kid you not. It was very...Lisa Frank of them.
Every once in awhile, I encounter one of those products that I enjoyed as a child and decide to trip down memory lane and recapture the magic. More often than not, I find that my childhood memory of something is usually better than the real thing. But I've found an exception to the rule.
I rediscovered Nestle Nesquick Strawberry Milk while at Disney World back in October. As a kid, I drank the chocolate counterpart to this on a day to day basis under the name "Choc-Choc." On occasion, my brother and I would branch out and drink the strawberry. I picked it up on whim in one of the food courts at Disney and it was delicious! But that was after a long day in the amusement park, and I'm pretty sure that lighter fluid would've been delicious. I saw it again in the grocery store last night and had to have it. Verdict: the bunny still satisfies.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
I've had the new car for approximately 36 hours. In that time, I've encountered the following:
1) A 1.5% increase in the interest rate I was initially offered because of my "thin credit file" (i.e. I do not own a house). I find this to be just one more instance in which single people are sadly discriminated against. I'm sorry...I am a single income family. I sweated and worried over buying this car, and I'm being penalized because I don't own a house. This does not seem fair.
2) This afternoon, I stood in the driveway admiring the new car prior to leaving for my sister's house. And what did I notice? A dent. A dent in the front passenger side wheel well. A dent that said someone parked next to your debt-mobile just seconds before you signed your life away and threw open his car door and dented your brand new not even off the lot yet only has three miles on it car and NICKED THE PAINT. Needless to say I am sick to death. My parents say that since I accepted the car and drove it off the lot that Toyota no longer has liability. I will have to pay to have it fixed out of pocket.
3) I had zero access to a digital camera in order to post pictures. But I will. As soon as I can.
4) It rained today all over the shiny newly washed car. According to my parents, this is the first time it has rained in weeks.
In summary, my new car didn't even stay a pristine new car for a whole day. Is this a sign of things to come? Should I expect the CD changer to accept and then destroy the first six CDs I put into it? Or have I served out my penance for whatever it was I did to deserve this bad car-ma in the first place?
Saturday, August 19, 2006
This morning, I spent roughly 15 minutes filling out paperwork to create a sizable debt for myself. And as I drove my brand new Rav4 off the lot, I could feel it depreciating. Pics to come tomorrow. Here's to one more bill to pay! (However, the car is fabulous... ;) )
Friday, August 18, 2006
I'm at my parents' house for a long weekend, and we always watch a lot of the Food Network when I'm at home. Out of 24 hours of programming on this channel, at least 13 of them are occupied by Rachel Ray. At first, that was okay. Because she's cute and bubbly and not a stick figure and likes real food and has some fun ideas on 30 Minute Meals. It's really just $40 a Day that really gets me. Lauren recently pointed out to me that the reason she is able to stretch out her $40 is because she doesn't tip properly. The waiter or waitress will be helpful, attentive, and gracious and at the end of the meal, she figures about 5% for the tip. Not okay. Not a good travel tip for the people watching.
Also, I liked her when she was sticking to the foodie stuff. But now she has a magazine. And a line of knives. And clothing, I think? Next thing it'll be Rachel Ray toothpaste. Please, Rachel, stick to dinner.
Dear Tractor Trailer Drivers of America:
I recognize your right to be on the highways and byways of the country, delivering all sorts of things to wherever it is they need to go. I appreciate it, even, because I know that some of your are bringing tasty cookies to my nearby grocery store or a load of those soft heathered T-shirts I love to Target. However, please do not honk at me unless you think you're going to hit me and therefore think I am in mortal danger.
I am a 20-something woman riding alone in a small car. I have an overpronounced paranoia about being kidnapped while traveling. I do not need you to ride up on my bumper and honk at me in order to get my attention because...well, because I'm a woman. Because, let's face it. Most of the time you can't even really see me when you're doing the honking. I could be less attractive than your grandma. And even if I am attractive to you, where do you see this going? Do you think I'm going to gesture to you to pull over so that we can get to know each other better in the median? Do you think I'm carrying a ready made "Call Me" sign that I can just paste up on the window? This attraction is fleeting at best.
Frankly, some of you really scare the crap out of me. Like you two charming fellows today who tried to catch my eye by riding right next to me in the left lane, speeding up and slowing down as I did. Honking and waving. I didn't even turn my blinker on when I got off at my habitual bathroom/Diet Coke/gas exit because I was afraid I would tip you off, and you would follow. And my gas-station-bathroom-abduction nightmare would come true.
By all means, carry on with your delivery of goods and materials to the lower-48. But please, save the honking for when you're truly afraid of jack-knifing or obliterating my Corolla from the face of the planet - not when you're truly afraid you're going to miss a love connection on I-20.
Honks & Waves,
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Dear Brad and Angelina,
I know that the whole world thinks that your the sexiest couple on the planet and that everything you do is terribly fascinating. Although, Brad, I resent your need to grow your hair out and be pouty (i.e. Legends of the Fall and Troy)and pass it off as good acting. And, Angelina, your lips frankly scare me a bit. Along with your passionate feelings for your brother. But here I am on a lazy Thursday night and Mr. & Mrs. Smith just happens to be on HBO, so I'm watching.
I think this movie is supposed to be funny. Because assassins are funny. I have no idea what your characters' names are, but I'm finding that it's really irrelevant because this is really not so much a movie as it is a fictionalized documentary about you, Brad and Angelina, and how sexy and irresistible you find each other. (Oh, oh, here's the poignant moment when you can't bear to kill each other. Snooze.) I'm so bored by watching you alternately hit each other and make out. I hope you donated all the money you made from this movie to UNICEF. You sure didn't deserve it.
Kisses & Punches,
P.S. I find it utterly disturbing that while you two were getting it on, Vince Vaughn was standing outside your trailer devising a plan to be the rebound man. I imagine you all standing at craft services...
Vince: So, Jen...?
Brad: Yeah, yeah, I'm done with that.
Vince: Do you mind if I...?
Brad: (Bagel with lox in hand) No, man. It's all you. I'm going to adopt Angie's kids and wear skull caps in Africa. Cheers, man.
Dear Paris Hilton:
I get that you're not as dumb as you act and probably know what Wal-Mart is and really play up the spoiled little rich princess act on The Simple Life. And that's why I'm wondering why you allowed yourself to be photographed in bra made of two knitted doilies that look like the little covers my grandmother used to put over the extra toilet paper in the bathroom. Also, if you read the celebrity gossip sites, and I'm sure you do, you might notice that you appear there quite frequently in photos where you're showing your breast, nipple, thong or crotch. I'm guessing that those crazy photogs catch you when you don't know you're flashing the camera. So, on those occasions when you do know there's a camera, you should really consider taking a different approach. Underwear. Pants. A skirt? Hot pants at the least?? And lastly, being a girl with rather sizable feet myself, I empathize with the plight of the size elevens you're rocking there. But really. Carrie Bradshaw might pull that off without looking like a hooker. But you with your massive man-feet and fishnets sans panties? I smell a sequel to One Night in Paris. Just thought you should know. Because I don't really like you, but if I have to look at you, I'd like you to at least be presentable.
P.S. I wouldn't be opposed to you sending me a small portion of your millions in return for my sage fashion advice.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I had to go to the liquor store in the middle of the day to pick up a gift for a client. My newest coworker, who started Monday, was with me because I was taking her to lunch. While we were browsing, I could hear the young freckled girl at the counter chatting up a storm with her coworker.
Selection made, I went to the counter. She rang me up, talking the whole time. I looked in my wallet to see that I had a bunch of ones - change from only having a $20 for the pizza man on Saturday.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I seem to only have ones."
"That's what you get for being a table dancer," she barked.
I paused. Looked at her. Then I said, "Well, what can I say. Business is good."
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Just the other night, I was looking at the wall in my living room. It endured some storm damage during Hurricane Fran (before my time) and there's one particular spot high up close to the ceiling that still bears watermarks and bad caulking. I asked J. if he thought it was getting worse. We craned our necks, tried to pretend we could see well enough in the dim light from the fixture and deemed it stable.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, the little corner that endured storm damage from Isabel (Charley? I can't remember) and had to be repaired was apparently slowly gathering its water. I didn't even notice the patch starting to discolor and the edges pulling away. Tonight, I started hearing a ticking noise, which I dismissed as Kudzu doing something he wasn't supposed to. After yelling from the couch several times for him to stop, I finally stood up and assumed a threatening pose. But he was sitting under the computer chair, quite innocently. And then I noticed. Now it's dripping into a trashcan, which I'm pretty sure will fill up any time now. I can't wait for the repairman to come and move everything out of that corner, forget to put down plastic, drip caulk all over my things and leave a fine sheen of sanded sheetrock over my whole apartment.
While I was re-watching Sex & the City (Season 2, Disc 3, Episodes 13-18), I was surfing around and found this great little website called Colorstrology. I work with PMS (Pantone Matching System) all the time. PMS colors are essentially pure colors that designers use when creating logos and the like and determine what inks printers use. This website assigns you a PMS color according to your birthday. This is what mine (July 6) had to say:
Generous. Organized. Responsible.
Although you are highly sensitive, you know how to get the job done. You have learned how to move around your emotional nature to ensure a life of productivity and stability. You are creative and organized and are usually able to integrate these two qualities. People come to you for advice and support due to your generous and nurturing spirit. Your personal color resonates with detachment and vision.
I tried it for a handful of people whose birthdays I could think of off the top of my head: Mom, Dad, Anna, her husband, Justin and his wife, J., Kim, coworkers whose birthdays I could remember. Most of them were incredibly accurate. (Kim - yours is! And the color that corresponds with yours looks great on you. In fact, come to Wilmington and I'll buy you a shirt that color! ;) ) If you try it, please report on your color and description and whether you think it describes you in the right light.
Monday, August 14, 2006
I'm finally taking the plunge and getting my new car this weekend. As a result, I must also purchase new insurance because my car (a gift from my benevolent parents) is still insured in Georgia. And so I'm embarking on the joy of trying to find insurance.
I must confess that I've had a couple of run-ins with the old Smokies. The W-town local yokels pegged me at the deadly speed of 36 in a 25 zone - I'm sure two blocks over someone's car was being burglarized. Then the boys in blue - the State Troopers of North Carolina - zinged me on Hwy. 74 almost to I-95. Unfortunately, I was going 68 in a 55. And now, I have three points on my license.
The humiliation and fear and dread of getting pulled over is bad enough. The flashing lights. The cop,who, in my case, is as hateful and derogatory as possible. And then there's paying for the tickets and the court costs. And now...I'm paying for the insurance. And it hurts. It hurts real bad.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Happy Left-Handers Day to all my fellow lefties! Even though the translation from most languages for the word left comes out as "ugly", "awkward", or "clumsy" - and apparently in Australia means "having fists like a girl" - we lefthanders are sometimes surprisingly artistic and creative. In our company are Sarah Jessica Parker, Judy Garland, Greta Garbo, Marilyn Monroe, Gary Oldman, Cary Grant, Fred Astaire, Jerry Seinfeld, Billy the Kid, Jack the Ripper, Prince William and, according to the official Left Handers Club site, Chewbacca. Hooray for lefties!
Saturday, August 12, 2006
For all of you that loved Outkast's "Hey Ya", check out this version I stumbled upon by this guy named Obadiah Parker. Seriously. Give it a listen. It's really good and...somehow, almost sad. By the way, did I mention I'm supposed to be cleaning my house right now??
If you've never watched The Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic Channel, you must watch. This guy, Cesar Milan, is the ultimate dog psychologist, and he has about 40 dogs that he keeps in a pack. He can make any dog submit by very sharply calling, "Shht!" And they will just lay down at his feet like they've been shot! I've never seen him fail to get a dog to do what he wants - it's AMAZING! And it usually makes me cry. Even Mr. Kudzu loves to watch The Dog Whisperer.
I am now addicted to You Tube's cache of live music. I have searched out videos of Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, John Mayer, Counting Crows, and this gem of David Gray playing "This Year's Love" on Top of the Pops. I might need an intervention.
Friday, August 11, 2006
I didn't go into the office today (despite having a ton of work that I need to do) and instead spent nearly the entire day in pajamas. I did get dressed for lunch with Tom at the Dixie Grill where I had a delicious sandwich called a Skinny Pete and sweet potato fries. Mmm. But after that I went back to the PJs and back to the couch. As a total indulgence, I broke out a VHS tape that's ten years old and labeled in my sister's handwriting "Sappy (Heart) Movies." On the tape are three back-to-back TV movies from 1995-96. The first movie is called "Wounded Heart" and stars Paula Devicq (of Party of Five fame) and Josh Hensley (who apparently is a soap opera star). The second is called "Hearts Adrift" and stars Sydney Penny (soap star) and Scott Reeves (soap star). They were both USA Network Morning Movies. The last is called "The Hired Heart" and stars Penelope Ann Miller, who sadly seems to be trying to resurge to her Kindergarten Cop fame in this made-for-TV flick. And they're SOOO deliciously cheesy - I heart the Heart Trilogy.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Need a laugh? Check out these actual URLs. These are so brilliant, you almost wonder if they came from the White House.
So Almost Famous is on TNT tonight. Seen it before. But tonight...I couldn't help notice that the little star Patrick Fugit looks remarkably like Claire Danes. Am I right? And if we want to play Six Degrees of Billy Crudup...Fugit starred with him in Almost Famous and now Danes dates him. Do you think Crudup felt strangely attraced to Patrick Fugit during filming?
Happy birthday to Niki, who's enjoying Australia and International Law (at the same time!). It's a little early for it here, maybe a little late there. But all the same I hope your birthday is full of all kinds of Aussie goodness - and chocolate. Also, FYI, you share your birthday with Ginny Weasley, Alex Haley, Hulk Hogan, and most unfortunately, the Reverend Jerry Falwell. Hey, everybody can't share a birthday with George W and 50 Cent like me. Have a great day!
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
I found this website called So There the other night while surfing. Here, letters are posted from people addressed to former boyfriends and girlfriends, secret crushes, and partners in adulterous affairs. It's along the lines of Post Secret, but with longer, more in-depth letters. I found this one that made me rather sad:
Dear Virginia Ray:
You have been my neighbor in San Francisco, since 1969. We have belonged to the same neighborhood association for the past 20 years. I have always looked forward to seeing your lively self, at our monthly meetings, in the Sunset Heights area.
You are three years shy of being 90, and, sadly, you have to go now, as the cancer has started getting really nasty. Still, at the hospital, you smile for the doctor, as you ask for a "morphine on the rocks, straight-up, ...to take the edge off:". You wouldn't whine, if your life depended on it..
I sure am gonna miss you, and I want to get down on paper, before "your next big adventure", a mini-version of your Life Story. I will look around, first, for how to do this, and what to ask...
See you later, today, and in "the Great Bye, and Bye".
Others are angry, maudlin letters full of "Why do I still love you?" and "Do you still think of me?" The webmasters of the site offer the space to give closure to people.
And I wondered, who would I send my "so there" letter to? I could think of a few situations on which I'd still like to throw out my unedited thoughts. But is it really closure? Is the just saying it enough? Or does it have to be heard - the old tree falling in the forest question.
Interestingly enough, this site, unlike Post Secret, isn't anonymous. People sign the letters and the signature is hotlinked to an email address. So in the end, it's not so much closure as fauxsure, a pretend way to say you're writing off your hurt or guilt or sadness signed with the hope that the addressee will respond.
I couldn't think of a letter that I would want to post to the whole world (that's what journals are for), but in the spirit of the site, I thought I would say, in brief: You know who you are. So there.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
In light of the inherent negativity of yesterday's post, I'm making a concerted effort to be a bit more hopeful today. After all, Mr. Kudzu is snoring softly on the day bed, I managed to make dinner (1 meat, 1 vegetable, 2 startches - not bad), and we had a fantastic storm this afternoon. It rained and hailed, the parking lot flooded and lightening cut the sky in the most magnificent way.
And so now that the rain has so nicely washed away some of the heat (and the blahs), I decided to indulge in a little wishfulness. Every once in awhile, I like to think about things I would buy if money were no object. Today, it would be these Manolo Blahniks. They're the closest I could find to the ones Carrie loses at the baby shower on Sex & the City. And they're fabulous. And they're $550.