Let's Just Get All These Hot Button Issues Out Of The Way

For some reason, I still can't figure out why it's okay for the government to kill people, but it's not okay for people to kill people. It just seems incongruous. Why is it fine for one group and not fine for the individual? INEQUALITY!

Of course, I'm referring to the death penalty, a "punishment" that never seemed anything beyond medieval to me. We try so hard to make everything just and modern and then we kill people because they killed people which is WRONG, but is okay if it's sanctioned by the state. Je suis confused. And, not only do we kill them, but we wait years to do it. So, they have to sit around, waiting to die, which is more than their victims got, sure, but is that fair? Isn't that kinda cruel and unusual?

And this is more than some bleeding heart liberal claptrap. It's just logical. It's a Spock way of thinking, honestly. And I don't want no "but if your family was killed you'd want the killer to be brought to justice" b.s. Of course I would. I would want that person caught and tried and convicted and put in jail so I could screw with their head for the rest of their lives. I wouldn't want them dead. That's just absurdity on a grand scale. What, in that line of thinking, would make me any better than the killer? Revenge? Oh, there's a good motive. And what would be accomplished by their death? It sure as hell ain't gonna raise anyone I cared about from the dead. And who would I slowly torture with mind games?

To sum up, it's just a lame way out of a problem, frankly, and I think it should be abolished and I think gays should get married and I think abortion should be legal and I think that the war should be called off and I think Bush should be magically erased from history and I think Nick cheated but Jessica isn't totally free from guilt either.

Doin' Time

I honestly believe that this week has been the longest I've e'er endured. It's not as though I've been completely overburdened, but for some reason, I could have sworn today was Saturday. It was just that Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were so unforgivably long and busy that it seemed like it should definitely be the weekend by now. As a result, my brain has switched itself to "off" even though work continues today. People call to ask me things that I should know the answers to and for some reason, nothing comes to mind. Nothing. I swear it's Saturday and y'all are lyin' to me.

Girlfight Can't Fight The Law

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/gossip/story/371224p-315799c.html

Too lazy to make link. Literally.

Unlike a castaway island manslaughter case, this real-life island's parole violation might land yo' ass in jail, sisterfriend.

Crap.

Y'know, when I started this thing, I thought, "I'm going to be a dedicated poster! I'm going to keep everyone updated!" So innocent was I. Honestly, the only reason I'm posting now is because I'm on call for SART and HAVE to stay up until ONE AM, which for a working stiff like myself is akin to Chinese water torture. I was tired at 9pm and really ready for bed at 11:30pm, but after internet games, reading EW and going through some catalogs, I'm almost there. Just thought I'd kill the last few minutes by listing some of the things I've been doing instead of posting to tide everyone over until summer when maybe I'll be settled in enough to goof off. But, don't count on it.

Got the chance to be a model for a friend's book about girly knit things. It was a monster slumber party in a school in Kansas and I happened to pass through Lawrence on the way home so I got to see the newly engaged Miss Tyra and her puppy, ring, house, and boy, not necessarily in that order. Plus, I think I ate some bad string cheese on the exceptionally long drive home, but that event will never be referred to as an "incident" because that would be too ridiculous...and too dirty hippie.

I missed the Magic Smoking Monkey show. Yep. Call me "bitch". Out of town, house repairs, previous commitments, and a general feeling of poordom all contributed to me being the worst Monkey ever. I hang my head in shame as I'm sure it was hilarious and fun. Bad OAA.

I fell off a ladder. Well, actually, I fell off a ladder in the living room and cracked my spine/C5/hard head on an end table. Perhaps it was universal retribution for missing the play? We'll never know. But, if any "Reefer" cast member would like to smack my giant thigh bruise or karate chop the back of my neck as some sort of karmic payback, just let me know. (These are limited time offers. I'm not going to let Wassilak talk me into bruising myself just so he can even the score.)

I really am not a fan of Imo's pizza. Perhaps Henry is right and it's all based on meat being on the pie, but it honestly isn't all that good. The sauce is blah, the cheese is sticky, and the crust is flavorless. The only good thing about it is slathering it in their sugary dressing.

Mr. Henry continues to make exceptional strides in the home improvement arenas. I continue to fail and fall victim to gravity. I did paint the ceiling (which is a lot harder that is sounds) and one wall, but that's pretty weak considering that took me all of the holiday weekend.

I have a new black RAZR, or however they fake spell it, and I already miss my old phone. This one does too much for my techophobic self. And the font? It sucks. All this technology and we couldn't get a decent Helvetica or something in there? But it is pretty looking even the address book is confounding.

And the holiday. What a joke that is. I am not a Thanksgiving fan as it seems too prejudiced and forced. Native Americans are still beat-down indigenous people and instead of cooking a giant bird, perhaps we should just donate that money to the Adopt an Elder program or something. Honestly, we're all just going to get together in a month for exactly the same thing, why not save it? At least then there's presents to gawk at and coo over. Thanksgiving is the invention of turkey farmers and I'm a vegetarian, but, it's always nice to see the family, even if they're sleepy, arthritic, and game-playing resistant. And just think, last year we were freezing in Florida and blowing our dosh at the outlet mall (but WHAT an outlet mall!).

One o'clock and all's well.

Goodnight, gentle reader.

Progress, She is Like the Tortoise

If I could have flamethrowered the interior of this house I bought, I would have. But, progress takes time. It took time for the floors to be done wrong, it took time for us to learn that the tile is not coming off the bathroom wall unless someone jackhammers it off, and naturally, it takes time for a kitchen to be rebuilt from the ground up. But today, a hurdle was leapt. We have cabinets installed. Sure, they have the wrong door style and there's parts missing, but the big part - the box part - is there and I can start painting them tomorrow. Yeah. Jackasses we are, we decided it would be nice to have grey and white cabinets which are not that common. So, to preserve us from the melamine blahs, we ordered unfinished and will paint. And so it goes.


Slowly.

Arrest Me, FOX

"Arrested Development"'s been cut back to 13 episodes.

Does no one out there have grey matter in their craniums? Honestly, I know I've been the proponent of underdog shows before, but this one is the most accessible of them all. "Twin Peaks"? C'mon. I know damn well you had to start watching that thing from the beginning in order to understand it. And I've watched in marathon and STILL don't understand parts (Josie as drawer pull? What?), but I love all its wackiness and its creation of its own little world. "The X-Files"? I harped on that show to the point where people started asking me to not talk about it before I even got started. And it was huge. "ALIAS"? Sure I haven't watched on this season, but for a good 3 seasons, that was my show. And now, my sweet mai tai of comedy, "Arrested Development" is being killed before my eyes. In tribute, I thought I'd make a list of shows available to those of you who might be seeking something less hilarious, tautly written, worse acted, and less interesting. Y'know, so we can keep the trend alive.

"King of Queens"
"The Bachelor"
"E.R."
"Hope & Faith"
"Hot Properties"
That thing with Freddie Prinze Jr. who couldn't act his way out of a wet paper bag that came with explicit, point-by-point lessons and had signs illustrating them in pictograms lining the bag walls
"Dancing With The Stars" (god help us)
"Law & Order: SVU, CPU, UPN, LMNOP, Criminal Intent, and Decaf"
"Survivor"
"Surface/Threshold/Invasion"
"Two and a Half Men"
"The Apprentice" whoever's firing
My god "JOEY"'s still on for chrissakes!!!???!!!
"Crossing Jordan", also a shocker it's not been cancelled. Honestly.
"Will & Grace". Please.

So think about it, darlings, and send FOX a sweet letter telling them their taste is much better than their competitors.

An Evening of Fine Dining in Five Chapters

CHAPTER 1
But of course we went to Tony's. Where would the most irreverently wacky family go for the patriarch's birthday? For all of you that aren't St. Louisans, Tony's is the 5-star restaurant that always wins that "Best Place To Go If Someone Else Is Paying" poll in the local weekly. It's the sort of place where people go when they want to impress someone, business or pleasure, and where you have so many table attendants, it's difficult to know who to ask for the check. Of course, when we arrive, a wee bit later than our scheduled 6pm time, I find out most of those table attendants know where my mother is. She's in the bathroom. That that many men would know where my mother is at any given time is interesting, but that they knew that she was "indisposed" only illustrated the key to my mother - she tells everyone just a bit too much usually while giggling a whole lot.

CHAPTER 2
Nothing says birthday like masks, those-blow-out-things-that-curl-up-after-you're-done-blowing, bendy umbrella straws, a birthday boy crown sized for a child, and a frizzly garland to wear like a boa. I'm not so sure the Montgomery C. Burns lookalike (now with severe combover!) agreed, but our motto for the evening was "The last thing these people will think about before they die will not be 'I can't believe those obnoxious people ruined my Wednesday night at Tony's'".

CHAPTER 3
Laughs, laughs, laughs is pretty much what takes place after the gang's got a round in 'em. Especially when my mother gets going. She regaled us with one gem after nearly walking into the men's room which is across the hall from the ladies'. The story featured my mother in the men's room in a hospital thinking she was in a unisex restroom. She learned the hard lesson when a pair of brown tassel loafers walked in. That's when she, trapped like a rat, pulled her feet up and pretended to not be there. This lasted until she was sure the man was gone and she was able to make a break for it. Sure, this has happened to many people. There have been potty oopses throughout the years, but no one in history, until my mother, has blamed such an incident on a pumpkin. Apparently, she couldn't tell the difference between the signs because it was Halloween and there was a pumpkin with "fluffy legs" partially blocking the sign. The urinals weren't quite enough of a clue.

CHAPTER 4
Cake time! With four tall candles, the cake was pretty bright in its own right, but it got a lot brighter after we started the photo taking. The digital camera I've inherited has a flash as bright as a nuclear blast on a sunny day and that is certainly disrupting to romantic dinners in dimly lit restaurants. But we, the "you're not going to remember us on your death bed" family could care less. I take the photos and miss the big wish moment so the waiter (or someone else in a tux) relights the candles. I take more photos catching the moment perfectly. Fortunately, Monty Burns had already eaten and didn't need to see for the rest of the evening. I do hope Smithers drove him home though. Those scortched retinas make Highway 40 a real bitch to navigate.

CHAPTER 5
The final moments. We gather up our toys, I hug all the attendants that refolded my napkin while I was in the bathroom, and we gather in the foyer to hear the maitre'd thank us for coming. There's a pause. He concludes with, "You're all so festive." We conclude this was the ritzy restaurant way of saying, "It's both a blessing and a curse you people come on birthdays."

Rant du Jour

I remember when dolls were just dolls. Now of course, they're silent puppets for some leftist agenda that makes girls consider abortions and questioning authority and thinking for themselves. How dare they! No longer are they lifeless plastic heads and cloth bodies dressed in gingham and chintz! They're now trying to weasel their liberalism into our lives through subtle corporate philanthropy! Helping girls? How insane! Run for The Handmaid's Tale hills, ladies! And thank Jebus for Pastor Frank! He saved us from this Mattel mind-fuck! All hail Pastor Frank!

Caution. Geniuses at Work.

Uh...what the hell? Dolls are just dolls. And these dolls actually do something good by teaching kids about history and other cultures and aren't coveted because they represent some impossible physical standard. To take something so innocent as a freakin' doll fashion show and turn it into some sort of right-wing crisis just reminds me that humans are freaked-out assholes who deserve the volumes of crap the world throws at us because we weak minded, selfish, and actually deserve it.

And that, sugarcheeks, is my rant du jour.

Halloween Hijinks

What's a ghost's least favorite room in the house?
The living room.

Where do you learn to make ice cream?
Sundae school.

What do you get when you cross a vampire and a snowman?
Frostbite.

And those are just a few of the gems the kiddies dropped at my feet before winning a tiny candy bar. The special winner was a girl who asked, "Why is 6 afraid of 7?" I guessed the answer (because 7 8 9) and although disappointed, she was pleased to find that if I guessed the answer to your joke, you won TWO candies! Ha HA! That's Halloween at my house where the main decoration is a ghost balloon bought from a hospital gift shop, I dress like a slutty schoolgirl, and have to keep Henry from eating the kids' treats. Ahhh...I can't wait for next year.

Phase One

The kitchen cabinets are on their way to my house as I type. Phase One of Total Caboose Upheaval has begun. Stay tuned for all the triumphs and tribulations of rehabbing as written by a girl who hammers like lightening - never hits the same place twice.

Cultural Differences

We had White Trash Day in the office today to celebrate the holiday. This posed some problems to my Indian co-worker who had no idea what "white trash" was. When asked who she thought was more white trash - co-worker Jennifer or me - she picked Jennifer which resulted in a fit of giggles and mock outrage. When explained it wasn't just a state of mind, it was also a way of dressing, Priya revised her vote and selected me.

Here's the cute part. She googled "white trash" so she could find out what to wear. And, even after finding out it's "those people on Jerry Springer", she chose to accessorize with nothing more than a blue tye-dyed bucket hat while the rest of the gang showed up with mullet wigs, fake guts, and blacked out teeth.

And that's why I love Priya and our cultural differences.

Boo.

Happy Halloween!

Notes on OAA, Round 3

I worry that that winding down sound a plane makes as it nears the airport means its certain doom. Like lightning, I wait for the thunder to follow, but fortunately, no plane has ever fallen from the sky within earshot.

Caffeine and I are still at odds. Tea makes my heart race like a greyhound's, and yet, in an effort to make myself immune, I keep drinking it only to experience the same results.

I have become more and more fearful of spiders. Still not so afraid that it's rubber room time, but the fear is approaching s*****fish levels. (Still can't type that word. Even spelling it in my head while punching in asterisks makes me a wee bit queasy.)

My mailbox needs to have the sawdust removed from its lid. Maybe tomorrow.

Kelly Sue, I found your birthday card. Finally.

I have two photos taped to my computer - one of Abe Zelmanowitz and one of Carl Kasell from NPR.

I have an unhealthy addiction to Post-It notes.

I also have an unhealthy addiction to the Spinach & Artichoke Egg Soufflés from Panera Bread.

This evening I was caught waving at a dog.

Lip Venom is really just that. Venom. As in someone should have sucked it off my lips because of the burning. But, by golly it works. And it also cleared my sinuses for a bit.

If I were independently wealthy, I would occasionally check into hotels for a night, just to check 'em out. I'd have a little bag packed and ready in my trunk and would just pick a local hotel for an evening or two and spend the days exploring the neighborhood and spend the evenings ordering room service pie and taking baths just because I can.

Freedom Of Speech

I think a lot of the time I spend considering what to blog could be cut out if I could just convince myself that the 6 people that consistently occasionally look at my blog won't tell the others that don't what I've written about them. I feel confident that should I post things like my co-worker likes to lick toads, it will get back to him/her. (I have co-workers, but as far as I know, none of them are licking toads - unless that's why they spend so much time in the bathroom...) I just know that during some conversation my brother is going to blurt out to my semi-friend, "Amy thinks you're a complete moron and I read so on her blog." Naturally, this would never happen because although my brother likes to blog a lot more than I do, he isn't one to blurt, but still I censor myself.

What this means to you, dear reader, is that frequently I get the urge to tell you all the things that go on in this head and, perhaps wrongly...or perhaps wisely...I don't. But that doesn't mean I should keep everything from you. Just because I leave out things like my boss absolutely freaked the other day when he realized there was a new Madonna CD coming out doesn't mean I don't love you. Or the fact that I ran into someone the other night who, long ago, was a distant acquaintance at best, yet kept inexplicably insisting that he was now ready to have "relations" with me doesn't mean I don't think "this would make a great blog entry" as it's happening. Or when I learn new things - like the fact that the bar that I pass each and every day that I'm convinced is closed is actually quite open, but only starting at 11pm - I know I should share them, but still feel compelled to hide certain facts. And that's not all. There are hundreds of things I'd like to spill to the world of 6, but I figure that, for the security of my job and the sanctity of my personal life, I'll just leave that shit out.

But don't think this means that if you don't ask me directly that I won't spill the beans.

My On-going Terry O'Quinn Obsession

Seth, you hit the nail on the head. I wish it was LOCKE instead of LOST.

Just Leave It On The Phone When You Leave

I just did some voicemail announcements for a voice over client. I went to their office and spoke into their phone and did every greeting for their system in the client's office. And when I was leaving and thinking about dollar signs I said, "So...how do you want to do this?" which I knew sounded weird in my head and found out it sounded even weirder outside of it. Fortunately, he'd already had the cash ready.

I guess that makes me a voicemail whore. And yet, getting paid on an immediate basis is a hell of a lot better than waiting for a check.

Box Report

I didn't keep completely accurate records, but I've made mental notes for you, my darlings. Last Tuesday I flipped around for about 45 minutes. Wednesday is "Lost" night so I think we know I was doing something telly related. Post-"Lost" I stared at "Invasion" until I realized I wasn't interested and changed over to some documentary on PBS about schools. Thursday night my car inconveniently died so the tally's now at two eps of "Alias" missed, and as a result, no TV at all. Friday's total was zero, Saturday's total was about 48 minutes. That was accrued while I sat in front of the box until I realized I'd missed most of the Zoo show I like to watch (dang it!) and later when I discovered "Auntie Mame" on PBS. I tried to get into Jack Hanna's animal program on Sunday, but he's just such a putz. So, overall, considerably less than America. I don't think I deserve any awards though. I know that if I had cable I'd be watching some "Laguna Beach" marathon.

Things I discovered while watching - I love the Sprint commercial about abbreviations for sandwiches where two guys debate whether or not condiments should be represented in the BLT while a nuclear meltdown nearly occurs. Brilliant.

Signs Society Is Eroding

The first in a series of factoids that fully and inexorably illustrate the decline of our modern society. Some may be profound, some may be utterly frivolous, but people, profundity and frivolity are what make the world go round. Our first Sign Society Is Eroding:

Knocked up Kat(i)e Holmes.

The Wisdom Of The Ages

Thanks to Ben for assisting with my comment problem. What would I do without all of you out there?

(For those interested in the battle with the box, I'm on 7 real minutes. Yes, it was on at the gym and yes, I did half-watch some nonsense on VH1 but it was the worst celebrity dressing mistakes so I credit that as Natty Minx research and I did whole watch some bit that featured Abe Vigoda eating soup on the Food Network, but again, no hearing. My 7 minutes comes from sitting down, post-gym, and flipping through the channels where I came to rest on the horrible "Medium" and something on PBS.)

08:11:00 and Counting

From Gawker

• The average U.S. household watched 8 hours and 11 minutes of TV per day in 2004-05, setting a record. USA! USA! [Reuters]

Considering how much crap is on television, I can't believe this is seriously possible. So, as a challenge to myself, I'm going to see how much TV I watch this week and take my average. We'll see if I'm more or less box happy than America. Those interested in my personal rules should know this includes watching DVDs including my "Arrested Development" box set I got for my birthday from Henry, but does not include forced TV watching like the gym's ubiquitous TVs. If I can't get away from it, it definitely doesn't count. Plus, I'm not even listening to the claptrap. So, place your bets, you animals, and I'll post my results next Monday.

In other news, Priya just asked me if photos from my birthday will be around soon for viewing. I said they would be, but that Henry might like to touch them up. Priya said, "Make Amy less white?" I responded, "They don't make a honky filter for my level of whiteness." Just thought you might like a wee glimpse into today's activities.

Personal Injury Pirate Lawyer Ad Copy

Aargh.

If you lost your leg and they gave you a peg,
if your hand got took now you've got a hook,
if your eye met it's match and you're wearin' a patch,
call Brown & Brown.

I don't know the number. Look it up. Aargh.

Brown & Brown

Spamalot

Dear Blogger,

Like 4 people read my blog and I know for a fact that none of them are mesothelioma attorneys in New York so I'm wondering just who is commenting on my entries. Tai Chiers, people who want me to work from home, that anonymous guy who runs a site about ##ROCKMUSIC##? These aren't the 4 regular readers, that's for sure. So, see what you can do about this and get back to me. Until then, I'm just gonna turn off comments for a while. Mesothelioma, although fun to say, isn't really what I'm about.

Love,
OAA

Store Wars

Someone asked me today why I don't go to Whole Foods and I really didn't have a good answer save the fact that I'm a Wild Oats girl. No Whole Paycheck for me. I'm sure it's great and earthy and, well, wholesome, but I just love those Wild Oats folks. Everyone there is so sweet and "hi how are you" that just going there is a pleasure. Today, while waiting for my smoothie and wheatgrass shot, I milled up and down the aisles and each Wild Oater I encountered said a sincere hello or smiled kindly. No hippie haughtiness here! No sir! And when the wheatgrasser broke, the juice lady offered to come and bring me my shot so I wouldn't have to traipse back to the counter. Now that's service. And that's why I'm an Oatie.

I am also a Dierbergs girl. I know they don't build in the city and I know that's a bad thing, but I can't leave Dorothy the Deli Lady. Now, the Hill Schnucks is a close second because they seem to have the highest concentration of oldster employees and I think we all know how I feel about the oldsters. But, when it comes down to it, I go out of my way to the Brentwood Dierbergs where there's a nice balance of Deli Dorothy and Bill the oldster bagger man.

Targets are a problem. In a few days our new Target with underground parking opens and that will be a red letter day, to be sure. But, until then, it's catch as catch can and no one wants to catch what they've got at the Brentwood Target. All the closed Target clientele spilled over into that Target's range and now it's packed, understocked, and they've got the skinnest aisles ever. I hate it passionately and have been known to drive way the hell out to Chesterfield to go to their wide lane Target where there's never any waiting for anything. It's worth the drive to get things done in a reasonably comfortable environment. And if this new Target doesn't live up to the hype, I'll keep heading 30 miles out just to hit the comfy Tarzhay.

Notes and Such

1. The fact that Kate Moss does drugs is about as surprising as discovering that models develop eating disorders. This is no news flash. The unfortunate thing is that now that the chips are down, her clients who loved her while she was coked up don't want to be within 10 feet of her.

2. Henry asked if I hated Coldplay because of the singer's marriage to GP and I had to admit that I'm not hating her anymore. I'm directing all that toward Zellweger. Now we'll see if my vow holds up when I receive my next issue of Vogue.

3. It's high time someone invented teleportation. I am sick of all this string theory and new forms of matter crap Science seems to be wasting its time on. Pull it together and get me from here to there without the reservations and boarding passes and time delays.

4. Wild Oats is my new favorite. I just wish I were closer because then I could have more mousse cupcakes! More wheatgrass! More bar-be-qued meatish products! More giant smoothies!

5. Maybe the Vietnamese bedroom needs to head back to the Russian farmhouse aesthetic. Suddenly, icy green is feeling played.

6. Thanks to Jenschuetz and Naz for making me go back to the Fox & Hound for ridiculous drinks. But no thanks for going away again.

7. City Museum for my birthday and I am definitely buying knee pads for this trip. I plan on crawling around until they kick me out. And I'm wearing my sash.

Didn't See That One Coming

Lemme just try something...




Patricia Arquette, Emmy Winner for "Medium".




Nope. Didn't help. Still as unbelievable as ever.

I Pity The Gold Chains

Miss Kelly Sue forwarded an article to me today about Mr. T bidding adieu to his gold chains forever in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and I must confess, I was shocked.

//As for the gold chains, he says, "Because of the situation we're in now (after Katrina), I told myself, 'No, T, you can never wear your gold again. ' It's an insult to God."//

That sounds suspiciously like the reason there's no Sunday days-of-the-week-underpants. And I love the fact that he talks to himself in the 3rd person.

But fortunately, not everything T is going the way of the dodo.

//What will remain the same is T's signature mohawk and repeated use of the word "fool." "I might say, 'Don't be disrespecting no lady, fool.'"//

Whew.

You Can See The Stars

You Can See The Stars

I don't want this to become a New Orleans obsessed blog, but I definitely want to point out this lovely and heartbreaking article from the NYT.

Truth About New Orleans

Happy Dog Potatohead's Blog

(Thanks JenSchuetz for the coding help.)

Much love to you and yours, Happy Dog Potatohead. Your Old Aunt's thinking of you and do let her know if you need anything - absolutely anything.

Hate Is Not A Family Value

“We got a lot of rebuilding to do…. The good news is — and it’s hard for some to see it now — but out of this chaos is going to come a fantastic Gulf Coast…. Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott’s house — the guy lost his entire house — there’s going to be fantastic house. I look forward to sitting on the porch.” - "President" George W. Bush waxing rhapsodic about mint juleps with Trenty

Yeah, it may not be a family value, but aren't there special exemptions for certain folks?

Total Eclipse Of My Taste

Someone who lives with me (and shall remain blissfully anonymous to protect him from the rabid Bonnie Tyler fans the world over) thinks "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" isn't cool and I simply have to respond in a public forum.

1. Bonnie Tyler loses her voice after each and every performance of that song. Maybe she doesn't really, but the way she belts those lyrics out, she probably could. Lots of hot tea and honey, that one has.
2. It's seven freakin' minutes! SEVEN! That takes guts!
3. The background sleigh bells.
4. The "fireworks" courtesy the song's prodigious drum section during the bridge.
5. The girly "turn around bright eyes" bits. That's pure genius. The juxtaposition of Bonnie's husky man voice and the high-pitched crooning of the prissy male voice? It's like two great tastes that taste just the opposite of how you think they should.
6. Melancholy piano open AND close = destined for greatness. Most just take the open or the close. Both? That means the song's SERIOUS.
7. Castanets play a big role in the song. Castanets, people.
8. There's that whoosh of wind in there that makes you feel like you're out on the moors with Bonnie in some puffy sleeved ensemble, hair crimped, eyes blue-eyeshadowed, hoping that now isn't the moment when she falls apart.
9. "Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there's only love in the dark." Just let that sink in for a minute.
10. It's "Total Eclipse Of THE Heart", not "My Heart" or "A Heart" but rather THE heart. That means that Bonnie's heart is the only heart and it's been eclipsed. Your heart doesn't matter here. It's THE heart we should worry about.
11. That it takes itself so goddamn seriously. Back in the 80's there was some dude who was like the board operator for that song and used it as his calling card for the ladies. You know he did. And he probably had a non-ironic mullet and shoulder pads.

And that's just eleven of the reasons that I have a ridiculous level of love for the goofy drama that is "Total Eclipse Of The Heart". If that doesn't make my case, I don't know what will.

Musical Nostalgia

Trying on jeans is far from nostalgia-inducing. If it does evoke memories of the past, it's usually unpleasant "I remember I could wear a 2 in high school" kinds of nostalgia. But lately the Gap's got a new twist - try on jeans, get a free iTunes download. Now, that in and of itself isn't conjuring memories of the past, but what I elected to do with the download is. I got it home and perused all the countless offerings of current hipsters, R&B tough guys, and sensitive-boys-with-guitars and finding them all fruitless, I began to consider the past. And downloaded "The Goonies R Good Enough" by Cyndi Lauper.

First off, the movie is one of my favorites. And secondly, it reminds me of playing Goonies in the park just 5 houses away from my new digs. My brother and I would climb all over the playground of "Shady Park" and call for Data to explode candles and Mouth to translate Spanish. Since I was there, why stop the Nostalgia Express so I picked up a few more like "Love Is A Battlefield" and "Total Eclipse Of The Heart". Call me an 80's freak, but those were some good ol' days and the music was just corny enough to be cool.

One Month

In India, my birthday is a national holiday.

I think this magazine speaks for itself.

Now, what it's saying is another matter entirely...especially the headline in the lower left corner.

Girl Crushes

Last week on "Today" which was blissfully Couric-free, they did an "in-depth" report on this new phenomenon sweeping the nation known as the "girl crush". Now, these girls aren't in LOVE with the objects of their crushing - heavens, no! They are just infatuated with their impeccable style or their really neat hair or the way they run their household or something. In love?...bah. The girl crush is just the idolization of someone you aspire to be someday! Yeah! That's it! And it's new! All new! America's just invented this!

I laughed the whole way through. They trotted out some "experts" and most of the interview was led by Lauer who (ha ha ha) has had girl crushes before and it just seemed so corny and so "we're liberated now because Sarah Jessica Parker had a show where girls talked about liking other girls and stuff but they weren't gay so, you know". It was so patronizing and cheezy and most of the "on the street" girls had crushes on their best friends who they know really well and they're such neat women and like wow.

As you may have guessed, I really hated this report. The girl crush isn't on people you're best friends with. No, dear. That's just admiration and years of mutual support and lots of things in common and LOVE, not crushings. Crushes are when you see a girl and she's so pretty you have to just sneak another peek. Crushes are when you can't really talk to the girl because they wrote some brilliant short story or painted that amazing picture or dedicated their life to a cause. Crushes are on people you're afraid to look the fool in front of because they have this amazing command of the language so you skate around issues and talk innocuously about the weather and the like. It's how you were around boys when you were in high school and yeah, news flash, you may actually be attracted to that person. And you know what, that's okay. Your boyfriend's not going to leave you, you don't have to ask your parents to attend PFLAG meetings, you do not have to start watching "The L Word" (it's not that good anyway), and above all, you're not gay because you like some girl. So, Matt Lauer, you may know just a hint about psychiatry, but you don't know anything about real girl crushes.

A Small Sampling of OAA's Girl Crushes
Dr. Ferrari
Jane Goodall
Shalom Harlow
Natalie Coughlin

Gave Me A Pear, Started Sprayin' Her Hair, And Showed Me A Photo Of Ritchie Sambora

"Now his girlfriend's cute but I can't look ovah 'cuz it might start an ugly rumah.
If he hears loose tawlk, 'round my body they'll draw chalk. He's like Andrew Dice Clay witout a sense of humah."

I wish I could unearth my 1989 VHS copy of Colin Quinn's "Goin' Back To Brooklyn" but I haven't seen it since...oh...1989.

Where have you gone, my comedy gem!?!

Creative Hearing, Part 2

In reference to Sawyer kicking Jin on "Lost":
Amy's hearing: "That was a wee cake."
What Henry really said: "That was a weak kick."

In reference to a message destined to Marcia.
Amy's hearing: "I have a booger keeper."
What Bianca really said: "I have a note for the bookkeeper."

What will she hear next? Stay tuned.

Rotten Youth of America

Dear Girl Exiting the St. Louis Bread Co.,

Hi. You may not have noticed me as I held the door open for you, but I sure did notice you! You were walking at normal speed, sure that I would open the door to allow you to pass, and since I'm a nice girl, I did indeed open that door. That's when you breezed out like royalty and completely ignored innocent ol' me. Well, you may have ignored me, sister, but I got a good look at you.

Nice gym shorts. And, child, I would have been haughty were I dressed to kill in McQueen, but you, my dear, were attired in a ratty tee and the aforementioned gymwear. No makeup or hair to speak of, and believe me, cherie, that was a risk. Yet, with all this working against you, you still had the nerve to act like the world owed you that opened door. You sauntered out like you were leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake, but in reality, little one, you were being trailed by what looked like refugees from a sale at Goodwill who kindly thanked me (and please note they were of your age group and were probably in your class).

Speaking of class, by the location and your attire, I'd guess you were a student at a local girl's Catholic high school. Just a note on your academy of higher learning: when I was selecting my school, I passed over yours because on the tour they chose to highlight the fact that home economics was required. Ahh...that's class.

So, you little twerp, next time you act like a bitch, don't be surprised if I'm there to trip you.

Sincerely,
OAA

(Dear readers - she totally deserved this to her face, but I had to get back upstairs to work.)

Creative Hearing Part 1

I have this thing. I claim it's Creative Hearing because back when I had a ringing in my ears and had an audiologist test my hearing, I passed with flying colors so, obviously, it's not a huge back-up of wax or too many nights at MU330 shows during my formative years. But regardless, I don't hear well. I hear things I THINK you said perfectly, but usually that's not anywhere NEAR what you actually said. Sometimes this makes me laugh like a hyena. Case in point: Saturday night.

Henry, Tina, and I all go see "Wedding Crashers" at the Chase. Not a terrible movie. A little lagging at times and I really wanted to cut Owen Wilson's hair, but that Rachel McAdams has a good Jennifer-Garner-minus-Ben-Affleck thing going so it wasn't a total loss. After it was over and we were separated while wending our way out of the theater, Tina caught me and quietly said she was going to the bathroom. Common. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Except I heard, "Look, there's Mothra." And I looked. And then realized what she really said, and realized I was obviously nuts for looking down the lobby expecting to see Mothra, and then I started laughing. And when I say "laughing" I mean uncontrollable, eye-tearing, occasionally snorting, face-turning-red laughing. And since she had no idea I had thought this because she was well on her way to the bathroom when it all dawned on me, I was standing there alone, in this state, as people spilled out of the theater.

When Henry finally found me, I was laughing too hard to even fully tell him the story so he gave up and went to the bathroom. And that just brought it all back so I was laughing hysterically alone again.

And this happens all the time - maybe not all that laughing, but definitely all that Creative Hearing thing. So, when it does, I'll be sure to let you know. And if you see Mothra at the movies, tell him I said hello.

Auto Oddicism

Why did someone approve of using the "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" tune as background music in the Toyota Time commercial?

And while I'm on the subject, Lee Iacocca and Snoop Dogg?

Shocking

I can't believe the domain "biteme.com" hasn't been snapped up yet.

Fun OAA Facts

I like it when people are nice for no reason.
I like it when older ladies have long grey hair.
I like rainstorms.
I still think Harry Connick, Jr. is cute.
I don't like jeans that don't fit at home despite the fact that they seemed to fit in the store.
I like swimming laps, but I don't like goggle eyeball marks.
I like driving down streets to see neighborhoods I've simply driven past previously.
I think baseball games are only fun at the stadium. Otherwise they're just too long.
I am currently fascinated by birds.
I like balloons.
I like Baby Ruth candy bars.
I don't think "Will & Grace" is generally funny. But then, I hate shows with excessive laugh tracking.
I don't like those "we're for dogs"/"we're for puppies" commercials because I am allergic to dogs and want one really a whole lot.
I like sweet tea.
I like words, but sometomes don't like what they mean.
I wish I could have my cake and eat it too.

Danielle the Amazing

I have great friends. Seriously. They do amazing things like train for triathlons and adopt babies and foster homeless dogs and make movies and great mix CDs and know just what to say when it's needed and they are all selfless, helpful, intelligent, beautiful, funny, talented, and kind. And that was proven again yesterday when I got a cross stitch sampler from Danielle, definitely a possessor of all that's good in the world. It's hilarious and so sweet and...did I mention hilarious? I am so enamored with it that I've brought it to work today to show off to people I've known for a month because I think it's that freakin' great. I love her and her amazing ability to make me the happiest girl in town. It's people like her that make me glad the internet exists because without it, I'd never have been able to call her my friend.

I love you, Danielle.

(And if I had a digital camera handy and knew how to get a photo on this blog, I'd share my sampler with the world, but I don't so just know that it's hilarious.)

Vaughn Be Gone?

Now, granted, this is from that insane dude at E! Online and I hate E! and that insane dude. (Honestly, who writes or speaks like that?) But, from what I could glean, Vartan's leaving?

//Now, I live for Michael Vartan, always have. And I dunno, but it looks like my sources who told me ages ago that Jennifer Garner's Alias costar was going to be written outta the semi-hit show might be...correct.

Gonna happen next month--so winks Deep Vartan. And it ain't pretty over at ABC exec land, as I'm told Mr. V.'s departure is trying to be handled as discreetly as possible, even though not everybody is on board with such a quiet exiting.

"It's causing an uproar," whispered a frontline loose-lippper.
Mikey's boob-tube arm, by the by, says everything's peachy in Alias land--and I'm full of French beans.

I say stay tuned.//

That was one of the most confusing things I've read in a long time, but it does apply to "Alias", I think, and thus, it's relevant to this blog at least.

And, in my zeal to order a "Who's Your Spy Daddy" tee, I apparently ordered two accidentally. Good thing since my SD-6 sweatshirt was ruined thanks to a freakin' pen in the laundry. Now I'll have a back-up should the lettering on one of the tees somehow end up steeped in blueberry frappe or something.

Brain Floss

I had a dream last night that I was shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue with Ben Affleck. And judging by the way we were acting, we were "a couple". Perhaps, like the Gwyneth dream, I'm astral projecting into Jennifer Garner and seeing how her half lives, but I wasn't knocked up and I looked like myself so there's a huge couple of differences.

He was trying things on and when he felt he looked spiffy, we'd do swing dancing flips. There was some horrible storm and we had to hide out in Saks and the power went out. After it was all clear, we had to run to the giant SUV in the pouring rain laughing and having a gay old time. And Matt Damon was there.

I was afraid to tell anyone so I'm blog purging.

I also had a dream that I went to the Chase Park Plaza and had a meeting about the Regional Emmys with two old ladies, my mom, and some creepy guy in a mask dressed like someone from Carnivale in Venice. Although it was summer and we were seated at a table outside, oddly next to the valet station, and I was wearing a suit, I was wrapped in a quilt and freezing.

Maybe it was the Vietnamese food, but please Morpheus, no more Affleck and masked weirdos.

Domestic Situations

I asked Henry last night if he thought my platelet donation entry was a wee bit obnoxious. He immediately said yes. I asked him if it made him want to donate platelets and beat me. He claimed he wanted to beat me with or without donating.

But then he said he was going to donate and get 450,000 platelets and beat me for REAL.

So, y'know. I know it's a bit emmerdant, but it made the H-dawg wanna fork over his veins and that's one more bag of platelets than before!

Better Than You

N'yah, n'yah. I'm better than you. I'm so much better than you. You have no idea how much better I am than you. You can't even see how much better I am, oh, but you can quantify it. Oh, yes you can. I'm so much better than you that you're probably too chicken to find out if you're better than me. I bet you are. I bet you are too chicken. You're more chicken than a girl who gets woozy when she gives blood. I'm so much better. Why? Oh, because my platelet count is 399. So what? Huh? That's 399,000, punks. That's like, way more than normal. That's like so much more than normal it's into awesome levels. Bottom of AVERAGE is 150,000. I'm totally above that. Peak is like 450,000 and I'm WAY closer to that. So, yeah, my platelets could pretty much take your platelets DOWN.

What? You don't know what your platelet count is? Well, I got an easy solution for you, brother. Go donate some platelets and then we'll see who's rockin' the platelet department, won't we? They'll tell you how many you've got in there and then they'll take some. But, it's no big because you'll get to lie in a comfy chair under cozy blankets and watch a movie and eat all the milk and cookies you can eat and they'll give 'em to really sick people who need 'em and you'll make 'em all back in 3 days anyway. So, then you'll know how many platelets you have and you'll know just how it feels to give something that takes so little and yields so much and when you do, email me and if your platelet count is higher than mine, I'll send you something. Yeah, you heard me. I'll concede defeat. I can be the bigger person here.

After all, this is just a flimsy sham to get you to donate platelets.

http://www.jlab.org/div_dept/admin/medical/platelet.html

So why don't you? It's easy. Really. And it's needed. Very. And I'll be so proud of you.

But I still bet my platelet count'll kick your platlet count's ass.

Bring. It. On.

Open Letter to Fashion, Vol. 2

Dear Fashion,

I was devouring the distiller of your offerings - Lucky Magazine - last night and came across a large sampling of denim wares being demonstrated on models and described by your writers. Two things came to mind: 1. high waisted anything is ugly on anyone, even models and 2. capris? Still? Hasn't the flood already come and gone?

Let's think about point one, shall we? High waisted pants. And these were HIGH waisted pants. High like they should have girdle panels built in high. I know that a while back they were being tossed down runways like the solution to all our problems, but they made even the emaciated model look a little poochy. Looks aside, how does one sit in high waisted pants without feeling like their ribs are being pulled up, up, and away by the ridiculously high waistband? And how does one avoid the inevitable organ sag when one leans over? And what good are empire waist pants when one considers that empire waist dresses hide the belly flaws and this does nothing but accentuate them? These are mysteries that may never be solved, because I, for one, will never do the research necessary.

And now two. Capris are cute. Sure. They looked great with a little knockabout sweater and some ballet flats on Audrey Hepburn. I loved 'em on Gainsborough's Blue Boy. But there was a whole section in Lucky about capris with buttons fashioned to the knee area. Or bows. Or perhaps Velcro. Frankly, I don't know because I was too busy laughing at the model. These won't look good on anyone under 5'10" tall. Take note, girls. Most people I know are below that towering height and I better not catch you in these stump creating trousers or I'll lecture you from here to eternity on a long, lean line concept. And if you're buying a suit, it better have full length pants or a skirt. I don't care what season it is. Suits are dress items and fancy meeting items and should be treated as such. I should hope I never hear the phrase, "And look! These capris come with a blazer!" uttered. Nay, I pray I should ne'er hear such blasphemy.

So, there's some work to do in high fashion and department store outlets, Fashion. Let me know when you're nearly done and I'll check your progress.

L,
OAA

(with an extra dose of love for Merry)

Dolce & Gabbana

Happy belated, my sweet Wife.

Your card's around here somewhere, still unaddressed. But, no matter the day, the sentiment's the same - I thank the stars you're here on this earth and that you're my friend.

Love,
The Wife

Open Letter to Fashion, Vol. 1

Dear Fashion Industry,

Some of us really aren't into the whole boho thing. Maybe it's because it looks sloppy, maybe it's because it comes around once every few months it seems, maybe because it looks like one dressed in the dark in a closet filled with mommy's old dress up clothes, but honestly, my mom threw that stuff out for a reason. Bring it back all you want, Sienna Miller, but it just don't work for me.

I believe that I am not alone on this one. I know that there are girls out there just wishing they could find things without "flounce" or "cheap lace" or "deconstructed hemlines". And there are options out there, sure. They're just a J.Crew catalog away, but sometimes J.Crew just doesn't cut it.

Case in point - handbags. If there's a handbag out there that covers all the bases - no contrast stitching, no garish logos, straps long enough to go on a shoulder, not Kate Spade, and not a hundred thousand dollars - I can't find it. It's times like these when I think I could try to embrace a hobo bag, but if I don't want to embrace a hobo, why would I embrace their bag? And J.Crew, my last ditch effort yields giant bags like the one I toted from Liz Claiborne when I was a sophmore in high school (which, darlings, was a very long time ago). I really didn't like that "big fat bag/little bitty handle" thing then and now I'm still not down with it.

Sigh. It's times like these when I wish for a lottery win so I can just have some Italian craftsman make what I want without the hassle of searching. So, fashion, step up. Remember that although we can pick through slouchy suede and wedge heels to find the classic grey flannel pumps, we still need something to put our crap in.

Thanks ever so,
OAA

The AMJE Song

One of my bosses at my soon-to-be-old job wrote this for me and, honestly, it was one of the best tributes I've ever received. If I weren't laughing so hard I would have cried. A lot of the jokes are inside, but it's still charming, even for those that don't know of my love for colored index cards.

The Amy Song
(sung to the tune of "The Patty Duke Show" theme)

Since Amy has worked at CPG
She's done it all from A to Z
She's written scripts and been on tape
Whipped our clients into shape
And made fun of me

Cause she's Amy - uniquely Elzie all the way.
One gal who's always stylish
Whether it's night or day.

Well, Amy adores ol' Steve LeResche
Proposal wrangling and idX
She's good at finding music cuts
But the 360 really drives her nuts
With it's sound effects.

But she's Amy, our wonderful Elzie and I've found
I'm gonna really miss her
Because she keeps food around.

She also adores an index card
Execs hold her in high regard
And when it comes to breakout rooms
Or finding US Bank costumes
She has really starred.

Still she's Amy - uniquely Elzie and you'll find
Although she's quirky and won't eat meat
The job she did will be hard to beat
I could lose my mind
'Cause Amy is one of a kind.

Thanks so much, Steve. I'll miss you.

Vow Of Silence - BROKEN!

I know I said that I was done with Jennifer Garner due to the whole Affliction she's recently contracted, but this little tidbit was irresistable:

//Still, alone in paradise was not a bad way to start a life together. After the two landed in the Turks and Caicos Islands, they went by boat to a home that, sources say, belongs to Bruce Willis. There, they were greeted by vases full of lilies and roses and platters of cheese and potato chips.//
from here

It's like a Smoove B column from The Onion: "Girl, once we are on the magical island, I will take you to luxuriate in the home of my friend, Bruce Willis. There will already be lilies and roses of many varieties available for your sniffing pleasure. It will be the most spectacular array of velvety flowers you have ever seen. Also, there will be potato chips."

What the hell? Potato chips? I'm so confused. I guess they really are just two regular kids gettin' hitched.

And I still think she's pretty.

Quick Little Bits

VALENTINO
I was thrown for a loop. I was so excited by the adorable, leg-tickling shoes and those stunning cream and brown numbers at the start that I somehow thought this would be the show of the season. But, unfortunately, the rest of the looks were somehow more offensive than 70's era drapes. Big, fat bows (yes, style.com, I know it's his "signature") looked out of date and old-fashioned and some of the dresses were...uh...hideous. So, I guess I'll have to settle for just two Ladies Who Lunch looks this season. Plus, I've got nowhere to wear 'em as his other looks have me craving a marathon of the first through fourth seasons of "That 70's Show".




ELIE SAAB
HE STARTED WITH LA MARIEE! HE STARTED WITH LA MARIEE! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO PUT AN ACCENT OVER THAT FIRST E AND RIGHT NOW I'M TOO THROWN TO EVEN ATTEMPT TO LOOK!
Okay. He ended with Tiiu as la mariee again. (Still no accent. People, you're lucky I'm still breathing after that scare.) For those that perhaps aren't couture obsessed, "la mariee" is the bridal dress that goes as your last couture look. That's how it's done, people. But this Elie Saab character threw in two and I thought that Blahgerfeld had maybe tricked the poor bastard into thinking it went first or that Elie, not long in the world of haute, might have read the directions wrong. Nope. The rat just gave me palpitations for no reason.

He designs dresses for events like the Oscars. He does a pretty okay job. There were some pretty colors in there. I need to lie down.

GIVENCHY
The hair. Tamarin monkeys have better hair.

You'd have to be plum CRAZY not to love Givenchy!

I know she's like 6 feet tall, but when did Hana become surrealistically, almost menacingly tall. The garbage bag attire isn't helping.

I like the fact that this show, this show that cost oodles of money to create, this show that highlights dresses that cost oodles of money to buy, is being shown in a place where they couldn't even bother to take the extra stacked up chairs out of the room. Now that's classy.


All that being said, I kinda liked it.

MODEL NOTES:
It's sad when I think Alek Wek looks a bit too skinny and Karolina Kurkova is starting to look hippy. Alek was cute the way she was and there ain't nothing wrong with Karolina. Natasha Poly on the other hand...
And thanks to Valentino's copious use of the strapless dress, I was reminded that should I ever lose my fancy marble cheese cutter that I could just use a model's shoulder blades. Whew!

Slagerfeld

Some people know my loathing of Karl Lagerfeld. I am sure the man is perfectly charming. I'm sure he's just a dear heart. I am sure that underneath that tanned, sunglassed, daintily fanned, starved-to-perfection frame squishes the liver of an okay guy. But I really just don't think he's that great of a designer.

Understandably, he's got a hard job. Coco Chanel's house is probably the best known of the haute couture world and so he's always got those camillas and Jackie O suits to live up to, but he seems to just alienate me each showing he's got and there must be a reason. And that reason's the clothes.

Last time, I thought my browser loaded a dress wrong - it was this two-tiered skirt nightmare that made the model look like she was hiding another of herself beneath the one that showed. Scary stuff, that. This time, he's back with "hidden luxury" (because obvious luxury is so passe). I think he tried this out on us with the dress Nicole "Fivehead" Kidman wore to the Met Costume Institute Ball. It looked plain from the exterior, but a mere flick showed that the interior was lined with silver sequins (I guess designed to match Herr Laggy's silver motorcycle gloves). Pretty? Certainly. And now he's got a whole collection of it! Coats lined with the same material as your suit! Fluffy confections that secretly house the same fabric as your ball gown! Oooh! Delicious!

Yawn.

As the collection droned on, I think I started to miss the hidden luxury because looks like this came up.
(So as not to overweigh my blog, I selected this look because it gave me two views - one of the dress and one of Wintour and Paltrow who we'll get to later.) The previous dress - a long black number with a rainbow of spangles cutting a swath straight down the middle was really...something. Then, this dress. With two pointy cat ears to cover "zee teets", it's one of those evening numbers that just sparkle! Wear it to a Gay Pride parade and be the belle of the ball! You go, girl!

But, for all the fun I was having making fun, I found myself actually liking a couple.





Yeah. They're pretty. Yeah. I'd like to have 'em. But this doesn't mean my resolve against Klager is fading. No sir! This time I just have to admit that one of his design assistants has a volume of talent! Ha HA!

And now back to Paltrow and Wintour. (Which sounds like some vaudeville act.) Wearing sunglasses at a fashion show is like wearing sunglasses at a movie. What the hell's the point? Who are you trying to impress? Everyone there knows you're there and most of them think they're better than you anyway. Plus, the colors, the fabrics, the details! How can they be seen accurately behind a pair of shaded lenses? Gwynnie, I know we've had a meeting of the subconscious mind lately, but you keep up these antics and I might have to resume the hate. Wintour, just get over Karl already.

Gio Tracker

It's easy, really. When you're Armani, pretty much anything you send out there is liked. Why? Because it's simple, clean, minimalist, classy. But, that's kinda boring. There's only so many black satin halter dresses one can see in one's life before they all start to blur. And, frankly, that's how I feel about our little Giorgio. He's fantastic - please don't get me wrong - and if I were going to some fabulous occasion and had a fabulously fat wallet, you can be sure I'd be shopping his boutique, but live a little, man! We need more than just exquisite tailoring and timeless looks!

So, it's Gio's second time for couture and he delivered in the fancy dress department, 'natch. But there were some early daywear looks that called to mind a certain female welder from a certain flashy and dancy movie of the 80's.



Oh. My. God. I mean I know full well that Armani came to power with his costuming of that Richard Gere tour de force "American Gigolo" and that that flick was made at the very tippy tip of the 80's iceberg, but honestly. Ugh. And the rest of the daywear, if one can call satin pantsuits daywear, was just as 80's-tastic. Scary rosettes, pleated pants, and panne velvet all around. I was excited by the mention of padoga shoulders - remember that droolworthy, high-pitched look at YSL's Fall 04 RTW show? Swoon! - but these were more like tea houses than pagodas.

Fortunately, the show shifted to what we know and love about little Gio - fancy eveningwear. Nothing groundbreaking came down that runway, but there were some lovely looks. But 80's and minimalism aside, the thing that struck me most were the hats. Hats pasted to the sides of heads, hats with Sunday-go-to-meetin' curling feathers, "Bonnie and Clyde" beret hats, hats with rabbit ears.


These hats, far from seeming an afterthought, were placed just so on unsuspecting twigs and they were left to deal with the sight blocking obnoxiousness they wrought on the runway. I can only imagine some Botox-filled socialite darting out onto Madison Ave. trying to get to the Barneys cashmere sale when MON DIEU! Her Armani chapeau has blocked three lanes of traffic and she's knocked ass over tea kettle by a God's Love We Deliver van. Poor darling.

So, tracking Gio's second go-round, if you miss the 80's, attend a number of richly decorated evening galas, and are a reincarnated racehorse that favored blinders, this is your collection, darling!

I'm Like A Bustle...

...just a little behind. (Oh, ha ha. Those fashion jokes slay me.)

I'm trying to catch up on the Couture shows from last week and for those completely uninterested in fashion, look away, darlings. Look away.

DIOR
For those that know, I am really not a Galliano fan. I just think that the high arched brow he's so fond of is a little unappealing and his over-the-top antics are just a little too overwrought - like a little boy trying to get mummy's attention - and his pencil thin moustache, strangely, makes me think of that Jimmy Buffet song. So, imagine my surprise when I found myself gasping at the Dior collection. But, it wasn't the clothes (we'll get to those later). It was SHALOM! LINDA! NAUGHTY NAOMI! KIRSTY! NADJA! (and eva and karolina - small font for those girls). If Christy had been there, I might have keeled out of my chair with dreams of the good old days. Sigh. But this isn't a model show, it's a fashion show (and there'll be more Shalom later) and Galliano is so fashionista.

It was, dare I say, not horrifying. Unappealing, mostly. There were some nice ideas there, albeit nice ideas someone had before, but then, as Hollywood shows us, if it's been done before, it's worth doing again. His pin cushion bracelets and dress form looks were cutely referential and the trip down Dior memory lane was fun, but what the hell was up with the yellow/green looks? Squished pinatas, user car dealer flags, and miles of chiffon aren't my idea of "a collection through-line" when the line is clearly drawn to the past. And what was up with the boobs? Was a page pulled from the Mariah Carey Airbrushing Manual because I know fo'sho that models ain't all that busty (Buswell, yes. Zimmerman, not so much.)? But, Mr. Pencil Thin Moustache, overall I tolerated it - which is certainly more than I could say for last time. So, keep on, you Beau Brummel! Perhaps next season I'll actually squeal at your designs! (Not likely.)

Dear Checking Account, Brace Yourself.

westfield.com - News and Events

H&M in the STL, y'all.

Hooch & Daddy-O Redux

www.hoochanddaddyo.com

It's back, it's audible, it's better than you remember! Come see the LAST EVER showing of "Hooch & Daddy-O", starring the likes of Drew Bell, Julie Layton, and all those poor 80's clad suckers on the link's start page. An apparently delicious band - Femme Fatality - will be playing, there'll be a movie, and...best part...you can DRINK during the SHOW. Brilliant, I tells ya. Brilliant.

Just follow the link, click the outdated poster, and you'll find all the lowdown. Or, just head to The Pageant and pick up tickets. They're a scant $10 and worth every penny. If you feel otherwise, I'll work off the difference by spouting off 10 cent words I like like deleterious and elemosynary.

She Giveth And She Taketh Away

This morning, on my way to work, I passed a sign outside a BBQ joint that read "pulled turkey". Pulled pork I've heard of. Pulled turkey? This is new. These thoughts then, obviously, led to me thinking about how hard it would be to actually BBQ a turkey. They're big. Really big. They're kinda hollow after being prepped and I'm no expert, but I think that might make heat conduction difficult. But then, I thought to myself, people BBQ chicken all the time. They just cut it up into BBQ sized pieces. But chickens are much smaller and they seem more compact - meat-wise. A turkey seems larger and flakier than a chicken. How big is a chicken vs. a turkey?

Now, while all this ridiculously idle brain chatter was taking place, I had turned into Forest Park and was getting ready to enjoy the scenery when what to my wondering eyes should appear to my left, but a wild turkey pecking the grass. A real live wild turkey. Maybe this is lost on you, but I thought this was the most magical thing that could ever take place. I'm thinking about the size of turkeys and voila. There's a turkey.

I thought long and hard on other things throughout the day, but nothing else magically appeared.

Maybe I'm trying too hard.

Okay, Blogger

I know I'm not nearly as tech savvy as everyone might think, but honestly, why, when I add in links in my template, don't they appear when I publish, but they DO APPEAR WHEN I PREVIEW IT? Do I have to leave little frosted cupcakes for the web gods? Are there some backslash magic words I have to mutter? Shall I write a kind note to Al Gore, the inventor?

The internerd - she is a double-edged pain in the ass.

Anyone have an answer a philistine like m'self can comprehend?

Listen Carefully - The Answer Is Still No

Little Falls Christian Centre | Ice Breakers

You South Africans are sick! SICK! For your information, I did not die last night so better not be nobody answering "yes" in that game, dig?

Things I Hate, Volume 2

Now, I definitely don't want this to turn into a list of things I hate. I really love a lot of things and I'll make that list some other time, but right now, thanks to the comments on the last list, I have more to add.

• Yes, Jon. Birds too early in the morning. Ugh. (There are some around my new house, but I don't mind them nearly as much as the dreaded grackle. Curse you, grackles!)
• Home Depot (but not the song "Homo Depot" sung by one Henry Abler). Seriously, we've done a number of comparison shops and Lowe's is consistently nicer, more helpful, friendlier, and all around sweeter. That wins me over. Plus, I really prefer blue.
• Sagging balloons. It's an eventuality, I know, but when I get a happy bee balloon, I want it to last forever. C'mon, science! Forget Saturn! Perma-inflated balloons is where it's at!
• The current Scientology fixation.
• The current Brad/Angelina obsession. (W Magazine? Were you off your nuts? That wasn't an issue. That was celebrity pandering and frankly, I'd rather see fashion. Yeah, I know it's gonna sell a bajillion copies, but really. Ugh.)
• Remakes. Christ! Is there not one person in the world with one original idea? Have they freakin' asked me? I got a few.
• Whatever the hell bit my left arm near the elbow 13 times.
• People who say things like, "Well, that's being a homeowner for you!" No shit, Sherlock.
• Old toilet seats.
• Perfume spraying ladies at department stores.
• The whenever-you-need-it-is-when-you-can't-find-it phenomenon.
• The guy who refinished my hardwood floors.
• E! Entertainment Television.
• That R.Kelly being trapped in the closet. Jesus. Get the hell out already.
• The youth of America for turning the word "party" into a verb.

POODLE SWEATER

Anthropologie.com -

I know.

This is ridiculous. Absolutely RIDICULOUS. I could spend money on things far more logical and rational and far less...coral, but c'mon. I have a friend named Poodle. I HAD TO GET IT. It was like Anthropologie asked me, "Amy", they said, "Amy, what kind of whimsical sweater would you have to buy despite the fact that you just bought a house and need to refurbish 4 rooms in said house?" I might reply, "One with birds on it or perhaps one that has a map of the London Underground on it or...WAIT...one with pink poodles on it. Yeah. I'd have to buy that."

Screw you, Anthropologie bitches and your mind reading. What's next? An entire collection in emerald green and steel blue?

Things I Hate

I've been so filled with busy that I haven't had a second to think about all the things I hate in the world. And that's usually what happens. I think about all the things I really really really can't stand that that makes me feel a little better about the current situation. "I mean, at least I'm not surrounded by all these things I hate," I think to myself, and I can go on for another 10 to 15 minutes. So, just for future reference, in case I ever get this busy again and don't have time to make a list, I'm making one.

THINGS I HATE by Old Aunt Amy

• the phrase "more than the sum of its parts" (I can't even type it without cringing)
• silverfish (again, shiver)
• GW
• talking on the phone
• when people say things like "Oh, like you have to worry" when I talk about potentially not fitting into things or eating too much
• poor whistlers
• gum snappers
• bitches
• mean old people
• sun-heated steering wheels
• celery
• carrots
• Harley Davidson noise
• styrofoam
• aluminum foil
• people who could pull over and get out of your way but just sit there with their hazard lights on in the middle of the street
• when those same people act like you're the jackass for wanting to get by
• Shania Twain

There's more, but this is good for now.

Gravity Actually Makes Falling Off The Face Of The Earth Impossible

But, it seems plausible in the general parlance of the time (which seems odd as it's been ages since Newton got konked). Since I didn't in fact fall off the face of the Earth, what have I been doing? Work, "Glen or Glenda?" (final weekend this weekend - huzzah!), ripping up carpets, a brief stop at the Lit Society meeting, and approximately 2,000 other things that take up time. I had a minor meltdown on Tuesday night after realizing, yet again, there just aren't enough hours in the day and I'm mentally exhausted. Now, I'm back on track, but definitely not looking forward to packing up the apartment for the move to the caboose (I've started calling it that because...well...it looks like a caboose).

Thank God It's Not Real

Clement's Amy Elz fan page

In what I can only assume is a hilarious attempt at humor, one Tom Carlson, RFT superstar, has thrown together something that might make my hair curl were it real.

Note to self: I really need to do some acting that doesn't involve terrified or nervous faces.

Tom, and Clement, thanks for the good hearty laugh. Y'all's great.

Chewbroccoli

Grocery Store Wars | Join the Organic Rebellion

Forget the Sith. This is where it's at.

I Want It And I Don't Even Know How It Works

Nokia 7280 Phone

No. Really. I don't know how it works. And it's not the ads that got me interested. I saw it and couldn't figure out what the hell it was. I thought it might be some sort of spy camera, but Nokia branching out into the espionage industry seemed far-fetched. Now that I know it's a phone - and a spy camera, sorta - I really really really want it.

Really.

The Sound Of One Fan Clapping

robthurman.com: Elz Bells!

While looking for the Monkey's website (no, I don't have it bookmarked), I came across this. A postie by Rob Thurman, fellow SaintLooer, who I can apparently make giggle. How delightful! So to you, Rob, I hereby promise to make you giggle. Maybe even twice. Thanks for the spotlight on little ol' me. I'm mucho flattered.

Plus, for all of you out there in internerdland, Rob's tres amusant site's got photos of Dave and I in our full Monkey regalia. Obviously, Rob's way smarter than I when it comes to posting. (I'm still trying to figure out linking.)

Another Opening, Another Show

Magic Smoking Monkey Theater

Ooooh! I'm all a-twitter! Tonight's the opening of the newest/oldest installment in the Magic Smoking Monkey canon - "Glen or Glenda? REDUX!" This time with even more innuendo! So, grab the kiddies, make your reservations, and come on down! You're about to see the only Ed Wood based play in town!

I'll be playing Sheila, Glen's sister, and a cavalcade of other wee bits. Plus, watch for me as a stampeding buffalo! (Hopefully, tonight I'll be able to find the exit.) There'll also be Julie Laytoning, Drew Belling, and even some Henry Ablering (he did the...well...I'll just keep that as a surprise for those attending)! It's only $15 and, of course, it will never snag. But beware, take care! You've only got two shows a night and three weekends so make your plans now! We can't keep this up forever!

America's Next Top Bloggirl

Elyse Sewell

I am a backwards addict of "America's Next Top Model". I only catch it after it's all over and they're doing some day-long marathon on VH-1. But, despite my inability to remember there's a network called "UPN", much less where it is on my television, I still love the show. The girls! The tears! The Tyra Banks fivehead! I remember making fun of Catie from "Cycle 2" (I hate those little catchy things. It's a season people. A season.) when she had to get her hair cut really short and she cried. I remember rooting for near-blind Amanda on season 3 (when the poorly named Eva Pigford won). I still can't believe that the girls still freak when they see a snake or a spider they have to pose with. And I remember being totally smitten with the sassy snip Elyse from season 1.

Well, lo and behold, she's got a blog. (Who doesn't?) She just left Santiago, Chile and her posts and photos make it worth the click over there. She's cute, she's funny, she's smart, and she's traveling to places I can only dream of seeing right now. So, c'mon! Let's go see Elyse!

If Only This Were A Job Interview

My darlingest Danielle posted me some interview questions over at her site (www.knottyyarn.com) that I'm all excited to answer and so, without further ado:

1. You have the choice to live anywhere in the world - where will it be and why?

This is one of those questions that can be answered in a billion different ways based on how I feel that day. Right now, today, at 11:19am, I really just want to move to Fiji and live in a little bure over the water with books and music. The reason being, I'm feeling a bit pulled right now and would really just like some lapping waves, some rum, and some time to be still.

Other locales that come up, depending on my stress level, are London, Wyoming, Florence, New Zealand, Cannon Beach, and Jamaica.

2. Gwyneth Paltrow and Renee Zelweg...Zelleweg..SKELETOR challenge you to a steel-cage match. Who do you pummel first and what illegal tools do you bring into the ring?

Well, since the dream, Paltrow gets the pass and I'm going after Skeletor first because I'd like to get that Drunkandsmirky smirk off her face and pry her squinty little eyes open. Required tools include: Super Glue, headphones and a Kenny Chesney CD on repeat, and a dozen Hardee's Thickburgers.

Then, after she was sufficiently de-smirked, I'd ask Gwyneth out for a beer and find out if all the things I assume about her are true. (If they are, she'll be back in the cage and my required tools will be all old Vogue Magazine interviews with her - edited to only include the obviously bitchy stuff, a bullhorn, another dozen Hardee's Thickburgers, a baby name book, and her Oscar and its acceptance speech because she deserves to be beaten with it while listening to her insipidness.)

3. Who is the most influential person for you?

The person that I usually think of is Mr. Wayne Loui, my theatre professor in college. There was one life-altering conversation that we had when I was a senior in college that really impressed upon me that this person was one of those people that I would, and could, never forget. I think of him now like people who've taken care of wild things must feel - they're out there and hopefully, every now and again, they think of you, but we had our time and it's best to leave it at that. (Not to sound fatalistic about the relationship. I'm sure Mr. Loui would be happy to hear from me. I just know that we could never go back to those long conversations in his little office that meant so much to me and it would be somehow disappointing.)

4. If you had one day to re-live, which day would you choose and why?

Gosh. One day. I would honestly be afraid to relive any days for fear that I'd somehow mess it up and then wreck the days that followed. But, if I really, truly had to pick one day, I suppose it'd be the day I managed to work my way into the rare book room at the New York Public Library to see a first edition of an Edith Wharton book, went to Tiffany's and got to try on wildly expensive jewelry with a sweetheart of an employee, went to Barney's to try on wildly expensive clothes courtesy of a sweetheart of an employee, and just had an all-around delightfully charming day. If I messed that up, I doubt it would really impact the days subsequent so I'll pick that one. A close runner-up would be any of the days Henry and I spent in Jamaica right by the ocean surrounded by beauty and sweetness. I doubt those could ever be wrecked.

5. What is your favorite way to spend a vacation?

You're hitting me hard with this one as I'm looking at my bank account and comparing it to the list of things to do to the house and am unable to see a vacation at any point in the near future - and I LOVE vacation.

There's two ways to spend a vacation - doing things counting on the fact that these people will never see you again, and doing things you just don't get to do at home. One involves a bit of daring, like maybe an accent that could be blown by someone you know or someone you've met, and the second involves a bit of daring too because it's hard to break the mold of work.

I like to immerse myself in where ever I am - go to local places, talk to regulars, get to know the real town or area. I really dislike touristy locales (although I love museums and churches and kitschy sites) so I'd rather dodge those in favor of really living with the people that really live there. To me, that's getting away from it all - becoming a part of another landscape and making it become a part of you.

And man, do I love answering questions. LOVE!

Thank you, Danielle.

Someone Shake Me

Last night I had a dream that I was Gwyneth Paltrow. For those that know me, this is deeply disturbing since she is an anathema to all for which I stand. I woke up more horrified than I was after the dream I had in Tennessee in which I was surrounded by the dead of Opryland. I was there - with Apple in arms, Coldplay Shaggy nearby - and thinking about macrobiotic food and yoga and Stella McCartney and missing my dad. And it continued. It was as though I was really her. Then, I found the REAL her in another room - a room with a big, shiny, black piano. She was standing near the mantle and just watching as if this was an audition to be Gwyneth Paltrow and I was the next candidate. No one spoke to her or paid her any mind and even I, the dream Gwyneth Paltrow, saw her, but saw her as furniture - as if we'd had her stuffed and mounted there near the fireplace.

When I woke up, I was a bit surprised that I wasn't there in that house with Coldplay Shaggy and that wee babe. As I was brushing my teeth and thinking about what to wear, one of the ensembles I've seen her in came to mind as something I could toss on to wear to work. Even now, I have a hard time keeping "Yellow" out of my head.

I'm worried that someone's put some sort of voodoo curse on me and that I'm slowly melding with that which I've loathed for so long. But the plus side? I don't dislike her nearly as much now. Maybe my subconscious is helping me become more tolerant of Miss G. And you know, that's okay with me. I need more room to hate Renee Zellweger.

Don't Tell

PostSecret

Maybe I'm behind the internerd times, but I'm newly enthralled by this site.

Thanks, Miss Julie, for hepping me to it.

Kiss Me, Spy Daddy

No. Me. Not money-grubbing Lena Olin.



I'm in Opryland. Literally. Working. To rent a handrailless step unit for a ballroom is $1700. Uh...yee-NO.

Tired, filled with Emer'gen-C and sweet tea, and ready for speaker rehearsals.

Tuxedoed Jack Bristow

'Nuff said.

J. Stephen Continues His March To City Hall

San Diego CityBEAT

And now, an actual paper has covered his strides. And to think, I knew him when he was merely entertained by shaving cream.

Run, Country Fly! Run!

I Wish I Didn't Want My MTV

I really don't want Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey to break up. I know, I know, I shouldn't care, but I actually love watching MTV's ridiculous "reality" programming and without the "Newlyweds", I feel bereft. Knowing that they're on the rocks makes me recall all the good times I spent with my fictional friends - and weep for their future.

"Meet The Barkers" is an okay replacement - that Bunny of a wife he's got is endearing - but Travis' inability to wear pants properly really bugs me. And it also bugs me that they have an elevator in a two-story house filled with able-bodied people, but to each their own.

As far as "The Inferno II" is concerned, them's some bitches on that show. I used to think Rachel was off her nut when she threw Beth's clothes in the pool, but with the triumverate of evil estrogen she's up against, I'm feeling the sympathy. And could Jamie possibly be any cuter? On the guy's side, CT really needs to get the hell over himself. Really.

One-Armed Paper Hanger

What the hell does that mean anyway? If you had one arm, I'm all for you overcoming and whatnot, but this just seems like an invitation to annoyance. Hanging wallpaper? This is a two arm job, man. At least. I've watched my 5'2" mother do it and I should think it's also at least a 5'10", two armed person who has an assistant's job.

Regardless, that's what I am these days. Work, house, rehearsal. Lather, rinse, repeat. As a result, my current state of posting will diminish beyond it's current sporadic nonsense sharing. But, you never know. I'm posting now, aren't I?

Before I go, here's some things I've seen and noted over the last few days:

1. There's a man in my office's neighborhood that drives somewhere every morning in his OLD white BMW with his boxer sitting in the front seat next to him. Each time I've seen them toolin' about, both are intently focused on the road ahead.

2. Someone two nights ago decided that it would be appropriate to rev up the circular saw at 11pm. To everyone: this is not an appropriate time no matter what you have to saw and regardless of the urgency of said sawing.

3. Steel drum music is hard to find. That's probably for the best.

4. I saw the old gondolier woman again. She walks around the Central West End with her walking stick and sorta pushes off the pavement with each step. As a result, her languid ambulation looks like she's floating about in a gondola. I keep hoping one day she'll wear a striped shirt.

5. I'm eating breakfast these days.

Opiate of the Masses

"Identity"
"Lord Love A Duck"
"Deadwood"
"Final Destination 2"
"Inside Survivor"
"The Simpsons"
One of the "Mad Max" movies
"Intervention"
"The Graduate"
"The Quick and the Dead"

This is just a sampling of the things I watched yesterday. Now, I didn't watch them entirely - after all, I had to take time out to grocery shop and run into Drew at the Walgreen's - but I watched 'em. And is it any wonder that with all that television gaping, I couldn't go to sleep last night? (Correct answer: no.)

Speaking of Walgreen's, why is it that it's a brand new building and lot, but the interior looks just like the old one - and honey, that ain't somethin' you want to hold on to. (People are not inspired by the interior design of Walgreen's, to be sure.) But for all of its ugliness, it did afford me the opportunity to try Lime Coke. "Better than regular" was the concensus.

The Masses

I'm pleased to know, as Joel said, that I've made it to 2003 by starting this behind-the-curve blog. I may be behind the times, but I'm ahead on...uh...hmmm...the uh...the all sugar cookie diet. Watch it. It's gonna sweep this nation like a Dyson.

To everyone else, I'll blogroll you eventually...as soon as I can figure out how I did the last blogroll. Promise.

But now, it's weekend time.

Drew is my Champollion

Drew Bell, his finger firmly on the pulse of the Youth of America, has busted out his slang Rosetta Stone and offered this definition of the mythical "Hollaback Girl".

//Of course, you know what a "hollaback girl" is, yes? She's the second choice. The one who, when you meet her at "the club", you part with nicely, in pursuit of another. If things don't work out with the hot one, you can always holla back at easier #2.
SO:
Gwen's character says: "You've been disparaging me to others in our social group. I am not one to be trifled with, Mr. High School Metaphor. I am (to borrow from "Mr. Show") Queen Shit of Fuck Mountain, and I will now destroy you (perhaps sexually?)."//

Well, there you have it folks. From the frontlines, a plausible story to explain just what Gwen's talkin' about. This, however, still doesn't explain the 1,000 costume changes, the Harajuku afro, the grocery store diversions, the appearance of that famous African-American musical star whose name cannot be recalled, or why bananas are so blessed important. But perhaps, that will come with time. Like heiroglyphics, I will continue to wonder just what a civilization foreign to me is trying to say - and why they want it said.

Hollawhatwhere?

I have asked many people of all sorts and styles and no one seems to be able to tell me definitively just what Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" means. It's a girl proud of her self-esteem! It's a new high school fight song with cursing! It's assistance to children learning just how many "a"s and "n"s are in "bananas"! Obviously, we have some good theories, but I suppose we're just out of the target audience range on this one. Although, Gwen's older than we are so the boggling continues.

And let's not even delve into the wackery of the video. The number of costume changes and the deployment of an afro on one of her Japanese posse just makes the mind reel.

Speaking of videos, Drew and Jill know of my weird obsession with the Shakira video for "Tortura", her new Spanish-sung number. The strange spine jolting sternum shifting and the amount of oily black goo our Columbian rump shaker uses to seduce us through the television screen doesn't really work on me. And darling, scooting across a table in the manner of a wounded spider is not foxy. Not foxy at all. Perhaps it all makes sense with the lyrics, I'll never know as I don't speak Spanish, but I honestly can't imagine the words that would explain those antics.

Budgeting, Volume One

Do you know how much refrigerators are? Their job is to keep things cold. That's it. It's not to think or process or type brilliant thesis papers on the current state of the rainforest. It's job is to be plugged in and chill. The end. Nothing more, nothing less. And these bitches, which weigh a crapload and take up even more room, cost thousands of dollars. I can get a computer which, while I don't really use them to their full capacity, can do more than a refrigerator can do in less space. Can't we just go back to iceboxes? I can get ice on the cheap at the 7-11.

Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do

My crush on Miss Garner is officially over. I will hereby no longer refer to her as "my girlfriend", I will change my screensaver on the iMac, I will breeze past magazines with her on the cover, and I'm even starting to slack on my "Alias" love because I know the Affliction's seed will surely ruin next season for me.

Now, don't get me wrong. I understand the world. I'm sure she's a lovely girl. I'm sure she's just a lady lookin' for love. Heck, at one time, we all were. But there's a choice one makes. One dates "the wrong type" because they're fun and crazy and probably a bit off-kilter, mentally, or maybe they're brooding and manic and your "new project", but one doesn't marry those people, let alone procreate with them. That's just not how you do it. Even the bores on that "Sex and the City" show would approve of my advice. Enjoy them while it lasts, then find yourself a nice, stable boy to settle down with. (Not someone that deals with mucking out stalls, mind, unless he's also the owner of said stalls.) Miss Garner happily glossed over those rules, blocked out the horror that was Bennifer, ignored the rehab and the gambling and the lap dances and the drugs, and went straight into utter gaga (which means utter gag over here). And yes, you can't help who you fall in love with, but at least you can put yourself out of harm's way when you're falling.

So, although I'm sorely disappointed, and I admit, a twinge heartbroken, I still wish her a happy life, the ridiculously adorable thing. But, I'm just not going to be that interested in it anymore.

Sewercam Only Gets One Channel

Unfortunately. But if you're interested, I have a VHS tape of the sewer line I'm about to spend ridiculous amounts of money to own. There's some sagging and rust, but nothing drastic so it's all good. Or mostly good. Well, it's good enough. For now.

And I made a list of all the things that need to be done to the house while I was there and it seems like more than just the few things I'd noted before. Really looking at things certainly reveals the flaws. So far though, the leather jacket hanging in the closet is still there so that may be my new ironic outerwear - the used outerwear that's more expensive than chinchilla.

Joel Por La Futuro!

Joel Por La Futuro!

My friend Joel is running for Mayor of San Diego. His platform includes a Fat Tax based on constituents' BMI, renting space to coffee houses for placement in libraries, auctioning off naming rights of streets currently named solely with letters, and the fact that he has good hair.

That's Joel for you.

And honesly, if I were in California, I'd vote for him - even though he is a Republican. My taxes would be delightfully lower.

Hmmm...

It's that easy, is it?

Now that it's done, what on earth do I have to say that will make any impact on ... oh ... anyone?

I suppose we shall see.

This will do for now, pig. Later, we'll have to have a proper blog