Never Again.

The mother of all surveys stolen from Sarah at http://fallswithgrace.blogspot.com/.

BASICS

Birthday: 10.2.1973. It's one of my favorite days of the year and I'll remind you every chance I get. Hell, I wear a sash that reads "It's My Goddamn Birthday" on that day.
Sign: Libra.
Siblings: One brother.
Eye color: Blue
Shoe size: 8.
Height: 5'9"
What are you? I'm just a girl in the world. That's all that you'll let me be.
Innie or outie? Innie
What are you wearing right now? Red plaid boxers and a white tee.
Where do you live? In a caboose in the Loo.
Righty or lefty? Righty.
Can you make a dollar in change right now? I have a lot of change, but I rarely have a dollar.

FAVORITE STUFF

Where is your fav place to shop? NYC.
Favorite kind of pants? Skirts.
Color? Green.
Number? 27.
Animal? Elephants, giraffes, whales, dogs, monkeys, apes.
Drink: Newcastle, Manhattans, Tom Collins's.
Sport(s): Swimming. Which I don't do nearly enough of.
Month: October. Birthday, Hallowe'en, Autumn. Perfect.
Band: The Divine Comedy, Soul Coughing, Frou Frou.
Movie: First 3 that come to mind from the favorite list - The Royal Tenenbaums, His Girl Friday, Funny Face.
Juice: White grape.
Finger: I'm going to go with right hand pinky because it seems so...forgotten.
Breakfast: Creole Eggs Benedict from Duff's.
Perfume: Creed's Silver Mountain Water.
Favorite Cartoon Character: Disney's Alice in Wonderland.

HAVE YOU EVER?

Given anyone a bath? Yes.
Smoked? Yes.
Gone skinny dipping? Yes.
Put your tongue on a frozen pole? I saw "A Christmas Story". I learned my lesson by watching.
Loved someone so much it made you cry? I feel sorry for people that haven't.
Broken a bone? Knock wood, no.
Played truth or dare? Yes.
Been in a police car? Yes. But not for being naughty.
Fallen asleep in school? Naturally. And as I got older, that habit transferred to work.
Broken someone's heart? Probably not nearly as many times as mine's been broken.
Cried when someone died? Definitely.
Cried in school? I loved school, but I cried there - on stage, after I found out a friend died, at graduation, lots of times.
Fell off your chair? Clumsy Clara's fallen off her chair a number of times. And fallen into chairs even more.
Saved AIM conversations? Yes.
Fallen for one of your best friends? Nope. Not in a make out kinda way, but I am definitely in love with a lot of them. Like that, you mean?
Made out with JUST a friend?: Yes.
Used someone? Yes. And I'll admit it, although I'm not proud of it.
Been cheated on? Oh. I'm sure.

WHAT IS...?

Your good luck charm? I don't really have one. I guess it's the sun coming up in the morning and the moon at night. That's pretty good luck.
Best song you ever heard? "Dream A Little Dream Of Me".
Stupidest thing you have ever done? Not being brave and giving up on Chicago.
What's your room like? I'm going with the room I'm working on now - blue, white, oceany.
What is beside you? Empty soup bowl, water bottle, magazines, Tums, pillows, books, Arthur the Mountain Goat.
Last thing you ate? Uncle Ben's Broccoli, Cheddar & Rice soup and pulpy orange juice.
What kind of shampoo do you use? Anything not using animal products or tested on animals. Nature's Gate at the moment, but Giovanni and Phytologie products are brilliant.
Best thing that has happened to you this year? There's a lot of good things, but no bests.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD...?

Chicken pox? Yes. Hell, I liked it so much I took it up a notch and got shingles!
Sore Throat? I have one right now and I'm really afraid it's strep.
Stitches? On my foot when I was 3. Cut it on a glass soap dish.
Broken nose? I wish. I could have it reset and get rid of this bump. All the times I've been hit in the head in sports and never once did I get a broken nose.

DO YOU...?

Believe in love at first sight? Most certainly.
Believe in LOVE? If you don't love somethin', you ain't got nothin'.
Like picnics? I carry around an emergency picnic blanket in the trunk. Yeah, I like picnics.

WHO...?

Who was the last person that called you? My brother.
Who was the last person you slow danced with? Someone at work, I believe. I think we were goofing off.
Who makes you laugh the most? I'm lucky that I have a lot of people that make me laugh super hard on a daily basis.
Who makes you smile daily? I'd say the world makes me smile on an hourly basis. There was a cat sitting in a barrel today just peeking out. How can a cat peek out of a barrel? Well, the cat can if it's really a planter, but from far away it was lip of barrel, cat head in that order. And he hung out there all day. So brilliant I had to take a photo.
Who was the last person you yelled at? Henry.
Who has broken your heart? Boys, the world, evil, loneliness, orphaned elephants.

DO YOU/ARE YOU...?

Do you wear contacts or glasses? Sadly, no glasses. Fortunately, no contacts.
You like yourself? I do. I'm certainly not perfect, but I try to be a good person and that's all any of us can do on a day-to-day basis.
Do you get along with your family? Yes. They're good people.
Stolen anything over $50? Probably.
Obsessive? Compulsive? Do I have to pick just one? I'll take both, thanks.
Anorexic? I consider it from time to time. It would make trying on clothes so much more pleasant, but oh, food. How I love thee!

FINAL QUESTIONS

What did you do yesterday? Paint, walked the mall with Gwenny, ate avocado egg rolls, watched "Arrested Development", ironed, didn't sleep.
Hated someone in your family? Yes.
What car do you wish to have? Toyota Prius.
Where do you want to get married? I'm not really a get married sort of person. But I'll take a long vacation in Fiji.
Good driver? I think so. I'm polite, drive super close to the speed limit, and I've only been sued once over an accident I didn't cause.
Good dancer? I need to get back to ballet and see.
Good singer? No. And I never claimed to be.
Have a lava lamp? Oh, heavens no.
How many remote controls are in your house? Too many. 5?
Are you double jointed? No.
Last time you took a bath? I don't have a bathtub yet, unfortunately. I'd be in it now if I had one.
The last movie you saw at the theatres? Regrettably, "Step Up". I was hoping for "Save The Last Dance"/"Bring It On". Sadly, it was neither.
Scary or happy movies? Whatever you got.
Chocolate or white chocolate? I'm not really a sweets person.
Root Beer or Dr.Pepper? Neither. Squirt's my latest favorite.
Mud or Jell-O wrestling? What the hell kind of question is that?
Vanilla or chocolate? Vanilla. Sweet vanilla.
Skiing or boarding? I wish I were at boarding school right now. A preppy youth's dream come true.
Summer or winter? Winter. Snow. How I love snow.
Silver or gold? I'll take platinum. I could use the investment right now.
Diamond or pearl? Is this a Prince related question? I'll just go with solid metals for now. Prince is kinda skeevy.
Sunset or sunrise? Sunsets. I'm no morning person.
Cats or dogs? Dogs.
Coffee or tea? Tea. Coffee makes me pukey.
Phone or in person? Oh how I hate the phone. I hate cell phones and although I have rollover minutes, those might as well be burned off by someone else because I'll have millions stored up and never use them. And I really hate voicemail. Ugh.
Are you oldest, middle, youngest, or only? Oldest.

I believe in ghosts, I believe that Crystal is the best hot sauce for eggs, I believe in NPR, I believe that "CSI:Miami" is the bestworst show on TV, I believe that someday I'll be able to have a dog, I believe that this is all you could ever want to know about me, and I can't believe I've wasted so much time on this thing.

Icons Don't Need Updates

The Sartorialist wrote a post about Mary Tyler Moore recently and the comments have me thinking. Why do we constantly need to update icons? Why does someone need to be the new version of an older performer? Why can't those icons stand the test of time without us trying to update them for our current media as if new actors can't stand on their own merits? Are we so simple that we can't relate to newcomers without tying them to someone we're familiar with? I grew so tired of the "Debra Messing is the new Lucille Ball" comparison because no matter what Debra might do, she's not the new Lucille Ball. Lucille Ball was Lucille Ball and she's Debra Messing, moderately comedic actress who happens to dye her hair red. To be honest, she wasn't even that comedic. I find it all so demeaning to the predecessors to assume that their individuality can be co-opted by someone else 30 years later.

And for that matter, why aren't the old movies enough without the remakes - the adaptations for today? I think we all get the plot of "Sabrina" without having Harrison Ford in it. I'm pretty sure we're all into the "Poseidon" thing. Boat flips, tragedy, triumph, but no awesome theme like "The Morning After" in the sunk-before-it-swam revisiting.

Solution? Parents, show your kids the old movies. Let them see the stars and the plots for themselves. And although we'll always have Wolfgang and celebrity profile writers looking to make a connection, at least we'll know that they're all just not as good as the originals.

Camp Anaconda

That's where my cousinish will be stationed when she reaches Iraq shortly after Thanksgiving. (I say "cousinish" because I am still unclear on the family tree.) Yesterday was her going away party with family and friends out near the shore of the Mississippi in Portage des Sioux (look it up. Lots of history.). It was an absolutely stunning summer day - sunny, blue sky, cool breeze - and I just loved being out there with the family. But the only thing that kept running through my head was "my anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns, hun" (whip crack). Fortunately, it was going through cousinish's head as well.

I can't wait to innundate her with Sir Mix-A-Lot memorabilia.

New Age Agony

I sometimes get frustrated when people don't update their blogs on a regular basis. These are blogs of people I don't even know. The people I DO know, I find myself growing angry if they let their blog go for 2 days. I think this is a sign that I need to read books or that y'all need to get more interesting lives.

The Things They Want Me To Do

In the last week, the two owners of the company I work for have decided I need to replicate these two photos.





I haven't decided which one we should tackle first.

Glory Days

Tent, Promenade, Atelier

How I wish we could all be there, my darlings. Oh, how I wish.

Peter Pan Has Some Strong Feelings About Net Neutrality

We Are The Web

The music video's a bit long, but the kittens show up and those hamsters with big lips.

Baby Ruth!

"The Goonies" next Friday night at midnight at the Tivoli. Be there or be a Fratelli.

Just Because I'm Veggie Doesn't Mean I Can't Respect The Other Team

from Brentter

MySpace, Queen of Time Wasters

I know. I feel like the person who showed up for Woodstock a week late. Regardless, I love making lists about my favorite things so I've made a page.

Yeah. Super exciting Saturday night.

My View, Bitches

I once loved "Survivor". I don't any longer, but back in the day, I won the office "Survivor" pool based on my guessing and my love for Elisabeth Hasselbeck. If I didn't find her daddy/daughter relationship with corn-fed Roger so endearing, I wouldn't have liked her nearly as much and I definitely wouldn't have won. So, I thank her for that. But, I don't thank her for her backwards hillbilly take on emergency contraception.

Her "slippery slope" argument holds about as much water as a thimble and I'd personally love for her to go with me on SART calls and she can explain why the 40-year-old woman who was raped by her husband, isn't being believed by police, and is paranoid about getting pregnant should be more conscious of her maybe baby and less about herself. And yeah, I know Behar threw out the extreme twelve-year-old-incest-survivor example, but that's like 1 in 100,000. It's the women that have tiny shreds of hope left and peer-pressured, experimenting teenagers and women who just made a bad decision about a guy that need those pills and the women that have bigger issues on their mind like getting in a shelter or pressing charges. Plus, there's enough freakin' babies in this world and I personally don't think we need any more when so many don't even have homes or mothers or football playing daddies. Frankly, if I knew then what I know now, I would have donated my winnings to Planned Parenthood in her name. So enjoy this video of Babwah Wahwah laying down the law on "The View".

Women's Rights, Take One Feeble Daytime Host Sized Step Back

And on a completely different note, is that Lisa Loeb? Is that one of the strangest guest hosts for that show? Who next? Tabitha Soren? Samantha Fox?

Dave of the FMD

Where are you? I read this and immediately thought of you. And of poor Angela.

Good-bye Audrey Lindvall

Work Schmirk

It's been a whole year since I started working for Propaganda. A whole year. Wow. It seems like just yesterday that I pulled a bottle of Dewars out of our scary Brady Bunch kitchen cabinet and downed a shot after telling CPG that I was really leaving. In front of my mother. Who didn't find it either amusing or soothing. I, however, found it to be both. But, seeing as how it's been a whole year, I thought I'd share with the 6 of you where I work. Not really where because I've had a real stalker before and it's more creepy than thrilling, but rather my inside work desk-type environs.






Part of my desk! That other part of my desk! And, if it can be believed, yet even another part of my desk!!

Things you might recognize from your lives: a phone! a bottle of Tums (mint flavor, please)! paper! is that a notebook? various drinks!

Things you might not recognize from your lives: the lion that burps! the badge that gives me full power to bust people at the Hotel Intercontinental in Dallas! uh...my free Curious George from our printer Brian!

And yet one more strange thing, the whole thing is BACKWARDS!!! Zany MacBook and its reverso-camera!!!

The Simple Brain

I cracked myself up on the way home. Seriously, laughing in the car by your self is considered cracking yourself up 'round these parts.

Why, you ask? It's nearly time to hit the polls again and after the last time I voted, during the '04 presidential election, I was a little less than enthusiastic about doing it again. I mean look how THAT turned out. But, I'm a little trooper and my America needs me now more than ever and I'm so gung-ho that I even have a lawn sign and everything for one of our local candidates. On the way home today, I caught sight of lawn sign for a candidate that I'd never heard of before. She's running for collector of revenue. Her name....Kate Suave. No lie. How can I vote for someone who's name is "Suave" and seriously expect them to be good at handling money? She's probably married to Rico and on the side they run a shampoo company.

So, these thoughts, all of the just plain dumb, made me laugh out loud. Then I kept it going when I noticed the guy sitting at the light behind me. He was bald, big moustache, sleeves removed tee guy and I thought he was driving his grandma around because I could have sworn that was her in the backseat. But no. It was a big apricot colored poodle.

How could I not crack up?

Jesus Juice

Upon hearing that Mel Gibson has reportedly checked into rehab, a certain someone wondered: "Where's your lord now, Mel?"

I guess he found the lord at the bottom of a bottle.

Considering the incredibly anti-Semitic statements old Mel felt compelled to make, Mr. Gibson can stay at the bottom of the bottle for all I care.

Lord Loves A Workin' Man

Work. You love that it pays the bills and that's about it. Seriously. If you had all the money in the world, you can be sure as shit you wouldn't be working a 9 to 5. (Or a 5 to 1 or a 7 to 3 or whatever the hell hours you work.) People always say, "Oh, even if I won, I'd just have to work in some capacity!" I call bullshit. Sure you'd work, but you wouldn't care about your work or you'd have some cushy, personal goal attaining job like working as a counter girl in some ritzy department store where you can finally afford everything or you'd volunteer to save whales or knit for a living or something. You wouldn't show up every day to the office/restaurant/school/freelance gig you work in now filled with zeal for creating PowerPoints or logos or whatever it is you create.

So, you work. And sometimes you work in cool places and sometimes you work in crap places, but there's always the constants - you will always have to stay after because someone decides to get their changes/order/homework in at the last minute; you will always have a person in the office that you have to work to be civil to; you will always have to nag people about cleaning up after themselves; you will never make enough money, get enough respect, or have enough vacation time; and you will always want a better/different job.

I have a job, which is good because I also have bills. I work in an "open" office which is supercool in theory. It's completely untenable when you have a conference call or any call for that matter. It's completely stupid when you need to just ignore someone as there's no wall/door/cube keeping you hidden. It's absolutely a mess if you have to have a meeting and the conference room is taken. And if there's one thing I hate it's that you're busy - up to your eyeballs busy - and co-workers will just walk right up and sit down and wait for you to pay attention to them. To add to it, all day long my point of view affords me the following excitements:

seeing everyone entering/exiting the bathroom
being the de facto receptionist because I work closest to the elevator
a constant greeting parade from everyone who walks past my desk (waves, words, sounds, etc.)

Fun, non?

I know I shouldn't complain, and I'm not, really. It's a fun place usually and there are definitely fun people. It's just that when am I going to win the lottery again?

A Word From Our Sponsor

Just a reminder that some of you are certainly more savvy with this "blogging". So, if I can't yet determine how to get text to layout correctly or if I happen to be away from my HTML cheat sheet and can't remember how to link, forgive me. I am but a lowly opinionated philistine in a world of techies.

The Motherload

Ye Interweb Gods have pleased me again.

They have unearthed the earthly delight that is Colin Quinn's "Going Back To Brooklyn" - not only the special, but also the music video pulled out so I can watch it ovah and ovah and ovah again.

The Video Only

The Motherload

How I've longed for this moment.

AD3

You can now order your third (and final) season of "Arrested Development" at Amazon, darlings. Go order yours or Mr.F might come after you.

(Speaking of Mr.F, there's a thin line between me and Charlize's character. And that thin line is that she can play the banjo.)

Emmys Schmemmys

Uh, does no one watch "Deadwood"? Are you freakin' fuckin' kidding me? Was it exempt because it's set in a time before the Emmys existed? Someone explain how "Ghost Whisperer" got an Emmy nom and "Deadwood" didn't. Please.

(Although, the "GW" nod was probably for "Best Ridiculous Costuming". On a completely different note, has anyone else noticed that Love Hewitt's acting response for "That smells bad", "I can't believe that!", "Well, that was weird", "Ghosts say the darndesd things", and "He did WHAT!?!" are all the same. It's a twitchy, draw the head back, wrinkle nose thing. It either ends in a smirky smile or a Charlie Brown frown.)

And seriously, is the incredibly grating I-can't-even-watch-it-and-I'm-their-target "Grey's Anatomy" really nominated for awards? The two leads of "Law & Order: SVU"? Do they know that I watch that show and laugh out loud because it's so fawningly melodramatic?

If it's taking this turn, then where are the noms for The Great (David) Caruso?

Notes On The Box

I love "CSI: Miami". Oh, that Horatio Caruso. David Caine. Either way, they're magic. MAGIC! I tells ya. It's so absurd and overwrought! I can't love it any more! I encourage all 6 of you to watch it and be amazed by the pauses and the sunglasses applications and the growling, one-note responses. It is truly a thing of beauty.

"It" is a key component to both the eBay campaign and the Gatorade campaign. eBay wants you to find "it" in its astounding array of offerings and the Gators want you to check and see if "it" is in you. I hope they both know they aren't "it". "CSI: Miami" is "it".

I am cookoo for "The Venture Bros." cocoa puffs. It is the bee's retro knees. But the cartoon acting's not nearly as remarkable as "CSI: Miami"'s.

If I see one more lame local dealer car commercial, they're going to have to get that M.E. that used to be on "NewsRadio" and is now on "CSI: Miami" who was once held hostage by the guy who killed the dude who had a security system on his bedroom and a secret molesty room to which he lured wee lads a la Michael Jackson to help identify the car dealer's body. It won't matter which one, just so long as one of them leaves my bedtime reruns alone.

Uh, and a bunch of other stuff that doesn't really tie to "CSI: Miami" but that I will somehow, weakly, pull together.

Our Card

"I had a dream
A dream for guess who, Lydia
It wasn't for her, Lydia
It's only for you, yes, Lydia
Some people can get their kicks watching Koppel and late-night flicks
That's okay for some people who don't own VCRs
But Lydia, you've won the grand prize
Just think of it
All the movies you'll watch for free now
Dramas, westerns, comedies, wow
Video Spot has the best selection
If you like porno we're your connection
And everything's coming up videos
Everything's coming up videos this time for free
For you, Lydia
For FREE!"

The Pelican Is For Marksmanship And The Gorilla Is For Sandracing

WWWWD?

I admit it. I've had a long-standing crush on Wil Wheaton. And sometimes I read his blog. But it's rare. I am far more interested in how I can become friends with Lindsay Lohan and talk her off the ledge she's put herself on. (I really am concerned for the girl and completely agree with this and feel that far better than Kate Moss, I am oracle at who's feet she should be sitting. We're redheads! We're like kin! The only coke I've had is from a can!)

I digress.

Wil Wheaton and I have a long, storied, incredibly distant history. I was the lone girl swooning over him during "Stand By Me" (Phoenix was too broody and troubled). I was the only soul mooning over him during the "Next Generation" days (and the only girl who watched the show that I knew). I was the solitary Cor Jesu freshman who had his picture in her locker (take that, Johnny Depp!). I was the renegade who made her mother take her to see him at a personal appearance at Crestwood Mall (despite the fact that said mother was on a heart monitor for the near heart attack I had given her swimming out to dolphins in North Carolina [again, digression]).

Let's just be clear and state for the record that I thought he was cute and really wanted him to be my boyfriend. I imagine that back then that meant we'd make friendship bracelets for each other, listen to Oingo Boingo tapes, ride our bikes up to the Walgreens and get Cadbury Fruit and Nut bars and nail polish pens, and watch "Remote Control" on MTV.

Since then I've grown a bit emotionally. I have a real boyfriend and needent tear fake ones out of Bop magazine. But there's still that little tug when there's a Wheaton mention. My friend Marty, a poker player, ran into him at a tournament and texted me about it and it was like I was 14 again. So, no more collaging his head in with copy from Seventeen or Surfer magazine, but I still firmly believe he would have made a great high school boyfriend.

Rosie.

Work has people. These people need places to type and look at stuff on screens. With the influx of new people, we needed new areas and equipment for them to perform these actions. Result? I got a MacBook. (New people get the old computers. That's how the Propagandans roll.)

While I am still not a MacGirl, being about as technologically inclined as the Mentawai of Indonesia, I am inclined to play around when time permits. I've discovered iMovie, PhotoBooth, and the zany joys therein (see below).



I'm also mad for the keyboard of this white hot gem. It's clicky without being noisy, it won't accumulate the dust and jetsam of daily use, and so far none of the keys have flipped up like the "O" key did on Barbie's Dream House Computer. It was always at the most inopportune time that the "O" refused to be returned to it's typeable state. So, farewell to that stupidness.

The screen on this little thing is shiny. And powerfully bright. And I got a new wireless mouse because I have some sort of "bluetooth" something or other which is exciting in that I can now play "Modern Girl" and roam about the world with a laptop and do things from any room anywhere I can get a signal. I haven't exactly figured out how to make that magic occur, but learning curve is still in effect.

And the dear's name is Rosie. After dealing with Barbie's Dream House Computer - a slow as molasses iBook that rarely worked well and was pocket-sized - this new MacBook was like hanging out at the Jetson's house. Thus, Rosie, meet the blog. Blog, this is Rosie.

OAA Watches So You Don't Have To - Squid/Whale & Flowers, Broken

"The Squid & The Whale"
Real Lesson Learned: things aren't so scary once you look 'em in the face and accept 'em as they are.
Summary: Parents are self-absorbed assholes, kids are loopy and creepy, cats just want to stay in one place, and artsy-fartsy movies always have to go *there* don't they so be careful when checking out library books. You don't want to be a tennis pro. You don't want to pretend a Pink Floyd song is your own. Oh, and somehow, greasy-haired Baldwins keep getting cast as romantic leads.

"Broken Flowers"
Real Lesson Learned: the past is the past and you can't change it.
Summary: Bill Murray is depressed. Not as depressed as "Lost in Translation" Bill Murray and not as desperate as "Rushmore" Bill Murray, but he's certainly lost his "What About Bob?" spark. He hopes to get it back by trying to make good with the past. He ends up in an intersection with a swooshy camera after learning the Real Lesson. Along the way there's Winston (not the Ghostbuster), Taruses (not the astrological sign), and lots of tracksuits (not the "Tenenbaums" kind). Oh, and the girl from "Invasion" is stark-raving-naked.

Favorite Muppet Song As Sung By Robin

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top,
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Halfway up the stairs isn't up and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head -
It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top,
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Where Is The Love, Indeed, Black Eyed Peas?

If you have a song reducing a woman to solely her "humps" and "lumps", I don't think you can, with a straight face, pen a song asking "where is the love" and bein' all righteous.

Just sayin'.

Risking Unpopularity

I like "The English Patient".

I don't like "Yelling At Briefcases".

I like brussel sprouts.

I don't like leggings.

I like some of James Blunt's songs.

Slip Of The...What The Hell?

I was talking to a clerk this evening at an Urban Outfitters who was neither a poseur moron or a bitchy cooler-than-thou punk (surprise, surprise) and looked over at a table near the cashwrap that featured crap of all sorts including a "Donnie Darko" talking (yes, talking) figurine. I said something like, "So, you think I should get the...What the fuck is that?!?" Here's the thing...yes, yes, I cursed in front of a child, nevermind that...he had never seen "Donnie Darko". Didn't know what it was. Didn't know it was a movie. Said most people there didn't know. For those interested, It's of the evil rabbit with a replacable person head. I have no idea what it says because I was immediately sent into a downward spiral of realizing I'm probably 14 years older than he is and he was probably 14 when the movie was being discussed. I highly recommended he see it.

Mad world.

That's Buffett With Two Tees

There are times when Jimmy Buffett songs pop into my head. It's usually "Cheeseburgers in Paradise" because that's a pet name for a local restaurant. So, sometimes that restuarant sponsors things and I hear it's real name et voila! There's the song! The other popular brain one is "Pencil Thin Moustache". The thing about these songs is that although they're in there, it's really just the titles and the ditties I can remember. Scant amount of lyrics (which is for the best), but precious little else.

So, moving down this train of thought, I once went to a Jimmy Buffett show in North Carolina. I had barely heard of the dude but some friends of mine - Ladue High girls - all loved him. When I went to visit Kristie in NC, her pop got us tickets to his show. I remember being out on a lawn with a lot of people in Hawaiian shirts and the ubiquitous parrot hats. I believe I bought a tee shirt. It had a treasure map on it, I think. I have no idea whatever happened to it.

And now here we are. At the point. Tees for events. I don't get 'em. I have tees from events I attended/participated in and I have to be honest, I never wear them. There are those folks that wear the day of and that's just ridiculous. I love going to concerts and seeing people in the tees of the concert we're collectively seeing. Ooooh...meta. Those people probably contributed to Darwin's theories. Regardless, even if you buy it and it's the week after, is that too soon? Is that too fanboy? Reason for all this, I have a Tori Amos "Under The Pink" concert tee that I've never worn. Ever. It's been washed and folded and moved to 5 different locales, but it's never been worn and yet there it is. Waiting for the day I finally get over myself and wear the damn thing. But I know that day will never come.

That said, I'm wearing a Ringo Starr tee right now. I know. What the hell? Reason is - I didn't go to the concert. I wore the hell out of a Love & Rockets tee that Jennifer bought me at the show and it was 4 sizes too big. Didn't go to that concert either.

Thus here's the theorem:
If A goes to concert and buys tee. Tee is never worn.
If A does not go to concert, but has tee procured for her, A will wear tee.
Therefore, for concerts with good artwork, send someone else.

And all of this was constructed while the old melon sung "oh I wish I had a pencil thin moustache ... da da da da da dee da da".

And Then This Sound And Bright Light Thing Really Confused Me

The "Lost" finale commercials promised me answers to all my questions. Or at least some of them. And yet, my questions haven't even been addressed! Here are just a few of the mysteries keeping me up at night. (For those that haven't been paying attention this season, go pray the Spy Daddy prayer again and avoid this for it is rife with spoilers.)

1. Why hasn't anyone killed Michael? Sure, there's good reason for tribal retribution on his ass for killing Libby, but the death of Girlfight was warranted. Shootings aside, his endless "my boy" bull is so frustratingly obnoxious that I would have bumped him off just on repetitious principle. I'd pay anyone an American dollar for the two-fold task of counting the number of times he's said "my son" or "my boy" and then forgetting that that coincidentally happened to be the number of stab wounds he received during his mysterious murder.

2. In the beginning, there were giant dinosaurs or something bitey and rumbly that terrorized our darlings and ate pilots. Did that thing give up on a life of intimidation and move to New Jersey to settle down and have a family? Where did that thing go? And for that matter, did it take the polar bears with it?

3. If there are fake beards and spirit gum, why can the Others and the Lostaways just unite and put on a really ripping production of the "The Pirates of Penzance" or maybe a two-for-one night with "HMS Pinafore"? Put the shooty, glarey, kidnappy past behind them and unite in staging Gilbert & Sullivan's maritime light operas? This seems like such a more noble pursuit than sneaking around and now that that pesky button has finally not been pushed, there's plenty of time to rehearse!

4. What ever happened to "the sickness" that everyone apparently got back in the day? Too H5N1 for the writers? Too boring? Less boring than two guys trying to decide whether or not to push the return key on a Commodore 64? We may never know.

5. Black Rock. Pirate ship? Death site of a Hanso? Adam & Eve's accessory? An actual noirish geological formation? Would someone break it down to just one for me?

6. Who hired Michelle Rodriguez? She can't act. Seriously. She attended the Clint Eastwood Academy of the Dramatic Stare which is supposed to pass for elated, confused, mournful, and furious all without changing a facial muscle. The girl clearly graduated magna cum laude for the only time I thought she was really acting was when she was lying there motionless and I thought, "Oh hooray, she's dead.", and believed it to be true.

A Prayer For Spy Daddy

Lo, for you came upon this earth to kick the ass of foreign nationals and Joey Slotnick
You strove to eternally be thoughts ahead of Sloane and Olin
You, our Spy Daddy, could disembowl with mini blinds
And survived the great plagues of torture reaped by the Sark, the Lauren, and the Rossellini

We revere you, O Spy Daddy, above Bauer and Bond, for you are the one true super killer
Determined to protect your children from harm via any means necessary
Your giant ears of doom preserve you from sneak ups and surprises
Your commanding voice brings the weak to their knees
Your morse code batting eyes keep you from all harm

Sacrifice, O Spy Daddy, not yourself for the preservation of our world, but rather the Vaughn! The Dixon! Even the Flinkman!
But if you must sacrifice yourself, my sweet Spy Daddy, do it for causes noble and eternal
To save us, your lowly servants, from destruction and from more superfluous cast members being added
To save your daughter, the sainted Sydney and her progeny
To save the remaining memory of the formerly mighty "Alias"

Hallowed be thy name, Jack Bristow, our revered Spy Daddy, and all your works - cladding yourself in costumes varied, offering assistance to many, staring icily, and laying down an inescapable hail of bullets
Your gifts to us shall ne'er be forgotten
We bless you
We glorify you
We really loved Season 2

Amen.

Yeah, I kinda lost track of "Alias" during its suck phase. But, man, I loved that show. Loved it and I wasn't alone. Back in the day, there were so many people I knew that loved it, that it was like a cult of Spy Daddy. And now, on the TV, is Sark! Project Christmas Syd! French Poodle! Photos of Lena Olin! Ahhh...it's almost like the old days when I wore my SD-6 sweatshirt constantly (I still do, but now it's got ink spots where that pen broke in the wash and mysterious bleach stains so I try to only wear it at home).

This show was so good, so suspenseful, so exciting, such a guilty conspiracy theory pleasure that watching some of it now is just painful by comparison. Dead Nadia talking? All those new, not-as-good people? Painfully little wig? Precious little kick? But then there's Sark looking dreamy and Sydney coming back to life again just like the old days. If only it were the old days. If only Spy Daddy could kick the scriptwriters in the head and someone was in a rubber dress.

Who knows? There's still time left and a mysterious sphere.

Sweet Christ

Why did I even start this thing? It's over a month since I went on and on about the dogs in my neighborhood and haven't written anything since. What a freakin' snooze. So, in some effort to try to recap the last month, here are the things I've been thinking about in no certain order.

1. I'm really starting to feel bad for Britney Spears. How many mothers out there drop babies and install the car seat wrong? Probably close to all of them. Sad part is she's gotta see her whoopses played out in front of millions of people. That would be enough to make me crawl in Saddam's spiderhole and never come out.

2. Speaking of Saddam, not nearly enough antics at his trial lately.

3. Flew to DFW for work and there's a castle in Terminal D. A shiny, silver castle built around a blue lit tunnel that you pass through when leaving your gate. This is my new favorite airport terminal and despite the fact that I was incredibly tired, I walked though that blue castle tunnel four times.

4. Prom was just as good the second time around and my 2006 shoes were much better than my 1991 shoes. Plus, I didn't lose them.

5. I am incapable of making a vacation decision. One day it's definitely Jamaica. Next day I'm off to Iceland. Day after that there's some cruise offer from my parents. The following day I'm going to Africa to see my elephant. The only thing that can cure this is money. And the time to spend it.

6. Yes. I adopted an elephant. His name is Kora and lives at the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. Everyone should adopt an elephant from the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. Go. Adopt one. They're orphans for chrissakes. Do something good with your money.

7. More platelets! Donate more platelets! We went Saturday and although it hurt like I couldn't believe to start, I settled right in to the "Arrested Development" episodes and was again rewarded with sugar cookies like none I've ever had. These cookies are nearly as good as the oatmeal raisin ones from that bakery in Minneapolis from which Amy Harkins used to send me cookies.

8. See that? I didn't end a sentence in a preposition.

Bark.

I am not the biggest fan of spring. Mostly it's the allergies, but I'm more of a fall person. Regardless, I love them both more than summer and winter because I can open the windows and get fresh breezes and listen to the birds chirping and whatnot. But not here. Not in this house. This house is not the house for open windows which is ironic considering there are dozens of them. This house is for earmuffs and loud TV volumes and foamy ear plugs because of what little darlings? DOGS!

Now I love dogs, probably more than most, but seriously, this neighborhood's dogs are either all retarded, just like to hear themselves talk, or weren't very well trained in their early days. Regardless of the reason, the basset hound next door never SHUTS UP! She barks and barks and barks and barks and barks until she whips herself into a froth and starts howling like something's seriously wrong when in reality it's the mailman or the garbage truck or, my personal favorite, and hers apparently, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Basset hounds are stupid dogs, by the way. Nothing that can't jump up on things should be kept around. I'm amazed these sorry excuses for canines weren't weeded out by natural selection long ago.

The dread creature was just waxing rhapsodic on something only she could see for the last six minutes. Yes. Six minutes. I timed it because after nearly a year here, it still amazes me that something that can barely waddle onto the patio from the grass (and they're on the same level) can have enough energy to bark her fool head off at oxygen or passing satellites or gnats. Whatever the hell it is, I sure as hell can't see it.

And that's not all. When she really gets going, it spreads to all the other fool creatures in a 12 mile radius. Then Benny and Sam and the black-and-white-dog-that-gets-loose-and-lays-in-the-middle-of-the-street and the two behind us and that other one I can never see only hear all get in on it and the evening's cacophony begins anew as they attempt to outdo each other. Again, this is coming from someone who loves dogs. A lot.

See, the problem isn't the barking. I'm cool with that. It happens. It can be funny at times and helpful at others. It's the barking at 10pm or 11pm or 12am or 1am or beyond that really gets to me and that's not their fault. It's their parents' fault. And really, it's the people I'm mad at, but obviously, I can't bring it up to them because I don't know sign language and they're clearly deaf if they can let a dog bark incessantly for SIX minutes without SAYING A FREAKING WORD!

So, to all the neighborhood dogs I say, "The mailman comes by every day, the garbage truck comes by three times a week, the sun goes down and you go to sleep. These are not surprises so learn to adjust your internal clock accordingly." And to the parents I say:

Star Jones is Nicole Richie

I swear one is just the darker, plumper version of the other. Perhaps, Richie lives inside of Jones and only comes out for certain public events, y'know, like the Oscars.

National Poetry Month - Elizabeth Skurnick

Oh! Oh, this reminds me of my old, free-wheelin' days of my early 20's. Well, most of it does. I'm not tellin' which part doesn't 'cuz this is a family blog. But, regardless, this Lizzie Skurnick is an unabashed genius and kicks off OAA's NatPoMo quite nicely. In fact, that's how your Old Aunt Amy got her start - writing pithy emails containing poetry called "Old Aunt Amy's Poetry Corner". I'm sure a couple of the 6 readers remember those glory days. Well, now they're back for the month of April (which is National Poetry Month, dontcha know)! So, enjoy the works of Elizabeth here or read it where I found it.

"Ballad Of The Love-Scorned Anywoman"

Would it trouble you, at my behest,
to put a stuttering heart to rest?

This trouble's neither great nor tall?
So look at me, at least, or call.

My number's listed in the book, and
much is said with scattered look,

or not. Not operating, then
fling out that stevedore, and pen

a captive letter, deeply felt, as
lush and fired as African veldt.

God's love, we never had a fight!
We Walked in Beauty like the Night!

or somesuch. As you used to say??
perhaps that was another day.

Perhaps you listed me along
with All Else In My Life That's Wrong:

the idling sound that's not quite sound, the
ruined roast, the basset hound

you wanted but never seemed to get. And
you had studied to be a vet!

Perhaps I'm left in flounced heap
with all else limitless and cheap. Or

backyard flung to sootwashed bin,
with other snot-strung cherubim.

But I digress, and I'm forlorn.
My hands are weeping, chewed-off, torn.

I'd send them to The One I Love,
If Hallmark made a helpful glove.

My needs are drippy, short and clear:
could you last lilt out, "My Dear?"

Can't do? Be kind, if we're to be free?
I sucked your dick; be nice to me.

Thoughts On A Sunny Day

The Saddam trial should replace C-SPAN. C-SPAN is only exciting at times, the Saddam trial is always good for a laugh. I'm concocting a madcap theme song for the whole thing, but I can't think of anything that rhymes with "daughter of a whore".

The Bobby Darling Show

Am I the only person left that remembers The Bobby Darling Show, a band out of MPLS about 8ish years ago? I've tried to track them online and have come up with mostly references to an Indian pre-op transexual and I'm fairly sure the CD I have isn't of Hindi tranny wailing. Anyone out there, y'know, all 6 of you, know of The Bobby Darling Show?

I'm Concerned By Where This Is Going

I already had a serious crush on Tim Gunn, but now, after appearing before him and hearing him giggle in person, it's Swoonsville, population one.

Classy

An NPR story that demonstrates exactly why I absolutely adore our elders. Just listen to the kindness she displays in caring for her brother and sister.

The Story of Clarice Morant

Olympic Crushes

Whilst everyotherlass swooned for the spunky redheaded snowboarder and everyredbloodedboy swooned for Tanith the ice dancer, I swooned for Joey Cheek and an Italian cross country skier.

Whilst on iTunes moments ago, I read Mr. Cheek's celeb playlist and he included Elliott Smith, Fiona Apple, Death Cab, and (gasp!) Andrew Bird. This and the donations to charity have only added to my swooning.

And yes. It's been over for weeks and I'm still hanging on to the Olympics. I am that one percent of the viewership that watched every night and feel let down by standard programming and pine for more biathlon and hours of Bob Costas. Sue me.

Schmoscar FASHION: Blair Edition

Is there going to be a new Anne Rice movie about a Spanish senorita's descent into the Vampiric underworld of award shows?

Is this a veiled statement alluding to the fact that Hollywood is a town filled with blood-suckers?

Selma's tribute to Sicilian women in mourning? To the silent film era?

I half expect a bull to leap through those hedges and someone with a red cape to swoop in and exanguinate it to impress her.

Schmoscar FASHION: Wifeclown Edition

Getty caption: "Talk show host Larry King and wife clown"

This inadvertant renaming of the trophy wife concept couldn't be more true.

Schmoscar FASHION: Celestia Edition

I can't believe the amount and quality of people invited to the Vanity Fair party. It's like a who's who and who isn't of Hollywood. Even Anne Heche in her loony fish scale, chain mail, twenties flapper with chiffon underlayer festival of fashion frights made it in. At this rate, I should receive my invite for '07 any day now.

But back to Mrs. Laffoon. She's down there in the Girlfight Edition too and it's stunning to me how much she got around those photographers. She's there! Entering! There she is in the background of another shot! There she is with Coley! Without Coley! Front view! Side view! Close-up on the tattoo view! And that brings us to my key point. I know that somewhere in that addled brain of hers she just knew she HAD to wear that dress because of the back reveal cut-out. I am positive that somewhere in there Celestia whispered, "Show them the butterfly and they will know peace." That can be the only reason for this ridiculous disaster of a dress and her absurd insistance on showing it off.

Schmoscar FASHION: Girlfight Edition

Kooky Girlfight sobered up long enough to do her hair and call the limo service and for that I'm proud of her. With all her recent liquor troubles, it's nice to see she stayed straight so she could use a curling iron and make her admittedly pretty hair all curly and fancy and done up right. Unfortunately, that sobriety couldn't get her through the dressing phase of the evening. She tipsily selected an adorable gown that would really look fabulous on someone much taller, like maybe Charlize Theron (after all, there's no bow). But on Girlfight, those black dots are like scrubbing bubbles and they've removed her waist like it was soap scum and somehow turned her top half into a tanner Bea Arthur torso. After donning the gown, she drunkenly pondered her accessory choices and went with the never popular old Christmas ribbon around the wrist look. Were it black, she might have looked like she was protesting something. Were it white, she might have garnered sympathy for a minor accident on the "Lost" set, but with silver it just looks like she really thought this might work.

Good thing she called the car service beforehand or we might've had a decent mugshot for The Smoking Gun to post.

Schmoscar FASHION!

Just one before I have to dash, darlings.

Overall, from what I've seen it wasn't a scary year. Sure, there's the Charlize bow, which we'll talk about later, but overall, not much wrong with the general Oscar population. But seriously, that ain't where the "oh wow I can't believe it" moments occur. Those happen later...at the parties.



If she had just gotten finished picking up the kids from soccer practice, dropping the dog off at the groomer's, running to the market for tonight's dinner, heading up a PTA meeting, and playing 3 sets of tennis at the gym, I might have understood why she totally forgot her husband's boring business dinner and just threw on a pair of jeans and a long swacket. But let's call a spade a spade. Kate Capshaw's got more money than all of us combined and then tripled. She has people that do all that stuff for her. Couldn't they have laid out a nice pair of pants before they climbed into their shared Ford Festiva and drove back to the barrio?

Until later, peaches.

OAA

Schmoscars

Robert Altman has turned into Colonel Sanders and the only thing that disappointed me about his speech was that he didn't reveal those eleven secret herbs and spices.

How did Michelle Williams get into the front row of the Oscars? Get back up about 20 aisles with the TV people you scammy little PR concoction.

Gyllenhaal, what, you couldn't shave?

Set Designers - Norma Desmond wants her bathroom back.

Ludacris, Jessica Alba, John Travolta - you'll never see those three names together again.

Keanu and Sandra next to each other? Are we in for a "Speed 3"!?! Fingers double crossed.

The Oscars were quite progressive. There were a lot of African Americans on stage. The sad part was that they had to do a "West Side Story"-esque dance number to a rap which must have been hard because there were a whole lot of "witches" jumpin' ship during that. The best part was whitey clappin' until they realized that "pimp" is now part of the Oscar canon.

Larry McMurtry, you're adorable in that "I don't really get out" way. But somewhere there's a bus boy at an Italian restaurant wishing you hadn't borrowed his tie. He got called in for the dinner shift.

Meta-awkward use of a movie line: Ang Lee telling Oscar "I wish I knew how to quit you." Now, everyone has to stop using it. (Thankfully.)

You say "Tuh-may-toe", Nicholson "Tuh-mah-toe"; you say "Cuh-poe-tee", Nicholson "Cuh-poe-tay"; Let's call the whole thing off.

Done before 10:30p and I only caught half of it. The only thing I'm mad I missed was more Stewart. And later, the FASHION!

Dobbs Tire Centers and the American Humane Society

In. Up. Fixed. Out.


(thanks, Drew.)

The Living End

I need a vacation.

Seriously.

A Win, An Observation, Some Tidbits, A Request

I have just won the award for Wanting Mexican Food More Than Even Those of the Mexican Persuasion (it's just "food" to them, you see). Here's the rub - no one wants to go with me. Either they're away, not answering, immune to my extreme begging, or broke. Most of these excuses are LAME and deserve your WRATH.

Since I'm not old enough yet to begin taking my meals at a solitary table and, as a back-up excuse, have no reading material to accompany my loser-eating-alone status, I've decided to get my prize "to go" by which I mean "to eat hastily in the car because I can't bear to wait any longer".

In other news, work continues to amaze me with its ability to confound the natural order of things. Take that as you may.

And now, some tidbits for you:
1. I'm illegally parked in the Bread Co. lot across the street. We're supposed to park down Grand in a lot by Jay's International Foods, but we never do that. One of the newbies on the 6th floor asked two of us if that's where we parked and we laughed the laugh of the wicked illegal parkers as our response.

2. I'm not a Leno fan. Don't really care for his smug head waggering. But last night he had Julie Scardina on (she of "Animal Wise" with Julie Scardina on "Jack Hanna's Animal Adventures" programs) and she brought out a sloth. With a baby. Frankly, that wins. Baby sloths are perhaps the best things since single-celled organisms began scooting around the earth. The baby came out on a rolled up fleece blanket, hanging on, and couldn't have been sweeter whilst trying to eat a piece of apple Leno had hastily shoved at her little mouth region. Oh cripes, she was cute. And then Julie brought out the lesser apes and I lost it entirely.

3. I refer to "blankets" as "bobbies" - "let's put the bobby back on the bed", "I need a warmer bobby", "these bobbies are on sale", etc. I had to go back and change that in the above point 2 because none of you would have known what I was talking about - "rolled up fleece bobby" would have confounded you as you tried to imagine a fuzzy British policeman curled up with a sloth. "Bobby" is just one of those words used during my childhood that I haven't grown out of.

And now, what I'd like in return:
I can't find my MP3 of a marching band playing the "Sanford & Son" theme song. Can you?

Hi T-Roy

My work pal at another company, T-Roy Cabana Boy, asked me about Mardi Gras. This is what I had to say:

I was at Barnes Hospital donating platelets with Henry for most of the afternoon. Then we ran errands at Target, had dinner with my family at Frank & Helen’s, and went home and watched the Olympics. Throughout, we remained free from the tyranny of Mardi Gras. But there was public urination in my presence. At Barnes, we forgot our DVD of “Arrested Development” so I ran out to the car to get it while Henry was getting checked in and lo, 5 obnoxious 20-somethings alighted from an SUV and one proceeded to relieve himself on a supporting pillar. I yelled at them, but they seemed unconcerned. But Henry, the pheresis nurses, and I were all roundly disgusted.

He seemed to enjoy it so I thought I'd share with the other 6 of you. As you can see, Henry and I are PARTY ANIMALS!!!

Globetrotting With The Slutty Creeker

So Michelle Williams and Heath Ledger want to move to Amsterdam or Greece or somewhere, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and brood want to move to Paris, Georgy Boy Clooney already has a joint in Italy, and celebrities all over the nation - large or small - are seeking refuge on foreign soil.

Here's my big question. Why'd you become a celebrity in the first place? And don't say it's because you love your art. If you were in "Ocean's 12", you wouldn't know your art if it hit you square in the face. Don't try to pander to our delicate sensibilities and say it's because you simply can't live without acting. I know there are people out there who actually feel that way and aren't snapped leaving the grocery store.

So, now that you're a celebrity (and I still don't consider Michelle Williams a celebrity. Just because you were the slutty Creeker and you were barely in a boring Ang Lee movie does not you a celebrity make.) you can just pick up and pull a Depp and hide? Okay. That's fine. But note this:
I've never seen more Brangelina photos on gossip sites since they've been in gay Paree.
The "watergunning" that nearly provoked the Ledge to fisticuffs was not in America.

Here's a general rule of thumb for all those striving to lead a personal life: if you stay away from the media, they stay away from you. Matt Damon. What's he up to? I don't know. Charlize Theron? Got me. What about the day-to-day looks of one Ms. Barbra Streisand? Couldn't elaborate. And for that matter, what's keeping the Cloon busy when it's not award season? I'm stumped. You know why? They don't go to the Ivy, they don't hang around with a Lohan or a Hilton, they aren't constantly putting themselves out there and making a scene. Sure a case could be made that AngeliBrad ran off to Africa and still got snapped, but they were part of a big ol' break up at the time and the people, they want to know. And I suppose there are spottings of other celebs all over Gawker.com and Defamer.com. But, unfortunately, that's why you are a celebrity. You want people to be in your bidness - to come to your movie, to watch your TV show, to take an interest in your career. It's called a Q Score and if you want that moment on Oprah's lounge chair, you gotta put up with a little tabloid nonsense.

So Michelle "Not A Celebrity" Williams, if you don't want the intrusion, ditch the passport and be a CPA.

Thoughts On A 13th

1. Joey Lawrence is in a commercial saying "whoa" and all is retro with the world.

2. I have the fever. The Olympic Fever. Georg Hackl let me down, Pommodoro Volante didn't and I hope he meets Sasha Cohen, cross-country skiing looks just short of impossible, I really think I could ski jump if given the chance, Apollo Ohno is a jackass, I feel bad for Michelle Kwan despite some people's belief that figure skating isn't a sport, I've been trying to hold the speed skating stance for a full minute each day and it's tough, I think the Burton snowboard uniforms look like a cross between pimp wear and prison uniforms and are unflattering to whitey, and I can never get enough Bob Costas.

3. There is a prairie dog vacuum that sucks the little friends up into a truck so they can be relocated. Honest.

4. Missed "Bleak House" again last night and suppose I'll just have to suck it up and read the book.

5. I'd like to start a "Send Amy To Thailand" fund so I could go see the Asian elephants and help them reclaim their habitat, I'd like to start a "Send Amy To Nursing School" fund so I could join Doctors Without Borders, I'd like to start a "Send Amy To Indonesia" fund so I could work in orangutan conservation, but I'm afraid I'd be too heartbroken as a result of my efforts.

6. If I don't get a stove soon, I might go ape. I just want to make some pasta, for chrissakes! Is that too ridiculous a request!?!

7. Alternately too busy and too lazy to actually post anything worth a damn, but I'll say this - Marc Jacobs is mind-boggingly overrated.

A Furry Vegetarian?

To respond to Douglas' comment:

Yeah. I am a vegetarian. And I'd never buy anything made of fur. But part of my take on vegetarianism is "no animal in vain" so I rescued the hat from being tossed at a video shoot 4 years ago and I saved a fur coat from a real bitch who had it in a trash bag in her closet. The coat's name is Milton and he's appeared in two movies! Supahstah!

Long story, but if they died for someone's warped fashion sense, I think their remaining furriness should be treated with respect.

It's convoluted OAA logic, to be sure, but they're both my little darlings and I think the rabbit and the whatever-animal-Milton-was would appreciate it.

Classic Matchups

We all know the Shark v. Bear contest (I think shark wins), but what about these new pairings of violence? How 'bout it, America? Who wins?

Chimpanzee v. Koala

Silverback Lowland Gorilla v. Grizzly Bear

Hippo v. Shark

Place your bets for the ultimate fighting experience!

Au Revoir, Mon Greenspan

You served us well.

La SAG

SAG Awards. What an unfortunate combination of words.

Naturally, this, on the Road to the OSCARS, is the most important to "actors". This is when their peers really get to do the picking. And oh, it's an award to treasure because the base on that monster could kill. But who cares about who won, really? The OSCARS suck each and every year and it's boring and pathetic and no one should care who wins or loses because, as we all know, what counts in a world of wars and poverty is what everyone is wearing. That's what matters, people. And so, the SAG Awards.

Remember Geena Davis? Well, she never could dress herself and the fact that she's now playing the President isn't really helping. (As we all know, being savvy, in any department, isn't really a requirement for that job.) So, here she is. A vision in her Tribute to Dominos gown made by a crafty pair of Jamaicans obviously high on the ganj.

Oh, double sixes.
But let's take a different view, shall we?

Yes, it looks like those strips of dominos are the only thing keeping us from seeing her SAG Awards.

While we're on the black & white tip, Reese was boring and Portia was blah. Reesey looks a bit like a flouncy kitchen valance and Portia, who we all know is a fox, just played down all the pretty and went with an old Laura Ashley gown circa 1989.


But Charlize? Holy macaroni. That's a look and a dress. She's no buxom lady and she doesn't look like a drape or me at my Junior Ring dance. She looks phine and that's better than fine 'cuz it's with a "ph", yo.

And another thing about Theron. She looks normal. Healthy. Pretty. Not sickly, skinny, wee a la that girl from that boring "doctors in relationships" show with the annoying voiceover diary entries. Proof? Here.

That dress has to have some sort of iron construction if it's staying up on that stick-figure-with-wig. I know we went through this with The Flockhart, but honestly, it's disgusting. Charlize, hands-down, is the only one whose photo you've seen in this post that you want to make out with because she's dressed well and looks like she could take it without her head snapping off her pencil-thin neck.

And there was more glamah and horror (Hathaway, I'm looking in your direction), but that's the SAGs in a nutshell. So, next up is the big one. Will Reese wear Chanel? Will Geena wear Pick-Up-Sticks? Only time will tell, darlings, but noms are out tomorrow and we'll soon know who to laugh at.

Art Vs. Life

Since I'm hopelessly addicted to "Arrested Development" and needed to catch up on all the Season 3 episodes before they injustly take it away from me and leave me with tripe like "Skating with the (Washed-up) Stars" and "Jennifer Love Hewitt's Boobs See Ghosts!", I've recently seen all the Rita episodes. While watching this character, I started noticing some similarities.

1. She likes singing along to "kids music" and I constantly seem to hum "O Tannenbaum" without reason or notice which is a Christmas song and we all know Christmas is for kids.
2. She wears a coon skin cap. I wear a rabbit fur hat in the winter that makes me look like the redheaded stepchild of Meriweather Lewis and Marge Gunderson.
3. She likes to ride the spaceship at Fat Ammy's. I like to ride the carousel at the Zoo, at the Butterfly House, and at West County Mall, but especially at the Zoo. You can ride a capybara!
4. She wants to go home to get her "tiny teddy" when Michael asks her to sleep over. I immediately thought of a teddy bear, which is what she was really after.

I'm not sure what this says about my mental state, but I've never worn anything inside out which may be my saving grace from being forced to wear a MR F ID bracelet.

Amy's Daily Score

I think most actions I complete during the course of a normal day could be backed by the music of Django Reinhardt, especially driving.

Delightful Discourse

My sweet lovers of language and linguistics, I tempt you with the link below. Like Carroll, the author writes in ways you ne'er expect, and yet he writes not of Jabberwocks and brilligs, but of English, plain and simple (or rather muddled and confusing)!

Tear or Tear?

Chanel! Joo gots some esplainin' to doo!

Heh. I thought that dress looked to recent to be vintage. But then, I still wear things I wore in high school back in1991 so what do I know.

Lagerfeld Languishes Over Witherspoon Whoops

Golden Globs

I think there was lace peeking out from beneath Reese's pinafore. You know, the one she put on under the cut-too-short-metal-stripper-shirt thing. I know it's vintage Chanel, but just 'cuz it's old don't make it right.

Thankfully, she looked like a normal sized person. That Ellen girl from that boring/pandering "Grey's Anatomy" show looked like she was covering up the fact that the caterer had used her ribs to grate cheese before the ceremony and she still had a few flakes of parmesean she just couldn't brush off. I do so wish that "prominent collarbone" wasn't the accessory du jour for America's youngish starlets.

Johnny Depp, we get it. You're quirky and eccentric and love France way more than the bumblefords that make up America. We know. But, honestly, I can't imagine that the look spawned by "Swingers" is still popular in Paris. I just don't believe that across the 14 arrondisement you can still hear "Vegas, baby. Vegas." being uttered.

Thank the heavens this is the last of "Will & Grace".

Hahahahahahahahahaha. Drug abuse is so funny. That's why "Walk The Line" was nominated in the musical/comedy category, right? Right? Or did June just bust out into song at inappropriate moments? I haven't seen it, but I'm looking forward to elaborately choreographed dance numbers and hearty belly laughs!

The Little Caboose That Could

Woefully behind on house updates, I think it's time I 'splained what's what.

LIVING ROOM - Painted - ceiling and walls - Snow Ballet and Moonlit Snow (I sense a theme). New awesome TV purchased. Gas logs installed (I now want real logs - always want what I can't have). TO DO: strip and paint doors and surrounds, new window treatment, paint bookcase.

DINING ROOM - Painted - ceiling and walls, same colors. Light hung. Sideboard painted. TO DO: stripe in floor, new dining room table, light switch.

KITCHEN - Cabinets installed. Floor laid. Ordered countertops. New light installed. TO DO: build pantry, paint cabinets, grout floor, all the stuff Matt's doing that we can't, buy glass for upper cabinet doors.

OFFICE - Ugh. TO DO: shelves, rearrange, move out glass cabinets, paint walls/ceiling, new ceiling fan, paint bookcases.

BATHROOM - Whoa. TO DO: well, considering it's just studs and insulation, everything.

MY ROOM - Sigh. TO DO: sand walls, paint, install new fan, buy mattress, make Vietnamese colonial.

And I want this done by February. Looking at it this way makes me so incredibly nervous that I think I'll go home and start one of the bookcases right now.

The Smackdown

I hate people that make people I love angry. I also hate people who are insensitive bitches. I also think there are a lot of people in this world that need to get off their fucking high horse. No, make that "need to be smacked off". I hate stupid and rude and ignorant and incompetent. Self-righteous, superscillious, and super obnoxious fall in that category. But mostly I hate knowing there are people out there that can be so brain dead as to not think about the feelings and needs of another person in their same situation. Before hogging the last of the trail mix, bitches, how about sharing it with others.

May you rot in discount shoe hell, you evil pizza ordering whores.

Askin' The Deep Questions So You Don't Have To

What ever became of those two white girls in the Sir Mix-A-Lot "Baby Got Back" video? I did a brief search hoping to find some insight into the "UHMUHGAWH" chickies and turned up nothing even remotely related to the two. If you're out there, honkeys, holla.

On a disturbing side note, this came up in the sidebar Google ad area:
Infant Girls White
Great Savings of 10% - 20% Online
Shop Target.com
www.Target.com
Who knew one could not only purchase a white girl at Target, but even better, they're marked down for you online shoppers.

Hasidic Reggae Is Sweeping The Nation

Matisyahu

I have the Live at Stubb's CD in my possession (thank you Jason via Michael Haskins) and honestly, this is something you need. It's nearly impossible to describe, but you should be aware that it's all awesome. When I listen to this, I think of Matt Fraction dancing. I've never seen Matt Fraction dance, really, but I just have this distinct feeling he'd get into shakin' his moneymaker to Hasidic Reggae.

Uberlist?

If you know what I'm talking about, I'm woefully behind on this. And when it's done, I will post it so I, and all 6 of you, can help me track my progress. The only thing I'm sad about is no Disgruntled Housewife calendar to help me keep track.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's a list of 106 things to do in 2006 and it's not nearly as easy as it sounds. Getting about half done is really an admirable pursuit. I challenge all 6 of you to make a list and see how you're doing in three, six, nine, and twelve months.

Be sure to put some gimmes on that list of 106. Trust me.

Download Overload

Some darlings in Texas gave me a $50 gift card to iTunes for Christmas and over the holiday weekend I was stuck in front of the computer trying to decide how to spend it. 50 songs? 5 CDs? All of Carla Bruni's French language album or just a couple of bon mots for now? How much Spoon does one really need? I was in a quandry, to be sure. But, after a spate of self-doubt and taking notes on which Leonard Cohen songs should be in one's collection, I finally gave in and dove in. Here's a small sampling of those that made the cut:

La Mer - Django Reinhardt
All We Are - Fischerspooner
The Divine Comedy's "Absent Friends"
I Predict A Riot - Kaiser Chiefs
Galang - M.I.A.
Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' - Michael Jackson
The Gambler - Michael Doughty
Rosie Thomas' "If Songs Could Be Held"
Lose Yourself - Eminem (!?!)
One Night In Bangkok - Murray Head
Goin' Back To Cali - L.L. Cool J

Yep. Just a usual day on the old iTunes.

The Customer's Always Right, Right?

Now, I'm perfectly aware that there are distinctions in the world. I realize that I am not the smartest, the prettiest, the bestest, but I try to hold my own in a lot of categories. One of those categories is knowing what's right and what's wrong. Sure, I've stolen things. Yes, I lie on occasion. But when it comes down to things that can seriously impact me, like murder or copyright infringement or something, I know exactly where to draw the line and I try to do it not only for myself, but also for others who may look to me for advice.

I tried to convey these distinctions as best I could to a client recently. They pretty much dismissed my protestations, ostensibly telling me I was incompetent, and that I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Naturally, now my secret wish is that the mole living in that hill is vengefully litigious and has a pack of high-priced lawyers at his beck and call.

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