Baby Spice Is No Petula Clark

This is nearly as bad as Audrey Hepburn being used for the GAP ads. What's next - Emmanuel Lewis starring in a remake of "Arthur"? Tom Green in "Lawrence of Arabia"? Sarah Jessica Parker IS Foxy Brown? This is all shite and everyone involved needs to be smacked with the originality stick.

Jungle Red II

TulehHands
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Mind the claws, love. It's taken me two years to grow them.

All references to "The Women" aside, I'm not sure I want my Tuleh dress to come with its own set of hands grabbing my thigh. I don't care for people doing that much less fashion.

Catwalk Girls

As a self-confessed model hound, I'm always interested in the new girls. I absolutely love these beautiful babies currently.

Behati Prinsloo

Kinga Rajzak

Alison Nix

Anna Mariya Urazhevskaya

And naturally the supercute Darla Baker

Where are all the new blondies? I am in the mood for Lara Stone, but I'm just not there yet.

How It All Works

Fashion week explained. (Yes, I know its long been over, but I'm still just catching up, m'kay?)

Exits? Fire exits?

Your seat, Ms. Wintour.

Bridget Foley's Diary

From the Spring '07 issue of WWD Magazine and penned by Executive Editor Bridget Foley:

"The death of excitement may in fact be rooted in larger issues. We all know that the industry has changed. Pre-seasons rule, the seemingly insatiable celebrity fascination continues to outpace common sense by miles and a tidal wave of egalitarianism has, if not diverted, then at least caught the attention of fashion's top-tier names. That phenomenon goes hand in hand with not only the sage notion that everyone should, regardless of finances, have access to real fashion, but also the more questionable proposal that everyone - or at least everyone with minor name recognition - should, regardless of talent or skill, have access to a career as a designer. Thus, during the collections, there were Tinsley Mortimer, hawking her bags for Samantha Thavasa, and Scarlett Johansson, her jewelry collaboration with Imitation of Christ's highly accomplished Tara Subkoff. The trend is such that WWD found it noteworthy to report that, following in the footsteps of Clara Bow, Ava Gardner and Meryl Streep, Lindsay Lohan will not launch a line, having heeded the advice of her pal Karl Lagerfeld, who is apparently fine with her idea of opening a vintage shop at some point next year. Meanwhile, reaching into another design realm entirely, Nicky Hilton talked up her shift from hotel 'heiress' to actual hotelier, though whether she will ultimately sign off on the architectural plans for a building intended not to fall down on people is unclear."

Oh, Bridget, you are a girl after my own heart. Let's meet for hot cocoa and discuss the differences between Ward and Pivovarova.

Hussein Chalayan S/S 07

I know all the fashionistas are talking about the amazing presto-chango dresses that Chalayan showed, and I agree they are incredible, but no more incroyable than the less anamatronic ones.

The Most Fun A Vegetarian Can Have With Meat

The Fast Food Nation Game

Seriously, it's like Donkey Kong, but with E.Coli.

The Prettiest.

The First Time I Met Charles Bronson

Hugs to Sam for somehow dredging this back up. I wrote this a long time ago and Jennifer and Stephanie still remember the very shade of pink I'm referencing. (I can still see the store display and the color of pink! Now I want a polish pen!!! Jennifer. See?) And now, without further delay...

The First Time I Met Charles Bronson

The first and only time I met Charles Bronson was while he was working the cosmetics counter at the Walgreen's on Hampton. Jennifer, Stephanie, and I rode our bikes up there for our bi-weekly $5 spending spree. We all picked out our standard Cadbury's chocolate bar (fruit and nut for me) and began perusing the Nail Polish Pens when Jennifer discovered a pen in the perfect shade of pink - not too dusty rose, not too cotton candy. It was the last one. Being the proper Catholic school girl, I began to pout over the fact that the shade would go much better with my redheaded complexion than her blonder looks, but she, heart set on that Nail Polish Pen, ignored my passive aggression. It was then, just when I thought hope was lost, that I met Charles Bronson.

He stepped from behind the counter where he had been keeping busy marking down flocked animal shaped banks to let me know that he thought they had more in back in just that shade of pink. The three of us waited, unaware of the glory and splendor we had just been witness to. Then, Mr. Bronson returned carrying a box of Maybelline Nail Polish Pens and holding one in that shade of pink in his hand. He gently lay the box on the floor and offered me the prize I'd been waiting for. Then he suggested he ring us out at his register at the cosmetics counter. It was like we were princesses and Bronson our magic godfather. No lines for the princesses! Every Nail Polish Pen wish comes true for the princesses!

That was the last time I saw him. We went back two weeks later, $5 in hand, and bought the same exact grade school booty - candy bar and Nail Polish Pen - from some nameless middle aged woman. Although I can't be sure, it seemed like I got a lot less back in change that time. Perhaps I'm just misremembering. Perhaps I'm Nail Polish Penning this whole story a little rosier than it really was, but I think Bronson gave us a discount

Oh Thank God

Meeting tomorrow cancelled, that annoying flapping sound in the women's room has been silenced, and Lily's arrived. Take that rainy day!

Just Puttin' 'Em Out There

Thoughts in my head:

"Upon her knee
So fine to be
Mother and boy
Mooootherrrrrbooooyyyyy"

That Bank of America employee singing his version of "One" is what I used to have to write back in the day, but my songs for clients were much funnier. I mean "Come Bake With Me" in the style of "Come Fly With Me" is, granted, far easier, but that's his first mistake. Always pick an upbeat song!

I don't want to write that creative brief. I hate writing creative briefs.

Amy's brand cheese pizza is meh. The people they rant and rave, but they don't really know. It's decided that I prefer Red Baron's mini pizzas because they remind me of the personal pan pizzas we ate in high school.

Where is my fucking Lily Allen CD?!?!!!

The Three

Ed Bradley yesterday.

Jack Palance today.

Who's next?

(Ed and Jack, have a great time where ever you're headed.)

Eerie.

Make sure you check the date it was written before reading on.

The Onion's take on Our Long National Nightmare

(Pointed out by Drew.)

Hollywood Officially Out Of Ideas

In exasperation, studio proposes to remake "The Women".

What more do you want!?! Aren't cinematic gems like Deck The Halls enough for the obviously discerning American viewing public? Now we have to remake everything under the sun?

Well, brain dead Hollywood execs, just try it and I'll paint my nails Jungle Red...all the better to claw Diane English's eyes out, darling.

The Promise

No, not the song by When In Rome (although snaps to you for thinking that). I've become rather obsessed with Lily Allen. I read her MySpace page, I listen to the songs I can get online all day, much to the frustration of my co-workers and my Safari, and when I'm not listening to them, I'm humming them. (Right now it's "LDN" making the endless loop.)

Yes, I've ordered her CD online and should receive it here shortly, but until then, I've promised to lay off the Lily until the CD's here. Then, all bets are off and I will resume the humming/listening/obsessing.

That is all.

Forget The Elections

This is far more important. (And far more feasible than electing a person for 4 years and expecting them to actually get anything done in a government that rewards stupidity, wallet-padding, and abject disregard for the earth and its people.)

Britney drops the baggy-pants wearing loser like a hot potato.

Take that, government. It only took her 26 months to get that done. What positive change have you made in 26 months?

HeyDanEvans

I'm coming to HellAy in a couple of weeks and want to see you. No more Flat Amy for you! (Not that you ever really had one, but maybe I can work something out on that front.)

Since I've never been there, I think a chicken/waffle whatsit trip is in order at the very least.

Does Anyone Know Anyone Who's A Member Of...

The Fashion Spot

My office (ad agency with fashion clients) would like to get on, but you have to be invited. Any assistance out there?

Or Am I The Best Thing You've Had?

My Carl reads the classics

I've Come To Accept A Few Truths In My Life

I accept that I will never have a nose as pretty as Jessica Stam's.

I accept that I will never marry Wil Wheaton.

I accept that my teenage life will not duplicate Sloane's from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (and I've just come to that realization).

I accept that people think leggings are okay as pants (although they're so very wrong).

I accept that, at this point, it's going to be rather difficult to become a marine biologist and a gerontologist in my lifetime.

And I had accepted that my other youthful crush - Neil Patrick Harris - was not playing on my team. But, his people say otherwise.

Does this mean that all my acceptances thus far are lies and that I'm actually the legging-clad, perfect-nosed wife of devil-may-care Ensign Crusher living on a research ship/retirement center? If so, someone pinch me.

If She Can, I Can

Now I'm not related to my Halloween costume, but surely there are more talented singers in the world. Some of them were on that show with wall-eyed Brandy, that British guy, and the Hoff, for chrissakes. This is just an embarrassment for everyone involved and someday that little Lohan will grow up and be humiliated by her college roommate (if she even makes it that far educationally).

Enjoy your Lohan Holiday, if you dare

A Special Dedication to Eric

This one goes out to you, my bro. (With special thanks to Danielle, your former houseguest, for the pointer.)

Our Version of OK! Magazine

Our Version of OK! Magazine
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

The office Halloween theme - overexposed celebrities. That's me as Lindsay Lohan, Wes as Owen Wilson, Tina as Courtney Love, Becca as Kate Hudson, Bethany as Britney Spears, Jamey as Dog the Bounty Hunter, Priya as Lil' Kim and the front row is Patrick as Generic Rapper and Jason as KFed.

I'm so proud.

The Reading Habits Of One Miss Amy

I just reread The End of Alice and have to say I can't believe I made people read that for book club ages ago. Sure, it's bound to get a room talking, but holy cats is it disturbing. The thing most amazing to me is that A.M. Homes, the book's author, is a woman. I don't know why I find that surprising. Certainly women are as capable as men of thinking thoughts that make a granny blush, but this just seems so convincingly told by a male - a damaged, twisted, wicked one - that it seems impossible that she's a she. I suppose that's either a testament to her writing ability or my sexism, but to be frank, I don't think Steinem's main goal was to make women equal to male child molesters and murders. So, when you're ready to be thoroughly unnerved by a novel, seek that one out. I've never read one more eerie.

One side effect though is that it always calls to mind a little game we had going back in the day when the interweb drew me to people far flung and we all knew each other via ye olde Delphi forums. I think it was JOSH's that got us all making mixes based on some theme and mine (and newlywed Todd's) was murder. Something evil like that. I decided to make one based on The End of Alice and as it happened Tom Waits' "Alice" had just come out (go get it now. Honestly. It's the best CD ever recorded) and as we all can surmise the original Alice's life story wasn't all just tea and Tweedles. It just seemed like too many Alice stars aligned and I came up with a darn good, wickedly subversive CD. But I never burned it. Mostly because I didn't have a CD burner, but also because to make it real just seemed too creepy. To this day that playlist still haunts me. I've heard songs that tangentially fit that theme and immediately think about including on the fictional disk and re-creep myself out. I believe that someday I'll throw something together and send it to Todd and he and I can be creeped out together. Hopefully doing that would free me from hearing wicked things in otherwise innocent songs and preserve me from admitting to the 6 of you that when I hear certain types of songs I immediately think of child murderers.

Goodbye and Thank You

May your afterlife be filled with courses without sand traps.

I hope someday we meet again, my beloved Dr. Abel.

Littlest Things by Miss Lily Allen

Just delightful, this little gem.

Cakes, Converse and Coppola

"Marie Antoinette" was like cinematic Cirque du Soleil - it was stunningly gorgeous, the costumes were amazing, the staging was breathtaking, and as I left the theater I wanted to be a part of it. It also was short on dialogue, loosely plotted, and sorta told a story. I liken it to flipping through a book of pictures - you get the feeling of what's going on, but you don't really feel the emotion.

That said, I'm going to work her rosy cheeked look far more often and will continue to hope for the return of the corset.

Happy Moving Away Party, David!

natalie
Originally uploaded by Imaginary Socialite.

Thought this might help ease the pain of packing all your belongings, loading a truck, and driving all that way to La La Land. Nothing says fun like Portman with Silly String.

This Is Where The Story Ends

I can't believe Elyse Sewell has stopped blogging. This is a crisis. I treasured her wee bon mots like manna from heaven. Her humor, her views on life, her zany photos - she had it all. This is heartbreaking.

At least I still have the Imaginary Socialite, but it's just not the same.

Sigh.

My Darling McQueen

Alexander, love,
I say, let's meet at the NYC library and sneak into the rare book room and read the first edition of The House Of Mirth to each other. I dare say we should smuggle in a Thermos of tea and some finger sandwiches while we're at it. At that point, what have we to lose? You bring the dresses and I'll starve myself until then.
Curtsies and kisses,
OAA

my GOD!

Is there really anything one can say about this photo?

That's The Past

But at least it helps you 6 know what the hell I've been doing the last two weeks. So, to sum up, here's the top 10 things I've done while away from my dear darlings (in no discernable order):

1. Used the word "prancy"
2. Saw nuns talking to drag queens
3. Slept 14 hours straight
4. Turned the Washington Monument into my middle finger
5. Overused the word "treasure"
6. Met my new friend Dottie
7. Walked in a prairie
8. Ate wheatberry pilaf
9. Started liking Lily Allen
10. Watched Tyra get married in the prettiest ceremony ever

Democratic Breakfasts

Does anyone else get a wee bit nervous for the Democrats' future when, even now, a Google search for "waffles" yields this:



I know I do.

An Open Letter To America Regarding A Certain Lohan

Hi there, U.S.,

I've written this letter because I know we have a lot to talk about - politics, wars, moronic presidents that should have what's left of their brains removed with bendy straws - but let's get down to the serious stuff, the stuff we really care about. Let's talk Lindsay Lohan. Hell, everyone else is so why not you and me?

See, here's the thing - gurl crazy. She's got a lot of "issues" including, but not limited to, daddy abandonment, growing up fast, unstable mother, liars as friends, and certainly a load of people around her under her employ that are up to no good. Why am I talking about this when we have those straws to deploy in a certain world leader's nostrils? Well, y'all seem to be fascinated with her and I just want to make sure we're all on the same page here. You're fascinated because she's a train wreck, right? You're not fascinated because she's breaking new acting ground in a movie starring a car, are you? You're just fascinated because she's clearly too young to go to nightclubs that are 21+, but she's allowed in anyway, correct? You're just into her for all the shallow, mind-boggling reasons I am, because if you think she's the Bernhardt of our generation, well, read this, brought to my attention via Imaginary Socialite and let me know what you think: Lindsay in ELLE.

Done? Okay.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? She is out of her frigging mind if she expects us to believe she's normal. I was 20 and I can tell you for a fact that I never behaved in such an outlandish, selfish, boorish, bordering on conversationally retarded manner. Hell, for that matter I was 7 and can report the same to be true. Does anyone ever tell her no? Does anyone ever say, "Hey, Linds, you're fucking mental, your mom's apeshit, your dad's in jail, you're friends with Kate Moss (who is eternally beautiful but has issues of her own), why don't we take this down a notch for a while and let things cool off."? What this girl needs, America, is what no one will ever give her - a mental beatdown. She needs to be reminded that she is an ACTOR in MOVIES, not god's gift to the development of society. I am so sick of her and her ilk that expect everything will be handed to them if they continue to act the way they do. So, as a collective - you and me, USA - let's just ignore her. It worked pretty well with Paris' music career so let's direct this toward Ms. Lohan. Just stop paying attention and let her calm her freak ass down. And, she wants it that way, nation of my birth: "I have this Andy Warhol lighter—it means so much to me—that has this quote on it. I wish I knew it exactly, but it says something like, 'Everyone in the world will eventually have their 15 minutes of fame.' Something similar to that. But it's so true!" SEE! She passively aggressively wants her time to be up. (Let's not get started on the fact that this well-established quote has come to her in the form of a lighter. Let's just leave that alone because that just conjures up images of her learning Shakespeare via novelty coffee mugs and that's an entirely different kettle of uneducated fish.) Stop reading about her on-again-off-again flings with floppy haired man children. Stop watching videos of her doing high-kicks in alleys for no reason. Stop wondering if she's going to be in Louis Vuitton ads or Fendi ads or Chanel ads or ads for prescription meds (which she should be as a cautionary tale at the very least). Just stop.

And send her to me for a real talking to that will slap some damn sense into her completely empty head.

Thanks, country o' mine,

OAA

Oh Lord. It's This Saturday.

It's Not Always Bad News

This is why the world is inherently a good place.

It may be filled with pain and sorrow, but it gives us so much good and beauty that it can break your heart.

Secrets REVEALED!

I hate the designs of Marc Jacobs.



There. I said it.

An Open Letter To Gap, Inc.

This bastardization sends me into a murderous rage each time I think of it.

Fuck. You.




That being said, I need skinny black pants for my H&M Balenciaga jacket knock-off.

Love,
OAA

Abe

A few days after I went to Home Depot and bought the most bedraggled ficus tree I could find - I'm always one for a project and I guess I've just seen "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown" too many times. I had a hard time getting him to the checkout and into the car. His top hung out the sunroof and I laughed, amazed at the little tree's fortitude in holding onto the thin leaves that grew from his top branches. They were all intact when we arrived home and I hauled him up three flights to my bedroom. His name is Abe and he's been hanging in there ever since. He enjoys the outdoors during the summer, flourishing and adding new leaves daily, and this winter he'll be living in the new blue guest room, near the window, of course. He's still a bit odd-shaped and he's never filled out completely. One side is still strangely bare, but that's the side that goes to the wall, anyway. He's my dear and if all my plants mysteriously died (heaven forbid), he'd be the one I'd mourn.

He was named for Abe Zelmanowitz. And every time I think of Abe the Tree, I think of Abe the Person and smile. He was a good egg and I look forward to hugging him someday. Until then, I'll hold tight to Abe the Tree.

Things To Remember

BUY:
Criterion's "Kicking and Screaming"
Bridesmaid dress
Wellies for bridesmaid dress
(And heels, you purists)
Tickets to LV for Sandbox's wedding
A car
Jesus candles
Serene Sea paint for the painting party
"Twin Peaks: Season One" DVD already!
Black military jacket

SELL:
Prada handbag

MAKE:
Stick Joan of Arc
Signs for 9.23
Water into wine miracles

Not Since June

If you go away
On this summer day
Then you might as well
Take the sun away
All the birds that flew
In the summer sky
When our love was new
And our hearts were high
And the day was young
And the nights were long
And the moon stood still
For the night bird's song

If you go away
If you go away
If you go away...

But if you stay
I'll make you a day
Like no day has been
Or will be again
We'll sail on the sun
We'll ride on the rain
And talk to the trees
And worship the wind

But if you go
I'll understand
Leave me just enough love
To fill up my hand

If you go away
If you go away
If you go away...

If you go away
As I know you will
You must tell the world
To stop turning
'til you return again
If you ever do
For what good is love
Without loving you?
Can I tell you now
As you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly
'til the next hello

If you go away
If you go away
If you go away...

But if you stay
I'll make you a night
Like no night has been
Or will be again
I'll sail on your smile
I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes
That I love so much

But if you go
I won't cry
Though the good is gone
From the word goodbye

If you go away
If you go away
If you go away...

If you go away
As I know you must
There is be nothing left
In this world to trust
Just an empty room
Full of empty space
Like the empty look
I see on your face
And I'd been the shadow
Of your shadow
If you might have kept me
By your side

If you go away
If you go away
If you go away...

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.