And Since It's Already Frozen

I might as well admit that I thoroughly enjoyed John Galliano's Christian Dior couture presentation back in January.

Oh, who am I kidding? I fucking loved it. Amazing use of an atelier. It was like the Galliano of yore before he decided that each show should have clown makeup and fucked-up shoes. Well, this one had that too, but WITH A PURPOSE.

Arctic Chill

I believe the current cold snap has less to do with that map than it does with the fact that hell has just frozen over.

I actually liked a Marc Jacobs' show.

Now I didn't love it, but it was tolerable. I didn't scoff or guffaw ONCE and that's seriously saying something.

Pick Your Favorite Clodhopper!

Luella's or Chris & Larry's?

New Trend.

Exposed zippers.
(as seen for A/W RTW at 3.1 Phillip Lim & Abaete. For spring, reference Sarafpour.)
Not to mention page 179 of the March 2007 issue of Teen Vogue.

I vote disappointing on this one. I've always hated exposed zippers. They remind me of cheaply rehabbed vintage - someone carelessly shoehorns, say, a silver, junky YKK into a diaphanous pink gown. Not that I have any experience with this, natch.

The Wheels Of Justice

They've run me over. After a morning of Go Fish games with girl-I-walked-from-the-parking-lot-next-to Karin, I was called up for a civil trial. Blah. Civil. Turns out the car accident I was in a few years ago precluded me so after a moderately lazy day of card games, small talk, lunch with Marty, and incredibly long walks in the incredible cold, I was done.

Fare thee well, wheels of justice. I'll see you again in three years.

Hot Coco

Nearly every model generation, there's one sugar that gives me the heebies. A few years ago it was Jade Parfitt in those eerie Versace ads. This time 'round, it's Coco Rocha. Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure she's an absolute darling - witty at all the right times, forgiving of transgressions, kind to lost kittens - but that doesn't stop me from thinking that she's going to reach 'cross the runway and pull a vein out of my neck.

We're Friends, Right?

I just logged into Friendster and learned that I haven't been Friendstering for nearly two years. And I haven't missed it at all. But it was amazing to see how much their layout mirrors MySpace.



And that's the best blog post you'll read all day.

It's On

(image from style.com)
For those thrilled to begin the criticism, yet need to brush up on your pronunciation, this might help.

It's Bah-len-see-ah-gah.

I Hope You Can See This Because I'm Doing It As Hard As I Can

It's the Bostonites against the Mooninites.

Boston doesn't have bigger problems? I find it scandalous that in other major metropolitan cities, no one has freaked out. Chicago? I lived there. Those people can spaz like you wouldn't believe. Lake effect? Makes 'em crazy! But Boston? You've taken it to a new level. Get over it and get back to sorting out the Big Dig corruption.

Now Bow Your Heads And Pretend To Be Serious

I was asked today to make a giant cup for a client and all I could think of was Master Shake. And then I find out "Aqua Teen" was part of a bomb scare in Boston.

Bostonites, calm the hell down. It's a cartoon. I stayed in The Standard across from an LED Ignignokt for days and never flipped my wig. Chill. He's got a quad laser, yes, but he's also a drawing. Deep breaths, Boston, deep breaths.

Hey Rocky, Watch Me Pull A Rabbit Out Of My Ass

I read in the Fashion Addict Diary comments re: American Vogue's astonishingly pathetic cover for February that Camille Paglia once described Renée Zellweger as a "twinkly dishrag". Taking delight in all things anti-Zellweger (loyal OAAers shall recall that I've devoted my misplaced loathing to Miss R.Z. after having an all too real dream about former loathee Gwyneth Paltrow), I had to look that quote up. And so, here it is:

Bergen gets more humor out of slamming a coffee can into a grocery basket in this film than that twinkly, wet dishrag, Renée Zellweger, could get out of an entire script.

Hasenfeffer incorporated, indeed.

(source: Salon.com)

It's Here! It's Here!

I have received my summons and start on February 5th. I've begun charging my iPod and DS Lite and am organizing all my arts & crafts projects to take along. My briefcase already has my playing cards so I just need to pack my Uno deck, a book, and some snacks and I'm set!

Oh, how I love thee, Jury Duty! Two free days of forced alone time and the potential to be selected for a trial! Swoon!

We're Your Dream, Girls

It's time again, ladies. Only a few days to get ready for another season of New York Fashion. As Stanley Tucci so eloquently put it in "The Devil Wears Prada", gird your loins.

(Calendar taken from the delicious COACD.)

Banner Day For The Past

Today Marky Mark was nominated for an Oscar. To commemorate this auspicious occasion, I'm going to be listening to "Party All The Time" by his fellow nominee, Eddie Murphy.

A toast to these two great American actors!

Big Fuckin' Q

My friends, this is the only ride worth taking. And note, it's not red. It's green. Sweet green NyQuil.

I am bogged down with a wrteched cold currently and look forward to 8pm so I can dose up for the night and cozy down in bed with blankets and pillows and sleep it all off. Mmmm...NyQuil.

STL Lit Society, Meeting 1 for 2007

If you're in the STL and like wine first and reading second, this is the book club for you! If you're on the Evite list, than you already got this, but if you're not and are dying to drink and kinda discuss a book, here's something you might be interested in:

First, let's just establish that no one broke the book club.

Second, we've got a new format for this thing. You now have two months to read the book. For fast readers, wait a bit to begin. For slow readers, get started today.

Third, for the first four books, we'll be using suggestions from the past that were never selected all of which must be under 400 pages.

Fourth, during the off month (for example, February), we'll have a movie night during which we'll meet at the Moolah, Tivoli, or Chase Theaters, see the movie, and talk it out following.

Fifth, our standard meeting place is still Brennan's where there will still be wine drinking. (Thank god.)

So, without further ado, our first book for 2007 is....

WISE CHILDREN by Angela Carter

A great read, the novel is told from the point of view of Dora & Nora Chance, two very wise children indeed. Lots of Britishisms in this one so flip on BBC America for background noise. At 240 pages this is well below our limit and is a Julie Layton favorite and her perennial book club suggestion! It's finally time, Julie!

The date has been filled in on this invite so get reading!

Wanna come? Email me and I'll send you the full details.

Darfur And What To Do, Uberlist #50

I've been so swept up in my Bush hating lately, I've forgotten about the greater world and its struggles. But always in the back of my mind has been the crisis in Darfur and how I can help. So, I did a little research and thought I'd share.

First, find out just what's happening and why it's so horrible at Wikipedia. They have many links to click on to learn more.

I know there's been a Dave Eggers backlash as of late, but he wrote What Is The What about a Sudanese refugee and all the proceeds go to the Valentino Achak Deng Foundation designed to benefit the Sudanese people. Learn more and give back simlutaneously.

And McSweeney's had also gathered all the things you can do to help on this handy little page. Click on it and do what you can even if it's just learning more and being aware.

Better Luck Next Year

I am 18% White Trash.

I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

After watching "Talledega Nights" and ending up with my brain stuck in hick mode, Bethany thought this test might help me suss out whether I am in fact white trashy or just a little obsessed with Texas Ranger's lines. Seems my love for uttering "I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey" is just a passing fancy. C'est la vie.

Back In The Day

I was in "Plan 9 From Outer Space" for the Magic Smoking Monkey Theater. I played the wife, Paula, who utters such amazing, life-altering lines as, "The saucers are up there. The graveyard is out there. But I'll be safely locked up in there." There I am looking horrified at the arrival of Vampira, Tor Johnson, and Dr. Tom, the faux-Bela Lugosi. And below that shot is a classic - Oscar and Jim looking horrified at the arrival of Melissa.

Ahhh....good times.

Wax Aguilera Looks More Like My Cousin Jennifer Than Actual Aguilera

American Idiots

I'm surrounded today. Is there something in the water?

The Holiday Season Is Going To The Dogs

Not once throughout the long, painful holiday season did anyone offer me a slice of fruitcake and I actually love the stuff. Bummer.

King Solomon's Plan For Longboria

I really don't know what to say about this look. The jeweled strap/bustier combo would have been enough, but then they added a line for the waist and a line for the calves and I am so puzzled as to why. Is it so they know where to cut when they divide her up?

Clever Ways To Hide Your Eating Disorder

First, wear white because everyone knows black is slimming and white, especially in pant and skinny cut skirt form, makes you look fatter. Score one for the Reverse Psychology team.

Second, make sure your dress has a tube attached for hiding the food you don't eat. This is a perfect example. You can now take a roll, slather it with butter, pretend to bring it up to your mouth, laugh a little too hard at someone's joke, turn to share your chuckle with your neighbor to fully distract, and slip that roll over your right shoulder and into your dress tube. Repeat. Then, when you have to go to the ladies' room, simply stand up and all those rolls just brush past your leg and onto the floor where you can just kick them under the table. It's perfect. It's like a cornucopia dumptruck.

Third, just keep telling everyone you're skinny because you just can't gain weight. It worked for Nicole, right?

(alternate concept: the tube is really just a fart vacuum.)

Two Words

Fright. Wig.

Dead. Poodle.

Light. Socket.

Bad. Weave.

Crazyass. Hairdo.

You can pick your favorite.

I Don't Know Either

Can I see her foundation garment through the shimmery sheers J.Lo.Hew. bought at Linens N Things on their $5.99 sale rack? Can I? I really don't know. And I also don't know why she insisted on picking up that wreath bow and wearing it around her waist. Look, J.Lo.Hew., just because the holiday stuff is on serious markdown doesn't mean you have to have it. I've struggled with that concept for years and feel that now it's time to pass my knowledge on to you.

Aunt Dete Wouldn't Stand For It

A few notes on this scandal:
1. why is she there?
2. her dress, I'll begrudgingly admit, is amazing, although that had very little to do with her and a lot to do with its designer, but nevertheless.
3. who the hell let Alm-Grandfather pull her away from Peter and the goats for such a frivolous evening? It's far too late a night for a young Swiss girl. And the drinking! And the Clooney? Oh, Alm-Grandfather. Heidi should be at home hand-crafting Hummels or something.
4. I know Hummels are German and Heidi's Swiss, but they're really dang close, save the aggression and the neutrality thing.
5. why is she there again?

Jessica McClintock Called

She was just so excited that her 1987 prom frock was being recycled for Michael Bolton's date. And, honestly, who can blame her. Thrills like that come along once in a lifetime.

THEY'RE HERE!

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! THE ALIEN PODS ARE WAKING! FLEE THE BEVERLY HILTON! OH GOD! MY GREATEST FEAR HAS COME TRUE!

Oy With The Poodles Already!

I can't stand the "Gilmore Girls". They suck me in and make me regret the fact that I didn't get knocked up at 16 and have a little girl and live in an adorable, quirky town. How unfair of them.

The Mikado/Act II/Part II

The sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever-living glory,
Does not deny
His majesty--
He scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!


I mean to rule the earth,
As he the sky--
We really know our worth,
The sun and I!


Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night,
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well,
So I, for one, don't blame her!


Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The moon and I!

FOUND!

What a relief.

Humanity Is Not A Stinking Cesspool After All

from the New York Times
By Cara Buckley
Published: January 3, 2007



Who has ridden along New York’s 656 miles of subway lines and not wondered: “What if I fell to the tracks as a train came in? What would I do?”

And who has not thought: “What if someone else fell? Would I jump to the rescue?”

Wesley Autrey, a 50-year-old construction worker and Navy veteran, faced both those questions in a flashing instant yesterday, and got his answers almost as quickly.

Mr. Autrey was waiting for the downtown local at 137th Street and Broadway in Manhattan around 12:45 p.m. He was taking his two daughters, Syshe, 4, and Shuqui, 6, home before work.

Nearby, a man collapsed, his body convulsing. Mr. Autrey and two women rushed to help, he said. The man, Cameron Hollopeter, 20, managed to get up, but then stumbled to the platform edge and fell to the tracks, between the two rails.

The headlights of the No. 1 train appeared. “I had to make a split decision,” Mr. Autrey said.

So he made one, and leapt.

Mr. Autrey lay on Mr. Hollopeter, his heart pounding, pressing him down in a space roughly a foot deep. The train’s brakes screeched, but it could not stop in time.

Five cars rolled overhead before the train stopped, the cars passing inches from his head, smudging his blue knit cap with grease. Mr. Autrey heard onlookers’ screams. “We’re O.K. down here,” he yelled, “but I’ve got two daughters up there. Let them know their father’s O.K.” He heard cries of wonder, and applause.

Power was cut, and workers got them out. Mr. Hollopeter, a student at the New York Film Academy, was taken to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital Center. He had only bumps and bruises, said his grandfather, Jeff Friedman. The police said it appeared that Mr. Hollopeter had suffered a seizure.

Mr. Autrey refused medical help, because, he said, nothing was wrong. He did visit Mr. Hollopeter in the hospital before heading to his night shift. “I don’t feel like I did something spectacular; I just saw someone who needed help,” Mr. Autrey said. “I did what I felt was right.”

Uberlist: Read 12 New Books (No Rereads!)

If they're all this easy, I'm definitely crossing this off the Uberlist.

For those that don't know about these books, they're absolutely charming, if a bit depressing for the wee Baudelaire children. I read this one in about an hour and a half last night and am ready for book the second. Sadly, they cost twice as much as a movie and are nearly half as long. But, they're just wonderful and were I nine, these would definitely be my favorite books.

As for the rest of the Uberlist, I may publish it, I may not. It's just now at 50 and I don't want to jinx things.

Bridges. Part One.

Ages ago, Kelly Sue DeConnick asked me to write something for a 'zine she was doing. Each publication had a theme and the one she asked me to contribute to was "Bridges". Naturally, this could be anything related to bridges - a crossing, a change, a transition, building them, burning them, whatev'. I like to think I took the road less traveled and wrote mine about a certain child star - one Todd Bridges. I discovered my story while cleaning yesterday and thought it might be fun to share it. It's way too long for one post so I'll break it up over the week. And now, without further ado...


"Look upon my works, ye mighty, and tremble."
- Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Whatchootalkin'bout, Willis?"
- Arnold Drummond, "Diff'rent Strokes"

It's been nearly two years since I limbered up my hamstrings with the aid of a nearby oak tree and noticed a bit of a crowd had amassed near the pledge table. The fact that this was the yearly run-a-thon for the A Nose Ahead organization, of which there are 126 members nationwide, led me to believe this anomaly had nothing to do with folks donating funds to aid those with rhinoplasty aspirations, but rather with the man about which the throng had gathered. I tugged up my tube socks and crossed the bike path to investigate thoroughly.

The cigarette scarred card table had been completely surrounded thus blocking the "Everyone Deserves A Chance To Change" sign I had stayed up until the end of "Deep Space Nine" to finish. I regrettably became a bit miffed and started aggressively shifting autograph-seeking standersby out of the way of the construction paper masterpiece when my left palm came into direct contact with the right cheekbone of one of America's fallen sweethearts. "Hey there!", he shouted and backed into the card table spilling pledge sheets and golf pencils that had been liberated from the iron fist of the fascists at Tower Tee Mini Gold Course/Batting Cage Emporium. I turned with annoyance from the sight of the miniature bits of #2 lead scattered all over the grass to see just who dared to destroy the biggest rhinoplasty fundraiser of the year and there he was in all his reformed crack addict glory, glistening with a light layer of perspiration and swaddled in nylon jogging suit. Our eyes met and in that defining moment, all the anger and tension was replaced with the potent mix of love and sympathy that had turned me into the proud winner of the Underdog Award for Most Prolific Fundraiser of 1989. He immediately placed his hand in the path of my on-coming right hook and we stood there, locked in an embrace of peace, for what seemed like 12.3 seconds when he broke the silence. "You're raising money for nose jobs?", he asked. It was then that I realized that he and I had a deeper connection than an other. We were both lost in a world that could make no place for us. A world that only thought the wealthy and media-savvy deserved its attention. A world where a washed-up child star and an overzealous philanthropist for obscure causes could find love. The onlookers, uninterested in things less than sensationalistic continued to wend their way along the bike bath leaving us virtually alone with the run-a-thon gone awry.

An Open Letter To The U.S. Government

Dear assholes,

Yeah, you heard me right. I said assholes. Hey, at least I put the "dear" in front. Be content with that, you bag of pustules.

So, we got a nice little bonus for the end of the year and I wanted to see what life would be like if I had a Masters so I looked at my paycheck stub. Now, I usually don't go in for that sort of behavior because I get distracted by the amount removed for my 401K and, against better judgement, I inevitably want that money back. Since it's easier if I just ignore the fact that it's disappearing, I refrain from looking at my paycheck stub. And I forgot there's another good reason to not look - seeing just how much you're getting from me on a bi-monthly basis.

Seriously, you make as much per month as my mortgage company and I'm actually getting something out of them. (A house, you dullards.) You, on the other hand, aren't giving me shit. Oh sure, I'm getting "security" and "the Postal Service", but c'mon, when the president I didn't vote for (which is another issue entirely) basically pisses off entire races in one fell swoop and then just keeps poking at them with pointy sticks, I really don't feel you're engendering a sense of security in me. Call me crazy, but I'm not one of those Midwesterners who believe everything you're telling me. I've watched "The X-Files". I know from conspiracy theories and government cover-ups. As far as that U.S.P.S. you're forcing me to use, sure, the childrens' book stamps were adorable, but half the time it's a trust game and usually those boys in blue fail me. Personally, I think the Pony Express was more reliable, and far more romantic in feeling.

But back to the money you're stealing. You're using it for bombs (hate them); wars (they anger me); the FBI (useless); pistachios for Air Force One (what's wrong with pretzels? Oh yeah...someone might choke); Dick Cheney (don't get me started on that); global warming (yes, Virginia, there is such a thing, you polar bear hater); and my personal favorites, working god back into everything we do and fighting gay marriage. Come the hell on, bastards. There's a reason they separated church and state. It's just best for everyone. Who cares whose name you put in your prayers so long as you're being a good person? Allah is just as kick ass as Jesus and Buddah is totally wicked awesome so honestly, if I like one better than the other and I'm not sending anthrax through the mail, what the hell difference should it make? Speaking of irrelevant, you should stop worrying about whether or not Lance Bass can get married and start worrying about the current state of healthcare, our global credibility, your punk-ass in-fighting, the sorry state of our environmental policy, finishing that needlepoint sampler that reads "people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" because most of you have obviously forgotten that little bon mot, education, and a little thing I like to call Social Security which is currently neither "social" nor "secure".

Not only that, but you people seriously take more vacation than the French.

In summary, you colossal waste of carbon, you need to actually start working for the fucking money you keep thieving from my bank account or I'll be forced to pull a Willie Nelson. Not the get out-of-my-gourd stoned part, but the no paying the taxes part.

Sincerely,
OAA

I'm A Wallpaper

No longer content to be a wall flower, I've been converted into a wallpaper. Along with fellow darlings like The Wife -Miss Kelly Sue- and my fellow kinderwhore Taylor, we're now available for downloading. Oooh...naughty indeed.

And don't forget! Naughty Needles is available at Amazon!

Wishing You Happy Holidays

Cookin' With Tom
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Tom's got some steaks ready for the big Christmas dinner at the OAA abode. I'll take mine "well done", please, Tommy.










Merry Christmahanukkwanzaka to all of you and to all a good night!

aaawwwwwwwWWWWFREAKOUT!

Well, that's the discoized version of what I did when I discovered this:

New Disgruntled Housewife Datebook

I was thinking I should just give in this year and buy new pages for my DayRunner and then, like a lighthouse guiding me back to cool, it appeared.

Go. Order one. At least you know one part of your year will be fun.

The Completely Mental Misadventures Of Ed Grimley

When I was in high school, I was completely mental over this show. So mental in fact, that this very blog's mooches its title from it. My friend Kasey Crowe (Kasey! Where are you?) and I would watch it, tape it, quote it, LIVE IT every week and for years I thought I was the only one (since Kasey's obviously missing) who remembered and kept a wee votive candle lit for the return of this show. And now, I can relive those days because some genius named "Blastaway" on YouTube has posted ALL the episodes. Oh, Blastaway, were you here I'd reward you with a tuna casserole with lots of paprika, I must say. We'd talk about Pat Sajak and the art of playing the triangle.

So, for those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about, watch 'em. Watch 'em all. See the adventures of Ed and Moby and Count Floyd and LIVE IT with me.

Holiday Howdy

It occurs to me that I have no idea who reads this blog thing. I have a feeling my mom knows the address (hi mom!) and I know Henry reads it daily and there's a few others that I frequently see commenting, but who else is out there?

Do me a solid and comment to me with your name and your dream Christmas present. Who knows...maybe there are just six of you! (A very important, stylish, and classy six, to be sure.)

Donate Your Bone Marrow

How easy is this?

National Bone Marrow Donor Program

No needles, no waiting. Just an easy way to register to help save a life. And at this time of year when we're all spending on our loved ones, a cost of $52 to cover the tissue typing seems rather paltry.

For a full rundown, see this post on Bag Snob.

You Don't Bring Me Flowers

Look Into My Eyes
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

I've brought you these roses. They're dying...just like I am for you.

(Scary album cover from Worst Anal Bum Covers.)

We Have Been Forsaken

It pains me that the extravaganza that is the El Vez Christmas Show didn't come to STL this year. Nothing kicks off my holiday season better than a thousand costume changes.

Man Sticks Arm In Dolphin...On Porpoise!

He did it just for the halibut.





Henny Youngman has now left the building.

2007 Wish List

To be added to as opportunities present themselves and in no certain order.

1. For all hipster girls - Cory Kennedy, I'm looking in your direction - to wash their hair and wear less bottom eyeliner. Sure, you've got that whole "I love the thrift store" thing going for you and I suppose most go through that phase, but everytime I see a photo of you lassies I want to Phyto you within an inch of your life. Look how pretty Leigh Lezark looks with her clean and shiny locks! And the bottom eyeliner can work if combined with top eyeliner. I've got high school portraits of me with only the bottom and if I knew then what I know now, I might not cringe each time I see those shots hanging in my parents' house.

2. The swift and sudden snap in which the Bush family, the Hilton sisters, reality TV, the KFed phase, drunken Lindsay Lohan, evil Dick Cheney, the song "Gold Digger" and Jamie Foxx's incessant singing of it, the Iraq fuck-a-thon, Rachel Zoe, TomKat, and all of Scientology just poof from the face of the earth. I think I might actually like reading and hearing the news should that happen. Although nature abhors a vacuum, I'm sure there'd be a good day or so in there. And yes, I'm aware of my grouping of inane, fluffy things with weighty matters, but they've all contributed to my general frustration in the last year and it's probably best if this doesn't turn into an OAA Rants About How Much She Hates The Government blog. There's enough of those out there and I'm trying to limit my use of the F-word knowing that HeyDanEvans' mom-in-law might be reading.

3. A bicycle. Is it so wrong to want a bicycle?

4. A completed first floor of the caboose. This includes painting, bathrooming, box springing, and baseboarding. I just long for the day when the house looks presentable and must, must, must take a more active role in this pursuit.

5. A trip to NYC to visit Lynnie. I miss Lynnie and want to see her for girly fun involving Park Bar, shoe shopping, and brunches.

6. Juh-may-cuh trip. Humphrey misses me. I just know it.

7. All my friends to get married near me. I know this sounds evil and selfish and I'm sincerely really really really happy for all of them because they're all wonderful and astonishingly good people and deserve all the love and joy in the world and I honestly like traveling, but for the past seven years I haven't had one without a wedding out of town. So, let's keep getting married and keep falling in love, but let's do it all within a 100 mile radius of the STL. I'm getting old and lazy and want to save my money to go back to Europe...and what, isn't there enough love in the STL?

8. World peace. Lame answer? Sure. Honest? Yeah.

9. To see "Talladega Nights" so that people will quit asking me if I've seen it and then acting like I'm mentally deranged because I haven't.

My Personal Version Of Hell

Those that know me know that I am really not a fan of musicals. One could go so far as to say I hate them. Now, there are times I like the idea of the musical - Disney movies like "Alice in Wonderland" or "Robin Hood", for example - but the whole "I'm mad and now I'm going to siiiiiiinng about it" element of Broadway fare irks me. So, it is with no surprise that occasionally samples from this loathed genre pop into my head and won't go away. Today is one such day. And here's what's trapped in there:

"It's a Jolly 'olliday with Mary" (or whatev that song's called), "I Feel Pretty", and, wait for it, "Memory" from everyone's favorite feline fiasco.

"Jolly 'olliday" is leading the pack in brain plays. I hate you, Mary Poppins! You and your cockney kiss ass!

OAA's Recipe Corner

I used to work for Monsanto (a.k.a. The Evil Empire). The pay was too good to resist! Plus, I gathered most of my snowglobe collection making deals with employees - I'll submit your expense report if you bring me back a snowglobe. It was a perfect arrangement. Plus, I met some wonderful people there that I've been wildly remiss in calling (Jess & Boo, Aimee & Craig, Stephen, Mikelyn, I'm thinking of you!). So, in tribute to those really fun days of yore ("Take A Letter, Maria", for example), here's a recipe that I literally had to pry out of the cafeteria workers in the AA building. This was a sauce served with their Build-Your-Own-Taco-Salad day extravaganza. 85% of my personally built taco salad was this sauce. Serve it with burritos, nachos, and other foods that end in "O".

Monsanto Secret Sauce (No Animals Were Harmed In The Making Of This Recipe)
1/2 teaspoon of lemon juice
2 cups of mayo
1 cup of sour cream
2 tablespoons of onion salt
1/2 tablespoon of garlic powder
1/2 tablespoon of paprika
2 teaspoons of chili powder
1 teaspoon of Tobasco
1 tablespoon of worsteschesteschire sauce

Oh. Mmmm. It's freakishly good.

She Wants To Lick My Ear

She Wants To Lick My Ear
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Contessa Elenora von Tinypants (that's the dog) was a special guest star at work for a few days this week. She's since been adopted, but I'll be damned if she wasn't the lovin'est dog in the land. So sweet and so licky! She succeeded licking my ear, by the way. I was so focused on getting her to look at the camera, her stealth tongue caught me off guard.

Naughty Needles Almost Here!

Only four more days until the knitting world is turned on its ear! Naughty Needles by the multi-talented, incredibly sweet, eternally huggable Nikol Lohr will be released on December 19th so save some of that present money for a present for yourself. Plus, for all the OAA fans out there that just can't get enough knitwear, here's a glimpse of me and the girl-crush-worthy Taylor on the back cover modeling the super soft knee socks.

Hell, since you're already just dying to know what's inside the book (after all, it's first name is "naughty") why not zip on over to Amazon and add it to your burgeoning box of holiday gifts, but don't mix this up with the Agatha Christie DVDs you ordered for Nana. She might get the wrong idea.

Top 5 Christmas Carols

Christmas Carols

1. "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas"
Sweet, sad, sappy, and sung by Judy Garland. Her name is "garland", a key component of holiday decorating. It's all so perfect.
2. "Christmastime is Here"
"Lights please."
3. "White Christmas"
I'm not a Bing Crosby fan in the least (I like to call him "Glazed Doughnut"), but I've surmounted that loathing to love this song so it must be good.
4. "Glooooooooooooooooria, in excelsis deo"
I just love that part of that song. I love it so much it's removed all the rest of the song from my mind. I have no idea what the song title is, but the only part is that part.
5. "Deck The Halls"
Not only the Christmas theme song of interior decorators everywhere, but the perkiest chorus. You can't help but belt out "DECK!" when that thing starts.

Honorable Mention
"O Tannenbaum"
Because it's stuck in my head year-round, it's not really counting as a Christmas song, but it's a great melody.

Awww...They're In Love

Awww...They're In Love
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Congratulations to my dear old friend and her lucky, lucky husband. Pixy Stix for EVERYONE!

Sad Songs They Say *sniff* So *whimper* Much (Insert Bawling Here)

In what certainly comes as a surprise to no one, "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve has been named the saddest song ever according to a real bona fide doctor.

I've always known this was the saddest song ever as I can't listen to it without crying and I've heard it a million times. It reminds me of when Sam died and I played it for Tyra and the two of us just bawled like little children over the thing. So, just for those who've missed out on this tearfilled gem, here's the lyrics:

All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm comin' down

And I hope you're thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

But I know I'm on a losing streak
'Cause I passed down my old street
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
And I'll sing in your ear again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming, too
Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead

All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm comin' down

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming, too
Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead

But if you wanna show, just let me know
And I'll sing in your ear again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

Yeah, I know I'll see your face again

I know this sad song thing is utterly subjective depending on mood and timing and lyrics and melody, but this and, like, "I Am Stretched On Your Grave" or "Anachie Gordon" are the saddest of all time. So, all six of you, what are your saddest songs?

Remember, It's Two Hours Behind Us Part Deux

DAY FOUR, PART TWO - SANTA!
After tracking down David's "Born In East LA" pad and checking out their roof lawn we headed to Santa Monica where we did a little shopping (Zara! Club Monaco!) and a little buying and a lot of eating at a crepe restaurant featuring Le Sass as our waiter. Henry somehow downed a sandwich and a Parisian hot dog (wooden leg?) and we all had a lovely lovely. Then, back to our little corner of The Standard's Purple Lounge for drinks. They're not lying when they say it's purple. Oh, it's that and then some. Our server, Dana, was a charmer in a totally approachable kinda way and the DJ played "Thriller". C'mon. That's a place I know I'm going to love. While there, some of us drank more than others. Those some of us were the ones that had the map and were living in town for nearly a month. Those of us that quit drinking and started on the juice had never been to LA before and were suddenly the DD after discovering that a certain boy gets rather giggly and another becomes Sleeping Beauty following copious amounts of brown liquor. So, crash course in LA geography and some map fumbling with Gigglepuss got us to East LA and we returned unharmed.
Exhausted sleeping ensues after the administration of aspirin and water and repeated vows to never do that again.

DAY FIVE - OUT HERE THEY CALL IT AAAHHHHT, DAHLING
Oooh, The Getty. THE GETTY! David met us for breakfast at our cafe (omelet this time with mushrooms, herbs, and swiss. Oh, sigh.) and off we went to art it up. The tram up to the museum is art in and of itself. The rooms, the art, the gardens, the so adorable guards. I always thought the best part of the Getty legacy was Balthazar, but I was quite wrong. The best part is that museum. Plus, I learned to date a cabinet so now I've got a new trade!
Then what? Well, back to the beach, bitches! This time, we went to the real water where I got to run around and splash and pick up stones and watch the sunset. I could do that every day. Every. Single. Day.
Then, the hangovers demanded food so we went back to Sunset and ended up going for Mexican, but were denied by the blaring hair metal. So, we went boy's choice at House of Blues. (Note: not my choice. At this point I wanted enchiladas and copious amounts of sour cream and HOB is not now or ever going to cut it.) But, boys wanted steak. So, we wait and discover The Cars are playing! Well, the new Cars, not the used Cars. These cars aren't driven by Ocasek but rather some fill-in guy. Oh, and they were out of steak. (?)
Exhausted sleeping ensues after half watching television and wishing it were Sunday (Twisted Sister played HOB on Sunday!).

DAY SIX - THE BREAK UP
We'd been a little sick, stomachly speaking. Plus, it was our last day and time was of the essence. So, the boys and me split up and they went for film dork escapades and I ate breakfast (where?) at the cafe at The Standard. (Eggs over hard this time, nosy.) Then, I put the top down and headed for Beverly Hills (swimmin' pools, movie stars). I was surprised by an LA stereotype in the elevator (pulled taut and veloured) when she turned out to be surprisingly sweet. Did you know you can park for free in Beverly Hills? Free! I headed to Emporio Armani for something special for my dad who loves their logo (and knowing that there's precious little in BH I could ever afford for anyone else) and I saw my first real celebrity! Chanice Kobolowski! Better known to some as Amy Madigan! I complimented her on her glasses and she thanked me and then lamented the fact that aging dictates their necessity (a real celebrity that admits to aging! who's still holding on to a hot husband! I loved this Chanice!). What's going on in this land called LA? Polite plastic surgery women? Sweet famous people? Free Beverly Hills parking? Hoity hotel filled with nice? And it gets better???
Oh yes, dear readers. It gets better.
Maliboooooo!
After meeting up for a trip to Venice Beach (ugh. Homeless hippies.) and a visit to Marina Del Rey where we reenacted "Arrested Development" and ate frozen bananas,

we kissed David goodbye and headed off for our dinner up the coast at Duke's. Yeah, it's fancy, but you can wear jeans there and prices aren't insane and Elaine, your server, is quite perky and man, does it have the best view. In LA or going? Go there. It was far better than House of Blues (wow. there's a ringing endorsement.). While dining, I was texted by dear Sam Humphries of MySpace fame with the time and place of our meeting. Still feeling a bit illish, we muddled through and dolled ourselves up for Jones on Santa Monica to meet two of my favorite boys. We met Sam who definitely brought his hair for hugs and banter as poor Henry began sinking in health and knew it was his time. He headed back to the hotel after a round of goodbyes which left me there with Sam awaiting the arrival of THE HeyDanEvans. (How giddy was I? Dan and Sam? Wha? Chanice, you got nothing on them boys!) After Dan's arrival and another round of hugs, I tried Southern Comfort for the first (and last) time and chatted with these two internet friends who are just as sweet and charming in real life as they are online. And I have to take this time to give a shout out to one of my six readers - HeyDanEvans' mother-in-law! He confessed that she actually reads my blog so hey there HeyDanEvans' mother-in-law!!! I'll try to minimize the cursing! And you've got a plum of a son-in-law! You give him a hug for me once in a while, won't you?
So, after a wonderful evening with two wonderful boys, the kind Samuel returned me to my hotel.
Exhausted sleep ensues after crossing my fingers and toes for HeyDanEvans' meeting the next day.

DAY SEVEN - LUCKY ME
Eggsadilla for breakfast. See how I broke that up? Learned how good it was on the first day, but didn't over do it by ordering it each morning so my yen was far greater by the end? Yeah, I'm a genius. We bid farewell to our Standard boys. Packed all the suitcases full to bursting, dropped off my new car (bye Sebring!), and dragged ourselves into LAX for the wait. One chai tea, order of Chili's fries, and mulling over foreign magazines later, and we were on the plane and headed for 14 degree weather.
Exhausted sleep ensues after lugging in the bags, going through the mail, eating the pizza my parents left for us, and realizing that LA really is a nice place after all.

Sidebar: James Spader's on "Seinfeld" tonight in a 31 Flavors uniform. God. He's even delicious in that.

Hardest Parts: Not quoting "Uncle Buck" to Chanice. Leaving Jeff and Justin at The Standard along with those freaking good eggsadillas. Not getting more time with Sam and HeyDanEvans. Wishing there were millions in the account for the countless coats I found shopping.

Easiest Parts: Dollar Rent-a-Car, The Standard, hanging with Steph and Chris and Jennifer and Kevin (could they be better friends?), meeting Sam and Dan, hanging out with David, and the ocean. Oh, that ocean. That ocean's really some kinda something.

EPILOGUE - NAILED
After fighting it and running from it for days, I finally got it. Stomach flu. Friday night. All night. Sick, sick, sick. And I'm still not quite there. The broccoli cheddar soup I just ate really wants to see James Spader firsthand. But I'm keeping my mouth closed so too bad, soup. You'll just have to use your imagination.

Remember, It's Two Hours Behind Us

So we've returned. And to delight you, here are the highlights.

DAY ONE - COACH.
Flight at noonish cancelled after a long trek to a snowy/icy airport. Lines long as football fields make Henry a twitchy boy. After being diverted to a flight after the wedding on Saturday, the emergency Red Phone (not for launching nukes) gets us on a flight out that evening. Afternoon stuck in snowy St. Louis is spent taking photos of sky/trees and lunching followed by reparking, relining up, security, boarding, and flying.
Arrival at RIO Casino and Seventh Ring of Hell marked by the screaming of drunken harpies from the Midwest and a nearly mile long trek to our room in the Vomitorium Tower, the entry to which is randomly enforced by an armed security guard (I suppose to keep the drunken riff-raff limited to those with room keys. Such a relief.).
Return to the bowels of the harpies and satyrs for an $11 hamburger for Henry and distracted staring at the ugliest handbag I've ever seen for me. Endless reminders that Vegas isn't such a bad place, if you're staying at THEhotel.
Exhausted sleep ensues after discovering that the mirror/artwork on the wall doubles as a window to the shower.

DAY TWO - WEDDED BLISS!
Spago's egg salad sandwich is nowhere near as good as mine but dining in the Forum Shops is a surreal experience as I half expect nearly all of the decorations to come to life and regale me with tales of Roman times when faux pashmina was just $10 at the kiosk outside Louis Vuitton and Pete Rose signed autographs in the Sports Den on the second level.
Hooray for Jennifer and Kevin! Yes, Virginia, you can get married in Vegas without a drive-thru window! It was a lovely, perfectly brief ceremony filled with sweet words and happy faces. What more could one ask for?
Caesar's $11 Scotch was a good pre-ceremony warm up as the weather was windy and cold, but that didn't stop one misguided soul from splashing about in the pool.
Following the ceremony was milling during which Henry discovered the softness of James Perse and I realized that Vegas' Anthropologie may be the best in the nation. We both ran away from the "living statues" at breakneck speed and drank giant lemonades.
And then it was reception time (break it down). It was family style which, to be honest, was the perfect way to eat the 300lbs. of Asian food served to the group. Oh, flowing wine and water! Oh, cake brought in on a plane with delicately sparkling icing! Oh, don't make me eat mayo shrimp again!
Plus, Baby Ruth was located in the fish tank and appropriately fawned over by the bride and me.

Exhausted sleep ensues after visiting the cowboy casino and discovering where the cheap beer's been hiding.

DAY THREE - ADIOS, AMIGOS
Fran at Dollar Rent-a-Car is an angel straight from heaven and you get to PICK your car at Dollar. They don't make you take the stupid HHR. You can decide which car you want to spend the week with. No forcing! No, really! I can't recommend it enough and hereby swear to you, my six readers, that I will forever be loyal to the Dollar Rent-a-Car for as long as I can drive, or until they piss me off, whichever comes first.
After we pick out our rental car (greenish-grey Sebring convertible which I want now), we pack our ridiculous amounts of luggage into the back seat and head off for the dee-zert.
There's an exit called Zzyzx out there. Seriously. It's an exit and a street and a town called Zzyzx. Not nearly fast enough to take a photo but here's the wiki.
Drive, drive, drive.
Giant ravens in the dee-zert that I wanted to ensnare with shiny things and keep as pets which would not only be ill-advised, but might also cause a stir at The Standard.
Oh, The Standard! It was lovely. Don't believe the haters. We had a wonderful time there. But I'll get to that as it comes along.
First thing's first in LA - In-N-Out Burger for Henry! Now, I'm not a meat eater so I don't see what the fuss is all about, but I watched him eat two Double Doubles and an order of fries. If that's not love, I don't know what is. The grilled cheese (cheeseburger minus burger) wasn't the best I've ever had (Hardee's/Carl's Jalapeno Thickburger minus burger rules) and their fries, although I appreciate the freshness and all, tasted a wee bit like shoestring potatoes. The vanilla shake gets two thumbs, however.
Check in at the artsy-fartsy and everyone was such an absolute peach - not one iota of haughtiness - that I was immediately in love with The Standard. Although our room did have an odd scent, it was overcome with patio door opening and my travel candle. The platform bed was quite comfy and the bright orange tile was bracing. Only drawback was the fact that their toilet didn't have a lid and I'm a bit of a spiller.
Exhausted sleep ensues after marvelling at the Ignignot glowing billboard just across Sunset.

DAY FOUR - PLEASE DON'T TOUCH THE MCQUEEN
After breakfast at my favorite hotel (order the eggsadilla. Seriously.),

we headed to Skin + Bones at MOCA. First, there's architecture which is cool. Then there's fashion like this

which, I think we all know, is way better than anything Comme des Garcons ever put out there (yeah, the bumps dresses were incorporated). Don't worry, I bought the commemorative book. Come over and we'll bitch about the fact that there was far too much Toledo and Teng for my liking.
Gifts purchased, top down, we head off to meet David...

(Next time on Blogging OAA Style, tune in for the New Cars, Maliboo!, and Chanice Kobolowski.)

Please Tell Me You're Fucking Kidding

Neighborhood associations, condo boards, and all their self-important ilk can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned.

So I guess carollers can't sing "Silent Night" because it mentions sleeping in heavenly peace then.

And I suppose all of "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" is right out as well.

What a delightful way to show the true meaning of Christmas - on earth peace and good will toward men - eh, neighborhood association bastards?

(My! Such anger for such a little girl!)

Holiday Wish List, Part Two

I'll take the whole thing, vol. 2
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Same thing here, darlings. Also from The Sartorialist.

Holiday Wish List, Part One

I'll take the whole thing, vol. 1
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

I'll have what she's wearing. The military coat, the mini, the boots...yeah. The whole enchilada.

from The Sartorialist

Shat Out Sunday

Delta Burke's on "Boston Legal" and her cheek implants and various and sundry additional faux elements are creeping me out. I think they're coming at me through the television. Thank god this isn't in 3-D. And ABC is so very much into Shatner, he's on one show while they're calling his so over-the-top game show a Shat-stravaganza. Can a network be said to be dating a star? If so, ABC is working way too hard to get to third base.

Speaking of third base, James Spader can read a grocery list to me and make me woozy. He just told one of Henry's little dream girls to take her pants off and although I thought it weird for prime time TV, I really appreciated the scene. Not the Julie Bowen part, she bores me, but oooooh, James, feel free to steal home.

That said, uh, what's up with all the cutting and editing? It's snippety and zippy and swooshy and I'm not a fan. Good thing I got my Spader fix in one sweetheart of a scene and now can neglect to watch it for months. And I hope someone with YouTube talent feels the same way because that scene was...well, some kinda something.

Alfredo! Alfredo!

Philippe Noiret
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

Arrivederci, Alfredo.

(Et au revoir, Philippe. Vous serez manqué.)

The World Mourns Legendary Spelling Errors

I am definitely not one to poke fun at someone while they're grieving and heavens knows I've put some bad writing out there in the world, but this is something I just can't quite understand.

Lohan's condolences to Altmans

Specifically the "BE ADEQUITE" part of that something. Be adequite? I haven't a notion what that means and this isn't written in a malicious way. I do have a strange predilection toward Miss Lohan (in that I want to pull her aside and be her mother or at least her big sister) and just hope this is some spelling mistake propagated by her lack of formal education. But then if she meant "be adequate", what does that mean? I know her singing is mediocre and her acting is just sub-par, but is she essentially striving for adequacy? Is this her life's goal? Seems so if I am to believe this purportedly heartfelt letter.

Lindsay, I reiterate my former plea. Move into my house. We'll make cocoa. We'll read books. We'll watch "CSI: Miami". We'll meet guys your age who aren't interested in getting on the covers of tabloids. It'll be normal...no...it'll be adequate. Trust me. Beyond everything else, that's clearly what you need.

(Insert Sign Of Relief Here)

DaimYankies
Originally uploaded by Old Aunt Amy.

She's back and so are her shots of foreign foodstuffs.

Elyse Sewell Blogs Again!