Notes On The Box

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

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

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

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

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

Our Card

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

The Pelican Is For Marksmanship And The Gorilla Is For Sandracing

WWWWD?

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

I digress.

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

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

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

Rosie.

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

Favorite Muppet Song As Sung By Robin

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

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

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

Where Is The Love, Indeed, Black Eyed Peas?

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

Just sayin'.

Risking Unpopularity

I like "The English Patient".

I don't like "Yelling At Briefcases".

I like brussel sprouts.

I don't like leggings.

I like some of James Blunt's songs.

Slip Of The...What The Hell?

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

Mad world.

That's Buffett With Two Tees

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Then This Sound And Bright Light Thing Really Confused Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Prayer For Spy Daddy

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

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

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

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

Amen.

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

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

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

Sweet Christ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Star Jones is Nicole Richie

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

National Poetry Month - Elizabeth Skurnick

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

"Ballad Of The Love-Scorned Anywoman"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts On A Sunny Day

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

The Bobby Darling Show

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

I'm Concerned By Where This Is Going

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

Classy

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

The Story of Clarice Morant

Olympic Crushes

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

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

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

Schmoscar FASHION: Blair Edition

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

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

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

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

Schmoscar FASHION: Wifeclown Edition

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

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

Schmoscar FASHION: Celestia Edition

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

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

Schmoscar FASHION: Girlfight Edition

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

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

Schmoscar FASHION!

Just one before I have to dash, darlings.

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



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

Until later, peaches.

OAA

Schmoscars

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

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

Gyllenhaal, what, you couldn't shave?

Set Designers - Norma Desmond wants her bathroom back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dobbs Tire Centers and the American Humane Society

In. Up. Fixed. Out.


(thanks, Drew.)

The Living End

I need a vacation.

Seriously.

A Win, An Observation, Some Tidbits, A Request

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi T-Roy

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

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

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

Globetrotting With The Slutty Creeker

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts On A 13th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Furry Vegetarian?

To respond to Douglas' comment:

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

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

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

Classic Matchups

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

Chimpanzee v. Koala

Silverback Lowland Gorilla v. Grizzly Bear

Hippo v. Shark

Place your bets for the ultimate fighting experience!

Au Revoir, Mon Greenspan

You served us well.

La SAG

SAG Awards. What an unfortunate combination of words.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Art Vs. Life

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

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

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

Amy's Daily Score

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

Delightful Discourse

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

Tear or Tear?

Chanel! Joo gots some esplainin' to doo!

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

Lagerfeld Languishes Over Witherspoon Whoops

Golden Globs

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

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

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

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

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

The Little Caboose That Could

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Smackdown

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

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

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

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

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

Hasidic Reggae Is Sweeping The Nation

Matisyahu

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

Uberlist?

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

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

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

Download Overload

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

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

Yep. Just a usual day on the old iTunes.

The Customer's Always Right, Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doin' Time

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

Girlfight Can't Fight The Law

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

Too lazy to make link. Literally.

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

Crap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One o'clock and all's well.

Goodnight, gentle reader.

Progress, She is Like the Tortoise

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


Slowly.

Arrest Me, FOX

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

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

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

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

An Evening of Fine Dining in Five Chapters

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

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

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

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

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

Rant du Jour

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

Caution. Geniuses at Work.

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

And that, sugarcheeks, is my rant du jour.

Halloween Hijinks

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

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

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

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

Phase One

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

Cultural Differences

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

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

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

Boo.

Happy Halloween!

Notes on OAA, Round 3

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

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

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

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

Kelly Sue, I found your birthday card. Finally.

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

I have an unhealthy addiction to Post-It notes.

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

This evening I was caught waving at a dog.

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

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

Freedom Of Speech

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

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

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

My On-going Terry O'Quinn Obsession

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

Just Leave It On The Phone When You Leave

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

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

Box Report

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

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

Signs Society Is Eroding

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

Knocked up Kat(i)e Holmes.

The Wisdom Of The Ages

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

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

08:11:00 and Counting

From Gawker

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

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

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

Personal Injury Pirate Lawyer Ad Copy

Aargh.

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

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

Brown & Brown

Spamalot

Dear Blogger,

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

Love,
OAA

Store Wars

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

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

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

Notes and Such

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Didn't See That One Coming

Lemme just try something...




Patricia Arquette, Emmy Winner for "Medium".




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

I Pity The Gold Chains

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

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

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

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

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

Whew.

You Can See The Stars

You Can See The Stars

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

Truth About New Orleans

Happy Dog Potatohead's Blog

(Thanks JenSchuetz for the coding help.)

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

Hate Is Not A Family Value

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

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

Total Eclipse Of My Taste

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

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

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

Musical Nostalgia

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

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

One Month

In India, my birthday is a national holiday.

I think this magazine speaks for itself.

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

Girl Crushes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where have you gone, my comedy gem!?!

Creative Hearing, Part 2

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

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

What will she hear next? Stay tuned.

Rotten Youth of America

Dear Girl Exiting the St. Louis Bread Co.,

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

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

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

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

Sincerely,
OAA

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

Creative Hearing Part 1

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

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

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

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

Auto Oddicism

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

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

Shocking

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

Fun OAA Facts

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

Danielle the Amazing

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

I love you, Danielle.

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

Vaughn Be Gone?

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

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

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

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

I say stay tuned.//

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

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