Friday, September 26, 2003
Brief thoughts on last night's TV viewing
Friends: Awww.
Will & Grace: Meh.
Coupling: Blah.
ER: I swear to God, if they actually have killed off Luka, I am not watching this show any more.
Also...
Yesterday, I got to drive this. And this. And I got to play with this. Woo hoo!
Friends: Awww.
Will & Grace: Meh.
Coupling: Blah.
ER: I swear to God, if they actually have killed off Luka, I am not watching this show any more.
Also...
Yesterday, I got to drive this. And this. And I got to play with this. Woo hoo!
Friday, September 19, 2003
Phair-ness
Here's the thing. I know it makes me a bad person because I much prefer the new, approved-for-mainstream Liz Phair over the obscure, recording-albums-in-her-bedroom Liz Phair. But I don't care! If liking Mainstream Liz Phair more than Obscure Liz Phair is wrong, then I don't want to be right!
On a completely unrelated note, I must regretfully inform you that I will be taking a brief hiatus from blogging for the next week or so, as I am leaving Sunday for a trade show in Louisville. I know you are all greatly saddened by this news, but I trust you will each find some way to cope without me next week. While in Louisville, I will get to hang out with some of my bestest buds from high school, including Bri (yaaaaay!), but I will also have to miss premiere week on both ABC and NBC (boooo!). So I am taping a week's worth of shows and then locking myself up in my apartment next weekend to watch them all. And if anyone so much as thinks of telling me what happens on Friends, ER, Will & Grace or The Bachelor, I will sic Heather and her attack cat on you! I mean it!
Here's the thing. I know it makes me a bad person because I much prefer the new, approved-for-mainstream Liz Phair over the obscure, recording-albums-in-her-bedroom Liz Phair. But I don't care! If liking Mainstream Liz Phair more than Obscure Liz Phair is wrong, then I don't want to be right!
On a completely unrelated note, I must regretfully inform you that I will be taking a brief hiatus from blogging for the next week or so, as I am leaving Sunday for a trade show in Louisville. I know you are all greatly saddened by this news, but I trust you will each find some way to cope without me next week. While in Louisville, I will get to hang out with some of my bestest buds from high school, including Bri (yaaaaay!), but I will also have to miss premiere week on both ABC and NBC (boooo!). So I am taping a week's worth of shows and then locking myself up in my apartment next weekend to watch them all. And if anyone so much as thinks of telling me what happens on Friends, ER, Will & Grace or The Bachelor, I will sic Heather and her attack cat on you! I mean it!
Thursday, September 18, 2003
My worst lyrical blunder EVER
One of the many things I have in common with my long-lost twin The Cynical Tyrant (in addition to our affinity for reality TV and our uncanny ability to attract street people) is a complete ineptitude for hearing song lyrics correctly.
This is a problem that has plagued me since I was a small child. Growing up, we listened to a lot of oldies. You know how sometimes in oldies, they will just make up words? Like "rama-lama-ding-dong," for instance. So when I would hear a word in an oldies tune that I didn't understand, I would just assume it was one of those zany made-up words. This is why, until last year (I swear), I actually thought there was a line in "My Girl" that went, "I don't need no money for jimuffay." I never had any idea what "jimuffay" was--I just assumed it was some random slang word that had long gone out of fashion. It wasn't until my friends and I decided to sing the song in a karaoke bar that I learned that the actual lyric is "I don't need no money, fortune or fame." I can't tell you how enlightening that was.
Similarly, I had long thought that the Beatles' "Ticket to Ride" contained the lyric "Shaling-right, shalu-right by me." To me, "shaling-right" and "shalu-right" sounded like feasible made-up oldies words. Again, it was not until last year that I realized that the lyric was in fact "She oughta think twice, she oughta do right by me." Obviously, last year was a very eye-opening year, misheard-lyric-wise.
I was able to figure out those lyrics on my own, but some have had to be pointed out to me by my friends, which is always fun because it pretty much gives that friend license to make fun of you for the rest of your life. Just ask Jeff, who still teases me about the fact that I thought Melissa Etheridge's "I Wanna come Over" said "To hell with the concert plans" instead of "To hell with the consequence." He especially loves it because I had this whole story worked out to explain the "concert plans" lyric, which was that Melissa and her lover had made plans to attend a concert, but Melissa decided that she'd rather just come over for a quiet night at home instead. What? It made perfect sense to me.
There are other lyrical mistakes that I am unwilling to admit are even mistakes at all. Diana and I have been embroiled in a bitter battle for years over Huey Lewis and the News' "If This Is It." Why? Because I am insistent that the lyric at the end of the chorus is "I want another O," while Diana thinks it is "I wanna know-ow-ow." I have listened to this song hundreds of times over the course of my life, and I simply cannot believe he is saying anything but "I want another O." Diana claims this doesn't make any sense, but, like always, I have a good story to back it up. I explained to her that "another O" is slang for "another opinion"--i.e., that Huey wants another opinion on whether or not this is actually it. She said she had never heard anyone use that phrase before. Well, of course not, I said. It's so obvious that poor Huey was trying to start a catch phrase that just didn't catch. I feel bad for him, but what are you going to do? Diana thinks my theory is crap, naturally, and has directed me to a Web site that has the lyric listed as "I wanna know-ow-ow." However, I simply refuse to budge on this issue until we get a definitive answer from Huey himself. So Huey, if you are reading...we really need another O.
Ah, but I digress. The real purpose of this post (as suggested in the title) is to announce that I have recently identified what may be the worst lyrical mistake of many, many years of lyrical mistakes (although I still think laboring under the "jimuffay" illusion for as many years as I did is pretty bad). This lyrical mistake came to my attention as I was reading A Girl Named Zippy (which is an excellent book, by the way). The author was reminiscing about her childhood affinity for the song "Drift Away," particularly the lyric "Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul/I wanna get lost in your rock 'n roll." How cute, I thought to myself. She thought it said "beat boys" instead of "Beach Boys." Then, slowly, it began to dawn on me. It does say "beat boys." And everyone has known this all along but me. Suddenly, it was as if my life was divided into two eras--the era when I thought "Drift Away" said "Beach Boys" and a new era, when I realized it said "beat boys." It was like the rest of the world had been living in the Age of Enlightenment, while I was stuck back in the Dark Ages. But I am in the Dark Ages no more! I have seen the light! I now know that "Drift Away" is not, in fact, an homage to Brian Wilson. All is right with the world.
One of the many things I have in common with my long-lost twin The Cynical Tyrant (in addition to our affinity for reality TV and our uncanny ability to attract street people) is a complete ineptitude for hearing song lyrics correctly.
This is a problem that has plagued me since I was a small child. Growing up, we listened to a lot of oldies. You know how sometimes in oldies, they will just make up words? Like "rama-lama-ding-dong," for instance. So when I would hear a word in an oldies tune that I didn't understand, I would just assume it was one of those zany made-up words. This is why, until last year (I swear), I actually thought there was a line in "My Girl" that went, "I don't need no money for jimuffay." I never had any idea what "jimuffay" was--I just assumed it was some random slang word that had long gone out of fashion. It wasn't until my friends and I decided to sing the song in a karaoke bar that I learned that the actual lyric is "I don't need no money, fortune or fame." I can't tell you how enlightening that was.
Similarly, I had long thought that the Beatles' "Ticket to Ride" contained the lyric "Shaling-right, shalu-right by me." To me, "shaling-right" and "shalu-right" sounded like feasible made-up oldies words. Again, it was not until last year that I realized that the lyric was in fact "She oughta think twice, she oughta do right by me." Obviously, last year was a very eye-opening year, misheard-lyric-wise.
I was able to figure out those lyrics on my own, but some have had to be pointed out to me by my friends, which is always fun because it pretty much gives that friend license to make fun of you for the rest of your life. Just ask Jeff, who still teases me about the fact that I thought Melissa Etheridge's "I Wanna come Over" said "To hell with the concert plans" instead of "To hell with the consequence." He especially loves it because I had this whole story worked out to explain the "concert plans" lyric, which was that Melissa and her lover had made plans to attend a concert, but Melissa decided that she'd rather just come over for a quiet night at home instead. What? It made perfect sense to me.
There are other lyrical mistakes that I am unwilling to admit are even mistakes at all. Diana and I have been embroiled in a bitter battle for years over Huey Lewis and the News' "If This Is It." Why? Because I am insistent that the lyric at the end of the chorus is "I want another O," while Diana thinks it is "I wanna know-ow-ow." I have listened to this song hundreds of times over the course of my life, and I simply cannot believe he is saying anything but "I want another O." Diana claims this doesn't make any sense, but, like always, I have a good story to back it up. I explained to her that "another O" is slang for "another opinion"--i.e., that Huey wants another opinion on whether or not this is actually it. She said she had never heard anyone use that phrase before. Well, of course not, I said. It's so obvious that poor Huey was trying to start a catch phrase that just didn't catch. I feel bad for him, but what are you going to do? Diana thinks my theory is crap, naturally, and has directed me to a Web site that has the lyric listed as "I wanna know-ow-ow." However, I simply refuse to budge on this issue until we get a definitive answer from Huey himself. So Huey, if you are reading...we really need another O.
Ah, but I digress. The real purpose of this post (as suggested in the title) is to announce that I have recently identified what may be the worst lyrical mistake of many, many years of lyrical mistakes (although I still think laboring under the "jimuffay" illusion for as many years as I did is pretty bad). This lyrical mistake came to my attention as I was reading A Girl Named Zippy (which is an excellent book, by the way). The author was reminiscing about her childhood affinity for the song "Drift Away," particularly the lyric "Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul/I wanna get lost in your rock 'n roll." How cute, I thought to myself. She thought it said "beat boys" instead of "Beach Boys." Then, slowly, it began to dawn on me. It does say "beat boys." And everyone has known this all along but me. Suddenly, it was as if my life was divided into two eras--the era when I thought "Drift Away" said "Beach Boys" and a new era, when I realized it said "beat boys." It was like the rest of the world had been living in the Age of Enlightenment, while I was stuck back in the Dark Ages. But I am in the Dark Ages no more! I have seen the light! I now know that "Drift Away" is not, in fact, an homage to Brian Wilson. All is right with the world.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Reality Wrap-Up
Props to Cupid's Hank and Lisa for showing some class and deciding not to get married on national TV in front of a live studio audience. I mean, I knew all along that a live, televised wedding was a potential outcome of this show, but once I heard the cheesy synthesizer version of The Wedding March and saw Lisa actually walking down the "aisle" with her dad, the whole thing started to feel, well...wrong. Maybe they decided not to do it because, like Hank said, they want to have a wedding their way, with just their friends and families. Maybe they realized that three months in an out-of-the-ordinary situation is not a good way to really get to know each other. (I still am a bit worried by the other guys' claims that Hank is basically manic depressive. These are the kind of things it would be good to know before you marry someone. And these are the kind of things you might not find out when the only way you know someone is by spending a few weeks with them on national television.) Anyway, whatever their reasoning, I applaud Hank and Lisa on a fine decision and eagerly await the inevitable E! special all about their heart-wrenching breakup.
During the commercials for Cupid, I flipped over to the much-hyped Joe Schmo Show, to find that it most definitely lived up to said hype. It is, as TWoP's Kim proclaimed in her Real World recap a few weeks ago, awesome. I got to see most of the plate-smashing ceremony, which was great. I cannot wait to make it a part of my regular Tuesday-night lineup. I tell ya, Tuesdays just keep getting better and better!
Props to Cupid's Hank and Lisa for showing some class and deciding not to get married on national TV in front of a live studio audience. I mean, I knew all along that a live, televised wedding was a potential outcome of this show, but once I heard the cheesy synthesizer version of The Wedding March and saw Lisa actually walking down the "aisle" with her dad, the whole thing started to feel, well...wrong. Maybe they decided not to do it because, like Hank said, they want to have a wedding their way, with just their friends and families. Maybe they realized that three months in an out-of-the-ordinary situation is not a good way to really get to know each other. (I still am a bit worried by the other guys' claims that Hank is basically manic depressive. These are the kind of things it would be good to know before you marry someone. And these are the kind of things you might not find out when the only way you know someone is by spending a few weeks with them on national television.) Anyway, whatever their reasoning, I applaud Hank and Lisa on a fine decision and eagerly await the inevitable E! special all about their heart-wrenching breakup.
During the commercials for Cupid, I flipped over to the much-hyped Joe Schmo Show, to find that it most definitely lived up to said hype. It is, as TWoP's Kim proclaimed in her Real World recap a few weeks ago, awesome. I got to see most of the plate-smashing ceremony, which was great. I cannot wait to make it a part of my regular Tuesday-night lineup. I tell ya, Tuesdays just keep getting better and better!
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
My three-stoplight town
If you click here, you can see a picture of the second of three stoplights in my hometown. (My favorite part is the photo caption that talks about how "dangerous" and "busy" our roads are. Ha!) Until I was about 9, we didn't have any stoplights at all. I still remember when the first stoplight went up. It was a big deal. In fact, I think my family even made a special trip downtown to look at it when they first put it up. (When you live in a one-stoplight town, there's not much else to do in the way of entertainment.)
The next stoplight (the one in the picture) was installed when I was in college, right next to the Sonic, which also came to town after I'd left. Why did all the good things happen after I'd already gone? A Wendy's and a McDonald's also came to town shortly after I moved. It's like they were just waiting for me to leave! Speaking of Wendy's and McDonald's, the third stoplight went in at the intersection where they sit across from each other. I guess the frenzy created by having two hamburger joints that were not Hardee's and Dairy Queen (both of which closed shortly after the arrival of the McDonald's and Wendy's) necessitated the stoplight. But I don't ever really think about this as one of our town's spotlights, as it is out by the interstate and not in the city limits.
Anyway, the article I've linked to is all about how the mayor (my former neighbor) and the police chief (my friend Justin's uncle) want the speed limit on the east side of the second stoplight to be lowered from 45 to 35. They think the higher speed limit is contributing to a high number of accidents at the intersection. In my opinion, the accidents are probably resulting from the fact that, on the second stoplight, there is a turn signal, but there is no turn lane. When I came home from college and saw the stoplight for the first time, this amazed me, and it continues to amaze me to this day. I mean, what is the point of having a turn signal if you don't have a turn lane? You can pretty much guarantee that some of the people wanting to turn aren't going to get through on the turn signal, and that's just going to back up traffic while they yield to the other lane. I suppose the 45-mph speed limit doesn't help things, but is it really the root of the problem? I think not.
None of this matters, anyway, because the state denied their request to lower the speed limit (and would probably deny them the right to an actual turn lane at this stoplight as well.) Why? Because a study found that 85 percent of drivers in my town are already driving below the speed limit. 85 percent! Below the speed limit! On a two-lane road! You can now imagine what a pain it is to drive anywhere in my town.
If you click here, you can see a picture of the second of three stoplights in my hometown. (My favorite part is the photo caption that talks about how "dangerous" and "busy" our roads are. Ha!) Until I was about 9, we didn't have any stoplights at all. I still remember when the first stoplight went up. It was a big deal. In fact, I think my family even made a special trip downtown to look at it when they first put it up. (When you live in a one-stoplight town, there's not much else to do in the way of entertainment.)
The next stoplight (the one in the picture) was installed when I was in college, right next to the Sonic, which also came to town after I'd left. Why did all the good things happen after I'd already gone? A Wendy's and a McDonald's also came to town shortly after I moved. It's like they were just waiting for me to leave! Speaking of Wendy's and McDonald's, the third stoplight went in at the intersection where they sit across from each other. I guess the frenzy created by having two hamburger joints that were not Hardee's and Dairy Queen (both of which closed shortly after the arrival of the McDonald's and Wendy's) necessitated the stoplight. But I don't ever really think about this as one of our town's spotlights, as it is out by the interstate and not in the city limits.
Anyway, the article I've linked to is all about how the mayor (my former neighbor) and the police chief (my friend Justin's uncle) want the speed limit on the east side of the second stoplight to be lowered from 45 to 35. They think the higher speed limit is contributing to a high number of accidents at the intersection. In my opinion, the accidents are probably resulting from the fact that, on the second stoplight, there is a turn signal, but there is no turn lane. When I came home from college and saw the stoplight for the first time, this amazed me, and it continues to amaze me to this day. I mean, what is the point of having a turn signal if you don't have a turn lane? You can pretty much guarantee that some of the people wanting to turn aren't going to get through on the turn signal, and that's just going to back up traffic while they yield to the other lane. I suppose the 45-mph speed limit doesn't help things, but is it really the root of the problem? I think not.
None of this matters, anyway, because the state denied their request to lower the speed limit (and would probably deny them the right to an actual turn lane at this stoplight as well.) Why? Because a study found that 85 percent of drivers in my town are already driving below the speed limit. 85 percent! Below the speed limit! On a two-lane road! You can now imagine what a pain it is to drive anywhere in my town.
Monday, September 15, 2003
You can call me Britney (Ms. Spears if you're nasty)
I have decided to decree this week Live Like Britney Spears week. For the inaugural event of Live Like Britney Spears week, I got to drive a brand-new VW Beetle convertible (one of the many cars favored by Ms. Spears). And how did I get so lucky, you ask? My boss freelances for the Auto section of the Houston Chronicle, and they send her a new car every couple of weeks. Today they dropped off her new Beetle convertible at the office while she was working from home. So I called and (half-jokingly) offered to drive it over to her house. And she took me up on my offer! Woo hoo!
Of course, it took me a good 15 minutes to figure out how to get the top down properly so the car wouldn't make a beeping noise when I tried to drive. But I'm sure it took Britney herself just as long (if not longer) to figure it out. You should have seen me as I cruised down the highway with everyone staring at me, thinking to themselves, "Is that Britney Spears?" (OK, they probably weren't thinking that. But they were staring.)
For the rest of Live Like Britney Spears week, I am planning to buy several ridiculously expensive pink crocodile handbags, have some coffee flown in from L.A. and dance around wearing a diamond-encrusted flesh-toned bodysuit. I'm sure by Friday, I will be making out with Madonna, and Justin Timberlake will be writing songs about how I broke his heart.
I have decided to decree this week Live Like Britney Spears week. For the inaugural event of Live Like Britney Spears week, I got to drive a brand-new VW Beetle convertible (one of the many cars favored by Ms. Spears). And how did I get so lucky, you ask? My boss freelances for the Auto section of the Houston Chronicle, and they send her a new car every couple of weeks. Today they dropped off her new Beetle convertible at the office while she was working from home. So I called and (half-jokingly) offered to drive it over to her house. And she took me up on my offer! Woo hoo!
Of course, it took me a good 15 minutes to figure out how to get the top down properly so the car wouldn't make a beeping noise when I tried to drive. But I'm sure it took Britney herself just as long (if not longer) to figure it out. You should have seen me as I cruised down the highway with everyone staring at me, thinking to themselves, "Is that Britney Spears?" (OK, they probably weren't thinking that. But they were staring.)
For the rest of Live Like Britney Spears week, I am planning to buy several ridiculously expensive pink crocodile handbags, have some coffee flown in from L.A. and dance around wearing a diamond-encrusted flesh-toned bodysuit. I'm sure by Friday, I will be making out with Madonna, and Justin Timberlake will be writing songs about how I broke his heart.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
The battle may be over, but the war is not
Yesterday I was very pleased to come home to find my October issue of Esquire (the 70th anniversary edition) waiting for me. I was even more pleased to see a cover line teasing Frank Sinatra. I immediately opened it up to see what Frank-related goodies the magazine could hold and just happened to open right to the special little insert booklet that contains, in Esquire's estimation, the best story they've ever published: "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," a 1966 profile by Gay Talese. How awesome is that? And did I mention it's in its own little booklet?! I love little booklets. They used to have one every month in Teen.
So it's too bad that Esquire has decided, without rhyme or reason, to suddenly cancel my subscription. Apparently when I tried to pay my bill a few weeks ago, they thought that instead of accepting my credit card number, they would just go ahead cancel the entire subscription instead. I actually got a letter in the mail saying that there was a problem with my credit card and could I please send a check in the mail. (Who knows what the problem was, since I paid the bill during one of the few times my bank account wasn't in danger of being overdrawn.) But then when I checked my account online, it said the subscription had been cancelled. I can only imagine that Esquire's subscription department has had some sort of customer service training from Vanity Fair.
Speaking of which, they actually had the gall to e-mail me last week and ask me to take their subscriber survey. Vanity Fair, what part of "I have not subscribed to your magazine for a year and a half" do you not understand?!
I also had an interesting run-in with Cosmo's subscription department recently. I bought Kristen a subscription to the magazine for her birthday, but I chose the "Bill me later" option since at the time I purchased it, I was (of course) completely broke. A week or two later, I got a bill for her subscription in the mail. I went online to pay it and was quite surprised to see that the account had been paid in full. I called Kristen to make sure she or Jason hadn't accidentally paid for it, but she said they hadn't ever gotten a bill from Cosmo in the mail. Hmm. I still have not discovered who our mysterious benefactor is. But at least this error on the part of the subscription department worked out well for me.
Yesterday I was very pleased to come home to find my October issue of Esquire (the 70th anniversary edition) waiting for me. I was even more pleased to see a cover line teasing Frank Sinatra. I immediately opened it up to see what Frank-related goodies the magazine could hold and just happened to open right to the special little insert booklet that contains, in Esquire's estimation, the best story they've ever published: "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," a 1966 profile by Gay Talese. How awesome is that? And did I mention it's in its own little booklet?! I love little booklets. They used to have one every month in Teen.
So it's too bad that Esquire has decided, without rhyme or reason, to suddenly cancel my subscription. Apparently when I tried to pay my bill a few weeks ago, they thought that instead of accepting my credit card number, they would just go ahead cancel the entire subscription instead. I actually got a letter in the mail saying that there was a problem with my credit card and could I please send a check in the mail. (Who knows what the problem was, since I paid the bill during one of the few times my bank account wasn't in danger of being overdrawn.) But then when I checked my account online, it said the subscription had been cancelled. I can only imagine that Esquire's subscription department has had some sort of customer service training from Vanity Fair.
Speaking of which, they actually had the gall to e-mail me last week and ask me to take their subscriber survey. Vanity Fair, what part of "I have not subscribed to your magazine for a year and a half" do you not understand?!
I also had an interesting run-in with Cosmo's subscription department recently. I bought Kristen a subscription to the magazine for her birthday, but I chose the "Bill me later" option since at the time I purchased it, I was (of course) completely broke. A week or two later, I got a bill for her subscription in the mail. I went online to pay it and was quite surprised to see that the account had been paid in full. I called Kristen to make sure she or Jason hadn't accidentally paid for it, but she said they hadn't ever gotten a bill from Cosmo in the mail. Hmm. I still have not discovered who our mysterious benefactor is. But at least this error on the part of the subscription department worked out well for me.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Notable quotes from last night's TV viewing
It's been a while since I had an entry devoted to quotes from a great night of television...mostly because there hasn't been what I would call a great night of television ever since the Great Wednesday Night Reality-TV Extravaganzas of Yore (by "yore," I of course mean May). However, Tuesday has begun to take shape as a new Great Night of Television, what with Cupid, The Real World: Paris and my new favorite show, Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica. (Sorry, Lyndsay--as much as I have grown to love you, it would take nothing short of an act of God to ever get me to watch Big Brother.) Last night was an especially good Tuesday night, from Lisa declaring her love for Hank on Cupid to the roommates heading off to the Riviera without CT on The Real World to Jessica displaying amazing feats of brainpower on Newlyweds. (Seriously, who does not know what rigor mortis is? And what LPGA stands for? And that a golf tee is not called a "little peg?") Anyway, on with the quotes.
"Ace is turning 15 today, and we're all going to help him celebrate." --Simon, The Real World
"'The Hardest Thing' could be a really good gay song." --Nick Lachey, musing on 98 Degrees' gay cover band, 69 Degrees
It's been a while since I had an entry devoted to quotes from a great night of television...mostly because there hasn't been what I would call a great night of television ever since the Great Wednesday Night Reality-TV Extravaganzas of Yore (by "yore," I of course mean May). However, Tuesday has begun to take shape as a new Great Night of Television, what with Cupid, The Real World: Paris and my new favorite show, Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica. (Sorry, Lyndsay--as much as I have grown to love you, it would take nothing short of an act of God to ever get me to watch Big Brother.) Last night was an especially good Tuesday night, from Lisa declaring her love for Hank on Cupid to the roommates heading off to the Riviera without CT on The Real World to Jessica displaying amazing feats of brainpower on Newlyweds. (Seriously, who does not know what rigor mortis is? And what LPGA stands for? And that a golf tee is not called a "little peg?") Anyway, on with the quotes.
"Ace is turning 15 today, and we're all going to help him celebrate." --Simon, The Real World
"'The Hardest Thing' could be a really good gay song." --Nick Lachey, musing on 98 Degrees' gay cover band, 69 Degrees
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
I am onto you, Carolyn Bielfeldt's stalker!
This week, the most popular search by far that has directed people to my blog is Carolyn Bielfeldt. In fact, she has surpassed the popularity of even the most popular search terms of weeks past. (In case you're interested, these are "Rena Sofer nude" and "Scott Speedman Gap ad," neither of which can actually be found here). Anyway, this flurry of activity around Carolyn leads me to believe one of the following things is true about my former classmate:
1) Carolyn has, unbeknownst to me, suddenly become famous overnight, possibly by dating Ben Affleck, Ashton Kutcher or Justin Timberlake or by kissing Madonna on the MTV awards.
2) People have learned that Carolyn works at Vanity Fair and are already trying to hit her up for an invite to VF's Oscar party.
3) Carolyn is being stalked.
For Carolyn's sake, I hope it's either 1) or 2). If it's 3), her stalker is probably pretty happy with me right now, as I just told him her place of employment. Oops.
This week, the most popular search by far that has directed people to my blog is Carolyn Bielfeldt. In fact, she has surpassed the popularity of even the most popular search terms of weeks past. (In case you're interested, these are "Rena Sofer nude" and "Scott Speedman Gap ad," neither of which can actually be found here). Anyway, this flurry of activity around Carolyn leads me to believe one of the following things is true about my former classmate:
1) Carolyn has, unbeknownst to me, suddenly become famous overnight, possibly by dating Ben Affleck, Ashton Kutcher or Justin Timberlake or by kissing Madonna on the MTV awards.
2) People have learned that Carolyn works at Vanity Fair and are already trying to hit her up for an invite to VF's Oscar party.
3) Carolyn is being stalked.
For Carolyn's sake, I hope it's either 1) or 2). If it's 3), her stalker is probably pretty happy with me right now, as I just told him her place of employment. Oops.
Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. Ben & Jen are finally getting hitched. Now that these two lovebirds are finally tying the knot, what will we have to talk about? Well, there's the inevitable divorce, I guess. And Ashton & Demi. And Cameron & Justin. And Britney & Madonna... Come to think of it, the whole Ben/Jen thing is already kind of stale, isn't it?
Monday, September 08, 2003
The forces are getting evil
This morning, the forces of the universe were again conspiring to make me late for work. This time, they actually tried to get me to break my own neck. Seriously.
When my alarm went off for the second time this morning, I got up to turn it off. When I was getting out of bed, I inadvertently turned my neck in kind of a funny way. And when I say "kind of a funny way," I mean as in, I heard a crunching sound, which is never a good thing in regard to one's neck. I sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to move my head around a little, at which point I heard a noise that sounded like loose pieces of bone rattling around in my head. Also not a good thing.
I then tried to stand up, which was a big mistake. The room started to swim in front of me. My skin felt all hot and tingly, and my ears felt like they'd been stuffed with cotton. Oh God, I thought, this is how I'm going to die. This really upset me, not just because of the whole dying thing, but because my one wish when it comes to my ultimate demise is to not die in some stupid way. And accidentally shattering one's spine while trying to get out of bed seemed to me about the stupidest way to die at that point.
Interestingly enough, my life did not flash before my eyes. Instead, I heard a voice in my head going, "Stop being such a damn drama queen and lie back down before you pass out, bust your head open on the hardwood floor and really do die." I decided to listen to the voice, as busting your head open on a hardwood floor after trying to stand up when you've just accidentally shattered your spine trying to get out of bed is also a stupid way to die.
After a few minutes of lying down, I felt OK enough to try and stand up again. Also, I really had to pee. So I tried to head for the bathroom. The room was swimming again, and my skin was doing the hot-and-tingly thing, but my ears seemed to have recovered, only to be replaced with an overwhelming nausea. I became less concerned that I was going to die and more concerned that I was going to be forced to break my 11-year non-throwing-up record. Fortunately, I was able to make it back from the bathroom without throwing up or passing out, but just barely.
After a few more minutes of lying in bed, I decided that it would be best to try and master sitting up in bed before I actually tried getting up and walking. This was a good plan, as I was eventually able to stand up without feeling all woozy. I decided to take advantage of my mobility and go into the kitchen to get some ice for my neck, as I had now realized that my ailment was probably more of a pulled muscle than a shattered spine. However, the ice-getting proved more strenuous than I thought it would be, and I was again forced to lie down and rest to keep from passing out.
The ice seemed to work some magic, and I was eventually able to move about my apartment freely and get ready for work. Of course, by that time, 40 minutes had passed, and I was supposed to be on my way out the door pretty soon. So I called my boss and left a message, telling her I would be a little late for work. Trying to get ready while holding an ice pack with one hand was a bit challenging (not to mention the fact that the entire left side of my neck was gripped with a shooting pain whenever I tried to move it), but I managed. And I was only 15 minutes late to work. Take that, universe! It will take a lot more than a potentially shattered spine to make me seriously late for work!
This morning, the forces of the universe were again conspiring to make me late for work. This time, they actually tried to get me to break my own neck. Seriously.
When my alarm went off for the second time this morning, I got up to turn it off. When I was getting out of bed, I inadvertently turned my neck in kind of a funny way. And when I say "kind of a funny way," I mean as in, I heard a crunching sound, which is never a good thing in regard to one's neck. I sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to move my head around a little, at which point I heard a noise that sounded like loose pieces of bone rattling around in my head. Also not a good thing.
I then tried to stand up, which was a big mistake. The room started to swim in front of me. My skin felt all hot and tingly, and my ears felt like they'd been stuffed with cotton. Oh God, I thought, this is how I'm going to die. This really upset me, not just because of the whole dying thing, but because my one wish when it comes to my ultimate demise is to not die in some stupid way. And accidentally shattering one's spine while trying to get out of bed seemed to me about the stupidest way to die at that point.
Interestingly enough, my life did not flash before my eyes. Instead, I heard a voice in my head going, "Stop being such a damn drama queen and lie back down before you pass out, bust your head open on the hardwood floor and really do die." I decided to listen to the voice, as busting your head open on a hardwood floor after trying to stand up when you've just accidentally shattered your spine trying to get out of bed is also a stupid way to die.
After a few minutes of lying down, I felt OK enough to try and stand up again. Also, I really had to pee. So I tried to head for the bathroom. The room was swimming again, and my skin was doing the hot-and-tingly thing, but my ears seemed to have recovered, only to be replaced with an overwhelming nausea. I became less concerned that I was going to die and more concerned that I was going to be forced to break my 11-year non-throwing-up record. Fortunately, I was able to make it back from the bathroom without throwing up or passing out, but just barely.
After a few more minutes of lying in bed, I decided that it would be best to try and master sitting up in bed before I actually tried getting up and walking. This was a good plan, as I was eventually able to stand up without feeling all woozy. I decided to take advantage of my mobility and go into the kitchen to get some ice for my neck, as I had now realized that my ailment was probably more of a pulled muscle than a shattered spine. However, the ice-getting proved more strenuous than I thought it would be, and I was again forced to lie down and rest to keep from passing out.
The ice seemed to work some magic, and I was eventually able to move about my apartment freely and get ready for work. Of course, by that time, 40 minutes had passed, and I was supposed to be on my way out the door pretty soon. So I called my boss and left a message, telling her I would be a little late for work. Trying to get ready while holding an ice pack with one hand was a bit challenging (not to mention the fact that the entire left side of my neck was gripped with a shooting pain whenever I tried to move it), but I managed. And I was only 15 minutes late to work. Take that, universe! It will take a lot more than a potentially shattered spine to make me seriously late for work!
Thursday, September 04, 2003
What is this supposed to mean?
Last night, I had a dream that I had a baby. It was very scary. I don't remember much about the actual having of the baby, other than that it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. For some reason, I had to leave the baby at the hospital with my parents and my sister while I went home for a couple of days to get some stuff. When I got back to the hospital, no one would let me hold the baby because they said I wasn't responsible enough--even though it was technically my baby. As we were leaving the hospital, there was some sort of bomb scare, and my sister began running around like crazy with the baby in a stroller. Finally, I was able to get the baby away from her by telling her she was too panicked to properly care for the baby. Of course, by the time I actually got to hold the baby, she had miraculously aged about four years. My family and I piled into the car to take the baby (technically now a full-fledged kid) home. I sat in the front passenger seat and put the kid up on the dashboard, where we proceeded to have a conversation about my life up to that point. I showed the kid some pictures of me and my friends. She pointed to one of the pictures and said, "What are you holding in your hand? Is that a cocktail?" I said yes, and the kid said, "You need to stop drinking. I can't have a mother who is an alcoholic." I tried to explain to the kid that I am actually not an alcoholic, as a few drinks a month does not make a person an alcoholic. But no, the kid insisted I give up drinking entirely. I began to get all wistful about the good times I spent drinking martinis with my friends at The Blue Monkey and began to regret ever having the kid in the first place. Then I woke up.
I can only conclude that the moral of this story must be that getting to enjoy a chocolate martini with one's friends is ultimately more important than having children.
Last night, I had a dream that I had a baby. It was very scary. I don't remember much about the actual having of the baby, other than that it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. For some reason, I had to leave the baby at the hospital with my parents and my sister while I went home for a couple of days to get some stuff. When I got back to the hospital, no one would let me hold the baby because they said I wasn't responsible enough--even though it was technically my baby. As we were leaving the hospital, there was some sort of bomb scare, and my sister began running around like crazy with the baby in a stroller. Finally, I was able to get the baby away from her by telling her she was too panicked to properly care for the baby. Of course, by the time I actually got to hold the baby, she had miraculously aged about four years. My family and I piled into the car to take the baby (technically now a full-fledged kid) home. I sat in the front passenger seat and put the kid up on the dashboard, where we proceeded to have a conversation about my life up to that point. I showed the kid some pictures of me and my friends. She pointed to one of the pictures and said, "What are you holding in your hand? Is that a cocktail?" I said yes, and the kid said, "You need to stop drinking. I can't have a mother who is an alcoholic." I tried to explain to the kid that I am actually not an alcoholic, as a few drinks a month does not make a person an alcoholic. But no, the kid insisted I give up drinking entirely. I began to get all wistful about the good times I spent drinking martinis with my friends at The Blue Monkey and began to regret ever having the kid in the first place. Then I woke up.
I can only conclude that the moral of this story must be that getting to enjoy a chocolate martini with one's friends is ultimately more important than having children.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Damn you, universe!
Today was my 6-month anniversary at my job. I celebrated by being half an hour late to work.
OK, technically I was not coming in half an hour late to "celebrate." I actually left my apartment a little earlier than I usually do. Is it my fault that it took me an hour (rather than the usual 20 minutes) to get to work due to an overturned truck that was blocking the entire highway en route to the office? Is it my fault that by the time I realized that all lanes of traffic were blocked, I had no choice but to divert onto a highway that took me into a completely other part of the city? And is it my fault that I had to spend 30 minutes traversing the wilds of Birmingham (seriously, I was in the middle of a forest here, people) with very little clue as to where I was going, only to end up approximately 20 yards from where I had been in the first place? I think not. I am convinced that the forces of the universe are conspiring against me to make me late for work.
Speaking of the universe making me late for work, I got a phone message yesterday from a detective from the Birmingham Police Department...the message itself was very hard to understand, but I believe they may have found my toolbox at a pawn shop. Of course, not having ever opened the toolbox in the three years it has been sitting in my trunk, I probably won't even be able to identify it or its contents.
Today was my 6-month anniversary at my job. I celebrated by being half an hour late to work.
OK, technically I was not coming in half an hour late to "celebrate." I actually left my apartment a little earlier than I usually do. Is it my fault that it took me an hour (rather than the usual 20 minutes) to get to work due to an overturned truck that was blocking the entire highway en route to the office? Is it my fault that by the time I realized that all lanes of traffic were blocked, I had no choice but to divert onto a highway that took me into a completely other part of the city? And is it my fault that I had to spend 30 minutes traversing the wilds of Birmingham (seriously, I was in the middle of a forest here, people) with very little clue as to where I was going, only to end up approximately 20 yards from where I had been in the first place? I think not. I am convinced that the forces of the universe are conspiring against me to make me late for work.
Speaking of the universe making me late for work, I got a phone message yesterday from a detective from the Birmingham Police Department...the message itself was very hard to understand, but I believe they may have found my toolbox at a pawn shop. Of course, not having ever opened the toolbox in the three years it has been sitting in my trunk, I probably won't even be able to identify it or its contents.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
Labor-Free Day
Yesterday, I had big plans to give my entire apartment a thorough cleaning in preparation for my parents' impending visit in a couple of weeks. But then I realized that the purpose of Labor Day is to take a day off from laboring. (Plus, in two weeks' time, my apartment would be just as messy again.) So this is what I did instead of cleaning:
-Slept until noon (OK, 12:30)
-Made pancakes and left dishes in sink
-Read this story
-Watched parts of the Video Music Awards I missed
-Watched episodes of Single in the City 2 I had missed
-Went to post office (1 of 2 actual acts of labor during the day)
-Attached new license plate to car (Second act of actual labor)
-Took a nap (much needed after completing such laborious tasks)
-Went for a lovely evening walk
-Watched Road Rules
-Called Kristen to gossip about wedding
Mmm, what a wonderful day off. My apartment is a complete mess, but I am quite well-rested.
Yesterday, I had big plans to give my entire apartment a thorough cleaning in preparation for my parents' impending visit in a couple of weeks. But then I realized that the purpose of Labor Day is to take a day off from laboring. (Plus, in two weeks' time, my apartment would be just as messy again.) So this is what I did instead of cleaning:
-Slept until noon (OK, 12:30)
-Made pancakes and left dishes in sink
-Read this story
-Watched parts of the Video Music Awards I missed
-Watched episodes of Single in the City 2 I had missed
-Went to post office (1 of 2 actual acts of labor during the day)
-Attached new license plate to car (Second act of actual labor)
-Took a nap (much needed after completing such laborious tasks)
-Went for a lovely evening walk
-Watched Road Rules
-Called Kristen to gossip about wedding
Mmm, what a wonderful day off. My apartment is a complete mess, but I am quite well-rested.
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