Friday, May 28, 2004
Who loves ya, baby?
It's times like these when I realize what wonderful friends I have. Many, many thanks to all of you who have offered condolences, support and, most of all, much-needed humor and distractions.
The shock of what happened is beginning to wear off, and reality is setting in. Most of the time I'm able to forget about my actual circumstances because I'm trying so hard to stay focused on the future (or else I'm amusing myself with the aforementioned distractions, such as Terri's and my trip to see "The Prince and Me" last night, which, by the way, was a pretty crappy movie, even in the context of the romantic-comedies-geared-toward-adolescents genre). The brutal reality tends to come over me in waves. I got my first wave yesterday, when I was at my friend Sallie's office for a job interview. As I was taking a copy test, I overheard Sallie say something about their Xante printer, and I immediately thought to myself, "Hey, we have an Xante printer at my office, too!" Then it hit me: I don't have an office any more. As soon as I got into my car after the interview, I started bawling. And when I realized that this was not the first time I've been bawling while driving away from this company (the same one where I had my internship) simply because the anxiety over my uncertain future had become too much to bear...well, that made me cry even harder. I guess I just can't believe I'm back in this situation again after barely a year and a half.
But anyway. Enough wallowing! Let's move on to more important things...like the Idol finale. You didn't think I'd forgotten about Idol, did you?
So, in grand keeping with my complete ineptitude at predicting the winners of reality shows, Diana did not win. However, that prediction was made a long time ago...after watching just the first 30 minutes of the big finale, there was no doubt in my mind that Fantasia would be the winner. It's an unwritten rule that whoever the celebrities say they voted for at the beginning of the show will be the winner. Did any of them say they voted for Diana? Actually, did anyone even vote for Diana at all? What with all the Fantasia love going on, I'm beginng to think that all 65 million votes were for her.
Obviously, I was very happy to see my boyfriend, Jon Peter Lewis, again. And didn't he look so adorable in his little Urban-Outfitters-esque rainbow T-shirt? OK, actually, he looked a little gay. He must have stolen that from Ryan Seacrest's closet.
And speaking of Seacrest, if there was ever a doubt in my mind that he and Simon had something going on, it was quelled by all their pre-show fondling. And let me just go ahead and say what everybody's thinking: What the hell was up with Simon not buttoning his shirt? Was that his way of distinguishing himself from his lov-ah Mr. Seacrest, since they were essentially wearing the same outfit? And if so, wouldn't it have been easier (not to mention infinitely less stomach-turning for those of us watching at home) for them to...I don't know, just not wear the same thing?
As for the other finalists who made their grand re-entry into American Idol society...I had honestly forgotten about some of them. Amy Adams? Yeah. Leah LaBelle? It seriously took me 5 minutes to figure out who the hell she was. I was about to pick up the phone and call the producers of America's Next Top Model to tell them that one of their contestants had accidentally wandered onto the wrong reality show. (It can be so confusing with all those "America"-named shows out there.) Somehow, I had even managed to repress the train wreck that was Camile Velasco, but her off-pitch solo and the presence of the Rastafarian wristband brought all those painful memories back.
Hands down, my favorite part of the finale was the very end. Not when they announced Fantasia as the winner, not when she gave her very emotional performance, but when Ryan Seacrest tried to give his very serious wrap-up speech with a piece of confetti stuck to his forehead. Judging by the reaction shot they showed, this might also have been Simon, Paula and Randy's favorite part of the show, too. Ah, justice is so sweet.
Until next season...Clare, out! (Oh, God, I think that catch phrase actually caught.)
It's times like these when I realize what wonderful friends I have. Many, many thanks to all of you who have offered condolences, support and, most of all, much-needed humor and distractions.
The shock of what happened is beginning to wear off, and reality is setting in. Most of the time I'm able to forget about my actual circumstances because I'm trying so hard to stay focused on the future (or else I'm amusing myself with the aforementioned distractions, such as Terri's and my trip to see "The Prince and Me" last night, which, by the way, was a pretty crappy movie, even in the context of the romantic-comedies-geared-toward-adolescents genre). The brutal reality tends to come over me in waves. I got my first wave yesterday, when I was at my friend Sallie's office for a job interview. As I was taking a copy test, I overheard Sallie say something about their Xante printer, and I immediately thought to myself, "Hey, we have an Xante printer at my office, too!" Then it hit me: I don't have an office any more. As soon as I got into my car after the interview, I started bawling. And when I realized that this was not the first time I've been bawling while driving away from this company (the same one where I had my internship) simply because the anxiety over my uncertain future had become too much to bear...well, that made me cry even harder. I guess I just can't believe I'm back in this situation again after barely a year and a half.
But anyway. Enough wallowing! Let's move on to more important things...like the Idol finale. You didn't think I'd forgotten about Idol, did you?
So, in grand keeping with my complete ineptitude at predicting the winners of reality shows, Diana did not win. However, that prediction was made a long time ago...after watching just the first 30 minutes of the big finale, there was no doubt in my mind that Fantasia would be the winner. It's an unwritten rule that whoever the celebrities say they voted for at the beginning of the show will be the winner. Did any of them say they voted for Diana? Actually, did anyone even vote for Diana at all? What with all the Fantasia love going on, I'm beginng to think that all 65 million votes were for her.
Obviously, I was very happy to see my boyfriend, Jon Peter Lewis, again. And didn't he look so adorable in his little Urban-Outfitters-esque rainbow T-shirt? OK, actually, he looked a little gay. He must have stolen that from Ryan Seacrest's closet.
And speaking of Seacrest, if there was ever a doubt in my mind that he and Simon had something going on, it was quelled by all their pre-show fondling. And let me just go ahead and say what everybody's thinking: What the hell was up with Simon not buttoning his shirt? Was that his way of distinguishing himself from his lov-ah Mr. Seacrest, since they were essentially wearing the same outfit? And if so, wouldn't it have been easier (not to mention infinitely less stomach-turning for those of us watching at home) for them to...I don't know, just not wear the same thing?
As for the other finalists who made their grand re-entry into American Idol society...I had honestly forgotten about some of them. Amy Adams? Yeah. Leah LaBelle? It seriously took me 5 minutes to figure out who the hell she was. I was about to pick up the phone and call the producers of America's Next Top Model to tell them that one of their contestants had accidentally wandered onto the wrong reality show. (It can be so confusing with all those "America"-named shows out there.) Somehow, I had even managed to repress the train wreck that was Camile Velasco, but her off-pitch solo and the presence of the Rastafarian wristband brought all those painful memories back.
Hands down, my favorite part of the finale was the very end. Not when they announced Fantasia as the winner, not when she gave her very emotional performance, but when Ryan Seacrest tried to give his very serious wrap-up speech with a piece of confetti stuck to his forehead. Judging by the reaction shot they showed, this might also have been Simon, Paula and Randy's favorite part of the show, too. Ah, justice is so sweet.
Until next season...Clare, out! (Oh, God, I think that catch phrase actually caught.)
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Hallelujah, or how I came to be drinking a beer at 3:00 on a Wednesday
So remember when I said I was thinking of quitting my job to become a construction equipment operator? Well, it looks like I won't have to do that. Quit my job, that is. That's because, as of 2:00 yesterday, I no longer have a job. Apparently I'm now officially a casualty of...well, it's not the recession, because that's over, right? I'm more like a casualty of the extreme suckiness of my company.
The fact that one of our big bosses was coming down from Wisconsin for an impromptu meeting had everyone suspicious. We knew someone was probably getting the axe. But I don't think any of us suspected that the entire staff would be called into a conference room and told that our company felt the magazines would be better under a completely new staff, so, effective immediately, we no longer worked there. I mean, you hear about this kind of thing happening at magazines in New York when they get a new editor in chief. I would even expect it here if we were in the midst of a big buyout. But our company had bought the properties we worked for from a local company nearly two years ago. Not only that, we were just about to go into production on two of the biggest issues of the year. (Which made the layoff somewhat of a relief for me, because I honestly had no idea how I was going to get them done. I just feel sorry for whoever has to take over and sort it all out.)
Still, whether we were willing to admit it or not, I think we all saw it coming. As I told some of my friends last night, the decisions being made by the home office in respect to our magazines gave me the feeling that they were trying to squeeze the life out of the Birmingham office, maybe so we would all get fed up and quit, thereby saving them the dirty work of firing us. Basically, they set up an environment in which we were so short-staffed that it was impossible for any of us to do our jobs as well as we were capable of doing them (without the risk of insanity, ulcers or heart attacks), and then they fired us, ostensibly for not doing our jobs well enough. Can you see why I was already looking for a way out? I have been since November, actually. I just regret that I only started to get serious about it here in the last couple of months. But better late than never, right?
But don't cry for me, dear blog readers. The way I view it, there are more silver linings in this situation than there are dark clouds. Let's look at some of those, shall we?
Silver lining #1: We were all fired at once. Among the carnage of the mass firing was my friend Robyn, who's my workout buddy and arguably my best friend at work. I don't think I could take it if she'd been fired and I hadn't, or vice versa. In fact, one of my main hesitations about finding a new job was that I didn't want to leave her behind at such a sucky company--she's one of the only reasons I was able to maintain my sanity this whole time. Also, I was able to persuade her to go out with me for the titular beer to dissect what had just happened to us. She wisely pointed out that perhaps people who had just lost their jobs shouldn't be spending money on beer, but I just-as-wisely pointed out that if any occasion calls for buying beer, it's losing your job.
Silver lining #2: I'm not starting from scratch. Yeah, it would have been nice to already have a job lined up, but I've got a couple of promising prospects. And my freelance job gives me a little breathing room--it's certainly not enough money to carry me through if I can't find something else right away, but at least it will ensure that I don't have any holes in my resume. What really sucks, in my opinion, is that I never got the chance to go into my boss's office and tell him I was leaving, the reason being because I can't work for a company that doesn't respect me. I soooo wanted to do that. Damn!
Silver lining #3: I can go back on the unemployment diet. If for some reason I can't find another job right away, there are some benefits to be had by being jobless. During my previous period of unemployment, I learned that being unemployed is a great weight-loss strategy. You don't have any money for food, so you can't eat very much. And you have loads of free time, which means you can work out a lot. Plus, getting away from this job in particular carries added benefits, namely that I will no longer be tempted to get frostys and hamburgers for lunch at the Wendy's across the street. (Incidentally, when I had what would turn out to be my last lunch at that Wendy's today, they gave me fries instead of a frosty. It must have been a sign!)
Silver lining #4: I had an excuse to buy Bluebell Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. OK, I realize that's somewhat contratictory with point #3. But the unemployment diet starts as soon as the carton of ice cream is finished, I promise. Besides, if any occasion calls for the buying of Bluebell Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough, it's losing your job!
Silver lining #5: I got the fresh start I so desperately wanted. Not to mention the major upheaval. I'm really thinking now that whoever came up with that "be careful what you wish for" adage was very smart. Or me, in a previous life. But seriously. Cleaning out my desk and saying good-bye to all of my friends kind of felt like the last day of school. By that time, the shock had worn off somewhat, and I mostly just felt giddy and excited. I was still a little bit sad, which I guess just makes it more like the end of school. As I drove away, I chose for my soundtrack Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"--partly because it happened to be in my CD player at the time, yes, but also because it's a perfect bittersweet I-just-got-fired-from-a-job-I-hated-anyway kind of song. I've pretty much been listening to it nonstop ever since I fell in love with in on The O.C. , and, needless to say, this is a trend that shows no sign of waning any time soon.
So there you go. I'm off to make a fresh start. Not by choice, as I had hoped, but fresh start nonetheless. Hallelujah.
So remember when I said I was thinking of quitting my job to become a construction equipment operator? Well, it looks like I won't have to do that. Quit my job, that is. That's because, as of 2:00 yesterday, I no longer have a job. Apparently I'm now officially a casualty of...well, it's not the recession, because that's over, right? I'm more like a casualty of the extreme suckiness of my company.
The fact that one of our big bosses was coming down from Wisconsin for an impromptu meeting had everyone suspicious. We knew someone was probably getting the axe. But I don't think any of us suspected that the entire staff would be called into a conference room and told that our company felt the magazines would be better under a completely new staff, so, effective immediately, we no longer worked there. I mean, you hear about this kind of thing happening at magazines in New York when they get a new editor in chief. I would even expect it here if we were in the midst of a big buyout. But our company had bought the properties we worked for from a local company nearly two years ago. Not only that, we were just about to go into production on two of the biggest issues of the year. (Which made the layoff somewhat of a relief for me, because I honestly had no idea how I was going to get them done. I just feel sorry for whoever has to take over and sort it all out.)
Still, whether we were willing to admit it or not, I think we all saw it coming. As I told some of my friends last night, the decisions being made by the home office in respect to our magazines gave me the feeling that they were trying to squeeze the life out of the Birmingham office, maybe so we would all get fed up and quit, thereby saving them the dirty work of firing us. Basically, they set up an environment in which we were so short-staffed that it was impossible for any of us to do our jobs as well as we were capable of doing them (without the risk of insanity, ulcers or heart attacks), and then they fired us, ostensibly for not doing our jobs well enough. Can you see why I was already looking for a way out? I have been since November, actually. I just regret that I only started to get serious about it here in the last couple of months. But better late than never, right?
But don't cry for me, dear blog readers. The way I view it, there are more silver linings in this situation than there are dark clouds. Let's look at some of those, shall we?
Silver lining #1: We were all fired at once. Among the carnage of the mass firing was my friend Robyn, who's my workout buddy and arguably my best friend at work. I don't think I could take it if she'd been fired and I hadn't, or vice versa. In fact, one of my main hesitations about finding a new job was that I didn't want to leave her behind at such a sucky company--she's one of the only reasons I was able to maintain my sanity this whole time. Also, I was able to persuade her to go out with me for the titular beer to dissect what had just happened to us. She wisely pointed out that perhaps people who had just lost their jobs shouldn't be spending money on beer, but I just-as-wisely pointed out that if any occasion calls for buying beer, it's losing your job.
Silver lining #2: I'm not starting from scratch. Yeah, it would have been nice to already have a job lined up, but I've got a couple of promising prospects. And my freelance job gives me a little breathing room--it's certainly not enough money to carry me through if I can't find something else right away, but at least it will ensure that I don't have any holes in my resume. What really sucks, in my opinion, is that I never got the chance to go into my boss's office and tell him I was leaving, the reason being because I can't work for a company that doesn't respect me. I soooo wanted to do that. Damn!
Silver lining #3: I can go back on the unemployment diet. If for some reason I can't find another job right away, there are some benefits to be had by being jobless. During my previous period of unemployment, I learned that being unemployed is a great weight-loss strategy. You don't have any money for food, so you can't eat very much. And you have loads of free time, which means you can work out a lot. Plus, getting away from this job in particular carries added benefits, namely that I will no longer be tempted to get frostys and hamburgers for lunch at the Wendy's across the street. (Incidentally, when I had what would turn out to be my last lunch at that Wendy's today, they gave me fries instead of a frosty. It must have been a sign!)
Silver lining #4: I had an excuse to buy Bluebell Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. OK, I realize that's somewhat contratictory with point #3. But the unemployment diet starts as soon as the carton of ice cream is finished, I promise. Besides, if any occasion calls for the buying of Bluebell Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough, it's losing your job!
Silver lining #5: I got the fresh start I so desperately wanted. Not to mention the major upheaval. I'm really thinking now that whoever came up with that "be careful what you wish for" adage was very smart. Or me, in a previous life. But seriously. Cleaning out my desk and saying good-bye to all of my friends kind of felt like the last day of school. By that time, the shock had worn off somewhat, and I mostly just felt giddy and excited. I was still a little bit sad, which I guess just makes it more like the end of school. As I drove away, I chose for my soundtrack Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"--partly because it happened to be in my CD player at the time, yes, but also because it's a perfect bittersweet I-just-got-fired-from-a-job-I-hated-anyway kind of song. I've pretty much been listening to it nonstop ever since I fell in love with in on The O.C. , and, needless to say, this is a trend that shows no sign of waning any time soon.
So there you go. I'm off to make a fresh start. Not by choice, as I had hoped, but fresh start nonetheless. Hallelujah.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
I never thought I'd say this...
But thank God for The Swan. I say this only because the big two-hour finale last night saved us from the fate of having to endure another six-hour-plus American Idol finale. Not that four hours is much better, but I'll take what I can get.
I did actually break my self-imposed Swan embargo last night, but only because I got home too late to eat dinner while watching Seinfeld, and I simply cannot be expected to eat dinner without watching TV. I suppose I could have watched Seventh Heaven or Fear Factor, but...well, no and hell no. The Swan seemed the least of three evils.
Watching 10 minutes of The Swan only served to confirm a) my firm belief against plastic surgery, and b) my firm belief against reality shows about plastic surgery. Although I don't believe in it, I can concede that plastic surgery is acceptable or even necessary in some cases--say, if a person is horribly disfigured for some reason. But the contestants on The Swan were perfectly normal, sometimes even pretty women whose "problems," it seemed to me, could have been corrected with a few swipes of mascara and a shot of self-esteem. Instead, they were subjected to extreme, painful surgery that basically turned them all into prefabricated, B-rate supermodels. The few contestants whose "transformations" I saw didn't even look like themselves anymore. And while that arguably makes for good TV, I find it deeply, deeply disturbing. Sure, everyone wants to look like someone different every now and then--that's the fun of Halloween. But to make that kind of drastic change permanent? I can't imagine what it would be like to look in the mirror and not recognize myself. Even if the change were objectively and aesthetically better, it would tear me up inside. How can you retain any sense of identity when you no longer look like yourself?
Anyway, I had to turn the show off, because disturbing existential questions do not go well with spaghetti.
Later that night, I turned on the WB to catch a glimpse of the latest Tyrant-recommended reality show, Superstar USA. Due to the mountain of editing work I was buried under, I was only able to watch about 5 minutes of the show, but it definitely shows promise. The best part? The host is none other than my favorite MTV-news-anchor-turned-reality-TV-host, Brian McFayden. Yaaay!
However, I do find it slightly suspect that the new summer reality series endorsed by the Tyrant once again has Brian McFayden as a host. Could the Tyrant possibly be in collusion with Brian McFayden, receiving some sort of kickback for promoting his reality shows? Or worse yet, what if the Tyrant is having a secret love affair with Brian McFayden? If that's the case, I'm gonna have to kick some ass!
Then again, there's no need to resort to violence--there are plenty of spiky-blond-haired reality TV hosts to go around. So I'm prepared to cut the Tyrant a deal--I'll take Brain McFayden, and she can have Seacrest. That's fair, right?
But thank God for The Swan. I say this only because the big two-hour finale last night saved us from the fate of having to endure another six-hour-plus American Idol finale. Not that four hours is much better, but I'll take what I can get.
I did actually break my self-imposed Swan embargo last night, but only because I got home too late to eat dinner while watching Seinfeld, and I simply cannot be expected to eat dinner without watching TV. I suppose I could have watched Seventh Heaven or Fear Factor, but...well, no and hell no. The Swan seemed the least of three evils.
Watching 10 minutes of The Swan only served to confirm a) my firm belief against plastic surgery, and b) my firm belief against reality shows about plastic surgery. Although I don't believe in it, I can concede that plastic surgery is acceptable or even necessary in some cases--say, if a person is horribly disfigured for some reason. But the contestants on The Swan were perfectly normal, sometimes even pretty women whose "problems," it seemed to me, could have been corrected with a few swipes of mascara and a shot of self-esteem. Instead, they were subjected to extreme, painful surgery that basically turned them all into prefabricated, B-rate supermodels. The few contestants whose "transformations" I saw didn't even look like themselves anymore. And while that arguably makes for good TV, I find it deeply, deeply disturbing. Sure, everyone wants to look like someone different every now and then--that's the fun of Halloween. But to make that kind of drastic change permanent? I can't imagine what it would be like to look in the mirror and not recognize myself. Even if the change were objectively and aesthetically better, it would tear me up inside. How can you retain any sense of identity when you no longer look like yourself?
Anyway, I had to turn the show off, because disturbing existential questions do not go well with spaghetti.
Later that night, I turned on the WB to catch a glimpse of the latest Tyrant-recommended reality show, Superstar USA. Due to the mountain of editing work I was buried under, I was only able to watch about 5 minutes of the show, but it definitely shows promise. The best part? The host is none other than my favorite MTV-news-anchor-turned-reality-TV-host, Brian McFayden. Yaaay!
However, I do find it slightly suspect that the new summer reality series endorsed by the Tyrant once again has Brian McFayden as a host. Could the Tyrant possibly be in collusion with Brian McFayden, receiving some sort of kickback for promoting his reality shows? Or worse yet, what if the Tyrant is having a secret love affair with Brian McFayden? If that's the case, I'm gonna have to kick some ass!
Then again, there's no need to resort to violence--there are plenty of spiky-blond-haired reality TV hosts to go around. So I'm prepared to cut the Tyrant a deal--I'll take Brain McFayden, and she can have Seacrest. That's fair, right?
Monday, May 24, 2004
New memo to Chris Martin
Next time you have a kid, try naming it something non-stupid. Because Apple? Is a fruit. Not a name.
Mondays always suck...
But they suck even more when you've just come back from a weekend at the beach. I tried to persuade Terri and Danielle to quit their jobs and get jobs at the go-cart track so we could just stay at the beach, but to no avail. So sadly, I am back at work today. But here are a few of the highlights from our awesome trip (displayed here in pictorial form).
-Witnessing not one, but two, random weddings on the beach. The strangest thing about said weddings was that they took place right in the midst of all the regular beach-goers (including one guy with an extreme, Billy Ray Cyrus-esque mullet). There was a considerably less crowded stretch of beach not 100 yards away from where we were, yet apparently that was too far to go for the man with the yellow wheelbarrow who was running the beach-wedding racket. Terri was also appropriately horrified that the weddings took place near a trash can.
-The adorable cabin we stayed in. It would have been slightly improved if it had been located on the beach, but it was so cute that we didn't really mind having to drive there. It had a kitchen where we prepared some fabulously yummy meals and a screened-in porch where we ate all of the fabulously yummy meals. (Both activities were accompanied by appropriate cooking and dining music, provided by yours truly.)
-Making a pilgrimage to the famous Florabama bar. It was quite a sight to behold--it was more like a carnival than a bar. Excellent people-watching--in fact, I could probably be content to just sit there for hours and people-watch, if not for the constant fear of being hit on by drunk rednecks.
-Trashy souvenirs. I am now the proud owner of a beer coozy that says "This is not the life I ordered." I also came this close to buying a trucker hat just because it had a really obvious spelling error on it. (They spelled "religious" with an "e." I'm still trying to get my mind around that one.) In the end, I settled for taking a picture of it.
Next time you have a kid, try naming it something non-stupid. Because Apple? Is a fruit. Not a name.
Mondays always suck...
But they suck even more when you've just come back from a weekend at the beach. I tried to persuade Terri and Danielle to quit their jobs and get jobs at the go-cart track so we could just stay at the beach, but to no avail. So sadly, I am back at work today. But here are a few of the highlights from our awesome trip (displayed here in pictorial form).
-Witnessing not one, but two, random weddings on the beach. The strangest thing about said weddings was that they took place right in the midst of all the regular beach-goers (including one guy with an extreme, Billy Ray Cyrus-esque mullet). There was a considerably less crowded stretch of beach not 100 yards away from where we were, yet apparently that was too far to go for the man with the yellow wheelbarrow who was running the beach-wedding racket. Terri was also appropriately horrified that the weddings took place near a trash can.
-The adorable cabin we stayed in. It would have been slightly improved if it had been located on the beach, but it was so cute that we didn't really mind having to drive there. It had a kitchen where we prepared some fabulously yummy meals and a screened-in porch where we ate all of the fabulously yummy meals. (Both activities were accompanied by appropriate cooking and dining music, provided by yours truly.)
-Making a pilgrimage to the famous Florabama bar. It was quite a sight to behold--it was more like a carnival than a bar. Excellent people-watching--in fact, I could probably be content to just sit there for hours and people-watch, if not for the constant fear of being hit on by drunk rednecks.
-Trashy souvenirs. I am now the proud owner of a beer coozy that says "This is not the life I ordered." I also came this close to buying a trucker hat just because it had a really obvious spelling error on it. (They spelled "religious" with an "e." I'm still trying to get my mind around that one.) In the end, I settled for taking a picture of it.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Memo to Dave
Do not doubt the power of The Alliance. Ever.
Feel free, however, to doubt the enthusiasm of The Alliance. Much like my Alliance partner, I have reached a state of extreme apathy when it comes to American Idol. I think it hit me the other night when I realized that the oldest person still in the competition is five years younger than me. Then again, this same feeling seems to surface every year around this time. Much like last year, I suspect I'll only watch about three minutes of the finale in an attempt to avoid all forms of filler (especially those that involve Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell making out very badly).
Do not doubt the power of The Alliance. Ever.
Feel free, however, to doubt the enthusiasm of The Alliance. Much like my Alliance partner, I have reached a state of extreme apathy when it comes to American Idol. I think it hit me the other night when I realized that the oldest person still in the competition is five years younger than me. Then again, this same feeling seems to surface every year around this time. Much like last year, I suspect I'll only watch about three minutes of the finale in an attempt to avoid all forms of filler (especially those that involve Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell making out very badly).
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Today's pointless yet amusing distraction
Earlier this morning, Kristen sent me a link to the Analogia Star Estimator (which she may or may not have found by reading the Cynical Tyrant's blog), and it provided me with endless amusement until I realized I was supposed to be shipping a magazine today and didn't have time for endless amusement.
But before reality set in, I tried out several of my pictures to see which celebrities I most resembled. The answers I received were varied, from Judy Garland (I thought this thing was only evaluating my face, not my potential to attract gay men) to Whoopi Goldberg (No. I'm sorry, just no) to Jennifer Aniston (Now we're on the right track). However, the three celebrities that seemed to keep popping up over and over were Jamie Lee Curtis, Sandra Bullock and Andie MacDowell. I took this to mean that I am a very wholesome-looking person. And also possibly that I like to appear in classic horror films and a variety of romantic comedies, ranging in quality from decent to mind-numbingly bad.
Eventually bored with my own results, I decided to try out some of the photos of my friends. Here are some of the more humorous results I received:
Dave: Woody Allen. I think it must have been the glasses. Sorry, Paul.
Kate: Diana Ross. Yeah, if Kate is Diana Ross, then I'm Whoopi Goldberg. Kate's pictures also returned the much-more-believable Jodie Foster, but I found Kate as Diana Ross to be much, much funnier.
Diana: Cher. This result actually came up more than once. Perhaps this offers some sort of explanation as to Diana's fondness for "Believe."
Nikki: Madonna. And she was one of the only ones who didn't dress up like Madonna for Halloween junior year. Little did I know I was friends with such legendary singing sensations. Nikki, Diana and Kate could form quite the band. But not without...
Kristen: Bjork. This is the result Kristen got when she tried it herself--with a different picture, I got Sarah Michelle Gellar and Patricia Arquette, but they aren't nearly as much fun. She thinks it's because the photo she used was from her wedding, when she had her hair up. (Her dress, in case you were wondering, was not shaped like a swan.)
Doug: Ricky Martin. He could totally be the opening act for the Diana Ross/Cher/Madonna/Bjork girl group.
Holly: Angelina Jolie. Yeah, Holly's always seemed like the type to get her boyfriend's name tatooed on her bicep and wear vials of his blood around her neck. Oh, except not.
And finally, I've saved the best for last...
Adrian: Scott Baio. Adrian was always kind of in charge of our days and our nights, wasn't he? Not to mention our wrongs and our rights.
Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of a lot of you on my computer. But that's why you need to do it yourselves and tell me the most outrageous celebrity it says you look like. Just keep in mind that it's going to be pretty difficult to top Scott Baio.
Earlier this morning, Kristen sent me a link to the Analogia Star Estimator (which she may or may not have found by reading the Cynical Tyrant's blog), and it provided me with endless amusement until I realized I was supposed to be shipping a magazine today and didn't have time for endless amusement.
But before reality set in, I tried out several of my pictures to see which celebrities I most resembled. The answers I received were varied, from Judy Garland (I thought this thing was only evaluating my face, not my potential to attract gay men) to Whoopi Goldberg (No. I'm sorry, just no) to Jennifer Aniston (Now we're on the right track). However, the three celebrities that seemed to keep popping up over and over were Jamie Lee Curtis, Sandra Bullock and Andie MacDowell. I took this to mean that I am a very wholesome-looking person. And also possibly that I like to appear in classic horror films and a variety of romantic comedies, ranging in quality from decent to mind-numbingly bad.
Eventually bored with my own results, I decided to try out some of the photos of my friends. Here are some of the more humorous results I received:
Dave: Woody Allen. I think it must have been the glasses. Sorry, Paul.
Kate: Diana Ross. Yeah, if Kate is Diana Ross, then I'm Whoopi Goldberg. Kate's pictures also returned the much-more-believable Jodie Foster, but I found Kate as Diana Ross to be much, much funnier.
Diana: Cher. This result actually came up more than once. Perhaps this offers some sort of explanation as to Diana's fondness for "Believe."
Nikki: Madonna. And she was one of the only ones who didn't dress up like Madonna for Halloween junior year. Little did I know I was friends with such legendary singing sensations. Nikki, Diana and Kate could form quite the band. But not without...
Kristen: Bjork. This is the result Kristen got when she tried it herself--with a different picture, I got Sarah Michelle Gellar and Patricia Arquette, but they aren't nearly as much fun. She thinks it's because the photo she used was from her wedding, when she had her hair up. (Her dress, in case you were wondering, was not shaped like a swan.)
Doug: Ricky Martin. He could totally be the opening act for the Diana Ross/Cher/Madonna/Bjork girl group.
Holly: Angelina Jolie. Yeah, Holly's always seemed like the type to get her boyfriend's name tatooed on her bicep and wear vials of his blood around her neck. Oh, except not.
And finally, I've saved the best for last...
Adrian: Scott Baio. Adrian was always kind of in charge of our days and our nights, wasn't he? Not to mention our wrongs and our rights.
Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of a lot of you on my computer. But that's why you need to do it yourselves and tell me the most outrageous celebrity it says you look like. Just keep in mind that it's going to be pretty difficult to top Scott Baio.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Another star sighting
Last night, the alternative paper I freelance for (also known as the alternative paper my friend Danielle works for) gave me a free ticket to a swanky benefit-type thing.
So what do you suppose my favorite part of said swanky benefit-type thing was? Was it getting to rub elbows with Birmingham's elite society? Was it sampling all of the delectable dishes from local restaurants, most of which I would never be able to afford under normal circumstances? Was it flirting with the cute steak-chopping guy from Ruth's Chris steakhouse? (OK, that was fun, but no. And the steak sandwich they made me was freaking amazing, and I don't even like steak. But still no.)
No, the real highlight of the evening was getting to see another Birmingham broadcasting celebrity--this time, it was the local anchor of Morning Edition. Sure, he's no Atticus Rominger, but still. This is the guy that has accompanied me on my drive to work every day for the past two years. My friend Terri was standing with me when Steve was introduced, but, not being a Morning Edition listener, she wasn't quite as excited as I was. (She also did not take my advice and renounce her vegeterian lifestyle for the chance to flirt with the steak guy, which I feel was a mistake. The steak guy was very cute.)
Last night, the alternative paper I freelance for (also known as the alternative paper my friend Danielle works for) gave me a free ticket to a swanky benefit-type thing.
So what do you suppose my favorite part of said swanky benefit-type thing was? Was it getting to rub elbows with Birmingham's elite society? Was it sampling all of the delectable dishes from local restaurants, most of which I would never be able to afford under normal circumstances? Was it flirting with the cute steak-chopping guy from Ruth's Chris steakhouse? (OK, that was fun, but no. And the steak sandwich they made me was freaking amazing, and I don't even like steak. But still no.)
No, the real highlight of the evening was getting to see another Birmingham broadcasting celebrity--this time, it was the local anchor of Morning Edition. Sure, he's no Atticus Rominger, but still. This is the guy that has accompanied me on my drive to work every day for the past two years. My friend Terri was standing with me when Steve was introduced, but, not being a Morning Edition listener, she wasn't quite as excited as I was. (She also did not take my advice and renounce her vegeterian lifestyle for the chance to flirt with the steak guy, which I feel was a mistake. The steak guy was very cute.)
Monday, May 17, 2004
I am a horrible, horrible person
No, really. Here's how horrible I am. This weekend, I was reading an article in the March issue of Vanity Fair about notorious celebrity editor Bonnie Fuller. In the article, several of her former staff members stepped up to offer anecdotes illustrating what an evil person Bonnie Fuller really is. One of the anecdotes started with a story of how one of Bonnie's kids had made her a valentine that said, "I Love You Even Though I Mite Not See You."
Upon reading this, I immediately thought, "Oh God, I bet she took out her red pen and corrected the spelling!" (Which, let's face it, is what I would have done.) But no, apparently Bonnie's big transgression was that she merely hung the valentine up in her office rather than sobbing and taking off two weeks from work to be with her children.
So it's official: I am a more horrible person than Bonnie Fuller, who is widely thought to be one of the most horrible people in the world. Or maybe I'm just a better editor? Nah, it's probably the first one.
No, really. Here's how horrible I am. This weekend, I was reading an article in the March issue of Vanity Fair about notorious celebrity editor Bonnie Fuller. In the article, several of her former staff members stepped up to offer anecdotes illustrating what an evil person Bonnie Fuller really is. One of the anecdotes started with a story of how one of Bonnie's kids had made her a valentine that said, "I Love You Even Though I Mite Not See You."
Upon reading this, I immediately thought, "Oh God, I bet she took out her red pen and corrected the spelling!" (Which, let's face it, is what I would have done.) But no, apparently Bonnie's big transgression was that she merely hung the valentine up in her office rather than sobbing and taking off two weeks from work to be with her children.
So it's official: I am a more horrible person than Bonnie Fuller, who is widely thought to be one of the most horrible people in the world. Or maybe I'm just a better editor? Nah, it's probably the first one.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
Oops.
Oh, dear. I should have known better than to mess with the tried-and-true Alliance plan in a year when we've already had some trouble communicating with the universe. In fact, my Alliance partner warned me that my plan to support a contestant rather than ostracize one could have dire consequences--namely, that the very contestant I was trying to support would end up going home. As it turns out, the Tyrant was right. LaToya, I'm sorry.
Of course, I am ever eager to deflect the blame to someone else. Perhaps the newly discovered dark forces of Jennifer Hudson were at work again this week! I can't say that I noticed LaToya making any bug-eyed facial expressions, but that's due largely to the fact that I slept through her performances last night (which is not a reflection on their quality, but rather on my current stress level and general lack of sleep).
Just so there's no further confusion, let me be perfectly clear. Jasmine must go home next week. That's Jasmine! J-A-S-M-I-N-E. You know, the one who used to have the flower. (Incidentally, I'm wondering if my rant about the flower had anything to do with its removal. Shortly after I wrote that, I got a few hits for "jasmine trias flower" and such. Then, suddenly, the flower was gone with no explanation. I bet Seacrest tipped her off. Let's hope she takes the hint about the yellow bra, too.)
Oh, dear. I should have known better than to mess with the tried-and-true Alliance plan in a year when we've already had some trouble communicating with the universe. In fact, my Alliance partner warned me that my plan to support a contestant rather than ostracize one could have dire consequences--namely, that the very contestant I was trying to support would end up going home. As it turns out, the Tyrant was right. LaToya, I'm sorry.
Of course, I am ever eager to deflect the blame to someone else. Perhaps the newly discovered dark forces of Jennifer Hudson were at work again this week! I can't say that I noticed LaToya making any bug-eyed facial expressions, but that's due largely to the fact that I slept through her performances last night (which is not a reflection on their quality, but rather on my current stress level and general lack of sleep).
Just so there's no further confusion, let me be perfectly clear. Jasmine must go home next week. That's Jasmine! J-A-S-M-I-N-E. You know, the one who used to have the flower. (Incidentally, I'm wondering if my rant about the flower had anything to do with its removal. Shortly after I wrote that, I got a few hits for "jasmine trias flower" and such. Then, suddenly, the flower was gone with no explanation. I bet Seacrest tipped her off. Let's hope she takes the hint about the yellow bra, too.)
Monday, May 10, 2004
Have I mentioned how much I hate redesigns?
Oh, yeah. I have. But I think it bears mentioning again. Just as I had grown accustomed to the latest Blogger redesign, what do you think the fine folks at Blogger do? Another redesign! Apparently they were bored--I can only imagine that the constant complete overhauls are a desperate cry for thousands and thousands of e-mails saying, "Why doesn't such-and-such work any more?" and "How do I do such-and-such now?"
They received one such e-mail from yours truly this morning, after some glitch in the redesign caused my most recent posts to be displayed at the bottom of the page, rather than at the top as they should be. So far, the only thing I've heard back from Blogger is some automated e-mail telling me that they are "making every effort to respond to [my] problem quickly." Which obviously they haven't.
Until someone can tell me how to fix this, I've changed my settings so that only one day's posts are displayed at a time. If you want to find out what happened to me on any day other than today, check the archives (which, inexplicably, are not posting things backwards--the problem seems confined to the main page).
Oh, and did I mention that every time I try to republish the entire blog, I get met with an error message? HATE the redesign.
Oh, yeah. I have. But I think it bears mentioning again. Just as I had grown accustomed to the latest Blogger redesign, what do you think the fine folks at Blogger do? Another redesign! Apparently they were bored--I can only imagine that the constant complete overhauls are a desperate cry for thousands and thousands of e-mails saying, "Why doesn't such-and-such work any more?" and "How do I do such-and-such now?"
They received one such e-mail from yours truly this morning, after some glitch in the redesign caused my most recent posts to be displayed at the bottom of the page, rather than at the top as they should be. So far, the only thing I've heard back from Blogger is some automated e-mail telling me that they are "making every effort to respond to [my] problem quickly." Which obviously they haven't.
Until someone can tell me how to fix this, I've changed my settings so that only one day's posts are displayed at a time. If you want to find out what happened to me on any day other than today, check the archives (which, inexplicably, are not posting things backwards--the problem seems confined to the main page).
Oh, and did I mention that every time I try to republish the entire blog, I get met with an error message? HATE the redesign.
Some other things I did while at home
-Watched another episode of My So-Called Life on Nogin. This time it was the one where Angela writes that note to Jordan and finds out he can't read and then they have that amazing kiss in his car, but then she asks him to go see The Bicycle Thief (if she knows he can't read, why does she ask him to go to a movie that has subtitles?) and to meet her parents and he stands her up so she ends up crying on her bedroom floor and playing catch with Brian Krakow. Anyway. This is one of my all-time favorite episodes. It's definitely in the top five. It has more of my favorite quotes, including "I thought by the age of fifteen, I'd have a love life. But I don't even have a like life." And "Huge events take place on this earth every day. Earthquakes, hurricanes, even glaciers move. So why couldn't he just...look at me?" And this one. And did I mention that kiss? Soooo good.
-Watched Thelma & Louise. My motivation for this was twofold. One, because it's one of my favorite movies (and you can read into that what you will). And two, because it's such a classic road-trip movie--I figured it would get me excited for Bri's and my road trip next month. (Although, as I told my mom, "I don't think we're going to kill anyone. And we probably won't knock over any convenience stores, either." However, if we see Brad Pitt in a cowboy hat on the side of the road, we're totally picking him up.) My senior year in college, I wrote an essay for Chase's beloved Nancy West's class on the masculinization of Thelma and Louise and how it undermines the film's allegedly empowering message. Looking back, the essay was very poorly written (probably because I waited until the last minute and only had 20 minutes to write it), but the idea still intrigues me. I think if I ever actually apply to the cinema studies master's program at NYU, that will be the topic of the 20-page paper I have to write for my application.
-Washed Michael Stipe for the very first time. Can you believe I've had my car for nearly seven months now (six, if you subtract the month he was in the shop thanks to the stoplight-running chippie), and this is the first time I've ever actually washed it? Part of this has to do with the fact that grey cars camouflage dirt very well (excellent color choice on my part), and part of it is to do with my general apathy when it comes to going through the car wash. So any car of mine really only gets washed when I go home to visit my parents, and then only when it's nice outside, which is like two or three times a year. But it's never gotten so bad that I've had someone write "Wash Me" on the car. Yet.
-Watched another episode of My So-Called Life on Nogin. This time it was the one where Angela writes that note to Jordan and finds out he can't read and then they have that amazing kiss in his car, but then she asks him to go see The Bicycle Thief (if she knows he can't read, why does she ask him to go to a movie that has subtitles?) and to meet her parents and he stands her up so she ends up crying on her bedroom floor and playing catch with Brian Krakow. Anyway. This is one of my all-time favorite episodes. It's definitely in the top five. It has more of my favorite quotes, including "I thought by the age of fifteen, I'd have a love life. But I don't even have a like life." And "Huge events take place on this earth every day. Earthquakes, hurricanes, even glaciers move. So why couldn't he just...look at me?" And this one. And did I mention that kiss? Soooo good.
-Watched Thelma & Louise. My motivation for this was twofold. One, because it's one of my favorite movies (and you can read into that what you will). And two, because it's such a classic road-trip movie--I figured it would get me excited for Bri's and my road trip next month. (Although, as I told my mom, "I don't think we're going to kill anyone. And we probably won't knock over any convenience stores, either." However, if we see Brad Pitt in a cowboy hat on the side of the road, we're totally picking him up.) My senior year in college, I wrote an essay for Chase's beloved Nancy West's class on the masculinization of Thelma and Louise and how it undermines the film's allegedly empowering message. Looking back, the essay was very poorly written (probably because I waited until the last minute and only had 20 minutes to write it), but the idea still intrigues me. I think if I ever actually apply to the cinema studies master's program at NYU, that will be the topic of the 20-page paper I have to write for my application.
-Washed Michael Stipe for the very first time. Can you believe I've had my car for nearly seven months now (six, if you subtract the month he was in the shop thanks to the stoplight-running chippie), and this is the first time I've ever actually washed it? Part of this has to do with the fact that grey cars camouflage dirt very well (excellent color choice on my part), and part of it is to do with my general apathy when it comes to going through the car wash. So any car of mine really only gets washed when I go home to visit my parents, and then only when it's nice outside, which is like two or three times a year. But it's never gotten so bad that I've had someone write "Wash Me" on the car. Yet.
Saturday, May 08, 2004
Like apples and...nah, oranges are still too similar. Papayas, maybe?
Sometimes I think my sister and I are as different as two people can be and still be related. (If she were older than me, I would seriously wonder if perhaps she was switched at birth with The Tyrant. Sometimes I wonder anyway.) To give you an idea of just how pronounced these differences are, let's compare the graduation presents we each received from our parents.
My graduation present: A trip to New York.
My sister's graduation present: A 20-gauge shotgun and a fully stocked tacklebox.
I am not joking, I assure you.
Being at her graduation today made me kind of wistful. Not that I wish I were graduating, because I really don't think I want to be back in school. I guess it was just a longing for that feeling of a fresh start. That was always my favorite part of school--getting to start over every year. That feeling just doesn't translate to the "real world," though some people try to assign it to New Year's. To me, there's nothing about the beginning of January that says "possibility." The end of May, however...that's a different story.
Also while at home, I burned myself a mix CD that includes both Jeff Buckley's and Rufus Wainwright's version of "Hallelujah." (Proving once and for all that Buckley's version is infinitely better, which was already pretty obvious by the fact that I couldn't even remember hearing the Wainwright version in Shrek, yet after hearing the Buckley version on The O.C., it has haunted me for days. I still haven't heard the original Leonard Cohen version, but based on my experiences with "Famous Blue Raincoat," I'm guessing I won't like it as much, either.) Almost all of the songs on the CD are ones that I fell in love with after hearing them on various TV shows and movies--it also includes Ben Folds Five's "Magic" and Sarah Slean's "My Invitation" (two of my favorite songs that were used on Dawson's Creek), as well as Eva Cassidy's "Songbird," which is used in what might be the best scene in Love Actually (the one where Karl the hot designer takes his shirt off). Overall, the CD is pretty depressing. In fact, I think it might be the most depressing mix I've ever made (and there have been a lot of contenders). It definitely tops my former definitive work, 1997's "Depressing Songs" mix tape. Obviously, I didn't know from depressing back then.
Also on the CD is Jem's cover of Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed" (apologies to my readers in Kansas--particularly Sara--that sound you just heard is Adrian screaming), which one of the O.C. forum posters on TWoP was kind enough to share. Of course, since the song was lifted directly from the show, there are bits of dialogue in parts of it. (In case you're wondering, Mischa Barton's bad acting translates just as well through an audio-only medium. But are you really surprised?) Because of this, the track ends with Rachel Bilson saying, "I figured you'd be stuffing your pockets with cocktail weinies." Ha! I guess even the most depressing CD ever has to have some comic relief.
Sometimes I think my sister and I are as different as two people can be and still be related. (If she were older than me, I would seriously wonder if perhaps she was switched at birth with The Tyrant. Sometimes I wonder anyway.) To give you an idea of just how pronounced these differences are, let's compare the graduation presents we each received from our parents.
My graduation present: A trip to New York.
My sister's graduation present: A 20-gauge shotgun and a fully stocked tacklebox.
I am not joking, I assure you.
Being at her graduation today made me kind of wistful. Not that I wish I were graduating, because I really don't think I want to be back in school. I guess it was just a longing for that feeling of a fresh start. That was always my favorite part of school--getting to start over every year. That feeling just doesn't translate to the "real world," though some people try to assign it to New Year's. To me, there's nothing about the beginning of January that says "possibility." The end of May, however...that's a different story.
Also while at home, I burned myself a mix CD that includes both Jeff Buckley's and Rufus Wainwright's version of "Hallelujah." (Proving once and for all that Buckley's version is infinitely better, which was already pretty obvious by the fact that I couldn't even remember hearing the Wainwright version in Shrek, yet after hearing the Buckley version on The O.C., it has haunted me for days. I still haven't heard the original Leonard Cohen version, but based on my experiences with "Famous Blue Raincoat," I'm guessing I won't like it as much, either.) Almost all of the songs on the CD are ones that I fell in love with after hearing them on various TV shows and movies--it also includes Ben Folds Five's "Magic" and Sarah Slean's "My Invitation" (two of my favorite songs that were used on Dawson's Creek), as well as Eva Cassidy's "Songbird," which is used in what might be the best scene in Love Actually (the one where Karl the hot designer takes his shirt off). Overall, the CD is pretty depressing. In fact, I think it might be the most depressing mix I've ever made (and there have been a lot of contenders). It definitely tops my former definitive work, 1997's "Depressing Songs" mix tape. Obviously, I didn't know from depressing back then.
Also on the CD is Jem's cover of Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed" (apologies to my readers in Kansas--particularly Sara--that sound you just heard is Adrian screaming), which one of the O.C. forum posters on TWoP was kind enough to share. Of course, since the song was lifted directly from the show, there are bits of dialogue in parts of it. (In case you're wondering, Mischa Barton's bad acting translates just as well through an audio-only medium. But are you really surprised?) Because of this, the track ends with Rachel Bilson saying, "I figured you'd be stuffing your pockets with cocktail weinies." Ha! I guess even the most depressing CD ever has to have some comic relief.
Friday, May 07, 2004
This is why I leave the sitcom writing to the professionals
So the Friends writers didn't take my idea. But in the end, I was OK with that. As I predicted, the finale was kind of sappy and even a little bit maudlin. But it didn't suck. There were some funny moments, as well as some genuinely touching ones. And it didn't take Jeff Buckley and Leonard Cohen to make me cry this time.
So the Friends writers didn't take my idea. But in the end, I was OK with that. As I predicted, the finale was kind of sappy and even a little bit maudlin. But it didn't suck. There were some funny moments, as well as some genuinely touching ones. And it didn't take Jeff Buckley and Leonard Cohen to make me cry this time.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
A new force to be reckoned with
Poor Jennifer Hudson. She was so bitter about being voted off American Idol before her time that she invaded the body of George Huff, made him do the ridiculous bug-eyed facial expressions, then caused him to get voted off before his time. We at The Alliance were so consumed with fighting the dark powers of Carmen Rasmusen that we never even saw Jennifer developing dark powers of her own! But at least she was smart and didn't try to mess with our plan to put LaToya in the top spot. LaToya had better squint through her entire performance next week, or else The Alliance is going to have to start getting tough!
I've cried a thousand oceans
So I completely bawled through the last 10 minutes of The O.C. last night. I think there's something wrong with me. This does not bode well for the big Friends event tonight. If I cried that hard over the season finale of a show I just started loving a couple of months ago, I don't even want to know what's going to happen during the series finale of a show I've loved (for better or worse) for the past 10 years. (OK, nine years, if you subtract the first season, during which I was obsessed with My So-Called Life.) I think perhaps I should invest in an economy-sized box of Kleenex.
The song that was played during the last scene of The O.C. is now my new favorite song. The only problem is, I have no idea what it's called or who sings it. And the one person who could probably tell me is also the one person who probably doesn't watch The O.C. But that's why we have Google.
UPDATE: The song is Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," covered by Jeff Buckley. Now I understand why I liked it so much. I love Leonard Cohen, especially when covered by other artists (e.g. Tori Amos's version of "Famous Blue Raincoat") because I think Leonard Cohen himself has kind of a scary voice. But God, his songs make me cry. Let's hope they don't play any Leonard Cohen covers on Friends tonight, or I could really be in danger.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Rachel cried, too. And even though I don't know her (which seems impossible, considering that many of the people I just introduced you to happen to be friends with her), it makes me feel a little better.
SOME MORE UPDATING: There's nothing wrong with me. Or Rachel. It's the Leonard Cohen/Jeff Buckley one-two punch. People are powerless to resist it, obviously. Unless they, like Caleb, have a piece of coal where their hearts should be.
Poor Jennifer Hudson. She was so bitter about being voted off American Idol before her time that she invaded the body of George Huff, made him do the ridiculous bug-eyed facial expressions, then caused him to get voted off before his time. We at The Alliance were so consumed with fighting the dark powers of Carmen Rasmusen that we never even saw Jennifer developing dark powers of her own! But at least she was smart and didn't try to mess with our plan to put LaToya in the top spot. LaToya had better squint through her entire performance next week, or else The Alliance is going to have to start getting tough!
I've cried a thousand oceans
So I completely bawled through the last 10 minutes of The O.C. last night. I think there's something wrong with me. This does not bode well for the big Friends event tonight. If I cried that hard over the season finale of a show I just started loving a couple of months ago, I don't even want to know what's going to happen during the series finale of a show I've loved (for better or worse) for the past 10 years. (OK, nine years, if you subtract the first season, during which I was obsessed with My So-Called Life.) I think perhaps I should invest in an economy-sized box of Kleenex.
The song that was played during the last scene of The O.C. is now my new favorite song. The only problem is, I have no idea what it's called or who sings it. And the one person who could probably tell me is also the one person who probably doesn't watch The O.C. But that's why we have Google.
UPDATE: The song is Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," covered by Jeff Buckley. Now I understand why I liked it so much. I love Leonard Cohen, especially when covered by other artists (e.g. Tori Amos's version of "Famous Blue Raincoat") because I think Leonard Cohen himself has kind of a scary voice. But God, his songs make me cry. Let's hope they don't play any Leonard Cohen covers on Friends tonight, or I could really be in danger.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Rachel cried, too. And even though I don't know her (which seems impossible, considering that many of the people I just introduced you to happen to be friends with her), it makes me feel a little better.
SOME MORE UPDATING: There's nothing wrong with me. Or Rachel. It's the Leonard Cohen/Jeff Buckley one-two punch. People are powerless to resist it, obviously. Unless they, like Caleb, have a piece of coal where their hearts should be.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
I've got you under my skin (and not in a good way)
Oh no! George Huff has become possessed with the soul of Jennifer Hudson!! How else can one explain his sudden insistence on using Jennifer's trademark bug-eyed expression while singing?
So. Like my Alliance partner, I hate big band night. But it's not because I hate big band music--in fact, it's just the opposite. I love big band music (particularly Frank Sinatra, although it's debatable whether he can actually be classified as "big band," but American Idol seems to think so, so we'll just go with it). This is why it's such torture for me to hear these songs murdered by the American Idol finalists. Fortunately, I was able to get through last night relatively unscathed. None of the finalists attempted to tackle any of my favorite Sinatra classics, thank God, although I live in fear that they're saving them all for tonight's group medley. In fact, the only number that really assaulted my sensibilities was George's version of "Cheek to Cheek," but I think that mostly had to do with the aforementioned bug-eyed facial expressions.
Did anyone else notice that, with her green backless shirt, Jasmine appeared to be wearing a regular yellow bra, the back strap of which was clearly visible? What's up with that? Come to think of it, when I saw Mean Girls last weekend, there's this one scene in which Lindsay Lohan is wearing a baby-pink and black strapless dress with a regular (i.e. non-strapless) fuschia bra. Who started this trend of wearing non-matching strappy bras with outfits that clearly call for either a strapless bra or no bra at all? I blame Sarah Jessica Parker. She's generally the culprit of all ill-advised fashion trends. (Which is why I blame her for Ryan Seacrest, too.)
Oh no! George Huff has become possessed with the soul of Jennifer Hudson!! How else can one explain his sudden insistence on using Jennifer's trademark bug-eyed expression while singing?
So. Like my Alliance partner, I hate big band night. But it's not because I hate big band music--in fact, it's just the opposite. I love big band music (particularly Frank Sinatra, although it's debatable whether he can actually be classified as "big band," but American Idol seems to think so, so we'll just go with it). This is why it's such torture for me to hear these songs murdered by the American Idol finalists. Fortunately, I was able to get through last night relatively unscathed. None of the finalists attempted to tackle any of my favorite Sinatra classics, thank God, although I live in fear that they're saving them all for tonight's group medley. In fact, the only number that really assaulted my sensibilities was George's version of "Cheek to Cheek," but I think that mostly had to do with the aforementioned bug-eyed facial expressions.
Did anyone else notice that, with her green backless shirt, Jasmine appeared to be wearing a regular yellow bra, the back strap of which was clearly visible? What's up with that? Come to think of it, when I saw Mean Girls last weekend, there's this one scene in which Lindsay Lohan is wearing a baby-pink and black strapless dress with a regular (i.e. non-strapless) fuschia bra. Who started this trend of wearing non-matching strappy bras with outfits that clearly call for either a strapless bra or no bra at all? I blame Sarah Jessica Parker. She's generally the culprit of all ill-advised fashion trends. (Which is why I blame her for Ryan Seacrest, too.)
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Do they not teach spelling in schools any more?
Seriously. Because our new intern can't spell "inquiries." That settles it. I'm recruiting my next intern at the National Spelling Bee.
Seriously. Because our new intern can't spell "inquiries." That settles it. I'm recruiting my next intern at the National Spelling Bee.
The next time you see me, I could be wearing a hard hat
Kate called me last night to commiserate after reading yesterday's blog entry. During this conversation, she suggested that I quit the day job that is slowly driving me insane and find some other way to make money while I look for a different full-time job. (Since I have my freelance gig, I don't really have to worry about having holes in my resume.)
Little did Kate now, this very idea had already occurred to me. For some time, I have been considering, semi-seriously, quitting my magazine job and becoming a construction equipment operator. I could wear jeans to work. I'd get to be outside. I'd have plenty of time to just think without other people bothering me. And I'd make about twice what I'm making now per hour. What's not to love?
There's only one problem. (OK, perhaps a couple of little problems.) First, the only piece of construction equipment I really enjoy and can operate well is the mini excavator. However, I don't think you can get a job specifically as a mini excavator operator. I think you just have to be a general excavator operator, which means that I would also have to operate the really big excavators, and those kind of scare me. Also, I really only like to dig aimlessly, and on most construction sites, you kind of have to dig with a purpose. I'm not sure I'd be so good at digging with a purpose.
But if any of you feel like paying me to sit on a mini excavator and dig dirt aimlessly all day, I'll totally do it.
Kate called me last night to commiserate after reading yesterday's blog entry. During this conversation, she suggested that I quit the day job that is slowly driving me insane and find some other way to make money while I look for a different full-time job. (Since I have my freelance gig, I don't really have to worry about having holes in my resume.)
Little did Kate now, this very idea had already occurred to me. For some time, I have been considering, semi-seriously, quitting my magazine job and becoming a construction equipment operator. I could wear jeans to work. I'd get to be outside. I'd have plenty of time to just think without other people bothering me. And I'd make about twice what I'm making now per hour. What's not to love?
There's only one problem. (OK, perhaps a couple of little problems.) First, the only piece of construction equipment I really enjoy and can operate well is the mini excavator. However, I don't think you can get a job specifically as a mini excavator operator. I think you just have to be a general excavator operator, which means that I would also have to operate the really big excavators, and those kind of scare me. Also, I really only like to dig aimlessly, and on most construction sites, you kind of have to dig with a purpose. I'm not sure I'd be so good at digging with a purpose.
But if any of you feel like paying me to sit on a mini excavator and dig dirt aimlessly all day, I'll totally do it.
Monday, May 03, 2004
This morning, I woke up with a mild hangover. Then I ate M&Ms for breakfast. Not a good start to the week.
At the beginning of this year, I made a wish that it would be uneventful, as last year was fraught with events both good and bad. You know that "be careful what you wish for" cliché? Totally biting me in the ass right now. My year so far has been completely uneventful, and it's making me crazy.
My love life is nonexistent and has been for longer than I care to admit, my job is looking increasingly dead-end-ish while slowly sending me to the brink of insanity, and my apartment is...well, fine, but after spending all day Saturday at a dog festival, I just really want a house so I can get a puppy.
The obvious solution here is to move out of Birmingham, which I've actually been thinking about for some time. But where to go? Being in the magazine industry, New York would be the obvious choice, but it's negated by the fact that I just bought a new car and don't want to leave it. That counts London out as well. (And Paris, for that matter, not that it was ever a viable option.) The problem is, I have no reason to move anywhere else, other than a semi-concrete desire to no longer live in Birmingham. With my friends spread out all over the country, I can't justify moving somewhere to be with friends, because doing so would force me to choose one or two over the others. I suppose the only rational thing to do is start applying for jobs and see what happens.
The one bright spot on the horizon: Today, I received tickets for myself, Chase and Bri to attend The Price Is Right next month. Perhaps a rousing game of Plinko is all I need to snap myself out of the blues.
At the beginning of this year, I made a wish that it would be uneventful, as last year was fraught with events both good and bad. You know that "be careful what you wish for" cliché? Totally biting me in the ass right now. My year so far has been completely uneventful, and it's making me crazy.
My love life is nonexistent and has been for longer than I care to admit, my job is looking increasingly dead-end-ish while slowly sending me to the brink of insanity, and my apartment is...well, fine, but after spending all day Saturday at a dog festival, I just really want a house so I can get a puppy.
The obvious solution here is to move out of Birmingham, which I've actually been thinking about for some time. But where to go? Being in the magazine industry, New York would be the obvious choice, but it's negated by the fact that I just bought a new car and don't want to leave it. That counts London out as well. (And Paris, for that matter, not that it was ever a viable option.) The problem is, I have no reason to move anywhere else, other than a semi-concrete desire to no longer live in Birmingham. With my friends spread out all over the country, I can't justify moving somewhere to be with friends, because doing so would force me to choose one or two over the others. I suppose the only rational thing to do is start applying for jobs and see what happens.
The one bright spot on the horizon: Today, I received tickets for myself, Chase and Bri to attend The Price Is Right next month. Perhaps a rousing game of Plinko is all I need to snap myself out of the blues.
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