My Own Planet

In my mind, I'm going to Minnesota
Wait...I actually am going to Minnesota. In fact, I will be waking up to leave for the airport in a matter of hours (let this be a warning to the rest of you: do not let friends make airline reservations for you, particularly when said friends are as crazy as Heather). This time tomorrow, I will be in the state that is home to some funny people and the famous SPAM Museum, although I will see neither the funny people (some of whom don't even live in Minnesota any more) nor the SPAM Museum. I do, however, hope that my first trip to Minnesota will serve to shed some light on the whole "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck" phenomenon. In fact, so fascinated am I by this little Minnesotan quirk that I may very well spend the entire trip asking random people on the street about "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck."

In my absence, here's something to ponder: Is it better to get junk mail or no mail at all? Like, which is the bigger disappointment--coming home to an empty mailbox, or coming home to a mailbox that is full, only to find that there's nothing cool in there, only junk mail? This is something I think about a lot, yet I have never been able to reach a satisfactory conclusion.

A year later
On this day last year, this happened. So today, I take some solace in the fact that, no matter how the rest of the day may turn out, if I still have a job at the end of it, there's a good chance that I'm going to be doing better than I was a year ago.

Can I just tell you how much I love this book?
From Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal:

Are there actually people who are so totally comfortable with themselves, so completely unself-conscious, that when they're at a concert and the band signals the audience to clap along, they can clap without thinking to themselves, I am clapping now, here I am clapping along, are most people clapping? Okay, fine, most people are clapping, but wait, the clap-along thing feels like it's losing its momentum--should I stop clapping now? I'm feeling a bit heavy-handed in my clapping, but how/when do I stop? Three more claps and I'm out. Okay, last clap. Clap. Done.

I think I may have found The Tyrant's and my long-lost triplet.

Cum(ming) again?
Why does Alan Cumming get his own fragrance? I mean, do people really want to smell like Alan Cumming? Moreover, do people really want to buy fragrance in boxes that feature naked pictures of Alan Cumming on the front? Maybe it's just me, but I'd be willing to bet that the answer to both of those questions is, "No."

I'm at the end of the tunnel. Where's the light?
Answer: There is no light, just another tunnel. This weekend was another one of those all work, no play, super-productive weekends, in which I managed to complete the last of my many stories that are due tomorrow. I also somehow found time to: do both pilates and yoga, catch up with friends I hadn't talked to in a while, reward myself with a new Iron & Wine CD, watch two good movies starring Colin Firth (Girl With a Pearl Earring and, for approximately the thousandth time, Love Actually) and one bad movie starring former reality show contestants (From Justin to Kelly, which was worth it just for the Television Without Pity recap; I'd suggest you skip the movie and go directly to the recap), do laundry, get in some much-needed pool/lying by the pool time, start a new book (Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, which Danielle recommended because it reminded her of me; I bought her Run Catch Kiss as a going-away present because it reminded me of her), watch a few season finales, and catch up on my sleep.

However, I know that this week is going to be just as busy. Not only do I have a happy hour to host on Tuesday night, but I also have assignments to do for all three of my freelance jobs (one of which I was able to start this weekend--that's how productive I was). So if you've been cheering me on...uh, keep cheering. I can at least find some solace in knowing that this tunnel does in fact have a light at the end, in the form of a trip to see Heather in Minneapolis over Memorial Day. Hallelujah. Is it Friday yet?

The Whoa.C.
Hey, if Josh Schwartz can turn the name of his show into stupid puns, then I can, too. I finally got to watch The O.C. finale last night (I had to tape it on Thursday night to attend Danielle's good-bye dinner...sniffle), and may I just say: wow. If the last two episodes are any indication, The O.C. is no longer to content to just phase out its secondary characters; it's now killing them off. And not a moment too soon, it seems--this is exactly what this mostly lackluster (save Peter Gallagher's Lyle Lovett cover) season needed to redeem itself. I only wish the show had tried this tack earlier--say, with Alex or Lindsay or, better yet, D.J. the robotic yard guy.

I must also give props to the promo department for an excellent fake-out (making us think Marissa was going to be the shootee when she was in fact the shooter) and for resisting the temptation to slap one of those tacky "You can't miss the last five minutes!" phrases on it. (At least I think they resisted. I know there was one finale promo that had one of those, but I believe it was Desperate Housewives.) All in all, an excellent finale--granted, it was no Season 1 finale, but this was no Season 1. And in my opinion, there's not much that can surpass the Season 1 finale anyway.

To sleep, perchance to dream
Have you ever had one of those dreams (I know you have) that is so devastating that when you wake up, you have to tell yourself over and over that it wasn't real to keep from feeling sad about it? But then you still kind of feel sad anyway? Yeah, that happened to me last night. At least it wasn't one of those dreams where I was crying so hard in the dream that I actually woke up crying. Because I've had a few of those, too. Man, where's Topher Grace when you need him?

Also, have you ever had that dream (maybe it's just me) where you're trying to pack a suitcase, but you keep finding stuff that you need to put in the suitcase, so you can't ever finish packing? I would imagine this is not unlike the dream where you're trying to run but can't, only for people with a lot of stuff. Anyway, according to the Dream Doctor, this kind of dream means that your schedule is too overloaded. Gee, you think?

Janice Dickinson's Quote of the Week
"I was Valentino's muse, I was [some designer starting with the letter "A" that I'd never heard of]'s muse, I was Versace's muse...[shoots a dirty look at a snickering Nole] What are you laughing at? Whose muse are you?"

I have to admit that I'm really just giving Janice this quote as a technicality, since it's the season finale and everything. If I'm being truthful, though, my favorite quote of the episode came from Mr. and Miss J., re: the girls' walking-on-water fashion show.

Mr. Jay: "You'll be just like Jesus...only I don't think Jesus had the hip-popping action."
Miss J.: "Oh, he did. You just couldn't see it under the robes, baby."

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any time you combine Jesus + a drag queen + runway fashion, good times will be had by all.

Too tired to write more
Whoever thought it would be a good idea to turn Britney Spears loose with a video camera needs to die. Immediately.

My new career goal
This afternoon, I was changing CDs in my car when I caught a snippet of a segment on NPR about Steve Wynn, the owner of the new splashy Las Vegas casino where J-Dub recently won $2 on video poker, in which he was billed as an "impressario." Which made me think: a) Wow, how cool would it be to have the title "impressario"? and b) I wonder how one goes about obtaining a title such as "impressario"?

Unfortunately, I think you have to have a lot of money to be an impressario, because it's one of those titles, like "playboy," that is frequently preceded by words such as "wealthy" and "billionaire." Even if that's not the case, I'm fairly certain that "impressario" is not a step on my current career path. Which, if you ask me, is a damn shame.

Raised by Woolf?
I've been reading A Room of One's Own (which had been languishing on my to-read list for longer than I care to admit), and the other night, I came across the following quote, which I liked well enough to fold the corner of the page down so I could find it later:

"So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say."

Under the fog of deadline pressure (and when I say "pressure," I mean "fifteen stories to write in the next ten days pressure"), I'm not sure if I find that extremely inspiring or extremely frustrating.

All I know is, the last time I wrote this much in such a short time, I had someone cheering me on. Now that I have to do it alone (or with the somewhat dubious help of Virginia Woolf, depending on how you want to look at it), I'm not sure I can. Or at least, not without the risk of counting myself as a casualty by the end of it all.

Janice Dickinson's Quote of the Week

"There's a way to line those guys up, mess up their hair, pull down their G-strings, and dance."

Yeah, I think maybe I want to go dancing with Janice.

The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
I'm not sure if Uchenna and Joyce's insistence on finding the money to pay their cab driver at the finish line was amazingly stupid or just plain amazing. I mean, it worked out in their favor, so I guess it ended up being just amazing. But yeesh. That's definitely not what I would have done.

And really, not to brag, but my way would have been so much more amazing. Because I totally would have told the cabbie, "Look, I've gotta go win a million bucks real quick, but I'll be right back. Just stay right there--you can even leave the meter running!" Of course, I know they don't hand you the million bucks right at the finish line, so I guess that kind of would have been a problem. But I have to believe that Phil or a camera guy or one of the other contestants would be willing to pony up the cash at that point. Because, seriously, it's not like they could be worried that you wouldn't pay them back.

Speaking of other contestants, I'm not quite sure who comes in first in the race for Worst Fashion Statement by a Former Contestant: Debbie and Bianca, with their airbrushed tank/tube tops, or Brian and Greg, who appeared to be sporting rather interesting variations on the fu manchu. Oy. What year is this, again?

More alarming than a potential fu manchu comeback
Apparently, Simon Cowell does not know the meaning of the word "cynical." I think it might be a good idea to introduce him to the Tyrant.

Paris: The Uncut Version
So, you think you've seen everything that happened in Paris? Well...you pretty much have, but here are some videos anyway. (There are also a few new photos in the photo album. Yay!)

Things you should not do when someone is trying to take your picture
1. Make a video on your cell phone
2. Compose a catchy little tune
Much to my consternation, Jeff happens to be doing both of these things at the Luxembourg Gardens.

You have a dog. In a bar.
Only in Paris, folks. Only in Paris.

Je me coupe
So...the story of how I broke a plate (or part of a plate, as it were) in the street. We were trying to go to this bar in the 5th arrondissement, near the river, but when we got there, it was way too crowded. On the way back to the Metro, we happened to walk down this street where there were a bunch of Greek restaurants, all of which had smashed plates outside their front doors. Already fueled by a couple of glasses of chianti and a few more of sangria, Jeff suggested that I pick up a piece of one of the plates as a souvenir, and I thought this was a great idea. However, after walking a few more steps, I decided that I, too, wanted to smash a plate. So I threw my little piece down in a semi-violent manner, and it shattered into even more pieces, some of which may or may not have hit some innocent French bystanders. (Probably so, judging by the dirty looks they gave me.) When we got on the Metro, I noticed that my little adventure had caused a cut on one of my fingers, which I guess was my karmic retribution. As we did with nearly everything, Jeff and I then had to discuss how to relate my injury in French.

L'Opera: Live!
Yeah, the video version of us hanging out on the Opera House steps is not more exciting than the pictorial one, except for Jeff's imitation of the automated Metro voice saying "L'Opera!" and my disparaging remarks in Franglais about the omnipresent Olympic paraphernalia that was defacing some of the city's best landmarks.

Getting our kicks...at Notre Dame
In case you can't tell that the band in the background is playing "Route 66," I helpfully point it out for you on this video. Just be glad you were spared my singing and dancing.

Les poissons, les poissons, oui, oui, oui, non, non, non!
In the "you probably had to be there" category, we have a video of Jeff and me singing "Les Poissons" from the Little Mermaid at the Poissoniers Metro stop. Actually, to understand this properly, you probably should have also been in Birmingham two years ago on the way to dinner at Chez FonFon, when we started singing "Les Poissons" at random. Then again, I was there, and I still don't fully understand it.

More French singing on the Metro
This time, on the way home after our big French meal at Les Philosophes, we recreate the hiccup from the end of that great old French-class standard, "Bifteck." Again, you probably had to be there ("there" in this case being our high-school French class).

Things you hear while walking into the grocery store
The scene: A young couple is walking out of the store with their 5-year-old (I'm guessing) daughter. The woman is carrying a pink potted orchid.

Woman, to her husband: Plus, it's silk, so it will last forever.
Man: Yes, just like your love.
Me, to self: Oh, give me a break.

This is kind of nice
So I'm at work right now. Yes, that's right. It's Saturday--a beautiful Saturday afternoon, in fact--and I am cooped up inside my office, staring at a computer screen. And you know what? I actually really like it.

Before you alert your nearest mental health professional, just hear me out. I'm not saying there aren't a million other things I'd rather be doing with my Saturday afternoon. But the fact is, in an hour, I managed to finish a story that would've taken at least half a day under normal workday circumstances. (I know because I wrote one of similar length yesterday, and it took me half of the day.) Plus, I can play my music really loud without worrying about disturbing anyone and eat ice cream out of the carton at my desk without garnering any funny looks. Being at work alone on a Saturday rules!

Just think how much I could get done if I (and only I--otherwise this wouldn't work) took my weekends on, say, Monday and Tuesday instead of Saturday and Sunday. Not only would I be much more on top of things at work, I would also be much more organized in my personal life, as I could run plenty of errands that I can't normally run on the weekend when things are closed.

Of course, knowing me, I'd probably still just use most of my days off to make pancakes and watch DVDs of Dawson's Creek, so maybe this deal wouldn't work out as well as I thought.

Janice Dickinson’s Quote of the Week

Janice: “Don’t get me started, short, fat, squatty, blind, bald—”
Nolé: “Come on, my little plastic surgery victim freak of nature!”

This was a pretty fabulous quote, although my personal favorite was the one that started this bitch session, when Nolé, looking at Brittany’s picture, told Janice, “This totally looks like your face. Your first face.”

Still, for some reason, I just couldn't get excited about any of it. Is this because I’m so insanely busy that I don’t have time to care? Or is it because I’m starting to tire on reality TV? I think it may be the latter, because, busy as I am, you’d better believe I have plenty of time to care about tonight’s two-hour O.C. extravaganza. However, if you think that my reality-TV burnout means I’m going to miss even a minute of the new Britney Spears-Kevin Federline show…well, you’d be wrong.

The most amazing thing I saw last night on The Amazing Race
Personally, I was amazed (and I’m sure Adrian would have been horrified) to discover that none of the teams automatically knew which London street’s zebra crossing was made famous by a Beatles album cover. They all need a John Lennon tapestry sent to their homes immediately!

While we’re on the subject of the destination of London, a few things:

-Unless they’re planning to fly everyone back to the U.S. across the entire continent of Asia for the finale, this season it seems that we don’t so much have a “race around the world” as we have a “race kind of to one side of the world and then…back.” If that’s the way they’re going to play it, then the world might as well be flat after all. Was Magellan’s work all in vain??

-What was this, the Hideous Eyesores Tour of London? The Millennium Dome? The London Eye? (And they didn’t even show the best part of the Eye, which is when they crowd you in this little room before you get on, and they take your picture and superimpose you inside one of the capsules with this super-fake blue sky in the background.) Would it have killed them to go to some nice-looking landmarks? Like St. Paul’s? Or Trafalgar Square? Or my personal favorite London landmark, the Topshop on Oxford Street? I mean, if they wanted to give the contestants a real challenge, they should’ve made them search for a clue in there on a Saturday afternoon.

-Whenever I see footage of London, I tend to feel intense pangs of longing. However, it’s not the shots of famous sights that inspire these feelings; it’s the shots of the tube stations. Seriously, when the Rob and Amber and Ron and Kelly had to go to Hammersmith (which was on my line, and which is where Hannah and Ann and I saw The Violent Femmes), I almost cried. And when Uchenna and Joyce couldn’t figure out how to get from Victoria to the Millennium Dome, I wanted to jump inside the TV, grab the tube map out of their hands, and tell them what to do. If I still had the tube map memorized, I no doubt would have been shouting specific instructions at the TV. (I did, however, remember that the Dome was on my favorite line, the Jubilee, so I was yelling, “Jubilee! Jubilee!” over and over again, for whatever that’s worth.)

-So homesick was I for London after this episode that I pulled out my journal to see what I was doing at this time five years ago. In case you care, five years ago today, I was getting my hair cut at a swanky salon, going to see the English professor I had a crush on to make an appointment to meet about my final essay (and getting really excited when he wrote my name down in his planner), and hanging out with Heather, Hannah, and Ann at The George, where we played a drunken game of Trivial Pursuit (which turned nasty when Hannah told Heather and Ann that she and I were winning because “we’re just so much smarter than you are”), hid some disgustingly sweet wine in a bathroom stall, got stood up by our British men, and spotted our crazy tour guide from Wales wearing a hideous salmon-colored blazer. Somehow, I don’t think today is going to live up to that, but I could be wrong.

The next best thing
Is it possible to actually fall in love with a song? I think it is, because I'm pretty sure I've done it before. Right now, I'm in that first flush with Iron & Wine's "Jesus the Mexican Boy." Really, I'm sort of in love with all of his songs, but this one especially.

Yesterday, I did laundry, cleaned my kitchen (and in the process put away some Christmas gifts--I know--that had been residing in one of my chairs since December), did my grocery shopping for the week, went to yoga class, balanced my checkbook, mended some clothes in desperate need of mending, and started writing a new recap for The Saved by the Bell Blog--and I still did not accomplish everything on my to-do list. Not a great way to start a Monday, but I feel more on top of things than I have in weeks. Months, maybe.