Dirty Dancing was great. Maybe I'll write more about it later, but it was as good a time as ever, and it was (predictably) hard to come home. I had a chance to start poking around with writing something again, so we'll see what happens with that. It's been awhile.
After all was said and done, the Bride's wedding was a blast. Granted, that was because I knew a lot of people there, and my peoples always bring the fun. We danced for hours and hydrated with wine and beer after the waiters took away our water glasses. Good thinking, guys. It was hotter than hell in the church but it all went by pretty fast. One nice thing was spending some time with Connecticut's boyfriend, who I like more and more every time I see him. It just made me feel really happy for her, and kind of optimistic in general that maybe marriage doesn't have to be a completely scary prospect. Then I'd look at the Bride's husband and try to remind myself that she's happy and to each their own. How freakin' Zen of me.
Anyway, Connecticut and Disney did my hair and Jen did my make-up and they managed to turn me into a girl. It was fun, but I was very happy to be barefoot and bobby-pin free later on that night. Several funny/random/mildly disturbing afterhours happenings later, Jen and I finally fell into bed around four. Her dad had ordered us room service breakfast for the next morning, so it was nice to ingest the hangover greasiness without having to get out of bed. Later on I stopped at my parents' house to pick up some bags I'd left there and to listen to my mom tell me how incredibly stupid and pointless she thought every facet of the wedding was.
If you're watching the Sox/Yankees game right now, why yes that IS my dad behind home plate. I made him not wear his hat because he went by himself and I didn't want him to get any objects hurled at him. Does anyone else think it's kind of funny that the Yankee Haters hats just look like regular Yankees hats?
In other news, this is really funny.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Friday, July 08, 2005
I carried a watermelon?
Packing for Dirty Dancing is kind of ridiculous because even though it's July, you're so far north that it can get pretty cold and you need warm clothes. But then the sun comes out and you need summer things. And you need shoes that can accommodate both types of weather because happy feet are essential. Plus you have to dress up every night... so yeah, I basically end up bringing everything I own, and if given the opportunity I'd probably bring everything you own, too.
The actual Dirty Dancing was on TV last night. Ha. I never really got obsessed with that movie, but it's pretty funny:
-In real life, Johnny would clearly be gay. Dance teacher, tight t-shirts with cap sleeves, and he's tired of being used for sex (his words) by vast numbers of female guests.
-No guy who works at a resort complains about being used for sex by the guests.
-Johnny spends a lot of the movie being really irritated with Baby. In movies, when you act like you don't like somebody, it tends to mean that you secretly worship them and really just fear they'll never grasp the depth of your affection. In real life, if you act like you don't like somebody it's usually just because they're a total fuck bunny.
-I also love that there was this MASSIVE socioeconomic divide and the guests were all rich and preppy and felt so above the wrong-side-of-the-tracks staff, when the place was basically like this no-frills summer camp for adults.
-I like casually working the word "socioeconomic" into sentences.
-Why was everyone impressed with the lift at the end of the dance? It was kind of dumb and it took like ALL of Baby's vacation to learn it. Sorry, I'm such a bad child of the 80s.
-"Wow, a secret room full of professional dancers! I can't believe how vanilla I am! Who should I sleep with in order to rectify that and instantly make me worldly at, what, 16?"
-Baby's hair looked like all of our sixth grade perms. What was wrong with her, and us?
-She's Like the Wind is the funniest song! Plus, doesn't Patrick Swayze sing it? Although honestly, how much did you play that tape on your Walkman when you were in middle school? I know I did.
-WAIT wasn't that Hungry Eyes song in the movie, too?
-I LOVE movies (and songs and everything else) that are so bad, they're fantastic. But you knew that.
The actual Dirty Dancing was on TV last night. Ha. I never really got obsessed with that movie, but it's pretty funny:
-In real life, Johnny would clearly be gay. Dance teacher, tight t-shirts with cap sleeves, and he's tired of being used for sex (his words) by vast numbers of female guests.
-No guy who works at a resort complains about being used for sex by the guests.
-Johnny spends a lot of the movie being really irritated with Baby. In movies, when you act like you don't like somebody, it tends to mean that you secretly worship them and really just fear they'll never grasp the depth of your affection. In real life, if you act like you don't like somebody it's usually just because they're a total fuck bunny.
-I also love that there was this MASSIVE socioeconomic divide and the guests were all rich and preppy and felt so above the wrong-side-of-the-tracks staff, when the place was basically like this no-frills summer camp for adults.
-I like casually working the word "socioeconomic" into sentences.
-Why was everyone impressed with the lift at the end of the dance? It was kind of dumb and it took like ALL of Baby's vacation to learn it. Sorry, I'm such a bad child of the 80s.
-"Wow, a secret room full of professional dancers! I can't believe how vanilla I am! Who should I sleep with in order to rectify that and instantly make me worldly at, what, 16?"
-Baby's hair looked like all of our sixth grade perms. What was wrong with her, and us?
-She's Like the Wind is the funniest song! Plus, doesn't Patrick Swayze sing it? Although honestly, how much did you play that tape on your Walkman when you were in middle school? I know I did.
-WAIT wasn't that Hungry Eyes song in the movie, too?
-I LOVE movies (and songs and everything else) that are so bad, they're fantastic. But you knew that.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Thursday, June 30, 2005
eye am scared
I'm not an exceptionally squeamish person. In grad school I did laryngoscopies until I was blue in the face, spent hours watching x-rays of people ingesting barium applesauce and pudding (and refluxing them, if I was lucky), cut open the vocal tract of a dead guy, and did a jillion oral exams, and trust me, some people have very bad oral hygiene. Granted, I wasn't into that part of my job, because um, hi, I'm not in medical school, but I'm just making a point: I'm not overly squeamish.
Except for one thing: I have a total eye issue. You know how sometimes people will touch their eye while they're talking to you, like they'll rub it or try to get something out of it? Yeah, that makes me want to die. I always have to look away because it totally squishes me out. And I can't touch my own eye... I have to put eye drops in by lying down, squeezing the drop onto the corner of my eyelid, and then opening my eye and letting gravity do its work.
There aren't a lot of times in your life when not liking to touch your eyeball is a problem, until you find out you need to get contacts. I'm far-sighted and wear glasses sometimes, and I used to have contacts, but I haven't worn them for years because I hate them so freaking much, and I can see fine without them. Or could, until recently. Lately I've been feeling like I don't see as well without my glasses so I went to the eye doctor, and she confirmed what I was dreading: when I'm not wearing glasses, I need to wear contacts. I don't want to wear my glasses all the time but I also want to be able to see, so this is where we are.
"I can't touch my eyeball," I tell her.
"How did you used to put the contact in and take it out?" she asks me.
"Putting it in was okay because I could just sort of slip it in without direct touching. But when I'd take it out, I'd just flick it so I didn't have to touch my eye."
"You'd flick it?" Now I feel a little ashamed.
Then she tells me she can teach me how to do it the right way. I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but I think it bears repeating: "I really can't touch my eyeball."
"Really, I can teach you. Next week, we'll set up a time and we'll sit down and I'll teach you how to do it. Without flicking."
Doubtful. "Okay."
She's confident. "It WILL be okay!"
Anxiety attack. "All right."
Now she's bordering on cocky. "It'll be a breeze, you'll see."
So, next Thursday, I'm going to touch my eyeball. Both of them. Wish me luck, or come over and get me a little drunk beforehand. It may take longer for me to find my eye, but I bet I won't be as anxious.
Except for one thing: I have a total eye issue. You know how sometimes people will touch their eye while they're talking to you, like they'll rub it or try to get something out of it? Yeah, that makes me want to die. I always have to look away because it totally squishes me out. And I can't touch my own eye... I have to put eye drops in by lying down, squeezing the drop onto the corner of my eyelid, and then opening my eye and letting gravity do its work.
There aren't a lot of times in your life when not liking to touch your eyeball is a problem, until you find out you need to get contacts. I'm far-sighted and wear glasses sometimes, and I used to have contacts, but I haven't worn them for years because I hate them so freaking much, and I can see fine without them. Or could, until recently. Lately I've been feeling like I don't see as well without my glasses so I went to the eye doctor, and she confirmed what I was dreading: when I'm not wearing glasses, I need to wear contacts. I don't want to wear my glasses all the time but I also want to be able to see, so this is where we are.
"I can't touch my eyeball," I tell her.
"How did you used to put the contact in and take it out?" she asks me.
"Putting it in was okay because I could just sort of slip it in without direct touching. But when I'd take it out, I'd just flick it so I didn't have to touch my eye."
"You'd flick it?" Now I feel a little ashamed.
Then she tells me she can teach me how to do it the right way. I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but I think it bears repeating: "I really can't touch my eyeball."
"Really, I can teach you. Next week, we'll set up a time and we'll sit down and I'll teach you how to do it. Without flicking."
Doubtful. "Okay."
She's confident. "It WILL be okay!"
Anxiety attack. "All right."
Now she's bordering on cocky. "It'll be a breeze, you'll see."
So, next Thursday, I'm going to touch my eyeball. Both of them. Wish me luck, or come over and get me a little drunk beforehand. It may take longer for me to find my eye, but I bet I won't be as anxious.
Friday, June 24, 2005
in which I refer to Neil Diamond twice
My mom and I were discussing the music that I was obsessed with when I was little. I loved Physical by Olivia Newton-John and any of Whitney Houston's dance songs or power ballads. I used to freak out with happiness when I'd hear What a Feeling (although I thought they were saying "take your pants down and make it happen" instead of "take your passion and make it happen"...interpret that how you will). Heartlight by Neil Diamond and Can't Smile Without You by Barry Manilow used to make me cry (Heartlight still makes me cry. In my defense, it's the ET song). And one more, apparently:
Her: And that Linda Ronstadt song.
Me: What? Linda Ronstadt?
Her: That song that went, "It's not that I knock it, it's just that I'm not in the market for a boy who wants to love only me."
Me: What?
Her: You used to LOVE it.
Me: When I was LITTLE?
Her: You don't remember? [singing] "You cry and moan and say it will work out, but I've got my doubts...All I'm saying is I'm not ready for any person, place, or thing to try and pull the reins in on me."
Me: So that song is basically the root of all my relationship issues.
Her: Wow, yeah. I should have played you more Barry Manilow.
Speaking of bad music, driving home from New York last weekend, Jen and I heard Hello Again by Neil Diamond*, and we were singing along (or, really, speaking along, because all he really does is say "hello" over and over, totally monotone: "I couldn't sleep at all tonight...and I know it's late...but I couldn't wait...hello." I was laughing so hard I was crying. Granted, I was delirious with exhaustion, but still...that song is freaking hilarious.)
*Fine, we heard it because it's on my iPod. Happy now?
Her: And that Linda Ronstadt song.
Me: What? Linda Ronstadt?
Her: That song that went, "It's not that I knock it, it's just that I'm not in the market for a boy who wants to love only me."
Me: What?
Her: You used to LOVE it.
Me: When I was LITTLE?
Her: You don't remember? [singing] "You cry and moan and say it will work out, but I've got my doubts...All I'm saying is I'm not ready for any person, place, or thing to try and pull the reins in on me."
Me: So that song is basically the root of all my relationship issues.
Her: Wow, yeah. I should have played you more Barry Manilow.
Speaking of bad music, driving home from New York last weekend, Jen and I heard Hello Again by Neil Diamond*, and we were singing along (or, really, speaking along, because all he really does is say "hello" over and over, totally monotone: "I couldn't sleep at all tonight...and I know it's late...but I couldn't wait...hello." I was laughing so hard I was crying. Granted, I was delirious with exhaustion, but still...that song is freaking hilarious.)
*Fine, we heard it because it's on my iPod. Happy now?
Monday, June 20, 2005
lucky duck
Tonight during ESL class I made an offhand comment that one of the students was lucky. Another student, a very sweet older woman, said to me, "Lucky? What is this?"
How do you explain "lucky" to someone who understands and speaks very little English? "Lucky is when something good happens to you," I start out.
"Something good," she says.
"Yes, like...okay." I go over to my purse and take out a dollar bill, throw it on the floor, and then proceed to act out walking around idly and suddenly finding money on the floor. I pick it up; I'm excited. "I'm lucky!" (This is the unglamorous reality of teaching ESL when you only speak English.)
"I like when she acts," says one of my students. He's speaking directly to me. We haven't worked on pronouns yet.
"I know you do," I say. I once pantomimed football for him, reducing the game to sporadically interrupted suicide runs, which it basically is anyway.
Another guy imitates scratching a lottery ticket. "I win money," he says. "I'm lucky!"
Hmmm. Any non-money related examples? Didn't she see Napolean? "Shocks, pegs...lucky!"
"Lucky," she says. "I go to a party, I'm lucky."
"Good," I say, thinking, that depends on the party. (Most of the things you'd think of saying back to her don't really work: sort of, kind of, getting warmer, you're close...luckily working with young kids knocks all that figurative shit right out of you.)
I ended up borrowing her Russian-English dictionary and finding "lucky" for her. But she didn't have her glasses with her so I wrote it on the board. Have you ever written a word in Russian before? It's basically like inside out, upside down English. But she got it, and after she corrected my penmanship she told me they have nine vowels in Russian. And good parties, apparently.
How do you explain "lucky" to someone who understands and speaks very little English? "Lucky is when something good happens to you," I start out.
"Something good," she says.
"Yes, like...okay." I go over to my purse and take out a dollar bill, throw it on the floor, and then proceed to act out walking around idly and suddenly finding money on the floor. I pick it up; I'm excited. "I'm lucky!" (This is the unglamorous reality of teaching ESL when you only speak English.)
"I like when she acts," says one of my students. He's speaking directly to me. We haven't worked on pronouns yet.
"I know you do," I say. I once pantomimed football for him, reducing the game to sporadically interrupted suicide runs, which it basically is anyway.
Another guy imitates scratching a lottery ticket. "I win money," he says. "I'm lucky!"
Hmmm. Any non-money related examples? Didn't she see Napolean? "Shocks, pegs...lucky!"
"Lucky," she says. "I go to a party, I'm lucky."
"Good," I say, thinking, that depends on the party. (Most of the things you'd think of saying back to her don't really work: sort of, kind of, getting warmer, you're close...luckily working with young kids knocks all that figurative shit right out of you.)
I ended up borrowing her Russian-English dictionary and finding "lucky" for her. But she didn't have her glasses with her so I wrote it on the board. Have you ever written a word in Russian before? It's basically like inside out, upside down English. But she got it, and after she corrected my penmanship she told me they have nine vowels in Russian. And good parties, apparently.
Friday, June 17, 2005
speak up, sonny
Last night around 11 I was tired so my friends dropped my sorry self back at home...and then went right back to the bar and stayed until the wee hours. Tonight I plan to have dinner at 4 PM and fall asleep on the couch while watching Wheel of Fortune and knocking back some Ensure. That's right, folks: I'm now officially a senior citizen.
Monday, June 13, 2005
jegabots?
I wrote this when I was seven. Then Hasbro bought my idea and I made a fortune. Just kidding.
"My Little Ponys"
Once in a far away land there lived a big group of little ponys. The babies were named Applejack, Bow-Tie, Cotten Candy, Sugar and Spice and Taffy. The oldest were Twilight Moondancer, Star Beauty, Firefly Cloverleaf, Burning Beauty and Star Shine Flyer. One day the Jegabots horridble beasts jumped out of the blue sky the instante they did the sky darkened and the beasts let out a roar. The ponys jumped on their highn legs and ran for the doors! There were 3 little babie ponys behind the tree hiding. It was Taffy, Bow-Tie and Cotten Candy. 3 beasts roared after the little babie ponys. Eeeeeeee! they screamed before you could say “it” a beast bit Bow-Ties hair. Help! Help! Help! screamed everyone. The Jegabots flew up into the dark dark sky and were gone, so were the ponys! As soon as they were out of sight the sky lighted and the beautiful sun came out. Firefly spread her wings and flew into the sky. Come back! shouted Burning Beauty. It’s dangeres! cried Applejack. Where are you going? screamed Twilight. To get help! answered Firefly. Oh no! cried Moondancer. Meanwhile at the castle...
"My Little Ponys"
Once in a far away land there lived a big group of little ponys. The babies were named Applejack, Bow-Tie, Cotten Candy, Sugar and Spice and Taffy. The oldest were Twilight Moondancer, Star Beauty, Firefly Cloverleaf, Burning Beauty and Star Shine Flyer. One day the Jegabots horridble beasts jumped out of the blue sky the instante they did the sky darkened and the beasts let out a roar. The ponys jumped on their highn legs and ran for the doors! There were 3 little babie ponys behind the tree hiding. It was Taffy, Bow-Tie and Cotten Candy. 3 beasts roared after the little babie ponys. Eeeeeeee! they screamed before you could say “it” a beast bit Bow-Ties hair. Help! Help! Help! screamed everyone. The Jegabots flew up into the dark dark sky and were gone, so were the ponys! As soon as they were out of sight the sky lighted and the beautiful sun came out. Firefly spread her wings and flew into the sky. Come back! shouted Burning Beauty. It’s dangeres! cried Applejack. Where are you going? screamed Twilight. To get help! answered Firefly. Oh no! cried Moondancer. Meanwhile at the castle...
Sunday, June 12, 2005
it's a small dating world
Do most people and their friends live in a little Days of Our Lives universe, or is that just me and mine? Over the weekend we were discussing our twisted little circle of relationships in our early to mid 20s. It went a little something like this:
I got fixed up with my coworker's best friend and dated him for a long time, and then one of my friends started dating his roommate.
One of my friends dated a guy for awhile, and then introduced him to my roommate at the time and they dated for a couple of years.
One of my friends used to date Mark's best friend.
I introduced a guy that I didn't like to a friend and she ended up deciding to marry him.
I lived with a guy for two years who originally agreed to be my roommate because he was dating one of my friends at the time. (They had broken up by the time we moved in.)
I fixed a friend up with a guy I knew from college who then proceeded to stalk her. (He also had a semi-high profile job and would ask me in a really self-important way to please not to give his email address out. Like anyone ever asked.)
I dated a guy who used to date a girl that I graduated from high school with. He was actually at my (well, her) graduation, and, funny enough, he's in the background of a picture that my mom took of my boyfriend at the time, but I wouldn't meet him until six years later.
One time I got fixed up with a guy and didn't like him, and then one of my friends went out with him and didn't like him either. He's a friend of the guy that my friend decided to marry. (All of us are in the wedding party. No awkwardness there.)
I work with a girl who keeps pestering me to fix her up with a guy that dated a friend of mine in high school. (He's worked with my dad since he got out of college, and he used to write my friend love notes with Righteous Brothers song lyrics. In his defense, he was like 16 at the time.)
I'm friends with a guy whose best friend's sister Mark used to sleep with in college.
I just spent the wedding of the guy who I lived with for two years who used to date my friend sitting next to a guy whose wife used to sleep with a guy that I was forced to friend-dump because he was really, really annoying.
I'm sure there's a bunch I'm forgetting about, too. I guess it's a good thing we all decided to get our own social lives. For the most part.
I got fixed up with my coworker's best friend and dated him for a long time, and then one of my friends started dating his roommate.
One of my friends dated a guy for awhile, and then introduced him to my roommate at the time and they dated for a couple of years.
One of my friends used to date Mark's best friend.
I introduced a guy that I didn't like to a friend and she ended up deciding to marry him.
I lived with a guy for two years who originally agreed to be my roommate because he was dating one of my friends at the time. (They had broken up by the time we moved in.)
I fixed a friend up with a guy I knew from college who then proceeded to stalk her. (He also had a semi-high profile job and would ask me in a really self-important way to please not to give his email address out. Like anyone ever asked.)
I dated a guy who used to date a girl that I graduated from high school with. He was actually at my (well, her) graduation, and, funny enough, he's in the background of a picture that my mom took of my boyfriend at the time, but I wouldn't meet him until six years later.
One time I got fixed up with a guy and didn't like him, and then one of my friends went out with him and didn't like him either. He's a friend of the guy that my friend decided to marry. (All of us are in the wedding party. No awkwardness there.)
I work with a girl who keeps pestering me to fix her up with a guy that dated a friend of mine in high school. (He's worked with my dad since he got out of college, and he used to write my friend love notes with Righteous Brothers song lyrics. In his defense, he was like 16 at the time.)
I'm friends with a guy whose best friend's sister Mark used to sleep with in college.
I just spent the wedding of the guy who I lived with for two years who used to date my friend sitting next to a guy whose wife used to sleep with a guy that I was forced to friend-dump because he was really, really annoying.
I'm sure there's a bunch I'm forgetting about, too. I guess it's a good thing we all decided to get our own social lives. For the most part.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
no day but today
My 19-year-old self is freaking out! It's the original Broadway cast, except for Mimi.
I'm also really happy that Anthony Rapp's bio includes his stint in Adventures in Babysitting. "Take it back, Brad! Take back what you said about Thor!"
I'm also really happy that Anthony Rapp's bio includes his stint in Adventures in Babysitting. "Take it back, Brad! Take back what you said about Thor!"
Thursday, June 09, 2005
brain spillage
After lunch at Desmond's on Sunday with Jen and Steve, it was too summery to call it a day. So they indulged me and we went to Fun and Games, where we played skee ball and some cowboy shooting game. They had Dance Dance Revolution (or their generic answer to it) and glow-in-the-dark laser tag (!!!) but we had time constraints. Another time.
Anyway, Jen and I are very, very, very good at skee ball. We almost got ivy league scholarships for it. When we tried to cash in our tickets at the end, we realized we could only afford stupid crap like a single, solitary, plastic-wrapped Swedish fish (Steve got that, it was so funny and sad!). So, being the true friend she is, Jen donated her tickets so that I could get the fighting frog pen. It lights up when you write with it. Everyone who plays with it pretends to punch their face and get knocked out. Mine is red. We technically have joint custody but I'm a little possessive.
I want someone to text me. People are texting each other and I'm not a part of it. I know it might involve turning on my cell phone, and I would be willing to do this. I once had a text message on my phone for months and didn't realize that was why it always beeped at me when I turned it on. So maybe just don't send me an important, time-sensitive text.
Dentyne Fire spicy cinnamon gum is wicked good.
I'm bored with all my shampoo and products. I need to go spend money at Sephora. Or rather, spend gift cards, because the gift givers in my life know me all too well, thankfully.
You know what would be cool? I want for Carly to come out with me and Melissa the next time we get together. This is sort of a public request for a date, so you can't say no. Or I guess you could, if you really wanted to. Text me.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
me, and then some
What is your most marked characteristic?
Goofiness, for better or worse. I'm continuing to push for legislation to make uncool the new cool.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Can make me laugh until I can't breathe, extremely smart but not arrogant about it, walks that fine line between offbeat and wacko, very kind, has fun doing pretty much anything, good kisser.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Can make me laugh until I can't breathe, extremely smart but not arrogant about it, walks that fine line between offbeat and wacko, very kind, has fun doing pretty much anything, GREAT kisser.
What do you most value in your friends?
Just that they're there, whatever the weather. Flakiness is kryptonite to friendship. For a girl who isn't serious about too much, I take my friendships seriously and I think my friends pretty much know that I adore them. (I should also say that I have some of the kindest, funniest, most wonderful friends on the planet, and many of them have friends who are also the kindest, funniest, most wonderful people on the planet, so I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by circles of awesomeness.)
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I can be ditzy.
What is your favorite occupation?
I love my job. Having said that, it pisses me off sometimes, just like anybody's job does, but I love and believe in what I do in a way that is hard for me to express without being sappy. If I wasn't doing this I'd probably be teaching second grade. Other than that, I'd love to be a columnist again, for a real paper this time. (Jen's friend Audrey writes a column for the Jewish Advocate called Everyone Loves a Single Girl, which I think sounds like the most fun thing ever.)
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
First, I would have to have finished everything on my to-do list (notice I'm too Type A to have suggested just ripping up my to-do list), and then I'd leave for Fiji with my friends and/or Ron King.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Seeing kids that I love who have terrible parents. (Here's my PSA for any of those considering procreating, from the admittedly secondhand perspective of someone without kids: Read to them before bed, help them with their homework, make sure you feed them well, go to every school play you can, and put them first in every way possible. This isn't a "The More You Know" commercial...it's heartbreaking how many parents don't have this shit figured out. Okay, rant over.)
In which country would you like to live?
Australia or New Zealand, but only for a little while because I'd get homesick, plus I'd get sick of all the hobbits.
Who are your favorite writers?
John Irving, Wally Lamb, John Steinbeck, Pamela Painter, Oliver Sacks, J.K. Rowling, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Blake Nelson (sometimes).
Who are your favorite poets?
Quinton Duval, Christopher Gilbert, Pablo Neruda, e.e. cummings, and whoever wrote that poem about plums in the icebox.
What is it that you most dislike?
When you're mean or ignorant or too smooth; I like simple and sweet and silly. And, of course, the Big Five: coffee, cheese, potatoes, bananas, and beans. Dunkin' Donuts actually has banana-flavored coffee now...blech.
Which talent would you like to have?
I'd like to be able to sing really, really well. Then I'd go on American Idol and when I won, instead of screaming "Thank you, America!", I'd dismantle the whole franchise on live TV, but not before getting the nation grooving to my rendition of "More Than a Woman" by the Bee Gees, falsetto and all, but then I'd launch into "Baby Don't Get Hooked on Me" by Mac Davis for that "come hither, now go away" effect.
How would you like to die?
In my sleep, as an old lady, warm in my bed, and then I'll walk up the steps and kiss Leonardo DiCaprio and have all the people around us clap. Yuck. Just drop me off a building or something, but not for 70 or so years.
What is your current state of mind?
Tired, but good.
What is your motto?
Don't do anything I wouldn't do, peanut.
Goofiness, for better or worse. I'm continuing to push for legislation to make uncool the new cool.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Can make me laugh until I can't breathe, extremely smart but not arrogant about it, walks that fine line between offbeat and wacko, very kind, has fun doing pretty much anything, good kisser.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Can make me laugh until I can't breathe, extremely smart but not arrogant about it, walks that fine line between offbeat and wacko, very kind, has fun doing pretty much anything, GREAT kisser.
What do you most value in your friends?
Just that they're there, whatever the weather. Flakiness is kryptonite to friendship. For a girl who isn't serious about too much, I take my friendships seriously and I think my friends pretty much know that I adore them. (I should also say that I have some of the kindest, funniest, most wonderful friends on the planet, and many of them have friends who are also the kindest, funniest, most wonderful people on the planet, so I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by circles of awesomeness.)
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I can be ditzy.
What is your favorite occupation?
I love my job. Having said that, it pisses me off sometimes, just like anybody's job does, but I love and believe in what I do in a way that is hard for me to express without being sappy. If I wasn't doing this I'd probably be teaching second grade. Other than that, I'd love to be a columnist again, for a real paper this time. (Jen's friend Audrey writes a column for the Jewish Advocate called Everyone Loves a Single Girl, which I think sounds like the most fun thing ever.)
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
First, I would have to have finished everything on my to-do list (notice I'm too Type A to have suggested just ripping up my to-do list), and then I'd leave for Fiji with my friends and/or Ron King.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Seeing kids that I love who have terrible parents. (Here's my PSA for any of those considering procreating, from the admittedly secondhand perspective of someone without kids: Read to them before bed, help them with their homework, make sure you feed them well, go to every school play you can, and put them first in every way possible. This isn't a "The More You Know" commercial...it's heartbreaking how many parents don't have this shit figured out. Okay, rant over.)
In which country would you like to live?
Australia or New Zealand, but only for a little while because I'd get homesick, plus I'd get sick of all the hobbits.
Who are your favorite writers?
John Irving, Wally Lamb, John Steinbeck, Pamela Painter, Oliver Sacks, J.K. Rowling, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Blake Nelson (sometimes).
Who are your favorite poets?
Quinton Duval, Christopher Gilbert, Pablo Neruda, e.e. cummings, and whoever wrote that poem about plums in the icebox.
What is it that you most dislike?
When you're mean or ignorant or too smooth; I like simple and sweet and silly. And, of course, the Big Five: coffee, cheese, potatoes, bananas, and beans. Dunkin' Donuts actually has banana-flavored coffee now...blech.
Which talent would you like to have?
I'd like to be able to sing really, really well. Then I'd go on American Idol and when I won, instead of screaming "Thank you, America!", I'd dismantle the whole franchise on live TV, but not before getting the nation grooving to my rendition of "More Than a Woman" by the Bee Gees, falsetto and all, but then I'd launch into "Baby Don't Get Hooked on Me" by Mac Davis for that "come hither, now go away" effect.
How would you like to die?
In my sleep, as an old lady, warm in my bed, and then I'll walk up the steps and kiss Leonardo DiCaprio and have all the people around us clap. Yuck. Just drop me off a building or something, but not for 70 or so years.
What is your current state of mind?
Tired, but good.
What is your motto?
Don't do anything I wouldn't do, peanut.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
celebrate good times, come on
You know what became official yesterday, after I picked up my mail? It became official that, for every weekend this summer, I have either a wedding, shower, engagement party, or bachelorette party to attend. Some of them are on the same day.
Weddings are great. Music, good food, dancing, you blissfully happy with your new spouse. No complaints whatsoever. Continue to invite me; I'll continue to bring gifts, and you will have the martini glasses that you registered for despite the fact that I've never seen you drink anything aside from beer from the bottle.
Showers, however, are painful. Little old ladies, little mushy sandwiches, little glasses of punch with sherbert that give me a headache. "Wow, look at the salad spinner from Great Aunt Mary!" Don't get me wrong, I love being included to celebrate with you. But you never have and never will spin salad, and we both know this.
So in order to set aside a little time to celebrate me this summer, I'm going to Mexico with Jen. We just booked yesterday. Yay!
Love is clearly in the air, people.
Weddings are great. Music, good food, dancing, you blissfully happy with your new spouse. No complaints whatsoever. Continue to invite me; I'll continue to bring gifts, and you will have the martini glasses that you registered for despite the fact that I've never seen you drink anything aside from beer from the bottle.
Showers, however, are painful. Little old ladies, little mushy sandwiches, little glasses of punch with sherbert that give me a headache. "Wow, look at the salad spinner from Great Aunt Mary!" Don't get me wrong, I love being included to celebrate with you. But you never have and never will spin salad, and we both know this.
So in order to set aside a little time to celebrate me this summer, I'm going to Mexico with Jen. We just booked yesterday. Yay!
Love is clearly in the air, people.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Chewbecca weighs in
I'm looking forward to this Star Wars movie. I didn't see the other two. That little blond kid and the talking dino-monkey guy...they just didn't grab me. I hope the fall of Anakin is more Crime and Punishment than "mwahaha, I want to take over the world," but we'll see. I hope Lucas took advantage of the opportunity to make him complicated and sympathetic...the fall of the hero is the best kind of storyline there is, aside from maybe three wacky roommates out of college and giving it a shot in the big city.
George Lucas is brilliant in general, of course...these movies came out when we were young, and we remember it with the sort of bigger-than-life reverence you can only really have for the stuff of childhood. When you're 25, a good movie is a good movie. When you're 8, it's pure magic and you're moved in a way that you can only express by acting out scenes over and over in the backyard with your friends. Bringing back the franchise when we're all older and nostalgic for it...genius.
As far as my relationship with Star Wars back in the day, I adored Leia, of course. I wasn't really the sort of little girl to look up to a princess, but she wasn't a princess-princess. I loved, loved, LOVED how she was smart and cool and hot and could kick your ass. I just wanted to be her and strangle Jabba and befriend Ewoks and come up with a better post-carbonate line than, "Someone who loves you!"
I hated Han. He was like the Mr. Big of a galaxy far far away. I hated that Leia liked him in spite of herself, not that she had many options. Even as a kid I was infuriated by arrogant guys. "I love you." "I know." Bastard.
Yoda was boring. He talked for too long and in his death scene, he JUST...WOULDN'T...DIE. I could never become a Jedi because I couldn't get past that rambling, grammatically incoherent muppet. There was always more advice, more dying gasps, more articles to mix up. Could he be anymore abstract? The force...the power...the belief. WHAT exactly is the plan here, buddy?
I loved Obi Wan and Luke. Ahh, Luke. He was smart and sweet and didn't shoot his mouth off at the creature meetings when rat face guy analyzed the hologram of the Death Star. He had that little smile and you just knew he was going to save the universe and have tousled hair and it would all be okay.
As far as the goods...I had a C3PO and R2-D2 alarm clock that used to say something like, "R2, it's time for all good Jedis to wake up! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!" It made me crazy. I had a thought a couple years ago that I could sell it for a fortune on eBay, but apparently 1,000 other people with the same clock had the same thought at around the same time. I had an Ewoks tape holder. Oh, and the stuffed Ewoks. I had the brown one with the brown outfit (ha, outfit? maybe I mean rag) and then I remember my weird uncle gave me the gray one with the pink outfit, which was my favorite, and I was kind of scared of him but I was so excited I thought I'd die.
So, yeah. I guess I'm somewhere between looking forward to seeing it eventually and standing in line for three weeks dressed as a storm trooper.
George Lucas is brilliant in general, of course...these movies came out when we were young, and we remember it with the sort of bigger-than-life reverence you can only really have for the stuff of childhood. When you're 25, a good movie is a good movie. When you're 8, it's pure magic and you're moved in a way that you can only express by acting out scenes over and over in the backyard with your friends. Bringing back the franchise when we're all older and nostalgic for it...genius.
As far as my relationship with Star Wars back in the day, I adored Leia, of course. I wasn't really the sort of little girl to look up to a princess, but she wasn't a princess-princess. I loved, loved, LOVED how she was smart and cool and hot and could kick your ass. I just wanted to be her and strangle Jabba and befriend Ewoks and come up with a better post-carbonate line than, "Someone who loves you!"
I hated Han. He was like the Mr. Big of a galaxy far far away. I hated that Leia liked him in spite of herself, not that she had many options. Even as a kid I was infuriated by arrogant guys. "I love you." "I know." Bastard.
Yoda was boring. He talked for too long and in his death scene, he JUST...WOULDN'T...DIE. I could never become a Jedi because I couldn't get past that rambling, grammatically incoherent muppet. There was always more advice, more dying gasps, more articles to mix up. Could he be anymore abstract? The force...the power...the belief. WHAT exactly is the plan here, buddy?
I loved Obi Wan and Luke. Ahh, Luke. He was smart and sweet and didn't shoot his mouth off at the creature meetings when rat face guy analyzed the hologram of the Death Star. He had that little smile and you just knew he was going to save the universe and have tousled hair and it would all be okay.
As far as the goods...I had a C3PO and R2-D2 alarm clock that used to say something like, "R2, it's time for all good Jedis to wake up! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!" It made me crazy. I had a thought a couple years ago that I could sell it for a fortune on eBay, but apparently 1,000 other people with the same clock had the same thought at around the same time. I had an Ewoks tape holder. Oh, and the stuffed Ewoks. I had the brown one with the brown outfit (ha, outfit? maybe I mean rag) and then I remember my weird uncle gave me the gray one with the pink outfit, which was my favorite, and I was kind of scared of him but I was so excited I thought I'd die.
So, yeah. I guess I'm somewhere between looking forward to seeing it eventually and standing in line for three weeks dressed as a storm trooper.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
the best part is her non-reaction
Oprah: I read that you were teased as a child.
Jon Stewart: Who wasn't?
Oprah: I was called Okra.
Jon: Did you tell them, "I'm going to have an Angel Network"? Did you say, "I'm going to have a Wildest Dreams bus one day, and you're going to need a house, and I'm not gonna flippin' give it to you?"
Oprah: No, my big thing was that I never heard my name called on Romper Room. So you said earlier that you were fired a lot... [goes on]
Oprah: If I come back in a second life, I want to come back as me.
Jon: You know what? I'd like that, too.
Oprah: In the early nineties, I realized I'd been imitating others... [goes on]
Jon Stewart: Who wasn't?
Oprah: I was called Okra.
Jon: Did you tell them, "I'm going to have an Angel Network"? Did you say, "I'm going to have a Wildest Dreams bus one day, and you're going to need a house, and I'm not gonna flippin' give it to you?"
Oprah: No, my big thing was that I never heard my name called on Romper Room. So you said earlier that you were fired a lot... [goes on]
Oprah: If I come back in a second life, I want to come back as me.
Jon: You know what? I'd like that, too.
Oprah: In the early nineties, I realized I'd been imitating others... [goes on]
Sunday, May 15, 2005
more movies!
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
play ball
I'm a little bit concerned about the random sampling of society that I've been encountering at Fenway recently. And I think it's fair to say that it's a random sampling because when you live in and around Boston, being a baseball fan is basically a part of your DNA, so it's not like there's only one kind of person you'd see there.
Now, I don't have many requirements or expectations for you, the stranger sitting next to me in the ballpark. But I've been noticing that many of my new friends seem to fall into specific categories:
The Idiot. This guy yells, "Hey, Chop Suey!" at Matsui and "What's up, Gay Rod!" at A-Rod. Over and over. First of all, not even funny. Second of all, pretty offensive. Third of all, NOT EVEN FUNNY. If there's one thing that irritates the hell out of me, it's when people with no sense of humor, or else the most generic sense of humor in the world, think they're clever. And who are the people with this guy? Are they mortified, or are they just quieter Idiots themselves?
The Beer Thrower. I don't see much of this guy anymore since I upgraded from the bleachers, but he's still lurking around now and then. When did throwing stuff at each other become a legitimate outlet for expressing anger? I thought we all learned that lesson in the sandbox, somewhere between our education on indoor voices and flushing. I just wonder if he's the kind of guy who gets mad at work and hurls a stapler at Joanie from Accounting.
The Pink Hat. Like a Pink Hat herself, I have very little to say. I just can't give this girl any press. You all know how I feel about this one.
The Fighting Couple. The best example of this was a couple sitting next to me at a game last year who had about thirty seven beers each, screamed at each other, and took turns storming out. Are couples like that horribly matched or made for each other? I'm never sure.
The Insipid Commentator. "Wow, that pitch was 86 miles an hour! That's fast! Wow, that one was 84! How fast was that one? Can you see? I can't see it, pretzel guy's in the way. Can you...oh, wow, 92! That's the fastest one yet! Wow, 90. Holy cow! Wow, 92 again..."
The Drunk Guy Who Drunkenly Pontificates on My Dad's and My Hats While Drunk. I know, it never really gets old to see a guy with a Yankees hat sitting next to a girl with a Sox hat. But when you get drunk, your thoughtful commentary on the situation gets a little tiresome. You say pretty much the same thing to us that everyone else does, but it takes you longer and you swear more. You also kind of smell.
The Crying Woman. Last night was a first for this. Shortly after sitting down I noticed the woman next to me was sobbing. Now, I'm a pretty nice person, but this does pose a predictament...do you say something to her or not? And maybe something terrible happened to warrant the crying...maybe she and her husband had tickets to this game but then last night he was eaten by a bear. No wait, that's her husband next to her, and he doesn't seem concerned that she's a mess. Well, okay, maybe it's allergies...really, really bad allergies. Or maybe she's a LUNATIC. (In the end, I did ask her if she was okay. She smiled and said she was and thanked me for asking, but shortly thereafter became the Crowd Agitator...see below.)
The Crowd Agitator. Once she stopped crying, she decided that all the high school boys sitting behind us were clapping too loud, so she screamed at them. Yelling at someone for clapping too loud at a game is sort of like yelling at someone for eating popcorn too loud at the movies...they may in fact be kind of on the loud side, but you've just got no case. So, naturally, these kids laughed at her. The more they mocked her, the more furious she became, which is a pleasant dynamic to be able to witness firsthand. It went a little something like this:
CA: You CHILDREN need to STOP CLAPPING in my EARS! This is your FIRST WARNING!
Children: Shut up! Whatever, lady! We're at a GAME!
CA (stands up, hands on hips): DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME? DO YOU? HUH?
Children: Sit down, bitch!
CA's Husband: DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SPEAKING TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT, YOU ADOLESCENT PUNK ASS BITCH MOTHERFUCKER!
CA: IF YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME THEN I SUGGEST YOU SAY IT TO MY FACE!
CA's Husband: MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERS, ALL OF YOU!
CA (sits down and turns to me): Can you believe them?!
Me: (bursts into flames)
Now, I don't have many requirements or expectations for you, the stranger sitting next to me in the ballpark. But I've been noticing that many of my new friends seem to fall into specific categories:
The Idiot. This guy yells, "Hey, Chop Suey!" at Matsui and "What's up, Gay Rod!" at A-Rod. Over and over. First of all, not even funny. Second of all, pretty offensive. Third of all, NOT EVEN FUNNY. If there's one thing that irritates the hell out of me, it's when people with no sense of humor, or else the most generic sense of humor in the world, think they're clever. And who are the people with this guy? Are they mortified, or are they just quieter Idiots themselves?
The Beer Thrower. I don't see much of this guy anymore since I upgraded from the bleachers, but he's still lurking around now and then. When did throwing stuff at each other become a legitimate outlet for expressing anger? I thought we all learned that lesson in the sandbox, somewhere between our education on indoor voices and flushing. I just wonder if he's the kind of guy who gets mad at work and hurls a stapler at Joanie from Accounting.
The Pink Hat. Like a Pink Hat herself, I have very little to say. I just can't give this girl any press. You all know how I feel about this one.
The Fighting Couple. The best example of this was a couple sitting next to me at a game last year who had about thirty seven beers each, screamed at each other, and took turns storming out. Are couples like that horribly matched or made for each other? I'm never sure.
The Insipid Commentator. "Wow, that pitch was 86 miles an hour! That's fast! Wow, that one was 84! How fast was that one? Can you see? I can't see it, pretzel guy's in the way. Can you...oh, wow, 92! That's the fastest one yet! Wow, 90. Holy cow! Wow, 92 again..."
The Drunk Guy Who Drunkenly Pontificates on My Dad's and My Hats While Drunk. I know, it never really gets old to see a guy with a Yankees hat sitting next to a girl with a Sox hat. But when you get drunk, your thoughtful commentary on the situation gets a little tiresome. You say pretty much the same thing to us that everyone else does, but it takes you longer and you swear more. You also kind of smell.
The Crying Woman. Last night was a first for this. Shortly after sitting down I noticed the woman next to me was sobbing. Now, I'm a pretty nice person, but this does pose a predictament...do you say something to her or not? And maybe something terrible happened to warrant the crying...maybe she and her husband had tickets to this game but then last night he was eaten by a bear. No wait, that's her husband next to her, and he doesn't seem concerned that she's a mess. Well, okay, maybe it's allergies...really, really bad allergies. Or maybe she's a LUNATIC. (In the end, I did ask her if she was okay. She smiled and said she was and thanked me for asking, but shortly thereafter became the Crowd Agitator...see below.)
The Crowd Agitator. Once she stopped crying, she decided that all the high school boys sitting behind us were clapping too loud, so she screamed at them. Yelling at someone for clapping too loud at a game is sort of like yelling at someone for eating popcorn too loud at the movies...they may in fact be kind of on the loud side, but you've just got no case. So, naturally, these kids laughed at her. The more they mocked her, the more furious she became, which is a pleasant dynamic to be able to witness firsthand. It went a little something like this:
CA: You CHILDREN need to STOP CLAPPING in my EARS! This is your FIRST WARNING!
Children: Shut up! Whatever, lady! We're at a GAME!
CA (stands up, hands on hips): DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME? DO YOU? HUH?
Children: Sit down, bitch!
CA's Husband: DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SPEAKING TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT, YOU ADOLESCENT PUNK ASS BITCH MOTHERFUCKER!
CA: IF YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME THEN I SUGGEST YOU SAY IT TO MY FACE!
CA's Husband: MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERS, ALL OF YOU!
CA (sits down and turns to me): Can you believe them?!
Me: (bursts into flames)
Sunday, May 08, 2005
don't you mean House of AWESOME?
I saw House of Wax! I was so excited, I was bouncing in my seat. And it was great because it was the day after its release, it was raining and the movie theater parking lot was packed, but the only ones there to see this cinematic masterpiece were Steve and I and a woman a few rows behind us who brought her 12-year-old-ish daughters with her, and from her ranting in the ladies room afterwards she had clearly been cajoled into doing so and was none too happy about it.
It was GREAT...it had all the important elements of a terrible horror movie, like one of the main male characters telling the main female character, "OK, well, I know we just got a little bit abducted by a toothless, knife-wielding guy who collects roadkill for fun, but I'm just going to run into his house over there that's clearly the gateway to hell and use the bathroom. But I'll be right back. You stay here in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck." Attention to my guy friends: You're not leaving me to pee. I'm coming with you.
Of course, people separate throughout the whole movie. "I can't believe we just narrowly escaped death! Okay, you go that way and I'll go this way." None of these characters are like me. But I don't suppose it would make for a very good scary movie if the first time something remotely creepy happened, the main character was like, "Wow, this is totally fucked up and we're leaving right this second. Hey, did you bring money for tolls?"
Great scene in a camping tent with Paris Hilton: First, she strips for her boyfriend, and then she decides to tell him she thinks she's pregnant. Then he runs outside because he's upset that the CD he put on has stopped playing, and when he doesn't come back for a really long time, even though the only thing he left to do was check on the CD right outside the tent, she thinks "oh well" and goes to sleep. Sounds about right.
Oh, also, it had that fantastic scene where the main female character goes into the house and finds all the incriminating newspaper clippings letting you know exactly what the bad guys have done, and just as she opens her mouth to tell the only friend of hers that's survived that far with her...well, you know how that goes. I love the newspaper clipping scene, though! Attention bad guys: Make sure that whenever you do bad things, you neatly clip the newspaper articles detailing the crimes, and that you keep them in the first drawer in your house that anyone would think to look in (it's helpful if it's in a desk on top of which there's a glass jar containing a cow fetus or something equally subdued). And don't go and scrapbook those articles, oh no...make sure you stack them sequentially so the first one is about something that we know or suspect you did, but as the main character continues to sift through, we find out about stuff you did that we had no idea about but that conveniently ties back to an unsettled issue from earlier in the movie, and only then will we know the depth of your madness.
So, go see it! Or just rent it when it's in the discount bin at Blockbuster next week.
It was GREAT...it had all the important elements of a terrible horror movie, like one of the main male characters telling the main female character, "OK, well, I know we just got a little bit abducted by a toothless, knife-wielding guy who collects roadkill for fun, but I'm just going to run into his house over there that's clearly the gateway to hell and use the bathroom. But I'll be right back. You stay here in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck." Attention to my guy friends: You're not leaving me to pee. I'm coming with you.
Of course, people separate throughout the whole movie. "I can't believe we just narrowly escaped death! Okay, you go that way and I'll go this way." None of these characters are like me. But I don't suppose it would make for a very good scary movie if the first time something remotely creepy happened, the main character was like, "Wow, this is totally fucked up and we're leaving right this second. Hey, did you bring money for tolls?"
Great scene in a camping tent with Paris Hilton: First, she strips for her boyfriend, and then she decides to tell him she thinks she's pregnant. Then he runs outside because he's upset that the CD he put on has stopped playing, and when he doesn't come back for a really long time, even though the only thing he left to do was check on the CD right outside the tent, she thinks "oh well" and goes to sleep. Sounds about right.
Oh, also, it had that fantastic scene where the main female character goes into the house and finds all the incriminating newspaper clippings letting you know exactly what the bad guys have done, and just as she opens her mouth to tell the only friend of hers that's survived that far with her...well, you know how that goes. I love the newspaper clipping scene, though! Attention bad guys: Make sure that whenever you do bad things, you neatly clip the newspaper articles detailing the crimes, and that you keep them in the first drawer in your house that anyone would think to look in (it's helpful if it's in a desk on top of which there's a glass jar containing a cow fetus or something equally subdued). And don't go and scrapbook those articles, oh no...make sure you stack them sequentially so the first one is about something that we know or suspect you did, but as the main character continues to sift through, we find out about stuff you did that we had no idea about but that conveniently ties back to an unsettled issue from earlier in the movie, and only then will we know the depth of your madness.
So, go see it! Or just rent it when it's in the discount bin at Blockbuster next week.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Crazy Neighbor Chuck, on honesty
CNC: How's it going?
Me: Oh, hey. Just taking out the trash before the rain starts.
CNC: It's going to rain?
Me: Yeah, supposedly all weekend.
CNC: You're kidding.
Me: No...sorry to give you the bad news.
CNC: Well, that's okay. You're a truth-teller.
Me: Right.
CNC: You tell the truth, and that's good.
Me: So take care!
Me: Oh, hey. Just taking out the trash before the rain starts.
CNC: It's going to rain?
Me: Yeah, supposedly all weekend.
CNC: You're kidding.
Me: No...sorry to give you the bad news.
CNC: Well, that's okay. You're a truth-teller.
Me: Right.
CNC: You tell the truth, and that's good.
Me: So take care!
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
yay movies
I want to see this, this (despite not liking Nicholas Cage), this (who is that blond girl? I like her), this (Helena Bonham Carter is basically perfect), and this...I love Ron Livingston ("I'm sorry, I can't, don't hate me"), Allison Janney ("First of all, you're wrong. Second of all, shut up"), and Anthony LaPaglia. Although we'll see how that one plays out, because I'm getting a little tired of the whole "two miserable people coming together and somehow suddenly being happy" thing.
And this. But you knew that already. Prey, slay, DISPLAY!
I love trailers. Oh, and movies.
And this. But you knew that already. Prey, slay, DISPLAY!
I love trailers. Oh, and movies.
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