Best of 2005
Ok Go "A million ways video" www.okgo.net
Dream cream www.lush.com
Since u been gone www.itunes.com
Grey's Anatomy www.abc.com
Batman Begins www.bestbuy.com
Queen Bee wallets www.buyolympia.com
Coke zero www.coke.com
Sarah Crosland's single status and hilarious blogging sarahsthoughtsonline.blogspot.com
Time Out Chicago www.timeoutchicago.com
Where does the good go (Tegan and Sara) www.itunes.com
Hide and Seek (Imogen Heap) www.itunes.com
The Colbert Report www.comedycentral.com
Sawyer Gobias Meowsky www.anticrueltysociety.com
Innuendo's sophomore album "Second Base" (coming soon) groups.wfu.edu/innuendo
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Great Scott!
Here is a small tidbit from this morning's entertainment news cycle:
Michael J. Fox is heading Back To The Future for a fourth time-traveling movie. The actor, who suffers from Parkinson's disease, admits he's in negotiations for a final film in the series - but only if they make his character as old as he is in real life. The former Spin City star wants to take over Christopher Lloyd's eccentric scientist character, Doc, in the sequel. He tells movie website Moviehole.net, "The only way it would work would be if I played Doc. I'm 44-years-old now and I'm not interested in running around on skateboards! I think after 1, 2 and 3 we all kind of felt we had done it. And I think if they did it again now they would do it with a younger cast and just do a different realisation of it, which would be fun."
Woah. This is heavy.
Is this news:
a)The answer to 12 years of my girlish prayers
b)The most awful idea ever to be inflicted upon man kind.
I haven't decided yet.
Michael J. Fox is heading Back To The Future for a fourth time-traveling movie. The actor, who suffers from Parkinson's disease, admits he's in negotiations for a final film in the series - but only if they make his character as old as he is in real life. The former Spin City star wants to take over Christopher Lloyd's eccentric scientist character, Doc, in the sequel. He tells movie website Moviehole.net, "The only way it would work would be if I played Doc. I'm 44-years-old now and I'm not interested in running around on skateboards! I think after 1, 2 and 3 we all kind of felt we had done it. And I think if they did it again now they would do it with a younger cast and just do a different realisation of it, which would be fun."
Woah. This is heavy.
Is this news:
a)The answer to 12 years of my girlish prayers
b)The most awful idea ever to be inflicted upon man kind.
I haven't decided yet.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Click my heels three times
Sorry I have been slouching in the update department. I have been spending all of my extra mental energy day dreaming about one thing... home. Home sweet lovely home. I have never wanted to go home so much in my life. Except maybe the time that I went away to church camp for 10 days because some of my friends and the boy I had a crush on (Daniel McCullough for those of you who are keeping track) were going. At the 27th chapel service, the girl beside me broke out in hysterical tears and threw herself on the ground asking to be taken up by God's mercy. I think maybe right then, at that moment, I wanted to go home more than I do right now. But other than that, right now takes the cake. The beautiful white sparkly snow that I waxed poetic about last week has become a pile of grimy slush that stands between me and the bus every morning, leaving me no choice but to curse like a sailor and watch as my leg sinks in up to my knee. The cold blustery weather that seemed so crisp and festive is now bitter and vindictive, as it blows harshly into my eyes like an evil glacouma tester, causing them to leak, thus washing off my concealer and my eye liner, which means that by the time I make it to the office in the morning I have soggy feet, a blurry blotched face and a sour disposition. Only one thing can fix this. I need my mommy.
Of course, when I am stuck in my office counting the minutes until my American Eagle pudddle jumper takes off on Thursday Dec 22nd, I start to remember what it was like way way way back (last year) when I was still in school:
Last Year: I would have been home already.
This Year: 10 more days of suffering.
Last Year: I could stuff my laundry in the car and take it home with me.
This Year: It is f-ing time to get quarters again because I need to do laundry before I can pack.
Last Year: One Month of Beautiful Time Off.
This Year: Almost One Week of Time Off.
But then again...
Last Year: I suffered through a few exams.
This Year: I suffered through a few weeks of LOST repeats.
Last Year: I pulled an all nighter to finish a thesis on youth voter participation.
This Year: I spent a full 20 minutes writing about the rising trend of skinny jeans and the possible perils of camel toe.
Which is better, I leave you to judge that.
Now if you will excuse me, I need to come up with 70 words about super-long scarves: are they the new pashmina?
Of course, when I am stuck in my office counting the minutes until my American Eagle pudddle jumper takes off on Thursday Dec 22nd, I start to remember what it was like way way way back (last year) when I was still in school:
Last Year: I would have been home already.
This Year: 10 more days of suffering.
Last Year: I could stuff my laundry in the car and take it home with me.
This Year: It is f-ing time to get quarters again because I need to do laundry before I can pack.
Last Year: One Month of Beautiful Time Off.
This Year: Almost One Week of Time Off.
But then again...
Last Year: I suffered through a few exams.
This Year: I suffered through a few weeks of LOST repeats.
Last Year: I pulled an all nighter to finish a thesis on youth voter participation.
This Year: I spent a full 20 minutes writing about the rising trend of skinny jeans and the possible perils of camel toe.
Which is better, I leave you to judge that.
Now if you will excuse me, I need to come up with 70 words about super-long scarves: are they the new pashmina?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
How rich can one person really be?
Ok, lets be honest, in my line of work you become a little jaded when it comes to ye ol price tag. Yes, everything in my closet is of the chain store variety (Banana Republic Sale Rack? H&M knock offs? Music to my ears), but oddly I don't even twitch an eyelash when I haul a $350 sparkly bolero jacket and a $500 pair of boots up to the counter of a snotty boutique and hand over my card. No, I am not a terrible coniving daddy's girl who is racking up millions of dollars and sky miles on her fathers credit card. I am handing over my business card. And with that, I walk out of the store with arms full of pricey designer merchandise.
Wait, before you start to hate me let me add that I have to bring back all that pricey designer merchandise a few days later and all I am left with is a byline and a loss of ciruculation in my hands and feet from having to walk around in the cold borrowing and returning stuff that I am afraid to even breathe on.
But no matter how warped my perspective on The Price You Pay for Goods and Services gets, there are always people out there trying to step it up and provide just a little bit "more" for their consumers. Their consumers who are, by the way, insanely disgustingly mind-warpingly rich. How else can you explain this: a luxury package provided to "elite customers" at the Peninsula Hotel in Chicago. Wrap your brain around this one guys and gals....
The Pen-Ultimate Peninsula Hotel Experience
Features:
Luxurious overnight accommodation for one night in the 3,600-square-foot Peninsula Suite, the most magnificent suite of all, featuring a formal living room, dining room, media room, study, 2000-square-foot private outdoor terrace with stunning views and a private Jacuzzi, master bedroom, private workout room and more
A Bentley Continental GT Coupe 2005 (to keep!) - valued at $ 169,000
Lavish welcome amenities, including the traditional aphrodisiac of oysters and champagne and five dozen red roses placed throughout the suite
Fully stocked bar
The services of a Peninsula Page as your personal valet throughout the stay
Graff beautiful cushion-cut white diamond ring for her, at over 5 carats - valued at $ 174,000
Graff platinum and invisible set white diamond square cufflinks for him, with nearly 8 carats - valued at $ 98,000
Relaxing, in-room couple's massage with special aromatherapy treatments provided by The Peninsula Spa
Choice of a five-course dinner for two in Avenues or The Lobby followed by ‘Chocolate at the Pen’ savouring an endless array of delectable chocolate desserts and an evening of dancing cheek-to-cheek to the Eric Remschneider Trio featuring vocalist Stephanie Browning
Ok, seriously, I feel fancy when they fold the end of the toilet paper into a point and provide actual glasses instead of plastic. Who are the people for whom this sort of "package" is feasible? I don't even think this would have been up Vince Vaughn's alley (the Peninsula is where he and Jen were seen straddling and smootching). Celebs dont get Bentleys from hotels. They get photographed looking at Bentleys and test driving Bentleys and sitting at Koi looking through a Bentley catalogue until Bentley calls them and asks if they would like one for free. That is the way celebs do it. So who the hell is buying this? Oh speaking of which... do you want to know how much it costs?
$400,000.
you want to know the worst part? after reading the description of the package as many times as I have and after writing this whole meandering blog... I am starting to look at that price tag and it isn't looking that bad to me. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN. I HAVE $4 IN MY PURSE RIGHT NOW AND IT IS MOSTLY IN NICKLES. I HATE THE NICKLE MORE THAN I HATE THE PENNY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NICKLES YOU HAVE TO PUT INTO THE VENDING MACHINE TO GET SOME BAKED LAYS!
Ok. I think I am feeling better now.
Wait, before you start to hate me let me add that I have to bring back all that pricey designer merchandise a few days later and all I am left with is a byline and a loss of ciruculation in my hands and feet from having to walk around in the cold borrowing and returning stuff that I am afraid to even breathe on.
But no matter how warped my perspective on The Price You Pay for Goods and Services gets, there are always people out there trying to step it up and provide just a little bit "more" for their consumers. Their consumers who are, by the way, insanely disgustingly mind-warpingly rich. How else can you explain this: a luxury package provided to "elite customers" at the Peninsula Hotel in Chicago. Wrap your brain around this one guys and gals....
The Pen-Ultimate Peninsula Hotel Experience
Features:
Luxurious overnight accommodation for one night in the 3,600-square-foot Peninsula Suite, the most magnificent suite of all, featuring a formal living room, dining room, media room, study, 2000-square-foot private outdoor terrace with stunning views and a private Jacuzzi, master bedroom, private workout room and more
A Bentley Continental GT Coupe 2005 (to keep!) - valued at $ 169,000
Lavish welcome amenities, including the traditional aphrodisiac of oysters and champagne and five dozen red roses placed throughout the suite
Fully stocked bar
The services of a Peninsula Page as your personal valet throughout the stay
Graff beautiful cushion-cut white diamond ring for her, at over 5 carats - valued at $ 174,000
Graff platinum and invisible set white diamond square cufflinks for him, with nearly 8 carats - valued at $ 98,000
Relaxing, in-room couple's massage with special aromatherapy treatments provided by The Peninsula Spa
Choice of a five-course dinner for two in Avenues or The Lobby followed by ‘Chocolate at the Pen’ savouring an endless array of delectable chocolate desserts and an evening of dancing cheek-to-cheek to the Eric Remschneider Trio featuring vocalist Stephanie Browning
Ok, seriously, I feel fancy when they fold the end of the toilet paper into a point and provide actual glasses instead of plastic. Who are the people for whom this sort of "package" is feasible? I don't even think this would have been up Vince Vaughn's alley (the Peninsula is where he and Jen were seen straddling and smootching). Celebs dont get Bentleys from hotels. They get photographed looking at Bentleys and test driving Bentleys and sitting at Koi looking through a Bentley catalogue until Bentley calls them and asks if they would like one for free. That is the way celebs do it. So who the hell is buying this? Oh speaking of which... do you want to know how much it costs?
$400,000.
you want to know the worst part? after reading the description of the package as many times as I have and after writing this whole meandering blog... I am starting to look at that price tag and it isn't looking that bad to me. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN. I HAVE $4 IN MY PURSE RIGHT NOW AND IT IS MOSTLY IN NICKLES. I HATE THE NICKLE MORE THAN I HATE THE PENNY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NICKLES YOU HAVE TO PUT INTO THE VENDING MACHINE TO GET SOME BAKED LAYS!
Ok. I think I am feeling better now.
Monday, December 05, 2005
It's beginning to look a lot like...
BIG NEWS! We have heat. Praise the almighty God. And the furnace guy. We have heat and it is fantastic. We also, as you can see from the pictures here, have a tree. My very first, on my own, big girl tree. The finished product of course, looks quite magical. The process by which the tree was procured.... not as magical. It was -8 degrees with the windchill yesterday. And this tree was chosen in a "close your eyes and point" sort of way from the nursery section at Home Depot. I would have taken more care in choosing the perfect tree to be my very first on my own big girl tree, but it was freaking freezing and I couldn't feel my toes. As it turned out, impending hypothermia makes me an excellent judge of trees because the one we got is perfect. We decorated it with a mix of thoughtful family ornaments and cheap thrills from Target. We also hung some jingle bell ornaments near the bottom to hopefully distract the kitten from hatching a plan to climb to the top of the tree and dive bomb off. We know our efforts might be in vain, but it is worth a shot. We might be in luck because he appears to be entirely consumed by the twine that we used to attach the tree to the top of our car. I think in his head he is a super hero. Spider man perhaps. That would explain his penchant for hooking his spidey claws into me and climbing from my ankle to my neck for no apparent reason. Perhaps I shall write him a theme song.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Jennsicle
So there I was, calmly getting dressed and putting on my makeup, batting away the persistent claws of my kitten who seems to be intrigued rather than frightened by the large hot curling iron at the end of the super fun swinging cord.
First of all, let me point out that normally this makeup and hair routine would be taking place in the bathroom where the kitten does not venture ( I think he is seriously afraid of the toliet.) But today and for the past three days I have spent as much time in the bedroom as is humanly possible. Why? Because that is where the space heater is. Once you step outside the temperature in our apartment drops, LITERALLY, 30-35 degrees. I. shit. you. not.
Last night, I came home, changed out of my work clothes and in to... wait for it.... long johns, fleece pajama bottoms, ski socks covered with knitted wool booties, a long sleeve t shirt, a fleece turtleneck, and a North Face zip up polar fleece. And that was just my "cooking dinner" outfit. Once it came time to sit on the couch with out the added benefit of the stove and oven to keep me warm, I added two blankets and a fuzzy hood to that ensemble. Considering that it is only December 1st and I have about five more months of winter ahead of me, I am thinking I am not off to the best start.
Granted, we have no heat right now. Why you ask? Oh well, we thought it was best to turn the heat off after our carbon monoxide alarm went off for the third time and started jumping up to something like 97 parts per million ( which sounds deadly, but as it turns out it would take 8 hours of that level of exposure to even give you a headache. Do you think this stopped me from writing out a "goodbye world" letter in my head before I went to bed? Not a chance. I was convinced that every time the kitten jumped off the bed it was because his body had succommed to poisoning and he was keeling over. "That didn't sound like a hop. That sounded like a thud. Check his pulse Joe check his PULSE!!!!!")
Don't worry, we are getting a new furnace. Supposedly we are getting it up and running "before the weekend". So you know, as long as the temperature doesn't keep dropping and as long as it doesn't snow or anything, I think we should be o- Wait. What's that you say? It's freaking SNOWING outside?
Yes, let me take you back to the beginning of the story, when I was removing the kitten broach from my shoulder so that I could put on mascara. Joe comes into the room and says "Is that what you are wearing?" (never wise words gentlemen). "Yeah, why?" "There is more than an inch of snow on the ground." I assume that the look on my face after that was a mix of shock, fear, dismay, and annoyance at the fact that I could now feel the draft coming from the living room as Joe didn't close the bed room door behind him when he came to deliver this news.
Now, the part that comes next, well. I think it is the most convincing evidence that I am really unprepared for the Chicago winter. I was a good girl and i changed out of my stiletto boots into my flat ones. I sacrificed my hard-earned curls and covered them with a hat, and I zipped up my puffy down jacket over my suede skirt. And then I stepped outside. And while Joe was trudging down the stairs headed towards his snow covered car, I just stood there. And then, although I am not sure anyone heard it, I squealed a little. Because you see, the first thought in my head when I saw the street covered in white was not "oh geez what a bother." or "goddammit i need to get the ice scraper" but rather it went something like this ... " Oooooo pretty!!!!!! What do you mean I have to go to work? Don't they cancel work when this happens? " Because you see, where I come from, they do. If there was an inch and a half of snow on the ground and it was still coming down, classes would be canceled, school children would be told to stay home and make snow angels, and working professionals would be glued to the 6am news waiting to see if their place of business had shut down for the day. Sigh, sometimes I just adore the south.
Anyway, you can see my cause for concern. The fact that I am still a dumbstruck 6 year old every time I see fluffy white snow means I am in for a rude RUDE awakening. I am sure it won't take long before I am cursing the snow or before I am outright indifferent toward it, but that will be a sad day for me. It's nice to know that some things, like a first snow, can still feel magical even when you are all grown up. But Chicago is about to kill that magic for me. I know he doesn't mean to. Just like my sister didnt mean to ruin the whole magic of santa claus thing for me by writing "merry christmas jennifer" on my brand new "lets play schoolhouse" blackboard on christmas morning in her very recognizible bubbly cursive. These things happen. But for today, just today, I am going to continue to think of snow as magical. Just one last time.
First of all, let me point out that normally this makeup and hair routine would be taking place in the bathroom where the kitten does not venture ( I think he is seriously afraid of the toliet.) But today and for the past three days I have spent as much time in the bedroom as is humanly possible. Why? Because that is where the space heater is. Once you step outside the temperature in our apartment drops, LITERALLY, 30-35 degrees. I. shit. you. not.
Last night, I came home, changed out of my work clothes and in to... wait for it.... long johns, fleece pajama bottoms, ski socks covered with knitted wool booties, a long sleeve t shirt, a fleece turtleneck, and a North Face zip up polar fleece. And that was just my "cooking dinner" outfit. Once it came time to sit on the couch with out the added benefit of the stove and oven to keep me warm, I added two blankets and a fuzzy hood to that ensemble. Considering that it is only December 1st and I have about five more months of winter ahead of me, I am thinking I am not off to the best start.
Granted, we have no heat right now. Why you ask? Oh well, we thought it was best to turn the heat off after our carbon monoxide alarm went off for the third time and started jumping up to something like 97 parts per million ( which sounds deadly, but as it turns out it would take 8 hours of that level of exposure to even give you a headache. Do you think this stopped me from writing out a "goodbye world" letter in my head before I went to bed? Not a chance. I was convinced that every time the kitten jumped off the bed it was because his body had succommed to poisoning and he was keeling over. "That didn't sound like a hop. That sounded like a thud. Check his pulse Joe check his PULSE!!!!!")
Don't worry, we are getting a new furnace. Supposedly we are getting it up and running "before the weekend". So you know, as long as the temperature doesn't keep dropping and as long as it doesn't snow or anything, I think we should be o- Wait. What's that you say? It's freaking SNOWING outside?
Yes, let me take you back to the beginning of the story, when I was removing the kitten broach from my shoulder so that I could put on mascara. Joe comes into the room and says "Is that what you are wearing?" (never wise words gentlemen). "Yeah, why?" "There is more than an inch of snow on the ground." I assume that the look on my face after that was a mix of shock, fear, dismay, and annoyance at the fact that I could now feel the draft coming from the living room as Joe didn't close the bed room door behind him when he came to deliver this news.
Now, the part that comes next, well. I think it is the most convincing evidence that I am really unprepared for the Chicago winter. I was a good girl and i changed out of my stiletto boots into my flat ones. I sacrificed my hard-earned curls and covered them with a hat, and I zipped up my puffy down jacket over my suede skirt. And then I stepped outside. And while Joe was trudging down the stairs headed towards his snow covered car, I just stood there. And then, although I am not sure anyone heard it, I squealed a little. Because you see, the first thought in my head when I saw the street covered in white was not "oh geez what a bother." or "goddammit i need to get the ice scraper" but rather it went something like this ... " Oooooo pretty!!!!!! What do you mean I have to go to work? Don't they cancel work when this happens? " Because you see, where I come from, they do. If there was an inch and a half of snow on the ground and it was still coming down, classes would be canceled, school children would be told to stay home and make snow angels, and working professionals would be glued to the 6am news waiting to see if their place of business had shut down for the day. Sigh, sometimes I just adore the south.
Anyway, you can see my cause for concern. The fact that I am still a dumbstruck 6 year old every time I see fluffy white snow means I am in for a rude RUDE awakening. I am sure it won't take long before I am cursing the snow or before I am outright indifferent toward it, but that will be a sad day for me. It's nice to know that some things, like a first snow, can still feel magical even when you are all grown up. But Chicago is about to kill that magic for me. I know he doesn't mean to. Just like my sister didnt mean to ruin the whole magic of santa claus thing for me by writing "merry christmas jennifer" on my brand new "lets play schoolhouse" blackboard on christmas morning in her very recognizible bubbly cursive. These things happen. But for today, just today, I am going to continue to think of snow as magical. Just one last time.
Monday, November 28, 2005
The most wonderful time of the year...
It's official.
The Christmas season has begun.
How do i know?
Because the worlds most delicious and festive product is back on the shelves.
Candy Cane Tootsie Roll Pops.
OH MY GOD how i adore these things.
The Christmas season has begun.
How do i know?
Because the worlds most delicious and festive product is back on the shelves.
Candy Cane Tootsie Roll Pops.
OH MY GOD how i adore these things.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
what. the. fuck.
Xenu, the galactic tyrant who first kidnapped certain individuals who were deemed "excess population" and loaded these individuals into space planes for transport to the site of extermination, the planet of Teegeeack (Earth). These space planes were supposedly exact copies of Douglas DC-8s except with rocket engines. He then stacked hundreds of billions of these frozen victims around Earth's volcanoes 75 million years ago before blowing them up with hydrogen bombs and brainwashing them with a "three-D, super colossal motion picture" for 36 days. The traumatized thetans subsequently clustered around human bodies, in effect acting as invisible spiritual parasites known as "body thetans" that can only be removed using advanced Scientology techniques. Xenu is allegedly imprisoned in a mountain by a force field powered by an eternal battery.
Straight from the doctrine of.... you guessed it... Scientology.
TomKat, you now disgust and disturb me even more than you did yesterday.
Straight from the doctrine of.... you guessed it... Scientology.
TomKat, you now disgust and disturb me even more than you did yesterday.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Just trying to stay awake.
In an effort to stave off the 3pm sleepies, I want to share with you a few thoughts that have been lollygagging around in the back of my head like the losers who don't leave the bar even when they turn the lights on and start turning the chairs upside down on the tables.
They are as follows:
* I will never, absolutely never be ok with the idea of Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. It baffles me. It frightens me. It disgusts me. Every time I see a picture of them "canoodling" and kissing I feel like I should send it to the police as evidence of child molestation. The fact that they are having a child disturbs me more than the fact that Britney and Kevin had a child. Please understand what a huge thing that is for me to say. I can appreciate that they are gossip media's bread and butter but I really wish that something else would take over the headlines because honestly the thought of them makes me want to vomit.
* While we are on the subject of played out tabloid fodder, let me also say this. I don't think Brad and Angelina have been sleeping together. I know that today's revelation that she bought some sort of vibrating panties would seem to counteract this assertion, but I just feel, in my gut, that this whole situation has been misread. She made out with her brother for chrissake with no appologies, why on earth would she stay quiet about a rip roarin sex life with brad pitt out of respect to his ex wife? She wouldn't. She just. plain. wouldn't.
* Is it disturbing that i spent more on my kitten's new red carrier bag than I have spent on any sort of bag or purse for myself in the last five years? I believe it might be and I believe I do not care.
They are as follows:
* I will never, absolutely never be ok with the idea of Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. It baffles me. It frightens me. It disgusts me. Every time I see a picture of them "canoodling" and kissing I feel like I should send it to the police as evidence of child molestation. The fact that they are having a child disturbs me more than the fact that Britney and Kevin had a child. Please understand what a huge thing that is for me to say. I can appreciate that they are gossip media's bread and butter but I really wish that something else would take over the headlines because honestly the thought of them makes me want to vomit.
* While we are on the subject of played out tabloid fodder, let me also say this. I don't think Brad and Angelina have been sleeping together. I know that today's revelation that she bought some sort of vibrating panties would seem to counteract this assertion, but I just feel, in my gut, that this whole situation has been misread. She made out with her brother for chrissake with no appologies, why on earth would she stay quiet about a rip roarin sex life with brad pitt out of respect to his ex wife? She wouldn't. She just. plain. wouldn't.
* Is it disturbing that i spent more on my kitten's new red carrier bag than I have spent on any sort of bag or purse for myself in the last five years? I believe it might be and I believe I do not care.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Alarming Trend.
There has been a rather disconcerting trend in my behavior lately. I quickly becoming a Capitulator. In the past few weeks I have given into a number of whims and activities that I was previously abstaining from with much success. They are enumerated below:
1) The kitten. Yes he is cute. Yes he is supremely snuggly. But why now? I have been lusting after small furry things for months, what pushed me over the edge? I went from being a completely normal person who finds baby animals to be pleasing to the eye to being a total crazed cat lady who uses her own sleeve to wipe the kitten snot off of her sick little baby's nose and lets him sleep on her head during the night. I have no idea how this happened.
2) Pizza and Scones. These are two food items that i have studiously avoided for some time now. Pizza and I went our seperate ways about 5 years ago, and my on-again, off-again love affair with Scones hasn't flared up since junior year when Sarah and I were frighteningly consistent in our trips to Starbucks. And yet, as the cold weather encroaches on the Windy City, my hibernation instincts have kicked into high gear. Suddently thin crust pizza from Lucky Zitos and cranberry scones have become acceptable meals. I am not even really concerned with the caloric implications of this, but rather it is the sheer oddity of the situation that things I have not craved nor desired in years are suddenly dancing around in my dreams like the rasinet boxes in the Consolidated Theaters animation intro. Ooooo rasinets. Crap! There goes another defense wall. But seriously what is next? Will I suddenly reverse my aversion to hot dogs that I have harbored since the age of 6 when I tricked my grandmother into feeding me microwaved hotdogs cut into little circles three meals a day while she was taking care of me while my mom was in the hospital giving birth to my brother thus causing me to associate a stomach full of processed meat with trips to the hospital? Will I suddenly forget that I had a horrible bout of food poisioning caused by bad shrimp at an Atlanta chinese restaurant which was futher compounded by a horridly strong margarita thus causing me to associate painful vomiting and fever with tequila? If you catch me doing tequila shooters between plates of hot dog bites dipped in ketchup, please stop me. I am on the road to hell and odd food fixations will be my chariot.
3) Friendster and Myspace. I am not an internet snob. While in college, I was a religious facebooker. And in the days pre-facebook (gasp! yes there was such a time) I was even an avid CampusHooker (if you aren't familiar... you are probably better off). I consider IM to be a highly legitimate form of serious communication, and in fact, I much prefer it to the phone. I met my boyfriend on a networking roommate finder website for godssake. I present all this to you so that you may understand the gravity of my stance against friendster and myspace. I have no problem with these websites, in theory. They operate under the general principles of friendship as the facebook. They contain the same opportunities for passive agressive relationship habits ( changing your staus from "in a relationship" to "single" is the biggest blow you can deal to your 10-minutes-ago-broke-up-on-IM-ex). They are fine by me. I just had no intention of joining them. Why give myself more profiles to update? Why burden myself with the challenge of having to say clever and witty things about myself on the off chance that someone who didn't like me in high school might find that page and feel ashamed for having ever said anything about me being a suck-up or a goody-two-shoes (yes, i know that phrase died in 1958, but you get the idea). It just didn't seem neccessary. But then something changed. I graduated. And in the adult world, no one is on facebook. In most cases they dont even know what it is. So, in order to "fit in" and "be cool" I had to convert to the geeky internet obsession of the elder generations.... Myspace and Friendster. You can now find me on both of those websites. My profiles are half assed and my pictures are poorly chosen. I refused to put my full effort into creating them because it just seemed to terrible that I was abondoning my principles. Although, even as I type this I am considering logging in to update and make myself sound more interesting. See how weak I am? SAVE ME PLEASE!
Those are my most recent capitulations. Prior to those offenses I also capitulated to my natural hair color, I gave in to the devil that is Tivo, I sold my soul for a pair of really high thread count sheets... really all that is left is hard drunks, cigarettes, and body piercing. Ill let you know when the white flag of surrender rears its ugly head again. As for now, stay strong. And order me a pizza.
1) The kitten. Yes he is cute. Yes he is supremely snuggly. But why now? I have been lusting after small furry things for months, what pushed me over the edge? I went from being a completely normal person who finds baby animals to be pleasing to the eye to being a total crazed cat lady who uses her own sleeve to wipe the kitten snot off of her sick little baby's nose and lets him sleep on her head during the night. I have no idea how this happened.
2) Pizza and Scones. These are two food items that i have studiously avoided for some time now. Pizza and I went our seperate ways about 5 years ago, and my on-again, off-again love affair with Scones hasn't flared up since junior year when Sarah and I were frighteningly consistent in our trips to Starbucks. And yet, as the cold weather encroaches on the Windy City, my hibernation instincts have kicked into high gear. Suddently thin crust pizza from Lucky Zitos and cranberry scones have become acceptable meals. I am not even really concerned with the caloric implications of this, but rather it is the sheer oddity of the situation that things I have not craved nor desired in years are suddenly dancing around in my dreams like the rasinet boxes in the Consolidated Theaters animation intro. Ooooo rasinets. Crap! There goes another defense wall. But seriously what is next? Will I suddenly reverse my aversion to hot dogs that I have harbored since the age of 6 when I tricked my grandmother into feeding me microwaved hotdogs cut into little circles three meals a day while she was taking care of me while my mom was in the hospital giving birth to my brother thus causing me to associate a stomach full of processed meat with trips to the hospital? Will I suddenly forget that I had a horrible bout of food poisioning caused by bad shrimp at an Atlanta chinese restaurant which was futher compounded by a horridly strong margarita thus causing me to associate painful vomiting and fever with tequila? If you catch me doing tequila shooters between plates of hot dog bites dipped in ketchup, please stop me. I am on the road to hell and odd food fixations will be my chariot.
3) Friendster and Myspace. I am not an internet snob. While in college, I was a religious facebooker. And in the days pre-facebook (gasp! yes there was such a time) I was even an avid CampusHooker (if you aren't familiar... you are probably better off). I consider IM to be a highly legitimate form of serious communication, and in fact, I much prefer it to the phone. I met my boyfriend on a networking roommate finder website for godssake. I present all this to you so that you may understand the gravity of my stance against friendster and myspace. I have no problem with these websites, in theory. They operate under the general principles of friendship as the facebook. They contain the same opportunities for passive agressive relationship habits ( changing your staus from "in a relationship" to "single" is the biggest blow you can deal to your 10-minutes-ago-broke-up-on-IM-ex). They are fine by me. I just had no intention of joining them. Why give myself more profiles to update? Why burden myself with the challenge of having to say clever and witty things about myself on the off chance that someone who didn't like me in high school might find that page and feel ashamed for having ever said anything about me being a suck-up or a goody-two-shoes (yes, i know that phrase died in 1958, but you get the idea). It just didn't seem neccessary. But then something changed. I graduated. And in the adult world, no one is on facebook. In most cases they dont even know what it is. So, in order to "fit in" and "be cool" I had to convert to the geeky internet obsession of the elder generations.... Myspace and Friendster. You can now find me on both of those websites. My profiles are half assed and my pictures are poorly chosen. I refused to put my full effort into creating them because it just seemed to terrible that I was abondoning my principles. Although, even as I type this I am considering logging in to update and make myself sound more interesting. See how weak I am? SAVE ME PLEASE!
Those are my most recent capitulations. Prior to those offenses I also capitulated to my natural hair color, I gave in to the devil that is Tivo, I sold my soul for a pair of really high thread count sheets... really all that is left is hard drunks, cigarettes, and body piercing. Ill let you know when the white flag of surrender rears its ugly head again. As for now, stay strong. And order me a pizza.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Joe and I got a kitty! His name is Sawyer Gobias Meowsky. He is 2 months old. We adopted him from the anti cruelty society of chicago. He has a bit of a cold, so excuse the sneezing. We bought him a nice soft bed but he likes to sleep in the mail basket. I have already traumatized him on day one by clipping his toenails. Hopefully he doesn't already hate me for life.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
I fully understand that the children of america, the future of our nation, are in jeopardy. The education system is screwed, teachers are underpaid, etc, etc, etc. But there is a far more disturbing problem erupting from the very building that I work in every day. You see, there is a rather large nursing school housed in our lovely building. So everyday when I step off the train, I have to wade through a sea of women in cobalt blue scrubs, all of whom tug around those back-packs on wheels. Yes the back pack on wheels trend is disturbing ( are we now too good for straps? when did that happen?), but that is not my true concern. My concern is that this gaggle of nurses in training can always be found in one of three locations: 1) Loitering outside the Dunkin' Doughnuts 2) Loitering outside the Burger King/ Mc Donalds/ Chicken joint. 3) Loitering outside the building in a large cloud of cigarette smoke. Now, I don't mean to be an elitest health nut but come on. You are training to be nurses people. Would it kill you to trade in a doughnut run for a powerwalk instead? And please, let's discuss which is worse, a pregnant woman smoking, or a medical professional smoking. This goes beyond irony my friends. This is pure insanity.
I just had to pause to put on my glasses. Which means I think I am officially getting old. Either that or I am officially becoming a member of the Cubical Community... the Dilbert World... as I have actually begun to lose my sight from staring at a computer all day. This is no fault of my job, I feel the need to point that out. It is actually the result of my addiction to several crack-like websites:
www.defamer.com
www.gofugyourself.com
www.televisionwithoutpity.com
www.fametracker.com
You take a look at those, and about a week from now, when you can pull your eye away from their riveting content, post me a message letting me know how much you love me for introducing you. Or how much you hate me and how I have ruined your professional life forever. I owe my addiction to Alice M. Walton, my partner in crime at Variety. Now you can credit your addiction to me. Welcome to the life of a gossip junkie. It's a hard life. But very rewarding.
Don't you love it when things live up to the hype? Like Batman Begins. Aside from the rather lackluster/joey in a dull suit performance by Katie Holmes, the movie was awesome. So awesome in fact that it won back millions of movie goers who had written off Batman entirely after the last, rather flawed and ridiculous venture of Batman and Robin. I, of course, was not scared off at all. I thought B&R was great. Beautiful. Riveting. But I might be biased considering that this movie came out about the same time that I was blossiming into my womanhood, and I would have devoured and loved anything in which I could see Chris O'Donnell's body encased in latex.
You know what else totally lived up to the hype? Tivo. I remember hearing about it when it first came out and thinking "Who would pay all that money just to be able to pause live tv? Pee during the commercial breaks you rich freaks." But its legend continued to grow spawning the newest techy verb since "googling". People were "tivoing" everything! I began to fantasize about what it would be like to come home from work in the afternoon and not have to wade through channels looking for something comforting to unwind my mind with only to have to settle for the episode of Full House where they go to Disney World and Stephanie feels left out again (actually one of my faves, but i thought i'd use it in this instance to make a point). And then, I did it. I succommed. I was lured in by the siren song of a free DVR with purchase and now I have joined the ranks of the Tivo elite. And my god. It is fantastic.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that I am the most attractive girl in the city of Chicago? Well I am. Or, well, actually, let me rephrase. I seem to have a level of attractiveness that is noticeable and for some reason inviting to men who have no manners and or discernable grooming routines. That's right. I am a magnet for ugly rude guys. "Hey baby, I wish you were my baby's momma." "I am gonna make you a limited time offer to take a ride on what I'm packin'" " You better have a boyfriend or I am gonna take you home with me right now." "Guuuuurrrrrl you don't know WHAT you're doin to me." All of those brilliantly romantic comments were offered to me during during various trips on the lovely CTA bus system. After years and years of wondering what it would feel like to be legitimately hit on, I am now the queen of disgusting public offers. Why can't I get a normal, if somewhat smarmy guy in an Express for Men leather motorcycle jacket to make a lame-o joke about losing his number and wanting to borrow mine? Then I could just giggle and say, "Sorry, no thanks." and walk a way with a little teasing wiggle in my hips and consider my ego pumped. But no. I get the kind of comments that make vomit rise in my throat and cause me to immediately start digging for my keys and my cell phone just in case I need to stab him in the eye with my mailbox key and start dialing 911 as I sprint down the street in my troublesome stiletto heels. I don't know where I went wrong in my karmic cycle, but I don't think I deserve to be propositioned for dirty acts more than twice a week. It's just too much for a girl to handle.
Alright. that is all the ranting and raving I have stored up for this update....
until we meet again.
I just had to pause to put on my glasses. Which means I think I am officially getting old. Either that or I am officially becoming a member of the Cubical Community... the Dilbert World... as I have actually begun to lose my sight from staring at a computer all day. This is no fault of my job, I feel the need to point that out. It is actually the result of my addiction to several crack-like websites:
www.defamer.com
www.gofugyourself.com
www.televisionwithoutpity.com
www.fametracker.com
You take a look at those, and about a week from now, when you can pull your eye away from their riveting content, post me a message letting me know how much you love me for introducing you. Or how much you hate me and how I have ruined your professional life forever. I owe my addiction to Alice M. Walton, my partner in crime at Variety. Now you can credit your addiction to me. Welcome to the life of a gossip junkie. It's a hard life. But very rewarding.
Don't you love it when things live up to the hype? Like Batman Begins. Aside from the rather lackluster/joey in a dull suit performance by Katie Holmes, the movie was awesome. So awesome in fact that it won back millions of movie goers who had written off Batman entirely after the last, rather flawed and ridiculous venture of Batman and Robin. I, of course, was not scared off at all. I thought B&R was great. Beautiful. Riveting. But I might be biased considering that this movie came out about the same time that I was blossiming into my womanhood, and I would have devoured and loved anything in which I could see Chris O'Donnell's body encased in latex.
You know what else totally lived up to the hype? Tivo. I remember hearing about it when it first came out and thinking "Who would pay all that money just to be able to pause live tv? Pee during the commercial breaks you rich freaks." But its legend continued to grow spawning the newest techy verb since "googling". People were "tivoing" everything! I began to fantasize about what it would be like to come home from work in the afternoon and not have to wade through channels looking for something comforting to unwind my mind with only to have to settle for the episode of Full House where they go to Disney World and Stephanie feels left out again (actually one of my faves, but i thought i'd use it in this instance to make a point). And then, I did it. I succommed. I was lured in by the siren song of a free DVR with purchase and now I have joined the ranks of the Tivo elite. And my god. It is fantastic.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that I am the most attractive girl in the city of Chicago? Well I am. Or, well, actually, let me rephrase. I seem to have a level of attractiveness that is noticeable and for some reason inviting to men who have no manners and or discernable grooming routines. That's right. I am a magnet for ugly rude guys. "Hey baby, I wish you were my baby's momma." "I am gonna make you a limited time offer to take a ride on what I'm packin'" " You better have a boyfriend or I am gonna take you home with me right now." "Guuuuurrrrrl you don't know WHAT you're doin to me." All of those brilliantly romantic comments were offered to me during during various trips on the lovely CTA bus system. After years and years of wondering what it would feel like to be legitimately hit on, I am now the queen of disgusting public offers. Why can't I get a normal, if somewhat smarmy guy in an Express for Men leather motorcycle jacket to make a lame-o joke about losing his number and wanting to borrow mine? Then I could just giggle and say, "Sorry, no thanks." and walk a way with a little teasing wiggle in my hips and consider my ego pumped. But no. I get the kind of comments that make vomit rise in my throat and cause me to immediately start digging for my keys and my cell phone just in case I need to stab him in the eye with my mailbox key and start dialing 911 as I sprint down the street in my troublesome stiletto heels. I don't know where I went wrong in my karmic cycle, but I don't think I deserve to be propositioned for dirty acts more than twice a week. It's just too much for a girl to handle.
Alright. that is all the ranting and raving I have stored up for this update....
until we meet again.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
My Kind of Town
Chicago, Illinois. My new home. I have to say, I like the pizza.
But what I like most of all is that on every single bus and train I have ever ridden in this city (and that is no small number) I always see people giving up their seats. Men giving their seats to ladies. Children giving their seats to the elderly and pregnant women. Somehow, all these commuters who seem so isolated in their little iPod universe manage to be constantly aware of the needs of the people around them. It's incredible. In fact, pretty much everything about my life in this city thus far has been incredible.
For starters, my job. Time Out London was the publication that made me want to be a writer. Now everyday when the elevator opens on the 17th floor of my building, and I see the Time Out logo glowing from inside the glass doors of the office, I get a little smile on my face. I still can't believe I am here. Somedays I feel like a fraud. Like at any moment they could discover that I really am not an expert on shopping or fashion and that my credentials are worthless and my clips lack any discernable talent and they will come and ask me to pack up my things and go. Other days I feel completely capable. I worked for this. I earned this. I hid in bathroom stalls in Los Angeles to eavesdrop on Nicolette Sheridan for this. And let's be honest. Not every moment of the job is a dream come true. Schlepping around the city in uncomfortable shoes to pick out the season's best dog costumes isn't really what I imagined I would do with my life. But nor did I ever expect that I would hear a news achor say my name. As in "We have Jenn Thompson here with us today to share the secrets of fall fashion accessories." I loved hearing my name said in the smooth rich tones of the anchors voice. Now if only I could say the same about hearing my own voice. I have both of my TV apperances tivo'd. But I haven't been able to make it through either of them. I always run out of the room screaming and covering my ears to block out the erie sound of my own words coming through the screen. It's horrifying.
But not as horrifying, apparently , as a Chicago Winter. Which, so I have heard, are practically unbearable. Considering that my idea of winter is a few days during which it drops below 32 degrees and a possible quickly-melting snow fall, I think i am in some serious trouble. I don't own what most people would refer to as "a warm coat". Nor do I really understand the concept of boots that aren't leather and high heeled. Not to mention that it was 50 degrees two mornings last week and I have whipped out the heaviest scarf I own. Of course this was also when my mother was visiting. She saw me walk up with a large purple scarf wrapped all the way up to my nose and began to cackle with laughter. I think she might have even started a pool with my relatives back in NC to see how long it takes before I call begging to come home for the weekend "just to get warm". This is not good. Not good at all. I am told that things don't get really ugly until January or February. At which point, I will have strapped myself down on the couch in our apartment, covered in threee blankets and wearing long underware under my pajamas so as to avoid high gas heating bills. How I will go to work and remain a productive human being remains to be seen. Survival is the main goal.
I think I would find the winter more bearable though, if I had a puppy. Though, I also believe that polio, the plague, and golf tournaments would all be bearable if I had a puppy. I want a puppy rilly rilly bad. However, there are a few things standing between me and puppy bliss: 1) Our apartment doesn't allow them. 2)I cannot afford one 3) I can't decide which kind I want. Obviously I am only really concerned with one of these problems. What kind do I get? Once I solve that, everything else will fall into place. At the moment I am leaning towards a toy beagle. Let me know what you think.
Joe, bless his soul, indulges my puppy lust on a regular basis. He does not call me crazy when I start talking about Gus and Sam and Wrigley ( Beagle, Brown Lab, Blond Lab) as if I actually already own them. He doesn't mind when I fall to my knees and talk in incomprehensible baby talk to a puppy belonging to an unsuspecting stranger who happened to be walking his pup on the street. He has stopped reminding me of problems 1 and 2 whenever I whine "WHYYYYYYYYyyyyyeeee can't we have one???" He is, among other things, a tolerante boy.
Granted, I know that a puppy is not a smart addition to a really nice apartment. He will chew things and pee on things and roll around on things that I would prefer he not. And, let it be said that our apartment is no shabby shelter. I am pretty sure that our sink alone costs the same as a month's rent. So yes, it would be a travesty if our darling little Gus was to chew at the corners of our custom cabinetry, or urinate on our slate tile floor, or playfully tug on my carefully chosen satin window dressings. But when I look into those little adorable puppy eyes... all would be forgiven. Except perhaps by our landlord Mark who actually built the custom cabinetry and laid the tile floors and rehabbed the bathroom and sunk thousands and thousands of dollars into a place far nicer and far bigger than anywhere I could ever afford to live ever again in my life. So, for now, my puppy lust must remain unfullfilled. Thus I as a person, remain incomplete.
Alright. I must end this post a little prematurely so that I can go out and gather up more alarm clocks for our upcoming feature on.. well alarm clocks. Adieu for now and feel free to post comments, questions, complaints.
But what I like most of all is that on every single bus and train I have ever ridden in this city (and that is no small number) I always see people giving up their seats. Men giving their seats to ladies. Children giving their seats to the elderly and pregnant women. Somehow, all these commuters who seem so isolated in their little iPod universe manage to be constantly aware of the needs of the people around them. It's incredible. In fact, pretty much everything about my life in this city thus far has been incredible.
For starters, my job. Time Out London was the publication that made me want to be a writer. Now everyday when the elevator opens on the 17th floor of my building, and I see the Time Out logo glowing from inside the glass doors of the office, I get a little smile on my face. I still can't believe I am here. Somedays I feel like a fraud. Like at any moment they could discover that I really am not an expert on shopping or fashion and that my credentials are worthless and my clips lack any discernable talent and they will come and ask me to pack up my things and go. Other days I feel completely capable. I worked for this. I earned this. I hid in bathroom stalls in Los Angeles to eavesdrop on Nicolette Sheridan for this. And let's be honest. Not every moment of the job is a dream come true. Schlepping around the city in uncomfortable shoes to pick out the season's best dog costumes isn't really what I imagined I would do with my life. But nor did I ever expect that I would hear a news achor say my name. As in "We have Jenn Thompson here with us today to share the secrets of fall fashion accessories." I loved hearing my name said in the smooth rich tones of the anchors voice. Now if only I could say the same about hearing my own voice. I have both of my TV apperances tivo'd. But I haven't been able to make it through either of them. I always run out of the room screaming and covering my ears to block out the erie sound of my own words coming through the screen. It's horrifying.
But not as horrifying, apparently , as a Chicago Winter. Which, so I have heard, are practically unbearable. Considering that my idea of winter is a few days during which it drops below 32 degrees and a possible quickly-melting snow fall, I think i am in some serious trouble. I don't own what most people would refer to as "a warm coat". Nor do I really understand the concept of boots that aren't leather and high heeled. Not to mention that it was 50 degrees two mornings last week and I have whipped out the heaviest scarf I own. Of course this was also when my mother was visiting. She saw me walk up with a large purple scarf wrapped all the way up to my nose and began to cackle with laughter. I think she might have even started a pool with my relatives back in NC to see how long it takes before I call begging to come home for the weekend "just to get warm". This is not good. Not good at all. I am told that things don't get really ugly until January or February. At which point, I will have strapped myself down on the couch in our apartment, covered in threee blankets and wearing long underware under my pajamas so as to avoid high gas heating bills. How I will go to work and remain a productive human being remains to be seen. Survival is the main goal.
I think I would find the winter more bearable though, if I had a puppy. Though, I also believe that polio, the plague, and golf tournaments would all be bearable if I had a puppy. I want a puppy rilly rilly bad. However, there are a few things standing between me and puppy bliss: 1) Our apartment doesn't allow them. 2)I cannot afford one 3) I can't decide which kind I want. Obviously I am only really concerned with one of these problems. What kind do I get? Once I solve that, everything else will fall into place. At the moment I am leaning towards a toy beagle. Let me know what you think.
Joe, bless his soul, indulges my puppy lust on a regular basis. He does not call me crazy when I start talking about Gus and Sam and Wrigley ( Beagle, Brown Lab, Blond Lab) as if I actually already own them. He doesn't mind when I fall to my knees and talk in incomprehensible baby talk to a puppy belonging to an unsuspecting stranger who happened to be walking his pup on the street. He has stopped reminding me of problems 1 and 2 whenever I whine "WHYYYYYYYYyyyyyeeee can't we have one???" He is, among other things, a tolerante boy.
Granted, I know that a puppy is not a smart addition to a really nice apartment. He will chew things and pee on things and roll around on things that I would prefer he not. And, let it be said that our apartment is no shabby shelter. I am pretty sure that our sink alone costs the same as a month's rent. So yes, it would be a travesty if our darling little Gus was to chew at the corners of our custom cabinetry, or urinate on our slate tile floor, or playfully tug on my carefully chosen satin window dressings. But when I look into those little adorable puppy eyes... all would be forgiven. Except perhaps by our landlord Mark who actually built the custom cabinetry and laid the tile floors and rehabbed the bathroom and sunk thousands and thousands of dollars into a place far nicer and far bigger than anywhere I could ever afford to live ever again in my life. So, for now, my puppy lust must remain unfullfilled. Thus I as a person, remain incomplete.
Alright. I must end this post a little prematurely so that I can go out and gather up more alarm clocks for our upcoming feature on.. well alarm clocks. Adieu for now and feel free to post comments, questions, complaints.
Friday, January 21, 2005
The Surreal Life
You know what the worst part of my day is? The drive home. Traffic that oozes along painfully coming to a dead stop at each of 11 stop lights that cover the five blocks on either side of Rodeo Drive. What should be a 15 minute route turns into 45 minutes... or longer should one have the misfortune of getting behind a grumbling LA transit bus. I am surrounded on all four sides by frustrated drivers who are all inching up on the tailgate in front of them, hoping that those three inches will somehow contribute to getting them home a little bit faster. But I am not looking at the other drivers or at the bumper in front of me. I am looking up.
A mere head-tilt of about 10 degrees and suddenly I see things which practically take my breath away. Sillhouettes of towering palm trees standing out against a brilliant pink and orange sky... the waving flags of a Beverly Hills luxury hotel... the glitter of a designer window display. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like I am watching a movie. Because for 20 years of my life, that was the reality. Places like this only exist in movies. And somehow, even when I am sitting right in the middle of Sunset on Wilshire Blvd. Take 12, it still seems like I am watching it from far away. Somehow, I still don't believe that this is my life.
Although I may have denied being a "star obsessed" person, lets face it, that was a load of crap. If it was on E!, I watched it. If it walked down a red carpet, I drooled over it. And if it was Chris O'Donnell.. .well then I kissed it's picture goodnight every night for about 2.5 years.
Until recently, my biggest celebrity sighting was Steven Tyler in the lobby of a hotel in Disney World when I wasn't even old enough to know who Aerosmith was. Although now that I am old enough, I would like to say that I think "Hole in my Soul" was a completely overlooked Aerosmith song. It may not have been on par with their old classics, but it was good enough that I bought the single of it (on a cassette tape no less!) and taped the video off of VH1.
I digress. My point is that the odd sight of Steven Tyler pushing a baby stroller in shiny leather pants was my only close brush with a celebrity for the majority of my life. (With the exception of the notorious Jude Law Day in London. But making eye contact with Jude Law was so excruciatingly beautiful that I like to think of it as not being worthy of a blog publication, so it will only get this parenthetical mention).
And now? Well, here is my celebrity tally so far: (Everyone on this list I have been within a few feet of, touched, or spoken to.. I have attempted to put them in chronological order).
Reese Witherspoon
Ryan Phillippe
Madeline Stowe
Montana (from the Real World)
Carlton (from Fresh Prince)
Ali Landry
Tom Arnold
Kevin Bacon
Kyra Sedgewick
Eva Mendes
Daniel Stern
Elijah Wood
Joley Richardson
Mel Gibson
Olivia Newton John
Geoffery Rush
Gary Busey
Nick Stahl
Nicole Kidman
Erika Christensen
Ted Casablanca (from E!)
Julian McMahon (from Nip/Tuck)
Cate Blanchett
Ok. I think I got them all. Whew. Ok. So even as I typed that... It still didn't feel real. Not because I still think of them as being "non-human" . I have known better than to think like that for a long time. But just because it seems so... impossible. That I could go from watching E! and writing for the underlings at The Old Gold and Black to covering red carpets and grabbing quotes from Kevin Bacon like it is nothing.
I am sure there are some of you who will read this and say "Yeah, covering red carpets is real intellectual work, way to use your Wake Forest education." And you aren't wrong. It isn't rocket science, it is Hollywood. The clothes, the shoes, the love affairs, the movie deals, the studio promotions... it's all just stuff... fluff even. I grant you that. But even the simple act of sitting in this swivel chair sorting press releases filled with fluff on a Friday afternoon represents something important, to me and, I am willing to bet, to you too. It's important because it represents a dream accomplished. A silly, girlish, starstruck dream... and I did it.
And if there is one thing you can find in Los Angeles, it is people chasing dreams that they know full well may never come true. But that is true everywhere. In every city. People with dreams that reside just outside their conception of reality and possibility. And somehow.. I managed to do it. And it feels wonderful.
Hopefully this wont be the last time in my life I feel like this... like I accomplished something special for my self. Something that excites the little 13 year old inside of me that kissed Chris O Donnell's picture every night before climbing into bed.
Hopefully this is just the beginning for me.
I think I am ready for what's next... even if I can't believe it's happening.
A mere head-tilt of about 10 degrees and suddenly I see things which practically take my breath away. Sillhouettes of towering palm trees standing out against a brilliant pink and orange sky... the waving flags of a Beverly Hills luxury hotel... the glitter of a designer window display. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like I am watching a movie. Because for 20 years of my life, that was the reality. Places like this only exist in movies. And somehow, even when I am sitting right in the middle of Sunset on Wilshire Blvd. Take 12, it still seems like I am watching it from far away. Somehow, I still don't believe that this is my life.
Although I may have denied being a "star obsessed" person, lets face it, that was a load of crap. If it was on E!, I watched it. If it walked down a red carpet, I drooled over it. And if it was Chris O'Donnell.. .well then I kissed it's picture goodnight every night for about 2.5 years.
Until recently, my biggest celebrity sighting was Steven Tyler in the lobby of a hotel in Disney World when I wasn't even old enough to know who Aerosmith was. Although now that I am old enough, I would like to say that I think "Hole in my Soul" was a completely overlooked Aerosmith song. It may not have been on par with their old classics, but it was good enough that I bought the single of it (on a cassette tape no less!) and taped the video off of VH1.
I digress. My point is that the odd sight of Steven Tyler pushing a baby stroller in shiny leather pants was my only close brush with a celebrity for the majority of my life. (With the exception of the notorious Jude Law Day in London. But making eye contact with Jude Law was so excruciatingly beautiful that I like to think of it as not being worthy of a blog publication, so it will only get this parenthetical mention).
And now? Well, here is my celebrity tally so far: (Everyone on this list I have been within a few feet of, touched, or spoken to.. I have attempted to put them in chronological order).
Reese Witherspoon
Ryan Phillippe
Madeline Stowe
Montana (from the Real World)
Carlton (from Fresh Prince)
Ali Landry
Tom Arnold
Kevin Bacon
Kyra Sedgewick
Eva Mendes
Daniel Stern
Elijah Wood
Joley Richardson
Mel Gibson
Olivia Newton John
Geoffery Rush
Gary Busey
Nick Stahl
Nicole Kidman
Erika Christensen
Ted Casablanca (from E!)
Julian McMahon (from Nip/Tuck)
Cate Blanchett
Ok. I think I got them all. Whew. Ok. So even as I typed that... It still didn't feel real. Not because I still think of them as being "non-human" . I have known better than to think like that for a long time. But just because it seems so... impossible. That I could go from watching E! and writing for the underlings at The Old Gold and Black to covering red carpets and grabbing quotes from Kevin Bacon like it is nothing.
I am sure there are some of you who will read this and say "Yeah, covering red carpets is real intellectual work, way to use your Wake Forest education." And you aren't wrong. It isn't rocket science, it is Hollywood. The clothes, the shoes, the love affairs, the movie deals, the studio promotions... it's all just stuff... fluff even. I grant you that. But even the simple act of sitting in this swivel chair sorting press releases filled with fluff on a Friday afternoon represents something important, to me and, I am willing to bet, to you too. It's important because it represents a dream accomplished. A silly, girlish, starstruck dream... and I did it.
And if there is one thing you can find in Los Angeles, it is people chasing dreams that they know full well may never come true. But that is true everywhere. In every city. People with dreams that reside just outside their conception of reality and possibility. And somehow.. I managed to do it. And it feels wonderful.
Hopefully this wont be the last time in my life I feel like this... like I accomplished something special for my self. Something that excites the little 13 year old inside of me that kissed Chris O Donnell's picture every night before climbing into bed.
Hopefully this is just the beginning for me.
I think I am ready for what's next... even if I can't believe it's happening.
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