Friday, October 1, 2010

A self-indulgent post about my self-indulgence

I, like I suspect many others of my generation, went out tonight and saw "The Social Network."

Now, I'd go out to see a movie written by Aaron Sorkin and directed by David Fincher if it was about the creator of the metal detector. I'd also see movies by lesser known and talented people, but I digress. I was there. And I loved it.

I didn't realize I joined Facebook so early on in its existence. It launched in February of 2004. I was on it by that May, though I don't remember the exact date. Northeastern was definitely one of the first schools it branched out to, as I believe after the Ivy Leagues, they hit the Boston schools.

I don't remember who invited me or how I set it up (I didn't even remember there was an invitation process), but I do remember sitting on my dorm room sofa, in front of a window, dressed in a black shirt, my hair twisted back from my face, holding up my digital camera (my second large purchase with my Boston Globe internship money -- first was an iPod mini) and trying to take a photo that made it look like I didn't care what my Facebook photo was. It's good to see I wasn't the only lemming of my time.

I had just turned 20. I was "reeling" from two break-ups in a years time. The first was my high school boyfriend. The second was the man that was going to be my husband. I'm almost certain they were the first two people I sought out when I signed up.

I remember seeing said HS boyfriend at a mutual friend's house not that long after. "Oh, I didn't realize you were on facebook," I said. (Bull). I had used it to find him, his new girlfriend, various exes, THEIR girlfriends of current and past and over the past six years have used it to stalk numerous people. I get angry when privacy settings get in the way of what I want to know about that girl I used to know 20 years ago. I can' see her face! What does she DO? I tend to rely on Facebook to tell me anything I want to know about a person in a few short lines and then I fill out the rest in my head. A lame bio quote can be so telling...

Facebook is my Internet footprint, the first thing that comes up when you search my name, which is both apropos given how much time I spend on it, and sad, given that I used to be a published writer in a past life. (Today's Local News out of Northern San Diego didn't take off quite like some other ventures of the decade. In fact, they've spiked the website, wiping from existence any proof I ever wrote there or was ever a full-time writer. Perhaps that's a good thing.)

It's crazy to think how Facebook is such a symbol of my generation (I think "my generation," anyways. Zuckerberg and I are the same age and were the same year in college.) I wonder how many hours of thought I've put into it in the past six years. What my profile picture would be (we have 3 wedding pictures printed out in our house -- I have over 450 on Facebook), how my "interests" would make me appear to other people, who to friend and when to friend them (usually one meeting is enough for me to seek you out.) Whenever I friend request someone I don't know that well and they accept, I go to my page and look over my profile. I'm admitting this in a sort of blase way, but it is embarrassing. I try and take an unbiased overview of my page. What do these lines of code and data I update infrequently say about me?

Whenever I host live chats, commenters will ask me to put up a picture (I use an avatar instead and have no interest in sharing the sad truth with them.) I'm not particularly flattered by this, there's just as many people who implore me to shut up. They want to see my picture to see if I fulfil some fantasy about girls and sports. Regardless, I always think, "Why don't they Facebook me?" Some of them do, I know because they friend request me. But I always wonder how I come off. Probably as someone's who's trying too hard and not doing it well enough to make it look easy.

I'd like my internet footprint to be more than Facebook someday. I admire people with great ideas and hope that one day I have one.

And Facebook would probably be the first place I'd share it.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

The one where...

I just ate the World's Worst Sandwich.

There's a lot of hyperbole out there these days. There's even hyperbole of hyperbole. But you have to believe me when I tell you this was, without a doubt, with no exaggeration, hand to God, the World's Worst Sandwich.

Not only is this the only sandwich they serve in Hell's cafeteria, you have to share this sandwich with Satan, who eats this sandwich with his mouth open for all of eternity.

The remains of the World's Worst Sandwich.

I stood in a long line to order the World's Worst Sandwich. I waited among weary travelers, and you could just TELL no one in the group was entirely jazzed about the sandwich selection. But here we were.

I scanned the board of options. It was one of those places where it lists the calorie count next to each choice.

"How helpful," I thought. Thinking back, I had a fairly large lunch where I had an absolutely delightful blackened salmon sandwich. Clearly, I was tempting fate, mocking the sandwich Gods by attempting to have two delicious sandwiches in one day.

I chose a sandwich with 400 some odd calories. This sandwich will allow me to be conscious of my figure, I said to myself. Then I would wash down with a bucket sized coke.

I was immediately filled with regret when I ordered the World's Worst Sandwich. It was a moment that I will no doubt replay in my mind over and over. As I swiped my debit card -- paying more than $9 for the World's Worst Sandwich by the way -- my stomach immediately curdled. I had no desire to eat this sandwich. It was too late though. The events that would deliver me the World's Worst Sandwich were already in motion.

I went to fill up my coke and then wandered back to the sandwich station. An open glass case allowed me to watch as the World's Worst Sandwich was created. I scanned the ingredient buffet, wondering exactly which components were ear-marked for my sandwich. I located them, and I wretched.

Let me tell you something, blog readers, roasted vegetables should never be applied to a sandwich via an ice cream scoop.

I watched the counter boy, the little demon, wipe the sandwich cutting knife across his apron before he sliced the World's Worst Sandwich. I was very appreciative of how conscious he was: whatever trace of tomato juice he wiped off was obviously an upgrade to the rat feces it looked like he washed his apron in.

My number was called. I went to collect the World's Worst Sandwich. But there was a twist.

What's this? A bag of potato chips accompanies the World's Worst Sandwich! Things are looking up!

I was instantly psyched by this positive development in my dinner, but as the bag made the transfer into my hands, I was swiftly crushed: It was the smallest bag of potato chips I've ever seen in my LIFE.

On the back of the potato chip bag it says, "All the flavor. Where's the fat?"

Well, I have a question for you, potato chip bag copywriter.... Where's the [expletive] chips?

I know it's hard to see, so let me tell you that this bag of potato chips had exactly 10 chips in it. And, shocker, they were awful. They don't even bother to call them potato chips. They call them "popped chip snack." Eff you.

I brought the World's Worst Sandwich back to my car. I unwrapped it, surveyed it. It looked dreadful. But still, I'd paid for it. So I bit in.

I should have just taken this sandwich, found the person I hated most in the world, and thrown it in their face. That would have been the appropriate purpose of this sandwich. Every ingredient was the wrong temperature. It tasted like pickled dirt.

If they replaced the hospital pain chart with a chart of sandwiches, with a nice, crispy spicy buffalo chicken sandwich being a 1 -- this sandwich would represent pain so intense you begged for death. I would rather die than eat this sandwich again.

I ate a third of it anyway. Then I crumpled it up and put it on the driver's side seat. I considered running this sandwich into a tree. Taking this sandwich far out in the woods and burying it.

Instead I brought it home and threw it in the trash.

So thank you, Charlton, Massachusetts rest stop "Fresh City," for providing me with the World's Worst Sandwich. You win this time. I learned a valuable lesson today that if I desire a nosh, but also need gas, I would be better off drinking straight from the pump than eating this sandwich.

And I'm still hungry.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Home is wherever I'm with you

I'm not having a great evening. I rarely cry (and I'm not now), but when I'm feeling down, I try and remind myself how lucky I am. And then I feel even more sad because I'm such a cheesy writer.

  • My life is 6% better right now because: My husband has made me a home cooked meal the past two nights. And seriously HOME COOKED. There have been carrots pealed and diced, from-scratch marinara sauces simmering and more parsley purchased than will garnish the plates at Applebees this month. It's part of a challenge Jeff is doing, and I'm proud of him for it. And the food is gooooooood. (Check out Jeff's blog for more details of this exciting new project.)
  • My life is 4.5% better because: Louis CK. I'm mildly obsessed with him right now. Are you watching his show on FX? It's absurdly hilarious. Unless I'm watching it with my mom, in which case it is completely inappropriate and should be canceled immediately.
  • My life is 3% better because: I hate to come back to food so quickly, but my aunt's homemade blueberry jam/jelly (hell if I know the difference) has been the highlight of my mornings. Things are just seriously, so much better when they are homemade. The Amish are onto something!
  • My life is 2.37% better because: I found a pair of shorts that I like for the first time since I was a teenager. That is a long time to wear pants in the heat, a lot of unnecessary sweating, a LOT of leg paleness LET ME TELL YOU.
  • My life is 1.48% better because: I'm drinking beer now. I decided to get into it, GIVE IT A WHIRL, find out what all the RAVES are about. I started with the girly beers (Bud Light Lime anyone?) and am slowly working my way through the Sam Adamses of the world. Not sure it will ever be my first choice, but I'll never feel lonely at a kegger again.
  • My life is 0.72% better because: Our credit cards are paid off, our non-student loan debt is nearly non-existent, and we're on the track to start buying a home. How FREAKING exciting. It's like I'm almost an adult! (Hoping to get all the way there by 32.)
  • My life is .0065% better because: I'm working hard, and I know I am. It's satisfying, and it makes me better than you.
What is making your life good right now?

Monday, July 12, 2010

The hate list

I gotta be honest with you, blog reader: not a lot of thought goes into my blog posts. I don't spend a lot of time crafting a thesis, writing an outline, or stealing jokes from lesser known bloggers. I don't even usually re-read my posts cause damn... I do that all day.

I usually say, hey self... why don't you blog something so you don't feel like such a fracking failure of a writer. Then I cry for 30 minutes, find a topic and head over here to rattle off 15 minutes worth of thoughts, hit publish and send the contents of my word vomit out into cyber space to be found by the kind of people who google, "construction company picnic games contests." (Seriously.)

Just wanted to give you a little insight into the mind of the blog magician.

But since you're here, hey, how about a little story?

When I was in high school (GLORY DAYS!), I used to hang out in big packs of people. On weekend nights, my mother would literally drop me on corners and a huge crowd of like 30 friends would wander the neighborhood until we found a parent willing to let the group of us into their basement where we would TOTALLY MAKE OUT.

When we weren't attempting to open beer bottles by breaking them on the cement, we did things like compile a "Hate List." Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking we put other students on it, and spread vicious rumors about classmates. But alas, dear blog reader, my life is not a Tina Fey movie. Examples of things on our hate list included: The pledge of allegiance, the Mowry sisters, and the quadratic formula. See, we couldn't spread vicious rumors about the nerds in our class because WE WERE THE NERDS. And weeeeeee were quirky!

Anyways, I'm pretty sure I held said hate list for the duration of high school, and we'd add as necessary. And then I lost it. I'd give my right arm to see it because it became legendary and I could really use it to milk for a blog post. Oh wait...

As I've gotten older, there's a lot more to hate. Here's a few things I hate:
  • Milk.
  • The fact that no one cleans up after me.
  • Anyone who runs a mile under 12 minutes.
  • Sylvester Stallone's creepy arms.
  • Fake laughter.
  • Thinking.
  • Bad iced coffee.
  • When my windshield wipers get sucky.
  • Myself, for reading Perez
  • Star Wars/Major League quotes.
  • Celebrities who drop 40 pounds 3 weeks after they give birth to four pound babies.
  • Sunshine.
  • Sherbet.
  • Guilt trips.
  • Crazy cakes statements from Jesse Jackson.
  • LOLing over 16.
  • Renee Zellweger's weird squish face.
  • People who spell Twilight -- Twighlight. You are just all kinds of dumb, girl.
  • High school boys with more precise hairdos than I have.
  • People who insist I repeat my last name so they can know how to pronounce it correctly when it doesn't matter/they won't remember.
  • Anyone who thought the following movies were good: Step Brothers, No Country for Old Men or The Thin Red Line.
  • The fact I will never look like this.
  • Insects.
  • Kombucha. Because I don't know what it is and all of a sudden it's everywhere. I fear what I do not understand.
  • Lady Gaga.
  • HTML.
  • Men's Health.
  • The credit card commercial that ends with a song playing that says, "Callll meeeeeeee."
  • Nurses who can't spell surgery. There ain't no sugar in it.
  • When I want to drop a swear word on the internet but I can't because my "mom" and "my superiors" read my blog.
  • The fact that this man and I will never be one.
  • Laziness.
  • My back.
  • When my mix CDs get scratched.
  • Having to create user names and passwords for EVERYTHING.
  • Bloggers who get free stuff. That ain't fair. I want a year long supply of Venus flytraps, Jordan almonds, desk calendars, SOMETHING.
  • Excessive hating. Seriously, lighten up.
I'm thinking I'll add to this list as time goes on because I do hate so, so much. What do you hate dear reader? An no, no names.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

I'll bet that you look good on the dancefloor

Do you like music? You do? Gosh, we have so much in common.

I'm a girl. No.... really. As such, I've had a few mix tapes made for me in my life. I guess I attract that kind of man. It could be worse. I could attract the kind of man who gives me an STD.

Mix tapes are a great thing to receive, whether it be from a friend or someone who's interested in you (the MORE you KNOW). Jeff has made me a boat load of mix CDs in our relationship, I'd venture to say over 30. He's been, basically, my entire source of new music over the last four or so years. He always complains how I don't make any mix CDs for him... how could I? I'm a hermit.

But recently, I've been exchanging mix CDs with a friend. And like Rob Gordon once said, "The making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many do's and don'ts. First of all you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing."

When you make somebody a mix CD you desperately want them to love it. You want them to think, "The maker of this CD is keenly aware of all things cool. She obviously is someone with many friends with tattoos and piercings and probably once had purple hair. She eats all her food with chopsticks and conducts her business at coffee houses. She knows sign language and has been to Croatia."

Anywhoozle, I went the ol' Cover Songs route the last exchange. And if I do say so myself, it was pretty dope. (Do people still use that word? If not, they will, because I have, and I am at the forefront of TRENDS.)

Here be the track list. And here's a link to all the songs on a playlist. Love 8tracks!

Track 01: Into the Mystic -- Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (Van Morrison)

A few months ago I saw a little movie called "Once." If you have not seen this movie, you need to DROP IT right now and rent it. I enjoyed it so much I watched it twice, nearly back to back. I loved it so much I wouldn't shut up about it. I like it so much that you would not want to see it just because, just to spite me, because I love it so much. While spite is a perfectly good reason not to see a movie, I urge you not to miss out just because I make you roll your eyes. The movie stars the aformentioned Hansard/Irglova combo and their voices are like butter and brown sugar together. And Into the Mystic is one of my favorite songs of all time.

Track 02: Baby I'm Yours -- Arctic Monkeys

Track 03: Overkill -- Colin Hay
Technically cheating. I did not know this was a self cover until I was halfway through watching the VIDEO of the original and thought to myself, "Duhhh... these two lead singers sound awfully alike!" Then I walked into a doorframe and washed a pen with my clothes.

Track 04: Bizarre Love Triangle -- Frente!
Don't you love when a female covers a male vocal? This song is so stripped down it's GAWGEOUS.

Track 05: Jolene -- White Stripes
GOOSEBUMPS. Not the series, the sensation.

Track 06: I Just Can't Help Falling in Love With You -- U2
Track 07: Just Like Heaven -- Laura Cortese
Track 08: Hurt -- Johnny Cash
Track 09: Asshole -- Tom Petty
Track 10: Sheena Is a Punk Rocker -- Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs
Track 11: Live and Let Die -- Guns and Roses

These are all pretty self explanatory, right? I'm going to keep going if you don't mind.

Track 12: Gone Daddy Gone -- Gnarls Barkley
I popped this one on here because said friend is a Violent Femmes fan. For some reason this song makes me want to the do the mashed potato (do the mashed potato).

Track 13: Don't Let Me Down -- Stereophonics
Track 14: Romeo and Juliet -- The Killers
Track 15: Scarlet Begonias -- Sublime

Track 16: You Ain't Going Nowhere -- Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova
So nice I had to include them twice. Oooooo weeee!

Track 17: Running to Stand Still -- Elbow
Track 18: Wonderwall -- Ryan Adams (Thanks Jessica!)
Track 19: Mad World -- Gary Jules (it's a cover, look it up!)
Track 20: Last Kiss -- Pearl Jam
Track 21: I Will Survive -- Cake

Track 22: I Just Gotta Get a Message to You -- Gavin Castleton
I love a good key change. Who doesn't?

What other good covers are there out there? Anyone else have any good summer playlists they want to share? Hello... is this thing on?

Friday, June 4, 2010

It couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Did you know that one of the suggestions blogspot gives you for tags is "scooters"?

I'm afraid I'm not here to write about scooters. I have something even more exciting than scooters to talk about. No, not super shammies.... EVEN better.

I had a good week/end. And is there anything that makes you feel better about your life than knowing my life is good? I thought not.

It all started at Sharx. (Not a gay bar, unfortunately.)

Duh... nuh... duh... nuh... dun nuh dun nuh.

I brought my clever pop culture references down to Rhode Island for a night to celebrate the 27th of one of Earth's truly fine fellas: my bestie Justin.

The birthday boy.

Not the birthday boy.

It was a truly fine time. I drank some girly drinks, reminisced with my oldest friends about all the dumb stuff we used to do and ate boneless buffalo wings at an unreasonable hour. Success!

But Rhode Island wasn't done with me yet. Not by a long shot.

(I thought this blog needed a little cliffhanger drama.)

The next day Jeff and I headed back to the Ocean State for a BBQ at my uncle's beautiful Scituate home.

Jeff gets SUPER excited when I take him out.

Jeff played about four hours of "bag toss"...

... while I took emo pics of myself lying in the grass. (I call this one "Morning Mist.")

We were also there to celebrate my gorgeous cousin Katie's birthday. (She's the blonde, in case you have trouble deciphering obvious pictures.)

How CUTE is my cousins' baby McKenna? Don't you want to DIE, just LITERALLY DIE when you see this picture? No? Still alive? It's cool, you don't have a soul.

Family time done, Jeff and I were off to NYC in the morning....

We got there around 1 p.m. and headed over the Virgil's for BBQ off a recommendation from my buddy Tim.

I'm not much of a BBQ fan, but this was very good. Jeff loved his sandwich. You still with me?

That night we were headed out to see Conan's live show at Radio City Music Hall.


See these two blurry figures? That's Jessica (at this here hyperlink you can find her highly entertaining blog -- and yes, she's that stunning in person) and her band dude a.k.a husband, Jesse. They were friends of a friend who became real friends because who wouldn't want to be friends with me?

Don't answer that.

Anyways, they've become a staple on NYC trips whether they want to be or not. They met us out at a brewery near Radio City and we talked all things hip. There was an extended conversation on horror movies that I didn't contribute to much (Me: "Derrrrr, I don't like scary movies.") These two actually submitted themselves to the Human Centipede.

And then they submitted themselves to some photos of us, which might be equally disturbing. (I'm on the forefront of self-depricating humor.)

These pictures are a good example of how much cooler Jessica is than I am.

Here's a photo she took of us on my iPhone camera.

And one with hers.


Sent away in shame because of my inferior cellphone picture technology (jkjkjk) we were off to Conan!

And I did. Oh, I did.

Conan's show was awesome. Totally worth the trip, from the opening act to the end. You know what's fun? Laughing. And I did. A lot. WIN.

The next morning, we were off to Hoboken, N.J. While Jeff conducted a phone interview, I took some more pictures of myself.

I am so into me.

One of these days I'll get it right.

View of NYC from Hoboken.

Cannoli pit stop.

We met up with Zach, one of Jeff's groomsmen and best friends who gave us the 10 cent tour of Hoboken and subjected us to a series of thought provoking questions that made me question my entire existence for about a good 17 minutes.

Then Zach, Jeff and I headed to....

Over the past few weeks my coworkers have spent an unreasonable amount of time talking about ballpark food. Seriously, take the amount of time you could comfortably talk about what food you enjoy/don't enjoy eating at a ballpark, double it, multiply it by pi and add four hours and that's how long we talked about it. So here's my sausage and peppers guys.

Crazy eyes, killa!
Zach and Jeff. Missing is the third piece of the triangle, good friend Steve Sears, who was the best man at my wedding and the frosting in this oreo. Zach managed to call him, though, to keep him part of the group, greeting him over the phone, "Hey, stupid."

It was a beautiful night for a ballgame, and these two spoke while I daydreamed about if I could jump from my seat and manage to grab onto the foul pole. (Spoiler: I decided against it.)

All in all, it was a good week/end. (And other generic endings to posts.)

For those that read to the end, what would you like to see me write about, anything? Nothing? Leave me a comment if you read.

Friday, May 28, 2010

No one's interested in something you didn't do

You know what I like? Pictures. You know what's even better than pictures? Cell phone pictures. When I see something cool, I instantly want to remember that moment as it would have appeared to me after Dwight Howard and I played one on one. (You come here, of course, for the topical humor.)

What better place to clean out my iPhone then on my blog. Here are some images I've captured over the last few months.

You can't really see what's going on here. That is the point of cell phone photography. On a related note, I snapped these two old women while they were in Dunkin Donuts one weekday morning, ignoring each other and texting on their cell phones. I like to imagine they were texting each other.

Old lady #1: "Have you tried the new bagel twists, homie?"
Old lady #2: "Natch."
Old lady #1: "LOL"
Old lady #2: "Let's put the top down and listen to some GAGA."

I wanted these sneakers for Christmas. I took a photo of the shoes and the box with the brand name and style and forwarded it around to the appropriate people. I didn't get them. This is because most of the people who buy me presents don't actually like me all that much.

After I scoped out the sneakers, I went to the GAP and took pictures of myself trying on clothes. This was all while I was supposed to be out buying Christmas presents for other people. Should I have gotten this dress? It could have changed my entire existence. Just another one of those what-ifs in life.

"Look at this jerk," I said to myself while I snapped this picture. "People will be as outraged as me when they see this photo."

Jeff was pretty excited to go out and play some golf one Saturday morning. Did I mention those shorts are reversable, BECAUSE THEY ARE. Find the five hidden unicorns in our bedroom!

Jeff and I went to go see Seinfeld at Foxwoods. What's the deal with my husband never wanting to pose for pictures?

This is me on the other side of the table, so now you can truly put the pieces together.

This is a picture of something on the SportsCenter set. I'm pretty sure it includes the key to the finale of LOST. (You definitely came for the topical humor!)

It's fair to describe my caption skills as mediocre, but with a birthday party, Memorial Day and trip to NYC upcoming, you'll have lots to look forward in the upcoming days in terms of mobile photography. Maybe I'll do a submit your own caption, because the people seem to like those.

Did you know I have 22 subscribers to this blog... seriously, who are you folks? Reveal yourself and win a free T-shirt!

Sunday, May 23, 2010

See you in another life, brutha

And my reign of clever blog post titles CONTINUES. Awwww yeah... nice. E-five!

What I'm going to do in this here blog post is do a bit of a "live blog" of the LOST finale. It's totally my thing, but you kind of knew that. And you're so glad you came. So come, waste a few minutes of your life with me. ::Takes off shoes, puts on sneakers::

8:05: I'm going to go get a fountain coke (oops, you'd have LOVED to know what I typed there by accident) from the Cumberland Farms up the road. Brb.

8:21: ::Sips coke:: (oh man, that typo would be really unfortunate there). Ah, something about a fountain coke that's better than a regular one, amirite? The sugar is concentrated! And what's the deal with those automatic flushing toilets? Wacky!

My options at the gas station for cups were, no joke, LARGE, LARGE and LARGE. This cup is heavier than a newborn baby. So DON'T YOU JUDGE ME! At least I wasn't there to buy cigarettes. Those things will kill ya. ::Pops peanut M&M::

Anyways, where were we? Ah, the LOST finale. I just want you to know, that while I'm not the biggest LOST superfan on planet Earth, I never wavered in my support of the show. Even in the finale stinks, it will still be one of the best shows ever on TV. That said, if the finale sucks, I may murder a stray cat, just to get a release.

8:27: "Tonight at 12, cure for food allergies in a shot glass of hookworms?" Um, pass.

8:42: They've just gotten to the recap of the Richard episode of this season. I say... second best regular season (non-finale) episode of the show. The episode where Charlie dies was probably the best. Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation here.

8:49: Ten minutes away! How's that for an update!

8:55: Worst job in show business -- John Locke's body double.

8:59: And aaaaawwwwwwayyyy we go!

9:00: Gahhhh we don't need more recap, just got on with it brutha!

9:08: I'm feeling the beginning already. They've stepped up everything, the acting, the scenery, the music, like they always do for finales. This exchange also took place between Jeff and I.

Me: "I think Jack is dying in this episode."

Jeff: "I agree." ::pause:: "You should get that prediction down. That way you can prove you predicted it. That's how predictions work." Predication.... made.

9:15: "What was this dog's name? Mitch? Buddy? Spot?" Oh hey, it's Rose and Bernard. Don't care, don't care, don't care. "Oh yes Desmond, you will." Not the best dialogue ever. We're 20 minutes in friends.

Am I the only one enjoying this NBA speech-autotune commercials? I think they're creative. Jeff thinks they're awful. Thoughts? Leave them in the comments. Or just speak directly at the screen. It's the thought that counts.

9:21: Miles and Richard. Two characters I do care about, yet completely forgot about coming into this finale. Yikes, they have a lot of loose ends here.

9:24: Oh hai, Juliet.

9:25: I never get any cool flashbacks. I only get very specific hunger cravings. My life sucks.

9:27: "I can access your mind... through your dreams." Not now, "Inception" trailer. I can't handle. Wait your turn to scramble my brain please.

9:36: Oooooh! Jack v. Smoke Monster. Royal Rumble.

The thing is.... Jack is ALWAYS wrong. They've pretty much established that as a given this entire series. So... will tonight be different? Will pigs fly? Will hell freeze over? And who said you could finish all the peanut M&Ms BRO?

9:40: Juliet is the MOM. I did not see that .... well, yeah I kinda did. And what divorced people get along that well? This really is a sideways world! (See... see what I did there?)

9:46: Speaking of "seeing what you did there" .... bravo Target. Advertising works, kids.

9:48: I just got choked up because I'm honestly going miss Hurley on TV.

Shannon and Sayid: Goosebumps. Hello, beautiful people. Ridiculously beautiful people.

9:53: Finale definitely not letting me down so far. It's moving along at a good pace. I'm actually starting to get sad it's almost over. Also not letting me down: Twitter trending "Smoke Monster" right under "Craig Sager." If the smoke monster had taken the shape of Craig Sager, this would have been a much different show.

10:00: I never get invited to swank parties to benefit Natural History Museums. I don't think I've ever been to a Natural History Museum period. I don't even know what natural history means! My life sucks.

10:03: What just happened, what just happened, what just happened?! Jack is wrong again?!? What just happened, what just happened, what just happened?! OR IS HE?!

Jacob chose... poorly. And now the island is going to rapidly age and blow into dust!

I just told my coworker Chris, on the West coast, that "things just got gully." I brought that word back from a past life. I shall now beat it into the ground over the next few weeks, kthx.

10:12: I sure hope when the day comes, and I have to deliver a baby, the labor lasts 5 minutes and I push three times. #ThingsImWillingToOverlook. Oh, is this not Twitter?

10:18: Words failing me. They're really bringing it. Halfway through mon freres.

10:23: "Now it's Creed! Now Balboa!" And yes, I got that spear in the side Biblical reference, LOST. You can't put one past ol' Emily, nosireebob. HATED Kate's line, LIKED (didn't LOVE) that she was the one to kill him. Kinda.

10:28: This live blog has really fallen apart, eh? Tonight, a friend of mine used the word "ill-conceived" to describe me. Right... what kind of description is that? One hour left!

10:33: "See me where?" That's what I want to know!! Where are they going? Am I invited? No? I'm not? Why not? What's wrong with the way I dress? You don't have to be that way about it.

10:36: "Tell me I'm going to see you again." Oh, I'll tell you... WITH MY TONGUE.

10:45: "Did we live together in the 70s?" -- Line courtesy of my husband.

10:48: LOST: Making finale clip shows WORK.

10:57: They're really packing a punch emotionally, eh? "I'll see you in another life, brutha!" Whammo! The rest of this blog is just going to be me making sound effects.

11:05: You know, I don't know what the light is but I don't really care. This show is just so yummy.

10:12: Michael Emerson, one of the best actors on TV, period. Hope he lands somewhere. AND WHERE ARE THEY GOING?

10:15: 15 minutes and LOST is DONE. Sad face.

11:18: Is this like Cocoon? Where they gather up the old people about leaving and they all turn into glowing orbs and float into the sky? Is that Cocoon? That seems wrong. Hell if I know.

11:26: Tears, tears!

11:27: Hate to interrupt the tears, but seems pretty glaring they left out Walt and Michael from this little shindig!

11:30: Speechless. Give me time to digest.

OK, I did. Best finale ever.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Breathe out, so I can breathe you in

Oh GOSH do you know it's going to be an excellent blog post when I quote EVERLONG in the title. It's like the apex (makes tiny triangle over head) of creativity. You're thinking, this girl knows her epically popular 90s songs and this blog post is going to be goooooooood.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to write about.

When I sit down to write a blog post with nothing to say I end up sounding equal parts stoned and equal parts suicidal. (Note: I am neither. OR AM I? I am not.)

(Also, the more parentheticals I use THE BETTER. AM I RIGHT? Note: This also applies to CAPS.)

So what's been up, boyee? Not too much. Not too much. I just opened a bag of Sun Chips and the bag made such a loud noise Jeff immediately said, "You're gonna need a plate."

It's that kind of up to date information on my life you've been missing.

Possible topics for this post were pitched as:

1. The Rape Condom

2. The Human Centipede.

3. [Redacted]

4. Camel Spiders

5. My singing abilities

6. Bras or Pants -- which sucks more to wear?

I don't think I should touch the first two (LITERALLY! Hey-o!) because this is a family blog. Also: Don't google camel spiders. They will haunt your dreams and then actually eat out your brains through your eyeballs in your sleep. Or so I've been told.

My singing abilities were "shown off" last Wednesday night in a dive country western bar in downtown Bristol, CT the other night. Don't worry, I'll text you the address. My coworkers (hi Chris!) and I had all gathered for our annual gathering for gathering's sake, and this bar was just one short gravely walk across the parking lot from our hotel. Naturally, we ended up living there for three days. Note: When you walk in somewhere and it has a mechanical bull you know you're in for a good time even though no one in your party will have the guts to ride it any look like a fool.

Fortunately, there was plenty of time to look like a fool as Wednesday's are karaoke. Karaoke was being run by a guy who looked like Mario Batali's fatter, less successful and more musical little brother. He had a long red ponytail and apparently a very fruitful career which had let him to our little corner of the world on that night.

Not a lot of people in our group were really gutsy (is gutsy the right word?) enough for karaoke, but we finally goaded one of the writers up to the stage where he then blew our minds with a particularly straight faced and unforgettable performance of Gin & Juice, complete with a few loud "Biatch!"'s at the end. Well done, sir.

My buddy Tim was up next, singing "Radar Love" -- a song which I have never heard before in my life, but sounded brilliant. Tim then suggested he and I sing a song.

Now, I'm not shy. I'm not adverse to making a fool of myself in public, speaking my mind, doing the robot, drinking too much and revealing embarrassing details about myself, etc. This is why people always have the utmost respect for me. But I can't sing. So I don't usually karaoke.

But Tim was goading me, and wanting to be a good sport, I obliged. The exchange went something like this.

Tim: "Let's sing Barenaked Ladies 'If I Had a Million Dollars.' Everyone will love it and be singing along with us at the end."

Me: Dopey smile and complete trust in this statement.

Cue us on stage. Song starts. Awwww... damn. I really don't know this song that well at all.


There is video of this somewhere, but I could only watch the first 20 seconds before I wanted to die of shame. And thus ends my karaoke career. (But who are WE kidding!)

By the end of the three days I realized I have pretty much the coolest coworkers on the planet which makes my job so easy and great. I'm so damn lucky, you know that? I don't think there's many girls on this planet who have surrounded themselves with such amazing and funny and good (I broke out the thesaurus there!) people as I have. And by surrounded, I mean virtually. I see them once a year. They don't know how little I shower and that's probably a good thing.

I'll wrap this up by saying, it's a close debate but ultimately: Pants.

-- Drops mic --

Sunday, March 7, 2010

It's da Oscahs!

Throwing my hat in for meaningless Oscar blogs.

I only do the major categories: Best Movie, Best Actor/Actress, Supporting Actor/Actress because it's my blog and I'll pull it right over if you don't SHUT YOUR MOUTH. Besides, what do I know about directing, or screenplays, or art design? Nuthin.

We'll start with movies.

So OMG, did you hear?! TEN movies were nominated for Best Picture. And I saw nine of them, which is pretty good but essentially frustrating. I so do enjoy a good 100%.

We'll rank them in order I liked them.

It's tough, because I really did mostly enjoy all of them ...

1. District 9 -- I didn't want to see this movie. I thought it would suck. It most definitely did not suck. I really, really, really enjoyed it and Sharlto Copley rocked my world. I had to look up his name, but he had the best performance of the year (more on that later.) Obviously not going to win, but it makes no matter to me ... Best movie of the year.

2. Precious -- I watched this movie with one of the worst audiences I've ever shared a movie space with. But the emotion of this movie cut through the jerkoffs in the theater. The praise for Mariah Carey is a little overrated, but the other acting performances in this movie are extremely moving.

3. Up in the Air -- I think I wrote enough about this one.

4. UP -- Yeah it's a cartoon. So what. It's original ... for a cartoon.

5. Inglorious Basterds -- My favorite Tarantino movie. Acting in this also top-notch.

6. The Hurt Locker -- I know, sixth!?! Like I said, I enjoyed all these movies, I really did. I think seeing the Hurt Locker on the home TV instead of the movie theater hurt my perception. It was very suspenseful, but the ending felt ever so slightly off for me, and the plot slightly predictable.

7. The Blind Side -- Speaking of predictable... (Still a very solid sports movie.)

8. Avatar -- Speaking of predictable... (Still a very solid sci-fi movie.)

9. A Serious Man -- Well, first of all. I spent the first 45 minutes thinking Colin Firth was supposed to show up. Second of all, I've come to the conclusion I just don't enjoy Coen Brothers movies at all. This wasn't the worst of them (Intolerable Cruelty). I felt like this was trying to be a Tarantino movie, but with Jews. And not butt-kickin' ones.

10. An Education -- N/A. Didn't see it.


Best Actor

Well..... I didn't see Crazy Heart, Invictus or, turns out, A Single Man. The other two nominees were good, but didn't blow me away. Why wasn't Copley (I had to look it up again) nominated for District 9??!?! My blogging buddy Jessica tells me it's because the Academy doesn't like to nominate first-time actors, but then why I ask you, why were some of these others nominees nominated?! I have no doubt she has a much smarter and well thought out answer for that than I do. But she's away so I get to pound my fists!

When in doubt, go with Ebert: "Bridges' great performance swept the critics' awards, won a Golden Globe, a SAG award and now looks like the winner. Jeremy Renner or George Clooney could win, but Bridges has the momentum."


Best Actress

I hit three of the five here. Just because Meryl Streep is good in everything doesn't mean she should get nominated every time. I feel like they threw Blind Side into Best Picture just to make it fathomable to nominate Sandra Bullock. I mean, she was good. But ... you know. It was a slightly above average sports film.

Gabby Sidibe was brilliant in Precious. And, while I know this has absolutely nothing to do with the Oscars, has turned out to be one of the most likable females in Hollywood in ages. I really, really hope she wins.


Best Supporting Actor

Errr... yeah. I only saw Christoph Waltz and from what I hear, that's all that matters. He was super duper crazy good in Iglorious Basterds and I can't wait to see him in more stuff.


Best Supporting Actress

Monique wasn't a character in Precious. She was a person. She was a real person and I believed every ounce of that performance. Blown. Away. Game. Set. Match.

Heading to the gym and then red carpet and then Oscars! (I won't actually be there, but you know.)

Saturday, February 20, 2010

You mapped a route with all right turns

Look at that chest of drawers. It's mocking me.

It's saying, no, I will not keep my drawers on track. Are you nuts? Every single one of them will go crooked until you can't budge them at all -- to open or close. And yes, it makes me laugh at you. Sucka!

I've hated few things like I hate this chest of drawers. I want to light it on fire every time I see it. I want to take it out back like the guys in "Office Space" took care of that fax machine.

I'm 26 years old and my house is tribute to second hand furniture. Few things we own are originals, much of it got damaged in some way on our move to and from San Diego, and almost everything else is discount. We had the bright idea to save this chest of drawers from the dregs of Jeff's parent's basement, but now I know why it was down there. It is the devil.

Jeff and I are starting the very early process of looking into home buying. We're not quite sure how the five double-yous will work, but it's on the horizon. I'm looking at buying a home as the single greatest fresh start we can have. It will most likely be in a different place. And I want to chuck all our furniture in one large death to disco blaze.

Jeff is more prudent. "The couches can go in the basement!" The basement. Where good furniture goes to die. What's the point? The walls are closing in and we're a few more crappy pieces of furniture, a few more framed newspaper fronts, 20 records (records!) and about four more books away from being on an episode of Hoarders.

A sample of what we're holding onto: A few months ago I went through all the stuff an ex-boyfriend gave me. Some people have no problem chucking that stuff out, and I wasn't keeping it for sentimental value. I just feel like when someone gives you something with feeling, you should hang onto it. I suppose that is sentimental value, but I don't miss it. What was I going to do with it anyway?

But the things in our tiny, rented house are like a museum of our late teens, early-20s. I wonder sometimes if because Jeff and I met when we were 19 that we're doomed to sort of always be 19-year-olds to each other.

The first step was to break away from our parents. I was pretty independent early on. I don't deserve a special award for this, but I've paid my own bills for years and years now. I'm surprised with how many people my age don't.

And I think the final step to growing up is to chuck the hand-me-down furniture, the old cards, the broken picture frames, the clothes that don't fit and never ever will (I have a pair of jeans my mom gave me more than 5 years ago I'm still holding out hope for), the goddamn Yankee throw blanket that Jeff actually once used as a wall decoration (I wish I was joking), and everything else that's weighing us down.

The first thing to do is get rid of this stupid, cursed set of drawers. It might be suggested I donate it to charity, but honestly, this bureau is like the video in The Ring, and I don't want someone else to have to find themselves cursing at an inanimate object.

But seriously, does anyone have any kerosene? I promise it will be a controlled fire and in no way will I be laughing maniacally...

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Til the End of Time

O-M-F-G, who does NOT want another LOST recap? Come on, raise your hands?!

Put your hands down losers, I can't flippin' see you.

I went down to Rhode Island Tuesday night to my boy (can girls say that? Survey says: yes) Justin's house to watch LOST with my other boy, Drew. It's been a while since my boys (see: death, horse beating) and I got together, just the three of us. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband. I know, weird right? but worth repeating. And I love Drew's girl (not as much as my husband, but I think she understands). But it was nice having it be just the three of us. Same sense of humor, same reference points, general comfortability and relaxationilization. (And if Justin is reading this, he's rolling his eyes, and if Drew is reading it, he's smirking and thinking of something smart to say -- thanks for reading guys!)

Anyways we were all fist-pumpingly excited for the LOST premiere. We settled into Justin's abnormally clean apartment. I had a sandwich, Andrew had a four pound bag of cookies. For the first time in a while, I hadn't spoiled myself for the season premiere. Honestly, I didn't have the TIME. So I was going into this cold turkey.

After watching Juliette's "fall" three times in about 10 minutes, we were finally ready to start. Eye opens, Kate's in a tree, we're ready to go.

I'm not going to synopsize the whole episode, we'll break it down bullet-style.

Things I liked:
  • The nice little interaction between Jack and Locke in the lost luggage room. Old school Locke. Can't we all just get along? Turns out we can!
Hmmm... that was pretty much it.

Things I didn't like:
  • The death of Juliette was epically cheesy. Nevermind she survived the fall -- fine. And then lived to hang out for a while after the bomb exploded. But then to die in such an epically cheesy way. (Quote of the night to Andrew: "Didn't she know she was going to die when she started that sentence? Maybe she should have skipped the first part.") It reminded me a little of the all-time lamest death I've ever seen on screen -- Trinity's death in the third Matrix movie. She spent about 25 minutes punctured by about half a dozen steel rods. If I had been the kind of person who does things like that, I would have yelled at the movie screen Elaine-style, "Just DIE already!!" Anyways, Juliette's death reminded me of that.
  • The temple people. Every LOST fan on planet earth was saying, "Nooooo! No more new characters PLEASE!" And then to have it be sooo corny. Oh, of COURSE the guy in charge is an Asian guy with a fu-manchu who hates Americans and has -- wait for it -- kick-ass karate skills! And he likes prune plants. And wear leather vests. I'm not sure the last one is an Asian stereotype but regardless, it was cornball.
Those were my two biggest beefs. I don't like it when LOST goes cheesy.

At every commercial break Justin would express his disappointment. ("9:43 and I'm not impressed.... 10:27 and I think there will be bad reviews tomorrow!) Andrew and I fought him until the end when I think we kind of agreed with his assessment.


I have none. I think this work week was too busy for me to properly process this episode. They've established these are parallel universes and these are flash-sideways but the fact of the matter is I just wanted them to PICK ONE. And if they weren't going to pick one, I wanted to see what would happen if the plane never crashed -- and we didn't even see that. There was something off about the present day non-crash scenario.


Of course I haven't given up. But this episode didn't knock me out of the park. The season premiere's of LOST usually don't though -- it's the finales where they blow me away. I give this episode of a 4 out of 10.

We can do better.

Friday, January 29, 2010

And just like that...

If you didn't trust my word that I didn't see this until roughly an hour after I wrote my last post, you'd think I'd ripped it off. Maybe you still will. But this piece, written by Mark Mofard, SF Gate columnist fits my mood. Even love the headline, "Why are you so terribly disappointing?"

Best quote is as follows.

But we don't stop there. Not only are we disappointed, we need to express it. Vent it. Hiss it and spit it and hurl it like fistfuls of mental manure at the great wall of hey, screw you.

You have but to take a peek in the comments section below this column, any column, any article on this or any news site whatsoever, to see just how mean and nasty we have become. It does not matter what the piece might be about. Obama's speech. High speed rail. Popular dog breeds. Your grandmother's cookies. The anonymous comments section of any major media site or popular blog will be so crammed with bile and bickering, accusation and pule, hatred and sneer you can't help but feel violently disappointed by the shocking lack of basic human kindness and respect, much less a sense of positivism or perspective.
As someone who edits stories for a major news website, I'm consistently disgusted by the comments (nay, judgments) people leave on other's writing, anonymously. Hey, yeah, it's the business, but hey, yeah, it's not life or death. I manage some "talent" facebook pages, run live chats, and you wouldn't believe how vile and cruel some people are. I find myself wanting to jump in and tell people to knock it off, and sometimes I do, but I don't want to feed into it.

Pfft... this internet... anyone can just say anything they want! Any yahoo with a user name and password or a blog... hey wait a second...

And things will be just fine

Are you a selfish person?

That sounds like the lead line to an ad. Or maybe a sermon. Let me try again.

Are YOU a selfish person?

Wait, that wasn't any better. This is why I'm not in advertising or religion.

That thought came into my head tonight while I was switching clothes over from the washer to the dryer. Heady thoughts come frequently in mundane moments for me.

I don't mean selfish in a typical way. As in, if you have something I want, I want it or I'll cry and stomp and pout. That's not selfish (well, maybe it is), that's immature.

No one really likes to consider themselves selfish. Everyone would gladly put themselves under the heading, "I'd do anything for anyone at anytime" and think they'd help someone in need if they could. Heck, Jeff asked me a few weeks ago if we wanted to donate money to the Red Cross. The exchange went something like this.

Jeff: "Do you want to donate some money to the Red Cross for Haiti? Minimum donation is $10."

Me: "Let's do $25."

(Sits back with a smug, satisfied look on her face.)

Of course $25 is nothing, and I could probably do more (sans the probably part). But that's not even the selfishness I'm referring to. I mean the kind of selfishness that comes with getting constantly lost in your own thoughts, worrying just about your life and no one else's, wanting your cake and eating it too, changing your mind every five seconds, being recklessly independent and emotionally needy, wanting people to know what you're thinking without telling them, waking up every morning and just thinking about yourself.

You should, in theory, lose a little of that selfishness as you age, and certainly when you get married. What's best for Jeff, what's best for our life together, that needs to be at least the second thought of every day. I'm working towards making it the first. There isn't anyone I want more for in my life than Jeff. Because he chose me to share his world, I want him to have the best of everything. The same applies for my family and friends. You can only want something for someone else so bad, before they need to be selfish and get it for themselves, but you can always be unselfishly supportive and unflappably loyal.

This idea of selfishness/selflessness popped into my head because, naturally, as a 26-year-old just married (six months on Monday) female, I'm a ticking clock ... when are ya gonna have a BAY-BE?! And while the decision when to have kids is personal and not something casual readers of this blog will know about until well AFTER it happens, of course I think about it. Jeff and I talk about it dontcha worry about it.

People "in the know" seem to think that you should only have a baby when you've shed this selfishness. Two years seems to be the acceptable waiting period for people our age, apparently we're supposed to see the world, swim with dolphins, go bungee jumping, eat a sundae of 14K gold or something before we make that decision to start trying.

And I wondered today if I've shed that selfishness yet, or it only comes with having a child. I do know it will come, I know that.

I'm beginning to think I'll welcome it with open arms. Thinking only about yourself can be exhausting.

Says the girl who writes a self-serving, painfully tiring online blog ...

Thursday, January 28, 2010

And many times I've listened

Jeff and I got a brand-new flat screen television on Black Friday.

This came after (literally) years of begging from Jeff. We've lived together for almost four years and have never bought a new TV. Our old TVs had been lugged from New York > Boston > San Diego (and two apartments there) > New York > Massachusetts (and two apartments there.) They were worse for the wear. One hummed really loudly if you turned the volume up too high. The other had a giant scratch on it from our trip across country and a precariously-placed bedframe (which also left a nasty gash in my dashboard.)

They were also small (insert size matters joke here). For people who watch as much TV and sports as we do, it was almost silly how crappy our TVs were. But we always seemed to have wiser places to spend our money, and that didn't change, but the time seemed right. We scouted Black Friday deals and found a great one which basically amounted to about $500 off. Jeff got in line at 2:15 a.m. They offered only two in store under this deal, and Jeff got it. Success!

Anyways, TV watching has been significantly better these days.

The only thing is... I'm actually watching less of it now. Jeff can't believe when he comes home after work, flips it on, and sees that it's on the same channel it was the night before.

"Did you really not watch any TV today?"

I think everyone who reads this blog knows I work from home. For the past 18 months I've watched a variety of daytime TV, which as you all know, sucks hard core. I've watched Maury, I've watched hours and hours of women giving birth, I've watched more Jon + Kate and 18 Kids and Counting than I'd like to admit. I wish I'd watched more Oprah, but I always forget that it's on. Oh, and roughly 1.673 million hours of SportsCenter.

Just somewhere along the line I got sick of it. I got back into music. You'll be surprised, or bored, to learn that this long lead-in was about me listening to music again.

My relationship with music in my life has never been clearly defined. I didn't own a CD until ninth grade. Before then my music tastes included, by default and time-period, some greats: Madonna, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston... the Grease soundtrack? Oh, and Queen's Greatest Hits. (My family also used to listen to Monty Python skits on tape as well, so that earns me some cred, right?)

My first CD I bought was Sublime/Sublime. We used to play it on band trips (I was in marching band, yes. And I did go to band camp! Is that joke not old yet?? And how about that Sanjaya?) While I'll still defend that CD as I know every word and still would list Sublime amongst my favorite bands of all time, I can't much defend the CDs I owned immediately after that: Limp Bizkit, Eminem, and of course, N*Sync. (I owned two of this Justin Timberlake poster. Ohhh yeahhh...)

Then junior year of high school, I had a boyfriend who was into classic rock. Where would I have been if we hadn't dated? I shudder to think. Anyways he got me into the Beatles, and Led Zeppelin, and loads of other great bands. I started listening to a lot of John Lennon and Tom Petty.

Now I was never a music snob, and I loathe music snobs. I don't particularly like Dylan. I didn't start liking the Rolling Stones until recently. I stopped listening to the radio ages ago (May 2006 and still counting...) so I have no idea who's "cool" now. I know that Ting Tings "That's not my name" song came out a while ago, but it's all I can listen to now. If ever a song makes you want to shake your head side to side and do a 90s-style skip/kick dance it's that one, am I right?

Anyways, considering that I've pretty much been from the depths of bad music, to the height of good music, and that I've been listening to music 8 hours a day for two months or so now, I thought I'd list 10 of my favorite songs of all time. And I'd LOVE to hear yours in the comments. Top singles. Desert Island songs. Here's my crack, in no particular order.

* Everlong, The Foo Fighters: Right now this is listed as my most played song in iTunes, with 30 listens. This song belongs in that same category as the Ting Tings song and what it makes me want to do when I hear it. Also: amazing lyrics. This isn't exactly an original pick, I know lots of people love this song as well.

* Over the Hills and Far Away, Led Zeppelin: I think I feel safe saying the opening bars to this song are the best opening instrumentals of any song ever. Yeah, that's right. When this song starts, I immediately feel happier. It's very soothing at the start, and then just transforms from there. Like a story. How's that analogy!? I'm a writer, yo.

* For No One, The Beatles: This is probably my favorite Beatles song of all time. Do I need to say more? (Let It Be/Happiness is a Warm Gun (surprise) also up there. OK, I guess I did need to say more.)

* The Wind Cries Mary, Jimi Hendrix: My desert island songs are pretty mellow. I wouldn't even say I'm a true or huge JH fan. But I do love this song.

* A Dustland Fairytale, The Killers: I guess I find myself picking one song per favorite artist here, and even though this is off their recent (and not best album) this is my favorite Killers song of all time (* for now).

* Hallelujah, Rufus Wainwright: I know, this song is way played out. But I don't want to hear about your "original" or "better" versions. This is the only version for me.

* Angel Dream No. 2, Tom Petty: You probably haven't heard this one. You probably should.

* Sweetest Thing, U2: OK this is a new addition to the list. I'm not sure I feel comfortable having it here. I reserve the right to ditch it.

* I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You, Colin Hay: Ditto previous song.

* Only You, Yaz: Well, come on, my wedding song had to be on here right? First song Jeff ever said made him think of me.

Honorable Mentions: Wise Up, Aimee Mann; All My Days, Alexi Murdoch; Stay Together for the Kids, Blink-182; Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen; Round Here, Counting Crows; Lost Cause, Beck; Save the Last Dance for Me, the Drifters; Bad Rabbits and Some People Live Between Holidays, Gavin Castleton; Just a Thought, Gnarls Barkley; Patience, Guns N Roses; Lots of Killers songs; Going to California and What is and What Should Never Be, Led Zeppelin; Will You Be There, Michael Jackson; Hey Ya! Outkast; 3 Libras, A Perfect Circle; Ruby Tuesday, Rolling Stones; Lots of Tom Petty songs (Crawling Back to You); Lots of Queen songs; Into the Mystic, Van Morrison; Say It Ain't So, Weezer; Suite Judy Blue Eyes: Crosby, Stills and Nash; The Scientist, Coldplay...

... and tons more I'm sure I'm forgetting. I definitely do, and probably always will, skew classic rock. What about you, what songs am I missing from this list? I'd love to hear them!! New and old commenters alike!

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Last night ramble: a retrospective

Fellow bloggers/writers, do you ever start to write something and quit right in the middle of it? Move on, like it never happened? Give it a 'Nah' this doesn't work and click the red X?

I probably should have done that last night.

Usually when I write, if it doesn't flow naturally, if I have to go back and re-read it a lot or if it's a struggle to find out where I go next, it's going to stink.

I remember the first time I really wrote something that gushed out of me naturally. It was a column for my college newspaper about Will McDonough. And in fail of fails, it doesn't seem to exist online anymore and I'm pretty sure I don't have a copy anywhere -- this bums me out big time. Perhaps my mom saved it somewhere, I know she really liked it.

I wrote the 600 or so words in about 15 minutes. And while I'm normally a fast writer, that would be deemed as exceptionally fast for me. (Fastest ever? A 13-page college paper in 2 hours. Booyah!) I was sent out on close deadline assignments when I lived in San Diego because I was the fastest writer. As in, a basketball game that started at 7 and needed to be filed by 8:30. In most cases, that was good enough to get you to the end of the game. In some cases, it was good enough to get you to the end of the game with 5 minutes to spare. It was nerve-wracking, but also a challenge, and I'm one of those 'works well under pressure' people.

Last night I was trying to get my thoughts out in front of a blaring TV. Never a good idea. I'd go back and rewrite it, or take it down, but nobody will read through it anyway. It will serve as a reminder of that time I tried to say something meaningful and I failed miserably.

My google reader tells me I have 20 people that subscribe to this blog... 20! Who ARE you people? I'm dying to know. You don't even have to leave your names, just say 'I'm someone you went to high school with' or 'I'm someone you work with' or 'I'm watching you through your window right now.'

This whole "getting back into writing" thing proves I'm rustier than I thought. I promise you something well thought-out next time, faithful readers.

At the movies with Emily and Jeff: Up in the Air/Random thoughts in my head (bonus headline characters edition!!)

(Warning: I'm feeling like I'm about to ramble. Nobody wants to read a blog post by me that's more than 50 wor-- right there, most people will have stopped right there. Given it a scroll down, said, 'No thanks' and moved right back to googling porn. Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment!)

Jeff and I had an Avatar vs. Up in the Air standoff that started right around the new year. We stood our ground, crossed our arms and pouted over which we'd see first. I'll give you a guess on which sides of the fence we were on in the battle of the geeky, CGI-laden 3D action movie and the film starring the wrinkles around George Clooney's eyes.

We saw Avatar first. Here's my review of Avatar. (Ahem)

At the movies with Emily and Jeff: Avatar


Moving on to 'Up in the Air.' Some movies you go to and are pleasantly surprised you like them. District 9 was one for me. Some you go expecting to like and you hate, and some you know you'll enjoy and you do. That's called $21 well spent. ($26 if you buy the coke so large you need two hands to hold it.)

'Up in the Air' added a bonus category for me: movie that feels very apropos of the mood you're in at the moment.

Mini-non-spoilerish synopsis for those who know nothing about the movie: George Clooney plays a single guy who travels around the country firing people. He's happy with his single life and he meets a counterpart in Alex (played by Vera Farmiga looking older than she does in real life). They make each other happy in the periodic spurts in which they exist. Then there's Anna Kendrick's 23-year-old plucky just out of college chick who thinks she knows what she wants and has a perfect vision of life that comes crashing down when she hits the how-they-say real world.

I felt like I could relate to every character in the movie and it had some really great lines, a la Juno.

I've never had a clear idea of what exactly what I want to do with my life ('I don't know what kind of girl I am') or where I want to be or who I want to be. All I know is that I've never wanted to settle or stand still for too long, yet I want to hold the people closest to me as near as possible and never lose them. It's not about being unhappy with what you have, it's about thinking of ways you could be happier. Checking things off the list and moving things from the bad pile to to the good one.

I'll probably drive myself crazy-miserable living that way. So every day I have to tell myself how lucky I am, how I have a husband, friends and job I love. The issues is holding onto the things you love through your shifting life.

I'm stuck in an amalgam of a quarter-life crisis along with seasonal affective disorder with a dash of restlessness. Jeff can attest to this, and he's given me nightly pep talks trying to support me in my decision to do... whatever it is I want to decide to do in the next 15 minutes before I give up, make a joke and fall asleep.

Kendrick's 23-year-old character in 'Up in the Air' reminds me of how I felt coming out of college. I wanted to be a hot shot, but I also wanted to work for what I got, and I moved very quickly to where I am now. (Fortunately, I don't have a job that makes people want to kill themselves!) I alternate between wanting more, immediately, and being perfectly content. The latter I can attribute to the fact that I really enjoy working with the people I do -- the former I attribute to my ambition.

(I told you I was going to ramble).

More rambling: Clooney's character in the movie plays a knowing, slightly-condescending counterpart to Kendrick. My experience in life, and I said this to a group of women I went out with last night, is that no one thinks they're immature for their age. Everyone thinks they're wise beyond their years. That allows us to judge other people. It's a wonderful cycle. I always say to myself how if I could go back and slap 14 year old Emily in the face, I probably would (It probably wouldn't hurt though, I have weak arms). But 14-year-old Emily wouldn't care what I had to say, she'd be more worried about the life or death matter concerning that cute boy with the bowl haircut and nice smile.

I find myself saying aloud lately, "What do I know?" So if I don't know shit as a 26 year old, does that mean I should be listening more to 38-year olds and the wisdom they have to offer?Or as shown in the movie, do you really never learn how to live life, but only to regret the things you did when you were younger and wish you could go back and live life again with the wisdom you have now? Does anyone know anything of value? Is this couch I'm sitting on even real? WELL IS IT?

Sigh. Maybe we should get back to the movie.

I really liked it. Here's a quote that stuck with me:

Ryan Bingham: I thought I was a part of your life.

Alex Goran: I thought we signed up for the same thing... I thought our relationship was perfectly clear. You are an escape. You're a break from our normal lives. You're a parenthesis.

Ryan Bingham: I'm a parenthesis?

Brilliant. And my attempt to tie this all together ...

... I think you can want a lot in your life and you can imagine all the ways your life could be better, that you could be happier. But, those dreams are always going to be half-reality, half-fantasy. I could be an NFL writer, which is a theoretical dream, but I know there are many, many downsides to that lifestyle (and also, a similar on the road lifestyle as in the movie).

But having parenthesis are nice as long as you don't expect them to exist perfectly in reality, because they will never as be the vision that you hope. But they can be great. They can be your dreams. They can be comfort. They can be support. They get you through the day and make you smile. They get you up the next morning and be the first thing in your head. In fact, there's a great song about being someone else's parenthesis.

They're just hard to fit in your life. Your actual life.

This could be the worst thing I've ever written. It sounded nice in my head though as I pieced it together on the ride home.

38-year-old Emily could totally write better than this.

(If you made it to the end of this, leave a comment will ya. Even if it's to encourage me not to blog at 1 a.m.)