Unintentionally creepy pumpkins.

ach year around the first week of October, the local grocery stores start stocking up on their pumpkin inventory. I’m sure I’m not relaying any top-secret information here. I’m sure it happens near you, too. There are some choice, stellarly globular pumpkins to choose from with perfectly positioned “handle” stems, and I’m generally pretty impressed by the selection. Until I cock my head about 45 degrees and notice the Good Pumpkins’ bastard step-children (no offense) on the neighboring crate. And they scare the living SH*T out of me. And not in the appropriately ghoulish Halloweeny way, either.

I’m not sure who paints these pumpkins, but I’m pretty d@mn sure they should be served a restraining order from the entire child population. Hugely bulbous eyes, buck teeth ready to chomp, often some oddly colored tennis-ball-sized noses and freakishly shapened eyebrows… Pumpkins are meant to be carved, not to be painted. I mean… trick-or-treating occurs at night. It’s generally dark at night. Ergo, no one will see your freakshow pumpkin anyway (thank dog). But during the day… why should you induce nightmares in such a way?? It’s highly inconsiderate and cruel.

That being said, there are some acceptable ways to paint pumpkins. Most of them require a significant amount of artistic talent, un/fortunately, which just goes back to the fact that: pumpkins are meant to be carved, not to be painted.

Here’s why…

Cool painted pumpkins:

Source: http://bit.ly/ATNSY

Nightmare-inducing painted pumpkins:

Source: http://bit.ly/3cbc91

Cool Nightmare Before Christmas-inspired painted pumpkin:

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rivernaiad/2993504572/

Creepily smiling pumpkin that has no business being near our neighborhood children:

Source: http://bit.ly/zmvbx

Awesomely crafted and painted (to an insanely perfect degree) Yo Gabba Gabba pumpkins:

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pairadocs/2985953954/

Terrifying pumpkins that I can only assume are alcoholics due to their bulbous noses:

Source: http://bit.ly/LjCcZ

The fear of pop-culture illiteracy, courtesy of The Onion.

he most reliable of all fake news sources, The Onion, released a study in 2005 that focused on the necessity of a minimum of four hours of TV-viewing per day in order to maintain pop-culture literacy. The study’s findings remain terrifyingly relevant four years later. Tell all your children. Sit them down and enforce a passive, sedentary lifestyle if you know what’s good for them. Oh, and make sure you give them an IV of caffeine- and sugar-rich soda while they sponge up all that mind-numbing drivel. Just you wait: you’ll win Parent of the Year!

What follows are some of my favorite excerpts from The Onion’s article:

Study: Watching Fewer Than Four Hours Of TV A Day Impairs Ability To Ridicule Pop Culture

Dr. Madeleine Ben-Ami, a professor of cognitive science and chief author of the study, explains:

“The average person requires a minimum of four to six hours of television programming each day to be conversant on the subject of The Apprentice or able to impersonate Anna Nicole Smith.”

Tracking 800 individuals between the ages of 15 and 39, researchers found that people who watch fewer than four hours of television a day have difficulty understanding the references made on VH1’s Best Week Ever, and are often unable to point out the absurdity of infomercial products or the cluelessness of American Idol finalists.

Mary-Kate needs an ice cream. Or five. (Photo source: Reuters)

The contrast between regular and irregular TV viewers was made plain by a simple experiment: Irregular and regular TV viewers were videotaped while watching footage of Michael Jackson.

“Note how this young man remains calm, observing the series of photographs quietly,” said Ben-Ami, pointing to one of two monitors running footage of individual study participants. “Meanwhile, his counterpart laughs uproariously, pretends to gag, and feigns sexual intercourse with a throw pillow. Seconds later, he leaves his seat to execute some kind of ’80s-style breakdance and injures himself, probably because of his excessive weight.”

“The first man doesn’t have a television,” Ben-Ami added gravely. “The other man watches an average of 40 hours of network and cable programming each week.”

Ben-Ami said she and her colleagues fear that, if it is not corrected, television illiteracy could result in an American sub-group unable to function in the modern world.

“Because the ridicule of pop culture comprises the bulk of today’s social discourse, a non-viewer is at a distinct disadvantage in the workplace, on campus, and in the dating scene,” Ben-Ami said. “An employee who can’t participate in jokes about Ashlee Simpson’s disastrous Orange Bowl appearance will sit dumbfounded while a more able coworker ingratiates himself to the boss by laughing. And just as the bird with the most colorful plumage attracts the most attention, so too does the bar-TV viewer who yells, ‘Have a sandwich before you faint!’ when Mary-Kate Olsen appears on screen.”

The study’s findings have triggered concern among parents across the country.

“I don’t want my 10-year-old to enter college without the ability to mock boy bands,” said Myra Savage of Phoenix.

Indeed.
Read the article in its glorious entirety HERE.

(*Initial “T” found HERE)

Timeline of an Unfortunate Week

Sunday

I woke up with my eyelids crusted shut. Once crusties were painfully removed, they revealed a very pink eye and swollen eyelids. I pretty much resembled a cyclops.

Monday

I was diagnosed with pink eye by the same man who once criticized my verbiage when I declared that “I suffer from clinical depression.” He felt that I was giving too much power to the illness. I felt that he had an unfortunately crooked toupée and Urkel pants, but at least I had the common decency to keep it to myself.

I began dropping prescribed liquid into my eye socket, which I soon discovered to be somewhat counterintuitive. The eye drops surely helped clear up whatever havoc was being wreaked, but the liquid proved sticky. And my eyelashes were pretty well set on their sticky quota. Thus began the semi-permanent Cyclopsdom for the next several days.

Tuesday

I haven’t acknowledged this on my blog yet because it’s just been completely horrific and perpetually saddening. But my brother-in-law’s 11-year-old niece (whom I affectionately refer to as my “niece-in-law”) was in a near-drowning accident two weeks ago. She remains in critical condition in the Pediatric ICU of a local hospital. It’s been quite touch-and-go. There have definitely been some semi-miraculous improvements but, overall, she has quite a long path to tread before she can be considered “out of the woods.” She lost a lot of oxygen to the brain and there continues to be swelling. She is unconscious and remains on a ventilator. Some of her organs have begun functioning well (her kidneys, for example, are working well and she is able to relieve herself, which is a good sign that she can at least digest in some manner). Unfortunately, she seems to take two paces forward, but then about 10 leaps backward. It’s unbearably frustrating and heartbreaking.

On Tuesday she suffered a severe seizure (ventricular tachycardia – where the heart experiences severe arrhythmia) and the doctors had to bring in a crash cart to revive her, which they did. Very rough day for everyone, especially her parents who were there (and who remain with her constantly, 24/7) and witnessed the entire episode.

Due to my pink eye quarantine, I was (and remain) unable to visit the hospital.

Wednesday

Despite all that had been going on, I somehow managed to complete a draft of my new Dissertation Prospectus. Have I mentioned that I’ve decided to shift my original topic? Yeah. It’s a good move, I promise. In any case, the Prospectus completion marks the one shining star of the week, the one sparkly positive in a week from hell.

Throughout the day, however, my throat began closing up and, as a result, angering me.

I was still a quarantined cyclops, mind you.

Thursday

I woke up with the typical eyelid crustation, but newly accompanied by aches throughout my entire body, specifically focused on my upper body. And particularly honing in on that large chunk of matter between my ears.

At approximately 4pm, I donned a snow hat, gloves, and Smart Wool socks before slithering underneath a fleece blanket. It was 80°F in my apartment.

Friday

For the first time all week, I woke up without my eyelids crusted shut. So that was an improvement. The swelling and pinkness was about 85% gone. Another improvement. My aches from the previous day seemed to have mostly hightailed it as well. And I no longer needed my snow suit.

Unfortunately, I could barely swallow. Correction: I could swallow. But every time I did swallow, it felt curiously as though shards of glass were being lodged in my throat and forced downward in Psycho-like fashion. Which I suppose would be OK if I were some type of sideshow act in the circus. But I’m not. Though, I bet a glass-swallowing cyclops could make a killing.

I felt quite certain I had strep throat. Strep and I were pretty frequent playmates throughout junior high and high school, and you just don’t forget someone like Strep. So I swung by my university’s health center to get a throat culture. Unfortunately, it was game day, and baseball fans kindly selected the spots right in front of a STUDENT HEALTH CENTER for their parking needs. So I did a few drive-bys (in vain), and then I went back home, none the wiser.

Later that night, I was sitting on my bed reading through blogs on my laptop (common occurrence), and I had a full glass of orange soda sitting on the floor next to my bed. Poor location choice in retrospect, considering that three extremely important, extremely valuable piles of books/articles also sat on the floor next to my bed.

One kick of the foot later, and all books and articles were splashed with a vibrant shade of orange. Now, I can deal with the pink eye, the Cyclopsdom, and I can even deal with swallowing shards of glass. But when the life of my most precious literary children are threatened??? Hyperventilation, shock-and-awe, and general denial ensued.

The most tragic of all: my two Pléïade editions of Alfred de Vigny’s works were among the orange soda victims. PLÉÏADE EDITIONS!!!!! Granted, I got one of them (the less important one for my studies) used. But Vol 1 cost me roughly 55 €. That’s roughly $80, FYI. For one book. One book containing all the works I will reference in my dissertation. And works that I cherish. That are now tie-dyed orange.

Among the other Orange Soda Victims (OSV): the latest edition of the MLA Handbook, 3 library books on translation theory, my most recent copies of The Bell Jar, The Sorrows of Young Werther, and Jim Morrison’s The Lords and the New Creatures, my Oxford French-English Dictionary, and a handful of rare articles and texts found online or via Inter-Library Loan that I had printed out and collected in a binder. Which was laying open.

So that was fun.

Saturday

Another day, another glass shard in the throat. My university’s health center is closed on weekends because apparently university people don’t get sick on Saturdays and Sundays. I guess I never got that immunization. So I ended up at a local ER, waiting 500 times longer than necessary for a stupid throat culture. A bajillion years later, I received the diagnosis of “Pharyngitis: presumed strep,” accompanied by a prescription for penicillin and the following happy parting gift from the doctor: “If your aches and ear pressure continue, I’d suggest you return to your health center on Monday to make sure you don’t have mono.”

Later I found out that my dear niece-in-law had another severe seizure. And it is likely that they will need to amputate a foot and portions of her fingers due to blood clotting.

Because I now have strep and am a veritable contagion, I remain unable to visit the hospital. Or anyone/anywhere, really.

Only I would get pink eye and strep in the same week. While also ruining hundreds of dollars in research material. Ending up unable to visit my dear little niece-in-law in the hospital.

New Week

This next week can only be better, right? After all, tonight marks the Season 3 premiere of Mad Men on AMC! So, in celebration of the return of the best show on television (according to me) and the glory it promises to bring to my life this week, I give you the following links:

1. MadMenYourself.com

Were I teleported back to 1960, I might look a little something like this:

MadMen yourself by clicking on the link above!

2. When Cocktails Were Office Supplies: Mad Men’s “Alcohol Department”

Great New York Times article, “Sixties Accuracy in Every Sip,” by Robert Simonson.

3. 15 Feminist Moments From Mad Men

I have to admit that a couple of these “feminist moments” are questionably “feminist,” but it’s still a collection of great clips from past seasons involving all of the Mad (wo)Men.

4. Is Mad Men a Feminist Show?

For an article purported to focus on feminist politics within the show, Matlack pays a suspicious amount of attention to Don Draper and his beguiling ways.

5. A Return to That Drop-Dead Year 1960

New York Times article by Ruth LaFerla, which focuses on Mad Men’s close attention to 1960’s fashion detail.

Image source: http://lulubliss.typepad.com/

6. Banana Republic launches Mad Men-inspired campaign

No, seriously. This Washington Times article confirms it, along with the expression, “That’s very MadMenish,” as a complimentary assessment of one’s stylish outfit.

Doing Things Differently Leads to Something… Alcoholic.

dmittedly, I remain uncertain as to why Absolut vodka proves “different” and “exceptional.” Or how it relates to balloons and light bulbs and creepy sculpted haystacks. But, despite the self-indulgence, I still appreciate the artistry of their April 2009 “Anthem” commercial, which seems to be playing on constant rotation these days.

Some stills from the commercial (borrowed from HERE):

Doing things differently leads to something… in a bottle that can cause brain damage:

Awesome!

For the full commercial and a behind-the-scenes look at the ad in the making, click HERE.

(*Initial “A” found HERE)

One.

My humble, little blog baby celebrates its first birthday today!

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/prophecyblur/3383327078/

Yes, it all began back on 21st July 2008, with a brief little pog entitled Pen Without Ink, wherein I admitted that I had no idea what point this forum would serve nor how it would evolve. Nor what the F I was doing.

It’s been a year, and I’m still wondering.

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/zoso74/3650492440/

But it’s been an interesting ride that has allowed me to connect with such a diverse body of people, whether academics, designers, politicos, pop-culture fanatics, mommies, or even the occasional Beyoncé devotee who wants to rip me a new one.

My five most commonly clicked pogs from the past year (and my reasons for why):

1. 7 Things… cr@p, I forgot what I was going to say

Reason: Apparently the world simply cannot get enough of the inaugural spawn of G.I. Jane and the balding dude from Die Hard. Though I have no idea why. Other than the fact that, with that chin, if I were Jay Leno, I’d demand a paternity test. And dutifully go on the Maury show to get the results.

2. Riders on the Storm

Reason: Umm… there are two VERY LARGE reasons smacking you in the face.

3. Lip List

Reason: People love the idea of beautiful people who willingly choose to deform themselves. Especially when Lara Flynn Boyle is one of said beautiful people. LFB’s popularity is one of the great enigmatic wonders of the world to me at this point because, seriously, has she done anything since the movie Threesome other than date Jack Nicholson and emaciate herself?

4. Abandonment Season 1: CANCELED

Reason: People love Freaks & Geeks. As they should.

5. Nicholas Hughes & natural selection

Reason: People love a good suicide legacy. Especially when that legacy involves a woman who opened up her oven and saw salvation.

Thank you so much for visiting and, amazingly, for some of you, even coming back for more over this past year. I hope you’ll continue on the ride…

6 Colossal Dicktators

lease tell me that I’m not the only one who had not yet uncovered the glory that is Huffington Post Comedy’s Dickipedia, a wiki of dicks??? I just found out about it today, via Twitter, and at this point, I pretty much can’t comprehend how I existed in a pre-Dickipedian world.

So, to go along with abdpbt’s Listless Mondays (which I haven’t done in way too long), I thought I’d go ahead and list my 6 favorite dicks thus far, along with some of my favorite lines from their Dickipedia entries.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering: yes, women can be dicks, too. “Dick” is a gender-neutral epithet and equal opportunity.

6 MASTER DICKTATORS:

1. Dr. Phil:

Phillip Calvin McGraw, better known as Dr. Phil, is a psychologist, author, TV personality and a dick. He is also Oprah’s bitch.

Sanctioned by the Texas State Board in 1989 for an “ethical violation” involving an “inappropriate relationship” with a 19-year-old patient, “Dr.” Phil was stripped of his license to practice psychology. (To date, Dr. Phil has not completed the conditions required by the Board of Examiners of Psychologists to regain his license, and remains unlicensed to practice psychology. Anywhere.)

In 1990, he co-founded Courtroom Sciences, Inc., a firm that advised Fortune 500 companies on how to use psychology to manipulate the justice system. It is through this company that he met Oprah Winfrey, who rewarded him with a recurring segment on her show, even though he really just wanted a Pontiac G6 like she gives everyone else. Every Tuesday for the next several years, Dr. Phil appeared on Oprah as “Relationship and Life Strategy Expert,” qualified by a failed marriage he kept secret for 30 years, plus numerous moral lapses, some illegal.

On his show, Dr. Phil pontificates on a spate of topics with which he has little expertise and, in some cases, upon which he is legally prohibited from offering advice. Of course, anyone accepting weight-loss or financial planning tips from a disbarred psychologist who has also run afoul of the Federal Trade Commission gets what they pay for.

Like any psychologist worth his salt, Dr. Phil is also an advertising shill for an online dating service.

2. Jon & Kate:

Image: http://multiples.about.com/

Jon Gosselin currently makes his home in Wernersville, a town whose Asian population literally quadrupled when he and his family moved there.

Kate Gosselin’s hobbies include berating her husband in front of a national audience, getting divorced in the most public and painful way imaginable, and ovulating.

The sextuplets were born on May 10, 2004, at the Milton S. Hershey Center, in Hershey Pennsylvania. As such, they came to be known as the “Hershey Kisses,” which, though embarrassing, is a hell of a lot better than the “Hershey Squirts,” as their nickname easily could have been.

Together, Jon and Kate Gosselin have the worst collective hairstyles of any couple since Kid N’ Play. Despite the plugs, Jon still somehow manages to sport a nasty meat yarmulke in back, while Kate’s can best be described as a forward-facing Flock of Seagulls.

3. Sarah Palin:

Image from RunnersWorld.com

The only thing Sarah Palin seems to enjoy more than having children is giving those children ridiculous names and inadequate sex education. Should she birth any further issue—and she very well might—it is entirely possible she will name it Trix Rabbit Palin.

Sarah Palin’s political views are totally cribbed from the “Focus on the Family” website. Pro-life, unless you’re talking about the life of a criminal; limited government involvement in people’s lives, unless those people have a uterus or are gay and want to get married; and guns for whoever wants them, as many as they like, unless they look Islamic, in which case they should be detained indefinitely, preferably naked and arranged in a human pyramid.

On August 29, 2008, Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain performed perhaps the greatest political mindfuck in American history by announcing that he had chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate. Palin celebrated by ovulating.

4. Donald Rumsfeld:

Like many dicks, Donald Rumsfeld is a product of the Ivy League, attending Princeton University, which is pretty impressive, considering how Jewy his last name sounds. While at Princeton, Rumsfeld roomed with another future Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci. You can imagine there wasn’t much partying in that room, but probably a fair amount of clandestine masturbation.

Nixon was recorded on tape calling Donald Rumsfeld a “ruthless little bastard.” This is the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid him.

Donald Rumsfeld is also noted for taking a special interest in crafting Defense Department propaganda, personally weighing in on interrogation techniques, and tacitly approving of the destruction of priceless cultural artifacts. So while many people—knee-jerk liberals, for instance, the kind of people who shop at Whole Foods—liked to call President Bush a Nazi, they clearly had the wrong guy.

5. Elisabeth Hasselbeck:

Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a former reality show contestant—not even the winner, mind you, or even the runner-up—who somehow became co-host of one of the most popular daytime talk shows of all time, and a dick. Though not especially well informed, Hasselbeck is, nonetheless, an irritatingly vocal supporter of conservative viewpoints. Also, she bears a striking resemblance to one of those “It’s a Small World” animatronic robots they have at Disneyland, if those robots were programmed by Sean Hannity.

Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a panelist on The View, the program that pioneered the format of four women jabbering over each other for an hour and a half, interspersed with commercials for Boniva and a special kind of yogurt that promises to regulate your bowels. In this capacity, Hasselbeck’s main duties involve baiting the other panelists to drop the F-bomb on national TV and attaining a level of shrillness that would make most testicles re-ascend. Of course, anyone with external genitalia really has no business watching The View, so it would serve them right.

The morning after Barack Obama won the election, Elisabeth Hasselbeck appeared on The View in funereal black to deliver her “concession.” Despite predictions, she did not choke to death on her own tongue.

The Hasselbecks have two children, a girl and a boy, Grace Elizabeth and Jonathan Taylor, apparently named after the washed-up teenie-bopper heartthrob who played the wisecracking middle kid on Home Improvement.

It’s a safe bet that Elisabeth Hasselbeck has never taken a dump in a public restroom, and even at home hovers over the seat.

6. Warren Jeffs:

Jeffs proves the age-old adage that anyone can be famous, but to gain real notoriety you need to get caught getting it on with an eighth-grader. Just ask Roman Polanski. Or R. Kelly.

Jeffs is the son of Rulon T. Jeffs, the original unquestioned omnipotent leader of the FLDS. Known to his followers by the creeptacularly pervball nickname “Uncle Rulon,” the elder Jeffs proved hornier than Tommy Lee on an ecstasy binge, fathering about 60 children with several dozen wives. Upon his death in 2002, Warren Jeffs assumed his father’s place in the church, his father’s nickname, and, within one week, all but two of his father’s wives. This effectively made him “Uncle Brother Stepfather Warren.”

Jeffs spent the better parts of 2005 and 2006 facing, unlawfully fleeing, then ultimately hiding from, various statutory rape charges. Interestingly enough, he actually resurfaced in June 2006, for one day, to perform more child bride ceremonies. To many, this was the extralegal underage wedding officiant’s equivalent of the Beatles’ famous impromptu rooftop concert.

But, come on, a dick is a dick, so you might as well check out all of them in HuffPostComedy’s DICKIPEDIA DIRECTORY. But be careful: you’ll spend HOURS…

(*Initial “P” found HERE. All photos above from Dickipedia.org unless otherwise indicated)

Online degrees.

Exhibit 1: the latest cover of US Weekly:

Image: http://www.facebook.com/UsWeekly

Exhibit 2: the upper left corner of Exhibit 1. Yes, the woman is clearly suffering from an unfortunately bad hair day. And yes, her aviator sunglasses look about the size of an Olsen twin. But I’m more interested in the language below the picture of the alleged new couple:

Jon and His Bimbo?!?

What the F is that about?! Not like US Weekly strives to achieve a New York Times level of journalistic objectivity and intellect, but… BIMBO?! Suddenly they’ve become new subscribers to the Perez Hilton Makeshift School of Journalism. Which solely offers online degrees. And in only one subject: Sadistic Misanthrope Behavior with a concentration in Misogyny.

The “bimbo” has a name (Hailey Glassman). And, despite the fact that she also just so happens to have a mugshot, it does not relegate her to “bimbo” status. I am also fairly certain that a woman’s decision to accept a free trip to France to soak up some culture, rays and, yes, maybe even a gig with a highly lucrative clothing manufacturer, does not equate to “sexually promiscuous bimbo.” ”Bimbo,” that oh-so-classy derogatory term for women who may or may not be sexually promiscuous. “Bimbo,” a term which doesn’t exactly encapsulate journalistic integrity or professional objectivity.

Again, not like US Weekly has ever presented itself as a beacon of hope for journalistic brilliance, but… you have to draw the line somewhere. I, apparently, draw the line at “bimbo.”

So now I have to end my subscription.

Crap.

How I celebrate MLK Day.

artin Luther King, Jr., probably didn’t think that his monumental, historic fight for civil liberties would result in a holiday that spawns huge clothing sales and a free day for students to go gorge on buttery popcorn and Sour Patch Kids at the local multiplex. 

Kevin Mazur/Courtesy of HBO via image.net

This year is, of course, a hallmark year for MLK, Jr., appreciation. One word: inauguration. I’m so ridiculously ecstatic that Americans have chosen to reinstate intelligence (among other positive — and greatly missed — qualities) in the White House. Obama represents progress, hope, change… the list goes on. And it’s wonderful to feel that energy and see it displayed across the country through the various celebrations, posters, etc.. But… I don’t know… something about the several-day-long inauguration celebrations seem a bit, kind of, overkill? Not that I don’t think President-Elect Obama (or America) deserves it — of course he/we do/es. But… I don’t know… considering the financial/economic state of the union right now, it strikes me as a bit bizarre to hear of all the lavish parties and top-notch concerts and opulent balls. Celebrities have invaded Washington, and suddenly the presidential inauguration has become a pop culture phenomenon, the hot ticket, the “it” place to be. I mean, socialite-infested inauguration parties probably offer swag and are sponsored by Nintendo Wii or Ugg or something. I don’t know. Something about it kind of makes me cringe. I’m excited about Inauguration Day tomorrow, of course. OF COURSE. But… I just feel as though it’s all become rather circus-like (Britney?). Thousand-dollar tickets, people trying to make a buck (or a few thousand) off of it… How disconcerting when one of the brightest moments of our/our nation’s life gets transformed into a Super Bowl before our very eyes. A Super Bowl with an endless supply of halftime shows.

Anyway. 

I’ve been occasionally checking in with CNN and various Twitter birds so that I can be sure not to miss any all-important updates. But, other than that, here’s how I’ve spent my MLK, Jr., Day off from teaching:

1. I ate Grape Nuts

2. I checked my kitchen ceiling, which began leaking last night when my upstairs neighbor drew a bath. I was on the phone with a dear friend when, suddenly, I heard what sounded like water sloshing down through my kitchen walls. I was pretty sure the Deluge was coming. But it hasn’t come. Yet.

3. I read the latest issue of Time and felt conflicted about Pope Benedict XVI’s comment about Jesus and putting patches on an old suit.

4. I greeted Maintenance Man, who came in to investigate aforementioned leaky ceiling. Maintenance Man’s investigation involved: a. me directing him to leaky culprit, b. Maintenance Man looking directly at leaky culprit, c. Maintenance Man deciding to go knock on upstair neighbor’s door to check out her leaky pipes (Perv.), d. Maintenance Man driving away.

5. I chatted online with another dear friend. For, like, 45 minutes.

6. I watched some cheese-infested Lifetime movie about a bad girl-of-divorce-gone-good (standard plot of 98.7% of Lifetime movies) while filling up some pages of my Creative Journal, which felt lovely.

7. I watched as a dude in a truck snowplowed our driveway, and then proceeded right on through to our backyard and plowed the grass? No clue.

8. I took pictures of Nor’easter loveliness. And plowed backyard.

9. I ate leftover pizza. I actually reheated it in the oven rather than in the microwave. I am becoming more and more domestic. I make me proud.

10. I looked back (several times) at pictures of my baby niece and nephew and, more specifically, me feeding baby nephew and wanting to run away with him. It could have been so easy! Sh*t.

 

Another Listless Monday:

Lip List

OK, before I move on to my Monday List, please allow me to address the cracked-out elephant whisping around the room: 

Oh, Drew. Drew Drew Drew… you’ve had your share of fashion f*ck-ups, it’s true:

But you’ve also proven that you know your fashion sh*t:

So… OK. It’s OK. I get it… we all have our learning curve… our own timeline… one step forward, two steps back, yada yada. So, I’ll be patient with you, and I’ll retain hope and faith that this:

never happens again. ps) you and your pal Jessica Lange were sippin’ some of the secret sauce before the Globes ceremony, weren’t you? It’s OK. Our secret. 

Now then… In keeping with the cracked-out Hollywood theme — wait, one more thing: I actually really really like Drew Barrymore. Truly. Despite stunts like those pictured above, her obviously genuine demeanor has always stood out, and I’ve always admired her “I could give a sh*t what you think” attitude. And… come on… two words: E.T.. Way too cute for her own good. And she still is. OK, tangent over. Back to my cracked-out Hollywood list. I’ve decided to make a Lip List. That is, I am going to attempt to enumerate those celebrities who’ve gone a little bit majorly freakin’ overboard on the whole collagen thing. As a result, they look like honorary members of The Dark Crystal and, therefore, inhabit my nightmares and freak the living h*ll out of me. 

Lippy stars of The Dark Crystal

List of the scariest lips in Hollywood:

(in alphabetical order by scary celebrity)

1. Lara Flynn Boyle. Remember when she dated Jack Nicholson? ALMOST as scary as this:

2. Courteney Cox was so much cooler when she was snappin’ her fingers on stage with Springsteen.

3. Kathie Lee Gifford has always been obnoxious and scary. So I really don’t have anything else to say.

4. Melanie Griffiths. I am led to wonder whether the collagen was a pre- or post-Antonio development? Either way, those lips speak volumes about the MG-AB dynamic.

5. Nicole Kidman. Good ‘ole Nic. I used to be rather infatuated with her in high school — particularly her spirally red curls and her “screw you”/Ms. Independent attitude in Far and Away. And then she had to go and dye her head blonde and straighten it out and tighten her face and plump her lips. And now she just makes me sad.

6. Jeff Lewis, who is very gay and very OCD, and I LOVE him for it and want to be his straight girlfriend. I also want to be his new assistant: the guy definitely needs some help in the lip department, what can I say?

7. Heidi Montag. As if her choice in Spencer were not terrifying enough, she had to go and choose to do this: 

8. Brittany Murphy. CLUELESS:

 

9. Dolly Parton clearly took some time off from her 9 to 5 work schedule to get some other kind of work done:

10. Joan Rivers. The hypocrisy of THIS woman judging how OTHER people look on the red carpet is pure insanity.

11. Meg Ryan used to be that cute girl from When Harry Met Sally, remember? 

12. Big-time Golden Globe winner last night, Mickey Rourke. He kinda looks like Michael Myers of Halloween fame. Not a compliment.

13. Jessica Simpson. Chicken of the Sea.

13. Ivana Trump can clearly afford to look nothing like what she used to look like.

14. Kim Vo, “Shear Genius” host and celebrity hairstylist for the likes of Britney. Maybe Britney paid him to do that?

Another Monday, another list:

Abandonment, Season 1: CANCELED.

n my world, the joyful holidays would not be complete without the inevitable, inescapable feelings of abandonment.

First, you go “home” again. There, you convene with family and friends, try “festive” on for size and, for a few brief moments, feel like it might even fit. Then you stumble upon the cornucopia of stupidly fattening foods that will eventually make your @ss explode, but your mouth says carpe diem and you stuff five more cookies in your face before you even think about caring. Suddenly, while sinking into your food/dessert coma, you find yourself singing along to sappy lyrics from sappy songs about being “snuggled up together like two birds of a feather could be,” which really marks the beginning of the end as you recognize that you’re one bird of a rather flimsy feather, and there ain’t no snugglin’ goin’ on. And then you drive your freakin’ cracked-windshield Honda Civic back to Boston in the bitter cold and stop for a fill-up and some food, and the Golden Arches promises hope in the form of a giant Egg Nog Milkshake, but the nameless voice of doom at the other end of the speaker tells you “NO MORE.” No more bird of a feather, no more cookies à volonté, no more Grandma hugs, and no more freakin’ Egg Nog Shakes, got it??? Sh*t.

Either you’re leaving someone, or someone’s leaving you at the holidays. And that just SUCKS. Especially when that “someone” is an angelically flavored ice creamy anti-depressant.

So, in light of the severe  mild abandonment issues I’ve been coping with lately (and by “coping with,” I mean “watching TV to escape from”), I thought I’d jump on the Listless Monday bandwagon and make a list of all my favorite TV shows that have also cruelly left me hangin’, dry-mouthed and broken-hearted.

Television and movies have always been my escape method of choice. And of necessity, really. And, before the days of TiVo and DVR, you had to rely on the weekly network schedule to produce that escape route. When shows got pre-empted because of some mindless, long-@ss football game? I was pretty much traumatized for days, suffering the most severe forms of escape withdrawal. Which usually involved foaming at the mouth and downing a whole box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. But when network execs decided to play Robespierre and hack the heads off of the friends fictitious characters to whom I most profoundly related, well… I couldn’t take their Reign of Terror lying down! Oh no. I stood up. And ran to the nearest video store. Once the shows were on VHS. D@mn it.

Anyway, the following amazingly brilliant shows were wrongfully guillotined in their infancy, after only the first season, thereby leaving me to weep in despair and overdose on Reese’s Pieces in my bedroom. Oh, I’m also including a favorite quote or two from each show. Just for kicks. Just because I can. 

Top Four TV Shows That Abandoned Me (yet occasionally visit via DVD): 

1. My So-Called Life (1994). Quite possibly the best coming-of-age television drama EVER, let alone the best one with a female protagonist (The Wonder Years takes my carrot cake for best coming-of-age show with a male protagonist). Honestly? I firmly believe that every single character on this show was complex enough to have his/her own show. There could have been a ton of spin-offs if anyone felt like it. Particularly with Brian, who was hilarious, and who did, in fact, have “his” own episode, “The Life of Brian,” narrated entirely by him. But, of course, Claire Danes was as brilliant and awkward as they come. Also, two words: Jordan Catalano. 
Angela: People are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. Like you know what it is even.

2. Relativity (1996-1997). Relativity birthed itself into existence my junior year of college, just after I returned from my semester abroad in France. I didn’t have culture shock when I arrived in France, but I definitely had some type of thunder bolt hit me once I came back to the US. But Relativity centered on a girl who had gone to Italy to pursue her passions and just so happened to meet magnificence-in-the-form-of-a-dude while she was there, and… well, the girl was played by the insanely likable Kimberly Williams(-Paisley, though I prefer to think of her as NOT being married to a country singer). You know Kimberly Williams… she was the one in the Father of the Bride movies? Oh, and Randall Batinkoff was in it, whom I had been mildly infatuated with ever since seeing him in School Ties and the TV adaptation of the book series Christy (which is another show that got prematurely canceled, after just two seasons, and which starred Kellie “Becca” Martin and some oddly attractive, older Scottish dude). Anyway, I’m pretty sure the Friday scheduling was Relativity’s kiss of death. Isn’t that ALWAYS the kiss of death? I mean, *I’m* always a loner at home watching TV on a Friday night, but… I recognize and acknowledge that the general public has a life. ps) Same creator/writer as My So-Called Life. Go figure. I don’t have a quote for this one, d@mn it. It was too short-lived, and IMDB.com isn’t being nice to me.

3. Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000). I discovered Freaks & Geeks, rather randomly, on ABC Family, after it had already originally aired on ABC. I couldn’t believe I had never even heard of it… let alone that ABCFamily had the balls to broadcast a show that included intelligent adolescent and societal commentary on a bunch of pot smokers (led by the then-anonymous James Franco, Seth Rogen, and Jason Segel). Freaks and Geeks was the brainchild of Judd Apatow. You might have heard of him. He went on to make a gajillion dollars with movies such as The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Anchorman, Knocked Up, Superbad, Forgetting Sarah Marshall… I’ll stop. Another intelligent coming-of-age show with a female lead, AND it was set in the 1980’s Midwest? You had me at “Freak.”

Sam: What am I gonna say to Cindy? 
Bill: Don’t say anything. Be dominant. It’s all, all about dominance. I saw this monkey show on PBS, if you talk to her first, it’s a sign of weakness and she will not pick you to be her mate. 
Sam: Are you drunk? 
Bill: I think so, yes I am. 
Sam: Aw, man, go into my room, lock the door, and don’t drink any more. 
Bill: [after Sam leaves] That’s very dominant. 

4. Related (2005-2006). I’ve mentioned this show to people recently, and nobody knows what the h*ll I’m talking about. Except for my friend M, who bore a similar obsession with the Sorelli sisters. It was an hour-long drama on the newly minted WB/UPN hybrid, the CW, so… I think people were generally skeptical and expected that all new shows would resemble Dawson’s Creek or something. Which is, I would guess, the main reason for the failure of this show. It was picked up by the wrong freakin’ network. The CW is home to rich-b*tch high schoolers who OD on sex, drugs, self-absorption, and Louis Vuitton (not necessarily in that order). The CW is also home to America’s Next Top Model, which I suck down like Courtney Love and her crack pipe, so I better be quiet. But Related was a compelling family saga about four sisters and their widower father coping with life after Mom and a lot of unsatisfying identity-searching. And Lizzy Caplan played Marjee Sorelli! And she RULES! (and then she was in a little sitcom called The Class on CBS, scheduled just after How I Met Your Mother, and I thought it was hilarious. But then that got hacked, too) So… that was sad.
Rose Sorelli: I transferred from Pre-Med to the Experimental Theater wing. 
University Registration Lady: Your parents must be so proud. 
—–
Rose: Why am I always at the bottom of the phone chain? 
Marjee: Because you’re the youngest and we don’t care about your feelings.

*NOTE: I placed the above shows in chronological order per abandonment date, NOT in order of residual abandonment issues. Though I’m pretty sure My So-Called Life would still be number one.

And there are a TONNNNNNN of shows that got canceled either in their prime or after they had run their course, and those were sad too. (I’m talkin’ to you, Arrested Development, Wonder Years, Gilmore Girls, Felicity, Once & Again, Everwood, et al.)

But the four above hurt the most. They were so young and bright-eyed, with so much potential… and yet they were ruthlessly killed into TV oblivion, thereby abandoning me and so many others. WHY WHY WHYYYYY?!? I mean, sure, there are some shows that should DEFINITELY get the axe. Like, who the h*ll thought Cavemen would be a good idea?!? Seriously. Issues. I didn’t even notice that the Cavemen had abandoned me. That was fine. But Angela Chase and then Lindsay Weir?! Way to kick a girl while she’s down, TV people. MEAN.

Happy HOLIDAYS ARE OVER!