Here I am, not even at the bottom of the shame spiral I went into earlier today after posting about my taste in films. And then, in the very same day, clicking around my blogroll, I discovered a post in Defective Yeti on the song "Go You Chicken Fat."
And I discovered something I probably never knew. This song, which I vaguely remember hearing when I was very young, was sung by no other than Robert Preston.
Coincidence? I think not.
I challenge you to listen to it in its entirety. Like trying on a pair of fetish shoes, listening to it is both weird and painful. And I'm, as I've already admitted--a Robert Preston fan.
p.s. BTW, the Yeti calls himself "a pretty OK guy." He's more than OK. He's very funny. Check him out.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Memes are the champions, my friends.
I have been tagged by blogging goddess Jen of Jennsylvania (who, despite her protests to the contrary, has the greatest hair in Chicagoland.)
My reaction? Cool.
Basically, I'm a sucker for any meme that comes along. Even if I haven't been tagged. In fact, I don't wait to be tagged; I steal other people's memes all the time. It's all about adding my own unique spin to well-known material. As Alexander Pope puts it "what oft was said, but ne'er so well express'd." Or maybe it's that I never got over my urge to look at what the other kids were writing. As my second grad teacher put it "Eyes on your own papers, please."
But Jen's meme, in particular, is new and different, because it was meant to be circulated among screenwriters. Which I am not. (Unless you count the screen of my laptop.)
But does that stop me? No, I bravely forge ahead.
What is your earliest film-related memory?
I'm going to fudge here and talk about two movies.
The first is the first movie I can remember seeing at home. I was about three, and the film was The Wizard of Oz which was enjoying its annual broadcast on network TV. We were watching it on a massive black and white set--the one ensconced in one-half of a huge mahogany cabinet, where the other side held the "record player." The one that played 45s, 33s, and 78s. The television (we only had one, of course--this was the stone age) was in the "sitting room." And the sitting room had leaded glass casement windows opening into it from the stairs to the second floor. They served no purpose whatsoever, except to provide us with an exciting first glimpse of our stockings as we went downstairs on Christmas morning. The rest of the time, the windows just sat there. That evening, though, I found that while I couldn't bear being that close to That Giant Scary Head ("I ... am ... Oz ... the great and terrible ...") the windows made a handy perch for watching--yet not really watching--that scene. I'm sure I also found refuge on the stairs during the flying monkeys sequence.
The second memory was the first movie I saw in a theater--The Music Man. It was shot in widescreen, exhibited on a huge screen, in a brand-new theater that had thick, plush, rocking seats. Robert Preston was amazing. The whole thing was over-the-top--huge cast, colorful costumes, 76 trombones. And to this day, I can't drive through Gary, Indiana without bursting--annoyingly and loudly--into song.
In short, The Music Man turned me into a male homosexual.
Name two favorite lines from movies.
1."I ... am ... Oz ... the great and terrible." Wait a minute, I already used that. OK, "I didn't [fill in the blank] for you to make a widow of me." Stolen from The Thin Man and used on That Stud Muffin I Married whenever he decides to do dangerous things like climb up on the roof of our house to remove the old television antenna.
2. "So I got that going for me. Which is nice." Stolen from Caddyshack and used whenever I'm talking about something that is just OK, but not great, like buying a box of ice cream treats and finding that (whoopee!) I'm getting thirteen for the price of twelve.
Name three jobs you'd do if you could not work in "The Biz."
Well, since I don't work in the biz, I could say "housewife," "breeder," and "sex worker" and stop there. But let's get creative, shall we? After all, I'm sitting here in front of a laptop typing ... ergo, I'm a screenwriter. I just don't get paid.
1. Since I am absolutely fascinated with movie sets, and have been known to watch movies over and over just to see the interiors (Auntie Mame, of course, but Otto Preminger's Laura also comes to mind, as well as films like Housesitter, The Thin Man Goes Home, and Bringing Up Baby) I think I'd be great as an interior designer, with the caveat that as with the movies, nobody could actually be intending to live in or actually use the space I designed. So I could be the person who puts together rooms for catalogs, and it wouldn't matter if the plumbing wasn't actually hooked up and the toilets didn't actually flush. And maybe, if I can ever learn the difference between Duncan Phyfe and Duncan Hynes, I could put together those historic rooms you find in art museums. Because they don't even have toilets. Hah!
2. There are also movies I could watch just for the clothes--The Women, Auntie Mame, and What a Way to Go! are just a sampling--and since I wouldn't want to waste my time dealing with real women with fit problems or taste different from mine, or on clothes anyone would actually wear, I'd like to be in charge of dressing the mannequins in a department store window. Just imagine a bunch of women who can't talk and have perfect figures. It would be even better than playing Barbies.
3. I would like to write a couple of science fiction books, spin off into self-help, and invent a religion that I could use to attract the dollars of dozens of vapid, thisclosetocertifiablyinsane movie stars.
Name four jobs you have actually held outside the Industry.
1. Teaching assistant at the University of Chicago for an undergraduate course on Milton. (Yo, screenwriters! I could totally pitch Paradise Lost, man. I see John Malkovich as Lucifer.)
1. Systems administrator on a bunch of networked UNIX machines. This explains why html frighteneth me not.
3. Secretary.
4. Claims examiner. I examined dental claims. Yes, I used to spend a large portion of my day looking at dental x-rays. Is it any wonder I'm a housewife?
Name three book authors you like.
1. P. G. Wodehouse. I get the plots of his books hopelessly confused, and have been known to pick up one of his books and read half of the first page before I realize that I've already read it. But he is a masterful stylist--about the best I can think of.
2. E. F. Benson. Specifically the "Lucia" books. Another incredible stylist.
3. Notice how they're all comedies? Let's try something darker. Donna Leone's mysteries are top-notch.
Name two movies you'd like to remake or properties you'd like to adapt.
1. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea--or any Verne. The technology is finally in place to do justice to them.
2. The Birth of a Nation--but this time, we make it clear that duh, the Ku Klux Klan were the bad guys.
Name one screenwriter you think is underrated.
Whit Stillman. Sure, his movies are talky and pretty much lacking in action. But that's how life is. At least for UHBs.
And now, the envelope, please. The winners for the "Most Tagged" are:
Badger
Susie Sunshine
Jasmine
Septuagent
and of course,
Joke.
--P.
My reaction? Cool.
Basically, I'm a sucker for any meme that comes along. Even if I haven't been tagged. In fact, I don't wait to be tagged; I steal other people's memes all the time. It's all about adding my own unique spin to well-known material. As Alexander Pope puts it "what oft was said, but ne'er so well express'd." Or maybe it's that I never got over my urge to look at what the other kids were writing. As my second grad teacher put it "Eyes on your own papers, please."
But Jen's meme, in particular, is new and different, because it was meant to be circulated among screenwriters. Which I am not. (Unless you count the screen of my laptop.)
But does that stop me? No, I bravely forge ahead.
What is your earliest film-related memory?
I'm going to fudge here and talk about two movies.
The first is the first movie I can remember seeing at home. I was about three, and the film was The Wizard of Oz which was enjoying its annual broadcast on network TV. We were watching it on a massive black and white set--the one ensconced in one-half of a huge mahogany cabinet, where the other side held the "record player." The one that played 45s, 33s, and 78s. The television (we only had one, of course--this was the stone age) was in the "sitting room." And the sitting room had leaded glass casement windows opening into it from the stairs to the second floor. They served no purpose whatsoever, except to provide us with an exciting first glimpse of our stockings as we went downstairs on Christmas morning. The rest of the time, the windows just sat there. That evening, though, I found that while I couldn't bear being that close to That Giant Scary Head ("I ... am ... Oz ... the great and terrible ...") the windows made a handy perch for watching--yet not really watching--that scene. I'm sure I also found refuge on the stairs during the flying monkeys sequence.
The second memory was the first movie I saw in a theater--The Music Man. It was shot in widescreen, exhibited on a huge screen, in a brand-new theater that had thick, plush, rocking seats. Robert Preston was amazing. The whole thing was over-the-top--huge cast, colorful costumes, 76 trombones. And to this day, I can't drive through Gary, Indiana without bursting--annoyingly and loudly--into song.
In short, The Music Man turned me into a male homosexual.
Name two favorite lines from movies.
1.
2. "So I got that going for me. Which is nice." Stolen from Caddyshack and used whenever I'm talking about something that is just OK, but not great, like buying a box of ice cream treats and finding that (whoopee!) I'm getting thirteen for the price of twelve.
Name three jobs you'd do if you could not work in "The Biz."
Well, since I don't work in the biz, I could say "housewife," "breeder," and "sex worker" and stop there. But let's get creative, shall we? After all, I'm sitting here in front of a laptop typing ... ergo, I'm a screenwriter. I just don't get paid.
1. Since I am absolutely fascinated with movie sets, and have been known to watch movies over and over just to see the interiors (Auntie Mame, of course, but Otto Preminger's Laura also comes to mind, as well as films like Housesitter, The Thin Man Goes Home, and Bringing Up Baby) I think I'd be great as an interior designer, with the caveat that as with the movies, nobody could actually be intending to live in or actually use the space I designed. So I could be the person who puts together rooms for catalogs, and it wouldn't matter if the plumbing wasn't actually hooked up and the toilets didn't actually flush. And maybe, if I can ever learn the difference between Duncan Phyfe and Duncan Hynes, I could put together those historic rooms you find in art museums. Because they don't even have toilets. Hah!
2. There are also movies I could watch just for the clothes--The Women, Auntie Mame, and What a Way to Go! are just a sampling--and since I wouldn't want to waste my time dealing with real women with fit problems or taste different from mine, or on clothes anyone would actually wear, I'd like to be in charge of dressing the mannequins in a department store window. Just imagine a bunch of women who can't talk and have perfect figures. It would be even better than playing Barbies.
3. I would like to write a couple of science fiction books, spin off into self-help, and invent a religion that I could use to attract the dollars of dozens of vapid, thisclosetocertifiablyinsane movie stars.
Name four jobs you have actually held outside the Industry.
1. Teaching assistant at the University of Chicago for an undergraduate course on Milton. (Yo, screenwriters! I could totally pitch Paradise Lost, man. I see John Malkovich as Lucifer.)
1. Systems administrator on a bunch of networked UNIX machines. This explains why html frighteneth me not.
3. Secretary.
4. Claims examiner. I examined dental claims. Yes, I used to spend a large portion of my day looking at dental x-rays. Is it any wonder I'm a housewife?
Name three book authors you like.
1. P. G. Wodehouse. I get the plots of his books hopelessly confused, and have been known to pick up one of his books and read half of the first page before I realize that I've already read it. But he is a masterful stylist--about the best I can think of.
2. E. F. Benson. Specifically the "Lucia" books. Another incredible stylist.
3. Notice how they're all comedies? Let's try something darker. Donna Leone's mysteries are top-notch.
Name two movies you'd like to remake or properties you'd like to adapt.
1. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea--or any Verne. The technology is finally in place to do justice to them.
2. The Birth of a Nation--but this time, we make it clear that duh, the Ku Klux Klan were the bad guys.
Name one screenwriter you think is underrated.
Whit Stillman. Sure, his movies are talky and pretty much lacking in action. But that's how life is. At least for UHBs.
And now, the envelope, please. The winners for the "Most Tagged" are:
Badger
Susie Sunshine
Jasmine
Septuagent
and of course,
Joke.
--P.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Back in the trenches.
Inspired by KathyR, I am going to make art--yes!--Art! out of the fact that I don't actually have anything to say. Enjoy the following Random Stream o' Crap:
We got back from Florida yesterday. Which was fine, although I was saddened to have to leave adult conversation (actually, XXX-rated immature class-clown commentary) with Joke.
So by Sunday evening, we were home. And dealing with our children. Who pretty much ignore me in favor of Mario Party 7 or whatever. You know, if I had long blonde hair and a pink evening gown like Princess Peach, I'd get a hell of a lot more attention around here.
For some reason--maybe it was traveling all day--I didn't really feel like finishing all the paperwork that I was supposed to bring to the sixth (I think, I lose count) child shrink/psychologist-type professional That Stud Muffin I Married and I were going to see Monday.
This appointment was to begin the process of figuring out why our son is so much like us, i.e., weird. Well, duh, genetics. Yet for some reason, we keep SPENDING BIG BUCKS to find this out from the pros.
This morning I got up fairly early (for me--and anyway, hello? It is Martin Luther King day and I should have been able to sleep late) and finished the paperwork. At times like this, I wish I could just act like Ron and Harry at Hogwarts and make stuff up. I mean, he's ten years old now--how the hell am I going to know how old he was when he first sat up unsupported? But I did a good, responsible job--i.e., when I didn't know, I left the space blank instead of making shit up--and got the copies made at the copy place.
And then That Stud Muffin I Married and I made it through the two-and-a-half hour long consultation.
Then we needed a quick lunch so we went to this place I've been passing for years. It turns out it's totally a greasy spoon diner, so I was very happy. We even sat at the counter, which is so cool, don't you think? Except the owner or manager or whoever came up and engaged us in conversation. As in, are we teachers, do we live nearby, what if life were like a Woody Allan movie, and what's with the great restaurants in Vegas that make you wear a jacket? It's difficult to ponder these deep matters with a mouthful of egg, but we did our best.
Then when I got home I decided I was just going to unpack and pick up the house and not do anything about the fact that my daughter's birthday is Saturday and have I done anything about securing space at Chuck E. Cheese's or done the invitations or anything like that? No, I have not. But my philosophy is "sufficient unto the day is the momminess thereof." In my opinion, this means that if I spend four hours on the son, I get a free pass on the daughter.
Now, I know a lot of women are all gung ho about this mothering stuff. But let's remember one crucial thing here, people. Giving birth changes a lot of things about a woman (her waist size being just one) but it doesn't completely alter the woman. I was a slacker before the term was invented, and I had perfected slackerdom before the 90s even started. I may not have a single tattoo, but I have honed my slacker skills to a very fine edge.
So I'll do the birthday party stuff tomorrow.
We got back from Florida yesterday. Which was fine, although I was saddened to have to leave adult conversation (actually, XXX-rated immature class-clown commentary) with Joke.
So by Sunday evening, we were home. And dealing with our children. Who pretty much ignore me in favor of Mario Party 7 or whatever. You know, if I had long blonde hair and a pink evening gown like Princess Peach, I'd get a hell of a lot more attention around here.
For some reason--maybe it was traveling all day--I didn't really feel like finishing all the paperwork that I was supposed to bring to the sixth (I think, I lose count) child shrink/psychologist-type professional That Stud Muffin I Married and I were going to see Monday.
This appointment was to begin the process of figuring out why our son is so much like us, i.e., weird. Well, duh, genetics. Yet for some reason, we keep SPENDING BIG BUCKS to find this out from the pros.
This morning I got up fairly early (for me--and anyway, hello? It is Martin Luther King day and I should have been able to sleep late) and finished the paperwork. At times like this, I wish I could just act like Ron and Harry at Hogwarts and make stuff up. I mean, he's ten years old now--how the hell am I going to know how old he was when he first sat up unsupported? But I did a good, responsible job--i.e., when I didn't know, I left the space blank instead of making shit up--and got the copies made at the copy place.
And then That Stud Muffin I Married and I made it through the two-and-a-half hour long consultation.
Then we needed a quick lunch so we went to this place I've been passing for years. It turns out it's totally a greasy spoon diner, so I was very happy. We even sat at the counter, which is so cool, don't you think? Except the owner or manager or whoever came up and engaged us in conversation. As in, are we teachers, do we live nearby, what if life were like a Woody Allan movie, and what's with the great restaurants in Vegas that make you wear a jacket? It's difficult to ponder these deep matters with a mouthful of egg, but we did our best.
Then when I got home I decided I was just going to unpack and pick up the house and not do anything about the fact that my daughter's birthday is Saturday and have I done anything about securing space at Chuck E. Cheese's or done the invitations or anything like that? No, I have not. But my philosophy is "sufficient unto the day is the momminess thereof." In my opinion, this means that if I spend four hours on the son, I get a free pass on the daughter.
Now, I know a lot of women are all gung ho about this mothering stuff. But let's remember one crucial thing here, people. Giving birth changes a lot of things about a woman (her waist size being just one) but it doesn't completely alter the woman. I was a slacker before the term was invented, and I had perfected slackerdom before the 90s even started. I may not have a single tattoo, but I have honed my slacker skills to a very fine edge.
So I'll do the birthday party stuff tomorrow.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
The South Beach Undiet, and other stories.
So here I am in Miami Beach. We went walking all over the place this morning, looking for local color. I wish I had my camera with me, particularly when we passed the house with fish all over it--and an octopus door.
We're staying in South Beach, at one of those amazing looking Art Deco hotels on Ocean Drive. I'm sitting here listening to a band play across Ocean Drive.
It's "Art Deco Days," so the street is cordoned off and no cars are allowed. There are a lot of little booths selling art and jewelry and vintage clothes and antique prints and such.
This afternoon we had lunch with the Jokes. We went to this place in the Lincoln Road pedestrian mall, Le Bon, that specializes in Belgian food.
We all ate mussels (Is this place really "mussel beach" and no one's telling? Hee!) and drank Belgian beer. They had many kinds, both on tap and in bottles. It's very strong stuff.
So after lunch, we walked along the Lincoln Road mall looking for things to mock. We found plenty:
so many that I became fixated with the horrible gaudy shoes:
Those are rhinestone snakes squiggling all over the vamps. Joke called them "shoes for the Slytherin Prom."
Either I'm becoming inured, or that last windowful wasn't so bad. Just ... very elaborate.
Tiring of shoes, I began to document Bad Miami Art--both the municipal
and the kind one admires in the privacy of one's boudoir.
I guess it's hard to see this far away, but some of these statues were sort of prurient, in a "September Morn" sort of way. Upon noticing the extremely detailed and realistic nature of these carved glass nudes, that rascal Joke remarked: "I'm betting the sculptor took regular, brief breaks."
An excellent day--if only it had lasted longer. Too soon we had to go back to our (lovely and luxurious) hotel room, get dressed up, and go out to dinner and the ballet.
When really, what I should have been doing is investigating the whole"dirty Mojito" phenomenon:
Had you ever heard of them? Me either.
--P.
p.s. Dirty Mojito sounds like a conflation of Joke's and Badger's blogs.
We're staying in South Beach, at one of those amazing looking Art Deco hotels on Ocean Drive. I'm sitting here listening to a band play across Ocean Drive.
It's "Art Deco Days," so the street is cordoned off and no cars are allowed. There are a lot of little booths selling art and jewelry and vintage clothes and antique prints and such.
This afternoon we had lunch with the Jokes. We went to this place in the Lincoln Road pedestrian mall, Le Bon, that specializes in Belgian food.
We all ate mussels (Is this place really "mussel beach" and no one's telling? Hee!) and drank Belgian beer. They had many kinds, both on tap and in bottles. It's very strong stuff.
So after lunch, we walked along the Lincoln Road mall looking for things to mock. We found plenty:
so many that I became fixated with the horrible gaudy shoes:
Those are rhinestone snakes squiggling all over the vamps. Joke called them "shoes for the Slytherin Prom."
Either I'm becoming inured, or that last windowful wasn't so bad. Just ... very elaborate.
Tiring of shoes, I began to document Bad Miami Art--both the municipal
and the kind one admires in the privacy of one's boudoir.
I guess it's hard to see this far away, but some of these statues were sort of prurient, in a "September Morn" sort of way. Upon noticing the extremely detailed and realistic nature of these carved glass nudes, that rascal Joke remarked: "I'm betting the sculptor took regular, brief breaks."
An excellent day--if only it had lasted longer. Too soon we had to go back to our (lovely and luxurious) hotel room, get dressed up, and go out to dinner and the ballet.
When really, what I should have been doing is investigating the whole"dirty Mojito" phenomenon:
Had you ever heard of them? Me either.
--P.
p.s. Dirty Mojito sounds like a conflation of Joke's and Badger's blogs.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
My First Four-way
Woo hoo! And people think perimenopause means a girl's sex drive diminishes.
OK, OK. I got tagged by Jasmine:
1. Four jobs I've had
Oh, great. Right away I have to exhibit my loserishness to the entire internet. Couldn't we have eased into this?
a. Waitress ... and in several restaurants ... and over a period of several years. OK, mostly in high school and college, but this could have been a career, man. I was really pretty good at it. To misappropriate Marlon Brando: "I could have been a contender. Instead of a housewife. Which is what I am."
b. Bartender
c. During graduate school I did various unappealing things, reaching a nadir with being an English instructor at The American School. This is a place so richly and thoroughly weird, it deserves a post all its own.
and of course ... the slacker's favorite career
d. Temp.
2. Four movies I could watch over and over
Not could. I have watched these movies over and over.
a. The Thin Man (I worship Myrna Loy and want to have William Powell's love child.)
b. Footlight Parade (Actually any pre-code Busby Berkeley will do it for me, but this has James Cagney. Be still my heart.)
c. Wayne's World (I used to be able to recite Wayne's opening monologue)
d. L. A. Story (Funny ... smart ... whimsical ... makes fun of L.A. ... what's not to like?)
3. Four places I've lived
Oh, this is just sad. Only two states.
a. Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts
b. Northampton, Massachusetts
c. Chicago, Illinois
d. Newtopia, Illinois
4. Four television shows I love to watch.
No, wait a minute. I changed my mind. This is just sad. Living in two states shows a lack of enterprise or wanderlust or something, but my relationship with television is seriously flawed. I don't watch television. The only show I used to watch has been switched from Monday to Friday nights, which is almost the same thing as canceling it outright.
And anyway, who has time to watch television? I have an entire internet to surf, people. As Nick said in Metropolitan, "There are eight million stories out there."
So I'll fill out the list by adding shows I watch on DVD.
a. How Clean is Your House?
b. Jeeves and Wooster
c. Absolutely Fabulous
d. The Simpsons
5. Four places you've been on vacation
a. Rehobeth Beach, Delaware
b. Ibiza
c. Paris
d. Venice
6. Four blogs you read daily
b. Badger Meets World
d. I talk 2 much
a. Same Thing But Different
c. Say La Vee
7. Four of your favorite foods
a. Oranges
b. Tomatoes
c. Cocoa Krispies
d. Tuna fish salad (I think I'm addicted to mercury)
8. Four Albums You Can't Live Without Lately
Uh oh. Yet another instance of me swimming against the tide. There is no album I can't live without lately. And while I realize I'm elderly and cranky now, I don't think there ever was. Even when I was younger and groovier.
I love music, but I don't listen to CDs all day long. I can't think straight with music on. I only listen to music when I'm doing something inherently boring that needs a shot of something to liven it up, like working out, driving, or cleaning up the kitchen. And the stuff I listen to then is designed to keep me moving. So my CD choices don't reveal anything about me except that I have eclectic taste in music and am almost completely out of it.
And I don't give a shit how un-cool this will make me sound. I hate it when bloggers go on and on about what they're listening to. Most of them don't know anything about music--at least, according to my notions of what makes a person knowledgable. Basically, if you aren't a musician, I don't care what music you like. And most bloggers wouldn't know a subdominant chord if it came up and bit them on the ass.
Anyway, when I workout, I tend to use my iPod. I listen to CDs when I'm driving. Here's what's in my car:
a. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on CD
b. Introducing the Hard Line According to Terence Trent D'Arby
c.
d.
9. Four vehicles you've owned
a. 1993 Saturn SL2
b. 1994 Volvo 940 Turbo wagon
c. 2003 Volkswagen Passat wagon AWD
d. 2005 Toyota Sienna XLE AWD
10. Four people you want to victimize by tagging:
a. Septuagent
b. Tequila Red
c. Fiddledeedee
d. Jujube
OK, OK. I got tagged by Jasmine:
1. Four jobs I've had
Oh, great. Right away I have to exhibit my loserishness to the entire internet. Couldn't we have eased into this?
a. Waitress ... and in several restaurants ... and over a period of several years. OK, mostly in high school and college, but this could have been a career, man. I was really pretty good at it. To misappropriate Marlon Brando: "I could have been a contender. Instead of a housewife. Which is what I am."
b. Bartender
c. During graduate school I did various unappealing things, reaching a nadir with being an English instructor at The American School. This is a place so richly and thoroughly weird, it deserves a post all its own.
and of course ... the slacker's favorite career
d. Temp.
2. Four movies I could watch over and over
Not could. I have watched these movies over and over.
a. The Thin Man (I worship Myrna Loy and want to have William Powell's love child.)
b. Footlight Parade (Actually any pre-code Busby Berkeley will do it for me, but this has James Cagney. Be still my heart.)
c. Wayne's World (I used to be able to recite Wayne's opening monologue)
d. L. A. Story (Funny ... smart ... whimsical ... makes fun of L.A. ... what's not to like?)
3. Four places I've lived
Oh, this is just sad. Only two states.
a. Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts
b. Northampton, Massachusetts
c. Chicago, Illinois
d. Newtopia, Illinois
4. Four television shows I love to watch.
No, wait a minute. I changed my mind. This is just sad. Living in two states shows a lack of enterprise or wanderlust or something, but my relationship with television is seriously flawed. I don't watch television. The only show I used to watch has been switched from Monday to Friday nights, which is almost the same thing as canceling it outright.
And anyway, who has time to watch television? I have an entire internet to surf, people. As Nick said in Metropolitan, "There are eight million stories out there."
So I'll fill out the list by adding shows I watch on DVD.
a. How Clean is Your House?
b. Jeeves and Wooster
c. Absolutely Fabulous
d. The Simpsons
5. Four places you've been on vacation
a. Rehobeth Beach, Delaware
b. Ibiza
c. Paris
d. Venice
6. Four blogs you read daily
b. Badger Meets World
d. I talk 2 much
a. Same Thing But Different
c. Say La Vee
7. Four of your favorite foods
a. Oranges
b. Tomatoes
c. Cocoa Krispies
d. Tuna fish salad (I think I'm addicted to mercury)
8. Four Albums You Can't Live Without Lately
Uh oh. Yet another instance of me swimming against the tide. There is no album I can't live without lately. And while I realize I'm elderly and cranky now, I don't think there ever was. Even when I was younger and groovier.
I love music, but I don't listen to CDs all day long. I can't think straight with music on. I only listen to music when I'm doing something inherently boring that needs a shot of something to liven it up, like working out, driving, or cleaning up the kitchen. And the stuff I listen to then is designed to keep me moving. So my CD choices don't reveal anything about me except that I have eclectic taste in music and am almost completely out of it.
And I don't give a shit how un-cool this will make me sound. I hate it when bloggers go on and on about what they're listening to. Most of them don't know anything about music--at least, according to my notions of what makes a person knowledgable. Basically, if you aren't a musician, I don't care what music you like. And most bloggers wouldn't know a subdominant chord if it came up and bit them on the ass.
Anyway, when I workout, I tend to use my iPod. I listen to CDs when I'm driving. Here's what's in my car:
a. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on CD
b. Introducing the Hard Line According to Terence Trent D'Arby
c.
d.
9. Four vehicles you've owned
a. 1993 Saturn SL2
b. 1994 Volvo 940 Turbo wagon
c. 2003 Volkswagen Passat wagon AWD
d. 2005 Toyota Sienna XLE AWD
10. Four people you want to victimize by tagging:
a. Septuagent
b. Tequila Red
c. Fiddledeedee
d. Jujube
Greetings, Citizens of Jennsylvania
Holy shit!
I was just checking my blog stats and noticed that this morning, as of 8:20 a.m., I've gotten more hits than I get on the average day. So I checked, and all of you have headed over here from Jennsylvania--a hilarious blog by an amazing Chickago blogger.
Well. Envy me, citizens of Jennsylvania, for I have partied with her.1 Yep, I'm keeping some pretty exalted company these days.
But now I'm cudgeling my brains trying to come up with something interesting to say. Somehow I suspect "How 'bout those White Sox?" won't do it.
This is like having the neighbors drop by when you're still moving into your new house and you're up to your ass in crumpled up newspaper from the unpacking and putting away and you can't even find the coffee pot, let alone do the hospitable thing and offer them a cup of coffee.
Ack! I'm freaking out, and I can't hear myself think! ["I need caffeine."] There, that's better.2
Anyway, welcome. And since I can't think of anything intelligent to say, I'll just offer you the keys to Poppyton:
--P.
1But not, apparently, as hard as Susie Sunshine.
2 OK, I totally stole that from Homer Simpson. But so what? I stole the keys, too.
I was just checking my blog stats and noticed that this morning, as of 8:20 a.m., I've gotten more hits than I get on the average day. So I checked, and all of you have headed over here from Jennsylvania--a hilarious blog by an amazing Chickago blogger.
Well. Envy me, citizens of Jennsylvania, for I have partied with her.1 Yep, I'm keeping some pretty exalted company these days.
But now I'm cudgeling my brains trying to come up with something interesting to say. Somehow I suspect "How 'bout those White Sox?" won't do it.
This is like having the neighbors drop by when you're still moving into your new house and you're up to your ass in crumpled up newspaper from the unpacking and putting away and you can't even find the coffee pot, let alone do the hospitable thing and offer them a cup of coffee.
Ack! I'm freaking out, and I can't hear myself think! ["I need caffeine."] There, that's better.2
Anyway, welcome. And since I can't think of anything intelligent to say, I'll just offer you the keys to Poppyton:
--P.
1But not, apparently, as hard as Susie Sunshine.
2 OK, I totally stole that from Homer Simpson. But so what? I stole the keys, too.
Saturday, January 7, 2006
Tagged by Jasmine
I've just read the fine print and realized that I was tagged by Jasmine "Rocks" Davila, so I took the quiz and discovered that if I send the admissions committee a video of me splashing around in a bathing suit, maybe--just maybe--I'll get into Harvard Law.
And I hereby tag ... Susie Sunshine!
--P.
And I hereby tag ... Susie Sunshine!
--P.
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