2010 is the year of the Tiger.
I was born in the year of the Tiger.
I have a tiger lily tattoo.
The Tiger is the third sign of the Chinese zodiac.
There are 12 signs in the Chinese zodiac.
12 x 3 = 36.
I turn 36 in 2010.
All of these numbers are divisible by 3.
3 x 3 = 9.
9 is my favorite number.
The number 3 is associated with the Goddess in Pagan religions.
The Goddess is associated with the Moon.
My first word was "moon."
I have a crescent moon tattoo.
It's silver and blue.
There's a full moon tonight.
And it's a Blue Moon.
Pretty neat, huh? :)
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Rollin' On The River
A few years ago, the company I worked for was celebrating their 70th anniversary. In honor of this achievement, and as the result of a logic I still don't fully understand, they were holding a company-wide "Through The Decades" karaoke contest. An e-mail went out with a suggested list of seminal songs from every decade from the '30s onward, including such hits as the lyrical masterpiece "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" by Marilyn Monroe, representing the '60s, and "When A Man Loves A Woman" by Michael Bolton, representing the '90s, which, besides being a dreadful choice to represent anything, is a cover of a song originally recorded in the '60s, but like I said — logic I don't fully understand.
Anyway, there are 2 things you must know about me before I go any further: 1) I LOVE karaoke, and 2) I will do almost anything to get out of doing real work when I'm at work. Thus, there is no question I am going to enter this contest. And as I continue to scroll through the e-mail, there is no question as to which song I will be selecting, either: right there, listed under "THE 70'S!" [and can I just briefly mention how much I hate it when people misplace that apostrophe?], the decade in which I entered into this world, is "Proud Mary" by Tina Turner. Hell to the yeah, bitches.
As I scroll further down, however, I encounter an obstacle: "Contestants must provide their own music." Dang. They specify that it doesn't have to be karaoke music, singing along to a regular CD is acceptable, but I (shamefully admit that I) don't own any Tina Turner CDs, and I sadly mention this to the rest of my department.
At this point you should probably also be made aware that "the rest of my department" consists of a bunch of little old ladies who think I'm a genius and absolutely fabulous and who are always fussing over me like mother hens and trying to set me up with their grandsons. I knew they were going to go batshit over this, but I still never expected to walk in the next day to discover 3 separate Tina Turner CDs sitting on my desk.
All systems go. >:)
I breeze through the first round. I make it through the second round without a hitch. Then — bam! — I'm in the final 3. Now, let me explain why this is more of an accomplishment than you may think: 3,000 people work for this company (granted, only like, 14 tried out), and the majority of them are black. I am a white girl. Singing TINA TURNER. And I am in the final 3. Yeah, just take a second for that to sink in...
So, the big day arrives. I am decked out in high-heeled boots and a black long-sleeved tunic-style top that almost looks like a mod-ish mini-dress, which, at the tempo change, will be dramtically whipped off to reveal my real gold-sequined, red-fringed, shimmy-friendly mini-dress underneath. My competitors are not in costume. I am going to blow this thing away. Can. Not. Freakin'. WAIT!
The judges arrive and inform us that our performances will be videotaped for everyone to see and ask who wants to go first. Never hesitating to jump at the chance to make a fool of myself in public, I volunteer. We enter the conference room, and I am bewildered — during the audition process, the only people in the room with us were the 3 judges. Now, the room is full of managers and supervisors. Apparently, there was a room scheduling conflict, so we are now performing in front of this audience during the lunch break of their quality control meeting.
Awkward.
No matter, I tell myself, as I march up to the front of the room with a big smile plastered on my face. I am still going to kill this. Introduction by the judges. Music on. Go! There are smiles and some polite clapping along during the opening section. Music speeds up. There are shocked gasps at the now slightly work-innapropriate costume change. I only crack on one of the high notes. And I only trip over my own feet once while dancing. Song is over. Silence. Everyone's looking at each other, mildly alarmed, like, "Was that offensive? Should we clap?" I feel like a moron. Retreat to rear of room to watch rest of competition in cloud of sulkiness.
Thank you, Cleveland!
The next contestant is a matronly church gospel singer performing "The Greatest Love Of All" by Whitney Houston. I kid you not. No costume, no choreography. The managers love her. The final contestant is the Haitian janitor doing "Daniel" by Elton John. His accent is barely intelligible. He's not even singing the right words. This is abysmal. What the hell was I thinking? The judges thank the managers for their patience and inform us that voting will be done by intranet starting tomorrow morning and the tape will be playing on a loop in the cafeteria until voting closes. Wonderful. Can't freakin' wait.
However, by the next morning I'm getting kind of excited again. My competitive spirit takes hold — I want to win. I plan to campaign all day (another convenient excuse to not do any work). And I am dying to see this tape.
I get down to the cafeteria before they even have the VCR set up. My whole department, my brother's whole department, and his best friend's whole department are there to witness the spectacle. I'm practically jumping up and down and squealing when they hit PLAY. And then — shockingly — it's not bad! I'm not mortified at the prospect of 3,000 people possibly viewing this performance! And it's not like they had the balls to get up there themselves. So HA!
Everyone's congratulating me and saying they loved it and I looked great before slowly wandering back to their desks. I stay down there for at least another hour, enthralled. People I'm not familiar with wander in and stop by to watch. It's hard to judge their reactions.
Until...
A woman I don't know comes up and stands next to me as my part of the tape starts playing again. When it gets to the line with the note I flubbed, I wince a little. This woman turns to me and says, "I know, right? She sure can dance, but she definitely can't sing." I just stare at her, open-mouthed, for a few seconds before blurting out in shock, "You know that's me, right?" In retrospect, I really wish I had been quick-thinking enough to have played along. However, watching and listening to this woman trip all over herself to apologize and explain how that's not what she meant to say and that I really am a good dancer was well worth the insult.
Later on, I'm riding the elevator back up to my department with two girls I've never met. Starting my campaign, I ask them, "So, did you vote yet?" One girl replies, "Yeah, we voted for the girl in the red dress!" Again, shock. How do these people not recognize me? It's not like I was wearing a mask! "I'm the girl in the red dress!" I tell them. "Thanks so much!"
"No way! Really? You kicked ass! Good luck!"
Master of disguise, I am.
I find out later in the day that the gospel singer works in a department of about 60 people. I work in one of about 12. I enlist everyone I know, from supervisors to stock boys, to spread the word and help me out. My brother tells me one of his co-workers just sent an e-mail to all the outside adjusters telling them to vote for me, even though they don't work in the building and haven't even seen the tape. One of my friends was letting the kids from the mailrom use his computer to vote since they didn't have their own workstations. One of the little old ladies tells me her son's department is voting for me because I "had the best cleavage." (Don't judge me — I'll take it where I can get it!) Another little old lady, who was about 90 and never worked on a computer, had our supervisor teach her how to log in just so she could vote for me. I'm actually getting teary.
I spend the rest of the day repeatedly refreshing the voting page and monitoring my progress. It's a close race. At several points, I'm ahead of the competition. At one point, I'm ahead by a wide margin. I hear cheering going on outside my cubicle. By the end of the day, the lead has dwindled, and before I leave for the day I've fallen behind. I arrive the next morning to discover I have lost by about 30 votes to the gospel singer.
To paraphrase the South Park guys: "Whatever bad things people have gone through can't compare to the pain of losing to Whitney Houston."
But then, to quote that masterpiece of cinema, Bring It On: "Second place, HELL YEAH!"
Anyway, there are 2 things you must know about me before I go any further: 1) I LOVE karaoke, and 2) I will do almost anything to get out of doing real work when I'm at work. Thus, there is no question I am going to enter this contest. And as I continue to scroll through the e-mail, there is no question as to which song I will be selecting, either: right there, listed under "THE 70'S!" [and can I just briefly mention how much I hate it when people misplace that apostrophe?], the decade in which I entered into this world, is "Proud Mary" by Tina Turner. Hell to the yeah, bitches.
As I scroll further down, however, I encounter an obstacle: "Contestants must provide their own music." Dang. They specify that it doesn't have to be karaoke music, singing along to a regular CD is acceptable, but I (shamefully admit that I) don't own any Tina Turner CDs, and I sadly mention this to the rest of my department.
At this point you should probably also be made aware that "the rest of my department" consists of a bunch of little old ladies who think I'm a genius and absolutely fabulous and who are always fussing over me like mother hens and trying to set me up with their grandsons. I knew they were going to go batshit over this, but I still never expected to walk in the next day to discover 3 separate Tina Turner CDs sitting on my desk.
All systems go. >:)
I breeze through the first round. I make it through the second round without a hitch. Then — bam! — I'm in the final 3. Now, let me explain why this is more of an accomplishment than you may think: 3,000 people work for this company (granted, only like, 14 tried out), and the majority of them are black. I am a white girl. Singing TINA TURNER. And I am in the final 3. Yeah, just take a second for that to sink in...
So, the big day arrives. I am decked out in high-heeled boots and a black long-sleeved tunic-style top that almost looks like a mod-ish mini-dress, which, at the tempo change, will be dramtically whipped off to reveal my real gold-sequined, red-fringed, shimmy-friendly mini-dress underneath. My competitors are not in costume. I am going to blow this thing away. Can. Not. Freakin'. WAIT!
The judges arrive and inform us that our performances will be videotaped for everyone to see and ask who wants to go first. Never hesitating to jump at the chance to make a fool of myself in public, I volunteer. We enter the conference room, and I am bewildered — during the audition process, the only people in the room with us were the 3 judges. Now, the room is full of managers and supervisors. Apparently, there was a room scheduling conflict, so we are now performing in front of this audience during the lunch break of their quality control meeting.
Awkward.
No matter, I tell myself, as I march up to the front of the room with a big smile plastered on my face. I am still going to kill this. Introduction by the judges. Music on. Go! There are smiles and some polite clapping along during the opening section. Music speeds up. There are shocked gasps at the now slightly work-innapropriate costume change. I only crack on one of the high notes. And I only trip over my own feet once while dancing. Song is over. Silence. Everyone's looking at each other, mildly alarmed, like, "Was that offensive? Should we clap?" I feel like a moron. Retreat to rear of room to watch rest of competition in cloud of sulkiness.
Thank you, Cleveland!
The next contestant is a matronly church gospel singer performing "The Greatest Love Of All" by Whitney Houston. I kid you not. No costume, no choreography. The managers love her. The final contestant is the Haitian janitor doing "Daniel" by Elton John. His accent is barely intelligible. He's not even singing the right words. This is abysmal. What the hell was I thinking? The judges thank the managers for their patience and inform us that voting will be done by intranet starting tomorrow morning and the tape will be playing on a loop in the cafeteria until voting closes. Wonderful. Can't freakin' wait.
However, by the next morning I'm getting kind of excited again. My competitive spirit takes hold — I want to win. I plan to campaign all day (another convenient excuse to not do any work). And I am dying to see this tape.
I get down to the cafeteria before they even have the VCR set up. My whole department, my brother's whole department, and his best friend's whole department are there to witness the spectacle. I'm practically jumping up and down and squealing when they hit PLAY. And then — shockingly — it's not bad! I'm not mortified at the prospect of 3,000 people possibly viewing this performance! And it's not like they had the balls to get up there themselves. So HA!
Everyone's congratulating me and saying they loved it and I looked great before slowly wandering back to their desks. I stay down there for at least another hour, enthralled. People I'm not familiar with wander in and stop by to watch. It's hard to judge their reactions.
Until...
A woman I don't know comes up and stands next to me as my part of the tape starts playing again. When it gets to the line with the note I flubbed, I wince a little. This woman turns to me and says, "I know, right? She sure can dance, but she definitely can't sing." I just stare at her, open-mouthed, for a few seconds before blurting out in shock, "You know that's me, right?" In retrospect, I really wish I had been quick-thinking enough to have played along. However, watching and listening to this woman trip all over herself to apologize and explain how that's not what she meant to say and that I really am a good dancer was well worth the insult.
Later on, I'm riding the elevator back up to my department with two girls I've never met. Starting my campaign, I ask them, "So, did you vote yet?" One girl replies, "Yeah, we voted for the girl in the red dress!" Again, shock. How do these people not recognize me? It's not like I was wearing a mask! "I'm the girl in the red dress!" I tell them. "Thanks so much!"
"No way! Really? You kicked ass! Good luck!"
Master of disguise, I am.
I find out later in the day that the gospel singer works in a department of about 60 people. I work in one of about 12. I enlist everyone I know, from supervisors to stock boys, to spread the word and help me out. My brother tells me one of his co-workers just sent an e-mail to all the outside adjusters telling them to vote for me, even though they don't work in the building and haven't even seen the tape. One of my friends was letting the kids from the mailrom use his computer to vote since they didn't have their own workstations. One of the little old ladies tells me her son's department is voting for me because I "had the best cleavage." (Don't judge me — I'll take it where I can get it!) Another little old lady, who was about 90 and never worked on a computer, had our supervisor teach her how to log in just so she could vote for me. I'm actually getting teary.
I spend the rest of the day repeatedly refreshing the voting page and monitoring my progress. It's a close race. At several points, I'm ahead of the competition. At one point, I'm ahead by a wide margin. I hear cheering going on outside my cubicle. By the end of the day, the lead has dwindled, and before I leave for the day I've fallen behind. I arrive the next morning to discover I have lost by about 30 votes to the gospel singer.
To paraphrase the South Park guys: "Whatever bad things people have gone through can't compare to the pain of losing to Whitney Houston."
But then, to quote that masterpiece of cinema, Bring It On: "Second place, HELL YEAH!"
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
An Open Letter To Peggy Noonan
Settle in, folks. This one's gonna be long...
From The Wall Street Journal, "The Adam Lambert Problem," by Peggy Noonan
[Additional commentary mine]
The news came in numbers and the numbers were fairly grim, all the grimmer for being unsurprising. A Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll reported this week that more than half of Americans, 55%, think America is on the wrong track, with only 33% saying it is going in the right direction. A stunning 66% say they're not confident that their children's lives will be better than their own (27% are)...But something tells me this isn't all about money. It's possible, and I can't help but think likely, that the poll is also about other things, and maybe even primarily about other things.
Sure, Americans are worried about long-term debt and endless deficits. We're worried about taxes and the burden we're bequeathing to our children, and their children.
But we are concerned about other things, too, and there are often signs in various polls that those things may dwarf economic concerns. Americans are worried about the core and character of the American nation, and about our culture.
It is one thing to grouse that dreadful people who don't care about us control our economy, but another, and in a way more personal, thing to say that people who don't care about us control our culture. In 2009 this was perhaps most vividly expressed in the Adam Lambert Problem.
Wow. I...wow. Really? Really, Peggy? It's one thing to "grouse" about an important issue that directly affects every citizen in this country, but it's TOTALLY ANOTHER to get your panties in a twist over something you saw on TV? Are you kidding me? Did someone link me to The Onion instead of The Wall Street Journal? And who are these evil overlords "controlling" our culture, rendering you incapable of using a remote and leaving you too weak to resist the onslaught of smut to which you are being so unfairly subjected? And what's "our" culture, anyway? How does one define this monolithic entity, exactly? I've only ever seen Adam Lambert on TV. Is that it? Our grand and storied culture that must be protected at all costs = television?
More on that in a moment.
Can't wait!!!
America is good at making practical compromises, and one of the compromises we've made in the area of arts and entertainment is captured in the words, "We don't care what you do in New York." That was said to me years ago by a social conservative who was explaining that he and his friends don't wish to impose their cultural sensibilities on a city that is uninterested in them, and that the city, in turn, shouldn't impose its cultural sensibilities on them. He was speaking metaphorically; "New York" meant "wherever the cultural left happily lives."
Well, speaking as a literal and metaphorical "New Yorker," we don't care what you do out in East Bumfuck, Idaho, either, so who the hell do your friends think they are? And by "East Bumfuck, Idaho," I of course mean, metaphorically, "wherever smug, ass-backwards morons like yourself happily live in willful, closed-minded ignorance."
For years now, without anyone declaring it or even noticing it, we've had a compromise on television. Do you want, or will you allow into your home, dramas and comedies that, however good or bad, are graphically violent, highly sexualized, or reflective of cultural messages that you believe may be destructive? Fine, get cable. Pay for it. Buy your premium package, it's your money, spend it as you like.
But the big broadcast networks are for everyone. They are free, they are available on every television set in the nation, and we watch them with our children. The whole family's watching. Higher, stricter standards must maintain.
This was behind the resentment at the Adam Lambert incident on ABC in November. The compromise was breached. It was a broadcast network, it was prime time, it was the American Music Awards featuring singers your 11-year-old wants to see, and your 8-year-old. And Mr. Lambert came on and — again, in front of your children, in the living room, in the middle of your peaceful evening — uncorked an act in which he, in the words of various news reports the next day, performed "faux oral sex" featuring "S&M play," "bondage gear," "same-sex makeouts" and "walking a man and woman around the stage on a leash."
Broadcsat network, yes...that led into practically every commercial break with the voiceover "Stay tuned for Adam Lambert and the performance that everyone will be talking about tomorrow!" Prime time, not exactly — 5 minutes before 11 pm on a school night is pushing it, no? You are aware that the program your 11-year-old and 8-year-old want to see was clearly rated "TV14," right? And if your evening had been peaceful prior to "the incident," you were obviously not watching the same awards show I was. Did any news reports the next day mention Rihanna's "bondage gear"? Or her "dancers carrying rifles"? Or Janet Jackson "grabbing a male dancer's crotch"? Or Eminem and 50 Cent "bragging about rape and assault"? Or Lady GaGa "breaking whiskey bottles and lighting a piano on fire"? Or that Jennifer Lopez "just flat-out sucked"? (That's the performance that really offended me.) And when Mr. Lambert so rudely forced his way RIGHT INTO YOUR IDYLLIC AND UNSPOILED LIVING ROOM and "uncorked" that filth, did he also somehow sap your power to change the channel or get up and get a snack? How dare he!
People were offended, and they complained. Mr. Lambert seemed surprised and puzzled. With an idiot's logic that was nonetheless logic, he suggested he was the focus of bigotry: They let women act perverse on TV all the time, so why can't a gay man do it? Fifteen hundred callers didn't see it as he did and complained to ABC, which was negligent but in the end responsive:They changed the West Coast feed and apparently kept Mr. Lambert off "Good Morning America."
Yes, Ms. Noonan, you've proven yourself thus far to be the authority on "idiot's logic." Carry on.
Mr. Lambert's act left viewers feeling not just offended but assaulted.
Oh, please. "Assaulted"? You weren't beaten with sticks. Lay off the hyperbole there, killer.
Again, "we don't care what you do in New York," but don't include us in it, don't bring it into our homes. Our children are here.
Yes! Our children are here! We must protect the children! Never mind that they're obese, can't read, and are shooting each other on the playground — we can't let them find out about BLOW JOBS!
I don't mean to make too much of it.
No! Of course not! I'm just going to write AN ENTIRE INFLAMMATORY ARTICLE about it for AN INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN NEWSPAPER A WHOLE MONTH AFTER IT HAPPENED, but, really, I'm cool with it.
In the great scheme of things a creepy musical act doesn't matter much. But increasingly people feel at the mercy of the Adam Lamberts, who of course view themselves, when criticized, as victims of prudery and closed-mindedness. America is not prudish or closed-minded,
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, man. That was a good one.
it is exhausted. It cannot be exaggerated, how much Americans feel besieged by the culture of their own country, and to what lengths they have to go to protect their children from it.
It cannot be exaggerated, but I will try my best to do so! Jesus Christ, lady, he was singing a song, not detonating a nucler warhead in the middle of your church potluck. And how about instead of "protecting" your children from such distasteful intrusions, you try TALKING to them about it, you know, like a PARENT does when they want to TEACH their CHILDREN something? If your kid grows up with no "values," it's because you didn't instill them, not because they saw a boy kiss another boy on TV once and it was EWWW GROSS!!!
It's things like this, every bit as much as taxes and spending, that leave people feeling jarred and dismayed, and worried about the future of their country.
Um...no, I think it's mostly the taxes and spending.
Truly, 2009 was a bad year for public behavior. There were this year the party-crashing Salahis and their amoral assumption that their needs — fame and fortune, which are the same as Adam Lambert's — trump everyone else's. You want public order and security? We want a reality show.
Yes, because trespassing at the White House is perfectly comparable to a scheduled musical performance on a crappy awards show.
And there was their honest and very modern shock that people were criticizing them. "It's ruined our lives," Michaele Salahi told NBC's "Today" show in a bid for sympathy. She and her husband in turn were reminiscent of the single woman who likes to have babies, and this year had eight, through in vitro fertilization, and apparently expected to win public praise.
Yes, because knowingly bringing more human beings into the world than you can afford or properly care for on your own is perfectly comparable to dancing to a song on television.
All these things — plus Wall Street and Washington and the general sense that most of our great institutions have forgotten their essential mission — add up and produce a fear that the biggest deterioration in America isn't economic but something else, something more characterological.
Something more what?
I'd like to see a poll on this. Yes or no: Have we become a more vulgar country? Are we coarser than, say, 50 years ago? Do we talk more about sensitivity and treat others less sensitively? Do you think standards of public behavior are rising or falling? Is there something called the American Character, and do you think it has, the past half-century, improved or degenerated? If the latter, what are the implications of this? Do you sense, as you look around you, that each year we have less or more of the glue that holds a great nation together? Is there less courtesy in America now than when you were a child, or more? Bonus question: Is "Excuse me" a request or a command?
[Ms. Noonan, not caring what we do here in New York, obviously doesn't realize that when attempting to board the uptown 6 train at the 14th St. station during morning rush hour, "Excuse me" is neither a request nor a command, but a goddamn threat on your life.]
So much always roils us in America, and so much always will. But maybe as 2010 begins and the '00s recede, we should think more about the noneconomic issues that leave us uneasy, and that need our attention.
Yes, let's forget about the war, the economy, the environment, education, healthcare, unemployment and homelessness and focus our attention on a former American Idol contestant. That really puts it all in perspective.
Not everything in America comes down to money. Not everything ever did.
COMMUNIST!!!
From The Wall Street Journal, "The Adam Lambert Problem," by Peggy Noonan
[Additional commentary mine]
The news came in numbers and the numbers were fairly grim, all the grimmer for being unsurprising. A Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll reported this week that more than half of Americans, 55%, think America is on the wrong track, with only 33% saying it is going in the right direction. A stunning 66% say they're not confident that their children's lives will be better than their own (27% are)...But something tells me this isn't all about money. It's possible, and I can't help but think likely, that the poll is also about other things, and maybe even primarily about other things.
Sure, Americans are worried about long-term debt and endless deficits. We're worried about taxes and the burden we're bequeathing to our children, and their children.
But we are concerned about other things, too, and there are often signs in various polls that those things may dwarf economic concerns. Americans are worried about the core and character of the American nation, and about our culture.
It is one thing to grouse that dreadful people who don't care about us control our economy, but another, and in a way more personal, thing to say that people who don't care about us control our culture. In 2009 this was perhaps most vividly expressed in the Adam Lambert Problem.
Wow. I...wow. Really? Really, Peggy? It's one thing to "grouse" about an important issue that directly affects every citizen in this country, but it's TOTALLY ANOTHER to get your panties in a twist over something you saw on TV? Are you kidding me? Did someone link me to The Onion instead of The Wall Street Journal? And who are these evil overlords "controlling" our culture, rendering you incapable of using a remote and leaving you too weak to resist the onslaught of smut to which you are being so unfairly subjected? And what's "our" culture, anyway? How does one define this monolithic entity, exactly? I've only ever seen Adam Lambert on TV. Is that it? Our grand and storied culture that must be protected at all costs = television?
More on that in a moment.
Can't wait!!!
America is good at making practical compromises, and one of the compromises we've made in the area of arts and entertainment is captured in the words, "We don't care what you do in New York." That was said to me years ago by a social conservative who was explaining that he and his friends don't wish to impose their cultural sensibilities on a city that is uninterested in them, and that the city, in turn, shouldn't impose its cultural sensibilities on them. He was speaking metaphorically; "New York" meant "wherever the cultural left happily lives."
Well, speaking as a literal and metaphorical "New Yorker," we don't care what you do out in East Bumfuck, Idaho, either, so who the hell do your friends think they are? And by "East Bumfuck, Idaho," I of course mean, metaphorically, "wherever smug, ass-backwards morons like yourself happily live in willful, closed-minded ignorance."
For years now, without anyone declaring it or even noticing it, we've had a compromise on television. Do you want, or will you allow into your home, dramas and comedies that, however good or bad, are graphically violent, highly sexualized, or reflective of cultural messages that you believe may be destructive? Fine, get cable. Pay for it. Buy your premium package, it's your money, spend it as you like.
But the big broadcast networks are for everyone. They are free, they are available on every television set in the nation, and we watch them with our children. The whole family's watching. Higher, stricter standards must maintain.
This was behind the resentment at the Adam Lambert incident on ABC in November. The compromise was breached. It was a broadcast network, it was prime time, it was the American Music Awards featuring singers your 11-year-old wants to see, and your 8-year-old. And Mr. Lambert came on and — again, in front of your children, in the living room, in the middle of your peaceful evening — uncorked an act in which he, in the words of various news reports the next day, performed "faux oral sex" featuring "S&M play," "bondage gear," "same-sex makeouts" and "walking a man and woman around the stage on a leash."
Broadcsat network, yes...that led into practically every commercial break with the voiceover "Stay tuned for Adam Lambert and the performance that everyone will be talking about tomorrow!" Prime time, not exactly — 5 minutes before 11 pm on a school night is pushing it, no? You are aware that the program your 11-year-old and 8-year-old want to see was clearly rated "TV14," right? And if your evening had been peaceful prior to "the incident," you were obviously not watching the same awards show I was. Did any news reports the next day mention Rihanna's "bondage gear"? Or her "dancers carrying rifles"? Or Janet Jackson "grabbing a male dancer's crotch"? Or Eminem and 50 Cent "bragging about rape and assault"? Or Lady GaGa "breaking whiskey bottles and lighting a piano on fire"? Or that Jennifer Lopez "just flat-out sucked"? (That's the performance that really offended me.) And when Mr. Lambert so rudely forced his way RIGHT INTO YOUR IDYLLIC AND UNSPOILED LIVING ROOM and "uncorked" that filth, did he also somehow sap your power to change the channel or get up and get a snack? How dare he!
People were offended, and they complained. Mr. Lambert seemed surprised and puzzled. With an idiot's logic that was nonetheless logic, he suggested he was the focus of bigotry: They let women act perverse on TV all the time, so why can't a gay man do it? Fifteen hundred callers didn't see it as he did and complained to ABC, which was negligent but in the end responsive:They changed the West Coast feed and apparently kept Mr. Lambert off "Good Morning America."
Yes, Ms. Noonan, you've proven yourself thus far to be the authority on "idiot's logic." Carry on.
Mr. Lambert's act left viewers feeling not just offended but assaulted.
Oh, please. "Assaulted"? You weren't beaten with sticks. Lay off the hyperbole there, killer.
Again, "we don't care what you do in New York," but don't include us in it, don't bring it into our homes. Our children are here.
Yes! Our children are here! We must protect the children! Never mind that they're obese, can't read, and are shooting each other on the playground — we can't let them find out about BLOW JOBS!
I don't mean to make too much of it.
No! Of course not! I'm just going to write AN ENTIRE INFLAMMATORY ARTICLE about it for AN INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN NEWSPAPER A WHOLE MONTH AFTER IT HAPPENED, but, really, I'm cool with it.
In the great scheme of things a creepy musical act doesn't matter much. But increasingly people feel at the mercy of the Adam Lamberts, who of course view themselves, when criticized, as victims of prudery and closed-mindedness. America is not prudish or closed-minded,
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, man. That was a good one.
it is exhausted. It cannot be exaggerated, how much Americans feel besieged by the culture of their own country, and to what lengths they have to go to protect their children from it.
It cannot be exaggerated, but I will try my best to do so! Jesus Christ, lady, he was singing a song, not detonating a nucler warhead in the middle of your church potluck. And how about instead of "protecting" your children from such distasteful intrusions, you try TALKING to them about it, you know, like a PARENT does when they want to TEACH their CHILDREN something? If your kid grows up with no "values," it's because you didn't instill them, not because they saw a boy kiss another boy on TV once and it was EWWW GROSS!!!
It's things like this, every bit as much as taxes and spending, that leave people feeling jarred and dismayed, and worried about the future of their country.
Um...no, I think it's mostly the taxes and spending.
Truly, 2009 was a bad year for public behavior. There were this year the party-crashing Salahis and their amoral assumption that their needs — fame and fortune, which are the same as Adam Lambert's — trump everyone else's. You want public order and security? We want a reality show.
Yes, because trespassing at the White House is perfectly comparable to a scheduled musical performance on a crappy awards show.
And there was their honest and very modern shock that people were criticizing them. "It's ruined our lives," Michaele Salahi told NBC's "Today" show in a bid for sympathy. She and her husband in turn were reminiscent of the single woman who likes to have babies, and this year had eight, through in vitro fertilization, and apparently expected to win public praise.
Yes, because knowingly bringing more human beings into the world than you can afford or properly care for on your own is perfectly comparable to dancing to a song on television.
All these things — plus Wall Street and Washington and the general sense that most of our great institutions have forgotten their essential mission — add up and produce a fear that the biggest deterioration in America isn't economic but something else, something more characterological.
Something more what?
I'd like to see a poll on this. Yes or no: Have we become a more vulgar country? Are we coarser than, say, 50 years ago? Do we talk more about sensitivity and treat others less sensitively? Do you think standards of public behavior are rising or falling? Is there something called the American Character, and do you think it has, the past half-century, improved or degenerated? If the latter, what are the implications of this? Do you sense, as you look around you, that each year we have less or more of the glue that holds a great nation together? Is there less courtesy in America now than when you were a child, or more? Bonus question: Is "Excuse me" a request or a command?
[Ms. Noonan, not caring what we do here in New York, obviously doesn't realize that when attempting to board the uptown 6 train at the 14th St. station during morning rush hour, "Excuse me" is neither a request nor a command, but a goddamn threat on your life.]
So much always roils us in America, and so much always will. But maybe as 2010 begins and the '00s recede, we should think more about the noneconomic issues that leave us uneasy, and that need our attention.
Yes, let's forget about the war, the economy, the environment, education, healthcare, unemployment and homelessness and focus our attention on a former American Idol contestant. That really puts it all in perspective.
Not everything in America comes down to money. Not everything ever did.
COMMUNIST!!!
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Age Of Aquarius
Today I learned (by Googling "free natal chart" while bored at work, natch) that I am a Gemini, Leo rising, with Moon in Libra and ruling planet Mercury in Cancer. I know how fascinated you all must be by this revelation, and by "all" I mean "the two of you who are even aware of this blog's existence and my mom," and by "fascinated" I mean "have no idea what the hell I'm babbling about." So, let me enlighten you to some of the common characteristics supposedly displayed by those born under these signs:
With the Sun in Gemini, the urge for self-expression is strong.
Translation: I am an attention whore. Batting 1-for-1 so far.
It is not always intuitive to trust Geminis to be loyal or to keep secrets.
Translation: I am a real whore, too, and I have a big mouth. Yep, sounds about right.
Geminis have relatively short attention spans. Restlessness is especially common with this position of the Sun.
Ok, this one is just flat-out wro— Hey! Are those marshmallows? C’mon everyone — let’s dance!!!
Usually quite affable, Geminis enjoy the "light" side of life. This tendency to take things lightly makes them quite pleasing to be around; but it can be maddening to people seeking support on the deeper issues in life.
Case in point: I joined a Facebook group called "I Say 'That’s What She Said!' To Almost Everything"...unironically.
Geminis are both interesting and interested. Their wit can be dazzling and their changeability dizzying. At the very least, Geminis will seldom bore you.
*brushes shoulders off*
Leo rising people cannot help but be noticed. They radiate a special energy and magnetism that gets others' attention. Sometimes it's because they are loud people who pay a lot of attention to their personal appearance (especially their hair!) [emphasis mine]
Exhibit A: "I have a big mouth" [see above]
Exhibit B: Bingo! [see below]
Leo Ascendant people are very self-aware and body-conscious. They are acutely aware of others, and how they come across. In fact, these people are especially aware of their personal "backdrop" — they consider what the people they're with, and the environments they are in, do to their own image. Often, Leo rising natives feel as if they are on stage, even in the privacy of their own homes!
Translation: I am self-centered and shallow.
They are given to rash decisions, temper tantrums, and excesses.
Translation: I am also a spoiled bitch.
The tendency to overestimate things, and themselves, is generally present.
Translation: I am full of myself. Man, it's like these people really know me!
Leo rising people are generally demonstrative, and given to grand gestures. Drama comes naturally to these natives. In fact, some are so caught up in fiction, they're a little blind to fact. They have an unusual need to be admired.
Translation: I am a delusional drama queen...and an attention whore again.
Leo Ascendants pay special attention to their personal appearance and mannerisms. Usually, they choose clothing and hairstyles that are youthful.
Translation: I am immature.
No matter their age in real-world terms, Leo rising people are kids at heart.
Translation: I am really immature.
Leo rising natives are quite self-aware and have a natural flair for presentation, an eye for quality, and a hard-to-resist warmth of style. They want to make things happen, and create a stir.
Translation: I'm an attention whore...again.
Moon in Libra people have a strong need for partnership. Without someone to share their lives with, they feel utterly incomplete. This is why many people with this position get involved in marriages or living-together arrangements quite young...These are the people who seem to always need to have someone tag along with them wherever they go — even if it is to the corner store.
Uh...I'm single and live alone with a cat. But I am on antidepressants, so they may be on to something here...
Lunar Librans revel in a good debate. Mental rapport with others is especially important to them.
Translation: I am an intellectual snob. Back on track!
Rarely directly aggressive, Lunar Librans win your heart with their gentle and refined ways.
...or maybe not. *muffled laughter* "refined" *snort*
Moon in Libra natives simply can't help but see flaws in their environment and their relationships. In fact, anything out of whack will bother them until it's fixed. Although diplomatic with acquaintances, when Moon in Libra natives argue with their long-standing partners, they rarely let up until they win. And, winning an argument is a Libran specialty — in fact, they may not even believe what they are saying, but will adopt all kinds of ideas just to get the last word.
There's my girl!!!
Lunar Librans' idealistic outlook and constant striving for the best, most harmonious lifestyle can lead to much discontent. Looking for that one (elusive) perfect way to lead their lives can detract from enjoyment of the moment.
And there, in a nutshell, is my life.
You can bet that Mercury in Cancer natives will remember almost anything — from their own past, to your conversation two months ago...You can count on Mercury in Cancer to come up with information, culled from their outstanding memory, that others have long forgotten.
A while ago, a few years after Young Guns II came out and it wasn't really on the radar anymore, I was sitting in the living room reading a book when my brother walked in and — apropos of nothing — says, "Well, I don't share my bed with the law!" Without batting an eye or even looking up from my book, I respond, "And I don't keep with whores no more, so ain't we both content." To this day he thinks I practice some sort of special Jedi mind trick/photographic memory voodoo witchcraft.
Cancer communicators come across as intuitive, and sentimental. Sometimes, they can appear quite defensive, as they can take things quite personally.
Translation: I'm a big cry-baby. Dang, these people are good!
Cancer communicators' style is to avoid arguments. But, make no mistake about it, they can provoke arguments easily. They do this in a subtle manner, then get hurt when others argue with them.
Translation: I'm an instigating hypocrite. Spooky!
These people dislike distractions when they are talking or thinking. They also get frustrated with facts-only thinking processes.
Cases in point: I'm one of those people who turns down the car radio when I'm looking for a street address, and I get very frustrated trying to explain things to my co-worker Mikey. If you've ever had a conversation with my co-worker Mikey, you'll understand exactly how that last part fits in. If not, here's a sample conversation that actually took place between us not too long ago:
With the Sun in Gemini, the urge for self-expression is strong.
Translation: I am an attention whore. Batting 1-for-1 so far.
It is not always intuitive to trust Geminis to be loyal or to keep secrets.
Translation: I am a real whore, too, and I have a big mouth. Yep, sounds about right.
Geminis have relatively short attention spans. Restlessness is especially common with this position of the Sun.
Ok, this one is just flat-out wro— Hey! Are those marshmallows? C’mon everyone — let’s dance!!!
Usually quite affable, Geminis enjoy the "light" side of life. This tendency to take things lightly makes them quite pleasing to be around; but it can be maddening to people seeking support on the deeper issues in life.
Case in point: I joined a Facebook group called "I Say 'That’s What She Said!' To Almost Everything"...unironically.
Geminis are both interesting and interested. Their wit can be dazzling and their changeability dizzying. At the very least, Geminis will seldom bore you.
*brushes shoulders off*
Leo rising people cannot help but be noticed. They radiate a special energy and magnetism that gets others' attention. Sometimes it's because they are loud people who pay a lot of attention to their personal appearance (especially their hair!) [emphasis mine]
Exhibit A: "I have a big mouth" [see above]
Exhibit B: Bingo! [see below]
Leo Ascendant people are very self-aware and body-conscious. They are acutely aware of others, and how they come across. In fact, these people are especially aware of their personal "backdrop" — they consider what the people they're with, and the environments they are in, do to their own image. Often, Leo rising natives feel as if they are on stage, even in the privacy of their own homes!
Translation: I am self-centered and shallow.
They are given to rash decisions, temper tantrums, and excesses.
Translation: I am also a spoiled bitch.
The tendency to overestimate things, and themselves, is generally present.
Translation: I am full of myself. Man, it's like these people really know me!
Leo rising people are generally demonstrative, and given to grand gestures. Drama comes naturally to these natives. In fact, some are so caught up in fiction, they're a little blind to fact. They have an unusual need to be admired.
Translation: I am a delusional drama queen...and an attention whore again.
Leo Ascendants pay special attention to their personal appearance and mannerisms. Usually, they choose clothing and hairstyles that are youthful.
Translation: I am immature.
No matter their age in real-world terms, Leo rising people are kids at heart.
Translation: I am really immature.
Leo rising natives are quite self-aware and have a natural flair for presentation, an eye for quality, and a hard-to-resist warmth of style. They want to make things happen, and create a stir.
Translation: I'm an attention whore...again.
Moon in Libra people have a strong need for partnership. Without someone to share their lives with, they feel utterly incomplete. This is why many people with this position get involved in marriages or living-together arrangements quite young...These are the people who seem to always need to have someone tag along with them wherever they go — even if it is to the corner store.
Uh...I'm single and live alone with a cat. But I am on antidepressants, so they may be on to something here...
Lunar Librans revel in a good debate. Mental rapport with others is especially important to them.
Translation: I am an intellectual snob. Back on track!
Rarely directly aggressive, Lunar Librans win your heart with their gentle and refined ways.
...or maybe not. *muffled laughter* "refined" *snort*
Moon in Libra natives simply can't help but see flaws in their environment and their relationships. In fact, anything out of whack will bother them until it's fixed. Although diplomatic with acquaintances, when Moon in Libra natives argue with their long-standing partners, they rarely let up until they win. And, winning an argument is a Libran specialty — in fact, they may not even believe what they are saying, but will adopt all kinds of ideas just to get the last word.
There's my girl!!!
Lunar Librans' idealistic outlook and constant striving for the best, most harmonious lifestyle can lead to much discontent. Looking for that one (elusive) perfect way to lead their lives can detract from enjoyment of the moment.
And there, in a nutshell, is my life.
You can bet that Mercury in Cancer natives will remember almost anything — from their own past, to your conversation two months ago...You can count on Mercury in Cancer to come up with information, culled from their outstanding memory, that others have long forgotten.
A while ago, a few years after Young Guns II came out and it wasn't really on the radar anymore, I was sitting in the living room reading a book when my brother walked in and — apropos of nothing — says, "Well, I don't share my bed with the law!" Without batting an eye or even looking up from my book, I respond, "And I don't keep with whores no more, so ain't we both content." To this day he thinks I practice some sort of special Jedi mind trick/photographic memory voodoo witchcraft.
Cancer communicators come across as intuitive, and sentimental. Sometimes, they can appear quite defensive, as they can take things quite personally.
Translation: I'm a big cry-baby. Dang, these people are good!
Cancer communicators' style is to avoid arguments. But, make no mistake about it, they can provoke arguments easily. They do this in a subtle manner, then get hurt when others argue with them.
Translation: I'm an instigating hypocrite. Spooky!
These people dislike distractions when they are talking or thinking. They also get frustrated with facts-only thinking processes.
Cases in point: I'm one of those people who turns down the car radio when I'm looking for a street address, and I get very frustrated trying to explain things to my co-worker Mikey. If you've ever had a conversation with my co-worker Mikey, you'll understand exactly how that last part fits in. If not, here's a sample conversation that actually took place between us not too long ago:
Me: "Hey, want to see something funny? My friend sent me this Valentine's Day card that says 'My true love is out there somewhere, and they can go fuck themselves.' How great is that?"
Mikey: "I don't get it. If they're your true love, why would you say something so mean to them?"
Me: "..."
Mercury in Cancer can be very effective speakers and writers, especially if they have Gemini Suns. Their ability to "feel out" their audience is extraordinary.
Hellz yeah! You feel me? >:)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Soft Sell
Around the end of October I kept getting all these postcards requesting my assistance in updating my profile for the West Babylon High School graduate directory. So, one afternoon, while bored at work, I decided what the hell — I'll call them. Apparently it's just a gimmick to get you to buy a copy of the directory for $49.95 or, for a limited time, the CD-ROM version for a special offer of only $29.95, but anyway...
The guy taking the information has a Southern accent and keeps trying to be chatty and "relate" to me, like: "Ok, let me just look this up...West Babylon, New York — hey, are you ready for the big game tomorrow?" — meaning the Yankees and the World Series, because I'm from New York, see, and it's just a given that all New Yorkers are Yankee fans, so it must have been perplexing to him when I asked, "Uh...what game?"
So I answer all the standard questions about where I went to college and if my last name has changed and all that, and I confirm all my pertinent information. Then, when I get to my work address, Mr. October launches into this gold:
"Whoa — Park Avenue! So you're right in the middle of it, huh? You know, I've never been to New York, but I've always wanted to, and I have a friend who lives up there now, so I might go and stay with him, you know, see the ice skating rink in Rockefeller Center, or that hotel — the, uh, the Waldorf-Astoria! Yeah! Where they made 'Scent Of A Woman' — you know, that Al Pacino movie? [NOTE: I can't stand this movie.] 'HOO-AH!' Hahaha! [bad Pacino impersonation] 'I oughtta take a FLAME-THROWAH to this place!' Hahaha! Oh, boy...that was one of the good ones, huh?"
Me: "... It's not one of my favorites."
I obviously burst the guy's bubble, so he sort of backpedals and goes, "Oh...so what kind of movies do you like?" To which I jokingly ask back, "Why? Is that going in my profile?" Then he gets all apologetic, like I had been seriously questioning him: "Oh, no, no! Just making small talk." I honestly felt bad for him at this point, but still, I had to really struggle to keep from laughing.
So eventually the ordeal is over, and I decide to send my sister an e-mail relating the whole incident, for her own amusement. She responds:
"Oh my god, that is priceless. The poor guy! They probably shove him in a cubicle all day with his headset and he's got nobody to talk to so he has to make idle chit-chat with all the high school alumni. Maybe he goes through the names and makes up his own stories for each person. Maybe he is now imagining himself and you ice skating at Rockefeller Center and dining at the Waldorf. Someday you'll get married to him there, and he can say it all started with a phone call..."
To which I reply:
"Awesome! And my colors can be blue and gold, just like West Babylon, and I can bring him to my reunion so he can meet all the other alumni and it will make it all real for him and really change his perspective, just like that research guy in Titanic."
I am yet to purchase a copy of the directory.
The guy taking the information has a Southern accent and keeps trying to be chatty and "relate" to me, like: "Ok, let me just look this up...West Babylon, New York — hey, are you ready for the big game tomorrow?" — meaning the Yankees and the World Series, because I'm from New York, see, and it's just a given that all New Yorkers are Yankee fans, so it must have been perplexing to him when I asked, "Uh...what game?"
So I answer all the standard questions about where I went to college and if my last name has changed and all that, and I confirm all my pertinent information. Then, when I get to my work address, Mr. October launches into this gold:
"Whoa — Park Avenue! So you're right in the middle of it, huh? You know, I've never been to New York, but I've always wanted to, and I have a friend who lives up there now, so I might go and stay with him, you know, see the ice skating rink in Rockefeller Center, or that hotel — the, uh, the Waldorf-Astoria! Yeah! Where they made 'Scent Of A Woman' — you know, that Al Pacino movie? [NOTE: I can't stand this movie.] 'HOO-AH!' Hahaha! [bad Pacino impersonation] 'I oughtta take a FLAME-THROWAH to this place!' Hahaha! Oh, boy...that was one of the good ones, huh?"
Me: "... It's not one of my favorites."
I obviously burst the guy's bubble, so he sort of backpedals and goes, "Oh...so what kind of movies do you like?" To which I jokingly ask back, "Why? Is that going in my profile?" Then he gets all apologetic, like I had been seriously questioning him: "Oh, no, no! Just making small talk." I honestly felt bad for him at this point, but still, I had to really struggle to keep from laughing.
So eventually the ordeal is over, and I decide to send my sister an e-mail relating the whole incident, for her own amusement. She responds:
"Oh my god, that is priceless. The poor guy! They probably shove him in a cubicle all day with his headset and he's got nobody to talk to so he has to make idle chit-chat with all the high school alumni. Maybe he goes through the names and makes up his own stories for each person. Maybe he is now imagining himself and you ice skating at Rockefeller Center and dining at the Waldorf. Someday you'll get married to him there, and he can say it all started with a phone call..."
To which I reply:
"Awesome! And my colors can be blue and gold, just like West Babylon, and I can bring him to my reunion so he can meet all the other alumni and it will make it all real for him and really change his perspective, just like that research guy in Titanic."
I am yet to purchase a copy of the directory.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On With The Show!
Theater people can be a little...dramatic.
A few years ago I did a community theater production of Anything Goes, where — literally — anything went. Everyone was hooking up — male and female, gay and straight, on-stage and off, publicly and privately, in singles and multiples. We made a coming-out parody of the song "Let's Step Out." We had a ball with "Blow, Gabriel, Blow!" We gave out an award at the cast party to "All Those Who Either Began The Show As, Or Became Over The Course Of Its Run, A Lesbian." But there were also more than a few hurt feelings and awkward moments. And at the center of it all, it seemed, was Julie.
Julie, Mary and I had been inseparable during the last show, when we had all been lowly chorus members, and the youngest ones in the cast by about 15 to 20 years. This time around, Mary and I were still ensemble players. Julie was playing Bonnie. Julie (besides being the prize for which a good portion of the cast seemed to be competing, à la a modern-day pansexual Helen of Troy) had also been spending more time with one of us than the other lately — at the diner after rehearsals, in the parking lot after the diner. This caused some tension.
One night, there was a minor confrontation in the wings. There were confessions and apologies. There were tears and hugs. There were attempts at hugs angrily pushed away. It was obvious to any passers-by what was going on, so most passers-by avoided our little triangle and averted their eyes.
Except for Dave.
Dave was a featured dancer, and, according to his bio in the program, had worked on a Disney cruise ship, which, if you have ever met Dave, was a hilarious thing to picture. Dave didn't hesitate to intrude on our pity party, draping an arm around Mary's shoulders and announcing, at first rather compassionately, "I'm so sorry, ladies," then, abruptly, rather petulantly, "but can we not fuck up 'The Heaven Hop' tonight?" before blithely waltzing away.
There was a brief stunned pause, then a burst of laughter, and we all realized we were being silly and kissed and made up and took our places for the next scene...
...knowing full well we'd do it all over again tomorrow night.
A few years ago I did a community theater production of Anything Goes, where — literally — anything went. Everyone was hooking up — male and female, gay and straight, on-stage and off, publicly and privately, in singles and multiples. We made a coming-out parody of the song "Let's Step Out." We had a ball with "Blow, Gabriel, Blow!" We gave out an award at the cast party to "All Those Who Either Began The Show As, Or Became Over The Course Of Its Run, A Lesbian." But there were also more than a few hurt feelings and awkward moments. And at the center of it all, it seemed, was Julie.
Julie, Mary and I had been inseparable during the last show, when we had all been lowly chorus members, and the youngest ones in the cast by about 15 to 20 years. This time around, Mary and I were still ensemble players. Julie was playing Bonnie. Julie (besides being the prize for which a good portion of the cast seemed to be competing, à la a modern-day pansexual Helen of Troy) had also been spending more time with one of us than the other lately — at the diner after rehearsals, in the parking lot after the diner. This caused some tension.
One night, there was a minor confrontation in the wings. There were confessions and apologies. There were tears and hugs. There were attempts at hugs angrily pushed away. It was obvious to any passers-by what was going on, so most passers-by avoided our little triangle and averted their eyes.
Except for Dave.
Dave was a featured dancer, and, according to his bio in the program, had worked on a Disney cruise ship, which, if you have ever met Dave, was a hilarious thing to picture. Dave didn't hesitate to intrude on our pity party, draping an arm around Mary's shoulders and announcing, at first rather compassionately, "I'm so sorry, ladies," then, abruptly, rather petulantly, "but can we not fuck up 'The Heaven Hop' tonight?" before blithely waltzing away.
There was a brief stunned pause, then a burst of laughter, and we all realized we were being silly and kissed and made up and took our places for the next scene...
...knowing full well we'd do it all over again tomorrow night.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Weekend Update!
So I decided to stay in last night due to the ZOMG BLIZZZZZARD!!!. It wasn't a very exciting evening, thus I ended up falling asleep around 11.
Only 45 minutes later, I'm suddenly awakened by a barrage of 5 text messages in rapid succession from my mom and my brother. I realize it's Saturday, but it's still kind of late for them to be sending me anything, and it makes me a little worried. Is everyone ok? Was there some sort of snow-related emergency?
I pick up the phone, wondering what could have happened, only to discover the true reason for this flurry of familial communication:
To excitedly alert me that the "What Up With That?" skit is on Saturday Night Live.
I love my family. :)
Only 45 minutes later, I'm suddenly awakened by a barrage of 5 text messages in rapid succession from my mom and my brother. I realize it's Saturday, but it's still kind of late for them to be sending me anything, and it makes me a little worried. Is everyone ok? Was there some sort of snow-related emergency?
I pick up the phone, wondering what could have happened, only to discover the true reason for this flurry of familial communication:
To excitedly alert me that the "What Up With That?" skit is on Saturday Night Live.
I love my family. :)
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Pleased To Meet You / Hope You Guess My Name
My name is Rebecca, after Miss America 1974. Really.
I didn't used to like the name. When I was little, I thought it was kind of stuffy, but I feel like I've grown into it. Once, when I was working as a cashier in high school, a customer — picture the exaggerated stereotype of a big, loud black woman — read my name tag and pronounced to the whole store: "REBECCA! THAT'S A SEXY NAME!" That may have been the turning point.
It's Hebrew, but I'm not Jewish, which has caused some confusion. And for some reason, a lot of people mistakenly call me Rachel — also Biblical and starts with an R, maybe...?
I've been called, at different points in my life: Jeebah, Budgie, Becky, Becca, Speckle, Bex, Elsa, Dexter, Schneidy, Bird, Peta (my roller derby alter ego — some of my teammates never even knew my real name), and Haggard Attention-Whore. Seriously — that last one was meant to be an insult, but I found it so awesome, I've adopted it as my title on an Internet forum.
If I had been a boy, I would have been named Michael, which would have made me the fifth Michael in my age group on my block growing up. If my dad had his way, I would have been Gretchen, so thank you, Mom, for sticking to your guns.
I've had some issues with my surname. People routinely mispronounce and misspell it, even though it's only five letters. During my radical feminist period, I believed it was sexist to have to change my last name if/when I got married, and for a while I was considering switching to my mom's un-Americanized maiden name, but "von Votrubova" is kind of a mouthful. So my solution has been to just eliminate a syllable from each name, and voilà — BeccaGo is born.
Welcome to my world. :)
I didn't used to like the name. When I was little, I thought it was kind of stuffy, but I feel like I've grown into it. Once, when I was working as a cashier in high school, a customer — picture the exaggerated stereotype of a big, loud black woman — read my name tag and pronounced to the whole store: "REBECCA! THAT'S A SEXY NAME!" That may have been the turning point.
It's Hebrew, but I'm not Jewish, which has caused some confusion. And for some reason, a lot of people mistakenly call me Rachel — also Biblical and starts with an R, maybe...?
I've been called, at different points in my life: Jeebah, Budgie, Becky, Becca, Speckle, Bex, Elsa, Dexter, Schneidy, Bird, Peta (my roller derby alter ego — some of my teammates never even knew my real name), and Haggard Attention-Whore. Seriously — that last one was meant to be an insult, but I found it so awesome, I've adopted it as my title on an Internet forum.
If I had been a boy, I would have been named Michael, which would have made me the fifth Michael in my age group on my block growing up. If my dad had his way, I would have been Gretchen, so thank you, Mom, for sticking to your guns.
I've had some issues with my surname. People routinely mispronounce and misspell it, even though it's only five letters. During my radical feminist period, I believed it was sexist to have to change my last name if/when I got married, and for a while I was considering switching to my mom's un-Americanized maiden name, but "von Votrubova" is kind of a mouthful. So my solution has been to just eliminate a syllable from each name, and voilà — BeccaGo is born.
Welcome to my world. :)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
FML.
1. I got only 2 hours of sleep last night, due to what I believe was battery acid aggressively eroding my esophagus.
2. I threw up upon getting out of bed this morning.
3. I called in sick to work, but am not getting paid for it because I've used up all my sick days for the year.
4. I missed the company holiday party being held today.
5. A co-worker just called from the party to tell me I won a $100 gift certificate in the company-wide raffle, but they had to give it to someone else because I wasn't there to claim it.
So, my question is: should I just kill myself now, or, based on this progression of events, just wait a few hours and let it happen naturally?
2. I threw up upon getting out of bed this morning.
3. I called in sick to work, but am not getting paid for it because I've used up all my sick days for the year.
4. I missed the company holiday party being held today.
5. A co-worker just called from the party to tell me I won a $100 gift certificate in the company-wide raffle, but they had to give it to someone else because I wasn't there to claim it.
So, my question is: should I just kill myself now, or, based on this progression of events, just wait a few hours and let it happen naturally?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Idolization
Ok, I realize that by posting this I am outing myself as a creepy stalker-type, but I at least hope not to the extent of the exchange I am about to share.
So, first things first: I love Adam Lambert. Not so much in a "ZOMG HE'S SoOoO HAWT HE TOTALLY SHOULD OF [sic] WON!!!1!" way (I didn't even watch the last season of American Idol), but more of an if-I-was-a-gay-guy-I-would-be-Adam-Lambert kind of way. Seriously, the more I see of him and read about him or hear him in interviews, the more I'm convinced we'd be the same person if it weren't for the genitalia. Same taste in boys, even — I swear!
Anyway...I follow a lot of famous people on Twitter because I find it interesting. For example, Dave Navarro is a damn funny guy, and Shawn Marion can't spell. Learning things like this amuses me. So naturally, I follow Adam Lambert, and one day, in that roundabout, six-Tweets-of-separation sort of way, I discover that he has a brother named Neil, and that Neil is also on Twitter, and that he has a blog, and that it's pretty freakin' funny. So I decide to follow him, too. Neil doesn't seem to be quite as gracious and diplomatic as his famous sibling. Case in point, my favorite Tweet of his to date:
@d___ would you like my attitude any more if I told you to fuck yourself and get off my internet? Would that brighten me up for you?
You can see why he appeals to me. >:)
Neil also appears to have some pretty strong political opinions, and whether you agree with him or not, you can imagine what it's like when the world of hardcore liberal politics collides with the Glambert Army: Clueless Tween Fangirl Division. However, in case you can't, I will now provide an illustration — an exact, unedited transcript — that I'm not sure whether to classify as "utterly hilarious" or "extremely sad and pathetic":
negativeneil: Kill Lieberman, make Howard Dean the entire legislative branch.
t___: @negativeneil I cannot even.... WHAT. *insert indescribable Howard Dean noise here*
negativeneil: @t___ oh, right, you must be one of those morons who disregard the man based on a 1 second clip. Congrats, you're a waste of afterbirth!
t___: @negativeneil LMFAO it was a joke, Neil.
t___: OMFG BRB PUKING OMFG NEIDLDSAF
t___: @adamlambert LMFAO your brother just called me a waste of afterbirth. tell him i said... thanks??
t___: lmfao i think my heart fell out of my ass IDEK
t___: shaking. not crying. but shaking.
t___: LOL brb getting ice cream to drown my ~unrequited love~ sorrows in :( NEIL :(
t___: LOL i feel like such a douche. i called my brother and screamed into the phone about neil and he's like UHM I'M AT WORK. lol fuck.
t___: LOL my mom. "...Are you okay? You look like you just pooped your pants." YOU COULD SAY THAT.
t___: NO but i just realized. one degree from adam. ONE. okay i'm done now. ............................................. ONE.
Uh, honey? One degree or not, he called you A WASTE OF AFTERBIRTH. I really don't know if that warrants such a level of excitement. But hey, maybe I'm just being negative. HA! Get it?!?
I'm now going to get some ice cream to drown my ~despair for the future of the human race~ in...
So, first things first: I love Adam Lambert. Not so much in a "ZOMG HE'S SoOoO HAWT HE TOTALLY SHOULD OF [sic] WON!!!1!" way (I didn't even watch the last season of American Idol), but more of an if-I-was-a-gay-guy-I-would-be-Adam-Lambert kind of way. Seriously, the more I see of him and read about him or hear him in interviews, the more I'm convinced we'd be the same person if it weren't for the genitalia. Same taste in boys, even — I swear!
Anyway...I follow a lot of famous people on Twitter because I find it interesting. For example, Dave Navarro is a damn funny guy, and Shawn Marion can't spell. Learning things like this amuses me. So naturally, I follow Adam Lambert, and one day, in that roundabout, six-Tweets-of-separation sort of way, I discover that he has a brother named Neil, and that Neil is also on Twitter, and that he has a blog, and that it's pretty freakin' funny. So I decide to follow him, too. Neil doesn't seem to be quite as gracious and diplomatic as his famous sibling. Case in point, my favorite Tweet of his to date:
@d___ would you like my attitude any more if I told you to fuck yourself and get off my internet? Would that brighten me up for you?
You can see why he appeals to me. >:)
Neil also appears to have some pretty strong political opinions, and whether you agree with him or not, you can imagine what it's like when the world of hardcore liberal politics collides with the Glambert Army: Clueless Tween Fangirl Division. However, in case you can't, I will now provide an illustration — an exact, unedited transcript — that I'm not sure whether to classify as "utterly hilarious" or "extremely sad and pathetic":
negativeneil: Kill Lieberman, make Howard Dean the entire legislative branch.
t___: @negativeneil I cannot even.... WHAT. *insert indescribable Howard Dean noise here*
negativeneil: @t___ oh, right, you must be one of those morons who disregard the man based on a 1 second clip. Congrats, you're a waste of afterbirth!
t___: @negativeneil LMFAO it was a joke, Neil.
t___: OMFG BRB PUKING OMFG NEIDLDSAF
t___: @adamlambert LMFAO your brother just called me a waste of afterbirth. tell him i said... thanks??
t___: lmfao i think my heart fell out of my ass IDEK
t___: shaking. not crying. but shaking.
t___: LOL brb getting ice cream to drown my ~unrequited love~ sorrows in :( NEIL :(
t___: LOL i feel like such a douche. i called my brother and screamed into the phone about neil and he's like UHM I'M AT WORK. lol fuck.
t___: LOL my mom. "...Are you okay? You look like you just pooped your pants." YOU COULD SAY THAT.
t___: NO but i just realized. one degree from adam. ONE. okay i'm done now. ............................................. ONE.
Uh, honey? One degree or not, he called you A WASTE OF AFTERBIRTH. I really don't know if that warrants such a level of excitement. But hey, maybe I'm just being negative. HA! Get it?!?
I'm now going to get some ice cream to drown my ~despair for the future of the human race~ in...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Holiday Cheer
Well, maybe not so much "cheer" as examples of how my brother exists on a whole other plane entirely, but here goes:
My mom used to recycle old gift boxes and store them in the attic. As kids, whenever we needed to wrap a present, we'd raid this supply of boxes. One year, while attempting to wrap the Christmas present he bought me, my brother finds a box with a dead moth in it. Not only does he leave the dead moth in there, he tapes it to the bottom of the box beneath the tissue paper, circles it with a marker, writes "DEAD MOTH" next to it with an arrow pointing to it, and continues to place my present inside the box and wrap it. When I open this gift Christmas morning, he acts puzzled and says, "Uh oh, something's missing. Isn't there anything else in there?" I lift up the layers of tissue paper and discover the surprise. I immediately drop the box and freak out as he explains excitedly how he didn't put it there on purpose, he just found it that way in the box, like it was all just a lucky coincidence for me. Hilarity ensues. I vow to exact revenge.
The next year was the one they introduced the character "Timmy" on South Park. My brother's name is Tim. I find this elementary-school-nostalgia metal lunch box with Timmy And The Lords Of The Underground on it in a local record store, so I buy it for him. A week later, I find a dead fly on my windowsill. I pick it up with tweezers, tape it to the inside of the lunch box, then wrap the whole thing and put it under the tree. Christmas morning, amidst much laughter and shouts of "TIMMMAAAYYYY!" I interject, "Wait — there's more! Open it up!" And the dead fly is revealed. Hilarity ensues.
Meanwhile, I'm rummaging through my stocking when I come across a small, strangely-shaped package. I unwrap it to discover a Ziploc sandwich bag full of toenails, labeled, in Magic Marker and my brother's handwriting, "MY TOENAILS." He had saved all his toenail clippings for like, 3 weeks, and given them to me for Christmas. "It's a very special present," he says. "I gave you a little piece of me!" Hilarity ensues. I joke that at least it was only a few week's worth and not a whole year.
The next year, I recieve a Ziploc bag containing a full year's worth of toenails.
Holidays with my family are not exactly what you'd call normal.
My mom used to recycle old gift boxes and store them in the attic. As kids, whenever we needed to wrap a present, we'd raid this supply of boxes. One year, while attempting to wrap the Christmas present he bought me, my brother finds a box with a dead moth in it. Not only does he leave the dead moth in there, he tapes it to the bottom of the box beneath the tissue paper, circles it with a marker, writes "DEAD MOTH" next to it with an arrow pointing to it, and continues to place my present inside the box and wrap it. When I open this gift Christmas morning, he acts puzzled and says, "Uh oh, something's missing. Isn't there anything else in there?" I lift up the layers of tissue paper and discover the surprise. I immediately drop the box and freak out as he explains excitedly how he didn't put it there on purpose, he just found it that way in the box, like it was all just a lucky coincidence for me. Hilarity ensues. I vow to exact revenge.
The next year was the one they introduced the character "Timmy" on South Park. My brother's name is Tim. I find this elementary-school-nostalgia metal lunch box with Timmy And The Lords Of The Underground on it in a local record store, so I buy it for him. A week later, I find a dead fly on my windowsill. I pick it up with tweezers, tape it to the inside of the lunch box, then wrap the whole thing and put it under the tree. Christmas morning, amidst much laughter and shouts of "TIMMMAAAYYYY!" I interject, "Wait — there's more! Open it up!" And the dead fly is revealed. Hilarity ensues.
Meanwhile, I'm rummaging through my stocking when I come across a small, strangely-shaped package. I unwrap it to discover a Ziploc sandwich bag full of toenails, labeled, in Magic Marker and my brother's handwriting, "MY TOENAILS." He had saved all his toenail clippings for like, 3 weeks, and given them to me for Christmas. "It's a very special present," he says. "I gave you a little piece of me!" Hilarity ensues. I joke that at least it was only a few week's worth and not a whole year.
The next year, I recieve a Ziploc bag containing a full year's worth of toenails.
Holidays with my family are not exactly what you'd call normal.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Engineers Do It Until It Hertz
Unintentionally "dirty" language I've come across while editing mechanical engineering manuals:
"The model's geometry shall reflect the overall size, length, connectivity, and stiffness of the member."
"This method is sometimes referred to as 'dithering' or 'jittering.'"
"...when properly mounted..."
"...while handling a load..."
"...with a rotating head ultrasonic tool..."
"...requiring a drywall screw..."
"Fig. 3: Hoist With Double-Pump Action"
"Table 1.1-2: Deviation From Straightness In Bars"
"Section 8-4 Stress Relieving"
"variable rod-in-tube orifice: type of pressure inducer that uses a retractable tapered rod inside a reamed tube to provide a variable orifice for pressure reduction parallel with sample flow while allowing retraction for cleaning of crud bursts."
"6.6 Butt Welds and Transition Nipples"
"Studs shall extend completely through the nuts."
"The model's geometry shall reflect the overall size, length, connectivity, and stiffness of the member."
"This method is sometimes referred to as 'dithering' or 'jittering.'"
"...when properly mounted..."
"...while handling a load..."
"...with a rotating head ultrasonic tool..."
"...requiring a drywall screw..."
"Fig. 3: Hoist With Double-Pump Action"
"Table 1.1-2: Deviation From Straightness In Bars"
"Section 8-4 Stress Relieving"
"variable rod-in-tube orifice: type of pressure inducer that uses a retractable tapered rod inside a reamed tube to provide a variable orifice for pressure reduction parallel with sample flow while allowing retraction for cleaning of crud bursts."
"6.6 Butt Welds and Transition Nipples"
"Studs shall extend completely through the nuts."
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Possible Follow-Ups To The Hallmark Hall Of Fame Presentation "A Dog Named Christmas"
Just pitching some ideas:
A Ferret Named Arbor Day
A Parakeet Named Yom Kippur
A Hamster Named Ramadan
A Turtle Named Secretary's Day
A Rabbit Named Lincoln's Birthday
A Pot-Bellied Pig Named Grandma & Grandpa's Golden Wedding Anniversay
An Alpaca Named Boxing Day
A Pony Named Chinese New Year
A Goldfish Named Black History Month
A Ferret Named Arbor Day
A Parakeet Named Yom Kippur
A Hamster Named Ramadan
A Turtle Named Secretary's Day
A Rabbit Named Lincoln's Birthday
A Pot-Bellied Pig Named Grandma & Grandpa's Golden Wedding Anniversay
An Alpaca Named Boxing Day
A Pony Named Chinese New Year
A Goldfish Named Black History Month
More Musical Genius
I'm one of those people who finds it physically impossible not to sing along when I hear music. It's almost an involuntary reaction; sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing it. I bop along to the elevator music while waiting on line at the supermarket, I belt out my iPod playlists on the treadmill at the gym, I put on concerts in my car. I kill at karaoke. An old boyfriend once used that "Who sings this song? Well, let's keep it that way!" line on me. We didn't last very long.
I used to drive the folks at my last job nuts just sitting at my desk, processing insurance payments and happily harmonizing away. But there's no Muzak in my new office, and we're not allowed to wear headphones. For the first few weeks I found the silence stifling, but I've lately found myself still singing anyway, just whatever pops into my head. A few days ago it was — inappropriately, I might add — "Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy; last week I couldn't stop humming the Project Runway theme music. And that's not even taking into account the fact that "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah, roma-ro-ma-ma, Gaga-ooh-la-la" has been running on a loop through my head for about a month. Most recently, it's been "Mad World," the Gary Jules version. I heard it for the first time on a repeat episode of CSI and it's been pretty much lodged in my brain ever since. However, strangely enough, I've never picked up on all of the lyrics, which has resulted in this bit of improvsation:
[to the tune of "Mad World"]
"I don't know all of the words to this song,
just the chorus,
but it's stuck in my head.
And I'm starting to annoy myself, re-
peating it over,
over and over again.
Maybe I should look them up
before I go insane
and my co-workers get
all pissed off and complain.
Mad world, mad world..."
Thank you, Cleveland!
I used to drive the folks at my last job nuts just sitting at my desk, processing insurance payments and happily harmonizing away. But there's no Muzak in my new office, and we're not allowed to wear headphones. For the first few weeks I found the silence stifling, but I've lately found myself still singing anyway, just whatever pops into my head. A few days ago it was — inappropriately, I might add — "Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy; last week I couldn't stop humming the Project Runway theme music. And that's not even taking into account the fact that "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah, roma-ro-ma-ma, Gaga-ooh-la-la" has been running on a loop through my head for about a month. Most recently, it's been "Mad World," the Gary Jules version. I heard it for the first time on a repeat episode of CSI and it's been pretty much lodged in my brain ever since. However, strangely enough, I've never picked up on all of the lyrics, which has resulted in this bit of improvsation:
[to the tune of "Mad World"]
"I don't know all of the words to this song,
just the chorus,
but it's stuck in my head.
And I'm starting to annoy myself, re-
peating it over,
over and over again.
Maybe I should look them up
before I go insane
and my co-workers get
all pissed off and complain.
Mad world, mad world..."
Thank you, Cleveland!
Where's The [bleep]ing FCC When You Need Them?
So, everyone's all up in arms over Adam Lambert's performance at the AMAs the other night. What I don't understand is why more people aren't up in arms about the really offensive performance of the night: Jennifer Lopez. No, not the fact that she fell — that horrendously awful song itself. It was probably the singlemost retarded piece of garbage I have ever heard in my life. Worse than "She-Wolf" even. It made me want to stab every single person involved in its existence with a fork. Repeatedly. And really hard. Seriously, this passes as music these days? A repetitive glorified designer shoe commercial jingle with a Stevie Wonder rip-off?
As you may have deduced, I was very angry about this, so I decided to channel my negative energy into a creative endeavor and come up with some alternate lyrics that I believe would have been much more entertaining:
"I've got high score in Donkey Kong,
We're driving on the Autobahn,
Team Atlas Snowshoes Rubicon (don't worry, it's an Eco-Challenge thing),
My sister ran a marathon,
My pen was here but now it's gone,
Ringo, Paul, George and John,
My favorite Jedi's Obi-Wan,
Will you please put your pants back on?
The first Atari game was Pong,
This guy that I know sells Avon,
Autobots fight Decepticons,
Let's go shopping at Benetton,
My neighbor's blasting reggaeton,
Watch "On The Case With Paula Zahn,"
I've never seen the movie Tron,
And I hate this stupid fucking song."
Thank you, Cleveland!
As you may have deduced, I was very angry about this, so I decided to channel my negative energy into a creative endeavor and come up with some alternate lyrics that I believe would have been much more entertaining:
"I've got high score in Donkey Kong,
We're driving on the Autobahn,
Team Atlas Snowshoes Rubicon (don't worry, it's an Eco-Challenge thing),
My sister ran a marathon,
My pen was here but now it's gone,
Ringo, Paul, George and John,
My favorite Jedi's Obi-Wan,
Will you please put your pants back on?
The first Atari game was Pong,
This guy that I know sells Avon,
Autobots fight Decepticons,
Let's go shopping at Benetton,
My neighbor's blasting reggaeton,
Watch "On The Case With Paula Zahn,"
I've never seen the movie Tron,
And I hate this stupid fucking song."
Thank you, Cleveland!
THIS! Is Project Drunkway!
I was merely innocently inquiring after my sister's Halloween costume progress when this happened:
"I just stopped at Jo-Ann Fabrics last night so I got most of my stuff, yeah. It was way cheap there. It's going to take me forever though, to make it! Good thing I'm not on Project Runway, I'd be given the boot."
Hmm...
[cue fuzzy dream sequence effects]
"Courtney, while your design showed promise, you took on more than you could handle in the time frame of this challenge, and it shows in your poor execution. Michael said your garment looked like 'a disco Halloween costume bought at Jo-Ann Fabrics.' Frankly, what you gave us was disappointing, and a big sloppy mess. Courtney...[big dramatic pause]...you're out. Auf weidersehn."
"EFF you all!!! This show blows goats! I don't need you! I'll be famous on my own! You'll see! Suck it Korrrrrrrrs!!!"
Tim Gunn: "Courtney, I'm so sorry, but I have to send you upstairs to clean up your space. Please don't hurt me. We have security on standby and I'm not opposed to utilizing their services if neccesary."
"Tim, I loved you with all my heart, but now I see you're nothing but a dirty, filthy TRAITOR!!! Take your vocab and SHOVE it, Gunn!!!" [flails about the workspace, knocking over forms and tearing fabric]
Tim: "Well, I am incredulous of this utterly preposterous demonstration of vitriol. Bitch be trippin'!" [busts out some nunchucks] "Bring it, yo! I got your tulle right here!" [motions to crotch; pauses to adjust cuff link]
Meanwhile, back on the runway...
Kors: "Jesus Christ, what was that all about? And we thought Kenley was bad!"
Heidi: "I know! I was like, whoa, that was totally unexpected! She seemed pretty normal before, no?"
Nina: "That display. Was. Taste. Less."
Guest judge Lindsay Lohan: "Eh, I've seen worse." [passes out and falls backwards out of chair]
The next morning, in the workroom...
Carol Hannah: "Oh my gawd, y'all! Courtney destroyed the whole workroom when she left? And now everything's, like, ruined?"
Nicolas: "Strangely, my garment actually looks better."
Christopher: [cries, hands in Miss America/prayer position]
Gordana: "Vhy vould zhe dooo thees? Eet iss so oonfear. Een former Yugoslavia, zhe woot be vipped een veelage square for thees crime."
Logan: "..."
Irina, in interview: "Everyone's like, outraged over this whole thing, like all of their stuff wasn't crap to begin with. I mean, I'm obviously the only one here with a legitimate reason to be pissed. You know she just did it out of jealousy because she knows how much she sucks, compared to me."
Carol Hannah, in interview: "I'ma cut that bitch with a seam ripper. Irina, I mean."
At the next challenge...
Heidi: "Carol Hannah, you were the winner of the last chall—"
Kanye West, in a special guest appearance: "Yo, Heineken, I'ma let you finish, but Courtney's garment was the best EVER MADE! EVER MADE!"
Shameless Garnier product placement guy: "That man desperately needs a hair makeover..."
[roll credits]
"I just stopped at Jo-Ann Fabrics last night so I got most of my stuff, yeah. It was way cheap there. It's going to take me forever though, to make it! Good thing I'm not on Project Runway, I'd be given the boot."
Hmm...
[cue fuzzy dream sequence effects]
"Courtney, while your design showed promise, you took on more than you could handle in the time frame of this challenge, and it shows in your poor execution. Michael said your garment looked like 'a disco Halloween costume bought at Jo-Ann Fabrics.' Frankly, what you gave us was disappointing, and a big sloppy mess. Courtney...[big dramatic pause]...you're out. Auf weidersehn."
"EFF you all!!! This show blows goats! I don't need you! I'll be famous on my own! You'll see! Suck it Korrrrrrrrs!!!"
Tim Gunn: "Courtney, I'm so sorry, but I have to send you upstairs to clean up your space. Please don't hurt me. We have security on standby and I'm not opposed to utilizing their services if neccesary."
"Tim, I loved you with all my heart, but now I see you're nothing but a dirty, filthy TRAITOR!!! Take your vocab and SHOVE it, Gunn!!!" [flails about the workspace, knocking over forms and tearing fabric]
Tim: "Well, I am incredulous of this utterly preposterous demonstration of vitriol. Bitch be trippin'!" [busts out some nunchucks] "Bring it, yo! I got your tulle right here!" [motions to crotch; pauses to adjust cuff link]
Meanwhile, back on the runway...
Kors: "Jesus Christ, what was that all about? And we thought Kenley was bad!"
Heidi: "I know! I was like, whoa, that was totally unexpected! She seemed pretty normal before, no?"
Nina: "That display. Was. Taste. Less."
Guest judge Lindsay Lohan: "Eh, I've seen worse." [passes out and falls backwards out of chair]
The next morning, in the workroom...
Carol Hannah: "Oh my gawd, y'all! Courtney destroyed the whole workroom when she left? And now everything's, like, ruined?"
Nicolas: "Strangely, my garment actually looks better."
Christopher: [cries, hands in Miss America/prayer position]
Gordana: "Vhy vould zhe dooo thees? Eet iss so oonfear. Een former Yugoslavia, zhe woot be vipped een veelage square for thees crime."
Logan: "..."
Irina, in interview: "Everyone's like, outraged over this whole thing, like all of their stuff wasn't crap to begin with. I mean, I'm obviously the only one here with a legitimate reason to be pissed. You know she just did it out of jealousy because she knows how much she sucks, compared to me."
Carol Hannah, in interview: "I'ma cut that bitch with a seam ripper. Irina, I mean."
At the next challenge...
Heidi: "Carol Hannah, you were the winner of the last chall—"
Kanye West, in a special guest appearance: "Yo, Heineken, I'ma let you finish, but Courtney's garment was the best EVER MADE! EVER MADE!"
Shameless Garnier product placement guy: "That man desperately needs a hair makeover..."
[roll credits]
Pedantry
Texts From Last Night (919): Learn some fucking English or leave me alone! "Your" is for something that belongs to you, like "your herpes." And "you're" is a contraction for "you are," like "you're not sleeping with me."
8 Simple Rules For Answering My Personal Ad
After several disastrous, soul-corroding attempts, I have vowed to never post an ad to an online dating site ever again. For those of you still bravely and blindly pressing on, allow me to provide a brief summary of the ordeals I've endured through my vast and completely aggravating experience.
1. Don't be old enough to be my dad.
Hope may spring eternal, but I am under no obligation to indulge that hope. If I took the time to specify an age range, it's there for a reason. If that range is, say, 29-39, and you're, like, 28 or 41, I'll let you slide. But if you're 56, and you have the gall to even start off your reply with, "I know I'm too old for you, but...," please, don't bother. I am not here to propel anyone's mid-life crisis; you're just wasting both of our time. Same goes if you are young enough to be my son: I am admittedly a rather ferocious cougar, but if you're 22, still live at home, address me as "shorty," and use the word (and I use that term loosely) "chillax," I may have to slap you.
2. Don't be confrontational. Or a douche.
If my Match.com profile mentions I'm a die-hard Mavs fan, poking fun at Dirk's lack of defensive skills is acceptable. However, if my quirky Craigslist ad says I'm seeking "a skinny boy with glasses and tattoos," it is not acceptable to respond "Excuse me but I am a MAN not a boy and I'd never be dumb enough to put something permanent on my body but to each his own." What, exactly, are you expecting to accomplish by insulting me and confirming in a single sentence that we have nothing in common? I mean, I know I'm a hot little number, but I purposely did not post in the "casual encounters" section, and I somehow doubt that I am so tempting you're willing to overlook our completely divergent personalities just to go to a movie. There's also a reason I've never been religious — I don't approve of preachers.
3. Don't send me porn.
I will tolerate topless pics if you are standing on a beach with a surfboard or showing me a chest tattoo [see "a skinny boy with glasses and tattoos"]. I will not tolerate topless pics of you flexing in front of your car or that you took of yourself in the mirror with your face blurred out, no matter how tight your abs. And there is NO WAY I will stand for a cock shot, especially by way of introduction when there's not even a message attached. I mean, really? Has this approach ever worked for anyone, ever? And if you're just trying to be offensive, well, sorry, honey, but I've seen one before. And it was bigger than yours.
4. Speak English.
This is an actual reply that I actually received:
"I read u n like u. You look very smart n it is good for girls like to talk with u 646xxxxxxx"
Ah, yes, the irony of telling someone they look smart...like that. Folks, I am an editor. I proofread for a living. And I weep for the future.
I'm not asking everyone to live up to my professional standards, but if I have to decipher your response like it's some encrypted clue out of The DaVinci Code, you're probably not going to make it to Round 2. I know capitalization is kind of lax on the Interwebz, but at least punctuate your sentences so I know where they end and can puzzle some sort of sense out of them. And I know I'm guilty of some occasional acronym abuse myself — BTW, IMO, FWIW, DIAGF (look up that last one — it’s awesome), and, yeah, ok, sometimes I write "gonna" and "wanna." But "and," "are," and "you" are only 3 letters each. C'mon now, people.
Pointers for some added pet peeves:
* There are 3 periods in an ellipsis, 4 if it's ending the sentence. Not 27...not 14...just 3.
* Quotation marks only go around quotations, or words that are "special." Don't use them for emphasis, like "this," because saying you're very "sincere" is kind of oxymoronic.
* Extraneous apostrophe's are not you're friend's.
* Don't end every sentence with "haha" or "LOL," especially if the sentence that precedes it isn't funny. Saying "I make great lasagna. Maybe you can try it sometime LOL!" makes me think your recipe contains mushrooms. Magic ones.
5. Don't send out form letters.
For a fun experiment, try this: Post an ad online. Read the responses. Post a different but similar ad on the same site a week later. Read the responses. Count how many are from the same guys and are word-for-word, exactly the same. Wonder if they even bothered to read what you wrote or look at your picture, or if they just spend way too much time sitting there feverishly refreshing the screen, mass-mailing to every new girl that pops up, and thinking, hey, it's gotta work eventually, right?!?
6. Tell me something.
"whats up sexy call me 718-xxx-xxxx" is not going to win my heart or any points for creativity. How do I know you're not a serial killer? Or a phone sex line? Or that guy down the hall who's always blaring "Birthday Sex" at 2 in the morning? Or a Republican? At least try to spark my interest. Trust me, I am no spoiled princess demanding to be pampered for nothing in return. I'm a hardcore, hot-blooded feminista. I’m all for equality and girls being assertive and making the first move and paying for the date if it was their idea and initiating sex, but now you're just being lazy.
7. But not your life story.
It is not necessary, in an initial reply, to tell me: if your parents are still married; the names and breeds of all the pets you've ever owned; where you hope to be in 5 years, career- and family-wise, and how you plan to attain those goals; your views on gay couples and adoption; the name of every trendy restaurant you've been to in the last 6 months and what you ordered there; that you think a woman looks most beautiful in the throes of an orgasm; how many people you've responded to before me who didn't even have the courtesy to say "No, thank you, I'm not interested;" whether or not you are circumcised. It is particularly unnecessary to tell me all of these things at once.
8. Don't be a Nigerian scammer.
My favorite response of all time, completely unedited:
"Hello Princess Lady.
Wow I cant believed that such a pretty looking lady like you would be on here, I Most confess on what I saw, I was carried away when I get a look at your sexy, attractive and Adorable Lips in your Picture [NOTE: You can't see my lips in the picture — see my profile pic], I was very Impressed on what I saw.You are such a pack of beauty, your eye's is Adorable and I wish that you where very Closed to me, Well to be honest with you am a new member in this site.As i said i dont mind relocating to you cause i know i will have so much love to share with you and u will have for me aswell...So I dont know much about things in this site, well you are the only lady that I just meet Here and am very happy and you really made my day. Well you ask me where am from. Well am from West Africa, But i just move to north carolina .... Well i'm my spare time, i took my son to
the beach, and went for shopping, and we are two children of my folks.my Dad passed away in a car accident and i have my mum is west africa...mum is from west africa and dad is a native of America,i hope you are not very ecthic [NOTE: I don't even know what that word was trying to be] about my distance to you cuz i believe that anything can happen to love, to me distance is not an issue to me. I can relocate when I find my right lady Well my hobbies. i like reading, dancing, sport, and my favorite type of food are Italian food, Mexican food sea food Well you can come to my Yahoo instant messenger so that we can get to talk better And know more each other, and we can share pics there. Well add, me on my yahoo instant Messenger right now (toffycute009 or send me an Email right now toffycute009@yahoo.com) Or you can just give me you Yahoo Instant
Messenger ID also, or your email address.
Hope you will love to know my son soon,
Well I’ll be very happy to hear from you once again.
Thanks
Toffy.."
Happy hunting, comrades. :)
1. Don't be old enough to be my dad.
Hope may spring eternal, but I am under no obligation to indulge that hope. If I took the time to specify an age range, it's there for a reason. If that range is, say, 29-39, and you're, like, 28 or 41, I'll let you slide. But if you're 56, and you have the gall to even start off your reply with, "I know I'm too old for you, but...," please, don't bother. I am not here to propel anyone's mid-life crisis; you're just wasting both of our time. Same goes if you are young enough to be my son: I am admittedly a rather ferocious cougar, but if you're 22, still live at home, address me as "shorty," and use the word (and I use that term loosely) "chillax," I may have to slap you.
2. Don't be confrontational. Or a douche.
If my Match.com profile mentions I'm a die-hard Mavs fan, poking fun at Dirk's lack of defensive skills is acceptable. However, if my quirky Craigslist ad says I'm seeking "a skinny boy with glasses and tattoos," it is not acceptable to respond "Excuse me but I am a MAN not a boy and I'd never be dumb enough to put something permanent on my body but to each his own." What, exactly, are you expecting to accomplish by insulting me and confirming in a single sentence that we have nothing in common? I mean, I know I'm a hot little number, but I purposely did not post in the "casual encounters" section, and I somehow doubt that I am so tempting you're willing to overlook our completely divergent personalities just to go to a movie. There's also a reason I've never been religious — I don't approve of preachers.
3. Don't send me porn.
I will tolerate topless pics if you are standing on a beach with a surfboard or showing me a chest tattoo [see "a skinny boy with glasses and tattoos"]. I will not tolerate topless pics of you flexing in front of your car or that you took of yourself in the mirror with your face blurred out, no matter how tight your abs. And there is NO WAY I will stand for a cock shot, especially by way of introduction when there's not even a message attached. I mean, really? Has this approach ever worked for anyone, ever? And if you're just trying to be offensive, well, sorry, honey, but I've seen one before. And it was bigger than yours.
4. Speak English.
This is an actual reply that I actually received:
"I read u n like u. You look very smart n it is good for girls like to talk with u 646xxxxxxx"
Ah, yes, the irony of telling someone they look smart...like that. Folks, I am an editor. I proofread for a living. And I weep for the future.
I'm not asking everyone to live up to my professional standards, but if I have to decipher your response like it's some encrypted clue out of The DaVinci Code, you're probably not going to make it to Round 2. I know capitalization is kind of lax on the Interwebz, but at least punctuate your sentences so I know where they end and can puzzle some sort of sense out of them. And I know I'm guilty of some occasional acronym abuse myself — BTW, IMO, FWIW, DIAGF (look up that last one — it’s awesome), and, yeah, ok, sometimes I write "gonna" and "wanna." But "and," "are," and "you" are only 3 letters each. C'mon now, people.
Pointers for some added pet peeves:
* There are 3 periods in an ellipsis, 4 if it's ending the sentence. Not 27...not 14...just 3.
* Quotation marks only go around quotations, or words that are "special." Don't use them for emphasis, like "this," because saying you're very "sincere" is kind of oxymoronic.
* Extraneous apostrophe's are not you're friend's.
* Don't end every sentence with "haha" or "LOL," especially if the sentence that precedes it isn't funny. Saying "I make great lasagna. Maybe you can try it sometime LOL!" makes me think your recipe contains mushrooms. Magic ones.
5. Don't send out form letters.
For a fun experiment, try this: Post an ad online. Read the responses. Post a different but similar ad on the same site a week later. Read the responses. Count how many are from the same guys and are word-for-word, exactly the same. Wonder if they even bothered to read what you wrote or look at your picture, or if they just spend way too much time sitting there feverishly refreshing the screen, mass-mailing to every new girl that pops up, and thinking, hey, it's gotta work eventually, right?!?
6. Tell me something.
"whats up sexy call me 718-xxx-xxxx" is not going to win my heart or any points for creativity. How do I know you're not a serial killer? Or a phone sex line? Or that guy down the hall who's always blaring "Birthday Sex" at 2 in the morning? Or a Republican? At least try to spark my interest. Trust me, I am no spoiled princess demanding to be pampered for nothing in return. I'm a hardcore, hot-blooded feminista. I’m all for equality and girls being assertive and making the first move and paying for the date if it was their idea and initiating sex, but now you're just being lazy.
7. But not your life story.
It is not necessary, in an initial reply, to tell me: if your parents are still married; the names and breeds of all the pets you've ever owned; where you hope to be in 5 years, career- and family-wise, and how you plan to attain those goals; your views on gay couples and adoption; the name of every trendy restaurant you've been to in the last 6 months and what you ordered there; that you think a woman looks most beautiful in the throes of an orgasm; how many people you've responded to before me who didn't even have the courtesy to say "No, thank you, I'm not interested;" whether or not you are circumcised. It is particularly unnecessary to tell me all of these things at once.
8. Don't be a Nigerian scammer.
My favorite response of all time, completely unedited:
"Hello Princess Lady.
Wow I cant believed that such a pretty looking lady like you would be on here, I Most confess on what I saw, I was carried away when I get a look at your sexy, attractive and Adorable Lips in your Picture [NOTE: You can't see my lips in the picture — see my profile pic], I was very Impressed on what I saw.You are such a pack of beauty, your eye's is Adorable and I wish that you where very Closed to me, Well to be honest with you am a new member in this site.As i said i dont mind relocating to you cause i know i will have so much love to share with you and u will have for me aswell...So I dont know much about things in this site, well you are the only lady that I just meet Here and am very happy and you really made my day. Well you ask me where am from. Well am from West Africa, But i just move to north carolina .... Well i'm my spare time, i took my son to
the beach, and went for shopping, and we are two children of my folks.my Dad passed away in a car accident and i have my mum is west africa...mum is from west africa and dad is a native of America,i hope you are not very ecthic [NOTE: I don't even know what that word was trying to be] about my distance to you cuz i believe that anything can happen to love, to me distance is not an issue to me. I can relocate when I find my right lady Well my hobbies. i like reading, dancing, sport, and my favorite type of food are Italian food, Mexican food sea food Well you can come to my Yahoo instant messenger so that we can get to talk better And know more each other, and we can share pics there. Well add, me on my yahoo instant Messenger right now (toffycute009 or send me an Email right now toffycute009@yahoo.com) Or you can just give me you Yahoo Instant
Messenger ID also, or your email address.
Hope you will love to know my son soon,
Well I’ll be very happy to hear from you once again.
Thanks
Toffy.."
Happy hunting, comrades. :)
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