Fireside Chat

Warning - this post could be seen as political, but I'd argue that.

Apparently, after the next year, the three of you who still don't have a DVR will not be roused from your recliner slumber by the obnoxious decibel level of a commercial advertisement.

I'm not (entirely) judging the merits of this legislation. I'm even encouraged by the knowledge that Congress could pass some goddamn thing.

Forgive me, but...

One in six Americans does not have enough to eat. We are tearing ourselves apart so that the people making the most money can sit on a slightly larger pillow of excess (sorry, but come on - their lives don't change at all) and we can't agree to extend unemployment benefits past Christmas?

(Also, what are you doing watching TV when people are starving?)

On the bright side, when those unemployed people are staring through the appliance store window at the TV display, the commercials won't offend with their loudness.

Always a silver lining,

Jenny

December 2nd

Forever ago, Jeske popped up on IM and asked “do you want me to get tickets for the Louis CK show on December 2nd?”

December 2nd?! Who knows where we’ll be on December 2nd?

I could have a fantastic job as a fancy writer on a wildly popular show and will probably have to work late nights.

Louis CK could be gunned down by a crazy conservative who just doesn’t get it.

The “Big One” could finally hit, sucking Universal City and it’s ampitheater down into a bottomless pit.

Aliens could arrive and enslave all humans, making any comedy show tickets worthless.

Or, less likely, we could have a huge fight and break up and not be together by the end of the year.

December 2nd is soooo far away, the possibilities are absolutely endless. But, sure, go ahead. Get the tickets.

…

Guess who gets to see Louis CK tonight?



me,
gretch

Jumping off the Roof

Without getting into it, I had to investigate a leak in the roof of the garage. I used a rickety step ladder to get up to the roof. Barely making it without killing myself as the ladder was very unsteady, I did my business up there, concerned the whole time that I was going to fall through the old roof and crash into my car below.

That didn't happen.

I did spend a little time up there. I haven't been on the roof of a building in a long time. When I lived in NYC I did that quite a bit. The top of the World Trade Center, Tar Beach at my friends' house in Queens, or the Empire State Building.

I had a good time looking around and seeing the neighborhood in a different perspective. The palm trees, the other roofs down the street. It also afforded me a chance to look at some of my neighbor's yards and what they have in them.

Sheez.

When it came time to come down, I realized that the ladder was not going to work for me as I not only had to put my foot on the very top of that wobbly thing, but I also had to lift my body over a 2x4 that was making my descent a lot more difficult than it needed to be.

So I went to another part of the roof and sat there with my legs dangling over the edge. I thought that since I am so tall, if I could swing my body around I could just hang off the side edge of the roof and then just "fall" the two feet or so to the ground.

Well that plan went out the window when I decided that I didn't trust the edge of the roof to be a solid gripping point when I needed it. So I did what I didn't want to do.

I jumped.

Let's just say that the bottom of my right foot hurts a lot right now. Like the time I got my Batman cape stuck in my brake hand while I was rappelling in a stunt show. In the show I landed pretty hard on the ball of my right foot. That is kind of what happened today.

Next time I'll request an airbag...

Kurt

Random

PR

Project Runway needs to go away for a little while. Like when Michael Jackson went away (kind of) in the late 80's and early 90's.

This was a great season that just passed, but I'm glad that the show apparently won't return for a several months. (I'm guessing that it's not returning for some time)

When they had the last episode and they had all of the designers there and they let everyone talk except for the guy that wore the bowler hat and the white girl with the dredlocks. It seemed as if the producers invited them to the party but they had to serve drinks and clean up later.

Maybe next season they'll have real designers like Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein, Ann Taylor, and etc. square off against each other.

Now THAT is a season I would watch. Micheal Kors judging peers of his, now that would be cool.

I know that will never happen, but I'll bet I could publish that as a great graphic novel!

Here's to PR coming back after its been away for a while.

I did hear that Michael Jackson is releasing a new album soon.

Kurt

Why I'm Never Going to Get Anywhere, in Pretentious Tones

Seriously, what the crap?

This is from a regular email I get about submissions for essays and other writing. It was supposed to move me to submit more regularly, but I confess, that is not going as planned.

****************

[out of nothing], an electronic publication interested in new works in image, sound, text, and the intersections between these media, is now open to submissions for its fifth issue: "out of a system declaring nothing out of relevance". Please submit your textual, aural, visual, poly/ambi-medial work to us at shelling.peanuts( at)gmail. com [replace (at) with @]

Deadline: January 01, 2011

Complete submissions guidelines are available at:

http://www.outofnothing.org/ relevance/

Prospective contributors would be well-advised to consult our earlier publications at http://www.outofnothing.org as a guide to the type of work we're interested in: to supplement this understanding and ideally stimulate your thinking about a new piece made particularly to address the issues that consume, or rather, are consumed by us, we offer the
following potential topics:

> the vacuum
> salvage / remainders
> imaginary spaces possessed of imaginary dimensions
> darkness / lightlessness
> reduced or infinitesimal means
> the exponential
> self-abnegating symbols
> the blank
> obliteration
> the inconsequential
> refusal
> the contentless / general contentlessness
> the generic and / or undifferentiated and / or the contra-original
> adhesive agents in search of clients to bind
> none of the above or below

Electronic submissions only. Please allow 3 - 6 months response time.

Eds., [out of nothing]

>>>>>>>>>

Yours in obscurity (though NOT deliberate abstruseness,)

Jenny

True Story

I had ice cream for lunch today because I was too busy (or too lazy) to go down to the food court (aka the seventh level of hell) and the office kitchen was stocked with only old half-gallons of Breyer's and nacho flavored Doritos.

sigh.

gretch

Nerds

I am a nerd about some, okay, one thing and if you've read some of my postings you'll be able to figure out what I squid out about.

But I don't think I'm this bad...



Kurt

Enough with the Political Ads

I'm ready for the election to be tomorrow.

I don't need to see anymore ads for propositions or for who is running for what.

Where I come from, the people we elect decide all of that crap for us. Here in California, what do the people in Sacramento do all day?

I'm not going to get political but I'm just wondering what do they do?

Say, are you going to watch Project Runway tonight?

Kurt

Kurt Carley, Ladies and Gentlemen

I just want to take a moment to thank Kurt for being the Big Hollywood blog for the last little while. I promise to try to do better, and to stop being so stingy with the posts. Who do I think I am? Hm?

All apologies,

Jenny

So that's what they were singing

Kurt

"Like a good neighbor..."

I just want to keep everyone up on the car insurance spokesman explosion that is going on right now...

Geico has the gekko, the Rod Serling guy, and the stack of money with eyes (yes I saw 30 Rock last week)

Progressive has Flo

State Farm has a guy that looks like he could be Latino, and looks like he's not Latino

Allstate has the guy that used to be on 30 Rock

21st. Century has a guy with a lab coat

...and I just saw a commercial last night that has a bobble head on the dashboard of a car.

A creature made from rock (like The Thing from the Fantastic Four) might be the new spokesman for Prudential

I'm just saying.

Kurt

My New Favorite Thing

That stunk

I apologize for that last blog posting... it stunk.

I have no excuse. I might, might, go out for a short run today and if I get really inspired as I run around the resevoir I'll hit you with my brilliance.

Don't count on it though.

Kurt

66+

Email me!

I just experienced an email glitch this week. To make a long story short I had to download over 66 thousand emails to sync things up with my email server. How long does downloading 66 thousand emails take you ask?

20 hours.

Do you have any idea how long it takes to delete 66 thousand emails?

A long time.

For some reason my computer tells me that the emails were deleted (eventually) but sometimes I get a stack of emails from 2007!

I think I have the problem pretty much licked though.

Email me and let me know if I fixed it?

Just kidding, you don't have to email me.

I get enough junk emails to test it out, and I'm still getting those.

Now if I can just get my Mail Rules to work!

Kurt

Pot

I just watched a pot of water come to boil.

It starts with a few small bubbles and then a lot more small bubbles followed by bunches of more bubbles in almost a snowstorm of bubbles which crescendos with the water boiling.

Next week I'll tell you about a tree falling in the woods.

Kurt

Harmonicannot

I have a couple of the greatest parents ever. Growing up they were supportive and encouraging and trusting and forgiving, all around A+ parents. I had a wonderful childhood and I was never in want of anything. Except…

I never learned to play an instrument. I was never forced to take piano lessons or pick up a violin or pluck a stand-up bass (even though I wouldn’t have needed to stand on a chair like that one kid in orchestra had to).

While up at the cabin this summer, languishing in the last minutes of the afternoon sun on the deck, Eric pulled out his harmonica. He played along with some tablature for some new songs. And then, perhaps sensing my envy, he handed over the harmonica and showed me how to place my fingers. I looked down at the small instrument in my hands. It fit perfectly.

“What if…what if I’m a virtuoso on the harmonica?” I thought to myself. “What if I put it up to my mouth and without so much as trying I belted out a kick ass version of When the Saints Come Marching In? What if I was born to do this one thing? What if I’ve wasted the last 33 years not playing the harmonica? What if? What if? What if?”

I slowly brought the harmonica to my mouth and blew confidently against the tiny holes.

Nope.



You’re safe, for now, John Popper.
gretch

Oh my gosh, it's September already. Before you know it, it'll be Christmas.

I better start on my Halloween costume.

Anyways, when you've been driving down the streets here in LA, have you noticed that there are some traffic lights that seem to be intentionally hard to read? What I mean is, you have to practically drive through the intersection before you can definitively tell that the light is in fact green.

I think it's a plot to trap more people in the middle of blocks so that the city can catch more people with their cameras.

Why can't all the lights be the same, or relatively the same?

By the way, I'm thinking of going as a robot made of liquor boxes this Halloween.

Kurt

Love Makes You Do Crazy Things

Sometimes that is a wonderful thing - it's asking someone to marry you by skywriting it at the beach. It's a surprise picnic under the moonlight. Maybe you try skydiving or birdwatching - things you never thought you'd do. It's beautiful, really.

And, sometimes, it's not.

Sometimes, your on-again/off-again girlfriend, upon being barred from entering your house, will try to shimmy down the chimney, get stuck there and die. And you being out of town and all, it will be a couple of days before the house sitter notices the smell.

Or, after 29 years of marriage, during a fight, you might beat your wife to death with a small statue, leave her body in the house for a few days, then drive it in an RV to a campsite to dispose of it. Then you would make excuses to the neighbors about where she is, and how you expect her home any time. And then, finally, botch a suicide attempt when the police close in.

And then, you might just decide to lie in the backseat of your ex-boyfriend's car so that you can stab him repeatedly with an ice pick. Not the soundest plan, perhaps, especially since you're still living together. But, still.

Yup, love sure makes you do crazy things.

Jenny

I've never been a big fan of the guy that is in the park playing his guitar. And I'm also not a fan of the guy that is sitting on a park bench playing a flute.

Usually this guy chooses to do this while there is some kind of carnival going on or some event which makes the park filled with more people than it usually has.

This reminds me of those Real Men of Genius radio ads that Bud Light does.

"Bud Light Salutes you, guy on a park bench playing the flute. Other people go to the park to walk, relax, or for a picnic. But you, you go to the park to sit on a bench within earshot of everyone so we can hear your rendition of Aqualung.

'Whoa, he's playing a flute!'

Off key, sour notes, you don't care... you're playing a woodwind instrument... in the woods.

So pop open a Bud Light you pied piper of public parks, 'cause when you play a flute, you can still be a man."

Kurt

Blogger

Someone described me as a "blogger" yesterday. Actually, as someone with "a lot of blogs," and proceeded to do the math as proof that I am, shall we say, someone with a lot of blogs. That if the average American had .5 blogs - a number that's likely very inflated - and I contribute to, say, three. Then yes, I have a lot of blogs. If that's the math you want to do, that's fine.

I do a different sort of math. The kind that counts actual readers. And, Reader, (and I use that term facetiously,) let's face facts.

Where there are three blogs in total, and "blog" equals "cry for attention" and "three" is the "number of total readers," how pathetic is said blogger?

I should blog about that.

Jenny

What are you, from England?

When I talk about my Mother's sister, or one of my Mother's sister-in-law's, I call them my aunt. And I pronounce it like the insect, ant.

I don't say 'Awnt.'

I say ant not awnt.

Kurtcrest OUT!

Six Million Dollar Jury

So here's the wrap-up on the whole jury duty thing.

I'm not going to say guilty or not, but I know that in about three more months I can write my scathing tell-all book about the trial.

This was the first time that I have sat on a jury and I must admit that it was kind of fascinating. I was not the foreperson of the jury, but the person we elected did a great job of keeping everything moving along and giving everyone an opportunity to speak their mind. We were also blessed that we had a lot of nice...

...this just in, I just had to look at a promo for the old Six Million Dollar Man tv show. I just thought I'd let you know how much I REALLY cared about jury duty...

...people and we all got along pretty.

I will say this for Jenny that has to go for service soon, take a book, or some knitting, and be prepared for an interesting time.

Kurt

Viacom/Viagra

Shocking - Gabillionaire Sumner Redstone attracts young pretty party girls, and then rewards them for it. That's not the shocking part, though. She's expected to show up at a job on top of all the other work she presumably does.

I remember a time when whoores could just sit in their paid-for penthouses in diaphanous peignoirs and fuzzy high-heeled slippers, and recover from what just happened, and gird themselves for the next time. This poor girl has to show up at a JOB.

Times really ARE tough.

Jenny

Riding the Piggyback

Maybe if I too chime in on this topic I can somehow get a jury summons and have to report during our busiest time of year. And then I can have my coworkers take pictures when my boss' head explodes. That would be the awesomest. Come on, Universe, let's make this happen.

I've only served once, got out really early and took advantage of the free museum admission to jurors. I could sit in the Rothko room at the downtown MoCA all day. Before being released, I was sitting quietly, taking the whole process very seriously. Then, out of nowhere, one of the potential jurors asked for a sidebar. The stranger next to me (who in retrospect very well could have been Danger Mouse) leaned over and said "that's so badass, asking for a sidebar, during jury selection." I couldn't stop giggling. They passed on me a short time later, probably because I seemed mentally ill. Thanks, Danger Mouse.



gretch

Piggybacking

OK, so I was over at Kurt's house the other day when he called in and found out he'd have to report for jury duty today.

Then we chatted about past jury duty exploits, and I said how it had been years since I'd been summoned.

The next day in the mail.....did you see this coming? Yes. My jury duty summons arrived. I will be registering using a telephone within five (5) days of receipt.

While I think I would make a model juror - maybe even foreman material, I have never been empaneled. And yes, I knew what I risked by typing that. It's practically a done deal.

Is it wrong to hope I'm sequestered? I love that word. It sounds just like what it is, only with a warm blanket and cinnamon toast.

Jenny

Jury Duty

I have to report for jury duty tomorrow morning at 7:45 am.

Two-and-a-half years ago I had to report and now I'm back again. I think this is the third time that I have had jury duty in the last 13 years.

When I lived in New York, I had jury duty once. Once.

I am going to get a lot of something done tomorrow, I can feel it.

If only the battery in my computer would last longer than 30 minutes at a time.

I'm contemplating taking a bus to jury duty.

That's like riding your bike to buy a new car.

Kurt

Here's the deal...

The facts…

I live in an apartment building with 18 units.
Let’s figure that there’s an average of two people per unit, that’s 36 individuals.
36 individuals who presumably do their own laundry.
There are two shared washers and two shared dryers for the entire building.
Needless to say, they’re in constant use.

Here’s the deal…

If you put your clothes in the washer and leave them there to be found by me when I come down there to do my two loads, and I complete those two loads, back-to-back in the same washer (because I don’t feel comfortable pulling your undies, even if they’re clean, out of the washer) and then I complete my dry cycle and your clothes are still in the washing machine…well …then, you’re going to get a Gretchen booger wiped on your load. You deserve it because that’s just rude, leaving your clothes down there for hours. And I know it’s you, hot Australian guy with the disgusting whippets. It’s always you.



You’ve been warned,
gretch

So...I'm Healthier Than I Think, I Think

Um. OK, so she's ADORABLE, and seems completely normal, except for the part where she's been housing the dead bodies of her husband and her sister. She's super cooperative with the police, very forthcoming, but irritated with the person who ratted her out. Doesn't see what the big deal is.

Jenny

PS: I still don't know how to link to a thing. The title of the post should take you to the full story.

Proof

Lately, when Kurt and I tell people of the child we had some 17 years ago, we get looks of disbelief and incredulity. It's hurtful. I mean, who could possibly joke about having a child? That's just sick, people. You may have never met her, but let me assure you, she's very real (and I have the c-section scar to prove it). But if that's not enough proof for you, here you go...our daughter Felicia Rashad Carley-Enders...



She's been attending a very fancy exclusive boarding school in London and as soon as she finishes her OWL exams she'll come for a visit.

there. happy?

gretch

I didn't forget, I swear...

I've just been super busy. I haven't forgotten about you, Big Hollywood blog. I love you Big Hollywood blog. I hope you can understand and know that it isn't you, Big Hollywood blog, it's me. I've been a little overextended, a little underinspired. But that's my own shit, Big Hollywood blog. I shouldn't let it affect our relationship. Understand there's no other blog in my life...for reals.

For reals, Big Hollywood blog.

lovingyouiseasycuzyou'rebeautiful,
gretch

34x34

That is my waist and inseam size. When I turned 34 a friend asked how old I was and I said, "34. Same as my inseam."

I have no idea what my glove size is. I have no idea what store to go to get a reliable glove size. I also have no idea what my hat size is and I'm bald and I should know as I look at four hats that are hanging in my closet.

I think I'm a 42Extra Long in a dress suit, but I have no idea what size I am in a naru (sp?) suit. I wonder if MensWearhouse measures for that.

For years I thought I was a 16 1/2, 36 dress shirt. I could not have been more wrong after getting measured I discovered I'm actually 16 1/2, 37!

What a difference an inch makes.

Oh yeah, that 16 year old girl that was trying to sail around the world was found safe. Thank goodness. I have no idea what size life preserver I would wear. I'm guessing an XL? I wouldn't even fit in a doughnut shaped Life Preserver, unless they came in different sizes.

Generally though, when it comes to t-shirts and stuff like that I just take an XL. Sweat pants, XL, sweaters, XL, jackets, XL, etc.

Man, I haven't worn a medium in let's say a long, long time.

I may stop off at the thrift store (read Goodwill) as I might be able to pick up a bargain shirt for $1.5o or so.

Now, I'm not going to buy underwear or socks at Goodwill or shoes, but I'll buy shirts and pants, but no athletic stuff, for some reason that skeeves me out.

Well, that's all for this time. I was going to write about Benny Hill doing a spoof of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf but I decided against it, but you'd have loved it. Benny doing Elizabeth Taylor AND Richard Burton! I thought of that because Liz is on the cove of Vanity Fair...

and she looks amazing!

Oh yeah one more thing. Man there was a stinky guy sitting next to me on the bus a couple of days ago.

Go Metro!

Kurt

Endocrinology

Doctor: Have you been taking your vitamin D?

Me: I ran out of the stuff you gave me a while back, actually.

Doctor: You know, you get the same thing from UVB rays just sitting in the sun.

Me: Well, I have been making an effort to do a little of that each day.

Doctor: I really don't recommend that, because you'll get skin cancer.

Me: I guess it's going to be something.

Doctor: Yes, but it's the decline you want to avoid.

Me: Lately, I'm hoping for a bus or a train.

Doctor: You know what you really want? Cardiac arrest. It's not a heart attack, it's more of a rhythm problem. Devastating for the people left behind, of course, but for you, it's great.

Me: Uh, okay. Thanks?


Jenny

Skaters Reverse

I had my last show with a group of kids last night. When I say kids I mean people in their twenties. For Heaven's Sake, one of the guys turned 23 last night!

I knew the first day I walked into class that I was the oldest one there, and I don't know if I want to do that anymore. A friend asked me if I was going to take another class after graduating, meaning, take another class at another school. Let's see, if I do that, that'll take about a year and when I finish there, then I can take another class at the other place... skip, skip, skip, I'll be in my fifties when I'm done.

Wha-wha-wha-wha-what!

Ah, who am I kidding, I'll be back... back with my AARP card for that 10% discount!

Kurt

Carrie and Company are back!!!

OMG you guys, it's Sex and the City 2! I can't tell you how excited I was for the employee-only screening of SATC2 in Westwood tonight. I had cranberry juice chilling in the fridge for cosmos, I had my tallest hot pink patent leather heels polished, and my marabou feather necktie bracelet was good to go.

And...

...then I realized I loathe most of my co-workers and find Sex and the City nearly unwatchable. What was I thinking?! Phew. I really dodged a bullet there.



Snarf,
gretch

Oh, Floyd

Well, his name is Floyd. So, that can't have been easy. He grew up in PA, the son of devout Mennonites, who presumably covered right and wrong in his upbringing. But sometimes you get a rebel.

After two+ years of vehemently denying that he'd ever used performance-enhancing drugs, and angrily protesting the stripping of his 2006 Tour de France win, bicyclist Floyd Landis now says yes, he used drugs of various kinds throughout his entire career. Oops.

But while he's going down, he's going to name names, and drag whoever he can down with him. I confess that I'm baffled by these stories. Lance Armstrong is a target for everyone - I'm not surprised the finger is pointed at him. And though he's possibly the most tested athlete in history, and I'm a huge fan of his good works, I've been let down before by people I trusted that well. So, I'm too jaded to say absolutely about anything. There is a little part of me that is girded for disappointed.

But. Floyd. Seriously? Can we get back to you for a minute? You are confessing to serious infractions during the whole of your career. If you think you've succeeded in deflecting attention from this, let me assure you that you haven't. Maybe "nobody likes a tattletale" isn't in the Mennonite curriculum. But just once, I wish someone who finally comes clean about something like this will do it right. I would like some evidence that they've learned something about themselves, that the transition from Liar to Truthteller would come with some humility and some understanding, and not seem just like the next step in the PR plan. Now what? He'll do lecture tours? Tell me something new, Floyd. Tell me about how this happened. It's not enough to say "I must be flawed" and leave it at that. What happened? How did it go wrong, and how did it feel to perpetuate it? How about now, that you can't say you ever won anything fairly? Was it worth it? Granted, I'm the type that really looks for the answers to questions like this, I'm still going to need more than "but so did he." Take your lumps like a big boy.

"Disgraced American cyclist Floyd Landis..." continues pretty much the way he's always gone.

Angry much,
Jenny

Wine, Toast, and Snow

It's 12:30am, and I have an empty bag of ranch flavored rice cakes by my side and a $1.99 bottle of wine (screw cap) on the bed stand. Yes, I am in bed, and yes I'm a little drunk.

I'm gonna take another hit of wine before I write this next line...

I've been having trouble getting out of bed a couple of times this week. I'll get up and then instead of doing the workout that usually starts my day, I go back to bed and lay down for several hours listening to the radio at just the right level that it makes you want to fall asleep.

If I was getting up earlier I could have fixed the roof on the garage... cleaned out the garage, got some of my own projects done, but alas, I have not got that stuff done either.

I just took another hit of wine.

I've got two writing projects posted on the walls of my bedroom but they remain uncompleted.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to get up and run hills, and I should also lift weights or jump rope too. I usually have no problem doing the run tomorrow as it is a day that I run hills. Now running hills is not the funnest thing that I can think of, but it beats a green stick fracture in your leg.

I want to eat a lot of toast right now, but I'll wake up my roommate.

One of my favorite memories is coming home from work in the middle of a blizzard in NYC. I took a cab home at about 2:30 in the morning (a Friday night) and the snow that was falling that night was huge. Each snowflake seemed to be the size of softballs. My roommate was not home and I was hungry and all we had in the house was a loaf of bread and some margarine.

I must have eaten 18 slices of bread that night as I watched the snow fall on the street below which was lit like an orange from the street light on the corner below. Beyond that was the George Washington Bridge which was lit up like it always was. We had a great apartment right on the Hudson, and I watched the snow fall, the daintily lit boats crawling up and down the river, and slice after slice of toast.

Now that I think about it I was probably drinking right out of a bottle of cheap port that I kept in my room. It was around the holidays and I was drinking a lot of port then. So much port that I had to tell myself to stop or I was going to develop a problem.

Getting back to the snow and the toast... the apartment that we had was one of those NYC apartments that was always 1,000 degrees which is what I'd rather have than freezing all of the time.

I brushed my teeth and took off my clothes and fell into bed knowing that Donna Lee was not there that night and wouldn't be back until Sunday.

I woke up Saturday a little dull from the alcohol and of course the snow was piled high at 10am when I woke up. No matter what time I went to bed, I always woke up at 10am. I still do after an all night bender.

That was a long time ago, gee, about 15 years ago.

Just the other day I was watching the movie Big. And where the boy met the Zolton machine was just over the bridge from my apartment in New York. I used to go running over the bridge often and I would end up down at that park a lot. It was always deserted when I ran over there.

In case you've never been on it, that bridge is long. I think it used to take me 10 minutes just to run across that thing. Now I never claimed to be a fast runner, because I'm not, but as I watched Big and saw that bridge again I was reminded about how ginormous that bridge is.

I just took another hit of wine.

Gonna have a headache tomorrow and some hills to run.

Afterward I'll have 6 egg whites and some toast.

Kurt

Boulder man hopes to stop Gulf of Mexico oil spill with meditation

Not that at least a million of us aren't focused on the spill at any one moment, but still, maybe all we need is some direction....we can't do worse than BP is doing.

"I'm very known for fixing things and making things work," Fuermann said, adding that he believes his meditation helped fix a friend's Flip video camera. "I visualize things working and hold the belief that they actually work."

Let's get cracking, People.

Jenny

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose

I don't know that I've ever been so excited for something as much as I am for tonight's Season 4 premiere of Friday Night Lights.

And I've seen Springsteen and Ricky Martin in concert. Sadly not together, but I was really excited for both shows.

And I was a kid obsessed with "stuff" on Christmas Eve for many years, more than I'd probably care to admit to.

And I was promised an introduction to Eddie Izzard backstage at Real Time with Bill Maher, but I couldn't think of anything witty to say and he looked nervous for the show so I left him alone.

I kind of want to throw up in my mouth right now, I'm so excited. I keep google imaging "Coach Taylor." I have season 1 queued up on Netflix streaming but that's just making it worse. This has got to be what those pre-pubescent girls are feeling before the Jonas Bros hit the stage.

I need a Coach Taylor pep talk to get me through the next few hours...




Go Dillon!
gretch

Batty

I'm going to get a little political...

This morning I was walking by a newspaper stand and the headline said, "State to Consider Ban on Aluminum Bats".

The state they're talking about is California. From what I understand we have a lot of problems here in California so what are our legislators worried about?

Aluminum bats.

Kurt

Worth Four Minutes and Twenty-two Seconds

http://www.midwestsportsfans.com/2010/05/hilarious-video-legend-of-jim-brockmire/

Tee hee,

Jenny

Comments

As a rule, I try to stay calm. I have recently discovered, to my surprise, the presence of personal opinions -- not about everything, but some things. And I just broke my own rule and added a musing to an angry facebook comment war between strangers (to me,) related to a political status post by an acquaintance.

Here's the thing I keep forgetting. It doesn't matter. Debate will get you nowhere. You feel how you're going to feel, and I feel my way, and to sway one or the other by arguing would be like winning the lottery. It happens, but you're foolish to try for it, and it's a one in a gabillion chance. Almost every time, you're going to kick yourself for wasting that dollar.

And yet I just POSTED ANOTHER COMMENT. What is wrong with me?

Jenny

Express, er, I mean, expose yourself

I'm not going to say who, but some sports star recently was accused of exposing himself to a woman.

I just want to say that I have never exposed myself. I can't imagine how drunk I would have to be, or hopped on the stuff to think that that would be a good idea.

Ladies, does that work, ever?

I know that there are some really good looking guys out there and they can do just about anything to get the girls, but isn't the exposing yourself the ultimate Hail Mary?

"I need to have sex let me show you my penis! Look at it! Seeing it will make you have sex with me!"

And the thing is, it must work sometimes.

Happy Valentimes Day!

Kurt

A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery Plastered with All-Day Hold Hair Spray

Justin Bieber may be the hot young thing, but I can't manage to get past his hair. I'm as confused by his coif as I am by Donald Trump's.



I don't understand. A combustion engine makes more sense to me.

there. I'm officially a grumpy old man.
gretch

Right?

These Tea Partiers are aware that they’re seen as illiterate morons by an overwelming majority of the country right?

Illiterate, racist, homophobic, short-sided, narrow-minded, inbred morons…right? Perhaps I care too much about what other people think of me, but if the majority of the country thought that I was a moonshine-swilling, white supremacist I think I might stay home when the next Evite showed up in my inbox. These Tea Partiers are fucking assholes, right? Right? I mean, we all know it, right? They have to kind of know it too, right?

Right?
gretch

Forget

Maybe someone has already thought of this, but don't you think it would be an interesting story if your main character only had like 200 memories? And that was all that they got?

I know that they kind of do that in Blade Runner but maybe that would be expanded upon. I may be walking down Harlan Ellison's story street, and if that is the case I'll cross over to Maple Street.

I'm sure that we all would like to forget something's.

I know that I've forgotten a lot of punctuation stuff from school, and I've forgotten people's names, and also what I went into the kitchen for.

I'll let you know if I do anything with this.

Kurt

Hmf

Well, what do you know. Something we don't understand is happening gashillions of light years away. There are unusual radio waves being emitted from something we think might be a black hole, but it's unlike anything that's ever been seen before.


STRANGE WAVES

The comments are better than anything I could come up with here.

Also, a mysterious fireball was reported across the Midwestern sky.

FIREBALL

I'm a little encouraged by this news....it could very well be I don't need to worry about getting a job anymore. And THAT, my friends, is how it is to look at the bright side.

Jenny

Adventures on the 704: Part 2

This young man delighted us all with his off-key, off-color freestyle rapping this morning.


His lyrics were somewhat limited, consisting mostly of mutherfuckers and sons-of-bitches and pussies. But my favorite was a piece entitled “Your Ride,” a fifteen-minute epic made up of only those two words.

I was lucky enough to have him sit down next to me shortly after this picture was taken (I was worried that he’d somehow seen me taking it, but he didn’t let on if he did).
He asked my name.
He asked what my book was about.
For a split second I considered letting myself fall into a conversation with this guy, no doubt he had an interesting story. But we were only at Sepulveda and I wasn’t convinced I could make it 26 blocks without it getting weird. So I continued to read, pretending my iPod was too loud to hear his questions. He returned to his rapping.

Guess who was a little surprised she didn’t get shived on the way out the bus doors?
gretch

Fancy Feasting

I'm a guilty everything. I'm a guilty meat eater, for example. I feel bad about the space I require on the planet, my footprint, my greedy consumption of air. So it doesn't take much for me to feel even worse about something. Just look at me askance, and I'll head down the shame spiral with no further urging.

I feed my cats Fancy Feast. It's a long story, and basically has to do with keeping Louise (the diabetic cat) happy and eating, so I can give her insulin. And how the others want what she gets, and anyway, it's a slippery slope to the place where everyone has a sub-par diet.

There are more of them than I planned on. That's fine, but it reduces the total amount of money I can pour on the being-a-good cat-mom problem. Louise's latest lymphoma diagnosis cost $1800 and no doubt I'm exacerbating the condition with the Fancy Feast. Yesterday I was purchasing 48 of the annoyingly small cans when the manager of the pet-food store looked at me askance.

"How many cats do you have?"

"Well, four. This isn't my first choice, I certainly wouldn't have chosen anything that came in these little tiny cans...but..."

I trailed off, mumbling about diabetes and how there are more cats than I'd planned on. She pointedly told me that her cat was borderline-diabetic and was simply thriving on the Weruva brand, and how she'd go get me a couple of cans to transition with. And she did. Her disdain for my caregiving was palpable. So I paid for my stash (which won't last a single week) and her recommended cans and left.

Now I'm staring at these two cans and I'm feeling resentful. I didn't realize it at the time but I've looked at this food before for the cats, and it's substantially more expensive than the FF, despite their teensy vessels. Which is saying something. Yes, it's ALL NATURAL, and boasts the warning on the label that your cat's lives may very well be increased to TEN. Ha ha. But a quick google (I'm just kidding - there's no such thing) will reveal that every cat food is sub-par, unless you want to feed them a raw diet of mice and birds, or put your own raw diet together at home. Almost every food on the market is actively detrimental to the health of the cat, and any points I gain for AT LEAST feeding wet instead of dry (aka, the devil incarnate), are lost since I also provide a dry kibble, to help stretch the billion cans I have to buy each week. Which, though I recycle, makes me feel bad for the earth.

I feel like I should say this: I HAVE tried the other foods. Wellness, Evo, Before Grains, none of them passed Louise's sniff test.

Here's what this morning's research has brought me"

• Fishy foods are worse for them than muscle meats.
• Muscle meats should be higher in proportion to organ meats.
• By-products are bad.
• Canned is always preferable to dry, because of the relative water consumption.
• Grain free is best, since cats are obligate carnivores.
• All the fruits and veggies they show you on the label are healthy for people, not cats. Cats don't give a crap about the anti-oxidants blueberries provide to their owners.
• The nutritional information is wholly inadequate - you need to call the company and ask for the numbers "as fed." They are completely different, and only with them can you do the proper math to see how much you suck.
  
• The forums discuss "Biologically Appropriate Raw-Food" Diet, which is shortened (and I'm not making this up) to BARF. You really need to be feeding your cat a BARF diet.

Jenny (and Louise, Ozzie, Mr. Rochester and Yard Kitty.)

Too More Things

Even my 10 year-old self appreciated a good mystery apparently

Running across the following book covers sent me down one of those spiraling time-travel tunnels from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure:

I can still taste the cinammon red-hots that the owners of our favorite little bookshop on Holly Place would leave out on the counter for us to munch on.

that's all,

gretch

Sometimes These Posts Write Themselves

Just tooling around in the news this morning, and learned a few things:

~ Sarah Palin will be hosting a show called Real American Stories on Fox tonight, in which she will interview rapper/actor LL Cool J. Wait, what now? UPDATE: The show has dropped LL Cool J after he complained. The clips they were showing in commercials were apparently from an interview he gave to someone else a couple of years ago.

~ The latest chapters in Jesse James' sordid not-so-secret life include "sexy" photos with a Nazi theme, and another paramour named Skittles Valentine. Skittles. Valentine. Are we just going with the names we came up with when we were six? Please, call me Taffy. Taffy Sunshine.

~ Though Tiger Woods apparently stayed in $5000/night Vegas hotels, and played at $30,000/hand tables, he only ever bought tramp and former Perkins waitress a chicken salad wrap at Subway, and only then because he was stopping there for a bite before going to her place. And she was sleeping with that. Used to be, whoring around with rich married men was more lucrative. From what I understand. (I chose this bullet over the one about the used tampon that the Nat'l Enquirer obtained after he'd had car sex with some other woman.) You're welcome.

Jenny

PS: Just stare at this for a minute. You'll feel better.

Prunes: They Help you Poo

Careful, People. The freaks in the prune industry seem to think they've found a way to make eating prunes cool. It's not enough that they lock in the 60-and-over crowd, now they want our little kids!

Beginning around '00, the growers made a push to rebrand prunes as "dried plums." This didn't really work, since apparently only some of the 1000 or so plum cultivars are even called prunes in the first place; many are already called dried plums. That clears thing up. Thanks, English Language!

In any case, that having failed, ten years later these regular poopers are pressing on. Now the angle is that these delicious, healthful sweet treats are perfect for children (as if children don't poop enough already.) And to make this fact irrefutable, they have individually wrapped each prune. It's a colossal earth FAIL, but every kid loves to undo a slimy, crinkly package 'o prune, so I can see where they're coming from.

I'd like to suggest another plan of attack, leveled on the Activia industry (bifidis regularis, my arse.) Since they are determined to make every woman in the world break down and admit - while patting her tummy just so - that she's a victim of occasional irregularity, how's about you step in and remind folks about nature's most natural, not to mention immediate, fiber-rich remedy? I should not have to think of these things for you.

Just so we're clear, prune juice is disgusting. Prunes are good. Individually wrapped prunes are insulting but still tasty. Activia is stupid.

Jenny

From the Sunsweet testimonials page:

"I just loooove you're sunsweet prunes.. soo delicious. I went to fat camp last year with a bad attitude and a sweet tooth. Your prunes changed my outlook on eating healthy and now i've lost 29 pounds and now have more confidence in myself all because I love your prunes. Thank you for saving my life, I just praised the lord baby jesus everyday for you and your prunes to lift me up from this life of fatness... and i could not be more thankful!"

--Belle, Beaumont, TX

Masters of Terror

Wes Craven, the film director, is sometimes called The Master of Terror.

I think Osama Bin Laden would have something to say about that.

Don't you?

I think Osama has done a much better job being The Master of Terror.

Kurt

What is BORBA?

With names like Pomegranate Clarifying and Guanabana Fruit Firming you'd think BORBA was a fragrant lotion.

Wrong.

With a price of $3.29 you'd think BORBA was a new line of reasonably priced shampoos and conditioners.

Nope.

With slightly metallic opaque green and orange colors you'd think Borba was a line of body wash.

Uh-uh.

It's "water." It's cloudy, grossly expensive, skin balancing water.

Is this why the rest of the world hates us?

gretch

Coming Soon

I was driving down Beverly today and I see that Tyler Perry has a new movie coming out.

I have not seen any of his films and I cannot deny his success, and I am happy for him and for all of the people that he is employing.

So, I wanted to predict some upcoming titles that would suit the paradigm that Tyler has already set up:

Let's try these...

Tyler Perry's: Hi and Dry
Tyler Perry's: Their for More
Tyler Perry's: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Time
Tyler Perry's: Beautiful Hare
Tyler Perry's: Careful on the Stare's
Tyler Perry's: 20 Carrot Ring
Tyler Perry's: Loch and Key
Tyler Perry's: Need Deep
Tyler Perry's: Hole Life
Tyler Perry's: Eye Need Ewe
Tyler Perry's: A Chord of Wood
and don't forget...
Tyler Perry's: Plain Trip

Kurt

Reality Bites...If You Make Crap Decisions

If you haven’t made it to the end of Reality Bites in the last fifteen years (and why would you have?) let me remind you of what happens…

Our heroine, Lainie, must choose between her two suitors:

Michael: Though he’s slightly awkward and dorky, he is driven and smart and open and honest. He is quick with a smile and kind word; he’s excited about the future in general and their relationship specifically. He believes so deeply in Lainie’s art that he’s equally crushed when the MTV producers mess with her documentary. He goes above and beyond to make things right (um showing up with tickets to New York counts as a sweeping romantic gesture) and doesn’t make her feel bad about her Big Gulp addiction.

-or-

Troy: A conceited, angry, emotionally retarded deadbeat who constantly takes advantage of Lainie’s generosity and laundry quarters. He repeatedly bruises Lainie’s heart without remorse and makes her question her intelligence, beauty and deservedness of love. He smells of BO and cigarettes and spoiled milk and does not practice safe sex with his countless partners.
Who does she choose?

TROY!



WHAT?!
This movie was everything my friends and I aspired to be in high school. How in the hell we are in normal relationships today is beyond me. Film studios really do need to be more responsible with the messages they’re sending to young men and women out there. The least of which should be that daily showers aren't something to be frowned upon.


Et tu, Lisa Loeb?
gretch

Rooked

A few days ago I found out that due to the year of my birth I am a Baby Boomer.

Yes, I am thrown in with all of those people that rioted and protested wars and went to Woodstock or couldn't wait to get to San Francisco with flowers in their hair.

Okay, then I totally got rooked.

When all of that free vagina was being thrown around in the sixties I couldn't enjoy it.

Then when I get old enough the free vagina faucet is turned off.

Rooked.

Kurt

Fear of the Marketplace

I go to the Farmer's Market, because I know I should, and because there is good food to be had that's healthy and good for you, and also didn't travel across the entire country to get to you. I dislike the parking, the shopping for stuff part, the choosing, and the exchange of money for goods. But I do it anyway. It's For The Best.

Still, I bought leeks 10 days ago, and they are still waiting/rotting. The huge tomato is no longer an option, edibly speaking. I've never made chard before, so what on earth made me buy it? I suspect that this has to do with my deservability issues. I know in my head that I can and should buy good food for myself, but still have a ways to go in the "it's okay to prepare said food" department. I will endeavor to work on this.

Organically grown and sourced, for the most part,

Jenny

Viva Las Na'vi

Empty bladder: check.

No consumption of liquid thus far today: check.

Light breakfast of a beer braut and slice of sourdough bread: check.

I am now ready to sit through the Avatar marathon.

I finally went to see the movie today with two good friends.

In 3-D.

I really enjoyed the movie and I didn't feel the urge to look at my watch once which is a high compliment coming from me... like a Vulcan from Star Trek telling you your work is acceptable.

I totally bought it and I'm not going to get into the meaning of the story and the parallels to our country.

But, in the sequel, I expect us to return to the Na'vi and there will be Na'vi Casinos everywhere.

Check.

Kurt

Ew…ew ew ewewew

My mom recently sent me a box of books, included among which was a story of mine she’d found while going through an old bookcase. I read the first sentence and promptly threw it in my bag, refusing to read it out of sheer embarrassment.

I made myself read it today.

I’m going to make an educated guess that it was written around 1993 as it was printed using what appears to be early Canon Bubble Jet technology. Plus, I’m sure the subject is meant to be Dominic Miller, and I was going through a mild-to-moderate obsession with him around that time. Who in the hell is Dominic Miller? This is Dominic Miller.



He was Sting’s guitarist on “Ten Summoner’s Tales.” I’m so ashamed, for so many different reasons. I blush, I cringe, I have to share. Here a few brief excerpts.

… and remembered how I hated cappachino (sic) and dreaded the thought of having to pretend to drink what I considered over-rated coffee bean piss.
I really hated coffee back then.
His eyes were a soft brown that are impossible to describe but easy to recognize.
Huh? Guess I’ve always been a lazy writer.
He wore these amazingly tight fitting black jeans that only he could wear, and a loose silk shirt. When he played, the shirt would slip down and reveal his bare and perfectly formed chest…
Ew…ew ew ewewew
Nor do I believe he knew how good he looked in those pants or how the women in the room would become breathless when his shirt would slip down.
I’m so thoroughly embarrassed, I can’t even tell you. It’s like watching in horror as my 16 year-old self practices French kissing on her own hand.

I left it unfinished at 2 1/2 pages. Thank God.

(shudder),
gretch

Parking

I was just in the parking lot at the AAA and how ironic is it that no one knows how to drive or park a car.

People backing up three times to turn around when a simple U-turn would do.

I even walked behind a car so an elderly woman could pull up, but of course she almost hit me when she decided to back up at the last minute.

As we used to say on the construction site: "If you don't know how to drive it... park it."

Kurt

Overheard...

...at Kokomo Cafe.

A young woman talks on the phone for a good 15 minutes while a friend across from her lazily stabs at the ice in her drink with a straw.
The subject of the phone call was a potential sub-lessee for the young woman's portion of an apartment...

"She's old, like, 30. But she's totally young at heart."



I nearly choked on my too-greasy omelette.

keeping it young at heart,
gretch

Oscar the Death Cat

What is the World of Local News Coming To?

Duck Hunt

That's what. Sorry I can't embed it here, but I assure you, clicking on this is "worth" it, particularly if you are a lover of terrible, clumsy duck-related puns, all said with an inflection that makes your skin itch.

Jenny

PS: Update - the missing duck was found on a lawn about two miles away, with two other random ornaments. Police are searching for the other owners.

Zero Chance

Was it coincidence that last month’s National Geographic magazine featuring the Mormon splinter FLDS Church on its cover around the same time the new season of Big Love premiered?

I think not. I love me some Big Love, and I’m a big proponent of letting consenting adults do whatever they please as long as it’s not hurting anyone else…and if a plural marriage is made up of gorgeous people like the Henricksons, then go ahead and sign me up too, cuz it doesn’t look like such a bad deal.

Reality isn’t quite so appealing, what with the ill-fitting prairie dresses and French braids as far as the eye can see. And if I were a 14 year-old about to be sealed to my husband, what do you think the chances would be of me scoring the guy on the right?



Zero chance, that’s what chance.

I’d probably end up with the mouth breather. Thanks, Jesus.

gretch

P.S. Unlike Playboy readers, I subscribe to National Geographic for the pictures. I don’t even read the articles. There, I said it.

There's no Business...

I was in NYC last week biatches!

My friend is in a Broadway Show! That's like the major leagues of theater here in the USA.

I was really happy that the actors onstage spoke loudly enough that I could understand every word they said.

Here's the "but" part...

A couple of times during the show some performers had to leave the stage and go to another room.

As they left the stage I could see them standing there where they thought I couldn't see them... but I could.

This is the major league biatches! I told my friend and he told the stage manager and the stage manager told my friend to buy his friends better tickets next time.

I still had a good time and all but what the ...?

I mean, "I can see you standing there."

I'm not going to tell you the name of the show but let me just say it was not Phantom of the Opera.

Biatches!

Kurt

Dear John

Well, I'm torn here. I'd like to let John Mayer drown in his self-obsession, and not enable him to continue the conversation he seems to be having with himself.

He's given an interview. It can be argued that he's given way too many interviews. Nevertheless, his verbal diarrhea continues. It's like he can't help it. And I alternate between thinking he's unhinged and feeling deeply, deeply sorry for his mom.

And I guess I feel a certain kinship, in a weird way. I, too, navel-gaze. I, too, talk a lot about what's going on in my head. Maybe I'm fooling myself that I have a better record than he of concluding something marginally smart and/or insightful at the end of it all. But if I ever sound like him, I hope like hell someone stops me.

I used to think that I'd talk to anyone about anything, so I've learned today that this is simply not so, not by a long shot. So, thanks, John Mayer, for that perspective on things.

Some facts:

~ He himself uses the word "douche" or "douche bag" about eight times in the interview.
~ He's even more hung up on his age (32) than he is about being a douche.
~ He confesses to sometimes seeing as many 300 vaginae before even getting out of bed, thanks to the miracle of online porn.
~ He doesn't seem to realize that the line "I spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on therapy" translates to 2 sessions worth. He might want to give it another go. There's a difference between going to therapy and being in therapy.

So, I guess I sort of recommend reading the interview, if only so I don't feel so alone. And ooky.


All the best,

Jenny

Bon Appetite

I’m going to go ahead and assume that when parents takes their child to Giggles n’ Hugs: the Only Children’s Restaurant they mean to have a dinner out that involves in no way asking their child to stop bothering the people in the booth behind them, or demanding that their child stop screaming in a public place, or stopping their child from launching spaghetti across the table. I’m going to go ahead and assume that the floor is covered with crushed Cheerios and carrot sticks and bits of throw-up. I’m going to go ahead and assume that they’ve never been able to get rid of that far-away smell of dirty diapers.

I sure hope they’re not booked in April, because my anniversary is coming up, and nothing says “romance” like Giggles n’ Hugs: The Only Children’s Restaurant.

Bon Appetite,
gretch

I was dreaming...LITERALLY

So, I've been having dreams lately. I mean, I have dreams most of the time - scientists tell me I dream all the time, in fact (at least when I sleep) - but lately I've been remembering them.

A couple of days ago I dreamed that I had a conversation with my old boss - my ACTUAL old boss and I discussed my ACTUAL life's work, and my ACTUAL future...sitting at his ACTUAL desk.

Last night I dreamed that my current boss, my ACTUAL current boss and I sat and had a conversation about the current ACTUAL work flow, and were subsequently joined by many of the ACTUAL executives in our ACTUAL conference room and we talked about the ACTUAL way we work, and I told them what I ACTUALLY thought.

This is literal bullshit. Not literally bullshit - because, as we all know it wasn't - but bullshit lame-ass literal dreaming. I mean I spend all day at work. I don't need to pick up extra hours. If I wrote an ACTUAL screenplay about my ACTUAL work it wouldn't be as on-the-nose as these phoned-in b-movie excuses for dreams Morpheus is currently palming off on me.

Maybe I'm reaching, but I blame reality television. You know, the kind where you can almost hear the Producer whispering in the shithead subject's ear "if you're worried about tomorrow's competition, maybe you could say that? ACTION"... "I'm worried about the competition tomorrow"..."CUT, that was great, I loved the way you switched the order of the words - nice work." Now I know they don't ACTUALLY say "cut" on a reality set, but I'm trying to make a point. I hear people talking like reality TV subjects more and more these days - It's like an insidious infection of stupidity: "Oh my god, if the bus doesn't get here soon we're really going to be standing out in the rain for a long time and we'll totally get super wet." No flies on that one, no sir.

And now it's in my dreams. "Hey, if you think you're going to spend a lot of time at work, maybe you could dream about work? ROLL'EM!"...eyes close and I'm typing at my desk at work. Yay. With this unique and fascinating approach to my days, I'll be working through my personal issues in no time. Oh wait. No I won't because I'm BORED BY MY DREAMS.

I write this as I head to dreamland - in the hopes that it will let my inner producer know that his audience of one is pulling a hundred share every night, but it's clamoring for more meat, so stop dumbing it down - we're up for more of a challenge, please. A little less Big Brother and a little more Masterpiece Theater. Hell, I'd take a half-decent sitcom, let's just get off this friggin' Jersey Shore kick.

Peter

Buon Viaggio, Renee!

15 years ago…
My first T.A. in the undergrad Art History program at the University of Washington was Renee Martin. She was this amazing grad student, part rock&roll, part nerdy intellectual. I immediately fell head over heels for her. I’m pretty sure this is a singularly female thing. It’s not sexual, it’s just a crush. We crush on other girls. Sometimes hard…like I did for Renee Martin.

12 years ago…
I was accepted into the small Spring quarter Art History seminar in Rome. I had never been out of the country and all of a sudden, there I was, standing at the door of the apartment I was meant to share with five other girls (all but one of which turned out to be grad students) on the edge of Campo dei Fiori. The door opened, and there stood Renee. It was like showing up at your apartment only to have Angelina Jolie open the door. With a huge smile. Excited to see you. And then, for the next three months Angelina Jolie would teach you about wine, and make you try pesto for the first time, and show you hidden parts of Rome, and give you your first Milan Kundera novel and help you flirt with boys because you don’t speak Italian, but she does. Fluently. And then, before you know it, you and Angelina Jolie are friends. Like, real friends. Except this was way cooler because it was Renee Martin. You get the idea.

2 years ago…
Renee and I reconnected and have actually seen quite a bit of each other between Los Angeles and New York over the last couple years. We’re both a decade older, but I feel we’re closer in age and we have gotten to know each other in a different way, because I was really just a kid back then. She still has that extra special spark – she’s just the coolest. She’s successful and funny and witty and interesting and knows the secret underground bars (quite literally under ground) and whenever I’m around her I feel like I’m in the presence of someone extraordinary.

This past Sunday…
Renee got on a jet plane and headed to Asia. She’ll be back in six months at which time she’ll wash her clothes, go through her mail and then head off for another six months…destination TBD. See what I mean?! Seriously. How could you not crush on this woman?


Renee and I after an especially wet vespa outing
Rome, Spring 1998

Buon viaggio, Renee, can’t wait to hear all about it!
gretch

JLM as Mr. K = OMG

All yours,
Jenny

Apple Unveils the WHAT?

Yes. It's an iPad. I was going to let it go, but it's already catching on like wildfire across the facebook and other tweety platforms. Yes, women refer to non-tampon-related feminine protection products as "pads" and I'm sorry to say that Apple felt it was still okay to call their revolutionary new product the iPad. I think I get it. iPOD/iPAD. Sounds like a trend-based decision. I'm sure they thought that these comments would be short-lived, or that people would behave like adults. They were wrong on both counts, iFear.

Jenny

My People My People

Several years ago on a spring morning I was in a car heading toward Pasadena. My friend Mark and I were going to a Star Trek convention or a Con as people like to say.

We were not dressed up at all and we have never dressed up and gone to a Con. Anyway, we were going because we wanted to see what was in the Dealer's Room. I wanted to see if I could get a good price on a Tricorder, or even if I could find one as they were hard to find. I always lamented not getting one at the Con in New York back in '94.

Sure, we were going to see some of the guests too, but most of the guests were going to be people from Next Gen which is fine, I watched the show but classic Trek is still the best. As a friend of mine says, "The older Star Trek is, the better it is."

So, Mark and I were approaching the Pasadena Convention Center and we could see them.

All of the nerds.

All of these people dressed up like Klingons and what have you. Nerds. Star Trek nerds.

That was when my friend Mark muttered the line, "Oh, my people, my people."

I am of that tribe, yes, it is true, but I don't have that, I want to dress up in public gene. I completely understand where they come from, and I empathize with them.

Oh, I didn't tell you that since I drank an unusual amount of Diet Pepsi last night I was up until two in the morning looking for patterns for Classic Trek tunics and landing party jackets.

My People My People.

Kurt

Uh, what are you waiting for?

Someone needs to write a movie for these three hilariously brilliant women:






I’m thinking something along the lines of Tom Stoppard’s “Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead,” but with Macbeth’s witches…and set it in modern day Texas.

Someone smarter and funnier than me better get to work on it. Please. Go. Do it.

Thanks,
gretch