Livin the Movie Dream Life...

When I was younger I used to have this book that was simply titled, "The IF Book." It was basically a small book loaded with hundreds (maybe thousands) of scenarios. 'If you could pull off any crime in history and get away with it, what would it be?' 'If you had to choose the last piece of music you could listen to before you die, what would it be?'

I always found it both incredibly useful and insightful; useful, because I was never short of a conversation starter, and insightful because I was always fascinated with the answers the people around me had to say.

One of my favorite scenarios was the question "If you could live the life of any movie character whose life would you want?" I pondered this question long and hard for many years, and my answer changed year after year. So I figured I'd share the lives I, at one point in my life, wish I could've had.

*NOTE- Not sure if I ever touched upon this topic before, but if so, sorry for the repeat...

1.) Mary, "There's Something About Mary"- I'm sure there aren't alot of girl that wouldn't love to have Mary's life. Afterall, her friend Tucker basically sums it up for us: she's beautiful, rich... plus has a killer body, loving family, cool job, is athletic, lives in Miami, and is desperately pursued by cute guys.

2.) Indiana Jones, "Raiders of the Lost Ark", et. al.- Yeah, I know what you're thinking...I'm not helping my case that I am, in fact, a heterosexual female. When my dad showed me the movie, "Raiders" I wasn't struck by how handsome and strong Indie was; I was struck by how much I wanted to BE him. Going on mysterious and meaningful adventures to places I'd never heard of, using a whip on bad guys, engaging in car chases, horse chases, boat chases, were all things I desperately wanted to do. So badly, in fact, that I temporarily planned to grow up and become an archaeologist (until my a-hole science teacher decided to burst my bubble, telling me I'd be throwing my money and life away).

3.) Belle, "Beauty and the Beast"- I fancied myself quite a reader when I was a kid. And by " a reader", I mean I religiously read the Sunday comics along with my Garfield and Far Side comic books. But that wasn't all I read. I actually enjoyed reading a bit and when I saw Belle in "Beauty and the Beast" I felt an instant kinship with her. She was the first "princess" in Disney that wasn't just a flat damsel in distress. Plus it didn't hurt that she was beautiful, too.

4.) Xena, "Xena: Warrior Princess"- I realize this was a television show, but I wanted to be Xena so bad when I was younger I have to include her. She was the first live-action female superhero I had ever known, and the fact that she wielded this big sword as bad-ass as any of her male counterparts was awesome (not to mention the fact that she was a PRINCESS on top of it!) Sure there were some moments when her pal Gabrielle appeared to be more than just her sidekick. Still, heroes for us girls are still too far and few between, and Xena wasn't a bad one to have.

Ok, I shared some heartfelt and downright embarrassing admissions here, so now it's your turn to answer the "if" question: "If YOU could live the life of any movie character, whose life would you want?"

Football Feign

I am, by no means, an athlete. Never was and never will be. For one, I can't stand the pressure of team sports: knowing I have a particular position I have to play, remembering all the rules, and having to deal with the prospect of letting other people down- it's a recipe for disaster for me.

So I don't really know how my friend Doug talked me into joining his touch-football league. Really, of any sport, why did it have to be football? I can manage OK in basketball, and actually enjoy soccer, but football and I don't get along. And we never have.

I seem to recall verbally groaning when flag football came around during gym class back in middle school. For one, I was almost always picked in the bottom bunch (and if the particularly inept kids were absent that day, I was the definite last man). But my classmates weren't dumb; they knew I wasn't going to be valuable to them. Secondly, the rules of football confused me, and having to try to learn it and play it in a matter of 35 minutes was a chore. Plus, I wasn't a fan of pain or really throwing myself into another body. So the combined humiliation of displaying my athletic inabilities and running around like a confused headless chicken , only to get slammed by a meaty 7th grader, was not something I was excited to experience.

Eventually my hatred cooled to just indifference to the sport, and happily our paths never crossed. Until Doug came along.

With the reassurance of it being more of a social club than serious sport, and the addition of a few fellow girls on the team that I was friends with, I finally agreed. I was able to put it out of my mind until finally the day of the first game arrived, last Sunday.

Joe also joined the team so I was happy that I would know several of the other players. As we walked up to the field where we would play I suddenly got that old pinch in my stomach. The fear couldn't be quelled any longer and suddenly I was panicking.

Luckily my girlfriend Carly was there, also describing her fears and anxieties, so I felt I was in good company.

When the ref called us in and explained the rules in a split second I made the mental decision I would simply run around chasing the people in orange and pray to God no one threw me the ball. This plan was short lived when the ref would call "something something GENDER" which I came to realize meant just the GIRLS could do the play, and with just me and Carly, chances were at one point the ball would be tossed my way.

Thankfully this didn't occur too often. Carly was a good sport and took the brunt of most of the gender passes. However at one point, one of my teammates finally decided to give me a try. I looked to get myself free (which, since I was gaining the reputation as being "not a a threat", no one ever really bothered to cover me). He tossed me the ball, nice and easy, and...a catch! I caught the damn thing! I was so thrilled I actually exclaimed, "I CAUGHT it!"

My excitement was short lived when the ref blew his whistle and explained the pass was no good...since I had caught it BEHIND the line of scrimmage.

Still, I couldn't help but be slightly proud. It was maybe the first time I had caught a football during an actual game. I should savor the moment- with only 7 or 8 more games, chances are it may not happen again!

Walk Down Memory Games

Thanks to my little brother I am helplessly and hopelessly hooked on an online sensation known as "The Angry Video Game Nerd."

He first showed it to Joe and me on a recent visit.

"Hey, you guys ever hear of 'Angry Nintendo Nerd?'" he asked us excitedly. We shook our heads no and I couldn't help but roll my eyes a bit. I mean, how entertaining could THAT be? Some dorky guy explaining the ins and outs of games I'd never even heard of. The answer is- extremely entertaining. So much so in fact, that as soon as we got home Joe and I began uploading episode after episode, from Who Framed Roger Rabbit to Castlevania.

It is a surprisingly entertaining show, despite the fact that I'm pretty clueless to video games. But not completely, as I found myself walking alongside him with his reviews of games that I could recall, paying attention to the memories they invoked from my past, as opposed to just the game play. I think that's partly what I enjoy the most about the show- the fact that with each review or tour of a game I find myself back as a little kid in my pj's, watching my sister or cousin or whoever playing the game and excitedly holding my breath as they battled the final boss.

So I though I'd take a turn and take you back to the past- my past- with video games.

1.) Super Mario Bros.- One of the earliest games I recall, but still one of the best by many standards other than my own. I can clearly recall watching my sister playing this game as if it was a reality TV show. These weren't just characters. She was IN the game, just in the shape of a bunch of red and brown pixels. I remember being enthralled watching her finally get to the last boss- Bowser, and getting the best feeling when he was defeated and Princess Peach (or Toadstool, I never knew if there was a difference) was finally safe.

2.) Legend of Zelda- What can I say about this game? Though our Nintendo library was small it always stood out- primarily because it was gold. But it deserved to be; a game with such infectious music and epic plot should be given a carat rating. And I never even cared about playing- it was always about just sitting back and cheering on whoever was, as if Zelda's life really was held in the balance. Plus the idea of the Triforce, the plethora of enemies and hidden passageways; it was hard to not be excited. And it still is, all these years later.

3.) Super Mario Brothers 2 and 3- I recall a sunny morning and early afternoon, in the summer I believe. My sister and my cousin Evan were furiously trying to beat the latest Mario game while my other sister and I watched like excited spectators. It wasn't just the two of them playing- it was a battle that we all felt. We shouted and screamed at the screen whenever an enemy popped out of nowhere and exclaimed with delight when they made it past another level. I can't recall for sure which one it was but I am pretty sure that they DID beat that game that day.

4.) Ms. Pac Man- One of the few games I actually would play and only because it was in the mini arcade inside the dentists office. Well, that and Centipede. Though I still get the taste of fluoride in my mouth whenever I think about it, Ms. Pacman used to vex the hell out of me because I never seemed to get very far. Still, it remains in a place in my heart forever.

5.) Tetris- Another game that sits in sparse category of "Games I Played" was Tetris. I think it was because you couldn't really "die" because you were basically just a bunch of blocks. But again, another great game with a great soundtrack that could penetrate your brain as badly as the game would. At times if I was bored I would begin to really see things in terms of space and blocks, imagining what shapes I'd put where. At church, when I should've been listening to a sermon or something, I'd be putting the tiles on the floor together, finding the L shape to fit in perfectly over the square block. I once got to level 13 on the Gameboy version- a feat I daresay I could never and will never duplicate.

Hope you enjoyed this tour down memory lane. I'll try to post tomorrow, but it being St. Patty's I doubt I'll have the time (or sobriety) to do so, so have a good one everybody!

Keep The Old...

Can't tell if this fatigue I'm feeling is just end-of-week related, or lots-of-stuff-happening related or simply I-went-out-last-night-and-had-a-few-beers-and-some-whiskey-drink related, but anyway, I am lethargic.

But I haven't written in a few days, so let's catch up.

I got a message on facebook from an old childhood friend that's touring with Seussical the Musical and she said that their company was coming to Towson. When she had first posted that she was touring I mentioned to her to let me know if and when they come to the Baltimore/Washington area. Needless to say I was surprised they were not only coming to the area, but coming right into my neighborhood! We organized a time for me to pick her up from her hotel and we'd get dinner while catching up. I was excited, but truthfully a bit nervous as well.

I think it was because she IS a girl I have known most of my life, living in the same town and going to the same schools for all those years. She has seen me at my best (and worst), and yet, being adults now, I wanted to make sure I left a good impression, reminding her of my better moments, as opposed to my most awkward. It is here that I must pose a question..

It might have been a Louis C.K. joke, but still, don't you HATE it when you do something stupid, and even though it's not a big deal, you still just want to kill yourself? Wait for it...

I tried to think of a place near Towson that might impress her (although since she lives in New York, I knew it was going to be a challenge) and quickly turned into Razorbacks, a restaurant/bar nearby.

As we walked in and waited for the hostess, I felt pretty good. I was holding my own in our conversations, trading comments and quips like the old days. Then the hostess came back up and mumbled something while gathering menus. Because she was looking at us and holding the menus I immediately began following her, assuming she was taking us to our table.

I noticed my friend lagging behind and when my head finally came out of the clouds I realized I had nearly joined another group to their table. The other people smiled and laughed sympathetically (at the poor idiot girl), and I rejoined my friend, trying like hell to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal (meanwhile I was mentally tying a noose around my neck).

Thankfully we were both able to laugh it off, and my friend, god love her, was able to bring us right back to whatever we were talking about.

Oh well, friends, especially old friends, are still your friends because they share a ride in your memories. And they are still able to like you...even when you unintentionally nearly ditch them for a pack of hungry strangers.

Initial Disagreement

What's the deal with bands using initials when their band name don't merit them? Allow me to explain...

I was at work today listing to the radio station through my headphones, as always, when something caught my attention. Now I am still in the process of being able to half listen while concentrating on whatever it is I'm doing (or, at least whatever I'm supposed to be doing...what do I do again? Oh well, nevermind...) but something stuck out enough for me to mentally grab it and mull it over.

There's a contest going on right now that lets you win passes to the Linkin Park concert, but instead of saying "Linkin Park"again, they just said "LP".

Seriously? The band's entire name is only three syllables. Are we so lazy now that saying that many syllables is a burden?

Maybe the script-writer or whatever was thinking that they didn't want the announcer to say "Linkin Park" over and over again, which I can understand. But what's the deal with Avenged Sevenfold calling themselves A7S? I swear the first time I heard that I thought, who's that? Is that a new band? It confused me for a while, I won't lie, but when I found out it was the same lame band, I just got pissed. If they want to have a "7" in their name, why don't they just put it there in the first place?? Call yourselves Avenged 7 Fold or shorten it to ASF or even just AS since I'm pretty sure they use one word for Sevenfold.

At least with other bands, I can understand why they'd utilize initials. It's alot easier to put BTO on a t-shirt instead of Bachman Turner Overdrive and they save a bundle on marquee letters by putting ELO instead of Electric Light Orchestra.

I know I'm sounding like Andy Rooney (a.k.a. an old fart, fuddy-duddy, curmudgeon or anything else that would describe a 89 year old man named Mortimer), but I really just don't see the point to use initials for something so brief. And speaking of brief, you like the under 1,000 word post? I'm getting better (and see? Sometimes it pays when I have absolutely nothing else to talk about!) lol.

Fear not, I'm sure I'll get screwed by something this weekend. Tune in Monday to find out what.

Have a great weekend everybody!

O Henry, Where Art Thou?

Maybe it's this weather, or maybe it's just how I've been feeling lately, but I was so struck by something that I felt the need to write it out. I should apologize in advance if I come off sounding pretentious or worse, old, but I really wanted to comment on something while it was fresh in my mind. I'll try, but this will probably not be one of my most humorous posts, however it will hopefully be one of my most passionate.

I was sitting in my car this evening, listening to NPR (as all good wannabe hipster/intellectuals are apt to do) and specifically "All Things Considered", when I heard the deep voice of Robert Siegel describe the next segment as discussing the language and dialects on Twitter. Now, I'm still a bit of a newcomer to NPR, but this right off the bat, annoyed me a bit. I thought, really? Is that so very important right now? Still, I listened and waited, hoping they would maybe do a profile on how Twitter's language varies from country to country or describe the impact these social networking sites and their language have had on how businesses are practiced.

Instead I was stuck, nay, FORCED to hear the distinguished voice of Robert Seigel, utter things like "sutton" and "coo". The final blow occurred when a researcher from Carnegie Mellon answered questions, and explained to Siegel that "sutton" basically meant, "something." It was like a sit down between generations, the younger explaining pop culture to the older. This is really the second time I have felt this way; the first being when Terry Gross spoke to Green Day on "Fresh Air" about their musical based on "American Idiot".

As the researcher began his analysis of Laughing Out Loud, or "L-O-L-ing" I sighed and sadly clicked on my classic rock station. I realized I was annoyed and saddened by two factors- the overall catering to a generation and the seemingly enthusiastic demise of our common language.

As I mentioned I am still new to NPR, but from what I gathered already is that it is a station that encourages artistic and scientific thought. Though the shows are diverse they all share one common thread that unites them; they are all meant to enlighten. They can all teach you something.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe this is where the pretension and age seeps out of me and I come across as a know-nothing know-it-all or just a young old-fart. But I can't help but think there is much more to ourselves than these social fads, no matter how great or ever-present. I don't want to learn about the casual language of pre-teens. I want to know why we are in a war, explained to me in simple terms. I don't care about a band that has all but given up their relevance and social response for a short stint back in the limelight by reusing old songs into a trendy musical. I want to hear NEW things, by people I've never heard of- jazz singers or folk artists, rappers who truly use language as art and not merely as means to obtain frivolities like sex and money. When we become soft in our minds we become soft as as society. We are told to never stop learning, and we never will stop. But the materials we incorporate into our brain stems must be of a greater quality if we are to progress, not just as a generation, but as the holders of the future.

Now onto my second point of this boring lecture- the crushing of our language. As little as I am informed in the history or standards of NPR, I am in the history and standards of our language. However, I can say fully and without fear of retaliation, that I am just as informed as you. And still, I say we must reclaim our language.

Though my stint as an English teacher was brief I can tell that we are doing the generations below us a great disservice if we do not at least make the effort to encourage and teach basic language. Part of it, I know, is due to the people that are surrounding these kids, but it certainly cannot help when we are waving a flag of incompetence and saluting it.

I think about that movie, "My Fair Lady," another musical (ironic on my part, or just lazy? You decide) in which Henry Higgins finally creates a breakthrough for Eliza, reminding her that our common language is the greatest thing we could possess. Beneath the idealistic and corny words themselves, there is great truth in that. Our language is an equalizer, allowing us to come from whatever background we are thrown and find a commonality. I understand the need for casual language, I realize even other languages have both formal and informal usages. However, I fear that we have become too lax in ours, the linguistic equivalent of wearing gym shorts to a black-tie affair.

What will become of us if we care only to get by, put in little but expect much? IDK.

Great Moments in Gluttony

I was using some pretzel sticks to sop up my leftover genetically reconstructed animal-victual yeast (or g.r.a.v.y.) from my microwave meal and realized I am a certified practitioner of gluttony. I suddenly had a flash to the odd meals and food combos that I secretly love, but am afraid to tell people about. But then I thought it might make for a good blog post, so here you are- my worst (or best, depending on how you look at it) gluttonous foods...

1.) Bagel + Fries- I discovered this hidden delectable delight back in middle school when my friends and I were allowed to leave for lunch and we would hit our favorite spot- a small luncheonette that looked as if the walls themselves had been deep fried and real older women named Maude and Blanche were working as waitresses. You know those places where they have the candy machines with candy they haven't manufactured since before Nixon was in office. Anyway, one day I was craving a bagel, but my friend's fries tasted so good I decided to put them together- and behold the fry-bagel. What was best about this was that the fries would melt the butter (yes, I'd still cover the bagel in butter too--gettin hungry/sick yet?). Buttery, salty, chewy, crispy goodness.

2.) Pizza + Fries- It's probably not healthy to use fries as a condiment, but whatever. Again, this was a food match I made in middle school when the luncheonette closed and we still didn't want to stay at school during lunch, so we walked to the town's pizzeria. In Jersey, people like to fold their pizza in half, so one day I was again coveting my friend's fries and decided to roll a few up in my pizza....mmmm. Got that same salty and potatoey taste but wrapped in tomato sauce and cheese. I could have a heart attack just thinking about it...and I probably will.

3.) Mint chocolate chip (the green kind) + mini gummy bears- Can't right off recall where this one came from, but I do know exactly how this is supposed to taste. For one, though there may be no OBVIOUS difference, it MUST be the green kind of mint chocolate chip. As specific as that is, I am even more a stickler for the gummy bears. They must must MUST be the teeny tiny mini kind. I've tried to get the same effect with the big bears, but the ratio is just all wrong. The problem is there aren't enough ice cream places that carry the mini gummy bears. So far the only consistent place I've seen them is Friendly's. Just another reason to keep that dated old diner alive.

4.) Peanuts + cherry slurpy- This is, without a doubt, my holy grail food; a combo I discovered YEARS ago but have yet to ever duplicate the exact taste. I stumbled upon this one on a family road trip. My dad stopped for gas and snacks so I went along inside too, buying myself a cherry slurpy. It was my turn to sit up front so I was given the privilege of having my slurpy right next to my dad's drink and his bag of peanuts. I was helping myself to a few when I dropped one accidentally in my slurpy cup. I fished it out and was amazed at the taste- sweet and cold mixed with salty and crunchy. I began dipping peanuts in the drink like chips into salsa whenever my dad wasn't looking. My family didn't seem to understand nor appreciate my culinary discovery but ever since then, every time I happen to remember to get one I forget about the other. One day I'll have to make the conscious effort to relive that taste again.

Think you have some weirder/tastier food concoctions? Post them below or as comments on facebook.

My Christmas Story: My Magic Diary

Time passed and I became, what I thought was, more sophisticated in my gift-choosing. I felt I had grown beyond just regular toys. Toys were for little kids. I wanted something hip. I wanted something technological. I wanted....a diary.

Not just any diary- the most modern diary that was ever created (at least for the mid 90s). It's been so long since I really tried to remember it, but I assume it did record your thoughts by typing on the keyboard. However, the coolest feature of the thing was claimed to be an address book for storing your friends and family's info AND you could customize a digital image of that person to go with it. It was the most mind-bending technology I had ever encountered...and I wanted one BAD.

SO again, I badger my poor beleaguered parents to get me this thing for Christmas. I tell them it won't be like Super Van City. This is a useful device, not some silly toy. I could use it for school as well as an organizational tool. I'm not sure how I hooked them, but eventually Christmas came and I found myself once again being nudged in the direction of a small wrapped package.

I ripped open the paper, and it had returned...that worrisome pit in my stomach that told me I had just wasted yet ANOTHER Christmas on a gift that wasn't going to last longer than our Christmas tree. I once again plastered the happy and grateful smile on my face as my dad fumbled for batteries. I probably got the first hint that this was a bad gift for me when it required a screwdriver just to open the back and put in the batteries.

Dad handed it back to me and I began flipping through the instructions as to all the things it could do. As I said, I forget alot of these, but I was still mesmerized at the thought of being able to create a doppelganger for for friends and family. So I went to that chapter and began playing with it. After what felt like an eternity I had only completed one person's cartoon-like face. I was getting frustrated that the image didn't look EXACTLY like the person. I decided instead to focus on the basic commands, but as I flipped through the manual I found myself spending more time scratching my head and reading that anything else. I began to find that in the case I need to jot something down or had a thought I never had My Magic Diary nearby or close at hand. Soon, I began to forget all about it entirely, until my parents began to ask what had become of it.

"I'm, um, not sure. Must be around here somewhere," I said sheepishly. Then while rustling through one or the junk drawers my mom finds it and asks me why it's there.

"Don't you like this thing anymore?" she asks. I didn't really have the heart to tell her it's novelty wore off faster than Fruit Stripe Gum's flavor. I tried to play it off, but before long my parents began the running joke of calling any gift they say impractical or useless as the "My Magic Diary."

"Oh you want that? Aw this isn't going to be another 'My Magic Diary' is it?" they'd ask, stifling aggravation first but then blossomed in a good laugh at my expense. I never really did live that one down. From then on, whenever I was looking for a pen in the junk drawer or cleaning out my closets, there it would be. I'd pick it up and see if I could get any of that excitement back that I had for it originally. Instead I would either find myself staring down at a face that was supposed to resemble a friend or else getting frustrated that I need a screwdriver.

Still, as history forever repeats itself, so do I and my Christmas gift obsessions. Read all about The Beanie Baby Incident tomorrow.

My Christmas Story: A Tale of Super Van City

You get the reference right? Ralphie and the BB gun? I had a Christmas like that- gently hinting to my parents about a specific toy I was gunning for, and then when subtly failed having to convince them that it WAS a great toy and perfectly fine for me to have.

In fact, I have had a few Christmases like that. The main differences however in my situations and Ralphie's was that in the end mine didn't exactly end in a happy ending. Instead, they have become the cornerstone to every Christmas gathering with my family, a retelling as traditional as "The Night Before Christmas". So pull up some eggnog and sip a chair...this is the Tale of Super Van City.

Back when Beck and I were kids she used to show me her massive Matchbox car collection. Sound odd for a girl to be interested in cars? Not really. See, Beck's dad was in the car business so she basically grew up around cars and learning much about them. For me, I tended to be more interested in finding a car my Barbie could fit in, but since none of these little cars would do I simply liked to listen to her describe the cars and play with the real opening and closing doors. The more we played with them the less I was focused on Barbie. We especially liked the kind that you could wind up and watch go. My fascination in these "boys toys" emerged enough that year that I was hooked by a commercial for a specific toy: Super Van City.

It wasn't just that it was an entire city that unfolded, complete with road signs and small businesses. It wasn't just that the cars were teeny. It wasn't just that the whole thing folded up into a neat van-shaped carrying case. It was because it was ALL of that. Plus, as we all know, I am pretty much a sucker for any good commercial. I HAD to have this toy, as far as I was concerned. I saw myself impressing Beck by bringing it over, and we could reenact dramatic scenes that required cars...and a city. I was all about it, so when my parents asked what I'd like for Christmas, I said with full certainty- "Super Van City!"

And so the weeks went by with brunches with Santa and school Christmas parties, all the while I kept hoping that this toy that I had build my Christmas around would deliver. At long last, Christmas morning came and when it was my turn to open something my parents excitedly guided my hand to one particular box. I giddily tore open the wrapping and paper, and there it was.....hmmmm.

I put on a bright smile to please my parents, but for some reason the magic felt gone. My dad offered to help me put it together and as we were doing so I felt it- the first pangs of Christmas regret. We opened it up and it did look cool for a little while. But soon I found my interest waining, even giving it over to my little brother to play with instead of me. My parents caught me shuffling the gift away and noted my change in attitude.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy with what Santa got you?" they asked.

I could feel the lump of tears beginning to well, sad that I had foolishly wasted a Christmas gift on something I didn't really even want anymore, and scared to tell my parents. Eventually, I finally broke out, "I don't think I want it anymore..."

The look on my poor parents face must have been the closest thing to murder I'd ever see. After I had been so adamant about getting it, convincing them that I would love it and play with it all the time, and then to be done with it after 10 mins must have been a harsh blow.

As a little time passed and I watched how much fun my brother had with it I did begin to play with it a bit. But the initial magic of the thing was gone the second I pulled the wrapping paper off. Unfortunately for my parents and me (then and now) I never did quite learn my lesson. Hence, a few years later...with My Magic Diary...

Nineties Nostalgia

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---from Georgia

About a week or so ago I came downstairs and noticed Joe was watching "The State" on Netflix, and laughing profusely. I had heard of this show before but I never paid much attention to it until Joe began telling me how fantastic it was. So I sat down next to him on our sofa and watched. Much to my surprise and delight, it was as funny as he described it. And it got me thinking of another show I could allow myself to watch: Beavis and Butthead.

I can hear you intellectuals groan and see you roll your eyes. No, it may not be the smartest show that ever existed, but it will always sort of hold a special place in my heart. Allow me to explain...

Whenever my parents used to have their friends over for parties, my sister and I would sneak upstairs to watch Mtv, the "forbidden" channel. If it wasn't the overtly sexual music videos that turned my mother off enough to ban us from watching Mtv, the nightime cartoons, known as "Mtv Oddities", offered the final blow. But being kids and curious we figured that on those Saturday nights we stood the best chance of tuning in.

I can recall turning off the lights and sitting on the floor of our shared room, getting comfortable while waiting to be sure our parents were distracted enough, and then flipping on in time to chatch Beavis and Butthead. We then proceeded to laugh our asses off while trying to not be too loud so as to tip of our unwary parents. It was one of the earliest times I can recall laughing so hard I couldn't breathe and my sides actually hurt. It was also one of the first shows my sister and I bonded over.

So as I scanned Netflix's selections I was pleased to see that they carried three separate collections of Beavis and Butthead cartoons. I settled in on my couch and proceeded to once agin, laugh my ass off. Maybe not as totally hard as I used to, but I still got up trying to catch my breath.

It's not just what these shows were about, it was of what they reminded us, not to get all Jerry Springer: Final Thought on you. They're like little gems of nostalgia that bring up memories of who we were back then, who we watched them with, and why we tuned in. Or if not, at least they can still make us laugh hard. Uhh uhhh, hard.

Serious Tissues

If you've ever wondered what that bulge in my front pockets were, I can tell you, it's not because I'm happy to see you. Well, maybe I am, it depends on who you are. They're actually something much more special. Much more precious. Much more...two-plyed.

Yes, dear friends, if my love of Glenn Miller, "I Love Lucy" and "Golden Girls" re-runs, and my driving ability weren't enough, the fact that I feel absolutely helpless without a tissue would solidify the theory that I AM, in fact, an old lady.

I don't really know when this became such an obsession. I guess because too often I can recall situations where I was suddenly struck with a runny nose and had no way to help it. I can clearly remember one incidence in middle school in which our class was in the middle of some big test; the kind they didn't even allow you to get up from your seat once it began. I was fine up until I was about halfway through. My nose felt cold and suddenly I realized my nose was runny (you ever get those kinds of runny noses? Where the mucus is body-temperature so you don't realize till you feel it get cold on the outside of your lip? Sorry, too gross?) I tried to carefully reach into my desk or pockets for a tissue without drawing attention from my teacher. As my nose continued to run, I became more panicked, suddenly hoping to find something, ANYTHING that might help me not look like "that kid": the kid in your class that looks disheveled and messy, and might even have a certain odor. I was petrified of being labeled "that kid." When I had searched every pocket and every crevice in my backpack, now not even caring if the teacher thought I was cheating or not, I was forced to use my hand by pretending my nose was just itchy. That, of course, made it worse. By the time the test was over, I had become more concerned over my nose than my score, and had lost pretty much all concentration. I tell you, I might've been in Harvard had I just 1 damn tissue with me all those years.

It still took me a few years to finally choose need over style, and so I'd simply stuff each pocket with a fresh tissue. Anytime I spotted one of those cardboard cubes anywhere I'd take a tissue, whether I really needed it or not. Of course, at times I would still be caught unawares, and would therefore have to rely on desperate measures. Here's my quick run-down of tissue-like back-ups...

1.) Toilet paper- Probably the most obvious second-choice paper product. Easily accessible, usually still soft on the nose, and flushable. However, unless it's a good quality brand you are likely to end up blowing your nose on your hand, anyway.

2.) Napkins- Again, depending on the brand, could be soft and sturdy enough. However, usually not-so kind to the nose and because they are usually thicker it's difficult to stuff one in your pocket.

3.) Paper towels- Not kind to the nose at all. Not flushable and not pocketable. But will get the job done.

4.) Sheet paper- Yes, I do mean an actual piece of notebook lined paper. And yes, at one particularly desperate point in my life I have used this. Aside from the obvious negatives...like it can cut your nostril and oh yeah...its GROSS...there is a way to use a piece of paper to wipe your nose. You just have to know the method to my madness (and this was actually taught to me by someone. I forget who, but if you're out there and by some miracle actually reading this, God Bless You). Take the single sheet and crumple it up into as tight a ball as you can. Unravel it and repeat. You basically continue these same steps at least 6 or 7 times, and believe it or not, the paper begins to take on a cloth-like feel. I was quite amazed at the transformation. By crumpling it up over and over it begins to breakdown. If you have the time (or interest) I highly suggest trying out this little science experiment.

Anyway, sorry if this was a gross one, but I think you got the idea. So the next time I am around you and I sneeze, instead of saying 'Bless You', try saying "Tissue?" My jean pockets, my purse, my laundry dryer, and I will all thank you.

Ghosts of Halloweens Passed

WTF, I hate how the damn cursor on this laptop occasionally becomes possessed and takes it upon itself to suddenly scroll all the way down the screen. Or else is mysteriously clicks on the wrong shortcut link in the search and then takes forever before I can change it to the right one. Ugh.

Anyway, enough of that blathering. My nose is drippy, my throat is dry and coughy, and I'm carefully dangling my feet away from the (still) wet urine spot from Georgia's newest accident on the rug, so I'm gonna try to keep this one brief.

My sweet and loyal cousin reminded me that telling stories about our family would sustain this blog for years, so since I hadn't any other ideas in mind for tonight, I'll go for one of those. And since it is almost Halloween, I thought I'd offer some of my favorite Halloween memories from my youth.

Despite the fact that I'm a total wuss when it comes to scary things, I actually really love Halloween. It's the holiday that holds some of my favorite childhood moments. Ones that still brings a smile to my face are the choices of costume I made every year. Thanks to my mom's genius behind a sewing machine, alot of my costumes were homemade, and we aren't just talking witches and ghosts. The most interesting costume she ever made was a large shiny red Coke can costume which my sisters and I all took turns wearing at one point or another. Why someone wanted to be a Coke can, I have no idea, but it made for some interesting pictures (and guessing games as to what we were). My favorite costume, however, was my very dapper, very cheerful, very hot-pink, flamingo costume. No, not flamenco...flamingo. I had a faze where I was obsessed with these birds. So much so, apparently, that I had to be one. Any psychiatry fans wanna take a crack at that one?

The other great thing about Halloween for me was the tradition in all of it. Every year, from kindergarten to 8th grade, our elementary school would close classes early, gather together by grade, and then march around our town. Now, I come from a pretty tiny town so it wasn't a huge deal. But it was still pretty exciting to us; walking around main street with our parents and family members crowding the sidewalks waving their hands excitedly and waiting for the perfect shot with their cameras. We eventually walked all the way back to the school where all the students milled about excitedly as they announced the winners of the best costumes in each grade. Every year I felt my heart bob with a little hope that I might be called, but every year I was passed over. I mean, what were they thinking...I was a flamingo princess, people! Can't get more unique than that. It didn't matter because after that the trick-or-treating began.

My friends and I always knew which houses to hit and which to not bother. We had a strict curfew in town so it was like a limited candy-spree. We dodged to this house of that, sometimes splitting up to see which houses delivered what. The best trick-or-treat house was Mrs. Sague's. She was known to not only have name-brand stuff, but the actual regular sized. She was (or is, I guess) such a nice woman and I always got upset when I heard that some asses would egg her house or put toilet paper in her trees during mischief night. Some people are assholes even in youth.

Of course, once the timer had gone off (a.k.a. it was officially nighttime), we all went back to our respective houses. Now it became all business. For a few special years my sisters and I were all of the age of not just trick-or-treating, but trick-or-trading. As soon as we had all come home we'd go into one room pour out our loot, begin categorizing it in terms of value, and begin the trade-off. Wall Street has never seen such dedication and determination. I'm even fairly certain Beck had even come over once or twice for these candy transactions. And actually, it was with Beck that I had one of my favorite specific Halloween memories.

One year I had decided to visit my cousin in her town, which was right next to ours, to do some last-minute trick or treating there. I think it maybe was because they had an extra hour or something, but in any event I showed up at her house, along with a few of her schoolmates. We began seriously trying to get whatever last minute trick-or-treating we could done, but eventually we were all content with just walking around the dark town all by ourselves, chatting and feeling as if the night and town was for us. I don't remember how, but suddenly we all began singing Christmas carols. We must have been quite the sight; witches, pirates, or whatever else we were dressed as loudly singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" in October.

I've had plenty more pleasant Halloween memories, one of which was when I met Joe. But since we have some time still till Halloween (and since this baby is getting lengthy), I'll leave you with those for now. Until tomorrow friends!

Camp Wanna-whine

"It was amazing. We hiked to our site, set up the tent and then kayaked up the river. Then at night we drank beer and roasted marshmallows, telling stories all throughout the night. Oh, and there were so many stars, it was like being in a planetarium."

Whenever we get together with friends of Joe's and they mention their love of camping, he can't help but cast a sideways glance my way, as I try to avert my eyes by taking a sip of my drink. I feel bad for the guy, I really do. After all, I don't mean to keep him from doing something he loves. But I'm not really what you'd call "outdoors-y".

Now, I will defend myself and say that I'm not a total princess; the hiking, kayaking, drinking and roasting are all activities I'm actually fond of, even enjoy. I think where I draw the line are the whole, non-showering and sleeping-on-the-ground things. I'm also a bit of a sissy who screams at the mere sight of a big bug and is terrified to be in the woods at night, thinking an ax wielding psychopath is on the loose or a rabid hungry bear. Oh sure, I can hear you say, 'well, what are the odds of something like that happened?' I can guarantee you, those are the same words that came out the mouths of the people who, hours later, ended up in their sleeping bags looking like meat in a burrito.

Ok, so maybe that's a tad irrational, but truthfully, I can say at least that I've given the camping thing a good college try. And while it started off good, when the night came it became a bit...disastrous?

The first time was back in middle school, when I was completing my journey as a Girl Scout by attending the graduation ceremony that was to be held at the conclusion of an overnight camping trip. Never having gone camping I didn't really know what to expect, however all my friends and fellow Girl Scouts were pumped so I tried to adopt their enthusiasm.

I remember hauling all kinds of food items and plastic ware to our campsite, which was set enough in the woods to make us girls think we were really facing the wilderness, yet conveniently close enough to the highway should anything arise.

We arrived early and I was happy to partake of the nature trails with the group and play games with my friends. I even managed to get through whatever food we had. Finally it was time for bed and we all finally collected into our group's tent. There were actually at least 4 or 5 tents to accommodate the whole troop, and before the grown-ups got REALLY serious about our bedtime we spent some part of the night making the small trek through the dirt path and brush to arrive at our neighbors' tents. But after the last threat, which our troop leader promised to act on, we actually settled into our own tent.

I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, or at least as much as I could using a small throw pillow, a blanket, and a sleeping bag over a solid wood platform that kept us off the forest floor. I found myself tossing and turning every 2 minutes, waiting for my shoulder to wake-up so I could go to sleep. I didn't seem to be the only one having a hard time, since before I knew it we all became painfully aware of a big mosquito that had somehow gotten past the flimsy flap and not buzzed annoyingly in our ears. Some of us screamed and begged the others, the brave ones I'll call them, to get rid of it. Finally, after hours or swirling around my sleeping bag trying to find a spot that wouldn't feel like my body was crushing itself, I passed out simply from exhaustion.

The next morning I heard someone saying, "Ohh Grooooss!" Though I never liked to be out of the loop, especially when it was something so remarkable as to elicit such a response, I could barely lift my head off my tiny stiff pillow. Then I heard someone whisper my name, at which point I gave up and looked to see what embarrassing thing I had done. Happily, it wasn't my doing. Unhappily, one of the girls had gotten sick and had vomited on my sleeping bag.

I was about to show my frustration when I looked over and the poor girl still looked a bit green, so I simply carefully slid out of the bag and carefully folded it up, reassuring her apologetic face that it was fine, and not to worry about it.

The rest of the trip went much smoother, however I never forgot that night. I guess I'd be willing to give camping a try, at least until night fell, at which point I'd bid my goodnights and check into the nearest Red Roof Inn.

Poor Little Poor Girl

I hate the end of the month. I hate to be one of those people who always complain about having no money. I hate even more being one of those people who constantly writes about it. I know we all have our own financial woes to deal with, so I'm sure no one feels like hearing my yammer on and on about mine.

But wait a minute...I'm 26 years old now. I have a (pretty much) stable job, paid for car (however shoddy), and with (thankfully) no real health problems or mind-blowing debt (at least, that I know of). Basically, I'm exactly where I was years ago as a college student, dreaming about the day when I would be out in the real world, and able to afford whatever I could (within reason). I wouldn't have to worry about things like food anymore, only going to the places my meal plan covered. I wouldn't have to wait until Wednesday to do my drinking because we could get a free unlimited cup at the Crease. I'd be living it up, sipping cocktails at a sophisticated LOUNGE discussing things like world politics and the stock exchange with my equally sophisticated peers.

Yeah, that was the idea anyway. Oh how naive.

Now I'm just glad that I can make rent, put gas in my car, and stock a pantry with groceries. I don't know why I ever thought that just because you enter a certain age means you have to be a different person (hence that whole "sophisticated" business). I realize now, it's about finding a balance, with the kid you are at heart and the "grown-up" you will inevitably become.

Case in point, about a month ago my friend Erica and I decided to go to the city for dinner. We chose a place with a nice second floor view and valet parking. We each got a drink, and as we ate and talked, we both suddenly had a flash of adulthood. It wasn't bad actually, like I would've thought. It actually was kinda nice to be able to afford a nice meal, sitting amongst the yuppies of Baltimore. Almost like taking that lifestyle for a test-run.

But on the flip side, several weeks later we walked around Artscape with our friend Lauren. We meandered in and out of tents, looking at the home made jewelry and clothing. Whenever one of us picked up something we liked we'd cautiously peer at the price tag. And then we'd slink back out empty-handed. It seems we are close enough to taste that adult-world of luxury but not yet able to really feast on it. Which also brings up another point...who CAN afford these high end art pieces?

I recall once, when I was technically interning for a creative magazine, we had a meeting at a woman's apartment downtown. I buzzed the door of this beautifully maintained building, staring at a brass name plate. When I walked in and took a seat at this massive ornate wood table, my eyes seemed to dart all about the room. She had sculptures on mantels, elegant furniture, and paintings that ate up the walls. It was beautiful, and I wondered, what did she do to be able to get all this? My memory fails me now, but what I do remember is that she was at least in her 40s or 50s.

So maybe I have time before I can become one of those people who doesn't need to clip coupons or shop in the bargain bins. But then again, I hope I always retain some of that. It's more than just my stubbornness to grow up; it's part of who I am. Besides, an unlimited glass of Sex on the Beaches beats a stuffy old martini any day.

Sports Infiltrated: The Soccer Issue

My mind's a little blank tonight as to what to write about so I'll just go with the first thing that pops in my head. Let's see.......football, a.k.a. soccer to us.

Shockingly, it's not so much the want to watch "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List" or "Pawn Stars" that is egging me towards flipping on the tv. It's the damn World Cup.

I say this is surprising, because I've never been what you would call a "sports fan". I tried to play some as a kid. You know, the kind your parents enroll you in before you have a chance to object, like soccer and softball. Plus my dad was always either an assistant or actual coach, (Didn't most of us have fathers that did that?) so then I really couldn't get out of it. But it was always pretty fun, for us kids anyway. No matter how many drills they made us do it always seemed that the skills ended up elsewhere while we scrambled around just trying to either kick or hit the ball as hard as we could. Meanwhile we would take pleasure at hearing our own parents screaming at the top of their lungs and watching their faces get purple as they disagreed vehemently at the poor rent-a-ref. They demanded justice for their little Susie, a redo, a recall. All we, and little Susie, wanted was for the game to be over so we could get our orange slices (or sometimes if we won, to get ice cream or pizza).

That, and then an attempt at basketball and softball in middle school (and a season of cross country in high school) basically summed up all my affiliation with the world of sports. I tried to watch football but it seemed too tedious and confusing. Baseball was simpler, but that made it even MORE boring. I figured I was just one of those girls that couldn't get into it. And I figured I never would.

Then when I went to college and befriended the English guys, Matt and Dave, on our floor in the dorm rooms, I became reintroduced to the world of soccer, ahem, football. They tried to get my friend Ashley and me into it by watching a game whenever one was going on. But this being America, places rarely showed games, let alone European ones.

Finally when Ashley and I made the trek out to visit them in England, one of our intended purposes was to sit together and watch a match. We walked to a pub near Matt's house and after we had our beer in front of us, I really sensed the difference in watching a sport there as opposed to the typical ones in America. Usually at sports bars there is so much going on, you barely hear or notice the game. Instead, all faces were turned to the big screen, and except for the minor comments here and there, courtesy of Dave trying to explain each call or flag that we asked about, the place was pretty quiet. It was kinda nice. It made the experience seemed special in a way, and we were able to be a part of it.

Of course, that nice easy experience might have been due to the fact that Matt's house resides in a quiet little neighborhood. The next time Matt came around to the states, we found ourselves in a "pub" ready to watch another country v. country game. This however, was not the quiet little evening we had had before. Instead the place was packed wall to wall with hardcore "football" fans, decked out in their country's jerseys. It was definitely more riled, but that made it more exciting. I found myself screaming at the screen just as much as the others around me.

Finally, when I decided to study abroad, I knew slightly what to expect. The guys I befriended there were also interested in learning more about this international sport, so whenever there was a game on we'd try to get to the Union Pub as early as possible to grab seats.

Towards the end of our trip, we realized we wanted to see a live game. The city of the school we attended, Norwich, just happened to have their team in the Premiership (basically the highest level). But since they weren't doing terribly well, we figured we ought to see them as soon as possible before we leave...and they get knocked down to Division One.

We arrived at the stadium early, obtained tickets, and waited for it to open up. When it finally did we found our seats, happily surprised that we actually had a good view. There we were, a couple of Americans infiltrating this wildly popular sport, screaming along like regular fans, booing a bad judgment and cheering at a goal. We had a blast, but were left wondering...why ISN'T America part of this?

Now I'm sure I'm going to get a schooling as to why this is (go ahead Gulliver, I know you are dying to), but in any event, even if America is just starting to catch up, I still feel proud to have learned as much as I have so far about it. Granted, I am by NO MEANS an expert, and there are still things that confuse the hell outta me (I still don't understand how to read the stats).

But I do like to watch if I can, either by myself or with a group of people who care and are really into it. I'm telling you, the excitement is infectious if you are with the right people, whom I was lucky enough to be around.

So go, grab a lager, and get into it.

Still Loving You Sunday Morning...Despite Saturday

Joe and I were driving yesterday down to Bourbon Street, a bar downtown that shows local bands every Monday as part of 98 Rock's "Noise in the Basement", and talking about music. He was trying to find something worthwhile to listen to on the radio, and I made the comment about how listening to the radio stations today is like playing a card game, depending on the station you either get a commercially safe "rock" station, the soccer-Mom-approved American Idols station, or the classic oldies that have been raped for use on commercials. Just depends on who's got the better song at the time...or "hand" as the metaphor goes.


He said I ought to write about that, otherwise he would. I dunno, I think that was as far as I thought about it. So go ahead Joe, and take it from here...

Anyway, speaking of music, last Saturday was the long-anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Ever since I first heard that it was coming back around I have been so excited. And THEN they announced that the headliner was going to be the Scorpions - my excitement sky rocketed.

Now this is going to probably sound weird but I think the first time I heard "Rock You Like a Hurricane" was for a commercial for the very first "Monsters of Rock" album. I was fairly young at the time, just watching television as always, and I was struck by the sound...and the glimpse of the video that they showed during the ad. It was of a bunch of people slamming themselves into this huge metal-linked fence thing. The music was so punching itself it was as if the people couldn't help themselves or something. I dunno, it sounds weird but that image has always stayed with me, and that song always left a lasting impression. It may have been the reason I really started to feel out for more glam and hair metal (so you can either thank or blame them depending on which side of the metal-linked fence you are on).

From there I listened to anything of theirs I could get my ears on..."No One Like You", "Big City Nights", "Winds of Change", "Rhythm of Love", and my latest favorites: "The Zoo" and "Loving You Sunday Morning". Now I should say before I go any further that though I love this band, and really any band that I'm obsessed with, I AM one of those fans that actually knows practically NOTHING about them. Yes yes I am one of those, but I stand here (or sit here, rather) and admit it. I'm so bad I didn't even know the lead singer's name...Klaus something right? So before I get the tons of schooling, I just want to put it out there honestly that I pay attention to the MUSIC, not necessarily the band's bio. Fair enough? Ok, so back to the M3...

Now, being a fan of what you would call "older" music, has both its benefits and disadvantages. A benefit is that usually seeing these bands isn't terribly expensive. The disadvantage is you will probably feel out of place among the biker chicks and redneck guys. It's good because they seem to tour EVERY summer so even if you miss them this year you can always try the next. It sucks though, because there are only so many "older" bands out there....and they are always getting older. Surprisingly this wasn't a problem I noticed before with the other bands I've seen like Styx or Journey. Unfortunately, this fact DID come to the forefront on Saturday.

My friend and I actually made it to the festival at a reasonable time (as opposed to last year when I was so unforgivably late that we caught just the tail-end of Extreme). We managed to get our $11 sangria (no joke) and in the heat we downed those suckers like Juicy Juice. We also scored actual seats this year, considering that it is the Scorpions last hurrah before they hang up their hair and retire.

We listened to Kix, who were pretty awesome, and Cinderella, who freaking turned it out. Then finally it was the Scorps turn. Now again, let me pause a minute and give you a bit more back story as to why I was so stoked for this show. I've been trying to see these guys for years, but they never seemed to make it to the states (and if they did it was always to either L.A. or N.Y. at the worst possible time). So the fact that they were part of this already awesome line-up, going to be local, AND that it was going to be their last tour, I figured the Gods were hand-picking me for this destiny...ok, maybe that's a little dramatic, but hell, I was EXCITED.

We had our beers in hand, we had peed, and we had a pretty good view. We were ready. They came on stage. And then....what the hell is that? From where we were sitting the sounds were getting all garbled. We could just barely make out his voice. What song is this? A song from their newest album? We waited for a song or two just to make sure, but then we ended up leaving our seats to make it onto the lawn. The sound quality improved, but the songs didn't seem to. I sat there like a kid waiting on line to see Santa but was met instead by an obvious imposter.

Then I suddenly became terribly crest-fallen and critical of everything. He stuck his microphone out to the audience too much. They pulled Vince Neil back on stage to sing one of the songs. He wasn't reaching the high notes I had so anticipated hearing. I wanted to hear HIM sing the damn songs, not Johnny Nobody or freakin Vince Neil! I wasn't the only one either, and as my friend and I exchanged comments and looks of despair, I heard a woman lying on a blanket next to us suddenly offer some insight...

"He's been sick lately, that's why he can't sing the way he used to...plus the fact that the guy is pushing near 60," she said. I asked her if he always pushed the microphone into the audience this much.

"Yeah, I've seen them before and he did do that. But not as much as this. Again, probably due to his voice," she said, settling back onto her blanket.

We stuck around to hear the majority of the set, happy to hear "Big City Nights" and "The Zoo", but by the time we realized they were going to exit just to come back to do "Rock You like a Hurricane" as the encore, we packed up and headed for the car.

It wasn't the same feeling I got back when I was kid or later on in the privacy of my car or room. I guess that's the saddest part. It'll never be what it was, or in my case, seeing as how this will probably be my last and only time to see the Scorps, it never CAN be, because these poor guys are just going to get older. Kinda depressing, but at least I'll always have the memories...and a subscription to iTunes.

You guys bored? Depressed? Hungry? Don't worry, update on The Living Year and with some comments on I Love Lucy tomorrow.

Sell Out

Happy Monday everyone! It seems ironic to me that since I've had my Internet shut off I've actually been more consistent with this damn blog than I was when I'd sit cross-legged on my chaise couch going between thinking of something to write and stealing glances of episodes of Will & Grace. And speaking of t.v., let's do a quick update....

**UPDATE**The Living Year: Day 12

As of yesterday, at around 6 p.m., I completed the second novel I had been reading since this challenge began. The first was called, "Barefoot" which was a light yet interesting read and this second, "On the Corner of Bitter and Sweet" (I think that's the name) seemed much more traditional but incorporated historical fiction (a favorite topic of mine).

I've also tried to stock up on magazines to use as a nice in-between for the novels. My coworker helped out by donating her 20+ issues of Cosmo to me, which are still sitting in a box in the backseat of my car. I am kicking myself right now because a few weeks ago, before her generous offering, I was at a supermarket with my friend Kelly and figured I'd get a couple magazines there. My choices? In Touch (because it was cheap), People (because I thought it would be slightly informative), and Glamour (because nothing says summer more than lounging on a sweaty lawn chair and picking sand out from between the pages of an article about the newest feminist legislation next to the "8 Ways to a Better Butt").

And speaking of People magazine, when the hell did they sell out whatever journalistic integrity they ever had? I remember as a kid being bored and sneaking my mom's People magazine when it came through the mail and reading some actually newsworthy stories. Sure they had their entertainment section, but even that seemed to be done intelligently. I always trusted them because they didn't LIKE everything that came out in theaters or on television. I used to look forward to being agreed with, either negatively or positively-or sometimes even disagreed with.

So when I bought my very own copy a few weeks ago, I was sadly disappointed. Not only were the once informative articles replaced with stupid celebrity sightings, but the entertainment section was just a giant kiss-ass for every pop outlet. There were no pans, nothing less than 4 out 5 stars, not a thumbs-down in sight. I'm not saying they had to hate everything but really People? EVERYTHING coming out is just oh-so-wonderful and perfectly enjoyable? Who broke your critical bone? Oh well, another magazine bows and takes the corporate pole in the ass...

Anyway, other than the magazines and novels, I have been keeping busy with walks and thoughtful introspection, you know, the kind involving skipping stones and staring at lawn ornaments. Deep deep stuff.

Well, my time's up here. See you tomorrow!

Back in the Saddle

My head is kinda poundy (prob b/c if you look at the timestamp from last night's post, it was around 1:50 and didn't actually fall asleep until well after 2, and then got up at 7) so I'm pretty tired and this will prob be a short one.

And since my mind is devoid of a particular topic I think I'll describe another one of my "life as a sit-com" stories: my first time on a horse.

Like many young girls, I was a proud member of the very prestigious organization known as the Girl Scouts. Yes, the camaraderie was nice and I learned that selling dozens of baked goods could lead to earning a brand new stopwatch, but prob the best part of being a girl scout was the trips we went on. On one such trip we went to a dude ranch, complete with a lake with paddle boats, making s'mores, and of course, horses.

I also used to be one of those girls that "loved" horses (despite the fact I'd never been on one and only seen a few) so I was pretty thrilled at having the chance to finally ride one. However, standing by a fence with a horse a hundred yards away and standing right next to one can be a little disarming. This thing was huge! I took a hard gulp and allowed the cowhand help me up. If it was a little dizzying standing near this big animal, being atop it was nothing short of nerve wracking. But since I was among my fellow scouts I wanted to make sure I didn't come off as a wuss. Plus my mom was one of the parents that came along to be a chaperone, so I figured that nothing traumatizing would happen. I prob should've taken the hint when I realized the helmet thing they gave me was a couple sizes too big...

When everyone else was settled on their horses we took off at a gentle amble following the head horsewoman. It started off normal enough (although alot of the magic of the moment was lost when my horse constantly took piss-breaks and I got a nice shot of the horse in front of me pulling off to take a crap).

Meanwhile my helmet kept sliding down over my eyes, and I had to quickly shift it back in place while still holding the reins like my life depended on it. Finally I got annoyed and jerked my hand up....and accidentally jerked the hands with the reins as well...

In a matter of seconds my gentle amble turned to a pretty quick trot as the horse reacted to my hand motion. Through bumps and what I could see beneath my freakin Lord Helmet headgear, I bypassed all the other girls, the chaperones and even past the head leader. She took off after me while I was terrified (and besmirched at the irony that I'd die doing something I always thought I wanted to do) grasping the reins. When she did finally catch up to me she was muttering plenty of expletives and managed to get my horse under control. My mom tried to come up next to me to make sure I was ok, although I'm pretty sure she was trying to suppress her giggles at the same time.

As the saying goes, I did eventually get back on the horse years later and did have a better experience...except for the horse slipping on some rocks while we were going down through the woods, but thats a horse story of a different color...

Alright kiddies, on that note have a great weekend, and I'll see you back here on Monday!