Raw, but c*nsored blabbing and blogging of a young journalista
and local news producer in Southern New England.
email topstorylive % at # gmail + dot = com
Today on TopStoryLive:
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Little bit country
Whenever I sign up for another one of these dating/friend sites where I have to enter biographical information about myself, I usually say I like any music except country.
Lookin' For Love (in all the wrong places) -- Johnny Lee I Love A Rainy Night -- Eddie Rabbitt Blue Bayou -- Linda Ronstadt Lady -- Kenny Rogers She Believes In Me -- Kenny Rogers The Gambler -- Kenny Rogers Let Your Love Flow -- Bellamy Brothers Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue -- Crystal Gayle Suspicious Minds -- Elvis Presley Theme From Dukes Of Hazzard (Good Ol' Boys) -- Waylon Jennings I Will Always Love You -- Dolly Parton Delta Dawn -- Tanya Tucker Always On My Mind -- Willie Nelson Stand By Your Man -- Tammy Wynette The Devil Went Down To Georgia -- The Charlie Daniels Band On The Road Again -- Willie Nelson God Bless The U.S.A. -- Lee Greenwood Convoy -- C.W. McCall Islands In The Stream -- Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton You and I -- Eddie Rabbitt & Crystal Gayle We've Got Tonight -- Kenny Rogers & Sheena Easton Here You Come Again -- Dolly Parton
Even now, at 2:30 in the morning, the apartment is still hopping. ANGELA is working on the computer at the secretary desk in the living room, JONATHAN is messing about in the kitchen area.
Rob Thomas's "Lonely No More" is playing on ANGELA's computer speakers.
There's a key in the door, and BILL comes through the door haphazardly. He is buzzed. He carries mail and his workbag.
ANGELA AND JONATHAN Hello.
BILL Hello. Thank God for roommates.
JONATHAN So where'd you go tonight?
BILL Z Bar on Wickenden Street.
JONATHAN Ah. The work buddies. Right?
BILL (WITH A BIG SIGH) Right.
ANGELA Let me guess. You talked about work a lot.
BILL (SITTING ON THE COUCH) Yeah. Too much. Well, just enough.
ANGELA That's why I have a regular crew outside of work.
BILL There's nothing regular about .... well, anything.
JONATHAN That's a problem.
BILL So what did you guys do?
JONATHAN I'm trying to make popcorn.
BILL (SUDDENLY, WARNINGLY) Be careful and don't set off---
JONATHAN -- the smoke alarm. I know. She told me.
ANGELA I've already done it once this week with tomato soup.
BILL Tomato soup? When was that?
ANGELA Tuesday.
BILL Why popcorn? At 2:30 in the morning?
JONATHANYou go out and have your Bickford's late night buffalo wings, I have my popcorn. It's healthier. Doesn't upset your stomach and metabolism so much.
ANGELA It would be better to not drink or eat anything after 11:30 at night.
JONATHAN Stuff it.
ANGELA Ooooooh!
BILL Well, I need something to eat anyway. Are the pita chips still there?
ANGELA I haven't touched them.
BILL gets a bag of pita chips out of the cupboard and a container of hummus while JONATHAN reads a popcorn bag in front of the microwave.
ANGELA's computer music changes to "Hold On" by Wilson Phillips.
BILL (SITTING ON COUCH AGAIN) I feel rotten.
Nobody says anything. BILL munches a pita chip.
BILL I know you might not feel rotten but I do. Ask me why.
ANGELA (STANDING UP AND STRETCHING) Okay. Why do you feel rotten?
BILL I don't know.
ANGELA You are WASTING my time.
BILL Well, part of it's a guy I work with.
ANGELA You hate a lot of the people you work with.
JONATHAN You need to get the hell out of there, dude. You're miserable.
BILL (GUILTILY) I know.
JONATHAN So get off your ass....
BILL I know.
ANGELA What happened tonight?
BILL Well after we've all had a few drinks and this guy and me are just standing there he's like "since we're like co-workers/friends...."
JONATHAN You know, I know this is the wrong time to bring this up, but you should really be talking to a real human being about this, a buddy, instead of the imagined split-out parts of your personality in a scene on a blog.
BILL But how many people do I know who are awake at (LOOKS AT HIS WATCH) 2:58 AM Eastern?
JONATHAN and ANGELA both give him a telling look.
BILL How about, how many people IN THEIR 20s who are CONSISTENTLY awake at all hours?
JONATHAN and ANGELA None.
BILL So shut up and listen.
ANGELA Since you're like co-workers-slash-friends...
BILL ...he had a couple of good suggestions. Like yellow light. Going to the gym every day.
JONATHAN (TAKING POPCORN OUT OF THE MICROWAVE, PERFECTLY POPPED) It's do-able. You just gotta have more discipline.
BILL (EXASPERATED) I don't HAVE any discipline!
JONATHAN (SERIOUSLY -- THE PUSHING VOICE:)You will have discipline!
BILL He brought up the fact that I'm on Lexapro. He said he was on xxxx for a time.
ANGELA (MOVING TO THE COUCH) Wait. Relax for a second. Tell us more about that.
BILL What else is there to tell? He talked about xxxx like sexual side effects. I haven't had a single issue. .....He did say one thing: either you're angry or you just don't give a shit.
JONATHAN You specifically or in general?
BILL General.
JONATHAN Okay.
BILL I didn't get to tell him what I was actually on.... (BUSHED) Oooooffff.....
ANGELA (GETTING UP) Let me get you some water.
JONATHAN (TAKING ANGELA'S PLACE ON THE COUCH) So, gym. Yellow, natural light. What was he getting at?
BILL I don't know, getting off the stuff?
(PAUSE)
BILL I don't know. I feel so guilty. It's like... now I'm worried. I had a second when I was in the bathroom and saying to myself, God, I should just say, you know, you can tell me anytime when I have a second when I'm stepping out of line, or being dumb, or like, he can ask me, "don't you care about this shit?" and now I feel like he's just trying to make his OWN life more bearable. Like all those fears I have, of, people thinking or saying when I'm not there, "Bill's so awful to work with, I hate having to direct his shows, maybe he means well, but he's just so slapdash..."
ANGELA (INDICATING A CATALOG BILL IS HOLDING) You should give that guy at work one of these.
JONATHAN (TAKING THE CATALOG AND HOLDING IT UP) Angela, him giving anybody at work a copy of Undergear would be sexual harrassment.
ANGELA Jesus. Work is no fun anymore.
ANGELA hands him the glass of water from the fridge water filter.
BILL The tap still not working?
ANGELA You're the one who has to call the landlord.
JONATHAN I tried calling them. They don't take calls from figments of imagination.
BILL I'm slapdash, but it's so much lately, I mean I like to think, because I haven't had a chance to xxxxing get good at doing these shows. Like the X:XX. I fucking HATEme doing the X:XX. There are all these extra stories and I'll never be able to figure out how to write them all myself because I won't be producing it 5 days a week for 4 weeks straight.
ANGELA Relax.
BILL I'm competing with the best producers in the shop.
JONATHAN It's not a competition.
BILL YES IT IS! THEY'RE BETTER THAN ME! And I can't do anything about it.
Sloughing it off just does not work.
(PAUSE)
JONATHAN Listen, you want to get out of there, right? Like, you want to get into a different market where you have a different mindset.
BILL They asked me tonight.... they asked me about when I re-signed my contract. The one guy I was talking to a lot, he even suggested if I like the WRITING aspect to go into MAGAZINE WRITING.
ANGELA They know you're miserable.
BILL springs up, jams his hands in his pockets and paces sullenly.
ANGELA's computer's music changes to "The Entertainer" by Billy Joel.
BILL How did they know I was drooling over a print kind of gig?
JONATHAN Stop drooling. Start writing and getting that shit out there, dude.
BILL Shut up.
ANGELA LISTEN.
If you don't trust US to say you're a good writer you have to put yourself out there.
A writer has to be read. You need to swallow your pride ---
ANGELA goes over to the secretary desk and pulls open a bottom drawer, pulling out a manuscript.
ANGELA -- and have somebody look at this. And everything else you could write.
JONATHAN And not your best buds. Yokels who can tell you what's shit about it and what's good.
ANGELA walks over and throws the manuscript in BILL's lap.
BILL angrily crunches a pita chip and sulks.
ANGELA I'm going to bed.
SHE turns off the computer's music and puts it to sleep, exiting to her room.
JONATHAN (MUNCHING POPCORN) You can be a better writer. First you have to be a writer that's worth something.
JONATHAN takes the popcorn bag to his room and shuts the door.
BILL closes the container of hummus and curls up on the arm of the couch, hiding his head in his arm and continuing to sulk.
Maybe the brighter spot was before Christmas. Even though I wasn't there I won a prize pack at the Christmas party. (It was on a Saturday when yours truly was producing a newscast, thank you very much.)
It was billed as a Xxxxxxxx prize pack but included: • a season six (?) Xxxxxxxx DVD set, with the packaging in the shape of Xxxxx's head. Xx xxxxxx xx "xxxxxxx/xxxxxxxxx" xxx xxxxxxxx xx xxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxxx xx xxx 6 XXXs • a Xxxxxxxx tin toy, depicting Xxxxx and Xxx standing at Xxx's bar pool table. Wind it up, set the balls loose, and Xxxxx and Xxx play pool; whoever gets more points for balls in holes is the winner. Unfortunately, the mechanism tends to get stuck before Xxxxx and Xxx get very far • a season one DVD set of Enterprise, which I am probably going to watch a few of before I send to my parents • a Xxxxxx Xxx DVD set (oops, that disappeared between the party and the station somehow -- the theory is that someone else took it by mistake) • two Xxxxxx Xxx visors • a set of coasters with the xxxxxxx's station logos inlaid in pewter/stainless steel
Then there was also in the box presented to me a box of 12 golf balls. I figured, well, hey, that's totally something I could hawk on eBay.
Then I opened one of the boxes.
The golf balls have the xxxxxxx's station logos printed on them.
Ah, well. Maybe I could go buy a secondhand driver, drive up to the competion's front windows and start whacking. FORE! crashhhhh!
It would be fun but I'm not going to do it.
Instead, I'm probably going to find somebody in my family -- maybe one of my uncles -- who golfs and hand them off to him. Not that it's golf season right now, of course.
The description of the video includes "The superconductor is nonmagnetic when the nitrogen is added, the meissner [sic] effect occurs and the superconductor is now perfectly magnetic."
And I'm like, so this just assumes we know what the Meissner effect is?
... But later a commenter named Mike said, "That behavior is something called the Meissner Effect, to which [sic] scientists have idea how it works yet." ...
I had to give a shout out to YYZ when I saw this on the moblog of a guy I met through NLGJA-NE. Hooray Pearson! ... and T.O. and the GTA and ....
....even though there was a freakin' DEADLY SHOOTING on YONGE STREET on Boxing Day. (CTV,Toronto Star) You have to understand, Toronto doesn't really have shootings.
My dad said I never mentioned about how the kitchen sink no longer works after he tried to fix it.
It still doesn't work, though he and my mother left the first week of December.
I didn't want to call the landlord the day after I'd already called them (because my pilot light was out and my parents couldn't stand the smell of the gas) and I was NOT having my father buy and install a new faucet, even though I let my parents do all sorts of other things... I guess replacing the faucet was going too far!
Then you know, things get busy, you have to go back to work, you don't call the landlord again, and then you actually sleep in on your weekend and get distracted.... and so on.
It's the same reason I haven't been to the gym all month. Maybe my membership expired too. December was just so busy. Not that I was buying every Christmas present under the sun. I was doing a bunch of different shows but... I don't know, it's tiring.
Well, Monday was better. Then today's Xpm was marred by a xxxx xxx xxx xx xxx xxxxxx xx xxx C xxxxx; xxx xxxxxx xx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxxx xxx xxxxxxx.
I guess it will take a while to deal with the various things that happened on Saturday night. Suffice to say, as Comic Book Guy would say on The Simpsons,Worst Show Ever. And I've had some pretty bad, BAD, BAD shows, especially on the morning show, when you're it for people who can deal with crud, at least for a good while.
• • •
I'm trying to dump some of the extra crud from my iPod because a) it's half full (oh, well, GOSH, horrors!) and b) it's filling up my hard drive on my laptop.
Hmm. Okay, Dad, I guess that's part of why you got me a DVD burner for Xmas. But what else should I do with it? 8^D
Justin Henderson sounds, from his writing, like he is eight feet tall, bony, breathes fire, has a shock of hair down to his butt, red eyes with no whites, and chain smokes at breakneck speed.
Through the usual random surfing (Wired 14.01 >> Pink Martini >> Margie Boulé / Thomas Lauderdale / Kim Singer / Paige Powell >> stolen dogs) I ran across The Tibbetts Report, where Justin breathes fire like there's no tomorrow. Jeesh. This guy is worse than Patrick. And can probably drink him under the table too.
While Justin wasn't the guy who complained somewhere that Margie Boule should never have sung with Thomas Lauderdale and Lauderdale needed to get more original, Justin was the guy who entertained me for minutes on end with his take on The Nanny Diaries:
Some novels simply aren't to be read by heterosexual men. You know which ones they are--if you've ever lived with a woman, her bookshelf was filled with them: books by, for, and about women. ... It wouldn't be right to say that The Nanny Diaries was a bad book, although that's certainly true. Instead, The Nanny Diaries is enraging because it's so very nearly quite good--a book that could be read by both women and men. McLaughlin and Kraus are keen observers, are for the most part unpretentious writers, and have a mild, unabrasive sense of humor. They merely suffer from the same ailments almost every woman I know suffers from: an over-reliance on brain-numbing slang, and chronic, constitutional dishonesty.
He uses the word "shan't" expertly, he posits he might be gay because of his curiosity with chick lit covers (where I beg to differ)... I could have kept reading this article for days on end because of its entertainment value.
You know, this guy is like JIM CRAMER! An explosive frothing-at-the-mouth showboater with great content! And EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!
I liked The Nanny Diaries, I think for the same reason people like to read things like Danielle Steel: we want to empathize with and cheer on the hero(ine), picture ourselves with the love interest, hiss at the villain and wait to see what the jester will do next. I mean, it's melodrama for God's sake.
But Justin takes it seriously all the same:
But as bad as Mrs. X is, Nanny's (read: the authors') responses to her are just as grotesque. Why does Nanny go nuts when she gets a pair of Prada shoes from Mrs. X (PRADA! P-R-A-D-A. As in Madonna. As in Vogue.)? Why does Nanny meticulously note the brand, color-scheme, style, hue, texture, and vintage of every last consumer good in the Xes' apartment? Why does Nanny obsess over the soap opera of Mrs. X's marriage? McLaughlin and Kraus never admit it, but we know why: Nanny (like the authors) desperately wants to be Mrs. X. She desperately yearns to have Mrs. X's clothes, apartment, furniture... life. She's the same consumerist bimbo as the villain. It would be refreshing if the authors could have just admitted that, yeah, 21-year-old NYU co-eds really do cravenly pattern themselves after 41-year-old Upper-East-Side housewives.
But doesn't Nan wonder if she's going to turn into Mrs. X when Harvard Hottie grows up in three years and becomes Mr. X? So she's aware of the remote similarity. She's just unaware of how true it is.
To summarize the rest of the many, many lies: Nan's blissfully supportive, uncritical parents; Nan's happenin', salsa-dancin' grandma; Nan's prolonged rants at the end of the book; Nan's boyfriend's unconditional love even--especially!--when Nan is crying over trivialities.
Well, are these lies or fantasies? Women in their twenties want their grandparents to be vivacious -- that means they'll be alive and kicking when they're that age, instead of decrepit. Women rant and rant and rant -- that's how they deal with anger, not beating each other up like men dowant to do ... er, wish they could do. Women want their parents to give them help, and the best of love from their boyfriends.
This type of book -- including The Devil Wears Prada and so on -- is, in a few words: "I WISH I COULD DO THAT BIT, BUT I'M SO GLAD MY LIFE ISN'T LIKE THAT OTHER BIT." I wish I could live on the Upper West Side, says the reader, and spend exhorbitant amounts of my inattentive husband's money on costumes replicated from the Lion King and shunt my inane, annoying offspring off on someone... but I'm so glad I don't have to take orders by memo from a bitch like Mrs. X, or find a nanny-cam hidden in the house. I'm so glad I don't have to cater to every ridiculous whim of a top fashion editor harpie, says the reader, but I wish to GOD I could try on all of those outfits and have couturiers or their ilk dote on me.
I want the trip to the ball like Cinderella, says the reader, but I don't want the ugly stepsisters and evil stepmother.
However, the ugly and evil creates conflict, and it's necessary to the story's linear narrative. ... I can feel myself getting off track.
I guess Justin seems to think that Chick Lit is worthless and a waste of time. He first cracked open The Nanny Diaries out of curiosity and lack of reading matter. Justin Henderson does not seem to be much interested in fantasy or drama of this sort; he seems to be more interested in the business type of drama, whatever that is.
But, he's willing to devote perhaps a score of links and dozens and dozens of paragraphs to say "THE NANNY DIARIES AND CHICK LIT ARE ALL WORTHLESS! AUGHHH*&#^@*$^!!!!!!!!"
• • •
I guess it makes me wonder if this isn't getting to the center of blogging. JUSTIN seems to care very much that trees, newsprint, electricity, ink, brainpower, and every other resource going into the publishing of a book are being used on this tripe, but has anybody ever commented about it?
Justin also puts his efforts into blasting droves of bad journalistic enterprises from PDX to SLC. I started wondering who the hell is this kid? At one point he was 29 and living in Portland. But I can't find hide nor hair of anything about his real life. Okay, I guess he's in law, or is a lawyer, but does that really tell me anything? (I suppose some people would say that explains a lot.) He's a voracious writer of letters to the editor, apparently, as told to me by a Google search.
He's also a contributor to at least one other blog and collections of online writings with similar angry young white (that is, I presume he's white) men. Now, that sort of thing makes me wonder if he is completely on the up-and-up or if he's completely serious about his vitriol.
It has occured to me that not every blog out there is completely truthful; all the reader knows is what the blogger tells him. So, I could really be a 68-year-old grandmother in Sweden for all you know rather than a 27-year-old redheaded overgrown boy in Rhode Island working in local news who's fed up with everything in sight.
In the long run, like television, it's only a blog.
• • •
Anyway, this guy seems very interesting. At least for a few minutes. Now that I've bashed him in public I wonder if I'll ever get to know anything real about him or meet him.
JACKSON, Mo. (AP) %u2014 Nathan Warmack wanted to honor his heritage by wearing a Scottish kilt to his high school dance. Then a principal told him to change into a pair of pants.
What began with a few yards of tartan has sparked an international debate about freedom, symbols and cultural dress. More than 1,600 people have signed an Internet petition seeking an apology for the high school senior.
Why is it that men ... on the whole ... are not allowed to wear skirts?
Friendster has added the option to search names; just type in a first and last name and up pops the person.
This proceeded to CREEP ME THE HELL OUT tonight.
I found a guy I've been looking for since 2000.
But now, that there's actually a way I might be able to talk to him again... I'm scared to... because what if he changes my fantasized memory of him?
I was typing in every name I could think of, old co-workers, buddies from college, people from high school. So many of those people were there! And by Jove, they're all so different....
I thought somewhere along the line as I was digging up old acquaintances that, you know, since I've known some of these people I've had almost an entire life... and what's more, I've had big goofups since then that are both bigger and smaller than the goofiness they know me for. 8^)
So, I put in at least four friend requests... and could have done 20. I decided that I should wait just a little on some people who might not know me THAT well... like people I've gotten familiar with through blogging.
BILL Yeah, well, I barely know her. She's real. She's not like these plastic young women who are like, complete and utter. Pretty killer body. Buy stock in Revlon. But not outrageous, you know? That sort of thing. I work with at least three of them.
ANGELA You mean, at least three of the women you work with are ... whatever you said ...
BILL Yop... well ... for another thing she's not married. Hell, for another thing she's a woman.
ANGELA You said it -- I didn't.
BILL Maybe it's just a passing fancy. I'll have the curiosity for several months....
ANGELA Of course it's a passing fancy. You got nothing going on right now, right?
BILL [SHAKES HEAD]
ANGELA You're just sniffing around a new tree until you feel comfortable scratching up against it. Or it falls on top of you.
BILL [RUEFULLY] Like a dog.
ANGELA You're not going to PEE on her. You're just going to ... well, I know you, and you're not going to do anything. You didn't do anything with that other guy. And it was a very very very good thing!
BILL [NONCOMMITTAL] Right.
[SONG IN BACKGROUND TURNS TO "BEND AND BREAK" BY KEANE]
ANGELA Trust me. Don't go there.
[TAKING A HARSH LOOK AT HIM] I mean it!
BILL Since when have I ever made you a promise like that?
ANGELA COME ON!
BILL Relax. You're right. The more I get to know her the more I'll find reasons not to go there. It's just a passing fancy.
[THEY BOTH TAKE SIPS OF THEIR DRINKS.]
BILL And supposing it's not a passing fancy.
ANGELA It's not a good idea.
BILL No, I mean, what if I am really curious about women? You know what my buddy Xxxxx said about it. Or at least implied.
ANGELA No, what?
BILL ....... I'm going to pour myself another drink.
[ANGELA REARRANGES HERSELF ON THE COUCH TO LIE BACK ON THE ARM. SHE RESERVES WHAT SHE'S GOING TO SAY.]
BILL Well, he's screwed around with women.
ANGELA You want to rephrase that, I think.
BILL I'm too tired. ...... I mean, he's been with women and he's been with men and he knows men are the ones for him.
ANGELA Okay. So you're... I see what you're saying.
[BILL GOES SILENT.]
[ANGELA SAYS NOTHING.]
[BILL FINISHES HIS DRINK.]
ANGELA Let me finish this...
[SHE DRINKS]
ANGELA I'd better go.
BILL Are you okay to drive?
ANGELA I dunno. Do you have some water?
BILL Um...... [HE OPENS THE REFRIGERATOR]
ANGELA That's okay, I have to stop for gas on the way home, I'll get something there.
BILL [RELATIVELY CONCERNED] You sure?
ANGELA Yeah. Sure. No problem. G'night, sweets.
[HAVING PUT ON HER COAT, SHE KISSES BILL ON THE CHEEK AND LEAVES.
"I just got off the phone with a top distribution executive at a major studio and he says he's just discerned the main reason why 'Kong' is doing only half its potential: Women.
They're staying away in droves, according [to] the exec..."
Uh, duh.All I've heard for the last few days is MONKEY MONKEY MONKEY from MEN MEN MEN (uh, make that straight men). Guys like to see monkeys going nuts. Not to mention Naomi Watts.
Who gives a shit about Adrien Brody? Does he take anything off? Probably not... and even if he did women don't respond to that sort of stimulation.
So why, WHY, WHY, didn't somebody think of this before?
(CNN for some reason sends down dumb movie clips for "weekend box office" wraps. The clip this weekend for the winning flick only featured Naomi Watts and Jack Black talking. "So, don't refer to the ape" when writing the story, my editor told me on Sunday. Pffffft. Lame-ass CNN Newsource. They sent the same damn stupid Harry Potter clip for like three straight weeks -- Harry and Hermione talking. Why don't they send scenes showing some sort of action?)
Clothes make the man attractive. I get a little more noticing of some guys – even if I know they’re jerks – simply 'cuz they’re wearing something I like.
Like today. The one guy was wearing a nice buttondown shirt, a nice, well-cut pair of slacks, you know, showing off the xxxxxxxx-xxxxxxx body in the offseason.
Of course, is that dressing provocatively? Even though the man is fully clothed but certain people just notice some things? I suppose the equivalent would be tight-fitting clothing on a shapely young woman but not showing a great deal of skin.
Is provocative dress defined by how much skin you show or how many curves you show? Are baggier clothes less provocative?
For some reason I want to say I'm so jealous of this kid but I'm really not that into clothing design. Maybe I'm jealous of his talent and attention:
Tiverton fashion show rocks high school auditorium, published Friday, October 21, 2005: "Graehme [Field] has been getting orders for homecoming gowns from girls in the high school, and he said he's already sold five or six pieces (which he sells for up to $100 tops, right now). Karma, a designer consignment shop in Boston, recently named one of Boston's Best by Boston Magazine, sells Graehme's work (and also sells Versace, Gucci, and Dolce & Gabbana). Karma sent Graehme flowers before the show.
At the end of the show Graehme got a standing ovation. 'It went spectacularly,' Graehme said, 'I can't stop thinking about it.' His mother Tricia said 'it was heart warming to hear young men cheering and hooting for him.'"
"There's so much of Steve Martin to love -- actor, comedian, writer, banjo player -- that it was hard to hit all the high spots when he received the eighth annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor at the Kennedy Center [Sunday, October 23rd].
This year's ceremony, which was taped for broadcast Nov. 9 on PBS, had a homecoming feeling to it. Martin, who has been a frequent presenter of the award, was this time honored by previous winners Carl Reiner, Lily Tomlin and Lorne Michaels. Which meant that half of the eight Twain winners were in the house (the other four: Bob Newhart, Jonathan Winters, Whoopi Goldberg and Richard Pryor).
In receiving the award, Martin called it 'the only significant American award for comedy -- except for money.'"
Not surprisingly, Major League Baseball is a bit miffed about the parody on its steroid scandal aired in the latest commercials for the California Milk Processor Board."
Uh-huh. Good one, guys. Have we seen any "got milk" commercials since?
Of course, should MLB be so thin-skinned? There are those who say Major League Baseball drove the players into using.
JONATHAN, THE MAN I WISH I COULD BE Face it, dude. You want to kill yourself when your shoelace is untied.
BILL But why?
JONATHAN Because it isn't perfect. Every time you have to use the correction fluid it's still a blemish. (PAUSE) I had a better way of putting this once, a long time ago, but it has long been lost.
BILL It feels like all the blemishes are building up and up and up...
BILL AND JONATHAN IN UNISON ...higher and higher and higher.
JONATHAN Yeah, but there are BILLyuns and BILLyuns of blemishes out there, and they aren't all yours.
BILL There could be billions and billions of memos in everybody's inboxes combined but my memos are bigger than everyone else's, my box is bigger than anyone else's, and the stack is the biggest one. And, I can't even really see how I measure up. I just have to guess.
So the reason I came to Panera in the first place ... last Wednesday ... was to extend the blogging time so I could discuss some of the other things that have been desponding me lately, besides my job.
• • •
Loneliness. Yeah, the 'rents were here last week week before last (see below) but that's vastly different than hanging out with friends or snuggling up to a boyfriend. I am really given up on • finding a boyfriend • hanging out on the online chatrooms to get to know guys who might become some kind of boyfriend • trying not to be desperate in the hope that a boyfriend will materialize when I'm NOT looking for one • trying to get involved with local groups of guys to get to know guys who might become some kind of boyfriend • trying to lose weight so I get down to a fighting weight; I'll only be able to exercise with an average/occasional regimen, unless I hire out for someone to lock me away in a boot camp for at least a month to make me into a knockout. Then again, I can just try to find somebody like myself who's my age too • being turned off by all the older (10 years or more???) guys who seem like they're looking for an easy screw because I'm just homely enough and lacking plenty of self-esteem so they might actually have a chance when they come over, put their arm around me and give me a big smile. Disgusting.
My hope is that maybe something will progress as I get to know guys in the industry. Of course I always have to expect the worst (nothing) but hope for the best.
• • •
Mom and Dad. Okay, they love to say I can't stand them, and at certain moments of the day when they're getting on my nerves they are RIGHT! But you guys (since you are apparently my biggest readers), relax.
Of course this is the pot telling the kettle to be orange.
Tuesday night: Shortly after they arrive my mother says, you know, we've never been to the Cape. Um, you know, Mom, it might have been a good idea to bring this up BEFORE the trip.
The oven is really smelly with natural gas. I say it seems like the pilot light went out. My poor parents endure it and beseech me to call the landlord to fix it.
Wednesday: The apartment management company's handyman comes while I'm in the shower. My parents let him in and he relights the pilot light. VOOM! Oven back in business. My dad shows me what happened. I keep him from lighting the oven while a cover is off; I really don't want it aflame with natural gas when it doesn't need to be.
Lunch at Cafe Luna at Garden City. I really need to go there more often. It's nice, though loud.
We get in my car and make the onerous hour-long journey to IKEA in Stoughton, Mass. Apparently the directions ?
Route 24 (Exit 4 on I-93) to Exit 19B (Central St.). Take a right at the first traffic light (Stockwell Dr.) and take that all the way to the end, which is IKEA Way.
Also note that it is right next to Jordan's Furniture and (Price)Costco of Stoughton.
never showed up on my computer when I looked the place up.
IKEA is another bloggable entry entirely. It's a museum. I buy a comfy queen-size pillow for $9.99 and two mousepads that are 49¢ each. One is now on my desk at work. The other was simply just because. I hold off on buying a chest of drawers and bookcase that will hopefully give my apartment the storage it so badly needs. (Too many clothes and books.)
Thursday: I wake up as late as I can, but not that late. We do Starbucks for breakfast, then Home Depot for towel racks.
To drill into the wall, instead of just screwing the screws into the plaster, we ponder getting me a power drill. I am totally against the idea because I don't want to buy an appliance that you have to charge and crud. "What we need," we conclude, "is a push drill." You know, spring-loaded, push on the thing and the drill or screwdriver turns.
Naturally, in this day and age of MORE POWER! AR! AR! AR! AR! AR! AR! (thank you Tim Allen) nobody is selling anything of that sort widespread. After checking out a few more stores, we buy a drill bit at Sears. (Wait for it...)
While I head off to my volunteer gig for a couple hours of concentration, Mom pins up the curtains to a reasonable height with safety pins, so that they are not being held up by potato chip bag clips, and not dragging on the floor right next to the baseboard heaters. Dad takes the drill bit, tapes a bunch of duct tape on the bit that the drill would hold, and in acts of sheer masochism drills holes in the wall by hand for the towel racks.
By the time I get back they have gotten bored enough that Dad is vacuuming! I forget what Mom was doing, but I can't help but be grateful.
Friday: Though flurries are in the forecast, we go south on route 4 through Narragansett to Point Judith, for the 1 PM Block Island Ferry.
(Those who know it may begin humming the Block Island Ferry song in the background.)
It's been a while since I've been on a boat of any sort. Especially in windy weather.
(Those who are humming the Block Island Ferry song should begin swaying to and fro, and maneuvering the tunes they hum while they do, so as to imitate a boat on a rocky sea.)
Let's just say buying some Orangina during the trip over was a waste. Oh, and it was plenty shaken. It makes me wonder why the onboard snack bar has posted, "NO BOOZE 'TILL WE CRUISE."
Coming back from the bathroom I noticed several people were simply lying down on the bench seats -- how could they sleep with all the sway? I'd like to know where... they got the notion... ...but anyway, I tried lying down and I felt a little better while I waited for dry land.
Block Island is pretty. It is probably much prettier when it is not DECEMBER. Add to that warmer and more populated. And what's more, it's hunting season.
We had a good lunch. At about two in the afternoon on a Friday afternoon, we were likely the only people in the place besides the help. Then, we walked a loop that was either two or four miles. It was cold. But it was different.
Once we were done we were glad to wait inside somewhere until the ferry arrived. On the trip back I tried closing my eyes, putting my head down, and working my way through a cup of ice.
It being late in the evening we were hard pressed to find a place to eat around Point Judith; we ended up running across Cafe Newport, the more upscale Newport Creamery pilot location, and had a bite, but no Awful Awfuls.
Saturday, Mom and Dad went home. And I tried to get some sleep before I went in to work but not so much. Ah, well. Nice visit.
• • •
...I dunno. Since I started this entry 7 days ago approximately I've had another couple decent shows. Gotten farther away from the lamentable stuff. Gotten a teeny-weeny inspiration or two, this and that.
What is Hoegaarden like? Dark? Light? Why should I care?
I'm a lameass, I admit. I'm a Corona boi. Light beer. Imported. With a frickin' lime in it. However I am also known to swig:
• Rolling Rock
• .....hmm, the occasional Sam Adams Light I suppose
• Probably some kind of light Henry Weinhard's even though they were bought out; hmph
• Maybe I'll try a 'Gansett one of these days, neighbor
Then we move on to the (shudder!) MALT BEVERAGES, like Mike's Hard Lemonade, and its variants -- cranberry, raspberry (?), limeade. I love limeade, whether it's alcoholic or not. Oooo, and HARD CIDER. Actually, Cider Jack was probably one of the first few alcoholic beverages I got into (thanks, Kevin).
I can see I'm just making all of you diehards ill so I'll just stop.
MANHATTAN CONVERSATION, 1999:
GIRL IN BAR: You drink a lot.
HUGH: Indeed.
GIRL IN BAR: Do you think you may be an alcoholic?
HUGH: Not really. I just use alcohol as an appetite suppressant.
GIRL IN BAR: But you don't look like you have a weight problem.
HUGH: I'm not talking about food, Sweetheart.
--Hugh Macleod
Yeah. If only we could use alcohol like that more often. I could definitely suppress my appetite for guys like this guy behind me in line at Panera in a cute little casual suit, with an even more casually dressed buddy or co-worker. I could totally pick this guy up and throw him over my shoulder. Ahhh, the sadness of lust.
Bill's iTunes is currently playing the song: "Good Morning" by Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor & Debbie Reynolds on Singin' In The Rain - Soundtrack.
If you're a man, ABC is confused as to how to term your result. You select whether you're male or female at the outset, but perhaps it would be helpful if we had the option to select "GAY MALE." I mean, the quiz asks the question "Which housewife are you?" which gay men would identify with, but then it told me "Bill is likely to date or marry Susan of Desperate Housewives!"
She's sexy, spontaneous, and quite liable to lose her clothes in some bizarre accident more than once in the course of a day. You (the husband to Susan) may be constantly applying band-aids and showing up with spare keys, but at least life with this single mom is never dull. P.S. You'll have to do all the cooking, but who's complaining?
I'm starving for some pizza. Maybe I'll go in search of a 24hr something that has a little Red Baron on for microwaving. I'm not in the mood for the barbecue chicken [pizza] in the freezer that could now be actually cooked.
