Saturday, April 30, 2005

In the News – April 30, 2005

In an effort to inform my readers of the world around them I will try to bring you a summary of the most important news each week. Because why watch CNN when you can get your news from a blog? I’ll even throw in some random one-lined headlines in the middle of my report, much like the ticker tape you see on the bottom of the screen while watching CNN.

Apparently some lady in Georgia took off this week on a cross-country flee from her wedding. She left her fiancé and some 600 guests, 14 bridesmaids, 14 groomsmen and probably a big ass cake because the stress of her impending nuptials got to be too much for her.

Now, I’ve never been married but I think this girl is on to something. This year I am scheduled to go to no less than six weddings. Those six weddings will all include not only the weddings but also at least some assortment of the following parties: The Engagement Party, The Bridal Shower, The Bridal Luncheon, The Bachalorette Party, and of course the Day After the Bachalorette Party, wherein we all sit around drinking lots of water while pulling various penis-shaped things off our bodies. So do the math and you’ll see that from now until about September I have to go to a lot of parties. And do a lot of, “Oh my GOSH, that’s a cute blender!”

I’m telling you, it’s all enough to make you kidnap yourself. I love my friends and I’m happy for their finding of true, everlasting love, blah blah blah. I’m honored that they want me to share their special day with them. And I really like big ass cakes. But I hope they understand when I cut my hair and abduct myself until October. I’m not really sure why I have to cut my hair, but that is what the stressed out Georgia Bride did. Apparently when one is on the run from 14 pissed off bridesmaids who have already shelled out $300 for a bright pink and orange taffeta dress it is better to not have long hair for them to grab on to once they find you.

Ticker Time: (Just like a real ticker you will only get about three words of the story)
-and Katie Holmes Dating….. Popemobile for Sale on-

Some lady was killed in 2000 and the cops think millionaire real estate heir Robert Durst might have had something to do with it. They want to check out his gun to see if it matches the one used in the woman’s murder. Ho hum.

Why am I not impressed with story? Because there is no way Robert Durst is getting found guilty of killing this woman. Do you know who he is? He’s the guy that was acquitted last year of murder. After he admitted to killing the man AND CHOPPING HIM UP. Yeah. He was found not guilty. What the? Apparently he told the jury that he ACCIDENTLY killed the guy and then freaked out and chopped him up into bits. Yeah cause that’s a completely normal, non-homicidal thing to do. Everyone knows if you accidentally killed someone your first instinct would be to grab the chainsaw and hack them up into bits.

Seriously. This guy was found not guilty. And Martha Stewart went to jail. Not for her actual crime, but for lying about her actual crime. This all reminds me of when I was little and my mom would say, “I’m not mad that you (insert misbehavior) I’m mad that you lied about it. You’re grounded.” Mom was so right! “Martha, we’re not mad that you did an illegal stock trade, we’re mad that you lied about it. You’re grounded.” “Robert, we know that you chopped your neighbor up into bits, but we are really proud of you for not lying about it. You get to go home.”

-Mistakes Huge Burrito for a Weapon…..Surrogate Mother of quintuplets-

Whyyyyyyyyy?????? I can take the crazy lady ditching her wedding, I can take the crazy guy chopping his neighbor up into bits. But when speedos are once again embraced as a wise fashion move I know that the America is truly a dangerous place. Someone raise the threat level to Red, right now.

I’m going to have to abduct myself to Canada to avoid any possible harm as the result of a chainsaw or a 60 year-old man bending over while wearing a speedo. I’ll be released by my captors following bathing suit season. See you then.

Friday, April 29, 2005

The Best Infomercial Ever

I’m flipping through the channels. It’s late at night. I’m about to give up hope on finding entertaining programming. And then what do I discover? I discover the best infomercial ever.

To be honest with you I really have no idea what the infomercial is informing me of, because that is not really important. What is important is the fact that this infomercial has two midgets as its hosts. MIDGETS. Telling me how to get rich or something. Midgets. In little suits and little ties.

This is awesome. This is by far the most random thing I’ve ever seen. I watch for a little while to see if they reference their midget-ness. But they do not. They are only referencing their richness and my potential richness. They are walking along a tree-lined path, enjoying life and their richness and their randomness. They are jovial in some segments and very very serious in others. They are inviting me to attend a seminar where I too can learn to be a midget infomercial host. Or something. Again, the details are slipping by unnoticed.

Oh, they’re giving a website: - go there and check them out. There’s a full body shot of both of them. But still no reference to their midget-ness. I love it.

Lest anyone think I am mocking the midgets, please understand that I am not. In fact, I am secretly fascinated by them. They seem to me to be somewhat of a Loch Ness Monster. Or maybe they are more like Britney Spears. I see them on TV all the time, they are sometimes in crappy movies and they are often made to dress up in ridiculous outfits for the sake of entertainment. But as much as I feel like I have a good understanding of Britney and of midgets, I have never met either one in real life. This seems very weird to me. (Not the Britney one, I don’t frequent Vegas chapels or my local ‘Pimps and Hoes Attire’ so the odds of us running into each other are slim)

But I do pride myself on meeting and engaging all different kinds of people. For that is the stuff of life, really. Seeing it from someone else’s perspective for a second. But never in all my years have I met and engaged a midget. It’s seems quite ridiculous. Where are they? Am I not hanging out in midget-friendly circles? Do they congregate in a different part of the country? Do they know they can make $3,000 in the next 30 days by visiting today? So many questions. So few midgets in my life to answer them.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

A Study

I’m watching the news and there is a new study out saying that if you don’t get enough sleep you might get diabetes. That’s helpful. Oh, and the study also says if you get too much sleep you might get diabetes. Then the study said they had no conclusive findings as of yet, but that they recommend that you get 7 to 8 hours of sleep a night. What? Why is this on my news? How is this news? And how do these doctors still have jobs?

Can you think of any other profession where you could give a job performance like that and end up on TV?

“Well ma’am, the problem with your car could be the engine. It also might be the tires. We can’t say for sure. I recommend you change the oil regularly though, and please smile for Katie Couric, she’s here to do an interview.”

And speaking of studies, I’ve done one of my own. My study involves studying studies. And while I don’t have any conclusive findings as of yet I can tell you that studies are poop. They are pointless and random and exist only so that someone can prove them wrong 45 seconds later.

And there you are rubbing lemons all over your body because a study proved it prevented lung cancer only to find out that another study is warning that lemons may cause an asteroid to hit earth in the year 2043 at 2 pm – give or take a millennium and a galaxy.

Do yourself a favor, ignore all studies.

Just follow these basic rules:

Smoking, Drinking, Stress, Crackrock and Skiing in heavily wooded areas = Bad.
Vegetables, Exercise, Laughter, Vitamins and Skiing at fancy resorts where you might meet a sugar daddy = Good.

I’m ready for my close-up Katie.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Guest Blog - Boobs

When you look at my profile, where it says "Sacramento" you can push there and see who else is blogging in Sacramento. A friend of mine noticed that one of the bloggers in Sacramento has a picture of herself with her baby. And her boob. Apparently she's breast-feeding. I can't think of a better picture for a blog than a picture of your breast. I will be uploading mine soon.

Having been slightly traumatized by this picture a friend of mine, Rachel, had a flashback to another traumatizing breast incident. I will post it here, cause it made me laugh. And it might make you laugh as well.

Speaking of which, I must take a moment to tell you of a horrible scene I saw at Galleria mall the last time I was home. I was at the eye glasses store which is right across the aisle way from the picture place. You know, they take cute pictures of kids and what not. Well, the place where they set you up to take pictures is right in front of the big ass window, I guess so that when one walks by you see how cute the people are getting their picture taken and then you, too, want your picture taken.

The day I speak of was not cute. Across the aisle way, in the picture place, I see a small child (although not as small as one would hope, as you will learn later) and a mother sitting on the ground. I proceed with my glasses business, look again to see how cute they are and notice that the child is lying on her back on the floor and the mother is leaning suspiciously over her. I look closer. I could not help it - they were trying to find my order at the glasses store. I see that the woman's shirt is slightly pulled up .... yes, yes! There was a breast hanging out from underneath it.

There are so many things wrong with this picture that is not cute. First, she is breast feeding in a big ass window. I'm all about women's rights and feeding your children, but you don't have to showcase it. But what made it even wronger was that the woman was just leaning over the child and letting her boob dangle in the air while her child ate. There were no hands involved. The kid was on the ground. The boob was in the air. The woman was out of her mind.

The worst part, though, was when the kid got up and walked away when she was done. Because she could walk. In fact, I would guess that she had been walking for a good year or so. I don't think the cute picture store came out so cute that day.

Mickey - D's

Why does McDonalds have a banner ad with a skinny woman doing different yoga poses? She's wearing yoga clothes, exposing her tight abs and legs that don't dimple when she sits in her various yoga poses.

Who exactly does McDonalds think they are kidding? And who exactly are they trying to attract with this ad? People who want to look like that? Cause it can't be people who already look like that. People who already look like that did not get that way by eating a french fry every time they do their downward dog pose.

Do they think that people who want to look like that are really stupid enough to think that Mickey-D's is anywhere near a smart diet move?
Come on.

Note to the McDonalds ad agency: We all know your food is killing us and making us fatter while we're still alive. We've accepted this as a fair trade for the fact that you have the best fast food french fries on the planet and pretty cool toys in your Happy Meals. Please do not insult our intelligence and the ketchup stain on our t-shirt by implying that you are going to be any part of us acheiving zero body fat.

Thank you and have a nice day.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

I’m Old

It’s official.

I’m old.

I turned on the radio today and heard that Gwen Stefani song “Rich Girl”. Have you heard this song? It’s got a bunch of words and music, your typical song. But the chorus is, “If I was a rich girl, da da da da da da da da da.” As in Fiddler on the Roof, “If I was a rich man, da da da da da da da da da.” How wrong is that? Do these singers have no decency? Sampling from Fiddler and the friggin Roof? I just tried to come up with a Broadway show whose music would seem even more ridiculous in a hip hop song. I could think of no other show. Fiddler on the Roof?! It’s the whitest show ever.

A few years ago, when I was still young, I was watching Full Metal Jacket and a prostitute comes on screen and propositions one of the main characters by saying, “Me love you long time.” I said, and I’m not proud of this, “Oh, they stole that from that 2 Live Crew song.” Being young, and not old, I honestly thought that Stanley Kubrick had sampled from 2 Live Crew. Some of you reading this won’t even know who 2 Live Crew was. At least I’m not as old as you people.

But I think you are officially old when you hear a Gwen Stefani song and start doing that little jig that the Fiddler on the Roof guy did on stage when he sang his Rich Man song. I tried to explain to someone why this all so wrong. They didn’t know what I was talking about. “No, it’s not If I was a rich MAN, it’s If I was a rich GIRL. You got the song wrong.”

I just realized that maybe I’m not old. Maybe I’m just unhip.

That is probably worse.

My Ears

I went the ear nose and throat doctor today. I’ve been to a lot of ear nose and throat doctors in my day. Not so much for the nose and throat, but for the ears. I am hearing impaired, have been for years. Remember when those motor home things would pull up to your elementary school and give you a hearing test? I was the kid that always had to stay in the motor home after the rest of the kids left. Eventually I just learned to cheat in order to avoid the humiliation of being asked to stay. And yes, there are ways to cheat on a hearing test. They’re running the operation out of a friggin motor home, obviously this isn’t Harvard Medicine-quality research going on here.

Unfortunately after awhile it became obvious that my hearing, or lack thereof, was worthy of a visit with a doctor who didn’t have a bumper sticker on his office. So I was kicked off the hearing bus and sent to the hearing chamber – a little sound-proof room with stuffed animals. I imagine the stuffed animals were there to distract from the overall “insane asylum” feel of the room, “I know you’re only 7 years old, but we’re going to lock you in this room with padded walls and give you orders over an intercom. Want a teddy bear and some candy?” They always gave me candy. That was great. When you’re young and cute and impaired in some way you can always get candy out of adults.

Over the years the candy and teddy bears slowly disappeared from the testing rooms. But the tests were always the same. There’d be sounds, beeps, tweets, eechs, brrrrmms, and rrrrrffffpppphhhs. I’d raise my left or right hand and always wonder if they kept record of how many beeps I acknowledged that weren’t even there. I’m in a padded room, eventually you start hearing things. My favorite part of the tests are the, “Say the word ‘cow’”, “Say the word, ‘bellhop’”, “Say the word ‘claustrophobic in a tiny room’”. The person giving you the test is sitting outside the room, on the other side of a window. When we get to the “Say the Word” portion of the show the tester covers up his or her mouth, which pisses me off EVERY time. Dude, I’m hearing impaired. I can’t understand what you’re saying if I can’t read your lips.

Last time I was in the room I told the lady that I would be very happy if she’d throw some cuss words in the test. You have to remember that I’m about 40 years under the median age of most of her patients. By the look on her face, I’m thinking I might have been the first one to make that suggestion. I’m definitely the first one to actually give some various word suggestions. All in the name of medicine of course.

A few years ago I finally got hearing aides. I’d actually gotten one when I was in high school, but I was too self-conscience to wear it. I wasn’t too self-conscience to not be able to understand what anyone was ever saying to me though…oh the logic of teenagers. “They can see my hearing aides, but they can’t see that I can’t hear them – so I’ll just stay deaf.” I probably should have been tested for brain impairment too.

So I finally got the hearing aides and it was a miracle. It was amazing. It was priceless. Well, actually it was $5000. None of it covered by health insurance. Doesn’t really seem fair, right? But whenever I want to I can take my ears out and turn off the world. To sleep, to concentrate, to ignore. Mostly to ignore. That probably doesn’t seem fair to you poor hearing people, huh? So see, fairness is spread out.

Having $5000 worth of equipment on your head does make you a bit weary though. I don’t like having a body part worth that much money. And if you add in the 2 grand my parents spent on my braces and the few hundred dollars I’ve spent on my glasses – not to mention the $100 every six weeks on my highlights…I’ve got a very valuable head. And I haven’t even had any face work done yet.

So my current primary care physician was terribly concerned with my lack of hearing, said I really need to go see the ear nose and throat doctor. There could be a significant reason for my hearing loss. You could have a tumor or something, he said. Since elementary school? Right. I’m hearing impaired, I’ve accepted it and moved on. If I have to sit in one more padded room…they are going to have to put me in a padded room.

But I gave in to his concerns and booked an appointment with the ENT doctor. The ear doctor looked through my file as we spoke. A huge pile of hearing tests from the 80’s to present day. We’re talking, we’re conversing, he’s YELLING.

“I have hearing aides.”

“Oh! I’m looking at your chart here and I couldn’t figure out how you were understanding anything I was saying.”

“Microphones. In my ears.”

“Oh, yes, those will help. Well, from what I can see you’ve got some severe hearing loss.”

“You don’t say.”

“I don’t think there is anything we can do surgically.”

“Alrighty then.”

“But you should probably get another hearing test.”

“Of course, I can’t tell you how I was hoping you’d suggest that. Cause I really have nothing better to do with two hours than reconfirm my hearing loss.”

So back to the room I go. I don’t care if I’m old, I’m getting a piece of candy or someone is getting hurt.

Say the words, “Pain in my ass.”

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Bags O’ Salad

I went to the store today for my monthly shopping. I played soccer before I went to the store. I hadn’t eaten in quite some time. I was hungry. I spent $120 on what amounts to frozen pizza and Bags O’ Salad.

Can I just take a moment to praise whoever invented the Bag O’ Salad? I do so hope this person was at least in the running for that recently filled Pope position. This person is a saint in my book. Never has anyone created something that has enriched my life so. Some people have religion to get through their days. I have Bags O’ Salad. Now in four fantastic flavors!

It used to be that there were just Bags O’ Lettuce, not Bags O’ Salad. During those first days of the Bag O’ Lettuce we realized as a nation that we had been wasting valuable portions of our lives shredding lettuce. Yes, there are wars and famines and disease in this world, but thank god someone finally started concentrating on the important things that needed solving – like the shredding of lettuce. Once we collectively boycotted lettuce shredding it was only a matter of time before we demanded an even easier salad-making experience. And so came the Bag O’ Salad to answer our cries.

It does seem a bit absurd to me that I spend $2.50 on a Bag O’ Salad when I can get an entire head of lettuce for like a dollar. But you’re not paying for the product so much as the convenience. The Bag O’ Salad has the lettuce, the dressing, the croutons, the parmesan cheese and even the pointless shredded cabbage. All together in one bag. No more of that time-draining task of getting all these products out of your refrigerator separately, then trying to find the croutons, then cutting up the lettuce, then trying to figure out what cabbage even looks like before it is pointlessly shredded, then realizing that you only have enough dressing left to dress one crouton, then just eating a box of Thin Mints instead of a stupid salad. Oh how the Bag O’ Salad has changed my life.

And the funny part is I don’t even like vegetables. But you know what I like less? Exerting effort. How I wish there was a Bag O’ Prime Rib Dinner With Bake Potato or maybe a Bag O’ Cheeseburger and Fries. But this world is full of disappointments, and the limited Bag O’ product line is just one of them. So I comfort myself with the knowledge that the lettuce and pointless shredded cabbage in my Bag O’ Salad really have no nutritional value whatsoever. And I don’t really count lettuce as a vegetable anyways, it’s just a transportation device for the dressing really.

Without Bags O’ Salad it is a good possibility that I would die. You see, I don’t cook. I don’t really see the point. When you open my refrigerator you will find bagels and cream cheese (breakfast) and Bags O’ Salad (any other meal). Oh, and beer. You’ll find lots of beer. Cause I don’t really drink either. And somehow people keep leaving beer at my house. I swear I must have 25 assorted beers in my fridge that people have left at my house following get togethers. Perhaps I’ll have a get together to drink all of these beers. It will be a salad and beer party. I'm sure that combo sits great in the stomach...

Friday, April 22, 2005


I’m watching the Cirque – a – thon on Bravo. Well, not so much watching it as flipping to it every once in awhile. It’s hours and hours of Cirque du Soleil. How amazing are those people? Seriously, they make me want to be an acrobat. But mostly they make me want to be able to wear a skin tight leotard that would accentuate my chiseled ab muscles.

Some guys are throwing themselves through rings now. I’m not sure why, but they are very aerodynamic, these folks. They seem to float on air. Even when they fall to the ground they do so gently. Whenever I fall to the ground it’s always a lot less artistic. And I don’t bounce like they do. Maybe it’s the ab muscles.

Now they’re on swings. And throwing themselves through the air to land on some other guy’s shoulders. Perfectly. In leotards. With funky music playing.

Can Bravo get any gayer? I need to know. It is by far the gayest channel on TV. It’s great. I wonder if they are worried about the actual gay channel that is going to be launched soon. As long as they keep the leotards, I think they’ll be okay.

Thursday, April 14, 2005


I’m doing my taxes.

Yes, I know, it’s 10 pm on the 14th of April. I’ve been busy.

I’m a bit of a procrastinator.


I’m doing my state taxes and I’ve come across a Credit Chart. A chart of all the possible credits you can take on your state taxes. You know, like the adoption credit or the renter’s credit. Things like that. I’m going to get screwed on taxes this year, so I’m looking at this chart, hoping to find the “Outstanding Spider Solitaire Player Credit”. Hey, it’s worth a shot. My tax booklet includes the words “Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger”. In order, just like that. So you never know what other ridiculous things may appear on these pages.

Unfortunately there is no Spider Solitaire Credit. BUT there is a Rice Straw Credit. I’m serious. And I quote, “$15 per ton of purchased rice straw grown in California.” Dammit! I didn’t buy my rice straw until January 2005.

OR I can use the Joint Strike Fighter Property Costs Credit. That is “10% of the cost of property placed in service in California for the ultimate use in a joint strike fighter”. “Joint strike fighter”, this sounds like some sort of drug deal gone wrong.

BUT there is a Prison Inmate Labor Credit wherein I can deduct “10% of wages paid to prison inmates”. I bought some Martha Stewart paint last year, does that count?

Oh, and I’m a sensitive girl, but why do the blind get a tax credit? Where is the logic there? You’re handicapped so you get an $85 credit? I’m sure that makes up for everything.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

There is no Upside

Oh my god I saw a horrible movie. I feel it is my duty to warn others, so instead of spending two hours watching this movie they can do something more enjoyable. Like going for a swim in a pool of nails and lemon juice. That would be more enjoyable than this movie.

The movie is called ‘The Upside of Anger’. But be warned, there is no upside, except for maybe the credits.

Let me preface my rant by saying that I’m a huge fan of movies. I appreciate all different genres and budgets and languages. It takes a lot for me to HATE a movie. I mean, it has to be a special kind of crap. My two qualifications for hating a movie are 1) it has to really really suck and 2) it has to have talented people involved in it. These qualifications keep me from hating too many movies. Because while not all movies are great, very few really really suck. And fewer of those actually have talented people involved in them.

And why does it matter whose involved with the movie? Frankly I expect more from the talented people. I know they have it in them to do great stuff, and when they choose to do crap, I get upset. It’s kinda like when I was a kid and I always brought home A’s on my report card, and then – heaven forbid – I brought home a B, my parents would be upset. But on the other hand I had friends who always brought home C’s on their report cards. When they brought home B’s their parents were ecstatic. It’s all about expectations.

So for example, when Tom Cruise and Cameron Crowe combine their talents to make the pile of poo movie ‘Vanilla Sky’ I get upset. Cameron Crowe made ‘Almost Famous’, one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. And Tom Cruise – well Tom Cruise is Tom Cruise. He’s got a great smile and could get a silent film about the migration of squirrels made, if he really wanted to. (And squirrels don't even migrate, but I'm sure he could convince them to.) So when these two combine to make ‘Vanilla Sky’ it’s unacceptable. I can’t even give you an intelligent critique of that movie, cause I can’t even tell you what it was about. My friend called it ‘Vanilla Why’ and I think we all deserve to know the answer to that question.

So in order for me to have really HATED ‘The Upside of Anger’ it had to really really suck (check) and it had to have talented people involved (check, check, check, check). The writer and director of this movie isn’t anyone who has proved himself to be talented, so I’ll let him slide. But the movie has an amazing cast. Joan Allen stars along side Kevin Costner and some talented young actors. I think Joan Allen is an amazing actress, very underappreciated. And Kevin Costner might be past his 15 minutes of fame, but he’s still a good actor. The girls in the movie, the ones that play Joan’s kids, are all really talented as well. I’ve seen them all in other projects and been impressed. So what the hell are all these people doing in this movie? They must have been drugged. Someone must have incriminating photographs with which to blackmail them. This is the only possible explanation.

Stop reading here if you actually ever plan on seeing this movie and don’t want me to ruin it for you. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. It spoils itself just fine.

The main concept of the movie is that Joan Allen, who is a horrible woman, gets left by her husband (who can blame him) and becomes a raging alcoholic bitch who treats everyone around her like crap. And she has a daughter named Popeye. I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but it seemed to tip the absurd meter while I was watching the movie, so I thought I’d point it out.

Now I’m all for having a nice little breakdown, even having a few drinks and yelling a little. But this movie takes place over the course of years and this woman never gets any nicer or any less drunk. And yet, all these people around her just put up with it. I don’t get it. I also don’t get why she gets a call in the middle of the night saying that her daughter is in the hospital with what appears to be a stomach ache. Why is this confusing? Because her daughter lives in Joan’s house. How did the daughter even get to the hospital? And do her stomach aches have anything to do with the fact that her sister is named Popeye? We never find out. All we know is that she is in the hospital, and she is tired and all she wants to do is dance. But her mom is too busy drinking Greygoose and making out with Kevin Costner to care about her daughter’s dancing dreams.

So the seasons pass and Joan passes out and all that. Then at the end of the movie we find out that the husband didn’t actually leave her, he actually fell in a hole behind the house and died there. What the? So let me get this straight, let me try to fully appreciate the plot points here. One night Joan’s hubby didn’t come home. He didn’t leave a note, didn’t take any of his stuff, didn’t leave a forwarding address for his FOUR children. But of course the first assumption of Ms. Greygoose is that her husband has run off to Sweden with his secretary. ????!!!! The dude is dying in the backyard and his wife is lining up shots to comfort herself.

But at least Joan has drunkness to blame for her complete lack of any sense. These daughters of hers are between the ages of 15 and 25. Not ONCE in the course of 2 years do ANY of them try to contact their father? Not when they graduate college? Not when they get married? Not when they have a stomach ache? Not when they finally have had enough of their ridiculous Popeye name? AND DID ANYONE NOTICE THAT HE DIDN’T EVEN TAKE HIS CAR WITH HIM?!

People. Do yourself a favor. Avoid this movie. I know the preview looks good. I know there are talented people in it. I know that some critics are saying it’s great because the performances are outstanding. But keep in mind that I could do an outstanding performance of Hamlet, Cirque du Soleil, and the series finale of The Facts of Life, but that doesn’t mean when you put them all together it will make for an outstanding piece of art. (Although Tootie as an acrobat could be fun.)

Friday, April 01, 2005

I'm Done

I’m done. It’s official. I have started blogging. Nailing the final nail into the coffin of any hope of productivity I ever had. You see, I’m facing a bit of a dilemma – all of my work, the stuff that pays my bills and keeps me off the streets, all of it involves being on a computer. I mean, I guess I could do it all by hand, but somehow I doubt a graphic designer would be very successful without the uh, graphic, part of the job title.

So why is this constant computer work a problem? Well, it’s not so much the computer as what’s ON the computer that’s the problem. Lurking on my desktop RIGHT NEXT to my work programs is Spider Solitaire. Are you familiar with Spider Solitaire? If you are you already know my plight. If you’re not familiar then do everything in your power to never become familiar, pretend you never heard me mention the name, continue on to the next blog, never speak of it again. It is for your own good. It’s too late for me to save myself, but you might still have a chance of making it out alive.
Spider Solitaire is a solitaire game, hence the word “solitaire” being in its very name. I have no idea what the “spider” part of the name refers to. Other than I’m pretty sure “spider” is some sort of code name for crack, just like ganja or pot are nicknames for marijuana. (At least that’s what I’ve heard, mom)

Because just like crack, Spider Solitaire is addictive as hell. And just like crack, Spider Solitaire has been known to rob people of years and years of productivity. So many bright futures crushed by, “I’m just going to play one more game. I know I said I’d stop after I won. But now I want to see how many I can win in a row.” By the time you finally quit your kids are grown, your spouse has left you and you have absolutely no feeling left in your index finger. It’s not pretty.

Yet, that little spider calls out to you from your desktop and you simply can not ignore it. You long for the weird clickclickclick noise it makes when it deals, or the satisfaction you get when you complete a row and it falls away to the bottom of the screen. But best of all are the fireworks when you win. Fireworks! For god’s sake, that’s exciting stuff. Work will just have to wait, there are fireworks.

So that would be Nail Number 1 in the coffin of productivity.

Nail Number 2 would have to be the internet. Nail Number 2.5 is the e-mail. These two are trickier than Nail Number 1. Because, while there is no real reason for me to open up Spider Solitaire while working there are several good reasons (and countless “sure that sounds like a reason” reasons) to get on the internet and e-mail while working. A lot of my work is freelance, so I’m in constant contact with clients over e-mail. They’re e-mailing me Things They Want To Look Pretty, and I’m e-mailing them The Fourteenth Draft Of The Thing I Made Pretty. It’s all very important. If I didn’t check my e-mail not only would I miss out on great pharmaceutical deals, but I’d also miss communication with my clients. So I have to get on the e-mail, gotta do it. Probably don’t have to e-mail everyone I’ve ever known while I’m there, but that just seems to happen when I stop by the mailbox. Who would I be as a person if I did not keep in touch with the important friends in my life (as well as that really nice lady who is getting me a great deal on pharmaceuticals)? I would be a horrible person, that’s who I’d be.

Nail Number 3 snuck up on me. I thought I already had enough things to distract me on my computer. But I was wrong. So so so so wrong. Because I didn’t have IM, Instant Messenger for you productive people who have a life beyond your keyboard. Instant Messenger is pretty self-explanatory – it’s a way to instantly message people. Cause that whole 35 seconds between e-mails was just too much of a delay for some people. And apparently the inability to add sound effects and animated smiley faces made e-mail almost impossible to deal with.

I had IM back in the day, probably during college, another time of great procrastination. (I procrastinated so much I even put off actually graduating.) But recently a friend invited me to IM, and I thought, “Why not, careers are overrated.” So I downloaded this thing and instead of the IM I remember I got a New and Improved IM. It’s quite ridiculous, with all the bells and whistles and what not. My favorite bell is the thing where you can build a little cartoon of yourself that the person chatting with you can see. You get to pick its sex, its hair color, its skin color, its clothes and even its location. My cartoon is on a beach, away from the internet. She is probably homeless, because she spent too much time IM-ing instead of doing work.

Nail Number 4 was craigslist. And doubt I have to explain this one to anyone. It is my Mecca. I bow to it three times a day. Is that what people do to Mecca? I don’t know, I’m too busy reading the Rants and Raves to go gather real information.

And now, Nail Number 5. The blog. I’m not sure why it would take five nails to close a coffin, or if they even use nails to close coffins anymore. But what I do know is that it is 2 o’clock in the morning, I have 10 projects to design in less than 48 hours, and I’m instead writing a friggin blog. The only good news about this situation is that there are a lot of internet cafés now. So even when I’m out of a job and homeless I can still get online and update my blog.

It’s important to have priorities in life.


I found some random stuff I've written over the years, so I thought I'd throw it on the blog. Why not really?