Six Degrees of Burritos

As many of you may or may not be aware, I hold a bizarre and morbid fascination with the show 'The Hills' on MTV. It goes without saying that this is the most ridiculous social phenomenon that's flourishing in our culture today.

It's not that I enjoy the show, per se. It's a level beyond enjoyment. I simply marvel at this new faux reality that's taking over television. People's lives are being lived, then re-enacted. Hot friends are hired to steal boyfriends. Models are hired to entice jealousy and stage fights. I'm simply baffled by these situations and more so that these reality stars continue to live their lives in somewhat faux reality after the cameras are off.

So, I'm on Twitter. That's right, I update people on hilarious things that happen on a somewhat daily basis. You want to know about a weird penguin dream I had last night? You want me to describe a strange color I found in my deli sandwich? I'm your girl. But not only do I get to bestow my hilarity to my 50 plus followers, (look out) I'm also on Twitter to follow celebrities.

I'm absolutely hooked on what celebrities actually decide to share with the world when given license to do so. My favorite, by far...are Heidi and Spencer. Their tweets range from bible verses to the ever popular Heidi tweet, "I love chicken burritos!" From pushing their own pop songs to warning the nation that Spencer Pratt may run for President; I'm in. Tell me what you want me to know.

The other night, I get an email... "Heidi Montag is now following you on Twitter." The next night, I get another... "Spencer Pratt is now following you on Twitter." I check into this... They're the real people. The Spencer and The Heidi are following The Katie Dulin on Twitter.

What do I do with these powers now? Probably nothing. But I'm dying to get myself re-tweeted one of these days. I'd up my chances if I only enjoyed chicken burritos as much as they did. Or Jesus.

The Dulins Weren't Built For Speed

For the first time in my three years as a New Yorker, I'd never seen the NYC Marathon in person. This year, we managed to lift our Halloween-Hungover Heads off of the pillow and wander down to Bedford Avenue to cheer on my dear friend Gwen in her first ever marathon.

Gwen's decision to run the marathon began last year when she was met with hilarious opposition from our friend Raf. Gwen took her chance to prove Raf wrong and put all of her effort into training and raising money for the Michael J. Fox foundation. This was made even more personal by the effects that Parkinson's Disease has effected her own family. Just last year, Gwen's dad was diagnosed with a form of it. This marathon was more than getting up early to jog the neighborhood and staying on a healthy diet. Gwen has worked hard to meet this goal and she f*cking did it.I've never been so proud of any of my friends. And no, it's not just because I get breathless at the top of stairs. It's not that the thought of running makes my stomach turn or that I can't even touch my toes. Gwen pushed herself to complete a very big personal goal and I couldn't be more proud of her!

Go Sports! Go Gwen!!

How to Be a Legend in Your Own Lunchtime

I just scored a copy of this book, "Dee Snider's Teenage Survival Guide: How to Be a Legend in Your Own Lunchtime." Complete with a library card insert from Carnegie Free Library in Beaver Falls, PA. Take a peek at the introduction, by Twisted Sister.

The Time has come for you to make a stand.
You've got to do things your own way.
Forget about the style, forget the brand.
'Cause every dog has his own day.
It doesn't matter what the others think,
What counts is, do you like you?
You think you're drownin',
But you'll never sink.
Just do what you wanna do.

Believe me, you'll be hearing more about this book.

Comagain?

During a recent attempt at the supreme art of being brain dead, I found myself choosing the most coma-inducing movie on my shelf. Someone Like You starring Ashley Judd, Marisa Tomei, Greg Kinnear and Hugh Jackman is the ultimate fuel for a long night of thoughtlessness. Or is it?

Instead of tuning out a thoughtless jaunt through an otherwise unremarkable tale of unrequited romance, I found myself bizarrely perplexed.

Somehow I missed the fact that Someone Like You is actually a tale of conspiracy involving the heads of underground New York City's television and magazine conglomerates. Apparently it's incredibly easy to pitch ideas while secretly/carelessly posing as a recently deceased local elder.

Touche, brain. Perhaps the same effect will happen the next time I decide to watch A Walk to Remember.

The Creepiest Math Equation Ever

The results are in. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is officially the creepiest movie I've ever seen. But let's not give it the respect that a board of critics probably consider due. Let's instead devise a clever math equation so that we may better understand the physics, metaphors and general creepiness that you should actually walk away with after viewing this film.

A=The Metaphorical Clock

The Clock is introduced early on in the movie to serve as a metaphor for the issue of time in reverse. We'll need a constant reminder that time is in reverse, so why not repeatedly show us a clock that literally ticks backwards? Good.

B=Benjamin + Daisy (90yrs - life's experiences + child - life's experiences + clock in reverse)

A man plays a boy who is actually an old man who is growing in reverse. Juxtapose this with a child his age who is growing forward.

C=Experiences (Lack of life experiences x 3.14 x clock in reverse)

Benjamin (age 16 + clock in reverse = 80 yrs) loses his virginity in a brothel only to discover he's a sexual aficionado. Wherein he meets his biological father who'd given him away who as luck would have it, is also a perv, who then gets him drunk for the first time. Take this logic and apply it to the rest of the film and the experiences that would follow.

D=Old Man/Young Man Sex (90yrs - 40 years = Get It While The Gettin's Good)

Aren't we just waiting until Daisy and Benjamin are both the same age so they can finally do it? Good thing we've waited out this math equation, because good news! They do!


E=The Passing of Time (clock in reverse - time + digital age)

Shouldn't there not only be a metaphorical clock but a physical one to help us keep track? Perhaps in the director's cut, they'll have one at the bottom of the screen. Until then, refer to the math equation we've begun. Oddly enough, as the movie ticks on and Benjamin draws closer and younger to death, the reverse clock finally dies. They replace it...with a digital clock.

(Clock in reverse - logic + technology = inevitable rolling of credits)

If this movie didn't come right out and say it was about the decaying and reversal of time, it would just be two beautiful people plus or minus make up who are constantly remarking on how they look next to each other. Kind of like if Brokeback Mountain weren't about repressed homosexuality, it would be an extremely boring film about how two people just couldn't work it out.

Take away from this math what you will. In the end, the values and lessons we attempt to learn were lost on me. Thus proving yet again, that no matter how many metaphors, make up or explosions take place, it's still a ticking clock until Brad Pitt stops talking and starts removing layers of clothing.

A + B / D + (C x E)D = Nothing Amazing

When in Doubt

While Mad Men may continue to blow my mind and secure its #1 spot in the list of All Time Favorite Katie Shows, Peggy Olsen has jumped considerably to the top of my favorite ladies list.

While I'm waiting on my WWPOD? bracelet to be made, I'm constantly referring to her character's strength on a daily basis. As another female who's hellbent on ensuring her future success in New York City, what better character to look towards?

From her seemingly demure manner, to her steadfast confidence, Peggy Olsen will remain firm on my list of go-to females.

Except for that whole pregnancy thing.

Nobody's Going To Put You In A Corner

When May I Call On You?

With my newly piqued interest in the world of the occult and my desire to prolong my denial that I, in fact, do not secretly wish to be a Vampire, I decided to give True Blood a taste.

First thoughts? I honestly don't know. Once I got past the fact that no one can play Southerners, not even Southerners, it became easier to stomach their botched Louisiana garbled language. Anna Paquin, (whom I have peed next to, I'll have you know) won a Golden Globe for this. My question is this: Really? I mean, she's adorable and all. While I enjoy that she's not playing it too dark and mysterious and in the constant need of saving, she's a bit too bubbly and pony tail flipping for my taste.

Stephen Moyer on the other hand... Holy Hot Tamale. His British tongue has sufficiently licked the underbelly of the swampy Louisiana terrain. With his smoldering undead eyes and his ability to always remain in fantastic lighting, I'm fully on board for what his character has to offer. And no, this is not in the interest of my, "Wouldn't it be cool to be alive forever" thing.

Sookie's best friend Tara enjoys pulling the Julia ala Designing Women card every other act while delivering a not so eloquent, "Go fuck yourself, I'm black!" speech. While I might be able to appreciate more if she wasn't channeling Wanda Sykes, I just can't quite buy certain aspects about her character. And while we're on that subject, what's going on with Sookie's pervy brother? Let's chat. Sookie's grandmother? Is she the beacon of murder updates in the town? She bursts in every other scene after an alarming phone call from a neighbor.

As for the rest of the show, I was honestly hoping for better writing from Alan Ball. I mean, this man did write Six Feet Under and American Beauty. (A quick trip to IMDB also told me that he was the story editor for Grace Under Fire...also a great show.) I enjoy that it's not pretentious in its exposition. They give you the story without sugaring its devices and breaks it out honestly. But still... I mean, come on, it's a little silly. (I did just read all four volumes of Twilight, so perhaps I shouldn't hate so much.)

That being said, I woke up with a strong desire to watch the rest of the season. Perhaps it's my call of the nightlife, perhaps it's my itch for immortality. Count me in, True Blood. Let's see what'cha got.

Now enjoy the opening credits. Some might say, (I might say) it's better than the show.

Turns Out, Guy Fieri Isn't Bobby Flay

Perhaps it's a known fact among my circle of friends that when it comes to the issue of Guy Fieri, that douche bag from Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, that I tend to become a tad irate.

He has tainted the very essence of TGIFriday's with his backwards sunglasses, his SUM 41 hairstyle, and his tendency to exude ridiculous remarks. "That's fierce, brother!" is no way to define the level of heat from a chicken wing. You are not a cook, Guy Fieri, you are a tool bag.

My hatred turned to confusion upon my recent discovery that Guy Fieri is not, in fact, Bobby Flay. I've been assuming this entire time that Bobby Flay was the one giving chicken wings a bad name. If someone were to bring up Bobby Flay in conversation, I would interrupt them with, "Fuck Bobby Flay!" No one seemed to share my level of hatred for Bobby Flay and I couldn't understand it. When pressed, my reasons were seemingly superficial. "Because he's stupid," I'd say. No one seemed to challenge me on this fact and it continued to remain common knowledge that Bobby Flay was a terrible person in my book.

So...Mystery Solved. Guy Fieri is not, in fact, Bobby Flay.

Fuck Bobby Flay!

Un-Cool

It seems to be a growing trend that movies work to uphold the concept that couples who have found love, might not have it for very long. That a decision you thought was right, might reveal itself to be wrong when you least expect it.

Case in point: Serendipity. What a pile of garbage. And you know what's terrible? Every time it comes on TV, I have to watch it. I hate this movie.

It constantly begs its viewer to question everything, to wonder what would be different if you had made a different choice. Films like this serve as a cautionary tale. One mistep and you could end up settling, and who wants to settle?

While I should be enthralled over the fact that John Cusack is starring in yet another movie of opportune moments involving inclimate weather, it's difficult to accept its message. Not to mention that two engagements were called off over a feeling. One of them, including the actress Bridget Moynahan who's been broken hearted in Sex and the City, that awful show Six Degrees, Serendipity and from what I've come to understand, also in real life. While I believe in destiny and the magic that can exist between two people, I'm troubled by the fact that we're told to question our judgement.

On another note, high five to John Corbett for delivering one of my Top 5 lines in a romantic comedy. "You can't fend off an army of bloodthirsty Vikings with a Shenai. It's illogical."

I Was Just In The Neighborhood

As an avid Television viewer, I'd like to pull the plug on an issue that's been plaguing me. We're all aware of the phrase, "I was just in the neighborhood." Friends seem to say it all the time when popping in. Men say it to women who stand at the door in their bathrobes as they conveniently show up for bed time. Mother-in-laws say this when they stop by with freshly-made cakes.

Now, I'm not doubting that people unexpectedly stop by to say hello. I guess what I'm saying is, no one in New York stops by to say hello.

The characters of Seinfeld seem to do this with great ease. They flock to Jerry's apartment from all over Manhattan. They come bearing clever anecdotes and shocking replies received from snarky Deli owners. They burst in without removing their coats, deliver their latest news and are out the door in less than five minutes.

I have friends in Manhattan that I enjoy seeing. You know what I do when I get there? I ask if I can stay over. It's quite a haul to get places in the city. You're battling sometimes-working trains, overcrowded buses, expensive cab rides and let's not get into the weather. Once I get there, I'm ready to settle in with a drink, maybe some dinner... Any good movies on?

Perhaps this is combined with the fact that I live in Brooklyn and certain luxuries like 24 hour drug stores are only found in Manhattan. Some weekends I question if I can do without soap until Monday. More often than not, I do. If people like Elaine and George can travel great distances just to deliver a message, then I'm clearly out of my league here.

If you get a text that says, "I was just in the neighborhood and decided not to stop" then you know why.

Long Lost Uncle

In another life, Tom Waits was a drunken uncle of mine who showed up to Thanksgiving, arguing politics.

I'm Sorry, What?

My short review: Witchcraft. Kung-Fu. Jet Packs. Midgets.

Do what?

Technology vs. Horse

"I'm putting in a chase sequence. So the killer flees on horseback with the girl, the cop's after them on a motorcycle and it's like a battle between motors and horses, like technology.... vs. horse."

I want to write something this brilliant one day.

Let's Get Together

Watching Parent Trap last night reminded me of what it was like watching this as a little girl. That powerful moment when you realize that there's only one Halley Mills. Movie magic had me believe that she had a twin. She does not!

Even as a little girl, I felt a certain twang of sadness upon realizing this fact. They looked like they had so much fun together! I remember my dad explaining the use of trick photography to me. Much to my protesting, I wasn't able to reason out why Hollywood could do such a thing.

Even though I would go on to watch Parent Trap over and over, I somehow couldn't quite jump that hurdle of acceptance. Wasn't Halley Mills totally depressed at the end of this film realizing she didn't have a twin who was also her best friend? I would've been.

Thanks, Hollywood. I'm going to go talk to myself in the mirror now. Try that duet on for size.

What's the Deal, Ramis?

It's been a long time since I made it a point of seeing a movie on opening night. The vain promise of the next buddy-film Superbad had me chomping at the bit for another harmless hands free comedy. Year One, however, left something to be desired. Strike that, I'll just say it. It was awful.

We follow Zed (Jack Black) and Oh (Michael Cera) on their even-absurd-for-fiction journey through the ancient biblical fables of the desert. One bad hunter and one bad gatherer do not equal comedy gold, unfortunately. To challenge the notion of their useless villager facades, Zed and Oh attempt to rescue their love interests from the clutches of slavery.

The cameos you hoped would float the plot only work against itself. Zed and Oh soon stumble upon Cain and Able. Able (Paul Rudd) is killed off in less than five minutes while Cain (David Cross) is somehow found at every stop along the way providing useless commentary and continually making reference to a joke that died well into the second act.

And yup, you guessed it, that dorky McLovin' appears as a biblical version of that dorky McLovin'. It was, I believe, at this point I began to accept that the movie just wasn't going to get any better. Abraham (Hank Azaria) managed to provide fuel for the only laugh the movie got out of me with a snarky remark regarding circumcision.

One stop at Sodom and Gomorrah later, we've reached the climax of the film. Add a dash of a creepy High Priest, a touch of a hot princess waiting to rule, and the threat of Oh's love interest burning as a virginal sacrafice and you've got a biblical mutiny on your hands.

I won't spoil the ending, but come on...they win.

Perhaps it's unfair to judge the plot of any buddy-comedy. It seems they all tend to work off the same blue prints... Guy loses girl, guy works to get girl back, guy makes hilarious observations along the way while meeting other hilarious acquaintances, guy gets girl. I'm fully satisfied with the way these comedies tend their course. What I'm not satisfied with, is the laziness on the writers behalf.

It begs the question: What's the deal, Ramis? I've waited for your comeback. You gave us Ghostbusters, you gave us Groundhog Day. All this time I've been expecting you to be cooking up the next big comedy. I know Michael Cera and Jack Black are the newest go-to in comedy gems, but you could've stretched your horizons a tad more.

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Harold. But next time I want to see less talk more rock.

Rain, Rain, Shoot Me in the Face.

It's been two weeks and this rain hasn't stopped falling. Either the earth really needs this moisture or nature is just out to coax me into a submissive and dismal ball of misery.

Ball of Hellfire

Purchased for Father's Day: Nun Bowling. What dad wouldn't want ten nun pins and a ball of hellfire?

Upon further inspection, I noticed that my set didn't come with the ball of hellfire. Here's a question for you: Do I take it back? If so, what is the polite way to phrase their mistake?

I can't really ask my dad to bowl without the ball of hellfire. It wouldn't be right.

Oh, Hey.

The Salad I Didn't Know I Wanted

While New York City may be known for its lousy service, New York City delis are of another breed entirely. While exploring my new work neighborhood in search of the perfect salad, I found a deli that seems to pride itself on its multi-tasking.

Delis that offer a 'Build your own salad" bar have always intimidated me. First of all, you're not building your own. You're telling someone else to pick up your chosen vegetables and mix them together for you. There's always a line of people waiting behind you, ready to pounce on their crisp accoutrement of choice.

Before I've even handed over my plastic container of untainted spinach, they're already asking me what I want.

"Uh, chicken--"

"Yes?"

"Cherry toma--"

"Yes?"

"Uh...Uh... Chees---"

"Yes?"

"Green pepp--"

"Yes?"

"Uh--"

"Yes?"

"Wait, I--"

"Yes?"

Before you even have the choices out of your mouth, they're throwing it into the large silver bowl with tongs. And the choices are overwhelming. Before I knew it, I was debating between hot tamales and grape leaves. All of a sudden I've reached the vegetable finish line. There's no going back. The salad attendant has flung the bowl at the next attendant who's waiting with a curved blade.

The guy with the blade dumps your salad out begins hacking it into little pieces. I mean, just really going for it. Everything you've just ordered has been diced into vegetable confetti and placed back inside the plastic container you started with, then thrown at the next salad attendant. The next guy then puts your dressing of choice on and mixes it for the second time.

Finally. Salad confetti. I made eye contact with a guy in line in front of me who looked equally perplexed and overwhelmed by this process. All I could say to him was, "I'm freaking out."

Alas, my $10 dollar salad proved to be fresh and delicious. Who knew it took battling a panic attack to get a good salad in this town?

The Best Part of My Day

Township to the Stage: A Comic Journey

Greg's buddy from college is finishing up film school at USC. The following is a promo of his thesis: "Township to the Stage: A Comic Journey." It's following stand up comedians from South Africa.

Check out this awesome project and if you're so inclinded, you can donate!

Township to the Stage: A Comic Journey - Promo from David Meyer on Vimeo.

More Fun Than Food Poisoning

Okay, Oscar, I get it... I should have seen these films when you said they were worth watching. Maybe if I had, I would've been more inclined to join the others in favoring it.

In the past week, I sat down to watch Rachel Getting Married and a few days later to watch Revolutionary Road. Aside from the general sense that I should no longer be living, they were great movies.


Considering I spent four hours of my past week, right on the edge of despair, I don't know that I can muster up enough concentration and emotion to give a decent review on each. So I'll keep it simple.

Rachel Getting Married -- Anne Hathaway deserved every bit of recognition for her portrayal of a recovering drug addict trying to make amends with her family during an emotional weekend of nuptials.

Verite style cameras really helped capture to immediate emotions that pushed this story along. Any second, I expected Anne Hathaway's skin to come apart. Aside from the heartbreaking jaunts down the most miserable memory lane ever written, and the quirky wedding guests that seemed to crawl out of the fictional woodwork, it was a lovely ceremony.

Revolutionary Road-- Richard Yate's epic novel was one of my favorite's in college. How it came to warrant a screen debut, I don't know, I'm still perplexed. One of the greatest challenges of translating a novel to a film is being able to incorporate all of the back story and subtle details that filled the pages and outlined the characters in the book.

Add a dash of two renowned actors, it still doesn't help fill in the gaps of sour American Dream heartache that the book held. I thought surely Sam Mendes would add a little pizazz to this piece, but I came away with absolutely nothing. Like the book, the movie is straight forward and unbelievably honest. It still holds true to the end, with a no resolution and zero pay off. If I had cared more about the onscreen characters, maybe I would've raised more of a fuss when the picture abruptly faded to black. Honestly, I was just glad it was over.

I still have one more Oscar pick to view... The Wrestler. If the credits roll and I still want to jump out of the window, I think I'm going back to involving myself in straightforward 90's romcom's for the rest of my days.

"When the cool night shakes you like a chandelier..."

Dear Friends,

Wilco has a new album due to hit shelves June 30th. They were streaming their album on their website for awhile. I'm not sure if it's my computer that can't take happiness anymore, but don't know that it's still streaming. Regardless, you can get a listen to one of my favorite's here.

That little duet you're listening to is between Jeff Tweedy and Feist. I don't care if you think it's just too cute, I think it's just too awesome. The closer it gets to the end of the album, the more it begins to sound like a promise to a lover. Each song, upon Katie's review, becomes epic. "Country's Disappeared" and "I'll Fight" especially.

Take a listen. Fall in love.

Oh, To Be 18 Again and Constantly Alert

This weekend, I gained a lot of insight as to why I'm not 18 anymore. For starters, beer hurts now. Staying awake past 3am: also painful. These days I'm perfectly content to end my nights by midnight in the presence of comfortable pants.

It was only fitting that I sit down to finally watch Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. I was interested in this movie when it was out in theaters. But one of the drawbacks, (or benefits?) of no longer being a teenager, is the ability to prioritize where my hard earned paychecks go. I learned that lesson when I paid $12 to be completely and dismally let down by last Indiana Jones.

Nick and Norah proved both to be entertaining and thoughtless. If I were 18, I would've been all over this movie. From the heartbreak and immense angst over a relationship that you're not suited for, to the complimentary meandering and sweet nature to be found in an often overlooked counterpart; we can all relate to why being 18 was terrible and wonderful.

I was able to overlook the seemingly ridiculous way in which the pacing of this movie deliciously fell into step. Anytime there was a problem presented, a phone rang immediately with a solution. If you're able to blindly accept the ironic and sweet way the characters took part in an Easter egg hunt around Manhattan, all for separate yet equal hunts, you'll be fine. Lest I forget, this wasn't written for me. It was written for my 18 year old self.

In fact, this exact scenerio was something I'd probably wished would happen to me at 18. A chance to tag along with a dopey yet attractive scraggly-haired male to discuss our favorite music all while he discovered the beauty I was too blind to discover in myself. I think I wrote this and I think Time Travelers have stolen this from me.

I don't know that I'd recommend Nick and Norah to anyone other than a girl who's bent on spending an evening alone, followed by a hefty read-through of an old journal from high school. Regardless, it's had me thinking quite a lot about my inefficiency to churn out stellar mix tapes. An art that I have, tragically, not carried with me into my, (ahem) late twenties.

Basically, Nick and Norah just adds to the already growing number of teenage flicks that prove that the dorky guys really do get the girls in the end. Keep it up, dorks. You're making us old folk look good.

"You Sure Do Kiss Like a Cowboy!"

Last night, we gathered around the television to take part in our newly functioning Bad Movie Night Club. This club is just getting off the ground, with such hits as Silent Night, Deadly Night and Doctor Detroit starring a young Dan Akroyd.

This time around, we went with something slightly more iconic than the norm. I'm assuming we're all aware of the street tough Sylvester Stallone and the triple-threat herself, Dolly Parton? They team up in biggest flop of '84 to create the masterpiece Rhinestone.

Jake Farris (Parton) finds herself desperate to break her music contract with her sleazy club owner, (played by Ron Leibman, best remembered for his role as Rachel Green's dad on Friends.) The owner will do anything to keep his money making songstress in his clutches, until she up's the stakes with a bet. Jake boasts that she can turn anyone, she means anyone, into the next hit country music sensation. If she wins, she gets to break her contract. If she loses, she has to finish out her contract, tack on five extra years of servitude and allow her manager to have his way with her in the sack.

The manager picks out rough and tough cab driver Nick Martinelli (Stallone) as her next protege. As seemingly monolithic as he is and as determined to never step outside of the boundaries of the five boroughs, Nick easily agrees to let Dolly shape him into a country music sensation. What you think would be a simple "Eliza Doolittle gets a cowboy hat" story, it quickly becomes the musical journey of a New York man defending his state's honor by channeling the down home nature of Tennessee state.

This was no simple story. Rhinestone contains layers upon layers of back story, relationship struggles, gender, family ties, loyalty and stereotypes all with musical accompaniment. But the main message I seemed to pick out of this cinemagraphic hodpodge, was the issue of North vs. South. How many stereotypes can these writers, (ahem, including Stallone) make in such a short amount of time? Answer: Quite a few.

From Nick's Italian, speghetti-eating family, ("Papa lov'a da' meat-a-balls!") to Jake's toothless neighbors, we are face to face with a war yet to be settled and only music can pave the resolution. Featuring the hit song, "Stay Outta My Bedroom" and the dark and unsettling gem, "God Won't Get Ya," Dolly really spreads her wings to let us inside.

The film can basically be categorized as having two separate climaxes and lessons. Act 1: Defending the honor of your heritage through the power of music. Act 2: Coping with overnight fame and defending the honor of your lover. As you can imagine, Nick and Jake win at both music and love.

The final interpretation I'll make is this: North and South prove friends as made evidence by the final climax of the film. Stallone dresses as a shimmering silver cowboy and rides a galliant white horse through the streets of Manhattan to reclaim his love. City vs. Country meet in the middle long enough for the heartfelt duet, "Be There;" the perfect blend of what we love about both.

Proving, yet again, that love really does conquer all, Rhinestone will go down in my book as another optimistic jaunt through life. Only this time, Dolly made it look good.

10% Better Than You

Here's a little something that's been intriguing me lately.

It seems there have always been a number of commercials that advertise the greatness of their product through a series of equations and percentages. Now with 30% more moisture!

I understand the basic percentages with product volume. But what intrigues me lately, is the percentage of workability. Pores get a 10% deeper clean! What is this math based on, exactly? And what's your stasis? Bone?

Lost, We Have to Break Up.

You had me at hello, Lost.

From the pilot episode where you crashed your plane, I was on board. When you told me the island was a different type of island, I listened. When you told me the island could cure people, I didn't question you. When you told me polar bears were in the jungle, I nodded in recognition. When you had me believe there were Others, I feared for you. When you kidnapped innocent children, I thought for sure you'd tell me why.

You, Lost, have taken a turn. Time has alluded me in this place. Perhaps this is your fickle nature, Lost. For you certainly have duped me before. But no, Lost, no. This isn't a game anymore. Lives are at stake. I have questions that need answering. I was enticed with your teases, but now I realize you've masked reality with several shirtless men who know how to shoot weapons. I thought I could be okay with this.

We basked in the innocence of your camp fires, in your love triangles, in your father-son moments. We cheered you on when you took charge, when you fought for yourselves, when you faced your worldly problems. It wasn't that long ago, Lost, when I accepted the presence of monsters, of an unseen evil at work.

These days I'm faced with detonating Hydrogen Bombs, time travel and the hope that one day I'd understand how an entire land mass could shift with the turn of a wheel. You had me believe that you might explain something as unexplainable as the black smoke. It turns out what I thought was important is small compared to the task that lay before me.

That is why, Lost, I have to walk away. I know what you're thinking, "But, Katie, we're a season away." Lost, I'll watch your last season, but I won't be happy about it because you've had me believe that you're not going to give me answers. That one day, not too far from now, you'll end the entire series by telling me it was all a dream. That by some sheer twist of time and irony, it turns out that Vincent the Dog is actually the evil ruler of the island and somehow controls the fate of the planet on a whim.

We had some good times and you've thrown me a few curve balls. But for now, I'm going to treat you like the show you ought to be... Nothing more than whimsy of science fiction. I shall not hold my breath for you or cheer you on. You have to win me back, Lost. And flowers just aren't going to do it.

Judas Got a Bad Rap

This morning I resurrected, (too soon?) my mom's vinyl of Jesus Christ Superstar and did some rocking out. Every time I listen to this soundtrack, I'm finding myself gravitating towards the track "Heaven On Their Minds." First of all, it's an amazing song. Movie-Judas did such a better job than Album-Judas. Yet I'm already digressing.

I firmly believe that Judas got a bad rap. Okay, okay... I know what you're going to say. "But what about the whole selling Jesus out to the Romans thing?" Okay, I'll admit that was a little shady. But quite honestly, Judas had Jesus' back up until that point.

Judas did nothing but believe in Jesus' word and truth. He pushed Jesus to be a better man and warned him to stay on target, to not let his celebrity persona override the real message. The followers, literally, had too much Heaven on their minds. Instead of preaching the message and trying to do good in the world, they followed Jesus and held him above all.

Yet when he was caught, (okay, be it Judas that led him to this), his followers turned on him. Judas never stopped believing that what they were fighting for was for truth and understanding. He just thought Jesus was not doing what he set out to do. And when Judas got to his wits' end, he commited an act of betrayal. But can you imagine believing in your message so much and seeing it begin to unravel? Not only that, but feeling like your leader isn't doing all that he can? You'd get angry too.

And if you disagree with this, that's cool too. Neither one of us were there, so I can't really argue with you. Regardless, please enjoy, "Heaven On Their Minds."



Plus Movie-Judas is smokin' hot, one thing he was never found guilty of.

Drunk History

I just discovered this absolutely amazing video series called "Drunk History." Each episode, they tape one of their drunk friends talking about an historical event. Then they reenact the scene using some pretty amazing actors.

This is my favorite one... Watch the gripping tale of Oney Judge.



Amazing.

If Hospitals Were Run Like Airplanes

Good Morning, America has a tendency to show the same things over and over again. Take for instance the plane crashing into the Hudson. They love this clip. Just about every week, they have some new take on this event.

This week, for example, was about how hospitals should be run more like airplanes. That airplanes are so efficient and everyone has to be quick to act on their feet. Basically, that doctors need to be running a tight ship. I thought this was hilarious, as I imagined what they were going to compare it to next week. Maybe how Obama should be more aviation-minded.

So, back when I thought I was going to die, I went to the doctor a lot. My claims of dizziness for no reason led doctors to believe I had low blood pressure, low blood sugar, pregnancy or that I was capable of seizures... The latest, in interesting things to rule out, happened to by Lymes Disease. Okay, fine. Rule that out too. I don't recall any fraternizing with ticks, but fine. Do what you gotta do.

This was months ago and shortly after, I began to receive bills for this test. My new insurance, not having been fully kicked in at the time of the appointment, was then instated and was going to be retroactive before the time of the appointment. So I began filling out forms to file, and sending them back in. Only I'd get another one. Thinking I was just getting duplicates, I'd fill it out again and send it back.

I get a notice that says that I might be in danger of being sent to a debt collector. I call them this morning to find out what's been going on.

"Well, we haven't received anything from you."
"I've sent in this information twice now."
"Well, we don't have anything. Where did you send it?"
"I sent it to Mt. Sinai hospital, where the addressed envelope in which you provided me guided me along."
"Well, I'm the only one who opens them and I haven't received anything from you."
"So you mean to tell me that not only have you not received your self-addressed envelope in which I mailed, apparently just to you, but you haven't received two of them?"
"Correct."
"And not only have you not received them, but now I have two pieces of mail floating out in cosmos with all of my personal information and signature on?"
"Correct."

I almost went into debt over a test for Lymes Disease. Really? A tick bite?
I live in New York City. I can't even remember the last time I saw a fucking tree.
Are you kidding me?

Hospitals really should take a note from Captain Sullenberger. I'd trust my life and threat of impending debt with Sully any day of the week.

Beam Me Up, Thommy.

I finally got around to seeing this.... And I'm into it.

Radiohead - 15 Step
by Alisvideo

Big time.

Hertzfeldt Friday's

What Of It?

Apparently the movie Twilight left an impression, for I found myself standing in Barnes and Noble yesterday searching for the series in paperbook.

Fiction? Nope.

New Fiction? Hmm.

Mystery? That's weird.

Sci-Fi? Still, no.

I do a computer search....

Teen Fiction.

Teen. Fiction.

That's not the sad part. I bought the first two books in the series only to discover there were two more. The next question I asked myself, "Do I just buy the box set?"

I felt a certain degree of shame and disgust at my ways while walking out of the store, the cover pressed to myself as to not illustrate that I was purchasing said books.

Try reading a 400 page teen romance novel on the L train. Difficult. Yet I press on... These Vampires aren't going to bite themselves.

Wait, that didn't make any sense.

Immortality Never Looked So Good

I honestly don't know how to begin my thoughts on the movie Twilight. The first half of the movie was spent trying to figure out if I liked it. And up until the credits rolled, I wondered how long I'd have to wait until the sequel.

At the end of the day, it's a teen movie. But Katie Dulin has never been one to turn down a teen movie, especially when romance is involved. Especially if you throw in a dash of everlasting life and you know I'm pulling myself up to the table to try this.

Twilight arrived from Netflix and I found myself curled up in the dark, greatly anticipating what I felt I knew was coming. The inevitable scene where the hot Vampire bites his beloved and they can finally have the kind of love making that only immortality can bring.

While that scene never took place, a lot of other things did. Let's take for example, say, the rest of the plot. Edward Cullen, AKA Hotty McHotFangs, spends the first half of the movie telling Bella Swan he has to stay away from her. She's the most desirable prey to one that has given up the taste for human blood, referring to himself as a vegetarian of the Vampire world.

Bella has to be the most masochistic woman on the planet. This sexy Vampire does nothing but tell her he doesn't want to see her, to stay away from him.

"I'm a killer."

"I don't believe that."

"I can't be destroyed."

"I'm fine with that."

"Seriously...I will totally kill you."

"No, Edward. I'm into this."

I can't fully blame her. How cool would it be to date someone who fly?

Edward takes Bella home to meet the rest of his Vegetarian Vampire Family and the only thing they constantly remark on is how great she smells. Edward eventually has to lead her out of the room as his entire family is waiting down in the kitchen, ready to eat her.

Throughout the movie, Bella keeps suggesting that all of this pain could be over. We all know what the little tramp is hinting at. Just bite her already! Just make her one of your own! Just get down to pure Vampire physics here and whip out those pearly whites. Why, the first moment Edward laid eyes on Bella in Biology class, he had, (what I've been referring to) as a Vampire Hard-On. Seriously, he had to cover his mouth.

I laughed and laughed.

So here I am, a full day after watching Twilight and while I thought there were so many funny elements to this story, I can't get it out of my head. Perhaps it's the masochist in me that wants to see Bella finally succumb to the sweet death that lay in Edward's teeth. I hear tale of a werewolf fight in the sequel. Honestly, people, let's get down to brass taxes. I'm in this for the bodice ripping, let's get on with it.

If immortality is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

Hertzfeldt Monday

I said I'd do these on Friday. But now I'm braindead and want to submit this as the only logical thought in my head, which of course is not logical. Thus highlighting what's happening in my brain space at the moment. Not a lot.



You Tube keeps suggesting I watch fishing videos, which I keep watching for some reason.

Feel the Rush!

The following is a scientific experiment based on the research conducted on the claimed 6-Hour Energy Shot. Don't be confused...this is not the 5-Hour Energy Shot, it's the 6.

While I'm quick to doubt the claims made by athletes on what works for them, I felt it was time to quell my opposition and instead decide for myself. Any good scientist will tell you that they need a lab partner. I chose the notable Greg Volk for the job. The two of us decided on a starting time and agreed to transcribe our findings from our separate laboratories.

Let me first describe what is being promised to us, the consumer. They tell us it will work blazing fast, that it contains zero sugar and from that, we will benefit from a no-sugar crash. These 2 oz contain only 5 calories, which leads me to question how it's able to squeeze in so many ingredients such as 1.6g of Blazing Focus, 460mg of Extreme Energy Tech and 3mg of Herbal Scorch.

I'm going to splice in our individual documented findings as well as instant messenger conversations to more appropriately give our readers a sense of its scientific affects. Buckle up.

Greg: (10:56 am) Initial Thoughts – the bottle is on fire. Fire’s energetic, right? Looking at the trademarked ingredients, it’s got “Blazing Focus,” “Extreme Energy Technology,” and “Herbal Scorch.” They lost me with that last one. Sounds like some sort of condition you’d pick up camping. New flavor “Blueberry Raspberry Blast!” What was the old flavor? Doesn’t matter now. Here we go…

Katie: (11:00 am) After I broke open the box containing the bottle of energy shot, I noticed it said, “Brace Yourself” behind the bottle. I’m not sure if this is a good sign or not. Needless to say, I’m bracing myself.

Greg: (11:02 am) The “easy open” tab is not… Smells like candy. Katie’s probably so pumped right now. Took it down in one shot. Doesn’t taste all that bad. Very sugary for something containing no sugar. I’m sure whatever it is instead has been shown to cause cancer in laboratory animals (that’s how you know it works!). Kind of like thick Kool Aid meets one of those plastic sleeve frozen popsicles. Let the energy begin…

Katie: (11:01 am) I’m still trying to open the bottle. I feel jittery at the thought of me feeling more jittery in a minute, so maybe my hands just don’t work. This should be interesting.

Greg: (11:10 am) Okay. I’m feeling something. Maybe it’s my hangover coffee buzz or an artificiallyflavored placebo, but something’s happening. I probably can’t emphasize enough how unscientific this is.

Katie: (11:07 am) That was tangy. Like cotton candy in liquid form mixed with what I liked about Triaminic as a kid. I didn’t so much shoot it, as I did sip it. I’ve never been able to shoot anything. I like to think that I enjoy tastes and need more time.

Greg: (11:11 am) Reinstalling Firefox. What the hell happened to all my bookmarks? Has nothing to do with this, but I thought you should know.

Katie: (11:14 am) I’m seeing spots.

bidnessgreg (11:15:03 AM): spots, huh?
KatieCDulin (11:15:20 AM): maybe i'm making this up. but shit feels weird.
bidnessgreg (11:15:32 AM): that sucks
bidnessgreg (11:15:41 AM): i too am feeling something
bidnessgreg (11:15:47 AM): but i think it may be in my head
KatieCDulin (11:15:47 AM): haha...maybe this wasn't a great idea.
bidnessgreg (11:16:04 AM): however, i think on the whole, it's a bunch of synthetic sugar
bidnessgreg (11:16:12 AM): and most likely nothing will happen
KatieCDulin (11:16:13 AM): yeah...it's way too tangy to not having something in it
bidnessgreg (11:16:33 AM): no sugar, no caffeine, no crash
bidnessgreg (11:16:37 AM): so what does it have?
KatieCDulin (11:16:44 AM): a lot of other shit.
bidnessgreg (11:16:46 AM): yeah
KatieCDulin (11:16:58 AM): how's your hangover?
bidnessgreg (11:17:17 AM): taking a back seat to my energy buzz!
KatieCDulin (11:17:37 AM): yeah, perhaps i should embrace this newfound jumpiness.
bidnessgreg (11:17:47 AM): let's assume this does work
bidnessgreg (11:17:55 AM): sitting at a desk is probably not the best use
KatieCDulin (11:18:03 AM): probably not. jogging? possibly.
bidnessgreg (11:18:09 AM): i think a brisk walk
bidnessgreg (11:18:10 AM): or dancing
KatieCDulin (11:18:14 AM): true
KatieCDulin (11:18:19 AM): both of these things i can do at lunch
bidnessgreg (11:18:24 AM): by the way, we should save this IM conversation and put it in our thing
KatieCDulin (11:18:31 AM): done and doner.
KatieCDulin (11:19:02 AM): now i have an overwhelming urge to sound more witty
bidnessgreg (11:19:20 AM): don't get too in your head
bidnessgreg (11:19:30 AM): you'll psyche yourself out
bidnessgreg (11:19:41 AM): just let the drink do the work, man
KatieCDulin (11:20:08 AM): let the soothing cotton candy-like synthetic taste wash over you
bidnessgreg (11:20:26 AM): i heard it intensifies it if you drink orange juice
KatieCDulin (11:20:48 AM): i think we just formed a new cult.
bidnessgreg (11:21:00 AM): a very productive cult
KatieCDulin (11:21:44 AM): one that includes a lot of organizing.

Greg: (12:02 pm) I just learned that Extreme 6 Hour Blast Off Energy Shot (I just decided I’m going to change the name each time since I can’t remember it anyway) has the caffeine equivalent of 2 cups of coffee (this makes it slightly less exotic). I’m definitely feeling the coffee jitters, and I can tell you the aftertaste of 6 Hour Hi-Powered NRG Liquid is equally as displeasing as that of coffee. Still contemplating what I’m going to do with my extra hour of energy. 5 Hour Energy Drink is for suckas! Remember that movie “I’m gonna git you sucka”? Do I hear “long-awaited sequel”? Okay, I’m going to stop typing now.

Katie: (12:00 pm) I’m becoming very aware of my surroundings. Like noises hurt. Someone’s duct taping a box together down the hall and it’s a lingering sound that I’m replaying over and over again. My heart is a racing a bit. Perhaps I should be doing what they’re doing on television. Like fishing or playing basketball. Sitting at your desk isn’t as conducive to an explosion of energy, as say, being in a race car.

Greg: (12:36 pm) Feeling mostly normal. Starting to think about what I’m going to have for lunch. Should probably be something high in calories and protein to keep up with my supercharged metabolism, on account of my ¼ Of A Day Power Pack Juice and all. I’m thinking burrito … or 12 oz. rib eye.

Katie: (12:16 pm) I think I’m inventing symptoms. Like my neck is itchy.

Katie: (12:38 pm) I slept 8 hours last night and woke up feeling pretty great. Right now, I feel like I’ve sat up all night drinking and I’ve replaced vital fluids with sugar as I way to mask a hangover that I don’t have. I don’t feel awesome and don’t so much feel like jogging this off as I do just simply not feeling this way anymore.

Greg: (1:42 pm) Turkey sandwich. Boring. I’m just going to go ahead and say I feel completely normal. Maybe I’ll have a caffeine crash later. I’m now realizing that the bottle says “no sugar crash…” but nothing about caffeine. Then again, now is normally when I enter a food coma and get depressed because it’s hours before I get to look forward to food again. (Yes, I use food like a drug). And right now I feel fine, so maybe my normal feeling is abnormal. That sound you just heard is your brain exploding.

Katie: (1:51 pm) An hour has passed without me noticing. I’ve done nothing productive but a failed attempt at a crossword puzzle, which isn’t a surprise as I’ve never been that great at crossword puzzles. I’ve waited too long to eat as this seems to given me the feeling that food isn’t necessary. It feels like my blood vessels have been replaced with sludge. But again that’s no surprise as I often forget to eat. Instead I replace common human needs with the ability to make poor choices….like this un-fun game of testing a 6 hour energy shot.

Greg: (2:48 pm) Yeah, I’m not going to make it. I’m gonna be in the Hudson. (Read: crashhhhhhh).

Katie: (2:35 pm) As long as I keep eating, I think I’ll make it through the next 3 hours.

Greg: (3:29 pm) Maybe some gum will help revive me. At only 5 calories per piece, it’s great when you want a boost but know you probably shouldn’t snack, or at least that’s what the “Biggest Loser” on NBC told me. (At least I haven’t lost my “edge.”)

Katie: (3:24 pm) I’ve run out of things to snack on…instead I’m focusing my efforts on compiling the data into a blog. This act has caused extreme fatigue and I’m finding it difficult to spell words correctly on the first try. So much for the focused energy they promised me. If I were driving a race car right now, I'd be dead.

Greg: (4:13 pm) I feel icky. Am I asleep yet?

Katie: (4:24 pm) I’m becoming mentally aware that I’m nearing the end of this 6 hours of suck. My ears are ringing. I’m going home soon to revaluate my decisions.

Greg: (4:25 pm) I am NOT tired.

Katie: (4:35 pm) I saw they're making 80 hour Energy mouth sprays. I hope they eventually make life-long energy drinks. I wonder if anyone has died from this. I hope it's not me.

Greg: (4:47 pm) Was that only 6 hours? It felt like 12. I need a naps.

Katie: (4:50 pm) I'm staring at the words "Dietary Supplement" on the box. Next time I'm just drinking a sixer and swallowing a box of razors. Goodnight.

My Heightened Fear of Cats

I've always been a bit skittish around cats. You just don't know what they're thinking. From the whole "jump at any time" thing to the fact that they can claw you without notice.

I had quite a lovable cat named Toonces when I was little. She acted more like a dog than a cat. She cried at the door when she wanted to go to the bathroom. She would play fetch with bouncy balls. She slept at the foot of my bed and sat on my brother's shoulder when he'd walk around the house. Toonces was the best cat ever until it drank antifreeze out of my neighbor's car and we had to put her down. Forgive me if I'm bitter. No cat can compare to Toonces.

So I've put a wall around my pet-loving heart when it comes to cats. They're just so unpredictable. Not to mention haughty! I have to work for your affection? This is boring.

Last night I dreamt of a school for Cats with Disabilities. Only the point of view I was seeing it from, was behind the camera as this was apparently a fun-loving news report of this amazing school for Cats with Disabilities.

"Over here we have Mr. Whiskers." Mr. Whiskers had spikes coming out of his skin.

"Let's not forget Goggles." Goggles the cat had human eye balls.

"And how 'bout that Oscar?" Oscar sweat human sweat.

I woke up a bit terrified. I'm always a bit on edge when I know there's a cat around. Unless it's willing to forgo its feigned modesty and jump into my lap for a nap, I'm not willing to let go of the thought that this cat could possibly kill me. I've grossly underestimated this fear until my unconscious brain had me visualize them....with spikes.

Beware, humans. We don't know what they're thinking for a reason.

Where the Wild Things Are

My friend Isaac showed me this trailer today for "Where the Wild Things Are." And in a flash, my childhood came back to me.

Let's do some math:
Spike Jonze(director)+ Dave Eggers(screenplay)+ Tom Hanks(producer)+ James Gandolfini(voice)+ Jim Henson Creature Shop(monsters) = I'm excited.



*Not to mention the Arcade Fire song in the trailer....

Should I Be Offended?

The other night, I dreamed that I was dating Jim from The Office. Not Jonathan Krasinski the actor, but Jim from The Office.

It was possibly the best dream ever until he said, "I wish I could date someone with Pam's personality and your looks."

I remember thinking, "That's...not cool."

I woke up a little confused. On one hand, Jim from The Office just told me I was pretty. On the other hand, he told me I didn't have a desirable personality. And for that matter, he's saying Pam can be prettier. I think both of us should be offended.

I will continue to watch Jim with admiration but have resolved to hold him at arm's length.

Just Kick It

My future child will turn out just like this. Un-athletic and really frustrated with balls.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

What Is This Twitter?

I just had the theory behind Twitter explained to me. I don't when Twitter got its start, but I do know that since that start, I've pretended that I knew what it was. People talk about new things all the time and I try my best to not keep up with it too much.

For about a year, I didn't know what podcasts were. People kept saying, "Check out my podcast," or "You can get this show on podcast." What in the world were they talking about? I nodded my head and gave them a knowing look, a shared understanding of what this technology was. I sincerely had no idea and couldn't really be bothered to ask someone.

Today, I took a stand and finally asked my friends, (on the internet no less) what the hell Twitter was. Twitter, as I've come to learn, works like a status bar on a Facebook page. You can update people, in 140 characters, some random tidbit of information that usually does not have a conclusion.

Intrigued as I was, I still didn't understand. That is, until Travis sent me the link to Christopher Walken's Twitter page. I'm not quite sure if this is the real Walken, or some clever person who's channeling his awesomeness. But this page has had my captivated since it was sent to me.

Thanks, Travis. I still don't get it. But I'm wanting to get it more. So thanks.

I Don't Roll on Shabbas

As I've mentioned before, part of my past time at work involves listening to other people's conversations. My favorite character has to be Rudy. Rudy is a very short, angry Jewish man that's better known in a previous blog for yelling, "Get off my letterhead!"

This morning I overheard Rudy yelling, "He's full of shit! That man is full of shit! I'm going to tell him so at Shabbas!"

Rudy is an efficient bad ass. Two birds, one stone. God and shit-talking.

Hertzfeldt Friday's

On Friday's, I tend to have little on my mind. So I've decided that Friday's will be the day that I post a different Don Hertzfeldt cartoon from his Rejected series.



Happy Friday. Everybody dance!

Vasovagal This.

Yes, that's right. The saga of Katie's Brain continues with another fun trip to the doctor. This time, for the test of all tests. The Tilt Table Test.

I was prepared for this test, with a warning that the goal for this test was to get me to pass out. In the most archaic of fashions, they were going to strap me to a table, tilt me to an almost standing position and stare at me until I passed out.

In one arm, I have an IV. On the other, a blood pressure cuff that every three minutes tightened. On one finger, a doo-wop that measures my heart rate. And splayed across any other available skin surface, were about twenty electroids all tangled with wires that led to a loud machine. I was Frankenstein.

The goal of passing out, was merely to monitor what exactly happens when I pass out. They want to see what my blood pressure does, what my heart is doing...and if any of these things are causing me to do the passing out in the first place. Everyone was incredibly nice, patient and helpful. If I hadn't been strapped to a table, I may have enjoyed my visit with these fine people.

Thirty minutes in, aside from feeling slightly warm and dizzy, nothing much is happening. They decide they're going to help it along. They tell me they're about to drop a tablet under my tongue that will dissolve and make my heart speed up and give me a headache. Even though someone is telling you what's about to happen, when it happens, it's absolutely terrifying. So my heart speeds up to a racing pace and I freak out. I start crying and the doctor starts apologizing, "I'm sorry I made you cry!" And I'm saying, "It's okay, I cry all the time. Don't worry..." And he keeps talking, trying to make light of the situation. I say, "Okay, shut up. I'm passing out."

Boom. Lights out.

It was the freakiest thing ever. Now, granted this was the goal. They were testing me to see how my body responds to these things and obviously, my body failed. Or won? It seemed odd to come-to and have them standing over me saying, "Great job. You passed the test." I passed the test? Meaning I failed. Awesome? "Congratualtions," they say, "You have Vasovagal Syncope." Cool. All this means is that I'm prone to losing conciousness from time to time. They say my heart and blood pressure were fine the whole time, so it's not caused my anything scary. This is the only comforting part in this situation. What is causing it, I don't know. Syncope, at its most basic, is a malfunction of your brain. Your brain can't tell your body to respond and dialate and collapse your blood vessels causing oxygen and blood to be cut off.

The cure? Nothing. There's literally nothing they can do. Unless it gets to the point where I'm passing out left and right, God forbid, there's no medication I can be put on. This is why people get pacemakers. Yet I'm not old, I'm a healthy young lass, which makes this all the more frustrating. So until something blaringly obvious is brought to the doctor's attention, they told me to keep eating right, drink lots of water and generally take care of myself.

The only comfort I get from this, is that I'm not dying. I've also decided that I'm just going to eat myself fat. Suck it, brain.