Just Getting My Blog On

Away It Went: Too Quirky For its Own Good

2010-04-16T11:03:00.006-04:00

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a stereotype. I fall into that category of movie-goers that any romantic comedy box office can prey upon. If a secret list has been drawn up, I'm almost positive that you would find my name on it.

Late twenties female: check.

Requires an awkward, nerdy-hot male lead: check.

Identifies with smart ass, tough female lead: check.

Story attempts to convey the longings and troubles she herself contemplates: check.

Will be likely to buy the soulful, meandering soundtrack: check.

While this checklist works on many levels, the equation can unbalance itself. Take for instance, last summer's release of Away We Go. When I heard Dave Eggers had made the transition from autobiographical novel to autobiographical film, I was the first girl to hit the internet to watch the trailer, read from behind the scenes and wistfully imagine Johnathan Krasinski donning a beard and glasses. Yet when it came time to purchase my movie ticket, something stopped me.

Here I sit, almost a year later and happy that I saved twelve dollars and waited until its release on Netflix. It's not that I didn't enjoy this movie, I enjoyed it a great deal. But there's something not quite right about this story. I know, I know... There's something not quite right about a far fetched plot sending an expectant couple traveling across the US to redefine their family dogma? Whhhaat?

I feel like it's an issue of the story simply being unable decide what it is. You have a mismatched couple, Burt and Verona, who find themselves pregnant. At the same time their family foundation is falling apart when his parents decide to leave the country. When wondering how they're going to recreate this idea of home life, they decide to do a little traveling to see what other families they sort of know are up to and to contemplate their own idea of family.

Two stops in, we meet Verona's sister, who provides us with not-at-all-on-purpose-exposition-back-story on some deeply routed pain over the loss of their parents. Is Verona eventually going to let this out and let Burt in? The suspense is killing me. This is the kind of not so subtle plot device that I tend to take issue with. Instead of defining exactly who you want your character to be, you only give her a problem or a trait to work with. Perhaps if they had cut out one or two story lines, it could have been easier.

I've also never been a fan of multiple story plots. (Love Actually comes to mind). They squeeze in just enough story and just enough characters, that you end up not becoming invested or care about any of them, even the main characters. Instead, I was distracted with the likes of Allison Janney and Jim Gaffigan, (both rank high in my book) and their loud, cursing antics. Then we meet Maggie Gyllenhaal, a free-spirited bare breasted mom, teaching the art of open love making and a ban on strollers. A stop later, we're in Madison, meeting, (who are they again?) a reproductively challenged couple who has taken to adoption and teaches the couple about togetherness. We end our hopscotch with a trip to visit his brother, (my beloved Paul Schneider) whose wife has just left him and his young daughter, leaving them wondering what's next.

I guess my main problem is, is all of this needed? Who are these people? Why does Burt and Verona even care? The story has a decent thing going and there was certainly enough there in principle to see it through. I enjoy a good-hearted story as much as the next person, but was it just me, or was this movie so quirky it was unbelievable? It was like my problem with Rachel Getting Married. You just can't throw in a drum circle, a Brazilian parade and a jazz band at a wedding without some people thinking you've gone too far. Life is weird enough.

By the way, I totally bought the soundtrack.

Tequila!

2010-03-23T11:18:00.003-04:00

I found some forgotten files....

Ah, Mexico.

The Creepy Radio Dog

2010-03-06T12:00:00.004-05:00

It is Week 5 of Unemployment.

I should really only count it as Week 3, as one week I was in Mexico and the other, I was laying on a floor on muscle relaxers and trying to speak in a low voice to my unusable back. So, we'll say this is Week 3.

I've come to the conclusion that I am useless at gearing myself up to do projects at home. When I'm at a job, it's all I think about. "When I'm home, I'm going to this...." or "I wish it were the weekend, because of...." Now that I'm home and faced with hours and hours of free time, I'm stumped as to what to do with myself.

Explaining to your parents, or for that matter, anyone else who doesn't live in New York, as to why it's difficult to find a job is tricky. We New Yorkers know what we're faced with. Economic times, competitive positions and the race to pay your rent on time. But upon moving here, I knew this going into it.

It's kind of like this one Christmas when I was 7 years old. I used to love stuffed animals and created entire imaginary worlds where it was just me and my stuffed animals. Every holiday, I'd get a new one and that particular Christmas I was given a stuffed dog. Only this stuffed dog had a radio on its stomach. I flipped over the dog with delight and switched it on to the first station it was tuned to.

Out of its invisible speakers came the tune Jingle Bells. My parents looked at each other in shock. It wasn't that it was unreasonable to hear this, it was Christmas morning after all. But this particular Jingle Bells was being sung by a group of barking dogs. I didn't think much of it at first. I mean, it seemed natural enough...it was a dog with a radio shoved inside, clearly anything was possible. The fact that it was singing a Christmas song performed by a group of barking dogs did not seem to phase me.

My parents continued to appear shocked and eventually they uncomfortably laughed it off. What were the odds that they would give their daughter a radio-stuffed dog and out of its belly would come a symphony of other barking dogs? The irony over the randomness of its tuning and the exact moment in time that I'd flip it on was too much for them. But me, I thought nothing of it. It was a radio-stuffed dog after all.

This is what explaining to anyone else who doesn't live in New York is like. "How can you pay that much rent?" or "Do you walk places by yourself?" And I'm at a loss when trying to talk to them about it. Because...it's New York. It's just what you do. And from the day I decided to move here, I knew that this would be a part of it.

My creepy radio-stuffed dog eventually died, as we couldn't figure out where to put in new batteries. It now lives in the attic with a stack of baby dolls all named Michelle.

I've continued with my job search and have had a few promising interviews. I'd tell you more about them, but All My Children is about to come on.

Lost Vlogging

2010-03-01T11:21:00.003-05:00

Greg and I have been busy compiling our sought after opinions on the last season of Lost. It's been a long road leading here... We've put up with five seasons of questions, been there through the up's and down's and talked ourselves out of hating our commitment to seeing it through.

Below, please enjoy the last vlog we've created. Be one of the first to comment on our equisite lighting techniques.

My Favorite Grey T-Shirt

2010-02-09T00:00:00.004-05:00

Want to hear an interesting story?

Over Christmas, my favorite grey t-shirt finally kicked the bucket. It was just one one washing over the line. But this was after I owned a second grey t-shirt, just in case my favorite met its demise too soon. Only this new grey t-shirt just wasn't my favorite. So then I found a great grey t-shirt and it was my favorite. But then I lost it the last time I did laundry. Now I'm back to only one grey t-shirt that isn't my favorite.

Wasn't that amazing? Annnndd....that, folks is why I'm going to Mexico tomorrow. It's time for a vacation. My lovely friends are getting married on the beach in Akumal and we are spending the week beforehand enjoying the spoils of not-cold-New-York.

When I come back, I will no longer regale you with tales as amazing as grey t-shirts.
Ole, Bitches.

Ooga Chukka

2010-01-20T12:46:00.001-05:00

I have so many questions.

New Flame Grilled Tacos

2010-01-14T10:24:00.002-05:00

So... I almost burned down my apartment last night.

While attempting to reheat taco shells in the toaster oven, technology rebelled against me. I walked out of the room for one minute, one full minute, and smelled smoke. When I came back in there were flames a foot high.

I was able to reach behind the toaster oven to unplug it before I began throwing cups of tap water across the room. As I was quelling the flames of this beast, I couldn't help but picture what would happen if I couldn't put it out. In a flash, I saw myself standing outside of my burning building, shivering in my bathrobe as I explained to my irate shoeless neighbors and their scared pets that all I wanted was tacos.

Perhaps I should get on that new Taco Bell diet. Or just not touch appliances for awhile...

Bad Days

2010-01-06T11:05:00.003-05:00

When I'm feeling down and out and at the end of my rope, I try and channel strength from the usual sources. Food, music and movies. And from time to time, I gain insight and inspiration from a slew of fictional characters.

When I'm suffering workforce blues and feeling like the only girl in the boy's club, I like to channel Peggy Olsen, (Mad Men). She started at zero and fought her way, ever so politely to the corner office. She survived on sheer determination and subtle brute force.

Yet today I'm feeling the need to channel someone with a bit more strength and a layer of more class. Today, I'd really like to feel like I was walking as tall as Joan Holloway.

Whatever compromises she has made, it has always been done with herself in mind. She knows exactly who she is and has used all of the assets at her disposal. She's strong, sassy and unapologetic while somehow managing to stay the woman she is in the midst of the ultimate boy's club. Had I only the curves to match, I would enjoy ending this day feeling like I had done everything correctly without so much as a hint of regret.

I tip my bra to you, Joan. Wait, err....

Cuss, That Was Good

2010-01-05T16:37:00.003-05:00

With Christmas, a mere week behind me and my outrageous snacking habit still very much present, I sat down with a bag of Pepperidge Farm Cookies and proceeded to watch the highly anticipated film, Fantastic Mr. Fox.

It was if I dipped my heart into a bucket of happy and left it there to stew for 90 minutes. Sadly, I have no basis of comparison to the original story as I have not read the Roald Dahl novel. But if it was anything like Roald Dahl's imagination, Wes Anderson has sufficiently tapped into it.

Like many of Wes Anderson's films, animation only added to the overall look and feel that you usually get from them. He's ever consistent with his pans across the frame, revealing more and more scenery and stage-like space. It was like unfolding a pop-up story book. His characters were well rounded and reacted much like humans would. The artistry was absurdly astounding.

What you usually get from a children's story is a small lesson to be learned. Yet with the combination of Dahl's storytelling and Anderson's twists made this seem more of a modern day fable with lessons and themes that I would apply to my own life. Children should see this. Adults should see this. If I had a pet cat, I would make he/she see it.

At the end of the film I exclaimed, "I'm going to own this!" Future children and pets, be warned. You're getting a dose of furry animated creations that you wish you could live under your floor boards. (Because they're foxes...not because they're dead.)

Back From the Dead

2010-01-04T17:05:00.004-05:00

Is it possible that I haven't blogged in two months? Oh, it's possible. This is simply unacceptable. What have my 5+ readers been doing with themselves? I'm sure you've all been sitting on your hands since my last post. You've been wondering what I've been doing with my time, how I've been spending my holidays, what sincere observations I've been making about the world.

It's really quite simple and I'd love to share with you what I've been doing with my time.

Eating.

I've just been eating. I went home for a few weeks and decided, "Why not eat every two hours?" It's quite simple. All you do is wake up, put off showering, let your drawstring pants a little, sit down at the table and have another slab of fried food. Then wait two hours, (or less) and keep going.

I recommend this for anyone who's simply tired of holiday conversations. Tired of answering that age old question: "How's work going?" Shove a cheesecake in your mouth. Don't know what to say in response to: "When are you going to get married and make babies?" See how many bacon wrapped figs you can ingest. Try it, it's fun!

For now, dear bloggers, I will commence regaling you with tales of the city, fierce opinions about worthless cinema and a few new snapshots taken with my camera from the future.

Welcome back. I've missed you.

Six Degrees of Burritos

2009-11-05T14:31:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-02T13:48:00.004-05:00

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

2009-10-20T18:14:00.004-04:00

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?

2009-10-06T14:58:00.005-04:00

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

2009-10-06T10:56:00.004-04:00

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

2009-09-15T15:31:00.004-04:00

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

2009-08-19T17:12:00.001-04:00

<a href="http://video.msn.com/?mkt=en-us&from=sp&fg=MsnEntertainment_idseeitif_top2&vid=304364f2-e037-48b6-9ffe-8f67ad6539b1" target="_new" title="Channing Tatum and Charlyne Yi Cinemash "Dirty Dancing"">Video: Channing Tatum and Charlyne Yi Cinemash "Dirty Dancing"</a>

When May I Call On You?

2009-08-18T11:32:00.006-04:00

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

2009-08-13T09:33:00.004-04:00

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

2009-08-09T00:02:00.005-04:00

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

2009-08-04T14:55:00.003-04:00

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

2009-07-10T11:49:00.001-04:00

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

I'm Sorry, What?

2009-07-01T11:41:00.003-04:00

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

Do what?

Technology vs. Horse

2009-06-26T14:15:00.004-04:00

"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

2009-06-22T10:56:00.003-04:00

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?

2009-06-20T15:35:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-06-20T15:24:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-19T11:18:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-06-18T17:28:00.001-04:00

The Salad I Didn't Know I Wanted

2009-06-16T14:23:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-16T11:00:00.000-04:00

Township to the Stage: A Comic Journey

2009-06-11T12:19:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-08T10:29:00.006-04:00

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..."

2009-06-05T12:35:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-01T17:13:00.003-04:00

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!"

2009-05-28T12:03:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-26T11:28:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-05-14T16:51:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-28T11:58:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-22T15:35:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-14T11:35:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-04-08T14:36:00.001-04:00

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

Radiohead - 15 Step
by Alisvideo

Big time.

Hertzfeldt Friday's

2009-04-03T11:15:00.001-04:00

What Of It?

2009-04-03T10:57:00.005-04:00

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

2009-03-31T17:44:00.004-04:00

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

2009-03-30T13:43:00.002-04:00

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!

2009-03-27T15:11:00.010-04:00

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

2009-03-26T10:39:00.003-04:00

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

2009-03-25T17:17:00.004-04:00

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?

2009-03-24T13:16:00.002-04:00

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

2009-03-19T13:40:00.002-04:00

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?

2009-03-18T15:59:00.005-04:00

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

2009-03-17T11:41:00.003-04:00

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

2009-03-13T13:38:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-03-12T10:34:00.003-04:00

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.

Mom Fears Dora Might Be Going Skank

2009-03-06T14:11:00.004-05:00

I used to read cnn.com as a general, lazy way of keeping up with important headlines. Who passed what vote, what political pundit trashed the new President, what the latest scientific scare is... And occasionally, what alligator was found in the microwave, or what star was named after a missing pet dog.

Today, while I was scanning the headlines, one caught my eye. "Mom Fears Dora Might Be Going Skank." Of course I had to watch the video.

Okay. I understand how this could effect previous Dora-viewers and how it might seem confusing to six year olds that their beloved Dora has traded her box shape for shapely legs and longer hair. This is a negative transition because... it's an entirely different person. What I don't quite understand, is why this transition needs to take place. Hasn't Lisa Simpson worn the same dress for twenty years? I mean, how many times can she possibly repeat the sixth grade? Because like any good thing, it works because it hasn't changed.

While I'm not quite understanding the cartoon creator's vision of allowing Dora to change with its viewers, I don't quite agree with the mothers of the blogging community that this new vision is a horribly negative one. Isn't this simply a fact of growing up? They claim they want their daughters to stay as young as they can for as long as they can, but isn't that a little sick? Their kids have to grow up. Their appearance will change, their mind sets will change. And you bet your favorite Dora doll, that these kids will want nothing to do with Dora the Explorer when they realize there are better things to do. Like, oh, playing outside. Gaining knowledge and experience from their caring parents... you know, things like that.

What's ruffled my feathers a bit, is the notion that a thin female icon automatically translates into vanity, sex and general lasciviousness. Haven't we been told to accept the differences in other people, even on a physical level? That a shapely woman doesn't mean she's unhealthy, lazy or unattractive. How can it be said that a thin woman is viewed as oversexualized, vain and promiscuous? Dora grew hair? Somebody give her a condom!

I'll be the first person to admit that our society's viewpoint is oddly skewed when it comes to how a woman should look. Hell, how a person should look. It's not fair and it excludes over 75% of the human race. We're not perfect. No one has ever been perfect and it's a fact we should celebrate. But I have a huge problem with this idea that we can't embrace a cartoon character who's merely grown up. If we aren't wanting to allow this because of the message it's sending our children, what does it say about the parents who are protecting their kids by having them watch television in the first place? Why not plop them down in front of the 6:00 news and give them a real treat for their psyche?

More importantly, we are forgetting the one simple fact. Little girls will eventually stop watching a cartoon character repeat herself over and over again whilst swinging from vines with a talking back pack. Why? Because twelve year old girls only want to french kiss boys and try drugs out of their parents cabinets. All thanks to Dora; the skanky smack queen.

Bikram Yoga is for Sadists

2009-02-23T11:29:00.004-05:00

Feeling like my life lacked pain, I decided to join my other sadist friend Khadija this weekend to experience what all the fuss was about Bikram Yoga. I knew that Bikram was practiced in a hot room. What I didn't know, was just how hot it was going to be.

When we arrived at the studio and announced that we were the new kids, we were told our goal for the class was just to stay in it. We made our way into the room to find a spot on the floor. Like an idiot, I came prepared with yoga pants. That's the last time I purchase an item that tells you what its use is in the title. I was better off wearing a snow suit. People began to fill up the room dressed in Speedos and sheer tops, short shorts and head bands. Already they were warming up by striking artful poses in the mirror. Khadija and I traded looks as we merely laid there on the mat, consuming water.

The room smelled like the basement of a youth group that had been flooded and they kept the old moldy carpet. Why they have carpet in a room where people constantly sweat on, I don't know. This would only add to my olfactory senses later on while laying defeated with my face in the floor. Throughout the 90 minute session, the poses proved to be not that difficult. The difficulty for me was trying to do anything without passing out. Anytime we began a pose with our heads down and followed it by standing up, I found myself back on the floor huffing and puffing. I liked to think of these moments of silent defeat more as quiet meditation.

You're asked to watch yourself in the mirror, which I tried very hard not to do. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself, I was met with a red faced girl who looked like she was forced to jump into a volcano and saying her last goodbyes. I began to watch other people gaze at themselves in the mirror instead. They could contort their rubber band bodies into these snake-like positions without so much as a second thought. If you listened long enough, you could hear this consistency of sweat falling from people's bodies.

I was caught several times cheating on certain moves by the teacher who simply nodded in understanding. I'm pretty sure he could hear the rhythm of my heart just before it exploded, so he knew. We paused for a water break as the teacher let us know we could sign up for the next 30 Day Challenge. That's 30 consecutive days of these 90 minute sessions. A woman a few mats away from us apparently just completed hers and said that she'd never felt better. I began to wish I had a bigger urge to cleanse my body of impurities, but all I could think about was the pizza I was going to order when I got home.

Every now and then, a fan would be turned on for a minute or two and I found find myself thanking God. It never lasted long until we were asked to do something like try and stand on our heads. But it really made me thankful that there is such a marvel of technology out there. The next time I attempt this class, I should really work on my silence. Each time the teacher would ask us to put a leg above our heads or touch our toes, I'd find myself laughing and thinking, "That's a good one, Teach!"

We met our goal for the class. We stayed in it. And surprisingly, I'm feeling pretty good today. So what if I fell asleep at 10:30 last night. So what if I had to drink two gallons of water to rehydrate myself. I'm fairly certain that corn dog I ate back in '96 was washed clean from my soul. The only thing that could make Bikram Yoga slightly more unpleasant would be to have us wear clown suits and watch Schindlers List on repeat. In Hell.

Namaste.

Caught Between Some Junk and a Hard Place

2009-02-09T12:56:00.002-05:00

Ahh, massages. There's really nothing better. Laying in the dark while you get your kinks worked out, listening to the soothing hum of the muted thoughts in your head. It's quiet time and it's exactly what you need to recharge your batteries.

This weekend, Greg and I decided to finally treat ourselves to a short session of back rubs at a local neighborhood spot. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting the world from this place and if anything, we'd pay for a cheap twenty minutes and at least relieve some shoulder knots.

When you open the door to this one room palace, you realize you're standing a mere five feet from someone laying in the dark behind a curtain. The room is sectioned off into five massage areas and you are asked immediately to lower your voice as to not disturb the others. After a few minutes, Greg was first ushered into his curtained area as I sat wondering who would be the pair of soothing hands I would be sent to. The curtains part, and I see a woman leaving from her session, rolling her neck around with a look of delight. A man follows, whom she thanks and tells him she'll him the same time next week. I think, "Sweet. I've got the guy people come back for. This is going to be great."

Little did I know what would follow. I get partially undressed as instructed, and wait on the table for the Healing Guru to begin. What I soon find, is that this Healing Guru has been blessed with the most useless pair of rough, unskilled and clumsy hands I'd ever meet. He enters the curtained area demanding, "Lady, how many minutes you want?" as he yanks my hair into a pony tail causing my eyes to tear up.

He begins. So in massage world, when real professionals start, they begin at your head. This man put his hands on my shoulders and pushed all of his weight towards my lower back. I wonder, "What is this massive pressure that's holding my head down?" It's his crotch. Yes. This man is pushing his junk as hard as his junk would go against my head. I couldn't move if I wanted to. And yes, I wanted to. I think, "Whatever. It's a body part. Body parts get in the way...I guess." He moves to my left side, and while I feel his elbow so ungracefully jab what feels like a vital internal organ, I feel another surprise on my lifeless arm. His junk.

Yes. It seems his junk made its way over several parts of my massage over those twenty minutes. But if you're laying on your stomach with your arms at your side and a man you've never met before dangling his junk on it, what can you do? I mean honestly...what would you do? I can hear a person snoring beside me in their curtained area. I can hear a person across from me dressing. Had I tried to end this torture, a roomful of paying guests would hear, "Excuse me. Could you please remove your junk from my head?" It seemed more awkward and horrifying to try to stop this situation than just get through it. I tried to close my eyes and go to a happy place. And then coupled with his junk in places you don't want junk to be...he began to burp. And the burping would not stop for another ten minutes.

He cracked my back, he twisted my foot. He removed the lotion off of my back with a warm and horribly scratchy, cheap wash cloth. He pushed, he pulled, he cracked. And the finale, you ask? After he so ungracefully whipped the warmed blanket across me, he continued to hit me as hard as he could. Everywhere. You know those taps you get when you get a pedicure? I honestly don't know why they do this, but they hit you as if to increase circulation. This man beat the ever living shit out of my back, my legs, everywhere.

The timer goes off. I can finally breathe. He demands, "Lady, is good massage?" I mumble something positive if only to push him out of the tent more quickly so I can get dressed and leave. Once we reach home, I show Greg the marks this man left on my back that would continue to remain there two hours later.

From this experience, I learned something quite important: It's not as uncomfortable to ask a stranger to remove their junk from your head as it is to repair your vital organs from being tortured. Get more involved in your association with junk. It's really not worth it.

Ouchies.

2009-02-06T16:57:00.007-05:00

You all remember this famous Boss move from the Superbowl...

Here's the aftermath...

Is it wrong that I would feel slightly honored to don a black eye from the Boss' crotch?

Not An Ordinary Thermos Will Do

2009-02-06T16:19:00.001-05:00

I've been meaning to write a blog about this for quite some time.This Thermos. This one right here.

This thermos has completely revitalized my entire thought process of hot liquids. I thought I had a thinking process when it came to preserving liquid temperature...I didn't. Adopt this one.

First of all, this Thermos is clearly spectacular. Every morning, I make Hot Chocolate for my commute. The problem with this, as with most hot liquids, is that I'm a slow drinker. So my coffee is always cold, my hot tea is always tepid. I'm constantly putting my mug back in the microwave to reheat it. This Thermos has changed all the that. When I get to work, the Hot Chocolate is still hot. At 4:00 when I think it must be cold, it's not. It's not cold. It's not warm. It's hot.

This Thermos is class all the way. From its sleek metal design to its sturdy flip-cap lid, you will find yourself walking with a little more pride in your step. Because you, consumer, are not only thrifty, you are stylish. The outside of the Thermos stays at room temperature no matter what you have in there. Be it soup, ice water, hot lava...whatev's. This Thermos keeps your hands and comfort in mind. What other invention can you say half as much about?

Another benefit of this modern marvel, is its no-spill design. You can lock this baby up and throw it in your bag without the fear of it spilling. I'm one of those people that triple checks that their mail has safely fallen into the public mail drop. Not with this little number... I no longer live in fear that my wallet will be saturated in my choice of beverage.

I've now told so many people about the magic of this Thermos, that I had my Granny convinced at Christmas dinner that she should invest in one. Check it out: The Thermos Nissan. Get flipped.

I'm Entitled to Be Neurotic

2009-01-28T13:20:00.003-05:00

I've been feeling a change recently. It's a deeply rooted feeling, something I haven't been able to pinpoint. Something that's unsettled me and has had me guessing what the issue really is.

I've finally figured it out. New York has turned me into Woody Allen.

I think it's New York's prerequisite. They should make you check a box when they run a credit check for an apartment.
"Are you willing to invent health symptoms?" Check.
"Are you capable of feeling uncomfortable in large groups and feel an overwhelming sense of being strangled?" Check.
"Do you mistrust your tap water and do become easily convinced it's causing shortness of breath?" Check.
"Do you have misgivings about your mailman's intentions?" Check.
"Have you abandoned eye contact with strangers completely?" Check.

I've come to realize that New York has a way of toughening you up beyond any vision of authority you could have ever imagined yourself in. At the same time, the city also gives you this false sense of entitlement that I imagine only lucky millionaires feel. If something doesn't go your way, you stamp your foot and it will. If someone isn't treating you how you want to be treated, well, just be really disappointed in them until they do. This is New York, damnit! This is where things happen!

This sense of entitlement is the excuse I give the thousands of people I have to endure on any commute. This is the reason people will elbow you for a seat on the train, the reason people do not hold a door open for you. This is the reason why they'll skip you in line and not think twice about it, why a receptionist has no qualms about snapping at you over the phone while setting up an appointment. Why teenagers suck their teeth at you when you exit the elevator in front of them.

Most people walk around this town with a sense that they were meant to have this. That it doesn't matter if you don't have it now, you will. And in the mean time, you can just be really angry you don't have it. I think this kind of mentality is what has kept this town going, otherwise who in their right mind would move here? There has to be an edge of neuroticism and arrogance to move here. If not, New York will whittle you down into a tiny sharp object that would leave you running for the door.

This is what I think we all need to tell ourselves to survive here, or really anywhere. We're entitled to this. This piece of pie right here? Mine. You can have some too, but this piece, this piece I really want and I'll arm wrestle you for it.

Don't misunderstand. This is the best place to be. This is the kind of challenge I've wanted and this kind of "Anything Can Happen" mentality exists here. This town is exactly what I had pictured it would be. An island of dreams. A shimmering sphere of hope for all. A wonderland. A bubble that once you step inside, you ask yourself, "What the hell is that smell?"

Fancy a Death Bar?

2009-01-28T10:13:00.003-05:00

I've found it. A dessert to die for.

Or by.

Once you try these, you will see why the name has changed from "Peanut Butter Candy Bar Brownies" to "The Worst Decision You've Ever Made in Your Life." Or the shortened name, "Death Bars."

While mixing this destructive and delicious concoction together, I found myself laughing at the sheer hilarity of it all. With each layer of death involved, it began to seem more and more absurd that someone thought of this. Better yet that someone made it. Worse still, that I made it and have eighteen bars still sitting in my fridge staring at me.

As Greg put it best, "I've never felt more guilty about anything."

Try a Death Bar.

-1 (16oz) package Nutter Butters, crushed

-1/2 cups butter, melted

-1 (14oz) can sweetened condensed milk

-1/2 cups creamy peanut butter

-1 tablespoon vanilla extract

-1 bag of Reese's miniature peanut butter cups, coarsely chopped

-2 Butterfinger candy bars, coarsely chopped

-1 cups semisweet chocolate morsels

-1/2 cup honey-roasted peanuts

-1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut

Combine crushed cookies and butter in a medium bowl. Press mixture into bottom of a greased aluminum foil-lined 13x19'' pan, allowing foil to extend over ends of pan. Bake at 350 for 6-8 minutes.

Combine chopped candy bars, chocolate morsels, peanuts, and coconut of crust.

Drizzle condensed milk mixture over coconut and candy bar layer.

Bake at 350 for 27 minutes or until lightly browned. Remove to a wire rack and let cool in pan. Use foil to lift uncut Death Bars out of pan. Peel foil away from sides of uncut Death bars, and cut into Death.

Sweet Death. This is what it tastes like. Enjoy!

*With the latest Peanut Butter recall that's sweeping the nation, let's celebrate Death the way it was meant to be celebrated. By ingesting as much of it as we possibly can.

Gotta Take It Easy With All That Bangin'

2009-01-23T10:19:00.002-05:00

As unhappily stated in an earlier post, my office is shared with several other businesses who are all anxious to have a work space near Grand Central. While there are many benefits to not working directly with these people, (like not having to speak to your kitchen mate awaiting the use of the microwave) I admit I have some issues with these strangers who sit next to me.

The Trader, as I've learned, is not a Trader. He's a Financial Advisor. But I'm still going to call him the Trader.

The Trader is terrible. Like, the worst person ever. Thanks to his loud talking and his need to share the intimate details of his life with whomever decides to call him, I know everything about his miserable little life.

He broke it off with his live-in girlfriend this Fall. He had a mourning period during which his mother called a lot. But soon, his boys were calling him and the Trader was back to cursing his ex-lovers name. He started dating another woman whom he took to Florida over the holidays. He got a great deal on the hotel on the main strip. They drank a lot, stayed in the hotel a lot (hu-hu) and hung out on the beach. Although I didn't see the pictures, I heard descriptions of each photo as he was describing them to people on the phone. But this relationship was soon brought to an end when she wanted to change her status of Facebook to 'In a Relationship.' He went back to drinking a lot, apparently in S&M Clubs. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer to discuss my latest romp through S&M Clubs until Happy Hour.

A friend of his called yesterday with news of a mutual friend who has Pancreatic Cancer. The Trader replied with, "Oh man...just like what's the fuck's his face. Patrick Swayze? Aw, bummer, man." Yes. Truly a bummer.

Another friend called relaying the pain he felt in his knee, to which the Trader replied, "You hurt your knee? You gotta take it easy with all that bangin'. No doubt. No doubt."

Upon finding out his old college friend had gotten married, the Trader quickly stepped in with reasons why he should get a divorce and and urged him to join in his self destructive drinking and banging cruise ship around Manhattan.

I've learned a lot of privacy in this office and this is one of the many reasons why I never take personal calls here. If I were any sort of math or finance genius, I would start listening to the actual business tips being passed around. But no...It's just eloquently drawing a clear picture of the kind of human I don't want to be. Let's all take a financial tip from the Trader and learn to put our money in bonds, cash out when the market drops and to shut the hell up.

Plus he eats with his mouth open. He's just not a nice person.

Amen. Amen. Amen!

2009-01-20T16:19:00.003-05:00

I got nothing done this morning except decide that I'm going to adopt Joseph Lowery to be my kindly old uncle.

I'm a proud American today. High five, America.

Old Man Coat

2009-01-16T15:08:00.002-05:00

I often wondered if fur coats were still being worn. Now I know they are...by this old guy.

I spotted him in the lobby of my office. He was wearing a full length fur coat that almost touched the floor. I was in the presence of a King and didn't even know.

I know fur coats get a bad rap and I happen to agree that they shouldn't be worn. But you have to admit, this guy has a weathered, "I just crawled out of the magical wardrobe where I battled a talking Lion" kind of look.

I'm Not Eating That, Sicko!

2009-01-13T14:35:00.001-05:00

Am I the only one that thinks advertising for food is disgusting? I mean, it's truly disgusting.

When they pull apart the halves of a sandwich so you can watch the cheese oozing down the sides in slow motion, I really have to ask myself what the purpose behind this is. The only reaction I have, starts with 'V' and ends with an 'M.' Vom.

Vom. Vom. Vom.

I know a few people who have worked on the sets of these food commercials. It takes hours of getting the look just right. The preparation of these dishes is not made for taste, it's made for looks. So it's a whole table of uncooked Chicken Parm Sandwiches or trays and trays of delectable Lobster and steaming butter sauce with shrimp. They continue to drop meatballs into pots so the sauce scatters just so, while the crew hurries to wash all the plates so they can continue shooting.

And I continue to ask, "This is supposed to make me want to eat this?" Vom. In fact the only food commercial I can get behind are the adds for Sonic. They rarely show the food except when it comes time to show you their delicious assortments of Fruit Slushies. Why do I live in a metropolitan city that does not include drive-thru's? It's the only reason to own a car. Comedy sure tromps a steaming pile of gloopy cheese.

My reaction to you, Food Industry: You are positively vomititious.

The Clark Kent Phenomenon

2009-01-12T16:59:00.000-05:00

I've never quite understood the confusion that people have with Superman and Clark Kent. He doesn't morph into a different person when he resumes his role as Superman. He merely takes his glasses off and his hair becomes slightly more buoyant. That's it. That's the only difference between Superman and Clark Kent.

However, recently I've discovered that people don't readily recognize me when I'm wearing my glasses. I'm perplexed. My clothes aren't different. My hair is usually the same, give or take a bobby pin or pony tail. That's it. Glasses on. Glasses off. All of a sudden, I'm a nerdier version of my former fabulous self.

Do my glasses warrant me the ability to shape shift? Have my molecules combined to form this different variety of human? Am I the star of an 80's Cinderella film? By day, a nerdy assistant combs the streets of New York, her talents unnoticed, her glasses...fogged. By night with glasses discarded, she's quickly discovered as the underground writer for the hit series, Jem: The Comeback.

Perhaps not readily recognizing someone is merely something to say. Something to cover up the fact that you can't remember someone's name. Maybe you've only met them once and you know you're supposed to recognize them, but can't. This morning I greeted a client I should have immediately recognized in the lobby with, "Oh, Nick...I didn't recognize you with that...scarf."

Though I'm not quite sure the same thing can be said for Clark Kent and Superman. I'm just going to go ahead and assume that anyone who thinks my glasses stand in the way clearly hasn't heard my new hit song, "I Can't See Without My Glasses."

White Winter Hymnal

2009-01-09T11:25:00.000-05:00

This video for Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal" either makes me want to learn claymation or sit under crocheted blankets.

White Winter Hymnal from Grandchildren on Vimeo.

The Goat Master

2009-01-09T10:13:00.000-05:00

A recent discovery that has left me in tears each and every time I view it.

No Eye Contact

2009-01-07T13:23:00.000-05:00

This story is a classic one, both old and familiar. It involves a new girl in the office, in search of new friends and the curiosity that would drive her to seek companionship in an area not uncommon. The women's bathroom.

It happens in any office. You get on the same pee schedule with someone else and it becomes this awkward but ongoing hilarious joke. Every time you go into the bathroom, they're there. Each of you does the, "We meet again!" look or say something like, "Stop following me!"

This has been happening to me at work with another girl my age. If I go to the bathroom six times a day, I will see her six times a day. If I'm leaving the bathroom, she's coming out. If she's leaving a stall, I'm walking past to go to the next one. If she's washing her hands, she'll look over and I'm washing my hands. I'd see her in the hallway later and we'd say, "I'll see you in there, alright?" It got to a ridiculous point where we ran out of jokes to describe how funny it was. Because at that point, it just wasn't funny anymore, it was creepy.

The demise of our bathroom relationship happened gradually. One night I was leaving the building and passed her by while she whispered something to another girl. That girl then looked at me with that, "Oh...her" look. I feel like the odd girl out on the playground where there's a new invention of some unforeseen reason to stop including you. I started thinking that maybe I was unintentionally making myself pee when she peed. That maybe I really was stalking her. One minute we were high fiving each other at the sink. The next, I'm acting like we're bathroom strangers. It just got weird.

The women's bathroom has always remained a mysterious room. One with hidden secrets, forbidden looks and lines you just don't cross. I will miss my bathroom friend and from now on I will keep my feelings heavily guarded. Just like my broken bathroom heart.

Shut Your Face

2009-01-06T16:54:00.001-05:00

This is what happens to me when I watch people eating.

Only you continue to talk to me.
With your mouth open.

Enjoy this hilarious commercial.

Sexual Office Stretching: Uncalled For

2009-01-06T16:06:00.000-05:00

After my long stint of no-blogging over the holidays, I return with half my energy today and report to you, simply this....

Office stretching. You have to do it. I understand this... A person of my meager physique who's rear end gets tired after two hours in the same sitting position, you just have to get up and take a lap. Touch your toes, crack your back, jog in place. All of these things are completely acceptable.

What's not acceptable to me, is sexual stretching. You know the kind I speak of. The kind where you lean back in your chair as far as possible, arms over your head and you let out an animal-like short grunt as you let your hands down. This happens more often than it should. It's completely unnecessary. In fact, the only time I would imagine this stretch is acceptable would probably be before the act of sex. Stretch it out. Get into it.

But office stretching, however...It's just not classy and makes me very uncomfortable. So if you could please pass this along to any other sexual stretchers you may know, you might save some embarrassment. In my face.

Perfecto!

2008-12-17T16:16:00.000-05:00

My very dear friend Blake Edwards has just completed a film to include in You Tube and Sundance Film Festival's Project Direct. They had a month to complete this, it had to be under five minutes, include a red telephone and three other props of their choice from a list of twenty five.

I think this is only skimming the surface of what Blake has to offer to world with his sense of humour and amazing visual ideas. Not to mention it was filmed in my hometown!

Enjoy this piece entitled, "Perfecto!"

George Bush is a Ninja

2008-12-15T11:19:00.000-05:00

My commentary is not focused on the reasons behind the shoe throwing.

My commentary is mostly....Who knew George Bush was a fucking ninja?

Honest to God, give him a black suit and motorcycle and call it a day. I can't believe he's hidden this magnificent light under a bushel for so long.

Even Sharks Know Italians Make the Best Food

2008-12-10T16:54:00.000-05:00

Instead of complaining about my last hour of frustration over the US Postal Service at the holidays, and how this entry was going to be titled, "Holiday Gifting Should Not Include Ball Licking Threats" I will instead give you the best video of the day.

This is the preview for 'Shark in Venice.' I dare say the best film of 2008. Okay, so I haven't seen it yet. But neither have you and you can't argue this claim. Judge for yourself when it comes on Sci-Fi Sunday night.

All you need to know is that it takes place in Venice. There are gondolas being attacked by man eating sharks. And it stars....Stephen Baldwin. Buckle up.

My Wish List

2008-12-09T14:52:00.000-05:00

Just this shirt.

Please do not include the scary woman.

"Smile! It Won't Mess Up Your Hair!"

2008-12-09T14:26:00.000-05:00

New York...The city of endless entertainment. Every corner, every train and every deserted subway platform holds the most interesting characters by any stretch of the imagination. I've seen the most talented classical guitar player of my life, a ten piece trumpet group, a man strapped with three different middle eastern instruments and a Rastafarian who plucks a pre-recorded amplified guitar who grunts over the beat. Have you ever seen the old hunchback guy at the Times Square subway who plays the keyboard while dolls dance in front of him? Amazing.

Train entertainment is by far the best way to see a mix of what this metropolis has to offer. From soul groups harmonizing to three piece guitars singing Mexican folk songs and groups of eight year old hip hop dancers who swing themselves around poles. I'm consistently impressed and dumbfounded at what I will see next.

However, last night may have trumped any entertainment I'll ever see in New York City. I was riding home from work later than usual, well after the rush had died down. Somewhere after Grand Central a man got on the train shouting, "Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen! I'm going to sing you a little soul." He commenced banging his cane to the beat of, "Under the Boardwalk" and walked through the aisle singing every single harmony this song includes. It was downright terrible, but I couldn't look away. He was just so happy.

Afterwards he held his hat open for tips and shouted, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And enjoy your night in New York City, where all the girls are pretty and all have jobs!" A girl reached her hand out with change and he said, "Thank you. You can smile, it won't mess up your hair!"

Probably the happiest and wittiest homeless man who ever existed in New York City. And way better than the weird old guy who plays the lap steel.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

2008-12-08T17:47:00.000-05:00

Check out this video: Mark Jensen

Just to get you in the mood for a little holiday cheer....Proof that Greg can find anything I ask him to on the internet.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: Friend or Foe?

2008-12-05T16:48:00.000-05:00

The other night, I took my place on the sofa to enjoy the timeless classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" narrated by Burl Ives. This is not a tradition for me, although I do enjoy when my favorite aunt says, "Eat, eat. No one likes a skinny Santa." But the Christmas spirit is running strong with me this year and I felt the need to embrace any and all holiday cheer.

My friends, there is no cheer to be found in this Rudolph classic. None. I'll tell you why.

First of all, from the day Rudolph is born he is forced to deal with his "deformity" of his red, shiny nose. His father is ashamed by his appearance and immediately tries to cover it up with mud. Once the mud is in place, the father finally touches his son in a loving embrace, accepting him. Even Santa makes an appearance and lets Rudolph know he has to work hard if he's going to be on Santa's team one day.

Jump to adolescence. Rudolph is still working hard to keep his nose covered up. And fake noses certainly get in the way of Reindeer games. His nose is knocked off during a clever sports maneuver, revealing his deformity to his entire group of athletic peers. The coach deer rushes over to declare Rudolph officially estranged from the group for his weakness. "Too bad," he says, "He had a mean, (enter sports compliment here)."

Rudolph is sent home. On the way, he runs into his lovely doe, who clearly accepts him for who he is. Unfortunately, her father does not. Their hopes of a romance are dashed. Let me point out here, that so far it's only the females that have been accepting of Rudolph up to this point. The weaker sex or the more empathetic race? Hmmm.....

Meanwhile, there is a very sly little elf named Hermey that does not enjoy making toys. Instead, he feels his skills would be more useful in the dentistry world. This elf isn't like the others, he's more....dentist-like? With his swoopy blond hair and his bright red lips, this elf is cast from the workshop to pursue his dream of "dentistry." He runs into Rudolph and within seconds they are friends, united in their mutual deformities and rename themselves misfits. A shiny nosed reindeer and a....dentist.

At this point, I turned the channel. I know how this ends, because I've grown up singing the songs. Rudolph isn't accepted until he can provide his family and friends with a useful skill. They're distrusting and angry of his being different until they realize his deformity is the one thing that help guide Santa's sleigh. Hooray, let's cheer for him! We thought he was a freak, but he's actually quite helpful. Rudolph for mayor!

Rudolph is the protagonist and we are, of course, on his side. But here's my problem with Rudolph: All he wants is to be accepted. But why would he stick around in the North Pole kicking it with Reindeer who once hated him for being different? Rudolph was born like this. Hermey was born with his love of hygiene. What's wrong with this story, is what's wrong with people. We are completely turned off until it's vital for us not to be.

Rudolph may have been a pioneer for the animal kingdom, but did he really accomplish anything by staying in the North Pole? What if he couldn't fly and had to live his life with a shiny nose? What if Hermey didn't help defeat the Abominable Snowman and was merely helpful around the x-ray machine?

Before you celebrate Rudolph's triumph this Christmas, think about what you're singing about.

Who The Celebrities Call For Their Kids Parties

2008-11-25T13:13:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure I've posted my fair share of videos this week, as my brain isn't working up to its normal brilliant capacity. But I found this amazing commercial while sitting up late the other night. I think this is the best, nay, only way to see brilliant television programming.

Uncle Magic Commercial

I'm dying to hire this guy for my next birthday party. This guy knows where the party's at. If you're feeling inspired, Uncle Majic also has a Myspace page. I didn't scroll through his pics or anything. I didn't find out he has an engagement ring waiting for one lucky lady....

Really, Uncle Majic? Is this a trick?

You've Got Time. I've Got Nothin' But Time! Move It.

2008-11-25T11:02:00.000-05:00

I can't take credit for this amazing find. My friend crush Josh manages to find things that I will inevitably fall in love with on the internet. That's probably why he's my friend crush.

Please enjoy and please move your boogie body, baby.

Think Big

2008-11-21T15:10:00.001-05:00

If you didn't already run screaming through the streets after Obama's big win, you can enjoy this video response of the hope, happiness and victory that people felt after November 4th.

Video by Paul Iannacchino, who is awesome.

Think Big from paWL made this on Vimeo.

Pick Me Up

2008-11-21T12:12:00.000-05:00

If you were slightly disturbed by the image of not only Sarah Palin but the slaughter that took place behind her, please feel free to take part in a two and half hour live concert by the glorious Tom Waits.

You may do so here. (Thanks to Greg for making my day pick up.)

And if you feel inspired by this, you can also find out when he's touring again. At which point, tickets can be purchased in my name and sent in the mail. Thanks.

Pardon Me?

2008-11-21T11:59:00.000-05:00

A Thanksgiving message from Sarah Palin. She's so thoughtful...

Ladies of the World, Contain Yourselves

2008-11-20T14:23:00.000-05:00

Ladies, I'm sick of it. We give men such a bad rap for being the more unkempt of the sexes. Because they are men, we've pegged them as being sloppy, dirty, smelly and unhygienic.

Ladies, you are all liars. I happen to know for a fact that we are more if not equally as disgusting as males. How can I prove this? I use a women's public restroom and often. We are sick, sick puppies.

What's up with squatting? Be frank with me. Are you actually concerned that you're going to infest your rump with germs if you sit on a toilet that's shared with other female co-workers in a bathroom that is managed by professional cleaners? Let me know. I'm operating under the assumption that all the co-workers that inhabit this floor take regular showers, do not carry venereal diseases and have not been swimming in the rivers of third world countries recently. And while we're on the subject, the office bathroom gets cleaned more than my personal bathroom at home. So what's the hold up?

I'll go ahead and say it, I'm a sitter not a squatter. Call it weak leg muscles, call it laziness. But toilets were designed with seats for a reason. And when you spray your urine all over it, people with enough sense to sit down, sit in your pee. This is gross.

Flushers, what's the deal? Why do you flush before you even do your business? I hear you. You get into the stall, close the door, put your foot on the handle and flush before you even sit down. Are you detoxing the toilet water of germs? Because in honesty, I would think if anything you'd be stirring them up again. Is this a back flushing issue? Are you seeing things from your previous guest that you don't want to? A) I can't think of enough instances in any given bathroom containing eight toilets where this would happen. I mean, mathematically, it just doesn't work. B) Get over it. You are all wasting up to ten gallons of water with each superfluous flush. If you're that concerned with germs, don't add to it by pissing on the seat. You're sick.

Leaving toilet paper on the floor, paper towels all over the sink, various other things I won't go into.... You've got a one way ticket to a college frat house, sicko. Ladies, tidy that shit up. I would enjoy walking into the restroom the next go-round and not worry what I'm going to find.

Ladies, if you're insist on squatting...aim that shit. It's all I ask.

"Get Off My Letterhead!!"

2008-11-19T13:08:00.000-05:00

As I've said, the office I'm working in is a shared space. Traders, real estate agents, money lenders, and us....

For the past few days I've been listening to this angry Jewish man with a thick New York accent shouting on the phone. Yesterday, I actually paused work to listen to a ten minute converation in which this gentleman took care of some bidness.

"I don't care! I QUIT! I don't have the money. You talk to Rudy! ....RUDY! YOU TALK TO HIM. I don't have your money. I don't want your money. I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT! TALK TO RUDY! I QUIT! I don't want your business. I don't want your money. I want you out! I'm done! I'm through! I'm finished! I quit! I QUIT! I want you off my letterhead. GET OFF MY LETTERHEAD! Yoooooooooooou don't OWN ME!! GET OFF MY LETTERHEAD!!"

He finished the conversation with a series of, "I QUIT! I QUIT!I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT!" Delivered in the exact tone and inflection each time. This man was on a roll. My only question is, what was happening on the other end of the phone? Was that person shouting back? Or was this man just plain crazy?

I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT!

Oh, Just Stop.

2008-11-17T11:23:00.000-05:00

Oh, Thomas...When will you stop telling people you're a man?

The significance of a transgender who kept his female reproductive organs in order to have a child, who quit taking testosterone to get pregnant, become artificially inseminated and have a baby, does not rank high up on me, "No way!" list.

Is there any significance to Thomas having a child? Sure. He's a dude. Is there anything insane about it, really? No. Because he kept his female parts and therefore is kind of a chick. You did not defy science, brosef.

I'm all for recognizing that he's a man. Absolutely. I'm all for anyone taking part in sexual reassignment surgery, changing their name and changing their lives. I don't care if you want me to call you Sheeba and you decide to worship goats after a lifelong stint in a nunnery. Dude, go for it. You're okay in my book. But Thomas? Sir Thomas, you are a female.

What's weird to me is why he wanted to become a man in the first place. I know that becoming a man has way more to do with their personal feelings than it does the ability to have a baby or not and how that defines your gender. I get it. What I don't get, is why Thomas both kept his female parts and halted his use of testosterone that keeps him from remaining a man in order to have a baby. All anyone has talked about, is how amazing it is that he's a man. He's not. He's a man with female reproductive organs. This does not make you a man.

Thomas was quoted as saying, "It's a human desire. And I'm a person and I have the right to my own biological child." No one can deny you that, friend. And rock on for having one. Have ten more babies for all I care. But stop making public appearances and making documentaries where you marvel at your own reproductive system. There is no marveling.... you have a reproductive system because you were once a female. It's science, bitch.

Thomas did not pull the rug out from underneath science. So stop praising him, studying him or judging him for his new bundle of joy. He's part she. You can't fuck with science.

Dance Fail

2008-11-13T17:08:00.000-05:00

This video combines my love of dancing and my love of watching people fall down.

Thank you, Gina. You always know...

I Can Haz Time

2008-11-12T17:10:00.000-05:00

If you haven't been to the site "I Can Has Cheeseburger" then clearly you don't have enough time on your hands. Listed on the top are several other spin off sites dedicated to politics, celebrities, etc.

And you can make your own!

If you feel like voting for mine so I can have my 3o seconds of fame on the interweb, feel free to vote on the cheeseburger scale by using the following link.

Doggie Bag My Heart

2008-11-11T16:50:00.001-05:00

You should probably stop what you're doing and watching this.

Jello Eyes

2008-11-10T13:30:00.000-05:00

After the first month on the job, I quickly discovered that I needed to have cable installed. It's been eight years without cable and I can't say that I've been missing it. I've always enjoyed a handful of channels but never paid for cable for the simple reason that four good channels don't outweigh 150 channels of bad.

Last weekend I broke down and had it installed in my one room palace and I can't say that I've been enjoying it. I will say, that you learn to appreciate how much money this feet of technology is and you find yourself watching it more than you need to.

Case in point, last night I sat up watching Kill Bill II on TBS. I own this movie. At any point, I could've cut through the foreplay and just put the DVD in. But no, like an idiot I sat up watching this until 1am, commercials and all. Why? Because it was on. It's too expensive to not have it on. Is this really a great reason to watch television? No, but it's the cheap skate mindset that I've adopted.

But two things I realized last night:
1) Kill Bill II is better than Kill Bill I. Every time I watch this movie, I love Bill more and more and I'm sad when he dies at the end. If I've given anything away, you've been living under a rock.
2) Late night infomercials are hi-larious. I learned that I can cash in my gold jewelry that's been lying around. In this day and age, who knew you could just mail it in? To tell you the truth, I'd rather do my gold trading in person, but perhaps that's just me.

Do yourself a favor and don't purchase cable. You will waste hours of your life thinking that you're missing out on things by not watching it, when really you've forgotten to get up to eat dinner. Absolutely ridiculous. Go read a book.

*Note to reader: I now work in cable.

I Can Hear You Eating

2008-11-06T13:12:00.000-05:00

Greg has provided me with the nickname "She-Wolf" because of my amazing abilities to pick up on the smallest noises and the faintest smells. This is a great ability to possess, say if you would like to experience homemade apple pie, go to the symphony, enjoy a quiet day in the woods or appreciate cilantro in spicy salsa.

But when you can hear the opening and closing of a desk neighbor enjoying the insides of fruit or you are listening someone across the subway fight dry mouth while telling a dumb story, I'd like to throw my heightened senses into the proverbial garbage can.

People, close your mouths. I do not need to experience your food with you. It's not that difficult. It's quite simple unless your jaw physically disables you to perform this simple task of human evolution. I give you props for being able to keep your food in your mouth without it spilling out. That's about the only positive thing I can say to you people. You're just gross.

Lock it up.

Via Hologram

2008-11-05T17:30:00.001-05:00

Luke Skywalker stopped by next, congratulating the future President on his win.

Yes We Did

2008-11-05T16:30:00.000-05:00

"Yes We Did" seemed to be resounding phrase last night. "Yes We Did" could be heard shouted on every street while walking home after watching the most historic Presidential election ever.

As soon as Ohio went blue, the first bottle of champagne was popped. At eleven o'clock when CNN came back from commercial and the picture of Obama was flashed up on the screen, screams were heard everywhere. I ran out onto my friend Matt's rooftop and shouted, "Obama's the fucking president!!!!" Cars were honking, people were cheering. "Yes We Did" seemed to be a universal proclaimation.

I am so fortunate, so proud, so honored to have even been alive when this change happened. I am filled with so much hope for not only my life, but for the lives of generations yet to come. My kids will grow up in a world where equality is not just a level to strive for, but a normal part of their lives.

Watching Obama's acceptance speech in a room full of friends, my heart swelled. The future, sir, is looking very bright. I'm honored to be a citizen of this country. I can't wait to be a part of the change that will come in due time.

High five, America. High fucking five.

You Want It Big?

2008-11-04T16:49:00.000-05:00

I made the bold decision to go to McDonald's for lunch today. Sometimes you just crave it. I broke with conviction and made my way the whole block to the colorful establishment.

On the menu, the Quarter Pounder looks enourmous. It looks like there are two levels of meat. Shelves of delicious beef and cheese, slathered in pickles. I thought that perhaps I should order something smaller.

I get up to the counter to order and the girl asks, "You want it big?"
I said, "Do I want what big?"
"Your food."
"Yes?"
She looks at me.
"No."
"No, you don't want it big?"
"No. No, I do not want it big."

I walk out feeling that familiar guilty feeling whenever I'm holding a bag from McDonald's. It's like I'm walking back to work carrying a dead baby. I've just been to the fast food chain that may as well say, "You Can Buy Crack Here and Feel Awful About It" on the sign.

But alas, I'm enjoying my Quarter Pounder immensely. And no, it's not shelved with meat. I should've ordered it Big.

One Day More!

2008-11-04T12:38:00.000-05:00

I know that this is supposed to be a funny video, but I still get chills from Les Mis. I'm a sucker for romances that never came to fruition.

Hopefully that won't be the case today when Obama will take America in his strong, capable hands and make sweet, sweet love to us.

Ahem. Back to work.

In a Fiery Flame....

2008-11-03T12:38:00.001-05:00

Have I ever talked about my extreme hatred for Kelly Ripa? Honestly.

She's the worst. I mean, the absolute worst.

Who Knew?

2008-10-31T13:03:00.000-04:00

Who knew if you left a pumpkin in a hot, improperly ventilated kitchen that it would explode?

I came home last night to find my newly carved pumpkin, carved a mere four days ago, laying on the table in a juicy pile. I went to go pick it up and not only did my hands sink into its skin, but the entire pumpkin juiced itself. All over the place.

Happy Halloween.

Why is Gina Gershon Being Terrorized By A Ghost and Why Am I Watching?

2008-10-31T10:52:00.001-04:00

While helping Greg make a headband for his Middle Aged Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume last night, I came across haunted stories on the Bio Channel. I'm a sucker for these things that manage to suck hours from your life and never give it back.

They get you with the 'Up Next' segment. I think therein lies the problem. "Up Next... Sammy Haggar gets a surprise visit from his drunk dad....who's dead!" It's like with marathons you know you have no business or even interest watching but you can't stop. They don't show commercials between the credits and the next show. Five hours later you discover you haven't moved from your couch and you wonder how Ashlee Simpson has been your companion for an entire Sunday afternoon.

I digress.

Gina Gershon, (whoever the shit this is) was regaling me with tales from her haunted New York apartment. She kept waking up with scratch marks on her arms and was having terrible nightmares. She felt the presence of a man watching her while she was writing term papers for college...in the buff. "You know, I would write my term papers without a lot of clothes on....I don't know why, I'm Gina Gershon. You know me."

Turns out the house used to be a brothel at the turn on the century. Turns out that manly presence she felt was the mentally deranged son of the Madame. The same son who happened to kill, that's right, kill two prostitutes. He now haunts that room and other unsuspecting scantily clad women who rent that room.

Two things:
1) Don't get sucked in to shows like this. You waste hours of your evening and can't articulate what's the matter later when your boyfriend looks at you with that, "Are you thinking about dead ghost prostitutes?" face.
2) Happy Halloween.

Time to gladiate.

I Now Declare

2008-10-30T16:01:00.000-04:00

In order to offset the seriousness of the previous blog, I will now issue you a statement from my recent lunch finding.

Kettle Brand Sea Salt and Vinegar Chips? You will enjoy this delicious chip if you acquire the arm strength to open the bag.

Seriously. These chips could survive a nuclear Holocaust.