Even Chad Vader blogs! According to Blamesocietyfilms there might be a chad vader show...hmmm...I'd tune in....
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
You Get me Closer to God
Oh it's so bad it's good. Crumbs cupcakes have finally opened a downtown location. And because I'm weak I endeavored to find their location on my lunchbreak not too long ago. These fist-size, sugary things of beauty are divine. It was a gastronomically religious experience. No, seriously I saw the face of God. Well, technically I was in a sugar coma but a greater bliss I may never know. My death row meal would definitly include a red velvet, or maybe a reese's or possibly a snickers cupcake. Oh, I can't decide. But I do believe bliss is a thing to be shared, and so my mission is to convert as many as I can to Crumbs believers. Try one today(and be brave don't share!)Trust me, you won't be sorry you did. In fact you'll be eternally grateful and devoted to me. Your joy will be thanks enough. Although bringing me a crumbs cupcake wouldn't hurt either.......and then I will be eternally thanful and devoted to you, as united as we will be in sugar utopia! Don't worry I'll have insulin on hand.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
My celebrity look-alikes
I always thought I was a 74% dead ringer for Julia Roberts, the proof is in the puddin'! Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton? Really? Must be the tiara in the photo. Kuyoko Fukada? Hmmm...interesting. I don't know who she is, and I don't now I even resemble her in the least, but who am I to question? Facial recognition software is interesting isn't it?
Friday, March 28, 2008
Five foot Five
It's a proven fact of the human condition that we all want what we cannot have. For me it's those three elusive inch's. In the hierarchy of things, I'm a middle of the pack kinda gal. Why strive for elusive greatness when mediocrity is right there for the taking, right? There is nothing wrong with average and normal, despite what any cooler-than-thou neardowell would have you think. Well, all I've ever wanted to be was an average, normal height. 5 ft 5.
I guess it goes back to grade school (but doesn't everything though really?) Lining up in size order. Or as grammar school kids refer to it "lining up the pecking order." For a good deal of my formative years I was cool. I was tall. I was in the back of the line. Everyone knows the kids with the height in the back of the line are the ones with all the power. Why exactly, no one knows, but it carries with it a certain amount of prestige. So, there I was towards the back of the line, pickin' on the short kids, sharing jokes with my height endowed comrades. Life was good. Fast forward to the first day of school: 5th grade. It was a warm September morning. I had my new notebooks and pencils, my new jumper and school sweater. Ponytail jauntily bouncing as I made merry, reuniting after the long lazy days of summer with my school chums. Maybe we played a quick game of tag. Maybe hopscotch. I don't really recall, the details have a way of blurring around the edges with time, but life was good, life was grand, life couldn't get better. Except, you should never be silly enough to tempt the universe like that. What was to come next would forever be seared into my memories. Tattooed into my mind and imprinted in my nightmares for years to come.
The school bell. That jarring,sobering call back to reality for kids everywhere. Laughs and good cheer spread all around as I skipped with all my friends to line up. In size order of course. So enamored was I with the start of the new academic year (and maybe a little high on the smell of my new crayolas, nothing beats that smell, it was more addictive to me as a kid than peeling glue off my hands) that I didn't even notice something was amiss. So programmed we were , accustomed to are line-mates, if you will that there was no conscious thought to "size order." I just knew, year after year I stood behind Sue and in front of Tara. Except this year my for some puzzling reason Sue and Tara were no longer eye level with me. In fact, as I looked around in silent horror, most of my classmates weren't. No, this year they towered over me like Amazonian freaks. Only it doesn't work like in the grade school. Apparently not getting your invitation to the growth spurt party renders you the horizontally challenged freak. Once the stark reality of the situation dawned on my young mind, I panicked. "No!" I screamed internally., "I will not be moved to the front of the line, I can't wear that badge of disgrace all year long, think Jenn, think." So I panicked, and futilely tried to hide, but to no avail, I was caught. That morning, head hung low, backpack dragging along the pavement I was ushered to the front of the line by my new teacher. And there I remained, forever wishing for a growth spurt that would never come, always turning around from my place in the front, casting wistful looks to my old life, my old friends in the back. Disdainfully never truly accepting my new line friends: the midgets.
My mom tried to comfort me when I tried to explain how horrible my first day of school was, what with my badge of disgrace and all . She told me "don't worry honey everyone knows tall guys like shorts girls." I figured she had to be on to something. I mean she's under 5 ft, and my dad was 6'2, but that was really only a big heaping of cold comfort at that time. That didn't fix my fall in social stature.
So here I sit some 2+ decades later, bemoaning my fate. Late night I often contemplate the what ifs. What if I had grown to be 5'5,? I mean without the benefit of heels that is.How different would my life be today? Would I have been more of a leader? Would I have risen to the occasion (pun intended) more often? Taken more chances? Maybe if I had that growth spurt in the 5th grade, that would have changed the course of my destiny.
Maybe the universe owes me. Maybe I would enjoy wearing cute ballet flats.
Maybe I need to get more oxygen to my brain.
I don't know. All I do know is, I will always wonder, and wish I were 5'5
I guess it goes back to grade school (but doesn't everything though really?) Lining up in size order. Or as grammar school kids refer to it "lining up the pecking order." For a good deal of my formative years I was cool. I was tall. I was in the back of the line. Everyone knows the kids with the height in the back of the line are the ones with all the power. Why exactly, no one knows, but it carries with it a certain amount of prestige. So, there I was towards the back of the line, pickin' on the short kids, sharing jokes with my height endowed comrades. Life was good. Fast forward to the first day of school: 5th grade. It was a warm September morning. I had my new notebooks and pencils, my new jumper and school sweater. Ponytail jauntily bouncing as I made merry, reuniting after the long lazy days of summer with my school chums. Maybe we played a quick game of tag. Maybe hopscotch. I don't really recall, the details have a way of blurring around the edges with time, but life was good, life was grand, life couldn't get better. Except, you should never be silly enough to tempt the universe like that. What was to come next would forever be seared into my memories. Tattooed into my mind and imprinted in my nightmares for years to come.
The school bell. That jarring,sobering call back to reality for kids everywhere. Laughs and good cheer spread all around as I skipped with all my friends to line up. In size order of course. So enamored was I with the start of the new academic year (and maybe a little high on the smell of my new crayolas, nothing beats that smell, it was more addictive to me as a kid than peeling glue off my hands) that I didn't even notice something was amiss. So programmed we were , accustomed to are line-mates, if you will that there was no conscious thought to "size order." I just knew, year after year I stood behind Sue and in front of Tara. Except this year my for some puzzling reason Sue and Tara were no longer eye level with me. In fact, as I looked around in silent horror, most of my classmates weren't. No, this year they towered over me like Amazonian freaks. Only it doesn't work like in the grade school. Apparently not getting your invitation to the growth spurt party renders you the horizontally challenged freak. Once the stark reality of the situation dawned on my young mind, I panicked. "No!" I screamed internally., "I will not be moved to the front of the line, I can't wear that badge of disgrace all year long, think Jenn, think." So I panicked, and futilely tried to hide, but to no avail, I was caught. That morning, head hung low, backpack dragging along the pavement I was ushered to the front of the line by my new teacher. And there I remained, forever wishing for a growth spurt that would never come, always turning around from my place in the front, casting wistful looks to my old life, my old friends in the back. Disdainfully never truly accepting my new line friends: the midgets.
My mom tried to comfort me when I tried to explain how horrible my first day of school was, what with my badge of disgrace and all . She told me "don't worry honey everyone knows tall guys like shorts girls." I figured she had to be on to something. I mean she's under 5 ft, and my dad was 6'2, but that was really only a big heaping of cold comfort at that time. That didn't fix my fall in social stature.
So here I sit some 2+ decades later, bemoaning my fate. Late night I often contemplate the what ifs. What if I had grown to be 5'5,? I mean without the benefit of heels that is.How different would my life be today? Would I have been more of a leader? Would I have risen to the occasion (pun intended) more often? Taken more chances? Maybe if I had that growth spurt in the 5th grade, that would have changed the course of my destiny.
Maybe the universe owes me. Maybe I would enjoy wearing cute ballet flats.
Maybe I need to get more oxygen to my brain.
I don't know. All I do know is, I will always wonder, and wish I were 5'5
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Bad Religion Infected
One of my favorite songs by my favorite bands. Plus I've just realized I've hearted Greg Graffin for damn near half my life now. I am nothing if not mindlessly faithful to my icons.
The Ultimate Zombie Survival Guide
After my appalling score on the zombie survival quiz, I've been doing my homework. I stumbled upon this handy dandy guide on youtube. I feel very secure of my chances of surviving z-day now.
Consumerism
I"m a big fan of stimulating the economy. Which is a nice way to say I prefer to spend, not save. Now don't get me wrong I'm not destitute, wearing rags and panhandling weary strap-hangers for my next splurge, but I like pretty new things. My inner child is easily distracted by anything shiny I guess. I'm also responsible and would never take food out of my kids mouths, as a matter of speaking, or blow the rent on a losing pony, but every now and again I feel entitled to buy something totally unnecessary and maybe even a little ostentatious, just to do something nice for me.
So, as a big wonderful birthday present to me I decided to do just that, splurge. I decided I just needed to have a beautiful pair of leather 6 inch designer heels. Did they cost a ridiculous amount of money? Yes. Did my heart palpitate and palms sweat a little while handing my credit card over to the sales lady? Hell yea. Did they fit like no other shoe I've ever worn, like a glass slipper, like my invitation to the beautifully well crafted footwear ball? Hell yea. I am of the mind set that more people should let go and indulge themselves once in awhile. How many of us, wouldn't think twice to do something for someone else? People usually don't overanalyze that if's and the why's when it comes to giving to others, but they feel guilty and overalanyze when it comes to giving to themselves.
I say indulge yourself and then cut back on other things.
If your a foodie, go try that new insanely expensive 4 star restaurant. You'll be happy you did. Then just pack your lunch for a good long while and buy your coffee from the street vendor, not Starbucks.
Bibliophile? You buy that rare first edition you stumbled over one day and lusted over. Then get creative saving somewhere else in your life. Maybe instead of buying new books, you would go to the library for awhile.
you get the picture. Now, I don't believe possessions define a person, and I don't feel the need to own things as proof of my own superiority over anything, but i do think that if something makes you happy it can't be that bad. My shoes are proof of nothing. They don't really mean anything to me in the grand scheme of things. I'm not even sure if they'll ever actually hit the pavement. But I do know that they make me smile, and to me that's worth every god damn red cent, even if I have to actually consciously budget for a little while. Oh well, once again I nurture my inner child, and guess what I'm bringing happy back.
So, as a big wonderful birthday present to me I decided to do just that, splurge. I decided I just needed to have a beautiful pair of leather 6 inch designer heels. Did they cost a ridiculous amount of money? Yes. Did my heart palpitate and palms sweat a little while handing my credit card over to the sales lady? Hell yea. Did they fit like no other shoe I've ever worn, like a glass slipper, like my invitation to the beautifully well crafted footwear ball? Hell yea. I am of the mind set that more people should let go and indulge themselves once in awhile. How many of us, wouldn't think twice to do something for someone else? People usually don't overanalyze that if's and the why's when it comes to giving to others, but they feel guilty and overalanyze when it comes to giving to themselves.
I say indulge yourself and then cut back on other things.
If your a foodie, go try that new insanely expensive 4 star restaurant. You'll be happy you did. Then just pack your lunch for a good long while and buy your coffee from the street vendor, not Starbucks.
Bibliophile? You buy that rare first edition you stumbled over one day and lusted over. Then get creative saving somewhere else in your life. Maybe instead of buying new books, you would go to the library for awhile.
you get the picture. Now, I don't believe possessions define a person, and I don't feel the need to own things as proof of my own superiority over anything, but i do think that if something makes you happy it can't be that bad. My shoes are proof of nothing. They don't really mean anything to me in the grand scheme of things. I'm not even sure if they'll ever actually hit the pavement. But I do know that they make me smile, and to me that's worth every god damn red cent, even if I have to actually consciously budget for a little while. Oh well, once again I nurture my inner child, and guess what I'm bringing happy back.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ladies and Gents
EDITORIAL REVIEW 'Ladies & Gents' is based on a true 1950s tabloid scandal that once rocked Dublin to its conservative core. Set in the heated public restrooms at Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, 'Ladies & Gents' is presented in two 20-minute acts that play simultaneously in the women's and men's room. This site-specific thriller keeps audiences on a razor's edge of suspense, as it exposes the hypocrisy of a society plagued with rigid class attitudes, sexual secrecy and lies.
When I first head about the "Ladies and Gents" play presented by the Irish Arts Center I was a little more than intrigued. A play, set in 1950's Dublin? Performed in a public restroom? That sounds either really esoteric and weird, or really fucking cool. I must see this!
So, last night amidst the rain and bleak weather (very apropos i might add) I made my way to the Bethesda fountain in Central Park. I had no idea what to expect, and neither do I think did any of the other weather weary travelers who made the trek to the park either.
The play started with the "news vendor" standing atop the stairs at the entrance to the ladies/men's room giving us a brief introduction. Which didn't really reveal too much about what was in store for us except to implore us to not move from our assigned spots, and relieve management from any liability should anything go awry. Hmmm...okay, piquing my interest. Audience members where then each given an individual card. Some white, some black. I received a white card, my friend a black one. The color of our card deciding which half of the play we'd see first. We all exchanged nervous, dubious glances. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into, and why are we all being split from the friends we came here with? Okay, we're a roll with it kinda group, let's see where this leads.
The audience was then separated by their respective color cards, and half were escorted into the women's room (my first stop) and the other half the men's (my friend's first stop).
The "usher" led us in with a flashlight and pointed out a spot in front of each stall where we to stand, and NOT MOVE FROM OUR SPOT. ok, I can do that. I was then informed to make, extra sure I didn't move from my sort or in any way, shape or form block the stall to my right. I have to admit the emoticon over my head changed from "intrigued" to "anxious.
The play started and it was at first a little disconcerting as an audience member to be so close to the actors. It almost felt a little voyeuristic. Kind of like when you walk into someone else drama in real life and try really hard to look disinterested and rush away because you really don't want to get involved, even though secretly you wish you could stand to the side unobserved and see what happens (and hey I realized half way through the act I was actually getting to live that wish) But, once the first act started to unravel it was easier to relax and just enjoy the performance, even when the actor was standing directly next to me. (The aforementioned stall was an integral part the act, thank god I listened to the surly usher and didn't block it)
Once the first act ended, we were ushered back outside and lined up against one side of the wall, while the other half of the audience was lined up against the other half. I tried to communicate with my friend on the "other side" telepathically to find out what happened in their act, without being too obvious but to no avail.
Then it was time to see the second act, and we were ushered into the men's room. One old lady in my audience intoned upon entering, "god, it really smells like a urinal in here." To which I chucked, despite myself and said " yes, well I think that smell just adds to the scene ma'am." My humor fell flat with her.
After the second act, we were ushered back outside and reunited with our lost friends, to exchange notes.
Overall, I thought it was pretty damn cool. Very fly on the wall. Very time traveler, who can only observe a past event and not intervene in anyway so as not to disrupt the fabric of reality.
The story line was about prostitution, politicians, murder and suicide.Talk about universal themes. Some things never change huh? Needless to say I would not recommend this play to my friend Elliot, it might cut a little too close to the bone for him.
It was definitely a different experience and I would say the final verdict: The play set in the public restroom was pretty fucking cool. As different and out the box it was, it actually really worked well. The werid smells, puddles of dubious liquids, and crammed accomadations really added to the whole experience. When forced in the future to use a public restroom in NYC after one venti iced drink too many, it'll never be the same again!
When I first head about the "Ladies and Gents" play presented by the Irish Arts Center I was a little more than intrigued. A play, set in 1950's Dublin? Performed in a public restroom? That sounds either really esoteric and weird, or really fucking cool. I must see this!
So, last night amidst the rain and bleak weather (very apropos i might add) I made my way to the Bethesda fountain in Central Park. I had no idea what to expect, and neither do I think did any of the other weather weary travelers who made the trek to the park either.
The play started with the "news vendor" standing atop the stairs at the entrance to the ladies/men's room giving us a brief introduction. Which didn't really reveal too much about what was in store for us except to implore us to not move from our assigned spots, and relieve management from any liability should anything go awry. Hmmm...okay, piquing my interest. Audience members where then each given an individual card. Some white, some black. I received a white card, my friend a black one. The color of our card deciding which half of the play we'd see first. We all exchanged nervous, dubious glances. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into, and why are we all being split from the friends we came here with? Okay, we're a roll with it kinda group, let's see where this leads.
The audience was then separated by their respective color cards, and half were escorted into the women's room (my first stop) and the other half the men's (my friend's first stop).
The "usher" led us in with a flashlight and pointed out a spot in front of each stall where we to stand, and NOT MOVE FROM OUR SPOT. ok, I can do that. I was then informed to make, extra sure I didn't move from my sort or in any way, shape or form block the stall to my right. I have to admit the emoticon over my head changed from "intrigued" to "anxious.
The play started and it was at first a little disconcerting as an audience member to be so close to the actors. It almost felt a little voyeuristic. Kind of like when you walk into someone else drama in real life and try really hard to look disinterested and rush away because you really don't want to get involved, even though secretly you wish you could stand to the side unobserved and see what happens (and hey I realized half way through the act I was actually getting to live that wish) But, once the first act started to unravel it was easier to relax and just enjoy the performance, even when the actor was standing directly next to me. (The aforementioned stall was an integral part the act, thank god I listened to the surly usher and didn't block it)
Once the first act ended, we were ushered back outside and lined up against one side of the wall, while the other half of the audience was lined up against the other half. I tried to communicate with my friend on the "other side" telepathically to find out what happened in their act, without being too obvious but to no avail.
Then it was time to see the second act, and we were ushered into the men's room. One old lady in my audience intoned upon entering, "god, it really smells like a urinal in here." To which I chucked, despite myself and said " yes, well I think that smell just adds to the scene ma'am." My humor fell flat with her.
After the second act, we were ushered back outside and reunited with our lost friends, to exchange notes.
Overall, I thought it was pretty damn cool. Very fly on the wall. Very time traveler, who can only observe a past event and not intervene in anyway so as not to disrupt the fabric of reality.
The story line was about prostitution, politicians, murder and suicide.Talk about universal themes. Some things never change huh? Needless to say I would not recommend this play to my friend Elliot, it might cut a little too close to the bone for him.
It was definitely a different experience and I would say the final verdict: The play set in the public restroom was pretty fucking cool. As different and out the box it was, it actually really worked well. The werid smells, puddles of dubious liquids, and crammed accomadations really added to the whole experience. When forced in the future to use a public restroom in NYC after one venti iced drink too many, it'll never be the same again!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
7 sexy new ways to lose your immortal soul.
The Catholic Church, those slow moving arbiters of moral and social standards have finally updated the 7 deadly sins, and it only took 1,500 years! Sinnings come a long way, baby!
The new pope just isn't messing around. He's hiking up his skirt, rolling up the sleeves on his cassock, and exiting his lair at the Vatican by way of the pope-mobile to save us all from eternal damnation.
For those that don't know in the 6th century my man Pope Gregory the great laid down the list of what we know of as the 7 deadly sins: lust, gluttony, avarice, sloth, anger, envy and pride. As if life wasn't hard enough in the 6th century, people had to worry about hellfire and brimstone if they did anything other than die of the black plague, like feel real human emotions. Or, for shame, commit the sin of avarice. I'm sure much like today, no one had any clue what avarice even is. I mean I could be committing that sin right now for all I know, and I can read and write.
Well the Catholic Church has said "Welcome to the 21st century devotees, we no longer sell indulgences and are currently updating our sin-tastic list. Hope to see you all beyond the pearly gates." The new list includes:
polluting, genetic engineering, being obscenely rich, drug dealing, abortion, pedophilia and causing social injustice.Way to go guys, you've really nailed the head on what living in today's society is really like for humanity.
I guess what I've learned most from this list is the following:
Whenever I liter I don't just make a good natured native American cry, I also make God cry. And when God cries he revokes your soul. No do-overs. Heaven must be full of hippies. Thanks but I'd take limbo any day.
Oprah Winfrey and Bill Gates are morally bankrupt and should probably hope they can "take it with them" so as to book better accommodations in the inferno.
Geneticists are all evil supervillians, with way cool labs.
Abortion is wrong, drugs are wrong (*yawn* yea yea I grew up watching after-school specials padre)
Whenever that priest who liked the young boys a little too much was "transferred" to another parish, he actually was given a "go straight to hell card, do not pass the alter, do not collect communion."
Causing social injustice? Hmmmm...well they sure did paint that one with broad stroke now didn't they?
I guess that one is the avarice of it's time huh? I mean I'm not quite sure what they mean. I could be causing social injustice right now, and I can read and write.
Hopefully we'll get some answers when the pope comes to America on his "7 deadly sins World Tour"
But I have to give props where props are deserved. Kudos Catholicism for taking one tiny small insignificant step towards some sort of false progress. Kudos!
The new pope just isn't messing around. He's hiking up his skirt, rolling up the sleeves on his cassock, and exiting his lair at the Vatican by way of the pope-mobile to save us all from eternal damnation.
For those that don't know in the 6th century my man Pope Gregory the great laid down the list of what we know of as the 7 deadly sins: lust, gluttony, avarice, sloth, anger, envy and pride. As if life wasn't hard enough in the 6th century, people had to worry about hellfire and brimstone if they did anything other than die of the black plague, like feel real human emotions. Or, for shame, commit the sin of avarice. I'm sure much like today, no one had any clue what avarice even is. I mean I could be committing that sin right now for all I know, and I can read and write.
Well the Catholic Church has said "Welcome to the 21st century devotees, we no longer sell indulgences and are currently updating our sin-tastic list. Hope to see you all beyond the pearly gates." The new list includes:
polluting, genetic engineering, being obscenely rich, drug dealing, abortion, pedophilia and causing social injustice.Way to go guys, you've really nailed the head on what living in today's society is really like for humanity.
I guess what I've learned most from this list is the following:
Whenever I liter I don't just make a good natured native American cry, I also make God cry. And when God cries he revokes your soul. No do-overs. Heaven must be full of hippies. Thanks but I'd take limbo any day.
Oprah Winfrey and Bill Gates are morally bankrupt and should probably hope they can "take it with them" so as to book better accommodations in the inferno.
Geneticists are all evil supervillians, with way cool labs.
Abortion is wrong, drugs are wrong (*yawn* yea yea I grew up watching after-school specials padre)
Whenever that priest who liked the young boys a little too much was "transferred" to another parish, he actually was given a "go straight to hell card, do not pass the alter, do not collect communion."
Causing social injustice? Hmmmm...well they sure did paint that one with broad stroke now didn't they?
I guess that one is the avarice of it's time huh? I mean I'm not quite sure what they mean. I could be causing social injustice right now, and I can read and write.
Hopefully we'll get some answers when the pope comes to America on his "7 deadly sins World Tour"
But I have to give props where props are deserved. Kudos Catholicism for taking one tiny small insignificant step towards some sort of false progress. Kudos!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Mental Stimulation
I need lots of it. I tend to get bored way too easily, so I need to find ways to trick myself into staying interested, and tuned in.So, when my mind starts to drift, I play games. My favorite is called "If...then" It's a pretty simple game where you constantly test the fates and ask the universe to answer questions by performing mundane tasks.For instance, on the bus in the morning, I'll say "OK IF someone else presses the stop button and I don't have to this morning, THEN this is going to be the bestest day ever"If someone else does press the stop button then the universe has answered me with a resounding "yes, this is in fact going to be the bestest day you have ever lived little girl, hold on to you hat."If I have to push the button myself then the universe has answered me with an "answer not clear please ask again later."Really this games lends itself to any and every situation.If your stuck in some lame unavoidable situation and can barely function from boredom then turn it into a game. Jump on board now before IF...THEN mania sweeps the nation..IF....THEN keeps me entertained for hours.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
my co-opted catch phrase
Obesity survivor. I'm having my t-shirt printed up next week with my new phrase emblazoned across the front. Obesity Survivor is how a former Biggest Loser contestant described himself and the current cast members of the show. I like it. It makes me feel like my own weight loss is more important that it really is.
See, I've been completely focused and dedicated to losing weight. I've tried and tried to write a dear john letter and distance myself from my one true love. Food. I love food. I love to eat. I watch the food network like it's porn. It's an addiction , of that I'm sure, but in my humble opinion there are a lot worse things I could be addicted too. Like crystal meth for instance, or black tar heroin. Yes, having an addiction to hard core drugs is a lot cooler, edgier and sexier, but I tend to lack all of those aforementioned qualities. Leave it to me to find the least cool thing in the world to admit being addicted to. But admit it I have and deal with it I must (I've channeled Yoda to give me my inner strength) To date the most amazing thing I've come to find, are the strong opinions weight lose fosters in other people. Everyone I'm even mildly acquainted with in my life has some feeling they just must must must express about it to me. Now, don't get me wrong, I like compliments as much as the next person. I mean I'm only human and compliments sure do appeal to my vanity, but what I don't like is other people's unsolicited "sage" advice. Things said to me with such tender earnestness as the bestower of wisdom gently rests their hand on my shoulder and says: "Vegetables are key" "You need to hit the ole gym, you workin' out? How many reps you doin?" "Water. It tricks you into feeling full" "Castor oil, that's what my Nana always said." "For your height you should only lose X more lbs, and I should now I watch *a-lot* of people playing doctors on t.v."
In fact the most "sagest" of all advice was bestowed unto me not too long ago in a meeting with the human resources director and a shop steward, who dropped this little wisdom bomb on me: "are you sick? I mean you're losing a lot of weight. I don't know if anyone else cares enough to tell you this, but really you look fine enough. You don't need to lose anymore." Now keep in mind this was a meeting about work attendence. It seems the powers that be get a bit testy if you do things like not feel a 5 day work week is necassary every week, because sometimes it's fun to play hooky on a Friday. It's a routine thing I have to go through once every year because I feel entitled to more than 3 days off a year. Not an intervention. After a moment of stunned "are you fucking joking" silence, I informed my union rep and human resources director that I had a plan. A plan to lose so much weight I'd become "socialite" thin and then traverse the countryside eating my way back to a healthy weight, one all you can eat buffet at a time. Then it was their turn to sit there in stunned "is she fucking joking" silence before we all shared an uncomfortable laugh.
Them, because they can't understand my sense of humor.(and considerable tact given the completely insane unprofessional situation)
Me, because I was starry eyed, starting to fall in love a little bit with that plan.
But then I realized that's just the addiction talking. I think.
Y'know when I was gaining weight no one felt the need to voice any concerns, to my face at least. I guess people felt that would render them unaccepting or cruel or something or other. No, when I gained weight I was just blessed with the superpower of invisibility. (which was pretty amazing considering my size at the time)
I was so blissfully happy in my ignorance of other people's thoughts.
As far as superpowers are concerned, I'm cool with invisibility.
I've never, ever wanted to be a mind reader.
Whatever.
Soon I'll have my t-shirt, and a snazzy catch phrase. Obesity Survivor. I wonder what advice people will give me then! "Y'know being ironic on a t-shirt is sooo 1996"But.... I .........nevermind......
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Hollywood demands it's pound of flesh?
Celebrity worship has reached an alarming apex in our society. Worshiping these golden calves at the alter of fame has woven it's way into the essence of sickness in our culture. The most mundane minutia of their truly boring and insipid lives is no longer taboo, or a sensational selling point for rag sheets. It's now thrust down our throats daily, from main stream media outlets.
Most people know more about Britney's slow spiral into redneck madness then they do about their own kids. If a celebrity dies and no one is there to capture a morbid image on their cellphone is it no longer culturally relevant? Their spoiled boring lives are front page news worthy, while there's a war going on, a presidential campaign, an ethnic genocide in Darfur, but none of them have been photographed getting out of a limo pantiles, so really who cares?
Are we really such a collection of mindless vapid zombies? Our sponge -like brains only capable of soaking up whatever "they" tell us to believe in? I've always naively had more faith in mankind. I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that people would truly disconnect from what's important. Or be so lazy and ignorant as to let other people think for them. Although I've always secretly thought that if the paparazzi suddenly started stalking say Stephen Hawkins, quantum physics would suddenly become "sexy".
Which is why I think the new show Pop Fiction is more than mildly intriguing. This new cougar lovin' Ashton Kutcher vehicle's concept is to "punk" the paparazzi and media by having celebrities filmed and reported about while pulling a prank. So far the only prank that's been revealed is the Paris Hilton guru. Which I vaguely recollect being glossed over by the newspapers last week.Turns out he's not actually a spiritual adviser, but a bit actor. If the prank wasn't revealed so soon, and had received more substantial coverage, how many people do you think would have tripped over themselves to find a pet shaman on their very own? If this show goes far enough maybe more idiotic antics will be revealed as pranks too. The fabric of society will start to unravel. I think that Ashton and crew are really pranking all of us, the media is the just the means to the end.People will have to re-adopt the old adage "don't believe everything you read." Maybe collectively we'll make a conscious decision to take Hollywood with the tiny grain of salt it deserves and get back down to the basics of real reality. Is Hollywood self aware enough to realize their own unimportance at anything more than entertainment, and not as demigods?
Or maybe this is just Mr. Kutcher's over the top way of apologizing for giving all those A-listers Hep-c at his birthday party. It seems more effective then an e-card.
I think if nothing else maybe it'll make at least one person question something, anything about the ridiculousness of our national obsession.
Or maybe not, my faith in most things has been waning more and more everyday.
Guiding my life by my own set of principles is seeming less and less important.
I've always preferred to celebrate my own and others individuality and creativity any day than languish in the prison of conformity.
But maybe I'm wrong.
I should never have taken the blue pill.
Most people know more about Britney's slow spiral into redneck madness then they do about their own kids. If a celebrity dies and no one is there to capture a morbid image on their cellphone is it no longer culturally relevant? Their spoiled boring lives are front page news worthy, while there's a war going on, a presidential campaign, an ethnic genocide in Darfur, but none of them have been photographed getting out of a limo pantiles, so really who cares?
Are we really such a collection of mindless vapid zombies? Our sponge -like brains only capable of soaking up whatever "they" tell us to believe in? I've always naively had more faith in mankind. I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that people would truly disconnect from what's important. Or be so lazy and ignorant as to let other people think for them. Although I've always secretly thought that if the paparazzi suddenly started stalking say Stephen Hawkins, quantum physics would suddenly become "sexy".
Which is why I think the new show Pop Fiction is more than mildly intriguing. This new cougar lovin' Ashton Kutcher vehicle's concept is to "punk" the paparazzi and media by having celebrities filmed and reported about while pulling a prank. So far the only prank that's been revealed is the Paris Hilton guru. Which I vaguely recollect being glossed over by the newspapers last week.Turns out he's not actually a spiritual adviser, but a bit actor. If the prank wasn't revealed so soon, and had received more substantial coverage, how many people do you think would have tripped over themselves to find a pet shaman on their very own? If this show goes far enough maybe more idiotic antics will be revealed as pranks too. The fabric of society will start to unravel. I think that Ashton and crew are really pranking all of us, the media is the just the means to the end.People will have to re-adopt the old adage "don't believe everything you read." Maybe collectively we'll make a conscious decision to take Hollywood with the tiny grain of salt it deserves and get back down to the basics of real reality. Is Hollywood self aware enough to realize their own unimportance at anything more than entertainment, and not as demigods?
Or maybe this is just Mr. Kutcher's over the top way of apologizing for giving all those A-listers Hep-c at his birthday party. It seems more effective then an e-card.
I think if nothing else maybe it'll make at least one person question something, anything about the ridiculousness of our national obsession.
Or maybe not, my faith in most things has been waning more and more everyday.
Guiding my life by my own set of principles is seeming less and less important.
I've always preferred to celebrate my own and others individuality and creativity any day than languish in the prison of conformity.
But maybe I'm wrong.
I should never have taken the blue pill.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
2008 Tribeca Film Festival: APR 24 - MAY 6
Tribeca time is right around the corner. Me, in all my movie nerd splendor tentatively plan every year to see as many films as I can. To date I've only managed to see two. I however am making a concerted effort this year to consult the movie guide once it's up and find at least a 100 movies that sound cool and see at least one. In the meantime however, I found these panels which made me giddy and excited (it doesn't take much) April 19th, I just have to mark April 19th on the calender as the day I can buy tickets. I'm determined. If I keep repeating that I won't forget or slack and miss out. Did I mention I'm giddy and excited? I mean I'll have the chance to meet (maybe) and be in attendance with John Carpenter, Joe Quesada and Kevin Smith? I had a dream like that once.
THE KID SLAYS IN THE PICTURE
If it bleeds, it leads. Blood, guts and severed limbs have historically been box office cash cows but as Capitol Hill turns up the heat on television violence, studios and filmmakers wonder…will the big screen be next on the chopping block?
Jim Steyer (CEO, Founder Common Sense Media)
John Carpenter ( Escape from NY, Halloween )
Peter Block (President: Film Acquisitions, Lionsgate)
David D’Arcy (NPR) moderates.Thursday, April 26th 7 p.m., BMCC 2 (PKIDS) $25.00
HEROES FOR HIRE
Here I come to save the…oh, just forget it. For a genre of entertainment originally devised with children in mind, superhero movies have found real success among bigger babies & shy adults, to be specific. We unleash the power of some superhero creators to explore why the vulnerable, conflicted, reluctant and more…well…human superhero is a sure-fire way to a colossal opening weekend. Featuring a sneak peek at original illustrations from the highly anticipated Amazing Spider-Man: One More Day comic book storyline.
Zak Penn ( X-Men: The Last Stand, Elektra )
Joe Quesada (Illustrator, Writer, EIC of Marvel).
Andrew D. Cooke ( Will Eisner: Portrait of a Sequential Artist )
Thomas Haden Church ( Spiderman 3 )
Kevin Smith ( Clerks, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back ) Lev Grossman (Time Magazine) moderates.
Thursday, May 3, 4 p.m., BMCC 2 (PHERO) $25.00
THE KID SLAYS IN THE PICTURE
If it bleeds, it leads. Blood, guts and severed limbs have historically been box office cash cows but as Capitol Hill turns up the heat on television violence, studios and filmmakers wonder…will the big screen be next on the chopping block?
Jim Steyer (CEO, Founder Common Sense Media)
John Carpenter ( Escape from NY, Halloween )
Peter Block (President: Film Acquisitions, Lionsgate)
David D’Arcy (NPR) moderates.Thursday, April 26th 7 p.m., BMCC 2 (PKIDS) $25.00
HEROES FOR HIRE
Here I come to save the…oh, just forget it. For a genre of entertainment originally devised with children in mind, superhero movies have found real success among bigger babies & shy adults, to be specific. We unleash the power of some superhero creators to explore why the vulnerable, conflicted, reluctant and more…well…human superhero is a sure-fire way to a colossal opening weekend. Featuring a sneak peek at original illustrations from the highly anticipated Amazing Spider-Man: One More Day comic book storyline.
Zak Penn ( X-Men: The Last Stand, Elektra )
Joe Quesada (Illustrator, Writer, EIC of Marvel).
Andrew D. Cooke ( Will Eisner: Portrait of a Sequential Artist )
Thomas Haden Church ( Spiderman 3 )
Kevin Smith ( Clerks, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back ) Lev Grossman (Time Magazine) moderates.
Thursday, May 3, 4 p.m., BMCC 2 (PHERO) $25.00
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Close Talkers
Yknow those people. The ones who have no sense of boundaries or personal space. The ones who think everything they have to say is of such supreme importance and thus must be heard with minimum space from the listeners ear canal, lest one morsel of their wisdom fall to the wayside.
See, I'm a person who requires, nay demands, their personal space. If I were a famous rock star, besides no brown M&Ms in my dressing room, I would have a personal space addendum in my rider contract with every venue, I just need my "me" time, and my "me" space to co habitat in. Plus I have excellent hearing and the uncanny ability to fake being an interested listener. Usually everyone wins. You get to chatter about whatever, and I get to daydream and live in my head, while smiling and nodding, granting you a perfunctory "uh-huh" when appropriate, and everyone leaves satisfied and validated.
Usually.
See, there's one co-worker of my mine who's brought all this to the forefront for me. I would walk miles out of my way up-hill over hot coals to avoid being cornered by him on a break or at lunch. He's a nice enough gentleman. I have nothing against him per se. I just can't stand being forced to stare at his tonsils while he tells me about his political views or dental work or what he ate for lunch (mostly because I can peer straight down into his stomach cavity from my vantage point and see his still undigested meal)
And I try. I really do,to be polite. I'll take a step or three back, he'll take four. I'm sure any pedestrians who've passed by while I'm cornered, must think we're sharing secrets of national security, or practicing some really lame dance routine we're hoping to debut at the Catskills this summer. It was so bad one day he actually backed me up against the glass door. I was trapped. Literally. I even asked him to move back, with as much concern and civility as I could muster, so as not to "blow smoke in your face, because second hand smoke is a killer y'know" He just stepped to the side without missing a beat.
I'm at my wits end. I've had enough. I must take a stand and reclaim the personal space which is so rightfully mine. No longer will I suffer in silence and discomfort, I've decided the next time he comes too close to "chat" I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago.
I'm going to fake a seizure.
Eureka!
I am a genius of unparalleled proportions.
See, I'm a person who requires, nay demands, their personal space. If I were a famous rock star, besides no brown M&Ms in my dressing room, I would have a personal space addendum in my rider contract with every venue, I just need my "me" time, and my "me" space to co habitat in. Plus I have excellent hearing and the uncanny ability to fake being an interested listener. Usually everyone wins. You get to chatter about whatever, and I get to daydream and live in my head, while smiling and nodding, granting you a perfunctory "uh-huh" when appropriate, and everyone leaves satisfied and validated.
Usually.
See, there's one co-worker of my mine who's brought all this to the forefront for me. I would walk miles out of my way up-hill over hot coals to avoid being cornered by him on a break or at lunch. He's a nice enough gentleman. I have nothing against him per se. I just can't stand being forced to stare at his tonsils while he tells me about his political views or dental work or what he ate for lunch (mostly because I can peer straight down into his stomach cavity from my vantage point and see his still undigested meal)
And I try. I really do,to be polite. I'll take a step or three back, he'll take four. I'm sure any pedestrians who've passed by while I'm cornered, must think we're sharing secrets of national security, or practicing some really lame dance routine we're hoping to debut at the Catskills this summer. It was so bad one day he actually backed me up against the glass door. I was trapped. Literally. I even asked him to move back, with as much concern and civility as I could muster, so as not to "blow smoke in your face, because second hand smoke is a killer y'know" He just stepped to the side without missing a beat.
I'm at my wits end. I've had enough. I must take a stand and reclaim the personal space which is so rightfully mine. No longer will I suffer in silence and discomfort, I've decided the next time he comes too close to "chat" I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago.
I'm going to fake a seizure.
Eureka!
I am a genius of unparalleled proportions.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
More Reasons Turning 30 doesn't Suck
Alrighty almighty my mind's been a turnin and I've been a churnin out some more reasons why this impending storm cloud of my third decade does indeed have a silver lining. I am not to be dissuaded from my goal. The next 10 reasons I come up will put that extra spring in my jig I'm sure.
30 is the new 20. So following that logic I won't be turning 30 for another decade.
I hate the number 9.
I can now more effectively measure moments in my life in terms of decades.
I still have 2 years left in which to quit smoking (a prerequisite, I've checked) and harvest my unused eggs to find some measure of financial solvency.
According to a news report I once saw, if you quit smoking at the age of 30 it reverses all the negative health effects. If you however quit by the age of 35 it cuts the negative health effects in half. I'm a gambling gal and so I like those odds. My motto has always been a 1/2 of something is better than nothing at all.
Hearing someone is turning 30 gives the illusion of said person also acquiring some small measure of maturity and stability in life.
There's still plenty of time to formulate a plan for world domination.
Barring world domination, there's still plenty of time to figure out a way to get voted off of this damn island
There's still a slim chance"Chinese Democracy"will be released in my lifetime.
And there's no point in freaking out about turning 30, because baby I'm planning one hell of a spectacular mid life crisis.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Things to do This Summer
*shrugs* I like making lists. It keeps me mentally organized. Plus, it's never too early to start plotting, er I mean planning.
1) Go see bodies the exhibition at the seaport. I've had this on my to do list for 2 years now! That's a little ridiculous.
2) Attend some really good concerts. Preferably outdoors. Bonus points if it's music festival. *sighs* I wish they would bring Amsterjam back to Randalls Island, I actually had a lot of fun the 2 years it was there. (overpriced beer aside)
3) One word: Roller coasters. The bigger, the faster, the better.
4) Go to the shake shack. Everyone raves about this place. I love burgers and I love shakes so it seems a perfect fit. I don't however love ridiculously long lines.
5) Continuing on the food theme, go to brunch at Maracas. Nothing makes 90 degree weather better than Mexican food and unlimited frozen strawberry margaritas. Plus being drunk at noon can be oddly liberating
.6) Movies movies movies. I'm actually eagerly anticipating more than a few big blockbuster releases this year. The Dark Knight, The Incredible Hulk(Norton can do no wrong in my eyes), Ironman, Indiana Jones IV,Sex and the City, Hancock, it's a veritable smorgasbord of goodness! And I'm not bootlegging it either. I'm going all out, full price, possible even opening night (because I'm a nerd like that) and testing my endurance for uncomfortable theater chairs, unruly children (because you know inconsiderate parents will bring their 5 and under doppelgangers in droves) and buckets of popcorn with extra butter. I'll treat it like a fun sociology experiment.
7) Go to Ripley's believe it or not Museum in Times Square. I loathe Times Square. Between the constant strobing neon lights, MTV, and tourists swarming like, well like cockroaches I don't know what to let irritate me first. I did however very much like the Ripley's museum in Atlantic City, so I feel compelled to go support the one in my hometown.
8) Not let me matronly upper arms get in the way of wearing tank tops. I have no desire to work out. ever.I also have no desire to be uncomfortable in humid summer weather. ever. So fuck it. I'm going to be brave and daring and not wear sleeves. Arm fat be damned!
This list is a work in progress for now.
1) Go see bodies the exhibition at the seaport. I've had this on my to do list for 2 years now! That's a little ridiculous.
2) Attend some really good concerts. Preferably outdoors. Bonus points if it's music festival. *sighs* I wish they would bring Amsterjam back to Randalls Island, I actually had a lot of fun the 2 years it was there. (overpriced beer aside)
3) One word: Roller coasters. The bigger, the faster, the better.
4) Go to the shake shack. Everyone raves about this place. I love burgers and I love shakes so it seems a perfect fit. I don't however love ridiculously long lines.
5) Continuing on the food theme, go to brunch at Maracas. Nothing makes 90 degree weather better than Mexican food and unlimited frozen strawberry margaritas. Plus being drunk at noon can be oddly liberating
.6) Movies movies movies. I'm actually eagerly anticipating more than a few big blockbuster releases this year. The Dark Knight, The Incredible Hulk(Norton can do no wrong in my eyes), Ironman, Indiana Jones IV,Sex and the City, Hancock, it's a veritable smorgasbord of goodness! And I'm not bootlegging it either. I'm going all out, full price, possible even opening night (because I'm a nerd like that) and testing my endurance for uncomfortable theater chairs, unruly children (because you know inconsiderate parents will bring their 5 and under doppelgangers in droves) and buckets of popcorn with extra butter. I'll treat it like a fun sociology experiment.
7) Go to Ripley's believe it or not Museum in Times Square. I loathe Times Square. Between the constant strobing neon lights, MTV, and tourists swarming like, well like cockroaches I don't know what to let irritate me first. I did however very much like the Ripley's museum in Atlantic City, so I feel compelled to go support the one in my hometown.
8) Not let me matronly upper arms get in the way of wearing tank tops. I have no desire to work out. ever.I also have no desire to be uncomfortable in humid summer weather. ever. So fuck it. I'm going to be brave and daring and not wear sleeves. Arm fat be damned!
This list is a work in progress for now.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Birthday Paradox
Subtitle: I have too many random thoughts that occupy my free time.
So it's a leap year. Which I still am not entirely clear on the meaning of. I think it has something to do with how long it takes the Earth to revolve around the sun. And I guess in that context we all benefit. Keeping the seasons in alignment and all that jazz, but what about the people born on Feb.29? Is there some cosmic clause that keeps them from aging only once every four years? I was under the impression the only way to keep from aging was to have a portrait of yourself stored in the attic (or some such thing)
Do they get to individually choose when they celebrate their birthdays? "Hmmm since we're in between leap years I think this year I'll celebrate on Feb 28 and next year it's party party par-tay on March 1." And that's perfectly fine because their actual birth date doesn't exsist on the calender every year. Which is kinda unfair. I can't do that. That makes me a little bit jealous. I don't like being denied something. No matter how arbitrary or meaningless that something is.
Or is there some "leap year baby" consensus as to when their fête d'anniversaire (if you will) should be celebrated? Maybe they have a secret cloak and dagger like society and meet and plan for world domination......
Do you think people who were actually born on either Feb 28th or March 1st have faced "leap year" discrimination their whole life? Constantly having to defend the legitimacy of their date of birth, only to have their special day overshadowed by the pity and weird fascination people have with those damn "leap year babies"?
Do you think it's possible people born in a leap year have some sort of superpowers bestowed upon them as thanks by the cosmos?
I have yet to actually meet someone, let alone engage them in conversation, in real life who was born on Feb 29. But when I do, believe you me I will come fully prepared with a barrage of questions I have a burning desire to be answered.
So it's a leap year. Which I still am not entirely clear on the meaning of. I think it has something to do with how long it takes the Earth to revolve around the sun. And I guess in that context we all benefit. Keeping the seasons in alignment and all that jazz, but what about the people born on Feb.29? Is there some cosmic clause that keeps them from aging only once every four years? I was under the impression the only way to keep from aging was to have a portrait of yourself stored in the attic (or some such thing)
Do they get to individually choose when they celebrate their birthdays? "Hmmm since we're in between leap years I think this year I'll celebrate on Feb 28 and next year it's party party par-tay on March 1." And that's perfectly fine because their actual birth date doesn't exsist on the calender every year. Which is kinda unfair. I can't do that. That makes me a little bit jealous. I don't like being denied something. No matter how arbitrary or meaningless that something is.
Or is there some "leap year baby" consensus as to when their fête d'anniversaire (if you will) should be celebrated? Maybe they have a secret cloak and dagger like society and meet and plan for world domination......
Do you think people who were actually born on either Feb 28th or March 1st have faced "leap year" discrimination their whole life? Constantly having to defend the legitimacy of their date of birth, only to have their special day overshadowed by the pity and weird fascination people have with those damn "leap year babies"?
Do you think it's possible people born in a leap year have some sort of superpowers bestowed upon them as thanks by the cosmos?
I have yet to actually meet someone, let alone engage them in conversation, in real life who was born on Feb 29. But when I do, believe you me I will come fully prepared with a barrage of questions I have a burning desire to be answered.
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