Monday, February 28, 2011

And we all give thanks to Cougar Town...

... for this awesome game.

The rules: You pick two movies, mash up their titles so they can be read as one sentence, and then describe the movie. 

Example (stolen directly from Cougar Town): Al Gore does a Powerpoint presentation on Madonna's naked body.

Answer: An Inconvenient Truth or Dare.

Clarification: You can't just randomly smoosh things - no Wet Hot American Beauty Summers, people.

So here are some from me (and friends who have also played this game).  Feel free to answer them, call them lame, or come up with your own in the comment section.

1. Billionaire genius fights injustice and falls in love with a store display.

2. World-class runner won't compete on Sundays and tries to fix his marriage.

3. Hugh Grant struggles with being shallow and transgendered.

4. War hero takes control of his mobster family and tries to not go broke while planning his daughter's wedding.

5. Miniature magic person throws an evil artifact in a volcano and overcomes stuttering.

6. Genetically enhanced sharks race a tiny horse with a tinier jockey.

7. Depression-era boxer exacts some really gross revenge on kidnappers.


Thanks to Jose for some additional clues:

8. A fertile woman is the constant bearer of bad news.

9. A young extraterrestrial learns the truth about his family while a young human changes the truth about his family.  (There is a bonus clue available for this one, and I'm not ashamed to admit I needed it.)

10. Tough cop moves in with Bigfoot

11. A spunky British young lady meddles in wedding preparations.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

I just want to say ...

I've said before that my relationship with the Jazz is like the characters on Mad Men

I just want to say, this season (in sports) is my season 4 (in TV).

Betty's married to Henry!  Jerry Sloan retires!  Don proposes to Megan!  Betty wants Don back!  The Jazz get rid of Derron Williams anyway!  Everything is blowing my mind!

That show better come back STAT because that's how I'm going to make my 2012 play-off predictions. 

Is no one else seeing this?

Why am I only now finding out about this?


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

That's how winning is done

So I have this theory that the quality of the Rocky movie depends entirely on Rocky's financial well-being. 

Rocky: Down-and-out young boxer looking for his final shot.  He falls in love with the girl next door because they can see the true value in each other and he achieves existential triumph not by beating Apollo Creed, but by going the distance.  Verdict:  Awesome Rocky movie.

Rocky II: Still pretty down-and-out, but with the added financial burden of a young wife and child, as well as dealing with having zero financial skills which winds him in serious debt.  With his wife in a coma, he achieves an actual victory against Apollo Creed.  Verdict:  Awesome Rocky movie.

Rocky III: Rocky is super rich and successful.  Philadelphia gives him a statue.  Mr. T makes some inappropriate comments toward Adrian.  Rocky mostly fights bourgeoisie ennui.  Verdict:  So-so Rocky movie.

Rocky IV: Rocky is super rich still, but he has to avenge Apollo Creed and his America boxers by fighting the Russian and teaching us all a valuable lesson about how the human spirit crosses political lines.  Plus he pulls a wagon in the snow.  Verdict: Pretty good Rocky movie.

Rocky V: Rocky is still super rich and is training someone so they too can be super rich.  Also his bratty son is jealous.  Verdict: Not-so-great Rocky movie.

Rocky Balboa: Rocky is a normal middle-class guy who runs a restaurant and lives in a teeny-tiny house.  He adopts dogs from homeless shelters, employs single mothers as well as Spider Rico, and mentors at-risk teenagers.  Rocky battles his own loneliness and grief and brings us full circle by once again achieving an existential victory against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  Verdict: Awesome Rocky movie.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Reason #46 why I am going to hell

A. "I just don't know why they think they need to be crude to be funny."

B.  "I guess some people see that kind of thing as funny, but I just don't."

If you have ever said A or B and meant it, we probably will never be friends in real life.  Even Shakespeare knew the value of some over-the-top raunchiness, for crying out loud. 

Sunday, February 20, 2011

What? Maybe he never learned that word in school

Me: So do you like to read?

Boy: Not really.

Me: ...

Boy:  What have you read lately?

Me: Um, I read The Hunger Games trilogy awhile back, it was great.

Boy: Oh yeah, I've heard of that.  How many books are in it?

Me: The Hunger Games trilogy?

Boy: Yeah.

Me: ...

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Yay new header!

Thanks to Sarah for doing what I was too technologically impaired to do myself.  :)

Thursday, February 17, 2011

You know what is super frustrating?


Look, I don't need a really cute blog with a bunch of old-timey sewing machines and font that looks like quilt stitching.  I just want to change my header and my font until it looks the way I want it.  Not crazy, right?  I found the font I want.  I installed it onto my computer.  BLOGGER WON'T DO IT.  It lets me select the words, it lets me go to where I would pick a new font.  But the font never takes.

But in case you want to know how cute it is, I took a picture of it.

Sassy, no?

(Yes, this mini-conniption is inspired, in part, by realizing how many people have the exact same blog background as me.  In my defense, I don't need total originality, just a smidgen.)

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


At my new job, I work at a building in delightful proximity to one of the best bakeries EVAH. 

Unfortunately, at my new job, I almost never get off work in time to snag a little snacker before closing time. 

I would say that this is "ironic," but I don't want to have someone internet-accost me with grammar lessons.  Anyone who is certain of the definition of irony and is willing to force it on others gets an extra point in the a-hole ledger, as far as I'm concerned.  

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The adventures of Writing Bear

I have a lot of names for myself in my own head, depending on the context.  Usually I call myself by my name (shocking), but when I've got my lawyerin pants on, it's usually Lawyer Girl -- as in, "Way to go, Lawyer Girl," which is almost always said when we've done something reeeeaal dumb.  In a dating context, it's usually a fond Stupid Bitch (a la Sassy Gay Friend) and when it's driving, it tends to just be a series of exclamation points (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)  I'm sure there are more, but those are the biggies.

When it comes to writing -- not this blog, not a brief, but actual snooty-dust-jacket-photo writing -- I get a big case of the Silly Old Bears, as in A.A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh, a distinct character from the creepily gender-ambiguous Disney Winnie-the-Pooh that freaked me out as a child.  The Zen, simple Pooh who had a noggin full of fluff but never found himself in any harm.

Except a noggin full of fluff is very unhelpful when you're trying to write a publishable novel and then (apparently even harder) find an agent for said novel.  I have to say, this whole world is baffling.  Why are the titles of books in ALL CAPS?  When did ALL CAPS stop being irritating, or at the very least, ironically amusing?  And why did no one in my English classes as an undergrad tell me that this is how things work?

Isn't a NaNo an iPod or (if you go back a little further) an electronic pet?  And when did it become NaNoWriMo?  That's way too much, people.  That's how folks end up buying crooked apartments downwind of a sewage treatment facility.

I love reading blogs about writing, until suddenly I get WRITING BLOG OVERLOAD (see, that's ironically amusing) and have to stop because I get overwhelmed by jargon, or statistics, or just flat-out snarkiness.  (I love snark as much as the next girl, but when we're talking about my secret shiny dream that has massive potential of never coming true, it gets old fast.)  Then, both a blessing and a curse, Writing Bear takes over to remind me that simple things are best, like the words, "What about lunch?"

And I like thinking about Future Awesome Published Girl, not because I want the additional paycheck, but because I would really love having a real book that I wrote on my bookshelf, and also because it's more fun doing something when you think other people might enjoy it too.  Financial security is pretty much irrelevant to me, since I already covered that base when I went to law school, and why I have come to terms with the fact that a nice pair of knockers is a more sensible backup plan in case I ever need to marry for money/become a pole dancer.  (Ahem, excuse me, "vertical fitness enthusiast.")  In short, I love money like Gollum loves the ring, but whenever it occurs me that published writers get paid, it's like, "Wait, they get money, too?!?"  Like I said, a silly bear.      

Here comes the point: I am trying to get my bear butt in gear.  I know I've said it before, but now I'm saying it again.

In a few hours, I will be done writing a chapter in a book (don't get excited - it's not my book, even if I'm getting credit for the chapter) and after that, it will be all Writing Bear, all the time!  (In my free time.)

(And not on this blog, since that would be boresville.)

(And not when I need to eat lunch.  A bear doesn't change over night, after all.)

Monday, February 14, 2011

Drag Me To Hell

I've never really resented Valentine's Day before.  Like Ramadan and Hanukkah, it was just a holiday that didn't apply to me.  If anything, I resented the implication that I ought to resent Valentine's Day.  I don't resent Chinese New Year, people. 

This year, however, it happened.  The resentment began building February 1st, when friends, relatives, and Internet folk began putting up decorations, talking about countdowns, and making ooey-gooey plans.

Criticism one:  It's not Christmas.  There's no countdown needed.

(Here's where I tried, but failed, to resist the impulse to write, "Do you people have a countdown to Easter?  A countdown to the celebration of the Atonement and Resurrection of our Lord?  Because I haven't noticed that on any blogs.")  (Alternatively: "Do you people have a countdown to Passover, a celebration of God's loyalty and the end of bondage?")  (And to the atheists: OK, you guys can have the holiday.  You don't believe in an afterlife, after all.)

(Too far?)

Criticism two:  Why do people in love get a holiday?  You get to be happy 365 days a year.  That's a whole lot of opportunities to be smug. Giving you an extra special day is like having Rich People Day or an Annual Celebration of Celebrity.

(Parenthetical in which I defend my reasoning against the inevitable, "What about Fathers/Mothers Day?" line of thought: Being a parent must suck at least as much as it is awesome, and therefore they deserve a day to tip the scales in their favor.  Also why Presidents get a day.)

So I decided to have a dinner party on Valentine's Day.  Not a Valentine's Day Party, not an Anti-Valentine's Day Party.  Just a party, something to look forward to other than romantic bliss or hater angst, in which my friends and I make (or order, depending on our level of enthusiasm) dinner and then watch a Sam Raimi classic.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Weekend update and some arbitrary pickiness

I consider skiing a success if I go on multiple blue runs and only fall three times the whole day.  Yesterday = Success!

In my defense, one of those blue was DEFINITELY not really blue - double blue or black.  I don't know much about skiing, but single blue does not involve a vertical drop, people.

I learned a few lessons while skiing yesterday.  One, when there's two paths that diverge in a wood, DO NOT take the one less traveled by, even if there are a bunch of kids headed that way and you're not sure which direction your friends went.  Damn kids and their damn adventurousness.  It took a friendly snowboarder guiding me out of that sticky wicket that saved us all from having an adventure with ski patrol.

Two - running into trees doesn't hurt as much as I imagined it would.

After skiing, I was a little hungry-hungry-hippo, having eaten nothing since 8am that morning, so after I dropped off my skis, I noticed there was a Costa Vida and a Sweet Tooth Fairy in the vicinity.  I wanted Cafe Rio, but my stomach was not going to tolerate a longer wait, so I grabbed a salad and a cupcake next door.  (Confession - the real reason I wanted to buy something at Sweet Tooth Fairy was because all you damn bloggers out there gab about it all the time and I've never had one.  Advertising works, I guess.)

Tangent: When I went to college, I learned this interesting conversation tactic.  It's where you take a tiny distinction and make it sound like a big deal.  It helps when attempting to sound mature and (if you cross a certain fine line) pompous.

Like, "I like skiing, but not on Western facing mountains.  The ice crystals form too quickly underneath the snow."

Or, "I like Steven Spielberg from 1978 to 1997."

Or, "I like tanzinite, not amethyst."

Or, "I like Diet Coke, but fountain is the best."  (That one's true.)

Anyway, here's a tiny distinction for you:

Costa Vida salad ... plus Cafe Rio dressing.  Do you think the Cafe Rio people would be pissed if I just ordered dressing?  The edge goes to the Costa Vida salad because (1) less cilantro and (2) more guacamole.

But don't worry, Cafe Rio, you've still got the burrito market in my heart.


Friday, February 11, 2011

The breaking point

Dear Lady Gaga,

I love your music.  I seriously do.  One of my greater regrets in life is that when you only had "Just Dance" playing on the radio, my friends and I decided to skip you opening for New Kids on the Block and get dinner because we were hungry.

But here's the thing.

You have got to be the most annoying human being on the planet.  Wearing a dress of meat?  That offends me and I'm not even a vegetarian.  Then claiming it has to do with civil liberties?  OK, fine.  I'm wearing Banana Republic today in honor of the victims of dictatorships in Central America. 

I guess I could get past the outfits, though, if it weren't so abundantly clear that you're more arrogant than the Sarah Palin and Dina Lohan combined.  Lady (may I call you Lady?), you're just a pop star.  I find "Bad Romance" and "Your Love is My Drug" equally enjoyable, but you don't see Ke$ha running around like she's the messiah of both music and humanity.  Sure, Ke$ha's angle is, "Hey, I'm rich white trash!" and yours is, "I'm cooler than Madonna and basically the lady Martin Luther King, Jr.!" so there was bound to be a disconnect there.

But by-and-large, I should find Ke$ha more annoying, and I do not.  Ke$ha knows that she is just an autotuned semi-talent, but she's getting hers while the getting's good.  Her message to the world?  I don't want to be a douchebag.  Lady Gaga, you could learn a lot from young Ke$ha here.

You've only produced two albums, and while I imagine your concerts are incredible, maybe get off the "artist" high horse.  Leonardo di'Vinci is up on his angel cloud somewhere, shaking his head and saying, "Bitch, please."  And while everyone loves a nice dose of feel-goodery, you have done nothing to actually advance gay rights for anybody. 

The only thing edgy about you at this point are your hats, because frankly the weird outfits and weird music videos stopped seeming "weird" to me a long time ago.  "Oh look, Lady Gaga is dressed like Joseph Stalin and conducting a chorus of zombies singing 'Amazing Grace' while using a feral cat as a baton!  And she just took a crap in the middle of Tiffanys on Fifth Avenue!"


I'm sorry, but your personality has officially made it impossible for me to enjoy your music.  Please go sit over by similarly situated celebrities, Tom Cruise and Lindsay Lohan.



Wednesday, February 9, 2011

So this is why I keep my Facebook

Friend 1 just had a baby two months ago.  Friend 2 had a baby about a year ago.

Today Friend 1's facebook status said, "I hate night time."

And Friend 2 replied, "Don't worry!  Soon you'll turn into a robot and getting up at night won't seem as bad."

I love those girls. 

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A broken record

I knew a guy at my previous job who loved technology. ("Love" actually may be too weak a word to properly explain.)  One time when a few of us were going to lunch, he was explaining how much better certain stereos and sound systems made old recordings.

Someone else in the car remarked that he'd always heard it was best to listen to a song in its original format -- vinyl, for instance.

This guy glanced up in his rear view mirror and said, "A scratchy record may be the way kids in 60s heard the Beatles, but an iPod and digital sound system is how people standing in the recording studio heard them."

I don't know what the deal is about people obsessed with the past.  Maybe it's the uncertainty of our times -- as the guy on Dlisted would say, IN THIS ECONOMY -- and no more needs to be said. 

Maybe it's Mad Men, though I'm inclined to think anyone who has really watched Mad Men gets that it's not nostalgia for a bygone era that fans love, but getting to see our parents and grandparents behaving badly (in fact, much worse than we ever have) back when they were our ages.  (Also Jon Hamm looking pretty in a suit.)  I don't know about you all, but I'm a big fan all those sexual harassment lawsuit precedents that remind folks it's not okay to wrestle a girl to the floor in her office and lift up her skirt to find out what color her underoos are.  I may long for a couple of Betty Draper's dresses, but certainly not her life.  

But some things have me baffled.

My very first camera was literally a "vintage" camera.  ("Vintage" as defined by hipsters.)  My dad used it when he was in college, and for the record, my dad celebrated his 40th high school reunion my senior year.  You had to search high and low to find the right film because no one made it and photos printed out on 5x5 paper even though the viewfinder was a rectangle.  As you can imagine, most of my pictures were crap.  The idea that I would trade my new digital camera -- or more realistically, the camera on my phone -- for that piece, just because of nostalgia, is pretty ridiculous.  I may want to keep that camera on a shelf for old times' sake, but if a memory were worth capturing, I think I'd use the equipment capable of getting the job done.

The fact is, technology does make our lives better, and not just in computery-ways.  (Though I'd also like to meet the person who prefers liquid paper to a delete key.)  Better running shoes.  Better windshield wipers.  Better phones.  Better bras.  Better pens.  Better lead-free-everything.  Washing machines.  Vacuums.  Kitchenaids.  Duct tape.  Screwdrivers with five different heads instead of five different screwdrivers.  Better medicine.  Better mattresses.  Better light bulbs.  Need I go on?   

Maybe someone else can explain this fascination with the decades of "socks that don't stay up/maxi pads the size of bricks/subpar dentistry," because I am just going in circles here.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

for the record

i do not believe things happen for a reason, and i will kinda not so secretly judge you if you do.

also, you should feel free to judge me for not knowing how to capitalize or use symbols on my allegedly smart phone, and for blogging this from said phone.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

The F Word

I kind of like the f-word.  I try not to use it a lot myself, but I certainly don't mind when others use it in a clever way.

I don't like when people self-edit in a lame way.  Grey's Anatomy is a chief offender.  Every time a character yells, "Screw it!" all I can think about is the fact that a real doctor in a genuine life-or-death situation would probably just drop the f-bomb or say nothing at all.  As my con law professor once said, "'Screw the draft' just doesn't have the same punch as 'F**k the draft.'"

The fact is, that word has a specific meaning, even if that meaning is hard to express otherwise.  Like describing the taste of salt to a person who has never tried it--there's really no other word but "salty."  When the f-word is appropriate, nothing else will do and you won't know why until you really, really need it.

Like yesterday, when I rubbed my eyes, forgetting that I had just crushed some dried arbol chiles, at which point I let out such a chorus of f-words that I'm surprised a representative from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir didn't promptly knock on my door and offer me a solo on their next CD.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

That's how I like to start my day

By reading an email from another literary agent rejecting poor little Lawyer Girl, sleep-rationalizing that this disappointment deserved an extra thirty minutes of sleep, and then scarfing down a breakfast of packaged Hostess mini blueberry muffins that could probably survive nuclear holocaust.

On the plus side, I now know what to put in my food storage someday.

Of course, they will only be helpful in a non-zombie apocalypse, since with all these trans fats in my belly right now, I couldn't run a mile if my life depended on it.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

What? A post about The Bachelor? I never!

Is it just me, or does Bachelor Brad seem a bit like a Stepford wife this season?  He was much more fun when he had all these alleged "emotional issues."