Ooooh, Saturday was a real treat this week. My weekly luncheon with Annie is always something I look forward to, but yesterday was particularly rewarding. Our darling Kati was guest speaker and she always brings a lot to the table. When your boyfriend is a sweet spirit like our little friend Ben, it would be hard to imagine NOT having a lot to offer.
Oh, Ben. Borrowing from his beyond stellar relationship history, Ben has crafted a truly awe-inspiring philosophy on men, women, and relationships. He's done it! He figured it out! Here lies the key! And WHAT a key!
So, according to Ben, men are like oak trees. (Please, people! Try to hold the snickering till the end of the forced metaphor. It gets better, I promise.) Men are like oak trees in a relationship. They're strong and sturdy and stable. Women are like rivers. (Hey, I said no snickering!) Women can be calm at times and raging at others. They are unpredictable and tend to flow together like a river (and according to my graphic, also very German--that's the Rhine).
Oh, wise, sagacious Ben, if a tree falls in the woods, and there's no one there to hear it, are you still a moron?
The saddest thing is that Ben seems to have really put a lot of thought into such a ridiculous, empirically denied (oh yeah, I'm breaking out the debate terminology), broad generalization that basically pigeon-holes 3 billion people into one corner and the other 3 billion into the other. Ben admits that his theory is a bit of a generalization... Just a bit? Really? How many bits go into 6 billion? A lot, I'm guessing.
He's basically saying that men are all strong and stable and the erratic damsels are drowning in the river... or something. It's absurd and it does a disservice to women AND men (but mostly women--thanks, loser), posing a sexist argument that's inaccurate at best and insulting at least. This metaphor would also make men immovable, unadaptable, and rigid, so even while he's trying to make the men come out on top in this comparison, he's just kind of making the river seem better and better.
The best part, however, as anyone who has ever met Ben can attest, is that by his definitions of oak trees and rivers, he very, VERY clearly falls into the river. I mean, he's drowning, DROWNING in the river. Never in all my life have I met anyone who ran so hot and cold, had so little direction, and was so unstable in his life as Benny Boy. Sturdy oak, my ass. If he's a sturdy oak, then he must be on fire because I seem a cloud of smoke hovering... Oh wait, that's jut all the crack he's smoking. Precious. I don't know that I've ever encountered anyone who was so thoroughly unaware of himself. Ben, meet river... oh wait, you've met.
Sorry Smokey Oaky, but no entire gender is entirely anything, and to make such generalizations is unjust to both. But thanks for playing.
Although, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it's isn't an entirely groundless theory. I mean honestly, I can think of one sense in which Ben is an oak tree and Kati is a river.
Kati is going places, and Ben is standing still. Ouch, but true. Huh, better metaphor than I thought. :)
(If I thought for a second that Ben actually read this blog, I'd feel a little bad, but I have no doubt he doesn't even know it exists, you know, being all planted in the forest somewhere and whatnot... Precious.)
I have been slacking on my blog lately... This is a fact that has been brought to my attention several times and by several people (as long as all those people are Flavia). :) As anyone who works within 20 feet of my cubicle can attest, I've been all sorts of out of sorts lately and have hardly been able to get through each day, let alone compose a blogpost when I get home. It is a regretable situation and I'm hoping it changes. Very soon. Like, I just might start wearing teal velour jumpsuits if it doesn't let up soon.
Along with the overall craziness of late, I opted not to read the fourth installment of the Twilight series (no, it's not a saga--bite me, Meyer), so I've had very little to mock. I think I'm actually starting to miss that daily dose of unholy torture... Remember the time she tried to seduce him...? Awww, memories. Wait, no, that didn't have quite the proper inflection. Ah-he-hem. AHHHHH, the memories!! Make it stop! Therrrre we go. Just right. Anyway, I've been reading the completely kick-ass Watchmen lately instead, and as there's pretty much nothing to mock, my well of snark has all but run dry of late.
Adding another level of disconcertion to my current situation, the fall premiere line-up is sad, sorry, and underwhelming this year. Fall is usually my season! I'm the MVP of pilots! This is usually the time when I play the TV stockmarket, making picks, dodging bad investments, and going all in on shows I think are going to succeed. But, thanks in VERY large part to the writers' strike, my options are looking pretty meager this year. (Annie, I may need you to help me with my stock-related jargon, because clearly I have no idea what I'm talking about--it just struck me as the most viable metaphor...) The TV season is in the depths of a bear market (that's right, right? Annie? Little help?). The strike cut most (well, practically all) shows short last season, and even more tragically, all but decimated pilot season. Typically, countless shows are pitched to the networks and only a handful of what they believe to be the best actually make it to air. Well, with crapitude like Cavemen and Bionic Woman making it on the air when there was a bull market, I'm not sure I even want to know what kind of dreck is going to make it on the air in the coming weeks.
Fortunately (and most unfortunately), whatever kind of dreck it is, it will be very, VERY limited. In all my years of being a TV aficionado (well that didn't sound too granny at all now did it--"You know, back to days when we had to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow. Get off my lawn, ya whippernsappers!"), I have never seen such a slim slate (the alliteration sale comes twice a year) of new programming to play with. Last year was a bountious (huh, I thought there was an "e" in there somewhere, but no) feast of shows, most of which I at very least gave a shot to. AND, most importantly, I walked away from last season with a near-perfect record. The shows I gave up on got axed, the shows I stuck with got picked up. Take THAT...you, TV... programmer...people. Okay, so I'm not sure who I beat, but reverting back to my weak-ass stockmarket metaphor, last season I totally scored like 50 million points! Dollars? Chips? ALF Pogs? Nas-snacks? Annnnd, I'm out of my depth. The stockmarket is a bit of a mystery to me... I basically think of it as a noisy game of keno. Hey, little blip on a screen for little blip on a screen, they could seriously be cousins.
Anyway, in an effort to be a better blogger and tap into my passion for TV as best I can with such a craptastic slate to work with, I'm offering a Fall TV Preview that will give you all the dish I have on new shows and whether or not they're worth giving a chance (which most often, they aren't). If I'm going to be the major league TV watcher that I've dreamt of being since I was a little girl, I'm going to have to step up to the plate (oh, whoa, you thought my stockmarket metaphor was bad, just wait till I tackle baseball... which I don't think I will...).
I think I'll start off with a little show called My Own Worst Enemy starring the late (well, close enough) Christian Slater.
Wow. I tell ya what wow. This little gem is an obvious Jekyll and Hyde take-off and as far as basic premises go, it could be worse. As far as execution goes, I'm not so sure it could. Now, I try not to judge a show too harshly before I've actually scene it, but those two promos alone were just about enough for me. I don't think it would be pysically possible for them to be trying harder to be cool. I fully expect at least one ofChristian Slater's personas to be sporting 4 popped collars at some point in the pilot.
The voice-over cracked me up. I particularly liked the line about him having the perfect family given that the wife has already been re-cast with Madchen Amick whom you may recognize from her role as Sherry (Christopher's wife) on Gilmore Girls. Perfect wife, indeed. Both of them. Hey, maybe she's got a double personality thing going as well... Or, more likely this soon-to-be train wreck just can't decide whose career they'd like to destroy.
He's a regular guy. Who's also -- wait for it -- a highly trained government operative! Wow! Cool! A government operative?! How novel! Yeah, no. Seriously, who isn't a highly trained government operative? There must be a serious glut in the market for secret government operatives these days, I tell ya what. If The Golden Girls had premiered in the past 10 years, you can be certain Betty White would be packing heat and Rue McClanahan could speak Farsi and Mandarin fluently while taking down security guards at the old folks' home with her Brazillian jiu jitsu training.
Then the voice-over gets stuck in a full-on, Milli Vanilli-style loop of, "This is Henry. This is Edward."
This is cheesy. This is lame.
Oh, trying so hard to be dynamic and captivating and cool, and falling so very, very short.
Awww, but the piece de resistance, the be all and end all of "we're trying so hard to be badass, puh-lease think we're badass!" is the totally hackneyed, overdone, thoroughly cheesetastic shot of Hedward tossing the cell phone and walking away from the explosion. Only thing is, the sound effect used was that of an old forensic camera, not a detonator (or a cell phone). Yeah, I'm pretty sure they plucked that sound wholesale from Silence of the Lambs. It's a cool sound and all, but I have to assume that the cell phone was a camera phone and he was documenting the blast as evidence.
The VERDICT: It looks pretty bad, folks. I'd suggest My Own Worst Enemy start getting its affairs in order and saying goodbye to its loved ones (meaning however many wives get cast in the role). I'll be checking out the pilot, but it'll be for comedic reasons. I expect NBC will keep this precious little nugget around for the whole season, but mainly because NBC doesn't have much else going for it. This show will get sub-par ratings, but won't completely tank. It's a decent premise, but I have no confidence whatsoever that they'll pull it off.
Oh, and Hedward's last name is Spivey. Seriously, writers? You can choose any last name in the whole wide world for your protagonist and you pick Spivey? It makes me wonder about other decisions the writers may have made.
Annnnd finally, the big bad guy will be played by the sweet old man from Babe. Not exactly enough to strike terror into the hearts of viewers.
Ha! So Brett forwarded this little gem to me this morning and it kind of made my day. This, coupled with the fact that it's finally Friday and I might just make it through the next few hours without the aid of cocaine or a defibrillator. Maybe.
And here's a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Doctor. Such a lovely couple.
The mother of the groom may not be able to remember her name, but I'm guessing it's Starla. Or Brandine. Or Cheyenne. Or Britney (yes, I'm still taking cheap shots at Britney).
Upon receiving a delightful keepsake like the picture above, Ammon responded with, "That's one classy lassy." Hehe.
Truly, Starla here has class busting out all over the place... Well, of the many things she has busting out all over the place, one of them has to be class, right? Right. That and the sanctity of marriage. Alll over the place.
So I followed a link from IMDb and it was actually rewarding (a rarity, to be sure). Usually I end up skimming over some lame article about how the brilliance of those little lights on the floor at the movie theater changed the cinematic experience forever and always... or something. But, this was actually quite a lot of fun.
I would recommend getting some friends around you when you attempt this quiz. It was actually pretty difficult. Some of them I just wouldn't ever have had a prayer. With me and two other coordinators on the attack, we still only got about 2/3 to 3/4 of them right.
Keep in mind, spelling counts and it won't let you go back and fix your mistakes later. You can just click on the movie poster letter and it will generate the full poster (i.e. the answer). The answer to the first question is above (it was one of the easiest ones to get, so I picked it as my graphic for this little post).
Awwwh, The Office. Eases the pain. I'm so excited for the premiere on September 25th!!! Yay! Till then, here's a little something to tide you over. Ann sent me this little gem this morning and it has made Monday just a little more bearable... :)
So... last week was sucktastic (which I'm pointing out specifically, just in case the picture above was a bit too subtle).
I've asked around, and it seems that with only a few exceptions, the sucktasticness of last week is a universal truth. It's as though the cosmos were out to get me and an unholy confluence of horribleness (in which I have a Ph.D.) descended upon me... and just about everyone else.
By Friday, I was so utterly and completely spent that I was crabby and angry and surly and frustrated and punchy. A fine way to spend a week, to be sure.
The reasons for my disconcertion were many-fold and largely boring to anyone who doesn't work where I work. For those of you who do, you can sympathize with the agonizing, gut-wrenching, cry-worthiness that comes with renewals that have literally more than a dozen random consent forms. The protocol that finished me off not only had I think 17 bizarre consent forms, but it had two protocol summaries. Not sure how that's even possible, but there they were. Oh, and there were about two pages of sweeping amendments, just to make me want to kill myself even more.
Ammon was also suffering under the burder of amendments and simply couldn't decide if he wanted to curl up in a little ball in the corner or punch somebody. I recommended both.
Anyway, the reasons behind the wrath are beside the point. The real crux of this largely pointless post (which I'm posting largely because Flavia accosted me about posting more often--love ya, F!) is my dear, dear mother who continually makes me laugh and manages to make it allll better.
She called on Friday afternoon (when I was at my all-time punchiest) because the TV wasn't working or something. She seemed to think that I could diagnose the problem without looking at the TV. Well, not being quite as delightfully Dr. House-ish as I'd like to be, I was unable to fix things without actually being there to troubleshoot in person, and I was in such a crabby mood that I was unduly snippy about the whole thing (although I did answer the phone with a depression-laden whimper that made the rest of the coordinators giggle, so not all was lost).
I felt bad for curtly and exasperatedly (which is actually a word, much to my surprise--it's getting harder and harder to tell, what with the number of made-up words I use on a regular basis--"awkarditity" anyone?) telling her, "I don't have any idea what's wrong. I'll just have to fight with it when I get home..." I explained that I was having a horrendous week and the conversation proceeded as follows:
Me: "I'm at my wit's end. Everything is just horrible. This week has been completley quit-worhty from beginning to end and now I really just want to kill some people. I feel like I'm gonna cry. I just don't even know what to do."
And then my mother, in her most supportive, matter-of-fact, chin-up little soldier voice says, "Well... go kill some people..." As if that were the obvious, logical way to solve my problem. :) If she were the kind of person to use endearments, it would have sounded little something like, "Well, now, sweetie, just kill some people and you'll feel allll better. There you go, dearie. All fixed."
Thanks, mom! I feel so much better! Always so supportive! :) Honestly though, her response to "I want to kill people" was so funny that it really did make things a little better. She followed it up with an offer to go look at some puppies, so things really started looking up.
Looking at puppies helped a bit, but it still took me about 6 hours to decompress on Friday. It was just one of those days where even the simplest, most innocuous questions feel like a personal attack.
"Hey, do you know what time it is?"
"I don't know! How should I know?! Why would you ask such a thing!? I kill you!"
I'm hopeful this week is better. Lunch on Saturday always puts me in a good mood, so hopefully that carries over till the end of the week. Besides, it can't possibly be worse, right? Right?!
I assume most of you out there have seen this, but it was just too incredible not to post. The Men's 400 Meter Freestyle Swimming Relay was on last night and it will actually give you chills. Apparently the French team had been boasting that they would crush the Americans so there was a bit of a grudge match going into this. By all accounts, the French should have crushed the American team...
You can view the race here or it should be listed in the Olympics videos below.
Exclusive Summer Olympics news & widgets at NBC Olympics.com!
Yeah, I'm not generally a huge swimming fan, but the relays have always been my favorite. I still can't believe Jason Lezak. There were only about 25 meters to go and he made up a tremendous amount of ground--er, water. Awesome.
That poor French guy who was the anchor looked like he was about to cry... As did the whole team. Lesson to live by: If you go around boasting that you're going to crush someone, you'd better crush them.
When I started the Twilight series (I refuse to call it a "saga" no matter how important or profound Stephenie Meyer seems to think she is (oh, and it was pointed out to me the other day that I've been spelling her first name wrong, and confoundingly, spelling it correctly, all at once)), I was in no way certain I would actually finish it. From what I'm hearing, Breaking Dawn has unleashed an unendurable level of craptacularity on an unsuspecting public, and as such, I have opted not to read it.
After hearing the vague gist of where the novel leads, I have no interest in finishing the series. Everyone I know who has read it (or even those who are still in the middle of it) are completely pissed and have nothing but horrible things to say about it (and these were people who fully enjoyed the previous novels). I wasn't impressed with the first three, so I can only imagine how god-awful this final volume would be for me. Wow.
Henceforth, and amid several requests that I proceed otherwise, I will not be reading or reviewing Breaking Dawn. I just don't think I could stand it. Although, given my commitment to kicking the bucket before I'm 30, this sucktastic tome might just be what I need to finish myself off... I'll keep that in mind for the week prior to my 30th birthday (you know, in case my "get hit by a bus" plan doesn't pan out). It's always good to have a contingency plan. Although I can think of few means of death that would be more drawn out or painful... I'll just go ahead and put "reading Breaking Dawn" on my top ten list of death methods right between #4: Eaten alive by fire ants, and what will now be #6: Being impaled on a parking meter. I think that's exactly where it will fit...
Anyway, if you're still unsure about starting the novel, I'm going to advise you against it. From what I hear, it's not only gagtastic in and of itself, but it totally ruins the rest of the series retroactively. Hmmm... I'd rather not.
rced metaphor. It gets better, I promise.) Men are like oak trees in a relationship. They're strong and sturdy and stable. Women are like rivers. (Hey, I said no snickering!) Women can be calm at times and raging at others. They are unpredictable and tend to flow together like a river (and according to my graphic, also very German--that's the Rhine).
