I'm walking in AIDS Walk again this year for my 4th year in a row. I've raised close to $7000 for local HIV and AIDS services over the last four years via AIDS Walk San Diego, but they can always use more.
The event is on September 28th and I hope you'll reach down in your pocket and pluck out a buck or ten or twenty or whatever you can afford. Any donation is welcome. It would mean a lot. Thank you!
It’s Tuesday morning and that means it’s time to talk about last night’s episode of my favorite train wreck, The Bachelor. Since our last discussion, I’ve had to revise my original assessment of our English friend. In summary? Tool.
You have to assume going into this that every bachelor is total horn-dog just looking to bang as many girls as possible on ABC’s dime. That’s not my assumption of men in general, just a man who would want to pluck his wife from a litter of hos on a game show.
Is it hoes? Hos? Ho’s? Hm. I digress…
So, it doesn’t shock me when I hear from GFI yesterday that the Bachelor, Matt whatever, has made a pass at some girl in a bar back in London who “just happens” to work for TMZ. Mmmm hmmm. TMZ claims his lawyer advised him to be on the show so he could marry an American girl and officially relocate to the States. Seems like a production just to become an American citizen, but I guess it wouldn’t muss his manicure like say, crawling in dangerous tunnels under the cover of night or clinging to a piece of debris in shark-infested waters for weeks in search of sanctuary. Why file some basic paperwork when you can just marry a hot American girl you barely know?
Well, I guess that’s doesn’t sound that bad. Heh. But, it does make me wonder if ABC is going to sue him for breach.
Anyway, this wee snag didn’t change my enjoyment of the show this week. Sadly, there was no singing to cringe about, but there was the usual Girl Drama. It amazes me how incredibly petty and competitive women become. Of course, this situation is like a festering petri dish of insecurity and jealousy, so it was bound to happen. It’s encouraged, even. I guess that’s part of the appeal.
What do we think about Shayne and her spray tan? I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before… and not just because she’s Lorenzo Lamas’ daughter. But I don’t recall any of the roles she’s got listed on IMDB… not even what I’m sure was a riveting performance as Red Bikini Girl. Of course, there’s always some aspiring starlet each season; someone who is “not there for the right reasons”, as they say on the show. Are there right reasons? You’re on a television show with 25 other desperate women to marry a supposedly rich man you’ve never met. Yes, I can see your sense of self is an unshakable rock of esteem and principle.
Though, I did love the part where Shayne said something like, “Seriously, you wouldn’t even know who my father is.” Ah, poor Lorenzo. I wonder how life’s treating him in Has-Been Village…
I don’t mind Robin, but I think from next week’s previews that she may be laying it on a little thick. I don’t care that she “stole him” away from the other girls. She’s right, it’s a competition not a sorority, but that whole thing with the tea pot that she goes on about next week seems like she’s trying too hard. But, I’ll reserve judgment on that until I see the post-production editor’s version of how they think it should have happened.
*sigh* I love this completely ridiculous show. Honestly, I feel like a piece of my soul is stolen every time I watch it, but I can’t help it! Just uttering those words about TMZ made me feel dirty, but I’ll suppose get over it by next Monday…
My entry the other day about everyone being famous got me thinking… are there still “stars” out there? I suppose there are, but they’re going the way of the dodo, wouldn’t you say?
With such a deluge of celebrity, how you decide who the stars are? And what qualifies one to be a star? Sheer celebrity or is skill required? Paris Hilton might be considered a celebrity, but there are several layers of elegance, charisma and talent that prevent her from being a star, in my opinion. Lather, rinse, and repeat on every other bimbette that’s famous for nothing.
Julia Roberts? I think she qualifies as a star. She’s über-famous, for all intents a classy woman and has a skill and/or talent that is respected in her industry. Grace + Talent x Fame = Star. Rich Dad x Famous Friend / Coke - Panties = Celebrity.
I think that sums it up.
I’m curious who you would consider a “star” in terms of celebrities these days… Nicole Richie or Charlize Theron? Tom Cruise* or Anyone from One Tree Hill? As I said before, I feel like I’m more often hanging out on the opposite side of the generation gap so the chick from The Hills could be some kind of ingenue.
I was watching The Today Show on NBC this morning while waiting for my coffee to finish brewing (mmmm, Caffè Verona...). They were doing stories on Martin Luther King, Jr., of course. As I was listening to clips of his impassioned speeches and wondering where my copy of U2’s The Unforgettable Fire is, they cut to the Today Show Plaza in New York, which was packed with screaming, crying, sign-waving 30-something women.
“Hm. Not what I was expecting for MLK, but alright...”, I thought as turned it up, wondering what was coming next. When I saw the tell-tale silhouette of a signature hat on some woman’s t-shirt and noticed the glitter puff-paint sweatshirts declaring, “I’ve Got The Right Stuff!” I knew Al Sharpton wasn’t coming out from behind that blue curtain.
The New Kids decided to perform on the Today Show. Today, on Martin Luther King Day the anniversary of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination — a regarded and respected occasion — they chose to reveal “their new moves”, as Donny Wahlberg put it. Who is their publicist, seriously?
OR
You choose! (Play both videos at the same time for instant mash-up action!)
I love to read. Growing up, I was a voracious reader and spent most of my summers and weekends at the library, participating in their kids’ book clubs and sneaking reads at books far beyond my years. At 8 I was asked to do a book report on a biography and I chose Betty Grable, which my teacher thought was amusing. That amusement turned to perplexity when at nine I chose Al Capone (and of course, supplemented my book report with a freehand a pen n’ ink drawing of a Tommy* gun, with diagram). I was a precocious child, as you can imagine.
I don’t get to read as much as I’d like these days and I haven’t read fiction in years. In fact, I’m struggling to recall the last bit of total fiction I’ve read. Sure, I’ve read a bunch of essays by David Sedaris (ok, every book he’s ever published including those he edited — oooo! a new one is coming out!), one book by David Rakoff, but… I think that’s it. And those aren’t even truly fiction, more like embellished anecdotes. I don’t even really know what kind of fiction I like anymore… (if you care to share some you love, I’d welcome your recommendations, but despite not knowing what I like, I can tell you that I don’t like frou-frou “period” works or bodice-rippers of any variety).
The last book I bought was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. If you contain estrogen, you’ve probably heard of and/or read this book by now, but I didn’t devour it the way the Oprahites did. Don’t get me wrong, I like Oprah… it may not be popular among the cool kids, but I enjoy her show, even though sometimes it gets a little God-y. But that’s what “fast-forward” and “erase” are for, so I’m able to enjoy and absorb from her shows however I please. I didn’t have any plan to read Eat, Pray, Love when she was hocking it based on the title alone, but I’ll admit… I was swayed.
Not only was I swayed by the beautiful and creative cover when I spotted it in Target, but I saw Oprah’s episodes with Elizabeth Gilbert as a guest. She was so down-to-earth, so funny and charming that I sensed that in an alternate universe, I might have cocktails with this woman. She seemed like the type of woman you could cut up with, have a laugh. She wasn’t all Zen or holier-than-thou… she was just a 30-something chick from New York, like someone I would be friends with.
I picked up the book when I was in Target, but it’s taken me a few months to read it. It’s good, I’m really digging her writing style because it’s conversational and, as I said, she sounds like people I would know. I love that it’s divided into three parts: Italy (the pleasure section of the book, which I thoroughly loved), India (the spiritual/yoga section of the book, which despite it’s new-agey subject matter she managed to write in a way that was accessible and not a turn-off) and the part I’m reading now, Indonesia, where she learns to blend the two aspects of life… pleasure and discipline. I love yoga, but hadn’t explored too much of the spiritual aspect of it because I don’t consider myself a religious person and generally avoid things that involve religion. Her stories helped me see that the meditation aspect of yoga doesn’t have to be all “touchy-feely soft-focus sisters of the woodlands"… it can just be, which was a new concept to me.
Why has it taken me so long to read this book? It’s not like it’s War and Peace. Well, because I keep it in the loo. Like I said, I rarely get a chance to just sit quietly and read, as much as I enjoy it. My brain starts thinking of all the other things I should be doing (like work), so I have a hard time concentrating on my reading for too long. (Gee, maybe I should work on that meditation...) The short essays/chapters make for convenient… um… leisure reading.
So, I’m curious… what do you keep in the bathroom, as far as reading materials? C’mon, just about everyone keeps magazines or catalogs or joke books or trivia or spank mags or something in the bathroom. What’s yours?
* Before anyone can get their jollies correcting me, I had “Gatling gun” up there earlier and it’d been bothering me for hours. I knew it wasn’t right and while in the kitchen making toast, I suddenly exclaimed, “Tommy gun!” So there you go.
Late yesterday afternoon, Ross and I got lured into one of many websites that are designed solely for the purpose of time-suckage — Morph Thing. I was swamped, but managed to get in a few random morphs when Ross sends me this one of Angelina Jolie and the classic Munch painting, The Scream.
Aside from the fact that it looks like a cross between some sort of alien and a drag queen getting ready to whoop some ass, it was otherwise unremarkable… except for the comments.
Joelle said in the early morning on April 10, 2008
The moment they went on sale, I bought some tickets to see Kathy Griffin on May 9th at Humphreys by the Bay, but silly me, I booked a flight for Dallas not realizing it’s the same weekend. I was pretty bummed out, mostly because I did something so lame, but especially because it was going to be a fun night with GFI at a great outdoor venue by the bay. But, GFI and I saw Kathy Griffin two summers ago with Yvonne and had a blast and I haven’t seen Nikki, Heika or any of my Dallas friends since 2005, so it’s a very fair trade-off.
Now I just need to unload these tickets. The seats are good; if you’re interested and look at the Humphrey’s seating chart, the seats are Section A3, Row 10, Seats 32 and 34 (and yes, they’re next to each other). I marked the general area in the image with a yellow arrow so you can see basically where the seats are. When I bought them, I asked for best available.
If you’re in the San Diego area or close-by and want to catch her show at 6:30pm on Friday, May 9th, please buy my tickets! Please? Por favor? The 9pm show is sold out, so if you still want the opportunity to laugh your tuchus off, BUY MY TICKETS…
I finally found the perfect piece of art for my living room. This snazzy piece is a limited edition serigraph by our favorite artist, Derek Yaniger. Derek is the talent behind our Moxie Girls characters for us. We really dig him and I thought that it was high time I had a piece of his art for my home.
This is one of his newer pieces, but I’m so tempted to order more. I’m so proud to have #3 of 100! I suspect he’s going to be even more popular than he is already… like, big-time famous, though, I’m biased. He’s got a book of his art coming out soon, too. Yay!
The framing was an ordeal because I had such a huge wall space and an irregular-sized frame (thank you, IKEA), so I had to have it professionally matted. But it was really worth it. I think suits the space and me perfectly.
Joelle said in the early morning on April 15, 2008
Last night, I heard the local news guy say, “When you think of popsicles, you probably don’t think of this flavor! A favorite condiment becomes a frozen treat when we return.”
So… mayosicles? ketchupops? salsa sorbet? (Salsa is the #1 condiment in the country, did you know that? Southwest represent!). But lo, it’s the PickleSickle™.
I love pickles, especially those really garlic-y dill ones and those little wee gherkins, but seriously… seriously. PickleSickles? It really doesn’t surprise me that it’s from Texas — home of the “Deep Fried Anything You Can Fit in a Fat Vat”. Though, fried pickles are deeeeeeeeeeeeeelicious in small doses. Cajun restaurants often have them if you’re wondering where one might procure such a thing.
Anyway… pickles. Since when is a pickle a condiment? And if so, then what constitutes a condiment? Is it just something you put on something else to enhance it? If so, then my Sexy Motherpucker lip gloss from Soap & Glory is a condiment, no? (Lip gloss, how I love thee… you taste like chocolate cupcakes.) And what about a burger? I’ve understood meat, cheese and bun to be default components of the cheeseburger with mayo, ketchup, mustard and things of that ilk to be condiments. Lettuce is lettuce. Tomatoes are tomatoes. Pickles are… not condiments.
Now, relish… I’ll have to concede. It’s a condiment. Not a very good one, I might add, but a condiment nonetheless. My pickle relish acceptance extends only to tuna fish and the occasional Hebrew National from Costco.
But it’s not called a RelishSickle, is it? Hm.
Speaking of pickles… who decided the gold standard for pregnancy cravings is “pickles and ice cream”? In the clip of this PickleSickle mania on the news, they showed a woman emptying her pickle pop into a banana split and eating it with her daughter, laughing and looking excited.
Do any pregnant women want pickles and ice cream? Have they ever? I realize that pregnancy cravings are strange. Kathy would have cut someone for pad thai (wasn’t it Thai? I can’t remember now...) and another friend of mine ate her 5’1” weight in bean burritos.
But who one day said, “Pickles and ice cream are the common denominator between all pregnant women to the point that it shall now be the default assumption of what a pregnancy craving should be.”? What if someone’s into sardines and Cool Whip? That’s pretty bizarre, too, but you don’t hear any cute cliches about that, do you? Baby carrots and pudding? Oysters and Nutella? Balut n’ baklava? Hell no. Why pickles and ice cream?
Joelle said at some point on April 16, 2008 while listening to Feist - The Water
I hit up Petco and bought some fish this weekend. Bettas, specifically. When I lived in Dallas, I had several bettas over the years… up to three at once, I think. I really like how tropical they look and low maintenance they are.
As you may know, bettas are Siamese fighting fish, so you can only have one in the container at a time or they’ll tear it up. You can have a male/female combo, but only under certain circumstances. They pretty much tear it up, too. The males are the most commonly owned and the most “fancy”.
So, it became a tradition to name my pretty, fabulous, colorful, fancy male fish names that suit such fierceness: Nelly, Mary, Nancy, Mark, Rick and Steve. I stopped short of giving them track lighting. (And if you laugh at that, you are so my people. Come over and we’ll have ‘armadilla cake’.)
Anyway, I’ve got them on opposite sides of the living room. One is your standard betta. He’s primarily turquoise and pink with some red bits and speckly white bits. It really depends from which direction you’re viewing and if he’s stumbled into some dramatic backlighting.
The other is a delta-tail betta which have shorter, rounded-but-fluffier, guppy-like tails. Like a ruffly fan. They don’t seem to be as bold in color… at least from the selection I saw, but they’re beautiful nonetheless. This one is kind of a gray-blue color. Saturated, but not bright if that makes sense. His colors are more subtle, changing to a deep midnight blue, almost charcoal color. He’s not as swimmy as the other guy, but I think it may be because I don’t have much in his bowl yet, just some glass stones in the bottom. Usually, they like a simple plant or something for interest so they can hide in it or around it. Otherwise, they just swim or lie on the smooth stones on the bottom. Not very exciting… at least the first guy has an Easter Island dude to keep him company.
I keep calling them the first guy and the second guy because I don’t have names for them yet. I’m kind of at a loss. What am I left with? Patsy and Edina? Captain and Tennille? Gilbert and Sullivan? Martini and Rossi?
Got any ideas for two-some names? Help a girl out. My fish need names!
Ladies and gentleman, after reviewing your incredible suggestions, observing my fish and going with my gut feeling, I bring you…
Neil Patrick Harris and Hashbrown
“Huh?” you might say. “I thought you wanted two-some names!” I did and still do kind of, but here’s the thing: I couldn’t shake NPH. I had to name my fish Neil Patrick Harris. I just did. And Kathy and I have this whole “Hashbrown Friday” thing and it just struck me funny to have a fish named Hashbrown. It suits him.
Which brings me to another reason for no two-some names: Hashbrown is looking… well, sickly. He won’t eat and he just lays on the bottom of the bowl all full of ennui. Occasionally he’ll swim slowly to the top and then just let himself slowly drift to the bottom. He’s not nesting (blowing little bubbles along the top), he’s not swimming, he’s not eating. He just lays there, quietly hating me like a teenage son. I switched him to a different shaped bowl last night (same as Neil Patrick Harris’, who seems quite happy), hoping that would help. I even put a plant in there so he had something to look at/hide in, but this morning, I found him lying languidly under the plant, writing on his blog about how I ruined his life. Typical.
So you can see why I didn’t name them Hall & Oates, which was high on my short list. What do I do if Oates bites it? I can’t just have Hall! Poor Daryl. If they were both happy swimming, nesting and eating, I’d have done it, but I can’t risk breaking up the set in the event of a water burial (*flush*). Plus, I can’t fit a tiny mustache on him.
Here’s hoping Hashbrown starts acclimating and eating. Live, Hashbrown, LIVE! There’s a whole world out there! Or… well, not for him, but one lap around the bowl and he won’t remember anyway.
So… as you may have deduced, Hashbrown is no more. Well, I don’t know if he’s dead; I hope not! On Saturday morning, he was lying on his side at the bottom of the bowl, looking all pale and I really, really, really didn’t want him to die, so I took him into Petco (where I bought him) to see if they could do anything.
After testing the water for ammonia, trying a few different kinds of food, changing the water and the finally trying frozen blood worms, the tech looked at me and said, “Well… we can keep him here for observation if you want, but he doesn’t look good. If he shows no interest in food, that’s not a good sign.” After a few laps around the store and some hemming and hawing, I told him that it was better if he kept Hashbrown and got him well for a new family instead of me taking him home and potentially guaranteeing him The Big Flush.
While he ran off to find the paperwork, I perused the Wall o’ Fish and decided on a big deep red one with black-tipped fins. It was the first one that caught my eye, much like NPH did, so despite there being others that were equally as beautiful, I decided to go with the red one. In honor of Hashbrown, I’ve named him Flapjack… another word I love to say and also a breakfast food.
In a weird twist of events, it turned out that Hashbrown was some fancy-ass Halfmoon Betta (I thought it was a Delta-Tail) which I guess I paid like $12.99 for when I bought him. I didn’t even notice! I figured he was $3.50 like the rest. So when I got Flapjack, they gave me change back, even though I bought some other items… I was totally confused until I saw my receipt. So it’s even better that Hashbrown get the care he needs. He’s clearly a high-maintenance fish.
Flapjack is totally nesting in Hashbrown’s old bowl, blowing bubbles and swimming all around. But I replaced the marbles and put in a little zen pagoda thingie. The orange marbles made his red color stand out more. They’ve both eating feasting like kings on blood worms because apparently, my fish are food snobs and they spit out the betta pellets. That’s fine with me — those things stink up the bowl and make it all murky anyway.
I kind of want another one, but let’s keep these alive first, shall we?
Joelle said around mid-afternoon on April 23, 2008
Yesterday, I discovered this video via Dooce and it never ceases to make me laugh. Aside from the clearly strange commercial, I just don’t get bidets, you know?
Does one really need an entirely separate plumbing apparatus to clean their tuchus? Really? Why not just the obvious… *ahem* adult wipes (ew, what a gross term!). But I’m kind of thinking if you need anything beyond that, you should just drop trou and hit the showers. Something clearly isn’t functioning at peak performance.
And what about people who can’t afford a highfalutin bidet? They’ve gotten along just fine, right? But I guess if they really wanted one… hmmm. Squirt bottle? (Tssst! Tssst!) A nozzle attachment for the sink like for the dishes? I guess those are viable options if one can’t afford their own um… fountain.
I still can’t imagine why anyone would want to hover over one of those things. That’s not refreshing, that just complicated and… well, soggy. I have a hard enough time not touching the seat while hovering in public bathrooms, let alone when I’m being hosed off by Hole Faithful.
TMZ claims his lawyer advised him to be on the show so he could marry an American girl and officially relocate to the States. Seems like a production just to become an American citizen, but I guess it wouldn’t muss his manicure like say, crawling in dangerous tunnels under the cover of night or clinging to a piece of debris in shark-infested waters for weeks in search of sanctuary. Why file some basic paperwork when you can just marry a hot American girl you barely know?
(Play both videos at the same time for instant mash-up action!)
, which my teacher thought was amusing. That amusement turned to perplexity when at nine I chose 
Like I said, I rarely get a chance to just sit quietly and read, as much as I enjoy it. My brain starts thinking of all the other things I should be doing (like work), so I have a hard time concentrating on my reading for too long. (Gee, maybe I should work on that meditation...) The short essays/chapters make for convenient… um… leisure reading.
Now I just need to unload these tickets. The seats are good; if you’re interested and look at the Humphrey’s seating chart, the seats are Section A3, Row 10, Seats 32 and 34 (and yes, they’re next to each other). I marked the general area in the image with a yellow arrow so you can see basically where the seats are. When I bought them, I asked for best available.
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