Funny Strange....

PhoTrade Photo of the Day!!!

I think today is the day I'm going to finish my NaNoWriMo novel (one day early, because I'm an overachiever like that), so I'm putting up another photo.  Incidentally, I just started using PhoTrade, which is this awesome photo sharing site where you actually have the possibility of getting paid for your photos (as well as earning ad revenue for people looking at them.  More on the awesomeness of this idea, and how cool it is that they not only invited me in, but made this photo their "PhoTrade Photo of the Day," when I come up for air.  For now, check it out at:  http://photrade.wordpress.com/, or check out the photos we have up so far at:  http://www.photrade.com/lorinyc

I Am Distracting You With Cuteness

I was catching up on a ton of work today, and am working on the last bits of my NaNoWriMo novel, and I haven't come up with anything novel (ha ha-- get it?) for today, so I must pull a dirty punch and distract you with this cute picture of Maddie, who passed out while her mom was packing for them to go to Hawaii for Thankgiving.  I will be attending the Family Friendly Programming Awards on Wednesday night, so that should be a very entertaining post in and of itself.  Last year, Judd Hirsch got really drunk, and the cast of Ugly Betty was given an award-- only Ugly Betty herself didn't show up.

 

And....Wecome Back!

Hello, and how are you?  How was your Thanksgiving?  Did you eat alot of leftover Turkey?

We did.  And stuffing, and ribs, and pie, and....oh, you get the picture.  Yes, I went shopping on Black Friday.  We had a great time with everyone.  The in-laws (who aren't mad at us for the 49er ticket debacle) went home on Saturday.  Maddie learned to color last week, and when she wasn't eating the crayons, she was actually quite good at it.  Yes, my pants look weird in this photo, but my hair looks good, so I went with it.

Another thing we did we start watching the giant pile of backlogged tv shows that are trapped in our Tivo, perhaps to never be retrieved, beginning with this current season of Project Runway.

I have to say, I am giving this show one more episode, because it's WAY too full of "eccentric types" this season, then I quit if some more of them don't get cut.  I'll watch the finale to see who wins, but I honestly can't take the quirkiness.  I know they cast the show so that we'll be entertained by the weird people as well as watching them make the clothes, but I really think they've gotten the balance wrong this season.

Here's what I mean.  This season we've got, to start, a guy named MARION, who is 39 years old, but looks like he should be on the street corner in that movie "Newsies," going "Extree, Extree-- read all about it!"  He seriously looks like the kind of guy that would be your next door neighbor, and then he'd turn out to be a serial killer, and then when they came to interview you, you'd be like "No, I knew that guy was crazy-- he didn't seem normal AT ALL."  OK, he got cut for making that ugly Pocahontas dress, so he's gone, but he's not even the worst.

The worst is Christian Siriano, who might be talented, but I'm sorry, is so egotistical and so annoyingly feminine, and has positively the worst looking hair I've ever seen.  I don't give a shit what he's designing, because I don't want to look at his stupid face anymore.  If we've learned anything from Jeffrey Sebelia, it's that annoying egomaniacs don't make good Project Runway winners.  I don't care that he worked for Alexander McQueen when he was 21, ok?  I don't care if he worked for Steve McQueen.  So....let's cut him and get on with it.  I honestly don't know where the casting directors find these people.  Is there no one left in the world who is normal and knows how to design clothes?

So far, I'm rooting for Victoria or Rami, because the concept of a 46 year old woman named "Sweet P" is enough to make me want to slash my wrists.   I might also want to mention Elisa, who is from Mars and spits on her clothes to measure them, Jack, who is too gay for practical life, Ricky, who has a hat that looks like Jiffy Pop and is already crying in every interview, and it's only Week 2, and Carmen, who seriously might be a post-op transsexual, and who Stephan has labeled "Maya Angelou meets El DeBarge."

What do I mean by "Too Gay for Practical Life," you might ask?   I mean that Jack's level of flamboyance has exceeded maximum levels of gay, even for me, and the last three cities I lived in were SAN FRANCISCO, MANHATTAN, AND LOS ANGELES.  At this point, Jack is too gay to be a fashion designer, ok?  He's too gay to be an interior designer.  He's too gay to be a GOD DAMNED Broadway choreographer.  Of course, I'm talking about the overly flamboyant "GAY PERSONALITY," which to me is mostly agenda, like it's so "in your face" and "challenging" that you can't even have a regular conversation.  HE'S GAY, OK??????  GET USED TO IT!!!!!  I used to work with a graphic designer who was like this, and I swear we couldn't even have conversations about client projects without him saying the words "I'm queer."  Yeah, we get it.  Now, let's move on. It's almost 2008, and it's really ok to just be what you are and to not hit people over the head with it. 

I swear, I can take one more week of the "totally eccentric cast of Project Runway," and then I am done.  Too wacky, ok?!  Too repugnant!  They have challenged us to continue watching, and I am not willing to accept that challenge.

Also, I am almost done with my novel for NaNoWriMo.  Exciting!

49er Mojo-- Whipped on even those who buy their tickets

This is a story I'm calling "The Tragedy of the Forty-Niner Tickets."  Or, maybe it's a tragi-comedy.  You be the judge.  It does get pretty funny when it starts to really spiral out of control.

A couple of weeks ago we were like, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool to go see a 49er game?"  I mean, not like the 49ers are doing anything good this year or anything, but like, hey-- we used to live in San Francisco, we never went when we were there, we're both into football this year, so why not?  It could be fun.  We then called up Stephan's cousin to see if he wanted to go.  We were all in.  We made booked a hotel, made plane reservations, got tickets to the game.  The tickets showed up in the Fedex.  We made reservations for the dog to go to his daycare (see how complicated these plans are?  By now, you're just wondering how it can go wrong, right?  Right?)

Right.  Thursday afternoon (we're supposed to leave on Friday night), our friend from SF, the one who we were going to get to take the fourth ticket, goes home from work-- sore throat and flu. OK, we think.  Maybe Steph's cousin will have to sit next to a stranger.  No  problem.  No problem.  It's ok.  Nothing's going wrong.  But there's nothing we can do about it.  Too many plans have been made.  The stakes are too high.  The first domino has fallen.  This is like that moment in Oedipus the King where the blind seer comes on, and he's like "Hey, there's something weird about this place," but all of the townspeople ignore him
because he's just a crazy old guy.  Yeah, it's just like that moment.

Friday morning Steph wakes up with the sore throat.  Now, as I've already mentioned, the Voice of God can't get a cold, or else he can't go to work.  So....what do we do?    We postpone the flight until Saturday, prraaaying that the sore throat goes away, because there's no way he's flying on a plane, then sitting in a freezing cold stadium, probably only to watch the 49ers lose, especially if he's actually sick.  I change all the reservations, blah blah blah. Then, at 6:00pm, which is right about the time we would have been leaving if we were leaving on Friday, I realize I have the sore throat.

More scrambling ensues.  We decide to Zicam the hell out of ourselves, then see how we feel in the morning.  Then Steph's cousin emails to say HE has the sore throat. We don't feel better in the morning.  Reservations are canceled.  Since they are the only ones now who have escaped the freaky sore throat, Steph's parents are called.  Do they want to go to the game?  Yes, they do!   We Fedex the tickets.  The parents get to the hotel Saturday night.  OK, this is ok-- this is still salvageable.

But, wait!  Sunday morning we get a call.  Where are the tickets.  There are no tickets.  WHAT?  We have a tracking number, we say.  Is this a joke?  We get the name of the ACTUAL person at the hotel who signed for the tickets, but that guy works two jobs and is not picking up his phone.  Perhaps he cannot hear the phone over the din of the 49er game that he is now attending, having obviously stolen our tickets, I say, not quite kidding.  The hotel is offended.  I am offended that they are offended.  I start to yell.  They start to yell.  I yell louder, then send some nasty faxes.  I adopt the tone of the aforementioned Greek tragedy, and begin to screech like a harpie into the phone.  Steph mentions that maybe I should have my own reality tv show, where I go around firing people who don't even work for me.  I actually consider pitching this show.

The tickets are lost.  The hotel is reeaaallly sorry for losing them.  And by really sorry, I mean, they gave us enough stuff that we will definitely stay there again, and I am actually not going to mention their name here.   The sore throats are gone (except for the SF friend, who is still horizontal).  I got alot of work done on my NaNoWriMo novel over the weekend.  The in-laws had a nice afternoon in San Francisco despite not going to the game, which as it turns out, the Niners lost.

THE END

Hey Lori, How's NaNoWriMo Going?

No, seriously, it's going really well. I have ALOT of transcription to do, but I've been working on it every day.

Too Weird for Real Life: All New Lists!

I know this will come as a shock-- I like reading about weird people, and hearing stories about weird people.  And because I think REGULAR people are often pretty weird but are just good at hiding their crazy, whenever someone really comes to the top of my radar, I put them on a list.  Right now I'm going to share my "Weird Celebrities" list, because it finally got long enough for a blog post.

These are people who will NOT be appearing in US Weekly, in the section “Stars Are Just Like Us!” because you see, they are not like us, and by us, I mean humans.

By the way, I was going to put David Bowie on this list, but I saw him in Kate’s Paperie in New York buying some notecards, which totally un-did the whole “Ziggy Stardust” thing for me.  Ditto for Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed, who we saw at the theater in New York, both wearing practical sweatshirts.

1.    Bjork.  As I said the other day, for me Bjork lives on another planet, where she makes music and maybe does some sculpture work from perishable items like pimento lunchmeat.  The fact that she’s quasi-married to Matthew Barney just compounds this, because you know they’re not at home on Wednesday nights watching Lost.  No no, they’re on a boat, in Antarctica, learning about flensing.  I’m not even kidding about the flensing, which you’ll know if you saw Matthew Barney’s exhibit at SF MOMA last year.  Yeah.  She wore a swan dress to the Academy Awards, totally without irony. 

2.    Marilyn Manson.   Ashley mentioned this one, and thanks!  Can you imagine looking over in the grocery store and seeing Marilyn Manson buying some Hamburger Helper?  His whole thing is about how he’s not like regular people, which I suppose is why his band-mate claims he used band profits to buy some Nazi paraphernalia just goes right along with this.

3.    Prince.  Too eccentric to have a normal name, a normal house, or a normal career.  He is tiny and purple, and so Prince-like, you have to go to him—he cannot bring the Prince to you.   In case you doubt the veracity of this one, check out this hilarious Smoking Gun article, in which a man from whom Prince once rented a mansion for $70,000/ month (not a typo) ended up suing the great purple one for making the place too Prince-like, including a giant purple monogrammed rug, and extra water pipes for a purple beauty salon. 

4.    Victoria Beckham (Posh Spice).  Jim Maloy says:  “The fact that Posh Spice has turned herself into a giant orange praying mantis pretty much means you won’t be seeing her at VONS.”

5.    David Byrne.  Unless you can picture someone doing laundry in an electric blue unitard, of course.   Stephan once interviewed him for a radio show he had in San Francisco, and afterwards he had to drive David Byrne to a book signing himself.  During this ride, David Byrne offered him coffee, from a thermos.

6.    Catherine Zeta- Jones.  I know, I’m still on this, but she mostly just seems like she lives on a pillow made of velvet and never goes poop.  I know she’s had kids and all, but I just can’t see her wiping noses or answering the inane questions of a three year old over and over again.

7.    Christopher Walken.  Seems like he lives in a locked trailer where all of his needs are provided for, then they let him out to “do the Walken” for 20 minutes or so at a time.  “Do not look Mr. Walken in the eye.  Put Mr. Walken back in his trailer when you are done with him.” 

8.    Beck—not only a weirdo musician who writes lyrics like “get crazy with the Cheez-Wiz,” but is also a Scientologist.  Seems like he would go to McDonald’s, but would order something really weird—“Can you put the French Fries into the McDonald-land sundae?  I wonder what that would taste like.”

9.    Karl Lagerfeld—just can’t see him buying toilet paper (unless it’s made of gold, maybe), or popping a zit.  Maybe it’s the big glasses.

10.    Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes—It’s totally cool that my BFF Katie Holmes ran the NY Marathon and all—very humanizing for her.  But, I’m still having a hard time imagining either of them, say, using a credit card to purchase a book on Amazon.com, or calling an exterminator.  This one is a combination of being super-rich and just living on another planet, in my opinion.

11.    Liza Minelli.  I once saw her in a Starbucks in New York while she was supposedly filming that documentary with her then-husband David Gest (who probably also belongs on this list).  No, she was not ordering coffee or reading a book.

Bonus:  Ex-Weirdos

Even death cannot erase their weirdness.

1.    Klaus Kinski.  Just….my God.  Did you see Fitzcarraldo?  He wasn’t even acting.  Werner Hertzog has some great stories about his multiple nervous breakdowns on set, and how Kinski used to carry around guns all the time.  In case you don’t know, this is Nastassja Kinski’s father, who was a famous actor and died of a heart attack at age 65, because his body could just not take the “explosive temperament.”  Go out and rent “My Best Fiend” if you’re curious.

2.    Marlon Brando—Couldn’t fathom real life so much, he moved to Polynesia to eat fruit in a muumuu.  Remember when he won Best Supporting Actor and sent a Native American woman to NOT accept the award for him?  Yeah, that was before his son killed his daughter’s girlfriend, and then he tried to help cover it up.  Not to take away from his incredible talent, though.  Wow.

3.    Ingmar Bergman made films about playing chess with death.  Nuff said.

4.    Andy Warhol—never did anything normal.  He and his brother had two toy ducks called “The Gomez Brothers,” dude.

5.    Charles Mingus once fired a shotgun through the ceiling of his loft while people were filming a documentary about him.  So very many steps between you and me, and having a loaded shotgun in your loft to even be able to make that scenario happen.

6.    Alfred Jarry (a playwright) was a midget who was always drunk on wood grain alcohol.   Not to be confused with Toulouse Lautrec, who was also apparently a drunk on wood grain alcohol midget.

7.    Edith Piaf, another midget (she was 4’8”, in case you’re keeping track) was raised by prostitutes and had, during her lifetime, malnutrition, alcoholism, morphine addiction, ulcers, tuberculosis, pancreatitis, hepatitis, rheumatoid arthritis, and, ultimately, cancer.  She survived two near-fatal car accidents, married a man 20 years her junior, and was alleged to have been blind from ages three to seven.

I Am A C-List Bloglebrity

Hey, this is cool-- someone just sent me a link to my ranking over on Bloglebrity. I'm on the C-List, which to me is cool because, like, Arrianna Huffington and Perez Hilton is on the B-List, and I'm sharing the C-List status with Terry Teachout.

Check out my Bloglebrity profile!

You know this means I'm just going to start calling myself "bestselling author, C-List Bloglebrity Lori Culwell."

And yes, I am aware of the fact that under normal circumstances, I would be obligated to furiously mock the made- up term "Bloglebrity."  But, just for today, I'm going to let it slide.

Six Shot Caramel Macchiato, Please

We were sitting in Starbucks on Sunday, and I kid you not, I heard a guy order a "six shot caramel macchiato."  Like, when did it become ok to just nonchalantly order SIX SHOTS in your coffee beverage?  The only things I could think of when I heard this were: 

a) who needs this much caffeine and sugar?  If you're tired enough to need six shots of espresso in your drink, maybe you should go to a hospital.

or

b)  Good thing there's a bathroom in every Starbucks, because oh my God the incredible pooping that might theoretically happen if one were to drink this much caffeine at one time.  I once had an intern at an investment bank where I worked-- he claimed that a single bottle of that chilled Frappucino stuff was enough to keep him in the bathroom for two hours.  I don't want to turn this into a blog about poop, but-- my GOD!  Six shots?!

Also, I'm bummed that Saturday Night Live was canceled because of the writer's strike, because I really wanted to see if Amy Winehouse was going to show up, and  because I wanted to see if Kristen Wiig was going to do that totally funny Bjork impression that she did a  few weeks ago.  Bjork is one of the stars of a new list I'm working on  for Friday-- namely,  "People Who Are Too Eccentric to Actually Exist in the Real World."  That is to say, you couldn't really see them buying milk or paying bills online.  I think Bjork falls nicely into this category.  Do you think she has keys?  Do they open anything?  I'm just saying.  I'd be surprised if she were licensed to drive in any state or country.

Crappy Crap Crap Day

I had a crappy day yesterday, which is to say I had one of those days where, at 8:00 in the morning you're like "Hey, can I just put myself on autopilot, and come back to consciousness around 7:00 pm, when it's time to hang out with my husband and drink wine?"    The kind of day where if that day had a sound, it would be that of a toilet flushing, slowly carrying away that day, rather like poop.

I was briefly cheered by the news that Angelina Jolie can have a bad day too-- did you see this story, where she splits her pants on the red carpet, THEN steps in gum?  Yeah, even though she has millions of dollars and Brad Pitt to cover up her pants, that's still pretty sucky.   I love her face-- it's like (under her breath)-- "Ummm.....I think my pants just ripped." 

I won't go into detail about the (numerous) factors that caused the bad mood, because then I will sound crazier than I already do sometimes on this blog.  But, let's just say the mood involved a moving van outside my house at 7am, then some work things, then some practical things, like me spilling beer on my socks while I was emptying the recycling and one of my computers just REFUSING to go on the wireless network all day with no logical explanation as to why.  By 3:45, I had so had it with everything and everyone that I had to take a break and play some Shooby Taylor, which is my "break glass in case of emergency" bad day antidote.  Because, actual scientific studies have shown that it is impossible to stay in a bad mood while you're listening to this. 

Actually, the Shooby track that cheers me up the most is "Stout Hearted Men," which you can find on the "Songs in the Key of Z" compliation, which also contains the positively hilarious song "Rock and Rock McDonald's.  But, this one is pretty good too:

Story Songs, Part II (Special Guest Blogger)

On Friday I posted a list of story songs that I find particularly humorous (which I have now updated to include some relevant information sent in by readers-- thanks!).  Anyhow, in response my friend Jim Maloy sent over HIS list, which made me laugh out loud, so I decided to make it today's blog post.    You can see some more of Jim's hilarious writing over on the MySpace page for Hindge Creek, where he's written some amazingly funny blog posts.  Jim is also the absolute GENIUS behind the German post-punk band "Spieltod," which you must certainly go over and enjoy right this minute, because one of the songs features one of my favorite lyrics ever:  "Out of tune cuckoo-- I now accept you as my timekeeper."

Story Songs, Part II, by Jim Maloy

1.  "Ramblin' Man," by The Allman Brothers Band: The song starts off promisingly, with the narrator telling us a little about his personality and the circumstances of his birth. But he just throws in the towel during the second verse: “I’m going to New Orleansto get laid. Bye.” Then again, should we really expect an epic saga from….a ramblin’ man?

2.  "Up on Cripple Creek," by The Band: what really sends this story of a pretty f-d-up couple into orbit is the line in the last verse, when the narrator makes it clear that the woman he’s singing about isn’t even his main squeeze.

3.  "Paul Revere," by the Beastie Boys: F@*k Sergio Leone, this is the greatest spaghetti western ever. Especially the part about the wiffleball bat.

4.  “Maybellene”, by Chuck Berry: the Albert Einstein of story songs gives us a tale of a guy who’s insanely possessive and jealous. How possessive and jealous, you ask? He and Maybellene are clearly not seeing each other anymore ( otherwise he would have known about her new Cadillac ), but he still feels like he has the right to force her over to the side of the road. We never find out what happens when he catches Maybellene at the top of the hill, and maybe we’re all better off that way.

5.  "Wig in a Box," by Hedwig and the Angry Inch: a botched transsexual in Kansas gets ready for the graveyard shift at the supermarket by getting drunk and trying on wigs. Never mind story songs, this may just be the greatest song ever, period.

6.  "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," by Billy Joel: Like a Bruce Springsteen epic, but one where no one ends up pregnant and working at a gas station. And did Bruce have the genius to use a tuba on his songs? I think not!!

( Oh, wait. “Wild Billy’s Circus Story.” I’m so fired. )

Jesus, the square root of all these songs is that men are dogs! Well, except the Billy Joel one.

Top Ten Story Songs of All Time

In honor of the fact that I am going to see my friend Joe Henry in concert on Friday with Loudon Wainwright III, and also because I have been asked to audition for "Don't Forget the Lyrics" next week, a show on which I would be great because if you know me, you know that I know way too many 80's and 90's lyrics and have absolutely no compunction about sharing them, I thought I would compile a list of ten great "story songs."

You know story songs, right? These are songs that AREN'T allegorical or representational in any way. They are intentially ironic at times, and this is why I find them funny. These are actual stories, about people, and you better sit down, because most of them are long and they have a point to make. I'm not saying they're all bad-- in fact, some of them are good. I am saying, though, that you know one when you hear one. This is no plaintive Robert Plant wail about how "a woman done him wrong." No, this is a story, about a guy, named Mr Bojangles, who gets paid to dance for you even though he's old and that is sad.

Granted, most of these songs are from the 70's and 80's-- maybe there was a "story song" phase going on back then which has since died out. I actually thought I was the only one who called them this, until I did a Google search and found this list. Go figure! There's even some overlap.

Anyway, here are some of my favorites.

1. Mr. Bojangles, as performed by Sammy Davis Jr. (apparently written by Jerry Jeff Walker). Quite possibly the saddest song in the history of time. So filled with pathos, I'm surprised he can even sing it without melting into a puddle of angst. "Silver hair and ragged shirt and baggy pants....he could jump so high, then he'd lightly touch down." Ouch! Stop! It's too sad! Mr. Bojangles is essentially an old alcoholic with no pension and no hope. All he can do is dance the old soft shoe for his supper, even though his arthritic knees will barely hold him up. Mr. Bojangles.....daaance. It hurts!

2. Escape (The Pina Colada Song), by Rupert Holmes. This is the song where the guy is fed up with his woman, so he responds to an ad in the paper looking for the perfect mate, and they have to like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain, and then he responds to the ad, and they meet at a bar called O'Malley's, and - surprise!-- just happens to be his same girlfriend that he was tired of, so they have a good laugh and you want to kill yourself. To me, this is the musical equivalent of a gigantic ball of frosting. Once you hear the opening bars of this song, you know you're going to have to sit on down, because this is going to take awhile.

3. Operator, by Jim Croce. This is actually a good song, in my opinion, but you do have to admit that it sticks a little too closely to the narrative, like "OK, now he's getting out his money, now he's telling the operator the story of his life.....let's forget all that, and give me the number if you can find it, so I can call just to tell her I'm fine and to show....." I always pictured the operator on the other end of the line, like "Sir....are you going to place the call or not? I'm not a psychologist. Sir...I'm disconnecting you." I love the end where he goes "you can keep the dime." Thanks!

4. Copacabana-- Barry Manilow. Again, not saying it's not a good song, but by the end you do know an awful lot about Lola, and Rico, and the Copacabana, the hottest club north of Havana. I love how these songs always circle back to the inciting incident of the relationship.....they fell in looooove. I think this one is on the A.V. Club's list too.

5. Rocky Raccoon, by The Beatles. Rocky raccoon | checked into his room | Only to find gideons bible
Rocky had come | equipped with a gun | To shoot off the legs of his rival. No real mystery here-- you pretty much know what the song is about, which to me is the hallmark of a true story song. This song is probably a riff on an American story song, because The Beatles were just cool like that. Some say that this song is a parody of a Bob Dylan song. Did you know that Phish recorded a cover of Rocky Raccoon? Yeah, I didn't care about that either.

6. Cat's in the Cradle, by Harry Chapin's wife. This isn't just a story song. It's a story EPIC. This song covers, like FORTY YEARS of this guy's life-- during the span of one song, you see him as a kid, growing up with an absentee father, going to middle school, having all of his formative experiences, and then-- lo and behold!-- BECOMING an absentee father himself. When you comin home dad, I don't know when-- we'll get together then, DAD. We're gonna have a good time then. Indeed. This song is included on an album called "Verities and Balderdash." Enough said. 

Update:  After I posted this list, I got a few comments from someone named "Amos," who wanted me to get my facts straight.  As far as this song goes, he wanted me to know that it was written by Harry Chapin's wife, about his life on the road and how he never saw his kids, which frankly, is what I thought I was writing.  So, to clear up the confusion, yes-- that's what I meant.  It's about HIM, and that's why it's so ironical.

7. Hotel California, by The Eagles. I'm sure some people think this song is a metaphor for something, but to me it's a song about a guy....on a dark desert highway, cool wind in his hair, blah blah blah. Not that it's not catchy. It is. But it is also very, very literal.

8. Same Auld Lang Syne, by Dan Fogelberg. Don't remember this one? Here, let me refresh your memory:

Met my old lover in the grocery store,
The snow was falling Christmas Eve.
I stole behind her in the frozen foods,
And I touched her on the sleeve.

She didn't recognize the face at first,
But then her eyes flew open wide.
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse,
And we laughed until we cried.

Just the mention of the frozen foods section gets it a place on this list. Pure exposition, this song. I'm surprised he doesn't start talking about how he's "singing in a microphone, a little hungover from last niiiiight." That literal. Stephan has this to say about Dan Fogelberg: "Dan Fogelberg wears ladies underpants. He is the kind of guy who cries when he "makes love." Dan Fogelberg should get a sex change and get it over with, for he is a woman."

9. Don't You Want Me, Baby, by Human League. A "he said, she said" story song. Better than the Odyssey, really. "I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar!" "No you weren't!"

10. Splish Splash, by Bobby Darin. He's taking a bath, ok? He's in the bath. Then he gets of the bath, puts his towel on, and discovers there's a party goin' on in his house. That's all there is to it, really. Does he have to spell it out for you? Well, apparently he does.

11. Ziggy Stardust, by David Bowie. This is a special bonus story song, because while I'm sure it's a story, I'm not sure what the story is about exactly. Spiders from Mars, playing guitar left handed....it SEEMS like a narrative, but it's so far in the depths of David Bowie's mind, you'd need a decoder ring and some Cliff Notes to find your way out of there. Great song, though.

Stephan also wants me to include some songs by this guy, Red Sovine.  This are less real songs and more of an old guy with a geetar, just talkin' about a dawg named Little Joe, and how Little Joe saved him from a burning big rig, and how a crippled kid named Teddy Bear gets lonely and it helps to talk over the CB radio .   

And with that....have a nice weekend!

Tidbits

** My father (a Republican) has purchased a Toyota Prius-- something I thought would never happen, would assuredly mean either the end of days, or dogs and cats living together.  He'd like you to know that he's not going to be wearing Birkenstocks while he drives his new car, though, and he's not growing a ponytail.  So, I guess he's safe, and they won't revoke his Republican card.

*** Today I was sitting outside of Starbucks, writing, and a firetruck pulled up and parked in the red zone.   "How rude," I thought. "Taking up the whole curb, just so they can all get coffee."  As it turned out, though, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM had dry cleaning they had to pick up.  So, that's not weird at all.  I guess that justifies it.

***NaNoWriMo word count:  approximately 13,000 words, mostly all hand-written in Composition books.  If you're wondering how I estimate this, I use the following formula:  300 words per page X about forty pages, give or take about 100 for doodling and to-do lists.  Scientific!   Yeah, that's going to be just great to transcribe.  Jim gave me a copy of Naturally Speaking, but I can't get the microphone on my computer to work the right way, so I think I might be stuck doing it myself.  Or, I could take the leap into the information age and just learn to write straight into the computer, like the new-fangled folks is doin'.

***Twice this week, I've had conversations with people, tried to tell them something, and they're like "um....yeah, I know.  I read it on your blog."  So, now I have to think of random, totally secret facts to tell my friends. 

*** My husband does not seem to like it if, when he's cooking me dinner, I stand there and go "um....is that done?   What's the expiration date on that?  Is that too much garlic?"   You'd think this commentary would be helpful, but apparently it's just annoying.  Go figure.

Why Is This Still Going On?

Dear Mischa Barton Fan Club,

Thank you-- I will continue to voice my opinion here, on my own blog.   And if you'll refer back to the post dated October 26th, you'll clearly see that I retracted the statement that your darling Mischa was UNEMPLOYED, sticking only to my OPINION that she is, in fact, not a good actress, and my OPINION that she was perhaps unwise to have quit The O.C before it ended, since her acting talent, in my opinion, left something to be desired. You are more than welcome to disagree with these statements, which you clearly do, but they are just opinions, just like my book is a work of fiction, and clearly not about Katie Holmes at all, not one bit.   And since these statements are all just opinions, of course, you can all just leave me alone, or maybe just read some of my other posts, which are, in some people's opinions, pretty funny.  Of course, you are free to disagree with people's opinions.  That is your right.  Just like I am free to disagree with your opinion of Mischa's acting talent. 

But ok...you got me (on the 26th of October, to be exact).  OK-- I was wrong.  She's not unemployed.   

Happy?

I still think she's a bad actress.

And with that, I move that we close the Mischa Barton discussion, and come together instead for a delightful morning of crazy over in R. Kelley land, with a special showing of "Real Talk."  Careful, though-- this guy's hair weave is coming out, and he definitely says some stuff that's not safe for work.

P.S.  If you don't know why I'm writing a post to the Mischa Barton Fan Club, please go back a few weeks and read all of their comments to my posts, which in the interest of free expression I have left up there.  Fun!   

Overheard in CVS

Well, actually it was Stephan and I saying this, but it was pretty amusing so I thought I'd share.  Plus, since I'm doing my slavish word count every day for National Novel Writing Month and editing another book at the same time, I barely even have time to log in to this blog to see if Mischa Barton's fan club is still SENDING PEOPLE OVER HERE WITH A LINK INSIDE A THREAD.  Yeah, that's the way to make me go away.  Send more people over here.   

Me:  "Why does that guy have a fire extinguisher on his bicycle, and why is that bicycle inside CVS?  This whole thing makes no sense."

Stephan:  "I think you're overlooking the fact that he's wearing argyle socks and a cape.  The fire extinguisher is really the least of his concern."

In case you like this kind of bizarre randomness, there is a whole site called "Overheard in New York," which you should most assuredly hurry over to right now and spend some quality work time. 

Give. Me a Break.

Yesterday I was walking the dog past this house in Brentwood, and I heard (I'm not even kidding) a rooster crowing.  Being the inquisitive person that I am, I of course had to look through their gate, and there I saw-- a chicken coop.  In Brentwood.  Right there on Bundy.

If you'll refer to my earlier Andy Dick story, you'll see where I'm going with this.  In case you don't live here, it costs at least $1 million to buy a house in that neighborhood. And, once again, I'm going to have to say that if I'm paying approximately $13,000 / month in mortgage for my house, and right next door I have to hear your ROOSTER crowing at 5:30 every morning, I'm comin' right over there to make me some chicken pot pie out of your rooster. 

It sounds funny, but you know that's what his neighbor is thinking, probably right now and every morning.  I'm saying, I think people's civility toward their fellow man is slipping.  I mean, I get totally mad when my next door neighbor turns his stereo up too loud on the weekend.   I have a friend in San Francisco whose downstairs neighbor uses a power drill at 4 in the morning.  And, when WE lived in San Francisco, we had a neighbor who snored SO LOUD, we had to pound on the wall every night to make him wake up and roll over.  That is, unless he had a guy over, and then....well, you can just imagine what it sounded like then.

Yeah, I'm getting ready to just move to an organic fruit farm somewhere remote, where there are no people.  Ten years of city living might finally have caught up with me, because now I see a rooster in someone's yard and I don't think it's quirky.  I think it's wrong, and that this person must be stopped.

Is this why I love the show Dexter so much?  You tell me.  On a positive note, did you see that Patriots game?  Awesome.  Tom Brady is dreamy.  We had nachos for lunch while we watched football.  THAT is the way to spend a Sunday.  Also, I got a ton of work done on my NaNoWriMo book, but I can't seem to get the word counter thing to work, so you'll just have to take my word for it.  It's going to be awesome!

Damn You, Dr. Bob and Bill W!

Mostly, I just thought this was a funny title for a post, but it also has a story that goes with it.  This is how my mind works---today I was walking the dog up on San Vicente when I saw this huge sign in front of a church that said "PLEASE NO SMOKING INSIDE THE CHURCH."  I got out my camera to immediately take a photo of this hilariously huge and oddly placed sign when suddenly I realized:  um, the only reason there would even need to be a sign like this in front of a church is because they were having an A.A. meeting there, and also, it's anonymous, so you can't photograph them. 

And dammit, those alcoholics totally wouldn't move so I could shoot the funny sign. 

Also, listen to our show this afternoon!  We have comedian Dan Bielak on as a guest, and it's going to be a rip roaring discussion which includes (but is not limited to) Dog the Bounty Hunter, Mirapex, the Mischa Barton fan club, and sushi sold at 7-11.

http://www.nowlive.com/funnystrange

Halloween Post: Better Late Than Never

Whoops, I had this post saved as a "Draft," and then I never published it.  Probably because I just started National Novel Writing Month today, and that's just crazy.  Why do I do this to myself every year?

Oh yeah, because I like it, and because I'd be writing anyway.  Why not get the neat little certificate?

We were busy and traveling this year, so we didn't do much of anything Halloween related, but I thought I would report that our Gene Simmons Pumpkin from last year won an award!   You can see it displayed over at Extreme Pumpkins.com.  Too funny!

In "my heart is made of stone" news, I thought I would distract you with photos of Maddie as the Littlest Ballerina, which made even me consider for one moment, the possibility of having children:

Of course, that was before I saw this:

I actually think it would be funny to compile a whole website of kids crying in their costumes.  Because you know they're all doing it, right?  Before the fun of trick or treating really sets in, kids are basically ALWAYS in some kind of costume.  Hilarious!

What's New?

We've already covered my strange obsession with Costco, right?  I find it so amazing that you can get fro-yo, beer, and a flu shot all in the same place, and then get gas right before you leave.  It seems like I end up over there once a week, which I'm sure is costing me more in gas than I'm saving, but that is right beside the point.   Last week's Costco visit was to get some new contacts, and it was during my appointment that I discovered what has got to be one of the strangest jobs in the whole world.

Did you know that they HIRE A PERSON to sing on the karaoke machine in Costco?    Yeah, the demo one.  So basically, this is the guy you THINK might be crazy because he's singing just a little too loud at Costco, right beside the flat screen tv.  I'm not sure whether this is a cool job for an aspiring singer, or the last step before suicide for someone who used to be famous.   Even more tragic is the fact that the optometrist, who is already vying for "worst doctor job ever" in a windowless room inside Costco where he goes "which one is better-- one, or two?  one, or two?  one.....or two?"  ALL DAY LONG is forced to  listen to the KARAOKE GUY.    As it turns out, on days when the PAID KARAOKE PERSON is there, the optometrist is forced to listen to him sing the same karaoke cd over and over and over again.  Which, frankly, would be enough for me to quit that job right there.  I learned all this while the Costco optometrist was searching his inventory of contacts for a TORIC lens that was just the right prescription for my football-shaped eyeball.

Also, the Mischa Barton Forum people are still mad at me, and for some reason they think I'm a guy.