Let's start with the Raves . . . this weekend we enlisted the help of Kate's roommate, Morghan, to take our family picture for our Christmas card. This is a total break with tradition. Up until this year it's always just been the kids on the card (or as Kate pointedly pointed out, sometimes just Tyler - as in last year's Italy collage). I thought I might have a mutiny on my hands but I was surprised (and a little annoyed because I had a whole slew of arguments to use) that no one seemed to mind. Keep in mind that up until a few years ago I was the photographer. I am certain that Kate and Tyler planned for months in advance how to be rotten little kids when it came to picture time. It was awful. I had to take literally three roles to get ONE picture where they weren't poking each other in the eyes or slobbering on one another. After we had the family shoot, Morghan took us to see her office, Barkley USA. They moved into the old TWA building downtown and it is beyond fabulous. It's ultra modern and sophisticated - and wild and wacky at the same time. No one has an office - even the VP has a cube, but they really aren't even cubes. They're more serpentine, flowing and curving and looking very sexy. They have ping pong tables, darts, ASTEROIDS!!!! and one of those rocket rides that used to be outside grocery stores that you'd beg your mom pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease can I have a nickel so I can blast through space and get the heck out of this stinkin' grocery store. They also have beer on tap - it's strongly suggested that all imbibing be done AFTER 4p.m. Maybe the coolest thing of all are the client meeting rooms. The Sonic Drive-In room has an actual menu board - like the ones you order on (yes, I pushed the red button, but no one waited on me. I'm writing a letter). The Blue Bunny room had a whole freezer full of Blue Bunny ice cream stuff. I didn't see the Helzberg Diamond room, but I'm sure there were precious stones just lying all over the place. For some people it would be complete sensory overload, but for those creative types it's like LSD. Like wow, man. It was a very fun (and perfectly legal) trip.
Ok, now for the rants . . . I have two.
Rant #1: Flyaway hair. I've just spent the last two hours retouching, sorry, editing, a really cute girl. Great smile, beautiful teeth, incredibly straight, fine hair. It's enough to make me want to start doing something very illegal and highly addictive. I zoom in to 300% and, using the miracle patch tool, remove each strand, one microscopic bit at a time. I'd love to put before and after pix on my blog, but then I'd have to get her permission and I'd probably end up telling her that next time she wants to get her pictures taken she might want to consider shaving her head. I'm so tactful.
Rant #2: Dumbledore is what? Last week, during an interview about the Harry Potter series, author JK Rowling made the startling revelation that Dumbledore (the headmaster at Hogwarts, the wizarding school) was gay. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME????? You'd think that in seven books - and about 6,000 pages - that there might have been some sort of tip off to that fact. I think Ms Rowling needs to take a writing course in Character Development. That's like Harper Lee revealing that Atticus and Calpurnia had a thing going on in "To Kill A Mockingbird." I have two theories as to why she waited so long to out him. One: She knew it would be a HUGE log to throw on the fire set by some religious right groups who were already convinced that children reading her books would all change their names to Damien and begin asking their moms to pick up some "eyes of newt" at the grocery store. Two: She was starting to shiver from being out of the limelight and, thus, needed to find a way back into that warm spotlight.
So there you have it. One rave. Two rants. Time for bed.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Recent Viewings
That sounds creepily like something that would be on a funeral home marquee. Which would be equally creepy - a funeral home with a marquee. Instead of "Now Playing" it would be "Now Resting." ForEVER! Talk about a long-running engagement . . .
Actually, I'm referring to what I've recently been viewing via Netflix DVD. Those Netflix guys must be lounging somewhere in the south of France, slouching in the beach chairs once occupied by Blockbuster corporate execs. I noticed our local Hollywood Video is going belly up and all of their dvd are on sale for $5. I zoomed in there one afternoon and asked if they had "Band of Brothers." An employee, obviously dreaming of being anywhere but there, told me they had one copy and that it was (with a half-hearted sweeping gesture) somewhere out there. So, I began the arduous task of going down each row, looking at each shelf. It was the stupidest display of chaos I've ever seen (except maybe for Kate's room circa 1996). Nothing was in alphabetical order, nothing was categorically organized. I found the first season of "Rome" on one of the outside walls and season two clear across the room. I spent an hour wandering like a lab rat in and out of the aisles, only to find one DISC of the series. Arrrsghslssstshtsthslslsl! And, seriously, didn't find a single other movie I was compelled to buy. However, if you're dying to buy "Flight 93" or "Failure to Launch" . . .
Back to my recent viewings. It's "Dexter." I'm so conflicted I think I may need long-term psychoanalysis. It's about this blood splatter expert (brilliantly played by Michael C. Hall, the guy from "Six Feet Under") who has a secret life as a serial killer. Turns out his foster dad, a cop, discovered Dexter's dark side and helped him channel his lust for death by telling him that there were lots of bad people who needed to be killed. Also taught him a thing or two about leaving a "clean" crime scene. So, Dexter researches (hunts) people who do bad things and then . . . well, he kills them. Oh, his dad also taught him the importance of learning how to blend in. Things like smiling for a camera and pretending to like people. Because Dexter is pretty much dead inside. And boy, does he have the pretend thing down. You can't help but like the guy. And when he was about to be exposed, I was frantic with worry. I DO need a shrink! The language is rough and there are buckets of blood, but if you can get past that - it's a good watch.
The other night Ron said he was going to start sleeping with one eye open. I said he didn't have to worry. I'm going to start sleeping with a bowie knife under my pillow.
Actually, I'm referring to what I've recently been viewing via Netflix DVD. Those Netflix guys must be lounging somewhere in the south of France, slouching in the beach chairs once occupied by Blockbuster corporate execs. I noticed our local Hollywood Video is going belly up and all of their dvd are on sale for $5. I zoomed in there one afternoon and asked if they had "Band of Brothers." An employee, obviously dreaming of being anywhere but there, told me they had one copy and that it was (with a half-hearted sweeping gesture) somewhere out there. So, I began the arduous task of going down each row, looking at each shelf. It was the stupidest display of chaos I've ever seen (except maybe for Kate's room circa 1996). Nothing was in alphabetical order, nothing was categorically organized. I found the first season of "Rome" on one of the outside walls and season two clear across the room. I spent an hour wandering like a lab rat in and out of the aisles, only to find one DISC of the series. Arrrsghslssstshtsthslslsl! And, seriously, didn't find a single other movie I was compelled to buy. However, if you're dying to buy "Flight 93" or "Failure to Launch" . . .
Back to my recent viewings. It's "Dexter." I'm so conflicted I think I may need long-term psychoanalysis. It's about this blood splatter expert (brilliantly played by Michael C. Hall, the guy from "Six Feet Under") who has a secret life as a serial killer. Turns out his foster dad, a cop, discovered Dexter's dark side and helped him channel his lust for death by telling him that there were lots of bad people who needed to be killed. Also taught him a thing or two about leaving a "clean" crime scene. So, Dexter researches (hunts) people who do bad things and then . . . well, he kills them. Oh, his dad also taught him the importance of learning how to blend in. Things like smiling for a camera and pretending to like people. Because Dexter is pretty much dead inside. And boy, does he have the pretend thing down. You can't help but like the guy. And when he was about to be exposed, I was frantic with worry. I DO need a shrink! The language is rough and there are buckets of blood, but if you can get past that - it's a good watch.
The other night Ron said he was going to start sleeping with one eye open. I said he didn't have to worry. I'm going to start sleeping with a bowie knife under my pillow.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Keeping Up with the Sagdiyevs
I know I'm behind the cultural curve by about five light years . . . I just watched "Borat." And I have to say . . . I thought it was, for the most part, really, really funny. Irreverent? Yes. Scandalous? Yes. Offensive? Yes. But still really funny. Maybe because he spread his prejudice and tastelessness over the entire human spectre. And because it was so over the top. And, if we're honest, nearly every ethnicity and "specialized" class makes fun of itself. Remember the Seinfeld episode when Jerry was convinced that his dentist converted to Judaism for the jokes? Borat just steps over the line (about eighty million steps) and takes advantage of the "he doesn't know any better" excuse.
Perhaps my favorite: the "not" joke scene. And the feminists who were just not having it. And I thought it to be very telling that he referred to the war in Iraq as our "War of Terror" instead of our "War ON Terror."
I won't watch it again, but now I know what all the buzz is (was) about.
Perhaps my favorite: the "not" joke scene. And the feminists who were just not having it. And I thought it to be very telling that he referred to the war in Iraq as our "War of Terror" instead of our "War ON Terror."
I won't watch it again, but now I know what all the buzz is (was) about.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Boomers Coming of Age
I heard this week that the first baby boomer born began collecting social security. And that something like 70 million others are lining up right behind her. I think I'll just close up shop now. Check out. Push up some daisies. Turn into worm food. Because, of course, by the time I'M eligible for social security the word "security" will no longer be part of the title. It will be something like "social obligation" or "social burden." Or "Shut up and eat your prunes."
Who started social security anyway? Was it Roosevelt or Truman. Wait let me google it.
Officially titled Federal Old-Age, Survivors, and Disability Insurance, the program was started in 1935, which makes it Roosevelt's baby. The first benefits were paid in 1937. I think we've been behind the eight ball ever since. Experts say that "According to most projections, the Social Security trust fund will begin drawing on its Treasury Notes toward the end of the next decade (around 2018 or 2019), at which time the repayment of these notes will have to be financed from the general fund. At some time thereafter, variously estimated as 2041 (by the Social Security Administration or 2052 (by the Congressional Budget Office]), the Social Security Trust Fund will have exhausted the claim on general revenues that had been built up during the years of surplus. At that point, current Social Security tax receipts would be sufficient to fund 74 or 78% of the promised benefits, according to the two respective projections."
I think that means we'll be robbing Peter to pay Paul. And Mary? She'll be SOL.
Who started social security anyway? Was it Roosevelt or Truman. Wait let me google it.
Officially titled Federal Old-Age, Survivors, and Disability Insurance, the program was started in 1935, which makes it Roosevelt's baby. The first benefits were paid in 1937. I think we've been behind the eight ball ever since. Experts say that "According to most projections, the Social Security trust fund will begin drawing on its Treasury Notes toward the end of the next decade (around 2018 or 2019), at which time the repayment of these notes will have to be financed from the general fund. At some time thereafter, variously estimated as 2041 (by the Social Security Administration or 2052 (by the Congressional Budget Office]), the Social Security Trust Fund will have exhausted the claim on general revenues that had been built up during the years of surplus. At that point, current Social Security tax receipts would be sufficient to fund 74 or 78% of the promised benefits, according to the two respective projections."
I think that means we'll be robbing Peter to pay Paul. And Mary? She'll be SOL.
Monday, October 15, 2007
You Can't Always Get What You Want
No, I'm not back to using song titles; it just happened to be appropriate.
I'm in the middle of retouching a girl with a zillion freckles. (Sidebar: I've noticed recently that most people who do what I do refer to retouching as "editing." I guess that's the politically correct term. Retouching is much too . . . um, let's see . . . honest?) Back to the freckles. I would bet Ron's brand new nine-tools-in-one screwdriver that she hates them. Dreams of peaches and cream skin. Has heard the "let's play connect the dots" just one too many times for it to be amusing. Longs for alabaster skin.
Why do I know? Because I've had a similar yearning - long, straight hair - my entire lifetime. Ok, only since about the third grade when the curls slowly began their takeover - a hostile one, I might add. It was the 70's. Marcia Brady and Laurie from the Partridge Family had stick straight hair parted down the middle were the epitome of the cool girls. I wanted straight hair so bad I put pink tape on my bangs. Yes, pink. It was made especially for hair (didn't pull out every third hair). Sometimes I was so desperate I used real tape. Wouldn't advise that. All the tape really did was flatten my wavy bangs to my forehead. I kinda looked like Donald Trump. Ok, that makes me sick to my stomach.
All my friends who have straight hair, of course, covet my curly hair. Once, when I got my hair cut, I scooped up all the hair on the floor, put it in a ziploc bag and gave it to my friend, Judy. She looked at me like I was crazy. "What?" I asked. "You told me you wanted my hair! Take it!"
Over the years, I've found that there are certain benefits of having a permanent perm.
1. I really never have to brush my hair.
2. It's never the same look two days in a row.
3. I don't have to sleep on curlers (ha - how old am I?)
4. It drives Ron wild.
5. I can never commit a murder (or other heinous crime) because my dna will be everywhere.
6. Marcia Brady and Laurie Partridge are now jealous of ME.
Who's the cool girl, now?
I'm in the middle of retouching a girl with a zillion freckles. (Sidebar: I've noticed recently that most people who do what I do refer to retouching as "editing." I guess that's the politically correct term. Retouching is much too . . . um, let's see . . . honest?) Back to the freckles. I would bet Ron's brand new nine-tools-in-one screwdriver that she hates them. Dreams of peaches and cream skin. Has heard the "let's play connect the dots" just one too many times for it to be amusing. Longs for alabaster skin.
Why do I know? Because I've had a similar yearning - long, straight hair - my entire lifetime. Ok, only since about the third grade when the curls slowly began their takeover - a hostile one, I might add. It was the 70's. Marcia Brady and Laurie from the Partridge Family had stick straight hair parted down the middle were the epitome of the cool girls. I wanted straight hair so bad I put pink tape on my bangs. Yes, pink. It was made especially for hair (didn't pull out every third hair). Sometimes I was so desperate I used real tape. Wouldn't advise that. All the tape really did was flatten my wavy bangs to my forehead. I kinda looked like Donald Trump. Ok, that makes me sick to my stomach.
All my friends who have straight hair, of course, covet my curly hair. Once, when I got my hair cut, I scooped up all the hair on the floor, put it in a ziploc bag and gave it to my friend, Judy. She looked at me like I was crazy. "What?" I asked. "You told me you wanted my hair! Take it!"
Over the years, I've found that there are certain benefits of having a permanent perm.
1. I really never have to brush my hair.
2. It's never the same look two days in a row.
3. I don't have to sleep on curlers (ha - how old am I?)
4. It drives Ron wild.
5. I can never commit a murder (or other heinous crime) because my dna will be everywhere.
6. Marcia Brady and Laurie Partridge are now jealous of ME.
Who's the cool girl, now?
An Actual Conversation
I'm in the kitchen. Ron walks in and says, "You been here long?"
In what can only be explained as the onset of hearing loss, I whirl around and sneer, "YOU leave ME alone!"
It's starting. Laugh or cry?
In what can only be explained as the onset of hearing loss, I whirl around and sneer, "YOU leave ME alone!"
It's starting. Laugh or cry?
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Make Me Laugh Out Loud
I think the neighbors heard me tonight. It was the opening scene of "The Office" and Meredith comes back from her hospital stay (caused by Michael hitting her with his car, resulting in a fractured pelvis). She shuffles over to Jim and thanks him for visiting her in the hospital. Jim points out that EVERYONE visited her in the hospital and she says, "But I'm singling you out." She pulls out a sharpie and asks if he'll sign her cast. He says, in his agreeable kind of guy way, "Sure." She then pulls up her dress to her waist to reveal her female anatomy encased in a plaster cast. This provokes my first WHOOP of laughter. Jim's eyes widen nervously and he hurriedly scribbles his name. Meredith leans in and whispers, real sexy-like, "I'll read it tonight when I get home." Oh my gosh! I want to be in the room with the people who write this stuff. Of course I'd make a complete fool of myself, but whatever. So, so funny.
You might be amused to find out that I do a lot of my laughing in the bathroom. That's because my Reader's Digest library is in there. (Guideposts is in there, too, but it doesn't produce too many guffaws.) Every month those two magazines arrive in the mail and I put them in the wire basket in the corner. Used to be I could read both issues in a month. But somewhere along the line I got behind. I'm pretty sure my trips to the loo haven't decreased that much, but I just can't figure out how I got so backed up (ha). Anyway, my point is, I'm reading issues from last year and finding out important stuff that I completely missed when it was relevant. Oh well. I guess life will go on.
The current issue I'm reading is all about humor. So, for the next few posts, I'll include some of the best of the best . . . today a thought-provoking observation from Jerry Seinfeld:
So they're showing me, on television, the detergents getting out bloodstains. I mean, come on, you got a T-shirt with a bloodstain all over it. Maybe laundry isn't your biggest problem right now.
Laugh well . . .
You might be amused to find out that I do a lot of my laughing in the bathroom. That's because my Reader's Digest library is in there. (Guideposts is in there, too, but it doesn't produce too many guffaws.) Every month those two magazines arrive in the mail and I put them in the wire basket in the corner. Used to be I could read both issues in a month. But somewhere along the line I got behind. I'm pretty sure my trips to the loo haven't decreased that much, but I just can't figure out how I got so backed up (ha). Anyway, my point is, I'm reading issues from last year and finding out important stuff that I completely missed when it was relevant. Oh well. I guess life will go on.
The current issue I'm reading is all about humor. So, for the next few posts, I'll include some of the best of the best . . . today a thought-provoking observation from Jerry Seinfeld:
So they're showing me, on television, the detergents getting out bloodstains. I mean, come on, you got a T-shirt with a bloodstain all over it. Maybe laundry isn't your biggest problem right now.
Laugh well . . .
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