Packing avoidance

Right, so I'm in the process of packing for subzero weather and need a quick break. Trying to remember that I'm really going to be wearing the same jeans and fleece the entire time and not overpack. Wish me luck on that!

So, I stopped by Ann Taylor and got 2 items at a ridiculous 60% off. Thanks, recession! One is a cute sweater dress and I really need a slip for it. I went to the Kohl's website to see what they had and this was it:



Does this mannequin need to stop doing so many chest presses, or is it just me? It's not like she's bowed in because of the weight of her tremendous bosom, or anything. Is she malnourished? Is that the problem? Maybe she's overwhelmed by the plainness of this slip...would it have broken the bank to add some lace? I have a feeling it feels like being wrapped in a cheap, waterproof slicker. (heh, I said 'slicker')

I'll keep looking.

Back to packing.

Watch this

My awesome sister has written, produced, and posted an hysterical short on Funny or Die. If you have kids and can't remember what it's like to have a moment alone, you'll love this. OR if you're like me and all your friends have kids, ditto.

Watch this!

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

2nd Horseman

There are often really creepy applications or ads that pop up on Facebook, but this one takes the cake.

We're in so much trouble.

Has anyone else seen this application? http://www.new.facebook.com/apps/application.php?id=38703062348

"Create your Mr. Right: Why look for Mr. Right when you can make him yourself? Design your Mr. Right now and start your virtual relationship." If you click on the application, it takes you to this page:

And He's STARING at me...staring! Like the creepy droid that He is, with His big feet and...baguette? You can buy yourself gifts that 'he's' giving you? Listen, the only reason He's buying you chocolates is so He can hide sleeping pills in them so you won't hear Him slip out to meet His male lover(s) in the middle of the night. Every night. For always.

Shudder.

Wow. If you aren't single, I don't imagine this is popping up in your feed, but it sure is in mine. I feel like this represents all that is wrong in the social world. Why bother going out to meet men when you can just create a two-dimensional, anime-esque 'boy' to...look at? To write copy for? Could 'he' be more disturbingly androgynous or child-like? Probably. He could be Goofus or Gallant, the charming duo from Highlights magazine...no, they'd be better. Actually, Goofus is pretty butch, maybe I need to 'date' him...

Towels! That's right, towels.

I think I've found The Perfect Towel.

Do you have those things you're super finicky about? There are some things I could care less about, clothes, for example. If it's $0.99, sort of fits, and serves a purpose, I'll wear it until it it falls off my body. I'm not a fashionista. Don't get me wrong, I have some great pieces, too, but if something doesn't fit perfectly, I'll still wear it.

Towels can make me crazy. If it's too soft and doesn't absorb anything, leaves huge amounts of lint that pills up when I apply lotions, is too small to wrap around my, ahem, non-petite frame, or snags on a hangnail and unravels...irritating.

Recently, after realizing I really needed to upgrade some things to make my apartment more fit for massage clients, I decided to get new towels for the bathroom. Now, standing in the towel department of Bed, Bath and Beyond, is my version of hell. Talk about sensory overload! Add the fact that, in Manhattan, you are literally hundreds of feet underground, no outside world ascertainable, looking up at a wall of towels. Blegh.

Also, I'm a Libra, I can't make this kind of decision. Give me two choices, even three, I might be able to choose something in under an hour. Maybe. Faced with an infinite number of price points, types of cotton, colors, sizes, looks...come on.

After a lovely customer gal noticed my glazed look and helped me, I bought a few of these Wamsutta Hotel Towels. After using them for a day, I went back and got a full set. Thick but absorbent, very little lint (and I haven't washed them yet), great weave that looks and feels high quality.

Go get 'em.

I'm ba-ack

So, I had all these plans to blog my ass off while in Colorado on my summer gig. I was partially so disappointed by the town (not in the mountains, air pervaded with eau de derriere du vache, terrible paycheck shenanigans, all sorts of professional merde) that I couldn't bring myself to write about it. Then, after a time, my computer got stolen out of my locked room in housing.

I will describe my experience in a nutshell: I have been hit over the head, about the neck, and smacked on various extremities with the ruler of wake-up-and-smell-the-last-time-you-work-at-this-level-dodohead. I have several girlfriends who are instructed to punch me full in the face if I start to hem and haw about taking more work like this.

I did get the chance to play an amazing role I will play roughly 40 more times in my life for the first time, made some wonderful new friends who will be on Broadway in a matter of years, and be close enough to my family to make a much needed trip home. Yay that...and scene.

Soooo, I'm back in The City. Today, I jumped back into things by being a reader for a Broadway workshop. I'm the person people act with when they come in to audition. In this case it was a musical, so people come in and sing one or two songs, then do sides (portions of the script) for the character they're auditioning for. I read the other character(s) in those scenes, usually while sitting in a chair. Often I'm playing up to 3 different people in the scene, male and female. My job is to give the actor something to work with, be as present as possible, and make them look really good.

There are many wonderful things about this gig. First of all, it's like an audition workshop. Even when it's not everyone on Broadway coming in, like in this audition today, I witness some fascinating behavior, see some great pieces (which I totally write down and use), and remember that no matter how talented you are, you still have to bring it when you're in the room. This is a musical, fairly broad although it still has some good meat to it. They were asking people auditioning for ensemble to bring in a short, comic monologue in addition to the two songs they ask everyone for. One guy came in with two dark songs (even the up-tempo! I wish I could remember what it was, but it's hard to find an angry up-tempo) and his monologue was even more so. After he left, the book writer deadpanned, "I can't imagine a better monologue choice for a musical comedy."

Another woman sang a really cute up-tempo and the director asked what it was from. She told him and he asked who had written it. "I'm so bad," she said, "I just can't remember!" She had probably gotten the song from the actual score of the show, so the composer and lyricist weren't listed at the top.

"I wrote it." The book writer said from behind the table.

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Now, luckily, it was low-key room, fairly good spirits, all egos stealthily cloaked. He wasn't pissed or making a point, just stating a fact. The poor actress handled it well and even sang another song but, seriously, I died a little.

Second, it's a great reminder that even if you're fantastic, sometimes you're just not right for the show or role. The lead role in this show is a nebbishy, Woody Allen type, except translate that to musical theatre. One man came in, I'll call him the Jewish Clark Kent, gorgeous black hair with, seriously, a curl on his forehead, great horn-rimmed glasses, khakis and a button-down. The kind of guy you knew was ripped underneath his Arrow shirt. He had a great voice, was a great actor, but was too serious and understated. A legendary film actor, who was in the original movie the show is based on, came in and was brilliant, but may not end up being as broad as they want. Totally honest and amazing, but not it.

[I just remembered something else. The director regularly asked people about their special skills. One guy had "Yanni-esque" piano playing listed, for example. Well, Jewish CK had "Old English pronunciation" down. Damned if he didn't give the first 4 lines of Canterbury Tales in a perfect, Old-e English-e accent. Of course, his rendition was somehow romantic and hot, unlike the priggish hilarity of my junior English teacher - the same teacher I talk about here. I did get a little hysterical but managed not to embarass myself or anyone else. JCK also listed Greek pronunciation, explaining that he had to choose between acting or linguistics. He sure chose the more lucrative career... Mind you, the director's sister is the head of the Medieval Literature Department at the University of Edinburgh. Do. Not. Lie. On. Your. Resume.]

Third, you experience some amazing stuff you would never see anywhere else. A huge Broadway star rocked an R.E.M. song that no-one else would have done. Another Broadway regular did an amazing up-tempo where he did cartwheels made other choices no one else could have pulled off. One guy sang a song called "Marry Me" directly to me. One man sang a Maury Yeston song and, at the end, the door to the hallway opened and Maury Yeston poked his head in. "I just heard my song being sung so beautifully and I had to see who it was!" He was down the hall having a meeting and happened to pass by. "I'd have to say that's a first." The auditioner said after the composer left.

Fourth, I have a 6-hour audition for something I would never, ever get seen for right now. I just don't have the credits. I get to play 4 characters, and do some fabulous back acting, since I'm sitting front of the team. At the end of the day they asked me to sing. I rocked it. Correction, the pianist rocked it because I didn't have my book because I'm a complete spaz. I never, ever go to one of these without my book of audition songs, I just spaced it. I did have a headshot but a lot of good that does me. So the pianist asked what I wanted to sing and just played it with me. Now, my second one was a standard, but the first was not. I marked through it and she just followed when I sang it (a good 7th below where I normally do, but whatevs). Un-freakin-believable.

So, I'm back.

On the road

So, I'm in Greeley, Colorado.

Um.

Before anything, I really need to get up to the drive across the Midwest. For someone who is terrible at planning ahead (ahem, 'in the past I have been bad about planning ahead') I was pretty effing ready to leave town, and not just emotionally. I don't know if it was that I have a friend's parents coming to stay in my place around her due date that made me get my act together or not, but I was on it.

I. Mopped. My. Kitchen. 'nuff said.

There is a weird melancholy that accompanies a gig on the road. It's been a while since I've done a show where I'm not going to work with 5 of my closest friends (I've been so lucky, that takes some time). On this gig, I know the director from regional and that's it. I'm the only Equity Guest Artist working with college students. It's really weird to leave town so you can do the one thing that makes you the happiest in the world and know that it affects absolutely no one's life back at home. Sure, I have friends that will miss me, but we can talk on the phone (when our schedules mesh) or email and maybe not see each other any less than we do when I'm in town. No one is directly affected by my being gone. I'm not complaining, just an observation.

Years ago, when I was doing a production of The Miracle Worker, one of the girls playing Helen asked me if I was married. When she found out I wasn't married or dating, she asked me if I got lonely. Whoof. No! No. No. Who needs real men when you can meet, fall in love with, and marry fake, gorgeous men on stage all the time. Puh-lease.

Plus the digressing.

So, I set out last Sunday from Omaha in the car my parents have graciously lent me since they're not in Nebraska at present. I was worried the Memorial Day traffic would be heavy, thinking, apparently, that I was in a highly populated area. It was fine.

I stopped a couple of hours later to get some food. I had been craving eggs and biscuits so stopped at a Petro truckstop that had a diner attached, an Iron Skillet. I passed on the terrifying buffet and ordered some standard breakfast fare. This is what I got:



Please click on this to zoom in. I really should have taken the photo before I removed the 4 TABLESPOONS of butter from the egg skillet. Note that the eggs are already swimming in butter. Holy Mary. I gained 4 pounds and 20 cholesterol points just being this close to this meal.

In case you're not getting the magnitude:


Four. And at least that much in each biscuit already. I ate the eggs and both biscuits and instantly felt hurl-a-riffic. Wow. There was also a smoking section in the restaurant. I didn't take a picture for fear of getting my ass kicked. I was way too cosmo in my tank top, cargo pants, and non-permed hair already. I ain't stupid.

The drive was largely non-eventful until I neared Greeley. A) no mountains to be seen from 50 minutes away; B) stockyards, and by that I mean a good 5-10 miles of stockyards like I've never seen or smelled before (and my air was on recirc). If I wasn't already mostly veg, that would have sent me that way in a hurry. I have never been so much about animal rights, but this is highly disturbing. An unfathomable amount of animals in shocking conditions. I can't even go into it.

So, it turns out Greeley is about 40 minutes from the actual mountains. Sigh. Ok. Apparently I'll be spending more gas money than anticipated. Housing is great. All is well.

Thus ends installment one. Tune in soon for stories of cast, rehearsals, and the supermarket.

Ruby et Violette

Renew your gym membership, call your jogging buddy, or dust off that Buns of Steel VHS...you're gonna need it.

A client of mine, an amazing baker/pastry chef, has opened a cafe/coffee shop in the heart of Midtown - Ruby et Violette.

Now, I have a sweet tooth, I won't deny it. But I never really find what hits the spot. I don't really do chocolate but will in a pinch...I'm more of a baked goods person. Holy Mary! I am in LOVE. With a cookie menu that is devoid of Chocolate Chip but ranges from "Root Beer Float" to "Perfect", I'm in.

Of the ones I sampled, Lemon White and Cassis were my favorite. These are truly amazing and like nothing I have ever tasted before. Really. The layers of flavor are astounding, light but full at the same time. I also had Strawberry Champagne, Praline, Peach Cobbler, and Espresso (I had a small bite, y'all know I don't do caffeine, I'd be up until next Wednesday). All were stupendous.

I was a little worried that the flavors would be odd, you know, for the sake of being intense? Like Bertie Botts. Nope. Beautiful. This woman is gifted. NYSC thanks her for my lifetime membership.

The shop is a beautiful little retreat at 457 W. 50th between 9th & 10th. Decorated in white with black and red accents, it has a delightful French feel (except the part where the barristas smile and make eye contact while gladly serving you). There are about 8 small tables that seat two.

Get there.

Ohmigosh, Hi!

Internets, I have become that person that is terrible about staying in touch. You know, the one you see on the street every once in a blue moon who you did a show with who never, ever follows through on plans or calls when they say they will? They spend the first and last 2 minutes of the conversation saying "I'm the worst friend ever!" and "No, seriously, let's do a monthly lunch. I'll call you at 2:54 pm on Tuesday. I'm so bad, really!" instead of just owning and reveling their own flake-i-tude.

I will not embarrass myself by apologizing any more - I think we know how lame I am.

A series of things have happened that have been utterly terrifying this week on a variety of levels.

• I'm not sure which was more traumatizing, the stirrup pants I saw at Express (which at least they have the decency not to have on their website) or the wall of Beef Jerky* that greeted me as I turned the corner at the local Duane Reade (a drug store...cause who knows when you'll be trapped underground for an indeterminate amount of time without food. Better have that jerky in your bag!).
• My therapist apparently didn't have me on the books Wednesday because we crossed wires about our new schedule. This is the first time this has happened in the mumble years I've been seeing her. I full on thought she was dead. If you ever think you don't have abandonment issues, try that scenario on for size. A ridiculous combination of I-hope-she's-okay and what-am-I-gonna-effing-do-if-she's-NOT-okay! went on. Awesome.
• I realized I have 3 weeks before I leave for summer stock to get off book on 2 plays and get my entire apartment/life together.
• I've misspelled about 6 words in this post that I never knew I spelled wrong: misspelled was actually one, reveling, and embarrass. Oh, the irony.
  

*[First off, let it be known I love beef jerky. In doing a search for a beef jerky link, I found BeefJerky.com, the best page is the Customer Testimonials page. It's what happens at 4:15 am. Below is one of the scintillating stories contained on said page.

From: Dave
Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004

Me and my friend Michelle at work have been talking alot about jerky. Then we tried your jerky. And we love it. She wanted to find something low carb to snack on. I said, 'Have you tried Jerky?" She said, "Yeah, I love jerky." Well then try beefjerky.com jerky.

Now we both love your jerky. Thanks so much for the jerky.

Dave and Michelle
New York, NY

I can't imagine what other fascinate conversations these two have over the cubicle wall. I dare you to used the word 'jerky' today as much as possible.]

Seriously, I'm the worst ever. I'll post soon!

Love, me

Blogs and Kisses!

Brits continue to kick our asses.

Tracey Ullman is one of my personal heroes. If you didn't catch her new slot on Showtime, State of the Union...tivo that mofo right now.

Like most of her work, it's her doing different characters, not sketches with other people. She's an amazing actor, mimic, and social commentator who is remarkably unafraid to look atrocious.

Highlights from this pilot include a white house correspondent who delivers the news in such a terrifying way that her anchor and entire crew start yelling out of fear, an African-American airport security worker who uses her x-ray machine to diagnose people who don't have medical insurance, Lindsay Lohan's mom, Renee Zellweger, a soldier mom on a 3-hour furlough from Iraq to see her son, and David Beckham (although she looks remarkably like Harvey Keitel in it, awesome).

The hands down best, however, are the Arianna Huffington scenes where she is first trying to decide what to wear to the Blog Awards, and then her acceptance speech at said event. She uses the word 'blog' indiscriminately. "Oh! They're telling me to blog it up." "Blogs and kisses!" Effing brilliant.

Don't miss it!

Pay attention much?

I pride myself on being observant. Or, at least, I did until now.

really?

So I overheard a yoga teacher talking to a student:

"Yeah, so I'm doing the dating thing," the teacher said.
"How's that going?"
"Well, they all seem to be philistines. That or I stop being interested as soon as they take their shirt off..."

Just in case you thought your guru wasn't a shallow mofo...wow.

Habitat for Humanity

Okay, we've already discussed my love for Jimmy Carter (and his love for my mother...well, both my parents).

Here's the scoop - until April 3rd, every donation made to Habitat for Humanity will be matched up to 3 million dollars (so if you give more than 3 million, they aren't ponying up, cheap bastards!). Go here and give. Please, even $5 will make a tremendous difference.

I know The Recession is freaking everyone out and our instinct is to hold onto money (unless you're of my tribe and feel compelled to make a ton of inane purchases to prove you have a disposable income). The first thing that seems to go by the wayside is donating to charity. If you think you're being affected by the economics of this country, think of the way it's trickling down.

The wearing of the green

I don't think I have an ounce of Irish in me...well, maybe my liver...but I loves me some St. Paddy's Day! One for one water for beer, people. One for one.

There's apparently an Irish pub here in Manhattan that has banned this song for the entire month. It's just too damn sad.

Here's a lighter version:

LJ

Right, so, first of all...Lipstick Jungle. I'm watching this show partially because it's shot in NYC and I auditioned for a part I didn't book...but it's actually kind of fun. A couple of things, though: 1)since when do we have previews for the next segment of the show during a commercial break ("Next, on Lipstick Jungle..."). WTF? Is the show that boring that I can't wait 2 minutes to stay hooked. Yeesh. 2)Have you seen the Candace Bushnell (writer of Sex And The City and this show) spots talking about the different characters and their motivations/style choices? Does she not sound coked out?! Maybe this is just an -ism of hers but she is almost unintelligible and looks like H-E-double-hockey-sticks. Bleh.

Second...I don't have a second. Sorry.

Cowabunga!

I just spent an amazing weekend with the tremendous Jonathan Fields. 6 years ago, I stumbled into his newly formed Sonic Yoga, 4 blocks from my place, to facilitate the continued recovery from a knee issue that had caused me to gain 30 pounds and lose my momentum in most areas of my life. I tried Bikram for a while but the heat and emphasis on the lower body wore on my bod and psyche (the pretension and yogatude that permeated the studio was rather tiresome, as well). The vibe of Sonic was much more down to earth, the practitioners more varied, and the vinyasa, or flow, style threatened to develop my arms past the spaghetti-like tone they'd sported since childhood.

I practiced there for some time, taking the 7am classes before I raced to my temp job, but I couldn't afford it for long and kept leaving town for gigs. I left for LA and my friend Gabra started practicing there, then doing work study. I returned and have gotten on the karmi wagon, working a shift a week to qualify for free classes. The fact that the studio has lasted 6 months much less years, has an amazing number of repeat clientèle, a huge teacher training program that turns out several hundred certified yoga teachers a year, and has maintained the chill yet focused energy I so loved at the beginning is impressive, to say the least. Separately, all these things would be good fortune. Together, it shows damn good business practices combined with amazing people skills.

What I didn't know until recently, was that zen, groovy, yogi Jonathan had not always lived this lifestyle. Years ago(read his full story here) , Jonathan left his high powered position and six figure income at a law firm a year after an especially grueling deadline landed him in the hospital needing emergency surgery.

Now, over a decade and many business ventures later (some successful, some...not so much), he is sharing his passion for living a fulfilling life. I just partook in the first Career Renegade Bootcamp. 16 hours spent talking about "how to do what you love and earn a great living without blowing apart your life." Sign me UP!

It was fantastic. Jonathan has an amazing range of skill sets, from yoga to web-savvy and, most importantly, has a gift for teaching people those same things in an accessible, non-pretentious way. He's a very well rounded healer.

I will be making some changes based on this workshop, watch out. If you feel like you need an assist in a life change, or figure out if it's really what you want to do...get yourself to the next workshop. At the very least, go take the Career Intervention Test and see what it tells you about where you are.

Ah, 1982

When I got home tonight and saw Knight Rider on my list of saved shows, I squealed like the 6th grade girl I pretend I am not. I double checked and made sure I hadn't left the flux capacitor on when I went to work and settled down to watch what promised to be a train wreck of a pilot. Actually, it's a "movie event" which means if it tanks, they can yank it.

Actually, not bad, NBC. Aside from the terrible, night-time-soap-opera-ness of the casting...not a terrible story. I'm sure Sidney Poitier is thrilled that his daughter, and namesake, upheld the family history of pioneering civil and human rights with the bikini, boob shot at the intro of her character. This was, of course, counteracted by the fact that she leaves her lesbian one night stand in bed as she slaps her badge on and races to work. Oh, wait! She's a dyke? Bring on the objectification! That makes it totally okay.

The lead gal, Deanna Russo, was on a soap for some time, natch, and Justin Bruening was on TWO soaps. [I want it noted that I actually had no knowledge of that until I imdb'd them both this instant, my psychic skills are rapidly sharpening.] Another fact I just learned, this instant, is that VAL KILMER is the voice of KITT. Holy shit. My favorite VK moment (other than seeing him in the catastrophe of The Ten Commandments, the musical!, in LA) is when I saw Deja Vu with my parents. About 25 minutes into the movie, my mom turned to me and whispered, "Who is that?" The resounding gasp of horror from my southern belle mother that the bloated, detective on camera was the one, the only, Ice Man said it all. WTF? Now he's making some much needed moolah providing the emotionless, even voice of the car in Knight Rider.

The brief appearance by The Hoff at the end of the show was painful. He seemed cagey, unable to stand still. I've decided that he's just doing '80's television...he hasn't gotten the memo that the current style of TV acting is akin to being as expressionless and unmoved by anything as possible.

The two best parts of the show were the rockin' remix of the theme song (which I can't find on line for the life of me, sorry) and Bruce Davison as the designer of the car, he is an amazing actor, I'm thrilled to see him working.

I'm still not entirely sure it wasn't a wrinkle in the space-time continuum, Porky's II: The Next Day was on a couple of channels away. Dear. Lord. Deliver us.

For reals...

For the love of all that's holy, watch this video. Originally posted by Byrneunit, there are at least 400 reasons to watch it.

The top three are

• If you need to polish your Midwestern accent.
• If you are obsessed with weiner dogs (the kind that bark, not the kind you eat).
  
• If you've never heard a news caster say the words “Clean up all the wiener poopie if you want to see Jesus unharmed.”

Do it. Now.

Dunder Mifflin

Good gravy, it's been 3 weeks since my last post! I've been overwhelmed with a visit home and approximately 1 bagillion hours of training for my spa job. That's right, they're making us become employees at the hotel spa where I work (which will not be named for obvious reasons) because...well, because there's no way on God's green earth they would ever win a lawsuit claiming worker's comp even though we're classified as independent contractors because of what we do. We are not, of course, allowed to be full time (although who would ever want to do that) because they're sure as hell not going to give us benefits, but I have been forced to add a shift.

The training on the body treatments was actually fun but we had one day of corporate training that was mind boggling. I honestly felt at one point that might have been duped into shooting an episode of The Office for free. Our manager must seriously rock the numbers because she could not be more lacking in people skills. This is a woman whose smile rarely, if ever, reaches her eyes, you know what I mean - I wouldn't trust Fakey McFakerson with a nickel. At one point, while trying to explain the deep philosophy behind customer service (this is a Five Star joint, btw, the policy is: The customer is right. Whatever that customer wants, get it and if you don't personally deliver it on a silver tray within 2.8 seconds, you're fired.) she singled out a massage therapist to make a point. "Ivan, are you happy?" she asked.

Ivan is Russian; a stocky, dark, hunk of poker-faced gravitas who will pound the shit out of your muscles. Ivan does not have emotions, he has hands of steel that were made to earn the $200 you're about to toss down for your massage. I don't think he blinks or breathes more than once or twice an hour. You don't address Ivan in front of a group of people, you don't make him participate in ridiculous group activities, you quietly fantasize about him throwing you up against the supply cabinet and having his way with you and let it go at that...but I digress.

"Ivan, are you happy?" she asked. 25 people stopped breathing and stared at her. "Yes," Ivan rumbled. "Why don't you tell your face?" She didn't just say...she couldn't possibly have... You could've heard a pin drop. "That's right...smile!" I fully expected Steve Carrell to come bursting through the door. Nevermind that the smile (customer service) was just part of the equation to the real reason we're in the spa business, MONEY! Her entire motivational speech was how this behavior would lead to making more money. She would break into the chorus from the Abba song "Money, Money, Money" often, singing into the handheld microphone she insisted on using in the 14x30 conference room. Now, I won't turn my nose up at a large paycheck, but I am in this business for a slightly larger reason...touching naked men...seriously now!, I'm a healer. I'm helping people feel better. Ew.

I decided to rise above and continue making my ridiculous paycheck there until I'm truly set up for a private practice. Until then, don't forget to tell your face you're happy!

This video, posted by my friend Kate, will help. This is from a class she took to learn how to be a Muppeteer. Muppets make it all better.

In the cross hairs...

There's a Military Channel.

The lineup tonight was Weaponology (season 1, not 2), followed by Top Sniper, then Sniper School. Rinse and repeat for the next 3 hours.

I have a fascination with special ops as much as the next, red-blooded, American, hottie but...really?

I need to get out more.

Olan Mills Awesomeness

I have searched and searched for who originated this brilliant, effing blogpost/email but to no avail. A girlfriend sent this to me today and I think I actually pulled something laughing at it. It is very rare that I laugh out loud at anything...I will usually smile and say, "That's funny!"

Uh-unh. This is the real, effing deal. For those of you who don't know, Olan Mills is the in-house photographer for K-Mart.

If you have any pictures to add -bring it. Don't cheat yourself by ignoring the captions below. My regards to the mastermind who originated this.



Those glasses came free with a purchase of Brut cologne .


Thoughtful Lance. Mirthful Lance. Two sides of a delightful coin.


Drake won Bitchin'est Senior Mullet by a landslide.


That dude wore a tie for nothing.


The Purvis family made several stops along the Oregon Trail to document their six-month journey. This photo was taken just two weeks before the dysentery took Momma to Jesus.


I wanted a shot like this for my wedding. The Mrs. said no.


It's called a leisure suit, ladies and germs, and if you didn't have one in the early 70s, you were a big fat loser. Mine was teal. I wore it with a silk floral shirt and a long necklace with a football player pendant that we all got at that year's team banquet. I was THE MAN.


Once they had two or three, how did they ever find enough time alone to make more?


No Comment


Olan Mills backdrop #4: Bucolic Meadow with Split Rail Fence. Is that an animal carcass behind her?


A pose like this will get you kicked right out of the Convention.




Oh, this is super. What better way to capture the charm and innocence of a child than to plunk him down amid the coarse trappings of a life lived in pursuit of wealth -- oversized bills, an adding machine and the Wall Street Journal -- and make him sit inside a briefcase? (They probably just fold up the little demon right in there to carry him home.) The finishing touch is the globe, which completes the portrait of the young Antichrist in Chess King vest and Red Goose loafers, plotting his takeover of the world (insert maniacal laugh). That is, as soon as someone changes his poopy diaper.


Bobbi isn't the first waitress to fall for her manager, but she and Dale both got fired from Shoney's.


Rejected Toby Keith album cover.


Just a typical afternoon down on the plantation. In a business suit. Y'know, for a budget meeting with the slaves.


Dawn and her recently exhumed sister, Gorgotha, pose with Scraps.


This photo isn't discolored. The 70s really were that Orange.


And don't miss the First Presbyterian Players as they perform 'Godspell' next Wednesday night in the Fellowship Hall. Childcare will be provided. Please bring a covered dish.


At the Southern Baptist Convention?




Olan Mills Backdrop #11: The Library, one of their most popular themes, as seen in this photo of the young Unabomber and his wife.


The Library might be more believable if the shelves weren't sloping downhill


Olan Mills is all about versatility. The simple addition of a column turns this generic plantation into Tara, where, apparently, someone opened a Hair Cuttery. (This Dorothy Hamill cut was very popular in 70s after Doro won Olympic gold. Both my sisters had the cut at different times. I did not -- although I did have a huge crush on Dorothy).


Patrick broke ranks and chose drag over the bow tie


You'd think Pearle Vision would throw in another two pairs for free.


Grapefruit smuggling isn't a crime, but posing it in profile should be.


Kenneth and his prom date



I got a 20 that says he drives a Camaro.


Hiroshima, 1945. The last known photo of Kelli and Senor Loco .

e this was Dad's idea.

Someone spent money on this.


It's so cute when couples have matching hairdos


Talk about a third wheel...


Nothing says 1973 quite like denim and helmet hair


I'd hide my face, too, little girl


B-52's, the early years.


She's looking for the speaker that's piping in 'Muskrat Love' so she can blast it with her laser eyes.

I can now die happy (please play Muskrat Love at my 3 day Wake).

Effing BOYS!

There have been so many things to blog about these last few weeks, I've been overwhelmed. I'll try a systematic approach over the next few days.

The other day, as I headed into a french bakery to buy some sinful, overpriced spread, a man walking by (who was not going into the store) opened the door for me. I was so pleasantly shocked that I made eye contact with this doughy, Midwestern, 30-something and thanked him, expressing my surprise. After asking me to repeat what I'd said, he nodded his head vigorously, smiling a little maniacally as he followed me into the vestibule. "You don't meet many guys like me in New York!" I managed to shake him by making a beeline for the hazelnut spread. You mean crazies? I beg to differ. That's what I get for engaging.

Last week I ran into a man I have a mad crush on. He's a wildly successful actor who is on tour with something and was back in town for a few days to, ya know, sit in on rehearsals for the play he wrote that's currently in rehearsal. After giving me an update, he asked about me. I explained I wasn't really acting much, mostly doing a lot of massage. "Well," he responded, "it could be worse. At least you're not homeless!" What? So, since I'm not homeless...I'm not allowed to mention that I'm not acting? I am not a whiner about my lack of career activity (at least, not lately, and definitely not with people I barely know and am trying to hypnotize into asking me out); I actually wasn't even freaking out about it at the time, I was very matter of fact. Does my lack of career make you uncomfortable? Are you serious? Dammit!

Today I met Julie for lunch. We went to the Cosi by Union Square, hotbed of NYU students and random officeworkers. Snagging a table by a handsome grad student working on his laptop, I noticed an interested picture on the hardback book sitting, next to him...a papaya cut in half. Hmm. Later, after he went to get his drink, I noted the title - She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman. Oy. Wow, he was so cute a moment before. That book (conspicuously placed, cover up) was not touched once the entire hour I was there, and he was checking his email the whole time. This was one smooth operator...it was all a calculated setup to attract the babes. I am sorry, I'm really not comfortable using cunnilingus as an opener for chit-chat. It would be like saying, "Cute shirt! (giggle)" to a guy wearing a tee touting Free Mustache Rides.

The man of my dreams continues to elude me.

In other news: Sky Still Blue.