born under a bad sign

Can we discuss The Sopranos for a second? Okay, I was pretty certain that Phil Leotardo would get whacked. No surprise there. However, I never in my wildest dreams thought we'd see a close-up of an SUV running over his face. Oh man. I think I just made myself nauseous by recalling that memory. Suppress! Suppress!

Actually, I thought the two babies were going to eat it in a collision if the car rolled out onto the busy street so by scene's end, I guess I felt a bit of relief in between bouts of dry heaving.

Not sure what I think about the ending yet. In truth, that abrupt and silent fade-to-black made me think my digital cable was frozen and then I realized that, for once, Time Warner cable wasn't having yet another ill-timed hiccup in service. 'Twas the rolling of the credits that tipped me off that the series was, in fact, finito. 'Cause I'm smart like that.

Seriously, I'm interested to see what the response will be to the finale. But before I scour Technorati for relevant posts, methinks I'll go hurl first because :: gag :: I just got another visual of Phil's pressurized melon. Blech.

Anyone have any Tums?

baba-booey! baba-booey!

We don't have full confirmation yet but it would appear that American Midol, the other blog I lovingly co-author with Mejack and The Lovely Jess, was mentioned on The Howard Stern Show (NSFW) this week. We don't know if the mention was good or bad but whatever, our traffic is on the rise and as unapologetic traffic whores, we're just giddy about this development. Love Howard or hate Howard, that's hot!

For the record, I don't hate Howard at all. In fact, I dig him and I listened to his show often, particularly in college. Among other things, Howard set me straight about the true meaning of the term dingleberry and for that, I'm grateful. Aren't we all?

Did you know that one of my first crushes as a wee girl was on one of his former interns? Except, at the time, he (and yes, it was a boy!) wasn't yet an intern because we were both, like, seven, and were too busy playing Marco Polo and manhunt at a summer resort in the Catskills. It wasn't until years later that I discovered that my crush and the intern were one and the same.

Oh and because I seem to be cosmically connected to people affiliated with Howard, I once had a phone conversation with Kenneth Keith Kallenbach. He's the dude who unsuccessfully tried to blow smoke out of his eyes and the only thing he ended up blowing was chunks, as I recall.

See, I used to work at a magazine which catered to aspiring actors and actresses. As such, my phone rang off the hook with calls from people looking to break into the biz. I also had to speak with countless talent agents and casting directors which, in case you're wondering, is an ordeal far more painful than any of the gruesome torture tactics I've ever seen depicted on 24. Also, some weird old agent told me that my voice sounded "remarkably like Helen Gurley Brown's." To which I responded, "Um? Thank you?"

God, I hated that job.

Anyhoo, one day the phone rang and a very distinct voice was on the other end. He was asking me questions about landing an agent or some crap like that. I couldn't really focus on what he was actually saying because I began immediately trying to place the familiar voice. And then in mid-sentence (his), I blurted out excitedly, "Are you Kenneth Keith Kallenbach?!?!" And he was all, "Whooooooa! You knoooooooow me?" I do believe my voice recognition made his day. I don't normally engage in "guess the voice" games like that but, like I said, his voice is very distinct. It sounds sort of like Jeff Spicoli's, if Jeff Spicoli was from Philadelphia.

If any of you out there have Sirius satellite radio and can confirm the Howard mention and/or provide some more details, please email us. Our self-absorbed asses would appreciate it!

i chart, you chart, they chart

Attention lesbians and those who want to socially network with us on a site that took forever to launch and from my limited exposure to it is quite buggy and lacks an intuitive user interface! Yeah, you! Listen up!

I finally set up my profile up on OurChart.com. Look me up... if you can figure out how!

Update: Here's a link to my profile, OurChart members. Admittedly, my profile is pretty much empty at the moment. I'll complete it when both my temper and attention span are not in such short supply. That site tries my patience, yo.

filler

I suppose you've been wondering where I've been, huh? What do you mean no, you haven't?! That's cold. I'm hurt.

Nah, I'm just fucking with you. It would seem that I have scheduled my free time within an inch of its life. It's not easy being popular, you see. Oh, who am I kidding? Some of the whirlwind comes courtesy of acting class and getting poked and prodded by my allergist. My social calendar ain't all that impressive.

One big time gobbler is my other blog. Did you know I had one? Oh, but I do! I, along with The Lovely Jess and Mejack, have been spending a lot of time updating American Midol, our cranky take on the highly-popular reality show.

Shut up.

We've been working hard posting mad-cap recaps and oh-so-important American Idol news briefs as well as speculating about the sanity level of one Ms. Paula Abdul. We have charts and everything! It's all fancy schmancy and scientific and shit. Go see for yourself.

I've also been getting caught up on my Netflix stash. Its neglect has been a source of guilt for the past month or so.

I'm currently watching every season of The Young Ones, the cult British comedy from the early 80s. It's not nearly as funny as I remember it being in 1987 when I was, you know, 14, but I am still absolutely in love with Neil, the suicidal hippy. My adoration has not waned in the least. And as an unashamed fan of Brit Pop, I am also loving the musical guests: Madness, Dexys Midnight Runners and Motörhead, among them.

I vaguely remember Nigel Planer, the dude who played Neil, appearing in character in the "making of" video for Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas?" As I recall, Phil Collins was quite freaked out by him. For what it's worth, I'm quite freaked out by Phil Collins and his movie soundtrack ubiquity, among other things.

Does anyone else remember him in that video? Or am I making shit up again? It's entirely possible that I am. And speaking of Band Aid, here are some more of my thoughts on that charitable endeavor, if you're interested. It's totally out of season but quite cheeky, I assure you.

Lastly, I'll be attending Blarg Hop 2007 with some of the hottest NYC bloggers this coming Saturday. I totally wimped out last year because of a wee bit of snow but I've already got my game face on for this year's drunken debauchery. See ya on Saturday, boys... and Helen!

with one look

On Saturday I enjoyed an overdue and much-needed day to myself. With the exception of a quick trip to the deli next door for the newspaper and some half-and-half, I didn't leave the toasty confines of my Tiny Wee Studio the entire rest of the day.

The day was thoroughly enjoyable... save for a dream I had during my mid-day nap involving me, the Idols Live! tour and forgotten song lyrics.

I have no idea. All I know is that I woke up in a panic trying to remember all the words to Cheap Trick's "Surrender" and that's just so bizarre because that's the last song I would sing under those circumstances. It's fine for karaoke, maybe, but not on a national tour, duh. In case you're wondering what I would sing, I'm going to go with "Blowin' Sky High" by Berlin for now, with the understanding and option that I can change my mind later.

But getting back to Saturday... I did a few chores but spent the rest of the day watching movies and getting caught up on my shows. If you're not watching HBO's Extras, you really need to be. That show makes me cackle. Not chuckle, not giggle... CACKLE. I won't elaborate further on that because Sheila addressed this very topic last week and I cannot possibly expand on her insightful take. All I can say is, "Ditto."

I also watched several movies: Mallrats, Summer of Sam and Layer Cake. The latter is well-spun yarn starring Daniel Craig as a drug dealer saddled with two complex tasks before he can retire from the business. The movie is violent and extremely graphic in its depiction of the gritty drug scene. Despite the blood and gore, I didn't find it nearly as disturbing at the former two films in my mini festival.

Mallrats? Disturbing? How come, you ask? Obvious Shannen Doherty references aside, there's some freaky shit in that film. For example, Priscilla Barnes, Terri from the later seasons of Three's Company, has a small role as a psychic in a dirt mall. A topless psychic, to be exact. Yes, she's an attractive woman but I just found it strange to see Terri Alden's boobies... with a third nip, no less!

While watching that scene, I made a mental note to Google "Priscilla Barnes" and "third nipple" to see if it was a genuine deformity and then, in answer to my question, there she was on the screen peeling off the nip and eating it (I can't believe I just typed that) so there was no Googling to be had. Gagging and eye rubbing, yes, but no Googling.

Later that day I watched Summer of Sam, Spike Lee's film about serial killer David Berkowitz's terrifying grip on New York City in the summer of 1977. John Leguizamo was good in the lead role. I'll watch him in anything. I saw his one-man-show Freak on Broadway a few years ago and he just blew me away. I wish I had an ounce of his energy. Actually, I'm sure I could inhale some of that "energy" up my nose quite easily, come to think of it...

The movie was decent and the cast was impressive -- Mira Sorvino, Anthony LaPaglia, Michael Imperioli, Adrien Brody, Ben Gazzara, Bebe Neuwirth and Patti LuPone, just to name a few. I didn't adore the film but it adequately entertained me for a few hours.

So there I was sprawled out on my couch, watching the movie and minding my own bees wax when, wait, what's this? Patti LuPone's bare boobs! Patti LuPone's bare boobs! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Yet another set of knockers I really did not need or want to see. Hello, Buenos Aires?!?! She's Evita! And Corky's mother, for fuck's sake! Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is more disturbing than the time I thought Betty Buckley suffered from a parched vag. That was a false alarm, thank God. Patti's boobs, however, are forever burned into my brain and I'm not sure I'll ever be the same.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da...

as cranky as we wanna be

Can you smell it? Take a good whiff. Yes, folks, it's the stench of desperation and shameless pleas for attention mixed with the distinct aroma of a booze-and-pharmaceutical drug cocktail emanating from one Miss Paula Abdul.

Or the stank could be wafting over from that pile of laundry in the corner I keep ignoring...

Whatever it is, it's getting closer, my friends. Closer! In just three days, the brand new season of American Idol begins! And just like last year, I, along with The Lovely Jess and Mejack, will be bringing you the latest catty commentary and breaking news with a snarky slant each and every day on our beloved bitchfest, American Midol.

And, if that's not enough incentive to click on over, I'm pleased as spiked punch to announce that our good friend Sheila has joined our snotty ranks. It's going to be sick, I tell you, SICK.

We've already been posting daily news briefs and other bits and pieces. Once the show gets into full swing, you can expect more news, show recaps, predictions, useless, unscientific polls, in-depth analysis of Paula's descent into drug-addled insanity plus lots of impersonations of Randy Jackson's limited vocabulary. A'ight, dawg? You feelin' us?

See what I mean?

A guaranteed good time will be had by all... um, except maybe the contestants we skewer mercilessly. So mosey on over to American Midol right now, comment on it, bookmark it, Blogroll it and/or add it to your RSS feeds. Oops, that reminds me... I need to set that up. The nerdy backend work never ends. Hee hee... I said "backend."

ourchart.com

Attention lesbians! The Chart is finally here... well, almost. Let me back up... If you've been following The L Word (and I know you have), then you already know all about The Chart, Alice Pieszecki's hand-drawn web of women who have banged each other silly. It's sort of like Six Degrees of Sapphic Separation mapped out on a dry-erase board.

Anyhoo, some of the producers and stars of The L Word got together and launched an online equivalent called OurChart.com. It's one of them there social networking sites for the lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community. Think MySpace or Facebook, but with less pedophiles and unknown, crappy bands trying to befriend you.

The actual chart is not yet live but the rest of the site has officially launched, complete with articles, blog posts and lots of other good stuff. I'm particularly thrilled with the inclusion of behind-the-scenes photos taken by Jennifer Beals.

I adore Jennifer Beals. She can break my heart into a million pieces with just one facial expression: The wounded look. I believe she holds the patent on it. No one can portray hurt quite like Jennifer Beals. She furrows her brow and opens her mouth ever so slightly and God, it just levels me. I am beyond smitten with her.

But I digress... Beals is actually an accomplished photographer. Have you seen The Anniversary Party? Jennifer's photos appear in that film, as a matter of fact. She's got an amazing eye.

Okay, enough mooning over Jennifer... Once The Chart launches, I'll let you know so you can join my network. I'm pretty sure the rules are somewhat different than the show in that we don't actually need to know each other in the Biblical sense in order to be connected. However, if you're a real stickler for details, we could work something out....

Photo: TV Guide

grossest of the gross commercial poll results

Thank you all for voting in the grossest TV commercial poll. I know you've all been on pins and needles awaiting the results. Oh, shut up, you were too.

So, without further ado, the award for grossest TV commercial currently on the air goes to... (drumroll, please)...

The yellow blob of fungus thingy that wants to live under your nails!

A hearty congratulations to Digger the Dermatophyte for taking home top honors with a whopping 40 percent of the vote. Um, let's just hope that "home" is not my nail bed. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Kelly Ripa snagged 17 percent of the vote firmly landing her in second place. In other words, Regis Philbin's perky cohost ranks higher than explosive diarrhea, anal leakage, eight-hour erections, Q-tips poking around in the hole in a cancer patient's neck, crusty mayonnaise jars, garbage sniffing and cigar-smoking phlegm on the grossness scale. Uh, congrats, Kelly?!

Call your agent, Reege.

Click here to see the rest of the results.

Photos: Lamisil; ABC

what's grosser than gross?

In Saturday's post, I went off on a wee tangent (surprise, surprise!) concerning disgusting commercials. Several of you posted your nominees in the comments. The rest of you provided detailed information on tracheotomies, stomas and the correct medical term for the cancer kazoo. Um, thank you... I think.

Since posting this the other day, I remembered several other ads that really make me want to shit twice and die. Naturally, I've rounded them up so that I can disgust, er, I mean, share them with you. And to make this a bit more interactive and time-wasting, I put them in poll format so you can cast your vote on the most offensive of the lot. Write-in candidates are welcome in the comments. So, without further ado...

Which TV commercial is the most foul?
	The anti-smoking ad with the cancer kazoo guy
	The Hellmann's Squeezable White Slime ad which sends Yours Truly into convulsions
	The garbage-sniffing White Castle guy (per Sheila)
	The hospital with robotic surgery capabilities depicting scary robot hands rummaging around the insides of patients (per Lubes)
	The green blob of snot thingy that wants to live in your lungs
	The yellow blob of fungus thingy that wants to live under your nails
	Any prescription drug that mentions explosive diarrhea as a side effect
	Any prescription drug that mentions anal leakage as a side effect
	Any prescription drug that mentions an 8-hour erection as a side effect
	Any ad with Kelly Ripa in it
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Update: The results are in!

on new math and creepy-ass commercials

Because of the inclement weather, today's plans to scorch my skin alongside The Lovely Jess at Brighton Beach had to be scrapped.

So, did I take advantage of the indoor time to clean my apartment, shred some junk mail or tackle the towering pile of laundry bursting out of my hamper? Fuck no. I'm in the midst of full-blown lazy Saturday.

It's almost 6:30pm and I'm still in my Curious George capri-length pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I am the picture of sloth. I've been lounging on my couch watching TV all day with no regrets whatsoever. In fact, I just watched Ice Princess. And I'm not the least bit ashamed. Well, I am a little bit. However, I adhere to the following formula:

Bad weather + weekend afternoon ÷ cheesy movie X 1 movie on IFC/Sundance² = Freedom from guilt

(In this equation, let Secrets & Lies represent the shame-saving variable.)

The only downside of prolonged TV viewing? I keep seeing that fucking commercial with the guy who has throat cancer and has a hole in his windpipe and talks through one of those... uh... what's the technical name for it? I only know the awful slang term for it: cancer kazoo. Terrible, I know. What's the right word for it? Please enlighten my sorry ass.

Anyways, the airwaves have been absolutely saturated with this ad. I can't even look at it. Gone are the days of "The Cigarette Mash," I guess.

But the campaign is totally working because I'll be damned if I ever touch another cigarette. Not that I'm much of a smoker anyway but what that man has to do with a Q-tip has scared me straight, yo.

I feel like I'm under assault lately with the gross ads. There's this one for squeezable mayonnaise that is just horrendous, what with all that jar-scraping and white slime squeezing. At the first sign of this advert, I peform the following in this order: 1) clasp my hand over my eyes; 2) blindly change the channel; 3) crawl into a fetal position; and 4) gag uncontrollably.

ACK! I'm so going to hurl right now. Say, I wonder if I have a strong enough case to sue Hellmann's for mental anguish?

Update: Which commercial do you think is really gnarly? Cast your vote!

all you need is 'midol'

The American Midol blog finally got its long-awaited makeover. I'm a procrastinator, what can I say?

But the labor of love -- mine, The Lovely Jess and Mejack's -- has much more than dense jpgs and a tweaked style sheet! Check out the American Idol episode recaps, polls, news round-ups and tons more crap to help waste some time.

American Midol promises to scratch the itch for you Idol fans... and further outrage those of you who hate the show and just don't get it. We're multi-purpose like that.

A big thank you to Layne for the promotional buttons (see above and the to your right in the sidebar) and all the upcoming back-end stuff he is most likely going to regret offering to do!

an announcement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Blogger Trio Unveils 'American Idol' Blog

NEW YORK, NY (May 1, 2006) -- Three bloggers today launched a joint venture to feed their shared 'American Idol' obsession. This new blog -- the American Midol Blog -- will be updated at a frenzied pace, and will feature news, gossip and what Jess of Blind Cavefish calls "totally bitchy commentary."

The name American Midol was first thought up by Mejack of Mejack and You're Not.

"I was searching for a term that would really encompass how the show made me feel," Mejack said. "I realized it made me feel like PMS."

Jess and Curly McDimple of Ham and Cheese on Wry immediately proclaimed it as "genius!" and then decided to name the 'American Idol'-themed blog accordingly.

"We want to be a one-stop resource for all things 'American Idol'," Jess explained. "We spend so much time, especially on Wednesday and Thursday morning, firing show-related links at each other over IM. We want to give the 'Idol'-obsessed quick and easy access to a wealth of information."

The bloggers have several plans for the future of the blog. Site enhancements, Photoshop art and images that will probably get them sued are on that list.

"I'm making a seriously bitchin' logo," says Curly McDimple.

The American Midol Blog can be found at http://www.americanmidolblog.com.

courtney & tina: a theory

I recently watched Sid & Nancy. I loves me some Sex Pistols, rally I do. Anyhoo, I knew Courtney Love had a small part in the film but oh my God, when she first appeared on the screen, I had one question and one question only: "Um, are Courtney Love and Tina Yothers of Family Ties fame the same person?"

You decide:

Courtney

Tina

See what I mean? No? Take another look:

Tina?

Courtney?

Come to think of it, didn't Hole have a song called "Jennifer's Body"? Hmm... Jennifer as in Jennifer Keaton?!?! Consider this mystery solved. Sha, la, la, la...


Photo credits: Courtney: burnthiswitch.tripod.com; Tina: familyties-tv.com

the best o' '05, relatively speaking

Despite my earlier proclamation, I have one last entry left in me for the year. I was going to do a Top 10 Posts of 2005 list eventually but I saw a slightly different format on Sheila's site (via Ann Althouse) that I quite like. Here, dear readers, is a monthly breakdown of notable posts:

January

Boobwatch, Indeed
This, my friends, is when The Hoff sickness began. 'Nuff said.

Long Before Ben and Liv Stunk up the Screen...
A cable airing of Jami Gertz's Jersey Girl riled me up and made me a tad defensive of my home state. I mean, there's a reason I left NJ but I'd still like to issue this rule o' thumb: I can make fun of Jersey as can other former (and present) residents all I/we want. The rest of y'all sound tired when you do it. What else is in your sad cannon? "Why did the chicken cross the road?" and a bunch of knock-knock jokes? Seriously, get some new material. Or go pick on Connecticut or something. Move on or I'll be forced to open up a can of Coors Light on your asses.

But When You Shake Your Ass, They Notice Fast
Any post which contains the line "Seriously I'm so white, I make Debbie Boone look ghetto fabulous," needs, nay BEGS, to be resurrected.

February

The Tesh Experiment
The birth of Harriet McNamara, the rabid John Tesh fan/mail room clerk/ace bowler.

A Couple of Quick Niece-isms
Several gems uttered by the Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece when she was still the Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece.

March

On Movies and Molestation
I'm quite confident this is the only site out there on the Internets [sic] that can discuss Capturing the Friedmans and the diddling of Dudley on Diff'rent Strokes in the same post. If I'm wrong, please let me know because I might need to marry this equally-twisted writer.

She Bops
And lo, the birth of a new phrase on par with "Life is like a box of chocolates..." is born.

Next Week We Teach Her How to Funnel
The Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece begins training for her first keg stand.

April

A Public Service Announcement
I decided to give some much-needed assistance to forlorn Googlers. Lest you think it's a stuffy, tech-heavy tutorial, fear not. One of my lessons was the proper use of the term "tart cart." Never doubt my ability to be completely inappropriate.

And Now Is Zee Time When I Kiss My Own Ass
Because I'm always late, I missed my own one-year blog anniversary. But I had a brain fart several days later and marked the occasion by showcasing some of my lesser-known posts. Whoa... a list of posts WITHIN a list of posts. I think I just blew my own mind.

Chug! Chug! Chug!
A rare photo of Yours Truly... making short work of a pitcher of Brooklyn. 'Cause I'm classy like that.

May

Adam Sandler Doesn't Dice My Onions
Once again, The Lovely Jess and I take the English language to new and interesting heights. Or, like, you know... butcher it.

My Other Talent
I can "cook" too, y'all.

Sex Smells
Some pyschological insight into what makes me tick. It's as disturbing as you've no doubt imagined.

June

Resurrection
A desperate plea to a love nearly lost forever.

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
Here's where I took on the tools standing outside the courthouse in support of that horror show, Michael Jackson. Bunch of ass munches. I shake my fist at them.

Question
The first chapter in The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e (to be continued in July).

July

I Have Arrived!
This is when I knew I had made it as a blogger -- I received my first piece of hate mail. It was a beautiful thing.

Breaking News
The conclusion of The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e. Here it is months later and I'm still twitching.

I'm a [Last Name] Girl
This entry was a departure from the usual dopey tone of this here blog. I talk about my half-in/half-out of the closet status. I was really drained by the time I finished and I pretty much sobbed my way through it. But I'm proud of it and it helped me tremendously by writing about it. Once again, THANK YOU to everyone who commented and emailed me. I've never had such a response to a post before. Your words of support and encouragement helped me in ways you can never possibly know. So thank you.

August

It's a Boy!
I became a proud and doting aunt for the second time. Despite the grumpy face in the photo, my nephew has the biggest, best smile and he wears it often. His cheeks are the chubbiest I've ever seen and like his adoring aunt, he relies heavily on his woobie to help him sleep. In case you can't tell, I love my wee boy to bits.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project* or What I Learned from TV
The first in an ongoing series of life lessons and observations I gathered by watching copious amounts of television as a child. Perhaps the best quote of the bunch: "Charles Ingalls was a bit of a buttinsky."

Thomas
This is a story about the grandfather I unfortunately never met. This was another one I blubbered my way through.

Flirtation
The post where I punk'd my audience.

Traveling Show
This tale illustrates why Jess and I will never and SHOULD never become exterminators.

September

The Trunk
Despite the heartache and emotional shit storm she unleashed on my life, this is a loving tribute to the good stuff THE EX brought to it as well. Yet another tearjerker. Man, I was mopey this year.

An Ode to My Itty Bitty Titties
Small-chested girls represent!

Someone Is on Your Side
Some thoughts on my beloved Bernadette Peters after she suffered the tragic loss of her young husband.

October

The New-Age Cheese Diet
Just what you always wanted -- health advice and tips for a better life from the former cohost of Entertainment Tonight... The Tesh.

All The Small Things
Here's where I started my list of 100 things about me. I think I got as far as 40 before I quit. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it... maybe not.

#41. I rarely finish things I start.

November

I'll Have the Big Gulp, Thank You
A charming tale of mortification courtesy of my overactive pie hole.

Inside the Actors Studio with Curly McDimple
When I become famous (and I WILL), this is how I'm going to answer James Lipton's questions. Oh and I also go off on Rosie O'Donnell. In truth, it doesn't take much to prompt a Rosie rant from moi. In fact, I could launch into one right now. I'm totally serious.

December

Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
Here are some Hoff holiday greetings to print out and share with your friends... or enemies. You can also hang them up at home and the office to ward off evil, scare away would-be burglars and the occasional annoying coworker.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition
Among the lessons learned: The Bradys should run FEMA; Shermie schooled whitey on the art of The Running Man; Santa really dicked Rudolph around; and Rankin-Bass is staffed by a bunch of ugly motherfuckers.

And that was my 2005 in a someone wordy nutshell. Thanks for being part of it. May you all have a happy New Year! And to my Scottish peeps, a very Happy Hogmanay!

All the best,
Curly

the best laid plans

I had every intention of posting a weekend recap tonight. I knew I'd have stories to tell because the Adorable 5-Year-Old Niece spent the past two days with me. I was going to spin a yarn or two about our adventures in Central Park, my attempts to accommodate that bundle of energy in my tiny wee studio as well as my take on The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (last night's activity) and a few other details, but I'm exhausted. I was bouncing back from last week's awful cold but I think I'm heading for a relapse. I'm not feeling well at all.

However, I can't blame my stuffed-up state totally on my cold because I just spent the past two hours sobbing -- and I do mean sobbing -- while watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. That show can usually soften my hardened heart long enough to make a tear or two trickle down my cheek but this particular episode... well, there was BAWLING!!!!!

In tonight's installment, a young woman died of leukemia and left behind a husband and three little boys. That formula always gets me choked up when watching made-for-TV movies and very-special episodes of sitcoms but this was the real deal and oh my God, I'm wiped out after watching it. There was a heartening outpouring of generosity by the community and the new house is gorgeous but I just feel so sad for the family. While all of that stuff helps, none of it can replace their tremendous loss.

Dude, I'm like inconsolable right now. Like I said, I usually well up while watching this show but tonight's was particularly hard on me. Perhaps it's the various decongestants and antihystamines coursing through me causing me to be all out of sorts. Or maybe I just needed a good cry.

Or maybe it's because I already miss my niece. Even though she spilled shit all over my tiny wee studio and wore my ass out, the place feels empty without her. I must schedule a follow-up sleepover soon.

But I can always console myself with the knowledge that my boyfriend, one Tino Martinez, clobbered the ball yet again! Today he slapped two big ones and has now tied A-Rod for the major-league lead with 12 homers. Swooooooooon!

There, I feel better already.

hang the dj

While most people were out and about enjoying various and sundry long holiday weekend activities, I was home getting busy...

... with some JavaScript. Now before you go branding me a nerd of the highest order, I must add that I'm illin. I've been battling either a) the longest build-up to a cold in the history of the human race or b) a nasty bout of allergies. In short, I've felt like ass for the past week and a half. Factor in some PMS and well, I've just been delightful to be around lately. So in the interest of not beating people senseless and/or sneezing on them, I sequestered myself in my wee studio and made with the freelance site building and nose blowing.

I did manage to emerge from my bitchy, congested cocoon Sunday night to attend a lovely Sapphic soiree in Queens. We ate, BS'd and giggled all the while ogling the hot women of The L Word. Jennifer Beals, if you're out there and decide that the whole married with children thing ain't doin' it for you no mo, do give me a jingle.

After my lone night out socializing, I got right back to work yesterday redesigning a site for my friend. I built the original site for her kick-ass biznatch a couple of years ago and it's high time the thing got an overhaul. I blush at the thought of any techie types viewing the source code of my first-ever website. It's tres embarrassing.

ANYhoo, throughout my weekend of web developing, I relied on the random shuffle on iTunes and the 80s Alternative channel on AOL Radio to keep me movin' and groovin'. Yesterday I decided to mix it up a bit and listen to my LAUNCHcast radio station. I've been very diligent in programming this station. I take great pains to rank songs and artists and/or banish others completely. The process has thus far been successful in forming a genre-crossing playlist devoid of most shit I can't stand. It's become a source of pride, really.

But my world came tumblin' (tumblin') down yesterday. Somehow... blech, the mere thought of this makes me skeeve... Atlantic Starr's "Secret Lovers" made its way onto my station. The euphoria from the previous track ("Float On" by Modest Mouse) was short lived when that rogue 80s ballad began seeping out of the speakers. I felt helpless... paralyzed. The keyboard and soft drum machine intro surrounded me like a poisonous fog and held me captive. But miraculously I broke free of the sleeper hold and skipped that fucker into oblivion. So let that be a lesson to the rest of that soft rock ilk. You dig, Richard Marx? Stay out!