Friday, October 27, 2006

itunes Betrays Me

ok, GET OFF MY BACK! I admit it! I like disco.

There will be a brief pause for you to gasp or slit your throats.

I discovered this horror upon horrors when reviewing my itunes 'most played' and was shocked and dismayed to discover "Mandolay" by La Flavour was top at 69. Note that number. It disturbed me.

Second on the list was "Hot Shot" by Karen a measley 35 plays.
I wont even go into the others, but they included 70's hits of James Taylor, 10cc, and Andy Gibb.

Really, looking at my playlist, you'd assume I was in my mid-50's.

How is it possible that in my 2 months of having itunes, I've listened to one song 69 times! That breaks down to 1.15 plays a day! And the only lyric is MANDOLAY! (Say Hey) MANDOLAY! I don't even know what it means! Is it supposed to mean anything? I'm a sick, sick person. Sick, I tell you!

Yes, there's the occasional "Sexyback" or Arcade Fire. There's also a lot of 80's as well, but it tends to focus on an absurd amount of Adam Ant. I mean, who doesn't love Adam Ant, but I was a tad obsessed. It was the jacket, I swear.

But what I have most of is: Jack Benny
I am proud to admit I have over 45 episodes of the Jack Benny Show from 1933-1955.

That puts me in my late 70's. I'll trade you my Lucky Strikes for your Betty Grable poster.

1.15 plays a day. Sick, sick puppy. MANDOLAY!

Thursday, October 26, 2006

And Then I Kicked A Hobo

"...and then I kicked a hobo"

Def: A more lively phrase to be used to ridicule one's self at the end of a poorly told story, instead of "and then I found 20 dollars"

Person 1: "So I was walking down the street and saw Sara's dog being walked by someone else, and I couldn't figure it out for the life of me"

Person 2: "..."

Person 1: "And then I kicked a hobo"

Use: Extensively by me today during interviews. Sotto voice, of course.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

To the tune of "The Letter" By the Box Tops

Gimme a ticket for an SC game
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
'Cause George Lucas just-a wrote me a letter

He doesn't care how much money he's gotta spend
Got to get SC back to glory again
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter

Well, he wrote me a letter
Said USC needed new buildings now, yeah
175 mil for all new kids
but nothing for us unemployed graduates, wow...


How much money did the paper cost
to send me a note telling me I've completely lost
out on all the fun, all the money won,
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter.
'Cause George Lucas just a-wrote me a letter.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Rock n Roll Rules!

Can I tell you how happy I am that Jeffrey won Project Runway!? I'm doing the happy dance!

That man has some serious talent in his little finger. I'd have worn his yellow couture dress every day. And that zipper work on the runway finale dress? Genius.

We just need to work on his personal wardrobe now. Scary.

But screw Miami...L.A. Rocks. Carry on.

Slight Chance of Afternoon Showers

Now that I'm not working, the days have shifted into stressful mornings and lazy afternoons. Somehow all the job-searching, emailing, blogging, new reading, commenting and caffeine-ating takes place in the morning, and I'm left with an afternoon of anxious pacing, phone-calling people who are not home from work yet, and...if I'm feeling ambitious, watering the lawn. But almost every day in the afternoon, I do take a shower.

I had no idea the depth of this watertastic invention of the afternoon shower! It's more relaxing, more productive, and there's no end to the things I can accomplish! Why just yesterday I shaved everything that needed to be shaved, and then thought...hey, I have the shaved things that didn't need to be shaved! I even allowed that 30 seconds that seems important for the shaving cream to 'activate' my prickly leg hair before shaving it off. It's an old wives tale, but...hey, I have the time!

Nose buffers, masks, pore minimizers, moisturizers, hair protoplasm treatments - all things that can be done in the shower, but only an afternoon 15 minute shower!

Also, the time it takes to correctly mix and match shower gels and shampoo smells cannot be overrated. Caramel Cafe conditioner should not be mixed with Chanel No 5 gel, but Philosophy and Dove seem to be just right. There's nothing worse than having your boyfriend sniff the cupcake yummy that is your arm, followed by musky night-out sexy hair. Major nasal faux pas.

And that old buffer for my feet that hangs from the water spout that I never have time to use? I used it! I think I received it as a gift in 1989 from my grandmother. It works well when you have the time to balance on one foot while holding the curtain rod with one hand, and shower-head with the other. Like water Yoga.

Don't forget Hot Oil treatments. They take 5 minutes...and they're worth it, but who has the time in a 5:45am shower? So now I can do one weekly, and have that shine-happy hair that celebrities have. I'm sure those celebs often take afternoon showers. They may even have people HELP them with their afternoon showers.

And the best part? I'm so clean! It's amazing to be clean every afternoon, smell clean, and not have to rush through hair prep, clothes prep, to head off to work where 'work' smells like smoke and donuts get in your pores and ruin your 'clean' smelling prettiness. If only we all could be clean and not leave the house. The world would be a better place.

I just wish I had time for a bath sometimes. But really, when it comes down to it...baths are for losers that have nothing better to do in their day.


Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Strangers on a Plantain

Sipping a nice glass (no shoddy plastic here peeps) of Grey Goose vodka (The shout out is due to the free bottle in my gift bag!) and raspberry lemonade at Los Angeles Magazine's World Cuisine event, I realized that LA really IS full of people my age. I tend to forget.

In bars I only see younger, at work I only see older. Plus bar peeps and mortgage peeps are not my type of intellectual social friends. I wish the old adage from my Grandmother about meeting nice men in libraries was true. I'll bet you Albert Einstein hung out in the library. He was also a philanderer, but you can't be perfect. Honestly, I'd choose a philandering physicist genius over a loving slightly dim waiter any day. Perhaps that's why I'm still single. It's hard to find philandering physicist geniuses. Alive ones, anyway.

But this Food Event was jam-packed full of 30-40 something smart-loooking guys and gals gulping down vodka tonics, red snapper and mango truffles. Some even struck up conversation with me about the food we were eating! I know - people talking to strangers in LA - It never happens! Amazing!

Matching girls in tight blue dresses with hair in pony tails reminiscent of Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love video walked around with trays of Vodka tonics, displaying that stone-faced look when serving. I found it robotic and strange, I'm sure the men found it 'hot'.

But here's the interesting part - the same robotic Vodka girls asked to take a photo of me and my gal-pal April holding our drinks. We said 'oh,' and posed as if we knew we were the trendiest of trendy hollywood hipsters. Yes, I am a famous director, how did you know?

I was flattered, but then suddenly horrified that I might have spinach puffs in my teeth, and they'd forget to photoshop those out before I'm seen in the next Los Angeles Magazine 'HOT in LA' section. April and I teeth-checked for the rest of the event.

But despite the plethora of people my age, I left with the 3 peeps I came with. All of us struck out, so I guess I'm a little pacified by that. And leaving single yet full with veal, mini cupcakes and champagne? Well...almost better than leaving hungry with a hottie.

Oh, I forgot the plantains. Give me plantains or give me hotties! Patrick Henry would be proud.

Friday, October 13, 2006

We'll have pocketknives as favors!

Ok, so 3 of my blogroll pals are having wedding anniversaries today:

Citizen of the Month

Happy wedding happiness blah to you guys. It just bummed me out, so I thought I'd have a little pretend anniversary to me and MacGyver.

Yes, it's Amanda Tapping from Stargate with him in the photo, but she LOOKS like me. Me and MacGyver.

That's not a bit weird is it?


Shut Up.

You asked.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Kitten, Schrodinger's Kitten.

I have been reading all the articles on the James Bond movie coming out next month on the 17th. They generally don't talk about the film, but just buzz incessantly on his blonde hair. Even Daniel Craig himself says "They hate me. They don't think I'm right for the role. It's as simple as that. They're passionate about it, which I understand, but I do wish they'd reserve judgment."

But then I watched the trailer, and was blown away. Blown freakin away. "Yes, considerably."

So I got mad and called up Ian Fleming on my dead-phone. It really comes in handy when you just need to call...say...Mother Teresa, or Jesus, or Ted Knight.

Ring Ring...

ME: Ian? It's me...just wanted to chat about the Daniel Craig blonde thing...

IF: Bloody hell. Those sons of bitches wouldn't know an aston martin from a shark-infested pool. So what that he's blonde! I don't care if he's tweed-colored...he's got to be a serious son of a bitch to play James Bond. And clearly he's better than that fop Moore. What a disaster.

ME: Right! Who the hell likes Roger Moore? I have no respect for those people. None at all.

IF: Really, I didn't like anyone after Connery. Brosnan did well, just not really good in the swim trunks. That Connery had pecks to kill for, and a die-hard man swagger.

ME: Um...ok, yeah. I have to agree there.

IF: Hell of a package.

ME: Yep. Well, hmm.

IF: A real man's man.

ME: I'm getting that.

IF: Mmmm...

ME: What about Timothy Dalton?

IF: (coughing sounds as if he's choking on a martini)

ME: Changing the topic to this know, as a woman, I love Casino Royale best of all the books for one main reason. It shows Bond at his weakest, and his strongest. He's let a woman into his heart, and suffers greatly for it. It showcases the hard burn that creates the double-o that we know and love. We all know how that love makes fools of us all, but to see it with the ultimate man's man, and how it destroys and ultimately creates genius. Torture of the body and of the soul is what Casino Royale is all about. To breath new life into the Bond franchise indeed. Really, Ian, I think Cubby would be proud.

IF: Jolly spot on, Moneypenny. You're on speakerphone and Cubby has given you the thumbs up from the bar.

And with that lovely image of Cubby and Ian drinking their martinis shaken, not stirred, I hung up.

Bottom line: Craig is more Bond than Connery. And that's saying a lot. A damn lot. He's debonair and can kick some ass without spilling his drink. And he kicks that ass better than Connery could on his best day. And thank god, he's without the Roger Moore version of the puns.

Watching that trailer made me want to go out and kick some ass. Serious ass. And have a drink. And then get me a man. That's what Bond is all about - ass kicking, martinis, and lovin'. Not necessarily in that order.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Poet Fisticuffs

I was reading an article recently about A.N.Wilson and his biography of English poet John Betjeman. In his book, Wilson included a copy of a letter that he had received from an anonymous source. Although sketchy in it's origins, the apparently authentic historical letter revealed a lusty and scandalous extra-marital romance. So excited in the discovery of his poet's affair... he printed it in his book.

He failed to notice that the first letter of each sentence of the vintage letter spells out "A. N. Wilson is a shit".

Poet fans suggest that rival Betjeman biographer Bevis Hillier might have been responsible, reporting that the envelope came from a stationer in Winchester, the southern English town where Hillier lives. Hillier denied involvement, but told newspapers he thinks Wilson is "despicable."

Ahh...poet fisticuffs.

A British writer was duped into printing a fake love letter in his latest biography -- complete with a coded four-letter insult aimed at him. It really put into perspective petty arguments and feuds. Especially ones that aim cleverly hidden insults.

I've been having one of these so-called petty feuds with a pal of mine for years now. There are times of silence, times of anger, and times of close friendship. But they're all marred by the cleverly hidden insults that we each pass to one other. These insults are aimed to kill - very specific, and very knowing of each others faults, insecurities, and weaknesses.

I can be pretty pointed in my jabs. However, I don't dodge and weave like a butterfly as much as I used to. He tends to get in more accurate bee stings as we progress. The more your friends know your weaknesses, and trigger words...the more likely they are to use them. And the less likely that reality is the reasoning behind the argument. Some things recently brought up are the furthest stretch from the truth...and the result of all this arguing? A 'break up' where there was no real friendship to begin with - only an illusion.

What to do? Some arguing time, maybe. Or just some alone time. Or maybe nothing to be done?

I think poet biographers A. N. Wilson and Bevis Hillier need to get together and have some arguing time. They need to hash it out, complete with fisticuffs if necessary. I predict that in the midst of their argument...there will suddenly be some passionate throw-down lovemaking. Because that's what poetry is all about, right?

Not that I'm saying my pal and I need to do that to make up. Despite the potential entertainment value, that would do some serious damage.

And I'm denying I sent him the letter saying he's a 'shit'. I'd come up with a better colorful metaphor. Love ya, mean it.

Friday, October 06, 2006

ASK HAT (SAT): Who do we have to screw to get a drink around here?

OK, so this week the guest Hyperion is Me (Schro from Schrodinger's
Kitten). Since Tracy Lynn and I are buds, we decided to go out for a few
drinks and answer the questions. This is the transcript of the tape
recording we made at the bar. It may be a bit shorter than the average
column, but what can I say, we were a bit preoccupied. And if anyone
has any tylenol, send it over. Please, I'm begging you. Tylenol.

Dear Ask HAT,

Is Tracy Lynn real or just a super cool computer?

Hoping For A Fembot

Schro: 42. Oh wait, that wasn't the question. I think she's
definitely got some sort of deep blue thing going on. I hear she
plays a lot of chess in her spare time. And thermonuclear war.

But...I have seen her riding around on the back of a motorcycle with
Andrew McCarthy, so that might give you a clue as to her true makeup.

Tracy Lynn: Ok, first of all, I do not play chess. Ever. Literally
hundreds of people have tried to teach me, only to give up in utter
failure and disgust.
Thermonuclear war, on the other hand, was my major.
As to whether or not I am a fembot, well, I COULD tell you, but then
I'd have to kill you. It's up to you, really. I'm ok either way.
And dude, sweet Kim Cattrall/ Mannequin reference! Well done!

Schro: Would you like to play a game? TL, we need to teach a class on
how to rule the world, you think? Because really, chess is a game for
people with inferiority complexes that don't have the balls to play
with real people. We will get your Napoleon ass, dear reader, off
the couch and declare war on Thailand. They would welcome the confusion.

Dude, any McCarthy reference is a good reference.

Tracy Lynn: Yeah, but we don't have inferiority complexes. We ROCK!
And so I suggest that we also declare war on Switzerland, those smug
fondue eating bastards.

Schro: Switzerland it is. Ricola-whores, all of them.

Tracy Lynn: Yeah, I hate that crap. NEXT QUESTION!

Dear Ask HAT,

What's on your bedroom floor?


Tracy Lynn: What the hell kind of pervy question is that? That's just
creepy, man. Schro, why would anyone want to know what's on my
bedroom floor, for crissakes?

Schro: The audacity! The rudeness! They must have heard about that
dead body. Either that, or they're hoping you're going to tell them
something extremely pervy, like a massive collection of crude rude
sex toys. Not that it's what's on my bedroom floor. ahem.

Tracy Lynn: You know, Schro, that's the kind of thing that makes me
mad. Because everybody knows that you need to keep your sex toys in a
Besides, we moved the body last week. Now it's just clothes and shit.
Oh, and Kato under the bed.

Schro: Who the hell keeps toys in the drawer? You're asking for trouble
since that's the first place people look when they come to your
house! You need to put them under your bed in a box. A leather box.

Then again, maybe it's only my freaky friends that look for toys
before they bother opening the medicine cabinet. Just hope the lights
don't go out, and your mother in law finds a big white chunky taper
candle, which isn't a candle.

Tracy Lynn: Dude, did you not just hear me say that Kato is under the
bed?! How big a bed do you think I have? And what kind of friend looks
for sex toys? THAT is freaky. In fact, I don't think I'd even want to know.
And what kind of mother in law is lurking in your bedroom?

Schro: Sure, sure...Kato is code for 'sex swing'. Give it up.

You know, a nice girl would let her mother in law stay in the bedroom
while you sleep on the couch. No wonder you're single.

Tracy Lynn: Dude, no kidding. And Kato is the cat, you pervert.

You know, I'm not even missing the asshattery of Hyperion.

Schro: Asshat! Asshat! George Washington Rule! Are we done? Thank god.

Tracy Lynn:You betcha! Who do we have to screw to get more drinks over here?
And some chips and salsa! We like chips and salsa.

And with that, dear readers, we shall end this weeks column, as
neither of us can clearly recall our undoubtedly excellent adventures
after this point, due to the crappiness of the batteries in the
recorder, the cuteness of the waiter and the potency of the beverages.
I seem to remember the chips and salsa being pretty right on, as well.
Anyway, we shall return next week, full of vim and vigour and quite
possibly tylenol. Keep those questions coming, because we definitely
have answers. If only we could remember where we put them.