Best Experiences
Seeing this owl every Sunday at the dog park!
Going to NYC with Keith for a whirlwind vacation in early October
Dog Beach at Afton State Park with Keith & Freja
Biking along Highway 35 in Wisconsin around Maiden Rock and Stockholm before going to The Stone Barn for pizza and beer
Rock The Garden in June
Art-A-Whirl in May
Best-est & Most Exciting-est Purchases
Nikon D5000 Camera
Frye oxfords
Orange silk dress from sale at Spinario in Minneapolis
If you’re not someone who is concerned about writing and/or making movies, you may have missed Amazon’s big announcement this fall that they have formed Amazon Studios. They are getting into the game of creating original programming rather than just distributing other people’s stuff.
I think the initial reaction by many people was HOLY SHIT, COOL! And then people started reading the fine print and the “Development Agreement” and getting disturbed by some of the rules associated with this. Here’s how it works:
Amazon Studios will award $140,000 a month to the “best movies and scripts and a total of $1.1 million to winners of Annual Awards.” So each month they have a contest going for movies and scripts and if yours is chosen that month, you may win cash and then they may further develop it.
They don’t want people to submit a completed film – they want a “test movie. “What is a test movie? “Test movies are inexpensive, full-length movies that tell the whole story of the script in a compelling way. They should have good acting and sound, but polished visuals are not required. Even primitive visuals will help people imagine what a script would be like as a finished film.”
“I’m eating some Mango Cranberry Salsa & chips from Trader Joes. So yummy. Sweet with some kick.”
And I’m eating some clown salad.
There’s been quite a bit of controversy over Black Swan, the new Darren Aronofsky-directed film starring Natalie Portman as a ballerina descending into madness as she prepares to dance the role of a lifetime and competes with a perceived rival (played by Mila Kunis). Is it good? Is it bad? People seem deeply divided. Manohla Dargis of The New York Times wrote that its got a, “giddy, sometimes sleazy exploitation-cinema savvy.” Some critics have said it’s cliched, others that it’s stunning. The Hollywood Reporter said, “The movie is so damn out-there in every way that you can’t help admiring Aronofsky for daring to be so very, very absurd.”
When I went to see the movie on Tuesday night the Uptown Theater in Minneapolis had a nice-sized crowd.This despite the fact that it was God-awful cold and parking was a bitch. But, then again, most of us had been trapped in our homes all weekend during the blizzard and were aching to get out. If getting out meant going to see something completely deranged, all the better. We need to take our minds off the fact that we are completely deranged for living in such brutal conditions. It’s always fun to watch people crazier than you are. Much more fun, by the way, than watching a preview of Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart alternately cry and yell at each other in a preview for thefilm Rabbit Hole.
Continue reading Don’t Make Me Go All Black Swan On Your A**
Now that we’ve all been in the social media game for awhile, it’s becoming evident that there are some “Dont’s” involved. Lately, some Facebook and Twitter profile photos have been standing out as some serious Dont’s for me so I decided to catalog them:
1. The Shadow Face
Perfectly fine if your name is Shadow Face and you are an enemy of Batman’s. Otherwise, no.
2. Look Into My Eyes
Seems like you have something to hide. Either you gained a lot of weight since high school or you were disfigured in a helicopter crash.
“Awesome meetings this morning, talking media and specifically the power of MN newspapers. Quick lunch now before heading back to office.”
I. Am. A. Robot.
That lunch thing on the end was just to make this person seem human.
I don’t know why, but people tweeting about invigorating meetings they’ve attended hits all my buttons. The console is lit up like a Viking ship going down in flames.
This weekend was all about life disruption in the form of over a foot of snow. Some say a foot-and-a-half. I don’t know because I stopped listening.
As my car crawled along the highway this morning (not really slippery on the highway right now but, you know, everyone must act as if it is) on my way to work, I wondered, “Is it really such a noble thing to suffer these terrible winters and then talk about surviving them as if it’s a badge of honor?” I’m not so sure anymore. I never really considered moving to a warmer climate until these past two years when I’ve started to seriously wonder what the hell I’m doing? What is the pay-off? I mean, let’s be honest, it blows here in the winter.
It blows because for every storm there are all the stages. First, the build-up. People get squirrely and glassy-eyed and go about gathering up provisions and they just want to talk, nonstop, about the forecast. “Could it be true that we’re going to get two feet of snow? What should we do? Why are we at work? This is going to be crazy!”
Continue reading Are U Gettin’ It? Yes, I’m Snow-maggedon It!
When I was awakened at 3 in the morning to let the dog out, because she was whiiii-iii-ning to go to the bathroom, it suddenly seemed very important, as I was standing at the back window watching Freja run around the yard trying to find an acceptable place to do her business, that I catalog the ways in which cats are fundamentally Republicans and dogs are fundamentally Democrats.
The photo you’re seeing here captures a rare moment of bipartisanship not often seen in our household.
First, cats are very conservative. They don’t embrace change. They don’t like a new plant being added to the living room, a sudden change of food (unless it’s stinky, wet food) or a litter made from some unfamiliar material. Things should stay relatively the same all the time.
They don’t believe in welfare because they believe in the old adage, “that government is best which governs least.” It’s paws off; every cat for themselves. They also hate immigrants. I’m not saying that all Republicans hate immigrants but cat republicans are the kind of Republicans who hate immigrants. This is because they are, of course, highly territorial. If a new cat comes into their territory, the cat’s first thought is, “Shit, there won’t be enough for me. Not enough grass to eat, mice and birds to kill, garbage to pick through. KILL!”
Despite a bit of a break, I’m still plugging away on Catcher. The next section wanders into some depressing territory that’s a bit hard to convey on-screen. There’s a lot of wandering around, indecision, memories, etc., which is a big point of the book and illustrates Holden’s state of mind, but translating this to the screen can be a challenge.
When I left off with Act II, Part II, Holden had just had the uncomfortable encounter with the young prostitute, Sunny. He sent her away without having sex with her but paid her the $5 her pimp, Maurice, said was the price of “a throw.” I really don’t like that terminology. Quite icky.
In a follow-up to my post about the nominees for the Spirit Awards, I decided to compile a list of nominated films (in all major categories) and divide them up according to how you can see them in the Twin Cities.
Currently Screening
127 Hours – As of now, it’s screening at AMC Southdale & Rosedale and at The Lagoon Cinema in Mpls.
Get Low – This is only showing at Hopkins Cinema 6, once it leaves there, might have to wait for DVD
Marwencol – One week only at the Lagoon, starts December 3rd!!
Never Let Me Go – OK, not currently screening but its coming to The Riverview in Mpls soon.
“I was basically absent from Twitter for 2 days and my world is all wonky.”
Wow, I know the feeling. Two days away from stuff like, “Win FOUR TIX to Disney on Ice’s Magical Journey,” and “You are what you love and not what loves you back,” and “Imagine Having A Blog That’s Ranked In The Top 2% & Attracts $10K/Month+ For Your Business While You Sleep,” makes me feel all weird inside too. Like, I don’t know… free or something.
I do need clarification on something though. You say you were “basically absent.” What does this mean, basically? You were absent? You were kind of absent but not completely absent? You may have peeked at it once or twice? A kidnapper tied your hands behind your back, preventing you from tweeting, but allowing you to read tweets?
Does it hurt that no one noticed your basic absence?
I go back and forth on whether or not I care about annual film awards. I used to get stupidly excited about them, then I went through a period of thinking they were total bullshit (but still watching them on TV, of course) and now I would say that I’m mildly interested in the outcomes again. This morning the nominees for the Independent Spirit Awards were announced. This is the very first indication of what’s to come from bigger awards – seeing what gets noticed here and what gets snubbed. The criteria to be nominated is (according to Spirit Award’s website):
• All submitted films must be at least 70 minutes long.
• Eligible films must have either played one week in a commercial theater or have been shown at one of the following six film festivals: the Los Angeles Film Festival, New Directors/New Films, New York, Sundance, Telluride, or Toronto.
• Eligible films must be made for no more than $20 million, including post.
If you have a film that meets all these points, you can submit it for consideration. Now, I know someone that rants weekly about the fact that there’s no way a movie like The Kids Are All Right could have been made for $20 million, all in, but let’s just assume, out of the goodness of our hearts, that all the films nominated met this criteria. I personally think that $20 million is waaaay out of truly indie territory but that’s a debate one could read on any of the snobby film blogs out there.
“Yo mama’s so skanky, she’s the mayor of the STD clinic on FourSquare!”
Yes, this was tweeted by a white guy. How do I know? Well, for starters, it’s not even remotely funny.
Let’s see… “The STD Clinic.” Yeah, they have a clinic just for that. They provide no other services. It’s a franchise, actually. They now have them in Alabama, Alaska and North Carolina. I was thinking of buying into one, because I guess it’s a steady business even in this down economy. And they tier their services – people with money get the modern drugs, people with little money get the old-timey treatments.
For example, low-income syphilis patients are placed in a box, head sticking out, and then nurses start some mercury on fire under the box so that it vaporizes.
I’m sure while these patients are lying there, they like to take out their smart phones and let everyone know, “I’m at The STD Clinic on 321 Northland Avenue!”
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because I do nothing. There is little prep work or anxiety beyond going to the grocery store and buying a bunch of food with which to construct a feast. I don’t have to worry about seeing old friends, relatives I don’t enjoy, etc. I take a complete misanthrope’s approach to the entire thing – I want to watch movies, read books, eat good food and, essentially, hide in my house. This plan of inaction continues into Black Friday, when I watch the action from afar.
This morning, approximately seven hours after the shopping frenzy began, I was sitting on my couch in my pajamas, drinking tea and watching The View. It seemed like an odd luxury to sit there on a weekday and watch TV, or so I thought. I saw Whoopi come out in her usual “leggings-and -oversized shirt” uniform and I thought, “I’m going to sit here and see what they have to offer up.”
Continue reading Dud Gifts On THE VIEW
“Mark Wahlberg admits The Happening Was a Bad Movie.'”
Screw you, Mark Wahlberg. The Happening is a great movie. I’ve not laughed that hard at the theater in a long time. I found the idea of killer wind to be inspiring. I greatly enjoyed the acting, as well, and the fact that Zoe Deschanel blinked exactly once in the entire movie.
I was hoping for a sequel. It would have been called It’s Happening Again. Or maybe, Is It Happening Again?
Here is a clip from the movie given the special Rifftrax treatment:
Saturday night was the second night of a two-night gig for Tommy Wiseau (and faithful sidekick Greg Sestero, who plays Mark in the film), writer, producer, director and star of The Room, at the midnight screening of the film at the Uptown Theatre in Minneapolis. I bought my tix for Saturday in advance, not knowing that Horrendous Ice Storm was bearing down on the city. How do you like that drama?
Yes, so, Horrendous Ice Storm hits city at about 10 p.m or so. Every surface coated with ice, the likes of which I haven’t seen since my adolescence in Wisconsin, when we really knew what it was like to battle black ice. Not like this trifling weather we have today. No, sirree!
But Keith convinced me that we still needed to go because if you are superfan of The Room and you don’t go see Tommy Wiseau when he’s in town then… well… you’re lame. However, I was soon to discover that I am by no means the superfan of all superfans of The Room. The Room seems to ignite passions in people in quite unexpected ways.
When we last left our hero, he was in the Lavender Room at the Edmont Hotel. The three ugly ladies from Seattle who he’d been dancing and drinking with got up to leave because they wanted to get up early to catch the first show at Radio City Music Hall, which depressed Holden to no end.
INT. HOTEL LOBBY – NIGHT
Holden sits on a worn, “vomity-looking” chair in the hotel lobby. He’s loosened his tie, undone some shirt buttons and stares out into space, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair.
Next to him, a JANITOR vacuums the lobby rug, standing in one place and only getting what he can reach at arm’s length.
EXT. FRONT YARD – DAY (FLASHBACK)
A Doberman pinscher squats to pee on an immaculate green lawn in front of a well-kept house.
MRS. CAULFIELD, 43, slender with dark hair, opens the front door of the house and steps onto the porch.
MRS. CAULFIELD: Shoo! Get out of here! Go on!
The dog runs off. Mrs. Caulfield comes down the front walk and stands, hands on her hips, staring at the house next door.
My favorite Minnesota wacko is up to some new shenanigans – apparently Denny Hecker (Timeline Part I and Part II if you’re not familiar) tried to get married this week while out of jail for a meeting with his attorneys at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. When he was leaving the jail, he demanded to take a Bible with him (but was denied). Yes, Denny, you are a “man of faith.” I suspect that Bible’s spine has never been cracked.
Then, he’s at the meeting with his lawyers and who shows up but Christi Rowan (girlfriend/thief), a pastor and her attorney.
Suddenly, the U.S. Marshalls’ said, “Woah, wait a minute, do we have a wedding on our hands here?”
Here’s my favorite line from the article I read:
A tree branch breaking off and falling into our yard, taking our cable/Internet line with it during Saturday’s *STORM*, has majorly been cramping my style this week and also putting me horribly behind on my Catcher In The Rye project. God, I hope my agent doesn’t get pissed at me. Har har har. All I’ve really had time for is making fun of other people’s tweets, which is a sick hobby.
Another thing that’s been happening as I work on this is that I find myself caring about it quite a bit and actually… laboring over it. I guess that’s just me and my pesky work ethic. But seriously, folks… I kind of want to see this movie someday. Not MY script just… if someone who knew what they were doing adapted Catcher, I would see it. I mean, if it was taken on as a labor of love and someone really spent the time and then the studio didn’t cast Justin Beiber or Bieber or whatever that moppet’s name is.
So here is the first part of Act II, which will be broken into several parts because Act II, obviously, is long and there is only so much time one can spend at the neighborhood cafe, nursing a tea, wishing to hell Comcast would get out and fix the cable.
Continue reading “Catcher In The Rye” Act II, Part 1
“I’m never asking for help again. Whomever I ask, they huff & puff, get pissed about it. I thought there was no such thing as a dumb question.”
Oh, yeah… about that whole “no dumb question” thing. We met and decided that there are dumb questions. Did you get the e-mail? Maybe it went into your spam filter? We decided that the world was getting super cluttered with dumb questions so we said that, from now on, every human would huff and puff and hiss and maybe piss every time they were asked a dumb question. I mean, you can join in, too. Just please no more of your dumb questions.
“most companies don’t have cultures, they have cults. culture is about making sense of the world–not making war on it. which do you have?”
Well… I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it. There’s not much time to think around here because we’re so busy growing our own food, taking mind-expanding drugs, having sex with our leader, The One True & Righteous CEO, and making bombs. Just tiny bombs, mind you. The one thing we do have here is capital letters, also known as “majuscules,” if you’re super smart. Do you have capital letters at your company? It doesn’t seem like it.
I’m getting started with the adaptation. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, please read this first.
Opening scene: Arguably the most important scene in a film. Sets the mood, the tone, first impression. I’m a big believer in not having the first scene of a film be a “throwaway” scene. You know what bugs me? Movies that open with someone waking up to an alarm clock going off and then going through their morning routine, making the kids breakfast, getting the newspaper and all that jazz. YAWN. But I’m already digressing.
Here is the opening sequence, starting on Thomsen Hill at Pencey Prep in Agerstown, Pennsylvania.
When J.D. Salinger died earlier this year, I felt ambivalent, despite the fact that I’d nearly worshiped him in high school as one of the only writers out there who “got” what it was like to be a smart and disillusioned teen. Somewhere along the line, I either stopped being a smart, disillusioned teen or realized that everyone believed themselves to be smart and disillusioned and so rejected it in favor of some other modus operandi.
Along the way, I also found out more about J.D. Salinger – his reclusive lifestyle, refusal to publish more novels, his dabbling in everything from Dianetics, homeopathy and macrobiotics to urine therapy – and I found it a big turn-off. In 1999, I read Joyce Maynard’s memoir At Home In The World, which painted a picture of a pathetic old man with high ideals cloistered away in a compound. This was not my hero. This was a mere mortal who was as confused about life as the rest of us.
Continue reading The Big If… “The Catcher In The Rye” Screenplay
This commercial came on TV while Keith and I were watching yesterday. I can’t believe the levels of funny that exist in this :30 spot.
GUARD YOUR CARD! GUARD YOUR CARD!
Jesus, what a boring card conversation. I’d rather find out who has prostate cancer or who’s wearing diapers than sit around listening to this. It’s a sunny afternoon, you’re retired, you don’t gotta work and you’re sitting around talking about your Medicare card?
Plus, the very smugness of it. “These cards are super valuable. They mean we get health care, which millions of other people don’t have! Guard it with your lives. Fall on your sword. Once more into the breach, dear friends, and pass the Werthers.”
At least they made it so that there’s a black dude and his wife “schooling” the white folks about this fraud. But did you notice the white guy’s face when the black guy says, “I know the most valuable card you’re holding?” His expression says, “Please don’t shoot me.”
“Guard your caaaaard,” Card-Playing Guy #1 says. “Let me use an analogy that old people with nothing to do all day will understand by hiding my card hand. You understand? Like you’re playing sheepshead or euchre but with your Medicare card.”
“I’ve heard that Medicare fraud is a huge problem for the government,” Card-Playing Lady #2 says. “We must help the government at all costs. Robot 32JAT-541 will play her king of spades now.”
“Not only that,” Card-Playing Lady #1 says. “But stamps are going up another cent in 2011 and they want $1.50 a pound for tomatoes at Byerly’s.”
“We can crack down on criminals,” Card-Playing Guy #1 says. “And feel useful. Like we’re doing something to rid the world of meth addicts, welfare mothers and terrorists.”
Whoa to the kids who come home for Thanksgiving and accidentally see their parents’ cards!
From time to time, Baby Jane Hudson appears here with her question and answer column, But You Are In That Chair: Baby Jane’s Advice For the Confused, Depressed and Clueless.
Today’s focus is on social media, because Baby Jane just got her own Twitter account and now she thinks she’s hot shit, despite the fact that she still uses a rotary-dial telephone, has scotch delivered to her door and puts it on her “house account” at TJ’s Mighty Liquor Cabinet and listens to 78s on her Victrola. Her favorite song to listen to? “I’ve Written A Letter To Daddy,” recorded by Baby Jane, ‘natch!
Dear Baby Jane,
I friended a woman at work on Facebook several weeks ago and she still has not accepted! I’m wondering if it’s because we are co-workers and she doesn’t want her “work life” and her “personal life” to blend. I think this is stupid. It’s 2010! But what do I do? I’ve been meaning to go up to her in the lunchroom and say, “So, I’m not good enough to be your FB friend?” or “Did you overlook my friend request?”
Tying Myself in FB Knots
Pittsburgh, PA
Continue reading But You Are In That Chair: Social Media Edition, The First
“Every time our company blog passes another metric milestone, I celebrate a little. Content wins the game, and some companies never make it.”
I’m a company man, oh yes
A company man, oh yes
If they had a store I’d shop it
If they had a blog I’d read it
I’m a company man, oh yes
A company man, oh yes
If they had a song I’d sing it
If they had a cocktail I’d drink it
You get the general idea. I’ll tell you something shocking about the person who posted this. This person is not part of Gen X. I know, can you believe it?
Continue reading Annoying Tweet Of The Day – Nov. 3
Better late than never, the second part of my interview with My Friend Chris about his recent stay at the Villisca Murder House in Villisca, Iowa. If you haven’t read Part I, you’ll find it here.
Continue reading Halloween Hangover: Welcome To Murder House Part II
You know how some people get really excited to see the new Hallmark ornaments for Christmas or a new design of the crystal ball that drops in Times Square for New Years or even the new toys in the latest movie-themed Happy Meal? I feel the same way about waiting to see what the Today Show cast dresses up as for Halloween. Because it is always so degrading and yet they act like they are having the time of their lives. This year they had Matt Lauer dressed as… well, I think Clark Kent but the overall affect was more Inspector Gadget. His part was taped because he had to dash off to interview George W. Bush, the lamest of all excuses to miss Halloween.
Continue reading 12 Days of Halloween: Today Show Costume Crush
Happy Friday! Since I just watched the abomination that is the annual Today Show Halloween costume reveal, I thought I’d start out the weekend by sharing one of my favorite videos. Last year’s Today Show debacle with some naughty, costumed Ewoks. Oh, they also might be drunk. Enjoy!
I’m taking a brief break from Halloween to focus on the other Big Thing happening in our lives right now – the “race” for Governor of Minnesota. Not really much of a race. More like a leisurely stroll. This morning I listened to the latest campaign event – Minnesota Public Radio’s staging of a “job interview” for the three candidates. “Pretend you are interviewing to be CEO of Minnesota,” was the recommendation for the contenders before the questions started. How did they do? Poorly. If you’ve ever really flubbed a job interview, don’t feel bad about it – even highly coached politicians with people on staff to tell them what to say suck at it.
What would a holiday be without a heartfelt story, even Halloween? So consider this the softer, gentler side of my “12 Days Of Halloween.”
I just (as in minutes ago) found out about a five-year-old named Aiden who was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. His parents are trying to pay for his treatment and care and they’ve come up with a unique way to do it.
Aiden loves monsters and loves drawing them. So his parents set up an etsy shop called Aidan’s Monsters to sell prints of his monster drawings in order to fundraise for his medical bills. Yes, folks, this is the reality that we live in today.
So if you love monsters and love drawings of monsters (and, like me, maybe you have no kids to draw things for you that you can then put on your refrigerator or frame) and would like to help the cause, browse the shop for drawings of Gill-man, Wolf Man and Scary Clowns. Prints are $12 each and there seems to be a bit of a shipping backlog right now due to response. Which is a good thing!
If you’re not up for a monster drawing (or buttons! check them out), you can make a donation through the Aid For Aiden blog.
Want to see what I bought? Nosferatu (the best of all of them, in my humble opinion) and Scary Clown No. 2.
My friend Chris recently spent the night at the Villisca Axe Murder House in Villisca, Iowa. In 1912, somebody bludgeoned to death the entire family of Josiah Moore and two overnight guests. Two adults (the mom and dad), their four kids and two neighbor kids. After the bludgeoning, there was some axing for good measure.
No one was ever convicted of the murders, despite some prime suspects. You can read all about the crime on the house’s official website.
Here is Part 1 of Chris’s account of his stay in the house with two of his bestest friends and his sister. The house is operated as a kind of tourist/hotel destination. The cost to stay in the Murder House is now $400 per night. So, yes, the owners are making quite a bit of money from the place and they do have a vested interest in people remaining interested and scared. That being said, people do feel and experience strange things in the house.
Continue reading 12 Days of Halloween: Welcome To Murder House Part I
“A student just asked me what “xoxo” means… How would you define it and in what context is it acceptable to use?”
I believe everyone knows “xoxo” means hugs and kisses and it is acceptable to use if you are 8, female and writing out Valentine’s Day cards to your entire class. Acceptable if you are passing a note to someone in high school in the 1980s, if you are 15, female and IM’ing or doing any kind of live chat or if you are a grandmother writing a card to a beloved granddaughter or grandson that has an anthropomorphic cat/dog/horse/rabbit on the front. Totally acceptable for Japanese girls or women dressed in the Harajuku style, particularly if they are a Goth Lolita, to use all the time. On everything.
I believe this covers all acceptable uses.
While I’m still standing up on my soapbox, I thought I would address another thing I can’t stand. The inspirational quote people include at the end of e-mails. You know, the quote beneath someone’s signature, title, address, phone, fax, cell, 5 websites, Twitter URL, Facebook URL? This quote is supposed to inspire the receiver of the message while also making the sender look evolved, well-read and somehow above the fray of living. A popular person to quote is Gandhi. I would say that 65.4% of all e-mail signature quotations are, “You must be the change you want to see in the world.” It’s to the point now that I see that quote and I just think, “Wank, wank, wank, you wanker.” And that’s horrible. I mean, Gandhi!
Here’s the one I got today:
Never be afraid to try something new.
Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark.
A large group of professionals built the Titanic.
WTF?? What is that supposed to mean to me? “Remember, a mythical person built a mythical boat to save the animals of the world by having two of each kind walk calmly up the gangplank and then stay on board for 40 days and 40 nights (the concept which spawned a horrible movie starring Josh Hartnet).” Never mind that if this experiment in genetics had actually happened, we would not be here today, you lose all credibility with me if you profess to believe a parable. Or if you are not able to recognize a parable as such.
And no, just because something built by a lot of people failed spectacularly in 1912, we should not all endeavor to only start things we can do alone. Like a blog!
This doesn’t really need any commentary, unless you haven’t seen the original video (it follows below)… “You are really dumb, for real.”
(Photo by Stacie Joy on Gothamist)
It’s getting down to the wire for Halloween costumes and once, again, I have nothing planned.
With my love of clothes and thrifting, you would not think this would be the case. You would think I would have something easily in hand by October 1st. But you would be wrong.
Part of the reason for this is that I never have big plans for Halloween, ever. Much like New Year’s Eve, I take a “wait and see” attitude and then usually end up doing something along the lines of watching a movie while eating M&Ms.
I know, I’m cra-a-zy.
An ongoing list of brilliant Halloween activities that aren’t boring and don’t involve Valleyscare. Or haunted hay rides. And probably don’t involve drinking apple cider but hopefully do involve eating candy, popcorn, drinking beer or perhaps taking a tug of whiskey from a flask. Also, may involve costumes but probably not “sexy” costumes, like Sexy Nurse, Sexy CPA, Sexy Kitty, et al.
The Parkway Theater in Minneapolis is showing the original 3D print of Creature From the Black Lagoon (1954) on October 29-31. This came out of the Universal vault, people, and if the Disney vault is any example, you know it’s hard to get shit out of there. All seats for all shows are $7.50. On Friday, Oct. 29 it screens at 9:55 p.m. On Saturday, Oct. 30 it screens at 2, 3:45 & 5:30. On Sunday, Oct. 31 it screens at 2, 3:45, 5:30, 7:30 and 9:15.
From today’s Star Tribune article about paranormal investigator Chad Lewis , here are his five top haunted places in the Twin Cities:
Calvary Cemetery in St. Paul: The vengeful spirit of a woman put to death continues to wander her final (un)resting place. [She said she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered at Sea World, dammit.]
Landmark Center in St. Paul: Visitors to this historic site report that it is plagued by the ghost of an old gangster who still walks the building and makes himself known during weddings. [Who doesn’t like a party?]
First Avenue nightclub in Minneapolis: Visitors to this landmark building report seeing the ghost of a young woman who likes to frequent the women’s bathroom. [Really? She wants to be in there? Must really have to pee. Or do some more acid. “Holy shit! I can, like, totally see through my hands!” Or maybe it’s a ghost of a woman who committed suicide after that depressing Low Christmas show five years ago. I sort of lost my will to live after that, too.]
Wabasha Street Caves in St. Paul: Haunted by several victims of a card game gone awry. Others see the ghostly image off an old flapper girl roaming the caves. [ Still others see an old prospector with a pick and a sifting pan, Bette Davis and The Creeper from Scooby Doo.]
Forepaugh’s restaurant in St. Paul: The spirit of Joseph Forepaugh roams his former residence along with his former mistress, Molly, who met her fate in the home. [Hot ghost sex! Ghostie grab ass!]
As I flipped through City Pages yesterday I saw an ad for a shop called Eye Of Horus in Minneapolis. They were advertising, “Over 300 kinds of incense and sage,” which is cool. I mean, the incense part. There are times when one needs to get chill and burn some ‘cense!
But this whole sage thing has always puzzled me. I know some people who burned sage in every room of their house before they moved in. OK, whatever makes you feel good. I wish the people who had owned our house before us had cleaned out the garage before they left. Other people want to get rid of pesky spirits hanging around before they decide where to put the rug.
But the ad then showcases this: “a blend of sweetgrass, sage and cedar, now in a SMOKELESS SPRAY for a quick, easy energy-cleansing almost anywhere!”
You know, for all those times when burning a bundle of sage just isn’t practical.
Continue reading 12 Days Of Halloween: Spirit Cleansing To Go
It should.
Sometimes the most freaky, scary and disturbing stuff are the things that go on around us everyday. Like the stuff they put out there to “entertain” us. Exhibit A: 9-year-old Willow Smith (yeah, of that Smith family) and her new “song.”
I think the lyrics, other than the oft-repeated “I Whip My Hair Back And Forth,” are lines like, “Don’t tell me nothin’ cuz I don’t care. Just wanna have fun so let’s keep the party going.” Which party would that be? The apple juice party? The “Stick Jewels On Your Lips” party? The “I Just Peed In My Sleeping Bag” party?
If you can watch this entire video, congrats, you have been sufficiently numbed to pop culture. It really freaks me out, more than ghosts, witches and goblins. OK, except for one witch – Christine O’Donnell did not know that the U.S. Constitution separates church and state.
“Just took my contacts out for the first time in 4 or 5 days. Feels AMAZING.”
I don’t think I really need to add my commentary to this one. It pretty much says all there is to say on human stupidity enabled by Twitter.
Are you familiar with the “Special K Challenge,” brought to us by Special K cereal? Maybe you’ve seen the TV commercials in which a pretty normal looking woman starts eating cereal all the time and then turns into what might best be described as a “lady of the night?” Meaning, she goes from wearing jeans and a blouse to a red dress and garish make-up while twirling around her kitchen waiting for her 9 p.m. “appointment” to show up.
I’ve been aware of the “Challenge” for awhile. It’s one of those things that flies by me in my media-soaked days – Christine O’Donnell is a witch, The Social Network was number one at the box office, Special K Challenge.
But then I saw a magazine ad that actually laid out what one is supposed to do on the Challenge.
The first page says, “Jeans don’t lie. The best way to tell how great you look is in your jeans. Drop a jean size in 2 weeks. Take the Special K Challenge.”
Day 1: bright sun, cloudless sky, 75 degrees, no humidity
My cab driver told me that apartments in Midtown – 1 bedroom – start at about $2,500 per month. He lives in Brooklyn. The week before my visit, the UN was in session or doing some of their serious Business and traffic was terrible for all the cab drivers. He sat in one block for 20 minutes without moving while ambassadors and presidents moved through in their special envoys. He would like to take a day off, maybe to enjoy the weather, but can’t afford to. He pays the same amount to the cab company every month, whether he’s working or not. They don’t care if the car is sitting out in Brooklyn or moving through the streets of Manhattan picking up fares – they charge the same. He seemed very wistful, thinking of having a day off. I said, “Do you ever get tired of sitting in traffic?” and he laughed. “Sometimes,” he said.
Lunch at a thai place around the corner from the Distrikt (my cab driver pointed out to me that they spelled the name wrong). Tofu, veggies and rice and some sauce that was so good I wanted to lick the plate.
Back from NYC, a whirlwind tour of Manhattan by subway and foot. There would have been a ferry involved as well if the wait to get on it had not been an hour and a half.
Now back in the Midwest, I bring stories to my Midwestern brethren. Stories about jeggings (and leggings) and buses called jitneys. And lots of things lying on curbs and clothes, glorious clothes, and people who are not at all well in the head.
But first, jeggings.
I never took this trend seriously. Jeggings? Leggings made to look like jeans only tight, tight like leggings with no real zipper or buttons but perhaps the imitation of them, plus seams, drawn onto the fabric? Yes.
If I were, say, Great Britain during the time when GB controlled India, jeggings would be Ghandi. Someone, something, that I didn’t take very seriously at first and then… and then… oh, shit. Something like that.
I saw this TV ad put out by Minnesota Forward this morning. MN Forward is the group that Target and Best Buy gave money to in support of Republican Tom Emmer for Governor.
What I’m wondering is if the production and design teams at Target and Best Buy die a little inside when they see the low-quality production values on the commercials their companies paid for. Target especially, since they put a lot of money into design and art direction for all their ad campaigns. And then to see this… it could make a person lose faith in God.
The title of the ad is “Still Sad? Mark Dayton’s Plans To Raise Taxes,” but a better title could be “Do We Make You Sad? All That Target Money and We Can’t Afford Quality Production Values.”
On a recent afternoon I pulled out my copy of Duran Duran’s Decade, their collection of mega-hits from the 80s. I don’t think DD gets its due when it comes to discussing the hit makers of the 80s – some even described them as a “throw-away pop group.” Shudder. What other band so perfectly exemplifies the 80s use of heavy synth, nonsense lyrics and sex appeal? NOT Def Leppard, that’s for sure. If I were to order the songs on this disc into my perfect DD Queue Of Good Times, it would go like this:
1. Rio – my favorite DD song, hands down. I recently put it on a playlist that I will listen to while I fly to NYC. “Dancing on the sand” is such an 80s, Eurotrash thing to do. I love it. I wish I could say it was one of my hobbies on Facebook. I also hope that at some point in my life someone comes up to me and says, “I’ve seen you on the beach and I’ve seen you on TV.” The best DD beats. If you played “Rio” in a club today, people would still get out there and dance it up. Of course, they also still get out there for “YMCA.” There’s no accounting for taste.
“I must look approachable…was asked by a dad at Target if he picked the right feminine products for his young daughter. He did.”
Wait, no he didn’t!! You steered him wrong! Not tampons, you idiot, pads. With belts. Thick, thick pads that make a girl feel like she’s wearing a diaper. Huge pads are the way to go. The kind of pads that make wearing your skinny jeans impossible. The kind of pad that makes wearing a short skirt seem scandalous and obscene.
Alternately…
What a sad pick-up line. “Hey, you look like a lady who’s enjoyed a robust estrous cycle or two. Would you wear this tampon? You would? I have a young daughter and she needs some tampons… I became a dad when I was really young. Didn’t work out with the mother. Now I’ve got a teen and I’m still in my prime. Would you like to go to dinner sometime? Do you enjoy Steak-And-Ale?”
The back cover of City Pages is filled with disconcerting questions… I guess this is the latest technique used to get people to read your classified ad. Ask a probing question!
Are YOU looking for Meaningful Work? (is “Meaningful Work” capitalized because it’s an official category of work or a profession or what?)
Drinking Problem?
Need Cash?
Have a 10-17 yr old child?
Do you fear and avoid social situations?
No Where to go? Know Where to Go!
Need a Lawyer?
Are you a SNUFF user who is interested in volunteering in a research study? (I assume we’re talking the tobacco product here and not the porn product)
“It’s National Happy Hour Day and from 5-6pm we’ll be serving FREE Budweiser.”
For one hour today we will serve up FREE piss.
Because we hate National Happy Hour Day and want everyone to die.
And, yeah, probably the new black as well. Although that’s such a tired joke.
Minimalism is where it’s at today. It’s more than a trend, it’s a lifestyle.
Let’s start with fashion. Not just paired-down style but a paired-down wardrobe. There are all kinds of sites online extolling the virtues of making due with less. In these uncertain times, etc.
Last year, Sheena Matheiken launched The Uniform Project, in which she wore seven identical black dresses every day of the week for a year and did a hell of a lot of accessorizing. However, the accessories were all vintage, thrifted, donated items so she wasn’t out shopping for new stuff. She also raised money for children living in Indian slums by putting aside a dollar each day and asking blog visitors for donations. Now through with her year, the Uniform Project has moved on to some other “pilot projects” of what seems to be other women taking the challenge.
I enjoy you. I’ve enjoyed our time together.
I’ve enjoyed staring at the back of your low-riding Buick in traffic, your license plate telling the world you’re physically disabled… or is it mentally disabled? Because you are only going 40 miles per hour. And your children are bouncing around in the back seat, throwing things. And you have your hand up in the air, fingers open, as if to catch something, fingers grasping air… but you wait for several minutes before finally one of your children tosses something at you. A puppet? A stuffed raccoon?
You take it and throw it on the seat next to you. That’s that, I think. Now we can get to the business of driving.
But no.
Because now it’s time to merge onto I-94 while you comb your long, 1970s locks with a brush. I suppose it does make your hair look better. Silky instead of a snarled mess.
Brushing, brushing… swerving. Swerving… you merge. I have to merge behind you. I want so badly to get away from you. No offense. I understand. Two kids, a broken down Buick, those disabilities to contend with. I get ready to make my move to the next lane to the left and then… your enormous, laborious red signal light comes on. You want to get over too! In front of me. Maybe you want our little caravan to go on just a little while longer. You feel safe with me behind you.
But no. I step on the gas. Sorry, you’re not getting in front of me again. I look over as I pass by your car. You are so short. Your glasses are so enormous. Like big magnifying glasses strapped to your face.
How do you ever get anywhere?
“Was called a ‘do gooder’ today as if it’s an insult. I’ll take that label over ‘do nothing’ or ‘do nothing but complain about everything.'”
I like to be called a Do-Nothing-Who-Makes-Pithy-Comments-About-Do-Gooders.
Do gooder IS a bit of an insult. It means please stop being such a Pollyanna and let us live our lives the way we wanna live them. As Bobby Brown would say, “I made this money, you didn’t. It’s my prerogative.”
Speaking of do-gooders… you may remember this little rant from a week or two ago. Well, today I discovered who that “turn the light off and save some pennies” do-gooder is. A sad-looking older woman who frequents the bathroom and always wears a black cardigan. She is very frail. She sighs a lot. She works for some architectural/engineering firm down the hall. I should have known all along! She looks as if she spends her free time washing homeless people’s feet. By that I mean, of course! Of course she’s the one who is turning off the light. And I can’t really yell at Mother Theresa. So I must abide.
The scene: a table at a networking/”learning” lunch for marketing/pr/communicator types
The menu: dried-looking chicken breast on top of a salad, rolls with tiny balls of butter by their sides, cookies
Gregarious Woman With Crazy Eyes: Hi! Hi everyone! What’s your name? Where do you work? Let me give you my card.
Hands cards all around from a stack of 100.
“Tonight’s story has us all talking… tune in at 10 to hear why a local dentist says certain candies are close to battery acid!”
Oh, I’m tuning in. All this time they told me me to stop drinking battery acid, have some candy instead, and now this? I COULD HAVE HAD MY ACID ALL ALONG!!!!
But, wait a minute… is this the top story? Is this your lead because you think people will stop eating this acidic candy? Ain’t gonna happen. We’ve all heard for 25 years about how Coke will take all the rust off a nail and all the carrion off a mouse carcass but that hasn’t stopped us from drinking it. In fact, we want more of it. We want to clean out our insides, make them shiny and new. We like chemicals that sweep through our bodies destroying rust and mildew and healthy, pink tissue. If your guts are perforated, you haven’t lived!
Here are three things I have a very difficult time with:
1. Band-Aids floating in swimming pools. Maybe the little white pad is smeared with just the faintest hint of blood; maybe its been bleached out entirely by the pool chemicals. No matter, it still ruins a good time. Here’s the thing: Band-Aids in pools are a social equalizer, like taxes and death. I’ve seen them floating in city park pools, at water slide pools, in the pools of very nice resorts, even a few times in the ocean. Band-Aids are in all bodies of water in which one can swim. If you see one, it’s best not to dwell on where it may have come from, which body part it covered. All the Band-Aids I see I pretend came off a nasty paper cut. All the Band-Aids that float by me were simply being used to hide a bruise. They were NOT covering up a weeping, infected facial wound. They were not being used to cover a recently-lanced boil. Nope. Definitely not.
On October 18, the Liberace Museum in Las Vegas is slated to close its doors. Apparently, interest in Liberace is down these days. According to the museum’s president, in the good old days the museum would host about 450,000 visitors per year. Now they are struggling to reach 50,000 per year. However, there are no plans to auction off any of Liberace’s belongings – beautiful costumes, his collection of pianos (some encrusted with sequins and mirrors) and his car collection, with every car in pairs -Â and there is some hope that the museum will reopen at some point.
Liberace was known as “Mr. Showmanship” and was also known for his eccentricities. A penchant for gold, sequins, candelabra, etc. But he had enormous talent as well and could play anything – from Beethoven to polka to, probably, “Mustang Sally” with panache.
Now we have Lady Gaga. I wish I could say that Lady Gaga is Liberace reincarnated. Alas, she was born in 1986 and he died in 1987.
Facts about Liberace:
Another illusion shattered today: I don’t think I’ll ever be a literary grant recipient. I thought maybe I could be. I’ve also thought, at various times in my life, that I could be a MFA kind of person but I keep changing my mind. In theory, when toying with the idea is like watching a cloud move across the sky, it sounds interesting and exciting. But when I think about the actual process of work shopping my writing with the same people for two or three years, of reading or listening to their writing for two or three years and probably hoping that my writing would not begin to sound like their writing or that my writing would not begin to be “MFA-y,” I get cold feet. Not to mention that sometimes I feel like MFA’s turn people into whiny bitches. But that’s just me.
In honor of the publication of True Prep by Lisa Birnbach (a follow-up to The Official Preppy Handbook, which I blogged about last year) this month, the baby naming website Baby Names Garden has posted a list of preppy names and nicknames and is taking reader suggestions.
As it so happens, my own copy of True Prep arrived in the mail today and a quick glance through reveals that it does not address preppy names this time around. In many ways, preppy names and nicknames often stay the same. After all, prep is about staying power, the tried and true; not trying to outdo oneself with flash and sass. Case in point, when Gwenyth Paltrow named her daughter Apple -Â I’m still of the mind that a simple “Claire” or “Tinsley” would have sufficed.
Celebrate Friday with some heart-healthy braunschweiger! Not familiar with this treat? Its pork liver sausage and it’s spreadable. Eat it on Ritz crackers or on white bread with mayo and – presto – you’re from Wisconsin. Eat it on a Kaiser roll with onions, mayo, mustard and some cheese and you’re practically German.
*Not recommended for anyone who is watching their salt intake. Or for anyone who cares about what they eat.
** Not recommended for vegetarians.
“If you are not excited about the event you are planning then how can your attendees be?”
Well, let’s see. “Attendees” (what happened to “guests?”) will be there to eat, drink and socialize and do other fun stuff while the worker bees/planners will be doing things like running around trying to find pitchers of water, having name tags thrown back at them, dealing with a toilet paper shortage, missing out on all the appetizers and cursing the fact that the event is the same night as a party/concert/play/TV show airing that they were really, really looking forward to.
So there.
“Rise up this mornin’, Smiled with the risin’ sun, Three little birds, Pitch by my doorstep, Singin’ sweet songs, Of melodies… – Bob Marley”
Reaction One: AAAAAAAHHHH! Just got out of bed, saw this and then stabbed myself in the face.
Reaction Two: The only way you could possibly be more annoying is to post the lyrics to “Don’t Worry Be Happy.”
Keith tried to torture me with this earlier today and I resisted. Then tonight I thought, “Ah, what the heck, I’ll check out 100 Ways to Love a Cat.” This video is 35 minutes long… because they detail ALL 100 ways to love a cat. I made it through Way 4 (brush them with a hairbrush). I’m kind of afraid of what way 100 might be… I think this song should be mandatory viewing for all people who get community service. Watch 100 Ways To Love a Cat and then go pick up some trash along the highway. You will never offend again.
Rules of Conduct For Teachers (from a 1915 school bulletin for a one-room school house near Winneconne, WI)
1. You will not marry during the term of your contract.
2. You are not to keep company with men. (This is closely tied to number 1 – don’t think you’re going to “keep company” just because you can’t marry! Here, see this burka? Put it on.)
3. You must be home between the hours of 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. unless attending a school function (Who checked? “OK, ma, I’m goin’ to bed just as soon as I drive by the school marm’s house and make sure she’s in bed. Just gonna peek in that there window.”)
4. You may not loiter downtown in ice cream stores. (Taverns? Yeah, OK, it is Wisconsin, but if we catch you lingering after finishing your cone… your ass is ours.)
5. You may not travel beyond the city limits unless you have the permission of the chairman of the board. (Dear Chairman of the Board: I was thinking of picking apples on Sunday outside the city limits… is this OK?)
6. You may not ride in a carriage or automobile with any man unless he is your father or brother. (Don’t EVER let us catch you with an uncle, cousin or your grandpa. We know all about your grandpa.)
7. You may not smoke cigarettes. (Pipes, OK, everyone enjoys a good pipe by the fire now and then.)
8. You may not dress in bright colors. (Think Calvin Klein, not Chico’s)
9. You must under no circumstances dye your hair. (Hair dye is for the wicked!)
10. You must wear at least 2 petticoats. (Who checked? “Hey, Phyllis, you’re looking a little deflated today… are you only wearing one petticoat?”)
11. Your dresses must not be shorter than two inches above your ankles. (“We’re just getting comfortable with all this ankle skin, we’re not ready for more!”)
12. To keep the schoolroom neat and clean you must: sweep the floor at least once daily; scrub the floor at least once a week with hot, soapy water; clean the blackboards at least once a day; and start the fire at 7 a.m. so the room will be warm by 8 a.m. (Pass out from exhaustion at 10:30 a.m.)
If our dog, Freja, can’t make it all day without, uh, pooping (due to upset stomach) in the house she always poops in the bathroom right next to the toilet. So… I guess she understands what goes on in there? And I guess she’s doing her best to be considerate?
An older gentleman called our office and said, “Hi, I’m putting together a movie idea for Robert DeNiro. I don’t know him but I know he’s friends with that Scorsese guy but I don’t know that guy’s first name or how you spell his last name.” “Uh, that would be Martin S-c-o-r-s-e-s-e.” “Right! Thanks so much!”
A college-aged student sent a form letter to our office asking us to pay his way through college. For an extra bit of class, he hand-wrote the salutation because a mail merge proved to be too much for him to master. In the letter he did promise to keep us updated through the years with what he was up to.
When my parents came for the yard sale last week, they had a van-load of stuff my sister and I had been storing at their house for years. And years. I believe they were overjoyed to be getting rid of it. We had a fairly successful sale, although we didn’t move as many toys as we would have liked. Now I’m left with some odds and ends that I’ve been trying to deal with. One box is just papers and letters and such from grade school onward. I haven’t seen the stuff in this box for 20 years so I’m going to assume I don’t need most of it.
My plan is to take all the old papers, letters, etc. and make a paper-based diorama out of them of a ship at sea battling a Kraken. I thought that might look cool. So there is my winter project;Â what I’ll be doing on all those snowy nights come January.
This morning I was down in the basement to feed Chief Jones (he has to eat down there so that Mistress Freja doesn’t gobble down all his food) and there was the box, waiting to be sorted. I plucked a coloring book off the top of the pile. It’s a book called “Write Your Own Story Coloring Book.” Kind of literal in the titling. Inside, each spread is a picture to color and then the other side is titled and has lines for writing a short story about the pic. The characters are the same on every page – Penny, Mark and a clown named Koko.
This should probably go on one of those “Overheard in Mpls” sites.
Yesterday, as my co-worker Andrea was walking out of the building, a bunch of gals from a marketing firm down the hall were leaving at the same time. One of them said to the others:
“You know, the only reason Crystal is celibate is because she’s afraid someone is going to steal her creativity through her vagina.”
With Zsa Zsa Gabor heading home this past Monday to spend her final days in comfort, rather than in a hospital, I think it’s only appropriate that we take a look at the life and times of the Hungarian beauty. Here are some Zsa Zsa Facts & Figures:
Zsa Zsa is the second of the three Gabor sisters: Magda, Sari (Zsa Zsa) and Eva. The sisters were born in Budapest. Zsa Zsa is now 93 years old.
Zsa Zsa attended a Swiss boarding school called Madame Subilia’s.
After finishing school, she was discovered in Vienna in 1936 by “the famous tenor Richard Tauber,” (oh, yes, Richard Tauber!) and invited to sing in a new operetta he was staging.
Zsa Zsa eventually became known more for her many marriages than for her acting abilities. She has been married nine times and has had seven divorces, one annulment and is still married to ninth husband, Frederic Prinz von Anhalt.
Continue reading Zsa Zsa Gabor: Hail the Queen of Outer Space
I’m switching things up today and doing most Fantastic Tweet of the Day. What can I say? I’m feeling positive!
“A friend of mine went on a first date for dinner at some guy’s house (dumb) and he baked a frozen pizza and put in “9 1/2 weeks.” Um????”
That sounds like something that would have happened to me, back in the old dating days. If his goal was to watch something steamy, he should have gone with something like, maybe, Unfaithful with Diane Lane? 9 1/2 Weeks is just a laff riot.
“ Thai chicken peanut wrap at Au Bon Pain. Pretty tasty. Just the right amount of zip to the peanut sauce.”
Well, that about sums up the day, people. We can all go to bed now. Someone had a tasty thai chicken wrap.
Amidst sale craziness… the garage is stuffed to the top with stuff for the sale! – I happened upon this from one of my FB “friends.” Quotation marks signal that we are not friends at all and that I met this person exactly once.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! They had stopped selling Kombucha until the FDA approves it! Just got home from Whole Foods with this sad, sad news. My entire weekend is ruined! :(“
I don’t know that I need to elaborate on the ins and the outs of why this person and I will never be best buds. However, I’d just like to say, “Damn you, FDA! I hate you for trying to keep idiots from hurting themselves.” Also, also – her entire weekend? Ruined because no Kombucha? Is it like crack, or what? If I saw a post that said, “Entire weekend ruined because my dealer was shot,” I would not necessarily approve of the sentiment but I’d understand the motive.
This is like saying, “My entire weekend ruined because no raw almonds at co-op. Sad sad sad!”
We’ve been getting ready for the yard sale. I feel a bit overwhelmed by my stuff. By Monday night, I just had this overwhelming need to get everything out of the basement and into the garage, despite the 90+ degree heat and the fact that I hadn’t priced a thing. I just needed it out of my immediate living space. I looked around the messy basement and thought:
1. My God. Look at all this stuff. What if my house looked like this all the time?
2. My God. I am paralyzed by my stuff. I don’t know if I can make one more Keep-Sell-Discard decision.
If you think about it, it’s fairly ridiculous to be “captive” to inanimate objects. It’s weird to think how much emotion I invest in some of my stuff. I absolutely can’t part with some things. I got weirdly possessive over my x-small Spice Girls t-shirt that I don’t fit into anymore. And the pink sweatshirt with the enormous Hello Kitty head on the front, in sequins? Well, I’m still holding on to that.
Here are some of the random items (this is really just a partial list – much, much more) I’m parting with on Saturday:
Baby This-N-That
Cap Guns
Dolls Of All Nations Collection
Paper Dolls
Gold wedge shoes
Spice Girls Pack (t-shirt, pencils, unopened CD)
Shaun Cassidy albums with one worn Shaun Cassidy poster
1986 Santa Bear (Marshall Fields and then Daytons used to come out with one every Christmas)
Care Bear
Cabbage Patch Doll (my sister has hers, too, and found the “adoption papers” that came with it)
Kid books from 1970s, 80s
Michael Jackson biography + buttons
Annie doll and Annie locket
3 piece silk suit from Dayton’s Oval Room – Asian print
Many pop culture buttons
Knick knacks galore – so many! Including a green monkey I painted in the early 90s and named “Locke”
45s
comics
Some Fisher Price stuff – a School Days Desk
So many weird odds-n-ends. I think people will have fun digging through this bin of weird stuff
Bright green spring coat
Bright pink dress
Clown costume
Clown figurines (these are my sister’s)
Michigan State jacket
High school letter jacket
Giant Robot magazine collection
Bookshelves
Coffee table
Asian-themed art
Dog figurines with rabbit hair on their heads. At least I hope it’s rabbit hair and not cat hair.
Table lamp from Target (I HATE)
IKEA shelves
I can’t even go on. Too much! Soon all to be gone!
If you’re in Mpls, stop by 4346 Wentworth on Saturday, Aug. 14th between 8 and 4. If there are any early birds, they can help us set up! Keith and his friend Grant will be providing music to shop to. Hopefully they can play some rockin’ 80s music.
I’m having a yard sale. This means I now have “Yard Sale Anxiety” as I try to ready my goods for sale. There is much to do! If you’re in Mpls, come peruse my stuff on Saturday, August 14, 8 a.m.-4 p.m., 4346 Wentworth in Mpls. As my grandpa used to say (generally when serving cocktails) “Give it a good home.” Facebook invite here.
Stay tuned for a preview of items up for grabs.
From time to time, Baby Jane Hudson appears here with her question and answer column, But You Are In That Chair: Baby Jane’s Advice For the Confused, Depressed and Clueless. Today’s focus is providing guidance for all those with aspirations of breaking into Hollywood, whether as writer, director or actor. Baby Jane has done it and seen it all and the letters continue to pour in every week. Here is just a sampling of some of the letters waiting on her stack:
Dear Baby Jane,
I want to sign-up with a talent agency and the first thing they told me was, “You need a headshot.” But professional headshots cost a lot of money! Can’t I do them myself? The agency said absolutely not… but what do you think?
The Next Katie Holmes
Tulsa, OK
Continue reading But You Are In That Chair! Hollywood Edition
That’s it, I’m giving up running and turning this into my regular workout routine:
Between this and drinking 8 glasses of water a day, I’m going to be a force to be reckoned with.
First, and foremost, I’d like to dedicate this song to the boys of Def Leppard and to the Hysteria production, all the cast and crew, the people of Sheffield, the people who bought D.L’s albums over the years and the people who still blare “Pour Some Sugar On Me” from their cars.
Because, although we’ve come to the end of the road, still I can’t let go. It’s so natural. You belong to me. I belong to you.
Lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp
Demolition woman, can I be your man?
Razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light
Television lover, baby, go all night
Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet
Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah
“going to bed shitheads”
“Foursquare Needs Women (good luck!)… 4x as many men on it now (The Social Graf)”
Good luck, indeed, because Foursquare is lame. Perhaps many women recognize this. They also recognize that broadcasting their whereabouts to desperate Foursquare men is not such a good idea. Duh.
“I’m mayor of the dark alley behind my apartment building. Just taking out the trash all by myself… at midnight.”
“I’m mayor of Meat Market Bar tonight. Because I’m too drunk and helpless to leave on my own!”
“I’m on this lonely, wooded trail that winds through this park where no one seems to hang out. Getting my jog on with headphones!”
Here’s a t-shirt you’ll find in thrift stores around Rhinebeck, New York in the coming years:
I’m pro-Chelsea Clinton. So I was saddened upon learning that among the biggest “celebs” at her wedding were Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen. Really? Ted Danson? From The Huffington Post, “Reporters, who had been searching for celebrities in vain for most of the day, quickly zeroed in on the couple, prompting Danson to ask, ‘Are we the only celebrities in town?'”
Well, no. I mean, Vera Wang was there. Also Steve Bing, who’s not a celeb but more of a rich guy who knocked up Elizabeth Hurley and then denied paternity until it was proven with a test… never mind that the kid looked exactly like him.
I guess the cool thing about Chelsea is that she probably didn’t really give a damn about celebs at her wedding.
Or, perhaps more appropriately, who lives on your messed up, dysfunctional block?
I really thought things would get better on my block after Mini-Van Carnie Con Carne Carnival moved away, seemingly in the middle of the night. They lived in the house directly across from us but in two years we had been unable to determine exactly who lived there, such were the comings and goings. Sometimes there were four children, sometimes eight. Adults and kids in mini-vans pulled up and loaded or unloaded at all hours of the day. The absolute low point came two summers ago, when some carnie friends who had been to visit before showed up in their white school bus, which proceeded to die on our block. So the carnies moved in! Hooray and fun for all!
While shopping online for an ottoman for my front porch, Google suggested I look at World Market. So I headed over to their website and was hit with this message:
World Market’s Eat Pray Love Shop Has Arrived!
There are Italy/India/Indonesia-themed bamboo shades. There is a Roman Bistro set. The Eat Pray Love Block Print Paisley Tunic is modeled by a woman who could be… if you squint… Elizabeth Gilbert.
If you don’t know what Eat Pray Love is -Â if you’ve been living on a remote island, meditating, or maybe if you’re a man – it’s a memoir written by Elizabeth Gilbert. For reasons unknown, probably even to the author herself, this book became the Harry Potter for women in a certain age demographic. Maybe those in their late 20s through 40s. The book describes the journey Gilbert made from Italy to India to Indonesia after a rough divorce. Yes, she was trying to “find herself.” And she succeeded. And she found the man of her dreams in the process. It’s a completely romantic book. It’s very cool that it happened to her but for the rest of us it probably serves the purpose of escapist fantasy.
Despite Marie Antoinette, I’m a Sophia Coppola fan. Hey, she was just having some fun, blowing off steam, falling in love with that dude from the band Phoenix… Her new film, Somewhere, is due out on December 22. I’m excited to see if it’s a return to Lost in Translation form. Judging from the trailer, it definitely is in terms of narrative and style (everything she films looks so lush and vibrant). But speaking of the narrative, is it odd or cool that this film is also about a young girl/older man (albeit a father and daughter in this film). So maybe she has a Daddy Complex… can you blame her?
Well, this is now dragging out quite a bit, isn’t it? I feel as if I owe readers a bit of a recap so we can all remember where we were in the saga when it was so abruptly dropped.
There were some guys in Sheffield, England who formed a band. For various reasons (aka: luck) they became Def Leppard, a top-selling “metal” band of the 1980s and perhaps 1990 and maybe three or four months in 1991. I wrote “metal” because there seems contention out there over whether or not D.L. is actually a metal band. It depends… do you buy that Poison was a metal band? Poison makes D.L. look like metal gods. Anyway…
They went on some U.S. tours, where they were beloved. They put out a successful album. But then there were problems. Joe wanted to work too hard, push things. All he cared about was the band’s fame and fortune. Rick wanted to party and drive fast and in return he lost an arm. Now everything is up in the air (except for that arm). Is it the end of D.L.?
I went on vacation and I forgot to post this before I “left”:
Which is too bad because I think that would have been inspiring to a lot of people out there. But now vacation is over and it’s more like:
It’s a time for the guys to have some life-altering revelations. Sometimes you lose a limb. Sometimes having looks, girls and money doesn’t guarantee happiness. Neither does a ratty wig. Sometimes you’re in a pretty famous rock band, make a lot of money and have a lot of hits and someone decides to make a limp biopic that boils it all down to some formulaic scenes. That’s how it goes. Ask Ritchie Valens. Well, OK, can’t do that… Ask Jim Morrison… Oh… Ask The Beatles… Oh. Well, ask Ringo.
A photo from the now possibly-never-to-be- released feature film The Beaver, directed by Jodie Foster, in which Mel Gibson plays, “a guy who walks around with a puppet of a beaver on his hand and treats it like a living creature.”
Hmmm… how oddly fitting. Box office poison or box office gold?
And now we come to the real “meat and potatoes” of this story. Ah, Episode V, where it all comes together and it all falls apart…
This section of the movie was partially based on a school essay by Cole Montgomery, age 15, titled “Why I Want To Be A Rock Star.” As you’ll see, his reasoning is somewhat sound – no homework, no adults telling you what to do (except for your manager and your band mates), lots of drinking, all-you-can-eat titty bar, lots of drinking, drugs, rad clothes, sports cars and drinking.
But, lo, what is this? Why, it’s a cautionary tale…
“Helping move a refrigerator.”
And I just… gotta… tweet while I… try to carry… it. Aaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!!!
If you’re a regular reader of Not Shallow, then you may have read an earlier post about the webcomic Gentleman’s Gentleman, which is drawn by my husband, Keith Pille. He’s currently raising funds on kickstarter.com for a print edition of G.G., with an entire “rewards” system set up for backers (my only complaint, really, is that I feel a gian SloPoke should be a reward for the $20 level, just like in grade school when you sold magazine subscriptions). He just started fundraising last week and he’s already about 30% there, which is tremendous, I think.
Even without the hoopla of physical rewards, backing G.G. is pretty great just because you’re supporting a specific endeavor of someone who works a day job and then spends a hell of a lot of time drawing cartoons because he loves it and believes in it. Every time I start to feel lazy about Not Shallow, he’s at his drawing board, cooking up another comic and I think, “Damn you! Damn you and your DIY ambition to hell!” But I’m not really mad. I’m inspired.
I’m asking anyone out there who gives a damn about comics, cartoons, etc. to consider backing this project for $10 or $20. Today we all got the news that Harvey Pekar died and I saw that someone tweeted, “In honor of Harvey Pekar, spend some time today drawing comics that are yours and don’t belong to a big corporation.”
I feel the same way about writing. Spend some time today writing (or painting or crafting or cooking) just because you can and because you love it!
If you’ve never been to kickstarter.com before, you’ll find many other worthy projects there as well. If comics aren’t your thing, at least take a look at all the other projects people want to do. If you would rather fund a short film about a school for clowns or a photography exhibit about dog noses, that’s your prerogative, just like Bobby Brown sez.
Like many others in Minneapolis, I adore the public library. I have built a queue of books on my “Request” list that rivals that of my Netflix queue. Whenever I hear about a new book I want to read, I search for it on the library’s online catalog, accepting in advance that I will most likely have to add it to my list of requests.
I patiently wait. “Oh, look,” I might think. “I’m now number 128 on the list for that novel. I remember when I was 234. Progress!”
The result of all this requesting is that books tend to come in every week. Sometimes it is one per week, sometimes six will somehow show up, like a book landslide. “Watch for books falling from your queue list.”
As a result of all this reserving, queuing and holding, I’m somewhat of a regular at my neighborhood branch. Granted, I don’t hang out there reading People Magazine or the newspapers. I don’t secret myself away in one of the window nooks to do “research” while hacking into a handkerchief. I don’t sit on the computers on a beautiful summer afternoon searching Google for images of Jennifer Lopez or the cast of Jersey Shore.
“What are your thoughts on Fund Raising Programs that sell consumables, like candy, cookie dough, coffee, snacks tea etc?”
Uh… I think they are awesome. I’ll buy cookie dough to benefit raccoon orphans. I’ll buy a candy bar to benefit your fake sports team. I’ll buy tea to benefit your cyst removal. I’ll buy frozen pizzas so sad kids can go to Paris. Sign me up!
As you may have been able to tell from the crankiness of my last post, I was in need of some serious rest and relaxation over the holiday weekend. I could not bring myself to face another episode of Hysteria! Even the act of eating had lost its allure. What? I have to eat something, like, again? And there’s nothing in the refrigerator because I threw everything away in anticipation of being out of town? Oh, bother. And let me tell you, that’s not my usual mode of operation at all.
Not at all.
Am I better now? Have I revived myself? Not quite. I would like very much for someone to braid my hair while I watch cartoons and rock back and forth.
But duty calls. Must view Hysteria Part IV…
And what is this? The best episode yet, that’s what! Hold on, kids, we’re covering a lot of ground today.
“There is absolutely nothing that one learns in failure that one can not also learn in success. I choose to learn from my successes.”
It just so happens that you caught me in a bad mood.
So.
1. Fuck off
2. This makes absolutely no sense. You are human, therefore you will experience failure. What do you gain by ignoring it or pretending it never happened? Are you so successful at everything that you will have more than enough material to “learn” from all of them? And what do you learn from a success? I’m awesome? There seems to be one thing one learns from failure that you don’t seem to be learning in success: humility. And how to fail with dignity.
3. Fuck off all over again.
Dear Beloved [Person I Have Never Met Before],
I am sure this mail would be coming to you as a surprise since we have never met before and you would also be asking why I have decided to chose you amongst the numerous internet users in the world [all of whom I have also sent this message], precisely I cannot say why I have choosen you [I choosen anyone who is stupid enough to fall for this] but do not be worried for I come in peace [yes, I am an alien] and want you to me to help me accomplish my last wish . As the island of Haiti experience a major earthquake struck, I will like to use this last chance to help as a philanthropist .
Before I move further, permit me to give you a little of my biography, I am Lady Rita Ratnavale [you can call me Lady Marmalade] 78 Years old woman and the wife of Sir Ratnavale, Victor, [you can call him Dead Guy] dual citizen of Switzerland and Britain [and Citizen of The World]Â who died in a Plane crash on Monday the 7th of September 1998 GMT 14:22 UK [my watch stopped at exactly that moment] alongside with my daughter [she had no name, we never got around to it] while they were flying from New York to Geneva [after completing a shopping spree at FAO Schwartz]. Please see site [that I developed while sitting in an Internet cafe] below for more information. http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/9809/swissair.victims.list/index.html
Continue reading I Have Choosen You
The work week before the big holiday weekend grinds slowly by… tick… tock. The clock, it hardly moves! Let’s take a break and get caught up on the trials and tribulations of Def Leppard. If you haven’t seen episodes one and two, let me catch you up. These guys lived in Sheffield, they formed a band, one guy got pissed and left, they made an album, played shows, got some sort of agent. But the dark cloud of trouble hangs over them…
We know it’s only a matter of time before someone mismanages funds, the record companies screw them, women leave them, they leave women, someone drinks themself to death, someone OD’s, someone punches someone else in the mouth, someone gets caught not paying taxes, someone shoots someone with an antique gun that wasn’t supposed to be loaded or someone sleeps with a minor…
In today’s episode, the drama is already ramping up with the usual “Rise of the Supergroup” problems.
First, I’d like to mention something. I really do love Def Leppard. I mean that un-ironically. I know since I’m a member of Generation X, that might be hard to believe but I listened to them a lot in high school and I used to try to draw the Hysteria cover art. I guess that makes me kind of like Joe Elliot, drawing his Def Leppard logo and artwork before he was even in the band, huh?
“Cellphone coverage got pretty ridiculous at the cabin. My wife’s T-Mobile phone had AT&T roaming. My iPhone had ‘No Service'”
Can you imagine? OMFG! We were at the cabin, relaxing, getting away from it all… Do you have a cabin? Oh, you don’t? You had to, like, stay in the city this weekend? Oh.
Well, anyway, there we were, relaxing, taking a break from swimming, reading novels, identifying mushrooms, etc., when I realized that OUR CELL PHONE COVERAGE WAS CRAP! Completely ridiculous! What if someone was trying to call? What if we had an emergency? I couldn’t even tweet about having fun at the cabin.
I mean, roaming? That’s so 2007. And iPhones… for what I pay for service? It should be a cell phone to God!
Then I was completely unrelaxed, checking my phone every 5 minutes to see if service had been restored. It. Had. Not.
