Monday, January 31, 2005

Simply the Best...

Better than all the rest. Better than when David Brent dances around the seminar.

My cat is the best cat. This is similar to the song from the famed commercial, "Songs for Life", which goes, "Our god is an awesome god" except a) I don't say awesome and b) I hate christian bullshit.

I burned the roof of my mouth on soup and I am eating chocolate donuts for dinner.

Sunday, January 30, 2005



Not only was "Arrested Devlopment" on, but Trio has a spaced marathon on...WHY do I have to work tomorrow?! It's in until 3 am! Why isn't this for sale?

Alsatian- this is a type of dog the British love to talk about...I need to reserach this.

Also I just had a glass of wine, had a puff, and have eaten nearly half a box of Entenman's donut holes and half a leftover burrito. So that equals one whole lot of piggery.

The Gospel of AWK

Please click on the link to have your ass blown the f#@k out by one of the hottest white jeans-ed mofos in the world, Andrew W.K.

The first time I ever spied Andrew W.K., it was a full page picture of him an issue of "Vice" that was left in the old UCB box office. It was the album promo ad of him with all of his hair in his face and all the blood streaming out of his nose. I was immediately horrified & incredibly aroused and went out and bought his CD that night. PEOPLE, SEX SELLS. He looked EXACTLY like my best friend growing up's older brother Steve, down to the white jeans & sneakers (except that Andrew W.K., unlike Steve- did not play keep away with my days of the week underwear*).

Anyway, as it is my life mission to make a fool out of myself and I must strive to do so with every fiber of my pathetic soul, I later cut a picture of Andrew W.K. from an Onion AV interview out, taped it to the side of the refrigerator in the UCB box office and then wrote on it in block letters with a red sharpie, "I'm Brandy's Boyfriend". Or maybe it was like, "I love Brandy so much I want to punch myself" or some such nonsense.

I wonder now if he saw it? I am sure he made it to the old UCB space before the evil insane landlady sold them out and turned it into a new age hellhole. If he did, I hope he was amused instead of terrified, the latter being the typical male reaction of all the hot guys I always humiliate myself in front of.

*as detailed in my very own 'Pathetic Geek Story' in the original print edition of The Onion way back in 1996

The Project: Terry Jinn

Terry, who is a dear person, put together this weekly show, which was delightful. And not just because I had 4 beers. Because it reminded me of when I first started to do improv. I really was excited about it, and it looked so fun and easy. I started doing it because I wanted to do sketch stuff and thought it was the right move. It took me about, oh I'd say, 3 years ti come full circle and realize that I was really just an awful improviser and that I was awful to watch. And more awful to try and work with. I developed a case of stage fright that I still have, although if it's memorized material I'm OK. Anyway, I forgot that improv can be fun instead of a tormentive experience where you're constatly watching your back because you're going to be replaced any second since there's hundreds of people waiting to fill your space. And, in my case, they were justified in doing so, which is why, after being told gently by a coach that I was not doing as well as I should have been, I agreed and left. Why fight? It wasn't fair to those people out there who were funnier and deserved a chance. It sucked that I stayed as long as I did, for all parties involved (mostly for the audience- I was really, really not funny).

Anyway, I do love scripted stuff more than ever. All the writing lately has been great. It's a much better fit. It makes me feel like I have some modicum of talent, instead of being a total retard.

Plus I flirted with a bunch of cute, way too young for me guys. God I love younger men. How sad is that?

Friday, January 28, 2005

Sometimes, I need to read one of those life-affirming forwards to re-evalaute my place in the universe. Or some shit.

sewn with gold threads: rules for being human

So Says I.

I have had two professors that talked in a way that was eerily reminiscent of cartoon character, Elmer Fudd.

The first was my driver's ed teacher in high school, who, during one of those "Blood On the Pavement" type fright filmstrips chose to wait until after a gruesome image of two corpses in a flaming automobile to announce, "There's the crispy critters" and them chuckle at himself. But instead it sounded like he said, "cwispy cwitters". I hated him and his mumbling and so I ditched class all the time. That's right, I almost flunked Driver's Ed, folks. My best friend Becky and I defaced his picture in our yearbooks with the phrase, "you wascalwy tuwn signal!"

The second Elmer Fudd was an ancient college English Literature professor, who had open contempt for the class and muttered his way through Chaucer all the while insulting us for being "stupid" as we fell asleep to his freakish droning. He once was directly behind me in the hallway as we proceeded to an elevator, and he said, "Not so fast, my dear", and indicated I should slow down to walk with him. We stood in the elevator in silence, while he stared directly at my profile with a weird grin. I was creeped out and didn't want to make eye contact with him. Of course I didn't understand what he had even said before we got in the elevator until months later. Then I was repulsed at the fact that he was being kind of pervy. Especially considering that earlier he had insinuated that the class was a bunch of half wits.

Jesus, filmstrips. I am old.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

New York Daily News - Daily Dish & Gossip - Lloyd Grove's Lowdown

Language barrier: Don't try any English pickup lines on the lovely Japanese women that rocker Gwen Stefani has hired to help promote her new Asian-inspired accessories line, Harajuku Lovers. Lowdown hears that the four geisha-like gals - who follow Stefani everywhere from the red carpet to "TRL" - are fluent in English, but they're contractually prohibited from speaking anything but Japanese. The reason for this curious marketing ploy? Yesterday, Stefani's reps weren't telling - in any language.

How do you, "Go fuck yourself you overhyped, talentless anti-choice asshole?" Oh and by the way, Gwen-Gwen, how's that illegitimate 15 year old stepdaughter doing? Are you pregnant yet, Ms. "I would never have an abortion but I respect it if you want to?" Apparently Gavin's ex skank felt the same way.


As I get older, I find that more and more, I come close to shitting my pants. This is a new thing, as I used to not have to deal with this issue. But lately, it has become a huge problem. Or to bemore accurate, I have decided I have less of a problem with this particular problem.

I used to never, ever be able to take a dump outside of my home. Then I got to the point where I could, but only if it was a bathroom with about 80 stalls so that anonymity was assured. Also, I would never ever discuss this type of thing with anyone, EVER. I was creepily secretive about it.

Until an old friend named Katie however, once casually said that she could care less and would shit anywhere shamelessly. She has IBS so I guess that contributed to it. She even copped to taking a dump in the Siberia bathroom. The OLD Siberia, the one in the 1/9 subway. I was amazed and had total respect, but did not think I could be so bold. Another friend, Jane, would have to shit before our frequent performances and did so in a bathroom that was in the middle of the busy UCB box officeat the old 161 W. 22nd space which was closed off by a shower curtain. Again, shocking to me, but I was impressed.

Well, years have passed and after having an ex-boyfriend who was similar in that he had to have total privacy was open to admitting that things sometimes "happened", I just loosened up (so to speak). Now I'm not nuts about the whole anywhere will do concept, but I have developed a kind of defiant attitude about it. Plus, I get flu-like symptoms at the onset of every cycle which have increased in their intensity as I have aged. Again, I used to have bowels of steel, but no longer. I had to evolve, to adapt, so to speak.

A proud moment was when I, with out shame, used the bathroom at a small bar pre-show. It was not a traumatic episode, which helped make it less scary. I was officially over it!

Which leads me to today. I had coffee at breakfast, tea at work, soda at lunch, and was working my way through another cup of coffee when I realized there was a time sensitive issue to be dealt with due to excessive cafienne consumption. And it had to be dealt with as in NOW. I couldn't find my pass that would scan me into the gated hall that led to the anonymous women's stalls, so I had to scamper up three flights of stairs to the two roomy but less private unisex handicapped access stalls there- all the while hoping that one would be open as there was no way this was going to end well if it wasn't. Both were available thankfully, so I yanked open the first door and saw a janitor's cart, which meant that said janitor would be revisiting and I'd surely be detected. I ran to the other one, and not a second too soon.

I popped out, hands meticulously scrubbed and meaning to dash away from the scene of the crime lest I be implicated. and that's when the horror took place; my co-worker was LURKING and immediately dashed in after GREETING ME. THERE WAS EYE CONTACT! Plus she had been waiting a while it seemed as someone had occupied the janitor cart-ed stall, too. I wanted to die. Even thought there had been mercy flushes galore, my wake was not pretty.

As I sit and type this, I feel that I must implore you, faithful reader, to always ALWAYS show decency in such a situation. If someone is lingering in a stall, you should just go away and come back. If there's a situation where you can't (as in my aforementioned 3 alarm fire) then I suppose you'd be in less of a position to judge. But in this case, I was scandalized. So I beg of you- show some bathroom mercy!

Now I will curl up and die under my desk.

Let's Make It Really Real.


WigglePuppy Pet Sitting


HoneyPet Pet Sitting

You decide!

I saw Thom Paine last night. It was so mesmerizing. I am still comtemplating it. A strange sometimes frustrating but ultimately fascinating play. Suzanne and I consumed an British amount of tea and had to decompress and yack about it.

I am liking my frequent strolls around Fort Greene. My cool friend Li-An, the penultimate "early adapter", moved here years ago and as usual was right on the money. I don't want to move from Cobble Hill but, if I had to seek out somewhere less expensive it would be here. Although to be honest I perused some apartment listings and it was getting up there. I thought we all moved to Brooklyn because it was awesome and cheap all at once.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

My Night As A Wino.

I met with one of my sketch classmates to write at the ever delightful Yaffa Cafe. When I arrived a wee bit late, after an L train fiasco, she was already having a second glass of wine. Since this was our first meeting outside of class I thought it only courteous to join her. I was going to have just the one, and since I ordered a delicious avocado melt (which by the way used to be served on a croissant, but no longer is, dammit) I thought I'd be fine. Since I have not had a drink in a while, this was not the case, and pretty soon I was buzzed. This made a second glass of wine seem like a harmless lark.

Not to fret; we left the restaurant soon after, and I strolled to the train. Halfway there I made a phone call that, for some strange reason made me really upset. And suddenly I wanted another glass of wine pronto. It was 10 at night so I was screwed I figured, as the wine shops in Cobble Hill were long closed, and I had no idea where there even was one in Chelsea. I was getting despondent and started to cry a bit, and really wished I had some wine at home. While I was chastising myself for not having my shit together enough to buy a case and have it on hand like an adult, my eyes fell upon a wine shop across the street. I was excited- but wary, as I was sure it would be closed when I got close enough to see it. However, there was a still-lit neon "open" sign in the window...dared I dream? I took out $20 which was earmarked for something frivolous, like rent, and marched to the store where I proceeded to buy the super-size Yellow Tail bottle. The shop was 5 minutes from closing, and the cashier had a look on his face I did not care for at all. It said something along the lines of, "You're a trainwreck, lady". I snatched up my mega-jug and exited in a huff.

After a hoary, way too long train ride home rife with delays, I peeled off my coat, lit up a Marlboro Light, and threw back 2 highball glasses of wine (still do not own proper wine glasses). There was some crying and mewling on my part but it was somehow less traumatic with the aid of the booze.

I went to bed, woke up with slight hangover and a cold, and my period started. I feel badly about breaking my dry-out promise, but not bad enough not to have a few sips of wine after the play I'm going to tonight. Who needs a cruddy old 20 days sober token anyway?

Tuesday, January 25, 2005




Paul Giametti didn't get nominated? This world sucks.

If you know or have any access to an Academy voter, tell them you wish they'd die with blood spurting from all orifi.

My day is fucking ruined and I actually want to cry. I hope Jamie Foxx dies.

I Will NOT Apologize!*

This is the title of my new semi-regular entry into this journal. In it I will list things which I don't give a fuck if you or the rest of the natural world think I am gay for doing. Obviously it is also a thinly vieled ploy for you to say, "Why isn't Brandy a quirkly, lovable gal, the likes of which you'd see in a big screen RoCo** a la Annie Hall?" The answer is: fuck off! I'm too busy being adorably eccentric!

Entry #1:

I will not apologize for thinking J.C. Chasez has a fucking amazing voice and pretending I am singing a duet with him to "Bring It All To Me" by Blaque', featuring N'Sync. R.I.P., Left Eye.

* Also the title of a great sketch show performed by Jason Mantzoukas & Jessica St. Clair, 2 lovely folks.
** Romantic Comedy

Coffee Grounds & Cat Shit.

That's the title of my new ultra-depressing graphic novella that I'm going to write. It will tell how I was molested by my gay choir director repeatedly, or some such thing. When I pick the most traumatic sounding thing I could talk about nonchatlantly AND illustrate I will let you know.

My apartment went from being freezing to the point where I had to wear 2 pairs of socks and a sweater to sit on the couch and watch TV, to boiling. Now I am sitting here in a pair of short pajama pants and it's sweltering. It feels like August, so I had to guiltily open 3 windows to try and balance it all out.

I was meant to go to Tabla, Blue Smoke, and Butter for New York Restaurant Week. I went to none of the above. Now I officially hate Restaurant Week.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Hispanic man holding a dauchsund.

I love the Waterboys this week. I over played “The Whole of the Moon" when I was 15 and had the Greenpeace double cassette from the Wherehouse. I heard a pretty OK cover while in an Old Navy dressing room and have been meaning to download the original to sing badly to in the shower after my roommate leaves. I put on the magic that is VH1 Classic, and the video for the original version was on! I was genuinely excited. It’s great when things like that happen.

Now to further my revisiting my sophomore year of high school fun, REM is on and Michael Stipe is singing “Fall On Me”. I feel like I’m about to go to the parking lot while ditching 5th period and steal one of my teacher’s cars. On that note, I am toying with the idea of posting excerpts from my journals 1988-89. These are so awful and also kind of scary- in that, I used to think I was so persecuted. But when I read them, I was made aware that I was an obnoxious, tormentive asshole to a lot of people. Did some- ok, most- of them deserve it? Yes. But still, it wasn't nice. No wonder I've had such a shitty stream of luck at various points of my adult life. I kicked my karma in the vag long ago and I've got atoning a plenty to do.

I wanted to watch "Extreme Plastic Surgery" or some shit- can't recall exact title. Theywere going to repair a botched boob job. The descrption for it listed what I feel is a wholly inappropriate title: Pinnochio. Uh...wasn't he a dude? The end to this boring assed comment is that it was 9:57 and commercials were still on, so there would have been nothing to see anyway. How...titalating (that's right, I said it).

I made a hearty chicken and artichoke stew. It tases kind of grody because I went a bit far with adding fresh chopped parsely. So it's sorta...grassy? Yes. Grassy. Lawn clipping-y. Also one of the ingredients was thyme. I am starting to think I don't care for thyme as it played a part in my last chicken-poaching cooking disaster.


Auras: None.
Song I am dancing embarrasingly to in the chair while I type: Pony by Genuwine.
Chocolate consumed: I choc. chip cookie
Caffienne consumed: I glass of coke at lunch w/ Ben and a cafe au lait, too.


Stupid fucking Blogger just ate this post so I will retype it even shorter than before, which was short.

I read a bunch of my old journals from 5th grade until college and it was harrowing. I thought I was a smart kid, which lent me an air of smugness. The journals say otherwise. It seems most of the time I was preoccupied with who was having a party and how I'd kill myself if I wasn't invited. And that was last week's entry.

Nigel had the ultimate punishment administered to him last night due to poor behavior the likes of which I have never seen. He was captured, wrapped securely in a towel so that only his head poked out, and then held still on my lap like a baby. This to him was certain death.

I made big noises about how I was going to cook a chicken and artichoke stew during the blizzard. But instead I was lame and made Kraft Shells & Cheese, which I ate out of the pot a la crack den.

Friday, January 21, 2005

FEMA Surf Shack

I ate a green apple and 2 Oreos for breakfast, because I care.

This is already pretty bad, and it's just a genral one. But there was also a timely tsunami entry, which I seem to recall seeing as a link on the Yahoo! main page, very casually mentioned as "Play the Tsunami Game!", and I thought either someone is a really insensitive asshole or very, very confused. After seeing a Gawker mention of this, Iwent to the site and said game has seemingly been removed. Wonder why that would be? It seems that this formerly unknown multibillion dollar government entity was just stupider than stupid, with your tax dollars no less. Wait, where's the educational game for 9/11, FEMA? Or is that inappropriate because it didn't happen in faraway-brown-people-who-don't-speak-English-land? Just wanted to clarify.

I like owls.

And so should you.

Dance, Dance, Dance

This is the succint description of this confident web site:

Salsa, Salseros, Videos, Swing, West Coast Swing, Lindy Hop, Hustle, Disco, Dance Videos, Free Dace moves, IntructionalDVD, Informative Articles

I'm about the "Free Dace moves", folks.

You Have a Way. The Wrong Way.

I watched a documentary on the Cockettes and it was fascniating. I knew of them but only a little bit, and was unaware of the involvement of Divine. I loved hearing John Waters talk about them. I want to be friends with John Waters.

I wish there were a 24 hour coffee place in the neighborhood. The greek diner does not count.

Auras: 0
Song of the day: none, I didn't listen to music and nothing jumps out at me right now to be honest.
Caffiene: A couple of gulps of Dr. Pepper.
Chocolate: 3 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, two bites of chocolate chip cookie dough.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

A new kind of sadness

I flipped from "Carrie" on AMC to "Single in the City: South Beach". I deserve the horror I have found. In the first 10 minutes some woman "Jennifer, 23, fashion consultant" was raving about a guy she was cheating on her husband with, who then turned around and was avoiding her. She sounded not unlike Charles Manson on one of his rants. What scared me was that I could think of times I had been like that when boring the pants off of friends over useless guys that sucked, and vice versa. I wish I was a robot with gears and microchips not suited for emotion.

The final scene in "Carrie" was by far more sane than the aforementioned woman's running commentary on how she knew where he LIVED, she knew where he WORKED, she knew what his car looked like, no one puts one over on her, don't make her call his wife...yikes.

LATER: I only caught half of the episode, but was up late writing and saw the remainder. After discussing her affair with this man, when both of them had newborns (classy!), "Jennifer" then tries to woo back her obviously slightly retarded ex-husband. I mean, it sounds like she's describing a one night stand with a guy who fucked & fled her, and that's enough to get a divorce? Then she says her husband has "good genes" based soley on his apperance, says it's hard being single mom so she should probably stay with him, and then discusses getting breast implants with him over dinner. I wanted to abort her.

Fashion consultant clearly is code for part time at Forever 21. Nice. Oh, and she had 2 kids.

forgot this new thing I implemented

Auras: none in a few days
Song I Like This Very Milisecond: More Than A Woman, by the BeeGees
Caffienne consumed: 2 cups of coffee, a 1/2 bottle of Coca-Cola, a large glass of Dr. Pepper
Chocolate Consumed: I bag Reese's Pieces, 3 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

Lady/Tramp Complex*

Who keeps bursting into tears when she sees the live action remake "Lady & The Tramp" commercial for Disneyland tours? Me. This event has occurred twice now. The advertisement starts playing on the television, "So This Is Love" begins -and whammo! Tears start spraying from my eyes. My hiccuping, heart-wrenching sobs, however, are saved for the dogs' romantic spaghetti dinner upon the barrel. When real, live Lady & Tramp** share the strand of pasta, I make hitching squeaks. Then I become enraged and yell out loud at the TV, "It's not true! It's a lie! It NEVER works out like that ever!" Then I eat another Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and wash it down with a good stiff swig of Dr. Pepper. Did somebody say "demented freak"? No? Oh, silly me. That was the mirror talking.

Allocco, this one's for you.

*Not to be confused with the ever popular, truly classic madonna/whore complex

** Sadly for L&T animated classic purists, Lady in this instance is portrayed by a white, be-ribboned french poodle (to my chagrin). However, while irritating, this fact does not contribute to my inane blubbering.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Nitol will help you get your Zs

I woke up at 4 am and could not get back to sleep. I made Valerian tea and all. No dice. Nigel was thrilled to have some early am companionship however.

I lay awake last night, trying to lure myself into peaceful slumber. But all I kept doing was thinking about horrible, upsetting things from my past. Not on purpose, either- awful memories would just pop into my head and I’d want to cry. Or worse, I’d become angry. Then I’d catch myself in the middle of constructing these elaborate revenge scenarios and think, jesus, Brandy, knock it off! You are not going to the dog park to collect turds and mail them to INSERT NAME OF EVIL PAST CO-WORKER FROM VARIOUS AWFUL RETAIL JOBS HERE. I don’t mean to get myself all worked up in these cases. It just sort of happens. I am not a good daydreamer, which when you really consider it, is pretty pitiful. Even a toddler can daydream effectively.

So, last night: I tried to meditate. I gave myself a dreamy topic, in which I pictured how wonderful it would be if I could have my apartment all to myself with no other boarders, and how I’d then decorate it to house my various Spice Girls and ELO/Xanadu memorabilia. This rapidly became stressful, as I got frustrated over how I’d fit a desk into the larger bedroom so that it would aesthetically utilize the one small window without blocking it. Again, I was freaking out instead of calming myself down. What a train wreck I am.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse

I finished reading the Phyllis Diller bio and it was kind of a let down. I was excited when I began it, but upon completing it I can honestly say it made no sense. I was expecting comedy tales of yore, and instead it went on for chapters about her insane first husband who she mousily tolerated. So I was getting frustrated with that sob story. Then she talked about beginning her stand up act, and that was cool. My interest was re-ignited. She detailed her humble beginnings at small nightclubs in San Francisco's North Beach, and talked about having to wear threadbare suits. I was way into it then, enjoying her talking about her clawing her way to fame. And then, in the span of a few pages, she was talking about her network variety show?!? I mean, what? Talk about anti-climactic. And again, so much time was spent on stupid, stupid men. In one chapter, she talks about the man she was so attracted to she left her husband for and then married. In the next chapter, he's a blatantly gay drunk who blows a chauffeur and she smells semen on his breath (that was actually kind of entertaining and juicy, but still). Again, she STAYS WITH HIM. ARRRRGH!!!! In one sentence, she states that she had lots of one night stands when she was married to the first dickhead and on the road, but that they were all "accidents". How fucking lame! Let's talk about that and the psychology behind cheating on your leech first husband- let us feel like you did SOMETHING to take care of your own needs! That's what people want to hear about ,not how the same stupid husband wouldn't help with the kids and house work. Haven't we all heard that tired shit before? There was so little about her approach to comedy in the book; for a budding comedian and fan, it was useless. Occasional moments would tantalize me- the never-realized attraction between she and Bob Hope, working with the real Gyspy Rose Lee on a sitcom, finding the love of her life at 68 (he was a sprightly 75), posing for Playboy at a mature age and not being ashamed to talk about having tons of plastic surgery- all of that was fascinating. And then, you'd have the letdown of babbling about her boring-assed kids. The majority of the book could have been written your average mousy Christian housewife. I am bummed. I have to write a review of it, and I don't want to chew her out in print (blogs don't count) because I do still admire her from a performance standpoint. But christ almighty, how fucking boring.

Sorry to vent but I am procrastinating today.

The TiVo FINALLY had a sleepover at Ben's and if all goes well, shall be coming home this very eve to enrich my earthly existence.

Monday, January 17, 2005

More Than A Feeling

Today was an MLK, Jr. celebration at my new job. It was awesome. Marty Markowitz, Brooklyn Borough President was there, as well as the honorable Sen. Charles S. Schumer, and, in a surprise visit,personal idol Sen. Hillary Clinton! I can't wait to tell my Grandma, who will be thrilled. Ms. Clinton gave a great speech & bitched out the Republican party to the delight of the cheering audience. I caught a glimpse of one of her Secret Service guys and it, for some reason, gave me chills to see them. They kind of freak me out. The Bodyguard could have been a cool movie had it had a decent female lead, because that plotline about ex-Secret Servicemen was cool. Did I just admit that? Shame on me.

I was overcome with emotion many times throughout the ceremony. Especially when I had to hand out reprints of the 1963 New York Times to all those in attendance, standing by a main entrance/exit door in the path of a freezing wind chill. I was annoyed when my fingers were all grey from newsprint. But when they went numb, I was quickly able to move beyond the grime.

I watched the Golden Globes last night and was so excited to see Jason Bateman win; I cried. I was upset that Desperate Housewives won in best comedy since it's really more of a soap...but, the speech by the show's creator made up for that because it was so heartbreaking and funny. I was sad Hillary Swank won; she already has an Oscar so let someone else have a crack- like Virginia Madsen for chrissakes, who's been in the trenches since the 80's. Imelda Staunton would have been nice as well; she is so amazing as an actress. Those British actresses always pack a wallop. I loved her way back in Peter's Friends. Even more important, for Vera Drake, a film that's sympathetic to the women who helped provide safe abortions when they were illegal to receive mainstream recognition would have been great. Especially given the fucked up conservative bullshit this country seems determined to shove down everyone's throats. I cried the 2 times Sideways won. I cry a lot.

Anyway, Jamie Foxx irritated me with his ridiculous self-absorbed antics. I'm so tired of dead celebrity bio wins I could puke. Mariska Haritgay (sp?) also got on my last nerve. Shut up about yourself! Jesus. I really, really liked Minnie Driver's dress.

But the worst by far was disgusting troll Star Jones and her hideous lack of talent on the red carpet. She is a useless, trite piece of cardboard. I hope her gay "husband"/beard brings home chlamydia (sp?) so it eats her reproductive organs silently and when she attempts to clone, it will be too late. Somehow she managed to have all the guests talk about her own "wedding"...AGAIN. I am obsessed with her breastgut.

Kathy Griffin made a point of being strident but still pretty funny. I enjoyed that she started an Olsen twins rehab rumor. Later one of the interchangeable grinning baboon E! Entertainment Channel commentators tried to dismiss her as "irreverent" and then read puss copy some lame segment producer wrote, back peddling and discrediting Kathy's Olsen twins comment. I for one thought it was awesome. Those two creepy sugar glider-looking freaks are clearly attempting to be as drugged up as possible.

My new cashmere scarf reeks like curry. I am falling asleep at the keyboard. Must take nap.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

Just Say, "Jesus, what a jackass you are!". Or, "no". Either.

I am horrified at what I typed but it is so awful that there is some artistry in its total stupidity. So I am leaving it up to remind myself what a dork I am in order to ensure humility for myself.

I am going to make pad thai now. My Tivo is still un-operational because Ben is an ass.

Mom, don't read this one.

Seriously, don't, Kathy.


I should not have gotten so stoned. But, yet I did. It seemed like a good idea. I made a cup of peppermint tea, lit a Pomengranate scented candle, put on some headphones, and turned on the music.


How do you type and not get ash on the keyboard? Smokers only.

"Special" by Garbage. What a cool ass fucking video. I wish it was on right now. I wish we had "The Box" on the east coast. Wait did we? I can't remember, maybe Viacom bought it out? The last thing I requested on the Box was, "1999" by Cassius. That was the name of this rat my best friend Becky and I saw at the Oceanside Harbor Denny's in the crack in the booths.

Air drums to "Misunderstading" by Gensis- one moment.

Shit, I burned my Hello Kitty stashbox because I left my cigarrette on it. And of course when I set the cigarette down I told myself that would happen and it did. I can't tell if the smell is from burned pink Hello Kitty box or Pomengranate candle.

I wish I could fall in love with one of my friends who I can't but it would be nice if I could. He's kind of wonderful.

No one, I repeat, no one wants to hear "alone Again, Naturally" by Gilbert O'Sullivan when high. Speaking of Viacom he was on Vh1 when it was the boomer channel. He does have a nice voice though.

I also have a crush on the close friend of CENSORED, who I cannot even begin to fathom going after. But since I have for so long, why not hope? A New Hope. Like Star Wars. I spelled CENSORED, CENCORED at first.

Sometimes I miss smoking pot with my ex boyfriend from college. He was the funnest on occasion.

I am happy to stay up until all the noise on the corner ceases.

Peppermint tea is a-ok.

OK, I have to do some taking back. I may have been snotty and talked shit on Counting Crows in college. I take it back. I do like them, and not only that, 2 most awesome songs to sing in the shower are: "Long December" and the Wallflowers' "Sixth Avenue Heartache". But right now I'm listening to the prior and it makes me feel like waking up after a coked up 3 way in a Hollywood motel room must. Or does. Or could. Or has. Drew Barrymore! What a scamp. But seriously, it really does sound sort of heartbroken and it makes me think of dumb boys in college, and of staying up really really late and then watching the sun rise on the beach. Southern California is stupid but sometimes, it is a beautiful place to be hungover. I wonder if I miss it as much as I miss the people I used to have in my life when I lived there. Think again, it's the latter.

"Bell Bottom Blues" is also very awesome and very evocative to me which is odd because I didn't really get it until I was 19 or so. It wasn't some bittersweet song that I adopted to show how cool I was in my bad, oh so sad "I'm from the '60s" 15 year old phase. Let''s just say there were knee high white fringed moccasins involved. Let's not talk about it again ever. Oh also I was obsessed with the '60s but totally dogmatically "Say No To Drugs". How gay. Anyway "Bell Bottom Blues" came from when I was 19 and involved in the most damaging, hate-filled, passionate relationships of ever with this AMAZING looking insane male model psycho guy. I also love "Layla" which makes me think of "Good Fellas", what a great movie. I hate violence but I loved that movie.

In Reverse, which was a great Matthew Sweet album, got very little attention. I think that was unfortunate. He's an amazing guy.

Ok now I am going to eat an Oreo and go to bed.

I Love Me

I always have had a soft spot in my heart for Dali-wrappered Chupa Chups. My beloved pencil holder (to my right as I type this) is a Spice Girls limited edition can that had a bunch of them in it. But this takes the cake: I went to Urban Groove Terrace, selected the groove box, and played DJ for long enough for it to be less cute, more sad.

Boners in Speedos* (As in, friends don't let friends have...)


boners in speedos*
carlos d interpol herpes
how to win an ex back
hipster quiz
baby names
how to get over a breakup
hip hop name generator
bulging jocks
how to tell if someone likes you
what does my phone number spell

Perhaps I need to re-evaluate my Friendster network. I suspect this is due to Keith Hanson. So that's why the tonsils came out, you manwhore.

*You're welcome:
"Pouches stretched to bursting, unruly boners poking out in all directions. Hot!"

Good Talk, Russ.

I had lovely, lengthy IM conversation with my friend Porter.

I ate some spicy black pepper brownies that my teacher's adorable boyfriend Ariel made us.

I talked to my friend Keith, who, as a result of tonsil/sinus surgery sounded like a human megaphone.

I looked at Sara's pretty neck incision and considered how it kind of looked like that one pornstar whose name I can't recall that has that skin over the hollow of her collarbone pierced.

I fed Nigel a Pounce treat (just one, they're rich).

And I listened to Welcome, Interstate Managers twice. People, I LIVE LIFE.

Aura(s): 1
Sung out loud badly: Lessons in Love, Level 42
Chocolate Consumed: 1 c. drinking chocolate @Starbucks, courtesy Heather Fink; 1 Snickers bar
Caffeine Consumed: 1 large Americano @ Starbucks w/ cream & Splenda, I large deli coffee w/ sugar and cream

Friday, January 14, 2005

These Are The Daves I Know.

Why do I seem to always develop immature, impossible crushes on short men? It's bound to fail. Yet I do it anyway. Sad, really.

I am not supposed to be eating sweets and drinking soda. So I am going to go out and buy some cookie dough and Diet Dr. Pepper and have myself a "zero amount of self discipline" party.

For the first time in years, I just developed a craving for pizza with candian bacon and pineapple. Eeeeek.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Now, who wants ice cream?

Today I had an ultra fancy New York day. I met my friend April for lunch in Soho where I had delicious Shepard's Pie at the Cupping Room Cafe. She hand made me some amazing earrings, which I immediately put on. I strolled around after lunch, and tormented myself by going into the conservative ass-kissing juggernaut known as Anthropologie to look at poorly fashioned copies of 1940s housewife cardigans reasonably rendered via Sri Lanka child labor and retailing at $90 a pop. Delightful! Then I went to Aveda and restocked on conditioner and turned in a bunch of gift certificates for sample size stuff. Made out like a bandit. I used one of the birthday gift certificates I'd hoarded to get a manicure/brow wax/massage at Soho Nail. I then headed to BAM to see a mini-reading from Rick Moody. All in all, fancy-like. Although later on the subway, I had another aura.

One of my co-workers is cute and has been flirting with me. I wonder how one is to diplomatically say, "Sincere apologies, sir, yet I daren't shit where I eat". Perhaps the HR guide may shed some light on that protocol.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Too Much Stimulation

So tired, made tacos and wrote, now must sleep.

I had another aura. Too much stress today I think. One particular area was this: I know so many people in New York, so how come whenever I have a spare show ticket it's impossible to find a plus one?! I'm taking this one personally.

I watched my new fave show, Dog the Bounty Hunter. If you have not seen it, you really should. Dog and the family are a riot. The best by far is the tough love wife, she is hilarious. Her outfits alone are worth watching the show for. She is a hell cat and will bitch anyone out whenver she feels like it. It's awesome. Everything makes me cry these days and this show tonight was no exception. Nigel was concerned as I sat there blubbering over the drug-addict Mom and her hemopheliac son who Dog wanted to adopt. I even forgive them for praying and quoting bible verses. That cinches that it's a quality program.

Eggs Benedict New York: Feedback

A friend sent me this link and asked if the comment (far far down the page) was me. Yes, it was. This was from 2000 when John & I were living together. I made eggs Benedict for him. I think it was good. Then I acted like a psychotic bitch and kicked him out because I'm insane.

Can you belive he's still one of my best friends? I say it was thie recipe that held us together.

Anyway, a fun site. It's a good work timewaster.

(Hey, SM- did you Google me? How did you find this thing?)

I just woke up!

I wonder if "Sketch Show" is going to be any good? They have some good people on it, but it is an adaption of a British show, so already there's cause for concern. Let's hope it goes amazingly.

I have been so off schedule since coming home from California. Sunday night I couldn't go to sleep until 5 and had to be at my new gig at 9:30 am. Then I came home and crashed at 8 pm. And then woke up at 3:30 am. There's nothing quite like making yourself spaghetti at 4 am, and not because you came home drunk and ravenous.

My TiVo came in the mail!!! But not, sadly, the fancy hand-me-down coffee maker my parents were going to let me have. I dropped it on my foot and ruined it while trying to get it out of a high cabinet. I seem to have a knack for ruining carafes and tea kettles. When I was 15, I had my first job at a donut shop, and I used to have to clean the coffee pots when we closed. I'd have to put Comet & ice cubes in them, then swirl it all around. Not knowing much about proper dish cleaning or, for that matter, basic science, I'd then rinse the glass pots out in scalding hot water, causing them to shatter and leaving me with a plastic handle with a few shards of glass dripping from it. This happened numerous times until I was threatened with having the next broken pot being removed from my paycheck. Then I just stopped cleaning them. Another time, while I was housesitting, I put the top half of a Phillipe Stark electric kettle on a stove burner. I was talking on the phone to one of my friends who was rambling on in a droning manner about some actor-ego nonsense when I smelled burning plastic. $250, the entire kettle was replaced and I didn't eat for a week or so. I laid off the tea for a while after that due to bitterness.

After re-reading that section I have to ask myself: Jesus, how do I even manage to (occasionally) get out of bed in the morning?

Monday, January 10, 2005

Beware Da Brat & Strobe Lights.

While I was typing an email I had "The Surreal Life" on in the background, and I started to have an aura (sort of like a miniature seizure). I can't tell if it's because of stress or because the show was so pitiful. I'm leaning towards the latter.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Can't sleep

Is it wrong to take a bit of solace from this? Not in a mean way, but in a sort of, "See, even people who have endless amounts of money and no reason to not have dream lives together have real-life problems?" I know. I suck.

They fight because they love.

Just made my weekly "mean old lady" call to 311 about the annual 3 am drunken idiots on my corner jamboree. I had hoped with the cold they'd be less a scourge, but this club is apparently worth driving to. The weather is not the ally I'd thought.

The cops came and smoked cigarettes while two grown men in fur coats screamed, "Nah, son! Nah!" and bear hugged. They were stumbling drunkenly but unable to land punches. It looked like they were dancing. Fuckers. Then the cops left.

The screaming has now started again. I decided I'm going to have a cigarette too.

God don't make no junk.

I watched the Henry Rollins show on IFC and it was fun. I like Henry Rollins. He's insanely delightful. My friend Roxanne posed on his CD cover, and somewhere, I have a picture of me taken with him at a concert. I'll have to find that.

I made popcorn the old fashioned way, in a skillet with oil. It turned out well. I had feared it would scorch the bottom of the pan but it did not. I made a coating of cayenne pepper and cumin and it was tasty. Sometimes, I amaze myself. I haven't had the impulse to pop popcorn without the aid of a microwave since before they came standard in all suburban houses. It was worth it, I felt like I did when I won the science faire in 7th grade.

"GO" was on tonight and I watched it and enjoyed it all over again. It's a funny movie, and it made me very nostalgic for all the sad rave days of yore. It also has a great soundtrack, which I think I bought from the San Francisco Virgin Megastore when I was living there. It may have been the day that I popped in and Jesse was there as a guest VJ...or maybe not, my memory does not serve. I did some research on the screenwriter and it turns out he's the same fellow who's done the script for the Charlie & the Chocolate Factory remake. Seems appropo.

I don't think I like other people at all. No, no I don't.

Friday, January 07, 2005

It's Time to Get Romantic.

After a few inital fits and starts, I was considering dating again. And then I began idly clicking through here. I've decided to stick with my imaginary boyfriend, Toby. Toby would never rob me by pulling up alongside my wheelchair. He's much too much the gentleman for such tomfoolery.

Also, this site makes me wish abortion was made more of a reasonable option, for people who clearly do not want children, do not care about the children they have shat out, and, in most cases, molest/beat/kill those same children. Go, America! Pretend prayer makes a crack mom's dead kid fly away to heaven! Angels are Jesus's way of saying howdy!

Toby hates Jesus.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Holy trainwreck, Batman!!!

You have GOT to be kidding me. Who goes inside my head and steals my nightmares when I sleep?!?

On that note, here are some things that I want to jot down because they piqued my chipmunk-like berry-gathering interest in the past 3 hours.

Nigerian Lottery.
Pattern Recognition.

I realized I know little to nothing about network television- down to what's even on the damn individual channels. I used to be addicted as a kid, but it was a bit easier then. There were only about 9 channels. There was no FOX, even. Do us both a favor and please don't do the age calculations, thanks.

I'm hoping TiVo can save the day, because as much as I'd like to watch some more shows in order to better educate myself I refuse to sit on the couch and wait around through 18 minutes of commercials. I will make that sacrifice for only one show, and that's hard enough to do.

I miss little Bobbi Christina. Did they make a crack pipe out of her skull? One has to wonder.

Mouthful of Sores

I am home and in one piece. I could not go to sleep last night, because I was wired up from in-flight coffee, the time change and the separation anxiety caused by leaving my family. Instead I read outdated TONYs that arrived here when I was in California, just to see what I missed. What a lame ass.

Nigel is in good spirits, and has not acted out too much at me for being gone so long. He is, however, not impressed by 2 of the Xmas toys I was thrilled to present to him in a desperate attempt to prove I am a loving cat owner/parent. The first toy is called, "Thing In A Bag!" It's a battery operated ball inside a durable, cloth sack designed to resemble a brown paper elementary school lunch bag. The ball, when activated, is supposed to jiggle and give the impression that there is a live creature of some sort rustling about inside the bag, thereby tricking a cat into pouncing upon it. Unfortunately, the ball makes a horrible
hammering sound when the toy is placed upon my wood floors. Perhaps "Enraged Woodpecker in A Bag" would have been a more accurate description. In any case, Nigel seems more nervous about TIBG than playful. It went to his toy box to rest. Forever.

My second toy attempt: I was beside myself with glee when I saw a remote controlled mouse at Target. Li-An has one and her cat, Inky, goes nuts for it. I snatched the electric mouse up, stuffed it into the smaller of my 2 near-bursting suitcases (all the while hoping that my greed would not cause another Aaliyah luggage episode) and giggled like a buffoon all the way home at the thought of Nigel's reaction. He was going to love it, I told myself. He'd be so excited!!
Fast forward to 10 minutes ago: Nigel watched my spaz attempts to operate "MicroMouse" into something resembling a circle, yawned, and walked away. When I rammed "MicroMouse" into his paw, hoping to incite some violence, Nigel just gracefully picked his paw up, the way you would to avoid stepping on a dog turd that you spied on the sidewalk peripherally at the last second.
Now MicroMouse is sitting on my desk, and is to become a decorative paperweight. I recycle.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Slough goes to Hollywood

Slough goes to Hollywood

Limos, the world's press, Clint Eastwood ... it was unaccustomed glitz and glamour for the Office party - including Ash Atalla - in LA last week for the Golden Globes

Ash Atalla
Monday February 02 2004
The Guardian

I was at my desk a couple of months ago when an email came through. "Congratulations on your Golden Globe nominations". I replied "Brilliant. What are the Golden Globes?" CUT TO: Sunday last week. BBC America had kindly laid on the big star treatment for the little show from Slough, England. Back of a limo, and on our way to the ceremony. We don't know what to do with ourselves. Too hot, too cold. Does my face look fat in this? Through security and the car pulled up. I can only imagine the biblical levels of disappointment the assembled crowds felt as out stepped a chubby bloke from Reading (Gervais), a tall bloke from Bristol (Merchant), and a brown bloke who needed a wheelchair assembled (err ... me). It's bedlam. On a raised platform slightly above the noise is Joan Rivers. I think she smiled at me, though perhaps her plastic surgery gave her no option.

And there we are. On the runway at the Golden Globes. Martin Freeman is pushing me past thousands of journalists and cameras. The cast of 24 walk by, and although it's one of my favourite shows, I'm furious the president ignores us. But he's not alone. When even the BBC correspondent looks underwhelmed as we pass, I start to wonder if we've been asked on the red carpet to do the vacuuming. Richard Curtis stops to say hi. He's just so polite.

Finally we're inside. Having done a couple of interviews Ricky has now caught up with us. The first thing he does is nearly push me in front of a bank of cameras taking Barbra Streisand's picture. Imagine the shot. An enormous nose with just the top of my head somewhere below her sagging chin. The awards room itself feels genuinely turbo-charged. An engineer approaches me and tries to mic me up. We explain that if we were to win, which we won't, Ricky will do the talking. He walks off, but re-appears to try again. We repeat that if we were to win, and there's no way on god's earth, but if we were, which we won't, then Ricky will do the talking. Umm. Don't even think about it. It's the ad-break before our first category and I notice there is no ramp on to the stage. Oh well, at least Stephen Hawking or Christopher Reeve haven't won either. I look around our table and see we have all been lying about how winning doesn't matter. I'm dreaming of first-class travel and women.

And the winner is ... THE OFFICE. And our music plays. And we are on stage. And Ricky is reminded to thank the Hollywood foreign press, which gets a big laugh, though I don't know why. All these millionaires with white teeth and wigs are staring at us. Clint Eastwood must be perplexed. And we are back at our table. And in that two minutes we have made hundreds of new friends.

Only 10 minutes later, I'm watching Ricky up there again. He's beaten the loser, Matt LeBlanc, to best actor. He makes a great speech, but I'm thinking we've benefited from the most horrific clerical error. At a time when it's fashionable to blame your secretary, somewhere the chairman of the Golden Globes is going mental. But so are we as it sinks in. I haven't been so elated since my 400-metres swimming badge.

The party afterwards is like going to the cinema, except all the actors keep walking into each other's films. For my own amusement, I decide to call everyone by both their names. This results in the following unlikely lines. "Oh, thanks very much Jennifer Aniston"; "That's nice of you to say so Jude Law" and my favourite - "Cheers Kevin Costner. I really liked Dances With Wolves". I make an exception for the Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson, who for some reason I greet with "All right Fergie?" Other than winning, this becomes Ricky's favourite moment. Later Danny DeVito walks by and I tell him we are the same height, except I'm sitting down. Not even a smile. The faux pas and the night rolled on.

We were the cool kids, and Hollywood wanted a little Slough magic. Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant, Martin Freeman, Lucy Davis, Mackenzie Crook and everyone who worked on the show - I salute you all. These have been extraordinary days, but all surreal things must end. I am writing this piece on the plane on my way home. Over the intercom, the pilot announced that he was proud to be flying some of the members of the Golden Globe winning Office team back to London. A few people applaud, and as I'm smiling away, an Englishman to my left says, "I wonder where they are. I'd love to meet them."·

-Ash Atalla is the producer of the Office.
Copyright Guardian Newspapers Limited

I like the sound of my own little voice.

Today's Preachy, Self-Important Essay: Go, Underdogs!

I still love The Office so much. I wonder what ever happened with the Americanized version? I know we all were terrified at how it was going to suck right off the bat, and I am sure it would have to some degree. Even with someone like Steve Carell starring and with both Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant involved. But I am very curious to see any of the pilots, if they did indeed tape any? Curiouser and curiouser. And on that note...

I have refrained from any end of the year talk as my journal is already trite enough. But I would like to say this: 2004 was the year of the underdog. The Boston Red Sox are the poster child. But it's most obvious, to me anyway, in television. When the Office got nominated for A Golden Globe, I was shocked. But when they won, I was amazed. I was actually flabbergasted that a deserving show got recognition, and even more thrilled that all the idiots who didn't watch it were scratching their heads wondering if it was subtitled. But by far the most pleasing event to me were the Emmy wins for Arrested Development. I actually cried when they won their 1st of those 5 (please see this post, as my drunken behavior in general at the emmy "party" made Dan cry). As totally lame and dorky as that sounds, it really meant something to me. It was just so great to see the smart people win in what has become the stupidest, lowest common denominator field- television. And it's even cooler when audieces respond to smart programming and tell the fucking networks that it doesn't have to be the way it is with all the "wacky hi-jinx" dreck, that YES, people are smart enough to follow from episode to episode and don't have to have each one be "self contained", and that no, they don't need a goodamn laugh track. God I fucking hate hate hate laugh tracks. Laugh tracks are the equivalent of pity sex with a fat guy that has a sweaty back matted with wiry black hair.

So smart TV comedies, even ones that wrapped in the UK over 2 years ago, were the Bad News Bears* of 2004. And now, please cue the end song from "The Secret of my Success" as sung by Pat Benetar. I don't know the name, but the sentiment was right on.

*The Bad News Bears from the movie, not the TV show, which as we know, had a laugh track.