Even at its maximum possible speed, dial-up is extremely slow, and my mother's dial-up access is much, much slower than that (currently connected at a screamingly fast 26.4 Kbps)
I did warn you that I probably wouldn't be posting much, but I thought I should check in and let you know that I am alive and (reasonably) well and that I did, eventually, make it to the UP.
I don't want to spend too much time waiting for stuff to post, but I thought I should at least resolve my cliffhanger ending for those of you waiting with bated breath.
I haven't been keeping the kind of running journal I meant to since I got here, but I have been keeping track of the more noteworthy stuff, so when I get back to VA and fast access, I'll be sure to inundate you with all of the details. In the meantime, here is the conclusion to Day One. Enjoy.
Day One: The Waiting is the Hardest Part Continued Yet Again
Okay, so I was thinking about having a cigarette. Considering the day I’d had, I’d say I was entitled. I had to do something to blow off some steam, and considering that the only real alternative was to have a drink, a cigarette seemed positively inoffensive.
In any case, the guy mentioned how much he would LOVE to have a cigarette, and the girl, whose name was Jess (“the guy” will remain nameless), ashamedly admitted that she actually had some cigarettes in her purse.
She did not, however, have a light, nor did either the guy or myself.
They invited me to join them at Friday’s, and, having no better plans (and because Jess had a nice rack), I decided to take them up on the offer.
When I was riding in the shuttle to the motel, we went past a lot of places that looked familiar, and as familiarity set in, so did a growing sense of unease. This was Minnesota, a place that was not exactly home to my happiest memories, and, in fact, is pretty much where my life was at its most miserable, a place where my grip on reality was at its most tenuous.
So yeah, a little uneasy.
And yeah, I smoked a cigarette.
Two, in fact.I will decidedly not be making a habit out of it, though, as after more than two smoke-free years, those two cigarettes made me sick as a dog.
Anyway, it kept me from wanting to drink, even as I sat at the bar in Friday’s directly in front of the taps and as Jess and the guy each had a beer.
It could be that, like me, the two of them were pretty fried, but they weren’t a very lively bunch, but I concluded that my presence was serving as a drain on their good time. Also, I was being a cockblocker, and as much as I may have found the guy to be a sleazy con artist, I figured it wasn’t my place to get in the way.
Requesting my tab for the pot stickers I’d ordered, I asked that a round for the two of them be added, and that I be rung up. However, they declined the offer, and after they finished their beers we all made our way back.
I was never really tempted to drink while I was at the bar, but there was a moment when a song by Steely Dan came on the radio, and I found myself transported back to my drinking days back home, before I’d moved to Minnesota. Specifically it made me think of my friend Jeff, as he used to play that particular song a lot and it was always entertaining, in spite of myself, to watch him do his “thing” while doing so.
So that was an odd moment of nostalgia that did make me long for those good times that I had during those rather dark periods, but nostalgia isn’t enough to make throw away nearly six years of sobriety, or really even provide much of a temptation.
When we left Friday’s, I had my second cigarette (Jess had gotten some matches; when we first got there we’d gotten a light off of some other patrons who were outside smoking) while we walked back to the motel, and the guy just randomly took off his shirt, presumably to cool off, but I would guess it was for Jess’ benefit. I suppose it could have been for mine, as he was a little on the flamboyant side, but I took that to be part of his “act,” and not an indication of being gay.
Once we got the motel, we parted company, and I tried to settle in to sleep, which took a while.Not anticipating being stuck anywhere overnight, my carry-on luggage consisted of my Tablet PC, some DVDs, my headphones, and my Nano.
Not very useful items for an overnight stay.
Not having a case to put my contacts in, or a pair of glasses to wear in their stead even if I had was possibly the worst aspect.
I did manage to get a toothbrush and toothpaste, though even that was a comedy of errors that was right in line with the rest of my day.
Before heading out to eat I’d hit a vending machine in the motel to get something to drink, and I noticed that the machine sold toiletries, so I bought a travel toothbrush and toothpaste.I found out later that they gave them away for free at the desk. Oh well.
Anyway, that was more or less, mostly less, my first day of travel.
As I write this, I’m at the airport waiting for my flight, but am more than a little concerned by the fact that there’s a thunderstorm going on…
(Update: my flight out of Minneapolis was delayed by about an hour)
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Vacation: Day One Continued
Day One: The Waiting is the Hardest Part Continued
The new plane I got on at Dulles was much roomier than the original, particularly as I was in an exit row.
I was sitting between two people, a guy who looked sort of like…I don’t know what he sort of looked like. He was a guy.
What’s important was that the other person was a young woman. A pretty young woman named Lisa, who was a very amiable companion, and the two of us spent most of the time spent sitting on the runway and the flight, when we finally got into the air, talking.
Lisa was a pre-med student from Iowa on her way home from a vacation spent visiting friends in New York and DC.
I’m sure that once we parted and she was greeted by her parents she either forgot about me completely or told them about the weird guy next to her who wouldn’t shut up and let her study, but while she was on the plane she was very friendly and perfectly willing to humor me.
By the time we took off it was clear that I was going to miss my connection, though I was hopeful that there might be one more flight out to Michigan.
For Lisa it was just barely possible that she might make her flight, and when she found out where it was (the annoying thing about flying through Minneapolis is that you never know what gate your flight is at until you get there and find it on the monitor), she made a mad dash for her gate. I hope she made it.
There was a moment on the flight during which I had a brief fantasy about the two of us having to spend the night in Minneapolis and “hooking up,” but I dismissed the notion with a laugh, a laugh that I did my best to keep to myself so that I wouldn’t have to explain what I was laughing about.
Still, it’s only natural, I think, that such a thought would occur to me. After all, I’ve often complained about how I never manage to have a “random encounter” with someone in places like airplanes, and so the fact that fate seemed to have conspired to get me on that particular plane and made that particular seat the first one available as I moved along
was…yeah, I know, it was retarded.
Still, all things considered, talking to a smart, pretty young woman isn’t a bad way to pass the rime even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, especially considering that for me it never leads anywhere.
I’d missed my connection by about 40 minutes, and so I headed to the ticket counter to find out when I could get the hell out of Minneapolis. After that, I waited for the shuttle to my motel.
Once I got on the shuttle, a young guy and two pretty young girls, a blonde and a much prettier (and more stacked) brunette got on and sat next to me.
The guy and the blonde chatted the whole way over to the motel, engaging in some vapid, twenty-something banter that was mostly about clubbing.
Listening to the guy – a skinny, bleach-blonde hipster – I found myself thinking “This guy is going to fuck one of or both of these girls tonight.”
I also decided that the guy was a hustler of some kind. It was the way he always claimed to have some kind of connection to anything and everything that the girls brought up, and the way he presented himself as an “entrepreneur” starting up a “high-tech company,” and talking about all of the places he’d been and all the things he’d done, then downlplaying their significance with false modesty.
Of course, much of my opinion could have been formed on the basis of the fact that he was young, skinny, and, in my mind at least, was likely to get lucky with one or two attractive young women.
Still, he struck me as a glad-handing hustler.
At the airport I’d been given a voucher for food from a pizza place that’s near the motel, but I wasn’t much in the mood for pizza, so I decided to walk over to a nearby Chili’s, as it had been about 13 hours since I’d eaten anything.
(That may be at the heart of my troubles; my mom had asked me, “Will you be hungry when you get here?” I said, “No, I’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat in Minneapolis.” Lousy jinxes.)
On the way to Chili’s I spotted the hustler and the hot brunette walking somewhere else (the TGI Friday across the street), and the various stresses of the day built up and manifested in such a way that I did something naughty: I walked over to them and said, “Excuse me, do either of you have a cigarette?”
(On that cliffhanger, I will end this entry, as my shuttle to the airport should be arriving shortly. Not sure when I’ll get the rest posted, but it shouldn’t be as long as a typical summer hiatus, or even as long as an old-time Saturday morning serial adventure.)
The new plane I got on at Dulles was much roomier than the original, particularly as I was in an exit row.
I was sitting between two people, a guy who looked sort of like…I don’t know what he sort of looked like. He was a guy.
What’s important was that the other person was a young woman. A pretty young woman named Lisa, who was a very amiable companion, and the two of us spent most of the time spent sitting on the runway and the flight, when we finally got into the air, talking.
Lisa was a pre-med student from Iowa on her way home from a vacation spent visiting friends in New York and DC.
I’m sure that once we parted and she was greeted by her parents she either forgot about me completely or told them about the weird guy next to her who wouldn’t shut up and let her study, but while she was on the plane she was very friendly and perfectly willing to humor me.
By the time we took off it was clear that I was going to miss my connection, though I was hopeful that there might be one more flight out to Michigan.
For Lisa it was just barely possible that she might make her flight, and when she found out where it was (the annoying thing about flying through Minneapolis is that you never know what gate your flight is at until you get there and find it on the monitor), she made a mad dash for her gate. I hope she made it.
There was a moment on the flight during which I had a brief fantasy about the two of us having to spend the night in Minneapolis and “hooking up,” but I dismissed the notion with a laugh, a laugh that I did my best to keep to myself so that I wouldn’t have to explain what I was laughing about.
Still, it’s only natural, I think, that such a thought would occur to me. After all, I’ve often complained about how I never manage to have a “random encounter” with someone in places like airplanes, and so the fact that fate seemed to have conspired to get me on that particular plane and made that particular seat the first one available as I moved along
was…yeah, I know, it was retarded.
Still, all things considered, talking to a smart, pretty young woman isn’t a bad way to pass the rime even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, especially considering that for me it never leads anywhere.
I’d missed my connection by about 40 minutes, and so I headed to the ticket counter to find out when I could get the hell out of Minneapolis. After that, I waited for the shuttle to my motel.
Once I got on the shuttle, a young guy and two pretty young girls, a blonde and a much prettier (and more stacked) brunette got on and sat next to me.
The guy and the blonde chatted the whole way over to the motel, engaging in some vapid, twenty-something banter that was mostly about clubbing.
Listening to the guy – a skinny, bleach-blonde hipster – I found myself thinking “This guy is going to fuck one of or both of these girls tonight.”
I also decided that the guy was a hustler of some kind. It was the way he always claimed to have some kind of connection to anything and everything that the girls brought up, and the way he presented himself as an “entrepreneur” starting up a “high-tech company,” and talking about all of the places he’d been and all the things he’d done, then downlplaying their significance with false modesty.
Of course, much of my opinion could have been formed on the basis of the fact that he was young, skinny, and, in my mind at least, was likely to get lucky with one or two attractive young women.
Still, he struck me as a glad-handing hustler.
At the airport I’d been given a voucher for food from a pizza place that’s near the motel, but I wasn’t much in the mood for pizza, so I decided to walk over to a nearby Chili’s, as it had been about 13 hours since I’d eaten anything.
(That may be at the heart of my troubles; my mom had asked me, “Will you be hungry when you get here?” I said, “No, I’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat in Minneapolis.” Lousy jinxes.)
On the way to Chili’s I spotted the hustler and the hot brunette walking somewhere else (the TGI Friday across the street), and the various stresses of the day built up and manifested in such a way that I did something naughty: I walked over to them and said, “Excuse me, do either of you have a cigarette?”
(On that cliffhanger, I will end this entry, as my shuttle to the airport should be arriving shortly. Not sure when I’ll get the rest posted, but it shouldn’t be as long as a typical summer hiatus, or even as long as an old-time Saturday morning serial adventure.)
The Vacation: Day One
Day One: The Waiting is the Hardest Part
I got to the airport well before my flight was set to leave and whiled the time away reading an e-book on my PDA.
Saw a short white skirt that served as a perfect contrast to a perfect pair of tanned legs. My interest piqued, my eyes moved up over a well-shaped hips and a lovely pair of breasts, then the horrible surprise that was the pretty, but far too young face.
Dammit, I hate that.
Got on the plane, sitting next to a grungy but pretty young (late teens, early twenties) girl who was apparently on her way back from three weeks in Europe, per her phone conversation.
Continued sitting.
And sitting.
And sitting.
The captain said over the PA that we were delayed by weather, but should be on our way in about twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes came and went.
An hour and a half came and went.
Eventually the captain spoke again and said that even if we took off at right that second the plane would have been in service too long for one day, so the flight was cancelled.
Before we could deplane we were informed that the plane right next to us was also heading to Minneapolis, and there were 50 seats open. Fortunately, there were only 49 of us.
We got off the plane, walked across the tarmac, and boarded the other plane.
Which was also delayed.
Long story short, I missed my connection and am spending the night in Minneapolis, with a flight out tomorrow at 11:10.
So close, but so far.
At least the motel has free wireless Internet access.
Lots more happened, but I need to crash now.
I got to the airport well before my flight was set to leave and whiled the time away reading an e-book on my PDA.
Saw a short white skirt that served as a perfect contrast to a perfect pair of tanned legs. My interest piqued, my eyes moved up over a well-shaped hips and a lovely pair of breasts, then the horrible surprise that was the pretty, but far too young face.
Dammit, I hate that.
Got on the plane, sitting next to a grungy but pretty young (late teens, early twenties) girl who was apparently on her way back from three weeks in Europe, per her phone conversation.
Continued sitting.
And sitting.
And sitting.
The captain said over the PA that we were delayed by weather, but should be on our way in about twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes came and went.
An hour and a half came and went.
Eventually the captain spoke again and said that even if we took off at right that second the plane would have been in service too long for one day, so the flight was cancelled.
Before we could deplane we were informed that the plane right next to us was also heading to Minneapolis, and there were 50 seats open. Fortunately, there were only 49 of us.
We got off the plane, walked across the tarmac, and boarded the other plane.
Which was also delayed.
Long story short, I missed my connection and am spending the night in Minneapolis, with a flight out tomorrow at 11:10.
So close, but so far.
At least the motel has free wireless Internet access.
Lots more happened, but I need to crash now.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Okay, One Last Thing...
Sci-Fi Channel has made the entire pilot for The Amazing Screw-On Head, a series based on the work of Hellboy creator Mike Mignola, available online.
Check it out here.
Check it out here.
Going Out On A So-So Nagelesque Picture
Usually when I’m working on the Nagelesque pictures I tend to err on the side of detail, failing to strip the image down to its essential lines by adding additional shading or color.
In this case, I think I may have gone more the other way.
Still, I’m not totally disappointed in it, so I’ve posted it here.
Just to be sure you know, it was RLC who got the Nagelesque touch this time around.
I’d hoped to finish the picture yesterday afternoon, leaving my evening free to start on another (non-Nagelesque) picture last night which I would have been able to finish today, but things seldom go the way I would like them to, so this is this is the picture on which I’ll be leaving you for a bit.
While I’m home I will have only occasional access to anything other than a dil-up Internet connection (and a really crappy dial-up connection at that), so I doubt that I’ll be doing much in the way of blogging.
However, I will have my Tablet PC with me and a lot of spare time, so I’ll probably keep a journal of the non-stop (it’s non-stop because it’s non-start) excitement which can be posted as an entry in the future.
So until I return to make regular Threshold entries you’ll have to find some other way to bore yourselves silly.
And on that note, I’ll most likely see you all in about a week, and will leave you with the note I left for myself:
In this case, I think I may have gone more the other way.
Still, I’m not totally disappointed in it, so I’ve posted it here.
Just to be sure you know, it was RLC who got the Nagelesque touch this time around.
I’d hoped to finish the picture yesterday afternoon, leaving my evening free to start on another (non-Nagelesque) picture last night which I would have been able to finish today, but things seldom go the way I would like them to, so this is this is the picture on which I’ll be leaving you for a bit.
While I’m home I will have only occasional access to anything other than a dil-up Internet connection (and a really crappy dial-up connection at that), so I doubt that I’ll be doing much in the way of blogging.
However, I will have my Tablet PC with me and a lot of spare time, so I’ll probably keep a journal of the non-stop (it’s non-stop because it’s non-start) excitement which can be posted as an entry in the future.
So until I return to make regular Threshold entries you’ll have to find some other way to bore yourselves silly.
And on that note, I’ll most likely see you all in about a week, and will leave you with the note I left for myself:
Monday, July 17, 2006
Pre-Vacation Spending Spree
After getting up this morning and doing the standard sitting around and not doing much of anything, I eventually showered and dressed and headed out into the world.
First stop was the bank, where I cashed in over $100 worth of change ($113.61 to be exact), and then I got a haircut.
From there I went on to Best Buy, where it had been my intention to just buy a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for use with my Tablet PC and Nano on the plane.
However, for a while now I’ve been intending to get a new digital camera.
I don’t actually use the one I have that often, but when I do, the lack of an optical zoom has been an irritation.
As it’s been my intention to give my old one to my mom if/when I get a new one, it seemed like now would be the ideal time to pick up a new one, and I’d done some Web research so I knew which one I wanted, and, in fact, Best Buy had that particular model.
Still, I was undecided, and so I wandered around the store trying to make up my mind.
It was at that point that I walked past a big-screen TV featuring Maria…. Sharpova? Shrapnelova? You know, the attractive tennis player who actually wins matches.
Okay, apparently it’s Maria Sharapova.
In any case, there she was on TV shilling for the Canon PowerShot line, which was the camera line I was looking into buying from, and so I took the image of this short-skirted young blonde to be a sign and opted to buy the camera today.
Given that I actually wanted assistance, naturally there was no one around to offer it, but eventually some kid made his way over to the camera counter and I told him which one I wanted.
After taking the camera out, he asked, “Do you want to buy a memory card, too?”
I responded by showing him the 1 GB SD card I’d already grabbed, which seemed to confuse him. Apparently Best Buy customers are not often a step ahead of the employees.
The camera in question, by the way, is the PowerShot A540, for those of you wondering.
Apparently I could have saved about $50 if I’d bought it online. Oh well; that’s the price you pay for semi-spontaneous purchases, I guess.
In addition to the camera, SD card, and headphones, I picked up Volume 3 of Superman: The Animated Series on DVD, which completes the series.
When I got home it was close to noon, so I decided to beep Brian and remind him that he’s bringing me to the airport tomorrow, and to see if he wanted to have lunch.
He was already at Champions with some people, so he invited me to join them, which I did.
Naturally I sat there mostly in silence, as the people he was with were all from the fire company, so even if I were a talky thing there wouldn’t have been much I could add to their conversations about people, places, and random pieces of firefighting equipment that I know absolutely nothing about.
I did tell the (true) story about a woman who fell to her death about 17 years ago when her Yugo was lifted up by the wind and deposited in Lake Michigan as she was driving across the Mackinac Bridge.
After lunch I came home and messed around with the camera a bit. As you can see, it takes decent pictures at the default settings out of the box.
I realize that they’re boring pictures, but what do you expect? It’s not like I have supermodels hanging around the condo just waiting for me to take their pictures so that I can test out my new camera.
A view from my balcony.
More or less the same view, but with the 4x optical zoom.
After a while I decided that I should have picked up a camera bag for it, as I’ll be giving the old one to my mom along with the camera.
I also decided that, since there’s a chance I may spend some time in the water while I’m home, I should pick up some new swim trucks, as my old ones have seen better days, and, perhaps more to the point, I’ve seen thinner days.
So I made a quick trip to Super-Target.
(As an aside, I’m of the opinion that if you’re going to make things in multiple colors there should always be an all black alterative. Sort of like offering a vegetarian lunch. The swim trunks I got are mostly black. They have a white stripe, which is tolerable, but they also have ketchup red and mustard yellow stripes. Still, it was better than the alternatives, but not as good as solid black. I demand equal opportunity for those of us who are generally opposed to color! Give me my solid blacks and grays!)
Accomplishing that, I came home and started doing some laundry.
I put one of those pre-packaged crock pot meals going this morning, and that should be ready shortly.
(Update: It was ready. It was only okay. Don’t think I’ll bother with it again.)
Right Down To My Shoes Department:
As mentioned yesterday, there was some music playing on Everyday Italian that sounded an awful lot like the music from Abattoir Blues by Nick Cave.
I’m sure that it wasn’t actually, and that even if it was, Giada most likely didn’t choose it, but as I considered the (very slim) possibility that she might be a Nick Cave fan, I realized that if she is she would be that much hotter.
And that much scarier.
On today’s episode she actually said, “I’m just crazy,” though she continued on to say, “about pineapple.”
I was annoyed at the start of the show, as in the incidental scenes, which usually consist of Giada out shopping or trying different foods, they featured shots of her with her husband holding hands and picking out frozen desserts (which was the theme for today’s show).
However, my annoyance increased considerably when I noticed that Giada was wearing what appeared to be a maternity top.
It may not have been a piece of knocked-up clothing, but there were some shots in the incidental scenes in which she looked like there might something bulging, though in the cooking scenes the loose-fitting shirt made it hard to tell.
Further, she did take several big drinks from the “adult” milkshake she’d made with Kahlua, so maybe she isn’t knocked up.
If she is, I think it’s a shame. After all, it always makes me sad when someone hot gets pregnant because you know that the odds are her body will never be the same, and Giada’s older than I am, so things are already heading south anyway. A pregnancy can’t help matters any.
Plus there’s just my standard objection to the rampant unchecked breeding going on, since I have no confidence that there will come a point at which our population problems will be solved by fundamentalists being Hoovered up to Heaven in preparation for Jesus to come riding in on his white horse and send everyone else to Hell, or however it’s supposed to work.
So for the sake of the world, and of her hotness, I hope that Giada isn’t pregnant. Of course, I could actually do some digging to find out, but quite frankly I don’t care enough to actually put any effort into it.
(Oh, and the name of this “Department” comes from the song. “I’ve got the Abattoir Blues/Right down to my shoes.”)
In any case, that pretty much covers my uneventful yet expensive day.
First stop was the bank, where I cashed in over $100 worth of change ($113.61 to be exact), and then I got a haircut.
From there I went on to Best Buy, where it had been my intention to just buy a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for use with my Tablet PC and Nano on the plane.
However, for a while now I’ve been intending to get a new digital camera.
I don’t actually use the one I have that often, but when I do, the lack of an optical zoom has been an irritation.
As it’s been my intention to give my old one to my mom if/when I get a new one, it seemed like now would be the ideal time to pick up a new one, and I’d done some Web research so I knew which one I wanted, and, in fact, Best Buy had that particular model.
Still, I was undecided, and so I wandered around the store trying to make up my mind.
It was at that point that I walked past a big-screen TV featuring Maria…. Sharpova? Shrapnelova? You know, the attractive tennis player who actually wins matches.
Okay, apparently it’s Maria Sharapova.
In any case, there she was on TV shilling for the Canon PowerShot line, which was the camera line I was looking into buying from, and so I took the image of this short-skirted young blonde to be a sign and opted to buy the camera today.
Given that I actually wanted assistance, naturally there was no one around to offer it, but eventually some kid made his way over to the camera counter and I told him which one I wanted.
After taking the camera out, he asked, “Do you want to buy a memory card, too?”
I responded by showing him the 1 GB SD card I’d already grabbed, which seemed to confuse him. Apparently Best Buy customers are not often a step ahead of the employees.
The camera in question, by the way, is the PowerShot A540, for those of you wondering.
Apparently I could have saved about $50 if I’d bought it online. Oh well; that’s the price you pay for semi-spontaneous purchases, I guess.
In addition to the camera, SD card, and headphones, I picked up Volume 3 of Superman: The Animated Series on DVD, which completes the series.
When I got home it was close to noon, so I decided to beep Brian and remind him that he’s bringing me to the airport tomorrow, and to see if he wanted to have lunch.
He was already at Champions with some people, so he invited me to join them, which I did.
Naturally I sat there mostly in silence, as the people he was with were all from the fire company, so even if I were a talky thing there wouldn’t have been much I could add to their conversations about people, places, and random pieces of firefighting equipment that I know absolutely nothing about.
I did tell the (true) story about a woman who fell to her death about 17 years ago when her Yugo was lifted up by the wind and deposited in Lake Michigan as she was driving across the Mackinac Bridge.
After lunch I came home and messed around with the camera a bit. As you can see, it takes decent pictures at the default settings out of the box.
I realize that they’re boring pictures, but what do you expect? It’s not like I have supermodels hanging around the condo just waiting for me to take their pictures so that I can test out my new camera.
A view from my balcony.
More or less the same view, but with the 4x optical zoom.
After a while I decided that I should have picked up a camera bag for it, as I’ll be giving the old one to my mom along with the camera.
I also decided that, since there’s a chance I may spend some time in the water while I’m home, I should pick up some new swim trucks, as my old ones have seen better days, and, perhaps more to the point, I’ve seen thinner days.
So I made a quick trip to Super-Target.
(As an aside, I’m of the opinion that if you’re going to make things in multiple colors there should always be an all black alterative. Sort of like offering a vegetarian lunch. The swim trunks I got are mostly black. They have a white stripe, which is tolerable, but they also have ketchup red and mustard yellow stripes. Still, it was better than the alternatives, but not as good as solid black. I demand equal opportunity for those of us who are generally opposed to color! Give me my solid blacks and grays!)
Accomplishing that, I came home and started doing some laundry.
I put one of those pre-packaged crock pot meals going this morning, and that should be ready shortly.
(Update: It was ready. It was only okay. Don’t think I’ll bother with it again.)
Right Down To My Shoes Department:
As mentioned yesterday, there was some music playing on Everyday Italian that sounded an awful lot like the music from Abattoir Blues by Nick Cave.
I’m sure that it wasn’t actually, and that even if it was, Giada most likely didn’t choose it, but as I considered the (very slim) possibility that she might be a Nick Cave fan, I realized that if she is she would be that much hotter.
And that much scarier.
On today’s episode she actually said, “I’m just crazy,” though she continued on to say, “about pineapple.”
I was annoyed at the start of the show, as in the incidental scenes, which usually consist of Giada out shopping or trying different foods, they featured shots of her with her husband holding hands and picking out frozen desserts (which was the theme for today’s show).
However, my annoyance increased considerably when I noticed that Giada was wearing what appeared to be a maternity top.
It may not have been a piece of knocked-up clothing, but there were some shots in the incidental scenes in which she looked like there might something bulging, though in the cooking scenes the loose-fitting shirt made it hard to tell.
Further, she did take several big drinks from the “adult” milkshake she’d made with Kahlua, so maybe she isn’t knocked up.
If she is, I think it’s a shame. After all, it always makes me sad when someone hot gets pregnant because you know that the odds are her body will never be the same, and Giada’s older than I am, so things are already heading south anyway. A pregnancy can’t help matters any.
Plus there’s just my standard objection to the rampant unchecked breeding going on, since I have no confidence that there will come a point at which our population problems will be solved by fundamentalists being Hoovered up to Heaven in preparation for Jesus to come riding in on his white horse and send everyone else to Hell, or however it’s supposed to work.
So for the sake of the world, and of her hotness, I hope that Giada isn’t pregnant. Of course, I could actually do some digging to find out, but quite frankly I don’t care enough to actually put any effort into it.
(Oh, and the name of this “Department” comes from the song. “I’ve got the Abattoir Blues/Right down to my shoes.”)
In any case, that pretty much covers my uneventful yet expensive day.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
If That Doesn't Herald The End Of The World, I Don't Know What Would
Years ago Saturday Night Live did a sketch featuring Tobey Maguire as Dustin Diamond ("Sceech" of Saved By The Bell) appearing on the show Inside the Actor's Studio.
For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it appears on Bravo (Home of Queer Eye), and features a guy named James Lipton interviewing actors.
And when I say actors, I mean "A List" actors. People like Tom Hanks, or Charlize Theron, or Denzel Washington, or even Toby Maguire himself.
The point is that the idea of the show is to focus on people who manage to stand out as shining examples of their craft, which is why the notion of having Screech on the show, and having Lipton, played by Will Ferrell, fawn all over him, was so hilariously absurd.
I mean, it would have to be absurd to have someone of that caliber on a show that's featured some of the finest actors of our time.
Right?
That's what I thought, anyway, until tonight when I was flipping through the channels and saw that the guest was Martin Lawrence.
Take a moment to let that sink in.
Martin. Fucking. Lawrence.
The show is famous for its "10 Questions." In Lipton's place, I would have only one question for Lawrence: What exactly is your talent?
Of course, I'm sure he found all sorts of questons to ask him about his "craft," and what method he uses to get into character. You know, apart from putting on the wig and the fat suit. I mean, there's so much more that he does besides preteding to be a morbidly obese old woman: he mumbles incoherently, makes stupid faces, and swears. I mean, this is a true thespian who deserves recognition.
Martin Lawrence on Inside the Actor's Studio.
They might as well get it over with and have Screech on. God knows he's got nothing better to do his time (other than selling T-shirts).
All of this reminds me of something: once again, America, you let me down.
Little Man. Number Two movie in the country.
Shame on you.
For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it appears on Bravo (Home of Queer Eye), and features a guy named James Lipton interviewing actors.
And when I say actors, I mean "A List" actors. People like Tom Hanks, or Charlize Theron, or Denzel Washington, or even Toby Maguire himself.
The point is that the idea of the show is to focus on people who manage to stand out as shining examples of their craft, which is why the notion of having Screech on the show, and having Lipton, played by Will Ferrell, fawn all over him, was so hilariously absurd.
I mean, it would have to be absurd to have someone of that caliber on a show that's featured some of the finest actors of our time.
Right?
That's what I thought, anyway, until tonight when I was flipping through the channels and saw that the guest was Martin Lawrence.
Take a moment to let that sink in.
Martin. Fucking. Lawrence.
The show is famous for its "10 Questions." In Lipton's place, I would have only one question for Lawrence: What exactly is your talent?
Of course, I'm sure he found all sorts of questons to ask him about his "craft," and what method he uses to get into character. You know, apart from putting on the wig and the fat suit. I mean, there's so much more that he does besides preteding to be a morbidly obese old woman: he mumbles incoherently, makes stupid faces, and swears. I mean, this is a true thespian who deserves recognition.
Martin Lawrence on Inside the Actor's Studio.
They might as well get it over with and have Screech on. God knows he's got nothing better to do his time (other than selling T-shirts).
All of this reminds me of something: once again, America, you let me down.
Little Man. Number Two movie in the country.
Shame on you.
New Nagelesque Image
I hadn't intended to do another Nagelesque Jessica Alba picture, but when I found the source image it just had to be.
There may actually be another Nagelesque picture coming (different subject this time, though).
In any case, here's the picture.
There may actually be another Nagelesque picture coming (different subject this time, though).
In any case, here's the picture.
Torn Between Two TV Personalities, Feeling Like A Fool
I was inclined to just sleep through today, letting the entire day pass while I dozed indolently, but it became clear, after I started waking up periodically between 6 and 8 am that such was not to be, and so, with great reluctance, I got up around 8:30.
I sat around for a bit, had some breakfast (an apple, a glass of milk, and two pieces of toast with peanut butter), and then built up enough ambition to go for a four mile walk.
The trail was overrun by people on bicycles. They were like mosquitoes, and I got really tired of hearing “On your left” over and over again.
I fucking know, okay? Even with my headphones in I can hear you coming and I’m not going to suddenly lunge towards you, and you may notice that I’m as far over to the right as I can get, so you have plenty of room to get around me.
So just dispense with the “courtesy” of telling me that you’re there.
(One chick going past said, “On your left” with the kind of disdain with which a extremely popular cheerleader would say…well, anything to someone below her social standing. She even started it off with that sound that teenage girls make when they’re mortally offended by something. Without being able to see her I could still easily visualize the sneer of contempt on her face. Good times.)
Once I got home I took a shower and then started to work on a picture.
At noon I launched Media Center to watch Everyday Italian.
I have to say that these days Giada is starting to look a lot less maniacal. Maybe she’s on medication, but whatever the case, she’s rapidly moving from Crazy Hot Italian Chick to just plain old Hot Italian Chick.
I changed the channels during a commercial and saw that Trading Spaces, which I haven’t watched in a very long time, was on. Further, Genevieve was one of the designers, and it’s been even longer since I’ve gotten to see her, so I found myself suddenly uncertain as to which show I should watch.
On the one channel, there was Giada, the beautiful, glamorous, sometimes crazed-looking chef, and on the other, Genevieve, the beautiful, voluptuous, and goofy designer.
I was paralyzed with indecision. Sure, Giada was hot, but what she was cooking wasn’t especially interesting, but at least she would be on-screen for most of the show, whereas Genevieve had to share screen time with the other designer, the homeowners, and the carpenters (but not with Paige, who apparently got 86ed somewhere along the line).
Ultimately I opted to finish watching Giada, then switched over to Genevieve, as Giada’s show is only a half an hour.
At this point, considering everything I just said in the pararagraphs above, I think it’s incumbent upon me to make an observation: my life is pathetic.
(As a final observation about my TV watching, though, I should mention that there was a moment that was a bit of a head scratcher. Whenever Giada gets “into the swing” of cooking and isn’t saying anything they always play a bit of music as they focus in on her preparing the food. On today’s episode the music they played sounded exactly like the music from the Nick Cave song Abattoir Blues. I’m sure that it wasn’t, but Nick’s music does pop up in unexpected places.)
By the time Trading Spaces was over and I’d closed down Media Center it was after 1 and I’d yet to have lunch, so I decided that I’d head over to Super Target and have a pizza at the Pizza Hut Express inside, then pick up something for dinner for today and tomorrow.
After I got there, though, I decided to just grab a frozen pizza, which I heated up once I got home.
Finishing that, it was back to work on the picture, and now, here I am taking a break to write this.
And now here I am finishing that and going back to work on the picture.
I sat around for a bit, had some breakfast (an apple, a glass of milk, and two pieces of toast with peanut butter), and then built up enough ambition to go for a four mile walk.
The trail was overrun by people on bicycles. They were like mosquitoes, and I got really tired of hearing “On your left” over and over again.
I fucking know, okay? Even with my headphones in I can hear you coming and I’m not going to suddenly lunge towards you, and you may notice that I’m as far over to the right as I can get, so you have plenty of room to get around me.
So just dispense with the “courtesy” of telling me that you’re there.
(One chick going past said, “On your left” with the kind of disdain with which a extremely popular cheerleader would say…well, anything to someone below her social standing. She even started it off with that sound that teenage girls make when they’re mortally offended by something. Without being able to see her I could still easily visualize the sneer of contempt on her face. Good times.)
Once I got home I took a shower and then started to work on a picture.
At noon I launched Media Center to watch Everyday Italian.
I have to say that these days Giada is starting to look a lot less maniacal. Maybe she’s on medication, but whatever the case, she’s rapidly moving from Crazy Hot Italian Chick to just plain old Hot Italian Chick.
I changed the channels during a commercial and saw that Trading Spaces, which I haven’t watched in a very long time, was on. Further, Genevieve was one of the designers, and it’s been even longer since I’ve gotten to see her, so I found myself suddenly uncertain as to which show I should watch.
On the one channel, there was Giada, the beautiful, glamorous, sometimes crazed-looking chef, and on the other, Genevieve, the beautiful, voluptuous, and goofy designer.
I was paralyzed with indecision. Sure, Giada was hot, but what she was cooking wasn’t especially interesting, but at least she would be on-screen for most of the show, whereas Genevieve had to share screen time with the other designer, the homeowners, and the carpenters (but not with Paige, who apparently got 86ed somewhere along the line).
Ultimately I opted to finish watching Giada, then switched over to Genevieve, as Giada’s show is only a half an hour.
At this point, considering everything I just said in the pararagraphs above, I think it’s incumbent upon me to make an observation: my life is pathetic.
(As a final observation about my TV watching, though, I should mention that there was a moment that was a bit of a head scratcher. Whenever Giada gets “into the swing” of cooking and isn’t saying anything they always play a bit of music as they focus in on her preparing the food. On today’s episode the music they played sounded exactly like the music from the Nick Cave song Abattoir Blues. I’m sure that it wasn’t, but Nick’s music does pop up in unexpected places.)
By the time Trading Spaces was over and I’d closed down Media Center it was after 1 and I’d yet to have lunch, so I decided that I’d head over to Super Target and have a pizza at the Pizza Hut Express inside, then pick up something for dinner for today and tomorrow.
After I got there, though, I decided to just grab a frozen pizza, which I heated up once I got home.
Finishing that, it was back to work on the picture, and now, here I am taking a break to write this.
And now here I am finishing that and going back to work on the picture.
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