Chicken Little

So word on the street is that the economy is falling harder than Paris for Benji (in an equally surreal and nausea-inducing kind of way, but with less self-tanner), which is a bummer. But I'm not letting it get me down in part because the jokes on Laffy Taffy wrappers are the better than Prozac. (Why was the cat afraid of the tree? Because of the bark!) I don't plan on retiring for awhile and I'm not opposed to the idea of a community garden, so all-in-all I'm not terribly worried.

No, I'm bummed about (and I know this is Tim's blog topic, so I'll only do this once) because my AP fantasy football team (aka 85 Mafia, we're not going to get into the sad origins of the team name) has the same record as the real-life Cincy Bengals. I know. The worst part is that I actually put time into trying to make my team less worthless than dignity at a Pussycat Dolls concert, but to no avail. Brady Quinn and his brown eyes are still just taking up space on the bench (on my team and in real life).

Worry not, though, because Rise Against and the Gaslight Anthem are playing Cleveland on Thursday and if that's not the cure for a fantasy team with a worse prognosis than the national economy, then I just don't know what is. (Another Laffy Taffy joke? Okay. What does a pig put on his cut? hint: it's not lipstick, Sarah Palin. It's Oinkment!)

In other exciting news, I got married this weekend! (Sorry, no pictures, kids. I sold them exclusively to UsPeopleWeekly.) Jack is getting all settled into his new home. He's even found a spot where he can compulsively watch for pedestrians, other dogs, squirrels and plastic bags that may encroach upon our lawn so that he can bark maniacally to warn us of this disturbance.(Sorry, new neighbors, but you really can't hear the barking too much over the stereo, can you?)

She's Only Gunning For Your Heart

As some of you may or may not know, I'm getting married this weekend (which may explain why my blogs have been few and 90 percent of my conversations this week have centered around tulle).


I know everyone loves movies. Who doesn't list "movies" as one of their interests on their MySpace, right? But really, movies had a ridiculous role in the formation of my psyche (I don't think psyche is the word I'm looking for here, but it will do.) Like, "movies" were supposed to the understudy, but then "real life experience" got sick and movies had to step in. You know those string-doll things you make out of notebook paper and they open like an accordion? Yeah, I totally made those during school, except my accordion string-dolls were the casts of movies like Con-Air and Air Force One.


So to help myself not be so stressed this week, I decided to make a list of my favorite romantic movies. Granted, my sense of romance might be a little warped (what girl doesn't want her waterbed destroyed by her devotee's scissory fingers?) but each of these movies warm a corner of my twisted little heart.


While You Were Sleeping: Number one, it takes place at Christmas time and everything is more romantic at Christmas. It was on TV the other night and I realized it's a little cheesy and dated, but it's still so cute (the snow globe of Florence!) and so funny that I just couldn't turn the channel.

Corpse Bride: There is very little Tim Burton could do that I wouldn't love (namely, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory) but this movie gives a whole new meaning to the idea of 'til death do us part.


Garden State: Natalie Portman and Zach Braff are both too cute for words. I love this movie for several key scenes: 1) the hamster burial 2) the airport scene at the end. I cry every time.



Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind: Firstly, I love Kate W.'s hair in this movie. Secondly, the whole premise of chasing your love through the dark recesses of your erased memory is so romantic. And the laying-on-the-ice scene and the snowy beach scene. I'm noticing a rather cold theme in all of my favorite romantic movies...




Edward Scissorhands: By far, my absolute favorite favorite favorite romantic movie. Edward makes my heart melt like an ice sculpture. I still remember the very first time I saw it: It was on TV late one school night during my freshman year of high school, and I laid on the edge of my bed in the dark (with the volume turned way down because the rest of my family was asleep) and watched in awe.


I know there are probably some movies I'm forgetting (that I'll no doubt think of after I publish this one) but I can always have a version 2.0.

It's not you. It's me.

I've been remiss in my blogging lately. I blame the economy. And Locked Up Abroad for being televised. In one of this weekend's episodes, this dude swallowed like 67 baggies of cocaine and tried to smuggle it through an airport. Who could just turn that off and walk away? Not I, my friend. It's right up there with Intervention. I like to watch shows like that because they make me feel like I have it so together, which is evil, I know. But am I swallowing ridiculous amounts of narcotics before boarding a 16-hour flight to a foreign country in which the penalty for drug smuggling is a life sentence or execution by firing squad? No, I just forgot to blog this weekend. No biggie.

So while I work on an entry worthy of your time and money, I will leave you with this:

(Ed. Note: Ever since he was a puppy, I was adamant that though a Chihuahua, Jack would be a dog and thereby not wear clothes or be carried around as an accessory. He has however been sporting cute little T-shirts lately because he had to have surgery (don't worry, he's okay)--and those clunky plastic collars drive would drive him crazy--so the shirt keeps him from messing with the stitches on his side. But now for the weird part? He actually likes wearing clothes. Whenever I pick up one of his T-shirts he gets all excited and he actually lifts his paws to put his legs in the sleeves. I don't know how to explain it...)

stressed is the new black

So now that it's starting to feel like fall, I feel like it's time for the obligatory season change/wardrobe change. Although for me, this usually means just adding more layers. I have an equation in which a certain drop in degrees yields a fixed multiple of layers. Of course, this equation still doesn't have a Celsius convergence rate, so traveling can become complicated. I could in theory just step outside and if cold, put on more clothes, or if hot, take some off. It sounds so easy, doesn't it?

But this season, the hottest accessory will not be an ethnically-ambiguous scarf (is it a real keffiyeh? Is it an Urban Outfitters imitation keffiyeh? I can't be sure. Stayed tuned for Special Report: What Your Scarf Says About You.) nor will it be peep-toe ankle booties (apparently some women suffer from a condition in which their toes become disproportionately warmer than their ankles. I do not have said affliction so I will not wear said shoes. I don't wear a neck brace or diabetic socks just to be cute, why would this be any different?). No, this season, the accessory of choice is stress and it takes many, many forms:

On Monday, stressed could look mis-matched. And not the strangely cute, Carrie Bradshaw kind of mis-matched. We're talking homeless person mis-matched. Not that we can't all learn things from the homeless that can be incorporated into our everyday lives: fingerless gloves, for example, can be cute if not functional. And homeless people aren't content to just read the newspaper, they sleep with it as a blanket. I have to admire that dedication to literacy.

On Tuesday, stressed will be rat-nest hair. I mean, I'll try to save it, but all of the headbands and cute little clippies will only draw more attention to the disaster.

Wednesday, stress will be subtle but still present in the form of keys, cell phone, grande Starbucks latte, lip gloss and scarf all in one hand because I do not have time to put them all in my purse. This is what stress does to people. Looking too busy to possibly be bothered with putting the phone in the purse is tres chic this fall. Dig it.

By Thursday, stress will be going strong once again. Monday's jeans? Yep, they're back and no, they haven't been washed. And as for Wednesday's shirt, oh, it's still on. You just can't see it under the other three layers. Do I look like I had time to check the forecast? I had to be prepared for anything.

Sweet, sweet Friday. By this time, there is nothing to the ensemble that isn't fringed, beaded or beadazzled in stress. (That's a lie. I will never be stressed enough to beadazzle. But you never know, people do crazy things under pressure.) And yes, hoodies go with everything now. Everything.

Of course, now that the economy is tanking worse than Gigli, I feel like pretty soon we'll all be rocking "depression chic." More on that later.

Ra Ra Roundabouts

So last night, I went to the Ra Ra Riot show in Cleveland, as evidenced below:

I tried to get all artsy with the glow of the popcorn machine. I don't think my vision translated well into print, but you get the idea.

I'm more than a little tired this morning.

The process of going to a concert seems pretty straightforward to the outside observer, and it should be. Our trek last night however was riddled with roundabouts, or rather, one roundabout that I couldn't seem to navigate. And the more you go around the roundabout, the more confusing it becomes, but you can't stop because there are other, more competent drivers who are handling this obstacle with ease. I feel like the roundabout might be a metaphor for life.

A little dizzy, I triumphantly conquered the circle of doom and picked up my friend. Don't cheer yet--We had to go back through the roundabout of evil to get to the venue. And this time, the stakes were raised: There were two pedestrians and a cyclist. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

So we were traversing the expanse that is Cleveland's East Side, when we finally arrived on the Case Western campus and we thought we were home free. We thought wrong. Upon arriving on campus, we found a tangled web of orange barrels and neon construction netting which crafted a six-street intersection of one-way terror. But being the brave souls we are, we forged onward. And I parallel parked. I know. Wow.

And the show was worth it, Jupiter One (an electro-rock band from New York) opened for Riot. They reminded me a little of Death Cab For Cutie. We only watched part of the Riot set, because we were exhausted and traumatized from the cross-city conquest we endured to get the show. But the songs were saw were great. The band have a live energy that just doesn't come through when listening to their tracks on MySpace. So it was worth it.

And I'm going to try to get a book deal to tell my roundabout story. Everyone wins.

Nanochromance

My first foray into the iWorld was this summer's iPhone 3G.

And I'll admit it -- I fell quickly. With those polished good looks and amazing features, the iPhone was hard to resist. As with any new relationship of course, I was at first concerned about reliability. I mean, with my ex-phone, Verizon, things were safe and secure -- and sure, sometimes when service gets a little sketchy with the iPhone, I still think about Verizon and wonder if it would have had service... but the past is the past. iPhone and I are so happy now.

I have since developed an interest in all iThings, so I was anxiously awaiting the announcement of the new iMustHaves for this holiday season. The new Nano is cute and colorful and I'm digging the curvy design. I doubt I'll buy one, because that's what I have iPhone for, but if any of you would like to get me a purple one for Christmas, I'd keep it.

And the new "Genuis" feature is intriguing. Call me paranoid, but I'm still a little nervous about owning impossibly intelligent electronics. If it were a gift, I'd still keep it, but I might lock it in the car or the bathroom at night so it doesn't try to kill me in my sleep. But I'd keep it.

And then there is the new, "funnest" iPod Touch ever. The new design is very shiny. And the rock 'n' run concept sounds awesome, if you're into running. I've tried it a few times, but I just can't always muster the motivation. I always find myself asking, why? why am I running? So maybe Apple should come up with a new app that sounds like police sirens or a mountain lion roar or something else that might more convincingly motivate me to run. Just a thought.

[Ed. note -- Don't run from the police. Do run from mountain lions. Actually, no, running will trigger their killer instincts, you're supposed to just clap and whistle and yell loudly - at mountain lions, not the police.]

Post-Punk Pumpkin Waffles

Some days, you wonder why you bothered to crawl out of bed.

And other days, you find the Post Punk Kitchen vegan cooking website.

It shatters your Eggo-lined reality and shines upon you the enlightenment that is vegan pumpkin waffles. This is a whole new world, my cruelty-free comrades.

Apparently its the web site of the public access cooking show, Post Punk Kitchen. As far as I can tell the site hasn't been updated since '07, so I wonder if the show is still on the air. Either way, there are recipes 'a plenty posted on the site. And the recipe ratings - are you ready? - are gauged in soybeans instead of stars.

And one of the banner ads (for Herbivore, I think) so lovingly proclaimed: "We put the f.u. in tofu." And that is just precious.

Fight or Flight, or Frozen Delight

When faced with a stressful situation, one has the opportunity to make a conscious, character-building choice to handle said situation quickly and responsibly,

Or

one can go to Friendlys, eat an entire Cookies 'n' Cream sundae...


then come home and take a long, hot chamomile bubble bath, watch Intervention and just avoid the stress until the sugar coma kicks in.


I may not have accomplished any of the things on the multiple lists lurking on my desk, in my purse, and stuck to my mirror, but I can now rest easy because I still smell like chamomile and I also know that Lauren and Audrina have reconciled their friendship (for now anyway).

What should I be doing? Good question.
I will describe those tasks as "anything other than clicking around WebMD to make sure I don't have some symptomless-yet-fatal disease," which coincidently enough also accurately describes what I have been doing instead. What are the odds?

I'd say the odds are pretty good. Much better than your odds of catching dengue fever or getting bitten by a black mamba in your laundry room. Actually, I can't make that comparison with any certainty; I don't know what kind of weird things you do late at night when you should be balancing your checkbook or figuring out a seating chart for your wedding reception. I'm not judging you, I'm just not going to bet money on it. That's all.

9021No

And here we are, another weekend has gone by.
In the reality that I acknowledge, there was no professional football this weekend. Moving on.

I did however finally watch the series premiere of the new 90210. It only succeeded in making me realize how much I miss the OC. This new 90210 doesn't do it for me. The plot line was so predictable, the characters were all just horrible stereotypes and the clothes--which I mistakenly thought could be its saving grace--weren't even remotely interesting. They should just call it Blah-verly Hills 9021No, because it would at least prepare viewers and that's only courteous. I mean, yeah, I'll probably watch the next episode on Tuesday just to see if it doesn't suck as much.

Other things I plan to do this week include:

- the Ra Ra Riot show at Case Western University. I have yet to see these Syracuse song machines live, so I'm definitely stoked.

- .....

I guess when you only have one thing, that does not a list make. Live and learn, children.

In other news: these are the Halloween toys that I got for Jack (shhh, don't tell him) even though I'm fully aware Halloween is more than a month away. I've learned that if you wait too long, then all those really wacko pet owners pick over all the good toys and you're stuck with the hard plastic witch's hat. No dog wants the hard plastic witch's hat.


This is Jack with some of his current toys (except the ab wheel, which isn't technically his. In fact, I think everyone in the house will deny owning it):


He is also wearing a Cleveland Browns T-Shirt, which is odd, because in my reality the Browns didn't even play this weekend.

Weird...

That's Not How The Song Goes

Apparently not everyone is a fan of Katy Perry's cherry-chapstick-red hot single, "I Kissed A Girl."

A church in suburban Ohio actually put up a sign that says "I kissed a girl and I liked it. Then I went to hell," according to a story by the Associated Press on Channel 5's website today.

Holy homophobia, Batman.

Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but this seems extreme to me. If that is the opinion of that particular congregation, fine. I might not agree with them, but if that's the kind of message they want to spread inside their church, fine. True, Katy Perry's song is played publicly, but if they don't want to hear it all they have to do is turn off the radio or turn the channel.

The pastor of that church is quoted in the article as saying that the sign is "loving warning" to teens. Wow. Maybe English isn't his first language, because from my understanding, the word "loving" is not synonymous with "condemning."

I guess I shouldn't be that shocked, but I am. I mean, the idea that a church would spread such a hateful, judgmental message just leaves me baffled. If that church is so concerned with spreading a Biblical message, why not the many, many passages about love -- or better yet, Judge not lest ye be judged...

And that's all I'm sayin' about that.

Insert Bat (er, Mouse) Signal Here

Attention AP faithful:

It has come to my attention that we have a mouse in our offices. I have not personally encountered said mouse, but I have heard from reliable sources (publisher Norman Wonderly and production director John Millin) that there is indeed a mouse.

Communicable diseases and little droppings be damned. I am voting that the mouse be named and kept as a mascot (and by "kept" I mean not killed, but rather humanely caught and released into the wild that is our parking lot).

I have never attempted to capture a mouse before, but since this mouse is hanging out in the AP offices, I am going to pretend it is a cute little emo boy mouse with bangs and eyeliner. He probably even has a MiceSpace page where he posts his favorite songs and maybe even blogs [gasp!] - do you think it's possible that little emo mouse is blogging about me....right now?

Fear not: I will keep you posted.

Let's All Just Stay Calm

After a luxuriously long Labor Day weekend, I returned to the AP skyscraper yesterday ready to get my edit on. As per the usual, I was prepared for a variety of natural and manmade disasters. It's hurricane season, my friends, and it's getting dangerously close to flu season and a new season of 90210 has just started. When those fronts cross paths: Perfect storm. This could be the end times, I thought, so I was prepared for anything.

What I was not prepared for was an aromatic onslaught of sausage (or kielbasa, as it is called in some parts of the world). It's not that I have seething contempt for all meat-eaters--I'm not perfect either. Sometimes, when I think no one's looking, I watch a few minutes of The Hills. When I'm grocery shopping and decide I don't really want that second box of Nerds, I don't always walk them back to the candy aisle. Sometimes I'll leave them right there by the bagels.

Does that make me such a bad person? Let he who has never watched a second of The Hills throw the first Nerd box, okay?

Hopefully we can put this behind us and move on.

So I spent a large majority of the afternoon yesterday trying not to throw up my mandarin oranges in response to the horrific smell emanating from everywhere. By the end of the day, the stench of spiced death had subsided, or it had killed the brain cells that would have enabled me to notice it was still there. Either way, it was out of my life.

So this morning, after the threat of apocalypse as ushered in by cased-carcasses and the Beverly Hills brigade (also, has anyone else noticed how skeletal those girls are?) was successfully diverted, I was positively optimistic. And then the entire building decided to wreak of burnt rubber. Apparently we share our space with some kielbasa-lovin' street racers. So I'm not even mad about the smell, I'm just mad I wasn't invited to the quarter-mile. I would have brought my own veggie burgers. In fact, I'd have brought some to share just in case, and we could have made jokes about Bill O'Reilly, and we could have ran through the sprinkler, and painted each others' nails to match our suped-up rides and it would have been great. But no, they ruined it.

One more confession: I did however DVR the premiere of the new 90210. Just in case it doesn't suck.

Whole Lotta Awesome

Few things in life can rival the pure bliss that is a Lush bath bomb.

One of those things, is shopping for produce.

Okay, so are you done laughing?

Because for-serious, I finally got to go grocery shopping at Whole Foods this weekend and it was everything I hoped it would be. (My fiance didn't even pretend that he didn't know me when I was not-so-discretely taking pictures with my iPhone.) I'm from a smaller city that doesn't have incredibly large, overpriced grocery stores, so this was kind of a big deal for me.

We didn't get to browse the baked goods or observe the oranges too long because we wanted to catch the matinee of Pineapple Express (hilarious, by the way), but I did manage to pick up some tomato basil sauce and whole-wheat penne pasta that will make for a great dinner sometime this week.

Even though we were in Cleveland, I was half hoping to see Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson buying SmartWater, because those paparazzi photos are the first thing that come to mind when I think of Whole Foods, but alas, there was no LiLo or Saman to be found. Just a lot of people in Birkenstocks*.

* I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Birkenstocks. I own a pair - they're comfy, they're German, they're good for your back. I'm just saying, there were a lot of them.