I didn’t even know I *had* a “Television” category

I finally and successfully bought and watched "The Office": Season Three.

  • Yes, the ending made me cry (not, like, buckets, but– oh, shut up), and
  • I like Season Two better. Michael had three moments in S2 that almost completely redeemed every horrifying and humiliating and painful-to-endure thing that came out of his mouth, but in S3 he was pretty much just a 100% cringe-fest [1].

Speaking of "The Office": I just had about two hours of my life sucked happily away by Mindy Kaling’s blog:

I like hoity toity department stores. What I hate is places like EMS or
whatever where people talk about kayaks and rope and boring shit like
that. I like people inquiring how my shopping experience is going.
They’re like short-lived friends. (original post)

I’m lucky it was only 11 months of archives. Her writing voice reminds me of Erin.

Incidentally (I feel like I use this word in excess. Which suggests I probably do), I got the link to that blog from Knowledge For Thirst, which is co-manned by Kevin Fanning (!!). The K4T archives are a treasure trove, particularly the posts prior to November 2006. And if you like K4T, it would be worth your time to check out Cochinowledge, though I guess it loses a lot of its humor if you aren’t K4T-saturated, so… I don’t know. Whatever. It’s the weekend, go outside already!

[1] Oh, wait, no, not true. His solitary redeeming moment came at Pam’s art show. But S2 was still better.


Should I have filed this under “Milestones”?

I’m simultaneously amused and… well, no, *just* amused, actually… that I got my first hate comment (a comment… hater? Ooh!). Except less hate and just… something else.

Part of the amusement comes from the fact that just today, I read this over at Charming, but Single. Not a sentiment in that entry that I don’t whole-heartedly echo. So, you know. Timing.

The rest, and the majority, of the amusement comes from *this* fact: that of all the nonsense I publish on this site, of all the nonsense I *know* is nonsense and people who know me know is nonsense and know that I know is nonsense (you know?), of all the nonsense I ever thought might one day get erroneously taken *seriously*? I thought it would be one of the faux-misogynistic posts. Or at least I expected my first comment hater to respond to one of the *actually* serious posts and go on a tirade about how my self-designed and self-executed course of, er, "therapy," is complete bullshit. Which it is.

But Jamba Juice? Nuts to that.

And I know that jon is DEAD SERIOUS about spitting in my drink if I ever walked into his store’s location and did as that entry detailed [1], because he used the number "2" to replace its phonetic equivalents, and that’s serious shit, using numbers in place of words. jon isn’t messing around. Oh People of the Internet, you’ve been duly warned, and as for me? Well. It would seem, in the words of the inimitable Stephen Colbert, that I’m on notice.

[1] I know there’s a Wikipedia entry about all the "secret" flavors and how three of them– the White Gummi, Pink Star and Strawberry Shortcake– are so popular that they’re actually *on* the cash register, but nobody *I* knew had heard talk of an off-menu, and almost without fail, every time I’ve ordered a White Gummi, I’ve had someone else in the store turn to me and ask what I just ordered.

And then lo! The angel of the Jamba comes upon them, and the glory of the Jamba shines round about them, and they be afraid, but the angel says unto them (he sez): Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is knowledge of the White Gummi drink, which is a bountiful concoction of sherbets and milk and mango, and yea verily, it is delicious and its name shall one day be known by all Jamba patrons everywhere, praise be.

You’re thinking to yourself, “Oh, I know what this is really about,” but you’d be wrong

When Tequila Mockingbird went offline a year ago (the most recent post, from 11/20, was taken from her archives), I remember feeling such a horrible sense of loss. I had read every entry she’d ever published, and so much of what she had written had struck a chord deep within me– she wrote beautifully, and her writing spoke volumes to me.

There was some anxiety involved– there would never be another blog like hers. No one else would tell the kinds of stories she told, in the way that she told them. No one else would have a voice like hers that carried across this voiceless medium. And I was completely powerless to change the situation. I could plead, hundreds of others could plead, for her to come back, to write again, to reclaim her cherished place on the Internet if only for a little while longer– but what would be the point? Even if she listened to us, even if she acquiesced, her heart wouldn’t be in it. She didn’t want to write anymore. You can’t change a person’s heart.

When it first became clear that she wasn’t going to come back, I remember casting around helplessly, looking for other blogs and websites to fill the ache her absence left, and finding some sites that pleased, that entertained– sites that were really very lovely and well-maintained, but that simply didn’t enthrall me the way TM had. I enjoyed them, certainly, but there wasn’t that spark, that instant connection.

I’m not good at blog-browsing. Really, the only way I stumble across new ones are if they turn up in a relevant search query or if they’re referenced in blogs I already read. Or, sometimes, the blogs find *me.* And sometimes it’s awkward because I feel like, if they’re going to link to me, I’m obliged to link back to them even though the admiration and fan-dom isn’t mutual. But that’s the way of life, isn’t it? Feelings aren’t always reciprocated, for better or for worse.

But what I was trying to say– where I was trying to go with all of this– is, my online reading experience still lives, still thrives, despite TM taking itself out of the picture. And no, there hasn’t been another blog like it, but I’ve found a handful of blogs which are of the same caliber (if not higher) in their own rights. And of course, they’ve existed all this time, they’ve existed for ages prior to my discovering them– so maybe it is all about timing. I don’t know.

Clueless dudes + shitty drivers = can suck it

From Charming, But Single:

I don’t know why I was so intensely focused on this. Maybe I was a
touch hurt that after weeks of bad flirting, I’d given him my number,
sure that he would call. And his ego was too bruised from me rejecting
him to call me. Which, in turn, bruised my ego because a man I didn’t
really feel a great chemistry with had rejected me. (Original post)

From turkeyblog:

It will be imperative that each citizen and legalized resident of driving age view the DVD at least four times during National Watch the DVD that Contains All the Pictures of Wrecks Day, and a law will be passed requiring as much.

I believe it’s critical, you see, for every citizen and legalized resident of driving age to know what a wreck looks like. That way, they won’t have to slow down to a fucking crawl on god damned interstate just because some dipshit drove his car into the median. (Original post)

Blogs: Out of Character

I’ve been writing this one in my head since the beginning of July. I actually started typing it out early Sunday. As far as writing quality goes, I punched out about one sentence of not-bad and two paragraphs of PLEASE DELETE NOW before scrapping the whole post. Paragraphs be damned. We’re doing this bullet-style.

  • I had been reading Matt’s Bible Stories when I saw one "Estella" listed in the sidebar blogroll. I’d seen the name around before and thought I’d mosey on over to her site and see just what (or whom) this much-linked site (person?) was all about.
  • This post was the most recently published one on that day.
  • It enthralled me, enough so that I immediately read the other, what, ten? posts on that main page.
  • And then the entire month of June’s posts.
  • And then the entire month of May’s posts.
  • And then started from the very beginning of the archives. I read every single post over the course of two days. [1] Making the process even longer was my determination to read the site in strict chronological order. Meaning I’d open the monthly archive, scroll scroll scroll down to the bottom, mini-scroll up to the top of the first entry, read down to the end, scroll up to the top of the second entry, read down to the end, scroll scroll up up to the top of the third entry– you get the idea. FRICKING. FOREVER.
  • But so worth it.

Continue reading

Just keeping you POST-ed. Ha ha!

It apparently doesn’t take much these days to sucker me into trying
out new services. Typepad notoriously bought my soul with their "90 Day
Free Trial!" campaign
, which was… oh…

::looks for pen and paper. tries to remember how to add and multiply::

(no, seriously, I am)

About 670 days ago.

My typical routine is:

  1. Sign up
  2. Look around the site for five minutes
  3. Maybe use the service to approximately 3% of its capacity
  4. Leave and never use the service again

So I’m confused as to why I’ve been sitting at my computer for an hour
now, uploading songs and looking for books and synching my (twenty
million) other blogs and my Flickr account and wondering if I should
sign up for Odeo now, too, even though I would rather listen to
Nickelback perform duets with Avril Lavigne song after song on endless
repeat, than listen to my own voice. Which is saying something.

I’m also a little peeved about the books. I added twelve books that
strangely had no "Image Preview" available, but then the 13th did. And
the 14th. So I deleted one of the original 12 and re-added it, and hey!
It, too, now had an image preview! So I have to re-add all the former
ones. I hate Vox.

(No, I don’t.)

(Maybe. Ask me again in ten minutes.)

I’ve also, HEY WOW, been adding people to my neighborhood. Even though
I don’t know any of them, unless by "know," you mean "read their blogs
obsessively, sometimes to the point where I go four years back to the
original entry and just start reading every single thing they have ever
written because they fascinate me *that* much." In which case, I, um,
know a few of them.

Dunno where this sudden willingness to get involved in community stuff (online or real-world) came from. Or not so much "willingness"– I’ve always been willing, but then I never follow through. The fact that I’m actively looking for other Internet personalities I adore so I can add them to my neighborhood– it’s pretty uncharacteristic when it would take me hours of hemming and hawing to get up the nerve to just leave a *comment* on their blogs.

Amazingly enough, I’ve already been added into some of *their* neighborhoods. So we are now in each other’s respective "’hoods." And maybe one day we will all become "homies" and we can "chill" and exchange "digits." Because we are all very "gangsta," so much so that I feel it necessary to use "quotation marks."

Or… something.

So, yeah. Vox. It’s weird. Still not sure how much I like or dislike it. I apparently have invitations, though, so if you’re interested, I’ll help you get signed up. And then invite you to my ‘hood. Where we can be homies. And chill. Quotation marks totally optional.

[Ed: Asking for a Vox invite would be a GREAT way to start contact with me! And I say this with many years of painful lurking experience, so, for serious. E-mail me.]

Like the indie rock subculture, except with blogs

From Charming, But Single:

It seems my whole life has been spent waiting – (…)

Waiting for another job offer that you didn’t even think you wanted until you had to wait for it. Waiting for that perfect first kiss with someone special at the end of a perfect date like you’ve been waiting for all of your life. For that great bag to go on sale and for Clinique Bonus Time. Waiting to take a vacation and for flip-flop season. Waiting for his hand to move down your hip. For his hug to turn into an embrace. For your heart to stop beating so hard that you think it will come through your chest. (full post here)



Oh. Right. So after a few hours of not-really-sleeping, I’ve decided to do what any sane sleep-deprived person would do– drive back! It’s not yet 1 p.m. so traffic shouldn’t be too terrible, right? Except, goddammit, I’m 99% positive the I-15 is still closed down to one lane.

Screw it, though. I’m not hanging around here until nightfall. If that windshield explodes and decapitates me, it damn well better be in full daylight so my headless car-wrecked self isn’t left on the side of the highway in darkness and obscurity.

So, yeah. If G can drive from Burbank to Vegas and back every three days with no hopes of the dual-residency chaos ending anytime soon, surely I can put up with this for one more week. Home, Jeeves! Thank god for The Postal Service.

The awesomeness continues

Not too thrilled about my own current state of affairs at present. For one thing, my chest hurts like I’ve been suffering from smoker’s cough for 10 days straight, except I’ve never even smoked a ham and I haven’t actually been coughing.

Anyway. Hence, more linkage. Happy Friday!


Related to my previous ramble on upcoming slimphones (damn! I thought I made that word up [1], but apparently the *real* mobile review sites have been using it already): Samsung’s also in the process of unleashing the z560, which has a 2 megapixel camera (get this: with auto-focus) and an expandable memory card slot on the side of the phone, all in virtually the same package as the z510. Downside? Supposedly only for the European market, though this may change if Cingular gets their 1900 HSDPA network up and running. Consistently, anyhow.

The LG P7200 has been on the market for almost 6 months now. I’ve never seen it, so I guess they went through T-Mobile. More or less the same darn thing as the z560 except in terms of appearance. The LG’s measurements indicate it’s slightly smaller than the Samsung and once open, the LCD screen can be rotated around a full 180 degrees and then closed back down (to make it feel more like a camera). But I’m a little more partial to Samsung’s rotating camera (present on the z510, not on the z560), if anything because it makes fueling the little narcissist in each of us, a little easier.

As it stands, I think I’d take the z510 over the z560, anhow. The keypad is cuter (I’m a girl, the cute factor matters) and I’ve been doing just fine with a 1 mpx cameraphone. Plus, hello, rotating camera?


I love David Cross. Not like I love Dane Cook, but the love is definitely there. His letter to Larry the Cable Guy was enchanting and his latest entry, excerpts of James Frey’s upcoming new memoir, "Lesson Learned," is just too awesome for any amount of hot dogs to properly describe. Read it. Go.

Also, as mentioned below, sometimes the comments are as delicious as the actual posts:

  • "Rita" says: I have heard of Larry the Cable Guy and since I had never even heard of
    you I can’t comment on who I think is funnier but the fact that I had
    never heard of you speaks for itself.
    (If it does, it speaks more about your lame taste in what you consider to be humor.)
  • "mb" says: You know that not everyone from the south is a redneck moron.
    since larry the cable guy is not originally from the south i, and many
    others, feel misrepresented. maybe you could create a character mocking
    his act. something like randy the potato salad vender.
    (from the first set of comments)

I would totally pay money to see Randy the Potato Salad Vendor.


I love Natalie Dee’s artwork and her Dairyland. Not a big fan of her "Ask Natalie" bit, maybe because I expected more snarky humor and less actual, down-to-earth advice, especially when the questions aren’t even funny, they’re just your run-of-the-mill love/life problems as such.

Still, this caught my eye:

  • The only thing you can do is just take the fucking leap. You know you love her, you want to spend the rest of your life with her, that is good enough. People have based relationships on less. You will never ever be able to know what is going to happen, you just gotta make decisions based on what you KNOW RIGHT NOW. Even if there were trombones and rabbits and confetti and all that, you could still get the shaft in 10 years. That’s why life is awesome.


Part of me adores the site design for Very Big Blog. Part of me thinks it’s too busy. The rest of me just doesn’t care for the color orange.

This was interesting, but in my case, only to look at and only because I’ve been fascinated by hieroglyphics ever since that one art project in 4th grade where we learned how to write our names using the symbols, then carved it into a little clay tablet. Or maybe that was a science fair project I did. In 5th grade?

Regardless, I try to be a fair person whenever possible, but it takes time to drain bitterness from my system, so I still hate "Lost." Specifically, the first season of "Lost," available on DVD. I refuse to watch it or the second season or any season henceforth, mostly because to start watching now would mean having to inevitably watch the first season in order to properly understand the slow-ass drama, MY GOD THE SLOW-ASSNESS OF THAT SHOW’S DRAMA. (I’ve never watched it, no, but I’ve heard it going on in the background. There’s a lot of silence.) [3]


The first crack in my social-moral-whatever ground appeared when I became hooked on camera phones and Bluetooth. While I’ve yet to give in to the temptation of buying an iPod [4] (admittedly, the temptation isn’t even very strong, though the iPod nano? Even that stupid commercial couldn’t emphasize just how ridiculously tiny that thing is. It looks snackable), I have…

…started subscribing to podcasts. Because when you’ve finished gorging yourself on all the episodes of BBC’s original "The Office," when you’ve finished drinking in every episode of "Extras"– even when you’ve consumed all the episodes of NBC’s "The Office" because he did have a hand in that show’s production– you’re still left feeling starved for more more MORE RICKY GERVAIS. And Ricky Gervais has a podcast.

Homestarrunner has a podcast, too, but it’s just old episodes of StrongBad E-mail, albeit some of the best ones ("Japanese Cartoon," "Dragon," "Caffeine"). Never having seen "Virus" before, I now understand how and why Lappy became a fixture of the shows.


I wish Alice Bradley were my older sister. By which I don’t mean I wish she were my older sister instead of the older sister I actually do have, an older sister who is Cooler Than Cool and somehow knows, armed with Cooler Than Cool Older Sister Ultimate Wisdom, how to get me to smile and laugh even when I’m on the floor weeping incessantly. Or locked up in a hospital ward. Or both.

No, I just wish Alice Bradley were a supplemental older sister. Or maybe just a really cool aunt. The sweetness she manages to exude in her blog is almost too gentle and beautiful and, well, sweet to bear. That she can comingle her sweetness and her snarkiness so flawlessly is equally endearing. Behold!

  • Last week, I was down to five granulettinos of Effexor; this week I am officially drug-free. Last week I was merely crazy and unhappy; this week I am crazy and sick and miserable. Perhaps this makes me more entertaining. Whee! Look at the crazy lady! Is she wearing an oven mitt on her head? No, that’s her hair. Has she ever heard of a hairbrush? (full post here)

I would link to all the posts I’m currently loving to death but that would entail linking to every single post dating back to Nov. 2005.

Other people I’ve been reading way more of these days:

And now that kottke.org is back on the shelf as a hobby-of-sorts, I’ve become deeply invested in BoingBoing‘s lookie-heres.

All done!


[1] Well, I did make up "penicular" [2], upon viewing of this background image


[3] Other touchy subjects include: snowboarding. Don’t mention snowboarding to me unless you’re inviting me to go, in which case, hell yes and when? Also, I will glare witheringly at you if you start talking about fucking CineVegas. I am but human with but human vices.

[4] Given my oft-professed rapture with all things Apple, you’d think I’d have been on the iPod bandwagon before it even became a bandwagon. While I do love me some music, however, out-and-about I prefer listening to the sounds of the world, as pukingly cheesy as that sounds. The only time I’ll allow myself to wear earphones is at the gym, and those 1-2 hours of running on a machine hardly seem worth buying an iPod when my mp3 CD player suffices quite well.

“And we are magic talking to itself”

So Heather Champ is Canadian. That explains the vague accent I picked up while I rapturously listened to her speak. (Not speak like, give a keynote address, but speak like "The battery for this phone is dead, is there any way we could just pop it out and put in a new one?")

According to the interview (via leahpeah), Heather Champ (much like Heather Armstrong) also struggles first-hand with depression. I don’t know why I’m always so shocked when I learn about women, especially fabulous women like Heather Champ, who deal with depression– after all, stats say it’s twice as prevalent among women than among men. Three of my best girlfriends have all been diagnosed with clinical depression and another goes through occasional bouts of the more mild symptoms; whether it’s coincedental or not, all of them are extremely intelligent, beautiful and *creative* people with good, good hearts (I should be including myself in this, but then I would be implying that I’m extremely intelligent, beautiful and creative and have a good, good heart, and to imply such would require a level of self-esteem I’ve never been quite able to reach).

The prominent creative quality strikes me the most. Is there something about the Arts that heightens sensitivity? Theatre, music, dance, literature, poetry, photography, drawing, painting: passion invokes intensity, and intensity is a two-way street. I don’t know. In the end, I still don’t know anything. For all the research I’ve done– on major and manic depression, on eating disorders, on anxiety disorders, on everything else that bears a similarity– for all the hours I’ve spent dissecting this nether-realm of life with my therapist, and for all the studies and statistics I can quote verbatim, I still don’t understand the "whys" of any of it. Genetics? Chemical makeup? Upbringing? IQ? Alien abduction?

Slightly related to all this but not entirely: I found my missing complete anthology of Anne Sexton’s poems, and I am all-encompassingly delighted about this. It’s the little things in life that make my day, you know? Little things like recovering missing articles and having a random little child in a grocery store burst into smiles and laughter and wave delightedly at you as his mother pushes him by in the shopping cart.