More of the Queen
Friday, February 29, 2008
Fiddle De Dee
My family knows of my undying love for Cape Breton fiddle music. I pretty much have all the Natalie MacMaster albums, and this week I stumbled quite by accident upon a great site called
www.capebretonlive.com
It's got albums and live performances which I found, also by accident, that automatically downloaded onto my computer. Three live shows down, another 45 or so to go. I am in fiddle Heaven.
I have no idea why I love this music so much. I used to play the violin in elementary and high school. I couldn't read a lick of music, I played by ear. I loved it, loved the performances, loved having to dress up. But we played stuff like Beethoven, not earthy, down and dirty melodies that you'd shake your butt to.
When I have my headphones, the family knows to leave me alone. One day I hope to visit Cape Breton and experience it in person, but until then, this will have to do.
www.capebretonlive.com
It's got albums and live performances which I found, also by accident, that automatically downloaded onto my computer. Three live shows down, another 45 or so to go. I am in fiddle Heaven.
I have no idea why I love this music so much. I used to play the violin in elementary and high school. I couldn't read a lick of music, I played by ear. I loved it, loved the performances, loved having to dress up. But we played stuff like Beethoven, not earthy, down and dirty melodies that you'd shake your butt to.
When I have my headphones, the family knows to leave me alone. One day I hope to visit Cape Breton and experience it in person, but until then, this will have to do.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Double Pffttt
Well, that didn't long.
I just found out that the TV show I had written a sample episode for doesn't accept outside script submissions.
Let that be a lesson to you, boys and girls.
Ask first.
Write later.
C'est la vie.
It's like a splinter, it'll hurt for a little while, but it'll go away.
Eventually.
I just found out that the TV show I had written a sample episode for doesn't accept outside script submissions.
Let that be a lesson to you, boys and girls.
Ask first.
Write later.
C'est la vie.
It's like a splinter, it'll hurt for a little while, but it'll go away.
Eventually.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Busier Than A Four Armed Whore
I started out with the best of intentions.
Was working on the contemporary drama, then I got sidetracked---again---by the teen musical comedy, which in turn got sidetracked by the MONK spec---don't ask---which in turn is threatening to be waylaid by other writing things---oh, and I still have the Moviebytes column to pen...
Sometimes it doesn't pay to type or get up in the morning...
Was working on the contemporary drama, then I got sidetracked---again---by the teen musical comedy, which in turn got sidetracked by the MONK spec---don't ask---which in turn is threatening to be waylaid by other writing things---oh, and I still have the Moviebytes column to pen...
Sometimes it doesn't pay to type or get up in the morning...
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I WOULD HAVE THIS MAN'S BABY IN A HEARTBEAT
HARLAN ELLISON ON THE WRITERS STRIKE SETTLEMENT
YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO RE-POST THIS ANYWHERE:
Creds: got here in 1962, written for just about everybody, won the Writers Guild Award four times for solo work, sat on the WGAw Board twice, worked on negotiating committees, and was out on the picket lines with my NICK COUNTER SLEEPS WITH THE FISHE$$$ sign. You may have heard my name. I am a Union guy, I am a Guild guy, I am loyal. I fuckin’ LOVE the Guild.
And I voted NO on accepting this deal.
My reasons are good, and they are plentiful; Patric Verrone will be saddened by what I am about to say; long-time friends will shake their heads; but this I say without equivocation…
THEY BEAT US LIKE A YELLOW DOG. IT IS A SHIT DEAL. We finally got a timorous generation that has never had to strike, to get their asses out there, and we had to put up with the usual cowardly spineless babbling horse’s asses who kept mumbling “lessgo bac’ta work” over and over, as if it would make them one iota a better writer. But after months on the line, and them finally bouncing that pus-sucking dipthong Nick Counter, we rushed headlong into a shabby, scabrous, underfed shovelfulla shit clutched to the affections of toss-in-the-towel summer soldiers trembling before the Awe of the Alliance.
My Guild did what it did in 1988. It trembled and sold us out. It gave away the EXACT co-terminus expiration date with SAG for some bullshit short-line substitute; it got us no more control of our words; it sneak-abandoned the animator and reality beanfield hands before anyone even forced it on them; it made nice so no one would think we were meanies; it let the Alliance play us like the village idiot. The WGAw folded like a Texaco Road Map from back in the day.
And I am ashamed of this Guild, as I was when Shavelson was the prexy, and we wasted our efforts and lost out on technology that we had to strike for THIS time. 17 days of streaming tv!!!????? Geezus, you bleating wimps, why not just turn over your old granny for gang-rape?
You deserve all the opprobrium you get. While this nutty festschrift of demented pleasure at being allowed to go back to work in the rice paddy is filling your cowardly hearts with joy and relief that the grips and the staff at the Ivy and street sweepers won’t be saying nasty shit behind your back, remember this:
You are their bitches. They outslugged you, outthought you, outmaneuvered you; and in the end you ripped off your pants, painted yer asses blue, and said yes sir, may I have another.
Please excuse my temerity. I’m just a sad old man who has fallen among Quislings, Turncoats, Hacks and Cowards.
I must go now to whoops. My gorge has become buoyant.
Respectfully, Yr. Pal, Harlan Ellison
YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO RE-POST THIS ANYWHERE:
Creds: got here in 1962, written for just about everybody, won the Writers Guild Award four times for solo work, sat on the WGAw Board twice, worked on negotiating committees, and was out on the picket lines with my NICK COUNTER SLEEPS WITH THE FISHE$$$ sign. You may have heard my name. I am a Union guy, I am a Guild guy, I am loyal. I fuckin’ LOVE the Guild.
And I voted NO on accepting this deal.
My reasons are good, and they are plentiful; Patric Verrone will be saddened by what I am about to say; long-time friends will shake their heads; but this I say without equivocation…
THEY BEAT US LIKE A YELLOW DOG. IT IS A SHIT DEAL. We finally got a timorous generation that has never had to strike, to get their asses out there, and we had to put up with the usual cowardly spineless babbling horse’s asses who kept mumbling “lessgo bac’ta work” over and over, as if it would make them one iota a better writer. But after months on the line, and them finally bouncing that pus-sucking dipthong Nick Counter, we rushed headlong into a shabby, scabrous, underfed shovelfulla shit clutched to the affections of toss-in-the-towel summer soldiers trembling before the Awe of the Alliance.
My Guild did what it did in 1988. It trembled and sold us out. It gave away the EXACT co-terminus expiration date with SAG for some bullshit short-line substitute; it got us no more control of our words; it sneak-abandoned the animator and reality beanfield hands before anyone even forced it on them; it made nice so no one would think we were meanies; it let the Alliance play us like the village idiot. The WGAw folded like a Texaco Road Map from back in the day.
And I am ashamed of this Guild, as I was when Shavelson was the prexy, and we wasted our efforts and lost out on technology that we had to strike for THIS time. 17 days of streaming tv!!!????? Geezus, you bleating wimps, why not just turn over your old granny for gang-rape?
You deserve all the opprobrium you get. While this nutty festschrift of demented pleasure at being allowed to go back to work in the rice paddy is filling your cowardly hearts with joy and relief that the grips and the staff at the Ivy and street sweepers won’t be saying nasty shit behind your back, remember this:
You are their bitches. They outslugged you, outthought you, outmaneuvered you; and in the end you ripped off your pants, painted yer asses blue, and said yes sir, may I have another.
Please excuse my temerity. I’m just a sad old man who has fallen among Quislings, Turncoats, Hacks and Cowards.
I must go now to whoops. My gorge has become buoyant.
Respectfully, Yr. Pal, Harlan Ellison
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Toute Sweet
I just got a nice pass from a producer on my new spec. He said that while it was "very sweet", it just wasn't for them and wished me all the best of luck.
I know what you're thinking. A kind brush off, maybe even a backhanded not so nice brush off.
Very sweet.
Nudge, nudge. Look at her. She's sweet, poor thing.
My cat Kisses is very sweet...until she coughs up a hair ball.
Cotton candy is very sweet...until you eat too much of it.
Falling snow is very sweet...but's a hellish mess to drive in.
You get the picture.
Problem is, I am sweet. I can't help it.
I write sweet too. Can't help that either.
I have never done anything bad in my life. Never took drugs (took pot once, doesn't count).
Never drank to excess. Or much at all.
Haven't whored around. Haven't whored, period.
Never went around without any underwear. Okay, once, in kindergarten.
I have no dark, deep secrets.
Okay, so not only am I sweet, but I'm dull, dull, dull.
But is that such a bad thing?
Not the dull part. The sweet part.
I can be dirty. Really. I burp. I break wind. Doesn't everyone?
So I'm very sweet. Kill me. Put me out of my misery
But let me cut one first.
And yes, I know the strike is over. So why do I feel so bad?
I know what you're thinking. A kind brush off, maybe even a backhanded not so nice brush off.
Very sweet.
Nudge, nudge. Look at her. She's sweet, poor thing.
My cat Kisses is very sweet...until she coughs up a hair ball.
Cotton candy is very sweet...until you eat too much of it.
Falling snow is very sweet...but's a hellish mess to drive in.
You get the picture.
Problem is, I am sweet. I can't help it.
I write sweet too. Can't help that either.
I have never done anything bad in my life. Never took drugs (took pot once, doesn't count).
Never drank to excess. Or much at all.
Haven't whored around. Haven't whored, period.
Never went around without any underwear. Okay, once, in kindergarten.
I have no dark, deep secrets.
Okay, so not only am I sweet, but I'm dull, dull, dull.
But is that such a bad thing?
Not the dull part. The sweet part.
I can be dirty. Really. I burp. I break wind. Doesn't everyone?
So I'm very sweet. Kill me. Put me out of my misery
But let me cut one first.
And yes, I know the strike is over. So why do I feel so bad?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
TOP TEN THINGS I WANT TO SEE IN 2008
I want Bill Clinton back in the White House. The idea of him being "The First Husband" is simply too delicious to contemplate.
I want to lose 80lbs without really trying. All right, maybe 50. Less is more. Without trying. NO MORE COOKIES!!!
I'd like to see Britney get treated by House. He'd have her cured in 45 minutes or less, give a commercial break or two.
I would love it if Dave Letterman dropped his unfunny routines about the weather in New York. Enough, Dave! We know it's cold!
I want the WGA to get the fair deal they deserve. No, not just a fair deal---a great deal.
I want more of Ted Levine on MONK. The OCD Guy is getting on my last nerve (as I run to wash my hands for the 68576 time today).
I want world peace, a cure for the common cold, and gas under a dollar. Oil too.
I want a bank error in my favor. A big bank error. Win Mega Millions?
I want another baby.
I want a script to sell. Lots of scripts. All my scripts. Okay, I'd settle for just one.
I'd like one of my kids to have a baby. Any baby. Kidnap a baby. Buy a baby doll?
I want a pair of French Bulldogs. Max and Maxine. And they can have babies.
And just once, I'd like those silly horoscope readings to come true.
I want to lose 80lbs without really trying. All right, maybe 50. Less is more. Without trying. NO MORE COOKIES!!!
I'd like to see Britney get treated by House. He'd have her cured in 45 minutes or less, give a commercial break or two.
I would love it if Dave Letterman dropped his unfunny routines about the weather in New York. Enough, Dave! We know it's cold!
I want the WGA to get the fair deal they deserve. No, not just a fair deal---a great deal.
I want more of Ted Levine on MONK. The OCD Guy is getting on my last nerve (as I run to wash my hands for the 68576 time today).
I want world peace, a cure for the common cold, and gas under a dollar. Oil too.
I want a bank error in my favor. A big bank error. Win Mega Millions?
I want another baby.
I want a script to sell. Lots of scripts. All my scripts. Okay, I'd settle for just one.
I'd like one of my kids to have a baby. Any baby. Kidnap a baby. Buy a baby doll?
I want a pair of French Bulldogs. Max and Maxine. And they can have babies.
And just once, I'd like those silly horoscope readings to come true.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
No Place Like Home
So while I wait for feedback on my crazy little script that tore through me like a tornado, I return to my contemporary drama of a family in crisis, a real downer. I know I have to tackle it sooner or later, so it might as well be...tomorrow.
Now don't get me wrong. I love the story. I love the characters. It's personal. Maybe too personal. I've been carrying it around in my head for years: bad things happen to good people. And since I love these people, doing bad things to them is hard. I tell myself it's not a comedy, it's drama. Ya can't have a drama without...the drama. The tears. The implosions. The "fuck you" moment when it all goes to hell.
The only thing that keeps me going on it is that it has a happy ending. Somewhat. Really.
Heath Ledger RIP
Ten Things We Love About You
Great Daddy
Cool Actor
And my Stephanie was crushing on you
Sleep with the Angels
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?
Boy, have we got off to a banging New Year!
Eddie Murphy got "spiritually married", now after two weeks, stick a fork in it. that's one way to save on lawyer fees.
Jamie Lynn is knocked up at sixteen and depending on which rag you read, she's on the verge of a miscarriage, on the way to the hospital, is unsure as to who the Baby Daddy is, or is being dumped by the Baby Daddy who already supposedly got another girl pregnant...and with a war going on, the economy in the tank, this inspires a national debate on birth control...NOT!
Big sis sis Brit Brit (ie Unfitney) outdoes lil sis sis by throwing a temper tantrum, getting locked up in the mental ward, only to wind up in Mexico with her married photographer BF and then refuse to appear at the courthouse to fight for custody of her babies yet has all the time in the world to stop in at gas stations, retail stores and pharmacies for photo opps in ragged fishnet stockings and no underwear.
Meanwhile, Lindsey traipses off to Italy to receive a dubious "career
achievement award" but the only achievement she apppears to have done while abroad was to fall off the wagon and hop, skimp and jump from one bed to another (with all the salacious details peddled by these nefarious Lotharios) to the tabloids for a lucrative lira.
Paris, after assuring the world she was going to live on a higher plane since her stint in the hokey, makes endless appearances in clubs where she told one lucky audience that she'd like to "fuck" them all. Makes you long for the days when celebs would do their jail time quietly and without fanfare--like Kiefer Sutherland is doing right now.
And Long Island natives Joey B and Amy F release competing sex tapes but swear they're not making any money off them. The only thing better would be a sex tape of Joey B and Amy F doing the nasty. Since when did getting yourself caught in the act suddenly become so profitable and respectable? I want my own sex tape!
And it's only January???
Eddie Murphy got "spiritually married", now after two weeks, stick a fork in it. that's one way to save on lawyer fees.
Jamie Lynn is knocked up at sixteen and depending on which rag you read, she's on the verge of a miscarriage, on the way to the hospital, is unsure as to who the Baby Daddy is, or is being dumped by the Baby Daddy who already supposedly got another girl pregnant...and with a war going on, the economy in the tank, this inspires a national debate on birth control...NOT!
Big sis sis Brit Brit (ie Unfitney) outdoes lil sis sis by throwing a temper tantrum, getting locked up in the mental ward, only to wind up in Mexico with her married photographer BF and then refuse to appear at the courthouse to fight for custody of her babies yet has all the time in the world to stop in at gas stations, retail stores and pharmacies for photo opps in ragged fishnet stockings and no underwear.
Meanwhile, Lindsey traipses off to Italy to receive a dubious "career
achievement award" but the only achievement she apppears to have done while abroad was to fall off the wagon and hop, skimp and jump from one bed to another (with all the salacious details peddled by these nefarious Lotharios) to the tabloids for a lucrative lira.
Paris, after assuring the world she was going to live on a higher plane since her stint in the hokey, makes endless appearances in clubs where she told one lucky audience that she'd like to "fuck" them all. Makes you long for the days when celebs would do their jail time quietly and without fanfare--like Kiefer Sutherland is doing right now.
And Long Island natives Joey B and Amy F release competing sex tapes but swear they're not making any money off them. The only thing better would be a sex tape of Joey B and Amy F doing the nasty. Since when did getting yourself caught in the act suddenly become so profitable and respectable? I want my own sex tape!
And it's only January???
Thursday, January 10, 2008
HEAVEN SENT
All Shelley wanted for her thirteenth birthday was to get her belly button pierced. Instead, she got wings. If there is a God, He is alive and well in Heaven, Vermont. Sometimes, a girl has to fly.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
THE TALE OF THE FREE LOVESEAT OR HOW I GOT RIPPED OFF, MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS
On the first day Christmas, I got ripped off by Levitz Furniture.
Let me explain. Back in September, I bought a new sofa and love seat combo. After searching high and low, I found an incredible deal at the aforementioned furniture store. Buy the sofa get the love seat free!!! I also paid for a ten year warranty covering the fabric (with three cats,I figured, what the hey). At that rate, the warranty would probably outlive the stupid furniture. I even made it simple for the store. I paid cash.
Ha! I'm such a good customer.
However, Daughter #2 (more to the point, Big Tim Bronco, her fiance) warned me against it. Vehemently. He had his own miserable experience with Levitz. But did I listen?
The sofa was delivered, no problems. Due to the sale, so I was told, the love seat was on back order, but I'd get it around Thanksgiving. Uhm, okay.
Shortly thereafter, it was announced in the local paper that Levitz was filing Chapter 11. I was concerned, but not so much. After all, I had paid for my stuff and I had a delivery date. I mean, they wouldn't stiff people who had already paid, right?
Ahem.
When I called to confirm the delivery date, I was suddenly told that due to a "production problem" in the warehouse, the love seat would now be delivered on December 6th. The friendly and helpful customer service rep assured me that I would get my love seat on that day, and also insisted that their filing Chapter 11 had no bearing on my order.
Like a fool, I kept the faith, even after I learned that not only was Levitz filing Chapter 11, they were also shutting their doors forever due to the trickle down effects of the sub prime mortgage mess. If people can't afford their homes, they sure as hell aren't buying new furniture.
Of course you know what happened. I spend all day waiting for my love seat that never arrives (and a delivery that Levitz, in their infinite wisdom, called to confirm the week before).
Royally pissed, I call the 800 number. The helpful and friendly rep is now replaced by a recording.
In desperation, I call the store where I bought the stuff. The staff is about as friendly as a rabid pit bull. When I complain to the store manager, the asshole blows me off by whining that everyone is in a lousy mood because they are all losing their jobs and infers that the day I get my love seat will be a cold day in Tahiti.
Adding insult to my injury, the very next day Levitz runs a full page ad in the local rag touting their tremendous "Going Out Of Business Sale" ! I fume at the absurdity. I can't get my free fucking love seat but they are still trolling for customers.
After days of dialing, I finally get ahold of a real live person in customer disservice, fat lot of good that did me. Now the story is that they are still getting merchandise, but they don't know if they will be able to fill my order and won't know for a couple of days, maybe.
But they are not able to fulfill my order because they are in Chapter 11.
Oh no. They can't fill my order because they are going out of business.
So I ask the harried and downtrodden customer disservice rep what is my recourse if they can't deliver my free love seat for which I have already paid for in cash (including delivery and that goddamn worthless warranty) she says to me, no kidding....
That I have to file a claim in Bankruptcy Court along with all the other creditors (i.e. suckers).
On the second day of Christmas I lost my mind.
Let me explain. Back in September, I bought a new sofa and love seat combo. After searching high and low, I found an incredible deal at the aforementioned furniture store. Buy the sofa get the love seat free!!! I also paid for a ten year warranty covering the fabric (with three cats,I figured, what the hey). At that rate, the warranty would probably outlive the stupid furniture. I even made it simple for the store. I paid cash.
Ha! I'm such a good customer.
However, Daughter #2 (more to the point, Big Tim Bronco, her fiance) warned me against it. Vehemently. He had his own miserable experience with Levitz. But did I listen?
The sofa was delivered, no problems. Due to the sale, so I was told, the love seat was on back order, but I'd get it around Thanksgiving. Uhm, okay.
Shortly thereafter, it was announced in the local paper that Levitz was filing Chapter 11. I was concerned, but not so much. After all, I had paid for my stuff and I had a delivery date. I mean, they wouldn't stiff people who had already paid, right?
Ahem.
When I called to confirm the delivery date, I was suddenly told that due to a "production problem" in the warehouse, the love seat would now be delivered on December 6th. The friendly and helpful customer service rep assured me that I would get my love seat on that day, and also insisted that their filing Chapter 11 had no bearing on my order.
Like a fool, I kept the faith, even after I learned that not only was Levitz filing Chapter 11, they were also shutting their doors forever due to the trickle down effects of the sub prime mortgage mess. If people can't afford their homes, they sure as hell aren't buying new furniture.
Of course you know what happened. I spend all day waiting for my love seat that never arrives (and a delivery that Levitz, in their infinite wisdom, called to confirm the week before).
Royally pissed, I call the 800 number. The helpful and friendly rep is now replaced by a recording.
In desperation, I call the store where I bought the stuff. The staff is about as friendly as a rabid pit bull. When I complain to the store manager, the asshole blows me off by whining that everyone is in a lousy mood because they are all losing their jobs and infers that the day I get my love seat will be a cold day in Tahiti.
Adding insult to my injury, the very next day Levitz runs a full page ad in the local rag touting their tremendous "Going Out Of Business Sale" ! I fume at the absurdity. I can't get my free fucking love seat but they are still trolling for customers.
After days of dialing, I finally get ahold of a real live person in customer disservice, fat lot of good that did me. Now the story is that they are still getting merchandise, but they don't know if they will be able to fill my order and won't know for a couple of days, maybe.
But they are not able to fulfill my order because they are in Chapter 11.
Oh no. They can't fill my order because they are going out of business.
So I ask the harried and downtrodden customer disservice rep what is my recourse if they can't deliver my free love seat for which I have already paid for in cash (including delivery and that goddamn worthless warranty) she says to me, no kidding....
That I have to file a claim in Bankruptcy Court along with all the other creditors (i.e. suckers).
On the second day of Christmas I lost my mind.
Friday, November 09, 2007
CATASTROPHE
So the Psycho Cat sauntered up me after she finished sipping her milk and wanted to know what was up with the WGA strike. (Although we are not WGA members, it is due to the WGA that I get measly but very appreciated foreign residual checks for MY HORRIBLE YEAR).
Psycho Cat: So how can I become a scat? I can write as good as any monkey. And I'm here in the good ole US of A. Then movie moguls don't have to go to England to get mongrel scats.
Me: What the hell did Granny put in your milk?
Psycho Cat: You know what I'm talking about, you asshole. Scats!
Me: Oh....you mean scabs. Trust me, you don't want to be a scab.
Psycho Cat: Why not?
Me: Because you can never join the WGA and get health benefits and all the other
nice perks if you do. Besides, it's not nice.
Psycho Cat: What do I care about health benefits? You took me to a cheap vet when I had worms. And who said I was nice? I'm the psycho cat. All I'm asking for is a chance. I can write better crap than CAVEMEN.
Me: So can I.
Psycho Cat: But you're not a cat. Hey, How about a remake of MICE AND MEN?
Change the men to cats, get Angelina and Clooney...I smell bling!
Me: I smell kitty litter.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
SOLIDARITY
I'm not in the WGA, but I support the strike. I'd sooner cut off my right arm than be a scab.
www.theartfulwriter.com
www.unitedhollywood.com
www.theartfulwriter.com
www.unitedhollywood.com
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Yeah I Know
Time slips away when you're having fun.
It's been a long, strange summer. Just starting to catch my breath and assimilate, meditate, hesitate and procrastinate.
Hopefully things will settle down soon and I can get back to doing what I love best.
Until then...Go, Red Sox, Go!
It's been a long, strange summer. Just starting to catch my breath and assimilate, meditate, hesitate and procrastinate.
Hopefully things will settle down soon and I can get back to doing what I love best.
Until then...Go, Red Sox, Go!
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Independence Day
What, no aliens?
Alive and chugging away like the little engine that could. And waiting and writing and waiting and writing, not necessarily in that order.
Alive and chugging away like the little engine that could. And waiting and writing and waiting and writing, not necessarily in that order.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Memorial Day
Cloudy. Blech. But tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous.
I am very confused as to this new Blogger-Google thingie. It appears that I have two separate accounts, and I can never remember the e-mail/passwords to either of them. They couldn't have left well enough alone.
Otherwise, I've had a full plate this month: still working on my father's estate, Heather's graduation, Adrienne's strep throat, Stephanie's home for the summer, trusty little Neon finally died after years of loving abuse and was carted off to the junk yard, various other hassles and oh---still managed to work, write, work, write, sleep, bake, in no particular order.
Not a bad month. Now I just need to shake some more trees in June and hopefully resolve some long standing issues.
I am very confused as to this new Blogger-Google thingie. It appears that I have two separate accounts, and I can never remember the e-mail/passwords to either of them. They couldn't have left well enough alone.
Otherwise, I've had a full plate this month: still working on my father's estate, Heather's graduation, Adrienne's strep throat, Stephanie's home for the summer, trusty little Neon finally died after years of loving abuse and was carted off to the junk yard, various other hassles and oh---still managed to work, write, work, write, sleep, bake, in no particular order.
Not a bad month. Now I just need to shake some more trees in June and hopefully resolve some long standing issues.
Friday, May 11, 2007
I Be A Bad Girl
I know, I know. Times flies and all that crapola.
I've been busy. Really. Writing, life, all that good stuff.
Otherwise, I'm still here, plugging away. Keeping up appearances.
Larry finally has the baby. I'm delighted.
Paris is going to jail. I'm devastated. No more TMZ updates?
Still not watching AMERICAN IDOL.
Waiting for HELL'S KITCHEN.
Hated TOP DESIGN.
Wondering why they didn't get Farrah for SHEAR GENIUS. What, she was too expensive?
No more BLOW OUT?
When is PROJECT RUNWAY coming back?
Fuck JERICHO.
I've been busy. Really. Writing, life, all that good stuff.
Otherwise, I'm still here, plugging away. Keeping up appearances.
Larry finally has the baby. I'm delighted.
Paris is going to jail. I'm devastated. No more TMZ updates?
Still not watching AMERICAN IDOL.
Waiting for HELL'S KITCHEN.
Hated TOP DESIGN.
Wondering why they didn't get Farrah for SHEAR GENIUS. What, she was too expensive?
No more BLOW OUT?
When is PROJECT RUNWAY coming back?
Fuck JERICHO.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Media Overload
I'm loathe to admit it, but yes, Anna Nicole got to me. How could it not? It had everything and then some: sex, money, mystery, drugs, and unending court battles. I haven't seen Greta have so much fun since the Natalie Holloway days.
Larry King (looking very cadaverous) played host to a vast array of characters and charlatans, but by the time of Anna's delayed burial, even Larry looked tired of the whole sordid affair.
Where was Maury when you needed him? He would've settled the paternity circus in one half hour show.
Now I am in Anna Nicole withdrawal, at least until the next court date.
We have a war going on and all the media can do is fall over itself to cover the funeral of a drug addicted, C-celebrity (and this doesn't even take into account Britney's woes).
Clearly, I've made a mess of my life. I never abused my kids. Hell, they even profess to like me. I'm not high on crack. One Bud Light puts me under the table. I'm still married to my first and only husband. Worse still, we sleep together.
I've never done anything in my life, not one single thing, that could even be remotely considered scandalous.
I'm a complete, abject failure.
Larry King (looking very cadaverous) played host to a vast array of characters and charlatans, but by the time of Anna's delayed burial, even Larry looked tired of the whole sordid affair.
Where was Maury when you needed him? He would've settled the paternity circus in one half hour show.
Now I am in Anna Nicole withdrawal, at least until the next court date.
We have a war going on and all the media can do is fall over itself to cover the funeral of a drug addicted, C-celebrity (and this doesn't even take into account Britney's woes).
Clearly, I've made a mess of my life. I never abused my kids. Hell, they even profess to like me. I'm not high on crack. One Bud Light puts me under the table. I'm still married to my first and only husband. Worse still, we sleep together.
I've never done anything in my life, not one single thing, that could even be remotely considered scandalous.
I'm a complete, abject failure.
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