this is teale.

she says, "mustaches make you rowdy."

well said, teale. well said.
[also? you look a bit like this guy...]

go away, radio.

songs that i don't want to hear in the morning:

• sweet home alabama
• freebird
• hotel california*
• anything from the inane and repetitive catalogue of third eye blind
• any song that prominently features any of the following words: snow, frosty, holidays, bells [holiday music has a place on the radio, but not before 6PM]
• anything by fergie
• anything by richard marx [he swears...he left her by the river]

* this also falls into the category, "songs that i don't want to hear...EVER"

happy birth day

welcome to the world, alex thomas.
i'm already in love with you.

email exchange of the day...

me: go find a band-aid, hootchie.

joni: hootchies don't need band-aids!


HEE.

i'm psychic! let's go to the races...

i had a dream last nite wherein (amongst other happenings) my old friend joshua shaved his head and obtained a giant bird tattoo at the nape of his neck. when relaying this news to him today, via email, he smartassed, " my big bird tattoo? it's closer to my shoulder than to my neck." i told him that actually it was a tattoo of toucan sam. he then sent the following picture of his desk:



yeah. that's right.
IT'S TOUCAN SAM...recently obtained from a road trip to toronto.

i should absolutely go hit up the bingo palace tonite. i'm feeling incredibly lucky.

fat ankles and oprah

am wearing some, frankly, fantastic gold kenneth cole wedges today but all four pictures i took of them triggered the "photo = fat ankles" effect. so, use your imaginations.

also: letterman is on oprah today. i agree with my mother's assessment: she's trying to take over the world. she won over the movie people by un-masking tom cruise's CRAZY gene. she's clearly massaged the literary world into submission via james frey, cormac mccarthy, et al. and now she's gone after the funny people. she's a marksman -- an excellent one at that. AND she went on gma with minimal make-up this morning. i feel defeated. it's like finding out your boyfriend is gay all over again. only without the puppets.

bourneography

i saw 'the bourne ultimatum' last nite. it's pretty fantastic: non-stop action, matt damon-hotness, joan allen & david strathairn hard-ass acting master class.
and if you ever thought that the candlestick was a pretty ineffective clue weapon, this film will convince you otherwise.

scene from an airport (part two: jfk)

there's very little to tell about my stint at jfk except for this:

i'm sitting on a bench, reading this and listening to the ipod. i look up. there is an airport security guard positioned directly opposite me, leaning up against a pillar with his left hand down his pants. i'm fairly certain he wasn't doing anything lewd <> but still. inappropriate. highly. he wasn't a tall man. it's not like he needed a place to rest his weary hand. maybe they took away his gun and he was experiencing some phantom pains? i don't know. i wasn't about to ask, lest the right hand decide it was lonely and move in with the left.

<>

scene from an airport (part one: rochester)

posts about my trip to new york/connecticut are coming in spurts.

things started off on an interesting note when the following was overheard in the airport (where, incidentally, i was not delayed for 6 hours, unlike a previous trip to the city):

"i remember feeling sorry for kids at school who had ugly mothers."

this compassionate insight was relayed from a youngish woman to an older man, whom i presumed was her father. sadly, his response to this gem was lost as their conversation was drowned out by my internal gutteral screams at humanity. once i recovered, i was able to discern the following about them:

• she was unable to digest any type of oil
• he often cooked using said culinary lubricant
• she wouldn't eat anything that he cooked except for pasta
• he rarely cooked pasta
• apparently she was starving
• he offered her some broccoli

it's just now ocurring to me that had i gotten delayed at the airport with these two, i likely would have tried to force feed her some bertoli, straight from the bottle. just to test her theory.

it was no match for the traffic

...just a preview into what my weekend entailed.

"You can't join Mathletes. It's social suicide."

Happy Birthday to my favorite Mathlete.

to be filed in: my belly

TALD

As you can see, I'm still not ready to replace the fancy shoes as SOTD.
I am wearing the above silver flip-flops today, but that's not why this picture is important.
No, the reason for this picture is simple:
My feet are tan.

A decent majority of my body is tan, actually. And that NEVER happens.

Also: I recently became old. Maybe there's some sort of correlation there. Tan and Old. TALD?

my date with john krasinski (or: the dreams i have after i drink wine)

i was in maine -- which, not-so-coincidentally, is where i'm headed tomorrow for a week -- putzing around what appeared to be a farmer's market. my hair was looking exceptionally good in spite of the humidity and my face looked thinner than usual (whee!) i stopped to inspect some cucumbers (that is not foreshadowing -- it's not that kind of dream) and lo and behold - john krasinski, weighing lemons. he looked very new england - white polo, khaki shorts, flip flops. we struck up a conversation about produce -- he seemed to favor the summer squash -- and went to part ways when he asked about my plans for later that day. i told him that i was staying in maine for a week with my family, and would he like to come out for dinner with us that evening. it just so happened that we met on my birthday (this is not a stretch; vacation week incorporates my birthday.) so. john krasinski, who found time to go back to wherever he was staying and change his clothes, came to birthday dinner with my family. now, it's uncertain as to whether or not we knew he was famous as there was no mention of 'the office' during dinner conversation. although, i did comment on how much i liked the sneakers he wore when he and rainn wilson were on 'ellen'. so, scratch that. he was obviously famous. but apparently we're too evolved/busy eating to make mention of that. dinner ended. the family evaporated, as they are prone to do in the subconscious, and john krasinski and i went for a walk on the beach (which was looking a bit more south florida than northern maine. who cares.) i think we talked about some seemingly insignificant things (this part is kind of a blur.) but he did ask if he could see me again before i left. ("i'm sorry. i'm just not interested." yeah. i'm not that dumb in my dreams.)

now, i'm assuming that i saw him again. but the cat woke me up at this point and i never returned to john krasinski-ful maine. severe sadness.

also: this does not bode well for my actual vacation, as i'm sure to be disappointed.

not your cheez.

i was putting some peanut butter on an english muffin this morning, subsequently holding my breath as i washed the knife (the smell of wet peanut butter makes me nauseous) when it struck me: what's the grossest thing i've ever eaten -- theoretically -- that tasted good at the time? i used to eat mustard sandwiches (if kendall reads this, she will gag -- i'm fairly certain this was her least favorite part of living with me) -- but i don't find them repulsive. the memories of eating spaghetti-o's and pac-man shaped pasta-in-a-can kind of make me want to cry but -- again -- it's not too weird, and they're oddly popular.

i think most disgusting thing i've ever eaten, that i actually liked, would have to be cheez whiz on a bagel.

joanne elaine adams. i blame you. you were my partner in crime for this endeavor on many, many mornings and afternoons. what were we thinking? granted, we were in the second grade and pretty much at the culinary mercy of our parents. but still. we should have known better.

pretty.

i thought about putting these as shoe of the day, but instead chose to highlight them as shoeological representation of my navy blue renaissance.

yes. i'm going through a navy blue renaissance.

dig it.

(also, you can't really tell in this photo, but the middle strap by the toe is patent leather. the shoe gods are weeping shiny, pretty tears.)

for fictional appetizers.

ob-sessed.

must order for my imaginary dinner & cocktail parties.

(thank you, cb2)

http://www.cb2.com/family.aspx?c=230&f=3972

i want...candy?

i just pulled a semi-eaten bag of sour patch kids of out my purse, left over from a recent trip to the movies to see 'live free, die harder' with jimmy. for reasons that are entirely without concern, the majority of the spk's remaining were orange and yellow -- but when i opened up the bag, safely fastened with a rubber band, i wafted toward me a familiar scent. that scent was not sour patch kids, as one might imagine. it was fruit loops. i do not know why, or how, fruit loops infiltrated my sour patch kids -- who, it can be said, form a mean and ragged army when necessary -- but had better believe i shall get to the bottom of it.

also: i'm noticing that i have a lot of random candy on my desk. in general, i don't eat a lot of candy. but as i look around i see:

• 90% depleted bag of dark chocolate m&ms. we keep those around for bi-annual hell weeks.
• sweet-tarts suckers (is it one 't' or two? the logo splits it down the middle...)
• lemon heads

i also have a grapefruit. apparently just to balance things out.

my week: the numbers version

number of ex-boyfriends from whom i've heard: 1
number of pseudo-ex-boyfriends i've heard from/seen at random: 2
number of non-dates: 2
number of movies i've seen in the theater: 2
number of 'the o.c.' reruns watched on july fourth: 3
number of cups of coffee consumed: 9
number of cups of tea consumed: 15
number of pairs of shoes purchased: 0

speaking of movies: go see 'transformers'. and the new 'die hard'. and 'knocked up'.
favorite line from all movies seen this season thus far: "please take the chairs away. i don't like them. the big one is staring at me and that short one is being very droll." hee! running a close second: "i am optimus prime."

and now the transcript from an email conversation between nate and i, based on his recommendation that i read this and this. warning: weirdness abounds.

johanna: the term 'virtual sex' is so offputting. but 'erotic geppetto' is seriously fantastic.
nate: it's way way way beyond fantastic.
j: that's totally the title of my next album.
n: Nice. Or maybe that should be the name of your bakery.
j: people will have far, far different expectations than what i'd be willing to deliver.
n: mostly grotesquely shaped baked goods?
j: dirty pastries.
n: exactly.
j: "erotic geppetto, specializing in naughty noshing for any event"
n: I hate hate hate (clicks heels three times) the word noshing.
I also think it might as well be spelled gnoshing and accompanied with nails on a chalkboard and a dead baby (every time it is spoken or typed).
j: weirdo. "erotic geppetto, specializing in kinky cuisine for any event."
n: "erotic geppetto...dirty inevitibility"
j: "erotic geppetto...x-rated edibles"
n: "erotic geppetto...pastry delights for more than growing noses."
j: dirty. "erotic geppetto...more than just a kick in the pants."
n: I don't get it.
j: "erotic geppetto...our dough isn't the only thing rising."
n: erotic geppetto...pedophiles are creepy...eat a danish
j: erotic geppetto...pastry. puppetry. perverts.
n: there's a winner.

diamonds are forevahhhh.

this past weekend, i went to the wedding of a very dear friend of mine from high school. i'll have pictures to post soon, including one of brad sporting a very sharp, glittered hat. heh. he's pretty.

have you seen ads for this show? i caught a preview for it the other night. my mom was convinced that mark consuelos was the one being set up -- and seriously, he and mark phillippoussis do resemble one another. it's kind of creepy, actually. also creepy: where are the thirty year old women? phillippoussis is thirty-one. do the producers not think he should be dating someone his own age? do they think that that women in their 20s and 40s make for better drama/entertainment? reality tv makes my brain hurt. and really, who gets married to someone they met on television? trista and ryan don't count.

excitement: my dear, dear lovely friend kendall got engaged last friday to her dear, dear lovely boyfriend ciro. it would have come as quite the shock, had they not been dating for EIGHT YEARS. in all seriousness: i couldn't be happier for my friends. i'm ecstatic, and cried joyful tears when she told me. and not just because i get to buy a new dress. and shoes. i met kendall my freshman (her sophomore) year of college in the class 'theater 101', otherwise known as 'don't try to meet straight men here.' we both knew the entire book and score to the movie 'evita' -- and sang aloud during the class screening -- and our friendship was solidified from there on out. we did one musical together (the cast party for which we recall with fond memories of sitting on someone's kitchen counter, drinking rolling rock), were cinema majors together (she being the far superior student in that realm) and lived together for a year, during which we held many a dinner party, all-night study session, and one memorable thanksgiving feast. many episodes of 'friends' were watched together, accompanied by many cartons of chinese food. when she graduated, and subsequently moved out of our house, i was both excited (for her) and traumatized (for me.) we don't see each other as frequently as we would like, but when we do get that opportunity to reconnect it's as if no time has passed. congratulations, kace. love love.

success

y'all? the rhubarb coffee cake?
i've never been more impressed with a recipe, and my adherence to a recipe, in all my life.

i believe i made the k.g. proud.

birthdays, poo and the healing powers of rhubarb.

today is the wee bakery's 6 month birthday! happy birthday, wee bakery. i will bake you some wee cupcakes. were you an actual bakery, i could go to you and buy said cupcakes. but you are not. you are a silly, nonsensical internety entity. readership: 4
but i love you for giving me someplace other than my binding-less, drama filled notebook to focus my craziness.

in non-birthday related news (hi. buy me a dictionary. 'news' came out 'noos' on the first go around.): for reasons we have yet to ascertain, my niece has started to refer to herself as either a "doody factory" or a "poop factory" upon the production of a dirty diaper. hilarious.

in non-birthday and non-doody related news [noos]: i got nothing. it's friday, and i'm going to see ocean's 13 this evening. saw ocean's 11 on a first date with a former boyfriend, ocean's 12 pretty much crapped the bed...the fate of the ocean's legacy in my brain forever hinges on this third installment.

yesterday i gleefully sent my mother this recipe. today, she emailed back saying that a teacher at her school brought in some rhubarb so, "your assignment, should you choose to accept it..."
i believe the spirit of kitty grandma (my maternal grandmother) shall be dancing a jig over her granddaughter's new food project. happier, hopefully, than the time mom and i were making easter cookies and the porcelain cardinal fell off the shelf, a clear sign that we were being watched and should not omit the anise flavoring, no matter how much i complained. my grandmother was a brilliant cook and baker and certain things about her and her house will forever (hopefully) be inscribed into my brain: her yellow rice with mushrooms, the possum that temporarily moved into her porch, helping her pick strawberries in the back yard, getting stung by a hornet that nested in the front steps, seeing her drop a piece of chicken onto the floor while turning it over to see if it was done and unleashing a "sonofabitch!" -- the likes of which i've never heard again. her cat. her basement, lined with jars upon jars of home-canned fruits and vegetables. it was a veritable laboratory of food brilliant. going to the premiere of this movie -- in the town where she lived -- and the accompanying terror of sleeping in her house, or any house with windows, for at least a year. i've missed her everyday for eighteen years.

i feel old and sad. and anxiously awaiting that rhubarb.

they always go for the funny hats.

the man who jumped the popemobile today was described, on the morning news, as being "between twenty and thirty years of age with significant mental problems."

i believe that quote perfectly sums up my entire dating pool from the past 7 years.

(i shall refrain from making the obvious, "but at least the popemobile was jumped!" joke. but i may start wearing funny hats.)

pvd

just returned from vacation this week, feeling as though i'd never left. i hate that. the entire point of vacation is to escape, to rid yourself of the daily grind and mental anguish. i came back to my office only to find it in (typical) chaos and insanity. INSANITY. sad. ness. i want to cry on a continued basis for the degradation of our collective mental state.

that being said, i've found the perfect photo from vacation to sum up my return to work:

the blechelor.

so.

i watched the finale of the bachelor last nite.
this is not something that i make a habit of. in fact, up until this season, i'm fairly certain i hadn't ever seen an entire episode. this season, based solely on the hotness of andy (the officer/gentleman/puppet), i've tuned in almost every week to watch the last 10 minutes of each episode. why? well. it's not particularly entertaining. moreso, it's fascinating. my complaint about the bachelor has been, and will continue to be this: have these women never seen an episode of this show? it's been on for, what, 9 seasons? do they NOT know that the whole point of the show is for the bachelor to date many, many women in the hopes of finding a (blech) mate? ok, wait. i'll back up. let's assume that they have not seen an episode of the show. so. we assume that they live under a rock. or in a hole. or have been kept locked away in a closet in some remote russian town. somehow, they crawl out from under the rock, climb up from the hole, or break out of said closet. the make it onto the show. are you telling me that no one (no one?!) says to them, "just so you know...there are 25 of you, duking it out or this guy." that must be the case, because WITHOUT FAIL, at least once an episode someone says, "i just don't understand...i thought he liked me. i thought we had a connection. i feel betrayed." cue tears and dejected walk to the limo-of-rejection. i swear to jesus.

annoying. and, frankly, depressing.

note: yes. i know it's only a television show. and no, i shouldn't watch if i'm going to get this worked up.

we came to the conclusion last nite that bachelor andy, in spite of his honest-to-goodness HOT factor, must have some major character flaw. he seemed a little vacant behind the eyes. and, also? he told two women, in the span of a day, that he loved them. on national television. and then had to recant to one of them. on national television. idiocy. (for real. that's just dumb.) also, his teeth were too perfect. they sort of screamed 'deranged dentist.' i mean, clearly he's not unintelligent (i think i read that he's a surgeon? i'm not kidding when i say i only watch the last 15 minutes.) but he's not the brightest bulb in the lamp of common sense.

funny: my mom commented that he didn't look like he was kissing with very much passion. quite possibly my favorite comment on anything. ever. she also hates the bachelor but was oddly riveted last nite.

[note: tv just told me that clooney, pitt and damon are going to be live from cannes on gma tomorrow morning. i think tv just exploded from glee.]

i always think i should feel bad for the girls on the bachelor. but, really? NO. you weren't forced into this (if you were, well. get yourself out of THAT situation.) you know exactly what you're getting yourself into. and yes: you think you're going to be the one. but, you have to know that the odds of that happening are not great. even if you live in a tiny town with very few men of note: stay there. your odds of finding a (blech) mate are greater.

view from my window: pants edition

i hope to god that this is not a gymnastics experiment gone awry.

also...

i don't believe i've yet mentioned my office's eye candy.
will attempt a full description sometime soon, but i have to point out that his window is currently being propped open by a bottle that, by shape, contains either: laundry detergent, maple syrup or moonshine.

odds are on number three.

bouo.

woke up monday morning after a particularly grueling, work-centric weekend feeling as though my entire body had been panini-pressed. i ached...greatly. i dragged my tortured bod to the bathroom, barely cleared the edge of the tub, and began my shower. as i began to wash my left leg, i noticed a rather large dark spot. i seriously thought it was a giant smearing of motor oil (not that motor oil would belong on my leg first thing in the morning, but you know my history with cars. and i was tired.) and tried to scrub it off. turns out it was a HUGE bruise, the tenderness of which was not catered to with all the scrubbing. now, seriously: it's huge. and i have zero recollection as to it's origin. it is the bruise of unknown origin. it's the size of, and resembles in shape, one of those little debbie christmas tree snack cakes. it's a lovely shade of eggplant (turning into a lovely shade of artichoke) and would be rather artistic/tattoo-like if it didn't HURT LIKE HELL. seeing as how it's 90 degrees here today, it's also rather limiting in the wardrobe department. no one wants to see satan's handprint at work and i've tried my best to keep it covered, but: IT'S 90 DEGREES. and my office has no air conditioning. i've taken to tucking my leg under when i sit but i've the feeling that will not be conducive to the healing process. it sort of looks like diego rivera started another mural and got bored 3% of the way through. i blame my job...mostly because if the weekend hadn't been so hellacious, i wouldn't have had to go out sunday night and consult the liquid therapist, most likely resulting in some anti-coordination display that led to said bouo. i wonder how the worker's comp people feel about bruises.

sound bites: religious edition

overheard in church this morning:

"what are you doing?!? shut up and pray."
(loudly whispered from grandmother to her two young grandsons)

carrot sticks of beratement.

nadia and i signed up for the 'self challenge' -- run by self magazine -- in january.
whoever does their internet marketing is on the ball because we receive no less than 4 emails per week with subject lines that read "welcome to week 9 of the self challenge" or "how to serve up the perfect turkey burger" and "an easy way to eat your veggies" (i found that one a bit, um, OBVIOUS.) this would all be well and good had we actually participated in the self challenge, you know, at all. now we feel as though we're being stalked. maybe as punishment. maybe this is how they do it at fat camp. i don't know. i did, however, receive the following email last monday:

"lose the bun with this leafy treat"

now, i'm fairly certain they intended the dual meaning of "lose the bun" (it's actually a recipe for chicken salad - meh - wrapped in lettuce.)
in which case: bravo, self.

but still.
STOP JUDGING.

bliss.

going to the theeee-aaa-tahhh this evening to see a very well-reviewed production of august wilson's gem of the ocean. very excited. theater junkie = me. having dinner with a group of friends prior to that. and prior to that nadia and i are taking advantage of ben & jerry's 'free cone day.'

theater.

wine.

ice cream.

my brain might explode from the fanastic-ness of this evening's activities.
creative & gastronomic bliss.
i'm simultaneously 5 and 55.
i love it.

(yo!)

there's a guy outside on the street (four stories) below my office window having the following conversation (loudly) with himself:

guy: YO!
(pause)
guy: YO! YO! YO! YO!
(pause)
guy: YOOOOOOOOO?
(pause)
guy: YO! YO? YO? YO! YO!
(pause)
guy: YO?

heh.

dog and a beer.

there are few things better than running into someone you know at a hot dog stand, when it's snowing, at two o'clock in the morning.

it's the sanjaya effect.

so as i walked into spot coffee this morning i tripped on some random metal spike attached to a mailbox, fell flat on my face and ripped a big ol' hole in my sneaker. the barista who served me clearly witnessed the event, most likely as i was audibly/loudly cursing said mailbox.

also, kurt vonnegut died. not cool, universe.

also, someone keeps (obnoxiously, incessantly) ringing the office doorbell.

also, there have been two sightings of men wearing orange pants. this is not noteworthy, just fashionably inappropriate. and mean to people with eyes. and people without eyes, as their heightened senses would no doubt alert them to the heinous nature of this act.

best day ever?

it's in the running.

john tierney is my co-pilot.

i tend to like shorter men.
does this make me an aberration of nature...or a relationship philanthropist of sorts?

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/10/science/10tier.html?ex=1176868800&en=49cd6fd319ace048&ei=5070

don't cross me.

i sometimes have dreams about ex-boyfriends that look suspiciously like this.
(photo: melissa hom, new york magazine)

chococalypse

there's a half-used, plastic (store-bought) container of chocolate frosting sitting in the refridgerator that i cannot stop thinking about.

countdown to caffeine: less than 3 days

countdown to nervous breakdown and sanity explosion: imminent

(also: i was at work yesterday, proofing a letter that contained the phrase "collaborative partnerships." seriously. my brain imploded.)

all i need are some greek letters and an ego.

drinking beer, making pancakes and watching basketball.
when did i become a frat guy?

march madness, baby.

i love march madness. love it. love. it. there's a scene from annie hall that has woody allen saying, "love is too weak a word. i lerve you. you know, i lo-ove you. i luff you. there are two "f's." i have to invent... of course i love you." that's exactly how i feel about college basketball and, more specificaly, march madness. there is something so pure, so passionate, so real about the sport. i'd rather watch a college basketball game that do almost anything else. as i type this i'm watching the second of two semifinal games in this year's tournament (ohio state -- the team i picked in my bracket to win it all -- won earlier today. hee.) and i can scarcely contain my glee. i don't even really care who wins this game, and i'm still paralyzed by the action on the tv.

when i was in high school (the waning years of my athletic self) i always dreamed of playing basketball for duke; but not on the women's team. i wanted to play for mike krzyzewski. point guards for duke were idyllic. it was the dream position on the dream team. and i was an indiana fan, so it took a lot for me to want to play for duke. i went to the opening round of the tournament this year, during which i saw the now-infamous duke vs. vcu match, which duke subsequently lost. the loss was disappointing, no doubt, but seeing coach k. in person, on the floor, talking to his boys was beyond exciting. is that vaguely crazy? possibly. we were up in the third tier where the air is thinner... but still. swooning.

why do i love college basketball? it's hard to summarize, but among the reasons: i love the defense. i love the offense. i love the freshman point guard and center who can read each other like a book after having played together in high school. i love the players who are 5'6" and the players who are 6'6". i love the alley-oop, in a forum where it's still thrilling. i love the mistakes and i love the hustle to correct them. i love the lack of names on backs of jerseys. i love watching a point guard take it to the hole. i love three pointers. i love how famous and important alumni come out to support their teams. i love that coaches are more like parents and less like glorified towel boys. i love the respect and i love the commitment. i love the unadulterated joy after a win, and the agony after a defeat.

it. is. beautiful.
go buckeyes.

meh.

bloc party just performed on letterman.
i'm not sure what i hate more: the fact that they all look younger than me or that their waists are significantly smaller than mine.

webster rolls in his grave.

i work at a bookstore part-time; last night, no fewer than seven customers (in a 4 hour shift, during which i attended to approximately 40 customers) purchased oprah's latest book club selection -- in addition to at least one or two previous selections. now, i do a lot of reading and i take a lot of suggestions and recommendations for books; i am a big proponent for furthering literacy (my advocacy does not, i stress, include this, the thought of which makes me retch.) HOWEVER.

statements such as the following....

In selecting "The Road," not only will Winfrey meet with an author who, according to Bogaards, has given just two interviews in the past 40 years, but she has taken on a novel with little of the uplifting spirit she often favors. (By HILLEL ITALIE, AP National Writer)

...are mind-boggling. "the uplifting spirit she often favors"? now, is the author of this article referring to the uplifting tale of anna karenina? or elie wiesel's night? both revered pieces of literature, but certainly not what anyone would qualify as "uplifting." white oleander? a million little pieces (which i'm honestly surprised is still listed on her website as an official pick)? the deep end of the ocean? house of sand and fog? NOT UPLIFTING. and of the titles that i've not yet read there are certain to be more examples of oprah's "uplifting" slant.

point being: i've read many comments regarding her latest selection as a departure of sorts and i think that either (a) no one has actually been reading the books (maybe they're buying them to appear intelligent and/or "with it" or (b) there are a preposterous number of incorrect dictionaries floating around.

sleeping. or not.

things with which i am currently obsessed:

• march madness
• cupcakes
• friday night lights
• goat cheese
• the fact that hoegaarden beer is pronouced WHO-garden
• the "upgrade" of my local wegmans (am not pleased)
• shorts - specifically my hatred of them
• insomnia
• the reason(s) why mel gibson has yet to be muzzled and/or have his voicebox removed

runaway stains.

i got to work this morning thinking it was a good day. i have no reason to think this other than (a) it was free iced coffee day at dunkin' donuts and (b) i did not lose a hubcap on the way to work. (reason (b) may not seem cause enough for elation, but i looked out the window last week while working job #2, spotted an hideous eye-sore of a vehicle in the parking lot, cracked a joke about it's vacation from the junkyard, only to realize - seconds later - that it was, in fact, my car. so, clearly, every day that i keep my three current hubcaps is a good day. and it was really early and i was caffeine-less so shut up about not recognizing my own car.)

so i'm at work. checking my email. drinking my decaf iced coffee. i look down at the keyboard and notice that my shirt of choice is sporting two rather large, amoeba-esque shaped stains of unknown origin. this is upsetting for two reasons; reason one: i have plans after work and no time to change. reason two: this shirt is dry-clean only. how did this happen? the following conversation ensued via email with a friend of mine:

kc: morning to you.
jl: anything good?
kc: not at all. you?
jl: nope. although, i just looked down at my shirt and found two spots that i don't ever remember seeing. not cool.
kc: haha, i hate when that happens. i am soooo freaking tired.
jl: me too.
kc: can't deal.
jl: watch idol?
kc: nope.
jl: am really bothered by these spots <<attaches picture of spots>>
kc: haha, i can see that. i can't really tell what i'm looking at in this pic though.
jl: can't you see the spots?
kc: not sure.
jl: <<attaches new picture of spots, encircled a la the commentators from monday night football>>
kc: hahaha, you have a stain telestrator.
jl: YES.
kc: hee hee, that's a little crazy.

dream dates.

i had a dream two nights ago that went something like this:
i was on a date with jake gyllenhaal. am fairly certain we started at some outdoor cafe, typical of a cheesy paparazzi photograph seen on people.com. in fact, i'm positive there was a picture of him and natalie portman at this exact same cafe not too long ago when they were non-dating. so, we're on this date, laughing, chatting, marveling over how incredible his career has become at such a young age. we finish eating, leave the cafe (i'm sure we paid, but if i get chased down by the proprietor in my next dream i'll know that we scammed out on the bill) and start walking down the street. next thing i know, i'm in my kitchen -- same outfit, same hair - presumably the same day -- with tobey maguire (wearing the same outfit that j.g. had on earlier.) tobey then proceeds to offer me some sort of drug. i assume they were drugs, but looked an awful lot like blue sweet-tarts. it was all very alice in wonderland ("drink this."; "eat this.") and it's too bad that not one of those psa's i saw as a kid taught a lesson on what to do if a celebrity offers you an illegal substance because i clearly took the sweet-tart/hallucinogen. and then i woke up. sadness. my one date with jake is interrupted by spider-man? has spider-man not seen my car, with it's spider-man mats and steering wheel cover and (partially melted, broken) bobblehead? he has nothing to be jealous of. there's no need for the drug, tobey.

the dip.

i realize that in the grand scheme of commuting, i have it pretty easy. with minimal traffic and non-intrusive weather conditions i can make it to work in under 14 minutes. i think that's why it's so painful and so frustrating to be stuck in the car for upwards of 40 minutes - which is what happened this morning due to some (more) snow. because of the not-so-optimal driving conditions i had the radio on, scanning for a traffic report. in the midst of my scanning i stumbled across the following - things that i can only classify as what i don't need to hear on the radio in the morning. or ever.

• freebird. being stuck in traffic is bad enough without feeling like you're stuck in traffic because you've been listening to the same song for 48 minutes.
• hotel california. radio programmers? are you listening? i appreciate the warm weather reference, but i can think of at least 4 other songs that mention 'california' that don't have me favoring a walk to work over listening to them.
• the station i normally listen to interrupted the decemberists with a run of 5 techno remixes. too. early.
• rob thomas. no. i'm not kidding. am thinking of filing a musical restraining order.
• sugar ray. i would have forgotten about him if he hadn't hosted some vh1 countdown special a few years back. but why is he still on my radio?
• OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN. i hate grease. i've always hated grease. it's the movie/musical equivalent of 'the dip' from who framed roger rabbit? - have seen the stage version too many times to count (that's what happens when you date an, ahem, "actor"...and i use those quotes for FULL effect.) that new grease reality show? hate it. so, when i hear 'hopelessly devoted to you' on my radio at 8:45 before my coffee (shut up. i know it's decaf.) i become very, very ornery.

also:
last nite while working job #2 i was talking to a coworker of mine who is constantly being asked if he's gay. if you know me, you know this: i love the gay men. (this will be addressed in a future post when i highlight the brilliance of manchattan, run by my best friend and his three friends-- until then, check out the link.) so, anyway. i was talking to this coworker who is constantly puzzled by this line of questioning. so, he asked me to make him a list of reasons why people might think he's gay. clearly, i have a penchant for making lists, so i gladly accepted the assignment. it didn't take me very long (coworker, "get back to me in an hour." me, "will have it for you in 15 minutes.") and once i gave it to him, i immediately felt guilty. would it hurt his feelings? had i been too harsh? he reassured me that he wasn't offended; in fact he agreed with most of my observations (it's had to argue with facts, such as 'favorite movie is a knight's tale.) and, besides: he owns a hello, kitty! t-shirt. methinks he brought this upon himself.

video killed the radio star (but made it possible for us to remember what he looked like)

mini-list of bands that i forgot existed until i heard them on the radio this week:

• everclear (a boy once pre-broke up with me by emailing the lyrics to one of their songs. something about a chair. it made me hate music for a long time. and email.)
• collective soul (quick. name one of their songs. HA.)
• bush (i swear to you, i totally forgot that gavin rossdale was once his own person, let alone part of a band.)
• matchbox 20 (i know. i'm radio stalked by rob thomas. he follows me from station to station -- even stations that shouldn't be playing him. and, granted, it's nice to know we have an institution to blame for his being famous. but who remembers the band? you remember rob thomas with santana. you remember him wearing a kilt to his own wedding. but you don't. remember. the band. except now that i'm thinking about it, i remember both of matchbox 20's album covers being mildly disturbing -- especially the first one, which looked like a picture of the lead singer from barenaked ladies. note: mb20 apparently released three albums. when was this?!)
• creed (methinks they're trying to forget their band ever existed as well.)
• eagle eye cherry (was it a band? was it a man? i won a free cd off the radio in 1999 and that's the one i chose. the only other one i remember being offered was, oddly enough, matchbox 20. so, in hindsight, it was wash either way.)
• barenaked ladies (they performed on letterman last week. they look exactly the same as they did 7 years ago. that's good for them. nice preservation skills.)
• sixpence none the richer (they had two hit songs that i can recall. one of them was a remake. that basically disqualifies you from having a place in musical history.)

disclaimer: i listen to this station 99% of the time and it plays none of the above, which means the above trip down memory lane happened in an extremely short and random period of time, which just goes to show that i have really bizarre radio karma. the radio gods are smirking.

oscarvaganza.

sadness.
the oscars have come and gone another year.
some initial thoughts, post-show:

• ryan gosling should sit in the front row of every awards show, regardless of whether he's nominated or involved in any way (i.e. the espys, nobel peace prize, etc.) he is that fantastic.
• it's fitting that three highest profiled winners gave three of the classiest speeches (helen, forest, martin); granted, they've had plenty of time to rehearse.
• great dresses: penelope, helen, kate, reese, jada, rachel.
• not-so-great dresses: kirsten, anne, beyonce.
• six reasons to watch the oscars: george, ken, gael, ryan, marky mark and clive.
• one more: no brad pitt.
• dear oscar show producer: the new layout of awards? not conducive to the attention span. you need to hook in the viewers who aren't sure they want to be watching in the first place. categories like 'art direction' are not the way to do that (no offense to the art direction nominees -- but i realize i am in the minority in terms of viewers who care.) start with a bang (always have george clooney open the show or ensure that whoever wins the first award will do/say something incredibly outrageous/thought-provoking.) we like action. even if it revolves around hundreds of people who sit for 4 hours.
• ryan seacrest: he. is. pointless.
• things that have worn out their welcome: MONTAGES, kirsten's bangs, barbie hair.
• things that are funny: meryl streep's glare, the tuneful ode to comedy, jennifer hudson's bolero jacket, interviewers who attempt to ask serious questions on the red carpet (lisa ling, i am talking to you. we know you're smart. this is not the forum in which to prove it.)

caffeination, under god.

i took a quick inventory of items that are currently sitting on or around my desk, and the results are mildly puzzling...in that i'm not certain how many of said items came to rest in my possession. i've decided to give up coffee/caffeine for lent, so this in fact may be a hallucination, due to the heavy withdrawal symptoms i'm experiencing. seriously. no caffeine makes you feel like crap. and look like crap, as i've noticed during my infrequent pausings at a mirror.

my teeth itch. and i find myself squinting alot, probably because i'm on the verge of exhaustion-induced collapse.

i thought long and hard about what to abstain from for lent, and coffee seemed like a smart choice: it's definitely something i would miss, and would have to consciously think about avoiding. i don't think i quite realized the depths of my dependence until wednesday, when i experienced excrutiating headaches and tremors (no kidding. it was like 'house', without the interns.) my mom suggested gradually cutting out the caffeine; clearly i did not take that advice to heart, and have been paying for it ever since. also, i think god might be smiting me for making such an assinine decision. he generally seems to reward intelligence, and i'm pretty far removed from that line of thinking at the moment.

have had 4 cups of tea today. my body is pissed.

anyway. back to the random accrual of items on my desk:

• one package of organic creamy butternut squash soup. this is not mine. it is nadia's, who likes to taunt me with organic foods and 'live cultures' and fruits that have been dried. terror.
• a poorly constructed, child-sized wizard's hat. it is posited jauntily on my monitor, a merlinian air about it.
• the name tag of an attractive guy that attended one of our company events.
• 2 giant stalks of bamboo that threaten to impede my view of the computer monitor. i like them. it's like working in the jungle.
• half eaten cinnamon chip scone. i tried to give it away but no one wanted it. before it was half eaten, obviously.
• august 2005 issue of VOGUE. i think someone was cleaning and thought it was mine. madonna is on the cover and her skirt looks like the wonder bread package.
• apple core. because i'm too lazy to walk 30 feet to the garbage can.
• 4 boxes of blank name badges. they're incredibly old and dusty and have lost most of their adhesive backing (i know this because i put one on yesterday when a co-worker referred to me by the wrong name.) they too should be dumped along with the apple core.
• a mug containing an obscene amount of lollipops. they are my coffee patch. they may also be the reason for the teeth-itching.

lunch.

hermitine's day

the fifth of my twelve new year's resolutions was to go on a date before the beginning of february. this (kind of) happened, but the process was so awkward and annoying that i've decided new year's resolution #13 shall be to enter into hermitude. in honor of resolution #13, the following mini-list details why i should not date. at least for now.

• i went on what i thought was a date, with someone who did not think we were on a date. possibly twice.
• the date prior to that was with a guy who kept referring to me as 'dude' - clearly an expectation i would never be able to meet.
• i recently received an email from an ex-boyfriend, whom i have not seen/spoken to in 5 years, detailing his seemingly perfect life with more exclamation points than usweekly. it makes me sad to think that i've dated someone with such poor attention to punctuation. my taste is questionable at best.
• i did something in the not-so-distant past that i cannot mention for discretionary reasons. but, suffice it to say, my dating privileges should be revoked until further notice.
• i used to go to this nearby cafe nearly everyday for lunch. a barista asked for my number at one point. he called. i never called him back. i saw him a few weeks after that. i told him that i had been extraordinarily busy (truth) and that he should call again. he did. i never called him back (i = asshole.) i had to stop going to that cafe for fear of seeing him. cut to 5 months after that: i stopped into a random deli one afternoon for lunch. guess who was working there. at that point, my dating kharma gave me a hearty bitch slap. i'm still recovering.
• i once broke up with someone in a greeting card. accidentally.
• and i once dated someone for 2 1/2 years (primarily) out of boredom. tragic.

so. happy valentine's day, hermits one and all.

ipod of DOOM

i'm fairly certain my ipod has it in for me.

it seems as if everytime i put it on the 'shuffle' setting it comes up with a playlist so emotionally masochistic that i find myself (a) crying, (b) immediately needing a drink, or (c) becoming incredibly confused as to how these songs appeared on my ipod to begin with. how does it know when i'm feeling vulnerable to the point of binge-level m&m consumption? how does it know that 'california' by joni mitchell will always, always make me wistful for a place that i've never even visited? some of the combinations cause such emotional pain, it's as if the ipod has interviewed all my former boyfriends to compile a list of ways to torment me. musical masochism? is that an actual affliction? doubtful. still, anything by phil collins causes physical pain and i'm almost certain it's not solely the cheesy lyrics.

does the ipod have musical intuition? it might. maybe it knows when i need something upbeat, something contemplative...something completely ridiculous. it's very indulgent, the ipod. it doesn't feel the need to change my mood; it merely enhances it. it's not psychiatric advice; it's peer pressure.

(also, and completely separate: i'm convinced that elton john is ipod-stalking me. 'tiny dancer.' everytime i turn it on. how the hell does that happen? and what the hell is a 'pirate smile' anyway?)

what are you doing? looking for my talent.

i like tv. i've always liked tv. i like reruns. i love tv on dvd -- it combines two of my favorite things: staying home & sitting on the couch for hours and tv. i think there are a lot of excellent shows on tv right now: friday night lights, heroes, lost, the office, house.

studio 60 on the sunset strip is not one of these shows.

here's the thing: i have deep-seated love for aaron sorkin. i'm actually watching sports night as i type this. i'm watching sports night because prior to this i watched an episode of studio 60... and it made me so upset at the state of sorkin's misguided intentions that i had to watch something that reminded me of a time when he was smart and witty and not quite so sorkin-centric. s60 is painful. absolutely painful. and the thing is, the parts are clearly superior to the whole. matthew perry? good. bradley whitford? good. nathan corrdry? good. aaron sorkin? good. there have been a lot of theories floating around as to why the show is less than watchable (too much focus on the poorly written sketches; too many sorkin self-referential plotlines) and i can't pinpoint the exact reason, but i know one thing: it. is. painful. all of the men are idiots (why is bradley whitford stalking amanda peet?) and the women are either painfully self-righteous or painfully bland/underwritten. obviously, sorkin's shows have always left some sort of morality tale in their wake, but never this poorly organized or executed. sports night and west wing both tackled race, politics, drugs, etc. -- often quite heavy handed. but it was always contextual; you rarely felt that it was thrown in to make you feel inferior or to "ponder."

maybe it's the hype that is sinking s60. clearly sports night was pre-hype (it was eventually the buzz-builder for ww and s60) and west wing lived up to the hype (for the majority of its run. so what's the problem here? mini-list of reasons why studio 60 is ridiculously bad:

• it's only been 2 hours since the show ended and i can barely remember what happened
• not nearly enough timothy busfield -- he handles the sorkinian dialogue like a champ
• sports night was brilliant because it showed why the characters -- not the fake show -- were worth investing in. it's about the people. no one cares about the s60 characters. they're annoying.
• d.l. hughley is hilarious. and they never give him an opportunity to do anything remotely funny. it's like having a bmw and using it as a planter.
• the character of harriet is horr-i-ble. HORRIBLE. nothing against sarah paulson, but her character is terribly written, terribly positioned in the plot. she's not a likable character, but the plot makes you feel guilty for hating her. not fair, plot. if you want me to like your characters, then DON'T WRITE THEM CRAPPILY. hugh laurie's character on house is a wretched man, but he's written so damn well that you can't help feeling enhanced while watching. s60 has no such characters.
• is it a comedy? is it a drama? is it a romance? i'm not saying it can't be a combination, but it needs to have some semblance of self to begin with.
• how did amanda peet become the least annoying person on the show? i started out hightly suspect of her 'jordan mcdeere', certain she would be the show's downfall, but she's become the only character with any sort of relatable traits.
• finally: the background noise is too loud. but maybe i'm just getting old.

distractavision.

george stephanopoulos just popped up on my screen following this. his head pretty much takes up the whole television screen. and he's very tan. now barack is on! love him. his blue tie is very smart and slyly political. some caption under his name contained an exclamation point. heh. am fairly certain whoever is in charge of graphics is going to get canned. charlie gibson looks cold, but obama looks like he could stand there all night and then some, making brilliant point after brilliant point. he's also going to be on gma tomorrow morning. my good intentions are telling me to get up and watch but my body is just laughing at the notion. also, diane sawyer? she's got to be the most fascinating woman on tv. and she's married to mike nichols, who has an oscar, a dga, emmys, golden globes, and SEVEN tony awards. seven. tony awards. unreal. i'm fascinated. their collective brilliance is astounding.

anyway.

oh, also: i'd like to buy ryan phillippe some new facial expressions. and a haircut. or maybe a wig.

i started out ready to write about something, but i've been completely distracted by the television. they also just showed d. cheney, posited behind the president during the speech, and looking eerily like this guy. i really can't remember why i'm typing... as my mom would say, 'must have been a lie.'

i'm madly in love with you and it's not because of your brains or personality...

oh, oscar. it makes me happy that you heard my heartfelt plea; today's nominations were a testament to our friendship. yes, there are a few disappointments (not enough love for 'children of men'; peter o'toole?) but, as i previously mentioned, you played your cards right. 'little miss sunshine'!; ryan gosling!; nobradpitt! -- i could go on and on. in addition to the aforementioned happiness, i'll mini-list my top 5 favorite moments from this morning's announcement:

1. no best picture nomination for 'dreamgirls'. i enjoyed the movie (it's a good movie musical; it's a decent movie) but in no way thought it was bp worthy.
2. paul greengrass for best director. 'united 93' was an incredibly painful, painfully incredible film. this was an excellent use of a nomination, for a film that no one necessarily wanted - but absolutely needed - to see.
3. mark wahlberg. seriously -- marky mark? love it.
4. costumes for 'marie antoinette'. obviously 'devil wears prada' was a given in this category (hello, shout-out.) but the costumes in 'marie antoinette' are practically a lead character.
5. adriana barraza. it's no secret that i was less than enamored with 'babel' (see above reference to brad) - still, it was impossible not to be affected by barraza's emotional, tragic storyline. she was the sole reason to see this film.

dear oscar:

i am an award show fiend. specifically: you. oscar sunday has long been my favorite evening of the year. but not too long ago (2000) we began a feud that, i'm sad to say, has increased in intensity throughout the years. you may remember that in 2000 russell crowe won for best actor...for gladiator. he won you for grunting and fighting computer animated tigers. for grunting and fighting the air. but as much as i don't care for crowe, my shock/anger/nausea/incredulity couldn't even be aimed at him. someone told him to fight that 'tiger'; he was just doing his job. and someone told him to fight that 'tiger' because they knew it'd be bait. bait for the golden boy. thus my disdain went higher. much higher. it went to you, oscar. it pained me to see our long-standing romance turn sour, but that's exactly what happened. in the years to come i would have to sit through shows that rewarded halle berry. then charlize theron. renee zellweger. i can feel phyiscal pain having to type that out. sadness. despair. yes, you had some redeeming moments (clooney. hoffman. cooper. harden.) but -- nothing for scorsese? crash as 'best picture'? how was this possible? why was this happening to us? for as long as i could remember, i would pour through the world almanac, drinking in the list of winners past...reveling at how many times meryl and kate won, or what year 'it happened one night' took the top four honors. but all that was a distant memory now. i loathed your history, oscar. it was forever tainted.

however.

i am a very forgiving person.

so i shall mini-list the top 6 things you, oscar, must do to regain my love and affection:

1. nominate ryan gosling for half nelson. this is what we refer to as a 'long shot', but if you comes through for me here, i'd be willing to consider all debts paid.
2. a win for helen mirren. closest thing to a 'lock', but i need to see it in writing. ask annette. she knows. am pretty sure she's not speaking to you either.
3. babel cannot win for 'best picture'. when brokeback mountain lost last year i considered disowning you. a win for babel would send me into an oscar-free, hermit-esque existence. i don't care if the globes are doing it...being your own person!
4. matt damon must appear someplace prominent in the telecast. mostly because he's pretty. also because he almost always looks like he just heard a really filthy joke. love that.
5. nominate children of men for 'best picture' and/or clive owen for 'best actor'. it's funny/heartbreaking/depressing/hopeful/ridiculously realistic. the amount of brilliance encompassed by that film is nearly overwhelming. it's a big, fat anarchaic diamond.
6. nononononononobradpittnonononononononononononononono. no.

that's it, oscar. i'm a simple girl. i hope you're listening.

smitten.

if i could marry a beverage, it would be coffee. i briefly considered my options this morning: martini, beer, juice (meh.), tea; thoughts inevitably returned to the tried and true mug of brown water waiting patiently for me on my desk. no matter your mood, coffee will satisfy you. feeling ornery? grab a latte, sure to soothe. just finished playing a game of tennis after months of being sedentary and, essentially, inert? iced coffee -- cream, no sugar. it is a staple. it is a constant. it is the crutch on which i lean to get through the day. if you think i'm kidding, witness my mid-day caffeine-withdrawal hand tremor, or my penchant for mugs. things that i love about coffee: the taste; the color (i own a skirt the exact hue of a vanilla latte); the SMELL. i love that i can almost, literally, hear it say 'good morning!' when i pull it from the refrigerator. and i love, love, love that it's one of the very few socially acceptable at-any-meal-at-any-time drinks. (martinis for breakfast? careful. juice for dinner? pansy.) coffee has been a friend and a mentor. i would not be where i am today without coffee. it's strong, it's robust. it's dependable. it's always good. it's the george clooney of beverages.

transformers...for girls!

i hate getting to work and gradually realizing that the outfit i've chosen for the day is less than stellar. or, even worse, uncomfortable. it happens most often on days when i don't pre-think my outfit (i usually have some sort of dream during the previous night's sleep wherein i choose my clothes for the day) and today is one of those days. it's getting to the point where i want to drive home and change my clothes (something that's been done in the past), burn them, and start from scratch. i can feel the uncomfort rising. new life plan: invent machine that allows for on-the-spot wardrobe changes. said machine will also fold laundry and organize closet. and make my coffee. and dust. and change the oil in my car. and take me shoe shopping. when not in use, it will fold up into a compact that i keep in my purse. i love you, wardrobatron.

he didn't have a barcode so i bought kix instead.

i was shopping yesterday, looking for cereal and possibly some snacks (snacks!) when i found myself meeting the same (cute) guy in every aisle. i dream-scenarioed (read: hallucinated) that we were shopping for cereal together. it is apparent that i have maxed out on the crazy, being that i was trolling for mates in a grocery store. who does that? hungry people.

before we begin...

there's a good chance i'll decide that starting this site was not the smartest use of my time (12:53 AM). this may in fact be the only post. for the time being, let's think of it as a limited edition...only without the resale value and prestige. (note: i was presumptuous in the use of 'let's'. i was referring to the cat & i, but she just left the room for animatronic catnip and some tissue paper.)

mini-list for today -- 'things that i greatly disdain, followed by one thing i adore, so as not to appear completely cantankerous'

* misspellings (in general, but specifically on menus and signs/public postings)
* the smell of wet peanut butter
* people who take your coffee order, repeat said order back to you, then proceed to muck it up
* poorly written children's books
* poorly made movies
* the word 'special'
and finally, i adore
* my niece, who at 2 & a half has a shoe habit that rivals my own