Tell me if you see anything unusual in this screen grab from my Facebook homepage this evening (click to enlarge). I'll give you a hint: it has nothing to do with Duane Reade.
It's the title of this post. Just give up.
That's right. According to Facebook, people I may know include Nathan Thomas, friends with Anthony P. G. Berger, and Joe Rogan, host of Fear Factor. Obviously I clicked on Mr. Rogan immediately because this sparked my interest. Do I have a mutual friend with Joe Rogan? Here is what I found:
Do you know Joe?
8 friends?! You hosted a show where people won trips to Las Vegas based on how many inches of cow rectum they were willing to digest on national TV and I literally have 719 more Facebook friends than you. Congratulations, Joe. Evidently friends are not a factor for you. You must be the most miserable human to interact with face-to-face. When your friends want to hang out, do you make them walk barefoot through a tank of hypodermic needles and then feed them a pizza topped with coagulated blood and giraffe tongues? Is that why you're so lonely? Good lord, that gig messed you up.
Aside from your Fear Factor psychological trauma, though.. UFC (Color Commentator)? Seriously? You get ONE line from the resume that goes on your Facebook page and you're going with UFC Color Commentator rather than Fear Factor or NewsRadio? No wonder Brooke Burns won't accept your friend request. You are the Balthazar Getty of reality show hosts.
Given the fact that we have zero mutual friends and that this is clearly a fake Facebook account, I am curious as to why Facebook has suggested that we know each other. Has Facebook been pushing Joe Rogan on anyone else? Please let me know. I'm probably going to lose 12 minutes of sleep over this once I'm done writing this post.
Update: I now have 6 followers and 14 votes in my poll! Is this what being Justin Bieber feels like? I’m going to resist the urge to compare myself to Kurt Cobain and shave my head. Shaving my head sounds pretty good right now, though, because according to weather.com we're experiencing "suffocating heat" and, as I’ve mentioned, I don’t have air conditioning. Summer is the devil's playtime, and I'm the kid to whom he's giving an atomic wedgie in the sandbox. As it is, I sweat like Ruben Studdard chasing a Mr. Softee truck after a steam bath, so you can imagine how disgusting I am during the months of July and August.
Additional update: I am experimenting with the Turbie Twist I received in a white elephant gift exchange and wearing it while I type this. So, um, I look like this:
but minus the makeup, perfectly placed curl, and smile that suggests someone is holding a gun to my back. Also, my Turbie is white with pink polka dots.
Anyway, my fury with the summer and the fact that I've made a resolution to blog at least once a week has led me to write Part II of Things That Are the Worst, as promised (to view Things That Are the Worst: Part I, click here). 2011 is the summer of the sequel anyway, right?
Things That are the Worst: Part II
1)When people say that this is "the summer of the sequel." I want to roundhouse you people in the throat, because every summer is the "summer of the sequel." In fact, every year is the year of the goddamn sequel. Just because it's alliterative, doesn't make it a good headline. Nor does it make it true. Just because I ate eggplant for dinner, doesn't make 2011 the summer of the eggplant. I eat eggplant all the time. Congrats, summer, for giving me another reason to hate you.
Did I mention Kirsten Dunst's stupid red hat?
2)The movie Elizabethtown. Oh man.. this movie was awful. My friend Kelly let me hang out in her air conditioned apartment while she was at the beach with her family on Saturday, and I wanted to watch a movie I hadn't seen yet. I happened to have my most recently received Netflix DVD, Catfish, with me so I watched that first and it was AMAZING. Also, the filmmakers are a smokeshow triumvirate. Go rent it right now. Anyway, I still wasn't ready to leave the AC so I sorted through Kelly's DVDs for a movie I hadn't seen yet. I knew that both Alec Baldwin and Paul Schneider were in Elizabethtown and I have a mad crush on both Jack Donaghy and Mark Brandanaquits so I decided to give it a whirl. Following Catfish with Elizabethtown was like following a week in Bermuda with a weekend in the Wisconsin Dells. Disappointment is inevitable. Also, Alec Baldwin was in it for about 2 seconds and Paul Schneider had mutton chops. Why was the movie terrible? Orlando Bloom's American accent. Kirsten Dunst's southern accent. Kirsten Dunst's presence. Susan Sarandon's awkward tap dancing/comedy routine at her husband's memorial service. The plot.
It tries to be Garden State and fails harder than a Paula Abdul sobriety test. I'm not sure that an unpopular shoe design is really a billion dollar mistake. I think that probably happens all the time, right? I don't think it earns a cover of Forbes magazine with the headline "Fiasco of the Century" or whatever the hell it said. I also don't think it merits wanting to kill yourself. Speaking of which, duct taping a kitchen knife to an excercise bike is the stupidest way to kill yourself. Even if Judy Greer hadn't called you and interrupted your suicide attempt, Orlando Bloom, it probably wouldn't have worked anyway because your sternum/ribs would have provided enough resistance to shift the knife's position in the duct tape. Then, you'd probably end up with just one stab in the chest and a mess on your hands. However, I would have been happy to eat my words had that worked out in the beginning and you saved me an hour and a half of a shit movie.
3) Shoes that look like feet. And the people who wear them. Go back to the tree canopy you came from.
4) Recent law school grads. I was at a bar a couple of weeks ago and met two people who had recently graduated from law school. When they told me they were lawyers, I said "Oh, that's cool," and should have frozen time to walk over to the bar and put money down on what they were going to say next because I would have made $20 on their response (and promptly spent it on drinks, being the irresponsible bachelors-degree-holder that I am): "Ugh, don't ever go to law school." For some reason, everyone who went to law school feels the need to tell everyone else to never make the same mistake they did. Well, no, it wasn't a mistake for them, but it will be for you. This doesn't apply to adults who are happy making bank, carrying cool briefcases, and saying things like "no further questions" while fantasizing that they're Sam Waterston. It's just the recent grads who are reveling in a state of self-importance because they put in a few more years at school and now they get to be an "esquire" which kind of sounds like someone in the feudal period who would have had a serf or two doing their bitch work. Umm.. yeah, you're right. If going to law school makes you a pretentious dickweed, thanks for the warning.
5) People who change their Facebook status 20 times/day. I really don't want to have to sift through your constant life updates to find unflattering recently tagged pictures of people I don't like before they untag them. Time is of the essence. I hate you even more if your status involves emo song lyrics. No one feels that many different emotions in one day. If you do, paint a watercolor about it. Get off my newsfeed.
6) Smudging/chipping your nail polish right after you thought it was dry. This obviously just happened.
7) Girls who dress as slutty [fill-in-the-blank] for Halloween. Ok, I'll admit freshman year of college I wore a slutty Hermione costume purchased from a website that probably also sold nipple clamps and Plan B, but freshman year was a practice round at life. Puhlease, I didn't even have bangs yet. Everyone knows you're supposed to get ugly for Halloween. This year I went to a bar where I'm sure at some point a slutty Sarah Palin was making out with a slutty Chilean miner on top of the bar in exchange for tequila shots out of test tubes, and I was dressed as the Monopoly Man. You know, ladies, it's hard to compete when you have a monocle, moustache and bushy white eyebrows. On October 31 every year, can we just agree to level the playing field and alllll be fugly pieces for one night?
8) The "Christmas Shoes" song. Speaking of holidays... this song is just the worst. You know, there are just too many Christmas songs about being happy and not enough about people dying of terminal illnesses, right? WTF.
The video is kind of the worst too. It looks like it was filmed with a FlipCam in a Bass Pro Shop in Akron, Ohio. I even hate the way that guy is chewing his gum. He looks like a high school wrestling coach. Wait, he's supposed to be the one singing? I thought a black guy sang this. Oh shit.. I'm looking up the band to see the lead singer's ethnicity and apparently a movie was made based on this "hit song" and Rob Lowe starred in it. Wtf, Rob? Were you on a bad acid trip and hired one of Santa's elves as your manager? He was probably just a homeless dwarf in the right place at the right time. For God's sake, you were Sam Seaborne, man. Anyway, back to the music.
You couldn't find a cuter kid for this video? His teeth look like they were meant for opening cans of Old Style for his daddy on the front porch while shooting at opossums. I also find it unsettling to hear this singer's voice behind the kid mouthing the words. Creepy. Umm.. that kid totally scammed the high school wrestling coach, by the way. He threw a handful of pennies on the table ... he was definitely banking on $30 worth of sympathy from the fool behind him in line. 'Tis the season to be a buck-tooth little snot rag apparently. Oh, wow, those are the shoes? This whole time I imagined a pair of conservative black Pilgrim-ish pumps. Those shoes look like a carpet bag. Notice how the kid goes into the hospital and we never actually see his mom meet Jesus. He's probably selling those to a blind lady for a $10 profit. Congrats, kid. You may actually be a worse human being than Balthazar Getty.
I conclude with a letter to summer and all that is terrible in the world:
Reminder: Just one more week to vote in the WiFi-naming poll!
I'm not feeling particularly inspired this evening but as I have a couple of friends in town this weekend, if I don't post tonight I won't post until Sunday, and I'd hate for all my loyal followers to think I've abandoned them. Well, still just one loyal follower (thanks again, Nathan! also, thanks for the phrase "softer than a curry shite." it's my new favorite) but a girl can dream!
Anypoop, as I wrapped up my four years at Notre Dame, on one particularly booze-fueled day during senior week, I sent the following text to a friend former friend:
Hi! It's Mariel! Just wanted to say go fuck yourself. Yep, you're the worst. Well, just wanted to get that off my chest before graduation.
Needless to say, this was detrimental to our friendship but instrumental in making me a texting legend. So the phrase "yep, you're the worst" became part of our colloquial. Now, since I don't have anything I'm itching to write about this evening, I'm just going to tell you a few other things that are the worst.
1) Penn Station. Maybe it's because I associate it with my frustration to move out of my grandma's house when I was commuting from Long Island and saving up to live in the city. Maybe it's because of the heartbreak that I felt one too many times upon running down the stairs, watching the train doors close, and waiting another 2 hours for the 3:19 am to Port Washington. Maybe it's because once I missed the 3:19 am and woke up next to a homeless person without my shoes on. Who knows? It's the worst. Period.
2) Balthazar Getty-- We've already talked about the fact that Balthazar Getty aka Tommy Walker is the devil but I just found out a little background info indicating failure is in his DNA. His father J. Paul Getty III was kidnapped and held for a $3 million ransom in 1973. J. Paul's grandfather (Balthazar's great-grandfather) was oil magnate Jean Paul Getty. Jean Paul and his son insisted that the ransom was a hoax and refused to pay it. They received JP III's hair and SEVERED EAR in the mail. Is that proof enough for you, idiots? Then, JP III gets married at the age of 18 and Jean Paul the Grandpa disinherits him for marrying too young! JP found a girl who was ok with whispering sweet nothings into a gaping hole and seized the day... and now - after the trauma of getting Van Gogh'd by the Italian mafia - his dick of a grandpa takes away his inheritance. I guess the gene for being the worst skips 2 generations because Balthazar seems like Jean Paul, Jr. to me. P.S. Jean Paul probably would have disinherited Balthazar for that hideous eyebrow and his ineptitude at charades.
3) When uninformed people claim to have a political stance but are really just repeating what they've heard other people say so that they can keep up with things that really matter.. like the Kardashians. I remember when President Obama was elected and my newsfeed was bombarded by 8th graders at my high school whining "Ughh can't w8 4 a socialist govermint." You don't even know what that means. And your parents are rednecks. Also,if you're getting your news from The Onion, please never operate heavy machinery or donate to a sperm bank.
4) Not having air conditioning in my apartment. I'm sweating like Louie Anderson in the home stretch of a 5K charity walk.
Well, I'll leave you with that image. Until next time, kiddos.
Well, folks, we've got a week of rain here in the Big Apple which means it's bloggin' weather. I've got a James-Taylor-inspired Pandora station happening as I write this, so I'm ready to make up for lost time. I have to start off with a shout out to Nathan in Ireland, my blog's first follower other than, well, myself. You've officially doubled my readership and the number of continents I'm reaching so 'tanks a bunch.
I've recently discovered that Brothers & Sisters is on instant play on Netflix which is a game changer in my mission to catch up on movies that I should have seen but haven't yet. One of my brother's friends lent me Amelie and The Royal Tenenbaums because as I impressed him with my breadth of film knowledge (why yes, I can distinguish between the ginger child actor in Love Actually and Freddie Highmore), he told me about his 5 favorite talkies and these two were not yet crossed off my cinephile bucket list. The verdict? Loved Amelie, fell asleep for the third time during Royal Tenenbaums. I've decided that like potato salad, no matter how many times I try Wes Anderson I'm just not going to like him. I kind of liked Rushmore (well, mostly I liked the inclusion of "Ooh La La" by The Faces) so maybe there's still hope for Wes Anderson (and potato salad.. like one infused with bacon or something).
Anyway, my brother's friend's drunken enthusiasm for me to watch these movies inspired me to use my Netflix subscription to continue my film education, filling the void that has become more apparent as I reach my college graduation's one year anniversary. Now, I'm limited to the instant watch because I keep forgetting to bring Casino home from work, so I've now saved up 49 critically-acclaimed flicks in the instant queue. Then lo and behold, what does Netflix recommend based on my interest in emotional, family-based, often-politically-themed, wine-fueled television dramas but my old friend, Brothers & Sisters. How do they know?! Sorry, Schindler, but you just got bumped from the top of my list. Apocalypse Now? Try Apocalypse later. The 400 Blows? You said it. Make room for the Walker family.
Right now I'm on episode 6 which begins with Nora (the Walker family matriarch, played by Sally Field) and Kitty (her emaciated youngest daughter, played by Calista Flockhart) waking up during the night to the sound of someone breaking into the house. I know immediately that it isn't a stranger but someone who knows them because if you knew the Walkers, you would stop at nothing to get inside that house and be part of their family. Believe me, if I were a fictional character, I would tunnel my way into the wine cellar with a spork, hide in one of their 13 spare bedrooms (Nora Walker makes bin Laden's digs look like a suite at the Dogpatch, U.S.A. Super 8), and then during the night hypnotize one of them into marrying me (which I'm pretty sure is exactly what Rebecca did once Justin found out she wasn't actually his half-sister... draaaa-muh). Turns out, the supposed intruder was Tommy Walker, the eldest of Nora's sons who ran away to Mexico after embezzling funds from their family produce business, Ojai Foods. Tommy's character is a grade-A douche bag. The only thing I hate more than Tommy is the name of the actor who plays his character: Balthazar Getty. And the only thing I hate more than that is the scar on his eyebrow. Fuck you, Balthazar.
Here are the reasons why the Walkers rule:
1. They have the most intense family dinner parties at least once-a-week, to my knowledge (I'm not sure what their schedules are like during the summer hiatus). About 45 minutes into the episode, they've all gathered at Nora's house for a beautifully prepared dinner that won't be eaten because Rebecca thinks Justin is too distracted by med school to focus on their wedding (seriously, where are his priorities? maybe he's distracted by the fact that for six months he thought you were his sister), Scotty thinks Kevin is pressuring him to adopt a baby, oh and Kitty has cancer. Sarah is just awesome all the time. Even though she kind of looks like a duck, she still scored this hot French guy, and you know why? Because she's a Walker. Anyway, at this point about half the table throws down their napkins and storms off, and the other half...
2. ... grabs another bottle of wine. Which leads me to reason #2 why the Walkers dominate: they are drunk all the time (yes, Calista Flockhart, "sips" will get you shitfaced if your diet consists of apple skins and chewing on a rawhide bone). The Walker family expanded Ojai Foods with a new business: Walker Landing, a winery using Ojai's grapes. Their family alone could make the new venture profitable with a Mother's Day brunch. How do you think everyone gets the nerve to speak their minds at the dinner party after a 45-minute (excluding commercials) lead-up? Wine. How do they calm their nerves after storming away from the table/waiting awkwardly for someone to pass the garlic knots? Wine. And how do they get their children to eat their vegetables? Wine.
Did I mention her dinner parties
are the BEST?!
3. Rob Lowe.
4. Besides my own mom (who never lets me step foot on a plane without a couple of mini Tanquerrays in tow), Nora Walker is the best mom ever. Sally Field positively steals the show. She gets arrested for smoking a doobie. She tells her kids when she gets laid. Her love interests include both Danny Glover and Chevy Chase. And she throws the booziest, scariest dinner parties ever. She is a domestic primetime powerhouse. Besides being a badass, though, (like my own mom) she is totally nurturing and adorable. I cried the first two episodes of season 4, then almost made it through the third without shedding a tear, and then Sally Field steps in for 2 minutes with her gardening gloves and turkey meatloaf telling Uncle Saul about how Kitty has cancer and forget it, it's over. Waterworks.
5. They will kick your family's ass at game night:
Tommy, of course, embarrasses the family name.
But I would watch a Jurassic Park re-make with Kevin Walker playing every character.
Now I just found out this week that B&S has not been picked up for another season, so if my readership expands beyond Nathan and myself to the higher-ups at ABC, consider this my plea to keep this deliciously guilty pleasure on air. And if not, then I raise my glass to the Walkers and say farewell. I'll see you in syndication.
