A Comedy of Errors at the Eye Doctor

I wear contacts.

I am the only person in my family to suffer from any form of visual impairment.

A late bloomer into the world of vision correction, even I was a 20/20 kid up until my junior year in high school. I couldn't see the board in my AP History class so I ended up getting glasses that were only necessary when driving, going to the movies, or reading notes off of a chalkboard. Turns out, when you're 17, those are the bulk of your activities. So the glasses became a permanent fixture until my senior year when I finally got contacts. It took me half an hour to slide that first disk of plastic on to my uncooperative eyeball. Eyeballs prefer to be left alone and they don't take kindly to fingers being jabbed at them.

I've been perfectly content with my contacts for the last seven years and I only rarely wear my glasses. I hate glasses. When I was a kid, all I ever wanted were glasses, crutches and braces. I have no idea why. Most kids who were unfortunate enough to have all three probably had loftier goals than I. Glasses are nothing more than an obstruction. Granted they clear up your vision, but in doing so, they confine your line of sight to a small, rectangular box. In order to see everything in my range of vision, I have to move my head in circles, where un-bespectacled people can simply dart their eyes around. The lenses fog up if your head is warm or you breathe into a hot beverage. That is annoying. Suffice it to say, I never wear my glasses.

Until now.

I didn't want to have to wear my glasses again, but I had my reasons. They were twofold:

1. I ran out of contact lenses

2. My eyes began to develop some unsightly redness around the irises.

My overly concerned brother demanded that I describe the phenomenon to him...as if he could properly diagnose me. He is not a doctor. He is simply, like I said, overly concerned. Anyway, it resulted in this diagram I drafted with Microsoft Paint:

I broke down and scheduled an appointment with an eye doctor in Brooklyn. I felt like a grown up – choosing doctors, making appointments. These are grown up things. I didn't even call my mom first.

I arrive at the doctor's office eager to clear up the redness, order new contacts, and maybe even snag a pair of newer glasses that I would then proceed to never wear. The two ladies behind the glass counter laiden with pairs of glasses hailed from some sort of eastern European country.

"Vhat can vhe help you vith?" The bleached blonde Russian-esque lady asked. I told her I had an appointment - she checked me in, I filled out the forms, and waited for the doctor. Business as usual.

The doctor I ended up seeing was cordial, but lacked a certain bedside (or should I say rolly chair-side manner). She was quick and to the point. I suffer from some psychological inability to explain to people exactly what I want/feel in situations like this. So I sounded like a rambling idiot trying to tell her what was going on with my eyes. This also tends to happen when I get my hair cut. I blabber on about what I think my hair should look like, but I never actually manage to describe the picture in my head and I end up looking ridiculous.

She had no time for my witty quips (read: stupid optometry puns), so I locked it up and tried to follow all of her guidelines. I scampered off to the bathroom to try on the new pair of sample contacts she supplied me with. It was all downhill from there. I managed to successfully put one new contact in my eye and throw out the old one. On my next try I accidentally tossed out the NEW contact. I stared at it, sitting there on a pile of tissue in the waste basket, too stunned to make any rational decisions. I decided to throw out the other old contact and go back to the scary doctor to ask for a replacement.

“Excuse me. Hi, yes, I seem to have thrown out the new contact instead of the old one. I don’t know what came over me.”

She huffed, flipped her folder closed, and informed in a dead pan voice that she didn’t have any other pairs and that I should just put my old contacts back in.

Oh, you mean the ones I just tossed into the trash in order to destroy all evidence of my original folly? Sure, you got it. I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I’m an idiot and destroyed three of the four contacts she had left me in charge of. So I returned to the scene of the crime, popped out the one good lens I had and begrudgingly put my glasses back on.

I avoided her stern gaze as I left the office to finish things up with the Russian ladies. My new contacts were on their way, but my journey to healthy eyes was far from over.

Interesting Fact

If you are a white female with dark hair who happens to be wearing glasses, people will call you Sarah Palin.

Friends, strangers, miscellaneous bar patrons.

Not okay.

Just Say No to Reba

My brother's gchat response to my new HIMYM obsession:

Drew: I liked one ep once and told you about it and you went all reba on me

Drew likes the show Reba. Therefore he forfeits all credibility when discussing television.

Current behind the times obsession

This show is amazing and hilarious and wonderful and so many other positive descriptions. Granted, it came out while I was still in college, but I’m known for being a little stubborn when it comes to different types of movies and unfamiliar shows. I’d been told I’d like it, but it wasn’t until a co-worker actually placed the Season 1 DVDs in my hand that I gave it a shot.

Thank God.

The cast has perfect chemistry, Jason Segel is the cutest, funniest, Everyguy around, and they have not even cracked the surface of the vast well of humor and talent that is Neil Patrick Harris. I have met Ted, and I think everyone should get to know him very well.

Even the first thrumming beats of the peppy theme song send me into raptures. I watch as the oddly realistic snapshots flash across the screen and I settle in for 28 minutes of hilarity, charm, and pitch perfect story telling.

I would prefer if this New York-based show were actually filmed in the city rather than a soundstage somewhere in LA. But the way the writers tackle the fears, questions, insecurities, relationships, embarrassments, and over all unpredictability of the twenty-something urban-dweller more than compensates.

I’m only half way through the first season and already I’m smitten. As Barney would say, this show is going to be LEGENDARY.

Knowledge is one click away

I love the feature on the New York Times website that allows you to double click a word to get its definition. This may make me sound like an idiot – here comes the girl who needs a dictionary to read the newspaper. But I disagree…with myself. I think it shows a devotion to the written word and a desire to grasp every concept and meaning throughout a story. That or I just think it’s really handy.

We’ve all been there – you’re casually scanning an article about politics in the Times (yeah, I do that now) when you come across a word like Augean or imbroglio. Do any of you know what those words mean off the top of your head? I didn’t think so – you in the back, put your hand down.

The double click-definition feature makes for a much smoother read. In this fast-paced society, who has time to click open a new tab, go to Dicitionary.com, and physically type in the befuddling locution (SEE. I bet you wished you had the ability to double click some of THESE clunkers. Sadly, PanObs does not provide the hordes of readers with such an option)? I have things to do!...IMDb profiles to read, fall TV viewing schedules to devise, productivity to feign.

So the next time you’re perusing a story on the NYTimes website and you find yourself momentarily stumped, don’t be embarrassed! Just double click.

The Essentials

maybe it's time go to the store...

Fliying High like Vinnie Chase

I know, boys. I made the same face when I heard about this.

Virgin America and HBO have joined forces to bring us Entourage Air, a new promotion not only for the airline, but also the new season of Entourage.

Their non-stop flight to Vegas will now be Entourage-themed, complete with every amenity a movie star wannabe could ask for, such as "mood-lit cabins and the most advanced touch-screen entertainment system in the U.S." Each flight will be stocked with “noise canceling headphones, champagne, Godiva chocolates, Kiehl's Since 1851 personal products, Altoids and "Entourage Air" blankets and eye masks." That way it’s not a big deal if your group’s Turtle forgets to buy the four pairs of Bose headsets you need to travel in comfort. And we all know that blankets are just plain warmer and blindfolds block more light if they bear the logo of a hit TV show.

Is it just me or is this ridiculous? I am a huge Entourage fan, but this seems like a gargantuan gimmick to get people excited about the follow up to a lackluster fourth season. The disenchantment many fans suffered due to sub-standard story lines, coupled with the show’s longer than usual, strike-induced absence are obvious reasons for HBO to want to promote the hell out of it. But Entourage Air? Really?

I can’t understand why past television shows in need of a boost never thought of this…

Flying to Alaska? Why not fly "Northern Exposure Air"?
Making a quick trip to Dallas? Book your flight "Who Shot J.R.?" Class.

I mean, if they’re trying to promote their new non-stop flight to Las Vegas, why not make it "CSI: Air"? Where the aisles are lined with police tape, guests can solve a crime between take off and landing, and the cocktails and hors d’oeuvres are served in test tubes and on glass microscope slides.

During the inaugural flight on September 4th, the fifth season premiere of Entourage will be screened. I’ve only heard good buzz so far and I’m eagerly anticipating it (damn! If only I actually had HBO!). However, I do find it interesting that this advanced screening will take place 35,000 feet in the air where no one can share their opinions until they’re casino-bound 5 hours later.

Needless to say, when the Entourage boys fly to Vegas, they do so on a private jet. I guess any where they go is Entourage Class.

6th Avenue Fashion Plate

I’m pretty sure a girl yelled “I love your sandals!” at me today.

I know, I know. What else is new? Clearly I’ve become quite accustomed to people showering me with compliments on the street.

Here’s how it went down. I was trying to cross 6th Ave. on my way to work and this girl who was wheeling her bike to the corner of the street idles right in front of me, forcing me to re-route my path to get around her. Naturally, I was annoyed. She apologized and I replied with a short, “It’s okay.” I began to cross the street when I distinctly heard her bellow “I love your sandals!” I was quite surprised, although they are pretty cute sandals – gold, strappy, in the gladiator family. Was this her attempt to apologize once more for cutting me off? Or was she really struck by the beauty of my footwear and just had to let me know? Now I’m trying to think of possible insults that might rhyme with the aforementioned compliment…

Things I will do to avoid watching The Last King of Scotland

During the height of my James McAvoy obsession, I accidentally added The Last King of Scotland to my Netflix queue. Then I made the fatal mistake of not updating said queue. Surprise! I get this critically acclaimed downer in the mail. I’ve had it for three weeks now and I still haven’t gotten up the courage to watch it. Last night marked my most valiant attempt as I actually removed the DVD from its red sleeve and popped it into the DVD player…only to sit on the couch and never watch it. Here's a lsit of what I did instead:

Go to Pinkberry with Bills – Okay, so that wasn’t really in an attempt to avoid this dreary movie. It was more a desire to hang out with Kate, try real frozen yogurt for the first time, and walk the West Vill on a beautiful evening. The yogurt was a little tangy, but the company was just fine.

Watch the Olympics – I have to admit I do enjoy the Olympics more than I ever imagined. But I usually only watch because my roommate LOVES them and gets very inspired/emotional by the Morgan Freeman-narrated “Go World” Visa commercials. It’s typically on all the time in our apt. But last night I chose to watch some mens hurdling in order to postpone the cinematic Ugandan bloodbath for which I was not yet prepared.

Watch Pretty Woman for the 989,712, 673rd time – What’s a girl to do when she flips to TBS right when the shopping montage is about to begin? She sticks around, that’s what. I kept telling myself I’d only watch until those snotty sales ladies get schooled with Vivian’s “You work on commission, right? Big mistake. Big, huge.” But then the opera part rolled around, and the kissing on the lips part, and the George Costanza being a dick part. Before I knew it, the sultry first notes of “It Must Have Been Love” began to play and Julia Roberts and Richard Gere were rescuing each other on a fire escape. Forest Whitaker's Oscar winning performance would have to wait.


Watch Jaws 3 during the Pretty Woman commercials – Jaws 3 is hands down my favorite of the Jaws movies. Yes, the first one is the best by far and it embodied a new type of filmmaking. It’s classic early Spielberg, as well as one of the original box office blockbusters. But 3, ohhhh 3. Jaws -3D (its proper title…enough said, right?) has Dennis Quaid and heroic dolphins who save the day. It has a quasi-Sea World complete with an underwater viewing tunnel full of doomed spectators who are inevitably hunted by the vengeful shark. Where it severely lacks in the Chief Brody department (is it really a Jaws movie without the late, great Roy Scheider?), it more than makes up with cheesy, glass shattering, fake blood saturated, 1980’s special effects.

Seriously?

I've just learned that coverage of the Democratic National Convention begins on Monday, August 25th. In other words, the day after the Olympics end.

I'd be hard pressed to find two things I care about less: sports and politics.

Will it ever end?

Ribbons, and Hoops, and Leotards, Oh My!

Somebody please explain rhythmic gymnastics to me. I glanced up from my desk only to have my eyes glued to the wall-mounted television that’s constantly tuned to the Olympics. There was a girl flipping her small, bendy, sparkly leotard-clad body in and out of a hoola hoop. “This is an Olympic sport?” I cried. Yes. Apparently it is. Although no one in my office had any idea what it was.

The hoola hooper was followed by a similarly acrobatic girl slicing the air with what appeared to be a whip. I tore my gaze from the screen for just a moment and when I looked up again there were half a dozen whip toting girls prancing along the floor in perfect unison. Hoola hoops? Whips? What sort of competition is this? I was fairly certain that no gold medal is issued for best impression of a dominatrix, so I decided to do some research.

A quick trip to the NBC Olympics website informed me that these girls are rhythmic gymnasts and that the whips are in fact ribbons. I always wanted a Ribbon Dancer as a kid (remember the song in the commercial? “Ribbon Dancer, writing on the wall. Ribbon Dancer, toss it up and let it fall.” No?...okay, just me then). I should have told my Mom it was a surefire path to Olympic glory.

I love how as the weeks drag on, the Olympic games get weirder and weirder. They start off with swimming, running, and regular gymnastics. Beach volleyball’s as extreme as it gets early on. But by the last week we’ve got kyaking, rhythmic gymnastics, BMX racing, and myriad other sports that fall under the category of “Most People Didn’t Know They Were Even In the Olympics.”

So I guess rhythmic gymnastics is to regular gymnastics as synchronized swimming is to just plain old Michael Phelps-kicking-your-ass-swimming. Thank you SAT’s for providing me with a succinct, though rudimentary, way of summing this up.

Subway Samaritan? Not me.

Question. When you see someone on the street or the subway with their tag sticking out or toilet paper stuck to their shoe, do you tell them? Is it a violation of the New York City stranger on the street code? We generally like to keep to ourselves.

On the subway this morning I saw a very put together girl chatting with a Bluetooth sporting silver fox who I assumed was a co-worker. Or maybe I witnessed a slightly awkward post-coital train ride to work. She was wearing an uber fashionable, very now yet also 1960’s dress à la Joan Holloway. It was gray, fitted, and sinched with a wide belt. Dangling from the capped sleeve of this chic frock was the little black satin loop that secures it to the hanger.

I had an uncontrollable urge to point it out to her as if we were best buddies getting ready for a party together. But I stopped myself because I felt it would be weird. I’d have to remove a single iPod bud from my ear, tap her on the shoulder, interrupt her conversation and politely say “Excuse, me your little hanger loop thingy that no one ever really uses is hanging out.” I decided to keep it to myself.

If this were a Seinfeld episode I probably would have been arrested.

Veronica Maaaaaaaaaars

Rumors abound that a Veronica Mars movie is not as far out in space as we originally thought.

Okay, I had to use a space pun because that's what all the mags do when reporting on vmars.

A lot of prematurely cancelled shows end up fodder for the rumor mill when talk of a feature flick surfaces (ie. Arrested Development and Gilmore Girls). What makes this rumor unique is that two major parties required for the production of a vmars movie are apparently talking. You hear that? TALKING. Hooray. Vmars creator Rob Thomas had a little sit down chat with Kristen Bell and they're both INTERESTED in pursuing it. See? Talking and interested. Two very important words when it comes to having a crush or seeing a beloved TV show translated to the silver screen.

Of course, not everyone is a fan of this idea. There's always a risk that the movie will suck or they won't do the show justice. But this happens when any story we love is translated into a different form. You'll never get everyone to agree on the way Hogwarts looks different on screen or how Edward Cullen doesn't do justice to your imagination. I say as long as there's more of the story, more of Neptune, CA, more Wallace, more Lars Mars, and of course, more LOGAN ECHOLLS, then we're good to go.

My Summer Without Internet

Computers are like desk drawers. They’re functional, they hold lots of important things, and they’re easily accessible. Unfortunately, if you fill a desk drawer with too much crap, it’s likely not to function properly. This is the fate that befell my poor, overworked laptop. Overworked might be the wrong word, as that implies actual work. I use it to gchat, read about current obsessions like Mad Men and Twilight, and write the occasional blog post. The SilverBeast (as my enormous, silver Dell laptop is affectionately known since it first came out of the box) is not on it’s last legs, per se, but it can’t have that many legs left.
**By the way, as I wrote this paragraph I considered using a synonym for the word ‘silver’ instead of using it twice (variety! That’s what blogging is all about. Give the people what they want). I discovered that Microsoft Word offers ‘hoary’ as an appropriate alternative. Interesting. I did not know this was a word. And it sounds hilarious. Huzah! The rarely-used thesaurus that someone gave me when they switched offices (because really, who needs an actual hard bound Roget’s thesaurus when you can right click?) gets its day in the sun:

hoary, adj. old, aged, venerable, ancient; frosty, white; gray[ed]. See AGE.

I think all of those words apply to my computer. It’s three years old. That counts as ancient in the world of technology. And we learned a new word. Or you learned that I learned a new word, if in fact you were already aware of the aforementioned word.

I digress.

My computer exists merely to save documents, store photos, log on to the internet, and make creative birthday cards with Print Shop. That’s pretty much all I use it for. Apparently one computer can only hold so many old college papers and drunken photos, in addition to the entire contents of my iPod. In other words, my hard drive is too full. Upon digging into the properties menu that displays a breakdown of the way the hard drive is being used, I discover a pie chart that spells doom. 99% full. The tiniest slice of the pie indicates the available space, bringing to mind a choice Mitch Hedberg bit:

‘I went to a pizzeria, I ordered a slice of pizza, the fucker gave me the
smallest slice possible. If the pizza was a pie chart for what people would do
if they found a million dollars, the fucker gave me the “donate it to charity”
slice. I would like to exchange this for the “keep it!”’

The available space on my computer is definitely the “donate it to charity” slice. BOGUS. That’s what I have to say to that. This computer is huge. I mean, it’s almost obscene how big this desktop-disguised-as-a-laptop is. There is no way that I am the first person to fill this computer up. How can something so enormous be relied upon to hold so little? (that might be what she said). I can’t even carry it around without creating a divot in my shoulder, despite its cute red carrying case (instead of the trendy polka dot cases at Target that were way too small for the beast). This thing could crush one of those dainty Mac laptops the way it weighs down my thighs when I use it as it’s proper name implies (read: on my LAP). I begrudge the fact that a computer that weighs as much as a small child cannot hold its weight in information. It’s full. Of gigabytes or whatever. Full to the point of destruction.

So I can’t get on the internet or download songs or upload pictures or do any loading at all, other than loading the damn thing into the trash. I recently bought myself a snappy little external hard drive which cost me a pretty penny…10,000 pretty pennies to be exact. The need for all those pennies and my lack of a job throughout the glorious summer months forced me OFFLINE. So I’ve been out of the loop when it comes to the normal things one uses the internet for ie: e-mail, weather check ups, news gathering, etc. Not that I was ever really in the loop when it comes to news before the great computer meltdown of ’08, so my main problem was leaving the house without an umbrella. Now I’m back at work pulling in checks that are slightly higher than those issued to me by the government during my temporary unemployment. The irony is, now that I have the money to fix my computer, I spend all damn day staring at one at work.

Does Song Selection Matter?

The title of this post might lead you to believe that it is going to be about American Idol. Then again, if you're reading this you probably know me and remember that I think American Idol is lame. I am instead referring to subway musicians. Whether it's out of necessity or for creative freedom, various instrument-wielding travelers are likely to make an appearance on the subway. Giving money to people on the street or the subway is certainly a personal choice and I'm not trying to make light of those who need to make money in any way that they can. But a lot of people perform in the subway simply because they want a place to share their art (I saw a film about this at Slamdance two years ago, although I can't remember what it was called).

Anyway, I was on my way home from Union Square today and I heard someone start strumming a guitar. I rolled my eyes a little bit because often that can be really annoying. Subway time is me time and I tend to stay in my own world, said world typically involving a book and an ipod. But then I heard the song. It wasn't the bluesy fare like "My Girl" one usually hears performed on a subway car. It was Pink Floyd's "Time" from Dark Side of the Moon. Not just a great song, but one with particularly poignant lyrics. As I stood there letting the rumble of the train carry my thoughts away, I began to think about my life and what I'm doing and I how I feel like I'm wasting my time (these deep, pensive moments currently brought to you by my temporary unemployment situation). And then some guy starts playing this song with lyrics like:

You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

I found myself singing along. Okay, not in the vein of Rent's "Santa Fe" subway car number, but I was definitely mumbling along with this singer. Normally I don't give out money on the train (mostly due to the fact that I never have cash), but also because I don't want to just open up my purse and dig around for money in the middle of a crowd. I hope this doesn't make me a bad person -- it seems like a reasonable policy followed by many others. But the minute I heard the song I knew I was going to give this guy a buck. I should encourage myself to be more giving all around, but the song struck such a chord with me (no pun intended) and I was compelled to show some gratitude.

Progress?

Operation leave the house before nightfall: COMPLETE. Although I didn't get up until noon, but whatever. I think I felt like if I just kept on sleeping I wouldn't have to face the fact that I don't have a job (insert Ferris Beuller quote here: "I could be the Walrus. That still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car").

So I watched a little SATC (I've really been in the mood for some since the movie comes out on FRIDAY! can't wait). The only eps we have though are part of the Essentials Series: Breakups. So that kind of bummed me out to watch the cheating on Aidan and the Post-It Berger eps in a row. But then I got my shit in gear and applied for my old job at the bakery. It was kind of awkward because I don't know anyone who works there now...And I have to explain how I do have a job, only not in the summer and blah blah. Then I took a dress to the cleaners and inquired about having photos from the EMA Florida trip printed (EMA = Exponentially More Awesome). Look at me, running errands and being a grown up.

(Photo from EMA Florida Trip '08)

So that took about an hour and now I am back on my couch eating cheese and crackers and watching Curious George on PBS. Oh yes, you read that correctly. Curious Mother Fucking George. The cartoon. About a monkey. Who hangs out with a guy in a yellow suit. This is what my life has come to (when you take into account the fact that I am unemployed and don't have cable. That's like a double whammy). Of our 6 channels, 3 are judge shows, 2 are soap operas, and one is cartoon monkies. I chose the monkey. George is learning how to play golf and once he figures out that the goal is to get the lowest score, he decides that he just won't play at all and get a zero...thus becoming the greatest golfer ever. I think you're onto something George.

Recent Re-Discovery of "Sweet Home Alabama"

Right, right, I know. Isn't that movie a random Reese Witherspoon chick flick from like 6 years ago? Why yes, yes it is. And you know what else? It's ADORABLE. Apparently I had seen this movie before but remembered not a single detail. Except that it was possibly lame. How did I stumble upon this long forgotten rom-com gem? It all started during a post-blue bathing suit haze after viewing "Casino Royale" (reason number 455,512 why we would make the best girlfriends ever: drinking beers and watching a badass Bond movie...minus the whole Daniel Craig ogling). Conveniently, I am an anal tool when it comes to movies and I have all of my (and my roommate's) DVD's categorized alphabetically in printed out list form. So it's very easy to see all the movies in one place and for some reason SHA jumped out at me. Would I dare suggest it for fear of being ridiculed? But I threw it out there and received a hearty approval from Jen and Hallie (Kate having dozed off at this point). So if you're in the mood for a New York-y/down South-y romantic comedy with the charming suaveness of Patrick Dempsey and the under-utilized roughness of Josh Lucas, in addition to Reese's perfect hair, netflix this classic movie.

Keep in mind that I'm prone to coming around to liking things long after their popularity has faded. For example: my obsession with Justin Timberlake's "Senorita" about four years after it debuted. Shut up, that song is awesome.

Also, please reference this Jim Gaffigan quote and apply it whenever someone loves something that's slightly behind the times...

"Hey, I just saw Heat!"
"Heat? I saw that fifteen years ago!"
"Uh... yeah, I wanna talk about it now."
"No, loser!"

Blog Hiatus

So it's May now. Last post was in January. My bad. We'll say I took a little break from documenting my day to day details and observations.

The line of work I'm in allows me the summers off. I know what you're thinking -- awesome! Not so much. Yeah, it's kind of like summer vacation, only you don't get paid and you still have to pay bills and rent. Not awesome. It also allows for a lot of down time. No wait, pretty much all down time. I start to feel a bit like a recluse when I realize it's dark out and I haven't left the apartment yet. This must be remedied. I either need to get a job to fill up the time or at least carve out a creative outlet for time wasting.

I can definitely attribute this sudden desire to start blogging again to the piece by Emily Gould in the New York Times Magazine yesterday. It's kind of odd that an autobiographical story about the pros and cons, ups and downs, ins and outs of filling internet pages with the intimate details of your life spurred me to blog another day. But I've got to fill my time with something.

WSJ, you read my mind

Tell me this isn't super odd.

Okay, I love Dan Brown and all of his books (That is NOT the odd part). And not just The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons, but also Digital Fortress and Deception Point too. Like many other tools, uh, I mean fans, I have been not-so-patiently awaiting the next Robert Langdon novel. The much anticpated follow up is two years overdue now, so every couple months I check Dan Brown's website and do a little searching to find out if there's a release date or title information or any updates whatsoever. So yesterday I decide it was time for a little DB update and I did some fruitless scouring, as no new details had surfaced.

THEN...I open the Wall Street Journal this morning (yeah, I'm smart like that) only to discover an enormous story on the front page of the Marketplace section devoted to the questions surrounding the whereabouts of Langdon's next adventure. WEIRD, no? Entitled "The Wait of the World's on Dan Brown," the article poses all the queries I myself have been wondering. It is accompanied by a humorous caricature sketch of Mr. Brown tackling his writer's block with a game of tic tac toe. Hopefully it's not writer's block, or fear of conquering the success of The Da Vinci Code, but just logistics or something like that (the article suggests he's waiting for a particular date that might pertain to the story line which revolves around the freemasonry tradition...hmm...) I would love to provide you (ha, you, the general public who check this blog every day) with a link to the article as I'm sure your breath, like mine, is bated, but the WSJ is snooty and the site is password protected. Lame.

Line up your brows before getting hitched, otherwise the NYTimes does not care

Got sidetracked while "working" today. Ended up reading about the guidelines for submitting your wedding annoucement to the New York Times. They're very strict, much like the fictional New York Journal (just saw 27 Dresses...too cute). If you submit a photo they require that couples "arrange themselves with their eyebrows on exactly the same level and with their heads fairly close together." For real?

Pages always end up getting punched (physically or metaphorically)

from the jan. 25th EW:

Comedy Ain't Pretty
Mix and match the classic '70s stand-up with the classic '70s vice

In his new book recounting the American stand-up-comic scene in the 1970's, Comedy at the Edge, TIME senior editor Richard Zoglin describes a lot of very funny people indulging in some rather unfunny activities, including drugs, violence, and touring with Helen Reddy. Can you match the comics below with the indiscretion described by the book? -Brian Raftery

A. Robin Williams
B. Richard Pryor
C. Freddie Prinze
D. Joe Piscopo
E. George Carlin

1. Banned from The Tonight Show in the early '70s due to his reputation for drug use, this comic botched a personal appeal to host Johnny Carson by showing up in Carson's office while high on cocaine.

2. He shot up Jay Leno's apartment while staying there as a guest.

3. During a stand-up gig, he poked fun at some mafioso-looking audience members, who later slapped him around in the club's coatroom, fracturing his nose and chipping his tooth.

4. He was accused of stealing material from other comedians, including David Brenner, who once threatened to "rip off his leg and shove it up his a--."

5. He once beat up an NBC Page for refusing to let his friend backstage, prompting the network to initially refuse to allow him to perform on Saturday Night Live.




ANSWERS:
A-4, B-5, C-2, D-3, E-1

Aaaaaand....

it comes out on Friday the 13th. Love it.

It's happening...

Okay, so a lot of people can find plenty of things to complain about when it comes to M. Night Shyamalan. I am not one of those people. I am a big fan of his suspenseful and crafty flicks (especially when they include Mr. Joaquin Phoenix). No matter how you feel about his movies though, you can't deny that his casts are usually stellar and each actor tends to return for another round (ie. Bruce Willis, Bryce Dallas Howard, and the aforementioned master of the tortured, brooding soul).

The next installment of Shyamalan-palooza is enigmatically entitled "The Happening." Or maybe it's not so enigmatic. Stuff will probably happen. It's an alien invasion thriller revolving around a family and undoubtedly the destruction of the world. Did I mention that it stars Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel? So choice.

The initial poster consists of a deserted street littered with abandoned cars and a tag line including the words "We've seen The Signs." Yes, Night, indeed we have.

CHiPS!

I just saw Eric Estrada.

In the flesh. Ew.

His hair is mind boggling. I don't know how he gets it to stay so flippy.

...Scott Bakula is NOT!

Oh thank God.

Scott Bakula is going to sing.

If you're in the D.C. area and ready for a little Sam Beckett and a whole lot of showtunes, then you're in for a treat. (Unless you think I mean Samuel Beckett the poet in which case you are a nerd and will be sorely disappointed upon arrival at the theater when you don't see a dead Irish poet on stage).

While he no longer finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, he will undoubtedly be wildly entertaining. If only Al would make a cameo...

Ooh Sam, that sounds yumola.

Buddy Lembeck is gone...

Willie Aames appeared on the Today Show this morning. You might remember him from such stellar programming as The Courtship of Eddie's Father, Eight is Enough, the ever popular Charles in Charge, and more recently Bible Man (huh?).

Now, I was completely ready to mock him for being a washed up 80's star who's found religion and peace and blah blah blah. So I get up and walk around the corner to the TV when I hear the segment come on (yeah, I can only hear the TV from my desk) and I'm utterly surprised at how freakishly nice he was. He looked a little crazy -- floppy bleached hair with a pale complexion to match, paired with Waldo-esque glasses. But he was definitely at peace. He even sounded rather contemplative when he discussed being held at gunpoint with his family in LA last week. Who tries to rob Buddy Lembeck? The criminal apparently ran away, scoring nothing and leaving everyone uninjured. Which poses another, more embarrassing question -- who runs away from Buddy Lembeck?

Willie and his equally wacky wife, fellow reformed 80's actor, Maylo McCaslin, were touting some book on how to make your life as serene as theirs. Sadly, I just don't see this guy convincing Charles to blow off the fam and chase after Gwendolyn Pierce anymore...

What a pipe dream

So, it turns out you can't just decide you want to do something and then go do it. People expect you to have experience. Psh. Who needs it? My newfound desire to become a journalist has resulted in one thing: this pathetic blog. Apparenlty I need clips. Oh clips. Such a simple word for such a huge concept.

Random movie reference: "Oh Jo. Such a small name for...such a person." -Professor Behr, Little Women (who doesn't love this movie?)

Anyway. Clips. Yes, they want evidence that you are a good writer and know what you're talking about. And they don't just mean your ramblings. I know it's what I want to do, but I have no evidence to back it up. I might as well have decided to become a heart surgeon, "Give me a pair of gloves and a scalpel, I know I'll be good at this. Experience? Wha? Never touch the stuff."

It's Friday and I'm wearing skinny jreans

Those two things don't really have anything to do with each other. I'm just excited because for the first time ever I could actually wear my rainboots over my jeans. Rather than the usual boot cut-fold up that accompanies most rainy days. But it is Friday. Glorious Friday. Two whole days of nothing to do. Although I have to prepare myself for the weekend guilt that comes along with living in one of the most amazing cities in the world and choosing to spend my free time on my couch.

I've even started to develop a reptuation. For TV watching that is. My mom called me the other day and actually prefaced our conversation with "Am I interrupting your TV?" What am I, an 80 year old woman who lives for Wheel of Fortune eps? No. Which is why I might want to consider some new hobbies. Especially with the ongoing writers strike which has severely limited my television watching options. The last new 30 Rock aired last night, and that is a crushing blow.

Blog now or forever hold your peace

A strange feeling has come over me. A feeling of sudden liberation. A need to prove myself through a series of rambling thoughts. And what could be a better outlet than a blog? The word blog invokes some confusion for me. It's a log. Only, on the web. Like a ship's log or a captain's log. A list of things that are probably only important to a select few. Consider this an experiment.