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.