overeducated and underemployed

comeback: assured

I challenge you to deny a man rocking a dickie in an artificial fog.

bitches, please

Jack Bauer will figure out how he feels about you romantically sometime during hour 25, all right? He doesn't have time now to figure out if he's staying at CTU, heading to the desert, or simply faking a fake death in order to fake return and totally fake out his many many enemies. Chill.

In the meantime, learn more about your beloved here. For example, did you know that "If Jack Bauer was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Nina Meyers, and he had a gun with 2 bullets, he'd shoot Nina twice"?

a year in the life

Hoorah! In celebration of our "paper" anniversary, the Solomonster and I are heading to San Francisco this weekend. Bridges and gays, very romantic.

See you suckers on Tuesday!

afternoon clips: everything beautiful is far away edition

- Just Like the Fambly Cat will be Grandaddy's final album together. Which might be for the best, because I've begun to take far too much pity on outdated technology.

- Angelina Jolie realizes that her beauty is distracting. And yet, the refugees must be discussed. She's so brave.

- Engelbert Humperdinck? I thought he was, um..in L.A., driving along and something hit him or something. Something like that.

- Russell Crowe is just a little furry animal in the road.

- Matt Friedberger plans Eleanor-free double album for the summer.  

small screen la

It's such a bizarre phenomenon when shows that are written in LA but set elsewhere do an "LA" episode. I don't know if it's because they need to cement the aforementioned "elsewhere" legitimacy of their normal sets or because it just makes the writers giggle, but these are always the most over the top depictions of Los Angeles on television. Take last night's Bones for example...it was all girls in bikinis, FBI agents with screenplays, plastic surgery, beach volleyball, palm trees and poolside parties. It was LA as written by an Angeleno attempting to harness the perspective of a Midwesterner who's never been here, and if it wasn't so silly, it'd be kind of ugly. It condescends to them, and propagates bad stereotypes of us. I mean, come on. I haven't played beach volleyball in years.

and afterwards, she bought all the local teenagers beers

Sure, Winona Ryder gave up prescription drugs and shoplifting, but that doesn't mean she can't rock.
You know, like how your mom rocks when she's trying to relate to you. In a totally misguided and ultimately patronizing way.

[ed. note: "your mom" here does not refer to my mom, who does in fact, totally rock.]

first the frog, now the name

Why is God trying to take the WB away from me? And under this new arrangement, am I going to lose Tree Hill to  wrestling? Veronica Mars to Twins? My mind to news of a corporate merger?

Personal concern for my TV watching proclivities aside, this is going to have all kinds of repercussions for current shows as well as projects in development. Dear lord, If enough of the WB is dissolved the television market could become dangerously oversaturated with pretty young boys and subtext challenged writers, thus triggering armageddon (no. I am not quite sure how).

I always knew Moonves would be responsible for the end of the world.

can a novelty t-shirt be considered a legally binding marriage license?

If so, I'm in.

a temp's dream come true

All the Swiss Miss with mini-marshmallows my impermanently employed mind can handle? Yeehaw!

Now if I could just figure out how to get this kind of perk from a regular job that I enjoy...

replacing a favorite pair of jeans

My total-crap-loved-them-anyways mossimo target jeans are officially dead. Fraying all over, rips impending...they have served me as well as any twenty dollar item of clothing could, but the time has come to move on. Aha. Easier said than done, my friends. You see, they're not selling the same style/cut anymore. And even if they were, I've always suspected (or Clinton and Stacey have tacitly implied), there's a better cut for me anyways. And so the great search begins. Store after store, brand after brand, disappointment after disappointment.

I realized today (sitting here in my comfortable but maybe not the right decision replacement jeans) that the two clothing items I have probably wasted the most money on in my lifetime are bras and jeans. Because unlike other things, you really can't be positive about either until you've worn them for a day. Washed them. Jumped around. Tried them on with every pair of shoes you have, of varying heel height. I try to get around it. I wear new denim around the house without taking the tags off, to see if they're prone to excessive stretching out, or if the crotch does a really weird pointy extra fabric thing when I sit. Eventually I convince myself that even if they aren't perfect, I am going to be hard pressed to do better (and who wants to search anymore?). I put them on and decide to love them. Until about an hour in, when I wonder how in the world I let this happen again.

Honestly. Is there anything worse than being entirely aware of the lame girl cliche you're participating in, yet being unable to stop yourself?