The holidays, in summation

Some commercial came on tv whilst we were in LA.

"Don't you wish the holidays could last just a little longer?"

Laughter. Much laughter. The sort that comes from the very deepest chasms of your diaphragm.

Television update

so

eye watch 2much tv.


but that's ok.


it doesn't particular-
ly worry me.


Haha, take that, stupid e.e. cummings! I can write a crappy poem, too. Go capitalize your name.

Anyway, idiot poets aren't really my concern at this particular moment.

What worries me is that this past week, Celebrity Rehab 2 came to an end.

Alas, I will now have to find something else to occupy my Thursday nights.

It was a really great season, though.

Highlights for me included: Any Gary Busey moment, Seth Binzer smoking crack on the roof ("I brought hamsters!"), and poor Jeff Conaway's deep and horrible depression.

That sort of sounds wrong. I didn't actually feel glee at that poor man's miserableness, but I did feel for him. I was like, I got yo back, brotha, homeboy. Word.

ANYWAY. Right.

Yes. It was a very good season indeed. And Dr. Drew remains a fox. That, too, sounds a little wrong, but for a 50-year-old guy, he's not bad. And he's kinda ripped. Not to mention that he's my hero. And that I've learned a lot from him and Loveline. I'd be lost without them.

O, Celebrity Rehab, how I'll miss you.

Luckily, though, Sober House will be on soon enough.

In other television-y news, Don Eppes is finding himself some religion!

For those of you who do not watch Numb3rs, you should. It's a terribly under-appreciated show full of funsies. You've got the government, you've got math geniuses, you've got brotherly rivalry. That's some good stuff right there.

Numb3rs has also been known to showcase cosmically huge existential questions, shrinks, and a relationship here and there.

Watch. I command it.

So. This post is pretty pointless. But I very much enjoyed this season of CR2 and I just wanted to give it a proper send off.

*raises glass*

So, here's until next season's group of whacked-out d-list celebrities arrive.

*clink*

Out!

You will encounter a strange nobleman with red socks on the second Thursday of the tenth moon cycle of the seventieth house of the lilac goddesses

So I suppose I have what some might consider mildly hypochondriacal tendencies (though my medical history suggests that my brain isn't always completely off...).

Anyway, lately, there has been much twitching.

First, my spleen. Now, it's my eye.

So, in an effort to diagnose myself, I did what any intelligent person does in such a situation...I have consulted with my good friend Dr. Google.

Now, according to this handy dandy website I stumbled upon: http://ravonslumber.blogspot.com/2008/05/when-your-eyes-twitch.html, since my left eye was twitching earlier, I'd say about noonish, then I am certainly under the influence of the sign of the horse, and apparently, I am about to be invited to a "big or important dinner party."

Hmm...I wonder what soul out there in the world is doing an invitation by hand for me right now...perhaps calligraphy and all?

Maybe I shouldn't take it so literally. Perhaps "dinner party" really means some sort of extreme spiritual fulfillment in the company of others. "Big or important" could imply a major shift in my philosophical identity.

I just don't know. If I am facing the imminent upheaval of all that I believe, then I suppose it's good to be forewarned. I can mentally prepare myself. Though, at the same time, there is really no conclusive indication that I actually attend the dinner party, it simply says that I am invited.

What if I am some sort of last-minute invitee? What if they just needed to fill a plate so they were like, "hey, what's that weird girl's name? Let's just get her, she's always good for a nerdy joke or two."

Or what if I get to this dinner and I find out that it's one of those fancy schmancy dinners with five forks and then I face all those Pretty Woman moments, like when she's eating the snails and it shoots out of the shell and the waiter catches it and says, "It happens all the time"?

Ack. This is too much stress! Now my spleen is twitching again.

Though, what if my eye isn't even under the influence of any great cosmic events planner like Mars or Jupiter or the Horse or Libra or Godot at all? What if my body simply twitches out of its own volition?

The article mentions that, "scientifically, eye twitching is believed to be caused by an abnormal functioning of certain nerve areas located at the base of the brain which control the coordination of muscle movements."

See, now that's just grand.

What the heck am I supposed to do if I miss my dinner party because something in my eye explodes and a piece of my retina breaks off and circulates through my bloodstream until it lodges in my heart and I die a very horrible, painful death?

Now that'd just be plain rude, to have to cancel on the hosts of the little soiree.

Even if I was just a last-minute invitation.

It's time to restore chaos...

So, there's no doubt that everyone has seen this by now...it was, after all, the shoe-throw seen 'round the world:



Now, I realize that Bush is probably the most hated person in America, and that he has justly earned a good majority of that hostility, but I'll be damned if I don't just feel a little bit bad for the man.

Maybe I'm delusional and it's just me, but I have to think that being in something that's over your head is a pretty universal sensation that everyone has experienced to some degree or another.

And good 'ol Bushy hit the jackpot.

Bush is a classic case: He just barely eked by in the Ivy League and now he and his averageness are thrust onto the world's stage as the face of the free world. Never quite good enough to earn the approval of tough, politician father leads him to spiral downward into a state of questionable sobriety throughout entire presidency. He just can't handle it. He is smacked with September 11th only a few months into his term. Then a war. Confusion. Uproar. Not quite clever or charismatic enough to keep the people on his side. Hatred.

Just look at the man, everybody, and see what war has done to him.

It's not always breath that is the casualty.

Anyway, I guess I'm just saying, that while the sublime hilarity of the shoe incident should certainly be enjoyed and appreciated, maybe cut the man just a little minuscule of slack, eh?

The Great and Fantastical Coffee Shop Tour of the World

In thinking about what the heck to do with my life, I stumbled upon something...

My favorite part of the day is drinking coffee and doing a crossword puzzle with my favorite blue pen.

Simple pleasures.

So, screw graduate school, screw writing a great literary masterpiece and having lots of minions who worship me and screw conforming to corporate demands and screw philosophical ramblings and always wanting unattainable knowledge and never having satisfaction. Screw it all!

I just wanna take my show on the road, find only the very finest java-brewing establishments in the country (and, eventually, the world), and do crossword puzzles all the damn day long.

I am no coffee connoisseur. I don't really care if it's mild or medium or with a hint of oak or ash or mocha or whatever the hell it is that the high-falutin' coffee elitists hold up as their standard.

All I care is that it is caffeinated and resembles some sort of coffee-like beverage and I'm good to go.

Yep.

I realize there's a bit of a coffee shop stereotype that is floating around out there...something about moody intellectuals or yuppie-haunts or a conspiracy formulated to take over America one street corner at a time with mermaid cups and frappucinos...

That's all a bunch of bullshit.

If you have to point the accusatory finger, then there is no hope for you. The Great and Fantastical Coffee Shop Tour of the World is not about any of that.

The GaFCSTotW transcends all stigma and all stereotypes-meant-to-wound.

It is about the way the smell clings to my hair and clothes when I leave the place. It is about the remarkable simplicity of the entire thing: water over grounds. It is about the smell of tea and coffee and milk and vanillacaramelgingerbreadchocolate in my nose and head as I fill in my little crossword squares.

I have set the home base of The GaFCSTotW in Livermore. Panama Bay (now "Panama Red" due to legalish-y things that I know not the details of, but in any case, I do not acknowledge the new nomenclature).

This place got me through high school. It began my habit. Squishy leather chairs and a crazy-awesome gingerbread latte are some of the main distinguishing features of PB. Also of interest are: the ever-changing artistry of the chalk board, live mus-ac, and a damn good cookie.

Yes. Panama Bay. The unquestionable origin of all coffee-related things in my life. I start there and always will I end there.

So, from this jumping point, with many future Kerouac-ian voyages in my heart (sans the hallucinogens), I hereby commence a great many adventure in caffeination for my future.

Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!

Cheers!