The Decade of my Discontent: Interactive Post and new Ideas--Retooled

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Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Interactive Post and new Ideas--Retooled

With work and moving I have had plenty on my plate. Have made notes in my mind and on scraps of paper at work about new ideas--hopefully some I will have time for over the next few days. Things like the Most Arrested Families in Hollywood, think I already have a winner for that one. I have quite a rant about all the near misses I have daily on 66 just due to being a shit driver and all the distractions that wind me over into another lane, or just off the side of the road. And I'm very interested in a piece about the so called 27 Club, dead musicians and such. Those are my ideas for the next few pieces. But since it's late and I get up very early in the morning I had an idea for a more interactive piece. Was listening to the ipod on my way home thinking about some of my favorite lines from songs. All different bands, genres--If I know them someone else must. See how many you know. Betting even Dewey couldn't guess them all.

1. You didn't love the boy too much, you just loved the boy too well.
2. I went home with a waitress, the way I always do.
3. I was off to drink you away.
4. Once there was this spider in my bed, I got caught up in her web . . . .
5. You send your lover off to China and you wait for her to call. You put your girl up on a pedestal, and wait for her to fall.
6. Everybody told me you can't get far, with $37 dollars and a Jap guitar.
7. I'm Lookin' for a Woman with Low Self-Esteem.
8. Don't you know you're nothing more than a one night stand?
9. Come on baby leave some change behind, she was a bitch, but I don't card. She brought our food out on time and wore a funky barrette in her hair.
10. Well she asked me if sometime I'd fix her barn, Poor old girl they needs a hand to run the farm.
11. I took her work I took it all, Beneath the sign that said "U-haul"
    

Some are very easy, some are a little harder. Some are just things I loved over the years. More real blog to come. In the meantime, how many can you guess correctly.
Happy Thanksgiving All!

The Decade of my Discontent: Interactive Post and new Ideas

The Decade of my Discontent: Interactive Post and new Ideas: With work and moving I have had plenty on my plate. Have made notes in my mind and on scraps of paper at work about new ideas--hopefully so...

Interactive Post and new Ideas--Retooled

With work and moving I have had plenty on my plate. Have made notes in my mind and on scraps of paper at work about new ideas--hopefully some I will have time for over the next few days. Things like the Most Arrested Families in Hollywood, think I already have a winner for that one. I have quite a rant about all the near misses I have daily on 66 just due to being a shit driver and all the distractions that wind me over into another lane, or just off the side of the road. And I'm very interested in a piece about the so called 27 Club, dead musicians and such. Those are my ideas for the next few pieces. But since it's late and I get up very early in the morning I had an idea for a more interactive piece. Was listening to the ipod on my way home thinking about some of my favorite lines from songs. All different bands, genres--If I know them someone else must. See how many you know. Betting even Dewey couldn't guess them all.

1. You didn't love the boy too much, you just loved the boy too well.
2. I went home with a waitress, the way I always do.
3. I was off to drink you away.
4. Once there was this spider in my bed, I got caught up in her web . . . .
5. You send your lover off to China and you wait for her to call. You put your girl up on a pedestal, and wait for her to fall.
6. Everybody told me you can't get far, with $37 dollars and a Jap guitar.
7. I'm Lookin' for a Woman with Low Self-Esteem.
8. Don't you know you're nothing more than a one night stand?
9. Come on baby leave some change behind, she was a bitch, but I don't card. She brought our food out on time and wore a funky barrette in her hair.
10. Well she asked me if sometime I'd fix her barn, Poor old girl they needs a hand to run the farm.
11. I took her work I took it all, Beneath the sign that said "U-haul"
    

Some are very easy, some are a little harder. Some are just things I loved over the years. More real blog to come. In the meantime, how many can you guess correctly.
Happy Thanksgiving All!

The Decade of my Discontent: A Star is Born, the Dsylexic Version--redo and edi...

The Decade of my Discontent: A Star is Born, the Dsylexic Version--redo and edi...: Art imitates life that imitates art. Hollywood people love that crap! Let's start by being real, Demi and Ashton were really cute, she raise...

A Star is Born, the Dsylexic Version--redo and edited as per Rick Nowell

Art imitates life that imitates art. Hollywood people love that crap! Let's start by being real, Demi and Ashton were really cute, she raised the bar for Cougars everywhere! Hot guy, rejuvenated woman, and I'm being kind with that adjective, date, merge, marry and Ashton probably had no hope of children of his own, but shit, she already has three he could play Daddy to. But seriously, can May ever really make it with September. I come from a small town where I have personally witnessed ancient woman make successful marriages or at least life long relationships with much younger men. But in our little blue collar town, most of the boobs are real, and after years of being together, he isn't a spring chicken any more himself. One couple I used to see regularity while working retail, now have him was pushing her in a wheel chair. I could have it all wrong, could be a momma's boy son taking care of his mother--but I just don't think so.
Back to Hollywood and the art/life metaphor. A Star is Born ,have been three incantations of the movie that I know. 1937, Janet Gaynor and Frederick March, launched their careers but I have honestly never seen it, or either one of them, for that matter. In more familiar territory, 1954, Judy Garland and James Mason--suave , handsome man , but always seemed sort of miscast as a big star. On the other hand it is hard to imagine Garland playing down her talent for the star rises aspect. She did start singing with her sisters in Vaudeville style when she was a very young girl. And everyone's favorite , ok, maybe my favorite, Barbra Streisand and Kris Kristofferson. Love that version. Barbra has the pipes and may honesty be as fabulous as Garland. Really bad hair though, and she lived with a hair dresser! Very confusing. And Kris--honestly, not much of a singer as I'm sure he'd admit. But the man wrote Bobby McGee. A song that should be put in a time capsule, maybe both of their versions, and bring them out every 25 years so future generations won't miss it! And Kris is just my kind of man, smart, tall musician, who is always just a little bit dirty! Anyway, the song and the story remain pretty much the same across the film footage. Jaded, probably alcoholic former star meets talented ingenue, gets her started in her career, his star fades while her's just continues to rise. Haven't seen the 1937 version, don't remember enough about 1954's, but Kris dies in the 1976 version. Isn't it ironic, that if there were any realism to movie making, it certainly would have been Garland who bit the dust. And eventually did, at the really unripe age of 47. I'm freaking older than that.
So back to Demi and Ashton. There marriage is almost the epitome of that life/art thing. Movies star lays back for several years, buying up Idaho, and actually raising her kids. Younger TV actor has success as the dumb friend with most of the comedic lines in That 70's Show, some fluff chick flicks that probably had a fair pay day, but again, even though I'm certain comedy is a challenge, no real signature movie rolls. Actually the same can be said for Demi, although she was always a movie star. If I had to recount some what I believe are her better works they would probably be--A Few Good Men, Indecent Proposal, and for some reason I was always fond of Disclosure. Michael Douglas saying no, when have you ever seen him to that on film. About Last Night, could be her signature roll. I do feel close to The Juror, only because it was the first time I think I saw James Gandofino. The point is, she has a better movie pedigree . Fact is neither one of them have had rolls that proved their acting chops.
So, a few years ago, probably 7-8 to be more specific, she reemerged with her great body lipo, and less wrinkles than she showed at 30. But, she hasn't exactly been flush with movie offers. But she looked great. Ashton was out of series TV, but still causing buzz with the whole Punkt thing. Although I can't say I ever saw the real humor in that--sort of like Dude Where's My Car. His movies opened and closed without serious disaster. but he wasn't exactly moving forward.
Now--divorce seem imminent. Apparently Kabbala expects people to test sex outside their marriages. Something about infidelity being some sort of litmus test for your ability to be soul mates. Not really clear on the rules--is there a limit on the infidelity? Can only men be unfaithful? Do women languish in some Jewish hell if they reciprocate? And do you actually have to convert to Judaism to practice Kabbala? Or do you just have to have an extra interest in what was written about sex and just fall at the alter of Jewish Mysticism? Will this things be made clearer to us as the pair unravel. I didn't learn any more about it when Guy Ritchie took a dive

Now Demi claims to be 48, been watching her for years and could have sworn she was older than me. Even if she isn't, the hair extensions that make her appear like a 70's hippy--may be time to shorten it just a little so it still covers her forehead, but doesn't drag her face down, just a thought. And I certainly appreciate she doesn't go for the ridiculous bangs to cut back on the Botox bill. You can tell Ashton is a handsome man because he can appear anywhere like he just climbed out of bed in yesterday's clothes and forgot to wash or comb. This is the true test of a handsome man!
So now, Demi is just sort of languishing. Posted photos of her are a little less close up. And Ashton is--big drum roll, Charlie's replacement on 2 and 1/2 men.

Curse?? It never works out well for the Star is Born characters, even in this dyslexic case. Is it a 2 and 1/2 men curse? The high paid star of the show makes a lot of money and . . . his personal life goes to shit?? Or do boys just grow out of their mommy's and move on to new slightly younger mommy's that take care of them in a different way?? You know, one portion of your life is centered around youth and sexual drive. The next phase is looking for a mother figure to breed and raise your children (Demi would have been good for both of those if she weren't old enough to be a grandmother instead). And the final phase is the compatible person you want to to be content and share old age discussions and interests with. When I was in my 20's I really liked to flirt with and talk to one of our local attorneys. I remember the old Italian woman I worked for at the time telling me if I was just too young attracted to his brains, I should have been thinking of ravaging him instead.
Or is it just as simple as two famous people need to reach some sort of parity on equal ground? Demi isn't over, truly believe she could snag one of those Oscar winning middle aged rolls that would really makes her mark on celluloid. Melissa Leo in the Fighter. Problem is, in her younger days, the days of being enormously pregnant on the cover of Vanity Fair, I think she was infinitely less vain. Even if your goal is to be a serious actress, age will suck that out of you. Ashton will probalby always be a TV guy. Nothing wrong with that, only it is better if you find a cable show that catches everyone's attention! Oh my god, look at William H. Macy. And he is a very, very large part of what makes Shameless work. Or David Duchovny-- again, a very smart man, ivy league educated, very high IQ, tall, looks like a muscian, and dirty! Love it. And he seems to be a Warren Zevon fan that wins extra, extra points for him.
It's hard to give up a partner. Even harder when you are somehow proud that at middle age you snagged a youngster. Demi had Bruce Willis father her children, a smart, respectable man's man if ever there were one. It's like Robert Duvall and all those 30 something dance instuctors from South American countries. You are Robert freaking Duvall. The smell of napalm in the morning. The Godfather, find an attractive woman your own age and be a real man! I have had some (cough, cough) experience in younger boyfriends. But I never paraded them out to make me feel better. It isn't like I won some 20 year old lottery. Says nothing about me, except during my thirties younger men like me. Hardly a new phenomenon. Matter of fact, I liked the anonymity of people not knowing. Isn't anything to be proud of, just you are raising someone else's son. While I certainly had real relationships with these boys, it was just another psychological attempt to have relationships that I enjoyed but were never, ever going to go anywhere. Why do I like that??
So, in conclusion. Maybe Demi should switch to Scientology, don't they have machines to ferret out the truth?? Both religions cost the kind of money that only the rich and famous can support. If you are a working guy, you can guarantee you will be trolling for other working people and their minor duckets . Got to have a working class in order to support the people in charge. Sort of a religious ponzi scheme. Actually, more of a pyramid scheme. Kind of a religious Amway. And one last religion/ cult question. Those Kabbala people support and build all those centers.
Don't worry about the 10% most christians believe in paying, they pay through their collective asses, take groups to the holy land, but those poor people only get a red string as their red badge of courage or talisman? It could at least be pink gold with some sort of identifying red stone, garnet, ruby? I'm perplexed by this.
Which ever curse you prefer--Star is Born, 2&1/2 men, Cougar relationships rarely work out? Ashton could make it a season or two on Charlie's show. And Demi could definitely hit her prime and find that great middle aged roll, i.e Melissa Leo in the Fighter! Look at that old woman from last season's Justified. She rocked. I've seen her in movies with Paul Newman, but she nailed it, even on TV. I suspect the death knolls are tolling for the semi power couple. At least she doesn't have Madonna's money, or no word of a prenuptial agreement, yet. This means Ashton will have to keep the series going for a couple more seasons, He's a hot guy, I wish him well!

Coming up next--What? Suggestion all all you 17 guys who read me!!!

Foreigner, KC and the Sunshine Band and Hall & Oates--Concert Experience from Hell!

This is an oldie but a goodie! I honestly can't remember if it was my Jr. or Sr year, I'm going to go with Jr, because some of us could drive. Actually, as it turned out our adult designated driver was drunk out of her mind so Craig drove up. It was Christmas time because it was a Toys for Tots concert, and we were well supplied with Bacardi 101. A little too much 101. We had the rum and pina colalda mix. I mixed mine like the true bartender I was destined to become. Unfortunately, my girlfriend in the back couldn't take quite as much. We stopped I think in marshall, where the girls helped her pee, you know, pants down, sit her down, pants back up. Some guys to carry her out. I didn't start to get really bad until somewhere on 495, at which point I couldn't feel my face. Had the bruises to prove it the next day where I continued to pinch myself anyway. Then the excitement really started. I had to pee. And we were following another car. I am pretty much in tears because I have to pee. Thank God, so did Jeff Strickler. So, I got out of the car. Got over the guard rail, and started trying to climb up the hill to pee. Jeff especially said it was funny to watch me get up a few feet and fall back. Finally, I gave up crawling up the hill and just flopped down in the ditch on the other side of the guard rail. Would still be there today if Shelby hadn't jerked me up and pulled me half way up the hill. During this time, the guys are helping my girlfriend puke. I missed all that action. So . . . we eventually hit the Cap Center where apparently Craig scores a dime bag in the parking lot. My mother, now relatively sober stays in the car with my girlfriend. Some how I'm seated between Craig and Jeff. The minimal rules in my mother's world were I could drink but not do drugs. And as I think we have covered, I really didn't. But you know, I had to pass the joint back and forth between the guys on either side of me. And honestly, every fourth or so pass I had a hit. During one of those occasions I turned around to blow a mouth full of smoke out, and my mother had joined us, and was looking right at me. Remember very little about the ride home, although I think we got side track, aka lost once or twice.
The next morning!! The was no possible way of getting out of school. I swear to you, I didn't even have a drink of water until late afternoon. It still ranks up there in the top five hangovers of all times!!
Let's not forget that Foreigner and KC lip synched. And while Hall and Oates were live, who cares!
Luckily, all I had was one hellish hangover and multiple bruises on my face. Just like the Halloween that went to pot. I was 19 maybe older before I ever, ever even tasted 101 again. And I can assure you, it hasn't been maybe once in 25 years!
How was that for an embarrassing personal experience??

Should I Write or Should I Quit Now?

I used to be funny when I blogged! Where has all the sarcastic humor gone??? Even after just a few days I don't feel the torrid tales of my youth is really working out. It feels so Chelsey Handler, and she really irritates me!!! It is interesting, too, because on a certain level you would think she would be my hero/alter ego/ much older mentor--but I don't find any redemption in her work. It's all about making fun of herself or others. She has a show. She has book deals. Apparently I alone dislike her. I tend to compare her to Dave Letterman. In the late night war/world I have always been Team Dave. And there is no one who likes a joke at someone elses expense, better than Dave Letterman. And he certainly gets on rants about things, i.e. CBS, Jay Leno, Carson Daly. Sort of the lovechild of John Irving and Tom Robbins, but, and here is the real heart of the matter, Dave also has a very human side. You can tell people he likes, he can redeem his bad behavior and show compassion when the situation is called for. Dave was consistently a great fan of Warren Zevon, and when Warren was sick and dying, Dave gave him a whole show. Unheard of in the late night television world.
Chelsey, just wants to snarf, especially at midgets. For some reason that especially bothers me.
So . . . how do I have some humanity like Dave, but find a obviously sick audience like Chelsey?
I friend of mine suggested telling the tales of my salad days when I was green(for a lot of reasons) would be cathartic, no. I mean, I own them, most of them no longer embarrass me. When I get on a roll I really could make them funny. Just don't know if it's working for me. I mean, look at all the good material I'm missing. Michael Lohan is hungry enough to let Dr. Drew show his creepy love life, only to get out and get arrested again, and maybe again. That old Journey guy apparently buys Michaele Salahi a new Bentley. She should be calling her latest adventure the Valtrex tour!
See, which way to go? My blog needs a niche. What is my niche? Am I truly nicheless?? It's all so confusing. Why couldn't I just have something easy like those people in England who's husband talked whole sentences and stories, whatever, in his sleep and she taped them and blogged about them. Hundreds of people followed the blog. Matt Lauer interviewed them from England! WTF?? I can promise that if I kept going with my life it would be much more interesting than whatever that man said in his sleep!!!

The Decade of my Discontent: Day Four--A Room of her own.

The Decade of my Discontent: Day Four--A Room of her own.: I have been really excited about writing again. Writing anything, good or bad, just doing something semi creative, using what's left of my b...

Day Four--A Room of her own.

I have been really excited about writing again. Writing anything, good or bad, just doing something semi creative, using what's left of my brain, and frankly it is a great way for me to unwind. But. . .
Virgina Woolfe wrote a whole book, A Room of Your Own. At the time I had to read it, it made intellectual sense to me, but I felt like people with great gifts just had the creativity pour out of them. Woolfe's perspective was that she was lucky. An aunt or someone had left her a small stipend that allowed her a small flat where she could spend her days thinking and writing--instead of being a shop girl or some other job that women were fit for in her day. I only truly understand it now, with two jobs, and lot's of responsibilities I never seem to complete. And a partner who probably has a right to complain that every evening after 14 hours away I sit down to the computer to try and write something relevant.
I also realize Woolfe actually really new her shit better than I ever gave her credit for. Creativity doesn't just seep out of great artist in any genre because it needs to come out. Great artist from past centuries, usually always had patrons or family, whatever that funded their lives. Van Gogh's brother, Theo, financed him even to the detrement of his own family, so Vincent could support his need for paint and canvas without having a job. On the other hand the financing was so little that today we have more self-portraits of Van Gogh than probably anyone else because he couldn't afford models. Picasso, was lucky enough to be an artist who sold work during his lifetime, allowing him to paint mistress after mistress, without really a steady patron of his work, allowing him to follow his own creative path. Jackson Pollock, after switching from Cubism to Abstract Expressionism found Peggy Guggenheim who commissioned pieces and gave him money in between. Diego Rivera was another artist fortunate enough to sell his work during his lifetime. His commissions didn't always please his patrons, but allowed him to focus to be the greatest Fresco painter of his or maybe even our time.
I suspect it is a little harder for writers. Fitzgerald was the toast of the jazz age, sold his pieces to literary publications if nothing else. Had his lifestyle been a little less extravagant he could have lived even better. Publishing his books didn't hurt, either. The sad statement of Fitzgerald is arguably his greatest work, The Great Gatsby, was never fully appreciated during his lifetime. And in order to try and keep himself afloat and Zelda in respectable institutions, he went to Hollywood and sold his soul attempting to be a screen writer. It was a lose, lose situation. His drinking absorbed a good deal of his brilliance and the lack of success pulled him further down into his alcoholic despair So it is very symbolic that he should write the quote of show him a hero and he could write you a tragedy.
Maybe every great artist has truly suffered for his art. And believe me, I can't compare to a mediocre artist/writer, much less the greats I have mentioned. I only now realize that as much as I want to express myself, I have no room of my own. I have jobs, and dishwashers to unload. I have people who would still like to spend time with me and I blow them off to try and write something no one probably wants to read. While I joke about having followers and selling my blog for a book deal which I could later leverage for the movie rights I'm mostly kidding. Yet, on the Today Show I saw a couple from England and the wife taped the conversations the husband had in his sleep and pasted them into a blog. Got to tell you, I truly think I have more than that.
The solution? I have a few. I have a couple hours a day in the car to conceive what I want to write about. I have two job, so one would think I could afford a laptop so I could spend time with my peeps and still blog. Or . . . the premier possibility, I could find my niche. Write something people really wanted to follow and read. And have a clear focus of where this is going!
I've had fun writing about my misspent youth, and I want to continue--to a point. But you know what I really love. Writing snarfy blogs about celebrities and wannabe's, and letting all my wit and sarcasm out!! I want to use cultural references that only the people I respect understand.
In the meantime, I'm just going to try and entertain myself and you.

Day 3, What My Mother Calls" Disparaging the Commonwealth Attorney"

As I thought my Halloween blog was lost , my thoughts were focused on how to rewrite yesterdays. So this is kind of a last minute, hail Mary, grasping at straws kind of blog.

It was probably the fall of , I don't know, '98. I worked at a at one of Winchester's best restaurant, Violino Ristorante Italiano. It was probably the hardest restaurant job I ever had, hard in the sense that the service was very professional and the place could book up quickly. Made a lot of money, could have some of that today, but after a combination lunch and dinner shifts I frequently passed that cash back across the bars at T Jeffery's or my favorite, Sweet Carolines. And I particularly enjoyed drinking Sonoma Cutrer. Still my favorite Chardonnay, but $6 a glass, even in 98.
Enough about that. This particular night I had hung out for a few Rolling Rocks at Sweet Carolines. Actually taking it easy because my tags had just expired and I wasn't looking for probable cause. But, that's just what I got. Thought there might be a cop behind me so I turned the corner, down not too far from Handley. Probable cause was dead tags and whipping around the corner. And by a wet behind the ears cop who my father taught in school. Should have been a slam dunk!! But no. Have you ever tried to walk a straight line in an almost ankle length skirt with the only slit in the back--with Tony Lama cowboy boots?? (It was stylish at that time!) And it just got worse from there. Officers are under no real obligation to give you specific results of traffic stop breathalyzers. But they hand cuffed me. Had to remove every piece of jewelry down to my belly button ring, and my boots. Frederick County legal buildings could help scan for Reagan National. I don't want to bore you any more than necessary, but they monitor for 20 minutes, then administer the breathalyzer, the officer and I did those things--it probably took a little more than the 20 minutes to be finger printed and mug shot. Any way, I did blow a .006. Cop looked disappointed and sent me on to the magistrate. At this point I'm feeling pretty good about dodging a bullet, only to be told that the Commonwealth Attorney charges everyone pulled in with Driving Under the Influence and usually drops the charges to Reckless Driving. This is when I lost what little patience and good humor I it was at least 2 AM.
It gets a little complex from here, but I'll try and be succinct. The Commonwealth Attorney and his mistress, oops, I mean assistant had lunch several days a week at my restaurant, where they would test drive a convertible to lunch. Consume a bottle or two of wine, then return the car and go back to the courthouse. Needless to say the irony of this was not lost on me, even then. So I asked some questions, made some wondered aloud if this was the same guy getting drunk in the middle of the day in a rented car before returning to work. And of course, Officer Obie, taught by my father, apparently related some of my concerns.
Now it really gets sort of 6 degrees of separation. The mistress was the mother of my brother's long time ex girlfriend. Luckily for me, the girlfriend was now dating the assistant Commonwealth Attorney. I go see my family attorney, who actually wants to see the documents because who gets charged with a DUI when they aren't considered legally drunk. So again, slam dunk. But no! The date of my court case was during his trip to Florida, so he passed me down to the son. Who to make the whole story just a little more all worlds collide, I had spent an evening with during a scotch fueled 30th birthday celebration that I have done my best to forget for 15 plus years! Needless to say, the Commonwealth Attorney took a special interest in my little case. Pretty sure he set up a meeting with the assistant and my attorney at Sweet Caroline's where they drank pitchers and discussed what they could give someone with no previous record and and a breathalyzer reading of under the legal limit.
It would have been funnier if it hadn't happened to me. My attorney was $500. They suspend my license for six months, but suspended that also. Gave me two weeks in jail, and suspended that. Let's see, a $1500 fine which I had to pay another $500 of. But I did get stuck with 1 years unsupervised probation, and a substance abuse evaluation.The good doctor who did my evaluation also read the paperwork several times, not quite believing my story. He had some theories, blonde, end of the month, talking crap about the guy prosecuting me. He gave me some tapes to take home and return, signed off on just about the last piece of paperwork. I'm still not sure what exactly unsupervised probation is, but it was a whole year of worrying about it. Oh yeah, had to work with the DMV to get the Reckless Driving to Endanger Life and Property properly reported.
Again I'll try not to bore you with being released in the middle of nowhere, on foot, on the way back side of Winchester. Luckily, I cop took me to Sheetz where I called my ex boyfriend, Egan, who came and got me at 3 in the morning.
That would be the end of the narrative(although it could really benefit from Arlo on the guitar)--except, that commonwealth attorney has been in the news quite a bit lately. At first I felt vindicated. But you have to feel at least a little bad about a guy who is going to prison for 3 years with who knows how may guys he has put away. Actually started to fell bad and friended him on Facebook.
Night guys!
Bottom line--keep tags up to date!!

When Halloween Went to Pot

Disclaimer: The events I am about to relate happened a very, very long time ago. Halloween of 1980 to probably be exact. I may have had my share of alcohol, and some others' shares too, but I have never endorsed other drug use then or now. I don't believe in peer pressure, have with maybe one glaring exception never succumbed to it--you can't even get me to eat food I don't want! But, I was young in those days, and I voluntarily, very briefly wanted to try something other than cigarettes.

Having said all that, I had a very close friend that I'd known since kindergarten, my dad gave me his Dinner's Club card and sent about 4 of us the the Quality Inn (a real restaurant in those day) for my 16th birthday party/dinner. This guy and his date went with my boyfriend and I to our Jr Prom, and he might have joined us for the Senior prom, but by that time he had run into some difficulties with the education system, so he and some other friends drank most of the beer and generally destroyed the house before I even got back for the after party. The point being that for some reason he really, really wanted to be the first person to get me stoned. And he did. In the screened in porch of our old house on Randolf Avenue. And honestly, I had a blast. I can't be sure, but I feel like my boyfriend, the only one with any sense or ambition, just watched and drove. I don't know how long we cruised town, yapping out the window at random cars, and just generally doing stupid dope stuff (there really is a reason why they call it dope), and pretty much calling attention to our altered state and stupidity! It was so good, we went back to my house and did it again. The whole thing, wash, rinse, repeat while making an ass of ourselves. It was, without question the only enjoyable marijuana experience of my life!! I remember it extremely fondly, even now.
So coming off that first high experience, I was ready to give it another try. Hence the foundation for the Halloween party that was truly from Hell! It was at was a perfect October night. I went with my boyfriend, my best friend and an other guy I'd known since I was 5. I have no idea where the party was, but it was in the boonies, in and around someone's barn, very decked out for Halloween. The beer made the rounds first and everything was rolling pretty much as usual. Now where I got the drugs, I have no idea. The other four could have been helping out, but pretty much I think of Peter Fonda and his Easy Rider don't Bogart that joint. See, all I ever really did was drink, and he who could consume the most and still be vertical was the undisputed champion. The problem here is the group I was with either was they either didn't share the fine print with me that smoking wasn't like drinking, you didn't have to finish it, or they just didn't know anymore than me. I could be counted on even then to be a party overachiever. Oh my God, it was Nightmare on farmland way before Christmas pretty much from there on in. I think I flipped out quietly at first. Sitting on something steady with my head between my legs, but as my paranoia grew and the drugs really started to kick in, it sucked to be those guys!! It didn't take them too long to realize they needed to get me out of there--so much for their party experience. I think we may have dropped my girlfriend off on the way, but my friend Tommy followed us to my house, probably correctly expecting my boyfriend had more on his hands than he could handle. I suspect you could consider that my first panic attack. The guys got me in the house and Tommy got the hell out of there while the getting was still good. I laid on the living room carpet bemoaning how I was never, ever going to come down and I was going to be stoned for the rest of my life. Somewhere in the middle of that the compulsion to take a shower took over. Must have come from one too many Hollywood black and whites where they always throw the drunk in the shower and they miraculously become coherent again and promise anyone who will listen that they have learned their lesson and they will be riding the straight and narrow from there on in. One aspect of that idea was true. I can promise you without fear of lying or even forgetting that it was years, and some more years before I ever even took a hit from someone's pot. But mostly the result was I was just wet and sure I'd be stoned forever. Couldn't even begin to guess how long I was flipping out, but I guarantee you it was hours longer than any teenage boyfriend should have to absorb. He was a always a great guy in a crisis ! It probably isn't an accident that most of the men I have spent any time with have some odd sort of patience and a lot of tolerance! That's pretty much the end of that debacle. I eventually came down and calm down enough to go to bed, and the boyfriend was able to escape.
I want to reiterate that it was a very, very long time before I ever, ever had even one hit again. And even to this day I never volunteer to join in. Sort of like getting sick from something as a child and you never want to eat it again! But my favorite part, over the years I have witnessed several newbies who got the cliff notes and missed the fine print and were having an unpleasant experience. It is a look on someone's face that I can recognize at 100 paces. Although I will admit most of them took their medicine a lot better than I did.
Thirty years later I can assure you that on the very, extremely rare cases I indulge, I am nothing if not the one hit wonder!! Except on one other occasion, but it is a Christmas tale and I think I'll save it until then.

Day One--The Lawn Mower Incident

So remember the new focus of my blog is like cooking all of Julia's recipes in a year and blogging about them. Only in my case, I've decided to share an incident, usually involving some sort of imbibing. I thought about a chronological blog, I thought about starting with the worst and work in descending order. Finally I though let's start with something fun and see where it goes.
So a year or two ago I was hanging out with a bottle of Pinot on a Sunday night, and you know the worst sound is that last drop hitting the wine glass! I was on the verge of doing some drunk dialing that would have surprised at least one old boyfriend. Fortunately, I got both distracted and couldn't manage to find the number in the phone book. While I was still letting my fingers stumble through the yellow pages, I was interrupted by the current flame who was not at ALL pleased I had managed to suck down the bottle. While this discussion was going on he reminded me that the lawn mower was still in the driveway and it was beginning to rain. And specifically told me not to go after it! Catnip to the intoxicated!! So while he was looking for a jacket or something, I went out for the mower. Now my driveway isn't really steep, but it has a good incline, and the mower was half way up the drive, sheltered by a tree, but facing sideways instead of up or down the drive. So first I had to manuever the mower out of the tree, and that went pretty well. It was already half way up the drive, so that didn't seem so daunting. Unfortunately, I was good and hammered and the mower was harder to push than I imagined after I got it pointed up the drive. You might see where this is going-- after a 10-15 feet the mower became stronger than me and a backward motion began. Now, the mower was pushing me backwards down the drive, and maybe it ran over me a little. Wound up laying on the concrete driveway next to my car tire with the mower as my new best friend. No serious injuries. Some pretty patches of scrapes from the drive way. Sort of scrap/burns on both my wrists. This is about the time my boyfriend found me, and he was even less pleased about this new complication than he was about the bottle of wine. One of my favorite parts is that he came on the scene was I was already down, and his take on the back scraping was that I feel with the mower into the pine tree. People die that way he said. Rolling backwards, drunk with a mower isn't the picture of health either, I might add. To this day I don't think he believes I slid down the drive and skid across the concrete. My friends saw all the battle scars and I bet the easy money was 10-1 he scraped me up. Being battle weary as well as drunk by this time, I was ready for bed. Mostly fully dressed. There was dirt and pine tree debris well into the next day. Now, I don't generally drink like that anymore. All my rowdy friends and I have settled down. So I thought the whole thing was hilarious. Every time I told the story I laughed my ass off. I got a few strange looks! I did try to explain that since it was no longer a regular occurrence I could enjoy the irony of using the mower for the first time in my life, on my lower body and wheel well of my car! But there is another antidote to the saga. That year for Christmas we sold wine bottle holders that were reindeer laying on their backs with the bottle pointed toward their mouths. I never, ever sold a reindeer without telling that story. My only real regret is that I didn't get on. Would like to put it on the mantle as sort of a little token of that Sunday night. You know, like collecting a snow globe from the places you travel. All I got instead were scares on both wrists from the down ward slide!
The beauty of this adventure?? No drunk dial, I didn't really hurt myself when the mower ran me back over all the way down the drive. And if we ever get those reindeer again, it's going with my snow globe collection.
All well that ends well in this adventure. I've never had to move the mower again!
Good to be back guys, first thing I've written this year!!

Beverley Thompson Warrick shared Decade of My Discontent's status update.

Decade of My Discontent

Have been thinking a lot about blogging again guys! Have sort of a new gimmick. You know how Julie cooked all of Julia's recipes in a year and blogged about it. My current thought is to write one crazy story, from my past every day?? A little personal, but I'm thinking the stories of my misspent youth would make a perfect gimmick. Not to mention turning the blogs into a book and selling the movie rights! What do you think??

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The Decade of my Discontent: If I Liked Being Called a Bitch to My Face, I Woul...

The Decade of my Discontent: If I Liked Being Called a Bitch to My Face, I Woul...: " Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE ..."

If I Liked Being Called a Bitch to My Face, I Would Still Be Married

That quote really has absolutely nothing to do with my blog. Just wanted to use it! Thanks to Kyra Sedgewick and The Closer, what a great line!

I have been severely blog challenged of late. I didn't even blog when I lost a out on what would have been a good job and a substantial wage increase--I was intensely rattled after having omitted a semi colon (maybe) and a comma (definitely) from my cover letter. I didn't get the job, but I wanted to share a sentence from my rejection letter with you. "While we have selected another applicant, but I want to express to you that we rated you very high in our selection process." Dietra, you want to share with the class why I am excited about that sentence? I wanted to send Mr. Barrows, who took credit for writing the letter, a thank you note. Thanks for trying to cheer me up after losing the job by putting a big, fat grammatical error in my rejection letter!! I secretly hope the 'applicant they selected' wrote the letter! My friend Melanie suggested I look at it as another test, correct it and send it back. Maybe I am making some progress, cause I'm pretty sure doing that wouldn't be high on the scale of winning friends, influencing people, or ever getting an interview with that company again. But she is correct that it would have felt great!

Since this blog seems to suddenly be about jobs, interviewing or the lack there of, let's continue. Why don't I have a real job?? I can do lot's of things in an office, hell I seriously used to run an office. It's been so long since I used anything like half my brain, that I have honestly forgotten that I use to know how to do things. I'm the classic underachiever who is deluded about being an overachiever. And after my last interview, obviously a crap proofreader (You are the exception, Rick Nowell)!

Let me share with you my top three crap interviews!

Number Three with a Bullet, a HOUSEKEEPING POSITION at Valley Health. I feel slightly bad about not making this number one, it is very close to being the worst, and certainly is the most pointless, interview I have ever had! But it was only about 20 minutes, so it lost some points for that. Let's begin with returning Barbara's call to schedule the interview. Barbara gave me directions to the appropriate section of the hospital where the interview would take place. Unfortunately, she knew I would never be able to access the interview because of the locked door with a keypad. Maybe that is part of the interviewing process, to see if you can actually get in? I went to the kitchen, kidnapped a young boy who couldn't get in either. All we needed was that elusive third stooge!!! Alright, back to the interview. I introduced myself and shook the man's hand, the same can't be said for him. To this day, I have no idea who he was! My boyfriend would (and did) chalk that up to my not being serious about getting a job. But Mr. No Name was a crack shot interviewer! He had two or three sheets of pre prepared questions donated by the Aramark Company that he was asking all the candidates. Mr. No Name was an apparent genius because he was able to memorize my answers on the spot. I know this because he never picked up a pencil or took a note. Note to No Name--I'm college educated, not going to fool me with "Describe the last time you were late for work", "Describe the last time you broke a rule", "Do your co-workers like you?". I would pick shit with even your chickens for more hours, money, benefits, ect. but I would never get that stick to beat my own ass with and tell you I'm late for work and break the rules! Ahhh, and Barbara. She sat in on the interview. And by sat in I mean she sat in the back of the room and worked her farm on a lap top. Barbara appeared to be as good an assistant as No Name was an interviewer. The phone rings. Barbara gets up, goes to No Name's desk, identified the caller and said, "Nope, I'm not answering that call.", and sauntered back to finish building her pig pen.

Number Two. This interview holds a special place in my heart because it was during the period that I was totally unemployed and would have taken migrant farm work. The interview was for a flooring company, located in the family McMansion on the other side of Strasburg, just inside Middletown. Just like Valley Health the interviewer either hated me on sight or had already filled the job, because I can assure you, she had no intention of ever hiring. We spent 10-15 minutes with her describing her company and the job. Again, based on that alone it would not be worthy of a place in the top 10, much less three. In this case the job itself moved it up the ladder. 20 or 25 hours a week, 8, maybe 9 AM, until 1 or maybe 3 PM, just depends. Salary, 9 maybe ten dollars an hour, just depends. Now it get's interesting. Would I mind being paid in cash and 1099-ed at the end of the year? No and I'm good with bamboo shoots under my nails too, though. And the piece a resistance!! Drum Roll--over a hundred people applied for the job. On the plus side the 20 minute drive allowed me to enjoy my hysterical breakdown before I arrived back home.

And Number One, that last job I didn't get. Again, to be fair, it probably shouldn't be here topping the list. It was a good job, it was a very tough interview. But dammit, I didn't get the freaking job!! Suddenly, I was at a large table looking down the barrel of three men. Number One guy lulled me to sleep and into a false sense of security by droning on about the job. Note to readers--when you don't understand the benefits package, you may be in over your head. Number Two asked me the usual questions. "Describe a time you were late for work." "Describe a time you broke the rules." Would have referred him to Valley Health, but no name and no record of my answers. Last, The Grand Inquisitor. The only think missing was the bare light bulb and the lamb stew! Fortunately for him, all it took was the red circles on my cover letter in the first 10 seconds to completely rattle me for the rest of the interview and testing process!! Note to Inquisitor--If I knew how to solve the frigging plight of the middle class, I wouldn't be middle class or need your job!!!

So, on the Con side, I toll away at two jobs, virtually unappreciated and frequently greasy and dirty. On the plus side, they did throw me the bad sentence in the rejection letter bone. And, I had to rewrite and retype almost this entire blog, because I no longer send out anything without proofreading and re-proofreading!

The Origins of my Discontent

You know I started this blog a while ago because I was reading the Washington Post Magazine and it seemed like Jayne Lytel had stolen my life, and therefore my potential blog--and I wanted to start my own before some other wannabe beat me to the punch.

Jayne Lytel is the Michaela Salahi meets Carrie Bradshaw of Blogging. She writes under the pseudonym of Ann Power, of Girl On The Edge. Being unemployed, or under employed with my ex under foot because we couldn't afford to separate, seemed like my life. Unfortunately (I think), the resemblance stops there. Let's just sum up Lytel with power points, shall we:

• Successful wife and career woman has child diagnosed with Autism
• Gives up career track to become successful Autism author and advocate
• Along the way financial strain from special needs take it toll on her marriage and she divorces
• Skies open and opportunity shines, she finds a wealthy man and returns to work.
• Gods are bored, she loses job to recession and boyfriend dumps her by email.

A would be blogger is born. In the basement apartment with her husband and children upstairs, Lytel writes about the benefits of unemployment--cookies and cabernet in the afternoon. She keeps up her 53-year old appearance and size 2 wardrobe (the hell she is eating cookies and drinking cabernet!) with botox and frequent trips to the salon. She also joined millionairematcher.com and took a trip to Antigua, because it was about the cost of the therapy she should have gotten. All this, drum roll, drum roll, while collecting food stamps! Here is where our collective paths separate. Cause I can promise you the only places I get to cruise to are my two jobs, and one of them involves food so I get as many free meals as my size 6 can take. I'd be happy just to split the difference with her and call it a size 4, and as close as I currently get to botox is I got to work the other day and instead of a black Apple House shirt I found the one that has botox written in crystals, so I had to wear a stinky shirt someone brought back or left behind!

I love to write, and I appreciate every single one of the two of you that read this!!! I hope I get to keep writing long enough to find my niche, my voice and my stride! Deborah asked last week why I hadn't written anything new--it can usually be explained by 30 hours a week at Kohnen-Starkey and 29.5 hours a week at the Apple House of Linden. If either of you readers have the fast track to a wealthy man (one foot in the grave and the other one close behind is a plus), feel free to post that comment any where I might find it. Certainly, if either of you know where I can find one job to support myself in the absence of that wealthy man instead of the two I currently have, send it even faster. But I would be equally as tickled if you found a third person to read my ravings! And a special shout out to Ann Power and Jayne Lytel for creating the origins of what I jokingly refer to as the decade of my discontent.

I want to have my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames: or How I Finally Know I'm OLD

I WANT TO HAVE MY KICKS BEFORE THE WHOLE SHITHOUSE GOES UP IN FLAMES. Actually quoted from Jim Morrison, but my sentiments exactly! It obviously isn't a new quote (since Jim has been dead or in hiding since 1971), probably between '68-70, and I personally have been using parts of it since at least the '80's, but here is the thing-I couldn't bolster the balls to paste it on my Facebook page! I've finally reached the AGE of reason, or fear or absurdity, that may be something akin to maturity. I don't know but it certainly suck!

I could have almost posted it if I'd chosen to give Jim credit. The people who don't know who said it think your bad ass or punk or God forbid emo or something. The people who do know who said it (and these are the people I really wanted to post it for) think you still have it, because you can still use it. But the reason I didn't post it, and the reason I fear I'm tumbling headlong in to the abyss of mindless old age, is the people who wouldn't care and would never get! And I'm not bubble head barbie posting any and every random thought, phrase or misdemeanor on my Facebook page for future steps to my success (or continued failure) to read! Next thing you know I will have to ditch my Facebook account altogether because really successful employers don't want me to have one and 10 people will be following my blog and I'll have to begin writing it under an assumed name to protect myself and my imposed innocence!!

I'm perched on a parapet reading my own postcards from the edge, wondering which road to take now that I'm five miles of bad road past the fork in the road. And more importantly--who will carry on. If I give up my struggle against the tide, how long before we spawn generations that have never even heard of Jim Morrison? I work with kids, and it's a constant source of frustration and surprise. The only way I could explain the Who when they played last year's Superbowl was that one or more of them had seen an episode of CSI! Not one of them has ever seen Mickey Rouke when he was dirty but pretty. I cannot even contemplate how to introduce them to Billy Jack or Alice's Restaurant, any right of passage in my family, although Chelsey is a God fearing friend to Sarah Palin, so now that Arlo is a Republican, he might get her vote.

I want to get my kicks before the whole shit house goes up in flames--but have I waited too long already?? Do you see what those kids post on their pages? Those are song lyrics? Give me a break! I read that crap and I think who's hillybilly hip hop got too close to the pop princess gene pool with no lifeguard and this is what came out of that gorilla love-in? What happened to parity people?? I've watched Jersey Shore, I don't care to keep up with the Kardashian's but I know who they are. 10 plastic surgeries in one day, Bristol dancing, Levi running, or running away. But, here is the true crime of an internet age, too many entertainment outlets or distractions, so no exposure to true old school, back in the day (I soo, soo, soo hate that phrase) anything. When 20 channels was all you could get you saw a real movie, in black and white, low definition, in all it's chain smoking spender! The Picture of Dorian Gray, I love George Sanders. Have you ever tried to explain George Sanders to anyone under 35? First I have to define rogue. And eventually we get around to Jungle Book, and you can almost see a light bulb go off. They have no more idea of George Sanders than they do Colonel Sanders, and few of them even know who he is! Here's my absolute favorite--I wanted to be amusing and express BEWARE to Amber, so I text her "Danger Will Robinson! Danger Will Robinson!" When it requires 15 minutes of explanation, it is no longer funny!

Ok, I wrote a little more. Thank you to Deborah who noticed I hadn't written anything since last week. You know what they say, "Be careful what you wish for!!"

I've Been Through Hell: The Elin Nordegren Story

I just don't like Elin Nordegren. I don't really even know why. She actually seems relatively normal. Baseball cap and little makeup, I don't think I have ever seen a glamour shot besides the one in that awful gold dress with the fringe between her boobs! Ok, here it is, I think she exudes a sort of self-absorbed, stand offishness that comes across even in photographs.

More to the point I saw Sandra Sobieraj Westfall, a reporter for People magazine that wrote this weeks cover story on Nordegren, this morning on the Today Show. Sandra seems to be of the opinion that her subject is something akin to a concentration camp survivor or cancer patient, at the very least. She actually said, while closing her eyes and shaking her head, "that she cannot even imagine the crucible Elin has been in." Does a multi-million dollar mansion in Juniper, Fla really qualify as a cruicble??

Look don't get me wrong, having a partner be unfaithful to you is wicked painful, and extremely humiliating. My boyfriend and I broke up after 8 years and I lived with a girlfriend for almost a month, I really needed to break the cycle and the routine of my life with him, and being in the same house was mind bogglingly unbearable. And I am certainly not without sympathy or empathy for someone who has to experience that in a very public way. But come on! Your husband might discreetly have a tryst with one woman and get away with it for little while if he were so inclined, but you want me or anyone else to believe that your husband was playing slap and tickle with enough women to staff a Hooters and you didn't notice? I'm sorry, I just don't think so, and I would have a lot more respect for you if you just said, "Hey, I liked my life and as long as he tried to hide them I looked the other way, and it's really none of anyone's freaking business anyway!" It isn't any of my freaking business until you give me some ridiculous excuse because you played dumb, I need to play dumb. Nope, not me.

More about this interview with People and the Today Show piece. Michael Inbar of Todayshow.com described Westfall's work as a probing 19-hour interview. Probing? Ann Curry made the 19 hour interview over 4 days seem like a prison sentence. For Lindsay Lohan maybe, it's more like a Michaele hair extension appointment. I am so ashamed. I love this crap, I really do. I had the first issue of People magazine with Mia Farrow on the cover, I'm not referring to that as a trophy or anything, just an example of how I have always been into reading about the currently famous. As Penny Lane would say, Famous People are just more interesting that regular people! But I am giving them up, once and for all! This article is the straw that broke my back, but it's been coming for a long time.

I gave up my subscription during another epiphanous People moment a few years ago and now I can rarely justify the expense at $5 a pop. I usually can only bring myself to buy them when I have a coupon now (God I'm old!). I have years of experience in several fields but I can't find a single job that pays me enough to even live, so I have to work two jobs, 60 hours and 7 days a week--but People magazine paid Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt $19 million for a first picture of their kids--I don't have the words to express the absurdity of the system that we perpetrate for the privileged, but I no longer want to precipitate it. Finally, the magazine is now a ghost of it's former self. It is mildly amusing that the staff takes itself and what it does so seriously, but while People has always been know for articles that could be consumed and completed during the average crap (Thank You, Jeff Goldblum), now that don't even include many of those. Even in it's current whittled down size, most of the magazine is made up of advertising and photographs with silly captions. In place of actual words or content, they fill up 2-3 pages with famous people doing similar activities and call it day.

Alright, I'm Officially off the fan mag, literally and figuratively, and we need to get back to Tiger and Elin. (Note, a frequent suggestion on how to get people to read a blog, "Take A Controversial Position", this isn't much but I'm going for it!) Ann Curry asked Westfall her main 'take away's from her probing Nordegren--she didn't hit Tiger. Again, sorry, never believed it! My husband has just hit two stationary structures between our place and the neighbors and my first thought was to run in and fetch a $5000 golf club to beat in his expensive SUV? What about the spare key fob and just unlocking the damn door? Nope, don't think so. And so what!! Every woman on the planet secretly believes you should have beaten him with his own club, girlfriend! I'm certain it still must be politically incorrect to admit it, but we do!! It's like the 'I didn't know my husband was cheating' lie, it makes you seem very blond and very dumb!! There is little or no plausible explanation for why you would attempt to free him with a golf club. I appreciate that once you've told a lie you feel obligated to stay with it--but get a grip. You aren't Bill Clinton trying to avoid Monica Lewinski. Just tell us you were trying to protect your husband's image so you would come out better in the divorce settlement!

Sandy--re watch your interview before you go on GMA or Oprah! If Elin admits she received more than $100 million, but didn't give you any details of her financial settlement (as I'm sure Tiger's legal team is watching breathlessly!) how do you know she didn't get any thing near as much as $750 million? You actually shook your head to emphasize how ridiculous the whole idea was. Tiger Wood was a brand! The first athlete to break the million dollar glass ceiling. Elin's legal team (including a reported cousin she got on the payroll) didn't care that Tiger was already down a shitload of change paying those hotchies off every month. She could have very easily gotten $750 to keep her head down and her mouth shut! Another insult to our intelligence.

And lastly, and perhaps most interestingly, Elin wants us to know she 'had a real marriage.' Wow. The whole marriage was a sham? I never questioned it before now, but since the entire Today Show interview has proven to be a to do list for Nordegren's publicist, what the heck is going on?? Did Tiger really just marry because kids are great props and Elin was the most promising candidate? Was that the understanding or was she duped like the rest of us? Did he ever honestly try to repair the marriage or was it all just media spin for his sponsors? I suddenly feel like Carrie Bradshaw, all I need now is my trusty Apple laptop and a Marlboro!

I don't know. None of this makes any difference in the real world, but where is that real world? It feels finally finished to me, and were there really any losers? Tiger can finally focus on golf, something he apparently needs badly, not to mention he is free to stuff hundred into garters with both hands now! Elin can eat, drink and be merry now with all her hard earned cash. No more weight loss or hair loss. Most importantly as the story goes, she doesn't have to worry about getting a job right away so she can stay home with the kids! And People magazine is a must buy, because Nordegren is never going to be talking about this again. And I was going to complain about Lindsay getting out of rehab today!!

An Ode to Danielle

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

An Ode to Danielle

Alright, so Ode might be a tad Overkill, but I thought I was right about Danielle. Here is the thing about being an English Major, all you have to do is find one other person who has written something that supports your theory--and hey, you are in like Flint! I just read an article that said what I had always suspected but was afraid to believe--when Danielle talks, it seems harmless and almost reasonable.

I am far from a Housewives of New Jersey expert. As a matter of fact I have watched maybe half a dozen episodes, maybe a little less (you got a stack on Hulu or On Demand, it is just hard to keep track). She doesn't seem like a brain truss, but she doesn't seem like the devil incarnate either. That ex-con she's using as an idiot body guard is a little disturbing, even to her I think, but how evil can you be when you turn out to be just a big ole 'fraidy cat??

Here is all I'm saying, she is attractive in a botoxed, injectable New Jersey sort of way. She's over tanned and under weight, perfect for the part. All she really does is show up, repositions her hair until one of the other women work themselves up into a throw down, and then she just cries and drools in the bushes or a Bentley and waits for her favorite officers working the local beat to arrive. She honestly causes less trouble than the others. Am I wrong?

Is hoping to send the Housewife in training to prison a little harsh--sure. Do we really think any judge in the state has missed that episode and is going to send the kid to jail?? I think a little trash pickup off the ramp of her exit might be warranted though. Not everyone is on a reality show so you have to learn that it isn't appropriate to pull someones extensions out their heads just because you see a camera and some strong lights. I know a lot of woman who are a pain in my ass but I never tried to pull their hair out by the roots. I do live in Front Royal, and I have known a couple woman who have done that, but hey, they didn't go to jail either!

Villains have become such an important aspect of reality tv that the new Housewives have two.

DENIED

Brave New World my ass!! It is a scary place out there, on many, many levels! And I get that. I don't have children but I am very sensitive to cyber safety, especially with children, but really for us all. Still, when Facebook will not even let me send a friends request, I am both aghast and amused. Again.

As one or two fearless readers might have suspected, I am a Gordon Ramsey junkie. I've made risotto and Wellilngton to Chef Ramsay exacting standards. I watched him change his shirt so many times I'm more familiar with his chest hair than my partners (and why do the cameras follow him for wardrobe change???). At my house we dvr, inspect and dissect all things Gordon Ramsay. So when my Facebook friend Hell's Kitchen sent me a post last night announcing the new Season 8 chefs I got right on my droid and starting asking the chefs to be my new friends! Now, shortly all the chefs will have "official" Hell's Kitchen chef coat shots and Facebook pages, but while I might be a groupie, nobody wants to look like one (let's see, bandaid is already taken, would kitchen aid be copyright infringement?), so I like to get my requests in early and beat the rush!

Side Note Here--for any one (the number for followers I currently have), who hasn't worked a few years in a kitchen let me give you the 411 on restaurant groupies. Maybe they aren't riding the tour bus with the roadies to get to Mick, or holding anyone hostage because they are their Number 1 fan, but they are strange and undeniably creepy. What makes them so creepy? They aren't trying to sleep with the band. They aren't 6-degrees separated from anyone famous. They aren't even trying to rub elbows with celebrities, celebrity wanna be's, reality stars (or party crashers)--they are gratified by personal contact with the people who cook their food!!! You see many different degrees of restaurant groupies. The businessman that wants the waiters name so he monopolize their time, but in reality he just needs to make a lasting impression (this will be the same guy on an upcoming segment of Kitchen Nightmares who bought the restaurant because he believes he orders well and what else do you need to know?) The people who need to be greeted by the owners, fawned over, special faire and introductions for all their friends. Let me tell you, it is no coincidence that the host/maitre'd is frequently a man with an air of over confidence (over compensating for his inadequacies) and an eye for the ladies (or men), because in some alien restaurant hierarchy, you are the rock star. I know, go figure. It reminds me of the look on a 5-year old niece's face when I told her paper grew on trees. I've known groupies that have hosted the restaurant's Christmas Party, hired the chef to drop by the house and whip up a little something for their friends, and they all offer to play host or hostess for free--again, because what do you really need to know to successfully run the floor of a restaurant?

Now, we have taken that groupie experience to a whole new level!! We have combined that sick and sordid need for personal interaction with the people peeling our shrimp and tossed in more than a dash of pseudo celebrity. I myself have felt my heart race just a little at the realization that I was having an actual, virtual conversation with Season Six winner Dave Levey about dating and woman. I badly wanted some other obsessed fan of reality tv to touch me! So I share these experiences with my mate, let's call him Bart, because that's a joke and believe me more than anything he wants to remain anonymous! Bart doesn't get it, he never wants to get it, and he hopes he never has to have it. He calls it sucking face with my phone , he resents the intrusion, and he'd like me to go do a chore instead. Now you know why I've taken up blogging.

So as I am very excitedly adding new chefs to my fold, not one but two of the friends request came back something like, "you don't know these people, so quit trying to access them you Facebook Freek!" "Oh yeah, and if you think you have reached this message in error, so what!" Now on or soon after September 22, 2010, there are going to be two Hell's Kitchen contestants making the dog and pony show personal appearance tour from restaurant to restaurant trying to dredge up customers for viewing parties during the approximate 14 weeks the series airs, that will never be able to send me an invite!! Example--Chef contestants Salvatore Coppola, Jason "Jay" Santos, and Ed Battaglia attend a "Hell's Kitchen" finale viewing party at Gargoyle's on the Square in Somerville.

Ladies, you had your chance--and you and Facebook blew it!! I'm a great friend. I watch your show religiously. I make you seem popular by leaving comments on your posts. I even send you conciliatory messages after you get booted off the show like a freaking donkey! Unfortunately for you two, I will be doing that for Gail Novenario and Russel Kook, who had the good sense to accept me as their friends right away, instead of you. DENIED!