Saturday, September 30, 2006

It goes there.


Watched the premieres of Degrassi (Season 6) and South of Nowhere (Season 2) this morning. Excellent. Manny was right: Sean did get hot. It's okay to ogle him; he's 21 in real life. And he's 18 on the show. So why am worried?

In South of Nowhere news, Clay and Chelsea were too cute. Who? The two people on the show who aren't drama-filled. I was totally relating with Ashley on the whole half-sister appearing out of nowhere situation. I have half-siblings, aside from my brother, whom I have yet to meet. I have no idea who or where they are. But unlike Ashley, I have no $12 million trust fund to share with them. Our dad wasn't a rock star. But he was great parent who was actually around when he was alive.

BTW, loved the commercials during the break. The love triangles and hexagons. Catfights. Guys not being able to keep on their shirts. Keep that shirt off, Michael Copon. I do not mind at all. Then when Aiden offered him baby oil? Hot.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Nobody's Watching.


This discarded pilot on YouTube is funny. I LOLed repeatedly. But I could do without that blonde lady's boobs hanging in my face. I wasn't feeling the script when I read it a while ago, because it involved Jeff Zucker, whom I didn't really like in Fat Actress. Loved Marc Curry, though. And the guys in the original script were over 30, while their female counterparts were about 23. I never like that old guy, pubescent girl age disparity. But in the actual show, they are only a year apart, which is much better.

I like the weird guy in the suit who keeps staring at the camera. He has about five one-word lines, but he's already my favorite character. Probably because I recognize him as a Hey! It's that Guy. I'd look him up, but, Hello? La-zy, party of one right here.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Shows I'm loving, liking, and tolerating.

The Office. Love cubed. Favorite part: Michael, then Dwight sexually assaulting Oscar. Second favorite part: Rashida Jones making the "Jim" face to the camera. Third favorite part: "That's what she said. Or he said." Good show of tolerance, Michael.

Studio 60. I, um...well... The end of the second episode was entertaining. I'll be watching next week, too. So... Favorite part: The Big Three. Nate Corddry is so cute as Derek Jeter. Or "Tom," whatever. I want him to have my babies. Yeah, I said it.

Gilmore Girls. The writing. Ugh. The new writers are trying too hard to imitate the classic GG style. How many times must I hear the word "racquetball" in one hour? I miss Amy already. Daniel can stay gone, though. Are we going to be stuck with Logan forever? Favorite part: Paris. "I can scare the stupid out of you, but the lazy runs deep." Second favorite part: Sookie's interminable, uncut, nonsensical monologue. Part I should have loved, but didn't because of the sloppy dialogue: the reference to the episode of The Twilight Zone, one of my most favorite shows ever. Every New Year's, whose tv is tuned to the SciFi marathon? Mine.

That's all for now. I hope I catch 30 Rock whenever NBC decides to premiere it. Oh yeah. And. Degrassi and South of Nowhere return to The N tomorrow. Yippee! Yeah, I am in my 20s. No, obviously I'm not a teenager. What's your point?

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Farewell to a Trusted Friend

My printer died this afternoon. It had been with me for seven years, since my first week of college. It outlasted most of the friendships I made in college. Now it's sitting in a dumpster, ready to move into the afterlife.

After my printer sputtered out, groaned and refused to process another page, I got a new one in three hours. It's on my desk now, up and running. If I hadn't needed one so quickly, I would have taken more time to make the purchase, like I usually. Maybe waited for a sale, or looked for a store offering a rebate. Then I would have stared at in the store, contemplating the impact that this item would have on my life. Instead, I looked up the least expensive inkjet printers on the Office Depot, CompUSA, Best Buy and Staples websites. They all had the same printer I liked at the same price. So I went out, bought it, and brought it home.

If only all my purchases were that easy.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

I'm clearly not the only dork out there.


Other people like Sudoku, too. So don't judge me!

Because I rock so hard, you may have noticed that I recently added Jigsaw Sudoku to my list of favorite sites. Sudoku has been around for a loooong time. But the news media seems to have discovered it only last year. It's become a major industry, with Will Shortz as its crown prince. I used to think of it solely as the extra pages taking up space in my Math Puzzles and Logic Problems magazine. Now it's an acceptable way for me to pass the time, but only after I finish determing by process of elimination which friend with what last name brought which gift to whose party on what day of the week.

What? I love logic problems, too. And I am very particular about how I like to do them. Shocker. I'm anal-retentive about everything. I like the ones from Dell magazines. The ones in Penny Press don't give you enough room to write things down. I usually stick to the three-star to five-star rated puzzles, with the rectangular grid that you fill in with Xs for no and dots for yes. I'll take a three-, maybe a four-star with a picture diagram or a grid where you fill in the names and descriptions, but that's only if I've already completed the other puzzles to my liking.

But why jigsawdoku.com, you ask? Well, I like moving the pieces around. They are different colors, so you have more visual cues when figuring out what goes where. And it's not just numbers. There are letter games and symbol games, too. Fun!

I'm getting all excited about games in paperback booklets and on websites that challenge me mathematically, and I actually enjoy engaging in these activities on a Saturday night. No wonder I'm alone.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I'm not supposed to care about SNL anymore.


Saturday Night Live and I broke up at the end of last season. To be precise, I was the one who dumped SNL, after waiting two or three years longer than I should have. Anyway, Mad TV and I already had a thing going on the side for a while. I was enticed by Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele doing "Man Up," stomping and clapping to their own beats to mollify their frequent superstitions. But it became real for me when Jordan and Crista Flanagan started krumping. Oh, the hilarity! Now Mad TV's my Boo. The FOX sketch comedy show might not have the pedigree of NBC's SNL, but who cares about a show's history when it's Bor-ing. ER, take note.

The last really good time SNL and I had together happened in late 2003, with the Justin Timberlake perfomance. "Bring it on in to Omeletville!" Good times, good times. Even with that ephemeral spark of humor from JT, SNL couldn't stop its choo-choo train from staying the course on the downward spiral to oblivion.

As reported on Defamer, Horatio Sanz, Finesse Mitchell and Chris Parnell were officially kicked of the show today. Regarding Parnell, my only words are, what took them so long? Horatio and Finesse? Eh. Getting rid of them is not going to make the show any funnier. That's like fishing some dog turds out of the sewer to improve the scent. Hey, SNL people. Y'all still stinky poo. The only people worth keeping around on that show are Amy Poehler and Seth Meyers. Seth only gets a nod from me because I saw See This Movie, and it wasn't that bad. Everyone else? Get those headshots ready. Your buns won't be safe for long.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

What's in a name?

Ever since I discovered the need to entertain myself online a few years ago, I often find myself laughing out loud at a certain website. No, not Black People Love Us!, although that site is darn funny. I'm talking about Baby's Named a Bad, Bad Thing, found at notwithoutmyhandbag.com/babynames. Oh dear, are those baby names fun-nee! What were those parents thinking?

I revisited the site recently when my friend Ava was having her first baby, my darling niece Darien. Lucky for everyone involved, Darien's parents did not suddenly discover their Welsh side, and thus eschewed such monikers as Llio Meinir and Ceiros Eurwen. They also stayed away from Sharmonica, LaPleasure, Argyle Emmaleigh and Tierrainney Mariecon.

Unfortunately, my half-brother Lincoln and his lovely wife did not have the same approach in naming their offspring. The latest addition to their family, baby number 5, is a wide-eyed boy named Colby. Your first instincts might be to say, Yeah, like the cheese? That's not so bad. Well, no. It's tolerable. Until you meet his older brother Carrington, Cary for short. I see a whole mess of shoulder pads, catfights and big diamond necklaces in their futures. Maybe they'll be feuding, fabulous linebackers in the NFL.

Who am I to judge what names parents pick for their children? My first name is Bianca, and I still don't know why. My Mummy and Daddy chose it for whatever reason. The last name they gave me was a hyphenate of both of theirs. Then they mistakenly gave Lincoln the honor of selecting my middle name. Reagan seems innocent enough, like the girl from The Exorcist. Ha. I would have preferred if that had been his reasoning. But no, like most other children made in the 80s with that name, I received it in homage to our 40th president. And vehemently so. Even at 13 years old, Lincoln was the Alex P. Keaton in our otherwise moderate family. He didn't just name me after a US president; he named me after a REPUBLICAN president, the leader of HIS party. He told my parents that it was fitting, because President Lincoln had freed the slaves, and President Reagan was bringing truth and justice back to The White House. Pfft. I bet even as a newborn, I blew a raspberry in his face then, too.

One might acknowledge the bond Lincoln and I have as siblings with such patriotic names. One might be thankful that my brother in his whimsy did not middle-name me Ronald, or Ford. Or Nixon. But not I. I just wish he would take the same interest in me now as an adult, as he did when I was a little kid, before our father died.

A Book about Me!


20Something Essays by 20Something Writers

It's not entirely about me. It's about my people. Which people? The 20-somethings. The people who are becoming grown-ups in the 00s.

I devoured most of the book while I was at Borders this weekend. I dragged a step stool to the writing section, sat down on the plastic contraption, and read page after page of prose about the human experience. The misery of "temporarily" moving back in with your parents. The shame of working at a low paying job in the service industry which your higher education has clearly overqualified you for. The schizophrenia of balancing your real world relationships to people with your online ones. (Do I really need to IM, email, call, page, fax, MySpace, Facebook, and, god forbid, Friendster my associates if I can meet up with them in person?)

I bought the book today, so I can enjoy it in the privacy of my own home. I'm sure the Borders people appreciate my continued patronage. And to the 20-Something Writers, here's some free publicity for your book. I like to pretend influential (i.e. any) people read my blog. It makes me feel special.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Too little, too late?


So, Christian Finnegan himself has noticed that he has lost weight. 70 pounds, he says. And he wrote about it today in his own blog, probably before I did. The nerve of some people. Where does Christian get off writing about his own body on his own website? That was MY story. Now I'll have to post thoughts about my own weight loss, and how I'm not fat enough to be able to lose 70 pounds. If I lost 70 pounds, I'd have to check myself into Promises. But I think I'd need a drug or alcohol addiction to qualify for their in-patient care. Sex addictions count, too. I could do it. Anything for my art. Meaning, this blog.

There was an old man named...


Christian Finnegan?

In the song, it was Michael, and Christian's not old yet, but I digress.

Over the past year, Christian Finnegan, one of my favorite comedians, has lost weight. He's not down to a need-for-concern type weight yet, just a Hey-you've-lost-some-weight weight at the moment.

I was first made aware of Christian through his appearance on Chappelle's Show, where he played The White Guy in the Mad Real World sketch. I continued to find his chubby little punim endearing when he made the move to Best Week Ever, where he is still charming and funny.

So why am I talking about him? Because I want Christian to know that like him both with the weight and without. I liked him when he was fluffy. I like him now. I'm sure he's hitting a higher quality of poontang now that he isn't so husky. I'm also sure he doesn't really care what a quirky girl like me thinks of his body. Like he reads my blog. But truly, it was never the looks that drew me to Christian. (That sounds bad.) It was the quality of his work, and his sweet demeanor. I guess the only difference now is that there's a little less Christian to hug.

(FYI, I've never met Christian Finnegan in person. If I ever do, though, knowing my luck, he'll probably be a dick.)

That's Entertainment!


There was this big "expose" last week about lonelygirl15 and the fact that she wasn't really a homeschooled 16-year-old named Bree living in small town America. She is actually a 19-year-old actor named Jessica performing scenes created by three California guys in their late 20s.

I hadn't heard of the YouTube based project until the "controversy" warranted enough notoriety to be featured in the LA Times. Apparently some fans of the ongoing lonelygirl15 series were shocked, SHOCKED, to find out the melodrama of Bree, her friend Daniel, and her controlling parents were fabricated. They weren't even truthy. They were well-scripted lies. How dare someone post fake video diaries on the internets? If something's online, it has to be true, right?

To see what all the hubbub was about, I watched about half of Bree's videos this weekend. I liked them. Their entertainment value wasn't diminished by the fact that they aren't "real." I appreciated how the writing, the acting and the mis-en-scene were carefully crafted to suck viewers in to Bree's world, making them question who she is, where she lives, and what creepy religion her family practices. It's kind of like Lost, except shorter, and with a better chance of me watching an episode. (I lived on a strange island for 13 years; I don't need to watch the guy from Party of Five do it every week.)

My point is, I don't care that lonelygirl15 isn't real. This isn't some James Frey fraud perpetrated on the public. Additionally, I didn't care that A Million Little Pieces wasn't "real" either. Memoir or fiction, I wasn't going to read the book anyway. People who are mad that Bree isn't someone just like them have way too much time on their hands. I would understand the anger of the views if the creators of the project had their actor asking for help or something serious like that. But they didn't. Like all good television producers, they crafted a fantasy world that captured the attention of their viewers. For those people who are so concerned about individuals lying to them through some media outlet, I have a better target for their attention: "Journalists," like ballroom dancer Tucker Carlson and loofah/falafel enthusiast Bill O'Reilly who spout falsifications on a daily basis on national airwaves and call it "News."

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Well, if Ms. Garcia wasn't offended...

Nope. I'm still offended. I guess it's "the black blood" in me that's making me "very hot." At least, that's what Arnold Schwarzenegger believes. I wonder what part of his ancestry is making him an ignorant buffoon.

Don't Let Jeff Probst Ever Talk Again


Apparently Chinese, Japanese and Koreans are all Asian, but they don't all necessarily get along. Thanks for the insight, Jeff. I eagerly await his next public announcement informing the media that Hispanic people aren't all from the same country either. Or even the same continent. I wonder if anyone let him know that all white guys aren't from Wichita.

Zach Braff, please find some real problems.


Then, and only then, make another movie coincidently starring yourself. Garden State was good. Except for the forced Hollywood ending. I know you're supposed to write what you know. But seriously. It's not that hard being 30-year-old upper middle class white man in America with family and friends that obviously care about you. If you are still experiencing existential ennui, Zach, go to a developing nation and then reexamine your life. If you don't have that kind of time, take a walk along Wilshire Blvd from Santa Monica, through Westwood and Beverly Hills, all the way to Downtown LA. I'm sure you'll be able to find some people in your own neighborhood who can provide you with stories of real dire straits. Yes, overmedication featured in your first opus was valid problem to deal with. But being a dick and contemplating cheating on your fiancee because you can't figure out the meaning of life does not make your follow-up protagonist someone to care about.

Brian Palmer's blog entry, Zach Braff’s 10 Easy Tips for Writing Films About Twenty-Somethings®, really does it for me. So satisfying.

One day I hope to create equally culty works of art that future generations can tear apart in their blogs. That way, I'll know I have truly arrived.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Naps or bathrooms?

Which ones do I like more? I'm looking forward to the nap I have planned this afternoon. But I also like visiting bathrooms, especially in classy establishments with shiny faucets and perfumed soap. I don't like interrupted naps. And I don't like stinky bathrooms. Goodness knows I've done my water business in some questionable facilities around the world. One can live without naps, but one really needs a bathroom. Or at least a hole in the ground. That excrement has to go somewhere.

Why don't I throw smiling babies into my comparison? They make me happy, too. I love trying out my funny faces on the under-2 crowd I encounter on the mean streets of LA.

The world could live without naps. Most of the international population lives with indoor plumbing or even an outhouse. But without babies, there would be no more people. So babies win. Yay babies! But only the smiling ones. Unhappy babies are so not cool.