You guys, I totally finished my list of my Most Favoritest Songs of all time!
And I stopped myself at 25!
With respects to a number artists, musicians and The Flying Purple People Eater, here is the list of my all time, top 25 favorite songs of ALL TIME:
1. Johnny B Good – Chuck Berry
2. Superstition – Stevie Wonder
3. Hey Jude – The Beatles
4. Joy To The World – 3 Dog Night
5. Get It Together – Beastie Boys
6. Sloop John B – Beach Boys
7. Me & Julio Down By The School Yard – Paul Simon
8. Rock N’ Roll Radio – The Ramones
9. Filipino Box Spring Hog – Tom Waits
10. Untouchable Face – Ani DiFranco
11. Lithium - Nirvana
12. I Love Paris – Les Negresses Vertes
13. Talk To Me Summer – Screeching Weasel
14. Parachute – Something Happens
15. I Don’t Want To Grow Up – Holly Cole
16. Roller Skating Jam Called Saturday – De La Soul
17. Very First Lie – Material Issue
18. Stewart – Dead Milkmen
19. Handle Me With Care – Traveling Wilburys
20. I Don’t Care About You – Fear
21. Baba O’Reilly – The Who
22. Cult of Personality – Living Color
23. Smack Water Jack – Carol King
24. Criminal – Fiona Apple
25. La Croisade Des Enfants – Higelin Jacques
After completing this list I think the hardest part was actually resisting the urge to explain all of my choices. Every one of these songs has a story, or at least a really good reason why it's resonating in my head. I could tell you. But I wont. Unless you ask.
And, for those of you with an unquenchable thirst for archaic music knowledge check out http://dgmusicmachine.wordpress.com/ where a bunch of my work peeps totally geeked out over music together.
Happy Leap Year!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Of All Time
A friend of mine asked me on Friday to put together my top 20 list of favorite songs and I've been thinking about it ever since. I'm already preoccupied with the issue of music. I'm having wedding DJ anxiety so, every song I hear is automatically weighted in relation to the wedding reception play list. But now there's this whole other level to it and that's...uh, two levels too many.
Music is hard to qualify. My favorite song is so dependent on my mood and the environment, the list is in constant drift between genres and artists. Once I am able to pare down the thousands to twenty do I need to distinguish their ranking? Does the number one song have to be The Number One Song? I'm a little scared to put that in writing. I mean, at one point in my life "Purple People Eater" would have held that position. I don't know if I can still say that, although it may still have to go on the list somewhere. I love that song. (Can I play that at the wedding?)
I guess I can start by artist. There are some that are on there by default: The Beatles...OK, there is one band that is on the list by default. Hell, The Beatles could be all of my Top 20, and I'm not even kidding about that. I am going to diversify though because, to be fair, I couldn't spend the rest of my life only listening to The Beatles so obviously there are other artists I love.
I love, I love, I love...Tom Waits. I love Ani. Nirvana. The Ramones. But I don't know if I can say with absolute devotion that there are other artists that I would place among the pantheon, above of all others. I really like Chuck Berry. And I really like Carol King. The Doors are sometimes good. And then there's that whole thing about The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys. And how if, you know, you really loooove The Beatles, neither of those other two bands are ever really going to cut it? Sure, they've got some good tracks but they'll never be The Beatles. I guess there could be a song by each of those two on the Top 20. I can't deny them as great bands.
I think De La Soul is fantastic. They always get me up out of my seat. Does that qualify them as one of my favorites? There could be a lot of really sad songs on this list. But should songs that I listen to when I'm sad, or to make myself sad be included in a list of Top 20? I don't think so. That doesn't seem right. God knows I don't need music to be depressed. And certainly depressing music doesn't do much to cheer me up. It's usually music to wallow by, if you know what I mean. Maybe I should stick to the music that appeals to the more rhythmic and upbeat part of my nature. It's good to feel good, ya know? Music should make you feel good. Relaxed, maybe a little loose. Get up on the tables and dance a little bit!
Let's not let me get carried away. Some of the music I like to dance to probably should be placed at least 20 yards away from this list. This list should get a restraining order against some of the music I like to dance to. But, I think it is safe to say that all of my favorite music is music that makes me feel good. And, look at that, it doesn't even knock Depeche Mode out of contention. Sweet.
OK, so The List is doable. I'm going to think about it for a little while longer. Once I get it figured out I'll post it. I know you all must be in a lather of anticipation over this, you multitudes of fans and readers, so I'll try to step on it.
Music is hard to qualify. My favorite song is so dependent on my mood and the environment, the list is in constant drift between genres and artists. Once I am able to pare down the thousands to twenty do I need to distinguish their ranking? Does the number one song have to be The Number One Song? I'm a little scared to put that in writing. I mean, at one point in my life "Purple People Eater" would have held that position. I don't know if I can still say that, although it may still have to go on the list somewhere. I love that song. (Can I play that at the wedding?)
I guess I can start by artist. There are some that are on there by default: The Beatles...OK, there is one band that is on the list by default. Hell, The Beatles could be all of my Top 20, and I'm not even kidding about that. I am going to diversify though because, to be fair, I couldn't spend the rest of my life only listening to The Beatles so obviously there are other artists I love.
I love, I love, I love...Tom Waits. I love Ani. Nirvana. The Ramones. But I don't know if I can say with absolute devotion that there are other artists that I would place among the pantheon, above of all others. I really like Chuck Berry. And I really like Carol King. The Doors are sometimes good. And then there's that whole thing about The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys. And how if, you know, you really loooove The Beatles, neither of those other two bands are ever really going to cut it? Sure, they've got some good tracks but they'll never be The Beatles. I guess there could be a song by each of those two on the Top 20. I can't deny them as great bands.
I think De La Soul is fantastic. They always get me up out of my seat. Does that qualify them as one of my favorites? There could be a lot of really sad songs on this list. But should songs that I listen to when I'm sad, or to make myself sad be included in a list of Top 20? I don't think so. That doesn't seem right. God knows I don't need music to be depressed. And certainly depressing music doesn't do much to cheer me up. It's usually music to wallow by, if you know what I mean. Maybe I should stick to the music that appeals to the more rhythmic and upbeat part of my nature. It's good to feel good, ya know? Music should make you feel good. Relaxed, maybe a little loose. Get up on the tables and dance a little bit!
Let's not let me get carried away. Some of the music I like to dance to probably should be placed at least 20 yards away from this list. This list should get a restraining order against some of the music I like to dance to. But, I think it is safe to say that all of my favorite music is music that makes me feel good. And, look at that, it doesn't even knock Depeche Mode out of contention. Sweet.
OK, so The List is doable. I'm going to think about it for a little while longer. Once I get it figured out I'll post it. I know you all must be in a lather of anticipation over this, you multitudes of fans and readers, so I'll try to step on it.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Ooooh Shiny
We just got our brand new, super shiny computer set up here at home.
It's purty.
And it has a printer.
I may be in love.
That is all for now. I'm gonna go back to making kissy faces at this thing.
It's purty.
And it has a printer.
I may be in love.
That is all for now. I'm gonna go back to making kissy faces at this thing.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
265 Days
I've already got my gown, so most of the pages in this wedding magazine I have are pretty irrelevant. But the wedding gown advertising is still...frightening.
OK first of all, some of these gowns are questionable. But, even the models in the most elegant of these dresses are completely un-bride-like in their facial expressions. And I'm using that term loosely. Is "anemic" an expression? What about "jaundiced?"
There are some really smug looks going on. As if they know they look better in their gown than you could ever possibly dream. The couple in this Ann Taylor Celebrations ad has this mystical disbelief thing going on. Looking into each others' eyes as if neither can believe they get to walk down this gravel driveway with someone so good looking.
It is, overall, a display of worries, anxieties, fears, boredom and sunken cheeked sultriness.
Most of the bridesmaids look like they're having a good time. Laughing it up, probably at the dresses they're modeling. Well, except for this Thread ad where all of the redheads look sad at being forced to wear every color in the pink spectrum. Although their hair is very shiny.
On the facing page, the Reem Acra model looks like a doped up child bride sold into a sultan's harem.
I don't understand why so many of these women are lying prostrate on the floor. Is it that they have become so overwhelmed by the velvet belt with giant ribbon flower wrapped around the bodice of their gown? Did they fall off the bed trying to get the garter belt on? Should I anticipate being on the floor at some point during the reception? I don't think we're planning on it being "that" kind of party.
There's also a lot of crouching going on in this magazine. As if the brides are, perhaps, trying to hide something, or from someone. That is not the image of a confident bride folks. This Kenneth Pool chick is in her gown, up on a roof, looking like she's going to make a break for it. I am not going to buy a gown from The Runaway Bride.
I'm not even going to discuss the caved chest, eating disorder look going on here. That's just a given in light of the media's unobtainable standards of beauty blah blah blah. But come on advertisers, would it kill sales to put a few smiles on these faces? I've got 265 days to plan what is supposed to be the "happiest day of my life." Perhaps that could be projected a little more clearly in the ads for all of the products, goods and services I need to purchase in order to make that day happen.
I'm just sayin'.
OK first of all, some of these gowns are questionable. But, even the models in the most elegant of these dresses are completely un-bride-like in their facial expressions. And I'm using that term loosely. Is "anemic" an expression? What about "jaundiced?"
There are some really smug looks going on. As if they know they look better in their gown than you could ever possibly dream. The couple in this Ann Taylor Celebrations ad has this mystical disbelief thing going on. Looking into each others' eyes as if neither can believe they get to walk down this gravel driveway with someone so good looking.
It is, overall, a display of worries, anxieties, fears, boredom and sunken cheeked sultriness.
Most of the bridesmaids look like they're having a good time. Laughing it up, probably at the dresses they're modeling. Well, except for this Thread ad where all of the redheads look sad at being forced to wear every color in the pink spectrum. Although their hair is very shiny.
On the facing page, the Reem Acra model looks like a doped up child bride sold into a sultan's harem.
I don't understand why so many of these women are lying prostrate on the floor. Is it that they have become so overwhelmed by the velvet belt with giant ribbon flower wrapped around the bodice of their gown? Did they fall off the bed trying to get the garter belt on? Should I anticipate being on the floor at some point during the reception? I don't think we're planning on it being "that" kind of party.
There's also a lot of crouching going on in this magazine. As if the brides are, perhaps, trying to hide something, or from someone. That is not the image of a confident bride folks. This Kenneth Pool chick is in her gown, up on a roof, looking like she's going to make a break for it. I am not going to buy a gown from The Runaway Bride.
I'm not even going to discuss the caved chest, eating disorder look going on here. That's just a given in light of the media's unobtainable standards of beauty blah blah blah. But come on advertisers, would it kill sales to put a few smiles on these faces? I've got 265 days to plan what is supposed to be the "happiest day of my life." Perhaps that could be projected a little more clearly in the ads for all of the products, goods and services I need to purchase in order to make that day happen.
I'm just sayin'.
Definitely, Maybe
Am I the only one who wants to see this movie because I have fantasies about bedding Ryan Reynolds, spawning a perfectly precocious child and living happily ever after until dying an untimely, melodramatic death (do people still die of consumption?)
I've said too much.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Me At 32
So, here I am. New Year's Eve.
At work.
Which, yeah, pretty much epitomizes the year for me. Work.
While it's good to have a job with a paycheck, this particular job leaves much (MUCH) to be desired. And yes, I could go out and get myself a different job but that is really not as easy as it sounds people. What with all of the dressing up, and the uncomfortable shoes and the interviews and the making of first impressions.
Plus, and I feel really strongly about this, if I'm going to go through the trouble of getting a new job the year I'm getting married it's going to have to be something I really want to be doing, with people I don't feel like gutting every 20 minutes. So, that's a little limiting as far as career choices go right now. I suspect that if I were in a different city I could probably find something I like doing at a place I would enjoy doing it. But here? Chicago has limited industries. Mostly I am qualified to work in advertising and I, yes, hate advertising.
But, other than this stupid job in this stupid office filled with (mostly but not all) stupid people, 2007 has been a pretty good year. Nothing dramatically terrible has happened and I found the perfect wedding gown!
2008 will be...challenging. There's a lot to do. I think I'm up to it. I mean seriously? I've managed much bigger productions than this wedding is going to be. I should totally be able to handle it. Of course none of those past productions have involved my mom so that might be the ...um...wrench?...In the plan? That sounds mean but I don't mean it to be mean. I just mean that...well, you know. I mean, some of you know. The rest of you KNOW. So...yeah. Anyway...
If I can get a handle on the guest list I think everything will be AOK. Also a DJ. And a florist....and a bakery. Crap. Well, whatever. I have the perfect wedding gown!!
Yesterday I took some time to clear out old paperwork from some storage bins. I came across a stack of journals from high school and college. Yeah, those were about as painful as you would expect them to be. Which, I decided after the fact, was a good thing. I am not nearly as melodramatic as I was 10 or 15 years ago. Thank God because apparently I was a little insufferably melodramatic. I mean really, all of the declarations of undying love for boys I don't think I was even speaking to when I reached the last page of the journal. I certainly haven't spoken to some of them in ...um...10 years or so. Which goes to show you that...um...teenagers are...um....mellodramatic? Cause no one knew that yet.
Look at me! Full of New Year's Eve revelations!!!
I am a head with a hat and all I say is Ho, Ho, Ho.
No one is gonna get that joke except Kevin, and that's OK.
Right. So, progress has been made in the last 10 years. My hair is a normal color. I no longer have an unnecessary number of holes in my ears, nor do I continue to feel the need to hide under low slung baseball caps. I am marrying a man I am 95% certain that my 15 year old self would approve of (that other 5% of me really thought I would marry Morrissey.) I have mastered shopping for my own clothes. And I have gotten much better at shopping for my own shoes. I only buy shoes that actually fit me now. OK, that last pair of loafers was questionable but they really seemed like they fit in the store - must have been the lighting.
I could take this space to make up some meaningless and, probably, unobtainable new years' resolutions but I stopped making those around the same time I gave up giving up stuff for Lent. Plus, even if I did make resolutions I'm not necessarily going to share them with the blog reading public (all eight of you.) 2008 is putting a lot on my plate. If I can get through the year without needing to heavily sedated at any point I will feel completely victorious at this time next year.
So, 2007, in a nutshell. Work sucks. Love is grand. Food is good, I like food. Reading is sexy.
End Report.
End 2007.
See ya'll on the other side!
At work.
Which, yeah, pretty much epitomizes the year for me. Work.
While it's good to have a job with a paycheck, this particular job leaves much (MUCH) to be desired. And yes, I could go out and get myself a different job but that is really not as easy as it sounds people. What with all of the dressing up, and the uncomfortable shoes and the interviews and the making of first impressions.
Plus, and I feel really strongly about this, if I'm going to go through the trouble of getting a new job the year I'm getting married it's going to have to be something I really want to be doing, with people I don't feel like gutting every 20 minutes. So, that's a little limiting as far as career choices go right now. I suspect that if I were in a different city I could probably find something I like doing at a place I would enjoy doing it. But here? Chicago has limited industries. Mostly I am qualified to work in advertising and I, yes, hate advertising.
But, other than this stupid job in this stupid office filled with (mostly but not all) stupid people, 2007 has been a pretty good year. Nothing dramatically terrible has happened and I found the perfect wedding gown!
2008 will be...challenging. There's a lot to do. I think I'm up to it. I mean seriously? I've managed much bigger productions than this wedding is going to be. I should totally be able to handle it. Of course none of those past productions have involved my mom so that might be the ...um...wrench?...In the plan? That sounds mean but I don't mean it to be mean. I just mean that...well, you know. I mean, some of you know. The rest of you KNOW. So...yeah. Anyway...
If I can get a handle on the guest list I think everything will be AOK. Also a DJ. And a florist....and a bakery. Crap. Well, whatever. I have the perfect wedding gown!!
Yesterday I took some time to clear out old paperwork from some storage bins. I came across a stack of journals from high school and college. Yeah, those were about as painful as you would expect them to be. Which, I decided after the fact, was a good thing. I am not nearly as melodramatic as I was 10 or 15 years ago. Thank God because apparently I was a little insufferably melodramatic. I mean really, all of the declarations of undying love for boys I don't think I was even speaking to when I reached the last page of the journal. I certainly haven't spoken to some of them in ...um...10 years or so. Which goes to show you that...um...teenagers are...um....mellodramatic? Cause no one knew that yet.
Look at me! Full of New Year's Eve revelations!!!
I am a head with a hat and all I say is Ho, Ho, Ho.
No one is gonna get that joke except Kevin, and that's OK.
Right. So, progress has been made in the last 10 years. My hair is a normal color. I no longer have an unnecessary number of holes in my ears, nor do I continue to feel the need to hide under low slung baseball caps. I am marrying a man I am 95% certain that my 15 year old self would approve of (that other 5% of me really thought I would marry Morrissey.) I have mastered shopping for my own clothes. And I have gotten much better at shopping for my own shoes. I only buy shoes that actually fit me now. OK, that last pair of loafers was questionable but they really seemed like they fit in the store - must have been the lighting.
I could take this space to make up some meaningless and, probably, unobtainable new years' resolutions but I stopped making those around the same time I gave up giving up stuff for Lent. Plus, even if I did make resolutions I'm not necessarily going to share them with the blog reading public (all eight of you.) 2008 is putting a lot on my plate. If I can get through the year without needing to heavily sedated at any point I will feel completely victorious at this time next year.
So, 2007, in a nutshell. Work sucks. Love is grand. Food is good, I like food. Reading is sexy.
End Report.
End 2007.
See ya'll on the other side!
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Mind Killer
I have been meaning to post about turning 32 and be all witty about aging and how I'm not all that much different than I was when I was 22 except that I am.
But, I just chipped a tooth (no mom, it wasn't on a crouton.) So now I am in the midst of anxiety attack crisis at the thought of having to expose my mouth to a dentist.
Which, actually, goes towards proving my point. See? Not much has changed since I was 22.
Excuse me, I'm gonna go breath into a paper bag for the next three days.
K. Bai.
But, I just chipped a tooth (no mom, it wasn't on a crouton.) So now I am in the midst of anxiety attack crisis at the thought of having to expose my mouth to a dentist.
Which, actually, goes towards proving my point. See? Not much has changed since I was 22.
Excuse me, I'm gonna go breath into a paper bag for the next three days.
K. Bai.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
First Of The Month
So, I signed up for this NaBloPoMo thing.
I'm don't know what I am going to write about EVERY day for a whole month.
I am sure I will think of something.
Buwahahahahahahhaa.
ahem.
I'm don't know what I am going to write about EVERY day for a whole month.
I am sure I will think of something.
Buwahahahahahahhaa.
ahem.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
The Machine
So, I went out and bought this elliptical machine last week. It's somewhat alien looking. Like a metallic antelope crouched behind the couch, waiting to spring at me at any moment. I suspect that the anticipation of it's impending attack is part of what makes it so necessary for me to climb on every morning. I'm gonna break this damn thing like a wild stallion before it can break me.
This exercise thing is really hard. Don't ever let anyone tell you that working out is "fun!" Cause I am seriously getting my ass kicked right now. I am not going to lie. I am in no condition to be working out every day with machines and weights and over sized balls. I am a fat, lazy couch-potato and my only hope is to get through these first couple of months without dying or pulling anything irreparably out of place. Maybe then I'll be in shape enough to work out. Right now though, I barely have enough strength left in my upper arm to lift this mug of water. I may die of dehydration, right now. And it will all be the fault of The Machine.
God, I really hate that thing. The day I bought it I went skipping out of the store. I was so excited and in love with the idea of being "fit." Yeah! I was gonna work out, eat healthy all of the time. I would feel vigorous! Full of energy and a zest for life.
Mostly, I'm just tired. And a little sore. And sometimes, when I look at The Machine, I cry a little. Knowing that the next morning, I'm just going to have to climb back on up there and work up a sweat. Again. But, in the long run I no longer feel guilty about my time on the couch, knowing that I have actually earned it now. So, that's nice. And, in about ten minutes, when I go downstairs and heat up that slice of leftover pizza I wont feel guilty about that either. I may feel a little guilty about the potato chips I have later tonight. Or, I may skip them. Of my own volition. Having absolutely nothing to do with that Machine that I have to squeeze past in order to even get downstairs. Nope. Nothing to do with that at all.
Stupid machine.
This exercise thing is really hard. Don't ever let anyone tell you that working out is "fun!" Cause I am seriously getting my ass kicked right now. I am not going to lie. I am in no condition to be working out every day with machines and weights and over sized balls. I am a fat, lazy couch-potato and my only hope is to get through these first couple of months without dying or pulling anything irreparably out of place. Maybe then I'll be in shape enough to work out. Right now though, I barely have enough strength left in my upper arm to lift this mug of water. I may die of dehydration, right now. And it will all be the fault of The Machine.
God, I really hate that thing. The day I bought it I went skipping out of the store. I was so excited and in love with the idea of being "fit." Yeah! I was gonna work out, eat healthy all of the time. I would feel vigorous! Full of energy and a zest for life.
Mostly, I'm just tired. And a little sore. And sometimes, when I look at The Machine, I cry a little. Knowing that the next morning, I'm just going to have to climb back on up there and work up a sweat. Again. But, in the long run I no longer feel guilty about my time on the couch, knowing that I have actually earned it now. So, that's nice. And, in about ten minutes, when I go downstairs and heat up that slice of leftover pizza I wont feel guilty about that either. I may feel a little guilty about the potato chips I have later tonight. Or, I may skip them. Of my own volition. Having absolutely nothing to do with that Machine that I have to squeeze past in order to even get downstairs. Nope. Nothing to do with that at all.
Stupid machine.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Home
On a good day she can wait until she gets home to have her first cigarette. Savoring each, cancerous, drag from the comfort of the couch while her man fixes dinner and the cats clamor for attention. She is warm and safe and dry. The day is over, she can kick her shoes off under the coffee table and disengage herself from the world outside.
On a bad day, on a day when work has beaten her down and she can feel the contact lenses grating against her dry eyes, she lights up as she exits the building. Or, sometimes she waits to realize that the bus will not be soon to arrive. Odd work hours mean missing the rush of rush hour but it also means buses and trains may be few and far between. These are the days she shuffles through her ipod, waiting for the bus, until she finds Tom Waits and will listen to him croon about how hard it is to grow up.
The weather is, generally, irrelevant to her mood on work days. She usually only sees the outside on her way to work and her desk is nowhere near any of the plate glass windows that overlook the city (and a glimmer of the lake to the east.) Her days are grey. The walls are grey, the carpets are grey. As are the chairs and most of the conversations she overhears around her. She colors those grey with her mind because she would rather not care what people are talking about than get caught up in the mundane bullshit of office politics and small talk. Besides, the grey voices are rarely speaking to her anyway. They're rarely speaking to each other, mostly they are talking to hear their own voices.
It is these days, these grey cigarette days, when she is most grateful for her home. For the light and sounds, for the company of love and cats. Even when it involves nothing more than reading a book while baseball plays on TV it is, at least, illuminated. It is, at least, real. She is grateful even for too many pairs of shoes kicked off beneath the coffee table and too many dishes piled in the sink. She can savor dinner in a way that the leftovers for lunch will be impossible to enjoy - with a glass of wine and conversation containing more colors than...not a rainbow, because that's silly. But more colors than her grey days could ever hope to contain.
On a bad day, on a day when work has beaten her down and she can feel the contact lenses grating against her dry eyes, she lights up as she exits the building. Or, sometimes she waits to realize that the bus will not be soon to arrive. Odd work hours mean missing the rush of rush hour but it also means buses and trains may be few and far between. These are the days she shuffles through her ipod, waiting for the bus, until she finds Tom Waits and will listen to him croon about how hard it is to grow up.
The weather is, generally, irrelevant to her mood on work days. She usually only sees the outside on her way to work and her desk is nowhere near any of the plate glass windows that overlook the city (and a glimmer of the lake to the east.) Her days are grey. The walls are grey, the carpets are grey. As are the chairs and most of the conversations she overhears around her. She colors those grey with her mind because she would rather not care what people are talking about than get caught up in the mundane bullshit of office politics and small talk. Besides, the grey voices are rarely speaking to her anyway. They're rarely speaking to each other, mostly they are talking to hear their own voices.
It is these days, these grey cigarette days, when she is most grateful for her home. For the light and sounds, for the company of love and cats. Even when it involves nothing more than reading a book while baseball plays on TV it is, at least, illuminated. It is, at least, real. She is grateful even for too many pairs of shoes kicked off beneath the coffee table and too many dishes piled in the sink. She can savor dinner in a way that the leftovers for lunch will be impossible to enjoy - with a glass of wine and conversation containing more colors than...not a rainbow, because that's silly. But more colors than her grey days could ever hope to contain.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
369 Days
First things first.
Why is it October and 80 degrees in
Second (and barely more importantly as I sit here sweating, in October.) 369 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OK, I'll tell you something. I am heartly exhausted with the word fiancé. Blah. What a poncy word. And I've been using it (mostly. You shut up.) for almost a year. I just don't like it. I don't like saying it. I don't like referring to The Fiancé as The Fiancé. It sticks to my tongue. It doesn't want to be said. I still use boyfriend sometimes. But, I've begun to call him The Husband in my mind.
I think part of it is that saying "fiancé" opens the situation up to a myriad of questions that I just don't like talking to strangers about. Or, non-friends. Now you're going to ask me for all the details. The whole thing: the ring, how we met. Bleeh bleeh bleeh. Blah blah blah. Blow blow blow.
Enough.
I am occasionally overcome with a sweeping desire to dance around whatever room I'm in at the prospect of this wedding. And, as details finally begin coming together I sometimes clap my hands in glee. I can't wait. But, at those times, I have my clan to whom I can go squealing and jump up and down in circles for however long I need.
The rest of you peoples? Drive along. Stop gawking at the bride to be.
As for the other part of it, the Marriage part of it? I am neither sentimental enough, nor drunk enough to expound upon that topic at this time. Suffice to say that it is good to love and be loved in return.
Anyway, back to this wedding.
I am now in possession of one (1) wedding tip & etiquette book (thank you, young Mrs. LaGarde.) Thankfully it is not too outdated, or overbearing. And I'm sure that some of it will come in handy. But, I'm not lacking for advice. Or help. Which is so awesome. And I am so grateful.
So yeah. 369 (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Days to go. 369 days to plan, fit, flower, taste and get it all in order.
Bring it on.
Monday, September 17, 2007
I Can't Believe I Watched The Whole Thing
That's right. I did it. I watched the ENTIRE Emmy broadcast from E!'s Red Carpet coverage to Ryan Seacrest's last sign off.
I did it.
God, was it boring.
For me, the best moment of the evening was the Comedy Central Boys getting their hug on, even though Steve Carell didn't ACTUALLY win the award. That's what you get for not showing up, Gervais! Sucker.
A word of advice for the producers of awards shows. If, by chance, you are planning to have an "unexpected" guest come out of the audience perhaps you should have him NOT walk the red carpet before hand. Kanye I am looking at you. Nerd.
That was almost a funny bit. I think it would have been funnier if it hadn't looked so planned. And if Rainn Wilson had the opportunity to sing different song lyrics instead of repeating those that Kanye had already sung. But, I don't know, I don't watch that Don't Forget The Lyrics show so maybe that's the way it's supposed to work but still. Lame. Although, Kanye making fun of himself with "I never win" WAS hilarious.
Sally Field got censored for slipping a little GD into her anti-war speechifying which is plain ridiculousness. These Standards & Practices guys are maybe getting a little trigger happy. I guess we could continue to blame Janet Jackson's wardrobe "malfunction" but I think it's more virulent than that. Or maybe I'm sensitive.
I don't say much, but when I do have something to say I want the freedom to say it plainly, you know? This whole couching political beliefs in doublespeak so you don't offend anyone is a time waster and a tool for those who would rather waste time arguing semantics than actually taking care of business.
Righto, so anyway.
Yeah I watched it and I've got no other award shows to watch until The Oscars.
And maybe this year we should have a fancy dress up party for The Oscars. Not so much because I think they warrant fancy dress. Just because now I've got the hot, green number from Krista's wedding to wear somewhere and the gold sandals to go with it.
I did it.
God, was it boring.
For me, the best moment of the evening was the Comedy Central Boys getting their hug on, even though Steve Carell didn't ACTUALLY win the award. That's what you get for not showing up, Gervais! Sucker.
A word of advice for the producers of awards shows. If, by chance, you are planning to have an "unexpected" guest come out of the audience perhaps you should have him NOT walk the red carpet before hand. Kanye I am looking at you. Nerd.
That was almost a funny bit. I think it would have been funnier if it hadn't looked so planned. And if Rainn Wilson had the opportunity to sing different song lyrics instead of repeating those that Kanye had already sung. But, I don't know, I don't watch that Don't Forget The Lyrics show so maybe that's the way it's supposed to work but still. Lame. Although, Kanye making fun of himself with "I never win" WAS hilarious.
Sally Field got censored for slipping a little GD into her anti-war speechifying which is plain ridiculousness. These Standards & Practices guys are maybe getting a little trigger happy. I guess we could continue to blame Janet Jackson's wardrobe "malfunction" but I think it's more virulent than that. Or maybe I'm sensitive.
I don't say much, but when I do have something to say I want the freedom to say it plainly, you know? This whole couching political beliefs in doublespeak so you don't offend anyone is a time waster and a tool for those who would rather waste time arguing semantics than actually taking care of business.
Righto, so anyway.
Yeah I watched it and I've got no other award shows to watch until The Oscars.
And maybe this year we should have a fancy dress up party for The Oscars. Not so much because I think they warrant fancy dress. Just because now I've got the hot, green number from Krista's wedding to wear somewhere and the gold sandals to go with it.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Live Blogging The Emmys for As Long As I Can Take It
I hate awards shows.
Seriously. They are horrible and fascinating all at the same time. And here I sit, watching Ray Romano rif on his post-show home life. He's got a nice gold tie on but he needs a haircut.
He's presenting an award. I thought he was doing a bit.
Ohhhhh Two and a Half Men is nominated for...something. Best comedy show I suppose. Best supporting actor in a comedy series.
Commmme oooooon Neil Patrick Harris!
Booooooo Jeremy Piven. I am maybe supposed to be rooting for him. Coming from that Prestigious Chicago Theater family and all.
Meh.
He'll always be stupid Cupid to me.
But aww with the dedicating the award to his dead dad. Aw.
Vanessa Williams and America Ferrer look good. I was just watching the E! True Hollywood Story about Vanessa Williams today. God. What is WRONG with me? I watched 2 of those stupid THS episodes today. AND I know they call it THS.
I have a disease.
Creepy bald-headed dude from Lost just won Best Supporting Actor in a Drama. He's wearing a bright pink shirt. That's interesting. I really don't care. I don't watch that show. I tried, maybe twice and it was just too much for my brain to do after work and dinner.
God, I wish Macy's was as awesome as that commercial just made it seem.
I remember when Macy's was almost glamorous...Except the one near Queens Center Mall. That one has always been pretty shady. Nice parking lot though. The new one here in Chicago? Not everything I remember Macy's being at all. Oh well. I do most of my shopping at Old Navy anyway.
This is a lot of commercials. It was like that with the VMAs last week also. Too many commercials, not enough award presenting. Guess everyone's gotta pay the bills.
Do we think Sally Field was excited for Seacrest to bring up The Flying Nun?
Ooooh Tina Fey and Julia Louis-Dreyfuss. So pretty. So funny. I totally vote for Elizabeth Perkins for supporting actress in a comedy. I love Elizabeth Perkins. Ahh but Jamie Presley wins. OK, I guess but she's no Elizabeth Perkins. She's got some sort of old lady dress on. Or it's her shiny red breast bone that makes her look old? Aww she's cryin. Awww. So many touching moments so far.
Hey, it's the guy who looks like our friend Van. That Friday Night Lights guy. Him and Kartherine Heigle's lips are presenting best supporting actor in a mini-series. I haven't seen any of these but I hear Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee was good. Wings and Wine Movie guy wins it! Thomas Hayden-Church. Whatever. Sandman. He's thanking Robert Duvall though so that's cool. But now he is crying too. I think they almost played him off. Or they just added dramatic violins when the tears started welling.
Ellen DeGeneres introduces a montage of one liners. Which seems to be an excuse to highlight the stand-up men who host talk shows now. Or maybe it's a tribute to Tom Snyder? Did he just die or something? Why was that part of the one liners montage?
Eva Longoria and the Entourage guys present for supporting actress in a drama. Ooh Rachel Griffiths. I like her. And Aida Turturro. Nice. Way to go New Paltz alumna! Katherine Heigle wins it though. I don't watch Grey's Anatomy either so I don't care again. I'm gonna go spell check all the names I've put in here so far while she makes her speech.
Jon Cryer is sooo stoked right now. Walking out there with Jennifer Love Hewitt on his arm. Oh Ducky. He's funny. I like him. Variety, Music or Comedy series. Woohooo Comedy Central! I am so conflicted! Who do I root for? Colbert or Stewart?? Or Letterman with his montage of favorite Bush moments? And it's Conan. But it's some producer guy making the speech and really, when you GIVE Conan an award don't you think it would be a good idea to let him make the speech?
Christina Aguilera and Tony Bennett duet time. It would be hilarious if Britney Spears rushed the stage from the wings right now. Christina looks good. Hell, so does Tony. How come the male dancers have their shirts unbuttoned? She's got that weird back of the throat voice though. It's OK I guess.
Alec Baldwin. Woot. Looks hot in a white jacket. Poor ole Alec. He's had a rough year. And Tony Bennett's show beat Colbert's. I wonder if that means he's going to have Tony Bennett on. Maybe he'll challenge Conan to a duel of some kind.
Everyone, even the criers, have been doing a pretty good job on timing their speeches.
Ooh! Ooh! Jack Bauer is presenting an award. So hot. Want to touch the Bauer. What a great voice. Robert Duvall wins for...something. Lead Actor in a mini-series. Broken Trail. He's totally gonna be the one who busts the stop-watch. I bet it's really hard to get Robert Duvall to stop talking once you get him started.
Here comes the exit music. That was a nice speech though. All about how Westerns are uniquely American. How they are stories that belong to us.
Ha ha ha. The Jersey Boys are going to pay musical tribute to The Sopranos. Ha ha. How ironic. Annnnd it's a commercial for Bertoli pasta after that out-tro. Nice. Way to feed a stereotype FOX.
Oh TMZ on TV. How did we ever get along without you? I can't even bring myself to pretend to be interested in that show. Because, if I pretend to be interested it wont take long for me to actually be interested. That's how I fell into the trap with the internets. I started out mocking the websites that I now check, like, six times a day.
Queen Latifah, in a smokin' hot red dress, honors the 30th anniversary of Roots. I was one. I didn't see it. I do remember the MASH finale and the Who Shot JR episode of Dallas though. That was some good TV right there. Oh, and here's the cast of Roots. That's pretty dope. Standing ovation. Very nice. Sally Field looks really proud. Ben Vereen looks funny. And I still can't look at LeVar Burton without singing the Reading Rainbow theme song in my mind. Lou Gossett Jr. got old. They're presenting the Emmy for outstanding mini-series to Broken Trail - that Robert Duvall western. That's better than them having to give it to Debra Messing for Starter Wife.
See, these guys know to let Duvall talk. Although, again, probably hard not to let him talk. All these guys really want a chance to say something. You can tell. The guy holding the award is practically doing the pee-pee dance. Oh well.
Doogie is making hetero jokes. I love it. Or, I hate it because he should be making gay jokes. Either way. Love me some NPH. But I'm not sure what just happened. They presented the nominees and then introduced the next presenter as the winner of the award without giving an award... Oh, this lady got her award last night. What a rip off for her.
Um. There are still two more hours of this show? Gah. No way am I going to be able to keep this going. I'm boring myself. I don't think I can even watch any more of it. But I so want to see what Kanye West is going to do.
Damn you award show! Daaaaaamn Youuuuuuuuu!
Seriously. They are horrible and fascinating all at the same time. And here I sit, watching Ray Romano rif on his post-show home life. He's got a nice gold tie on but he needs a haircut.
He's presenting an award. I thought he was doing a bit.
Ohhhhh Two and a Half Men is nominated for...something. Best comedy show I suppose. Best supporting actor in a comedy series.
Commmme oooooon Neil Patrick Harris!
Booooooo Jeremy Piven. I am maybe supposed to be rooting for him. Coming from that Prestigious Chicago Theater family and all.
Meh.
He'll always be stupid Cupid to me.
But aww with the dedicating the award to his dead dad. Aw.
Vanessa Williams and America Ferrer look good. I was just watching the E! True Hollywood Story about Vanessa Williams today. God. What is WRONG with me? I watched 2 of those stupid THS episodes today. AND I know they call it THS.
I have a disease.
Creepy bald-headed dude from Lost just won Best Supporting Actor in a Drama. He's wearing a bright pink shirt. That's interesting. I really don't care. I don't watch that show. I tried, maybe twice and it was just too much for my brain to do after work and dinner.
God, I wish Macy's was as awesome as that commercial just made it seem.
I remember when Macy's was almost glamorous...Except the one near Queens Center Mall. That one has always been pretty shady. Nice parking lot though. The new one here in Chicago? Not everything I remember Macy's being at all. Oh well. I do most of my shopping at Old Navy anyway.
This is a lot of commercials. It was like that with the VMAs last week also. Too many commercials, not enough award presenting. Guess everyone's gotta pay the bills.
Do we think Sally Field was excited for Seacrest to bring up The Flying Nun?
Ooooh Tina Fey and Julia Louis-Dreyfuss. So pretty. So funny. I totally vote for Elizabeth Perkins for supporting actress in a comedy. I love Elizabeth Perkins. Ahh but Jamie Presley wins. OK, I guess but she's no Elizabeth Perkins. She's got some sort of old lady dress on. Or it's her shiny red breast bone that makes her look old? Aww she's cryin. Awww. So many touching moments so far.
Hey, it's the guy who looks like our friend Van. That Friday Night Lights guy. Him and Kartherine Heigle's lips are presenting best supporting actor in a mini-series. I haven't seen any of these but I hear Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee was good. Wings and Wine Movie guy wins it! Thomas Hayden-Church. Whatever. Sandman. He's thanking Robert Duvall though so that's cool. But now he is crying too. I think they almost played him off. Or they just added dramatic violins when the tears started welling.
Ellen DeGeneres introduces a montage of one liners. Which seems to be an excuse to highlight the stand-up men who host talk shows now. Or maybe it's a tribute to Tom Snyder? Did he just die or something? Why was that part of the one liners montage?
Eva Longoria and the Entourage guys present for supporting actress in a drama. Ooh Rachel Griffiths. I like her. And Aida Turturro. Nice. Way to go New Paltz alumna! Katherine Heigle wins it though. I don't watch Grey's Anatomy either so I don't care again. I'm gonna go spell check all the names I've put in here so far while she makes her speech.
Jon Cryer is sooo stoked right now. Walking out there with Jennifer Love Hewitt on his arm. Oh Ducky. He's funny. I like him. Variety, Music or Comedy series. Woohooo Comedy Central! I am so conflicted! Who do I root for? Colbert or Stewart?? Or Letterman with his montage of favorite Bush moments? And it's Conan. But it's some producer guy making the speech and really, when you GIVE Conan an award don't you think it would be a good idea to let him make the speech?
Christina Aguilera and Tony Bennett duet time. It would be hilarious if Britney Spears rushed the stage from the wings right now. Christina looks good. Hell, so does Tony. How come the male dancers have their shirts unbuttoned? She's got that weird back of the throat voice though. It's OK I guess.
Alec Baldwin. Woot. Looks hot in a white jacket. Poor ole Alec. He's had a rough year. And Tony Bennett's show beat Colbert's. I wonder if that means he's going to have Tony Bennett on. Maybe he'll challenge Conan to a duel of some kind.
Everyone, even the criers, have been doing a pretty good job on timing their speeches.
Ooh! Ooh! Jack Bauer is presenting an award. So hot. Want to touch the Bauer. What a great voice. Robert Duvall wins for...something. Lead Actor in a mini-series. Broken Trail. He's totally gonna be the one who busts the stop-watch. I bet it's really hard to get Robert Duvall to stop talking once you get him started.
Here comes the exit music. That was a nice speech though. All about how Westerns are uniquely American. How they are stories that belong to us.
Ha ha ha. The Jersey Boys are going to pay musical tribute to The Sopranos. Ha ha. How ironic. Annnnd it's a commercial for Bertoli pasta after that out-tro. Nice. Way to feed a stereotype FOX.
Oh TMZ on TV. How did we ever get along without you? I can't even bring myself to pretend to be interested in that show. Because, if I pretend to be interested it wont take long for me to actually be interested. That's how I fell into the trap with the internets. I started out mocking the websites that I now check, like, six times a day.
Queen Latifah, in a smokin' hot red dress, honors the 30th anniversary of Roots. I was one. I didn't see it. I do remember the MASH finale and the Who Shot JR episode of Dallas though. That was some good TV right there. Oh, and here's the cast of Roots. That's pretty dope. Standing ovation. Very nice. Sally Field looks really proud. Ben Vereen looks funny. And I still can't look at LeVar Burton without singing the Reading Rainbow theme song in my mind. Lou Gossett Jr. got old. They're presenting the Emmy for outstanding mini-series to Broken Trail - that Robert Duvall western. That's better than them having to give it to Debra Messing for Starter Wife.
See, these guys know to let Duvall talk. Although, again, probably hard not to let him talk. All these guys really want a chance to say something. You can tell. The guy holding the award is practically doing the pee-pee dance. Oh well.
Doogie is making hetero jokes. I love it. Or, I hate it because he should be making gay jokes. Either way. Love me some NPH. But I'm not sure what just happened. They presented the nominees and then introduced the next presenter as the winner of the award without giving an award... Oh, this lady got her award last night. What a rip off for her.
Um. There are still two more hours of this show? Gah. No way am I going to be able to keep this going. I'm boring myself. I don't think I can even watch any more of it. But I so want to see what Kanye West is going to do.
Damn you award show! Daaaaaamn Youuuuuuuuu!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Coffee, Champagne and New Hyde Park
While it's all well and good to have sunshine and cool breezes for post-wedding photos I have to say there's something "off" about an afternoon wedding.
First of all there's the getting up at an ungodly hour to get your hair done. Which, I suppose, only applies if you are a member of the wedding party. One with hair, that requires hairspray. And perhaps a curling iron. Or bobby pins. Definitely bobby pins.
In any event, 6 am is really just too early to even contemplate drinking. So, you start with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. If your stomach isn't already doing jumping jacks you may attempt to eat breakfast but while outward appearances intimate a calm, cool, collectedness chances are good you're really just TOTALLY FREAKING OUT.
Although you would never admit it. In a voice above a whisper. That was directed mostly at your uneaten bagel.
But it's not a wedding without hairdresser. So, there you are with a stomach full of butterflies and coffee, sitting in the chair while she pulls and pokes and blows and sprays your hair into place.
It seemed, when you were being woken up with the sun, that the day stretched out long before you. But once your hair is in place there's really not much time because believe me, having someone else do your hair is the least of the preparations. The next thing you know, the limo is pulling up outside and you're struggling to shove all of the important tools of beauty into bags to bring with you. You can't forget anything. It's all important. But you forget your toothbrush anyway. It doesn't really matter because even those who remember their brushes will probably forget to brush anyway.
There's traffic. There's always traffic. You're on the L.I.E. It's a beautiful Saturday morning in the middle of August. Half the population of the boroughs is on the road, trying to get out of the city. But who caaaaares? You're in a limo. Hanging out with your best friends. It's better than the prom! You don't have to worry about putting out for your date and you know the food is going to be good.
And then BAM, there you are. Rolling up to the Inn at New Hyde Park. It's dope! Very swank. Sure, you were there for the rehearsal two days before but now it is in all of its finery. Flowers and half-columns. Everyone is dressed up, from the cater-waiters to the maitre-d's. And everyone is being really nice.
You go upstairs to the "bridal suite" where there is a crazy breakfast spread laid out. Bagels, muffins, fresh fruit, donuts (mmh, donuts.) Juices and coffee and champagne. And there's a nice lady who keeps pouring you mimosas.
"You want another?"
Sure! Why not.
There's only the walking in the heels, and the making of the speech. Why not have another? And, even before all of that there is the application of the make-up. It's a complex ritual involving many tools and processes. Careful attention to detail and a refined knowledge of the luscher color test are vital to this ritual. It's not only how the colors make you look, it's how they make you feel. Because you should feel beautiful. You should feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Or, the second most beautiful if you aren't the actual bride.
Cause, you know, that would be wrong.
It's not exactly a short process either. Not when there are four of you. When hands are shaking from nerves and over-caffeination. That's why the mimosas sound like such a good idea. You need something to even you out. You didn't get much sleep last night (who could?) and now you're a wreck. Plus, you deserve some champagne drinks. This is an important day and so far, everyone has made through alive and nothing has been broken. A little bit of shiny eyeshadow and champagne go a long way.
People start arriving, the photographer keeps interrupting to take those endearing, yet annoying, candid shots of The Bride And Her Attendants Getting Ready. You struggle to ensure that the various states of undress are not captured on film.
"More mimosa?"
Sure!
Face painted, feet shoved into shoes and bodices straightened it's pretty much time to go. Time to get this girl married! Stand here, hold your flowers thusly, wait here, walk now. Now!
This is the other side of the mirror here folks. I'm usually the one telling people where to stand. Honestly, there's certain simplistic joy to taking orders. Especially when you are all dressed up and expected to parade yourself infront of a room full of people. I really liked that part. I'm going to have to remember that for later. The walk is not as sweat inducing as I had anticipated. It's possible all of the coffee and mimosas had dehydrated all of the sweat out of me.
And then you're done. All of that preparation, all of the fears and anticipation and now you're a part of the backdrop as the bride makes her own march down the aisle. And she's beautiful, the most beautiful. And she's laughing. Because that's what she does. And you try not cry. And you try not to giggle at the maid of honor crying. And you try to actively listen to what the judge is saying but you get distracted by your admiration for the groom who needs no prompting to recite his memorized vows. And you're keeping an eye on the flower girl who may make a fast-break for her sisters sitting in the first row at any time.
And then they are man and wife and it's time to ...take pictures.
Which is fine and uneventful, after the walk around the block to the backyard garden they built especially for this event (and the other weddings that are taking place before their permanent gardens are built out.) And there's MORE champagne. And hors d'oeuvres and you take off your fancy gold shoes because you keep sinking into the lawn and all of the little girls practice their dancing while the photographers pose the parents of the bride.
But it's still full on daylight when you are done and headed into the reception. It's not even cocktail hour when someone is asking you to order you dinner and there's no way you're going to get enough drinks in you to get on the dance floor. And you feel guilty, because you want to dance but it's too early to drink. And there's no way you're going out there without more drinks.
So you watch from your table, it's right on the dance floor, because you're a VIP. Or, because someone expected you to dance.
Either way, the food is good, the company at the table is great and being a spectator ensues that you wont miss the mother of the bride singing along to Love Shack, or the groom dancing in a circle with his nieces-in-law. And, it's all for the best because as a bridesmaid, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn't get yourself into the sweaty mess that you did at the last wedding you attended, last week. In Ohio.
But that's a whole other entry.
First of all there's the getting up at an ungodly hour to get your hair done. Which, I suppose, only applies if you are a member of the wedding party. One with hair, that requires hairspray. And perhaps a curling iron. Or bobby pins. Definitely bobby pins.
In any event, 6 am is really just too early to even contemplate drinking. So, you start with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. If your stomach isn't already doing jumping jacks you may attempt to eat breakfast but while outward appearances intimate a calm, cool, collectedness chances are good you're really just TOTALLY FREAKING OUT.
Although you would never admit it. In a voice above a whisper. That was directed mostly at your uneaten bagel.
But it's not a wedding without hairdresser. So, there you are with a stomach full of butterflies and coffee, sitting in the chair while she pulls and pokes and blows and sprays your hair into place.
It seemed, when you were being woken up with the sun, that the day stretched out long before you. But once your hair is in place there's really not much time because believe me, having someone else do your hair is the least of the preparations. The next thing you know, the limo is pulling up outside and you're struggling to shove all of the important tools of beauty into bags to bring with you. You can't forget anything. It's all important. But you forget your toothbrush anyway. It doesn't really matter because even those who remember their brushes will probably forget to brush anyway.
There's traffic. There's always traffic. You're on the L.I.E. It's a beautiful Saturday morning in the middle of August. Half the population of the boroughs is on the road, trying to get out of the city. But who caaaaares? You're in a limo. Hanging out with your best friends. It's better than the prom! You don't have to worry about putting out for your date and you know the food is going to be good.
And then BAM, there you are. Rolling up to the Inn at New Hyde Park. It's dope! Very swank. Sure, you were there for the rehearsal two days before but now it is in all of its finery. Flowers and half-columns. Everyone is dressed up, from the cater-waiters to the maitre-d's. And everyone is being really nice.
You go upstairs to the "bridal suite" where there is a crazy breakfast spread laid out. Bagels, muffins, fresh fruit, donuts (mmh, donuts.) Juices and coffee and champagne. And there's a nice lady who keeps pouring you mimosas.
"You want another?"
Sure! Why not.
There's only the walking in the heels, and the making of the speech. Why not have another? And, even before all of that there is the application of the make-up. It's a complex ritual involving many tools and processes. Careful attention to detail and a refined knowledge of the luscher color test are vital to this ritual. It's not only how the colors make you look, it's how they make you feel. Because you should feel beautiful. You should feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Or, the second most beautiful if you aren't the actual bride.
Cause, you know, that would be wrong.
It's not exactly a short process either. Not when there are four of you. When hands are shaking from nerves and over-caffeination. That's why the mimosas sound like such a good idea. You need something to even you out. You didn't get much sleep last night (who could?) and now you're a wreck. Plus, you deserve some champagne drinks. This is an important day and so far, everyone has made through alive and nothing has been broken. A little bit of shiny eyeshadow and champagne go a long way.
People start arriving, the photographer keeps interrupting to take those endearing, yet annoying, candid shots of The Bride And Her Attendants Getting Ready. You struggle to ensure that the various states of undress are not captured on film.
"More mimosa?"
Sure!
Face painted, feet shoved into shoes and bodices straightened it's pretty much time to go. Time to get this girl married! Stand here, hold your flowers thusly, wait here, walk now. Now!
This is the other side of the mirror here folks. I'm usually the one telling people where to stand. Honestly, there's certain simplistic joy to taking orders. Especially when you are all dressed up and expected to parade yourself infront of a room full of people. I really liked that part. I'm going to have to remember that for later. The walk is not as sweat inducing as I had anticipated. It's possible all of the coffee and mimosas had dehydrated all of the sweat out of me.
And then you're done. All of that preparation, all of the fears and anticipation and now you're a part of the backdrop as the bride makes her own march down the aisle. And she's beautiful, the most beautiful. And she's laughing. Because that's what she does. And you try not cry. And you try not to giggle at the maid of honor crying. And you try to actively listen to what the judge is saying but you get distracted by your admiration for the groom who needs no prompting to recite his memorized vows. And you're keeping an eye on the flower girl who may make a fast-break for her sisters sitting in the first row at any time.
And then they are man and wife and it's time to ...take pictures.
Which is fine and uneventful, after the walk around the block to the backyard garden they built especially for this event (and the other weddings that are taking place before their permanent gardens are built out.) And there's MORE champagne. And hors d'oeuvres and you take off your fancy gold shoes because you keep sinking into the lawn and all of the little girls practice their dancing while the photographers pose the parents of the bride.
But it's still full on daylight when you are done and headed into the reception. It's not even cocktail hour when someone is asking you to order you dinner and there's no way you're going to get enough drinks in you to get on the dance floor. And you feel guilty, because you want to dance but it's too early to drink. And there's no way you're going out there without more drinks.
So you watch from your table, it's right on the dance floor, because you're a VIP. Or, because someone expected you to dance.
Either way, the food is good, the company at the table is great and being a spectator ensues that you wont miss the mother of the bride singing along to Love Shack, or the groom dancing in a circle with his nieces-in-law. And, it's all for the best because as a bridesmaid, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn't get yourself into the sweaty mess that you did at the last wedding you attended, last week. In Ohio.
But that's a whole other entry.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Other Peoples' Wedding Madness
August.
The dog days of summer are upon us.
I've got 2 nights between weddings to make a brief update here.
There will, I promise you, more written about the weddings I've been to this year. I just need some time to catch my breath.
Maybe, like, I'll have my thoughts together by October?
Two days ago we attended the wedding of one of the original "Undateables," and my favorite Blues Brother. Quite possibly the only thing that could make Ohio interesting are the nuptial rituals of the DD.
And I'm not talking about a cup size kids.
Although, side note (and boys, you may want to avert you gaze here for a moment.) It is no joke shopping for a bra to go on under a special occasion dress when you are rockin' these kind of bodacious ta-tas. Gah, seriously. I am exhausted from the dressing room trips alone. And I haven't even gotten to the rehearsal dinner yet.
Two days from now I embark upon my first foray into actual inclusion in a wedding party. That's right. I have gotten this far in life (and never you mind how far that is, thank you very much) and this is the first time I am going to be a bridesmaid.
I couldn't possibly be more excited about standing up for darling Kristabeth. And, I am happy to report, she has chosen a lovely dress. For me. I really don't know what her wedding gown looks like.
Sure, I've stage managed more weddings than anyone should probably ever attend in their lives but I've never been expected to, you know, stand there with a bouquet and look pretty. I've always been in the back, bossing people around. Occasionally weeping quietly. A lot of the time laughing at things (Bryan.) There are going to be official pictures of me now. I can't let my makeup run this time!
I have purchased every tool known to women to ensure "prettiness" for this wedding. This, of course, means a lot of squeezing and molding of body parts. Lots of painting and tweezing and exfoliating. And, in my case, a lot of slathering on of fakeo-tan-in-a-tube.
That's right Krista, only for you will I subject myself to self-tanner, lest I blind wedding guests with the sad, Midwestern, whiteness of my exposed skin.
Curse this place and it's lack of proper beaches!
But it doesn't matter. Because it's not about me.
A wedding is a beast I completely understand. A bunch of folks get together to make two people look absolutely fantastic and create a beautiful event to honor them. Everyone else is just scenery. Granted, fabulous looking scenery, but scenery none the less. Everyone pitches in and makes it all come together for the bride and groom.
You may have to travel thousands of miles. You may have to endure the strip-mall mecca that is Boardman (Boredom) Ohio. You may have to spend money you'd rather put towards purchasing an HD TV. And you may have to spend a night sleeping on the floor of a hotel room. But, you do it out of love. You do it because when you commit to a wedding, either as a guest or as a member of the party, or even as a well meaning friend with a knack for moving people around, you're there out of love. And that should surpass any mild discomforts (spanx) or random acts of chaos (rehearsal.) It's a little bit of selflessness on your part. Making this thing that is a wedding happen for your friends, or your family. Or, in my case, my friends who are my family.
I know it sounds slightly insane but I wouldn't trade a moment of the sweating, stair climbing, being snipped at by cranky old ladies or last minute runs for decorating supplies that I've gone through as a part of the weddings I have helped organize for anything in the world. In the end you don't remember the food, or the DJ, or how much traffic you sat in to get there and back again. You remember the love. You remember the earnestness with which vows were exchanged. You remember the faltering of the best man's voice as he gave his speech and the hug that you got from the bride when she finally got around to greeting your table.
You will occasionally remember the after party. But, not if it was a good one.
One more wedding to go this year.
My next big project?
My own.
The dog days of summer are upon us.
I've got 2 nights between weddings to make a brief update here.
There will, I promise you, more written about the weddings I've been to this year. I just need some time to catch my breath.
Maybe, like, I'll have my thoughts together by October?
Two days ago we attended the wedding of one of the original "Undateables," and my favorite Blues Brother. Quite possibly the only thing that could make Ohio interesting are the nuptial rituals of the DD.
And I'm not talking about a cup size kids.
Although, side note (and boys, you may want to avert you gaze here for a moment.) It is no joke shopping for a bra to go on under a special occasion dress when you are rockin' these kind of bodacious ta-tas. Gah, seriously. I am exhausted from the dressing room trips alone. And I haven't even gotten to the rehearsal dinner yet.
Two days from now I embark upon my first foray into actual inclusion in a wedding party. That's right. I have gotten this far in life (and never you mind how far that is, thank you very much) and this is the first time I am going to be a bridesmaid.
I couldn't possibly be more excited about standing up for darling Kristabeth. And, I am happy to report, she has chosen a lovely dress. For me. I really don't know what her wedding gown looks like.
Sure, I've stage managed more weddings than anyone should probably ever attend in their lives but I've never been expected to, you know, stand there with a bouquet and look pretty. I've always been in the back, bossing people around. Occasionally weeping quietly. A lot of the time laughing at things (Bryan.) There are going to be official pictures of me now. I can't let my makeup run this time!
I have purchased every tool known to women to ensure "prettiness" for this wedding. This, of course, means a lot of squeezing and molding of body parts. Lots of painting and tweezing and exfoliating. And, in my case, a lot of slathering on of fakeo-tan-in-a-tube.
That's right Krista, only for you will I subject myself to self-tanner, lest I blind wedding guests with the sad, Midwestern, whiteness of my exposed skin.
Curse this place and it's lack of proper beaches!
But it doesn't matter. Because it's not about me.
A wedding is a beast I completely understand. A bunch of folks get together to make two people look absolutely fantastic and create a beautiful event to honor them. Everyone else is just scenery. Granted, fabulous looking scenery, but scenery none the less. Everyone pitches in and makes it all come together for the bride and groom.
You may have to travel thousands of miles. You may have to endure the strip-mall mecca that is Boardman (Boredom) Ohio. You may have to spend money you'd rather put towards purchasing an HD TV. And you may have to spend a night sleeping on the floor of a hotel room. But, you do it out of love. You do it because when you commit to a wedding, either as a guest or as a member of the party, or even as a well meaning friend with a knack for moving people around, you're there out of love. And that should surpass any mild discomforts (spanx) or random acts of chaos (rehearsal.) It's a little bit of selflessness on your part. Making this thing that is a wedding happen for your friends, or your family. Or, in my case, my friends who are my family.
I know it sounds slightly insane but I wouldn't trade a moment of the sweating, stair climbing, being snipped at by cranky old ladies or last minute runs for decorating supplies that I've gone through as a part of the weddings I have helped organize for anything in the world. In the end you don't remember the food, or the DJ, or how much traffic you sat in to get there and back again. You remember the love. You remember the earnestness with which vows were exchanged. You remember the faltering of the best man's voice as he gave his speech and the hug that you got from the bride when she finally got around to greeting your table.
You will occasionally remember the after party. But, not if it was a good one.
One more wedding to go this year.
My next big project?
My own.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The Baconator
Who'da thunk it? That cute little red-headed girl with the Pipi Longstocking braids is trying to kill us. My money has always been on the clown. And, in recent years, I've been hedging my bets with that creepy puppet king. But now I am pretty sure it's the pipsqueak who is going to do us in.
Have you seen this thing? It borders on gastronomic insanity. You eat one of these and you're practically saying "Here I am Lord. Come and take me."
Don't get me wrong. I love me some bacon. And, I love me some cheeseburgers. And I have, indeed, been known to chow down on a bacon cheeseburger or two in my day (OK, yesterday.) But still. There is a line and I do believe The Baconator crosses it. Crosses it, spits on it, rubs it's shoe in the dirt and then runs screaming away from the line waving it's arms. "Nyah, nyah you can't catch me!"
Does one person actually need to ingest that much meat, salt, fat and byproduct in one sitting?
Dostoevsky once said “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” But I say an equally valid judgement of civilization can be made by observing what we eat when no one is cooking for us. When left to our own devices, what are we ingesting? Are we seeking out meals? Or are we going for the quick cheap?
There is a lot to be said about the quick cheap. Namely that it is quick and cheap. And prolific. There is a fast food joint on virtually every corner and you can eat a full "meal" for around $5 any and every day at any one of them.
Which is a shame. Because it's very difficult to have the media, and your doctors and the government shouting into one ear about how you have to eat healthier. You have to cut out fats and eat more vegetables, get less sodium and drink more water. And, in the other ear you've got multi-million dollar corporations shouting about their new, triple stack double cheese, bacon, ham and mayonnaise sandwich combo death wish and a soda.
And we've done this to ourselves. The American love affair with fast food is as old as the interstate highway system. The more we buy, the more they try to sell us. But really we should reign it in a little here folks. Because this a slippery slope. You know that the next step is a slab of salt pork shoved into the middle of a frosted donut.
Oh, wait.
Have you seen this thing? It borders on gastronomic insanity. You eat one of these and you're practically saying "Here I am Lord. Come and take me."
Don't get me wrong. I love me some bacon. And, I love me some cheeseburgers. And I have, indeed, been known to chow down on a bacon cheeseburger or two in my day (OK, yesterday.) But still. There is a line and I do believe The Baconator crosses it. Crosses it, spits on it, rubs it's shoe in the dirt and then runs screaming away from the line waving it's arms. "Nyah, nyah you can't catch me!"
Does one person actually need to ingest that much meat, salt, fat and byproduct in one sitting?
Dostoevsky once said “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” But I say an equally valid judgement of civilization can be made by observing what we eat when no one is cooking for us. When left to our own devices, what are we ingesting? Are we seeking out meals? Or are we going for the quick cheap?
There is a lot to be said about the quick cheap. Namely that it is quick and cheap. And prolific. There is a fast food joint on virtually every corner and you can eat a full "meal" for around $5 any and every day at any one of them.
Which is a shame. Because it's very difficult to have the media, and your doctors and the government shouting into one ear about how you have to eat healthier. You have to cut out fats and eat more vegetables, get less sodium and drink more water. And, in the other ear you've got multi-million dollar corporations shouting about their new, triple stack double cheese, bacon, ham and mayonnaise sandwich combo death wish and a soda.
And we've done this to ourselves. The American love affair with fast food is as old as the interstate highway system. The more we buy, the more they try to sell us. But really we should reign it in a little here folks. Because this a slippery slope. You know that the next step is a slab of salt pork shoved into the middle of a frosted donut.
Oh, wait.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Rock And Roll! ... All Night?
I bet you've been wondering where I've been.
I bet you've been wondering what I've been up to.
I'll tell you what I've been up to.
I've been living the life of a part time rock and roller.
Rock And Roll, you see, does not begin until after 9pm.
So, partying everyday is sort of out of the picture.
Unless by "party" you mean sleep late.
But still. Exciting times. Very exciting times.
I feel cool.
I'm "with the band." Heh heh.
They're a really good band. And, I'm not just saying that because I'm marrying the bass player. I mean seriously. They're good. It's been a meteoric rise from the Christmas 2006 show at the VFW Hall in Villa Park, IL to next month's show at Swig on Milwaukee.
You should check them out:
HEYDAY
Go on, click it.
Parental Discretion is advised. It's Rock And Roll. We should always show discretion when exposing our parents to it.
And, yeah yeah. I'm still getting married. And, there have been a number of weddings we've been to in the last year that I have not written about.
I'm mulling.
Leave me be.
I bet you've been wondering what I've been up to.
I'll tell you what I've been up to.
I've been living the life of a part time rock and roller.
Rock And Roll, you see, does not begin until after 9pm.
So, partying everyday is sort of out of the picture.
Unless by "party" you mean sleep late.
But still. Exciting times. Very exciting times.
I feel cool.
I'm "with the band." Heh heh.
They're a really good band. And, I'm not just saying that because I'm marrying the bass player. I mean seriously. They're good. It's been a meteoric rise from the Christmas 2006 show at the VFW Hall in Villa Park, IL to next month's show at Swig on Milwaukee.
You should check them out:
HEYDAY
Go on, click it.
Parental Discretion is advised. It's Rock And Roll. We should always show discretion when exposing our parents to it.
And, yeah yeah. I'm still getting married. And, there have been a number of weddings we've been to in the last year that I have not written about.
I'm mulling.
Leave me be.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Death To All Aphids!
Bugs.
I hate bugs.
I really like my plants though. And my plants have bugs.
Little, green bugs. And some white ones. They look like lint until they start crawling across the leaf. The green ones are aphids. I don't know what the white ones are. I really don't like either of them.
We mixed up some soapy water to spray the pepper plants, as directed by a knowledgeable looking website. I think it made the bugs angry. I thought it would kill them. Or chase them off - an aphid diaspora. One application will just not be enough. But I don't want to over soap the plants. We're really close to having actual peppers. I can feel it. And, after our near fatal experience with the basil plant this winter (now having passed on to a better life in someone's garden in the suburbs.) I'm a little gun shy on the plant care front.
Also, sometimes Beatrice likes a nice side-salad with her meal. She'll nibble on pretty much anything that grows. I don't want to poison her with insecticides so I'm afraid to use anything stronger than soapy water.
I'm thinking about bringing in some lady bugs. Yeah, I know. Also bugs. But they are, at least, more attractive bugs. And I'm pretty sure Beatrice would snack on them if they got out of hand.
It doesn't seem as though my The Fiance is going to approve of this little ecosystem project of mine. I believe his exact words were:
"No. You are not allowed to have lady bugs."
So. Soapy water it is then.
Unless anyone else has any good ideas.
I hate bugs.
I really like my plants though. And my plants have bugs.
Little, green bugs. And some white ones. They look like lint until they start crawling across the leaf. The green ones are aphids. I don't know what the white ones are. I really don't like either of them.
We mixed up some soapy water to spray the pepper plants, as directed by a knowledgeable looking website. I think it made the bugs angry. I thought it would kill them. Or chase them off - an aphid diaspora. One application will just not be enough. But I don't want to over soap the plants. We're really close to having actual peppers. I can feel it. And, after our near fatal experience with the basil plant this winter (now having passed on to a better life in someone's garden in the suburbs.) I'm a little gun shy on the plant care front.
Also, sometimes Beatrice likes a nice side-salad with her meal. She'll nibble on pretty much anything that grows. I don't want to poison her with insecticides so I'm afraid to use anything stronger than soapy water.
I'm thinking about bringing in some lady bugs. Yeah, I know. Also bugs. But they are, at least, more attractive bugs. And I'm pretty sure Beatrice would snack on them if they got out of hand.
It doesn't seem as though my The Fiance is going to approve of this little ecosystem project of mine. I believe his exact words were:
"No. You are not allowed to have lady bugs."
So. Soapy water it is then.
Unless anyone else has any good ideas.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Memorial Day Weekend, 2007
The only thing worth interrupting the TNT Law & Order marathon for is the discovery of the Jaws marathon on Encore. The Brody Brothers have just been reunited at the gates of Sea World setting off a chain of 3-D events. Culminating in the spectacular demise of Louis Gossett Jr. All four movies. All day long.
At eight o'clock The History Channel is airing a special about the mythology of Star Wars.
It is as if the Gods of Cable heard I was planning on spending the day in PJs, recovering from the weekend-long grilling bacchanal. Hooray for long, cool draughts of water and chocolate chip cookies.
Even the cats are lazing it up. The cats, however, are pretty much always lazing it up. It's what they seem to do best. Second only to waking us up at ungodly hours for no discernible reason. Beatrice is splayed out, lolling around in front of the television. The fan ruffling the white fur on her stomach. Jabber, I'm assuming, is under the bed. He's scared of the fans. All of them. Also the dishwasher and any noises coming in through the windows. Summer is a tough season for Ole Boy.
Summer. It's already summer. It feels like just yesterday that I was complaining that summer would never arrive and here it is. Theknot.com tells me we have 501 days until our wedding. If we get the date we want. If we find a place to have it. When we find a place to have it? Another trip down to New Orleans in July. A couple of more venues to investigate. And then hopefully, this October, I can get a committee together to come down with me and find a florist and talk decor.
But between then and now there are still 3 other peoples' weddings to attend. Gotta stay focused. Gotta keep my head in the game. Gotta pick out some hot outfits, book some travel arrangements and ship out some gifts. It's going to be busy. So bring it on, summer.
Bring it on.
At eight o'clock The History Channel is airing a special about the mythology of Star Wars.
It is as if the Gods of Cable heard I was planning on spending the day in PJs, recovering from the weekend-long grilling bacchanal. Hooray for long, cool draughts of water and chocolate chip cookies.
Even the cats are lazing it up. The cats, however, are pretty much always lazing it up. It's what they seem to do best. Second only to waking us up at ungodly hours for no discernible reason. Beatrice is splayed out, lolling around in front of the television. The fan ruffling the white fur on her stomach. Jabber, I'm assuming, is under the bed. He's scared of the fans. All of them. Also the dishwasher and any noises coming in through the windows. Summer is a tough season for Ole Boy.
Summer. It's already summer. It feels like just yesterday that I was complaining that summer would never arrive and here it is. Theknot.com tells me we have 501 days until our wedding. If we get the date we want. If we find a place to have it. When we find a place to have it? Another trip down to New Orleans in July. A couple of more venues to investigate. And then hopefully, this October, I can get a committee together to come down with me and find a florist and talk decor.
But between then and now there are still 3 other peoples' weddings to attend. Gotta stay focused. Gotta keep my head in the game. Gotta pick out some hot outfits, book some travel arrangements and ship out some gifts. It's going to be busy. So bring it on, summer.
Bring it on.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Cute Shoe Revolution
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm here to share with you a new plan for total personal happiness and fulfillment.
(Hold for applause.)
It's really simple!
There aren't a lot of complicated steps to follow. So there's no literature to buy.
And, while there is an initial investment cost, how much you contribute is entirely up to you! There is no minimum.
And there's definitely no maximum!
(Hold for laughter.)
I just need you to listen to me on this. I know what I am talking about! And I want YOU to know what I'm talking about too! Are you ready?
(Hold for response.)
Are you ready?
(Hold for response.)
Are you ready?
(Hold for response.)
Then, Ladies and Gentlemen, give me your un-de-vided attention because here it is. Here's the secret. I'm going to tell it to you right now. This is what you need to do.
Buy yourself a pair of shoes.
You heard me right. It really is THAT simple. All it takes, at the start, is one. new. pair. of. shoes.
What kind of shoes? Doesn't matter.
Whatever you prefer.
Me? I favor a cute shoe.
(Show them the totally cute Anne Klein peep-toes you got last weekend.)
(Note: Get pedi b4 conference!!)
But you may like something a little more sporty. Or formal even. Whatever you want. We can't decide for you. And we don't want to! YOU are the best guide to your own happiness. And we're not about making choices for you. We're here to give you a "step" in the right direction!
(Don't forget to take the step!)
In the next (check time) ____ minutes I am going to give you all the tools you need to feel "pumped" about going out there and starting your own Cute Shoe Revolution!
(Hold for applause.)
Why buy new shoes?
How can shoes make you happy?
Let me ask you this: How can shoes NOT make you happy?
The right pair of shoes not only helps you look better, they help you feel better. Feel better about your feet. Feel better about your outfit. Feel better about you. Feel better about THE WORLD!
(Hold for applause.)
Say you're in a store. Say you're there to buy some bath towels and you're walking down the aisles and you have to go through the shoe section to get to the bath towels. And as you're going past all of these shoes you see a pair. That one pair. It's perfect. It calls to you from the shelf. And you see these shoes and you love them! You hear them calling and you love them.
What do you do?
Do you say to yourself "Oh, those are lovely shoes. Too bad I'm only here to buy towels?"
NO!
You pick up those shoes! You try those shoes on. You walk around, find that little mirror on the bench and model those shoes for yourself. Do they look good? Do they feel good?
Then you BUY those shoes. You can still get the towels! You can get towels anytime. But you need to start buying yourself those shoes!
It doesn't matter if you have something to wear them with. You can build an outfit from the ground up if the shoes are cute. It doesn't even matter if you have a pair at home "just like them."
Let me clue you in on a little secret:
No two pairs of shoes are exactly alike.
And the small, sometimes indeterminate, differences are what make them all necessary!
Because you know you are going to want an alternate pair to wear while you're breaking the new ones in.
I'm not going to lie to you here. It's true. We all know it's true. New shoes can be painful. New shoes can hurt. But when that day comes when you take the band-aids off, when the blisters have healed over and you're no longer hobbling around you know it's worth it. You know!
Because your feet look great! They just look fabulous. And they make your legs look good and shapely. Your whole posture changes and all of your clothes look better. And when you go out there feeling like a million bucks you can MAKE a million bucks.
And, when you make a million bucks what are you going to do with all that money? What are you going to do with it all?
That's right. You're going to go out and buy more, cute shoes.
Now I'm just going to take a little break here. Take a sip of water while my associates pass our pamphlets out to you and get my transparencies mounted up on that screen.
Mmh, this is good. What is this? Evian?
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