Showing posts with label Clooney Tuesdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clooney Tuesdays. Show all posts
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
The first nine seconds of this video? That's me today. I have not cried once.
Yet.
That's all.
I know it's Clooney Tuesday, but I'm just not that into him lately.
Other things I'm not into lately:
Working out.
Grocery shopping.
Putting away the laundry.
Putting up with idiots.
Oh, wait, I'm not really into those last three things EVER.
I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Yet.
That's all.
I know it's Clooney Tuesday, but I'm just not that into him lately.
Other things I'm not into lately:
Working out.
Grocery shopping.
Putting away the laundry.
Putting up with idiots.
Oh, wait, I'm not really into those last three things EVER.
I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
I'm a grinch. It's OK. I know it.
I'm fully aware that I have issues with winter. It started three years ago when all my shock and denial wore off just in time for the holidays and I slipped into full-blown depression. I'm not kidding you when I tell you that during the next spring, when I was feeling much better, I started dreading the next winter. Yep. Dreading it even though it was six months away. That's sick.
So now I spend most of winter wishing it away, which really isn't fair since there are so many good things about winter, such as influenza epidemics, people getting murdered at Black Friday sales, and frostbite. Christmas makes it worse, unfortunately, because I have about $10 to spend on gifts and, according to Kate, EVERYONE in her school has an iPhone. Everyone but you, baby girl. Now, tie this string to an empty soup can and call someone who cares.
This morning, I had to spend $90 on a prescription to keep from going blind in my left eye (this might be hyperbole) and having to wear a patch like a pirate (actually, that sounds kind of awesome). The woman at the pharmacy acted shocked that my insurance didn't cover prescriptions.
Welcome to 2012, lady. Health insurance sucks and prescription prices are ridiculous. I did her the enormous favor of not crying at the checkout counter. I waited until I got in the car. But I couldn't keep myself from saying, "Well, Merry Christmas to me."
(sigh)
You suckers better be happy I've dealt with this issue because part of me was highly tempted to just have blurry vision in my left eye and start running over fools on the left side of the road.
So here's something that happened after I left Rite Aid and cried in the car. I went to get a latte because fuck it, take my $4! And when I got my latte, the Starbucks guy gave me a coupon for a free drink!
Woot! This is the THIRD free latte I've gotten since last Thursday.
I'm telling you, God doesn't want me to be rich or to have a book deal or a boyfriend who loves me, but HE WANTS ME TO DRINK LATTES.
So enough of all that bitching and moaning. I'm tired of myself. That's an annual occurrence, too. By the end of the year, I have had it up to here with myself and with this unnecessary exercise in reflection. What has the last year taught me? What has improved since 2011? What goals did I meet? How many bottles of vodka did I drink?
Despite my budgetary stress, I do know for a fact that Christmas Day will be excellent and no one is going to be upset that they didn't get an iPhone, or an iPad mini, or an iPad maxi, or a maxipad shaped like an iPad, or an iPod that smells like apples, or an apple that plays Justin Beiber songs when you twist off the stem to see who your next boyfriend is going to be. A...B...C...D. D it is! An apple never tells you you're going to fall for a guy whose name starts with M. Too bad, Mike.
Anyway, I've found there are ways to cheer myself up during this time of year. Here are a few of them:
1. The Cosby Show
Watch a rerun of The Cosby Show and see if you don't feel a little better about life. Hell, you don't even have to watch the show. Feeling worn out by talk of the fiscal cliff? Heathcliff Huxtable will make you feel better.
If you're old enough to have watched the show when it first aired, then it has the nostalgia factor going for it. You will remember all the great episodes with fondness.
If you're not old enough to remember The Cosby Show...well, you know the drill.
(This gif of Cary Grant cheers me up.)
Episodes that cheer me up: The one when Cliff and Claire had the smooth contest.
OK, we don't have enough smooth contests up in here.
Or the one where they met Stevie Wonder. Jammin' on the one.
Why exactly would you say this at a party? I don't know. It's one of those mysteries that will never be solved.
Or the one where Denise made Theo the knockoff Gordon Gartrell shirt.
Or how about when the family taught Theo a lesson about life in the "real" world. I can't think of any lessons I need to teach Jacob that would make me clear out his entire bedroom. That is way too much work.
Or there's the episode where Cliff realizes Bud's name is not actually Bud. Or how about when the family celebrated the grandparents' anniversaries with lip-sync performances?
It makes me realize that, dammit, in addition to smooth contests, there is simply not enough lip-syncing up in here.
Also, Cliff and Claire react to every parenting issue exactly the way I wish I could manage to do more often than not. With humor, with sternness, with kindness. But without yelling.
2. S'mores and red wine. Nectar of the gods. Enough said.
3. Working out. Yes, I said it. As much as I want to sit my lazy arse on the sofa, I feel so much better when I work out before I cook dinner. (And I have to find some way to work off the damn S'mores calories.) I particularly love doing pec flies. Oh yeah, I feel like a badass when I do pec flies.
4. This photo of George Clooney...just because.
5. This.
I hope everyone is having a cheerful Clooney Tuesday.
Related posts:
A Slippery Slope Covered in Butter: Yesterday, two of my dearest friends sent me emails that were remarkably similar. I hear a theme running through our correspondence of late. Who am I? Where am I? What has changed since last year? What will change next year? As if the end of the year isn't busy enough with Christmas parties and shopping and decorating, we also pack it full of self-examination and self-recrimination.
Winter Blues: Thoughts on Grieving When the holidays approach, my internal worry machine hits hyper-drive. I worry about the early sunset, all those hours when there is no light other than the lamp on my bedside table. I worry that I will stop working out, polish off a tub of cream cheese with a sleeve of crackers every day, and gain 15 pounds. I worry about hearing Christmas songs while I'm out in public because Christmas songs make me cry. I worry about having enough money for gifts and a tree and vodka and cranberry juice. I worry about falling back into the dark hole of grief and regret.
Winter Is The Worst "I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood." -Bill Watterson
Oh winter, must we go through this every year?
I'm fully aware that I have issues with winter. It started three years ago when all my shock and denial wore off just in time for the holidays and I slipped into full-blown depression. I'm not kidding you when I tell you that during the next spring, when I was feeling much better, I started dreading the next winter. Yep. Dreading it even though it was six months away. That's sick.
So now I spend most of winter wishing it away, which really isn't fair since there are so many good things about winter, such as influenza epidemics, people getting murdered at Black Friday sales, and frostbite. Christmas makes it worse, unfortunately, because I have about $10 to spend on gifts and, according to Kate, EVERYONE in her school has an iPhone. Everyone but you, baby girl. Now, tie this string to an empty soup can and call someone who cares.
This morning, I had to spend $90 on a prescription to keep from going blind in my left eye (this might be hyperbole) and having to wear a patch like a pirate (actually, that sounds kind of awesome). The woman at the pharmacy acted shocked that my insurance didn't cover prescriptions.
Welcome to 2012, lady. Health insurance sucks and prescription prices are ridiculous. I did her the enormous favor of not crying at the checkout counter. I waited until I got in the car. But I couldn't keep myself from saying, "Well, Merry Christmas to me."
(sigh)
You suckers better be happy I've dealt with this issue because part of me was highly tempted to just have blurry vision in my left eye and start running over fools on the left side of the road.
So here's something that happened after I left Rite Aid and cried in the car. I went to get a latte because fuck it, take my $4! And when I got my latte, the Starbucks guy gave me a coupon for a free drink!
Woot! This is the THIRD free latte I've gotten since last Thursday.
I'm telling you, God doesn't want me to be rich or to have a book deal or a boyfriend who loves me, but HE WANTS ME TO DRINK LATTES.
So enough of all that bitching and moaning. I'm tired of myself. That's an annual occurrence, too. By the end of the year, I have had it up to here with myself and with this unnecessary exercise in reflection. What has the last year taught me? What has improved since 2011? What goals did I meet? How many bottles of vodka did I drink?
Despite my budgetary stress, I do know for a fact that Christmas Day will be excellent and no one is going to be upset that they didn't get an iPhone, or an iPad mini, or an iPad maxi, or a maxipad shaped like an iPad, or an iPod that smells like apples, or an apple that plays Justin Beiber songs when you twist off the stem to see who your next boyfriend is going to be. A...B...C...D. D it is! An apple never tells you you're going to fall for a guy whose name starts with M. Too bad, Mike.
Anyway, I've found there are ways to cheer myself up during this time of year. Here are a few of them:
1. The Cosby Show
Watch a rerun of The Cosby Show and see if you don't feel a little better about life. Hell, you don't even have to watch the show. Feeling worn out by talk of the fiscal cliff? Heathcliff Huxtable will make you feel better.
If you're old enough to have watched the show when it first aired, then it has the nostalgia factor going for it. You will remember all the great episodes with fondness.
If you're not old enough to remember The Cosby Show...well, you know the drill.
(This gif of Cary Grant cheers me up.)
Episodes that cheer me up: The one when Cliff and Claire had the smooth contest.
OK, we don't have enough smooth contests up in here.
Or the one where they met Stevie Wonder. Jammin' on the one.
Why exactly would you say this at a party? I don't know. It's one of those mysteries that will never be solved.
Or the one where Denise made Theo the knockoff Gordon Gartrell shirt.
Or how about when the family taught Theo a lesson about life in the "real" world. I can't think of any lessons I need to teach Jacob that would make me clear out his entire bedroom. That is way too much work.
Or there's the episode where Cliff realizes Bud's name is not actually Bud. Or how about when the family celebrated the grandparents' anniversaries with lip-sync performances?
It makes me realize that, dammit, in addition to smooth contests, there is simply not enough lip-syncing up in here.
Also, Cliff and Claire react to every parenting issue exactly the way I wish I could manage to do more often than not. With humor, with sternness, with kindness. But without yelling.
2. S'mores and red wine. Nectar of the gods. Enough said.
3. Working out. Yes, I said it. As much as I want to sit my lazy arse on the sofa, I feel so much better when I work out before I cook dinner. (And I have to find some way to work off the damn S'mores calories.) I particularly love doing pec flies. Oh yeah, I feel like a badass when I do pec flies.
4. This photo of George Clooney...just because.
5. This.
I hope everyone is having a cheerful Clooney Tuesday.
Related posts:
A Slippery Slope Covered in Butter: Yesterday, two of my dearest friends sent me emails that were remarkably similar. I hear a theme running through our correspondence of late. Who am I? Where am I? What has changed since last year? What will change next year? As if the end of the year isn't busy enough with Christmas parties and shopping and decorating, we also pack it full of self-examination and self-recrimination.
Winter Blues: Thoughts on Grieving When the holidays approach, my internal worry machine hits hyper-drive. I worry about the early sunset, all those hours when there is no light other than the lamp on my bedside table. I worry that I will stop working out, polish off a tub of cream cheese with a sleeve of crackers every day, and gain 15 pounds. I worry about hearing Christmas songs while I'm out in public because Christmas songs make me cry. I worry about having enough money for gifts and a tree and vodka and cranberry juice. I worry about falling back into the dark hole of grief and regret.
Winter Is The Worst "I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood." -Bill Watterson
Oh winter, must we go through this every year?
Tuesday, 4 December 2012
Friday night, we saw Louis C.K. in Athens. He was just as good as I expected him to be. He scraps his old act at the end of a tour and starts over, so everything we heard was new. That was great since I'm pretty sure I've watched every single clip of him on YouTube.
When we took our seats, I said, "Jacob, you sit over there by Uncle Tim. When Louis C.K. starts making jokes about masturbation, you're going to want a buffer zone between you and your mother."
About midway through the show, some dumb bitch sitting near us yelled out, "Fuck you."
What? No, ma'am, you do not heckle Louis C.K. Hell, that's not even heckling, that's just stupidity.
It felt like the entire audience gasped in one huge intake of breath. Someone near the front turned and yelled out, "You bitch!"
Louis said, "No, you're not helping. Who said that? No, never mind." He carried on.
You could feel it in the place though, how the energy changed for a bit, how everyone was nervous this idiot would yell out something else rude and disruptive. I also thought, "No! Look what you did! Now he's not going to like us! I want him to like us!"
Thankfully, she didn't yell out again and, when the show ended, she bolted for the door. Louis went on with the show and quickly recaptured the joyful, relaxed vibe. On his way off the stage, though, he said, "And fuck you, too, lady."
This brings up something that bugs me: People who get wasted to attend concerts and shows. Why do people do this? Do they not want to remember the show they have paid good money to see? How about you stay home instead?
We had several drunk folks sitting in the row in front of us. The woman directly in front of me was with a date and she spent a lot of time rubbing his hair and looking at him. She was looking at him in that intense way people do when they're trying to get you to look back. Not a glance here and there but staring. WTF? You're at a show. Your date wants to see the show. Leave him alone.
People are weird.
Luckily, these folks did not ruin our enjoyment of a truly great comedy show. My brother and I spent the next two days saying to one another, "Oh! Remember when he said..." and "I forgot that! That was hilarious!"
It's good evidence of just how dense a Louis C.K. show is. There aren't just a few jokes that stand out. Every minute is filled with something funny or worth remembering.
For instance, he was discussing his looks and getting older. He said it's tough to look like this at 20, but by 45, it's OK. You have a way better shot with women because their "circumstances start to match your looks." So true.
He's going to film an HBO special during this tour (I'm glad it wasn't during our show because of that dumb, drunk woman.) The special will air sometime next year. Louis C. K. announced on Twitter that after this new special is shown on HBO, it will be sold a few months later as a $5 download at his Web site, louisck.net. I can't wait to see it.
One of the main reasons I love Louis C.K. is that I love hearing someone else who thinks about things in the same warped way, who uses humor to make sense of this messed up world. It's reassuring to hear someone speaking your language.
Sunday night, I went to Workplay to see Duncan Sheik. The audience was small so we had a table near the stage. It's been awhile since I've been to a show in an intimate venue like that. Duncan Sheik has an easy, relaxed manner on stage. I love pretty much everything he does, so it doesn't matter to me if he sings old stuff or new stuff. I thought the set list was a pretty good mix of both, plus a couple of covers of songs by Depeche Mode and Tears for Fears.
Are you too young to know who Depeche Mode and Tears for Fears are?
Afterward, there was a meet and greet. We chatted with one of the opening acts, Courrier, a band from Austin. They were great, full of energy and major stage presence. They're adorable and look young enough to be my children. I FEEL OLD. They have a new album coming out in the new year. I'm planning to buy it since I suspect it would make good writing music.
Unfortunately, the weekend also included the awful news of Jovan Belcher murdering his girlfriend and then committing suicide in front of other people.
Unfortunately, I have read the news stories and the endlessly ignorant comments underneath.
Unfortunately, I have heard people getting worked up about having their gun rights taken away.
There's just too much "unfortunately" going on up in here.
Here is the sort of gun control I endorse and wish people would consider: If you live with someone who is struggling with depression, get rid of the guns. If you live with someone who has a substance abuse problem, get rid of the guns. Get them out of your house. Lock them up somewhere. Put them in storage.
Yes, certainly, if someone really wants to die they will find a way to do it. What is also true is that not all acts of violence against others or oneself are planned out. They are impulsive. They happen in an instant. And, trust me, it's much easier to follow through with that impulse if you have a gun around. So consider your personal situation. Consider whether or not you need easy access to a gun in your home.
This gun owner paranoia happens every time there is a violent news story like this. I wish that people would get worked up and rant about the fact that this country does a piss-poor job of discussing mental illness, domestic violence, and substance abuse.
I suspect people like to go through life thinking they're above all that, that they'll never have to face any of those issues, so maybe that's why they ignore it and stigmatize anyone who seeks help for such things.
Recently, Donald Trump posted some dumb tweet (OK, he posts some dumb tweet about five times a day, at least) about how he's never sought therapy.
No shit, dude.
The implication was that if you do seek therapy, you're a loser.
Loser is his favorite word. God, does he ever suck.
Louis C.K. actually did a bit in his act Friday night about doing comedy shows at casinos and how little old ladies give their quarters to Donald Trump. They give him their money because he needs it more than they do.
Louis said (and I'm paraphrasing), "Donald Trump needs a billion dollars. He needs it. He has a billion-dollar deficit in his soul he needs to fill."
We need to remove the stigma from seeking help for mental illness. YOUR BRAIN IS PART OF YOUR BODY. Sorry to go all-caps on you. But I just wonder how ignorant people are that they don't think mental health is just as important as physical health.
MENTAL HEALTH IS PHYSICAL HEALTH.
I remember once a few years ago, when I first started going to counseling, I ran into a coworker on her way into the office as I was walking out. She asked where I was headed and I said, "I have an appointment with my counselor."
She acted like I shouldn't have said it out loud. Please, give me a break. After Charles's death, I'd have been embarrassed if I didn't go to counseling.
Also, I have so little tolerance for people and their bullshit embarrassment about stuff. Embarrassment is for suckers.
Seek help if you need it. Don't shame people who seek help. Encourage your children to express themselves using their words. Don't shame them for crying or for expressing emotion. Make sure they know that they can talk to someone other than you if they need to.
And, yes, having a gun is your right. Good for you, Mr. and Mrs. America. But simply because you can have something in your home, should you? I'm not saying yes or no. I don't have an opinion about it really. I don't think making guns illegal is reasonable. I don't think it would make much difference.
I'm only saying think about it. Consider what is best for you and your family.
I, personally, will never live with a gun in my home again. I can imagine no scenario in which I will change my mind. If the zombie apocalypse begins, I will use a badass sword like Michonne. But to each his own. You fight zombies your way, I'll fight them my way.
It's only that I have seen firsthand just how quickly and easily a gun can change your life and the lives of everyone you love. Might Charles have died anyway, at some point? Certainly he might have. But his suicide wasn't some planned-out thing. It was decided in a heartbeat. Might he have made this decision again later, driven by an impulse that would come again and again? I don't know. I will never know.
Tina has been unpacking boxes that were in storage for a bit. She sent me this photo she found.
It's Kate's tiny hand wrapped around Charles's finger that just tears me up inside.
It's Kate's tiny hand wrapped around Charles's finger that makes me so determined to shed light on dark topics. Things can go terribly wrong. We are human beings and we are not perfect. We are beaten up by this world in which, frankly, we do not seem to truly belong. Sometimes it seems like we don't come fully equipped for all that will befall us.
Admitting that is not shameful. Seeking help to get through the hard times is not shameful. Speaking out about mental and emotional health is not shameful. Discussing tragic events without using the words "loser" and "asshole" is not shameful. Offering love and compassion to those who falter is not shameful.
That is why we are here, isn't it? To love one another?
If not, then it's hard for me to see the point.
If you're here to spread ignorance about all the losers in the world via Twitter, then Louis C.K. is right. You have a billion-dollar deficit you need to fill.
Here's a quarter to help you get started.
Perfume commercials are ridiculous
If someone in real life acted the way celebrities do in perfume commercials, you would say:
A) "Where the hell are you running to all the time?"
B) "Why the fuck are you lying around rubbing a perfume bottle all over yourself?"
C) "Um, so you can't take your necklace off like a normal person?"
How to Have a Stress-Free Christmas
For Christmas, Jacob has asked that we see The Hobbit that day.
On Reddit, I saw this take on those Facebook posts about bullying and it made me laugh:
"The hobbit you just called fat? He's skipping 2nd breakfast. The dwarf woman you called ugly? She spends hours braiding her beard so you can differentiate her from a dwarf man. The Uruk-Hai you just killed? He's been abused by Saruman. See that Gollum creature with the gangly limbs & large eyes? For 500 years the Ring poisoned his mind. That Elf you just made fun of for crying? She just lost her wizard friend to a Balrog. Put this as your status if you're against bullying in Middle-Earth."
I also want to see Les Miserables and we both want to see Django Unchained.
Last year, we relaxed at home all Christmas Day. For dinner that night, I picked up takeout from the Chinese restaurant one Interstate exit down from ours. Best Christmas Ever.
I think we'll do the same this year but with a trip to the movie theater that afternoon. I know I feel more grateful for all the gifts the world has to offer when I'm living in the moment with my two favorite people.
Clooney Tuesday
I almost forgot that it's Clooney Tuesday. Here's a clip of George on the Merv Griffin Show. That outfit...Oh man, the total 80s-ness of that outfit.
If he was wearing this outfit today, I would still jump his bones. Yep, totally.
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Because it's Clooney Tuesday, I did what is becoming a weekly Tuesday morning activity. Looking for inspiration for something to blog about, I googled the man.
I found the latest "news" that George Clooney spent the holiday in Cabo with Stacy Keibler, Cindy Crawford and Cindy's husband Rande Gerber. (Yes, his name is spelled with an e because his parents were ridiculous.)
Here's a photo from eonline.com via FameFlynet Pictures:
See Cindy on the right?
Looks like she's yawning, doesn't it?
That's because this is BORING.
So here's my confession: I do not care about this stuff at all. I love George Clooney, but I love the George Clooney in my mind, Pretend Boyfriend George Clooney.
That's what it comes down to: I realize that I only love the idea of George Clooney. My idea of him doesn't require actual news about what he's doing in real life.
I mean, "yea" for these rich folks and their jaunts to warm-weather destinations. I just don't give a hoot.
My pretend boyfriend would never go to Cabo with some blonde chick while I sit here broke, cold, and discouraged about the state of publishing and the future of this goddamn book I have written.
The End.
I found the latest "news" that George Clooney spent the holiday in Cabo with Stacy Keibler, Cindy Crawford and Cindy's husband Rande Gerber. (Yes, his name is spelled with an e because his parents were ridiculous.)
Here's a photo from eonline.com via FameFlynet Pictures:
Looks like she's yawning, doesn't it?
That's because this is BORING.
So here's my confession: I do not care about this stuff at all. I love George Clooney, but I love the George Clooney in my mind, Pretend Boyfriend George Clooney.
That's what it comes down to: I realize that I only love the idea of George Clooney. My idea of him doesn't require actual news about what he's doing in real life.
I mean, "yea" for these rich folks and their jaunts to warm-weather destinations. I just don't give a hoot.
My pretend boyfriend would never go to Cabo with some blonde chick while I sit here broke, cold, and discouraged about the state of publishing and the future of this goddamn book I have written.
The End.
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
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| Potato soup. Food Styling by Kate Mercer |
If I have more than one dish going on the stove at once or one dish that requires a lot of work, I am FRANTIC. I'm kind of shocked I haven't chopped off a digit yet in my rare, misguided attempts to prepare gourmet meals from Cooking Light and Bon Appetit.
Note: This week I'll write each day about something for which I'm thankful.
I will never be the person who is calm and cool in the kitchen, sipping wine, visiting with company, and with seeming effortlessness, whipping up an elaborate meal that makes everyone swoon. That's not me.
I am, however, the person sipping wine and whipping up the one-dish meal while wearing her pajama pants and fuzzy socks. Oh yeah, I am all about one-dish meals.
Tonight, I made potato soup. Tina sent me the recipe earlier today. It was easy to make and delicious.
POTATO SOUP
2 packages O’Brien-style hash browns
2 cans cream of chicken soup
2 cans milk
2 cans water
2 chicken bouillon cubes
½ TO 1 lb. Velveeta, chopped (Life is short. Go for the full pound!)
Salt and pepper to taste
Mix together the hash browns, soup, milk, water, bouillon cubes, Velveeta cheese, salt and pepper. Cook 30 to 45 minutes over medium heat, stirring often, careful not to scorch.
Serve with French bread.
(Need meat? Add chopped ham, chicken, crab, crawfish or shrimp.)
Sometimes I worry myself to the point of anxiety. I do this at night in private. I work myself up about Jacob going to college in a year and a half. He has no college fund. I work myself up about how I am an irresponsible parent. My son is so intelligent. I want him to have every opportunity to succeed. It feels like he was born barely a moment ago and here he is practically a grown man, taller than me, driving, applying for a job at the movie theater up the road. He is *thisclose* to applying to colleges. Here's me: FRANTIC.
I freak out about bills. I am not making as much money as I once did. I am wondering what will happen when I am too old and senile to work, and I end up on the streets pushing a shopping cart full of books, wearing a tin foil hat and a T-shirt that reads, "I still (heart) George Clooney."
On the outside I look calm and together, but inside my nerves are a jangled mess of FUTURE FUTURE FUTURE OH MY GOD THE FUCKING FUTURE!
See, that's me: The Frantic Chef.
So it should be no surprise that I like comfort food. A warm meal in a bowl? Oh, hell yes.
Bring. It. To. Me.
I will eat it while I am curled up on the sofa, my feet tucked up under a throw blanket, the television tuned to something funny, a cloth napkin draped over the arm of the sofa.
Is the world ending? Some say it is (because they are idiots). OK, let's say the world is ending. A meteor in the shape of Barack Obama's beautiful, big-eared head is hurtling toward the planet. Oh, so sad. Are you wearing your apocalypse pants? Do you have all your doomsday gear stacked up in the garage?
I have no doomsday gear in the garage.
But I have some cheesy, warm goodness in a bowl and my apocalypse pants have an elastic waist.
I feel better already.
I am thankful for comfort food. I am thankful for one-dish meals that can be made by cranking open can after can after can. There is nothing frantic about working a can opener and dumping stuff in a big ol' pot, turning the heat to medium, stirring occasionally, and warming a loaf of crusty bread in the oven. Don't forget the butter.
If this world goes down, it will go down with me on the sofa eating cheesy potatoes out of a bowl, my friends. Mmm, good.
Note: This week I'll write each day about something for which I'm thankful.
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
"We don’t even listen when people say things like that anymore. I think he decided that in his life he could have the career or he could have a family and so when he decided to go full bore into the acting, that was where his focus was going to be."
Also, it's not likely he'll get married.
“No, I would say he probably will not get married. If I had to guess I would have to say ‘no.’ I know everyone says ‘Well, Warren Beatty said he’d never get married and then he met Annette Bening.’ But you know that’s the only example people can think of, so it doesn’t bode too well."Side note: I am sick to death of headlines suggesting that Stacy Keibler is crushed by this. Not all women want to get married. It is not the end-all, be-all goal of every vagina'd person on the planet.
Last February, George told The Advocate this about gay rumors: "I think it’s funny, but the last thing you’ll ever see me do is jump up and down, saying, 'These are lies!' That would be unfair and unkind to my good friends in the gay community. I'm not going to let anyone make it seem like being gay is a bad thing. My private life is private, and I’m very happy in it. Who does it hurt if someone thinks I'm gay? I'll be long dead and there will still be people who say I was gay. I don't give a sh*t."
I've had people tell me stories about George and that he's gay, and my reaction is pretty much this:
I wonder why that is. I mean, I am not on board with George marrying one of these young women he dates. It would take all the fun out of having him as my pretend boyfriend. Married men are just not attractive to me. (Is there anything less attractive than some married guy telling you how his wife doesn't understand him? Ugh, tell that story somewhere else, buddy.)
But me crushin' on some gay guy's boyfriend?
Sure, OK, why the hell not? (Again, he can not be married to the gay guy.) I mean, if George is gay than we have even more in common than I thought in that we're both into hooking up with hot dudes.
Haven't we progressed pretty far as a society that we can look past someone's private life and simply appreciate their work or, to be extremely shallow, their good looks? For instance, I present to you Matt Bomer:
Look at him!
LOOK AT HIM!
He has movie star good looks and he should be in ALL THE MOVIES ALL THE TIME.
Sometimes people compare George Clooney to the late Cary Grant. (Now, THAT'S a movie star, my friends.)
There have always been plenty of stories about Cary Grant being gay or bisexual. There is his rumored relationship with Randolph Scott, who he lived with on and off for more than a decade. Unlike George, Cary Grant married multiple women and it certainly didn't stop the rumors.
My favorite response to the rumors of his sexuality came from Grant's third wife, Betsy Drake: "Why would I believe that Cary was homosexual when we were busy fucking?"
My mom, who loved Cary Grant and introduced me to all his movies the minute I hit middle school, said recently, "What do I care if he was gay? He was wonderful!"
Loving movie stars has nothing to do with real life. We love movie stars (or athletes or rock stars) just as much for their talent as for the attributes we project onto them. (The problem is when we do this to people in real life. Stop projecting good things onto bad boys, my friends.)
What do I care who's gay and who's not? Let's stop using it as some sort of insult. Let's stop suggesting it's something of which someone should be ashamed. That's bullshit.
If George is gay, that's his business. He gained fame at a time when you couldn't be open about who you were and still expect to get cast as the love interest in a really crappy romantic comedy with Michelle Pfeiffer. Personally, my gut instinct is that he's not gay. But what the hell do I know? I don't know the man and I never will, but I will continue to see his movies regardless of his private life. (Unless he makes another Ocean's movie with Julia Roberts or murders a puppy or something.)
I believe we live in a time where up-and-coming actors can be more open about their sexuality. I know for a fact I would shell out some dough to watch Matt Bomer in a romantic comedy. Yeah, I would. You should watch him woo the ladies on White Collar.
I think it would serve society well to let go of these ridiculous hang-ups about homosexuality. I hope there are as many people like me as I suspect there are, people who shrug and say, "Meh, I don't give a shit."
Because if we don't change for the better, you men should be careful with your girlfriends. She just might marry a gay guy.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Today's the day.
Even if you think it won't make a difference...
Even if you feel powerless...
Even if you've had it up to here with the whole damn process...
Even if it's raining...
Even if all those things are true, go vote.
It's your right. It's your privilege. It's your duty.
George Clooney is my pretend boyfriend and he approves this message.
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
From Entertainment Weekly: "Daniel Craig, Bill Murray, John Goodman, Hugh Bonneville (Downton Abbey), and Bob Balaban (Moonrise Kingdom) are all in talks to star in The Monuments Men, for which Clooney will serve as star, co-writer, and director. (Cate Blanchett and The Artist‘s Jean Dujardin entered negotiations to join the film earlier this month.)
Based on the book The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History, the story follows a troop of American and British art experts who step behind enemy lines to recover the artwork stolen by the Nazis during World War II. Clooney adapted the script with regular collaborator Grant Heslov (Good Night, and Good Luck, The Ides of March)."
Let's hope it's not anything like Ocean's 12. Man, that movie sucks. I blame Julia Roberts. In fact, I think we could start a national movement in which we constantly use this phrase.
Hurricane Sandy? I blame Julia Roberts.
Economic woes? I blame Julia Roberts.
Just stubbed your toe on the coffee table? I blame Julia Roberts.
Back to The Monuments Men, that cast sounds really promising. Bill Murray makes almost everything* better. So today, instead of talking about George, let's talk about Bill Murray.
If you're on the Internet ever, you've probably seen some stories about Bill Murray and how, if you meet one celebrity in your life, he's the one you want to meet.
For example, this guy met Bill Murray and, instead of taking a simple photo with the guy, Bill agreed to appear in a "movie trailer" with him and his friends:
Kelly Lynch, star of the greatest movie ever made about a famous bouncer, gave an interview recently in which she said that Road House has a special meaning for Bill and his siblings, Saturday Night Live alumnus Brian Doyle Murray and Mad Men star Joel Murray:
"Every time Road House is on and he or one of his idiot brothers are watching TV — and they’re always watching TV — one of them calls my husband and says [In a reasonable approximation of Carl Spackler], “Kelly’s having sex with Patrick Swayze right now. They’re doing it. He’s throwing her against the rocks.” [Away from the receiver.] What? Oh, my God. Mitch was just walking out the door to the set, and he said that Bill once called him from Russia."
Next time you spot Road House on TNT, know that somewhere in the world a Murray brother is making a phone call.
The Internet is full of such stories about the adventures of Bill Murray. There's the time he read poetry to construction workers at a library in New York:
Or the time he did karaoke with strangers. Or the time he showed up at someone's party and did their dishes. There are entire Web sites dedicated to these "No one is ever going to believe you" stories.
According to the team here at Vodka Cranberry Clooney, a movie starring both George Clooney and Bill Murray would be the bee's knees. I'd bet money on it.
*No one can make Garfield better. I blame Julia Roberts.
Let's hope it's not anything like Ocean's 12. Man, that movie sucks. I blame Julia Roberts. In fact, I think we could start a national movement in which we constantly use this phrase.
Hurricane Sandy? I blame Julia Roberts.
Economic woes? I blame Julia Roberts.
Just stubbed your toe on the coffee table? I blame Julia Roberts.
Back to The Monuments Men, that cast sounds really promising. Bill Murray makes almost everything* better. So today, instead of talking about George, let's talk about Bill Murray.
If you're on the Internet ever, you've probably seen some stories about Bill Murray and how, if you meet one celebrity in your life, he's the one you want to meet.
For example, this guy met Bill Murray and, instead of taking a simple photo with the guy, Bill agreed to appear in a "movie trailer" with him and his friends:
Kelly Lynch, star of the greatest movie ever made about a famous bouncer, gave an interview recently in which she said that Road House has a special meaning for Bill and his siblings, Saturday Night Live alumnus Brian Doyle Murray and Mad Men star Joel Murray:
"Every time Road House is on and he or one of his idiot brothers are watching TV — and they’re always watching TV — one of them calls my husband and says [In a reasonable approximation of Carl Spackler], “Kelly’s having sex with Patrick Swayze right now. They’re doing it. He’s throwing her against the rocks.” [Away from the receiver.] What? Oh, my God. Mitch was just walking out the door to the set, and he said that Bill once called him from Russia."
Next time you spot Road House on TNT, know that somewhere in the world a Murray brother is making a phone call.
The Internet is full of such stories about the adventures of Bill Murray. There's the time he read poetry to construction workers at a library in New York:
According to the team here at Vodka Cranberry Clooney, a movie starring both George Clooney and Bill Murray would be the bee's knees. I'd bet money on it.
*No one can make Garfield better. I blame Julia Roberts.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Whatever Neil Diamond has, it's contagious.
George caught it during the Mercedes-Benz 26th Carousel of Hope Gala at The Beverly Hilton on Saturday where he was honored for his philanthropic works.
George is doing that thing people do when they really don't want to sing along. They make faces and singtalk. (And not Neil Diamond's version of singtalk™which is completely genuine.) No, this is ironic singtalking.
I totally do that.
I hate karaoke for this very reason, because I can't help making faces to illustrate to the crowd that I know I suck and that I am in on the joke. See? I am laughing with myself, not at myself.
But nobody wants to watch someone sing ironically.
That's why I only serve as a backup dancer. I will backup dance all the livelong day. I may suck at that too, but don't tell my feet!
Happy Clooney Tuesday, my friends.
Related links: Neil Diamond Edition
31 Day Christmas Challenge in 31 Minutes
The Luckiest: A Love Story
Good Times Never Seemed So Good: The Happiness Challenge
George caught it during the Mercedes-Benz 26th Carousel of Hope Gala at The Beverly Hilton on Saturday where he was honored for his philanthropic works.
George is doing that thing people do when they really don't want to sing along. They make faces and singtalk. (And not Neil Diamond's version of singtalk™which is completely genuine.) No, this is ironic singtalking.
I totally do that.
I hate karaoke for this very reason, because I can't help making faces to illustrate to the crowd that I know I suck and that I am in on the joke. See? I am laughing with myself, not at myself.
But nobody wants to watch someone sing ironically.
That's why I only serve as a backup dancer. I will backup dance all the livelong day. I may suck at that too, but don't tell my feet!
Happy Clooney Tuesday, my friends.
Related links: Neil Diamond Edition
31 Day Christmas Challenge in 31 Minutes
The Luckiest: A Love Story
Good Times Never Seemed So Good: The Happiness Challenge
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
Let's talk about how life isn't fair.
Let's talk about how some folks in Hollywood have completely stolen my blog's founding philosophy and have sold it to Fox.
The George Clooney Manifesto, a sitcom, is now in development. Here's the story: "Written/co-executive produced by playwright Annie Hendy (The Catholic Girl’s Guide To Losing Your Virginity), The George Clooney Manifesto centers on a single woman who, sick of the “shoulds” and “should nots” of society’s double standards about dating, decides from this point on she is going to act like George Clooney and live life to the fullest."
"Wait a minute. Who elected you leader of this outfit?" "Well Pete, I figured it should be the one with the capacity for abstract thought. But if that ain't the consensus view, then hell, let's put it to a vote."
(Let's talk about how Vodka Cranberry Clooney is a better name because it's more evocative and it involves vodka.)
The show is executive produced by director-producer Mark Waters (Mean Girls and Freaky Friday).
The least these rip-off artists could do is hire me as a consultant or a writer. Pretty please.
I mean, how many times have I written about George? If my labels on the blog are correct, the number is 78. (That seems low considering there are 365 days in a year. But it also seems totally reasonable, i.e. I am not a stalker.)
How many times have I managed to tie George into real-life events and given them a deeper meaning? Like here. Or here. Or here. Or this one.
In fact, I have managed to tie together the zombie apocalypse and George Clooney and everyday stresses all in one post. In this post, I used a term I coined: "The George Clooney Conundrum." I have used the phrase "George Clooney Conundrum" multiple times, in this blog and in my memoir.
See, Annie and Mark, I know how to partner George's name with a big word that seems ultra-meaningful.
And yet, here I am, toiling away in obscurity.
You should hire me, Annie and Mark. If you do, I won't tell anyone that you clearly stole your TV show's guiding premise from a romantic comedy starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis.
I feel like crying.
Let's talk about how my life is going nowhere.
---
In other news, I do not believe stories I read about celebrities, especially when those stories quote other celebrities like all famous people are just hanging out by the lockers after school. So I'm taking this one with a grain of salt.
I feel it must be said: No one gives a shit what you think, Julia Roberts.
And one more thing. I have no problem with George continuing to date Stacy Keibler.
But if George Clooney gets married, I will burn down America.
That's all.
Happy Clooney Tuesday, y'all.
Let's talk about how some folks in Hollywood have completely stolen my blog's founding philosophy and have sold it to Fox.
The George Clooney Manifesto, a sitcom, is now in development. Here's the story: "Written/co-executive produced by playwright Annie Hendy (The Catholic Girl’s Guide To Losing Your Virginity), The George Clooney Manifesto centers on a single woman who, sick of the “shoulds” and “should nots” of society’s double standards about dating, decides from this point on she is going to act like George Clooney and live life to the fullest."
"Wait a minute. Who elected you leader of this outfit?" "Well Pete, I figured it should be the one with the capacity for abstract thought. But if that ain't the consensus view, then hell, let's put it to a vote."
(Let's talk about how Vodka Cranberry Clooney is a better name because it's more evocative and it involves vodka.)
The show is executive produced by director-producer Mark Waters (Mean Girls and Freaky Friday).
The least these rip-off artists could do is hire me as a consultant or a writer. Pretty please.
I mean, how many times have I written about George? If my labels on the blog are correct, the number is 78. (That seems low considering there are 365 days in a year. But it also seems totally reasonable, i.e. I am not a stalker.)
How many times have I managed to tie George into real-life events and given them a deeper meaning? Like here. Or here. Or here. Or this one.
In fact, I have managed to tie together the zombie apocalypse and George Clooney and everyday stresses all in one post. In this post, I used a term I coined: "The George Clooney Conundrum." I have used the phrase "George Clooney Conundrum" multiple times, in this blog and in my memoir.
See, Annie and Mark, I know how to partner George's name with a big word that seems ultra-meaningful.
And yet, here I am, toiling away in obscurity.
You should hire me, Annie and Mark. If you do, I won't tell anyone that you clearly stole your TV show's guiding premise from a romantic comedy starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis.
I feel like crying.
Let's talk about how my life is going nowhere.
---
In other news, I do not believe stories I read about celebrities, especially when those stories quote other celebrities like all famous people are just hanging out by the lockers after school. So I'm taking this one with a grain of salt.
Clooney got cold feet after he and Stacy celebrated their first anniversary as a couple, so (Julia) Roberts rushed to the rescue.
“When Julia heard that George was about to end the relationship before it got too serious, she told him Stacy’s a great girl, that he should latch on to her, and that he was too old to keep playing the field,” an insider revealed.
“She even told George he should marry Stacy and start a family."
I feel it must be said: No one gives a shit what you think, Julia Roberts.
And one more thing. I have no problem with George continuing to date Stacy Keibler.
But if George Clooney gets married, I will burn down America.
That's all.
Happy Clooney Tuesday, y'all.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
He and his family were on Today this morning and Colton said these wise words: "Heaven - it can change your life completely."
Wow, that's really profound.
Hey, God, next time you invite a kid to heaven and then return him to earth to spread the word maybe you could have him say something a little more inspired.
All this kid and his Heaven Is For Real brand make me feel is like I must be missing something, because all I think every time he or his family speaks is "BULL SHIT."
At my grandmother's funeral this past spring, the priest brought up Heaven Is For Real. Don't even ask me why. I'm pretty sure it is not the kind of book my grandmother would have read.
As soon as he mentioned it and how inspiring it is, my mother reached from her pew to where I was sitting behind her and squeezed my leg HARD, probably to keep me from heckling the priest.
Also, just so you know, you only get into heaven if you are Christian or Colton's miscarried little sister (who was never baptized or even developed the brain function to choose a religion, but - oh whatever).
So the rest of you should just give up on riding that rainbow pony.
I guess my major problem comes from the idea that a 4-year-old would go to "heaven" and come back with "answers" that only verify everything he's been taught since birth by his pastor father. *cough - indoctrination - cough * Not one thing that's different? Not a dark-skinned Jesus? Nope, a fair-skinned, blue-eyed Jesus.
A review on Amazon talks about this "revelation" about Jesus's physical appearance, too:
"The big give-away was at the end of the book, when the father references another heaven-child named Akiane. She is a child prodigy in painting and drawing - mostly of visions she supposedly saw in heaven. She is also listed as one of the wealthiest 'child entrepenuers' in the country. One of her pictures is of Jesus, and Colton, having been shown this picture, concurred that, "Yes, this one's right" (that that's what Jesus looks like). A white, blue-eyed, handsome man with a longish shag haircut.
Jesus was a Jew, probably dark skinned with brown eyes. The Jews of Jesus' day wore close-cropped hair like the Romans. Paul tells us 'that it is shameful for a man to wear long hair like a woman' - he would never have written that had Jesus worn long hair. Isaiah tells us that he was not handsome, he had no comeliness that we should be drawn to him (because of his good looks). He was most likely by our human standards, a homely man. The Book of Revelation describes Jesus as now having 'white hair, like the Ancient of Days with eyes piercing like fire'. NOT a heavenly George Clooney." reviewer: Emma "Em"
(Weren't you wondering how I was going to pull George into this? Thanks "Em.")
I am more inclined to believe George Clooney went to heaven based on this commercial for Nespresso than I am to believe Colton Burpo did based on Heaven Is For Real.
Now, there's a second book, Heaven Changes Everything.
The banality of these titles is killing me.
Am I cynical? Yes, I am. Am I an agnostic? Yes, I am. Am I going to hell? Apparently.
I also have a strong aversion to lame-ass crap.
Maybe I just have no interest in people talking about heaven or hell. How about you concentrate on your life now? Stop looking for ways to make money off selling eternal bliss and stop looking for ways to make money off threatening people with eternal hell.
A classmate of Kate's once told her that Kate's dad was in hell because he committed suicide. I did not immediately go to that child's house, grab that child by the neck and throttle him. If that doesn't qualify me for eternal bliss, I don't know what does. If Kate's father is in hell, then I seriously have no interest in Colton Burpo's bull shit heaven full of bull shit rainbow-maned horses.
Listen, just do me a favor and stop throwing your money at these people.
Maybe you could be like George Clooney and offer a little something directly to those in need.
 |
| Last night in New York City |
I don’t believe in Heaven and Hell. I don’t know if I believe in God. All I know is that as an individual, I won’t allow this life — the only thing I know to exist — to be wasted. - George Clooney
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
"Of the seven deadly sins, only envy is no fun at all." - Joseph Epstein
I went to bed one night last week and I cried for awhile. I'm almost ashamed to admit why.
OK, that's a lie. I'm not ashamed and I'll admit to anything really.
Embarrassment is for suckers and shame is for people who read Fifty Shades of Grey and think that's good writing.
I refuse to carry around all my bad feelings and let them eat away at me from the inside out.
Not so long ago, my mom said something about my grandfather and my great-grandmother both dying of stomach cancer and I had this realization that that could be the thing that kills me. Not to be morbid, but I have wondered what the thing will be. It's going to be something. In that moment, I thought, "Oh, that's it. Makes total sense."
But here's the thing about the thing that might kill me: I refuse to help it along. So I'm not going to carry things around in my stomach, churning around and spreading acid. Nope. I like to purge that stuff.
Literary vomit, if you will.
Anyway, the reason I was crying the other night was this: I was filled up with envy. I was choking on it.
I saved a quote someone posted on Facebook.
Isn't it ironic that you can find that little bit of wisdom in the same place where you are most likely to find all the stuff you can choke on?
No, I'm asking you. That's irony, right? I've been so confused about irony ever since Alanis Morissette wrote that song about lots of things that aren't at all ironic, like rain on your wedding day and bugs in your wine and ten thousand spoons. Who the fuck has ten thousand spoons?
But I digress.
Choke on this: Promotions. Proposals. Trips. Concerts. New cars. Relationship status changes. Photos with celebrities.
OK, so all this I can handle. I mean, whatever. I've been proposed to. I've been promoted. I've been on trips. I've been to concerts. Been there, done that. (Although, I should admit it's been a long time since any of those things happened.)
But I once met Ice T, for God's sake! Your celebrity meetings will never top that. Nope. Never.
Then I read a friend's post about being hard at work on her second book, publishing deal already in place.
Too much. Straw. Camel.
I went to bed and cried.
I felt like a sad mess and a failure.
It's pathetic but, hell, I can't be the only one who is eaten up with envy sometimes.
I could read a thousand posts about boyfriends who propose and cars and promotions, but toss a book deal on the heap and I'm too filled up with the green poison to stop myself from a little self-indulgent sob-fest.
After I got it out of my system, I remembered that Anne Lamott has an entire chapter devoted to just this topic in her brilliant book Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. The chapter is titled "Jealousy."
"...the public herd mentality is not swayed by the magic that happens when mind and heart and muse and hand and paper work together. Rather, it is guided by talk shows and movie producers and TV commercials. Still, you'd probably like the caribou herd to run in your direction for a while. Most of us secretly want this. But maybe the herd is going to stuff itself on lichen and then waddle after some really undeserving writers instead. Those writers will get the place on the best-seller list, the movie sales, the huge advances, and the nice big glossy pictures in the national magazines where the photo editors have airbrushed out the excessively long eyeteeth, the wrinkles, and the horns. The writer you most admire in the world will give them rave reviews in the Times or blurbs for the paperback edition. They will buy houses, big houses, or second houses that are actually as nice, or nicer, than the first ones. And you are going to want to throw yourself down the back stairs."
God, I love Anne Lamott. I have this fantasy that she will write a blurb for my book that no agent currently believes they can sell.
Sometimes I see her blurbs on the back of other people's books.
I don't have any back stairs, thankfully.
So what, you ask, does any of this have to do with George Clooney? It's Clooney Tuesday, dammit.
Well, here's a photo of Stacy Keibler riding George's bike.
That's not a euphemism. Here's the photo:
And here George is carrying towels for their boat ride on Lake Como:
And here is the absolute truth:
I do not envy Stacy Keibler. Not really. I don't want to be some lame-ass, temporary girlfriend of George Clooney, some chick with a lackluster career who has to follow a man around the globe. I'm way too alpha-female for that. Honestly, my most recurring fantasy involves me and George meeting because I'm a hugely successful writer and us being excellent friends.
No, I don't envy the girlfriends. (OK, maybe a little.) I mostly envy George. My total fangirl love of George is based on the fact that I want to be the female George Clooney. I want people to pay me to do what I love to do. I want to be charming and funny in interviews and...
I want people to PAY ME TO DO WHAT I LOVE. (I just felt like repeating that.)
I am not a writer who hates writing. Would you be surprised to know there are a lot of them out there? No, I am a writer who loves writing. I want to immerse myself in it. I want to get lost in the ideas. I want, like a long-distance swimmer, to surround myself with the beautiful weight of something that turns the rest of the world into white noise. If you see me with pen and paper or at my laptop, that's what I'm doing. I'm diving into the damn ocean. I'm swimming. I'm a freaking mermaid of words, people.
And while people are paying me to do what I love and heaping praise on me ('cause I'm the people-pleasing oldest child of divorce and I like validation, my friends), I want to float along Lake Como and make out with hotties and meet Michelle Obama and have people listen when I talk about causes in which I believe.
Plus, I seriously doubt George ever cries himself to sleep at night.
I really envy that man. I envy him so much that I'd like to invite him over for some day drinking and a make-out session.
 |
| It ain't easy bein' green. |
And I want somebody to publish my book.
The End.
"Jealousy is one of the occupational hazards of being a writer, and the most degrading. And I, who have been the Leona Helmsley of jealousy, have come to believe that the only things that help ease or transform it are (a) getting older, (b) talking about it until the fever breaks, and (c) using it as material." - Anne Lamott
Buy this book:
Read about how I call Rick Bragg names.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
When you drop $5 on the counter for your six-inch Subway sandwich today, think about this: If you were willing to drop $20,000, you could treat me to lunch with George Clooney. (Oh yeah, you can come along, too.)
George is auctioning off a lunch date for two guests to join him and entertainment writer Dave Karger at the Soho House in West Hollywood.
Side note: Apparently, the Soho House is described as "exclusive." Whenever a place is "exclusive," I am immediately turned off. Exclusiveness annoys me. There's a bar in Birmingham that has a VIP room. Seriously? VIP? Who the hell in Birmingham is VIP? Taylor Hicks? Is the VIP room exclusively full of past American Idol winners crying in corners and wondering where all their potential went? Bo Bice shaking his fist in the air and cursing Carrie Underwood? Thanks, but I think I'll stay in the inclusive area.
Do you hear that, George? I'd be happy to share a foot-long sub with you at a sandwich joint.
Wondering who the hell Dave Karger is? He's a senior writer for Entertainment Weekly. He has a Twitter account here. Wondering why the hell Dave Karger is going to be there? I have no idea. But I'd be happy to talk to him about the publishing industry and about how Entertainment Weekly used to be a much better magazine than it is now.
The proceeds will benefit the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN).
Nothing to wear? Need to lose ten pounds first? That's OK. You have time.
It may take up to a year for the lunch date to be scheduled. But that's good news. By the time the lunch happens, the George Clooney Girlfriend Contract will have expired on Stacy Keibler.
The terms also state that the winner will be subject to a security screening. I believe this means George Clooney will frisk you.
According to CharityBuzz, bidding is currently at $6,500 and will remain open until Oct. 11. The auction is expected to raise $20,000.
Mommy and Daddy, if you really love me, you'll buy me this.
Want to bid? Go to CharityBuzz.com.
Lastly, I will leave you with some photos of George consuming stuff.
George is auctioning off a lunch date for two guests to join him and entertainment writer Dave Karger at the Soho House in West Hollywood.
Side note: Apparently, the Soho House is described as "exclusive." Whenever a place is "exclusive," I am immediately turned off. Exclusiveness annoys me. There's a bar in Birmingham that has a VIP room. Seriously? VIP? Who the hell in Birmingham is VIP? Taylor Hicks? Is the VIP room exclusively full of past American Idol winners crying in corners and wondering where all their potential went? Bo Bice shaking his fist in the air and cursing Carrie Underwood? Thanks, but I think I'll stay in the inclusive area.
Do you hear that, George? I'd be happy to share a foot-long sub with you at a sandwich joint.
Wondering who the hell Dave Karger is? He's a senior writer for Entertainment Weekly. He has a Twitter account here. Wondering why the hell Dave Karger is going to be there? I have no idea. But I'd be happy to talk to him about the publishing industry and about how Entertainment Weekly used to be a much better magazine than it is now.
The proceeds will benefit the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN).
Nothing to wear? Need to lose ten pounds first? That's OK. You have time.
It may take up to a year for the lunch date to be scheduled. But that's good news. By the time the lunch happens, the George Clooney Girlfriend Contract will have expired on Stacy Keibler.
The terms also state that the winner will be subject to a security screening. I believe this means George Clooney will frisk you.
According to CharityBuzz, bidding is currently at $6,500 and will remain open until Oct. 11. The auction is expected to raise $20,000.
Mommy and Daddy, if you really love me, you'll buy me this.
Want to bid? Go to CharityBuzz.com.
Lastly, I will leave you with some photos of George consuming stuff.
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