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The Dark Knight Returns, Frank Miller

Kitchen, Banana Yoshimoto

This is the first book of hers that I've read, but now I'm looking forward to the rest. This was a gratifying read, like the words were shaken clear of anything unnecessary and placed on each page, just so.

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A Dog, a puddle, a LOT of mud.

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Mimi Smartypants

Miss Doxie
Mrs. Roboto
Peachy Keen
Perpetual Blonde
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Sarah Hepola
Scott Dierdorf
Subsequent Events
Uncle Bob


Thursday, January 20, 2005

Please tell me American Idol isn't on again tonight. God help me, I have been compelled to drop everything and stare slackjawed from the couch the last couple days whenever that stupid "da da da da dahh daaaaahhhhhhh" soundtrack starts up.

I don't care much about the show when the programming starts focusing on the actual contestants, you know, the ones with "talent", it's the humiliating nationally-televised trainwrecks that I want to see. I'm absolutely obsessed with the people whose voices are so awful, so unquestionably atrocious, that you start thinking that their tryout has to be a joke, but no, there's a glint of maniacal sincerity in their eyes - the poor fucks have lived their whole lives being assured they can sing by sympathetic and well-meaning family members, and here they are in front of the camera, bleating away in a denial-filled bubble.

Did you see the guy that was on Tuesday who forgot the lines to his song and had to go ask his friends for help, and when he finally sang, he was so, so, so horrible? And then he started CRYING? "Oh my god, this is awful," I whimpered to JB, my face hidden below the pulled-up neckline of my shirt as Crying Dude shivered and sobbed. "Tell me when it's over," I moaned as I peeked through the fabric and turned up the volume in order not to miss one solitary second.

I sort of can't stand watching it, and at the same time can't turn away. The worse they are, the more I squirm and writhe and beg them loudly to SALVAGE WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR DIGNITY YOU TONE-DEAF FOOL, but truly, honestly, I love every gut-churning minute and secretly hope they embarrass themselves even further by telling the camera that "it don't matter what the judges think" because "they're gonna be a big star some day". Oh man.

I know, I'm a terrible person for taking so much pleasure from the heartbreak of complete strangers. I did feel chastised when Simon busted on the blonde triplets for being overweight, though. Those girls and I aren't exactly too far apart on the size spectrum (which is why you would never catch me in a thousand years wearing those unflattering pleated miniskirt deals they were sporting), and when he called them "fat Jessica Simpsons" I took a time out from laughing at other people and went "hey!". Not that I, you know, changed the channel or anything. Or stopped shoveling Paul Newman pretzels into my gaping maw.

Oh, but please tell me you saw the guy last night who was babbling to Paula? "I love that song about, what was it, a bobcat or a fox?" says the guy. Paula starts to say something (from the shape of her mouth, it looks like "mountain lion"), stutters, then Randy steps in and says "Cat, right? Cat." Or something like that. The awesome part was that the guy, the doomed singer guy, immediately turns his head and says "Whatever!"

Whatever! Ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaa! Oh my god, JB and I laughed and laughed and rewound it about 50 times just to hear this guy say "Whatever!" again. Whatever, Paula! Whatever for your stupid fucking crap song about, like, skunks!

If this dude was trying to kiss her ass, he seriously missed the mark, is what I'm saying. WHATEVER.


And now for your internet moment of zen:

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